And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on:
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii !
Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made!
Through this the well-belovèd Brutus stabbed!
And, as he plucked his cursèd steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no!
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel;
Judge, O ye Gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all!
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood! - great Cæsar fell!
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us!
Oh, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops!
Kind souls! What! weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? - look you here!
Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors! —
Good friends! sweet friends! let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!
They that have done this deed are honorable!
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it: they are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him:
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
I tell you that which you yourselves do know,
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!
MARIUS AMIDST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.
CARTHAGE! I love thee! thou hast run,
As I, a warlike race;
And now thy Glory's radiant sun
Hath veiled in clouds his face ;
Thy days of pride - as mine-depart;
Thy gods desert thee, and thou art
A thing as nobly base
As he whose sullen footstep falls
To-night around thy crumbling walls.
And Rome hath heaped her woes and pains
Alike on me and thee;
And thou dost sit in servile chains, -
But mine they shall not be!
Though fiercely o'er this aged head
The wrath of angry Jove is shed,
Marius shall still be free,
Free, in the pride that scorns his foe,
And bares the head to meet the blow.
I wear not yet thy slavery's vest,
As desolate I roam;
And though the sword were at my breast,
The torches in my home,
My voice is weak in word and threat
My arm is strong to battle yet!
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. EXTRACTS.
THE Consul's brow was sad,
And the consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe:
"Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town?
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?
"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may:
I with two more to help me
Will keep the foe at bay.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?"
Then out spake Spurius Lartius
A Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee."
And out spake strong Herminius —
Of Titian blood was he :
"I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee."
"Horatius," quoth the consul,
"As thou sayest, so let it be."
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old.
Now while the three were tightening
Their harness on their backs,
The consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe;
And fathers, mixed with commons,
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold.
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