Rienzi.  Claudia, in these bad days, When man must tread perforce the flinty path Of duty, hard and rugged, fail not thou Duly at night and morning to give thanks To the all-gracious power that smoothed the way For woman’s tenderer feet.

Colonna.  He hath turned A bitter knave of late, and lost his mirth, And mutters riddling warnings and wild tales Of the great days of heathen Rome; and prates Of peace, and liberty, and equal law, And mild philosophy, to us the knights And warriors of this warlike age, who rule By the bright law of arms.  The fool’s grown wise—­ A grievous change.

* * * * *

  Hatred—­
  And danger—­the two hands that tightest grasp
  Each other—­the two cords that soonest knit
  A fast and stubborn tie:  your true love-knot
  Is nothing to it.  Faugh! the supple touch
  Of pliant interest, or the dust of time,
  Or the pin-point of temper, loose, or not,
  Or snap love’s silken band.  Fear and old hate,
  They are sure weavers—­they work for the storm,
  The whirlwind, and the rocking surge; their knot
  Endures till death.

RIENZI’S TRIUMPH.

  Hark—­the bell, the bell! 
  The knell of tyranny—­the mighty voice,
  That, to the city and the plain—­to earth,
  And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale
  Of Rome reborn, and Freedom.  See, the clouds
  Are swept away, and the moon’s boat of light
  Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars
  Look out on us, and smile.

[The gate of the Capitol opens, and Alberti and Soldiers join the People, and lay the keys at Rienzi’s feet.]

  Hark! that great voice
  Hath broke our bondage.  Look, without a stroke
  The Capitol is won—­the gates unfold—­
  The keys are at our feet.  Alberti, friend,
  How shall I pay thy service?  Citizens! 
  First to possess the palace citadel—­
  The famous strength of Rome; then to sweep on,
  Triumphant, through her streets.

[As Rienzi and the People are entering the Capitol, he pauses.]

  Oh, glorious wreck
  Of gods and Caesars! thou shalt reign again,
  Queen of the world; and I—­come on, come on,
  My people!

  Citizens.  Live Rienzi—­live our Tribune!

CLAUDIA’S LAMENT FOR HER HUMBLE HOME.

  Mine own dear home! 
  Father, I love not this new state; these halls,
  Where comfort dies in vastness; these trim maids,
  Whose service wearies me.  Oh! mine old home! 
  My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle
  Woven round the casement; and the cedar by,
  Shading the sun; my garden overgrown
  With flowers and herbs, thick-set as grass in fields;
  My pretty snow-white doves:  my kindest nurse;
  And old Camillo!—­Oh! mine own dear home!