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VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
AND OTHER POEMS
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
AND
OTHER POEMS
BY
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY
Incorporated
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
Dedication
TO MY FATHER
Years can not cloud the light of your clear eyes,
Steadfast and bright with high integrity;
Nor rob your spirit of the strength that lies
On those firm lips; nor dim the purity
Of a high soul, which bears the shield of Love
Untarnished, as it was upon the day
When One, with tender faith, desired to prove
Her "Royal Knight," and gave her heart away.
Bear her bright shield, and smile, as years roll by--
Years that have crowned you with the priceless crown
Of steadfast faith and worldwide charity--
Until you reap the joy that you have sown,
In that near land, where, with a light divine,
The eyes you love through all the ages shine.
[Thanks are due to the proprietors of The Cosmopolitan Magazine and
Leslie's Weekly, for their courtesy in allowing the republication herein
of a number of poems which have previously appeared in issues of their
copyrighted magazines.]
CONTENTS
PAGE
VIRGINIA 1
Stewardship 61
The Sea Gull 62
Mt. Vernon 63
My Mother 64
The Cradle Song 64
Out of the Dark 65
Niobe 66
To the Genius of Death, by Canova 66
To the Winged Victory of Samothrace 67
Beatrice Triumphant 68
The Call of the Irish Sea 68
The Lion of Lucerne 69
Sonnet to Niagara Falls 70
The Lost Heart 70
Is He Not Mine? 71
Two Gifts 71
The Moonflower 72
Three Kisses 72
A Song of the West 73
To Esther 74
The Thrush 75
The Light of the Star 76
The Message of the Pines 77
The Lost Sunbeam 78
Heritage 79
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
APPIUS CLAUDIUS,
Chief of the Ten and lawgiver of the Romans.
MARCUS CLAUDIUS,
His client.
OPPIUS,
One of the Ten.
VIRGINIUS,
A Roman centurion; a plebeian.
ICILIUS,
A tribune of the commons and lover to Virginia.
SICINIUS,
A plebeian soldier and an enemy of the Decemvirs.
HORATIUS,
GALBA,
MARIUS,
HORTENSIUS,
Four Roman citizens.
TIBERIUS,
A boy of noble birth; brother to Cornelia.
THE TEN DECEMVIRS.
A PORTER.
VIRGINIA,
Daughter of Virginius.
CORNELIA,
A patrician lady, secretly betrothed to Sicinius.
CAMILLA,
Nurse to Virginia.
JULIA,
A maid.
A SIBYL.
A SLAVE GIRL IN THE HOUSE OF APPIUS CLAUDIUS.
SOLDIERS, LICTORS, WOMEN, RABBLE, AND SERFS.
_Setting--Rome._ _Time--During Supremacy of the Decemvirs._
ACT I--Scene I--The Forum. Scene II--A Street in Rome.
ACT II--Scene I--The House of Appius. Scene II--Women's
Apartments in the House of Virginius. Scene III--Garden in House
of Virginius. Scene IV--Home of Cornelia.
ACT III--Scene I--The Forum. Scene II--Home of Virginius. Scene
III--The Forum.
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
ACT I.
Scene I--The Forum.
_A multitude of citizens gathered therein. Disturbance shown
among them by sullen looks and murmurings. Four citizens, two in
patrician and two in plebeian garments, confer together._
_1st Cit._ Enough, enough! I see we all agree
Upon this common cause of our grievance;
Our ranks, our unmixed blood, our differences,
Are all forgotten--nay, methinks they shall
In time together mingle when our blood
Shall be poured forth in this most righteous cause.
_2nd Cit._ As ever art thou eloquent, O Marius,
And just; Brutus himself were not more so.
Patrician and plebeian, equalized
By common woe, together whisper menace
To those who work such havoc as, indeed,
Was never known in Rome until to-day.
_3rd Cit._ Ye two are nobles; we, the commons are;
Yet all are leveled by the grief we feel
For Rome, our mother city, who so low
Hath fall'n. Hark! the multitude itself
Is wroth as we, yet, e'en as we, it lacks
The courage needful for this fierce occasion.
_4th Cit._ Ay, list indeed! Mark how the murmur swells!
[_They turn, and follow with their eyes the gaze of the Roman
mob._
_Voices of lictors_ (_without_). Make way, ye Romans, way for the
noble Ten!
_3rd Cit._ Pah! they announce them like to royal kings!
_1st Cit._ Tyrants are ceremonious to the letter.
_Multitude._ All hail to the lawgivers! Life and peace
Unto the Ten!
_2nd Cit._ Jove's lightning strike them down,
The turncoats! Ah, the cowards and the curs!
Perfidious gang of fawners! Do they thus
Forget their wrongs in the wrongdoer's presence,
Or veil them with that slime, false loyalty?
[_Enter the Ten Decemvirs, each preceded by twelve lictors armed
with fasces._
_4th Cit._ Lo! the presumption! How each lictor bears
Amongst his rods an axe to indicate
That life and death lie in his master's word.
Once was each tyrant pleased with one attendant
The way to clear--now must they number twelve.
[_The Decemvirs pause a space, the while their leader, Appius
Claudius, addresses the assembled citizens._
_Appius._ Ye Roman citizens! Unto our ears
Murmurings hath arrived laden with strife;
And though this day ye have protested loud
Your loyalty, and hailed us with acclaim,
Ye seem but ill-content. This must not be.
We have been lenient to every class--
What ye demand in reason ye receive.
Ye called for written laws, and lo! they hang
Within the Forum that all eyes may read.
Yet, mark ye! Read not only, but obey,
Else blood shall pour in torrents on these stones.
[_Low, angry murmur._
What! would ye show your teeth, ye nobles brave,
Would bare your fangs, O ye plebeian dogs!
Your teeth are drawn, patricians, and your fangs
Are dull, indeed, ye curs! [_A hissing protest._
What, open schism?
Ho, lictors, strike! Ah! would ye calmer grow?
Lictors, enough! Now must we on. Our time
Is pressing.
[_As he is on the point of departing with his colleagues, his
gaze is arrested by the passing of a girl, clad all in white,
attended by her nurse, through the Forum._
(_To a companion._) Now, by the ghost of Ixion, behold
Yon perfect vision of most perfect beauty.
Enchanting grace! Exquisite featuring!
Youth lightly shadowed by young womanhood!
My passions, Oppius, are all awake.
Aflame and spreading fast! Why, I would burn
All Rome to own her, touch her, feel her near;
I would receive the curses of the gods,
Be hurled to lowest Hades, and endure
The tortures set for Tantalus himself
If I might call her mine. Her kiss would prove
Sufficient food for me, her liquid eyes
Would quench my thirst if I should look within
And see the tears or draw the starry light
Into my soul! O, Appius, ye are stricken!
_Oppius._ Peace, peace, mine Appius, the maid is gone--
Thy looks are wild, thy features are convulsed
With passion.
_1st Cit._ See, Hortensius, yon man?
What ails him? Like a madman is his gaze,
And horrid is his flaming countenance.
_Oppius._ Come, brother, come, my colleague, let's away.
_Appius._ Hands off, O, foolish man, for I am dead
To protest. I have been by lightning stricken.
_Oppius._ It is, indeed, too passionate to be
The wound from Eros' feathered shaft.
_Appius_ (_groaning_). Ah! God!
Where has she gone? I can not see her face
Nor matchless form within the dreary crowd,
Women I spy in plenty. What a mob
Of uncouth shapes and homely featuring
These females are! She was a Cynthia,
And all beside her, hideous and bold
Bacchantes. I'll a lictor straight despatch,
To seize on her, for she belongs to me.
_Oppius._ Nay, fool! Rash fool! Thou art not Jupiter
In power, that thou darest thus to seize,
In open daylight, objects of thy lust,
When they are daughters of free citizens.
Some shadow of excuse must herald such
Bold actions, lest the rabble rise in arms,
As in the days of fair Lucretia!
Thou canst presume, and yet in thy presumption
Play the sly part of virtue, ay, and justice,
Nor seem a mad and bigoted abductor.
I know the maid; a blameless child of one
Virginius, a soldier and a pleb.
Wait, wait, and on the morrow form thy plans,
But for this moment let the matter rest,
If thou art prudent. Come, let's on; the mob
Follows thy gaze, noting thy steadfast look.
_Appius._ Speed morrow then. For I am now no better
Than madman; I, who hold the whole of Rome
Under my thumb, am raving only for
Nor heaven nor earth, nor power, nay, nor fame,
But for the captivation of a maid--
But for Virginia. Onward, let us on!
I'll march into the grim, gray gates of eve
And meet the morrow ere it hath arisen,
Tear down the portals of the night and force
My way into the chamber where the morn
Dozes, a lovely slothful soul of hope,
And seizing on her, madly I'll demand
Virginia! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II--A STREET IN ROME.
_Enter Marius and Horatius, two patricians._
_Marius._ He dared! he dared! he dared!
_Horatius._ And will dare more,
Until Rome wakens from her lethargy
And is herself again.
_Marius._ Till then we wait,
Enduring insult, tyranny, from him,
The common enemy of nobleman
And pleb.
_Horatius._ Alas! once was he common friend
To both--our lawgiver; what changed him so?
_Marius._ A worm of pride that gnawed into his heart,
A blast of fiery desert wind that dried,
Withered and seared his noble disposition.
To-day he is a monster, where he was
But yesterday a leader and a god.
_Horatius._ He angered the patricians by his show
Of democratic policy; the plebs
By barring intermarriage 'twixt the two
Opposing classes! [_Enter Virginius and Icilius._
_Virginius._ Blessings, health to you!
Good wishes of a Roman unto Romans.
_Horatius_ (_bitterly_). Say rather, helpless, sullen, brooding curs!
We are no more--methinks _thou_ art no more;
Nor even thou, Icilius, our tribune.
There are no free, courageous sons of Rome,
But victims only, cowed beneath the lash
Of the Decemvirs--curses on their heads!
_Virginius._ Methinks I'm not the dog that thou hast said,
For 'tis my part and wish to play the man.
The name of Appius I do despise,
And only bide my time to bury it
Deep in the soil, along with him who bears
Its weight. Although I will not fling myself
Upon the altar of Unreason as
A bootless sacrifice, yet am I still
Nor dog, nor worm, but one who waits and prays,
Nor prays alone, but puzzles out his plan
Of action. No, nor plans alone, but strives;
And striving, must achieve, unless the hand
Of sudden Death come in to tear the web.
Friends, we are hard pressed and we pant in pain,
Yet tyrants, howsoever strong, are still
Weaker than Justice and are shorter-lived
Than Liberty, the queen whom Justice serves.
Because our wrongs are heavy must we brood,
And chafe, and curse our stars and Appius?
What war was ever closed successfully
With sullen warriors and men untrained,
Unready or undone by foul Despair?
_Icilius._ Thou hast inspired me and curbed my wrath,
Which held in it no reason, all unbound,
Ready to leap a lion on its prey.
Ay, there's a time for all things. I shall wait,
Knowing, Virginius, that thy words are true.
Wisdom, the gods be thanked, hath never flowed
Forth from thy lips in words of honeyed sounds,
Nor yet in pompous phrases burdened down
With ponderous eloquence, but bold and frank,
Shining as bright and ringing forth as true
As thy good sword that thou hast borne so well
In camp, palestra, or in battle-field.
_Virginius._ My words are bold, for I am full of grief
At men's delinquency and heavy souls;
Frank--ay; because 'tis late to talk in riddles
Or metaphors, that veil the precious truth
Within; shining with fervor, ringing true,
Because the cause I do uphold is true
As life and death is real.
_Horatius._ Thine eloquence
Is worthy of a better hearing than
This little company. I would that thou
Wouldst lead us into action, noble pleb.
_Virginius._ My duties are at present with mine own--
With her, my fair ewe-lamb; when she becomes
The spouse of this our friend and our tribune,
Virginius shall owe himself to none,
But feel compelled the Commonwealth alone
To serve. And here's my hand in oath that I
Shall serve it well! The gods help Appius!
[_Enter Sicinius, in civilian garments._
_Marius._ Greetings, Sicinius, and health to thee!
_Sic._ And Heaven's favor unto you, my friends.
How now! All deep in sombre conference?
_Icilius_ (_impetuously_). Sicinius! What curse hath come to Rome,
That bends her proud and regal head beneath
The yoke of shame? The collar of the serf
Hangs heavy round her haughty neck. Ye gods!
The mightly Romulus, methinks, must find
The grave a cell that keeps him from his Rome;
How must his mighty spirit chafe when he
Receiveth tidings from the newly dead,
Concerning this, his city, now so low
Amid the dust of Wrong and Bigotry!
Tell us, thou man of action, what bold move
We needs must make. Oh! be our OEdipus!
_Horatius._ Hist, noble tribune! Favor silence. These
Are times of peril; cast thou Caution's die.
_Icilius_ (_amazed_). What! knowest thou not this man, Sicinius?
He who has bearded all the noble Ten,
He whose brave words of indignation ring
From hill to hill of Rome? Sicinius!
_Horatius_ (_sullenly_). I have been absent from the town these twelve
Long moons, nor know I all that thou dost know.
_Icilius._ Why, man, look not so sour and so sad.
_Virginius._ Peace, youths! Sicinius hath but little chance
To speak his mind. I beg of thee that thou,
Good friend, expound thy views as to these days
Of tyranny, for Romans are at bay.
_Sic._ If I should speak, then would I speak myself
Into my grave; so twist mine earnest tongue
As soon would wring it from its fevered roots,
Mine eyeballs blind themselves with fiery tears
Of love for Rome; my life would withered be
With all the curses breathing forth, aflame
With hate for Appius! Oh, ye gods! in what
Have we outraged you that we now are cursed
With such a blight as Famine never cast
Over the fields of plenty, withering
Alike the grain and the wild wayside bloom,
Sweeping across the vast, bright lands of peace,
And leaving staring Ruin in its way?
Oh! Rome, thou much-wronged child of Romulus,
That I might break the seals from off thine eyes,
And place a flaming sword within thy hand,
A watchword in thine ear--"Endure for her
Who is thy rightful mistress, Liberty."
A battle-cry upon thy glowing lips,
"Onward!" A prayer within thy mighty heart,
And prophecy to stir thy godlike soul
To action. But the times are ripening! [_A pause._
Could I relate thy wrongs, I would not cease,
Nor spare myself, but speaking, sink to earth,
Worn with the task. Yet who can number them
That are as numberless as Heaven's stars?
I say, as I have said to you before,
We Romans will again secede, again
March, in a body, to the Sacred Mount,
And threaten as of old another Rome,
A nobler Rome, a Rome unbound and free,
To found thereon, or else a revolution,
Bloody and merciless and full of horrors,
Shall ravage Rome, but we be satisfied.
The fire and the sword hath ready tongues;
They fawn not to the great, nor spare the high,
They lick and bite nor fail in eloquence.
So, to the fire and the sword must we
Resort; for city, home, and cherished ones
Demand that guilty blood, as a libation,
Be poured in answer to the blood of Rome,
Which crieth to her children from the ground!
[_Exeunt._
ACT II.
SCENE I--THE HOUSE OF APPIUS.
_The curtain, rising, discovers a bondmaid in the center of a
spacious court, filling her pitcher at the fountain. It is
midday, and the light streams down from above, flooding the
entire space with radiance. The woman sings in an undertone, as
she turns to water the roses twined around the columns in the
background. Enter Marcus Claudius. He approaches the maiden,
leisurely._
_Marc._ Ah! pretty one! Fortune has favored me!
I enter in due time to proffer aid.
_Slave._ Nay, shame on thee, a man free-born, to thus
Address a bondmaid, when there is no need.
_Marc._ Thy humble mien is fitting, girl, but I
Am modest, and, thus far, will graciously
Demean myself.
_Slave._ Demean thyself, indeed!
I only mocked thee, fool; thy proffered aid
I scorn. Low-born plebeian, who art thou,
To set thyself above a child of kings?
_Marc._ (_angrily_). Ha! Have a care! Take heed! Thy saucy tongue
Eludes thee, mischief hungry. Fairest slave,
But for that very fairness which is thine,
I'd have thee lashed by him who favors me!
_Slave_ (_wheeling about in scorn_). Who shelters, who
supports, who uses thee,
And for his own vile ends! Lends thee his brains,
His power and knowledge for thy petty, sly
Returns. He, fierce and false; thou, mean and small;
He, merciless; thou, only Marcus' friend--
And both unscrupulous as Mercury.
_Marc._ (_furiously_). Thou art too scathing in thy judgment, damsel!
_Slave._ Nay, I am mild to what thou dost deserve.
_Marc._ How darest thou, a slave, to judge me so?
_Slave._ King Tarquin, called Superbus, or the Proud,
He was mine ancestor. And I, alone
Left of his line, in bondage languish. _Thou_,--
What canst thou boast of? Of the blood of plebs,
Yet lower e'en than they who gave thee birth;
Despised of all, for thou art neither slave,
Nor free; thou hangest slothlike on the skirts
Of mighty men, that they may represent
Thy cause--support, succor, and plead for thee,
In gratitude for thy poor services.
Avaunt! Fawner and client, touch me not!
[_She spurns him when he would approach her, and haughtily departs._
_Marc._ (_gazing after her_). Adieu, thou helpless
scorner, chained despiser,
Thy tongue hath sought to whip me sore--in vain.
A client knows not shame nor injured pride.
Nor is he haughty, for the blood of kings
Heats not his veins. So Marcus, too, is low,
Ready to stoop to aught, however base,
To gain his ends. But triumph over triumphs!
Marcus will issue forth the conqueror.
Flushed with his victory, while other men
Lie low and bite the dust because they clung
To honor! He, clean void of conscience, sucks
The sweets of life down to their sweetest dregs. [_Pauses._
Ha! who is that? My master hath returned!
[_Peers through a curtained doorway on the right. As he
retreats, Appius Claudius enters hurriedly. His toga is
disordered, his countenance aflame with wine and passion. He
throws himself heavily upon a couch._
_Appius._ Wine, fetch some wine! At once, with no delay!
_Marc._ (_aside_). And drunk as Bacchus at his wedding-feast!
(_Aloud._) Which kind, my lord?
_Appius._ Falernian! Mark ye, dilute it not!
_Marc._ (_aside_). I need no prophet's eyes to see his end.
To Bacchus I assign him with due care. [_Exit._
_Appius_ (_in hoarse undertone_). I looked but once,
and, looking, she was gone,
Leaving me reeling, drunk with loveliness.
I have imbibed deeply this day in wine,
Yet hath it less intoxicating power
Than hath a tremor of her lashes or
A flutter of her garments! I am struck,
And heavily! [_He groans and clasps his head with his hands._
Virginia! Elements
Are in thy name--tempest and burning flame!
My soul is tossed as though it were at sea,
My brain is floating on the vacant air,
My heart consumed in everlasting fire!
[_Enter Marcus, bearing a goblet and an amphora._
_Marc._ Thy rare Falernian.
_Appius._ Fill me the cup. [_Drinks._
Sweet solace and indulgence of the gods,
Unequaled nectar, give me satisfaction!
Better to me this pleasure than the sight
Of fair Elysium. Such ecstasy
As is the privilege and portion of
Souls freed from Hades and its rack and wheel
And snatched to Heaven, can no sweeter be
Than is mine ecstasy, when wafted on
The summer zephyr, comes this breath, divine,
Of nectar and ambrosia in one.
Virginia, to myself, to thee, to Love,
I drink! And now, my Marcus, sit thee down!
I would confer with thee.
_Marc._ (_seats himself_). What is thy will?
_Appius._ Marcus, this morn I made my way in state
Through Rome--and, in the market-place, beheld
A sight that hath undone me for this day.
My heart hath slipped its leash and now is set
Hard on the trail, not to be turned aside.
_Marc._ What vision hath the gods vouchsafed thee, then?
_Appius._'Twas more than vision, thanks to Vulcan be,
Who did create that mortal styled a woman,
At once a snare, at once a perfect boon;
At once a curse, at once a lasting blessing.
It was a maid, a lowly, mortal maid,
A maid of mean plebeian birth as well,
Yet beautiful as though she had arisen
From out the golden heart of some fair rose,
Or drowsy, dreamy, tempting, fresh and fair,
Had issued, shyly, from the troubled depths
Of rock-bound spring, a nymph but newly born,
And shrinking from the glances of the morn.
Virginia, child of one Virginius,
Centurion of courage and renown,
She burst upon me like a revelation
Unto a prophet. She is mine as sure
As are the stars possessions of the Night.
She'll have no will but mine, no choice but mine;
She'll yield her body unto me, until
I find the chance to win her heart and soul.
I'll hold her and I'll kiss her heart away;
I'll chain her soul to mine with links of gold.
But whether she shall ever love me true
I little care, so that her lips are mine.
So that I daily touch her hands and feel
Her dusky hair blow cloudlike 'gainst my cheek.
Marcus, thou art the man to work my weal,
By aiding me in this, mine enterprise.
_Marc._ What! Shall I play the game and thou receive
The winnings?
_Appius_ (_haughtily_). Ay, assuredly. O, pause,
And pausing, see thyself in honest light.
Thou art my client; thou to _me_ dost owe
Thy safety, standing, possibly thy life.
I know the law--I _made_, the law, the while
Thou canst not read a letter; as a pleb
Few rights are thine--those few I gave thy class
At the expense of the patrician favor.
Break with me, and thou'lt break thy fortunes, ope
Thy chest of troubles, like the silly maid
Who brought untold misfortunes on herself
And on the world. Assist me and thou'lt gain
My favor, keep my needful, strong protection.
_Marc._ Enough! I follow thee and will obey.
_Appius._ E'en to the letter?
_Marc._ To the letter, lord.
_Appius._ Then hearken. Choose some morning, soon or late,
And hasten to the market-place. The maid
Receiveth schooling there. When she appears,
Spring forward boldly, seize her by the arm,
(And yet be not too rude in thy demeanor);
When all the multitude around demand
An explanation, say to them that she
Was born of a slave-woman in thy house,
Ere thou a client had become. And add
That she had been in secret borne away,
And, by the wife of one Virginius,
Claimed as a child; her own at birth had died,
And he, Virginius, kept in ignorance,
Grossly deceived, believeth it his flesh
And blood. The tale is wild; no proof hast thou,
Nor witnesses; and yet it is enough
Seeing that I control the Romans as
The Fates control the lives of mortal men,
And need the barest shadow of excuse
To work my will--I, who am autocrat!
Assume a righteous air, if that doth lie
Within the limits of thy doubtful, rare
Accomplishments. When they protest, then say
"To Appius for justice I will go,"
And leave the rest to me.
_Marcus._ Ay, leave to thee
The cowing of the Roman mob, for that
Lieth within the limits of _thy_ rare,
Doubtful accomplishments. So let it be.
I'll serve thee well--will my returns be worthy
The peril of my venture?
_Appius._ Also leave
That matter unto me.