JULIAN THE APOSTATE. [Many of the facts stated or referred to in this Sketch, may be found in Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. On the night before the Emperor Julian fought his last battle, he had the dream which I have detailed in the first Scene of this Sketch; and it is recorded that on the night of his death he addressed his soldiers, distributed rewards amongst them, and conversed with the sophists around him, respecting the immortality of the Soul. The names of Anatolius, Nevitta, &c. are taken from history.] SCENE I. The Tent of the Emperor Julian. Night—near day-break. (Julian-alone.) To-morrow?-aye, to-morrow. The bright Sun Of my life will set in blood. Dark, heavy clouds Are rolling round about me, yet my eye Can reach into the dim eternity, And in its bosom is-my grave. Oh! then, Valour and War, farewell! Soldiers and friends, With your loves girded me like triple steel, I must be gone. Morning and Night farewell! I may array my thoughts and vanquish Death? For ages and for ages, and there be A Spirit, filled with human thoughts and pains, My father, and my god, I perish here For want of succour. Fate and Death, at hand, Wait smiling for the dust of Julian; And the grave opens, with a sickly smile, Away-this must not be. Imperial Rome Anat. My emperor! You are (Anatolius enters.) Julian. 'Tis nothing-nothing. I am well. To-morrow I-pshaw that's for after thought. Anat. It is the same as ever. Julian. My good soldier. Anat. Let us but once meet Sapor face to face: We fly now. Oh! that we should fly from slaves, Whom we have fought and beat day after day, 'Till we were faint with conquest Julian. Forget this. 'Tis true, indeed, we take less time for breathing, Now that we march for Rome, than when we came Intent to see the Persian on his throne: And in our trumpets now the wailing notes Sound lingering and prolonged. Well! 'twas not so Our battering engines thro' the gates of Anbar. Anat. Aye, when we shook Down to the dust their sixteen towers of brick At Maogamalcha, and did mine our way His head in Ctesiphon,) and-but you droop, Julian. Good Anatolius, you Have been my friend and fellow soldier long; From my youth upwards. We have fought together In Germany and Gaul, and on the banks Of the black Danube, when its waters lay 'Tween us and Hope. Anat. Like a dark rolling Hell. Oh! I remember it. Julian. My spirit never Quail'd in those times of peril, yet Anat. My lord! Julian. Nor doth it now: but there is on my soul A solemn foreboding that to-morrow's light -To day's for even now the clouds begin To break about the east, and dawn is here JULIAN THE APOSTATE. Before the stars have left us: Be it so. Shake me at this great hour. Thou shalt never By the great Jove you tear my heart away, Julian. My dear soldier, this Is the last day of Julian. Mourn it not. Seen many things that age but seldom looks on, In which he thought he erred, for one more bright. Will it forget to say that I-(I hope not) Anat. I cannot stay. I shall be angry with you-Oh! is it thus Julian. Oh! to-day I must say something, Anatolius; And you must listen, for 'twill ease my soul. And, in the van, my plume. I have a leaf From the green crown of Victory. You shall see How soon we'll tame the Persian spirits down. Anat. Aye, now you speak like Julian. Oh! we'll beat These brown barbarians to their silken tents, As we were wont. Let's talk of better times, (If we must talk)-of the old Roman times, When our rich veins fed Conquest with their blood, And fear was stifled in our hearts. Away We'll fight as bravely as great Julius did, And feast to-day with Sapor. Julian. You shall do it. And now but listen to me.-I have had A solemn dream. Methought there did appear The Genius of my country by my couch : He held the horn of plenty in his hand, And, covering it with a veil funereal, Shrouded his head in darkness: Slowly then, Julian. I 'woke and started from my bed, But there was nothing,-nought: So, I went forth, Of divination, and can read the stars- Julian. No; by my father's spirit. Until now Have heard at Thebes the lonely marble voice Julian. And now, can divine my fate. ('Tis Mars) rolling in the blue firmament, Usurping all one quarter of the sky; At last he seem'd to shake, and left his orb, Streaming athwart the heavens. Methought he went To meet the morn and died. By Serapis! I saw him vanish in the east. Anat. Away; And what of this? 'tis nothing. Julian. I am now Deserted by my planetary God. Ah!-the sun comes: then I must haste to speak. -You must remember when Constantius died ; Anat. And a child. Julian. 'Twas so. Eusebia was-ev'n while Constantius' wife, Gracious to me. In boyhood, when I was She stood my friend. Beneath her warning smile My fortunes flourish'd, and I grew to power, Anat. That was noble. I did not know what cause you had to love her. Julian. She loved me; more perhaps than might become The emperor's wife; (for when I wedded Helena She was estranged awhile, aud saw me not ;) But my wife died, and then Constantius fell, Anat. I will, I will. But you will live. Julian. But should I die, my soldier, The imperial splendour. Well! what say you, friend? Anat. I swear by all-by these hot shameful tears: Julian. Look on this paquet. Bear it about thee, and lest any harm (The Gods keep harm from thee!) hinder thee from And be my friend for ever. SCENE II. Julian's Tent.-Evening. JULIAN (on his couch wounded;) PRISCUS, MAXIMUS. Max. You 're easier now? Julian. Much easier: many thanks. -And so you think, good Priscus, that the Soul Doth of necessity quit this feeble clay, When the poor breath departs-that 'tis not hung On muscle or nerve, or buried in the blood, As some will teach. For my part, I believe That there is good and evil, and for each Due punishment and reward. Shall we not meet Julian. What think you, Sir ? Priscus. I must believe it. There is in the world Nothing to fill up the wide heart of man; He languishes for something past the grave; He hopes-and Hope was never vainly given. |