Cry out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor-there he stands-
Was struck-struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood?
Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope-
Of sweet and quiet joy-there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks-a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance!-Rouse, ye Romans!-Rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash. Yet, this is Rome,
That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet, we are Romans.
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! And once again-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! once again, I swear,
The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes.
Angelo. [Entering.]
That thus in stern and watchful mystery
Cluster beneath the vail of night, and start
To hear a stranger's foot?
I knew thee by the words. Who, save thyself, in this bad age, when man Lies prostrate, like yon temple, dared conjoin
The sounds of Rome and freedom?
Rie.
I shall teach
The world to blend those words, as in the days
Before the Cæsars. Thou shalt be the first
To hail the union. I have seen thee hang
On tales of the world's mistress, till thine eyes
Flooded with strong emotion, have let fall
Big tear drops on thy cheeks, and thy young hand
Hath clenched thy maiden sword. Unsheath it now--
Now, at thy country's call! What, dost thou pause?
Is the flame quenched? Dost falter? Hence with thee,
Pass on! pass whilst thou may!
Ang.
Hear me, Rienzi.
Even now my spirit leaps up at the thought
Of those brave storied days-a treasury
Of matchless visions, bright and glorified,
Paling the dim lights of this darkling world
With the golden blaze of heaven, but past and gone,
As clouds of yesterday, as last night's dream.
Rie. A dream! Dost see yon phalanx, still and stern?
An hundred leaders, each with such a band,
So armed, so resolute, so fixed in will,
Wait with suppressed impatience till they hear
The great bell of the Capitol, to spring
At once on their proud foes. Join them.
Rie. Already he hath quitted Rome.
Ang.
My kinsmen!
Thou shalt sce
Rie. We are too strong for contest.
No other change within our peaceful streets
Than that of slaves to freemen. Such a change
As is the silent step from night to day,
From darkness into light. We talk too long.
Ang. Yet reason with them-warn them.
Rie.
Will be the jail, the gibbet, or the axe-
The keen retort of power. Why, I have reasoned;
And, but that I am held, amongst your great ones,
Half madman and half fool, these bones of mine
Had whitened on yon wall. Warn them? They met
At every step dark warnings. The pure air,
Where'er they passed, was heavy with the weight
Of sullen silence; friend met friend, nor smiled,
Till the last footfall of the tyrant's steed
Had died upon the ear; and low and hoarse
Hatred came murmuring like the deep voice
Of the wind before the tempest.
[Gives his hand to Rienzi.]
Rie. [To the people.] Friends, comrades, countrymen,
I bring you unhoped-for aid. Young Angelo,
The immediate heir of the Colonna, craves
By Rome-by freedom-by Rienzi! Comrades,
How have ye titled your deliverer? Consul-
Dictator-emperor?
Those names have been so often steeped in blood,
So shamed by folly, so profaned by sin,
The sound seems ominous-I'll none of them.
Call me the tribune of the people; there
My honoring duty lies. Hark! the bell, the bell!
The knell of tyranny-the mighty voice,
That to the city and the plain-to earth,
And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale
Of Rome re-born, and freedom. See, the clouds
Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light
Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars
Look out on us, and smile.
Ex CCXXXVII-DIALOGUE FROM DOUGLAS.
[GLENALVON is watching NORVAL, who is looking towards the army, and does not observe GLENALVON, till the latter addresses him.]
Glen. His port I love: he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roared.
Has Norval seen the troops?
With yellow radiance lighted all the vale;
And as the warriors moved, each polished helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climbed; and, halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed
A host angelic, clad in burning arms.
Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war.
Norv. If I should e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.
Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norval; Lord Randolph's favor now exalts your youth
Above his veterans of famous service.
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honor: seem not to command,
Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power,
Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns.
Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed ali my days
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth;
And though I have been told that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skilled:
Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Norv. My pride!
Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper.-
Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born mcn,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Norv. A shepherd's scorn!
Glen. Yes; if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, You're no match for me,
What will become of you?
Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
Norv. Didst thou not hear?
Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been questioned thus; but such as thee—
Norv. Whom dost thou think me?
Glen. Norval.
Norv. So I am—
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?
Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.
Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou 'rt all a lie; and false as hell
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bed-rid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but as I am,
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well.
Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?
Norv. Villain, no more!
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defied thee in another cause;
But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs.
Lord. Ran. [Enters.] Hold! I command you both! the
man that stirs
Makes me his foe.
Norv. Another voice than thine,
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.
Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending! Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. [Sheathes his sword.] Lord Ran. Speak not thus,
Taunting each other, but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.
Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak: I will not, can not speak
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