With glory, tyrants did their country awe,
And violence prescrib'd the rule to law.
Hence pliant servile voices were constrain'd,
And force in popular assemblies reign'd;
Consuls and tribunes with opposing might,
Join'd to confound and overturn the right:
Hence shameful magistrates were made for gold,
And a base people by themselves were sold:
Hence slaughter in the venal field returns,
And Rome her yearly competition mourns:
Hence debt unthrifty, careless to repay,
And usury still watching for its day:
Hence perjuries in every wrangling court;
And war, the needy bankrupt's last resort.
You too, ye bards! whom sacred raptures fire,
Who chaunt your heroes to your country's lyre;
Who consecrate, in your immortal strain,
Brave patriot souls in righteous battle slain;
Securely now the tuneful talk renew,
And noblest themes in deathless songs pursue.
The Druids now, while arms are heard no more,
Old mysteries and barb'rous rites restore:
A tribe who singular religion love,
And haunt the lonely coverts of the grove.
To these, and these of all mankind alone,
The gods are sure reveal'd, or sure unknown.
If dying mortals' doors they sing aright,
No ghosts descend to dwell in dreadful night:
No parting souls to grisly Pluto go,
Nor seek the dreary silent shades below:
But forth they fly immortal in their kind,
And other bodies in new worlds they find.
Thus life for ever runs its endless race,
And like a line, death but divides the space,
A stop which can but for a moment last,
A point between the future and the past.
Thrice happy they beneath their northern skies,
Who that worst fear, the fear of death, despise;
Hence they no cares for this frail being feel,
But rush undaunted on the pointed steel;
Provoke approaching fate, and bravely scorn
To spare that life which must so soon return.*
Swiftly the soul of British flame
Animates some kindred frame,
Swiftly to light and life triumphant flies,
Again exults in martial extasies,
Again for freedom fights, again for freedom dies.
Mason's Caractacus.
Now 'gan the sun to lift his dawning light,
Before him fled the colder shades of night;
When lo! the sounding doors are heard to turn,
Chaste Martia comes from dead Hortensius' urn.
Once to a better husband's happier bed,
With bridal rites, a virgin was she led.
When every debt of love and duty paid,
And thrice a parent by Lucina made;
The teeming matron, at her lord's command,
To glad Hortensius gave her plighted hand;
With a fair stock his barren house to grace,
And mingle by the mother's side the race.
At length this husband in his ashes laid,
And every rite of due religion paid,
Forth from his monument the mournful dame,
With beaten breasts, and locks dishevell'd, came;
Then with a pale, dejected, rueful look,
Thus pleasing, to her former lord she spoke.*
While nature yet with vigour fed my veins,
To thee obedient, I thy house forsook,
And made me equal to a mother's pains,
And to my arms another husband took:
My powers at length with genial labours worn,
Weary to thee, and wasted I return.
At length a barren wedlock let me prove,
Give me the name, without the joys of love;
No more to be abandon'd, let me come,
That Cato's wife may live upon my tomb.
Nor ask I now thy happiness to share,
I seek thy days of toil, thy nights of care:
Give me, with thee, to meet my country's foe,
Thy weary inarches and thy camps to know;
Nor let posterity with shame record,
Corneliat follow'd, Martia left, her lord.
She said. The hero's manly heart was mov'd, And the chaste matron's virtuous suit approv'd. And though the times far diff'ring thoughts de
Though war dissents from hymen's holy band;
In plain unsolemn wise his faith he plights,
And calls the gods to view the lonely rites.
No genial bed, with rich embroidery grac'd,
On iv'ry steps in lofty state was plac'd.
But, as she was, in funeral attire,
With all the sadness sorrow could inspire,
With eyes dejected, with a joyless face,
She met her husband's, like a son's, embrace.
No Sabine mirth provokes the bridegroom's ears,
Nor sprightly wit the glad assembly cheers.
No friends, nor ev'n their children, grace the feast,
Brutus attends, their only nuptial guest:
He stands a witness of the silent rite,
And sees the melancholy pair unite.
Nor he, the chief his sacred visage cheer'd,
Nor smooth'd his matted locks, or horrid beard;
Nor deigns his heart one thought of joy to know,
But met his Martia with the same stern brow.
(For when he saw the fatal factions arm,
The coming war, and Rome's impending harm;
Regardless quite of ev'ry other care,
Unshorn he left his loose neglected hair;
*See this story in Plutarch.
The wife of Pompey.
Rude hung the hoary honours of his head,
And a foul growth his mournful cheeks o'erspread.
No stings of private hate his peace infest,
Nor partial favour grew upon his breast;
But safe from prejudice, he kept his mind
Free, and at leisure to lament mankind.)
Nor could his former love's returning fire,
The warmth of one connubial wish inspire,
But strongly he withstood the just desire.
These were the stricter manners of the man,
And this the stubborn course in which they ran;
The golden mean unchanging to pursue,
Constant to keep the purpos'd end in view;
Religiously to follow nature's laws,
And die with pleasure in his country's cause,
To think he was not for himself design'd,
But born to be of use to all mankind.
To him 'twas feasting, hunger to repress;
And home-spun garments were his costly dress:
No marble pillars rear'd his roof on high,
'Twas warm, and kept him from the winter sky.
He sought no end of marriage, but increase,
Nor wish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace:
That took up all the tend rest parts of life,
His country was his children and his wife.
From justice' righteous lore he never swerv'd,
But rigidly his honesty preserv'd.
On universal good his thoughts were bent,
Nor knew what gain, or self-affection meant;
And while his benefits the public share,
Cato was always last in Cato's care.
But speak, unhappy Roman! speak thy pain,
Say for what woes thy streaming eyes complain?
Why dost thou groan? Why beat thy sounding
breast?
Why is this wild, fantastic grief exprest?
Is it, that yet thy country claims thy care?
Dost thou the crimes of war unwilling share?
Ah! whither art thou by thy fears betray'd?
How canst thou dread that power thyself hast
Do Cæsar's trumpets call thee? Scorn the sound. Does he bid, march? Dare thou to keep thy ground.
So rage and slaughter shall to justice yield,
And fierce Erinuys quit the fatal field:
Cæsar in peace a private state shall know,
And Pompey be no longer call'd his foe.
Appear, thou heavenly Concord! blest appear!
And shed thy better influences here.
Thou who the warring elements dost bind,
Life of the world, and safety of mankind,
Infuse thy sov'reign balm, and heal the wrathful
mind.
But if the same dire fury rages yet,
Too well they know what foes their swords shall meet;
No blind pretence of ignorance remains,
The blood they shed must flow from Roman
veins.
Oh! fatal truce! the brand of guilty Rome!
From thee worse wars and redder slaughters
See! with what free and unsuspecting love,
From camp to camp the jocund warriors rove;
FRIENDLY MEETING BETWEEN THE SOLDIERS OF Each to his turfy table bids his guest,
And Bacchus crowns the hospitable feast.
NEAR neighb'ring now the camps intrench'd are The grassy fires refulgent lend their light,
With scarce a narrow interval between.
Soon as their eyes o'ershoot the middle space, From either hosts, sires, sons, and brothers trace The well-known features of some kindred face. Then first their hearts with tenderness were struck,
First with remorse for civil rage they shook;
Stiff ning with horror cold, and dire amaze,
Awhile in silent interviews they gaze:
Anon with speechless signs their swords salute,
While thoughts conflicting keep their masters
At length, disdaining still to be represt,
Prevailing passion rose in every breast,
And the vain rules of guilty war transgress'd.
As at a signal, both their trenches quit,
And spreading arms in close embraces knit:
Now friendship runs o'er all her ancient claims,
Guest and companion are their only names;
Old neighbourhood they fondly call to mind,
And how their boyish years in leagues were
join'd.
With grief each other mutually they know,
And find a friend in every Roman foe.
Their falling tears their steely arms bedew,
While interrupting sighs each kiss pursue;
And though their hands are yet unstain'd by guilt,
While conversation sleepless wastes the night:
Of early feats of arms, by turns they tell,
Of fortunes that in various fields befell,
With well-becoming pride their deeds relate,
And now agree, and friendly now debate:
At length their inauspicious hands are join'd,
And sacred leagues, with faith renew'd they
But oh! what worse could cruel fate afford!
The furies smil'd upon the curs'd accord,
And dy'd with deeper stains the Roman sword.
CESAR, UNEASY AT THE DELAY OF MARK ANTHONY, LEAVES HIS CAMP BY NIGHT, AND VENTURES OVER A TEMPESTUOUS SEA, IN A SMALL BARK, TO HASTEN HIS MARCH.
AT length the lucky chief, who oft had found What vast success his rasher darings crown'd; Who saw how much the fav'ring gods had done, Nor would be wanting, when they urg'd him on; Fierce, and impatient of the tedious stay, Resolves by night to prove the doubtful way: Bold in a single skiff he means to go,
And tempt those seas that navies dare not plough. 'Twas now the time when cares and labours cease,
They tremble for the blood they might have spilt. And e'en the rage of arms was hush'd to peace:
Snatch'd from their guilt and toil, the wretched
And slept the sounder for the painful day.
To him the weary pilot thus replies:
A thousand omens threaten from the skies;
A thousand boding signs my soul affright,
Through the still camp the night's third hour re- And warn me not to tempt the seas by night.
And warns the second watches to their rounds;
When through the horrors of the murky shade,
Secret the careful warrior's footsteps tread.
His train, unknowing, slept within his tent,
And fortune only follow'd where he went.
With silent anger he perceiv'd, around,
The sleepy sentinels bestrew the ground:
Yet, unreproving, now, he pass'd them o'er,
And sought with eager haste the winding shore.
There through the gloom, his searching eyes ex-
plor'd,
In clouds the setting sun obscur'd his head,
Nor painted o'er the ruddy west with red:
Now north, now south, he shot his parting beams,
And tipp'd the sullen black with golden gleams:
Pale shone his middle orb with faintish rays,
And suffer'd mortal eyes at ease to gaze.
Nor rose the silver queen of night serene,
Supine and dull her blunted horns were seen,
With foggy stains, and cloudy blots between.
Dreadful awhile she shone all fiery red,
Then sicken'd into pale, and hid her drooping
head.
Where to the mould`ring rock a bark was moor'd. Nor less I fear from that hoarse hollow roar,
The mighty master of this little boat,
Securely slept within a neighb`ring cot:
No massy beams support his humble hall,
But reeds and marshy rushes wove the wall;
Old shatter'd planking for a roof was spread,
And cover'd in from rain the needy shed.
Thrice on the feeble door the warrior strook,
Beneath the blow the trembling dwelling shook.
What wretch forlorn (the poor Amyclas cries)
Driven by the raging seas, and stormy skies,
To my poor lowly roof for shelter flies?
He spoke; and hasty left his homely bed,
With oozy flags and with ring sea-weed spread.
Then from the hearth the smoking match he
takes,
In leafy groves, and on the sounding shore.
In various turns the doubtful dolphins play,
And thwart, and run across, and mix their way.
The cormorants the wat'ry deep forsake,
And soaring herons avoid the plashy lake;
While, waddling on the margin of the main,
The crows bewets her, and prevents the rain.
Howe'er, if some great enterprise demand,
Behold, I proffer thee my willing hand :
My vent'rous bark the troubled deep shall try,
To thy wish'd port her plunging prow shall ply,
Unless the seas resolve to beat us by.
And in the tow the drowsy fire awakes;
Dry leaves, and chips, for fuel, he supplies,
Till kindling sparks, and glitt'ring flames arise.
Oh happy poverty! thou greatest good,
Bestow'd by Heaven, but seldom understood!
Here nor the cruel spoiler seeks his prey,
Nor ruthless armies take their dreadful way:
Security thy narrow limits keeps,
Safe are thy cottages, and sound thy sleeps.
Behold! ye dangerous dwellings of the great,
Where gods, and godlike princes choose their
seat;
See in what peace the poor Amyclas lies,
He spoke; and spread his canvass to the wind,
Unmoor'd his boat, and left the shore behind.
Swift flew the nimble keel; and as they past,
Long trails of light the shooting meteors cast;
E'en the fix'd fires above in motion seem,
Shake through the blast, and dart a quiv'ring
beam;
Black horrors on the gloomy ocean brood,
And in long ridges rolls the threat'ning flood;
While loud and louder murmuring winds arise,
And growl from every quarter of the skies.
When thus the trembling master, pale with fear,
Beholds what wrath the dreadful gods prepare;
My art is at a loss; the various tide
Beats my unstable bark on every side:
From the northwest the setting current swells,
Nor starts, though Cæsar's call commands to While southern storms the driving rack foretells. rise.
What terrors had you felt that call to hear?
How had your towers and ramparts shook with
fear,
And trembled, as the mighty man drew near!
The door unbarr'd: Expect (the leader said)
Beyond thy hopes, or wishes, to be paid;
If in this instant hour thou waft me o'er,
With speedy haste, to yon Hesperian shore.
No more shall want thy weary hand constrain,
To work thy bark upon the boist rous main:
Henceforth good days and plenty shall betide;
The gods and I, will for thy age provide.
A glorious change attends thy low estate,
Sudden and mighty riches round thee wait;
Be wise, and use the lucky hour of fate.
Thus he; and though in humble vestments
dress'd,
Spite of himself, his words his power express'd,
And Cæsar in his bounty stood confess'd.
Howe'er it be, our purpos'd way is lost,
Nor can one relic of our wreck be tost
By winds, like these, on fair Hesperia's coast.
Our only means of safety is to yield,
And measure back with haste the foamy field;
To give our unsuccessful labour o'er,
And reach, while yet we may, the neighb'ring
shore.
But Cæsar, still superior to distress,
Fearless, and confident of sure success,
Thus to the pilot loud-The seas despise,
And the vain threat'ning of the noisy skies.
Though gods deny thee yon Ausonian strand;
Yet, go, I charge thee, go at my command.
Thy ignorance alone can cause thy fears,
Thou know'st not what a freight thy vessel bears;
Thou know'st not I am he, to whom 'tis given
Never to want the care of watchful heaven.
Obedient fortune waits my humble thrall,
And always ready comes before I call.
Let winds, and seas, loud wars at freedom wage,
And waste upon themselves their empty rage;
A stronger, mightier dæmon is thy friend,
Thou, and thy bark, on Cæsar's fate depend.
Thou stand'st amaz'd to view this dreadful scene;
And wonder'st what the gods and fortune mean!
But artfully their bounties thus they raise,
And from my dangers arrogate new praise;
Amidst the fears of death they bid me live,
And still enhance what they are sure to give.
Then leave yon shore behind with all thy haste,
Nor shall this idle fury longer last.
Thy keel, auspicious, shall the storm appease,
Shall glide triumphant o'er the calmer seas,
And reach Brundusium's safer port with ease.
Nor can the gods ordain another now,
'Tis what I want, and what they must bestow.
Thus while in vaunting words the leader spoke,
Full on his bark the thund'ring tempest struck;
Off rips the rending canvass from the mast,
And whirling flits before the driving blast;
In every joint the groaning alder sounds,
And gapes wide-opening with a thousand wounds.
Now, rising all at once, and unconfin'd,
From every quarter roars the rushing wind:
First from the wide Atlantic ocean's bed,
Tempestuous Corus rears his dreadful head;
Th' obedient deep his potent breath controls,
And, mountain-high, the foamy flood he rolls.
Him the North-East, encount'ring fierce, defied,
And back rebuffeted the yielding tide.
The curling surges loud conflicting meet,
Dash their proud heads, and bellow as they beat;
While piercing Boreas, from the Scythian strand,
Ploughs up the waves, and scoops the lowest sand.
Nor Eurus then, I ween, was left to dwell,
Nor showery Notus in th' Eolian cell;
But each from every side, his power to boast,
Rang'd his proud forces to defend his coast.
Equal in might, alike they strive in vain,
While in the midst the seas unmov'd remain:
In lesser wars they yield to stormy heaven,
And captive waves to other deeps are driven;
The Tyrrhen billows dash Ægean shores,
And Adria in the mix'd Ionian roars.
How then must earth the swelling ocean dread,
When floods ran higher than each mountain's
head!
So when avenging Jove long time had hurl'd,
And tired his thunders on a harden'd world:
New wrath, the god, new punishment display'd,
And call'd his wat`ry brother to his aid:
Offending earth to Neptune's lot he join'd,
And bade his floods no longer stand confin'd;
At once the surges o'er the nations rise,
And seas are only bounded by the skies.
Such now the spreading deluge had been seen,
Had not th' almighty ruler stood between;
Proud waves the cloud-compelling sire obey'd,
Confess'd his hand suppressing, and were stay'd.
Nor was that gloom the common shade of night,
The friendly darkness, that relieves the light;
But fearful, black, and horrible to tell,
A murky vapour breath'd from yawning hell:
So thick the mingling seas and clouds were hung,
Scarce could the struggling lightning gleam along.
strook,
Through nature's frame the dire convulsion
Heaven groan'd, the lab'ring pole and axis shook:
Uproar, and chaos old, prevail'd again,
And broke the sacred elemental chain:
| Black fiends, unhallow'd, sought the blest abodes,
Profan'd the day, and mingled with the gods.
One only hope, when every other fail'd,
With Cæsar, and with nature's self, prevail'd;
The storm that sought their ruin, prov'd them
strong,
Nor could they fall, who stood that shock so long.
High as Leucadia's less'ning cliffs arise,
On the tall billow's top the vessel flies;
While the pale master, from the surge's brow,
With giddy eyes surveys the depth below.
When straight the gaping main at once divides,
On naked sands the rushing bark subsides,
And the low liquid vale the topmast hides.
The trembling shipman, all distraught with fear,
Forgets his course, and knows not how to steer;
No more the useless rudder guides the prow,
To meet the rolling swell, or shun the blow.
At length the universal wreck appear'd,
To Cæsar's self, e'en worthy to be fear'd.
Why all these pains, this toil of fate, (he cries,)
This labour of the seas, and earth, and skies?
All nature, and the gods at once alarm'd,
Against my little boat and me are arm'd.
If, oh ye powers divine! your will decrees
The glory of my death to these rude seas;
If warm, and in the fighting field to die,
If that, my first of wishes, you deny;
My soul no longer at her lot repines,
But yields to what your providence assigns.
Though immature I end my glorious days,
Cut short my conquest, and prevent new praise;
My life, already, stands the noblest theme,
To fill long annals of recording fame.
Far northern nations own me for their lord,
And envious factions crouch beneath my sword;
Inferior Pompey yields to me at home,
And only fills a second place in Rome.
My country has my high behests obey'd,
And at my feet her laws obedient laid;
All sov'reignty, all honours are my own,
Consul, dictator, I am all alone.
But thou, my only goddess, and my friend,
Thou, on whom all my secret prayers attend,
Conceal, oh Fortune! this inglorious end.
Let none on earth, let none beside thee, know
I sunk thus poorly to the shades below.
Dispose, ye gods! my carcass as you please,
Deep let it drown beneath these raging seas;
I ask no urn my ashes to infold,
Nor marble monuments, nor shrines of gold;
Let but the world, unknowing of my doom,
Expect me still, and think I am to come;
So shall my name with terror still be heard,
And my return in every nation fear'd.
He spoke, and sudden, wondrous to behold,
High on a tenth huge wave his bark was roll'd;
Nor sunk again, alternate, as before,
But rushing, lodg'd, and fix'd upon the shore.
Rome, and his fortune were at once restor❜d,
And earth again receiv'd him for her lord.
PARTING OF POMPEY AND CORNELIA.
WHILE thus united Cæsar's arms appear,
And fortune draws the great decision near;
Sad Pompey's soul uneasy thoughts infest,
And his Cornelia pains his anxious breast.
To distant Lesbos fain he would remove,
Far from the war, the partner of his love.
Oh, who can speak, what numbers can reveal
The tenderness, which pious lovers feel?
Who can their secret pangs and sorrows tell,
With all the crowd of cares that in their bosoms
dwell?
Is thy Cornelia's faith so poorly known,
That thou should'st think her safer whilst alone?
Are not our loves, our lives, our fortunes one?
Canst thou, inhuman, drive me from thy side,
And bid my single head the coming storm abide?
Do I not read thy purpose in thy eye?
Dost thou not hope, and wish, e'en now to die?
And can I then be safe? Yet death is free,
That last relief is not denied to me;
Though banish'd by thy harsh command I go,
Yet I will join thee in the realms below.
Thou bidst me with the pangs of absence strive,
And, till I hear thy certain loss, survive.
My vow'd obedience, what it can, shall bear;
But, oh! my heart's a woman, and I fear.
If the good gods, indulgent to my prayer,
Should make the laws of Rome, and thee, their
care;
See what new passions now the hero knows,
Now first he doubts success, and fears his foes;
Rome, and the world he hazards in the strife,
And gives up all to fortune, but his wife.
Oft he prepares to speak, but knows not how,
Knows they must part, but cannot bid her go;
Defers the killing news with fond delay,
And ling'ring, puts off fate from day to day.
The fleeting shades began to leave the sky,
And slumber soft forsook the drooping eye:
When, with fond arms, the fair Cornelia prest
Her lord, reluctant, to her snowy breast:
Wond'ring, she found he shunn'd her just em- But if th' o'er-ruling powers thy cause forsake,
And felt warm tears upon his manly face.
Heart-wounded with the sudden woe she griev'd,
And scarce the weeping warrior yet believ'd,
When, with a groan, thus he. My truest wife,
To say how much I love thee more than life,
Poorly expresses what my heart would show,
Since life, alas! is grown my burden now,
That long, too long delay'd, that dreadful doom,
That cruel parting hour at length is come.
Fierce, haughty, and collected in his might,
Advancing Cæsar calls me to the fight.
Haste then, my gentle love, from war retreat;
The Lesbian isle attends thy peaceful seat:
Nor seek, oh! seek not to increase my cares,
Seek not to change my purpose with thy prayers;
Myself, in vain, the fruitless suit have tried,
And my own pleading heart has been denied.
Think not, that distance will increase thy fear:
Ruin, if ruin comes, will soon be near,
Too soon the fatal news shall reach thine ear.
Meantime be hid, be safe from every fear;
While kings and nations in destruction share,
Shun thou the crush of my impending fate,
Nor let it fall on thee with all its weight.
Then if the gods my overthrow ordain,
And the fierce victor chase me o'er the plain,
Thou shalt be left me still, my better part,
To soothe my cares, and heal my broken heart;
Thy open arms I shall be sure to meet,
And fly with pleasure to the dear retreat.
Stunn'd and astonish'd at the deadly stroke,
All sense, at first, the matron sad forsook.
Motion, and life, and speech at length returns,
And thus in words of heaviest woe she mourns:
No, Pompey! 'tis not that my lord is dead,
'Tis not the hand of fate has robb'd my bed;
But like some base plebeian I am curs'd,
And by my cruel husband stand divorc'd.
But Cæsar bids us part! thy father comes!
And we must yield to what the tyrant dooms!
In distant climes I may prolong my woe,
And be the last thy victory to know.
On some bleak rock, that frowns upon the deep,
A constant watch thy weeping wife shall keep;
There from each sail misfortune shall I guess,
And dread the bark that brings me thy success.
Grant me this only last request I make;
When thou shalt be of troops, and friends bereft,
And wretched flight is all thy safety left;
Oh! follow not the dictates of thy heart,
But choose a refuge in some distant part.
Where'er thine inauspicious bark shall steer,
Thy sad Cornelia's fatal shore forbear,
Since Cæsar will be sure to seek thee there.
So saying, with a groan the matron fled,
And, wild with sorrow, left her holy bed;
She sees all ling'ring, all delays are vain,
And rushes headlong to possess the pain;
Nor will the hurry of her griefs afford
One last embrace from her forsaken lord.
Alas, how cruel was their fate!-for two,
Whose lives had lasted long, and been so true,
To lose the pleasure of one last adieu!
In all the woeful days that cross'd their bliss,
Sure never hour was known so sad as this!
Low on the ground the fainting dame is laid;
Her train, officious, hasten to her aid:
Then gently rearing, with a careful hand,
Support her, slow-descending o'er the strand.
There, while with eager arms she grasp'd the
Scarcely the mourner to the bark they bore.
Not half this grief of heart, these pangs, she knew,
When from her native Italy she flew:
Lonely, and comfortless, she takes her flight,
Sad seems the day, and long the sleepless night.
In vain her maids the downy couch provide,
She wants the tender partner of her side.
When weary oft in heaviness she lies,
And dozy slumber steals upon her eyes;
Fain, with fond arms, her lord she would have
But weeps to find the pillow at her breast.
Though raging in her veins a fever burns,
Painful she lies, and restless oft she turns,
She shuns his sacred side with awful fear,
And would not be convinc'd he is not there.
|