other music I had ever heard, but much more full of passion; broken, wild,
plaintive, triumphant by turns, it stirred all the deepest feelings of the
heart. It seemed to be the language of one in captivity, who, refusing to
sing one of the songs of his country for the gratification of his
conquerors, broke out into passionate strains of patriotism, in which he
exalted his desolated home to the Heavens, and prophesied in the boldest
terms her ultimate restoration to power and glory. The sentiment lost
nothing coming to the ear clothed in the rich music of Fausta's voice,
which rose and sank, swelled and died away, or was full of tears or joy,
as agreed with the theme of the poet. She was herself the poet, and the
captive, and the Jew, so wholly did she abandon herself to the sway of the
thoughts which she was expressing. One idea alone, however, had possessed
me while she sang--to which, the moment she paused, I first gave
utterance. 'And think you, Fausta,' said I, 'that while the captive Jew
remembers his country, the captive Roman will forget his? Never!
Calpurnius, if he lives, lives a Roman. For this I thank your song.
Melancholy and sad in itself, it has bred joy in my soul. I shall now
sleep well.' So saying, we separated.

Thus was passed my first evening in Palmyra.




Letter III.



With what pleasure do I again sit down, dear Curtius and Lucilia, to tell
you how I have passed my time, and what I have been able to accomplish,