FULVIA or Supposed Thoughts of a Hooted Candidate in his Garden (2)

[ZaunköniG]

FULVIA,

or

Supposed Thoughts of a Hooted Candidate in his Garden.


Welcome, ye shades of summer eve, that close
My day among the tongues of yonder town !
I would not pluck them out nor pin them down,
As vengeful Fulvia did with Cicero's —
Nor to mere petulance of speech assign
The cruel meed of his rare excellence —
Enough for me this stillness, and the sense
That they no longer vex these ears of mine ;
I will not vent my rage on foolish lungs,
Nor, even in fancy, re-enact the deed
Wrcak'd on the Roman, in the stress and need
Of a great anger ; why should ribald songs
Scourge like impeaching eloquence ? or why
Should either tax our needles for reply ?



'Twas but a moment's ire—the next, withstood —
Yet, in that moment, how my hungry spleen
Ran to the fierce triumvir's wife for food,
Through the long lapse of centuries between !
And, by that ready reference, proved its kin ;
Strange ! how my angry mood sped back through time
To gust my fancy with the ancient crime ;
Impracticable thought ! unwelcome sin !
I gauged again the depth of years, and found
My Master, pleading in His hour of grief.
For friends who did not minister relief,
And foes who mock'd Him, and stood brawling round
His divine silence !—How distinct they were, —
The woman's \engeancc and the Saviour's prayer !