But

SOCRATES.

yet, believe me, there is One above,

Who can do all, and will do all to save you.

One God, whose name is Love,-who, like a father,
Pities his fallen children ;-ay, his love
Intensifies towards the guilty ones.

His love to sinners makes him hate their sins;
It is His love that fills you with these torments --
They'll lead you to remorse-remorse will bring
Repentance and that, pardon.

WIZARD.

You preach well; But 'tis in vain-you'll soon require your eloquence And courage for yourself.

SOCRATES.

What dost thou mean? WITCH.

He does not mean the battle of to-morrow,

For in the fight thou bearest a charmed life,
And thou shalt conquer, though thy friends shall fall.

That which thy genius

Anticipated;-thy Athenian foes

Gather their strength; they'll bring thee to thy trial, As they brought us, and, like ourselves, thou, too, Shalt be condemned.

SOCRATES.

Amid the fugitive dreams

Of yesternight, I saw the visioned future ;

'Twas even as thou sayest.

I trust in God and my good genius;

I want no other watchers. Let dark death

(Spirits vanish.)

Come when he will, I am prepared to meet him—
The sooner he approaches the more welcome.

(WIZARD and WITCH vanish in the earth.)

SCENE III.

Battle-field in Boeotia. ATHENIANS and BOTIANS fighting.

Enter XENOPHON, at the head of a Band of Athenians.

XENOPHON.

Soldiers of Athens! By your fathers' tombs,
I charge ye fight and yield not! Pallas' self
Favours the bravest, and the bravest only.
Resolve to conquer and you shall. By Jove!
We'll beat them yet-these bloodhounds of Boeotia-
The witless, brainless boobies.

BOOTIAN GENeral.

Peace, foul slanderer!

We are not to be foiled by tongues, but swords ;

Not by proud words, but valiant deeds! Come on!
We'll put you to the proof. Now, gallant comrades,
Victory for Thebes, and ruin for false Athens !

(The bands contend, and XENOPHON is worsted by the BOOTIAN GENERAL, who wounds him and stunds over him, brandishing his suspended sword.)

Pallas, Athené, to the rescue!

Down

With your weapons! By the immortal Gods!

I'll trample ye in the dust!

SOLDIERS (terrified).

"Tis Mars himself!

No mortal man could scatter thus our ranks-
He is invulnerable! the spear is shivered

On his burnished shield, and on his crested helm
The sword splinters to fragments.

Thus, then, do I rend

The spoil from the spoiler! There, my lord of Thebes,
Take thy free choice-I hope you'll not repent it

When you visit Pluto.

(The BAOTIAN GENERAL falls.)

What, my Xenophon!

Is it you? Great Jove, I thank thee! My brave boy,
I little thought 'twas one so dear to me.

Ah! you are wounded-faint from loss of blood--
This is no place for thee;-here, clasp my neck-
I'll bear thee to my tent. Stand off, ye cravens!
Dare not to cross my way, or you shall find it
The straightest track to Hades. My sweet pupil,
Your lady love shall not have cause to weep
The loss of Xenophon-lean on me—thus.

SCENE IV.

Athens.

ARISTOPHANES, MELITUS, ANYTUS, and LYCON, with a Crowd ARISTOPHANES.

Yes, gentlemen, you see 'twas not without

Just cause I wrote my Clouds-that had the honour
Of gaining your fair suffrages. This Socrates,
Whom the great Oracle hath styled most wise,
Merely in jest, by the queer rule of contraries,
Hath much insulted both your gods and you.

CROWD.

LYCON.

What said he?

Said that all the gods were One,

And One was all-in violation of

The plainest rule of all arithmetic.

Pythagoras, too, talked some such trash. We say

'Tis downright blasphemy.

CROWD.

Most infamous!

MELITUS.

Ay, 'twas most infamous-but worse than this,
Ye men of Athens! Socrates affirmed

Yourselves no better than the idolaters

Certainly, we'll stand

By you, and make him smart for it-the sooner
We can get rid of such a troublesome satirist
The better.

ALCIBIADES (entering).

Ah, how now-ye base-born scoundrels,
So
you have met, it seems, to punish Socrates;
Yes, Socrates-the Oracle's best favourite—
Socrates, whose least hair is worth a million
Such knaves as you. O! Aristophanes,
Lycon, and Melitus, I am ashamed

To meet you here. If you have tears or blushes,
You need them now. What! wrong behind his back
The greatest and worthiest man that Athens-
That Greece herself-have ever nursed to fame,-

A man worth all the seven sages?

Fie,

You'll never know his value till you've lost him;
If anything could make my Socrates
More glorious than he is, it is the hatred
Of such as you :-Ye miscreant bloodsuckers,
Ye bats, ye owls, ye wolves, ye vipers-hence!
Or by the Gods! my thirsty sword shall drink
The best of your bad blood! Begone I say!
He who delays, I hold him as my foe-
And as my foe, he shall this instant follow

The track which he least likes.—I spurn ye from me
Thus-make yourselves scarce-the blessing of
Styx and Cocytus keep you company.

SCENE V.

(He drives them out.)

PLATO.

They say, my prettiest, that the souls of lovers

Were twin born in the empyrean skies,

Around Jove's threshold. There they once were mingled,

Soul within soul in such ambrosial bliss,

Such nectarous luscious, metaphysical, marriage,

That they, inebriated with luxury,

Lost the eternal spell-word, and the wings

Of their o'er-sensualizing spirits drooped.

EUPHROSYNE.

Well, Plato, what of this?

PLATO.

It was not well,

Thou dearest of all darlings. Jove, to cure them
Of this voluptuous passion, bade them wear
New vehicles, and plunged them with their stars
Amid the lapsed spheres of materialism;-
There do they wander-severed-parted things,
Mere fractions of themselves-till they do find
The eternal partners of their exiled hearts.
EUPHROSYNE.

What happens when they do, my Plato? tell me.