Stalking o'er thy highest dome, Remus claims his vengeance, Rome VII. Now they reach thee in their anger VIII. Yet once more, ye old Penates! 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! Rome be crush'd to one wide tomb, 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? We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword 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 Wounded Man. A drop of water! 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 No injury!-and make my father's house Arn. round her, and prepares to dash herself As dust can. down on the side of the Altar opposite to that where ARNOLD stands. 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 But not less pure (pure as it left me then, [OLIMPIA waves her hand to ARNOLD with Eternal God! I feel thee now! Help! help! 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. 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, She sits like a crest, With birds from their nest. Dim image of war! For a spear, 'gainst the Mammoth, As towers in our time, Chorus. They are happy, and we rejoice; Let their hearts have an echo from every voice! [Exeunt the Peasantry, singing. Stran. To mingle with the magic of the | Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone, And left no footstep? 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, Arn. The phantom's bald; my quest is Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus 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. 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, When love is not less in the eye than heart. [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. |