The black bands came over

The Alps and their snow;
With Bourbon, the rover,

They pass'd the broad Po.
We have beaten all foemen,

We have captured a king,
We have turn'd back on no men,
And so let us sing!
Here's the Bourbon for ever!
Though penny less all,

We'll have one more endeavour

At yonder old wall.

With the Bourbon we'll gather
At day-dawn before
The gates, and together

Or break or climb o'er
The wall: on the ladder

As mounts each firm foot,
Our shout shall grow gladder,
And death only be rite.

With the Bourbon we'll mount o'er
The walls of old Rome,

And who then shall count o'er
The spoils of each dome?

Up! up with the lily!

And down with the keys!
In old Rome, the seven-hilly,
We'll revel at ease
Her streets shall be gory,
Her Tiber all red,

And her temples so hoary

Shall clang with our tread.
Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!
The Bourbon for aye!

Of our song bear the burden!
And fire, fire away!
With Spain for the vanguard,
Our varied host comes;
And next to the Spaniard
Beat Germany's drums;
And Italy's lances

Are couch'd at their mother;
But our leader from France is,
Who warr'd with his brother.
Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!
Sans country or home,
We'll follow the Bourbon,
To plunder old Rome.

(1) Charles of Bourbon was cousin to Francis I., and Constable of France. Being bitterly persecuted by the queen-mother for

An indifferent song

For those within the walls, methinks, to hear. Arn. Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here

comes

The general, with his chiefs and men of trust.
A goodly rebel!

Enter the Constable BOURBON (1)“ cum suis,” etc.
How now, noble prince,

Phil.

If I were secure!

Bourb.
Phil. Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of
adamant,

They'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery.
Bourb. That they will falter is my least of fears;
That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon for
Their chief, and all their kindled appetites
To marshal them on-were those hoary walls
Mountains, and those who guard them like the gods
Of the old fables, I would trust my Titans ;-
But now--

Phil. They are but men, who war with mortals.
Bourb. True: but those walls have girded in

The noon of this same ever-scorching glory?
Bourb.
Welcome the bitter hunchback! and his master,
The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous,
And generous as lovely. We shall find
Work for you both ere morning.

Slight crooked friend's as snake-like in his words As his deeds.

Cæs. Your highness much mistakes me.
The first snake was a flatterer-I am none;
And, for my deeds, I only sting when stung.
Bourb. You are brave, and that's enough for me;
and quick

In speech as sharp in action-and that's more.
I am not alone a soldier, but the soldiers'
Comrade.

Cæs. They are but bad company, your highness; And worse even for their friends than foes, as being More permanent acquaintance.

Phil.
How now,
Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege
Of a buffoon.

Cæs.

You mean I speak the truth.

I'll lie-it is as easy: then you'll praise me For calling you a hero.

Philibert,

fellow !

Bourb. Let him alone; he's brave, and ever has [shoulder, Been first, with that swart face and mountain

It would be well

Be silent!

If the earth's princes ask'd no more.
Bourb.
Cres. Ay, but not idle. Work yourself with words!
You have few to speak.

Phil.

What means the audacious prater?
Cæs. To prate, like other prophets.
Bourb.

Philibert!
Why will you vex him? Have we not enough
To think on? Arnold! I will lead the attack
To-morrow.

Arn. I have heard as much, my lord.
Bourb. And you will follow ?
Arn.

Since I must not lead.
Bourb. 'Tis necessary, for the further daring
Of our too needy army, that their chief
Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's
First step.

Cœes.

Upon its topmost, let us hope: So shall he have his full deserts. Bourb. The world's Great capital, perchance, is ours to-morrow. Through every change the seven-hill'd city hath Retain'd her sway o'er nations, and the Cæsars But yielded to the Alarics the Alarics Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest, Still the world's masters! Civilised, barbarian, Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus Have been the circus of an empire. Well! 'Twas their turn-now 't is ours; and let us hope That we will fight as well, and rule much better. Cæs. No doubt: the camp's the school of civic rights. What would you make of Rome ? Bourb.

Cæs. In Alaric's time? Bourb.

That which it was.

No, slave! in the first Cæsar's, Whose name you bear, like other curs——

562

If the knaves take to thinking, you will have
To crack those walls alone.

Bourb.
You may sneer, since
'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for't.
Cæs. I thank you for the freedom; 'tis the only
Pay I have taken in your highness' service.

shall
Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrew you pay your-
Look on those towers; they hold my treasury: [self.
But, Philibert, we'll in to council. Arnold,

We would request your presence.
Arn.

Is yours, as in the field.

Bourb.

Prince! my service

In both we prize it,

And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak.

Cæs. And mine?

Bourb.

Good night!

To follow glory with the Bourbon.

Arn. (to CÆSAR.) Prepare our armour for the And wait within my tent. [assault,

[Exeunt BOURBON, ARNOLD, PHILIBERT, etc. Cæs. (solus.) Within thy tent! Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my pre

sence?

Or that this crooked coffer, which contain'd Thy principle of life, is aught to me

forsooth!

Except a mask? And these are men,
Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards!
This is the consequence of giving matter

The power of thought. It is a stubborn substance,
And thinks chaotically, as it acts,

Ever relapsing into its first elements.

Well! I must play with these poor puppets: 't is
The spirit's pastime in his idler hours.
When I grow weary of it, I have business.
Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem
Were made for them to look at. 'T were a jest now
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire
Unto their ant-hill: how the pismires then
Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing
From tearing down each other's nests, pipe forth
One universal orison! Ha! ha! [Exit CESAR.

ᏢᎪᎡᎢ II. SCENE 1.

Before the Walls of Rome.-The assault: the army in motion, with ladders to scale the walls; BOURBON, with a white scarf over his armour, foremost.

Chorus of Spirits in the air.

1.

'Tis the morn, but dim and dark. Whither flies the silent lark? Whither shrinks the clouded sun? Is the day indeed begun ?

Nature's eye is melancholy
O'er the city high and holy:
But without there is a din
Should arouse the saints within,
And revive the heroic ashes
Round which yellow Tiber dashes.
Oh ye seven hills! awaken,
Ere your very base be shaken!

2.

Hearken to the steady stamp!
Mars is in their every tramp!
Not a step is out of tune,
As the tides obey the moon:
On they march, though to self-slaughter,
Regular as rolling water,

Whose high waves o'ersweep the border
Of huge moles, but keep their order,
Breaking only rank by rank.
Hearken to the armour's clank!
Look down o'er each frowning warrior,
How he glares upon the barrier!
Look on each step of each ladder,
As the stripes that streak an adder.

3.

Look upon the bristling wall,
Mann'd without an interval!

Round and round, and tier on tier,

Cannon's black mouth, shining spear,

Lit match, bell-mouth'd musquetoon,
Gaping to be murderous soon.
All the warlike gear of old,
Mix'd with what we now behold,
In this strife 'twixt old and new,
Gather like a locusts' crew.
Shade of Remus! 't is a time
Awful as thy brother's crime!
Christians war against Christ's shrine :-
Must its lot be like to thine?

4.

Near-and near-and nearer still,
As the earthquake.saps the hill,
First with trembling, hollow motion,
Like a scarce-awaken'd ocean;
Then with stronger shock and louder,
Till the rocks are crush'd to powder,-
Onward sweeps the rolling host!
Heroes of the immortal boast!
Mighty chiefs! eternal shadows!
First flowers of the bloody meadows
Which encompass Rome, the mother
Of a people without brother!
Will you sleep when nations' quarrels
Plough the root up of your laurels ?
Ye who wept o'er Carthage burning,
Weep not-strike! for Rome is mourning!(1)

(1) Scipio, the second Africanus, is said to have repeated a

5.

Onward sweep the varied nations!
Famine long hath dealt their rations.
To the wall, with hate and hunger,
Numerous as wolves, and stronger,
On they sweep. Oh! glorious city,
Must thou be a theme for pity?
Fight, like your first sire, each Roman!
Alaric was a gentle foeman,

Match'd with Bourbon's black banditti!
Rouse thee, thou eternal city;
Rouse thee! Rather give the torch
With thy own hand to thy porch,
Than behold such hosts pollute
Your worst dwelling with their foot.

6.

Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre!
Ilion's children find no Hector;
Priam's offspring loved their brother;
Rome's great sire forgot his mother,
When he slew his gallant twin,
With inexpiable sin.

See the giant shadow stride

O'er the ramparts high and wide!
When he first o'erleapt the wall
Its foundation mourn'd thy fall.
Now, though towering like a Babel,
Who to stop his steps are able?
Stalking o'er thy highest dome,
Remus claims his vengeance, Rome!
7.

Now they reach thee in their anger;
Fire and smoke and hellish clangour
Are around thee, thou world's wonder!
Death is in thy walls and under.
Now the meeting steel first clashes,
Downward then the ladder crashes,
With its iron load all gleaming,
Lying at its foot blaspheming!
Up again! for every warrior
Slain, another climbs the barrier.
Thicker grows the strife: thy ditches
Europe's mingling gore enriches.
Rome! although thy wall may perish,
Such manure thy fields will cherish,
Making gay the harvest-home;
But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome!
Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish,

Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish!

8.

Yet once more, ye old Penates!

Let not your quench'd hearths be Ate's!

Yet again, ye shadowy heroes,
Yield not to these stranger Neros!
Though the son who slew his mother
Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother:
'Twas the Roman curb'd the Roman ;-
Brennus was a baffled foeman.
Yet again, ye saints and martyrs,
Rise for yours are holier charters!
Mighty gods of temples falling,
Yet in ruin still appalling!
Mightier founders of those altars,

True and Christian,-strike the assaulters!
Tiber! Tiber! let thy torrent

Show even nature's self abhorrent.

Let each breathing heart dilated
Turn, as doth the lion baited!
Rome be crush'd to one wide tomb,
But be still the Roman's Rome!

(1) "Finding himself mortally wounded, Bayard ordered one of his attendants to place him under a tree with his face towards

he held up instead of a cross, he addressed his prayers to God, and in this posture he calmly waited the approach of death." Robertson's Charles V.-E.