My country rose,—and I foresaw the snares,
The treacheries of Opimius, and the senate,
And my false friends, awaiting my return.
Fulvius! I wept; but they were tears of rage!
For I was wrought to frenzy by the thought
Of my wrong’d country, and of him, that brother
Whose shade through ten long years hath sternly cried
“Vengeance!”—nor found it yet.
Ful. It is fulfill’d.