University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Garden and Villa. Night.
Enter Valerius, with a cloak.
VALERIUS.
Now, oh! ye stars—that gaze on this drear night
From out yond shadowy dome, if it be possible,
As men do say, that some of ye can be
Malignant—hide your lights—and if those question,
Who spell the heav'ns for words of fate, and read,
Writ in your course, the doom of enemies,
Answer not—I beseech ye. But oh! suffer
Your beams, ye orbs, that smile on innocence,
To lamp our darkling steps, and, 'mid the snares
Of lust and murder, guide our umber'd way.—
She comes?—not yet. How is 't with thee, oh Rome,
That those, who would die for thee, seek to leave thee?
Oh! that thou should'st become a den for factions
To tear each other—and men seek to rule thee
Whose empire still is ruin! I'st not thus?
E'en as the wintry gusts and ruins contend
Which shall be master—that fell masterdom
Whichever has 't, is ravage!—the wide waste
Of giant inundation—or the sweep
And reckless triumph of the winged wind!
So is it with thee, Rome: thou still must suffer,
O'ermaster thee who may.
Flavia! she comes!
Too bright a beam for such a night as, Rome,
Doth now enshroud thee; fallen queen o' the world,
Obscured in blood and tears—

FLAVIA
(entering).
Valerius!

VALERIUS.
My Flavia! Tremble not. Do not yond stars
Look down on this dark hour? and innocence
In heav'n, if not in Rome, is sacred. Flavia,
Time presses, and ere morn we must be far
From danger and from Rome.

FLAVIA.
But one last look at this beloved home!—
And then I go, Valerius!

Enter Young Marius and Attendants.
YOUNG MARIUS.
Save you, lady;—
And, you, sir!—We 're well met! although, methinks,
'Tis a new hour for travel—in such times,
And without passports, too! At least I cannot
Well think, that Sylla's niece and Marius' vassal
Were bent on open journey. If mistaken,
Tis easily put right.

VALERIUS.
Wretch

YOUNG MARIUS.
Ha!—Be this
As 't may, this is no hour—no path for beauty
To venture forth unguarded. This fair lady
I will protect as doth become her. Thou
May'st take thy way, e'en as it pleaseth thee.
I shall not condescend to stop thy course,
Deserter!—Patron leaver!—Fugitive!
Sylla, perchance, may need thee. Marius, haply,
Can shift without such succour!

VALERIUS.
Art thou a Roman?
Art of that noble race who have inscribed
Those banners, waved so oft in victory,
“Peace to the cottage; to the tyrant war;
“We spare the lowly, and strike down the proud!”
Call'st thyself “Roman”—and wilt do a deed
Accurs'd by all Rome's Gods,—whose temples, sure,
Are the best guards of innocence and virtue?—
Thou canst not do this, Marius!

YOUNG MARIUS.
Prate no more!
I came not here to listen to thy whine!
Quit thou the lady, and e'en take thy course
Whither thou wilt. If not, ye are attach'd
The spies of Sylla and the Consul's foes,
And traitors to the Senate and the State.
Now;—take thy choice.

FLAVIA.
My choice is ta'en, Valerius!
Let him arrest us,—let his savage father
Doom us to death, or torment,—or to both!
There is no terror in such death, Valerius,
To those who truly love—believe 't there is not—
No agony—no pain!—'Tis but to bless them,
To join two souls, in essence one already;
And the last sigh that wafts them to each other
Is sweeter far than zephyr's, and more kindly
E'en than the gentle spring's. Oh! in such breath
Live twenty summers, in their bloom of beauty,
With all their smiling suns; and to die thus
Is then to live indeed. Mine own, my brave,
My dear Valerius, thou—thou hesitate!

VALERIUS.
I do not, Flavia—no! no!
Marius! monster!
No, no. It cannot be. Thou dost but try me.
There are some deeds impossible on earth,
Or how should there be hell? Thou dar'st not do it.
And hast, methinks, hardly the heart to say it.

YOUNG MARIUS.
Fool not thyself, Valerius. Yield her to me,
Or all those hopes are dreams;—false as the winds;
Fleeting and unsubstantial, as the foam
Left on the bright shore of some summer sea.
Speak but the word. She lives.

FLAVIA.
An if he did,—
If that 't were possible such baseness could
Exist in aught that Flavia says she loves,
Think'st thou he 'd speak for me? Oh! no, no, no
Rather than that, I'd do as Lucrece did,
But quicker far than Lucrece. Dost thou shrink,
Valerius? Oh! an if I thought thou could'st,—
Much—(and there is no shame to say it now)—
As I have lov'd thee,—I should deem of thee
But as that blotch'd, rank flow'r, toad-like, that seems
As nature made it to shew how a flower
May out-do e'en things loathsome—and even thus
Turn from thee, could I think that such a thought
Could ever shame that bosom.
(To Marius.).
Threaten'st thou
Death?—Foolish ruffian, to imagine e'en
That death out-uglied thee! I do defy thee,
Thee and thy race; and if ye think to mend
Your blood by spilling better than your own,
Seize the occasion! Come, Valerius.

YOUNG MARIUS.
Have then thy will. Away with them!

VALERIUS.
One moment.
Caius,—we have been friends. That 's little. For
Myself I reck not; but I would save thee,
Ev'n for that friendship's sake, from such a deed
As men, however black, would tremble at.
Look on that face—And whatsoe'er become
Of me, oh! injure not a bosom, which
Innocence self might make her latest refuge,
And grace make doubly gracious, when disgrac'd
In every heart beside. Oh! can such beauty
Sort with such sound as death?

YOUNG MARIUS.
Sir! If that death
Be doom'd,—that doom fell from no lip of mine.
Silence I say—I'll hear no more. Death hath
Been spoken. After that there 's but one word
Can follow. 'Tis revenge!
Take them away!
If love be scorn'd—then why should fury stay!

[Exeunt.