Kind wishes to my brothers; but my tongue 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 us, Of patriot-strength. Our country may demand Horatia. True; yet sure A Roman virgin should be more than woman. The noblest lessons of our infant days, 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, And love shall combat in Horatia's cause. His soul's too great to give me such a trial; 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 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, 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, 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, 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. Horatia. [In a fright.] My father! Val. Rest satisfied, Sweet lady! 'tis so solemnly agreed to, 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? Horatia. Ay, Caius! did he mention me? now O yes, I do remember, when your brother Horatia. Sir, you'll excuse me-something of importance My father may have business -Oh, Valeria! Can you administer the bancful potion, Val. You talk in riddles! [Exit. me; While war continued, I had gleams of hope; Valeria. Yes, now you must resolve to follow 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 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? Was never won by tales of bleeding love : Valeria. True, these are arts for those that You had no time for tedious stratagem; '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, ACT II. 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 Has brought him back thus early. Oh, my heart! Valeria. You're soon returned, my lord. My life, my youth's returned; I tread in air! ance. -Oh, I could weep!--my sons, my sons are chosen Their country's combatants; not one, but all! All three are champions in the cause of Rome. Valeria. The time Of combat, is it fixed? Hor. This day, this hour, Perhaps, decides our doom. But with impatience we expect each moment And soon may they arrive, that ere we quit 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 I heard the tidings, as becomes your daughter. Hor. Survive! By Heaven, I could not hope that they should all survive. [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? Till Alba's loitering chiefs declare her champions, Hor. It shall not need; Myself will to the field. Come, let us haste! |