herself in her glory; the other, is growing in obscurity. But, little by little, air and place are needed by both for development. Rome begins to crowd Carthage; for long has Carthage pressed on Rome. Seated on the opposite shores of the Mediterranean, the two cities look one another in the eye. This sea no longer suffices to separate them. Europe and Africa are in the balance, weighing one against the other. Like two overcharged electric clouds, they approach too near each other. They are eager to mingle their lightnings. Here is the climax of this sublime drama.

this one,

4. What actors are before us! Two races, of merchants and sailors; that one, of farmers and soldiers; two peoples, one ruling by gold, one ruling by iron; two republics, one theocratic, one aristocratic; Rome and Carthage; Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet; Carthage, old, rich, and crafty; Rome, young, poor, and strong; the past and the future; the spirit of discovery and the spirit of conquest; the genius of travel and commerce, the demon of war and ambition; the east and the south on one side, the west and the north on the other; in short, two worlds, the civilization of Africa and the civilization of Europe.

5. Each takes full measure of the other. Their attitudes before the conflict are equally formidable. Rome, within the narrow confines of her world, gathers all her forces, all her tribes. Carthage, who holds in her power Spain, Armorica, and that Britain that the Romans believed to be at the end of the universe, is ready to board the European ship.

6. The battle-flames blaze forth. In coarse, strong lines, Rome copies the navy of her rival. The war at once breaks forth in the peninsula and the islands. Rome collides with Carthage in that Sicily where Greece and Egypt had already met, in that Spain where, later yet,

Europe and Africa met in contest, the east and the west, the south and north.

7. Little by little the combat thickens,

the world

takes fire. It is a hand to hand fight of Titans, who seize one another, and quit their hold only to seize each other again. They meet again, and are mutually repulsed. Carthage crosses the Alps; Rome passes the sea. The two nations, personified in their two leaders, Hannibal and Scipio, each grasping the other with fury, strive to end the conflict. It is a duel without quarter, a combat to the death. Rome reels; she utters the cry of anguish, "Hannibal at the gates!" ... But once again she rises, gathers her forces for a last blow, hurls herself on Carthage, and destroys her from the face of the earth. Victor Hugo.

CXXIII. SCENE FROM THE VESPERS OF PA

LERMO.

SCENE.

A VALLEY, WITH VINEYARDS AND COTTAGES.

Group of Peasants. - PROCIDA, disguised as a Pilgrim, among

them.

IRST PEASANT. Aye, this was wont to be a festal

FIRST

In days gone by! I can remember well

The old familiar melodies that rose,

At break of morn, from all our purple hills,

To welcome in the vintage.

Hath music seemed so sweet.

Never since

But the light hearts,

Which to those measures beat so joyously,

Are tamed to stillness now.
Of joy through all the land.

Second Peasant.

Of revelry within the palaces

There is no voice

Yes! there are sounds

And the fair castles of our ancient lords,
Where now the stranger banquets. Ye may hear
From thence the peals of song and laughter rise
At midnight's deepest hour.

Third Peasant.

Alas! we sat,

In happier days, so peacefully beneath
The olives and the vines our fathers reared,
Encircled by our children, whose quick steps
Flew by us in the dance! The time hath been
When peace was in the hamlet, wheresoe'er

The storm might gather. But this yoke of France
Falls on the peasant's neck as heavily

As on the crested chieftain's.

E'en to the earth.

Peasant's Child.

We are bowed

My father, tell me, when

Shall the gay song and dance again resound
Amid our chestnut woods, as in those days

Of which thou'rt wont to tell the joyous tale?

First Peasant. When there are light and reckless hearts,

once more,

In Sicily's green vales. Alas! my boy,
Men meet not to quaff the foaming bowl,

To hear the mirthful song, and cast aside

The weight of work-day care; they meet to speak
Of wrongs and sorrows, and to whisper thoughts
They dare not breathe aloud.

Procida (from the background). Aye, it is well
So to relieve th' o'erburdened heart, which pants
Beneath its weight of wrongs; but better far
In silence to avenge them!

Second Peasant.

Came with that startling tone?

First Peasant.

What deep voice

It was our guest's,

The stranger pilgrim, who hath sojourned here

Since yester-morn.

Good neighbors, mark him well :

He hath a stately bearing, and an eye

Whose glance looks through the heart. His mien accords

Ill with such vestments. How he folds around him

His pilgrim cloak, e'en as it were a robe

Of knightly ermine! That commanding step
Should have been used in courts and camps to move.
Mark him!

Second Peasant. Nay, rather, mark him not; the times
Are fearful, and they teach the boldest hearts

A cautious lesson. What should bring him here?
First Peasant. He spoke of vengeance!

Second Peasant. Peace! We are beset
By snares on every side; and we must learn
In silence and in patience to endure.

Talk not of vengeance; for the word is death.

Procida (coming forward indignantly). The word is death! And what hath life for thee,

That thou shouldst cling to it thus? Thou abject thing!
Whose very soul is molded to the yoke,

And stamped with servitude. What is it life,
Thus, at a breeze, to start, to school thy voice
Into low, fearful whispers, and to cast
Pale, jealous looks around thee, lest, e'en then,
Strangers should catch its echo? Is there aught
In this so precious, that thy furrowed cheek
Is blanched with terror at the passing thought
Of hazarding some few and evil days,

Which drag thus poorly on ?

Peasants.

Away, away!

Leave us; for there is danger in thy presence.

Procida. Why, what is danger? Are there deeper ills

Than those ye bear thus calmly? Ye have drained
The cup of bitterness, till naught remains

To fear or shrink from; therefore, be ye strong!
Power dwelleth with despair. Why start ye thus
At words which are but echoes of the thoughts
Locked in your secret souls? Full well I know
There is not one among you but hath nursed
Some proud, indignant feeling which doth make
One conflict of his life. I know thy wrongs,
And thine, and thine; but if within your breasts
There is no chord that vibrates to my voice,
Then, fare ye well!

First Peasant (coming forward). No, no! say on, say on!
There are still free and fiery hearts e'en here,

ye

Heaven

For all who suffer with indignant thoughts
Which work in silent strength. What! think
O'erlooks the oppressor, if he bear, awhile,
His crested head on high? I tell you, no!
The avenger will not sleep. It was an hour
Of triumph to the conqueror, when our king,
Our young brave Conradin, in life's fair morn,
On the red scaffold died. Yet not the less
Is Justice throned above; and her good time
Comes rushing on in storms; that royal blood
Hath lifted an accusing voice from earth,
And hath been heard. The traces of the past

Fade in man's heart, but ne'er doth Heaven forget.

First Peasant. Had we but arms and leaders, we are men

Who might earn vengeance yet; but, wanting these,

What wouldst thou have us do?

Procida.

Be vigilant !

And, when the signal wakes the land, arise!