Kind wishes to my brothers; but my tongue
Denied its office, and this rebel heart
Even dreaded their success. Oh, Curiatius!
Why art thou there, or why an enemy?

Valeria. Forbear this self reproach; he is thy husband,

And who can blame thy fears? If fortune make him

Awhile thy country's foe, she cannot cancel
Vows registered above. What though the priest
Had not confirmed it at the sacred altar;
Yet were your hearts united, and that union
Approved by each consenting parent's choice.
Your brothers loved him as a friend, a brother:
And all the ties of kindred pleaded for him,
And still must plead, whate'er our heroes teach

us,

Of patriot-strength. Our country may demand
We should be wretched, and we must obey;
But never can require us not to feel,
That we are miserable: nature there
Will give the lie to virtue.

Horatia. True; yet sure

A Roman virgin should be more than woman.
Are we not early taught to mock at pain,
And look on danger with undaunted eyes?
But what are dangers? what the ghastliest form
Of death itself?-Oh, were I only bid,
To rush into the Tiber's foaming wave,
Swoln with uncommon floods, or from the height
Of yon Tarpeian rock, whose giddy steep
Has turned me pale with horror at the sight,
I'd think the task were nothing!-but to bear
These strange vicissitudes of torturing pain,
To fear, to doubt, and to despair as I do!-
Valeria. And why despair? Have we so idly
learned

The noblest lessons of our infant days,
Our trust above? Does there not still remain
The wretch's last retreat-the gods, Horatia?
Tis from their awful wills our evils spring,
And at their altars may we find relief.
Say, shall we thither?-Look not thus dejected,
But answer me. A confidence in them,
E'en in this crisis of our fate, will calm
Thy troubled soul, and fill thy breast with hope.
Horatia. Talk not of hope; the wretch on
yonder plain,

Who hears the victor's threats, and sees his sword

Impending o'er him, feels no surer fate, Though less delayed than mine! What should I hope?

That Alba conquer?-Cursed be every thought Which looks that way! The shrieks of captive

matrons

Sound in my ears!

Valeria. Forbear, forbear, Horatia; Nor fright me with the thought. Rome cannot fall.

Think on the glorious battles she has fought; Has she once failed, though oft exposed to danger?

And has not her immortal founder promised, That she should rise the mistress of the world? Horatia. And if Rome conquers, then Horatia dies!

Valeria. Why wilt thou form vain images of horror,

Industrious to be wretched? Is it, then,
Become impossible that Rome should triumph,
And Curiatius live? He must, he shall;
Protecting gods shall spread their shields around
him,

And love shall combat in Horatia's cause.
Horatia. Think'st thou so meanly of him?-No,
Valeria,

His soul's too great to give me such a trial;
Or could it ever come, I think, inyself,
Thus lost in love, thus abject as I am,
I should despise the slave who dared survive
His country's ruin. Ye immortal powers!
I love his fame too well, his spotless honour,
At least I hope I do, to wish him mine
On any terms which he must blush to own.
Hor. [Without.] What ho! Vindicius!
Horatia. What means that shout?-Might we

not ask, Valeria?

Didst thou not wish me to the temple?-Come, I will attend thee thither: the kind gods Perhaps may ease this throbbing heart, and spread At least a temporary calm within.

Valeria. Alas, Horatia, 'tis not to the temple That thou wouldst fly; the shout alone alarms thee.

But do not thus anticipate thy fate;

Why shouldst thou learn each chance of varying

war,

Which takes a thousand turns, and shifts the scene
From bad to good, as fortune smiles or frowns?
Stay but an hour perhaps, and thou shalt know
The whole at once.-I'll send-I'll fly myself
To ease thy doubts, and bring thee news of joy.
Horatia. Again, and nearer too-I must at-
tend thee.

Valeria. Hark! 'tis thy father's voice; he comes to cheer thee.

Enter HORATIUS and VALERIUS. Horatius. [Entering.] News from the camp, my child! Save you, sweet maid!

[Seeing Valeria. Your brother brings the tidings, for, alas! I am no warrior now; my useless age, Far from the paths of honour, loiters here In sluggish inactivity at home. Yet I remember

Horatia. You'll forgive us, sir, If with impatience we expect the tidings. Horatius. I had forgot; the thoughts of what I was

Engrossed my whole attention.-Pray, young sol dier,

Relate it for me; you beheld the scene,
And can report it justly.

Val. Gentle lady,

The scene was piteous, though its end be peace. Horatia. Peace? O, my fluttering heart! by what kind means?

Val. Twere tedious, lady, and unnecessary, To paint the disposition of the field; Suffice it, we were armed, and front to front The adverse legions heard the trumpet's sound: But vain was the alarm, for motionless,

And wrapt in thought, they stood; the kindred ranks

Had caught each other's eyes, nor dared to lift The faultering spear against the breast they loved. Again the alarm was given, and now they seemed Preparing to engage, when once again

They hung their drooping heads, and inward mourned;

Then nearer drew, and at the third alarm,
Casting their swords and useless shields aside,
Rushed to each other's arms.

you

Proceed, Valerius, they would hear the event. -And yet, methinks, the Albans-pray go on. Val. Our king Hostilius, from a rising mound, Beheld the tender interview, and joined

His friendly tears with theirs; then swift advanced,

Even to the thickest press, and cried, 'My friends, If thus we love, why are we enemies? 'Shall stern ambition, rivalship of power, Subdue the soft humanity within us? Are we not joined by every tie of kindred? 'And can we find no method to compose These jars of honour, these nice principles 'Of virtue, which infest the noblest minds?' Hor. There spoke his country's father! this transcends

The flight of earth-born kings, whose low ambition

But tends to lay the face of nature waste,
And blast creation !-How was it received?
Val. As he himself could wish, with eager

Blessed be the friendly grief that touched their souls!

Blessed be Hostilius for the generous counsel! Blessed be the meeting chiefs! and blessed the tongue,

Which brings the gentle tidings!

Valeria. Now, Horatia,

Your idle fears are o'er.

Horatia. Yet one remains.

Who are the champions? Are they yet elected? Has Rome

Val. The Roman chiefs now meet in council, And ask the presence of the sage Horatius.

Hor. [After having seemed some time in thought.
But still, methinks, I like not this, to trust
The Roman cause to such a slender hazard—
Three combatants !-'tis dangerous-

Horatia. [In a fright.] My father!
Hor. I might, perhaps, prevent it-
Horatia. Do not, sir,
Oppose the kind decree!

Val. Rest satisfied,

Sweet lady! 'tis so solemnly agreed to,
Not even Horatius's advice can shake it.

Hor. And yet 'twere well to end these civil

broils:

The neighbouring states might take advantage of them.

-Would I were young again! How glorious Were death in such a cause!--And yet, who knows

Some of my boys may be selected for itPerhaps may conquer-Grant me that, kind gods,

And close my eyes in transport!-Come, Valerius,

I'll but dispatch some necessary orders,

And strait attend thee.-Daughter, if thou lov'st Thy brothers, let thy prayers be poured to Hea

ven,

This is your home, I find: your lovely friend, And you, I doubt not, have indulged strange fears, And run o'er all the horrid scenes of war?

Valeria. Though we are women, brother, we are Romans,

Not to be scared with shadows, though not proof 'Gainst all alarms, when real danger threatens. Horatia. [With some hesitation.] My brothers, gentle sir, you said were well. Saw you their noble friends, the Curiatii? The truce, perhaps, permitted it.

Val. Yes, lady,

Horatia. Sent they no message?

Val. None, fair one, but such general salutation

As friends would bring unbid.

Horatia. Said Caius nothing?
Val. Caius?

Horatia. Ay, Caius! did he mention me?
Val. 'Twas slightly, if he did, and 'scapes me

now

O yes, I do remember, when your brother
Asked him, in jest, if he had aught to send,
A sigh's soft waftage, or the tender token
Of tresses breeding to fantastic forms,
To soothe a love-sick maid (your pardon, lady),
He smiled, and cried, 'Glory's the soldier's mis-
tress.'

Horatia. Sir, you'll excuse me-something of importance

My father may have business

-Oh, Valeria!
[Aside to Valeria.
Talk to thy brother, know the fatal truth
I dread to hear, and let me learn to die,
If Curiatius has indeed forgot me!
Val. She seems disordered!
Valeria. Has she not cause?

Can you administer the bancful potion,
And wonder at the effect?

Val. You talk in riddles!

[Exit.

me;

While war continued, I had gleams of hope;
Some lucky chance might rid me of my rival,
And time efface his image in her breast.
But now

Valeria. Yes, now you must resolve to follow
The advice I gave you first, and root this passion
Entirely from your heart; for know, she doats,
Even to distraction doats on Curiatius;
And every fear she felt, while danger threaten-
ed,

Will now endear him more,

Val. Cruel Valeria,

You triumph in my pain!

Valeria, By Heaven, I do not;

I only would extirpate every thought
Which gives you pain, nor leave one foolish wish
For hope to daily with. When friends are mad,
'Tis most unkind to humour their distraction;
Harsh means are necessary.

Val. Yet we first

Should try the gentler.

Valeria. Did I not? Ye powers!

Did I not soothe your griefs, indulge your fond

ness,

While the least prospect of success remained?
Did I not press you still to urge your suit,
Intreat you daily to declare your passion,
Seek out unnumbered opportunities,
And lay the follies of my sex before you?
Val. Alas! thou knowest, Valeria, woman's
heart

Was never won by tales of bleeding love :
'Tis by degrees the sly enchanter works,
Assuming friendship's name, and fits the soul
For soft impressions, ere the faultering tongue,
And guilty-blushing cheek, with many a glance
Shot inadvertent, tells the secret flame.

Valeria. True, these are arts for those that
love at leisure;

You had no time for tedious stratagem;
A dangerous rival pressed, and has succeeded.
Val. I own my error-yet once more assist

'Tis not impossible-divide their hearts,

I might, perhaps, have hope: therefore 'till marriage

Cuts off all commerce, and confirms me wretched,

Be it thy task, my sister, with fond stories,
Such as our ties of blood may countenance,
To paint thy brother's worth, his power in arms,
His favour with the king, but most of all,
That certain tenderness of soul which steals
All women's hearts; then mention many a fair,
No matter whom, that sighs to call you sister.
Valeria. Well, well, away-Yet tell me, ere

SCENE I.-Continues.

Enter HORATIA and VALERIA.

Horatia. ALAS, how easily do we admit The thing we wish were true! yet sure, Valeria, This seeming negligence of Curiatius Betrays a secret coldness at the heart.

May not long absence, or the charms of war, Have damped, at least, if not effaced his passion? I know not what to think.

Valeria. Think, my Horatia,

That you're a lover, and have learned the art
To raise vain scruples, and torment yourself
With every distant hint of fancied ill.
Your Curiatius still remains the same.
My brother idly trifled with your passion,
Or might, perhaps, unheedingly relate
What you too nearly feel. But see, your father.
Horatia. He seems transported; sure some
happy news

Has brought him back thus early. Oh, my heart!
I long, yet dread to ask him. Speak, Valeria.
Enter HORATIUS.

Valeria. You're soon returned, my lord.
Hor. Returned, Valeria!

My life, my youth's returned; I tread in air!
-I cannot speak; my joy's too great for utter-

ance.

-Oh, I could weep!--my sons, my sons are chosen

Their country's combatants; not one, but all!
Horatia. My brothers, said you, sir!
Hor. All three, my child,

All three are champions in the cause of Rome.
Oh, happy state of fathers! thus to feel
New warmth revive, and springing life renewed
Even on the margin of the grave!

Valeria. The time

Of combat, is it fixed?

Hor. This day, this hour,

Perhaps, decides our doom.
Valeria. And is it known
With whom they must engage?
Hor. Not yet, Valeria;

But with impatience we expect each moment
The resolutions of the Alban senate.

And soon may they arrive, that ere we quit
Yon hostile field, the chiefs, who dared oppose
Rome's rising glories, may, with shame, confess
The gods protect the empire they have raised.
Where are thy smiles, Horatia? Whence pro-
ceeds

This sullen silence, when my thronging joys Want words to speak them? Prithee, talk of empire,

Talk of those darlings of my soul, thy brothers. Call them whate'er wild fancy can suggest, Their country's pride, the boast of future times,

The dear defence, the guardian gods of Rome!By Heaven, thou stand'st unmoved, nor feels thy breast

The charms of glory, the extatic warmth, Which beams new life, and lifts us nearer Heaven!

Horatia. My gracious father, with surprize and
transport

I heard the tidings, as becomes your daughter.
And like your daughter, were our sex allowed
The noble privilege which man usurps,
Could die with pleasure in my country's cause.
But
yet, permit a sister's weakness, sir,
To feel the pangs of nature, and to dread
The fate of those she loves, however glorious.
And sure they cannot all survive a conflict
So desperate as this.

Hor. Survive! By Heaven,

I could not hope that they should all survive.
No; let them fall. If from their glorious deaths
Rome's freedom spring, I shall be nobly paid
For every sharpest pang the parent feels.
Had I a thousand sons, in such a cause
I could behold them bleeding at my feet,
And thank the gods with tears!

[Offering to kneel.

Enter PUBLIUS HORATIUS. Pub. My father! Hor. Hence! Kneel not to me-stand off; and let me view At distance, and with reverential awe, The champion of my country!-Oh, my boy! That I should live to this-my soul's too full; Let this and this speak for me. Bless thee, bless thee! [Embracing him. But wherefore art thou absent from the camp? Where are thy brothers? Has the Alban state Determined? Is the time of combat fixed?

Pub. Think not, my lord, that filial reverence, However due, had drawn me from the field, Where nobler duty calls; a patriot's soul Can feel no humbler ties, nor knows the voice Of kindred, when his country claims his aid. It was the king's command I should attend you, Else had I staid till wreaths immortal graced My brows, and made thee proud indeed to see Bencath thy roof, and bending for thy blessing, Not thine, Horatius, but the son of Rome!

Hor. Oh, virtuous pride!-'tis bliss too exqui

site For human sense!-thus, let me answer thee. [Embracing him again.

Where are my other boys?
Pub. They only wait

Till Alba's loitering chiefs declare her champions,
Our future victims, sir, and with the news
Will greet their father's ear.

Hor. It shall not need;

Myself will to the field. Come, let us haste!