BRUTUS.
Ha! thou with the three-and-twenty wounds!
Who hath, dead one, summoned thee to light?
Back to gaping Orcus' fearful bonds,
Haughty mourner! triumph not to-night!
On Philippi's iron altar, lo!
Reeks now freedom's final victim's blood;
Rome o'er Brutus' bier feels her death-throe,--
He seeks Minos.--Back to thy dark flood!

CAESAR.
Oh, the death-stroke Brutus' sword then hurled!
Thou, too--Brutus--thou? Could this thing be?
Son! It was thy father!--Son! the world
Would have fallen heritage to thee!
Go--'mongst Romans thou art deemed immortal,
For thy steel hath pierced thy father's breast.
Go--and shout it even to yon portal:
"Brutus is 'mongst Romans deemed immortal,
For his steel hath pierced his father's breast."
Go--thou knowest now what on Lethe's strand
Made me a prisoner stand.--
Now, grim steersman, push thy bark from land!

BRUTUS.
Father, stay!--In all earth's realms so fair,
It hath been my lot to know but one,
Who with mighty Caesar could compare;
And of yore thou called'st him thy son.
None but Caesar could a Rome o'erthrow,