Classic Poem

  Ham. Where is this wondrous man, this matchless hero,
This arbiter of kingdoms and of kings,
This delegate of Heaven, this Roman god?
I long to show his soaring mind an equal,
And bring it to the standard of humanity.
What pride, what glory will it be to fix
An obligation on his stubborn soul!
Oh! to constrain a foe to be obliged!
The very thought exalts me e'en to rapture.

  Ham. Well, Regulus! At last—
  Reg. I know it all;
I know the motive of thy just complaint—
Be not alarm'd at this licentious uproar
Of the mad populace. I will depart—
Fear not; I will not stay in Rome alive.
  Ham. What dost thou mean by uproar and alarms?
Hamilcar does not come to vent complaints;
He rather comes to prove, that Afric too
Produces heroes, and that Tiber's banks
May find a rival on the Panic coast.
  Reg. Be it so.—'Tis not a time for vain debate:
Collect thy people.—Let us straight depart.
  Ham. Lend me thy hearing first.
  Reg. O patience, patience!
  Ham. It is esteem'd a glory to be grateful?
  Reg. The time has been when 'twas a duty only
But 'tis a duty now so little practis'd,
That to perform it is become a glory.
  Ham. If to fulfil it should expose to danger?—
  Reg. It rises then to an illustrious virtue.
  Ham. Then grant this merit to an African.
Give me a patient hearing—Thy great son,
As delicate in honour as in love,
Hath nobly given my Barce to my arms;
And yet I know he doats upon the maid
I come to emulate the generous deed;
He gave me back my love, and in return
I will restore his father.
  Reg. Ah! what say'st thou?
Wilt thou preserve me then?
  Ham. I will.
  Reg. But how?
  Ham. By leaving thee at liberty to fly .
  Reg. Ah!
  Ham. I will dismiss my guards on some pretence,
Meanwhile do thou escape, and lie conceal'd;
I will affect a rage I shall not feel,
Unmoor my ships, and sail for Africa.
  Reg. Abhorr'd barbarian!
  Ham. Well, what dost thou say?
Art thou not much surpris'd?
  Reg. I am indeed.
  Ham. Thou couldst not then have hoped it?
  Reg. No! I could not.
  Ham. And yet I'm not a Roman.
  Reg. I perceive it.
  Ham. You may retire.
  Reg. No!—Stay, I charge you, stay.
  Ham. And wherefore stay?
  Reg. I thank thee for thy offer,
But I shall go with thee.
  Ham. 'Tis well, proud man;
Thou dost despise me, then?
  Reg. No, but I pity thee.
  Ham. Why pity me?
  Reg. Because thy poor, dark soul
Hath never felt the piercing ray of virtue.
Know, African! the scheme thou dost propose
Would injure me, thy country, and thyself.
  Ham. Thou dost mistake.
  Reg. Who was it gave thee power
To rule the destiny of Regulus?
Am I a slave to Carthage, or to thee?
  Ham. What does it signify from whom, proud Roman,
Thou dost receive this benefit?
  Reg. A benefit?
O savage ignorance! is it a benefit
To lie, elope, deceive, and be a villain?
  Ham. What! not when life itself, when all's at stake?
Know'st thou my countrymen prepare thee tortures
That shock imagination but to think of?
Thou wilt be mangled, butcher'd, rack'd, impaled.
Does not thy nature shrink?
  Reg. Hamilcar! no.
Dost thou not know the Roman genius better?
We live on honour—'tis our food, our life,
The motive and the measure of our deeds!
We look on death as on a common object;
The tongue nor falters, nor the cheek turns pale
Nor the calm eye is mov'd at sight of him:
We court, and we embrace him undismay'd;
We smile at tortures if they lend to glory,
And only cowardice and guilt appal us.
  Ham. Fine sophistry! the valour of the tongue,
The heart disclaims it; leave this pomp of words,
And cease dissembling with a friend like me.
I know that life is dear to all who live,
That death is dreadful,—yes, and must be fear'd,
E'en by the frozen apathists of Rome.
  Reg. Did I fear death when on Bagrada's banks
I faced and slew the formidable serpent
That made your boldest Africans recoil,
And shrink with horror, though the monster liv'd
A native inmate of their own parch'd deserts?
Did I fear death before the gates of Adis?—
Ask Bostar, or let Asdrubal confess.
  Ham. Or shall I rather of Xantippus ask,
Who dar'd to undeceive deluded Rome,
And prove this vaunter not invincible?
'Tis even said, in Africa I mean,
He made a prisoner of this demi-god.——
Did we not triumph then?
  Reg. Vain boaster! no.
No Carthaginian conquer'd Regulus;
Xantippus was a Greek—a brave one too:
Yet what distinction did your Afric make
Between the man who serv'd her, and her foe?
I was the object of her open hate:
He, of her secret, dark malignity.
He durst not trust the nation he had sav'd;
He knew, and therefore fear'd you.—Yes, he knew
Where once you were obliged, you ne'er forgave.
Could you forgive at all, you'd rather pardon
The man who hated, than the man who serv'd you.
Xantippus found his rain ere it reach'd him,
Lurking behind your honours and rewards,
Found it in your feign'd courtesies and fawnings.
When vice intends to strike a master stroke,
Its veil is smiles, its language protestations.
The Spartan's merit threaten'd, but his service
Compell'd his ruin.—Both you could not pardon.
  Ham. Come, come, I know full well—
  Reg. Barbarian! peace.
I've heard too much—Go, call thy followers;
Prepare thy ships, and learn to do thy duty.
  Ham. Yes!—show thyself intrepid, and insult me;
Call mine the blindness of barbarian friendship.
On Tiber's banks I hear thee, and am calm:
But know, thou scornful Roman! that too soon
In Carthage thou may'st fear and feel my vengeance:
Thy cold, obdurate pride shall there confess,
Though Rome may talk—'tis Africa can punish.

  Reg. Farewell! I've not a thought to waste on thee.
Where is the consul! why does Publius stay?
Alas! I fear—but see Attilia comes!—

  Reg. What brings thee here, my child? what eager joy
Transports thee thus?
  Att. I cannot speak—my father!
Joy choaks my utterance—Rome, dear grateful Rome,
(Oh! may her cup with blessings overflow,)
Gives up our common destiny to thee;
Faithful and constant to th' advice thou gav'st her,
She will not hear of peace, or change of slaves,
But she insists—reward and bless her, gods!—
That thou shalt here remain.
  Reg. What! with the shame—
  Att. Oh! no—the sacred senate hath consider'd
That, when to Carthage thou didst pledge thy faith,
Thou wast a captive, and that, being such,
Thou couldst not bind thyself in covenant.
  Reg. He who can die is always free, my child!
Learn farther, he who owns another's strength
Confesses his own weakness. Let them know,
I swore I would return because I chose it,
And will return, because I swore to do it.
`
  Pub. Vain is that hope, my father.
  Reg. Who shall stop me?
  Pub. All Rome.—The citizens are up in arms:
In vain would reason stop the growing torrent;
In vain would'st thou attempt to reach the port,
The way is barr'd by thronging multitudes:
The other streets of Rome are all deserted.
  Reg. Where, where is Manlius!
  Pub. He is still thy friend;
His single voice opposes a whole people;
He threats this moment, and the next entreats,
But all in vain: none hear him, none obey.
The general fury rises e'en to madness.
The axes tremble in the lictors' hands,
Who pale and spiritless want power to use them—
And one wild scene of anarchy prevails.
  Reg. Farewell! my daughter. Publius, follow me.

  Att. Ah! where? I tremble—

  Reg. To assist my friend—
T' upbraid my hapless country with her crime—
To keep unstain'd the glory of these chains—
To go, or perish.
  Att. Oh! have mercy!
  Reg. Hold;
I have been patient with thee; have indulg'd
Too much the fond affections of thy soul;
It is enough; thy grief would now offend
Thy father's honour; do not let thy tears
Conspire with Rome to rob me of my triumph.
  Att. Alas! it wounds my soul.
  Reg. I know it does.
I know 'twill grieve thy gentle heart to lose me;
But think, thou mak'st the sacrifice to Rome,
And all is well again.
  Att. Alas! my father,
In aught beside—
  Reg. What wouldst thou do, my child?
Canst thou direct the destiny of Rome,
And boldly plead timid th' assembled senate?
Canst thou, forgetting all thy sex's softness,
Fiercely engage in hardy deeds of arms?
Canst thou encounter labour, toil, and famine,
Fatigue and hardships, watchings, cold and heat
Canst thou attempt to serve thy country thus?
Thou canst not:—but thou mayst sustain my loss
Without those agonizing pangs of grief,
And set a bright example of submission,
Worthy a Roman's daughter.
  Att. You such fortitude—
  Reg. Is a most painful virtue;—but Attilia
Is Regulus's daughter, and must have it.
  Att. I will entreat the gods to give it me.
Ah! thou art offended! I have lost thy love.
  Reg. Is this concern a mark that thou hast lost it?
I cannot, cannot spurn my weeping child.
Receive this proof of my paternal fondness;—
Thou lov'st Licinius—He too loves my daughter.
I give thee to his wishes; I do more—
I give thee to his virtues.—Yes, Attilia,
The noble youth deserves this dearest pledge
Thy father's friendship ever can bestow.
  Att. My lord! my father! wilt thou, canst thou leave me?
The tender father will not quit his child!
  Reg. I am, I am thy father! as a proof,
I leave then my example how to suffer.
My child! I have a heart within this bosom;
That heart has passions—see in what we differ;
Passion—which is thy tyrant—is my slave.
  Att. Ah! stay my father. Ah!
  Reg. Farewell! farewell!
  Att. Yes, Regulus! I feel thy spirit here,
Thy mighty spirit struggling in this breast,
And it shall conquer all these coward feelings,
It shall subdue the woman in my soul;
A Roman virgin should be something more—
Should dare above her sex's narrow limits—
And I will dare—and mis'ry shall assist me—
My father! I will be indeed thy daughter!
The hero shall no more disdain his child;
Attilia shall not be the only branch
That yields dishonour to the parent tree.

  Bar. Attilia! is it true that Regulus,
In spite of senate, people, augurs, friends,
And children, will depart?
  Att. Yes, it is true.
  Bar. Oh! what romantic madness!
  Att. You forget—
Barce! the deeds of heroes claim respect.
  Bar. Dost thou approve a virtue which must lend
To chains, to tortures, and to certain death?
  Att. Barce! those chains, those tortures, and that death,
Will be his triumph.
  Bar. Thou art pleas'd, Attilia:
By heav'n thou dost exult in his destruction!
  Att. Ah! pitying powers.
  Bar. I do not comprehend thee.
  Att. No, Barce, I believe it.—Why, how shouldst thou?
If I mistake not, thou wast born in Carthage,
In a barbarian land, where never child
Was taught to triumph in a father's chains.
  Bar. Yet thou dost weep—thy tears at least are honest,
For they refuse to share thy tongue's deceit;
They speak the genuine language of affliction,
And tell the sorrows that oppress thy soul.
  Att. Grief, that dissolves in tears, relieves the heart,
When congregated vapours melt in rain,
The sky is calm'd, and all's serene again.
  Bar. Why, what a strange, fantastic land is this!
This love of glory's the disease of Rome;
It makes her mad, it is a wild delirium,
An universal and contagious frenzy;
It preys on all, it spares nor sex nor age:
The Consul envies Regulus his chains—
He, not less mad, contemns his life and freedom—
The daughter glories in the father's rain—
And Publius, more distracted than the rest,
Resigns the object that his soul adores,
For this vain phantom, for this empty glory.
This may be virtue; but I thank the gods,
The soul of Barce's not a Roman soul.

M ANLIUS and L ICINUS advance. .

  Lic. Rome will not suffer Regulus to go.
  Man. I thought the Consul and the Senators
Had been a part of Rome.
  Lic. I grant they are—
But still the people are the greater part.
  Man. The greater, not the wiser.
  Lic. The less cruel.——
Full of esteem and gratitude to Regulus,
We would preserve his life.
  Man. And we his honour.
  Lic. His honour!——
  Man. Yes. Time presses. Words are vain.
Make way there—clear the passage.
  Lic. On your lives,
Stir not a man.
  Man. I do command you, go.
  Lic. And I forbid it.
  Man. Clear the way, my friends.
How dares Licinius thus oppose the Consul?
  Lic. How dar'st thou, Manlius, thus oppose the Tribune?
  Man. I'll show thee what I dare, imprudent boy!
Lictors, force through the passage.
  Lic. Romans, guard it.
  Man. Gods! is my power resisted then with arms!
Thou dost affront the majesty of Rome.
  Lic. The majesty of Rome is in the people;
Thou dost insult it by opposing them.
  People. Let noble Regulus remain in Rome.
  Man. My friends, let me explain this treacherous scheme.
  People. We will not hear thee—Regulus shall stay.
  Man. What! none obey me?
  People. Regulus shall stay.
  Man. Romans, attend.——
  People. Let Regulus remain.

  Reg. Let Regulus remain! What do I hear?
Is't possible the wish should come from you?
Can Romans give, or Regulus accept,
A life of infamy? Is't possible?
Where is the ancient virtue of my country?
Rise, rise, ye mighty spirits of old Rome!
I do invoke you from your silent tombs;
Fabriclus, Cocles, and Camillus, rise,
And show your sons what their great fathers were.
My countrymen, what crime have I committed?
Alas! how has the wretched Regulus
Deserv'd your hatred?
  Lic. Hatred? ah! my friend,
It is our love would break these cruel chains.
  Reg. If you deprive me of my chains, I'm nothing;
They are my honours, riches, titles,—all!
They'll shame my enemies, and grace my country;
They'll waft her glory to remotest climes,
Beyond her provinces and conquer'd realms,
Where yet her conq'ring eagles never flew;
Nor shall she blush hereaiter if she find
Recorded with her faithful citizens,
The name of Regulus, the captive Regulus.
My countrymen! what, think you, kept in awe
The Volsci, Sabines, Æqui, and Heroici?
The arms of Rome alone? no, 'twas her virtue;
That sole surviving good, which brave men keep
Though fate and warring worlds combine against them:
This still is mine—and I'll preserve it, Romans!
The wealth of Plutus shall not bribe it from me!
If you, alas! require this sacrifice,
Carthage herself was less my for than Rome;
She took my freedom—she could take no more;
But Rome, to crown her work, would take my honour.
My friends! if you deprive me of my chains,
I am no more than any other slave:
Yes, Regulus becomes a common captive,
A wretched, lying, perjur'd fugitive!
But if, to grace my bonds, you leave my honour,
I shall be still a Roman, though a slave.
  Lic. What faith should be observ'd with savages?
What promise should be kept which bonds extort?
  Reg. Unworthy subterfuge! ah! let us leave
To the wild Arab and the faithless Moor
These wretched maxims of deceit and fraud:
Examples ne'er can justify the coward.
The brave man never seeks a vindication,
Save from his own just bosom and the gods;
From principle, not precedent, he acts:
As that arraigns him, or as that acquits,
He stands or falls; condemn'd or justified.
  Lic. Rome is no more, if Regulus departs.
  Reg. Let Rome remember Regulus must die!
Nor would the moment of my death be distant,
If nature's work had been reserv'd for nature:
What Carthage means to do, she would have done,
As speedily, perhaps, at least as surely.
My wearied life has almost reach'd its goal;
The once warm current stagnates in these veins,
Or through its icy channels slowly creeps—
View the weak arm; mark the pale, furrow'd cheek,
The slacken'd sinew, and the dim sunk eye,
And tell me then I must not think of dying!
How can I serve you else? My feeble limbs
Would totter now beneath the armour's weight,
The burthen of that body it once shielded.
You see, my friends, you see, my countrymen,
I can no longer show myself a Roman,
Except by dying like one.—Gracious Heaven
Points out a way to crown my days with glory;
O do not frustrate then the will of Jove,
And close a life of virtue with disgrace.
Come, come, I know my noble Romans better;
I see your souls, I read repentance in them;
You all applaud me—nay, you wish my chains;
'Twas nothing but excess of love misled you,
And, as you're Romans, you will conquer that.
Yes!—I perceive your weakness is subdued—
Seize, seize the moment of returning virtue;
Throw to the ground, my sons, those hostile arms;
Retard no longer Regulus's triumph;
I do request it of you as a friend,
I call you to your duty as a patriot,
And—were I still your gen'ral, I'd command you.
  Lic. Lay down your arms—let Regulus depart.
  Reg. Gods! gods! I thank you—you indeed are righteous.
  Pub. See every man disarm'd. Oh, Rome! oh, father!
  Att. Held, hold, my heart. Alas! they all obey.
  Reg. The way is clear. Hamilcar, I attend thee.
  Ham. Why, I begin to envy this old man!
  Man. Not the proud victor on the day of triumph,
Warm from the slaughter of dispeopled realms,
Though conquer'd princes grace his chariot wheels,
Though tributary monarchs wait his nod,
And vanquish'd nations bend the knee before him,
E'er shone with half the lustre that surrounds
This voluntary sacrifice for Rome!
Who loves his country will obey her laws
Who most obeys them is the truest patriot.
  Reg. Be our last parting worthy of ourselves.
Farewell! my friends. I bless the gods who rule us,
Since I must leave you, that I leave you Romans.
Preserve the glorious name untainted still,
And you shall be the rulers of the globe,
The arbiters of earth. The farthest east,
Beyond where Ganges rolls his rapid flood,
Shall proudly emulate the Roman name.
Ye gods, the guardians of this glorious people,
Who watch with jealous eye Æneas' race,
This land of heroes I commit to you!
This ground, these walls, this people be your care!
Oh! bless them, bless them with a liberal hand!
Let fortitude and valour, truth and justice,
For ever flourish and increase among them!
And if some baneful planet threat the Capital
With its malignant influence, oh! avert it.
Be Regulus the victim of your wrath.—
On this white head be all your vengeance pour'd,
But spare, oh! spare, and bless immortal Rome!
Ah! tears? my Romans weep! Farewell! farewell!

M ANLIUS Farewell! farewell! thou glory of mankind!
Protector, father, saviour of thy country!
Through Regulus the Roman name shall live,
Shall triumph over time, and mock oblivion.
Farewell! thou pride of this immortal coast!
'Tis Rome alone a Regulus can boast.