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Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.

Poems of Tragedy: II. Rome

The Roman Father

Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay (1800–1859)

From “Virginia”

STRAIGHTWAY Virginius led the maid

A little space aside,

To where the reeking 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 his eyes grew very dim,

And his throat began to swell,

And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake,

“Farewell, sweet child! Farewell!

“O, how I loved my darling!

Though stern I sometimes be,

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 footstep 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.

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;

“Yea, and from nameless evil,

That passes taunt and blow,—

Foul outrage which thou knowest 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!”

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 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 up 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.

“O 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 steadfast 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

Unto his woful home,

And there ta’en horse to tell the camp

What deeds are done in Rome.