And let it heap disgrace upon your head;--
I know you hide within your inmost soul
A seed that still can blossom and bear fruit.
Only it cannot burst forth here in Rome;
Poisonous weeds would quickly prove the stronger.
Let us forsake this degradation's home;--
What binds you here? Why should we dwell here longer?

CATILINE. I should forsake the field,--and go away?
I should my greatest dreams in life surrender?
The drowning man still clutches firm and fast
The broken spars--though hope is frail and slender;
And should the wreck be swallowed in the deep,
And the last hope of rescue fail forever,--
Still clings he to the lone remaining spar,
And sinks with it in one last vain endeavor.

AURELIA. But should a kindly seacoast smile on him,
With groves all green along the rolling billows,
Hope then awakens in his heart again,--
He struggles inward, toward the silvery willows.
There reigns a quiet peace; 'tis beautiful;
There roll the waves, in silence, without number;
His heated brow sweet evening breezes cool,
As weary-limbed he rests himself in slumber;
Each sorrow-laden cloud they drive away;
A restful calm his weary mind assuages;--
There he finds shelter and prolongs his stay
And soon forgets the sorry by-gone ages.
The distant echo of the world's unrest