Chrysanthus.
'T is to ask, what now I ask thee,
Of the rocks that in this desert
Gape for ever open wide
In eternal yawns incessant,
Which is the rough marble tomb
Of a living corse interred here?
Which of these dark caves is that
In whose gloom Carpophorus dwelleth?
'T is important I speak with him.
Carpophorus.
Then, regarding not the perils,
I will own it. I myself
Am Carpophorus.
Chrysanthus.
Oh! let me,
Father, feel thy arms enfold me.
Carpophorus.
To my heart: for as I press thee,
How, I know not, the mere contact
Brings me back again the freshness
And the greenness of my youth,
Like the vine's embracing tendrils
Twining round an aged tree:
Gallant youth, who art thou? tell me.
Chrysanthus.
Father, I am called Chrysanthus,
Of Polemius, the first member
Of the Roman senate, son.
Carpophorus.
And thy purpose?
Chrysanthus.