CAMMA (coming and leaning over him).
So
falls the throne of an hour.
SYNORIX (half rising).
Throne? is it thou? the Fates are throned, not we—
Not guilty of ourselves—thy doom and mine—
Thou—coming my way too—Camma—good-night.
[Dies.
CAMMA (upheld by weeping Priestesses).
Thy way? poor worm, crawl down thine own black hole
To the lowest Hell. Antonius, is he there?
I meant thee to have follow’d—better
thus.
Nay, if my people must be thralls of Rome,
He is gentle, tho’ a Roman.
[Sinks
back into the arms of the Priestesses.
ANTONIUS.
Thou
art one
With thine own people, and tho’ a Roman I
Forgive thee, Camma.
CAMMA (raising herself).
’CAMMA!’—why
there again
I am most sure that some one call’d. O
women,
Ye will have Roman masters. I am glad
I shall not see it. Did not some old Greek
Say death was the chief good? He had my fate
for it,
Poison’d. (Sinks back again.) Have I
the crown on? I will go
To meet him, crown’d! crown’d victor of
my will—
On my last voyage—but the wind has fail’d—
Growing dark too—but light enough to row.
Row to the blessed Isles! the blessed Isles!—
Sinnatus!
Why comes he not to meet me? It is the crown
Offends him—and my hands are too sleepy
To lift it off. [PHOEBE takes the crown off.
Who
touch’d me then? I thank you.
[Rises,
with outspread arms.
There—league on league of ever-shining
shore
Beneath an ever-rising sun—I see him—
‘Camma, Camma!’ Sinnatus, Sinnatus!
[Dies.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
The Count Federigo Degli Alberighi.
Filippo, Count’s foster-brother.
The lady Giovanna.
Elisabetta, the Count’s nurse.
SCENE.—An Italian Cottage. Castle
and Mountains seen through
Window.
Elisabetta discovered seated on stool in window darning.
The Count with Falcon on his hand comes down through
the door at back. A withered wreath on the wall.
ELISABETTA.
So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away
so long, came back
last night with her son to the castle.
COUNT.
Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her?
My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor,
My far-eyed queen of the winds—thou that
canst soar
Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe’er
Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him
Eagle-like, lightning-like—strike, make
his feathers
Glance in mid heaven. [Crosses to chair.
