Chapter II: Act II: Scene I--The House of Appius

_The curtain, rising, discovers a bondmaid in the center of a
spacious court, filling her pitcher at the fountain. It is
midday, and the light streams down from above, flooding the
entire space with radiance. The woman sings in an undertone, as
she turns to water the roses twined around the columns in the
background. Enter Marcus Claudius. He approaches the maiden,
leisurely._

_Marc._ Ah! pretty one! Fortune has favored me!
I enter in due time to proffer aid.

_Slave._ Nay, shame on thee, a man free-born, to thus
Address a bondmaid, when there is no need.

_Marc._ Thy humble mien is fitting, girl, but I
Am modest, and, thus far, will graciously
Demean myself.

_Slave._ Demean thyself, indeed!
I only mocked thee, fool; thy proffered aid
I scorn. Low-born plebeian, who art thou,
To set thyself above a child of kings?

_Marc._ (_angrily_). Ha! Have a care! Take heed! Thy saucy tongue
Eludes thee, mischief hungry. Fairest slave,
But for that very fairness which is thine,
I'd have thee lashed by him who favors me!

_Slave_ (_wheeling about in scorn_). Who shelters, who
supports, who uses thee,
And for his own vile ends! Lends thee his brains,
His power and knowledge for thy petty, sly
Returns. He, fierce and false; thou, mean and small;
He, merciless; thou, only Marcus' friend--
And both unscrupulous as Mercury.

_Marc._ (_furiously_). Thou art too scathing in thy judgment, damsel!

_Slave._ Nay, I am mild to what thou dost deserve.

_Marc._ How darest thou, a slave, to judge me so?

_Slave._ King Tarquin, called Superbus, or the Proud,
He was mine ancestor. And I, alone
Left of his line, in bondage languish. _Thou_,--
What canst thou boast of? Of the blood of plebs,
Yet lower e'en than they who gave thee birth;
Despised of all, for thou art neither slave,
Nor free; thou hangest slothlike on the skirts
Of mighty men, that they may represent
Thy cause--support, succor, and plead for thee,
In gratitude for thy poor services.
Avaunt! Fawner and client, touch me not!

[_She spurns him when he would approach her, and haughtily departs._

_Marc._ (_gazing after her_). Adieu, thou helpless
scorner, chained despiser,
Thy tongue hath sought to whip me sore--in vain.
A client knows not shame nor injured pride.
Nor is he haughty, for the blood of kings
Heats not his veins. So Marcus, too, is low,
Ready to stoop to aught, however base,
To gain his ends. But triumph over triumphs!
Marcus will issue forth the conqueror.
Flushed with his victory, while other men
Lie low and bite the dust because they clung
To honor! He, clean void of conscience, sucks
The sweets of life down to their sweetest dregs. [_Pauses._
Ha! who is that? My master hath returned!

[_Peers through a curtained doorway on the right. As he
retreats, Appius Claudius enters hurriedly. His toga is
disordered, his countenance aflame with wine and passion. He
throws himself heavily upon a couch._

_Appius._ Wine, fetch some wine! At once, with no delay!

_Marc._ (_aside_). And drunk as Bacchus at his wedding-feast!
(_Aloud._) Which kind, my lord?

_Appius._ Falernian! Mark ye, dilute it not!

_Marc._ (_aside_). I need no prophet's eyes to see his end.
To Bacchus I assign him with due care. [_Exit._

_Appius_ (_in hoarse undertone_). I looked but once,
and, looking, she was gone,
Leaving me reeling, drunk with loveliness.
I have imbibed deeply this day in wine,
Yet hath it less intoxicating power
Than hath a tremor of her lashes or
A flutter of her garments! I am struck,
And heavily! [_He groans and clasps his head with his hands._
Virginia! Elements
Are in thy name--tempest and burning flame!
My soul is tossed as though it were at sea,
My brain is floating on the vacant air,
My heart consumed in everlasting fire!

[_Enter Marcus, bearing a goblet and an amphora._

_Marc._ Thy rare Falernian.

_Appius._ Fill me the cup. [_Drinks._
Sweet solace and indulgence of the gods,
Unequaled nectar, give me satisfaction!
Better to me this pleasure than the sight
Of fair Elysium. Such ecstasy
As is the privilege and portion of
Souls freed from Hades and its rack and wheel
And snatched to Heaven, can no sweeter be
Than is mine ecstasy, when wafted on
The summer zephyr, comes this breath, divine,
Of nectar and ambrosia in one.
Virginia, to myself, to thee, to Love,
I drink! And now, my Marcus, sit thee down!
I would confer with thee.

_Marc._ (_seats himself_). What is thy will?

_Appius._ Marcus, this morn I made my way in state
Through Rome--and, in the market-place, beheld
A sight that hath undone me for this day.
My heart hath slipped its leash and now is set
Hard on the trail, not to be turned aside.

_Marc._ What vision hath the gods vouchsafed thee, then?

_Appius._'Twas more than vision, thanks to Vulcan be,
Who did create that mortal styled a woman,
At once a snare, at once a perfect boon;
At once a curse, at once a lasting blessing.
It was a maid, a lowly, mortal maid,
A maid of mean plebeian birth as well,
Yet beautiful as though she had arisen
From out the golden heart of some fair rose,
Or drowsy, dreamy, tempting, fresh and fair,
Had issued, shyly, from the troubled depths
Of rock-bound spring, a nymph but newly born,
And shrinking from the glances of the morn.
Virginia, child of one Virginius,
Centurion of courage and renown,
She burst upon me like a revelation
Unto a prophet. She is mine as sure
As are the stars possessions of the Night.
She'll have no will but mine, no choice but mine;
She'll yield her body unto me, until
I find the chance to win her heart and soul.
I'll hold her and I'll kiss her heart away;
I'll chain her soul to mine with links of gold.
But whether she shall ever love me true
I little care, so that her lips are mine.
So that I daily touch her hands and feel
Her dusky hair blow cloudlike 'gainst my cheek.
Marcus, thou art the man to work my weal,
By aiding me in this, mine enterprise.

_Marc._ What! Shall I play the game and thou receive
The winnings?

_Appius_ (_haughtily_). Ay, assuredly. O, pause,
And pausing, see thyself in honest light.
Thou art my client; thou to _me_ dost owe
Thy safety, standing, possibly thy life.
I know the law--I _made_, the law, the while
Thou canst not read a letter; as a pleb
Few rights are thine--those few I gave thy class
At the expense of the patrician favor.
Break with me, and thou'lt break thy fortunes, ope
Thy chest of troubles, like the silly maid
Who brought untold misfortunes on herself
And on the world. Assist me and thou'lt gain
My favor, keep my needful, strong protection.

_Marc._ Enough! I follow thee and will obey.

_Appius._ E'en to the letter?

_Marc._ To the letter, lord.

_Appius._ Then hearken. Choose some morning, soon or late,
And hasten to the market-place. The maid
Receiveth schooling there. When she appears,
Spring forward boldly, seize her by the arm,
(And yet be not too rude in thy demeanor);
When all the multitude around demand
An explanation, say to them that she
Was born of a slave-woman in thy house,
Ere thou a client had become. And add
That she had been in secret borne away,
And, by the wife of one Virginius,
Claimed as a child; her own at birth had died,
And he, Virginius, kept in ignorance,
Grossly deceived, believeth it his flesh
And blood. The tale is wild; no proof hast thou,
Nor witnesses; and yet it is enough
Seeing that I control the Romans as
The Fates control the lives of mortal men,
And need the barest shadow of excuse
To work my will--I, who am autocrat!
Assume a righteous air, if that doth lie
Within the limits of thy doubtful, rare
Accomplishments. When they protest, then say
"To Appius for justice I will go,"
And leave the rest to me.

_Marcus._ Ay, leave to thee
The cowing of the Roman mob, for that
Lieth within the limits of _thy_ rare,
Doubtful accomplishments. So let it be.
I'll serve thee well--will my returns be worthy
The peril of my venture?

_Appius._ Also leave
That matter unto me.

SCENE II--WOMEN'S APARTMENTS IN THE HOUSE OF VIRGINIUS.

_Style of ornaments and hangings very simple. Virginia, bending
over her nurse, who is seated in a chair, appears to have just
completed the arrangement of the latter's hair._

_Virg._ Nay, now, let be! 'Tis most becoming so.
What! would'st thou call't presumptious to assume
The style of headdress worn by noble ladies?
Foolish Camilla! Thou art nobler far
Than many score fine dames, however high
They hold their heads or wear their tresses--so!
Oh, 'tis entrancing! Stay, I have not done.

_Camilla_ (_groaning in mock despair_). Alack! was
ever nurse so harried by
A maid as silly and as sweet as thou!

_Virg._ No, never! for I'm sweet because I've kissed
Thy kind old cheek so oft and have imbibed
Therefrom the sweetness only found in thee.
And I am silly--I suppose, because
The gods have made me so. Now, turn about
Thy head. How white thy hair of late hath grown!

_Camilla._ Alack! mine age is on me!

_Virg._ (_passionately caressing her_). Nay, not so!
Or if 'tis so, I love each silver thread.
Kiss me, Camilla--but I must proceed
With this thy toilet. Now is it complete.
Oh, Jupiter! it is a work of art!
Sweet nurse, thou wilt amaze my father when
He catches sight of thee. [_Seizes a mirror._
Come, view thyself.
'Tis not ill-done, for I have marked the style.
Shake not thy head at me, I prithee now.
I only sport with thee. Look not so grave.

_Camilla._ Sweet one, because thou art so gay to-day,
I fear to-morrow thou wilt be in tears.
Excess of spirits bears excess of grief.
Thou'rt young and fair as Hero; but to her
Misfortune came and loss and heavy woe!

_Virg._ Now, thou remindest me of Wisdom's owl--
Croak not so somberly. Thou who art one
Whose heart is ever genial with mirth,
Wrong'st Nature to cast shadows over youth.

_Camilla_ (_drawing Virginia to her tenderly_). My little love,
I would not seem to sigh;
Ever have I despised a sorry face,
A gloomy or foreboding disposition.
Thou hast most aptly said that I to-day
Belie my character. Forgive! Forget!

_Virg._ (_pouting_). Forget, thou croaking raven of despair?
Thou dost expect too much. I may forgive,
But not forget. What ailest thee to-day?
Art thou not ill or weary with thy tasks?
We'll make thy labor lighter, and thy cares
As to the household now shall rest on me.

_Camilla._ Not so, sweet child. There is no need for that.
I am not ill nor weary, nay, nor sad,
But fearful and in dread of hidden woe.
What may the morrow bring to thee, my babe,
Or to thy father, or thy lover? What,
I can not see, but only feel and dread.

_Virg._ Camilla! Something surely ails thee now.
Oh! I am mystified and overcome
By thy prophetic words, thy drear address,
And I would probe thy meaning deeply, lest
A vision should have warned thee of a flood
Of coming tribulation. Gentle nurse,
Hast visited of late the oracle?
Speak! Speak to me! Speak to Virginia! Say!
Tell me, nor torture me upon the rack
Of fear and dread prolonged.

_Camilla_ (_slowly_). If it were aught
That I might put to thee or e'en myself
In syllables, I'd speak. But syllables
Are clumsy things. Words are inanimate,
Dull, helpless weapons, powerless unless
The thoughts are present skillfully to wield
The blades. Then cut and thrust they mightily,
Ready to wound, or e'en with menace kill.
I know not what I fear. I know not why
Nor wherefore. Has the gift of second-sight
Been by the gods this day on me bestowed? [_A pause._
I seem to see great sorrow brought about
By shameless wrong; I seem to see a cloud,
Laden with anguish which may soon descend
In burning drops on Rome, where'er I turn.
Who are the victims I can not discover,
But when I close mine eyes from out the black
That blinds them, lo! a knife like lightning sent
By Jove flashes upon me--and is gone!

_Virg._ (_sobbing_). Alas! My joy is fled and all is gloom.
Sure 'tis some peril scowling o'er my father.
Mayhap e'en now he lieth in the camp,
Struck down by men who envy him his fame!
Oh! horrid thought! most dread, most cruel thought!

_Camilla_ (_arousing herself with effort_). Nay, weep not, my
Virginia; I regret
Those vague emotions which are doubtless false
Deceiving dreams, sent me by Mercury,
Who oft delights in filling mortal minds
With gray forebodings, as thou art aware.
Quick! Kiss me, child, and dry those silly tears.
Lo! now methinks I hear thy father's step.

_Virg._ (_joyously_). Father! mine own dear father!

(_Voice of Virginius without._) Little one!
No welcome at the door?

[_Virginia runs to the curtained doorway, through which her
father enters, and flings her arms in tearful ecstasy around his
neck._

_Virginius._ What! tears, dear heart?

_Virg._ But smiles will clear them soon. I feared for thee--
Most foolishly, yet ne'ertheless, I feared.

_Virginius._ Most foolishly, indeed, my dark-haired Psyche,
Thou pure-embodied soul, my spirit's light.
Look up, dear child, and kiss thy father fond.
He's wearied and he needs his heart's restorer.

[_The two come forward, he in his shining armor, she nestling
birdlike in the shelter of his arm._

My daughter, I have seen Icilius.

_Virg._ Ah! Father!

_Virginius_ (_mockingly_). "Ah! Father!" Ay, I saw him. Me he held
Firmly, besieging me with queries, all
Concerning thee. How had Virginia fared
While he was absent?--the presumptious boy!
Couldst thou fare otherwise than well with me?
And then with eager eyes he questioned as
To thy remarks, thy thoughts concerning him,
Thy attitude to things in general.
Where did Virginia spend her days? In school?
Was she by chance affrighted at the state
Of Rome since he had left her? Like unto
A feverish flame, he reached on every side,
Hungry for news of his Virginia.

_Virg._ (_dreamily_). My Love! My Love! Mine own Icilius!
Oh! gentle gods, my happiness exceeds
My worth. But yet, amen! So let it be. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III--A GARDEN OVERGROWN WITH ROSES.

_Enter Virginia and Icilius. Twilight deepening into night._

_Icilius._ This is an eve of witchery, an hour
Alluring, swelled with love and weighted down
With dreams.

_Virg._ A time when all our best ideals
Are perfected. Reality is dead,
Deep-buried in her grave, and Heaven and Earth,
Swayed by the wand of sweet Imagination,
Languish beneath the velvet robes of Night.

_Icilius_. And 'tis a night more fair than when Dian
Cast lustre on the young, unwitting face
Of that deep-slumbering boy, Endymion.

_Virg._ Oh! happy boy! a goddess kissed thy hair,
Mused o'er thy brows, and sighed above thy lips.

_Icilius_. Thrice happy man, who treasures human love,
And humbly may accept that precious gift,
A mortal maiden's heart, nor sigh for more.
There is no more, nor anything so fair,
As such a dear possession. Happy he,
Who can, though but one instant, close and warm,
Hold woman's form, or kiss the starry light
Into her eyes, the blood into her cheeks!
And such a man, Virginia, am I.

_Virg._ (_shyly_). Not once in life, dear Love, but many times.

_Icilius._ Not once, not twice, not thrice, but many times.

_Virg._ What might lies in the warmth of kisses given!
Like wine they strengthen, quicken, stimulate,
Like flame they warm, like moonlight satisfy.
Like stars uplift above the common world.
Dear Love, I am a weak and fearful child
And need my wine, my flame, my moon and stars,
To fit me for the years that lie ahead.

_Icilius._ Thou lookest pale, in need of stimulant--

[_Kisses her._

Once more, sweetheart! Nay, wouldst thou draw away?

_Virg._ Not so. Mine ears deceived me, hearing sounds
Of stealthy listeners.

_Icilius._ Virginia,
Rest here upon this bed of roses. They
Are "red with anguish for Adonis' death,"
That mortal love of Venus. Dear, recline,
And let thy tresses, darker than the night,
In the breeze fluttering, caress my cheek,
Breathing thy love for me.

_Virg._ Icilius,
'Twas only yestereve I wandered here.
The sun was casting forth his fading beams
In final efforts most supreme; my thoughts
Were full of peace and thee. And in the light
Shed by the homing sun--the purple, red,
And gold--I dreamed fair dreams, imagined visions.
Methought I saw the coming years of bliss,
Deepened with sorrow, lined with simple care;
The sorrow of a mortal, and the care
Of wife and mother. Then, at once, arose
Longings that I might always worthy be,
As was Eurydice of Orpheus.
Never to falter, howsoe'er I feared,
Turn not, stay not, fail not; a woman in
My services and steadfast faith, as well
As my most passionate love. My thoughts are grave;
Perchance they do accord not with thy mood?

_Icilius._ Not so, thou spirit of sweet harmony,
My life and soul, my one bright guiding star.
Thy lover is a rude and careless man,
A Roman tribune, weighted with affairs,
Stern to my fellows, tender but to thee.
Yet when I look on thy beloved form
And perfect face, my sins are swept away,
As is the unclean wrack, upon the shore,
Swept by the ocean. Ay! and in its place
Are left pure pearls and shells and wonders such
As only dwell where man can never go--
Thy thoughts, Virginia, pure as virgin snow.

_Virg._ Last night I lay awake amid the dark,
Hearing the music of the fount without
My window; sharply, trebly sweet it broke
The heavy, voiceless gloom of slumbering
Nature and sleeping men. Awake, I dreamed
Of all the bliss the gentle gods have placed
Within my hold. Then, like a swelling sea,
High in my bosom rose the newborn love.
I thought of how it grew, so shy, so slow,
At first like faltering breeze that lightly stirs
And lifts the tiny feather o'er the heart
Of nesting bird, then gaming courage, grows
Into a gentle wind until the soul
Within leaps up, and mighty, strong, and free,
Soars on celestial wings above the raving sea.

[_A silence falls, during which a light begins to break in the
eastern sky._

_Icilius._ We have outsighed the day; the rising moon
Her benediction smiles upon this spot,
Where breathes and hopes and loves Virginia.

_Virg._ She signals faintly, from the brightening east,
To thee, my hero and my love.

_Icilius._ One kiss,
One kiss in honor of fair Cynthia.
May blessings come to thee with every ray
From yonder orb which rises o'er the hills
Of Rome and lights a glory in thy hair.
Elusive soul! this moment dost thou seem
A chaste, pale spirit of the lonely moon,
A white Diana of nocturnal glades,
Yet in the magic of the ardent sun
I've seen thee flame into an Aphrodite,
A glowing type of passion and desire.
My love, my full and perfected ideal,
My Helen and my delicate AEnone.
My nymph and my incomparable queen
In one. Come closer to my arms, beloved!
I would not lose in any sense or thought
A moment spent with thee, Virginia.

_Virg._ (_in his arms_). Closer, ay, closer, as the days go by,
Deeper and deeper, stronger and more strong,
Each in the other till we are not two,
A man and maid, but one, but one. Oh! say
How close I am to thee, Icilius?

_Icilius._ As close as vein to leaf, or leaf to stem;
As close as is the rose-flush in the heart
Of ocean's shell unto the shell itself;
Close as the star is to its atmosphere;
Wedded as day and night, no break, no void
Between, but only faintest change and lights,
Born of a higher world, a purer sphere,
Heaven-conceived, begotten of the sky.

[_The light visibly brightens, shining down upon the two. After
a silence they stir and slowly walk apart, watching the sky.
Icilius presently rejoins Virginia._

Love, thou art weary. Come within and sleep.

_Virg._ Nay, I could never weary in thy sight.
Have I not called thy kisses and embrace
My wine, my flame, my moonlight and my stars?
I am not weary. But I'll come within--
The morrow brings a fresh Elysium.

_Icilius._ Oh! but the night is fair; behold each rose,
How tenderly preserves and cups its dew,
Barely awakened, lifting up its head
And smiling at the moon. One kiss before
We go within. And now, farewell, thou rose;
Farewell, thou garden of nocturnal dreams
And noon-day musings. Come, Virginia,
Let us within.

SCENE IV--HOME OF CORNELIA.

_Apartment spacious and luxurious, with hangings of various
kinds. Cornelia, who is reclining in an arm chair, occupies the
center of the room; a female stands behind her in the act of
arranging her hair. On the left is a boy in rich patrician
dress, seated beside an oblong bath, engaged in sailing a tiny
fleet of vessels on the surface of the water. On the right are a
number of attendants, conversing in undertones._

_Cor._ Ah, gods! I am most sad and most aweary
Of this routine of state, unrestful splendor.
My lovers love not me but my possessions,
My friends are envious of my delights.
Wretched aristocrats! Unhappy we
Who call ourselves patricians, and who swear
Our race is blessed of the most blessed gods!
Say rather cursed, and with a heavy curse!
How can I give my heart to those who are
By _noble_ blood worthy and eligible,
After the Roman laws, to sue for it?
Eros with them is but an empty name;
Passion and lust and horrible ambition
Form the emotions of these "blessed" ones.
And I, unhappy, love with pure desire
Sicinius, a soldier and a pleb!
Yet hath the Ten forbidden intermarriage,
Just when those bars of difference were about
To fall away and Heaven ope for me. [_To the attendant._
Sufficient, Julia.

_Julia._ Nay, a few light touches
And thou wilt shine more fair, my lovely mistress,
Than heavenly Venus in her myrtle bower.

_Cor._ (_smilingly_). But I am dark as night; she as the day,
Thou foolish maid.

_Julia._ Believe me, thou in thy
Rich, languid charm would cast enchantment o'er
Adonis, as would keep him from the chase
Where Venus pled in vain.

_Cor._ Tut, flatterer!

_Julia_ (_slyly_). Methinks I'd make a model lover then
If I do flatter. Is't not so, sweet lady?

_Cor._ (_bitterly_). Lovers are mockeries in this blackened age.
A maid may wed the low-souled fool so long
As he's high-born! The man of noble mind
Is numbered, if a common, 'mongst the dead.

_Julia_ (_idly_). Methinks Sicinius comes here anon?

_Cor._ (_in displeasure_). What! Insolent! Who bade thee speak,
I pray?

_Julia_ (_softly_). Lady, mine eyes are clear and quick to see,
And thy heart's sentinels are slumbering.
I mean no insolence, by all the gods!
My motive only love and sympathy.
I, too, am a plebeian, and rejoice
To see thy gracious, noble condescension.
Yet in my joy I well could weep with pain,
Seeing the darkness of thy doubtful future.

_Cor._ Darkness! It is a void as empty as
My heart this day is full. Begone, I pray,
Each one of you; nay, thou, my Julia, stay
And bid the bards perform a soothing lay.

[_Exeunt maids. Sounds of a harp without in soft accompaniment._

_Cor._ Tiberius, come hither unto me.

[_The boy approaches her._

Now kiss me, child, and talk a space with me.

_Tib._ What melancholy broods upon thy brow,
Curves thy dear lips, and glooms within thine eyes?

_Cor._ Brother, thou art too young to comprehend.

_Tib._ Mayhap, for I am only twelve years old;
Yet I'm no dullard, sister, and I weep
Because I see thee sad. Methinks Sicinius
Would weep for thee as well.

_Cor._ (_starting in dismay_). Ye gods of love!
Does all Italia observe my heart,
Which I had deemed secure within my breast?
Or possibly (although the gods forbid!)
My maidens have been gossiping to thee?

_Tib._ (_disdainfully_). No, never; gossip reacheth not mine ears.
But oft I hear thee sigh and then, within
The selfsame breath, breathe forth a name I know;
A name all Romans know--Sicinius.
Ay, and I oft have heard thee sob, although
I fain had heard it not, since thou desirest
Thy grief held secret. Sister mine, how canst
Thou hope to wed a soldier and a pleb?

_Cor._ Alas! Alas! Mine own Tiberius!
No hope have I, and yet I love my strength
Away--my heart and soul are all aflame
With a wild conflagration. Boy, thou seemest
Inclined to comprehend my fierce emotions,
Bitter despair and strange besieging hope,
That scarce is conscious hope, but mocked and crushed
By the stern laws of Rome and tyranny
Of the false Ten, since ever it was born.
Thy bright brown eyes are luminous with soul;
Wise, gentle brother, dost thou weep for me?

_Tib._ (_sobbing passionately_). A curse upon those false and
dreadful Ten!
Cornelia, would that I might succor thee!

_Cor._ Most dear, my brother, weep no more for me;
The gods, who love true lovers, do despise
Tyrants and murderers, and sure will aid
Our cause if we be patient to the end.
Time is a greybeard, and he will not haste
At any whim, and Fate, a bigot stern,
Who acts according to his quick desire;
He preys on Innocence as well as Guilt,
And none can change the fashion of his ways. [_A pause._
Now, tell me, wast thou playing mariner,
But now, and was yon bath a mighty sea?

_Tib._ (_brightly_). I was AEneas, our great forefather,
And I was sailing from our ancient Troy.
Oft Juno dashed our ships against the rocks
In spite, because the Trojans she abhorred;
Yet, by a miracle, lo! I was saved.

_Cor._ And didst thou then encounter and escape
Scylla's dread arms, Charybdis' frightful jaws?

_Tib._ Ay, and therefrom lost I three goodly men--
Two oarsmen and my helmsman.

_Cor._ Cruel fate!
Perchance thou hast survived these perils, so
Thou mayst give comfort to thy troubled sister.
Methinks--but what familiar sound is that?
Surely his voice dismissing his attendant--
And now a knocking on the outer door!
The porter cometh nigh. Tiberius,
'Tis he! I dreamed not he could come this day!

_Tib._ Then I'll begone, sister; give me a kiss;
I'll seek thee later and relate my voyage. [_Exit._

_Cor._ Ah! gods! I feel as fluttered as a maid
Of the plebeians might. Thus do I share
The simple nature of his simple class,
Through my deep love for him. My haughty mien,
Patrician dignity, desert me when
Mine own beloved cometh unto me.

(_Voice of porter without._) Most gracious mistress,
I await thy pleasure,
To usher in a visitor to thee.

_Cor._ (_aside_). I must not seem too eager, comprehensive,
Lest e'en my faithful porter, noting it,
Let slip without my doors some foolish scandal. [_To porter._
Who is the visitor?

_Porter._ Sicinius.

_Cor._ Admit Sicinius into my presence. [_Enter Sicinius and porter._

(_Aside._) Dear Heaven! My Love! (_Aloud._) Thou Gaius, to thy post
Begone! And Julia, do thou too withdraw.

[_Exeunt the two. A silence falls. Cornelia remains seated, a
still form, most beautiful, endeavoring to calm her loving
passion, one hand upon her bosom and her eyes fixed on the face
of Sicinius, who stands motionless with admiration._

Sicinius!

_Sic._ What can I say, oh, God!
Thou art too fair, thou art too wondrous fair
For me to break the spell. Awake! Awake!
Dreamer I am not wont to be, save when
Thy beauty casts a web of visions o'er me.

_Cor._ My beauty paleth in the greater light,
O my Sicinius, of thy manhood's worth.
Awake, indeed, and greet me. I can face
Thy gaze no longer; art thou turned to stone?

_Sic._ (_advancing, with his arm outstretched in a sudden
warmth of passion_). I turn to stone only upon the day
When I can neither claim nor clasp my love.
Till then mine arms continue flesh and blood,
My lips as warm as thine; thou radiant Soul! (_Embracing her._)

_Cor._ Oh! stay a space! Is every curtain drawn?

_Sic._ I do not know, for thou hast dazzled quite
My goodly eyesight, and I only see
Cornelia here and there and everywhere.

_Cor._ Alas! I fear so greatly for our love;
Pray Heaven thou lose me not entirely!

_Sic._ Nay, rest thee, rest thee, tremble not, beloved.
The life of Appius will soon be spanned,
And a great wave of revolution shake
Rome's center; soon I drop a mighty pebble
On her dark surface, and the rings therefrom
Into a rush of water thence shall widen.

_Cor._ (_partly rising from her chair, her eyes alight_).
The Fates be thanked that now the foul stagnation
Of Rome, enslaved, is stirring into life;
And _thine_ the hand! Thou'rt worthy of the cause,
Thou patriot and model of a man!

_Sic._ Oh! but I love my city and my race!
Thank God that my stern duty lieth on
The selfsame path as love for thee, my sweet.
My conscience and my happiness alike
Demand that I should aim to liberate
Rome and the Romans from the yoke of men
Who are defiling and defiled--the Ten! [_Starts suddenly._
I came, that I might steal one glimpse of thee.
The sun is high--I may not tarry more.

_Cor._ So soon departing? Whither wouldst thou go?

_Sic._ Straight to the Forum--then unto the camp.
The movements of our foemen, the Sabines,
Are grave. Methinks I'll soon be called upon
To enter into active services.
Farewell, Cornelia! kiss me once again!
Sweet mistress, noble lady! fare thee well! [_Exit swiftly._

_Cor._ Gone! Gone! So swiftly, like an eager shaft
From Roman bow. Vanished, my gallant love!
Where shall I see him when he doth return
To me? May Mars attend and favor him,
And Victory with laurel wreath adorn
His earnest brows. Sicinius, farewell!