The legions with a voice of other days,
Worded with pangs to fret their ancient scars!
And every sword-wound of her father’s wars
Will shriek aloud with pity!
Nero
(During Anicetus’ speech he has shown growing fear.)
Listen!—There!
You heard it?—Did you hear a trumpet blare?
Anicetus
‘Tis but the shadow of a sound to be