_Jul._ Altho’ a Muza send far underground, Into the quarry whence the palace rose, His mangled prey, climes alien and remote Mark and record the pang; while overhead Perhaps he passes on his favorite steed, Less heedful of the misery he inflicts Than of the expiring sparkle from a stone, Yet we, alive or dead, have fellow men If ever we have served them, who collect From prisons and from dungeons our remains, And bear them in their bosom to their sons. Man’s only reliques are his benefits; These, be there ages, be there worlds, between, Retain him in communion with his kind: Hence is our solace, our security, Our sustenance, till heavenly truth descends— Losing in brightness and beatitude The frail foundations of these humbler hopes— And, like an angel, guiding us, at once Leaves the loose chain and iron gate behind. _Muza_. Take thou my justice first, then hope for theirs. I, who can bend the living to my will, Fear not the dead, and court not the unborn: Their arm will never reach me, nor shall thine. _Abd._ Pity, release him, pardon him, my father. Forget how much thou hatest perfidy, Think of him, once so potent, still so brave, So calm, so self-dependent in distress— I marvel at him—hardly dare I blame, When I behold him fallen from so high, And so exalted after such a fall. Mighty must that man be, who can forgive A man so mighty; seize the hour to rise, Another never comes: O say, my father, Say, “_Julian_, _be mine enemy no more_.” He fills me with a greater awe than e’er The field of battle, with himself the first, When every flag that waved along our host Drooped down the staff, as if the very winds Hung in suspense before him—bid him go And peace be with him, or let me depart. Lo! like a god, sole and inscrutable, He stands above our pity. _Jul._ For that wish, Vain as it is, ’tis virtuous—O, for that, However wrong thy censure and thy praise, Kind Abdalazis, mayst thou never feel The rancour that consumes thy father’s breast, Nor want the pity thou hast sought for me. _Muza_. Now hast thou sealed thy doom. _Jul._ And thou thy crimes. _Abd._ O father, heed him not: those evil words Leave neither blight nor blemish—let him go. _Muza_. A boy, a very boy, art thou indeed! One who in early day would sally out To chase the lion, and would call it sport, But, when more wary steps had closed him round, Slink from the circle, drop the toils, and blanch Like a lithe plant from under snow in spring. _Abd._ He who ne’er shrunk from danger, might shrink now, And ignominy would not follow here.