“I too was young once, trusted in my star,
  Had faith in men; but all the glamour of youth
  Vanished too soon—­and, piercing to the truth,
  I found some evil each fair show to mar. 
  No thing I saw so high and free from blame
  But worms were at its heart; each noble deed
  Revealed self-seeking as its primal seed. 
  Love, honor, virtue—­each was but a name! 
  Naught marked us off, vile creatures of the dust,
  From ravening brutes, save on the smiling face
  A honeyed falseness—­in the heart so base
  A craven weakness and a fiercer lust. 
  Where was a friend had not his friend betrayed
  A brother guiltless of a brother’s death,
  A wife that hid no poisoned sting beneath
  A fond embrace?  Of one clay all were made! 
  Thus I became as they.  Since only fear
  Could tame that crew, I bade its form draw near. 
  It was a war I waged; I found a joy
  Undreamed-of in their death-cries, and in blood
  Full ankle-deep I waded—­victor stood,
  To find at last that horror too could cloy! 
  Now, grimly bearing what I may not mend,
  Remorseless, unconsoled, I wait the end.”

His dull voice sank to silence.  Moaning low,
He met new pains:  cold sweat stood on his brow. 
In fearsome change his face the watchers saw
Grow like some hideous mask; till Macro came
Nearer the throne-like couch, and spoke a name
“Shall I thy nephew call—­Caligula? 
Thy sickness waxes—­”

                          Hissed the prince in scorn: 
  “My curse upon thee, viper!  What to thee
  Is Caius?  Still I live!  And he was born
  To ape the others—­lies, greed, roguery,
  And aught but manhood.  If he had, ’twere vain;
  No hero now Rome’s downfall may restrain. 
  If gods there were, upon this ruined soil
  No god could bring forth fruit; but that weak lad! 
  Nay, nay, not him—­the spirits stern and sad
  That dog my steps and mock at all my coil,
  The Furies of the abyss that drive me mad,
  Them—­them and chaos—­leave I of my toil
  The heritage.  For them the sceptre!”

                                       So
  Up leaped he as he was, dire agony
  Twisting his features, from the window high
  Tore back the curtain, cast with frenzied throw
  The wand of empire far into the night—­
  Then, senseless, crumbled.

                            In the court below

A soldier stood at guard—­a man of might,
Fair-haired and long of limb.  Straight to his feet
It rolled, the rounded ivory, and upsprang
From off the polished marble with a clang