ARGUMENT.

BERTHIER, after his entry into Rome, retiring to consider how he should most easily revive the memory of the heroes of the ancient republic, dreams that he is placing a chaplet on the statue of Marcus Brutus, at a festival, held in honour of that old patriot, whose conduct in conspiring against Cæsar had been the constant subject of praise in France from the commencement of the revolution;—when a voice is heard from the image, accounting for the assassination of the Dictator, as the plain consequence of the principles in which the Romans were educated; but admitting the errors of the patriot school, its tendency to inflame ambition and pride, and the inadequacy of its influence to support man under adversity. The voice then observes on the difference between that system and Christianity in those points, and also in respect to assassination; and concludes with a warning not to follow, in preference to the light of revealed religion, the examples of men, who confessedly walked in darkness.

BERTHIER'S DREAM AT ROME,

IN 1798.

ADMONET IN SOMNIS ET TURBIDA TERRET IMAGO. VIRG.

THE arts of France on Tyber's banks prevail'd,
And shouting crowds in triumph Berthier hail'd!
At length, the general from the noisy crew,
Fatigued with honours, to his couch withdrew-
There plann'd his future glories: from her tomb
To call the genius of Imperial Rome;
To strew the sacred capitol with bays;
And make its walls re-echo with the praise
Of each stern patriot and enlighten'd sage,
Whose virtues grac'd a philosophic age,
Ere Christian superstition had confin'd
Man's active powers and energies of mind.

Then ran his thoughts o'er many a Roman name,
Inscrib'd in blood upon the rolls of fame;

From him a who struck his brother to the ground,
For idly jesting on the rising mound,

To that firm band, who Cæsar's death conspir'd,
Rome's true born sons: by whose bright virtue fir'd,
French patriots gave that splendid project birth,
To drive the foes of freedom from the earth;
At once twelve hundred daggers to provide,
And form a legion of Tyrannicide.

* Romulus.

On Sunday, 26 August 1792, Jean Debry proposed in the National Assembly, "l'organisation d'un corps de 1200 volontaires, qui se devoueront à aller attaquer corps a corps individuellement les tyrans, qui nous font la guerre, et les generaux, qu'ils ont preposes pour anéantir en France la liberté publique." See debates published in the Moniteur, 28 Aug. 1792. Two members of the assembly immediately declared their willingness to belong to the corps, as soon as they should be released from their legislative functions; but the measure was opposed on grounds of policy, as likely to lead to retaliation; an objection which had so much weight with the assembly, that the further consideration of this proposal was referred to a committee. Perhaps Mutius Scævola may at first sight appear better entitled to

While thus he mus'd, before his slumbering eyes
The statue of great Brutus seem'd to rise;
It seem'd within a spacious fane to stand;
About the marble image, hand in hand,

Young men and beauteous maids, a festive train,
Danc'd a light round to music's softest strain.
Himself too, in this scene, appear'd to hold
A wreath like those in triumph worn of old;
Which on the statue's awful brow he bound,
Then back retir'd, with reverence profound;
Anon the chaplet seem'd from off the stone
To fall-the music ceas'd-a hollow groan
Was heard, and then these words in solemn tone:
"Cease your vain rites, nor look to ancient times
To furnish precedent for modern crimes;

the honour of having inspired the French upon this occasion, than the conspirators against Cæsar; but Mutius, with all the merit of good intention, had the misfortune to kill only a king's secretary, instead of a king. The assassins of the dictator therefore rank much higher in the estimation of a true republican; and the fame of the unlucky Scævola is almost lost in the brighter glory of the successful Brutus and Cassius.

'Tis true, the world beheld great Cæsar bleed Beneath my arm; true, conscience own'd the deed: Yet think not, my example teacheth you

In regal blood the dagger to imbrue:

Not mine the school that form'd your infant minds, The lights which guide them, or the law that binds. Rome from their earliest youth her children taught To mix her image with each rising thought,

To worship her their idol; at her shrine

Each softer feeling of the soul resign:

No touch of love but towards her friend to know;
Nor other hatred but against her foe:

Her voice alone impell'd a Roman breast,
Curs'd if she censur'd, in her praises blest;
Such Junius sat, and saw with stedfast eye
The lictors hand the young offenders tie;
Without a groan beheld his sons expire;
A genuine patriot, though a cruel sire.
Such stern Horatius stabb'd the love-sick maid,
Who in the public joy her grief betray'd,
And dar'd the lustre of his triumph stain

With tears of sorrow for a lover slain;