Miriam. For me, I bear my own dear mother's Her eye, her form, her very voice are mine. [brow; So, in his tears, my father oft hath said.

We lived beneath Judea's shady palms
Until that saintlike mother faded, droop'd,
And died. Then hither came we o'er the waves,
And till this night have worshipp'd faithfully
The one, true, living God, in secret peace.

Piso. Thou art her child! I could not harm thee
Oh, wonderful! that things so long forgot― [now.
A love I thought so crush'd and trodden down,
Ev'n by the iron tread of passion wild-
Ambition, pride, and, worst of all, revenge—
Revenge, that hath shed seas of Christian blood!
To think this heart was once so waxen soft,
And then congeal'd so hard, that naught of all
Which hath been since could ever have the pow'r
To wear away the image of that girl-

That fair young Christian girl! "Twas a wild love!
But I was young, a soldier in strange lands,
And she, in very gentleness, said nay
So timidly, I hoped-until, ye gods!

She loved another! Yet I slew him not!
I fled! Oh, had I met him since !

Euphas.

The hours wear on.

Piso.

Sister!

Ye shall go forth in joy—
And take with you yon pris'ners. Send my son,
Him whom she did not bear-home to these arms,
And go ye out of Rome with all your train.
I will shed blood no more; for I have known
What sort of peace deep-glutted vengeance brings.
My son is brave, but of a gentler mind

Than I have been. His eyes shall never more
Be grieved with sight of sinless blood pour'd forth
From tortured veins. Go forth, ye gentle two!
Children of her who might perhaps have pour'd
Her own meek spirit o'er my nature stern,
Since the bare image of her buried charms,

Soft gleaming from your youthful brows, hath pow'r
To stir my spirit thus! But go ye forth!
Ye leave an alter'd and a milder man
Than him ye sought. Tell Paulus this,
To quicken his young steps.

Miriam.
Now may the peace
That follows just and worthy deeds be thine!
And may deep truths be born, mid thy remorse,
In the recesses of thy soul, to make

That soul ev'n yet a shrine of holiness.

Euphas. Piso! how shall we pass yon steelclad Keeping stern vigil round the dungeon gate? [men, Piso. Take ye my well-known ring-and herethe list

Ay, this is it, methinks: show these-Great gods! Euphas. What is there on yon scroll which shakes him thus ?

Miriam. A name, at which he points with stiff'ning And eyeballs full of wrath! Alas! alas! [hand, I guess too well. My brother, droop thou not. Piso. Your father, did ye say? Was it his life Ye came to beg?

Miriam.
The life so dear to us; for he hath friends
Sharing his fetters and his final doom.

His life but not alone

Piso. Little reck I of them. Tell me his name!

Speak, boy! or I will tear thee piecemeal!

Miriam.

[A pause.

Stay!

Stern son of violence! the name thou askest
Is-Thraseno!

Piso.

Did I not know it, girl?

Now, by the gods! had I not been entranced,
I sooner had conjectured this. Foul name!
Thus do I tear thee out-and even thus

Rend with my teeth. Oh rage! she wedded him,
And ever since that hated name hath been

The voice of serpents in mine ear!
But now-
Why go ye not? Here is your list!
D D

and all,

Ay, every one whose name is here set down,
Will my good guard release to you!

Miriam.

Piso!

In mercy mock us not! children of her
Whom thou didst love-

Piso.

Whom I do hate!

Its music hush'd! Is she not in her grave,

Ay, maid! but ye are his

That chord is broken now

Where is thy peace,

Fled all; a moonbeam brief

And he within my grasp?

Miriam.

Thy penitence?

Piso.

Upon a stormy sea. That magic name

Hath roused the wild, loud winds again. Begone!

Save whom ye may.

Miriam.

Piso! I go not hence

Until my father's name be on this scroll.

Piso. Take root, then, where thou art! for, by dark I swear

Miriam.

[Styx,

Nay, swear thou not till I am heard.

Hast thou forgot thy son?

Piso.

No! let him die,

So that I have my long-deferr'd revenge!

Thy lip grows pale! Art thou not answer'd now? Miriam. Deep horrors fall upon me! Can it be Such demon spirits dwell on earth?

Piso.

Maiden ! While thou art safe, go hence; for, in his might, The tiger wakes within me!

Be it so.

Miriam.
He can but rend me where I stand. And here,
Living or dying, will I raise my voice

In a firm hope! The God that brought me here
Is round me in the silent air. On me
Falleth the influence of an unseen Eye!

And, in the strength of secret, earnest pray'r,
This awful consciousness doth nerve my frame.
Thou man of evil and ungovern'd soul!

My father thou mayst slay! Flames will not fall

From heaven to scorch and wither thee! The earth
Will ope not underneath thy feet! and peace,
Mock, hollow, seeming peace, may shadow still
Thy home and hearth! But deep within thy breast
A fierce, consuming fire shall ever dwell.
Each night shall ope a gulf of horrid dreams
To swallow up thy soul. The livelong day
That soul shall yearn for peace and quietness,
As the hart panteth for the water brooks,
And know that even in death is no repose!
And this shall be thy life! Then a dark hour
Will surely come-

Piso.

Maiden, be warn'd! All this

I know. It moves me not.

Miriam.
Nay, one thing more
Thou knowest not. There is on all this earth-
Full as it is of young and gentle hearts-

One man alone that loves a wretch like thee:
And he, thou sayst, must die! All other eyes
Do greet thee with a cold or wrathful look,
Or, in the baseness of their fear, shun thine;
And he whose loving glance alone spake peace,
Thou sayst must die in youth! Thou know'st not
The deep and bitter sense of loneliness,
The throes and achings of a childless heart,

[yet

Which yet will all be thine! Thou know'st not yet
What 'tis to wander mid thy spacious halls,
And find them desolate! wildly to start
From thy deep musings at the distant sound
Of voice or step like his, and sink back sick-
Ay! sick at heart-with dark remembrances !
When, in his bright and joyous infancy,
His laughing eyes amid thick curls sought thine,
And his soft arms were twined around thy neck,
And his twin rosebud lips just lisp'd thy name-
Yet feel in agony 'tis but a dream!

Thou know'st not yet what 'tis to lead the van
Of armies hurrying on to victory,
Yet, in the pomp and glory of that hour,

Sadly to miss the well-known snowy plume,
Whereon thine eyes were ever proudly fix'd
In battle-field! to sit, at deep midnight,
Alone within thy tent, all shuddering,

When, as the curtain'd door lets in the breeze,
Thy fancy conjures up the gleaming arms
And bright young hero-face of him who once
Had been most welcome there! and, worst of all—
Piso. It is enough! The gift of prophecy
Is on thee, maid! A pow'r that is not thine
Looks out from that dilated, awful form-
Those eyes, deep-flashing with unearthly light-
And stills my soul. My Paulus must not die!
And yet, to give up thus the boon-

Miriam.

What boon? A boon of blood? To him, the good old man, Death is not terrible, but only seems A dark, short passage to a land of light, Where, mid high ecstasy, he shall behold Th' unshrouded glories of his Maker's face, And learn all mysteries, and gaze at last Upon th' ascended Prince, and never more Know grief or pain, or part from those he loves! Yet will his blood cry loudly from the dust, And bring deep vengeance on his murderer!

Piso. My Paulus must not die! Let me revolve→ Maiden! thy words have sunk into my soul; Yet would I ponder ere I thus lay down A purpose cherish'd in my inmost heart, That which hath been my dream by night, by day My life's sole aim. Have I not deeply sworn, Long years ere thou wert born, that, should the gods E'er give him to my rage-and yet I pause? Shall Christian vipers sting mine only son, And I not crush them into nothingness? Am I so pinion'd, vain, and powerless? Work, busy brain! thy cunning must not fail.

[Retires.

THE END.