103
You do not well, for in these evil days,
At the decisive parting of the paths,
The old unswerving as the Appian way
With firm foundation fixed unfathomably,
The new a devious track thro' bog and fen
The destinies of our Eternal Rome
Demand a constancy in all we do.
Flavian:
O leave the jargon of conflicting creed,
And hear me when I tell you of my love.
I cannot woo like a philosopher
Weaving you fine-spun specious sophistries,
I only seek to fold you in my arms
And love you as a man. My father's faith
Is nothing to me, all the good I have
I dedicate to you that did inspire
As men may pour to Dionysos wine,
(Kneels to her.)
