aes. You mean I speak the truth. I'll lie - it is as easy: then you'll praise me For calling you a hero. Bourb. Philibert! Let him alone; he's brave, and ever has Been first, with that swart face and mountain shoulder, In field or storm, and patient in starvation; And for his tongue, the camp is full of licence, And the sharp stinging of a lively rogue Is, to my mind, far preferable to The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration Of a mere famished sullen grumbling slave, Whom nothing can convince save a full meal, And wine, and sleep, and a few Maravedis, With which he deems him rich. Caes. It would be well If the earth's princes asked no more. Bourb. Be silent! Caes. Aye, but not idle. Work yourself with words! You have few to speak. Phil. What means the audacious prater? Caes. To prate, like other prophets. Bourb. Philibert! Why will you vex him? Have we not enough To think on? Arnold! I will lead the attack To-morrow. Arn. I have heard as much, my Lord. Bourb. And you will follow? Arn. Since I must not lead. Bourb. 'Tis necessary for the further daring Of our too needy army, that their chief Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's First step. Caes. Upon its topmost, let us hope: So shall he have his full deserts. Bourb. The world's Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow. Through every change the seven-hilled city hath Retained her sway o'er nations, and the Caesars But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest, Still the world's masters! Civilised, barbarian, Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus Have been the circus of an Empire. Well! 'Twas their turn-now 'tis ours; and let us hope That we will fight as well, and rule much better. Caes. No doubt, the camp's the school of civic rights. What would you make of Rome? Bourb. That which it was. Caes. In Alaric's time? Bourb. No, slave! in the first Caesar's, Whose name you bear like other curs - Caes. And kings! 'Tis a great name for blood-hounds. Bourb. There's a demon In that fierce rattlesnake thy tongue. Wilt never Be serious? Caes. On the eve of battle, no; - That were not soldier-like. 'Tis for the general To be more pensive: we adventurers Must be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think? Our tutelar Deity, in a leader's shape, Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts! If the knaves take to thinking, you will have To crack those walls alone. Bourb. You may sneer, since 'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for 't. Caes. I thank you for the freedom; 'tis the only Pay I have taken in your Highness' service. Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself. Look on those towers; they hold my treasury: But, Philibert, we'll in to council. Arnold, We would request your presence. Arn. Prince! my service Is yours, as in the field. Bourb. In both we prize it, And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak. Caes. And mine? Bourb. To follow glory with the Bourbon. Good night! Arn. (to Caesar). Prepare our armour for the assault, And wait within my tent. [Exeunt Bourbon, Arnold, Philibert, etc. Caes. (solus). Within thy tent! Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence? Or that this crooked coffer, which contained Thy principle of life, is aught to me Except a mask? And these are men, forsooth! Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards! This is the consequence of giving matter The power of thought. It is a stubborn substance, And thinks chaotically, as it acts, Ever relapsing into its first elements. Well! I must play with these poor puppets: 'tis The Spirit's pastime in his idler hours. When I grow weary of it, I have business Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem Were made for them to look at. 'Twere a jest now To bring one down amongst them, and set fire Unto their anthill: how the pismires then Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing From tearing down each other's nests, pipe forth One universal orison! ha! ha! [Exit Caesar. PART II. Scene I. -Before the walls of Rome.-The Assault: the Army in motion, with ladders to scale the walls; Bourbon with a white scarf over his armour, foremost. Chorus of Spirits in the air. I. 'Tis the morn, but dim and dark. Whither flies the silent lark? Whither shrinks the clouded sun? Is the day indeed begun? Nature's eye is melancholy O'er the city high and holy: But without there is a din Should arouse the saints within, And revive the heroic ashes Round which yellow Tiber dashes. Oh, ye seven hills! awaken, Ere your very base be shaken! II. Hearken to the steady stamp! Mars is in their every tramp! Not a step is out of tune, As the tides obey the moon! On they march, though to self-slaughter, Regular as rolling water, Whose high-waves o'ersweep the border Of huge moles, but keep their order, Breaking only rank by rank. Hearken to the armour's clank! Look down o'er each frowning warrior, How he glares upon the barrier: Look on each step of each ladder, As the stripes that streak an adder. III. Look upon the bristling wall, Manned without an interval! Round and round, and tier on tier, Cannon's black mouth, shining spear, Lit match, bell-mouthed Musquetoon, Gaping to be murderous soon; All the warlike gear of old, Mixed with what we now behold, In this strife 'twixt old and new, Gather like a locusts' crew. Shade of Remus! 'tis a time Awful as thy brother's crime! Christians war against Christ's shrine:- Must its lot be like to thine? IV. Near-and near-and nearer still, As the Earthquake saps the hill, First with trembling, hollow motion, Like a scarce awakened ocean, Then with stronger shock and louder, Till the rocks are crushed to powder,- Onward sweeps the rolling host! Heroes of the immortal boast! Mighty Chiefs! eternal shadows! First flowers of the bloody meadows Which encompass Rome, the mother Of a people without brother! Will you sleep when nations' quarrels Plough the root up of your laurels? Ye who weep o'er Carthage burning, Weep not-strike! for Rome is mourning! V. Onward sweep the varied nations! Famine long hath dealt their rations. To the wall, with hate and hunger, Numerous as wolves, and stronger, On they sweep. Oh, glorious City! Must thou be a theme for pity? Fight, like your first sire, each Roman! Alaric was a gentle foeman, Matched with Bourbon's black banditti! Rouse thee, thou eternal City; Rouse thee! Rather give the torch With thine own hand to thy porch, Than behold such hosts pollute Your worst dwelling with their foot. VI. Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre! Ilion's children find no Hector; Priam's offspring loved their brother; Rome's great sire forgot his mother, When he slew his gallant twin, With inexpiable sin. See the giant shadow stride O'er the ramparts high and wide! When the first o'erleapt thy wall, Its foundation mourned thy fall. Now, though towering like a Babel, Who to stop his steps are able? 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 quenched hearts be Ates! 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 curbed 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 crushed to one wide tomb, But be still the Roman's Rome! [Bourbon, Arnold, Caesar, 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 moust. Now, boys! On! on! [A shot strikes him, and Bourbon falls. Caes. And off! Arn. Eternal powers! The host will be appalled,-but vengeance! vengeance! Bourb. 'Tis nothing-lend me your hand. [Bourbon takes Arnold by the hand, and rises; but as he puts his foot on the step, falls again. Arnold! I am sped. Conceal my fall-all will go well-conceal it! Fling my cloak o'er what will be dust anon; Let not the soldiers see it. Arn. You must be Removed; the aid of- Bourb. No, my gallant boy! 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. Caes. 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 Caesar). Villain, hold your peace! Caes. What, when a Christian dies? Shall I not offer A Christian "Vade in pace?" Arn. Silence! Oh! Those eyes are glazing which o'erlooked the world, And saw no equal. Bourb. Arnold, shouldst thou see France-But hark! hark! the assault grows warmer-Oh! For but an hour, a minute more of life, To die within the wall! Hence, Arnold, hence! You lose time-they will conquer Rome without thee. Arn. And without thee. 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. Caes. (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 ours! Caes. Good night, Lord Constable! thou wert a Man. [Caesar follows Arnold; they reach the battlement; Arnold and Caesar are struck down. Caes. A precious somerset! Is your countship injured? Arn. No. [Remounts the ladder. Caes. A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated! 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? The first bird of the covey! he has fallen [A man falls. On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow? Wounded Man. A drop of water! Caes. Blood's the only liquid Nearer than Tiber. Wounded Man. I have died for Rome. [Dies. Caes. 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! [Caesar mounts the ladder; the scene closes. Scene II. -The City.-Combats between the Besiegers and Besieged in the streets. Inhabitants flying in confusion. Enter Caesar. Caes. I cannot find my hero; he is mixed With the heroic crowd that now pursue The fugitives, or battle with the desperate. What have we here? A Cardinal or two That do not seem in love with martyrdom. How the old red-shanks scamper! Could they doff Their hose as they have doffed their hats, 'twould be A blessing, as a mark the less for plunder. But let them fly; the crimson kennels now Will not much stain their stockings, since the mire Is of the self-same purple hue. Enter a Party fighting-Arnold at the head of the Besiegers. He comes, Hand in hand with the mild twins-Gore and Glory. Holla! hold, Count! Arn. Away! they must not rally. Caes. I tell thee, be not rash; a golden bridge Is for a flying enemy. I gave thee A form of beauty, and an Exemption from some maladies of body, But not of mind, which is not mine to give. But though I gave the form of Thetis' son, I dipped thee not in Styx; and 'gainst a foe I would not warrant thy chivalric heart More than Pelides; heel; why, then, be cautious, And know thyself a mortal still. Arn. And who With aught of soul would combat if he were Invulnerable? That were pretty sport. Think'st thou I beat for hares when lions roar? [Arnold rushes into the combat. Caes. A precious sample of humanity! Well, his blood's up; and, if a little 's shed, 'Twill serve to curb his fever. [Arnold engages with a Roman, who retires towards a portico. Arn. Yield thee, slave! I promise quarter. Rom. That's soon said. Arn. And done- My word is known. Rom. So shall be my deeds. [They re-engage. Caesar comes forward. Caes. Why, Arnold! hold thine own: thou hast in hand A famous artisan, a cunning sculptor; Also a dealer in the sword and dagger. Not so, my musqueteer; 'twas he who slew The Bourbon from the wall. Arn. Aye, did he so? Then he hath carved his monument. Rom. I yet May live to carve your better's. Caes. Well said, my man of marble! Benvenuto, Thou hast some practice in both ways; and he Who slays Cellini will have worked as hard As e'er thou didst upon Carrara's blocks. [Arnold disarms and wounds Cellini, but slightly: the latter draws a pistol, and fires; then retires, and disappears through the portico. Caes. How farest thou? Thou hast a taste, methinks, Of red Bellona's banquet. Arn. (staggers). 'Tis a scratch. Lend me thy scarf. He shall not 'scape me thus. Caes. Where is it? Arn. In the shoulder, not the sword arm- And that 's enough. I am thirsty: would I had A helm of water! Caes. That's a liquid now In requisition, but by no means easiest To come at. Arn. And my thirst increases;-but I'll find a way to quench it. Caes. Or be quenched Thyself. Arn. The chance is even; we will throw The dice thereon. But I lose time in prating; Prithee be quick. [Caesar binds on the scarf. And what dost thou so idly? Why dost not strike? Caes. Your old philosophers Beheld mankind, as mere spectators of The Olympic games. When I behold a prize Worth wrestling for, I may be found a Milo. Arn. Aye, 'gainst an oak. Caes. A forest, when it suits me: I combat with a mass, or not at all. Meantime, pursue thy sport as I do mine; Which is just now to gaze, since all these labourers Will reap my harvest gratis. Arn. Thou art still A fiend! Caes. And thou-a man. Arn. Why, such I fain would show me. Caes. True-as men are. Arn. And what is that? Caes. Thou feelest and thou see'st. [Exit Arnold, joining in the combat which still continues between detached parties. The scene closes. Scene III. -St. Peter's-The interior of the Church-The Pope at the Altar-Priests, etc., crowding in confusion, and Citizens flying for refuge, pursued by Soldiery. Enter Caesar. A Spanish Soldier. Down with them, comrades, seize upon those lamps! Cleave yon bald-pated shaveling to the chine! His rosary 's of gold! Lutheran Soldier. Revenge! revenge! Plunder hereafter, but for vengeance now- Yonder stands Anti-Christ! Caes. (interposing). How now, schismatic? What wouldst thou? Luth. Sold. In the holy name of Christ, Destroy proud Anti-Christ. I am a Christian. Caes. Yea, a disciple that would make the founder Of your belief renounce it, could he see Such proselytes. Best stint thyself to plunder. Luth. Sold. I say he is the Devil. Caes. Hush! keep that secret, Lest he should recognise you for his own. Luth. Sold. Why would you save him? I repeat he is The Devil, or the Devil's vicar upon earth. Caes. And that's the reason: would you make a quarrel With your best friends? You had far best be quiet; His hour is not yet come. Luth. Sold. That shall be seen! [The Lutheran Soldier rushes forward: a shot strikes him from one of the Pope's Guards, and he falls at the foot of the Altar. Caes. (to the Lutheran). I told you so. Luth. Sold. And will you not avenge me? Caes. Not I! You know that "Vengeance is the Lord's:" You see he loves no interlopers. Luth. Sold. (dying). Oh! Had I but slain him, I had gone on high, Crowned with eternal glory! Heaven, forgive My feebleness of arm that reached him not, And take thy servant to thy mercy. 'Tis A glorious triumph still; proud Babylon 's No more; the Harlot of the Seven Hills Hath changed her scarlet raiment for sackcloth And ashes! [The Lutheran dies. Caes. Yes, thine own amidst the rest. Well done, old Babel! [The Guards defend themselves desperately, while the Pontiff escapes, by a private passage, to the Vatican and the Castle of St. Angelo. Caes. Ha! right nobly battled! Now, priest! now, soldier! the two great professions, Together by the ears and hearts! I have not Seen a more comic pantomime since Titus Took Jewry. But the Romans had the best then; Now they must take their turn. Soldiers. He hath escaped! Follow! Another Sold. They have barred the narrow passage up, And it is clogged with dead even to the door. Caes. I am glad he hath escaped: he may thank me for't In part. I would not have his bulls abolished- 'Twere worth one half our empire: his indulgences Demand some in return; no, no, he must not Fall;-and besides, his now escape may furnish A future miracle, in future proof Of his infallibility. [To the Spanish Soldiery. Well, cut-throats! What do you pause for? If you make not haste, There will not be a link of pious gold left. And you, too, Catholics! Would ye return From such a pilgrimage without a relic? The very Lutherans have more true devotion: See how they strip the shrines! Soldiers. By holy Peter! He speaks the truth; the heretics will bear The best away. Caes. And that were shame! Go to! Assist in their conversion. [The Soldiers disperse; many quit the Church, others enter. Caes. They are gone, And others come: so flows the wave on wave Of what these creatures call Eternity, Deeming themselves the breakers of the Ocean, While they are but its bubbles, ignorant That foam is their foundation. So, another! Enter Olimpia, flying from the pursuit-She springs upon the Altar. Sold. She's mine! Another Sold. (opposing the former). You lie, I tracked her first: and were she The Pope's niece, I'll not yield her. [They fight. 3d Sold. (advancing towards Olimpia). You may settle Your claims; I'll make mine good. Olimp. Infernal slave! You touch me not alive. 3d Sold. Alive or dead! Olimp. (embracing a massive crucifix). Respect your God! 3d Sold. Yes, when he shines in gold. Girl, you but grasp your dowry. [As he advances, Olimpia, with a strong and sudden effort, casts down the crucifix; it strikes the Soldier, who falls. 3d Sold. Oh, great God! Olimp. Ah! now you recognise him. 3d Sold. My brain 's crushed! Comrades, help, ho! All's darkness! [He dies. Other Soldiers (coming up). Slay her, although she had a thousand lives: She hath killed our comrade. Olimp. Welcome such a death! You have no life to give, which the worst slave Would take. Great God! through thy redeeming Son, And thy Son's Mother, now receive me as I would approach thee, worthy her, and him, and thee! Enter Arnold. Arn. What do I see? Accursed jackals! Forbear! Caes. (aside and laughing). Ha! ha! here 's equity! The dogs Have as much right as he. But to the issue! Soldiers. Count, she hath slain our comrade. Arn. With what weapon? Sold. The cross, beneath which he is crushed; behold him Lie there, more like a worm than man; she cast it Upon his head. Arn. Even so: there is a woman Worthy a brave man's liking. Were ye such, Ye would have honoured her. But get ye hence, And thank your meanness, other God you have none, For your existence. Had you touched a hair Of those dishevelled locks, I would have thinned Your ranks more than the enemy. Away! Ye jackals! gnaw the bones the lion leaves, But not even these till he permits. A Sold. (murmuring). The lion Might conquer for himself then. Arn. (cuts him down). Mutineer! Rebel in hell-you shall obey on earth! [The Soldiers assault Arnold. Arn. Come on! I'm glad on't! I will show you, slaves, How you should be commanded, and who led you First o'er the wall you were so shy to scale, Until I waved my banners from its height, As you are bold within it. [Arnold mows down the foremost; the rest throw down their arms. Soldiers. Mercy! mercy! Arn. Then learn to grant it. Have I taught you who Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements? Soldiers. We saw it, and we know it; yet forgive A moment's error in the heat of conquest- The conquest which you led to. Arn. Get you hence! Hence to your quarters! you will find them fixed In the Colonna palace. Olimp. (aside). In my father's House! Arn. (to the Soldiers). Leave your arms; ye have no further need Of such: the city 's rendered. And mark well You keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a stream As red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism. Soldiers (deposing their arms and departing). We obey! Arn. (to Olimpia). Lady, you are safe. Olimp. I should be so, Had I a knife even; but it matters not- Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble, Even at the altar foot, whence I look down Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed, 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 sacked my native land,- No injury!-and made my father's house A den of thieves! No injury!-this temple- Slippery with Roman and with holy gore! No injury! And now thou wouldst preserve me, To be-but that shall never be! [She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her, and prepares to dash herself down on the side of the Altar opposite to that where Arnold stands. Arn. Hold! hold! I swear. 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 redeemed infant) than the holy water The saints have sanctified! [Olimpia waves her hand to Arnold with disdain, and dashes herself on the pavement from the Altar. Arn. Eternal God! I feel thee now! Help! help! she's gone. Caes. (approaches). I am here. Arn. Thou! but oh, save her! Caes. (assisting him to raise Olimpia). She hath done it well! The leap was serious. Arn. Oh! she is lifeless! Caes. If She be so, I have nought to do with that: The resurrection is beyond me. Arn. Slave! Caes. Aye, slave or master, 'tis all one: methinks Good words, however, are as well at times. Arn. Words!-Canst thou aid her? Caes. I will try. A sprinkling Of that same holy water may be useful. [He brings some in his helmet from the font. Arn. 'Tis mixed with blood. Caes. There is no cleaner now In Rome. Arn. How pale! how beautiful! how lifeless! Alive or dead, thou Essence of all Beauty, I love but thee! Caes. Even so Achilles loved Penthesilea; with his form it seems You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one. Arn. She breathes! But no, 'twas nothing, or the last Faint flutter Life disputes with Death. Caes. She breathes. Arn. Thou say'st it? Then 'tis truth. Caes. You do me right- The Devil speaks truth much oftener than he's deemed: He hath an ignorant audience. Arn. (without attending to him). Yes! her heart beats. Alas! that the first beat of the only heart I ever wished to beat with mine should vibrate To an assassin's pulse. Caes. A sage reflection, But somewhat late i' the day. Where shall we bear her? I say she lives. Arn. And will she live? Caes. As much As dust can. Arn. Then she is dead! Caes. Bah! bah! You are so, And do not know it. She will come to life- Such as you think so, such as you now are; But we must work by human means. Arn. We will Convey her unto the Colonna palace, Where I have pitched my banner. Caes. Come then! raise her up! Arn. Softly! Caes. As softly as they bear the dead, Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting. Arn. But doth she live indeed? Caes. Nay, never fear! But, if you rue it after, blame not me. Arn. Let her but live! Caes. 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 employed in such; but you perceive How staunch 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 enamoured of her, as Of old the Angels of her earliest sex. Arn. Thou! Caes. I! But fear not. I'll not be your rival. Arn. Rival! Caes. I could be one right formidable; But since I slew the seven husbands of Tobias' future bride (and after all Was smoked out by some incense), I have laid Aside intrigue: 'tis rarely worth the trouble Of gaining, or-what is more difficult- Getting rid of your prize again; for there's The rub! at least to mortals. Arn. Prithee, peace! Softly! methinks her lips move, her eyes open! Caes. Like stars, no doubt; for that 's a metaphor For Lucifer and Venus. Arn. To the palace Colonna, as I told you! Caes. Oh! I know My way through Rome. Arn. Now onward, onward! Gently! [Exeunt, bearing Olimpia. The scene closes. PART III. Scene I. -A Castle in the Apennines, surrounded by a wild but smiling Country. Chorus of Peasants singing before the Gates. Chorus. I. The wars are over, The spring is come; The bride and her lover Have sought their home: They are happy, we rejoice; Let their hearts have an echo in every voice! II. The spring is come; the violet 's gone, The first-born child of the early sun: With us she is but a winter's flower, The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower, And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue To the youngest sky of the self-same hue. III. And when the spring comes with her host Of flowers, that flower beloved the most Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse Her heavenly odour and virgin hues. IV. Pluck the others, but still remember Their herald out of dim December- The morning star of all the flowers, The pledge of daylight's lengthened hours; Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget The virgin-virgin Violet. Enter Caesar. Caes. (singing). The wars are all over, Our swords are all idle, The steed bites the bridle, The casque 's on the wall. There 's rest for the rover; But his armour is rusty, And the veteran grows crusty, As he yawns in the hall. He drinks-but what 's drinking? A mere pause from thinking! No bugle awakes him with life-and-death call. 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. Caes. 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. FRAGMENT OF THE THIRD PART Chorus. When the merry bells are ringing, And the peasant girls are singing, And the early flowers are flinging Their odours in the air; And the honey bee is clinging To the buds; and birds are winging Their way, pair by pair: Then the earth looks free from trouble With the brightness of a bubble: Though I did not make it, I could breathe on and break it; But too much I scorn it, Or else I would mourn it, To see despots and slaves Playing o'er their own graves. Enter Count Arnold. Arnold. You are merry, Sir-what? singing too? Caesar. It is The land of Song-and Canticles you know Were once my avocation. Arn. Nothing moves you; You scoff even at your own calamity- And such calamity! how wert thou fallen Son of the Morning! and yet Lucifer Can smile. Caes. His shape can-would you have me weep, In the fair form I wear, to please you? Arn. Ah! Caes. You are grave-what have you on your spirit! Arn. Nothing. Caes. How mortals lie by instinct! If you ask A disappointed courtier-What's the matter? "Nothing"-an outshone Beauty what has made Her smooth brow crisp-"Oh, Nothing!"-a young heir When his Sire has recovered from the Gout, What ails him? "Nothing!" or a Monarch who Has heard the truth, and looks imperial on it- What clouds his royal aspect? "Nothing," "Nothing!" Nothing-eternal nothing-of these nothings All are a lie-for all to them are much! And they themselves alone the real "Nothings." Your present Nothing, too, is something to you- What is it? Arn. Know you not? Caes. I only know What I desire to know! and will not waste Omniscience upon phantoms. Out with it! If you seek aid from me-or else be silent. And eat your thoughts-till they breed snakes within you. Arn. Olimpia! Caes. I thought as much-go on. Arn. I thought she had loved me. Caes. Blessings on your Creed! What a good Christian you were found to be! But what cold Sceptic hath appalled your faith And transubstantiated to crumbs again The body of your Credence? Arn. No one-but- Each day-each hour-each minute shows me more And more she loves me not- Caes. Doth she rebel? Arn. No, she is calm, and meek, and silent with me, And coldly dutiful, and proudly patient- Endures my Love-not meets it. Caes. That seems strange. You are beautiful and brave! the first is much For passion-and the rest for Vanity. Arn. I saved her life, too; and her Father's life, And Father's house from ashes. Caes. These are nothing. You seek for Gratitude-the Philosopher's stone. Arn. And find it not. Caes. You cannot find what is not. But found would it content you? would you owe To thankfulness what you desire from Passion? No! No! you would be loved-what you call loved- Self-loved-loved for yourself-for neither health, Nor wealth, nor youth, nor power, nor rank, nor beauty- For these you may be stript of-but beloved As an abstraction-for-you know not what! These are the wishes of a moderate lover- And so you love. Arn. Ah! could I be beloved, Would I ask wherefore? Caes. Yes! and not believe The answer-You are jealous. Arn. And of whom? Caes. It may be of yourself, for Jealousy Is as a shadow of the Sun. The Orb Is mighty-as you mortals deem-and to Your little Universe seems universal; But, great as He appears, and is to you, The smallest cloud-the slightest vapour of Your humid earth enables you to look Upon a Sky which you revile as dull; Though your eyes dare not gaze on it when cloudless. Nothing can blind a mortal like to light. Now Love in you is as the Sun-a thing Beyond you-and your Jealousy 's of Earth- A cloud of your own raising. Arn. Not so always! There is a cause at times. Caes. Oh, yes! when atoms jostle, The System is in peril. But I speak Of things you know not. Well, to earth again! This precious thing of dust-this bright Olimpia- This marvellous Virgin, is a marble maid- An Idol, but a cold one to your heat Promethean, and unkindled by your torch. Arn. Slave! Caes. In the victor's Chariot, when Rome triumphed, There was a Slave of yore to tell him truth! You are a Conqueror-command your Slave. Arn. Teach me the way to win the woman's love. Caes. Leave her. Arn. Where that the path-I'd not pursue it. Caes. No doubt! for if you did, the remedy Would be for a disease already cured. Arn. All wretched as I am, I would not quit My unrequited love, for all that 's happy. Caes. You have possessed the woman-still possess. What need you more? Arn. To be myself possessed - To be her heart as she is mine.