Classic Poem

Scene. The House of Collatine .

Welcome, my father! good Valerius,
Welcome! and thou too, Brutus! ye were both
My wedding guests, and fitly ye are come.
My husband — Collatine — alas! no more
Lucretia's husband, for thou shalt not clasp
Pollution to thy bosom, — hear me on!
For I must tell thee all.
I sat at eve
Spinning amid my maidens as I wont,
When from the camp at Ardea Sextus came,
Curb down thy swelling feelings, Collatine!
I little liked the man! yet, for he came
From Ardea, for he brought me news of thee,
I gladly gave him welcome; gladly listen'd, —
Thou canst not tell how gladly — to his tales
Of battles, and the long and perilous siege;
And when I laid me down at night to sleep,
'Twas with a lighten'd heart, — I knew thee safe;
My visions were of thee.
Nay, hear me out!
And be thou wise in vengeance, so thy wife
Not vainly shall have suffer'd. I have wrought
My soul up to the business of this hour,
That it may stir your noble spirits, and prompt
Such glorious deeds that ages yet unborn
Shall bless my fate. At midnight I awoke;
The Tarquin was beside me! O my husband,
Where wert thou then! gone was my rebel strength —
All power of utterance gone! astonish'd, stunn'd,
I saw the coward ruffian, heard him urge
His wicked suit, and bid me tamely yield, —
Yield to dishonor. When he proffer'd death, —
Oh, I had leap'd to meet themerciful sword!
But that with most accursed vows he vow'd,
That he would lay a dead slave by my side,
Murdering my spotless honor. — Collatine,
From what an anguish have I rescued thee!
And thou, my father, wretched as thou art,
Thou miserable, childless, poor old man, —
Think, father, what that agony had been!
Now thou mayst sorrow for me, thou mayst bless
The memory of thy poor, polluted child.
Look if it have not kindled Brutus' eye:
Mysterious man! at last I know thee now;
I see thy dawning glories! — to the grave
Not unrevenged Lucretia shall descend;
Not always shall her wretched country wear
The Tarquin's yoke! Ye will deliver Rome,
And I have comfort in this dreadful hour.

Thinkest thou, my husband, that I dreaded death?
O Collatine! the weapon that had gored
My bosom had been ease, been happiness, —
Elysium, to the hell of his hot grasp.
Judge if Lucretia could have fear'd to die!