ANTIOCHUS. 
How canst thou help it, Philip?  O the pain! 
Stab after stab.  Thou hast no shield against
This unseen weapon.  God of Israel,
Since all the other gods abandon me,
Help me.  I will release the Holy City. 
Garnish with goodly gifts the Holy Temple. 
Thy people, whom I judged to be unworthy
To be so much as buried, shall be equal
Unto the citizens of Antioch. 
I will become a Jew, and will declare
Through all the world that is inhabited
The power of God!

PHILIP. 
He faints.  It is like death. 
Bring here the royal litter.  We will bear him
In to the camp, while yet he lives.

ANTIOCHUS. 
O Philip,
Into what tribulation am I come! 
Alas!  I now remember all the evil
That I have done the Jews; and for this cause
These troubles are upon me, and behold
I perish through great grief in a strange land.

PHILIP. 
Antiochus! my King!

ANTIOCHUS. 
Nay, King no longer. 
Take thou my royal robes, my signet-ring,
My crown and sceptre, and deliver them
Unto my son, Antiochus Eupator;
And unto the good Jews, my citizens,
In all my towns, say that their dying monarch
Wisheth them joy, prosperity, and health. 
I who, puffed up with pride and arrogance,
Thought all the kingdoms of the earth mine own,
If I would but outstretch my hand and take them,
Meet face to face a greater potentate,
King Death—­Epiphanes—­the Illustrious!
                           [Dies.

*****

MICHAEL ANGELO

Michel, piu che mortal, Angel divino. —­ ARIOSTO.

Similamente operando all’ artista ch’ a l’abito dell’ arte e man che trema. —­ DANTE, Par. xiii., st. 77.

DEDICATION.

Nothing that is shall perish utterly,
  But perish only to revive again
  In other forms, as clouds restore in rain
  The exhalations of the land and sea. 
Men build their houses from the masonry
  Of ruined tombs; the passion and the pain
  Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat, remain
  To throb in hearts that are, or are to be. 
So from old chronicles, where sleep in dust
  Names that once filled the world with trumpet tones,
  I build this verse; and flowers of song have thrust
Their roots among the loose disjointed stones,
  Which to this end I fashion as I must. 
  Quickened are they that touch the Prophet’s bones.

PART FIRST.

I.

PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA

The Castle Terrace.  VITTORIA COLONNA, and JULIA GONZAGA.

VITTORIA. 
Will you then leave me, Julia, and so soon,
To pace alone this terrace like a ghost?