_Her._ I do not kneel to you--a man-- But to the god that houses in your shape. O noble Dion, what deed may speak my thanks Too great for tongue? _Dion._ Arise, go forth, and where You once betrayed a thousand hearts lead one To safety. [_Exit Heraclides, rabble following_] _Cal._ [_To Speusippus_] Sir, what think you? _Speu._ 'Tis gross error. He'll breathe a life into the stones o' the street Ere lack for followers. _Cal._ Come, let us see. [_Exeunt Calippus and Speusippus, others following_] _Dion._ [_To his Grecian guards_] Go nurse your wounds, brave friends. I need no more Your arms, but ever need your love. You with them, Panthus. You know my wishes. _Pan._ Ay, my lord. [_Exeunt Panthus and guards. Aristocles remains with Dion_] _Dion._ My friend! [_They embrace_] No tears! We'll water joy hereafter. Now there is much to do. Wilt seek Calippus for me And make him governor of the castle? _Aris._ Ay. [_Exit_] _Dion._ [_Alone_] Now red revolt with opened veins lies low Fast paling to her death; and silence deep As takes the mother's ear who waits the step Of her dead soldier son, creeps o'er the world. And to my lonely eye the universe Shrinks to a monument writ with one grief. Ocrastes, couldst, when locked within my love-- Ay, bedded in the core--to vermin turn And gnaw the heart thou breathedst in?... O youth, Among life's strangely flowering hopes thou art The blossom of deceit! When we have watched Thy tender green peer up--thy opening buds That wrap their silken promise round our fears-- And spent our prayers like nurturing rains upon thee That thou mayst bloom above our pride and hang The rose or spring upon our frosty age, How dost thou droop, till o'er thy cankered wreck We dew thy fall with tears!... O beauteous bud, What deadly aconite cast its foul shade Upon thy blowing grace? My son, my son, I am no warrior when I think of thee, Else would my sword be out. A father's eye Is turned upon thy sin, and all the wrong Thou didst to me half righted with a tear ... ... The sun comes flaming from the sea as though Another Syracuse burnt on the waves ... Why stand I here? The castle doors are open, And therein waits the fairest face of earth To shine for me To shine? O human sun, Unlike thy skyey peer, thy light is dimmed With what thou'st looked upon. Thy beams have drunk Pollution deep that now detested falls Upon my soul. [_Re-enter Aristocles_] _Aris._ All's well, my lord. _Dion._ All's well? That's strange news for my heart. Wilt go with me? _Aris._ Whither, my lord?