'Those hands, that have protected a Roman life, shall never grasp a
Roman sword, shall never pollute again by their touch a Gothic weapon!
I remembered, as I watched you in the darkness, how the women of my race
once punished their recreant warriors when they fled to them from a
defeat. So have I punished you! The arm that served not the cause of
sister and sister's children--of king and king's nation--shall serve no
other! I am half avenged of the murders at Aquileia, now that I am
avenged on you! Go, fly with the Roman you have chosen to the city of
her people! Your life as a warrior is at an end!'
He made her no answer. There are emotions, the last of a life, which
tear back from nature the strongest barriers that custom raises to
repress her, which betray the lurking existence of the first rude social
feeling of the primeval days of a great nation, in the breasts of their
most distant descendants, however widely their acquirements, their
prosperities, or their changes may seem to have morally separated them
from their ancestors of old.
Pages:
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530