Then to thine own great heart remit my plea, Val. Peace, you'll anger him Be silent and await! Oh, suffering mercy, Bru. Come hither, Collatinus. The deep wound Demanded more than fortitude to bear: I saw your agony-I felt your woe Collatinus. You more than felt it: you revenged it, too. Bru. But ah, my brother consul, your Lucretia Fell nobly, as a Roman spirit should. She fell a model of transcendant virtue. Col. My mind misgives. What dost thou aim at, Brutus? hope: That youth, my Titus, was my age's I loved him more than language can express: I thought him born to dignify the world. Col. My heart bleeds for you-he may yet be saved- I dare not trust my firmness in this crisis, Warring against every thing my soul holds dear! I ought not now to take a seat among them- Tit. A word for pity's sake. Before thy feet, If these will not appease a parent's heart, Strike through them all, and lodge thy vengeance here! Brutus will suffer as he may. Lictors, secure your prisoner. Point your axes To the Senate. On! [Exeunt all but Brutus. After a pause of restless agony,] Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around Oh, Rome, thou little knowest-no more. It comes. [Enter Valerius.] Val. My friend, the Senate hath to thee transferred The right of judgment on thy son's offense. Bru. To me? Val. To thee alone. Bru. What of the rest? Val. Their sentence is already passed: Even now, perhaps, the lictor's dreaded hand Cuts off their forfeit lives. Bru. Sayst thou the Senate have to me referred The fate of Titus ? Val. Such is their sovereign will. They think you merit this distinguished honor. A father's grief deserves to be revered : Rome will approve whatever you decree. Bru. And is his guilt established beyond doubt? Val. Too clearly. Bru. [With a burst of tears.] Oh, ye gods! ye gods! [Collecting himself.] Valerius! Val. What wouldst thou, noble Roman ? Bru. 'Tis said thou hast pulled down thine house, Valerius, The stately pile that with such cost was reared. Val. I have; but what doth Brutus thence infer? Bru. It was a goodly structure: I remember How fondly you surveyed its rising grandeur. Val. Yes, Brutus, I conceive The awful aim and drift of thy discourse- Bru. I am a Roman consul. What, my friend, Shall no one but Valerius love his country Dearer than house, or property, or children? Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola. [Exeunt.] SCENE 2.-Interior of a Temple. [Brutus seated on the tribunal.] Bru. Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day Hath been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire Against mature societies, may urge Their acts as bold and daring; and though villains, Yet they are manly villains-but to stab The cradled innocent, as these have done,— To freedom's infant throat,—is a deed so black, There is one criminal still left for judgment. Let him approach. [A pause.] [Enter Titus, guarded.] Pris-on-er-[The voice of Brutus falters, and is choked, and he exclaims, with violent emotion,] Romans! forgive this agony of grief— My heart is bursting-nature must have way— I will perform all that a Roman should I cannot feel less than a father ought: [He becomes more calm.] Well, Titus, speak-how is it with thee now? Tell me, my son, art thou prepared to die? Tit. Father! I call the powers of heaven to witness, Titus dares die, when you have so decreed. The gods will have me. Bru. They will, my Titus; Nor heaven, nor earth can have it otherwise. The violated genius of thy country Rears its sad head, and passes sentence on thee ! It seems as if thy fate were pre-ordained To fix the reeling spirits of the people, And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 'Tis fixed ;-oh, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee! So fixed thy death, that 'tis not in the power Of mortal man to save thee from the axe. Tit. The axe! Oh, heavens !-then must I fall so basely? What, shall I perish like a common felon? Bru. How else do traitors suffer? Nay, Titus, more: All, if the gods can hold me to my purpose,― Tit. Die like a felon ?-ha! a common felon !- This ignominy quite unmans me! Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! must I call you father, Bru. Think that I love thee by my present passion, I now submit with calmness to my fate. Come, take my life,—and give it to my country! Bru. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods Arm thee with patience in this awful hour. A crime thy father's bleeding heart forgives. Tit. Oh, Brutus! oh, my father! Farewell, forever. Bru. Forever. Lictors, attend!-conduct your prisoner forth! Val. [Rapidly and anxiously.] Whither ? [All the characters bending forward with great anxiety.] Bru. To death! [All start.] When you do reach the spot, My hand shall wave the signal for the act. Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done! [Titus is conducted out by the lictors.] Poor youth! thy pilgrimage is at an end! And I am childless.-One effort, and 'tis past Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free. [Waves his hand.] CCXIII.-THE YOUNG POETS. FRED AND HARRY. [Or, by altering a few words, KATE and LIZZIE.] Harry. Fred, have you written your composition? Fred. No, I can't write poetry, and the teacher says he will take nothing else, you know. Besides, I don't like the subject. I should as soon think of writing a poem upon an old apron, as upon Industry. H. There is not much room for imagination, but I'll tell you what, we can put our heads together, and write a poem between us. You know there's the Ant and the Sluggard, we can bring that in. F. Good, good, so we can. Well, now start us with the first line. H. No, you may do that. It is easier to begin, because I must match your rhyme, you know. F. Well, how will this do? "An ant upon an ant-hill sot." H. Sot, Fred, why a sot is a drunkard. F. Well, then, "An ant upon an ant-hill sat." H. That is a good line, but what in the world would an industrious ant be sitting on an ant-hill for? F. To rest herself, to be sure. Come, now match my line, will you. "An ant upon an ant-hill sot-sat." "I wonder what she can be at." |