And danger never lurks within its walls.

FURIA. Oh, this monotonous, inactive life,
A life faint as the flicker of the lamp--!
How cramped a field it is for all my sum
Of fervid longings and far-reaching plans!
Oh, to be crushed between these narrow walls;--
Life here grows stagnant; every hope is quenched;
The day creeps slowly on in drowsiness,--
And not one single thought is turned to deeds.

CATILINE. O Furia, strange, in truth, is your complaint!
It seems an echo out of my own soul,--
As if with flaming script you sought to paint
My every longing towards a worthy goal.
Rancour and hate in my soul likewise flourish;
My heart--as yours--hate tempers into steel;
I too was robbed of hopes I used to nourish;
An aim in life I now no longer feel.

CATILINE. In silence still I mask my grief, my want;
And none can guess what smoulders in my breast.
They scoff and sneer at me,--these paltry things;
They can not grasp how high my bosom beats
For right and freedom, all the noble thoughts
That ever stirred within a Roman mind.

FURIA. I knew it! Ah, your soul, and yours alone,
Is born for me,--thus clearly speaks a voice
That never fails and never plays me false.