The Inflexible Captive Part 7

_Lic._ Because I _am_ a Roman, I aspired T' oppose th' inhuman rigour of thy fate.

_Reg._ No more, Licinius. How can he be call'd A Roman who would live in infamy?

Or how can she be Regulus's daughter Whose coward mind wants fort.i.tude and honour?

Unhappy children! now you make me _feel_ The burden of my chains: your feeble souls Have made me know I am indeed a slave.

[_Exit_ REGULUS.

_At._ Tell me, Licinius, and, oh! tell me truly, If thou believ'st, in all the round of time, There ever breath'd a maid so truly wretched?

To weep, to mourn a father's cruel fate-- To love him with soul-rending tenderness-- To know no peace by day or rest by night-- To bear a bleeding heart in this poor bosom, Which aches, and trembles but to think he suffers: This is my crime--in any other child 'Twould be a merit.

_Lic._ Oh! my best Attilia, Do not repent thee of the pious deed: It was a virtuous error. _That_ in _us_ Is a just duty, which the G.o.d-like soul Of Regulus would think a shameful weakness.

If the contempt of life in him be virtue, It were in us a crime to let him perish.

Perhaps at last he may consent to live: He then will thank us for our cares to save him: Let not his anger fright thee. Though our love Offend him now, yet, when his mighty soul Is reconcil'd to life, he will not chide us.

The sick man loathes, and with reluctance takes The remedy by which his health's restor'd.

_At._ Licinius! his reproaches wound my soul.

I cannot live and bear his indignation.

_Lic._ Would my Attilia rather lose her father Than, by offending him, preserve his life?

_At._ Ah! no. If he but live, I am contented.

_Lic._ Yes, he shall live, and we again be bless'd; Then dry thy tears, and let those lovely orbs Beam with their wonted l.u.s.tre on Licinius, Who lives but in the suns.h.i.+ne of thy smiles.

[_Exit_ LICINIUS.

_At._ (_alone_.) O Fortune, Fortune, thou capricious G.o.ddess!

Thy frowns and favours have alike no bounds: Unjust, or prodigal in each extreme.

When thou wouldst humble human vanity, By singling out a wretch to bear thy wrath, Thou crushest him with anguish to excess: If thou wouldst bless, thou mak'st the happiness Too poignant for his giddy sense to bear.---- Immortal G.o.ds, who rule the fates of men, Preserve my father! bless him, bless him, heav'n!

If your avenging thunderbolts _must_ fall, Strike _here_--this bosom will invite the blow, And _thank_ you for it: but in mercy spare, Oh! spare _his_ sacred, venerable head: Respect in _him_ an image of yourselves; And leave a world, who wants it, an example Of courage, wisdom, constancy and truth.

Yet if, Eternal Powers who rule this ball!

You have decreed that Regulus must fall; Teach me to yield to your divine command, And meekly bow to your correcting hand; Contented to resign, or pleas'd receive, What wisdom may withhold, or mercy give.

[_Exit_ ATTILIA.

ACT IV.

SCENE--_A Gallery in the Amba.s.sador's Palace._

_Reg._ (_alone._) Be calm, my soul! what strange emotions shake thee?

Emotions thou hast never felt till now.

Thou hast defied the dangers of the deep, Th' impetuous hurricane, the thunder's roar, And all the terrors of the various war; Yet, now thou tremblest, now thou stand'st dismay'd, With fearful expectation of thy fate.---- Yes--thou hast amplest reason for thy fears; For till this hour, so pregnant with events, Thy fame and glory never were at stake.

Soft--let me think--what is this thing call'd _glory_?

'Tis the soul's tyrant, that should be dethron'd, And learn subjection like her other pa.s.sions!

Ah! no! 'tis false: this is the coward's plea; The lazy language of refining vice.

That man was born in vain, whose wish to serve Is circ.u.mscrib'd within the wretched bounds Of _self_--a narrow, miserable sphere!

Glory exalts, enlarges, dignifies, Absorbs the selfish in the social claims, And renders man a blessing to mankind.-- It is this principle, this spark of deity, Rescues debas'd humanity from guilt, And elevates it by her strong excitements:-- It takes off sensibility from pain, From peril fear, plucks out the sting from death, Changes ferocious into gentle manners, And teaches men to imitate the G.o.ds.

It shows----but see, alas! where Publius comes.

Ah! he advances with a down-cast eye, And step irresolute----

_Enter_ PUBLIUS.

_Reg._ My Publius, welcome!

What tidings dost thou bring? what says the Senate?

Is yet my fate determin'd? quickly tell me.--

_Pub._ I cannot speak, and yet, alas! I must.

_Reg._ Tell me the whole.--

_Pub._ Would I were rather dumb!

_Reg._ Publius, no more delay:--I charge thee speak.

_Pub._ The Senate has decreed thou shalt depart.

_Reg._ Genius of Rome! thou hast at last prevail'd-- I thank the G.o.ds, I have not liv'd in vain!

Where is Hamilcar?--find him--let us go, For Regulus has nought to do in Rome; I have accomplished her important work, And must depart.

_Pub._ Ah, my unhappy father!

_Reg._ Unhappy, Publius! didst thou say unhappy?

Does he, does that bless'd man deserve this name, Who to his latest breath can serve his country?

_Pub._ Like thee, my father, I adore my country, Yet weep with anguish o'er thy cruel chains.

_Reg._ Dost thou not know that _life_'s a slavery?

The body is the chain that binds the soul; A yoke that every mortal must endure.

Wouldst thou lament--lament the general fate, The chain that nature gives, entail'd on all, Not these _I_ wear?

_Pub._ Forgive, forgive my sorrows: I know, alas! too well, those fell barbarians Intend thee instant death.

_Reg._ So shall my life And servitude together have an end.---- Publius, farewell; nay, do not follow me.--

_Pub._ Alas! my father, if thou ever lov'dst me, Refuse me not the mournful consolation To pay the last sad offices of duty I e'er can show thee.----

_Reg._ No!--thou canst fulfil Thy duty to thy father in a way More grateful to him: I must strait embark.

Be it meanwhile thy pious care to keep My lov'd Attilia from a sight, I fear, Would rend her gentle heart.--Her tears, my son, Would dim the glories of thy father's triumph.

Her sinking spirits are subdu'd by grief.

And should her sorrows pa.s.s the bounds of reason, Publius, have pity on her tender age, Compa.s.sionate the weakness of her s.e.x; We must not hope to find in _her_ soft soul The strong exertion of a manly courage.---- Support her fainting spirit, and instruct her, By thy example, how a Roman ought To bear misfortune. Oh, indulge her weakness!

And be to her the father she will lose.

I leave my daughter to thee--I do more---- I leave to thee the conduct of--thyself.

--Ah, Publius! I perceive thy courage fails-- I see the quivering lip, the starting tear:-- That lip, that tear calls down my mounting soul.

Resume thyself--Oh, do not blast my hope!

Yes--I'm compos'd--thou wilt not mock my age-- Thou _art_--thou art a _Roman_--and my son.

[_Exit_.