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There is an entry to the catacombs,
Known but to few.

CORDENIUS.

Ha! to the catacombs!

SYLVIUS.

A dismal place, I own, but heed not that;

For there thou'lt learn what, to thy ardent mind,
Will make this world but as a thorny pass
To regions of delight; man's natural life,
With all its varied turmoil of ambition,
But as the training of a wayward child
To manly excellence; yea, death itself
But as a painful birth to life unending.
The word eternal has not to thine ears,
As yet, its awful, ample sense conveyed.

CORDENIUS.

Something possesses thee.

SYLVIUS.

Yes, noble Maro;

But it is something which can ne'er possess
A mind that is not virtuous.—Let us part;
It is expedient now.—All good be with thee!

CORDENIUS.

And good be with thee, also, valiant soldier!

SYLVIUS (returning as he is about to go out).

At close of day, and near the pleasure-garden,—

The garden of Sulpitius.

CORDENIUS.

I know the spot, and will not fail to meet thee.

[Exeunt.