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Yet, wherefore hide salvation from a man
Who is so worthy of it?

(Granting again that such a one might be,)
Who hath but seen the element of fire

Cor. Why art thou agitated thus? What moves On household earth or woodman's smoky pile, thee?

Syl. And would'st thou really know it?
Cor. Dost thou doubt me?

I have an earnest, most intense desire.

Syl. Sent to thy heart, brave Roman, by a power
Which I may not resist. (Bowing his head.)
But go not with me now in open day.
At fall of eve, I'll meet thee in the suburb,
Close to the pleasure garden of Sulpicius;
Where in a bushy crevice of the rock
There is an entry to the catacombs,
Known but to few

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Syl. A dismal place, I own, but heed not that;
For there thou'lt learn what, to thy ardent mind,
Will make this world but as a thorny pass
To regions of delight; man's natural life
With all its varied turmoil of ambition,
But as the training of a wayward child
To manly excellence; yea, death itself
But as a painful birth to life unending.
The word eternal has not to thine ears,
As yet, its awful, ample sense convey❜d.
Cor. Something possesses thee.
Syl.
Yes, noble Maro;
But it is something which can ne'er possess
A mind that is not virtuous.-Let us part;
It is expedient now.-All good be with thee!
Cor. And good be with thee, also, valiant soldier!
Syl. (returning as he is about to go out.) At
close of day, and near the pleasure gar-
den,-

The garden of Sulpicius.

Cor. I know the spot, and will not fail to meet
thee.
[EXEUNT.

ACT II.

And looks at once, midst 'stounding thunder-peals,
On Jove's magnificence of lightning.—Pardon,
I pray you pardon me! I mean his lightning,
Who is the Jove of Jove, the great Jehovah.
Fath. (smiling.) Be not disturb'd, my son: the
lips will utter,

From lengthen'd habit, what the mind rejects.
Cor. These blessed hours which I have pass'd
with you

Have to my intellectual being given

New feelings and expansion, like to that
Which once I felt, on viewing by degrees

The wide development of nature's amplitude.
Fath. And how was that, my son?

Cor. I well remember it; even at this moment
Imagination sees it all again.

'Twas on a lofty mountain of Armenia,
O'er which I led by night my martial cohort,
To shun the fierce heat of a summer's day.
Close round us hung, the vapours of the night
Had form'd a woofy curtain, dim and pale,
Through which the waning moon did faintly mark
Its slender crescent.

Fath. Ay, the waned moon through midnight

vapours seen,

Fit emblem is of that retrenching light,
Dubious and dim, which to the earliest patriarchs
Was at the first vouchsafed; a moral guide,
Soon clouded and obscured to their descendants,
Who peopled far and wide, in scatter'd tribes,
The fertile earth.-But this is interruption.
Proceed, my son.

Cor.
Well, on the lofty summit
We halted, and the day's returning light
On this exalted station found us. Then
Our brighten'd curtain, wearing into shreds
And rifted masses, through its opening gave
Glimpse after glimpse of slow revealed beauty,
Which held th' arrested senses magic bound,

SCENE I. THE CATACOMBS, SHOWING LONG, LOW- In the intensity of charm'd attention.
ROOFED AISLES, IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS,
SUPPORTED BY THICK PILLARS OF THE ROUGH

UNHEWN ROCK, WITH RUDE TOMBS AND HEAPS
OF HUMAN BONES, AND THE WALLS IN MANY
PLACES LINED WITH HUMAN SKULLS.

Enter CORDENIUS MARO, speaking to a CHRISTIAN
FATHER, on whose arm he leans, and followed by
SYLVIUS.

Fath. From such an eminence, the opening

mist

Would to the eye reveal most beauteous visions.

Cor. First, far beneath us, woody peaks appear'd,
And knolls with cedars crested; then, beyond,
And lower still, the herdsmen's cluster'd dwellings,
With pasture slopes, and flocks just visible;
Then, further still, soft wavy wastes of forest,

Cor. One day and two bless'd nights, spent in In all the varied tints of sylvan verdure,

acquiring

Your heavenly lore, so powerful and sublime-
O! what an alter'd creature they have made me!
Fath. Yes, gentle son, I trust that thou art
alter'd.

Descending to the plain; then wide and boundless
The plain itself, with towns and cultured tracks,
And its fair river gleaming in the light,
With all its sweepy windings, seen and lost,
And seen again, till through the pale gray tint

Cor. I am, methinks, like one, who, with bent Of distant space, it seem'd a loosen'd cestus

back

And downward gaze-if such a one might be
Hath only known the boundless azure sky
By the strait circle of reflected beauty,
Seen in the watery gleam of some deep pit,
Till of a sudden roused, he stands erect,
And wondering looks aloft and all around
On the bright sunny firmament :-like one

From virgin's tunic blown; and still beyond,
The earth's extended vastness from the sight,
Wore like the boundless ocean.

My heart beat rapidly at the fair sight-
This ample earth, man's natural habitation.
But now, when to my mental eye reveal'd,
His moral destiny, so grand and noble,
Lies stretching on e'en to immensity,

It overwhelms me with a flood of thoughts,

Of happy thoughts.

Fath. Thanks be to God that thou dost feel it
so!

Cor. I am most thankful for the words of power
Which from thy gifted lips and sacred Scripture
I have received. What feelings they have raised!
O what a range of thought given to the mind!
And to the soul what loftiness of hope!
That future dreamy state of faint existence
Which poets have described and sages taught,
In which the brave and virtuous pined and droop'd
In useless indolence, changed for a state
Of social love, and joy, and active bliss,-
A state of brotherhood,—a state of virtue,
So grand, so purified ;-0, it is excellent!
My soul is roused within me at the sound,
Like some poor slave, who from a dungeon issues
To range with free-born men his native land.
Fath. Thou may'st, indeed, my son, redeem'd
from thraldom,

Become the high compeer of blessed spirits.
Cor. The high compeer of such !-These gushing
tears,

Nature's mysterious tears, will have their way.
Fath. To give thy heart relief.

Cor. And yet mysterious. Why do we weep
At contemplation of exalted virtue ?
Perhaps in token of the fallen state

In which we are, as thrilling sympathy
Strangely acknowledges some sight and sound,
Connected with a dear and distant home,
Albeit the memory hath that link forgotten:
A kind of latent sense of what we were
Or might have been; a deep, mysterious token.
Fath. Perhaps thou'rt right, my son; for e'en

the wicked

Will sometimes weep at lofty, generous deeds.
Some broken traces of our noble nature

Were yet preserved; therefore our great Creator
Still loved his work, and thought it worth redemp-
tion.

And therefore his bless'd Son, our generous master,
Did, as the elder brother of that race,

Whose form he took, lay down his life to save us.
But I have read thee, in our sacred Book,
His gentle words of love.

Cor. Thou hast thou hast! they're stirring in
my heart:

Each fibre of my body thrills in answer
To the high call.-

Fath. The spirit of power, my son, is dealing

with thee.

Cor. (after a pause.) One thing amazes me, yet

it is excellent.

Fath. And what amazes thee? Unbosom freely What passes in thy mind.

Cor. That this religion which dilates our thoughts

Of God supreme to an infinity

Of awful greatness, yet connects us with him,
As children, loved and cherish'd ;-
Adoring awe with tenderness united.

Syl. (eagerly.) Ay, brave Corden' us, that same
thought more moved

My rude, unletter'd mind than all the rest.

I struck my hand against my soldier's mail,
And cried, "This faith is worthy of a man!"
Cor. Our best philosophers have raised their
thoughts

To one great universal Lord of all,

Lord e'en of Jove himself and all the gods;
But who dost feel for that high, distant Essence
A warmer sentiment than deep submission?
But now, adoring love and grateful confidence
Cling to the infinity of power and goodness,
As the repentant child turns to his sire
With yearning looks that say, "Am I not thine ?"
I am too bold: I should be humbled first
In penitence and sorrow, for the stains
Of many a hateful vice and secret passion.
Fath. Check not the generous tenor of thy
thoughts:

O check it not! Love leads to penitence,
And is the noblest, surest path; whilst fear
Is dark and devious. To thy home return,
And let thy mind well weigh what thou hast heard.
If then thou feel'st within thee, faith assured
That faith, which may, even through devouring
flames,

Its passage hold to heaven, baptismal rites
Shall give thee entrance to a purer life;
Receive thee, as thy Saviour's valiant soldier,
For his high warfare arm'd.

Cor. I am resolved, and feel that in my heart
There lives that faith; baptize me ere we part.

Fath. So be it then. But yet that holy rite
Must be preferr'd; for lo! our brethren come,
Bearing the ashes of our honour'd saints,
Which must, with hymns of honour be received.

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Honour on earth, and bliss in heaven,
Be to your saintly valour given!

And we, who, left behind, pursue

A pilgrim's weary way

To realms of glorious day,

Shall rouse our fainting souls with thoughts of you.
Honour on earth, &c.

Your ashes mingled with the dust,

Shall yet be forms more fair

Than e'er breathed vital air,

When earth again gives up her precious trust.
Honour on earth, &c.

The trump of angels shall proclaim,

With tones far sent and sweet,
Which countless hosts repeat.

The generous martyr's never-fading name.

Honour on earth, and bliss in heaven,
Be to your saintly valour given!

Cor. (to Father.) And ye believe those, who a

few hours since

Were clothed in flesh and blood, and here, before us, 2 H

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And less of martial ardour were becoming

Cor. Come, lead me, father, to the holy fount, If I in humble penitence may be

From worldly vileness clear'd.

Fath. I gladly will, my son. The spirit of grace Is dealing with thy spirit: be received,

A ransom'd penitent, to the high fellowship

Of all the good and bless'd in earth and heaven! Enter a CONVERT.

Whence comest thou, Fearon? Why wert thou prevented

From joining in our last respectful homage

In those, whose humble Lord stretch'd forth his To those, who have so nobly for the truth

hand,

His saving hand, to e'en the meanest slave
Who bends beneath an earthly master's rod.
This faith is meet for all of human kind.

Cor. Forgive him, father: see, he stands reproved;

His heart is meek, though ardent ;
It is, indeed, a faith for all mankind.

Fath. We feel it such, my son, press'd as we are;
On every side beset with threatening terrors.
Look on these ghastly walls, these shapeless pillars,
These heaps of human bones,-this court of death;
E'en here, as in a temple, we adore

The Lord of life, and sing our song of hope,
That death has lost his sting, the grave his triumph.
Cor. O make me then the partner of your hopes!
(Taking the hand of Sylvius, and then of several
other Christians.)

Brave men! high destined souls! immortal beings!
The blessed faith and sense of what we are
Comes on my heart, like streams of beamy light
Pour'd from some opening cloud. O to conceive
What lies beyond the dim, dividing veil,
Of regions bright, of blest and glorious being !
Fath. Ay, when it is withdrawn, we shall behold
What heart hath ne'er conceived, nor tongue could

utter.

Cor. When but a boy, I've gazed upon the sky, With all its sparks of light, as a grand cope For the benighted world. But now my fancy Will greet each twinkling star, as the bright lamp Of some fair angel on his guardian watch. And think ye not, that from their lofty stations, Our future glorious home, our Father's house, May lie within the vast and boundless ken Of such seraphic powers?

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If they have seized on him, the righteous cause
Could not have suffer'd. Art thou sure of it?
We had not heard of his return from Syria.

Con. It is too true: he landed ten days since
On the Brundusian coast, and as he enter'd
The gates of Rome, was seized and dragg'd to
prison.

Fath. And we in utter ignorance of this!

Con. He travell'd late and unaccompanied, So this was done at nightfall and conceal'd. But see his writing, given me by a guard, Who has for pity's sake betray'd his trust: It is address'd to thee. (Giving him a paper.) Fath. (after reading it.) Alas, alas: it is a brief

account

Of his successful labours in the East;
For with his excellent gifts of eloquence,
Learning, and prudence, he has made more converts
Than all our zealous brotherhood besides.
What can we do? He will be sacrificed :
The church in him must bleed, if God so wills.
It is a dreadful blow.

Cor. (to the Convert.) I pray thee, in what prison is he kept?

Con. In Sylla's tower, that dwelling of despair.
Cor. Guarded by Romans?
Con.
Yes; and strongly guarded.
Cor. Yet, he shall be released.
Fath. (to Cordenius.) Beware, my son, of rash,
imprudent zeal:

Fath. Thy fancy soars on wide and buoyant The truth hath suffer'd much from this; beware;

wings;

Speak on, my son, I would not check thy ardour.
Cor. This solid earth is press'd beneath our feet,
But as a step from which to take our flight;
What boots it then, if rough or smooth it be,
Serving its end ?-Come, noble Sylvius!
We've been companions in the broil of battle,
Now be we fellow soldiers in that warfare
Which best becomes the brave.

Syl. Cordenius Maro, we shall be companions When this wide earth with all its fields of blood, Where war hath raged, and all its towers of

strength

Which have begirded been with iron hosts, Are shrunk to nothing, and the flaming sun Is in his course extinguish'd.

Risk not thyself: thy life is also precious.

Cor. My whole of life is precious; but this shred, This earthly portion of it, what is that, But as it is employ'd in holy acts ? Am I Christ's soldier at a poorer rate Than I have served an earthly master? No; I feel within my glowing breast a power Which says I am commission'd for this service. Give me thy blessing-thy baptismal blessing, And then God's spirit guide me! Serving God, I will not count the cost but to discharge it. Fath. His will direct thee then, my generous

son!

His blessing be upon thee! Lead him, Sylvius,
To the blest fount, where from his former sins
He shall by heavenly grace be purified. [EXEUNT.

SCENE II.-THE GARDEN OF SULPICIUS.

Enter SULPICIUS, and PORTIA, with flowers in her hand.

Por. Was it not well to rise with early morn
And pay my homage to sweet Flora? Never
Were flowers by midday cull'd so fair, so fragrant,
With blending streaky tints, so fresh and bright.
See; twinkling dew-drops lurk in every bell,
And on the fibred leaves stray far apart,
Like little rounded gems of silver sheen,
Whilst curling tendrils grasp with vigorous hold
The stem that bears them! All looks young and
fresh.

The very spider through his circled cage
Of wiry woof, amongst the buds suspended,
Scarce seems a loathly thing, but like the small
Imprison'd bird of some capricious nymph.
Is it not so, my father?

An ardent, strange desire, though mix'd with fear.
Nay, do not smile, my father: such fair sights
Were seen-were often seen in ancient days;
The poets tell us so.

But look, the Indian roses I have foster'd
Are in full bloom; and I must gather them!
[EXIT eagerly.

Sul. (alone.) Go, gentle creature, thou art care-
less yet:

Ah! could'st thou so remain, and still with me
Be as in years gone by!-It may not be;
Nor should I wish it all things have their season:
She may not now remain an old man's treasure.
With all her woman's beauty grown to blossom.
Enter ORCERES.

The Parthian prince at such an early hour?
Orc. And who considers hours, whose heart is
bent

Sul. Yes, morn and youth and freshness sweetly On what concerns a lover and a friend?

join,

And are the emblems of dear changeful days.

By night those beauteous things-
Por.
And what of night?
Why do you check your words? You are not sad?
Sul. No; Portia, only angry with myself
For crossing thy gay stream of youthful thoughts
With those of sullen age. Away with them!
What if those bright-leaved flowers, so soft and
silken,

Are gathered into dank and wrinkled folds
When evening chills them, or upon the earth
With broken stems and buds torn and dispersed,
Lie prostrate, of fair form and fragrance reft
When midnight winds pass o'er them; be it so!
All things but have their term.

In truth, my child, I'm glad that I indulged thee
By coming forth at such an early hour
To pay thy worship to so sweet a goddess,
Upon her yearly feast.

Por. I thank you, father! On her feast, 'tis said,
That she, from mortal eye conceal'd, vouchsafes
Her presence in such sweet and flowery spots:
And where due offerings on her shrine are laid,
Blesses all seeds and shoots, and things of promise.
Sul. How many places in one little day
She needs must visit then!

Por. But she moves swift as thought. The hasty

zephyr

That stirr'd each slender leaf, now as we enter'd,
And made a sudden sound, by stillness follow'd,
Might be the rustling of her passing robe.

Sul. A pleasing fancy, Portia, for the moment,
Yet wild as pleasing.

Por.

Wherefore call it wild?
Full many a time I've listen'd when alone
In such fair spots as this, and thought I heard
Sweet mingled voices uttering varied tones
Of question and reply, pass on the wind,
And heard soft steps upon the ground; and then
The notion of bright Venus or Diana,
Or goddess nymphs, would come so vividly
Into my mind, that I am almost certain
Their radiant forms were near me, though conceal'd
By subtle drapery of the ambient air.

And O, how I have long'd to look upon them;

Where is thy daughter?

Sul. Within yon flowery thicket, blithe and

careless;

For though she loves, 'tis with sweet, maiden fancy,
Which, not impatient, looks in cheering hope
To future years.
Orc.

Ay, 'tis a shelter'd passion,

A cradled love, by admiration foster'd:
A showy, toward nurse for babe so bashful.
Thus in the shell athwart whose snowy lining
Each changeful tint of the bright rainbow plays,
A little pearl is found, in secret value
Surpassing all the rest.

Sul.

But say'st thou nothing
What of Cordenius?

Of what I wish to hear?
Orc. By my good war-bow and its barbed shafts,
By the best war-horse archer e'er bestrode !
I'm still in ignorance: I have not seen him.
Sul. Thou hast not seen him! this is very
strange.

Orc. So it indeed appears.-My wayward friend
Has from his home been absent. Yesterday
There and elsewhere I sought, but found him not.
This morning by the dawn again I sought him,
Thinking to find him surely, and alone;
But his domestics, much amazed, have told me
He is not yet return'd.

Sul. Hush through yon thicket I perceive a

man.

Orc. Some thief or spy.
Sul.

Let us withdraw a while,
And mark his motions; he observes us not.

Enter CORDENIUS from a thicket in the back ground.
Cor. (after looking round him with delight.)
Sweet light of day, fair sky, and verdant
earth,

Enrich'd with every beauteous herb and flower,
And stately trees, that spread their boughs like
tents

For shade and shelter, how I hail ye now!
Ye are his works, who made such fair abodes
For happy innocence, yet, in the wreck
Of foul perversion, has not cast us off.

(Stooping to look at the flowers.) Ye little painted things, whose varied hues

Charm, even to wonderment; that mighty hand
Which dies the mountain's peak with rosy tints
Sent from the rising sun, and to the barb'd,
Destructive lightning gives its ruddy gleam,
Grand and terrific, thus adorns even you!
There is a father's full, unstinted love
Display'd o'er all, and thus on all I gaze
With the keen thrill of new-waked ecstasy.
What voice is that so near me and so sweet?
(Portia without, singing some notes of prelude,
and then a Song.)

SONG.

The lady in her early bower

Is blest as bee in morning flower;
The lady's eye is flashing bright,
Like water in the morning light;
The lady's song is sweet and loud,
Like skylark o'er the morning cloud;
The lady's smiles are smiles that pass
Like morning's breath o'er wavy grass.
She thinks of one, whose harness'd car
In triumph comes from distant war;
She thinks of one, whose martial state
Will darken Rome's imperial gate;
She thinks of one, with laurel crown'd,
Who shall with sweeter wreaths be bound.
Voice, eye, and smiles, in mingled play,
The lady's happy thoughts betray.

Cor. Her voice indeed, and this my favourite song!

It is that gentle creature, my sweet Portia
I call her mine, because she is the image
Which hath possess'd my fancy. Such vain

thoughts

Must now give place. I will not linger here.
This is the garden of Sulpicius;

How have I miss'd my path? She sings again.
(Sings without, as before.)
She wanders fitfully from lay to lay,
But all of them some air that I have praised
In happy hours gone by.

SONG.

The kind heart speaks with words so kindly sweet, That kindred hearts the catching tones repeat; And love, therewith his soft sigh gently blending, Makes pleasing harmony. Thus softly sending Its passing cheer across the stilly main, Whilst in the sounding water dips the oar, And glad response bursts from the nearing shore, Comes to our ears the home-bound seamen's strain, Who from the lofty deck, hail their own land again. Cor. O gentle, sweet, and cheerful! form'd to be Whate'er my heart could prize of treasured love! Dear as thou art, I will not linger here.

Re-enter SULPICIUS and ORCERES, breaking out upon him, and ORCERES catching hold of his robe as he is going off.

Orc. Ha! noble Maro, to a coward turn'd, Shunning a spot of danger!

Sul. Stay, Cordenius.

The fellest foe thou shalt contend with here,
Is her thou call'st so gentle. As for me,
I do not offer thee this hand more freely
Than I will grant all that may make thee happy,
If Portia has that power.

Cor. And dost thou mean, in very earnest mean,

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Had not the execution of those Christians—
(Pests of the earth, whom on one burning pile,
With all their kind, I would most gladly punish,)
Till now prevented me. Thy friend, Orceres—
Thou owest him thanks-plead for thee powerfully,
And had my leave. But dost thou listen to me?
Thy face wears many colours, and big drops
Burst from thy brow, whilst thy contracted lips
Quiver, like one in pain.

Orc. What sudden illness racks thee?
Cor. I may not tell you now: let me depart.
Sul. (holding him.) Thou art my promised son;
To know whate'er concerns thee,—pain or pleasure.
I have a right
Cor. And so thou hast, and I may not deceive

thee.

Take, take, Sulpicius.-O such withering words! The sinking, sickening heart and parched mouth! I cannot utter them.

Sul. Why in this agony of perturbation? Nay, strive not now to speak.

Cor. I must, I must!Take back thy proffer'd gift; all earth could give;

That which, it cannot give I must retain.

Sul. What words are these? If it were possible, I could believe thee touch'd with sorcery, The cursed art of those vile Nazarenes.

Where hast thou past the night? their haunts are

near

Orc. Nay, nay; repress thine anger; noble Maro May not be question'd thus.

Sul. He may, and shall. And yet I will not

urge him,

If he, with hand press'd on his breast, will say, That he detests those hateful Nazarenes.

Cor. No; though my life, and what is dearer far My Portia's love, depended on the words, I would not, and I durst not utter them.

Sul. I see it well: thou art insnared and blinded By their enchantments. Demoniac power Will drag thee to thy ruin. Cast it off; Defy it. Say thou wilt forbear all intercourse With this detested sect. Art thou a madman? Cor. If I am mad, that which possesses me Outvalues all philosophers e'er taught, Or poets e'er imagined.—Listen to me. Call ye these Christians vile, because they suffer All nature shrinks from, rather than deny What seems to them the truth? Call ye them sor

cerers,

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