And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran,

With bright, frank brow that had not learned to blush at gaze of man;

And up the Sacred Street she turned, and as she danced along,

She warbled gaily to herself lines of the good old song. And Appius heard her sweet young voice and saw her sweet young face

And loved her with the accurséd love of his accurséd race, And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street,

His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing feet.

She crossed the Forum, shining with stalls in alleys gay, And had just reached the very spot whereon I stand this

day,

When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when, ere

while,

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 frightened 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,

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, fell tone,

"She's mine, and I will have her. I seek but for my own: She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and sold,

The year of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours old. 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.
Straightway Virginius led his child a little space aside,
To where the reeking shambles stood, piled with horn and
hide.

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 his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to
swell,

And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child! Farewell!

The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls,

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 tomb.

"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.

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;

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."

With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she

died.

Then for a little moment all the people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall.
Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain;
Some ran to call a leech, and some ran to lift the slain;
Some felt her lips and little wrist, if life might there be
found;

And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to stanch

the wound.

In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched; for never truer blow

That good right arm had dealt in fight against a Volscian foe.

When Appius Claudius saw that deed he shuddered and sank down,

And hid his face some little space with the corner of his

gown,

Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered

nigh,

And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high.

"Oh, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain; And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!" So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his

way;

But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay, And writhed and groaned a fearful groan, and then with stedfast feet,

Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street. Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him; alive or

dead!

Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head!"

He looked upon his clients, but none would work his will. He looked upon his lictors, but they trembled and stood

still.

And as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft, Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left, And he hath passed in safety into his woful home,

And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome.

RICHELIEU

BY EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON

The characters in this scene are: RICHELIEU, the minister of France and Cardinal of the Church of Rome; LOUIS, the king; BARADAS, the chief conspirator; and JULIE, Richelieu's ward.

The KING and BARADAS plan the assassination of RICHELIEU.
A false report of his death misleads them, and in the
midst of their rejoicing RICHELIEU enters and says:
Rich. (fiercely).

Room, my lords, room. The minister of France can need no intercession with the

king.

Louis. What means this false report of death, Lord Cardinal?

Rich. Are you, then, angered, sire, that I live still!

Louis. No; but such artifice

Rich.

Louis! My castle swarmed with the assassins.

Bar. (advancing).

Huguet is now

Not mine; look elsewhere,

We have punished them already.

In the Bastile. Oh, my lord, we were prompt
To avenge you—we were.