The dawn is overcast , the morning low'rs , And heavily in clouds brings on the day , The great , the important day , big with the fate Of Cato and of Rome —— Our father 's death Would fill up all the guilt of civil war , And close the scene of blood . Already Caesar Has ravaged more than half the globe , and sees Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword : Should he go farther , numbers would be wanting To form new battles , and support his crimes . Ye gods , what havoc does ambition make Among your works ! Believe me , Marcus , ‘ tis an impious greatness , And mix 'd with too much horror to be envied : How does the lustre of our father 's actions , Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him , Break out , and burn with more triumphant brightness ! His sufferings shine , and spread a glory round him ; Greatly unfortunate , he fights the cause Of honour , virtue , liberty , and Rome . His sword ne'er fell , but on the guilty head ; Oppression , tyranny , and pow'r usurp 'd , Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon them . Remember what our father oft has told us : The ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate , Puzzled in mazes , and perplex 'd with errors ; Our understanding traces them in vain , Lost and bewilder 'd in the fruitless search ; Nor sees with how much art the windings run , Nor where the regular confusion ends . Thou see'st not that thy brother is thy rival ; But I must hide it , for I know thy temper . Marcus , I know thy gen'rous temper well ; Fling but the appearance of dishonour on it , It straight takes fire , and mounts into a blaze . Heav'n knows , I pity thee —— Behold my eyes , Ev'n whilst I speak — Do they not swim in tears ? Were but my heart as naked to thy view , Marcus would see it bleed in his behalf . Oh , Marcus ! did I know the way to ease Thy troubled heart , and mitigate thy pains , Marcus , believe me , I could die to do it . My father has this morning call 'd together To this poor hall , his little Roman senate , to consult If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent That bears down Rome and all her gods before it , Or must at length give up the world to Caesar . Alas , Sempronius ! wouldst thou talk of love To Marcia , whilst her father 's life 's in danger ? Thou might'st as well court the pale , trembling vestal , When she beholds the holy flame expiring . Well dost thou seem to check my ling'ring here In this important hour — I 'll straight away , And while the fathers of the senate meet In close debate , to weigh th ’ events of war , I 'll animate the soldiers ’ drooping courage With love of freedom and contempt of life ; I 'll thunder in their ears their country 's cause , And try to rouse up all that 's Roman in them . ‘ Tis not in mortals to command success , But we 'll do more , Sempronius — we 'll deserve it . Marcus , the friendships of the world are oft Confed'racies in vice , or leagues of pleasure ; Ours has severest virtue for its basis , And such a friendship ends not but with life . When love 's well-timed , ‘ tis not a fault to love . The strong , the brave , the virtuous , and the wise , Sink in the soft captivity together . What can thy Portius do to give thee help ? Marcus , I beg thee give me not an office , That suits with me so ill. Thou know'st my temper . Marcus , thou canst not ask what I 'd refuse ; But here , believe me , I 've a thousand reasons —— What should I do ? If I disclose my passion , Our friendship 's at an end : if I conceal it , The world will call me false to a friend and brother . She sees us , and advances —— Oh , Lucia , language is too faint to show His rage of love ; it preys upon his life ; He pines , he sickens , he despairs , he dies ! Alas , poor youth ! What dost thou think , my Lucia ? His gen'rous , open , undesigning heart Has begg 'd his rival to solicit for him ! Then do not strike him dead with a denial . What hast thou said ? I 'm thunderstruck — recall Those hasty words , or I am lost for ever . Fix 'd in astonishment , I gaze upon thee , Like one just blasted by a stroke from heav'n , Who pants for breath and stiffens , yet alive , In dreadful looks , a monument of wrath ! To my confusion and eternal grief , I must approve the sentence that destroys me . Stay , Lucia , stay ! What dost thou say ? For ever ? Thou must not go ; my soul still hovers o'er thee , And can n't get loose . ‘ Tis true , unruffled and serene , I 've met The common accidents of life , but here Such an unlook'dhYpppHeNfor storm of ills falls on me . It beats down all my strength — I cannot bear it . We must not part . What wouldst thou have me say ? I 've reason . I 'm grieved I undertook it . Away ! you 're too suspicious in your griefs ; Lucia , though sworn never to think of love , Compassionates your pains , and pities you . Marcus , no more ; have I deserved this treatment ? A second , louder yet , Swells in the wind , and comes more full upon us . Quick let us hence . Who knows if Cato 's life Stands sure ? Oh , Marcus , I am warm 'd ; my heart Leaps at the trumpet 's voice , and burns for glory . My heart is grieved , I bring such news as will afflict my father . Not so . The traitor Syphax , as within the square He exercised his troops , the signal given , Flew off at once with his Numidian horse To the south gate , where Marcus holds the watch ; I saw , and call 'd to stop him , but in vain : He toss 'd his arm aloft , and proudly told me , He would not stay , and perish , like Sempronius . Misfortune on misfortune ! grief on grief ! My brother Marcus —— Scarce had I left my father , but I met him Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers , Breathless and pale , and cover 'd o'er with wounds . Long , at the head of his few faithful friends , He stood the shock of a whole host of foes , Till , obstinately brave , and bent on death , Oppress 'd with multitudes , he greatly fell . Nor did he fall , before His sword had pierced thro ’ the false heart of Syphax . Yonder he lies . I saw the hoary traitor Grin in the pangs of death , and bite the ground . Long may they keep asunder ! I hope my father does not recommend A life to Portius that he scorns himself . Alas , my father ! What means this sword , this instrument of death ? Let me convey it hence . Oh , let the pray'rs , th ’ entreaties of your friends , Their tears , their common danger , wrest it from you ! Look not thus sternly on me ; You know , I 'd rather die than disobey you . Oh , sir ! forgive your son , Whose grief hangs heavy on him . Oh , my father ! How am I sure it is not the last time I e'er shall call you so ? Be not displeased , Oh , be not angry with me whilst I weep , And , in the anguish of my heart , beseech you To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul ! Your words give comfort to my drooping heart . My thoughts are more at ease , my heart revives — Enter MARCIA . Oh , Marcia ! Oh , my sister , still there 's hope Our father will not cast away a life So needful to us all , and to his country . He is retired to rest , and seems to cherish Thoughts full of peace .— He has dispatch 'd me hence With orders that bespeak a mind composed , And studious for the safety of his friends . Marcia , take care , that none disturb his slumbers . As I was hasting to the port , where now My father 's friends , impatient for a passage , Accuse the ling'ring winds , a sail arrived From Pompey 's son , who , through the realms of Spain , Calls out for vengeance on his father 's death , And rouses the whole nation up to arms . Were Cato at their head , once more might Rome Assert her rights , and claim her liberty . But , hark ! what means that groan ?—— Oh , give me way , And let me fly into my father 's presence ! Oh , sight of woe ! Oh , Marcia , what we fear 'd is come to pass — Cato has fall'n upon his sword —— I 've raised him up , And placed him in his chair ; where pale and faint , He gasps for breath , and , as his life flows from him , Demands to see his friends . His servants weeping , Obsequious to his order , bear him hither !—— There fled the greatest soul that ever warm 'd A Roman breast :— From hence , let fierce contending nations know , What dire effects from civil discord flow : ‘ Tis this that shakes our country with alarms ; And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms ; Produces fraud , and cruelty , and strife , And robs the guilty world of Cato 's life .