While Paul his circuits was accomplishing, Paul's enemies (and ours) were not remiss, Whether in Rome or in Jerusalem. Drusilla, disappointed of her hopes With Nero to ensnare his heart and be Assumed to sit beside him on his throne, Even cheated for the moment of the glut She thought she had purchased at such cost to pride Of extreme vengeance visited on Paul, Was sullenly but more than ever bent Not to fail yet of at least that desire. She saw Octavia, sent to exile, way Make for Poppæa's spousals; heard the shout Of shallow hollow popular acclaim That hailed her hated rival conqueror, Bearing her as on billows of applause To the high seat herself had hoped for once! Envy and hatred ulcerous ate her heart-- But not despair; despair was not for her: Malignity was fuel still to hope. She despatched Simon to Jerusalem To blow the embers smouldering there to flame Of deadly accusation against Paul: Simon was Shimei risen from the dead, Shimei in all his pristine force unspent. The elders of the Jews commissioned him, With others to whom he was heart and head, To press at Rome for Paul the doom of death. Meantime the mouth of common fame began To whisper that Poppæa, though a wife To Nero now--perhaps because a wife And mother of a daughter, Claudia, born To him--no longer charmed him as of old. Unholy hope flared up a flicker of flame Delusive in Drusilla's breast once more. Octavia, when her husband tired of her, Went into exile and then went to death To give Poppæa room; Poppæa's turn Perhaps was nearing to make room for her, Drusilla! 'Up, O heart!' she inly cried. The emperor had indeed with fickle whim, Dazed by some intercepting lure more nigh, Forgotten quite his thought of tryst with her-- As her conditions too he had not met. But her conditions now were well in train, She trusted, to fulfill themselves on Paul; And if before, some trace of conscience left In Nero interfered to make him pause, Such scruple would no longer be a let To his desire, should his desire revive, Of meeting her upon the terms she fixed To satisfy at once her hate, her pride. Simon then, from Jerusalem returned Blithe with his prosperous mission and with hope, Should go once more to Nero for her cause. And Simon went, but went not for her cause. He had a purpose of his own to serve-- Purpose malignant, fatuous--which, fulfilled, Would swift recoil in ruin on himself.