The curse that lies in such a soul as mine,
Full of great spiritual energies,
Of fervent longings for a life of deeds,
Yet dwarfed in all its work by sordid cares.--
Must you, too, sharing in my wretched life,
Bitter with blasted hopes, then with me perish?

AURELIA. To comfort is the role of every wife,
Though dreams of greatness she may never cherish.
When the man, struggling for his lofty dream,
Reaps nothing but adversity and sorrow,--
Her words to him then sweet and tender seem,
And give him strength sufficient for the morrow;
And then he sees that even the quiet life
Has pleasures which the most tumultuous lacks.

CATILINE. Yes, you are right; I know it all too well.
And yet I cannot tear myself away.
A ceaseless yearning surges in my breast,--
Which only life's great tumult now can quiet.

AURELIA. Though your Aurelia be not all to you,--
Though she can never still your restless soul,--
Your heart yet open to a gentle word,
A word of comfort from your loving wife.
Though she may never slake your fiery thirst,
Nor follow in their flight your noble thoughts,--
Know this, that she can share your every sorrow,
Has strength and fortitude to ease your burden.