[He sinks helpless upon the stones at Virginia's feet, two lictors binding him firmly with cords. The storm now breaks, shrieking in maddest fury, the lightning playing over the hills of Rome.

Scene II—A Chamber in the Home of Virginius.[45]

Scene II—A Chamber in the Home of Virginius.

[45]

Midnight and darkness, save where the moonlight shimmers through the columns on the left. Virginia is discovered kneeling in the sea of radiance as though in prayer. A silence follows the rise of the curtain; then, low at first, but louder, clearer, gradually increasing in volume, a hymn breaks from her lips, she kneeling still.

Hymn to Diana.

Hymn to Diana.

O, thou virgin-goddess fair, Look upon me in my sorrow; Hear, oh, hear mine earnest prayer! Guard me from the fatal morrow! Purity is in thy breast With thy silver moonbeams drest. Still my cheek is hot with shame, And my heart in anguish crying; Let me keep my spotless name, Waking, sleeping, living, dying! Chaste Dian, thy stainless glory Still resounds in song and story. Mount thy ear within the blue, Waft a whisper to me only! Thou a heart hast, strong and true, Think upon the maiden lonely. Without thee it now would seem Love were nothing but a dream.

[Cornelia suddenly appears from out the gloom behind and puts her arms about Virginia's neck.

Cor. Love but a dream? Ah, no! The gods forfend![46]  Virginia. Ah! Thou! [Turns and embraces her. Cor. No other than this broken heart; Yet is my soul untouched by human woe, As thine shall be untouched by human sin. Virginia. I see the face, with passion fiery, The full voluptuous lips and greedy eyes, I see and shudder. Cor. Marcus Claudius?  Virginia. Nay, but the other. Cor. I am mystified. Virginia. None saw as I saw! He alone I fear, Who on the morrow will decide, dear God!— For Marcus—yet not Marcus—but himself; Allot me as his own. (Wildly.) I saw his look, And felt his power! Marcus is the paw Wherewith great Appius will seize his prey. (Laughs.) Virginia, his prey! He leered on me, And in the whitening of his clenchéd hand I marked the clash and clangor of his soul. Dear gods! The feet of Night are leaden shod, And yet the precious moments speed too fast. Oh, Death! had I the courage that thou dost Demand, I'd summon thee. Methinks I hear E'en now the distant rustle of thy wings. And yet—thou tarriest—thou tarriest.  

 Prev. P 29/46 next