pected meeting of persons dear to each other, Veturia entered upon the business she had undertaken. After many forcible appeals to his understanding and patriotism, she exclaimed: "What frenzy, what madness of anger transports my son! Heaven is appeased by supplications, vows, and sacrifices; shall mortals be implacable? Will Marcius set no bounds to his resentment? But allowing that thy enmity to thy country is too violent to let thee listen to her petition for peace; yet be not deaf, my son, be not inexorable to the prayers and tears of thy mother.

16. "Thou dreadest the very appearance of ingratitude toward the Volsci; and shall thy mother have reason to accuse thee of being ungrateful? Call to mind the tender care I took of thy infancy and earliest youth; the alarms, the anxiety, I suffered on thy account, when, entered into the state of manhood, thy life was almost daily exposed in foreign wars; the apprehensions, the terrors, I underwent, when I saw thee so warmly engaged in our domestic quarrels, and, with heroic courage, opposing the unjust pretensions of the furious plebeians.

17. "My sad forebodings of the event have been but too well verified. Consider the wretched life I have endured, if it may be called life, the time that has passed since I have been deprived of thee. O Marcius, refuse me not the only request I ever made to thee; I will never importune thee with any other. Cease thy immoderate anger; be reconciled to thy country; this is all I ask: grant me but this, and we shall both be happy. Freed from those tempestuous passions which now agitate thy soul, and from all the torments of self-reproach, thy days will flow smoothly on in the sweet serenity of conscious virtue; and as for me, if I carry back to Rome the hopes of an approaching peace, an assurance of thy being reconciled to thy country, with what transports of joy shall I be received! In what honor, in what delightful repose, shall I pass the remainder of my life! What immortal glory shall I have acquired!"

18. Coriolanus made no attempt to interrupt Veturia while

she was speaking; and when she had ceased, he still continued in deep silence. Anger, hatred, and desire of revenge, balanced in his heart those softer passions which the sight and discourse of his mother had awakened in his breast. Veturia, perceiving his irresolution, and fearing the event, thus renewed her expostulations: "Why dost thou not answer me, my son? Is there then such greatness of mind in giving all to resentment? Art thou ashamed to grant anything to a mother who thus entreats thee, thus humbles herself to thee? If it be so, to what purpose shall I longer endure a wretched life?" As sa uttered these words, interrupted by sighs, she threw herself prostrate at his feet. His wife and children did the same; and all the other women, with united voices of mournful accent, begged and implored his pity.

19. The Volscian officers, not able, unmoved, to behold this scene, turned away their eyes; but Coriolanus, almost beside himself to see Veturia at his feet, passionately cried out: "Ah! mother, what art thou doing?" And, tenderly pressing her hand in raising her up, he added, in a low voice: "Rome is saved, but thy son is lost!" Early the next morning Coriolanus broke up his camp, and peaceably marched his army homeward. Nobody had the boldness to contradict his orders. Many were exceedingly dissatisfied with his conduct; but others excused it, being more affected with his filial love to his mother than with their own interests.

Virginia.-Macaulay.

[From "Lays of Ancient Rome," by Lord Macaulay. In this poem is told the famous legend of Virginia and the incident which led to the abolition of the Decemvirate at Rome (449 B.C.).]

OVER the Alban mountains the light of morning broke;

From all the roofs of the Seven Hills curled the thin wreaths of smoke: The city gates were opened; the Forum, all alive

With buyers and with sellers, was humming like a hive:

Blithely on brass and timber the craftsman's stroke was ringing,

And blithely o'er her panniers the market-girl was singing;

And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her home:
Ah! woe for young Virginia, the sweetest maid in Rome!

With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm,
10 Forth she went bounding to the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm
She crossed the Forum, shining with the stalls in alleys gay,
And just had reached the very spot whereon I stand this day,
When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when, erewhile,
He crouched behind his patron's heels, with the true client smile;
He came with lowering forehead, swollen features, and clenched fist,
And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by the wrist.
Hard strove the frighted maiden, and screamed with look aghast;
And at her scream, from right and left, the folks came running fast;
The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs,
te: And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic wares,
And the strong smith Muræna, grasping a half-forged brand,

And Volero the flesher, his cleaver in his hand.

All came in wrath and wonder; for all knew that fair child;

And, as she passed them twice a day, all kissed their hands and smiled;
And the strong smith Muræna gave Marcus such a blow,
The caitiff reeled three paces back, and let the maiden go.

Yet glared he fiercely round him, and growled in harsh, feil tone,
"She's mine, and I will have her. I seek but for mine own:
She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and sold,
30 The year of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours old.
'Twas in the sad September, the month of war and fright,

Two augurs were borne forth that morn; the consul died ere night.
I wait on Appius Claudius; I waited on his sire :

Let him who works the client wrong, beware the patron's ire !"

So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence came
On all the people at the sound of the great Claudian name.

For then there was no Tribune to speak the word of might,

Which makes the rich man tremble, and guards the poor man's right. There was no brave Licinius, no honest Sextius then;

40 But all the city, in great fear, obeyed the wicked Ten.
Yet ere the varlet Marcus again might seize the maid,

Who clung tight to Muræna's skirt, and sobbed and shrieked for aid,
Forth through the throng of gazers the young Icilius pressed,
And stamped his foot, and rent his gown, and smote upon his breast,
And sprang upon that column, by many a minstrel sung,
Whereon three mouldering helmets, three rustling swords are hung,
And beckoned to the people, and in bold voice and clear

Poured thick and fast the burning words which tyrants quake to hear.

"Now, by your children's cradles, now, by your fathers' graves, 50 Be men to-day, Quiri'tes, or be forever slaves!

For this did Servius give us laws? For this did Lucrece bleed?
For this was the great vengeance done on Tarquin's evil seed?
For this did those false sons make red the axes of their sire?
For this did Scævola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire?
Shall the vile fox-earth awe the race that stormed the lion's den?
Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten?
Oh for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will!

Oh for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred Hill!
In those brave days our fathers stood firmly side by side;
60 They faced the Marcian fury; they tamed the Fabian pride;
They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Rome;
They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces home.
But what their care bequeathed us our madness flung away:
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day.
Exult, ye proud Patricians! The hard-fought fight is o'er.
We strove for honors-'twas in vain: for freedom—'tis no more.
No crier to the polling summons the eager throng;

No Tribune breathes the word of might that guards the weak from wrong
Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your will;

70 Riches, and lands, and power, and state-ye have them;-keep them still.

Still keep the holy fillets; still keep the purple gown,

The axes, and the curule chair, the car and laurel crown:

Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done,

Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won.

Still, like a spreading ulcer, which leech-craft may not cure,

Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor;

Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore;
Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore;

No fire when Tiber freezes; no air in dog-star heat;

80 And store of rods for freeborn backs, and holes for freeborn feet.
Heap heavier still the fetters; bar closer still the grate;
Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate.
But, by the Shades beneath us, and the Gods above,
Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love!
Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs
From consuls, and high pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings?
Ladies who deign not on our paths to set their tender feet,

Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the wondering street-
Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold,

90 And breathe of Capuan odors, and shine with Spanish gold?

Then leave the poor plebeian his single tie to life

The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife,

The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures,
The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours.
Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with pride,
Still let the bridegroom's arms enfold an unpolluted bride.

Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame,

That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame.

Lest when our latest hope is fled ye test of our despair,

100 And learn by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare."

Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside,

To where the recking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide,
Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood,
Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of blood.
Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down;
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.
And then

eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, “Farewell, sweet child! Fare

well!

Oh! how I loved my darling! Though stern I sometimes be,

110 To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee?

And how my darling loved me? How glad she was to hear
My footsteps on the threshold when I came back last year!
And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown,

And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown!
Now all those things are over-yes, all thy pretty ways,

Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays:
And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return,
Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn.
Our house that was the happiest within the Roman walls,
120 The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls,
Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom,
And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the
The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way!
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey!
With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, betrayed, bereft,
Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left.

mb.

He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save

Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave;

Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow

130 Foul outrage which thou know'st not, which thou shalt never know.

Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss; And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this."