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There is an entry to the catacombs, Known but to few.

Ha! to the catacombs!

A dismal place, I own, but heed not that; For there thou'lt learn what, to thy ardent mind, Will make this world but as a thorny pass To regions of delight; man's natural life, With all its varied turmoil of ambition, But as the training of a wayward child To manly excellence; yea, death itself But as a painful birth to life unending. The word eternal has not to thine ears, As yet, its awful, ample sense conveyed.

Something possesses thee.

Yes, noble Maro; But it is something which can ne'er possess A mind that is not virtuous.—Let us part; It is expedient now.—All good be with thee!

And good be with thee, also, valiant soldier!

At close of day, and near the pleasure-garden,— The garden of SulpitiusSulpicius [sic].

I know the spot, and will not fail to meet thee. [Exeunt.