'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the halfchime

So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past;
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her;
We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick

wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh;

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like

chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop!" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!

"How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;

And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eyesockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my Jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without

peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news
from Ghent.

SCENE FROM CATILINE.

(CROLY.)

[In the Senate.]

Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more

Of this rebellion.-Lucius Catiline

Has been commanded to attend the senate.

He dares not come. I now demand your votes!—
Is he condemned to exile?

[CATILINE comes in hastily, and flings himself on the bench; all the senators go over to the other side. Cicero. [turning to CATILINE.] Here I repeat the charge, to gods and men.

Of treasons manifold;-that, but this day,
He has received dispatches from the rebels;
That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul
To seize the province; nay, has levied troops,
And raised his rebel standard:-that but now
A meeting of conspirators was held

Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths,
Pledged round the body of a murdered slave.
To these he has no answer.

Catiline.

rising calmly.]

Conscript fathers!
I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;

But here I stand for right-let him show proofs—
For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there,
Cling to your masters; judges, Romans-slaves!
His charge is false; I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!
Cic. [interrupting him.] Deeds shall convince you!
Has the traitor done?

Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned,
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong:
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me,-turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?
[Looking round.

To fling your offices to every slave;

Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb;
And having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below.

Cic. This is his answer! Must I bring more proofs ?

Fathers, you know there lives not one of us,

But lives in peril of his midnight sword.
Lists of proscription have been handed round,
In which your general properties are made
Your murderer's hire.

[A cry is heard without—" More prisoners!" An officer enters with letters for CICERO; who, after glancing at them, sends them round the Senate. CATILINE is strongly perturbed.

Cic. Fathers of Rome!

If man can be convinced

The time

By proof, as clear as daylight, here it is!
Look on these letters! Here's a deep-laid plot
To wreck the provinces: a solemn league,
Made with all form and circumstance.
Is desperate, all the slaves are up ;-Rome shakes!
The heavens alone can tell how near our graves
We stand even here!-The name of Catiline
Is foremost in the league. He was their king.
Tried and convicted traitor! go from Rome!

Cat.

[haughtily rising.] Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones: [To the Senate. Fling down your sceptres:-take the rod and axe, And make the murder as you make the law. Cic. [interrupting him.] Give up the record of his [To an officer. [The officer gives it to the CONSUL.] Cat. Banished from Rome! What's banished, but

banishment.

set free

From daily contact of the things I loathe?

"Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?

Banished-I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour-

But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,

To leave you in your lazy dignities.

But here I stand and scoff you: here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face.

Your Consul's merciful. For this, all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.

[The Consul reads]:-" Lucius Sergius Catiline: by the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy and alien to the State, and banished from the territory of the Commonwealth."

The Consul. Lictors, drive the traitor from the

temple!

Cat. [furious.] "Traitor!" I go-but I return. This trial!

Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs

To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel,

This day's the birth of sorrows!-this hour's work Will breed proscriptions:-look to your hearths, my lords!

For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!—all shames and crimes!
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave!

[The Senators rise in tumult and cry out,

Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome!

Cic. Expel him, lictors! Clear the Senate-house! [They surround him.

Cat. [struggling through them]. I go, but not to leap the gulf alone.

I go-but when I come, 'Twill be the burst

Of ocean in the earthquake-rolling back

In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well!

You build my funeral-pile, but your best blood

Shall quench its flame. Back, slaves! [To the lictors.]

-I will return!

[He rushes out.]

THE END.