The marble seat—you lifted up your face—
I have fought long now. I am weary. Come!
Nydia! Nydia! and lead me home!
Home! How the Forum blazes in the sun!
The Roman faces and the kindly speech;
The melon-sellers, proffering to each
That comes, ripe, green-streaked melons—What! you shun
An old friend, Balbus? No! It was not I!
No! by the gods! I never gave consent
To those red days of massacre!——They cry!