Otho

Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be, Last of the Romans, though thy memory claim From Brutus his own glory--and on thee Rests the full splendour of his sacred fame: Nor he who dared make the foul tyrant quail Amid his cowering senate with thy name, Though thou and he were great--it will avail To thine own fame that Otho's should not fail.

'Twill wrong thee not--thou wouldst, if thou couldst feel, Abjure such envious fame--great Otho died Like thee--he sanctified his country's steel, At once the tyrant and tyrannicide, In his own blood--a deed it was to bring Tears from all men--though full of gentle pride, Such pride as from impetuous love may spring, That will not be refused its offering.