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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

intense anxieties, the sensitive and passionate attachment, embodied in the person of Sicinia, the wife of Gracchus. The appeals made by Gracchus to the people are full of majestic eloquence; and the whole piece seems to be animated by that restless and untameable spirit of freedom, whose immortalised struggles for ascendency give so vivid a colouring, so exalted an interest, to the annals of the ancient republics. The tragedy opens with the soliloquy of Caius Gracchus, who is returned in secret to Rome, after having been employed in rebuilding Carthage, which Scipio had utterly demolished. Caius, in Rome behold thyself! The night Hath spread her favouring shadows o’er thy path: And thou, be strong, my country! for thy son Gracchus is with thee! All is hush’d around, And in deep slumber; from the cares of day The worn plebeians rest. Oh! good and true, And only Romans! your repose is sweet, For toil hath given it zest; ’tis calm and pure, For no remorse hath troubled it. Meanwhile, My brother’s murderers, the patricians, hold Inebriate vigils o’er their festal boards, Or in dark midnight councils sentence me To death, and Rome to chains. They little deem Of the unlook’d-for and tremendous foe So near at hand!--It is enough. I tread In safety my paternal threshold.--Yes! This is my own! O mother! O my wife! My child!--I come to dry your tears. I come Strengthen’d by three dread furies:--One is wrath, Fired by my country’s wrongs; and one deep love, For those, my bosom’s inmates; and the third-- Vengeance, fierce vengeance, for a brother’s blood! His soliloquy is interrupted by the entrance of Fulvius, his friend, with whose profligate character and unprincipled designs he is represented as unacquainted. From the opening speech made by Fulvius (before he is aware of the presence of Caius) to the slave by whom he is attended, it appears that he is just returned from the perpetration of some crime, the nature of which is not disclosed until the second act. The suspicions of Caius are, however, awakened, by the obscure allusions to some act of signal but secret vengeance, which Fulvius throws out in the course of the ensuing discussion. _Ful._ This is no time for grief and feeble tears, But for high deeds. _Caius._ And we will make it such. But prove we first our strength. Declare, what friends (If yet misfortune hath her friends) remain True to our cause? _Ful._ Few, few, but valiant hearts! * * * * * Oh! what a change is here! There was a time When, over all supreme, thy word gave law To nations and their rulers; in thy presence The senate trembled, and the citizens Flock’d round thee in deep reverence. Then a word, A look from Caius--a salute, a smile, Fill’d them with pride. Each sought to be the friend, The client, ay, the very slave, of him, The people’s idol; and beholding them Thus prostrate in thy path, thou, thou thyself, Didst blush to see their vileness! But thy fortune Is waning now, her glorious phantoms melt Into dim vapour; and the earthly god, So worshipp’d once, from his forsaken shrines Down to the dust is hurl’d. _Caius._ And what of this? There is no power in fortune to deprive Gracchus of Gracchus. Mine is such a heart As meets the storm exultingly--a heart Whose stem delight it is to strive with fate, And conquer. Trust me, fate is terrible But because man is vile. A coward first Made her a deity. * * * * * But say, what thoughts Are foster’d by the people? Have they lost The sense of their misfortunes? Is the name Of Gracchus in their hearts--reveal the truth-- Already number’d with forgotten things? _Ful._ A breeze, a passing breeze, now here, now there, Borne on light pinion--such the people’s love! Yet have they claims on pardon, for their faults Are of their miseries; and their feebleness Is to their woes proportion’d. Haply still The secret sigh of their full hearts is thine. But their lips breathe it not. Their grief is mute; And the deep paleness of their timid mien, And eyes in fix’d despondence bent on earth, And sometimes a faint murmur of thy name, Alone accuse them. They are hush’d--for now Not one, nor two, their tyrants; but a host Whose numbers are the numbers of the rich, And the patrician Romans. Yes! and well May proud oppression dauntlessly go forth, For Rome is widow’d! Distant wars engage The noblest of her youth, by Fabius led, And but the weak remain. Hence every heart Sickens with voiceless terror; and the people, Subdued and trembling, turn to thee in thought, But yet are silent. _Caius._ I will make them heard. Rome is a slumbering lion, and my voice Shall wake the mighty. Thou shalt see I came Prepared for all; and as I track’d the deep For Rome, my dangers to my spirit grew Familiar in its musings. With a voice Of wrath the loud winds fiercely swell’d; the waves Mutter’d around; heaven flash’d in lightning forth, And the pale steersman trembled: I the while Stood on the tossing and bewilder’d bark, Retired and shrouded in my mantle’s folds, With thoughtful eyes cast down, and all absorb’d In a far deeper storm! Around my heart, Gathering in secret then, my spirit’s powers Held council with themselves; and on my thoughts My country rose,--and I foresaw the snares, The treacheries of Opimius, and the senate, And my false friends, awaiting my return. * * * * * Fulvius! I wept; but they were tears of rage! For I was wrought to frenzy by the thought Of my wrong’d country, and of him, that brother Whose shade through ten long years hath sternly cried “Vengeance!”--nor found it yet. _Ful._ It is fulfill’d. _Caius._ And how? _Ful._ Thou shalt be told. _Caius._ Explain thy words. _Ful._ Then know--(incautious that I am!) _Caius._ Why thus Falters thy voice? Why speak’st thou not? _Ful._ Forgive! E’en friendship sometimes hath its secrets. _Caius._ No! True friendship never! Caius afterwards inquires what part his brother-in-law, Scipio Emilianus, is likely to adopt in their enterprises. His high renown-- The glorious deeds, whereby was earn’d his name Of second Africanus; and the blind, Deep reverence paid him by the people’s hearts, Who, knowing him their foe, respect him still-- All this disturbs me: hardly will be won Our day of victory, if by him withstood. _Ful._ Yet won it _shall_ be. If but this thou fear’st, Then be at peace. _Caius._ I understand thee not _Ful._ Thou wilt ere long. But here we vainly waste Our time and words. Soon, will the morning break, Nor know thy friends as yet of thy return; I fly to cheer them with the tidings. _Caius._ Stay! _Ful._ And wherefore? _Caius._ To reveal thy meaning. _Ful._ Peace! I hear the sound of steps. This conversation is interrupted by the entrance of Cornelia, with the wife and child of Caius. They are about to seek an asylum in the house of Emilianus, by whom Cornelia has been warned of the imminent danger which menaces the family of her son from the fury of the patricians, who intend, on the following day, to abrogate the laws enacted by the Gracchi in favour of the plebeians. The joy and emotion of Gracchus, on thus meeting with his family, may appear somewhat inconsistent with his having remained so long engaged in political discussion, on the threshold of their abode, without ever having made an inquiry after their welfare; but it would be somewhat unreasonable to try the conduct of a Roman (particularly in a tragedy) by the laws of _nature_. Before, however, we are disposed to condemn the principles which seem to be laid down for the delineation of Roman character in dramatic poetry, let us recollect that the general habits of the people whose institutions gave birth to the fearful grandeur displayed in the actions of the elder Brutus, and whose towering spirit was fostered to enthusiasm by the contemplation of it, must have been deeply tinctured by the austerity of even their virtues. Shakspeare alone, without compromising the dignity of his Romans, has disencumbered them of the formal scholastic drapery which seems to be their _official_ garb, and has stamped their features with the general attributes of human nature, without effacing the impress which distinguished “the men of iron,” from the nations who “stood still before them.” The first act concludes with the parting of Caius and Fulvius in wrath and suspicion--Cornelia having accused the latter of an attempt to seduce her daughter, the wife of Scipio, and of concealing the most atrocious designs under the mask of zeal for the cause of liberty. Of liberty What speak’st thou, and to whom? Thou hast no shame-- No virtue--and thy boast is, to be free! Oh! zeal for liberty! eternal mask Assumed by every crime! In the second act, the death of Emilianus is announced to Opimius the consul, in the presence of Gracchus, and the intelligence is accompanied by a rumour of his having perished by assassination. The mysterious expressions of Fulvius, and the accusation of Cornelia, immediately recur to the mind of Caius. The following scene, in which his vehement emotion, and high sense of honour, are well contrasted with the cold-blooded sophistry of Fulvius, is powerfully wrought up. _Caius._ Back on my thoughts the words of Fulvius rush, Like darts of fire. All hell is in my heart! (_Fulvius enters._) Thou comest in time. Speak, thou perfidious friend! Scipio lies murder’d on his bed of death!-- Who slew him? _Ful._ Ask’st thou me? _Caius._ Thee! thee, who late Didst in such words discourse of him as now Assure me thou ’rt his murderer. Traitor, speak! _Ful._ If thus his fate doth weigh upon thy heart, Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest! More grateful praise and warmer thanks might well Reward the generous courage which hath freed Rome from a tyrant, Gracchus from a foe. _Caius._ Then he was slain by thee? _Ful._ Ungrateful friend! Why dost thou tempt me? Danger menaces Thy honour. Freedom’s wavering light is dim; Rome wears the fetters of a guilty senate; One Scipio drove thy brother to a death Of infamy, another seeks _thy_ fall; And when one noble, one determined stroke To thee and thine assures the victory, wreaks The people’s vengeance, gives thee life and fame And pacifies thy brother’s angry shade, Is it a cause for wailing? Am I call’d For _this_ a murderer? Go!--I say once more, Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest! _Caius._ I know thee now, barbarian! Would’st thou serve My cause with crimes? _Ful._ And those of that proud man Whom I have slain, and thou dost mourn, are _they_ To be forgotten? Hath oblivion then Shrouded the stern destroyer’s ruthless work, The famine of Numantia? Such a deed As on our name the world’s deep curses drew! Or the four hundred Lusian youths betray’d, And with their bleeding, mutilated limbs Back to their parents sent? Is this forgot? Go, ask of Carthage!--bid her wasted shores