down to their sweetest dregs. [Pauses.[13] Ha! who is that? My master hath returned! [13] [Peers through a curtained doorway on the right. As he retreats, Appius Claudius enters hurriedly. His toga is disordered, his countenance aflame with wine and passion. He throws himself heavily upon a couch. Appius. Wine, fetch some wine! At once, with no delay! Marc. (aside). And drunk as Bacchus at his wedding-feast! (Aloud.) Which kind, my lord? Appius. Falernian! Mark ye, dilute it not! Marc. (aside). I need no prophet's eyes to see his end. To Bacchus I assign him with due care. [Exit. Appius (in hoarse undertone). I looked but once, and, looking, she was gone, Leaving me reeling, drunk with loveliness. I have imbibed deeply this day in wine, Yet hath it less intoxicating power Than hath a tremor of her lashes or A flutter of her garments! I am struck, And heavily! [He groans and clasps his head with his hands. Virginia! Elements Are in thy name—tempest and burning flame! My soul is tossed as though it were at sea, My brain is floating on the vacant air, My heart consumed in everlasting fire! [He groans and clasps his head with his hands. Virginia! Elements [Enter Marcus, bearing a goblet and an amphora. Marc. Thy rare Falernian. Appius. Fill me the cup. [Drinks. Sweet solace and indulgence of the gods,[14] Unequaled nectar, give me satisfaction! Better to me this pleasure than the sight Of fair Elysium. Such ecstasy As is the privilege and portion of Souls freed from Hades and its rack and wheel And snatched to Heaven, can no sweeter be Than is mine ecstasy, when wafted on The summer zephyr, comes this breath, divine, Of nectar and ambrosia in one. Virginia, to myself, to thee, to Love, I drink! And now, my Marcus, sit thee down! I would confer with thee. Marc. (seats himself). What is thy will? Appius. Marcus, this morn I made my way in state Through Rome—and, in the market-place, beheld A sight that hath undone me for this day. My heart hath slipped its leash and now is set Hard on the trail, not to be turned aside. Marc. What vision hath the gods vouchsafed thee, then? Appius.'Twas more than vision, thanks to Vulcan be, Who did create that mortal styled a woman, At once a snare, at once a perfect boon; At once a curse, at once a lasting blessing. It was a maid, a lowly, mortal maid, A maid of mean plebeian birth as well, Yet beautiful as though she had arisen From out the golden heart of some fair rose,
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