Stalking o'er thy highest dome, Remus claims his vengeance, Rome

VII.

Now they reach thee in their anger
Fire and smoke and hellish clangour
Are around thee, thou world's wonder
Death is in thy walls and under.
Now the meeting steel first clashes,
Downward then the ladder crashes,
With its iron load all gleaming,
Lying at its foot blaspheming!
Up again! for every warrior
Slain, another climbs the barrier.
Thicker grows the strife: thy ditches
Europe's mingling gore enriches.
Rome! although thy wall may perish,
Such manure thy fields will cherish,
Making gay the harvest-home;
But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome!--
Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish,
Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish !

VIII.

Yet once more, ye old Penates!
Let not your quench'd hearths be Ate's!
Yet again, ye shadowy heroes,
Yield not to these stranger Neros!
Though the son who slew his mother
Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother:
'Twas the Roman curb'd the Roman ;-
Brennus was a baffled foeman.
Yet again, ye saints and martyrs,
Rise! for yours are holier charters!
Mighty gods of temples falling,

Yet in ruin still appalling!

Mightier founders of those altars,

True and Christian, -strike the assaulters!

Tiber! Tiber! let thy torrent

Show even nature's self abhorrent!
Let each breathing heart dilated
Turn, as doth the lion baited!

Rome be crush'd to one wide tomb,
But be still the Roman's Rome!

BOURBON, ARNOLD, CESAR, and others, arrive at the foot of the wall. ARNOLD is about to plant his ladder.

Bourb. Hold, Arnold! I am first.

Arn.

Not so, my lord. Bourb. Hold, sir, I charge you! Follow! I am proud

Of such a follower, but will brook no leader. [BOURBON plants his ladder, and begins to

mount.

Death is upon me. But what is one life?
The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still.
Keep them yet ignorant that I am but clay,
Till they are conquerors-then do as you may.
Cæs. Would not your highness choose to kiss
the cross?

We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword
May serve instead:-it did the same for Bayard.
Bourb. Thou bitter slave! to name him at
this time:
But I deserve it.

Arn. [to CESAR]. Villain, hold your peace! Cæs. What, when a Christian dies? Shall I not offer

A Christian "Vade in pace?"

Arn. Silence! Oh! Those eyes are glazing which o'erlook'd the world,

And saw no equal.

Bourb.

Not so; I'll lead them still In spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe not That I have ceased to breathe. Away! and be Victorious.

Arn. But I must not leave thee thus. Bourb. You must-farewell-Up! up! the world is winning. [BOURBON dies. Cæs. [to ARNOLD]. Come, count, to business. Arn. True. I'll weep hereafter. [ARNOLD Covers BOURBON'S body with a mantle, mounts the ladder, crying

The Bourbon! Bourbon! On, boys! Rome is

And 'tis no boy's play. Now he strikes them down!

His hand is on the battlement- he grasps it
As though it were an altar; now his foot
Is on it, and-What have we here? a Roman?
[A man falls.
The first bird of the covey! he has fallen
On the outside of the nest. Why, how now,
fellow?

Wounded Man. A drop of water!
Blood's the only liquid

Cæs. Nearer than Tiber.

Wounded Man. I have died for Rome.

[Dies.

Cæs. And so did Bourbon, in another sense. Oh, these immortal men! and their great

motives!

But I must after my young charge. He is By this time i' the forum. Charge! charge! [CÆSAR mounts the ladder; the scene closes.

Even at the altar foot, whence I look down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dash'd,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man!
Arn. I wish to merit His forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
Olimp. No! Thou hast only sack'd my native
land,-

No injury!-and make my father's house
A den of thieves !-No injury !-this temple-
Slippery with Roman and holy gore!
No injury! And thou wouldst preserve me,
To be -but that shall never be !
[She raises her eyes to heaven, folds her robe

Arn.

I swear

Hold! hold!

Olimp. Spare thine already forfeit soul A perjury for which even hell would loathe thee I know thee.

Arn. No, thou know'st me not; I am not
Of these men, though-
Olimp.
I judge thee by thy mates;
It is for God to judge thee as thou art.
I see thee purple with the blood of Rome;
Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shalt have of me,
And here, upon the marble of this temple,
Where the baptismal font baptized me God's,
I offer him a blood less holy

But not less pure (pure as it left me then,
A redeem'd infant) than the holy water
The saints have sanctified!

[OLIMPIA waves her hand to ARNOLD with
disdain, and dashes herself on the pave-
ment from the Altar.
Arn.

Eternal God!
She's gone.
I am here.

I feel thee now! Help! help!
Cas. [approaches].
Arn. Thou! but oh, save her!

Arn.

Cæs.

And will she live?

As much

Then she is dead!

Bah! bah! You are so. She will come to life

And do not know it.
Such as you think so, such as you now are;
But we must work by human means.

We will

Arn. Convey her unto the Colonna palace, Where I have pitch'd my banner. Cæs. Arn. Softly! Cæs. As softly as they bear the dead, Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting. Arn. But doth she live indeed?

Come then! raise her up!

Cæs. Nay, never fear! But, if you rue it after, blame not me. Arn. Let her but live! Cæs.

The spirit of her life Is yet within her breast, and may revive. Count! count! I am your servant in all things, And this is a new office :-'tis not oft I am employ'd in such; but you perceive How stanch a friend is what you call a fiend. On earth you have often only fiends for friends: Now I desert not mine. Soft! bear her hence, The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit! I am almost enamour'd of her, as

Chorus.

But the hound bayeth loudly,
The boar's in the wood,
And the falcon longs proudly
To spring from her hood:
On the wrist of the noble

She sits like a crest,
And the air is in trouble

With birds from their nest.
Cæs. Oh! shadow of glory!

Dim image of war!
But the chase hath no story,
Her hero no star,
Since Nimrod, the founder
Of empire and chase,
Who made the woods wonder
And quake for their race.
When the lion was young,
In the pride of his might,
Then 'twas sport for the strong
To embrace him in fight;
To go forth, with a pine

For a spear, 'gainst the Mammoth,
Or strike through the ravine
At the foaming Behemoth ;
While man was in stature

As towers in our time,
The first-born of Nature,
And, like her, sublime?

Chorus.
But the wars are over,
The spring is come;
The bride and her lover
Have sought their home;

They are happy, and we rejoice;

Let their hearts have an echo from every voice! [Exeunt the Peasantry, singing.

waters,

And make the charm effective.

Arn. [holding out his wounded arm]. Take it all.

Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice

for this.

His, and all those who heir'd his very name.

Stran.

There you err.

His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame More than enough to track his memory; But for his shadow, 'tis no more than yours, Except a little longer and less crook'd I' the sun. Behold another!

[A second phantom passes. Arn. Who is he? Stran. He was the fairest and the bravest of Athenians. Look upon him well.

Arn.

He is

Arn. What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard

And manly aspect look like Hercules,

beauty. Could I

Inherit but his fame with his defects!

Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.

You see his aspect-choose it, or reject.
I can but promise you his form; his fame
Must be long sought and fought for.

Arn.

I will fight too, But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass; His aspect may be fair, but suits me not. Stran. Then you are far more difficult to

please

Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother,
Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age

When love is not less in the eye than heart.
But be it so! Shadow, pass on!

[The phantom of JULIUS CÆSAR disappears.

Arn.

And can

it

*This is a well-known German superstition -a gigantic shadow produced by reflection on the Brocken.