A Roman virgin should be more than woman.
Are we not early taught to mock at pain,
And look on danger with undaunted eyes?
But what are dangers, what the ghastliest form
Of death itself? Oh, were I only bid
To rush into the Tiber's foaming wave,
Swoln with uncommon floods, or from the height
Of yon Tarpeian rock, whose giddy steep
Has turn'd me pale with horror at the sight,
I'd think the task were nothing! but to bear
These strange vicissitudes of tort'ring pain,
To fear, to doubt, and to despair as I do-

Valeria. And why despair? Have we so idly learn'd The noblest lessons of our infant days,

Our trust above? Does there not still remain
The wretch's last retreat, the gods, Horatia?
"Tis from their awful wills our evils spring,
And at their altars may we find relief.
Say, shall we thither?-Look not thus dejected,
But answer me. A confidence in them,
Ev'n in this crisis of our fate, will calm
Thy troubled soul, and fill thy breast with hope.
Horatia. Talk not of hope. What should I hope?
That Alba conquer?-Curs'd be ev'ry thought
Which looks that way!

Valeria. Forbear, forbear, Horatia;

Nor fright me with the thought. Rome cannot fall.
Think on the glorious battles she has fought;
Has she once fail'd, though oft expos'd to danger;
And has not her immortal founder promis'd
That she should rise the mistress of the world?
Horatia. And if Rome conquers, then Horatia dies.
Valeria. Why wilt thou form vain images of horror,
Industrious to be wretched? Is it then

Become impossible that Rome should triumph,
And Curiatius live? He must, he shall;

Protecting gods shall spread their shields around him,
And love shall combat in Horatia's cause.

Horatia. Think'st thou so meanly of him?-No, Va leria,

His soul's too great to give me such a trial;
Or could it ever come, I think, myself,
Thus lost in love, thus abject as I am,
I should despise the slave who dar'd survive
His country's ruin. Ye immortal powers!
I love his fame too well, his spotless honour,
At least I hope I do, to wish him mine
On any terms which he must blush to own.
Hor. [Without] What, ho! Vindicius.

Horatia. What means that shout?-Might we not ask,
Valeria?

Didst thou not wish me to the temple?-Come,
I will attend thee thither: the kind gods

Perhaps may ease this throbbing heart, and spread
At least a temporary calm within.

Valeria. Alas, Horatia, 'tis not to the temple
That thou wouldst fly; the shout alone alarms thee.
But do not thus anticipate thy fate;

Why shouldst thou learn each chance of varying war?
Stay but an hour perhaps, and thou shalt know
The whole at once-I'll send-I'll fly myself
To ease thy doubts, and bring thee news of joy.
Hor. [Without] What, ho? Vindicius!

Valeria. Hark! 'tis thy father's voice, he comes to
cheer thee.

Enter HORATIUS and VALERIUS.

Hor. [Entering] News from the camp, my child! Save you, sweet maid!

[Seeing Valeria,

Your brother brings the tidings, for, alas!

I am no warrior now; my useless age,
Far from the paths of honour loiters here
In sluggish inactivity at home.

Yet I remember

Horatia. You'll forgive us, sir,

If with impatience we expect the tidings.

Hor. I had forgot; the thoughts of what I was Engross'd my whole attention.-Pray, young soldier, Relate it for me; you beheld the scene,

And can report it justly.

SC

Val. Gentle lady,

The scene was piteous, though its end be peace.

Horatia. Peace? O my flutt'ring heart! by what kind means?

Val. "Twere tedious, lady, and unnecessary

To paint the disposition of the field;

Suffice it, we were arm'd, and front to front
The adverse legions heard the trumpet's sound:
But vain was the alarm, for motionless,

And wrapt in thought they stood; the kindred ranks
Had caught each other's eyes, nor dar'd to lift
The falt'ring spear against the breast they lov'd.
Again th' alarm was given, and now they seem'd
Preparing to engage, when once again

They hung their drooping heads, and inward mourn'd;
Then nearer drew, and at the third alarm,
Casting their swords and useless shields aside,
Rush'd to each other's arms.

Hor. "Twas so, just so

(Though I was then a child, yet I have heard
My mother weeping oft relate the story);
Soft pity touch'd the breasts of mighty chiefs,
Romans and Sabines, when the matrons rush'd
Between their meeting armies, and oppos'd
Their helpless infants, and their heaving breasts
To their advancing swords, and bade them there
Sheath all their vengeance-But I interrupt you-
Proceed, Valerius, they would hear th' event.
And yet, methinks the Albans-pray go on.
Val. Our king Hostilius from a rising mound
Beheld the tender interview, and join'd

His friendly tears with theirs; then swift advanc'd,
Ev'n to the thickest press, and cried, my friends,
If thus we love, why are we enemies?
Shall stern ambition, rivalship of power,
Subdue the soft humanity within us?
Are we not join'd by every tie of kindred?
And can we find no method to compose
These jars of honour, these nice principles
Of virtue, which infest the noblest mind?

Hor. There spoke his country's father! this transcends The flight of earth-born kings, whose low ambition But tends to lay the face of nature waste, And blast creation!-How was it receiv'd?

Val. As he himself could wish, with eager transport.
In short, the Roman and the Alban chiefs
In council have determin'd, that since glory
Must have her victims, and each rival state,
Aspiring to dominion, scorns to yield,

From either army shall be chose three champions
To fight the cause alone, and whate'er state
Shall prove superior, their acknowledg'd power
Shall fix th' imperial seat, and both unite

Beneath one common head.

Horatia. Kind heaven, I thank thee!

Bless'd be the friendly grief that touch'd their souls! And bless'd the tongue

Which brings the gentle tidings!

Valeria. Now, Horatia,

Your idle fears are o'er.

Horatia. Yet one remains.

Who are the champions? Are they yet elected?
Has Rome-

Val. The Roman chiefs now meet in council,
And ask the presence of the sage Horatius.

Hor. [After having seemed some time in thought] Bul still, methinks, I like not this, to trust

The Roman cause to such a slender hazard-
Three combatants!- -'tis dangerous-
Horatia. [In a fright] My father!
Hor. I might, perhaps, prevent it-
Horatia. Do not, sir,
Oppose the kind decree.

Val. Rest satisfied,

Sweet lady, 'tis so solemnly agreed to,

Not even Horatius's advice can shake it.

Hor. And yet 'twere well to end these civil broils: The neighb'ring states might take advantage of them. -Would I were young again! How glorious Were death in such a cause!--And yet, who knows,

Some of my boys may be selected for it-
Perhaps may conquer-Grant me that, kind gods,
And close my eyes in transports!-Come, Valerius,
I'll but dispatch some necessary orders,

And straight attend them- -Daughter, if thou lov'st Thy brothers, let thy prayers be pour'd to heav'n, That one at least may share the glorious task!

[Exit. Val. Rome cannot trust her cause to worthier hands. They bade me greet you, lady. [To Horatia. Horatia. [With some hesitation] My brothers, gentle sir, you said were well.

Saw you their noble friends, the Curiatii?
The truce, perhaps, permitted it.

Val. Yes, lady,

I left them jocund in your brothers' tent,

Like friends, whom envious storms awhile had parted, Joying to meet again.

Horatia. Sent they no message?

Val. None, fair one, but such general salutation As friends would bring unbid.

Horatia. Said Caius nothing?

Val. Caius?

Horatia. Ay, Caius; did he mention me?

Val. "Twas slightly, if he did; and 'scapes me nowO yes, I do remember, when your brother

Ask'd him, in jest, if he had aught to send,

To sooth a love-sick maid (your pardon, lady),
He smil'd, and cried, glory's the soldier's mistress.
Horatia. Sir, you'll excuse me-something of im-
portance

My father may have business

-Oh, Valeria! [Aside to Valeria. Talk to thy brother, know the fatal truth I dread to hear, and let me learn to die, If Curiatius has indeed forgot me. Val. She seems disorder'd!

Valeria. Had she not cause?

Can you administer the baneful potion,
And wonder at the effect?

Val. You talk in riddles!

[Exit.