Nor did the first, till 'twas too late, perceive Horatius. He took them singly then? An easy con- quest; 'Twas boy's play only, Valerius. Never did, I see Such universal joy, as when the last Sunk on the ground beneath Horatius' sword; And would have given him life, but Caius scorn'd it. Horatius, Peace, I charge thee. Go, dress thy face in smiles, and bid thy friend worth To her whose merit was before unequall'd. Horatius. How could I doubt his virtue !-Mighty gods! This is true glory, to preserve his country, "Methinks already I behold his triumph. "Rome gazes on him like a second founder; "The wond'ring eye of childhood views with awe F "The new divinity; and trembling age "Crowds eager on to bless him ere it dies! "Ere long, perhaps, they will raise altars to him, Where is he? Let me fly, and at his feet Valerius. "You may soon, my lord, "In his embraces lose the fond remembrance "Of your mistaken rage." The king, ere this, Has from the field dispatch'd him; "he but staid "Till he could send him home with some slight ho nours "Of scatter'd wreaths, and grateful songs of praise. "For till to-morrow he postpones the pomp "Of solemn thanks, and sacrifice to Heaven "For liberty restor'd." But hark! that shout Which sounds from far, and seems the mingled voice Of thousands, speaks him onward on his way. Horatius. How my heart dances —Yet I blush to meet him. But I will on. Come, come, Horatia; leave [Calling at the door. Thy sorrow far behind, and let us fly With open arms to greet our common glory. [Exit. Enter HORATIA and VALERIA. Horatia. Yes, I will go; this father's hard command Shall be obey'd; and I will meet the conqueror, But not in smiles. Valerius. Oh, go not, gentle lady! Might I advise Valeria. Your griefs are yet too fresh, And may offend him. Do not, my Horatia. Valerius. Indeed 'twere better to avoid his presence; It will revive your sorrows, and recall Horatia. Sir, when I saw you last I was a woman, The fool of nature, a fond prey to grief, Made up of sighs and tears. But now my soul Disdains the very thought of what I was; 'Tis grown too callous to be mov'd with toys. Observe me well; am I not nobly chang'd? From my sad eyes, or heaves my breast one groan? No: for I doubt no longer. 'Tis not grief, 'Tis resolution now, and fix'd despair. Valeria. My dear Horatia, you strike terrors thro' me; What dreadful purpose hast thou form'd? Oh, speak! Valerius. "Talk gently to her."-Hear me yet, sweet lady. You must not go; whatever you resolve, There is a sight will pierce you to the soul. Horatia. What sight? Valerius. Alas, I should be glad to hide it; But it is Horatia. What? Valerius. Your brother wears in triumph The very scarf I bore to Curiatius. Horatia. [Wildly.] Ye gods, I thank ye! 'tis with joy I hear it. If I should falter now, that sight would rouse My drooping rage, and swell the tempest louder. Valerius. She softens now. Valeria. How do you, my Horatia? [She sits down. Horatia. Alas, my friend, 'tis madness which I utter Since you persuade me then, I will not go. Valerius. [To Valeria.] "Twere well to humour this. But may she not, If left alone, do outrage on herself. Valeria. I have prevented that; she has not near her One instrument of death. Valerius. Retire we then. "But, Oh, not far, for now I feel my soul "Still more perplex'd with love. leria, Who knows, Va "But when this storm of grief has blown its fill, "She may glow calm, and listen to my vows." [Exeunt Valerius and Valeria. After a short Silence, HORATIA rises, and comes forward. Horatia. Yes, they are gone; and now be firm, my soul ! This way I can elude their search. The heart, I could have driven him from my breast for ever. -They were not wrongs; 'twas virtue which undid us, And virtue shall unite us in the grave. I heard them say, as they departed hence, That they had robb'd me of all means of death. Vain thought they knew not half Horatia's purpose. Be resolute, my brother; let no weak Unmanly fondness mingle with thy virtue, And I will touch thee nearly. Oh, come on, 'Tis thou alone canst give Horatia peace. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. A Street of Rome. Chorus of Youths and Virgins singing and scattering Branches of Oak, Flowers, &c. Then enters HORATIUS, leaning on the Arm of PUBLIUS HORATIUS. CHORUS. THUS, for freedom nobly won, Rome her hasty tribute pours; And on one victorious son Half exhausts her blooming stores. |