With pangs of torture drove him down to death.

Conceive with me that sad and suffering heart
If this be true that Lysias says--Conceive!
Alas! Orestes, not so sad thy fate,
For the Apollo pardoned, purified--
Thy Furies were appeased, thy peace returned,
But Judas perished tortured unto death,
Unpardoned, unappeased, unpurified.
And long as Christus shall be known of men
His name shall bear the brand of infamy,
The curse of generations still unborn.

Thus much of him: I leave the question here,
Touching on naught beyond, for Lucius waits--
I hear him fuming in the court below,
Cursing his servants and Jerusalem,
And giving them to the infernal gods.
The sun is sinking--all the sky's afire--
And vale and mountain glow like molten ore
In the intense full splendor of its rays.
A half-hour hence all will be dull and grey;
And Lucius only waits until the shade
Sweeps down the plain then mounts and makes his way
On through the blinding desert to the sea,
And thence his galley bears him on to Rome.

_Salve et vale!_--may good fortune wait
On you and all your household! Greet for me
Titus and Livia--in a word, all friends.