The World’s Tragedy

THE GREY NIGHT. I37 PUBLIUS It sweeps out valour, duty, will. Sordid luxury shall tame The grand old Roman fame. Let us go ! The filthy spate Washes out all good within me. Fear and softness, hurry and hate Seem to stab me, storm me, win me. Virtue reels inebriate : Rome is flung upon her fate. (He wheels with the rest, as they march down the hill. Above, a faintly luminous Shadow, appears Alexander the king, or as it were an image of his image.) ALEXANDER The flood sweeps on From horizon to horizon. Beauty, strength, virtue, all are gone. (the eclipse passes.) Now sudden springs the natural face Of all the earth’s old grace. The broad sun smiles, as if that fatal close Of the revel in the garden of Eros