Then princes say, shall we proceed with war, Or make a peace, and so our arms withdraw? What thinks my brother? he is cool tho’ brave, Speak, Trajan, speak, your counsel let us have!” Trajan arose:—“Do we or not love Rome? We do, and punish all who dare presume To mock that love, or of vain greatness boast: Our conq’ring deeds are spread along each coast, Our cheerful squadrons for the field prepare, And willing all to die, they greatly dare. Then think, my comrades, what would be their woe If they return, and leave the vaunting foe; Think how we all should lose our well-got fame, And Jews and Romans join to tell our shame. Observe, my friends, within the city’s verge Dark clouds surround, and suck the tinted surge; The thunders burst, whilst famine hoarsely sings, And dark oppression claps his iron wings. He who would sue for peace from such as these, Or wish return to foul dishonor’d ease, A coward I pronounce, and doubly base, Will gain but hatred, and to Rome disgrace.” So spake they round, till all but one had said, Who, ’midst the numbers, hid his drooping head; By name Placidus, Roman, brave and young, Of noble mien, fair face, and gentle tongue. Within his heart, young Cupid held his reign, He lov’d a maid, and was belov’d again; But ah! her parents would their love divide, In vain she strove her rising love to hide, They saw—and to another made her bride: But bride alone she was, for on that day, When all beside herself was free and gay, The marriage rites scarce finish’d by the priest, And vassals bustled for the promis’d feast, The maiden fled, and to her what befell, No one could dare suppose, no one could tell. The fond Placidus wip’d his tearful eye, Join’d in the war, and only sought to die; To die with glory as a Roman ought, For this he conquer’d and for this he fought. And yet the fates denied him even this, He wish’d for death, but death was too much bliss: In vain he singly fac’d a line of foes, In vain he fell—his faithful servant rose, And sav’d a life, which yielded nought but woes.