The Tragedies of Seneca / Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a Mythological Index

OCTAVIA OCTAVIA

A FABULA PRAETEXTA

THE ONLY EXTANT ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA

INTRODUCTION

The Roman historical drama had a place among the earliest products of Roman literature, and seems to have enjoyed a degree of popularity through all succeeding periods. That Roman literary genius did not find a much fuller expression through this channel was not due to a lack of national pride and patriotism, nor yet to a dearth of interesting and inspiring subjects in Roman history. The true reason is probably to be found in the fact that by the time national conditions were ripe for the development of any form of literature, the Greeks had already worked, and well worked, nearly all available fields, and had produced a mass of literature which dazzled the Roman mind when at last circumstances brought these two nations into closer contact.

The natural and immediate result was an attempt on the part of the Romans to imitate these great models. And hence we have in drama, both in tragedy and comedy, a wholesale imitation of the Greek dramas, oftentimes nothing more than a translation of these, with only here and there an attempt to produce something of a strictly native character, entirely independent of the Greek influence.

This imitative impulse was augmented by the fact that the Romans were following the line of least resistance, since it is always easier to imitate than to create. Furthermore, they had as yet developed no national pride of literature to hold them to their own lines of national development; they had no forms of their own so well established that the mere force of literary momentum would carry them steadily on toward a fuller development, in spite of the disturbing influences of the influx of other and better models. They had, indeed, developed a native Saturnian verse which, had it been allowed a free field, might have reached a high pitch of literary excellence. But it speedily gave way at the approach of the more elegant imported forms.

The overwhelming influence of Greek tragedy upon the Roman dramatists can be seen at a glance as we review the dramatic product of the Roman tragedians. We have titles and fragments of nine tragedies by Livius Andronicus, seven by Naevius, twenty-two by Ennius, thirteen by Pacuvius, forty-six by Accius, and many unassignable fragments from each of these which indicate numerous other plays of the same character. To these should be added scattering additions from nearly a score more of Roman writers during the next two hundred years after Accius. All the above-mentioned plays are on Greek subjects; and most of those whose fragments are sufficiently extensive to allow us to form an opinion of their character are either translations or close imitations of the Greeks, or are so influenced by these as to be decidedly Greek rather than Roman in character.

And what of the genuine Roman dramatic product? Speaking for the fabula praetexta, or Roman historical drama, alone, the entire output, so far as our records go, is contained in the following list of authors and titles.

From Naevius (265-204 B.C.) we have the Clastidium, written in celebration of the victory of Marcellus over Vidumarus, king of the Transpadane Gauls, whom Marcellus slew and stripped of his armor, thus gaining the rare spolia opima; this at Clastidium in 222 B.C. The play was probably written for the especial occasion either of the triumph of Marcellus or of the celebration of his funeral.

We have also from Naevius a play variously entitled Lupus or Romulus or Alimonium Remi et Romuli, evidently one of those dramatic reproductions of scenes in the life of a god, enacted as a part of the ceremonies of his worship. These are comparable to similar dramatic representations among the Greeks in the worship of Dionysus.

The Ambracia and the Sabinae of Ennius (239-169 B.C.) are ordinarily classed as fabulae praetextae, although Lucian MÜller classes the fragments of the Ambracia among the Saturae of Ennius; while Vahlen puts the Ambracia under the heading Comoediarum et ceterorum carminum reliquiae, and classifies the fragments of the Sabinae under ex incertis saturarum libris. The Ambracia is evidently called after the city of that name in Epirus, celebrated for the long and remarkable siege which it sustained against the Romans under M. Fulvius Nobilior. That general finally captured the city in 189 B.C. If the piece is to be considered as a play, it was, like the Clastidium, written in honor of a Roman general, and acted on the occasion either of his triumph or of his funeral.

We have four short fragments from the Paulus of Pacuvius (220-130 B.C.), written in celebration of the exploits of L. Aemilius Paulus who conquered Perseus, king of Macedonia, in the battle of Pydna, 168 B.C. The fragments of the plays already mentioned are too brief to afford any adequate idea of the character or content of the plays. But in the Brutus of Accius (b. 170 B.C.), which centers around the expulsion of the Tarquins and the establishment of the Republic, we have a larger glimpse into the play through two most interesting fragments consisting of twelve iambic trimeters and ten trochaic tetrameters, respectively. In the first, King Tarquin relates to his seer an ill-ominous dream which he has had; the second is the seer's interpretation of this dream, pointing to Tarquin's dethronement by Brutus. Other short fragments give glimpses of the outrage of Lucretia by Sextus at Collatia, and the scene in the forum where Brutus takes his oath of office as first consul. This play, unlike its predecessors, was not written at the time of the events which it portrays, but may still be classed with them, so far as its object is concerned, since it is generally thought to have been written in honor of D. Junius Brutus who was consul in 138 B.C., and with whom the poet enjoyed an intimate friendship.

Another praetexta of Accius is preserved, the Decius, of which eleven short fragments remain. This play celebrates the victory of Quintus Fabius Maximus and P. Decius Mus over the Samnites and Gauls at Sentinum in 295 B.C. The climax of the play would be the self-immolation of Decius after the example of his father in the Latin war of 340 B.C.

In addition to these plays of the Roman dramatists of the Republic, we have knowledge of a few which date from later times. There was a historical drama entitled Iter, by L. Cornelius Balbus, who dramatized the incidents of a journey which he made to Pompey's camp at Dyrrachium at the opening of civil war in 49 B.C. Balbus was under commission from Caesar to treat with the consul, L. Cornelius Lentulus, and other optimates who had fled from Rome, concerning their return to the city. The journey was a complete fiasco, so far as results were concerned; but the vanity of Balbus was so flattered by his (to him) important mission that he must needs dramatize his experiences and present the play under his own direction in his native city of Gades.

We have mention also of an Aeneas by Pomponius Secundus, and of two praetextae by Curiatius Maternus, entitled Domitius and Cato.

These eleven historical plays are, as we have seen, for the most part, plays of occasion, and would be at best of but temporary interest, born of the special circumstances which inspired them. They are in no way comparable with such historical dramas on Roman subjects as Shakespeare's Julius Caesar or Coriolanus, whose interest is for all times. We have still a twelfth play of this class, which enjoys the unique distinction of being the only Roman historical drama which has come down to us—the Octavia. Its authorship is unknown, although tradition gives it a place among the tragedies of Seneca, the philosopher. The general opinion of modern critics, however, is against this tradition, chiefly because one passage in the play, in the form of a prophecy, too circumstantially describes the death of Nero, which occurred three years after the death of Seneca. It is generally agreed that the play must have been written soon after the death of Nero, and by some one, possibly Maternus, who had been an eye-witness of the events, and who had been inspired by his sympathies for the unfortunate Octavia to write this story of her sufferings.

OCTAVIA

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Octavia	Stepsister and wife of Nero.
Nurse	of Octavia.
Poppaea	Mistress and afterward wife of Nero.
Ghost of Agrippina	Mother of Nero, slain by him.
Nero	Emperor of Rome.
Seneca	Former tutor of Nero, and later one of his chief counselors.
Prefect of Roman Soldiers.
Messenger.
Chorus of Romans	Sympathetic with Octavia.
Chorus	Attached to the interests of the court.

The scene is laid throughout in different apartments of the palace of Nero, and is concerned with the events of the year 62 A.D.

ACT I

Octavia: Now doth the flushing dawn from heaven drive

The wandering stars; the sun mounts into sight

With radiant beams, and brings the world once more

The light of day. Up, then, my heavy soul,

With grievous cares o'erburdened, and resume5

Thy woe; out-wail the sea-bred Halcyons,

And those sad birds of old Pandion's house;

For this thy lot is heavier far than theirs.

O mother, constant source of tears to me,10

Hear now thy woeful daughter's sad complaints,

If aught of sense remains among the shades.

Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,

With her own hand had clipt my thread of life!15

Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,

Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.

Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!

From that dread hour I hate the day's pure light20

More than the night's dark gloom; for daily now

Must I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,

Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.

She, she the baleful fury fiend it was

Who at my marriage rites bore torches lit25

With hellish fires; 'twas she who wrought thy death,

O wretched father, whom but yesterday

The whole world owned as lord on land and sea;

To whom the Britain bowed, though ne'er before

Had he a Roman master known or owned.30

Alas, my father, by thy wife's fell plots

Thou liest low, and I and all thy house

Like captives groan beneath the tyrant's sway.

[Exit to her chamber.]

Nurse [entering]: Who stands in wonder, smitten by the gloss35

And splendor of a princely court, amazed

At sight of easy-won prosperity,

Let him behold how, at the stroke of fate,

The house of Claudius is overthrown,

To whose control the world was subjugate,40

Whose rule an ocean, long to sway unknown,

Obeyed, and bore our ships with subject will.

Lo, he, who first the savage Britains curbed,

And filled an unknown ocean with his fleet,

And passed in safety 'mid barbaric tribes—

By his own wife's impiety was slain.45

And she is destined by her son to fall,

Whose hapless brother lies already slain

By poison's hand, whose sister-wife alone

Is left to mourn. Nor may she hide her grief,

By bitter wrath impelled to speak. She shuns

Her cruel lord's society, and, fired50

With equal hate, with mutual[55] loathing burns.

Our pious faithfulness in vain consoles

Her grieving heart; her cruel woes reject

Our aid; the noble passion of her soul

Will not be ruled, but grows on ills renewed.

Alas, my fears forebode some desperate deed,55

Which may the gods forbid!

Octavia [heard speaking from within her chamber]: O fate of mine, that can no equal know!

Thy woes, Electra, were no match for these;

For thou couldst soothe with tears the grief thou hadst60

For thy dear father's fall; thou couldst avenge

The murder by thy brother's ready hand,

Who by thy piety was saved from death,

And whom thy faith concealed. But me base fear

Forbids to weep my parents reft away65

By cruel fate; forbids to weep the death

Of him, my brother, who my sole hope was,

My fleeting comfort of so many woes.

And now, surviving but to suffer still,

I live, the shadow of a noble name.70

Nurse: Behold, the voice of my sad foster-child

Falls on my list'ning ears. Slow steps of age,

Why haste ye not within her chamber there?

[Starts to enter the chamber, but is met by Octavia coming forth.]

Octavia: Within thy bosom let me weep, dear nurse,

Thou ever trusty witness of my grief.75

Nurse: What day shall free thee from thy woes, poor child?

Octavia: The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.

Nurse: May heaven keep such dark omens far away!80

Octavia: 'Tis not thy prayers, but fate that shapes my life.

Nurse: But God will bring thy life to better days.

Do thou but be appeased, and win thy lord

With mild obedience.85

Octavia: I'll sooner tame

The savage lion's heart, the tiger's rage,

Than curb that brutal tyrant's cruel soul.

He hates all sons of noble blood, and gods

And men he sets at naught; nor can he bear90

That high estate to which along the paths

Of shameful crime his impious mother led;

For though it shames him now, ungrateful one,

To hold the scepter which his mother gave;

And though by death he has requited her:95

Still will the glory of the empire won

Belong to her for centuries to come.

Nurse: Restrain these words that voice thy raging heart,

And check thy tongue's too rash and thoughtless speech.

Octavia: Though I should bear what may be borne, my woes,100

Save by a cruel death, could not be ended.

For, since my mother was by murder slain,

And my father taken off by crime most foul,

Robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with woe,

Oppressed with sadness, by my husband scorned,

Degraded to the level of my slave,105

I find this life no more endurable.

My heart doth tremble, not with fear of death,

But slander base, employed to work my death.

Far from my name and fate be that foul blot.

For death itself—Oh, 'twould be sweet to die;

For 'tis a punishment far worse than death,

To live in contact with the man I loathe,

To see the tyrant's face all passion puffed,110

And fierce with rage, to kiss my deadliest foe.

That I should fear his nod, obey his will,

My grief, resentful, will not suffer me,

Since by his hand my brother was destroyed,

Whose kingdom he usurps, and boasts himself

The author of that shameful deed. How oft115

Before my eyes does that sad image come,

My brother's ghost, when I have gone to rest,

And sleep has closed my eyelids faint with tears!

Now in his weakling hand he brandishes

The smoking torch, and violently assails

His brother to his face; now, trembling sore,

He flees for refuge to my sheltering arms.120

His foe pursues, and, as his victim clings

Convulsively to me, he thrusts his sword

With murderous intent through both our sides.

Then, all a-tremble, do I start awake,

And in my waking sense renew my fear.

Add to these cares a rival, arrogant,125

Who queens it in the spoils of this our house;

At whose behest the mother was enticed

To that fell ship which should have carried her

To Orcus' depths; but when o'er ocean's waves

She triumphed, he, than ocean's waves more harsh

And pitiless, despatched her with the sword.

Amid such deeds, what hopes of peace have I?130

O'erblown with hate, triumphant, doth my rival

Within my very chamber's hold defy me;

With deadly malice doth she blaze against me,

And as the price of her adulterous sweets,

Doth she demand that he, my husband, give

My life, his lawful wife's, in sacrifice.

Oh, rise thou, father, from the gloomy shades,

And help thy daughter who invokes thine aid;135

Or else cleave wide the earth to Stygian depths,

And let me plunge at last to shelter there.

Nurse: In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul,

Poor child, in vain; for there among the shades

He little thinks upon his offspring here;

Who, when in life, unto his own true son

Preferred the offspring of another's blood,140

And to himself in most incestuous bonds

And rites unhallowed joined his brother's child.

From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime:

Of murder, treachery, the lust of power,

The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell,

A victim slain to grace that wedding feast,145

Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow.

Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime,

Was slain to make a bridal offering,

And stained the household gods with guiltless blood.

And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me,150

And by his mother's wiles usurps the house,

Made son-in-law and son to the emperor,

A youth of temper most unnatural,

To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flame

His mother fanned, and forced thee at the last

In hated wedlock into his embrace.

Emboldened by this notable success,155

She dared to dream of wider sovereignty.

What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime,

Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries,

Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin?

Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew,160

And Fury through the empty palace halls

With baleful tread resounded, and defiled

The sacred images with Stygian brands.

All holy laws of nature and of heaven

In mad abandon did she set at naught.

She mingled deadly poison for her lord,165

And she herself by the impious mandate fell

Of her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie,

Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us,

Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life,

The brightest star of this our firmament,

The prop and stay of our imperial house;

But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust,

Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade.170

Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeks

Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre

She placed thy form and saw the flames consume

Thy limbs and face fair as the wingÉd god's.

Octavia: Me, too, he must destroy—or fall by me.

Nurse: But nature has not given thee strength to slay.175

Octavia: Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,

The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.

Nurse: Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.

Octavia: That thus he may restore my brother slain?

Nurse: That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;

That thou by thine own offspring mayst restore

Thy father's falling house.180

Octavia: This princely house

Expects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me,

For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.

Nurse: Console thy heart with this, that thou art dear

Unto the populace, who love thee well.

Octavia: That thought doth soothe, but cannot cure my grief.

Nurse: Their power availeth much.185

Octavia: The prince's more.

Nurse: He will regard his wife.

Octavia: My foe forbids.

Nurse: But she is scorned by all.

Octavia: Yet loved by him.

Nurse: She is not yet his wife.

Octavia: But soon will be,

And mother of his child, his kingdom's heir.

Nurse: The fire of youthful passion glows at first

With heat impetuous; but soon abates,190

And vanishes like flickering tongues of flame.

Unhallowed love cannot for long endure;

But pure and lasting is the love inspired

By chaste and wifely faith. She who has dared

To violate thy bed, and hold so long

Thy husband's heart in thrall, herself a slave,

Already trembles lest his fickle love195

Shall thrust her forth and set a rival there.

Subdued and humble, even now she shows

How deep and real her fear; for her, indeed,

Shall wingÉd Cupid, false and fickle god,

Abandon and betray. Though face and form

Be passing fair, though beauty vaunt herself,

And boast her power, still are her triumphs brief,200

Her joys a passing dream.

Nay, Juno's self,

Though queen of heaven, endured such grief as thine,

When he, her lord, and father of the gods,

Stole from her side to seek in mortal forms

The love of mortal maids. Now, in his need,205

He dons the snowy plumage of a swan;

Now hornÉd seems, like a Sidonian bull;

And now a glorious, golden shower he falls,

And rests within the arms of DanaË.

Nor yet is Juno's sum of woe complete:

The sons of Leda glitter in the sky

In starry splendor; Bacchus proudly stands

Beside his father on Olympus' height;

Divine Alcides hath to Hebe's charms210

Attained, and fears stern Juno's wrath no more.

Her very son-in-law hath he become

Whom once she hated most. Yet in her heart

Deep down she pressed her grief, and wisely won,

By mild compliance to his wayward will,

Her husband's love again. And now the queen,215

Secure at last from rivalry, holds sway

Alone, within the Thunderer's heart. No more,

By mortal beauty smitten, does he leave

His royal chambers in the vaulted sky.

Thou, too, on earth, another Juno art,220

The wife and sister of our mighty lord.

Then be thou wise as she, make show of love,

And hide thy crushing sorrows with a smile.

Octavia: The savage seas shall sooner mate with stars,

And fire with water, heav'n with gloomy hell,

Glad light with shades, and day with dewy night,

Than shall my soul in amity consort225

With his black heart, most foul and impious:

Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost.

And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds,

Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts,

And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds,

Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince.230

Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire,

Shining with baleful light, his glowing train

Far gleaming in the distant northern sky,

Where slow BoÖtes, numb with arctic frosts,

Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds.

The very air is tainted by the breath235

Of this destructive prince; and for his sake

The stars, resentful, threaten to destroy

The nations which so dire a tyrant rules.

Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge,

Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced.

This scourge is more destructive far than he.240

He is the bitter foe of gods and men,

Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines,

And from their native land the citizens;

Who from his brother took the breath of life,

And drained his mother's blood.

And does he live,

This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath?

O Jove, thou high-exalted father, why245

Dost thou so oft with thine imperial hand

Thy darts invincible at random hurl?

Why from his guilty head dost thou withhold

Thy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might pay

For all his crimes the fitting penalty,

This son of deified Domitius,

This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world,250

Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds,

This moral blot upon a noble name!

Nurse: Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know;

But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield,

Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath.

Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs,255

And on thy life some happier day will dawn.

Octavia: That may not be. Long since, our ill-starred house

Has groaned beneath the heavy wrath of heaven.

That wrath at first my hapless mother felt,

Whom Venus cursed with lust insatiate;

For she, with heedless, impious passion fired,260

Unmindful of her absent lord, of us,

Her guiltless children, and the law's restraints,

In open day another husband wed.

To that fell couch avenging Fury came

With streaming locks and serpents intertwined,

And quenched those stolen wedding fires in blood.

For with destructive rage, on murder bent,265

She fired the prince's heart; and at his word,

Ah, woe is me, my ill-starred mother fell,

And, dying, doomed me to perpetual grief.

For after her in quick succession came

Her husband and her son; and this our house,

Already falling, was to ruin plunged.

Nurse: Forbear with pious tears to renew thy grief,270

And do not so disturb thy father's shade,

Who for his rage has bitterly atoned.

Chorus [sympathetic with Octavia]: False prove the rumor that of late

To our ears has come! May its vaunted threats

Fall fruitless out and of no avail!275

May no new wife invade the bed

Of our royal prince; may Octavia, born

Of the Claudian race, maintain her right

And bear us a son, the pledge of peace,

In which the joyful world shall rest,280

And Rome preserve her glorious name.

Most mighty Juno holds the lot

By fate assigned—her brother's mate;

But this our Juno, sister, wife

Of our august prince, why is she driven285

From her father's court? Of what avail

Her faith, her father deified,

Her love and spotless chastity?

We, too, of our former master's fame

Have been unmindful, and his child

At the hest of cringing[56] fear betrayed.290

Not so of old: then Rome could boast

Of manly virtue, martial blood.

There lived a race of heroes then

Who curbed the power of haughty kings

And drove them forth from Rome; and thee,

O maiden, slain by thy father's hand,295

Lest thou shouldst in slavery's bonds be held,

And lest foul lust its victorious will

Should work on thee, did well avenge.

Thee, too, a bloody war avenged,

O chaste Lucretia; for thou,300

By the lust of an impious tyrant stained,

With wretched hand didst seek to cleanse

Those stains by thy innocent blood.

Then Tullia with her guilty lord,

Base Tarquin, dared an impious deed,

Whose penalty they paid; for she305

Over the limbs of her murdered sire,

A heartless child, drove cruel wheels,

And left his corpse unburied there.

Such deeds of dire impiety

Our age has known, our eyes have seen,

When the prince on the mighty Tyrrhene deep310

In a fatal bark his mother sent,

By guile ensnared.

The sailors at his bidding haste

To leave the peaceful harbor's arms;

And soon the rougher waves resound315

Beneath their oars, and far away

Upon the deep the vessel glides;

When suddenly the reeling bark

With loosened beams yawns open wide,

And drinks the briny sea.

A mighty shout to heaven goes,320

With women's lamentations filled,

And death stalks dire before the eyes

Of all. Each seeks to save himself.

Some naked cling upon the planks

Of the broken ship and fight the floods,325

While others swimming seek the shore.

But most, alas! a watery death

By fate awaits. Then did the queen

In mad despair her garments rend;

Her comely locks she tore, and tears

Fell streaming down her grieving cheeks.330

At last, with hope of safety gone,

With wrath inflamed, by woes o'ercome,

"Dost thou, O son, make this return,"

She cried, "for that great boon I gave?

Such death I merit, I confess,335

Who bore such monstrous child as thou,

Who gave to thee the light of day,

And in my madness raised thee high

To Caesar's name and Caesar's throne.

Oh, rise from deepest Acheron,

My murdered husband, feast thine eyes340

Upon my righteous punishment;

For I brought death to thee, poor soul,

And to thy son. See, see, I come,

Deep down to meet thy grieving shade;

And there, as I have merited,

Shall I unburied lie, o'erwhelmed345

By the raging sea." E'en as she spoke,

The lapping waves broke o'er her lips,

And deep she plunged below. Anon

She rises from the briny depths,

And, stung by fear of death, she strives

With frenzied hands to conquer fate;

But, spent with fruitless toil at last,350

She yields and waits the end. But lo,

In hearts which in trembling silence watch,

Faith triumphs over deadly fear,

And to their mistress, spent and wan

With fruitless buffetings, they dare

To lend their aid with cheering words355

And helping hands.

But what avails

To escape the grasp of the savage sea?

By the sword of the son is she doomed to die,

Whose monstrous deed posterity

Will scarce believe. With rage and grief360

Inflamed, he raves that still she lives,

His mother, snatched from the wild sea's jaws,

And doubles crime on impious crime.

Bent on his wretched mother's death,

He brooks no tarrying of fate.365

His willing creatures work his will,

And in the hapless woman's breast

The fatal sword is plunged; but she

To that fell minister of death

Appeals with dying tongue: "Nay here,

Here rather strike the murderous blow,

Here sheathe thy sword, deep in the womb370

Which such a monster bore."

So spake the dying queen, her words

And groans commingling. So at last

Through gaping wounds her spirit fled375

In grief and agony.

[55] Reading, mariti mutua.

[56] Reading, saevo.

ACT II

Seneca [alone]: Why hast thou, potent Fate, with flattering looks,

Exalted me, contented with my lot,

That so from this great height I might descend

With heavier fall, and wider prospect see380

Of deadly fears? Ah, better was I, hid

Far from the stinging lash of envy's tongue,

Amid the lonely crags of Corsica.

There was my spirit free to act at will,

Was master of itself, had time to think

And meditate at length each favorite theme.

Oh, what delight, than which none greater is,385

Of all that mother nature hath produced,

To watch the heavens, the bright sun's sacred rounds,

The heavenly movements and the changing night,

The moon's full orb with wandering stars begirt,

The far-effulgent glory of the sky!390

And is it growing old, this structure vast,

Doomed to return to groping nothingness?

Then must that final doomsday be at hand,

That shall by heaven's fall o'erwhelm a race

So impious, that thus the world may see

A newer race of men, a better stock,395

Which once the golden reign of Saturn knew.

Then virgin Justice, holy child of heaven,

In mercy ruled the world; the race of men

Knew naught of war, the trumpet's savage blare,400

The clang of arms; not yet were cities hedged

With ponderous walls; the way was free to all,

And free to all the use of everything.

The earth, untilled, spread wide her fertile lap,405

The happy mother of a pious stock.

Then rose another race of sterner mold;

Another yet to curious arts inclined,

But pious still; a fourth of restless mood,

Which lusted to pursue the savage beasts,410

To draw the fishes from their sheltering waves

With net or slender pole, to snare the birds,

To force the headstrong bullocks to endure

The bondage of the yoke, to plow the earth

Which never yet had felt the share's deep wound,

And which in pain and grief now hid her fruits

Within her sacred bosom's safer hold.415

Now deep within the bowels of the earth

Did that debased, unfilial age intrude;

And thence it dug the deadly iron and gold,

And soon it armed its savage hands for war.

It fixed the bounds of realms, constructed towns,420

Fought for its own abodes, or threat'ning strove

To plunder those of others as a prize.

Then did abandoned Justice, heavenly maid,

In terror flee the earth, the bestial ways

Of men, their hands with bloody slaughter stained,

And, fixed in heaven, now shines among the stars.425

Then lust of war increased, and greed for gold,

Throughout the world; and luxury arose,

That deadliest of evils, luring pest,

To whose fell powers new strength and force were given

By custom long observed, and precedent

Of evil into worser evil led.

This flood of vice, through many ages dammed,430

In ours has burst its bounds and overflowed.

By this dire age we're fairly overwhelmed—

An age when crime sits regnant on the throne,

Impiety stalks raging, unrestrained;

Foul lust, with all unbridled power, is queen,

And luxury long since with greedy hands

Has snatched the boundless riches of the world,435

That she with equal greed may squander them.

[Enter Nero, followed by a Prefect.]

But see, with frenzied step and savage mien,

The prince approaches. How I fear his will.

Nero [to Prefect]: Speed my commands: send forth a messenger

Who straight shall bring me here the severed heads

Of Plautus and of Sulla.

Prefect: Good, my lord;

Without delay I'll speed me to the camp.

[Exit.]

Seneca: One should not rashly judge against his friends.440

Nero: Let him be just whose heart is free from fear.

Seneca: But mercy is a sovereign cure for fear.

Nero: A ruler's part is to destroy his foes.

Seneca: A ruler's better part, to save his friends.

Nero: A mild old man's advice is fit for boys.445

Seneca: Still more does hot young manhood need the rein—

Nero: I deem that at this age we're wise enough.

Seneca: That on thy deed the heavenly gods may smile.

Nero: Thou fool, shall I fear gods myself can make?

Seneca: Fear this the more, that so great power is thine.450

Nero: My royal fortune grants all things to me.

Seneca: But trust her cautiously; she may deceive.

Nero: A fool is he who does not what he may.

Seneca: To do, not what he may, but ought, wins praise.

Nero: The crowd spurns sluggish men.455

Seneca: The hated, slays.

Nero: Yet swords protect a prince.

Seneca: Still better, faith.

Nero: A Caesar should be feared.

Seneca: And more be loved.

Nero: But men must fear.

Seneca: Enforced commands are hard.

Nero: Let them obey our laws.

Seneca: Make better laws—

Nero: I'll be the judge.460

Seneca: Which all men may approve.

Nero: The sword shall force respect.

Seneca: May heaven forbid!

Nero: Shall I then tamely let them seek my blood,

That suddenly despised and unavenged,

I may be taken off? Though exiled far,

The stubborn spirits are not broken yet

Of Plautus and of Sulla. Still their rage465

Persistent spurs their friends to seek my death;

For still have they the people's love in Rome,

Which ever nourishes the exile's hopes.

Then let the sword remove my enemies;470

My hateful wife shall die, and follow him,

That brother whom she loves. The high must fall.

Seneca: How fair a thing it is to be the first

Among great men, to think for fatherland,

To spare the weak, to hold the hand of power

From deeds of blood, to give wrath time to think,

Give rest to a weary world, peace to the age.475

This is the noblest part; by this high path

Is heaven sought. So did Augustus first,

The father of his country, gain the stars,

And as a god is worshiped at the shrines.

Yet he was long by adverse fortune tossed

On land and sea, in battle's deadly chance,480

Until his father's foes he recompensed.

But fortune hath to thee in peaceful guise

Bent her divinity; with unstained hand

Hath she the reins of government bestowed,

And given world-dominion to thy nod.

Sour hate is overcome, and in its stead485

Is filial harmony; the senate, knights,

All orders yield obedience to thy will;

For in the fathers' judgment and the prayers

Of humbler folk, thou art the arbiter

Of peace, the god of human destinies,

Ordained to rule the world by right divine.

Thy country's father thou. This sacred name490

Doth suppliant Rome beseech thee to preserve,

And doth commend her citizens to thee.

Nero: It is the gift of heaven that haughty Rome,

Her people, and her senate bow to me,

And that my terror doth extort those prayers

And servile words from their unwilling lips.

To save the citizens! seditious men,

Who ever 'gainst their land and prince conspire,495

Puffed up with pride of race—sheer madness that,

When all my enemies one word of mine

Can doom to death. Base Brutus raised his hand

To slay that prince from whom he had his all;

And he, who never 'mid the shock of arms

Had been o'ercome, the world's great conqueror,500

Who trod, a very Jove, the lofty paths

Of honor, he was slain by impious hands—

Of citizens! What streams of blood hath Rome,

So often rent by civil strife, beheld!

That very saint of thine, Augustus' self,505

Who, as thou said'st but now, did merit heaven

By piety—how many noble men

Did he destroy, in lusty youth, in age,

At home, abroad, when, spurred by mortal fear,

They fled their household gods and that fell sword

Of the Triumvirate, consigned to death

Upon those mindful tablets' fatal lists.

The grieving parents saw their severed heads510

Upon the rostra set, but dared not weep

Their hapless sons; the forum reeked with blood,

And gore down all those rotting faces dripped.

Nor this the end of slaughter and of death:

Long did the plains of grim Philippi feed515

The ravenous birds and prowling beasts of prey;

While ships and men, in deadly conflict met,

Beneath Sicilia's waters were engulfed.

The whole world trembled with the shock of arms;

And now, when all was lost, with fleeing ships,520

That mighty leader sought the distant Nile,

Doomed soon himself to perish there. And thus,

Once more incestuous Egypt drank the blood

Of Rome's great captains. Now his flitting shade

Is hovering there; and there is civil strife,

So long and impious, at last interred.

Now did the weary victor sheathe his sword,

All blunted with the savage blows he gave,525

And held his empire with the rein of fear.

He lived in safety 'neath the ample shield

Of loyal guards; and when his end was come,

The pious mandate of his son proclaimed

Him god, and at the temples' sacred shrines

Was he adored. So shall the stars expect

My godhead too, if first I seize and slay530

With sword relentless all who bear me hate,

And on a worthy offspring found my house.

Seneca: But she will fill thy house with noble sons,

That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock,

Who by the will of fate was wed to thee,

As Juno to her brother Jove was given.535

Nero: A child of hers would stain my noble line,

For she herself was of a harlot born;

And more—her heart was never linked to me.

Seneca: In tender years is faith not manifest,

When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.

Nero: This I myself long trusted, but in vain,540

Though she was clearly of unloving heart,

And every look betrayed her hate of me.

At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;

And I have now a worthy wife obtained,

In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms545

Minerva, Venus, Juno—all would bow.

Seneca: But honor, wifely faith, and modesty—

These should the husband seek, for these alone,

The priceless treasures of the heart and soul,

Remain perpetual; but beauty's flower

Doth fade and languish with each passing day.550

Nero: On her has heaven all its charms bestowed,

And fate has given her from her birth to me.

Seneca: But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.

Nero: Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies,

Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove,

Who lords it over savage seas, the realms555

Of gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?

Seneca: 'Tis by our human error that we paint

Love as a god, wingÉd, implacable,

And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow,

Assign him blazing torches, count him son

Of fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay,560

But love is of the heart's compelling power,

A fond and cozening passion of the soul;

Of hot youth is it born, and in the lap

Of ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys,

Is fostered. But it sickens straight and dies

When you no longer feed and fondle it.565

Nero: I deem the primal source of life is this,

The joy of love; and it can never die,

Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts,

The human race is evermore renewed.

This god shall bear for me the wedding torch,570

And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.

Seneca: The people's grief could scarce endure to see

That marriage, nor would piety permit.

Nero: Shall I alone avoid what all may do?

Seneca: The state from loftiest souls expects the best.575

Nero: I fain would see if, broken by my power,

This rashly cherished favor will not yield.

Seneca: 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.

Nero: Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.

Seneca: They justly chafe who pray without avail.580

Nero: When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?

Seneca: Rebuffs are hard.

Nero: 'Tis wrong to force a prince.

Seneca: He should give way.

Nero: Then rumor counts him forced.

Seneca: Rumor's an empty thing.

Nero: But harmful too.

Seneca: She fears the strong.585

Nero: But none the less maligns.

Seneca: She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth,

The faith and chastity of this thy wife,

The merits of her sainted sire prevail

To turn thee from thy will.

Nero: Have done at last,

For wearisome has thy insistence grown;

One still may do what Seneca comdemns.

And I myself have now too long delayed590

The people's prayers for offspring to the throne.

Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove,

Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III

Ghost of Agrippina [bearing a flaming torch]: Through cloven earth from Tartarus I come,

To bring in bloody hands this torch of hell

To light these cursÉd rites; with such dire flames595

Let this Poppaea wed my son, which soon

His mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turn

To funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shades

My impious murder in my memory dwells,

A heavy weight upon my grieving soul

Still unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitude

He gave me in return for all my gifts,600

E'en for the gift of empire did he give

A murderous ship designed to work my death.

I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more,

My son's most cruel deed: no time for tears

Was given, but even higher did he heap605

His sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea,

I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my blood

The very gods defiling, poured my soul

In anguish forth. But even yet his hate

Was not appeased. Against my very name

The tyrant raged; my merits he obscured;610

My statues, my inscriptions, honors—all,

On pain of death he bade to be destroyed

Throughout the world—that world my hapless love,

To my own direful punishment, had given

To be by him, an untried boy, controlled.

And now my murdered husband's angry ghost

Shakes vengeful torches in my guilty face,615

Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me,

His murdered son, and loud demands that now

The guilty cause be given up. Have done:

He shall be given, and that right speedily.

Avenging furies for his impious head

Are planning even now a worthy fate:620

Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings,

By which the raging thirst of Tantalus

He shall surpass; the cruel, endless toil

Of Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels,

And the dread, racking anguish of the wheel

On which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.

Let gold and marble deck his palace walls;

Let armÉd guards protect him; let the world625

Be beggared that its treasures vast may flow

Into his lap; let suppliant Parthians bend

To kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings:

The day and hour will come when for his crimes

His guilty soul shall full atonement make,630

When to his enemies he shall be given,

Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.

Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?

Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son,

And fate impel thee to such depths of crime

That e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay,635

Is all too small to match her sufferings?

Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light,

And suckled thee, my vitals had been rent

By savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent,

And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to me

Wouldst thou forever see the quiet seats640

Of this abode of souls, thy mighty sire,

And grandsires too, those men of glorious name,

Whom now perpetual shame and grief await

Because of thee, thou monster, and of me.

But why delay in hell to hide my face,

Since I have proved a curse to all my race?645

[Vanishes.]

Octavia [to the Chorus in deprecation of their grief because of her divorce]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy,

As on a festal day, lest this your love

And care for me should stir the royal wrath,

And I be cause of suffering to you.650

This wound is not the first my heart has felt;

Far worse have I endured; but all shall end,

Perchance in death, before this day is done.

No more upon my brutal husband's face

Shall I be forced to look; that hateful couch,655

Long since consigned to slavish uses, base,

I shall behold no more.

For now Augustus' sister shall I be,

And not his wife. But Oh, be far from me

All cruel punishments and fear of death.660

Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?

Bethink thee of his former sins—and hope.

Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now,

That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.

But why so often turn thy streaming eyes665

Upon thy home? Now speed thy steps away,

And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.

Chorus: Now dawns at last the day we long have feared

And talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forth670

By cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abode

Which even now Poppaea calls her own;

While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe,

By heavy fear oppressed.675

Where is that Roman people's manhood now,

Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed,

Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land,

Gave powers at will to worthy citizens,

Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame,680

And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?

Behold, on every side our eyes are grieved

By this Poppaea's gleaming statues joined

With Nero's images—a shameful sight.685

Come, overturn them with indignant hands,

Too like in feature to her living face.

And her we'll drag from off that royal couch;

And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword,

Attack the princely palace of her lord.

ACT IV

Nurse [to Poppaea, who appears, distraught, coming out of her chamber]: Why dost thou from thy husband's chamber come,690

Dear child, with hurried step and troubled face?

Why dost thou seek a lonely place to weep?

For surely has the day we long have sought

With prayers and promised victims come at last.

Thou hast thy Caesar, firmly joined to thee

By ties of marriage, whom thy beauty won,695

Whom Venus gave to thee in bonds of love,

Though Seneca despised and flouted her.

How beautiful, upon the banquet couch

Reclining in the palace, didst thou seem!

The senate viewed thy beauty in amaze

When thou didst offer incense to the gods,700

And sprinkle wine upon the sacred shrines,

Thy head the while with gauzy purple veiled.

And close beside thee was thy lord himself;

Amid the favoring plaudits of the crowd

He walked majestic, in his look and mien

Proclaiming all his pride and joy in thee.705

So did the noble Peleus lead his bride

Emerging from the ocean's snowy foam,

Whose wedding feast the heavenly gods adorned,

With equal joy the sea divinities.

What sudden cause has clouded o'er thy face?710

Tell me, what mean thy pallor and thy tears!

Poppaea: Dear nurse, this night I had a dreadful dream;

And even now, as I remember it,

My mind is troubled and my senses fail.

For when the joyful day had sunk to rest,

And in the darkened sky the stars appeared,715

I lay asleep within my Nero's arms.

But that sweet sleep I could not long enjoy;

For suddenly a grieving crowd appeared

To throng my chamber—Roman matrons they,

With hair disheveled and loud cries of woe.720

Then 'midst the oft-repeated, strident blasts

Of trumpets, there appeared my husband's mother,

And shook before my face with threat'ning mien

A bloody torch. Compelled by present fear,

I followed her; when suddenly the earth725

Seemed rent asunder to its lowest depths.

Headlong to these I plunged, and even there

In wonder I beheld my wedding couch,

Whereon I sank in utter weariness.

Then with a throng of followers I saw

My son and former husband drawing near.

Straightway Crispinus hastened to my arms,730

And on my lips his eager kisses fell:

When suddenly within that chamber burst

My lord the king with frantic, hurrying steps,

And plunged his sword into that other's throat.

A mighty terror siezed me, and at last

It roused me from my sleep. I started up

With trembling limbs and wildly beating heart.735

Long was I speechless from that haunting fear,

Until thy fond affection gave me tongue.

Why do the ghosts of hades threaten me?

Or why did I behold my husband's blood?

Nurse: All things which occupy the waking[57] mind,740

Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again

Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then,

Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds

And husbands, when thy newly mated lord

Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange

That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe,745

Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?

Octavia's departure did they mourn

Within her brother's and her father's house.

The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft

By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign

That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.

Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen,750

Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.

Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed,

Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage,

But hide his sword within the breast of peace.

Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray,

Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return.755

Poppaea: Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines,

And there make sacrifice unto the gods,

That they avert these threats of night and sleep,

And turn my terrors all upon my foes.

Do thou pray for me and the gods implore760

That in this happy state I may endure.

[Exeunt Poppaea and Nurse.]

Chorus [of Roman women in sympathy with Poppaea]: If babbling rumor's tales of Jove,

His secret joys in mortal love,

Are true, he once, in plumage dressed,

Was to the lovely Leda pressed;765

And as a savage bull he bore

Europa from her native shore:

But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see,

He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.

For thou than Leda many fold770

Art fairer, or that maid of old

Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.

Let Sparta boast her lovely dame,

Who, as his prize, to Paris came:

Though Helen's beauty drove the world to arms,775

She still must yield to our Poppaea's charms.

[Enter Messenger.]

But who comes here with hurried step and wild?

What tidings bears he in his heaving breast?

Messenger: Whoever guards our noble prince's house,780

Let him defend it from the people's rage.

Behold, the prefects lead their men in haste,

To save the city from the furious mob

Whose reckless passion grows, unchecked by fear.

Chorus: What is the madness that inflames their hearts?785

Messenger: The people for their loved Octavia

Are wild with rage and grief; and now in throngs

Are rushing forth in mood for any deed.

Chorus: What are they bent to do, or with what plan?

Messenger: To give Octavia back her father's house,

Her brother's bed, and her due share of empire.790

Chorus: But these Poppaea holds as Nero's wife.

Messenger: 'Tis even she 'gainst whom the people's rage

Burns most persistent, and to reckless deeds

Is driven headlong on. Whate'er they see,

Of noble marble wrought, or gleaming bronze,

The hated image of Poppaea's face,795

They cast it to the earth with wanton hands

And crushing bars. The shattered parts they drag

Along the streets, and with insulting heel

Deep in the filthy mud they trample them.

These savage deeds are mingled with such words

As I should fear to utter in your ears.800

Soon will they hedge the royal house with flames,

Unless the prince his new-made wife give up

To sate the people's wrath, and then restore

To noble Claudia her father's house.

That he himself may know these threatened deeds,

I'll haste to tell him as the prefect bade.805

[Exit.]

Chorus: Why vainly strive against the powers above?

For Cupid's weapons are invincible.

Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim

By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove,

And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky.810

For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay,

E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he,

And may not be o'ercome. At his command

Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre;

He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud815

To do his will. Illustrious cities, too,

And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed.

And now my mind in fear awaits to see

What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.

FOOTNOTES:

[57] Reading, intentus.

ACT V

Nero [seated in a room of his palace]: Too slow my soldiers' hands, too mild my wrath,820

When citizens have dared such crimes as these.

Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince

Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men,

Shall be bespattered with her people's gore.

Yet death is far too light a punishment825

For such atrocities; this impious mob

Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife

And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear,

For whose sole sake the people rage at me,

Shall give her life at last to sate my grief,

And quench my anger in her flowing blood.830

Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls,

And in the ruins of her falling homes

The people shall be buried; squalid want,

Dire hunger, grief-all these shall they endure.

Too fat upon the blessings of our age

Has this vile mob become, and know not how835

To bear our clemency and relish peace;

But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne

By shifting tides of passion to their hurt.

They must be held in check by suffering,

Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke,

Lest once again they dare assail the throne,840

And to the august features of my wife

Dare lift again their vulgar eyes. O'erawed

By fear of punishment must they be taught

To yield obedience to their prince's nod.

But here I see the man whose loyalty

Has made him captain of my royal guards.845

[Enter Prefect.]

Prefect: The people's rage by slaughter of a few,

Who most resistance made is overcome.

Nero: Is that enough? Was that my word to thee?

"Is overcome?" Where then is my revenge?

Prefect: The guilty leaders of the mob are dead.850

Nero: Nay, but the mob itself, which dared to assail

My house with flames, to dictate laws to me,

To drag my noble wife from off my bed,

And with unhallowed hands and angry threats

To affront her majesty—are they unscathed?855

Prefect: Shall angry grief decide their punishment?

Nero: It shall—whose fame no future age shall dim.

Prefect: Which neither wrath nor fear shall moderate?[58]

Nero: She first shall feel my wrath who merits it.

Prefect: Tell whom thou mean'st. My hand shall spare her not.860

Nero: My wrath demands my guilty sister's death.

Prefect: Benumbing horror holds me in its grasp.

Nero: Wilt not obey my word?

Prefect: Why question that?

Nero: Because thou spar'st my foe.

Prefect: A woman, foe?

Nero: If she be criminal.865

Prefect: But what her crime?

Nero: The people's rage.

Prefect: But who can check their rage?

Nero: The one who fanned its flame.

Prefect: But who that one?

Nero: A woman she, to whom an evil heart

Hath nature given, a soul to fraud inclined.

Prefect: But not the power to act.870

Nero: That she may be

Without the power to act, that present fear

May break her strength, let punishment at once,

Too long delayed, crush out her guilty life.

Have done at once with arguments and prayers,

And do my royal bidding: let her sail

To some far distant shore and there be slain,875

That thus at last my fears may be at rest.

[Exeunt.]

Chorus [attached to Octavia]: Oh, dire and deadly has the people's love

To many proved, which fills their swelling sails

With favoring breeze, and bears them out to sea;

But soon its vigor languishes and dies,880

And leaves them to the mercy of the deep.

The wretched mother of the Gracchi wept

Her murdered sons, who, though of noble blood,

Far famed for eloquence and piety,885

Stout-hearted, learnÉd in defense of law,

Were brought to ruin by the people's love

And popular renown. And Livius, thee

To equal fate did fickle fortune give,

Who found no safety in thy lictors' rods,

No refuge in thy home. But grief forbids

To tell more instances. This hapless girl,890

To whom but now the citizens decreed

The restoration of her fatherland,

Her home, her brother's couch, is dragged away

In tears and misery to punishment,

With citizens consenting to her death!895

Oh, blessÉd poverty, content to hide

Beneath the refuge of a lowly roof!

For lofty homes, to fame and fortune known,

By storms are blasted and by fate o'erthrown!

[Enter Octavia in the custody of the palace guards, who are dragging her roughly out into the street.]

[Exit Octavia with guards.]

Chorus: Ye gentle breezes and ye zephyrs mild,

Which once from savage Dian's altar bore975

Atrides' daughter in a cloud concealed,

This child of ours, Octavia too, we pray,

Bear far away from these too cruel woes,

And set her in the fane of Trivia.

For Aulis is more merciful than Rome,

The savage Taurian land more mild than this:980

There hapless strangers to their gods they feed,

But Rome delights to see her children bleed.

FOOTNOTES:

[58] Reading, quam temperet non ira, etc.

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