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