_Lira._ That hunger so prevails Within me, that it soon must triumph quite, And break my life’s thin thread. What wedded love Canst thou expect from me in such extremity,-- Looking for death perchance in one short hour? With famine died my brother yesterday; With famine sank my mother; and if still I struggle on, ’t is but my youth that bears Me up against such rigors horrible. But sustenance is now so many days Withheld, that all my weakened powers Contend in vain. _Morandro._ O Lira! dry thy tears, And let but mine bemoan thy bitter griefs! For though fierce famine press thee merciless, Of famine, while I live, thou shalt not die. Fosse deep and wall of strength shall be o’erleaped, And death confronted, and yet warded off! The bread the bloody Roman eats to-day Shall from his lips be torn and placed in thine;-- My arms shall hew a passage for thy life;-- For death is naught when I behold thee thus. Food thou shall have, in spite of Roman power, If but these hands are such as once they were. _Lira._ Thou speak’st, Morandro, with a loving heart;-- But food thus bought with peril to thy life Would lose its savor. All that thou couldst snatch In such an onset must be small indeed, And rather cost thy life than rescue mine. Enjoy, then, love, thy fresh and glowing youth! Thy life imports the city more than mine; Thou canst defend it from this cruel foe, Whilst I, a maiden, weak and faint at heart, Am worthless all. So, gentle love, dismiss this thought; I taste no food bought at such deadly price. And though a few short, wretched days thou couldst Protect this life, still famine, at the last, Must end us all. _Morandro._ In vain thou strivest, love, To hinder me the way my will alike And destiny invite and draw me on. Pray rather, therefore, to the gods above, That they return me home, laden with spoils, Thy sufferings and mine to mitigate. _Lira._ Morandro, gentle friend, O, go not forth! For here, before me, gleams a hostile sword, Red with thy blood! O, venture, venture not Such fierce extremity, light of my life! For if the sally be with dangers thick, More dread is the return.[121]