Book II

Now manifest the wrath divine appear'd,
And nature through the world the war declar'd
Teeming with monsters, sacred law she broke,
And dire events in all her works bespoke,
Thou Jove, who dost in heaven supremely reign,
Why does thy providence these signs ordain,
And give us prescience, to increase our pain?
Doubly we bear thy dread inflicting doom.
And feel our miseries before they come.
Whether the great creating Parent-soul
When first from chaos rude he form'd the whole,
Dispos'd futurity with certain band.
And bade the necessary causes stand,
Made one decree for ever to remain.
And bound himself in fate's eternal chain;
Or whether fickle fortune leads the dance,
Nothing is fix'd, but all things come by chance;
Whate'er thou shalt ordain, thou ruling Pow'r,
Unknown and sudden be the dreadful hour:
Let mortals to their future fate be blind.
And hope relieve the miserable mind.
While thus the wretched citizens behold
What certain ills the faithful gods foretold;
Justice suspends her course in mournful Rome,
And all the noisy courts at once are dumb;
No honours shine in the distinguish'd weed,
Nor rods the purple magistrate precede;
A dismal silent sorrow spreads around.
No groan is heard, nor one complaining sound.
So when some generous youth resigns his breath,
And parting sinks in the last pangs of death;
With ghastly eyes, and many a lift-up hand,
Around his bed the still attendants stand;
No tongue as yet presumes his fate to tell.
Nor speaks aloud the solemn last farewell:
As yet the mother by her darling lies.
Nor breaks lamenting into frantic cries;
And though he stiffens in her fond embrace,
His eyes are set, and livid pale his face;
Horror awhile prevents the swelling tear.
Nor is her passion grief, as yet, but fear;
In one fix'd posture motionless she keeps.
And wonders at her woe, before she weeps.
The matrons sad their rich attire lay by.
And to the temples madly crowding fly:
Some on the shrines their gushing sorrows pour.
Some dash their breasts against the marble floor,
Some on the sacred thresholds rend their hair.
And howling seek the gods with horrid pray'r.
Nor Jove receiv'd the wailing suppliants all,
In various fanes on various powers they call:
No altar then, no god was left alone,
Unvex'd by some impatient parent's moan.
Of these, one wretch, her grief, above the rest.
With visage tom and mangled arms confess'd.
"Ye mothers! beat (she cried) your bosoms now,
Now tear the curling honours from your brow;
The present hour ev'n all your tears demands,
While doubtful fortune yet suspended stands.
When one shall conquer, then for joy prepare,
The victor chief, at least, shall end the war."
Thus from renew'd complaints they seek relief,
And only find fresh causes out for grief.
The men too, as to different camps they go.
Join their sad voices to the public woe;
Impatient to the gods they raise their cry.
And thus expostulate with those on high.
"Oh hapless times! oh that we had been born
When Carthage made our vanquish'd country mourn!
Well had we then been number'd with the slain
On Trebia's banks, or Cannae's fatal plain.
Nor ask we peace, ye powers! nor soft repose;
Give us new wars, and multitudes of foes;
Let every potent city arm for fight.
And all the neighbour-nations round unite:
From Median Susa let the Parthians come.
And Massagetes beyond their Ister roam;
Let Elbe and Rhine's unconquer'd springs send forth
The yellow Suevi' from the furthest north;
Let the conspiring world in arms engage,
And save as only from domestic rage.
Here let the hostile Dacian inroads make,
And there his way the Gete invader take.
Let Caesar in Iberia tame the foe;
Let Pompey break the deadly eastern bow,
And Rome no hand unarm'd for battle know.
But if Hesperia stand condemn'd by fate.
And ruin on our name and nation wait;
Now dart thy thunder, dread almighty sire,
Let all thy Naming heavens descend in fire;
On chiefs and parties hurl thy bolts alike.
And, ere their crimes have made 'em guilty, strike.
Is it a cause so worthy of our care.
That power may fall to this or that man's share?
Do we for this, the gods and conscience brave.
That one may rule, and make the rest a slave?
When thus, ev'n liberty we scarce should buy,
But think a civil war a price too high."
Thus groan they at approaching dire events,
And thus expiring piety laments.
Meanwhile, the hoary sire his years deplores,
And age that former miseries restores:.
He hates his weary life prolong'd for woe,
Worse days to see, more impious rage to know.
Then fetching old examples from afar,
"'Twas thus (he cries) fate usher'd in the war:
When Cimbrians fierce, and Libya's swarthy lord,
Had fall'n before triumphant Marius' sword:
Yet to Minturnae's marsh the victor fled.
And hid in oozy flags his exil'd head.
The faithless soil the hunted chief reliev'd,
And sedgy waters fortune's pledge receiv'd.
Deep in a dungeon plung'd at length he lay,
Where gyves and rankling fetters eat their way,
And noisome vapours on his vitals prey.
Ordain'd at ease to die in wretched Rome,
He suffer'd then for wickedness to come.
In vain his foea had arm'd the Cimbrian's hand,
Death will not always wait upon command:
About to strike, the slave with horror shook.
The useless steel his loosening gripe forsook;
Thick flashing flames a light unusual gave,
And sadden shone around the gloomy cave;
Dreadful, the gods of guilt before him stood,
And Marius terrible in future blood;
When thus a voice began: — "Rash man forbear,
Nor touch that head which fate resolves to spare;
Thousands are doom'd beneath his arm to bleed.
And countless deaths before his own decreed;
Thy wrath and purpose to destroy is vain: —
Would'st thou avenge thee for thy nation slain?
Preserve this man; and in some coming day
The Cantabrian slaughter well he shall repay.
No pitying god, no power to mortals good.
Could save a savage wretch who joy'd in blood:
But fate reserv'd him to perform its doom,
And be the minister of wrath to Rome. -
By swelling seas too favourably tost.
Safely be reach'd Numidia's hostile coast;
There, driven from roan to wilds he took his way,
And on the earth, where once he conquer'd, lay;
There in the lone unpeopled desert field,
Proud Carthage in her ruins he beheld;
Amidst her ashes pleas'd he sat him down.
And joy'd in the destruction of the town.
The genius of the place, with mutual hate,
Rear'd its sad head, and smil'd at Marius' fate;
Each with delight survey'd their fallen foe.
And each forgave the gods that laid the other low.
There with new fury was his soul possess'd.
And Libyan rage collected in his breast.
Soon as returning fortune own'd his cause.
Troops of revolting bondmen forth he draws;
Cut-throats and slaves resort to his command,
And arms were given to every baser hand.
None worthily the leader's standard bore,
Unstain'd with blood or blackest crimes before:
Villains of fame, to fill his bands, were sought,
And to his camp increase of crimes they brought.
Who can relate the horrors of that day.
When first these walls became the victor's prey?
With what a stride devouring slaughter pass'd.
And swept promiscuous orders in her haste!
O'er noble and plebeian rang'd the sword;
Nor pity nor remorse one pause afford.
The sliding streets with blood were clotted o'er,
And sacred temples stood in pools of gore.
The ruthless steel, impatient of delay,
Forbad the sire to linger out his day:
It struck the bending father to the earth.
And crop'd the wailing infant at his birth.
(Can innocents the rage of parties know.
And they who ne'er offended find a foe I)
Age is no plea, and childhood no defence.
To kill is all the murderer's pretence.
Rage stays not to inquire who ought to die.
Numbers must fail, no matter which, or why;
Each in his hand a grisly vie bears.
And, as the trophy of his virtue, wears,
Who wants a prize, straight rushes through the streets,
And undistinguish'd mows the first he meets:
The trembling crowd with fear officious strive.
And those who kiss the tyrant's hand survive.
Oh, could you fall so low, degenerate race!
And purchase safety at a price so base!
What though the sword was master of your doom.
Though Marius could have given you years to come;
Can Romans live by infamy so mean? —
But soon your changing fortune shifts the scene;
Short is your date; you only live to mourn
Your hopes deceiv'd, and Sylla's swift return.
The vulgar falls, and none laments his fate,
Sorrow has hardly leisure for the great.
What tears could Baebius' hasty death deplore!
A thousand hands his mangled carcase tore;
His scatter'd entrails round the streets were toss'd,
And in a moment all the man was lost.
Who wept, Antonius' murder to behold
Whose moving tongue the mischief oft foretold?
Spite of his age and eloquence he bled;
The barbarous soldier snatch'd his hoary head;
Dropping, he bore it to his joyful lord,
And, while he feasted, plac'd it on the board.
The Crassi both by Fimbria's hand were slain,
And bleeding magistrates the pulpit stain.
Then did the doom of that neglecting hand,
Thy fate, O holy Scaevola! command:
In vain for succour to the gods he dies,
The priest before the vestal altar dies;
A feeble stream pour'd forth the' exhausted sire,
And spar'd to quench the everliving fire.
The seventh returning Fasces now appear
And bring stem Marius' latest destin'd year:
Thus the long toils of changing life o'erpass'd,
Hoary and full of days he breath'd his last.
While Fortune frown'd her fiercest wrath he bore,
And while she smil'd enjoy'd her amplest pow'r:
All various turns of good and bad he knew,
And prov'd the most that chance or fate could do.
"What heaps of slain the Colline gate did yield!
What bodies strew'd the Sacriportan field,
When empire was ordain'd to change her seat,
To leave her Rome, and make Praeneste great!
When the proud Samnites' troops the state defied,
In terms beyond their Caudine-treaty's pride
Nor Sylla with less cruelty returns,
With equal rage the fierce avenger burns;
What blood the feeble city yet retain'd.
With too severe a healing hand he drain'd:
Too deeply was the searching steel employ'd,
What maladies had hurt the leech destroy'd.
The guilty only were of life bereft:
Alas! the guilty only then were left.
Dissembled hate and rancour rang'd at will,
All, as they pleas'd, took liberty to kill;
And while revenge no longer fear'd the laws,
Each private murder was the public cause.
The leader bade destroy; and at the word.
The master fell beneath the servant's sword.
Brothers on brothers were for gifts bestow'd,
And sons contended for their father's blood.
For refuge some to caves and forests fled;
Some to the lonely mansions of the dead;
Some, to prevent the cruel victor, die;
These strangled hang from fatal beams on high;
While those, from tops of lofty turrets thrown,
Came headlong on the dashing pavement down.
Some for their funerals the wood prepare,
And build the sacred pile with hasty care:
Then, bleeding, to the kindling flames they press.
And Roman rites, while yet they may, possess.
Pale heads of Marian chiefs are borne on high.
And heap'd together in the forum lie;
There join the meeting slaughters of the town,
There each performing villain's deeds are known.
No sight like this the Thracian stables knew
Antaeus' Libyan spoils to these were few:
Nor Greece beheld so many suitors fall,
To grace the Pisan tyrant's horrid ball.
At length, when putrid gore, with) foul disgrace
Hid the distinguish'd features of the face,
By night the miserable parents came,
And bore their sons to some forbidden flame.
Well I remember, in that woful reign.
How I my brother sought amongst the slain
Hopeful by stealth his poor remains to burn,
And close his ashes in a peaceful um:
His visage in my trembling band I bore.
And turn'd pacific Sylla's trophies o'er;
Full many a mangled trunk I tried, to see
Which carcase with the head would best agree.
Why should my grief to Catulus return.
And tell the victim offer'd at his urn;
When struck with horror, the relenting shade
Beheld his wrongs too cruelly repay'd?
I saw where-e Marius' hapless brother stood,
With limbs all torn, and cover'd o'er with blood
A thousand gaping wounds increas'd his pain,
While weary life a passage sought in vain:
That mercy still his ruthless foes deny,
And, whom they mean to kill, forbid to die.
This from the wrists the suppliant hands divides.
That hews his arms from off his naked sides;
One crops his breathing nostrils, one his ears.
While from the roots bb tongue another tears
Panting awhile upon the earth it lies,
And with mute motion trembles ere it dies:
Last, from the sacred caverns where they lay,
The bleeding orbs of sight are rent away.
Can late posterity believe, whene'er
This tale of Marius and his foes they hear,
They could indict so much, or he could bear?
Such is the broken carcase seen to lie,
Crush'd by some tumbling turret from on high;
Such to the shore the shipwreck'd corse is borne.
By rending rocks and greedy monsters torn.
Mistaken rage! thus mangling to disgrace,
And blot the lines of Marius' hated lace!
What joy can Sylla take, unless be know.
And mark the features of his dying foe?
Fortune beheld, from her Praenestine fane
Her helpless worshippers around her slain;
One hour of fate was common to 'em all.
And, like one man, she saw a people fall.
Then died the lusty youth in manly bloom,
Hesperia's dower, and hope for times to come;
Their blood, Rome's only strength, distains the fold
Ordain'd the' assembling centuries to hold,
Numbers have oft been known, on sea and land.
To sink of old by death's destructive band;
Battles with multitudes have strewn the plain,
And many perish on the stormy main;
Earthquakes destroy, malignant vapours blast.
And plagues and famines lay whole nations waste:
But justice, sure, was never seen, till now,
To massacre her thousands at a blow.
Satiety of death the victors prove.
And slowly through the' encumbering ruin move:
So many fell, there scarce is room for more.
The dying nod on those who fell before;
Crowding in heaps their murderers they aid,
And, by the dead, the living are o'erlaid.
Meanwhile, the stern dictator, from on high.
Beholds the slaughter with a fearless eye;
Nor sighs to think his dread commands ordain
So many thousand wretches to be slain.
Amidst the Tiber's waves the load is thrown.
The torrent rolls the guilty burden down;
Till rising mounds obstruct his watery way.
And carcases the gliding vessels stay.
But soon another stream to aid him rose;
Swift o'er the fields a crimson deluge flows;
The Tuscan river swells above his shores.
And floating bodies to the land restores:
Struggling at length, he drives his rushing flood.
And dyes the Tyrrhene ocean round with blood.
Could deeds like these the glorious style demand
Of ' Prosperous,' and ' Saviour of the land?
Could this renown, could these achievements build
A tomb for Sylla in the Martian field?
Again, behold the circling woes return.
Again the curse of civil wars we mourn;
Battles, and blood, and vengeance shall succeed.
And Rome once more by Roman hands shall bleed.
Or if (for hourly thus our fears presage)
With wrath more fierce the present chiefs shall rage.
Mankind shall some unheard-of plagues' deplore,
And groan for misery unknown before.
Marius, an end of exile only sought;
Sylla, to crush a hated faction fought;
A larger recompense these leaders claim
And higher is their vast ambition's aim:
Could these be satisfied with Sylla's pow'r
Nor, all he had possessing, ask for more;
Never had force and impious arms employ'd.
Or fought for that which, guiltless, each enjoy'd.
Thus wept lamenting age o'er hapless Rome,
Remembering evils past, and dreading those to come.
But Brutus' temper fail'd not with the rest,
Nor with the common weakness was oppress'd;
Safe and in peace he kept his manly breast.
'Twas when the solemn dead of night came on,
When bright Calisto with her shining son,
Now half their circle round the pole had run;
When Brutus, on the busy times intent,
To virtuous Cato's humble dwelling went.
Waking he found him, careful for the state.
Grieving and fearing for his country's fate;
For Rome, and wretched Rome, alone he fear'd;
Secure within himself, and for the worst prepar'd.
To him thus Brutus spoke: "O thou! to whom
Forsaken virtue flies, as to her home;
Driven out, and by an impious age oppress'd.
She finds no room on earth— but Cato's breast
There, in her one good man, she reigns secure.
Fearless of vice, or fortune's hostile pow'r.
Then teach my soul, to doubt and error prone,
Teach me a resolution like thy own.
Let partial favour, hopes or interest guide.
By various motives, all the world beside
To Pompey's, or ambitions Caesar's side;
Thou, Cato, art my leader. Whether peace
And calm repose amidst these storms shall please;
Or whether war thy ardour shall engage.
To gratify the madness of this age;
Herd with the factious chiefs, and urge the people's rage
The ruffian, bankrupt, loose adulterer,
All who the power of laws and justice fear.
From guilt learn specious reasons for the war.
By starving want and wickedness prepar'd,
Wisely they arm for safety and reward.
But, oh! what cause, what reason canst thou find!
Art thou to arms for love of arms inclin'd?
Hast thou the manners of this age withstood,
And for so many years been singly good.
To be repaid with civil wars and blood?
Let those to vice inur'd for arms prepare.
In thee 'twill be impiety to dare;
Preserve at least, ye gods, these hands from war!
Nor do thou meanly with the rabble join.
Nor grace their cause with such an arm as thine.
To thee, the fortune of the fatal field
Inclining, unauspicious fame shall yield;
Each to thy sword shall press, and wish to be
Imputed as thy crime, and charg'd on thee.
Happy thou wert, if with retirement bless'd.
Which noise and faction never should molest,
Nor break the sacred quiet of thy breast;
Where harmony and order ne'er should cease,
But every day should take its turn in peace.
So in eternal steady motion, roll
The radiant spheres around the starry pole:
Fierce lightnings, meteors, and the winter's storm.
Earth and The face of lower heaven deform.
Whilst all, by nature's laws, is calm above;
No tempest rages in the court of Jove.
Light particles, and idle atoms fly,
Toss'd by the winds, and scatter'd round the sky;
'While the more solid parts the force resist,
And fix'd and stable on the centre rest.
Caesar shall bear with joy that thou art join'd
With fighting factions, to disturb mankind:
Though sworn his foe, he shall applaud thy choice.
And think his wicked war approv'd by Cato's voice.
See! how to swell their mighty leader's state.
The consols and the servile senate wait:
Ev'n Cato's self to Pompey's yoke must bow.
And all mankind are slaves, but Caesar, now.
If war, however, be at last our doom.
If we must arm for liberty and Rome:
While undecided yet their fate depends,
Caesar and Pompey are alike my friends;
Which party I shall choose is yet to know.
That let the war decide; — who conquers is my foe."
Thus spoke the youth: when Cato thus express'd
The sacred counsels of his inmost breast:
Brutus! with thee, I own the crime is great:!
With thee, this impious civil war! hate:
But virtue blindly follows, led by fate.
Answer yourselves, ye gods! and set me free;
If I am guilty, 'tis by your decree.
If yon fair lamps above should lose their light.
And leave the wretched world in endless night;
If chaos should in heaven and earth prevail,
And universal nature's frame should fail:
What Stoic would not the misfortune share,
And think that desolation worth his care?
Princes and nations whom wide seas divide,
Where other stars far distant heavens do guide.
Have brought their ensigns to the Roman side.
Forbid it, gods! when barbarous Scythians come
From their cold north, to prop declining Rome,
That I should see her fall, and sit secure at home.
As some unhappy sire, by death undone,
Robb'd of his age's joy, his only son.
Attends the funeral with pious care.
To pay his last paternal office there;
Takes a sad pleasure in the crowd to go,
And be himself part' of the pompous woe;
Then waits till, every ceremony past,
His own fond hand may light the pile at last.
So fix'd, so faithful to thy cause, O Rome!
With such a constancy and love I come;
Resolv'd for thee and liberty to mourn,
And never, never, from your sides be tom;
Resolv'd to follow still your common fate,
And on your very names, and last remains to wait.
Thus let it be, since thus the gods ordain;
Since hecatombs of Romans must be slain.
Assist the sacrifice with every band,
And give 'em all the slaughter they demand.
O! were the gods contented with my fall,
If Cato's life could answer for you all,
Like the devoted Decius would I go.
To force from either side the mortal blow,
And for my country's sake, wish to be thought her foe.
To me, ye Romans, all your rape confine.
To me, ye nations from the barbarous Rhine,
Let all the wounds this war shall make be mine.
Open my vital streams, and let 'em run,
Oh let the purple sacrifice atone
For all the ills offending Rome has done.
If slavery be all the faction's end.
If chains the prize for which the fools contend.
To me convert the war, let me be slain;
Me, only me, who fondly strive, in vain.
Their useless laws and freedom to maintain:
So may the tyrant safely mount his throne,
And rule his slaves in peace, when I am gone.
Howe'er, since free as yet from his command.
For Pompey and the commonwealth we stand.
Nor he, if fortune should attend his arms,
'Is proof against ambition's fatal charms;
But urg'd with greatness, and desire of sway,
May dare to make the vanquish'd world his prey.
Then, lest the hopes of empire swell his pride,
Let him remember I was on his side;
Nor think he conquer'd for himself alone.
To make the harvest of the war his own.
Where half the toil was ours." So spoke the sage.
His words the listening eager youth engage
Too much to love of arms, and heat of civil rage.
Now 'gan the son 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' um.
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 dishevel'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,
And made me equal to a mother's pains;
To thee obedient, I thy house forsook.
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:
So shall my truth to latest times be read.
And none shall ask if guiltily I fled.
Or thy command estrang'd me from thy bed.
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 marches and thy camps to know
Nor let posterity with shame record,—
Cornelia 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 differing thoughts demand,
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 garlands gay the cheerful portal crown'd.
Nor woolly fillets wove the posts around;
No genial bed, with rich embroidery grac'd.
On ivory steps in lofty state was plac'd;
No hymeneal torch preceding shone.
No matron put tile towery frontlet on
Nor bade her feet the sacred threshold shun.
No yellow veil was loosely thrown, to hide
The rising blushes of the trembling bride;
No glittering zone her flowing garments bound.
Nor sparkling gems her neck encompass'd round;
No silken scarf, nor decent winding lawn
Was o'er her naked arms and shoulders drawn:
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,r
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 Martin with the same stem brow.
(For when he saw the fatal factions arm.
The coming war, and Rome's impending harm
Regardless quite of every other care,
Unshorn be left his loose neglected hair:
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, hanger 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 tenderest 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.
Meantime the trembling troops, by Pompey led,
Hasty to Phrygian Capua were fled.
Resolving here to fix the moving war.
He calls his scatter'd legions from afar;
Here he decrees the daring foe to wait.
And prove at once the great event of fate;
Where Apennine's delightful shades arise,
And lift Hesperia lofty to the skies.
Between the higher and inferior sea.
The long extended mountain takes his way;
Pisa and Ancon bound his sloping sides.
Wash'd by the Tyrrhene and Dalmatic tid
Rich in the treasure of his watery stores,
A thousand living springs and streams he pours,
And seeks the diff'rent seas by different shores.
From his left falls Crustumium's rapid flood
And swift Metaurus, red with Punic blood;
There gentle Sapis with Isaurus joins.
And Sena there the Senones confines;
Rough Aufidus the meeting ocean braves,
And lashes on the lazy Adria's waves;
Hence vast Eridanus with matchless force,
Prince of the streams, directs his regal course;
Proud with the spoils of fields and woods he flows,
And drains Hesperia's rivers as he goes.
His sacred banks, in ancient tales renown'd.
First by the spreading poplar's shade were crown'd
When the sun's fiery steeds forsook their way,
And downward drew to earth the burning day:
When every flood and ample lake was dry
The Po alone his channel could supply
Hither rash Phaeton was headlong driv'n,
And in these waters quench'd the flames of Heav'n.
Nor wealthy Nile a fuller stream contains,
Though wide he spreads o'er Egypt's flatter plans;
Nor Ister rolls a larger torrent down,
Sought he the sea with waters all his orra;
But meeting floods to him their homage pay
And heave the blended river on his way.
These, from the left; while from the right, there come
The Rutuba and Tiber dear to Rome;
Thence slides Vulturnus' swift descending flood,
And Sarnus, hid beneath his misty cloud;
Thence Lyris, whom the Vestin fountains aid,
Winds to the sea through close Marica's shade;
Thence Siler through Salemian pastures falls,
And shallow Macra creeps by Luna's walls.
Bordering on Owl the loftiest ridges rise,
And the low Alps from cloudy heights despise;
Thence his long back the fruitful mountain bows,
Beneath the Umbrian and the Sabine ploughs;
The race primeval, natives all of old,
His woody rocks within their circuit hold;
Far as Hesperia's utmost limits pass,
The hilly father runs his mighty mass;
Where Juno rears her high Lacinian fane
And Scylla's rang dogs molest the main.
Once, further yet ('tis said) his way he took,
Till through his side the seas conspiring broke
And still we see on fair Sicilia's sands
Where, part of Appenine, Pelorus stands.
But Caesar for destruction eager burns,
Free passages and bloodless ways he scorns
In fierce conflicting fields his arms delight.
He joys to be oppos'd, to prove his might;
Resistless, through the widening breach to go,
To burst the gate, to lay the bulwark low.
To born the villages, to waste the plains.
And massacre the poor laborious swains.
Abhorring law, he chooses to offend.
And blushes to be thought his country's friend.
The Latian cities now, with busy care.
As various they inclin'd, for arms prepare.
Though doom'd before the war's first rage to yield,
Trenches they dig, and min'd walls rebuild;
Huge stone, and darts, their lofty towers supply.
And guarded bulwarks menace from on high.
To Pompey's part the proper people lean,
Though Caesar's stronger terrors stand between.
So, when the blasts of sounding Auster blow,
The waves obedient to his empire flow
And though the stormy god fierce Eurus frees.
And sends him rushing 'cross the swelling seas;
Spite of his force, the billows yet retain
Their former course, and that way roll the main;
The lighter clouds with Eurus' driving sweep.
While Auster still commands the watry deep,
Still fear too sure o'er vulgar minds prevails,
And faith before successful fortune fails.
Etruria vainly trusts in Libo's aid
And Umbria by Thermus is betray'd;
Sylla, unmindful of his father's fame,
Fled at the dreadful sound of Caesar's name.
Soon as the horse near Auximon appear,
Retreating Varus owns his abject fear,
And with a coward's haste neglects his rear;
On flight alone intent, without delay.
Through rocks and devious woods he wings his way.
The' Esculean fortress Lentulus forsakes,
A swift pursuit the speedy victor makes;
All arts of threats and promises applied.
He wins the faithless cohorts to his side.
The leader with his ensigns fled alone;
To Caesar fell the soldier, and the town.
Thou, Scipio too dost for retreat prepare;
Thou leav'st Luceria, trusted to thy care;
Though troops well tried attend on thy command,
(The Roman power can boast no braver band)
By wily arts of old from Caesar rent.
Against the hardy Parthians were they sent:
But their first chief the legion now obeys,
And Pompey thus the Gallic loss repays;
Aid to his foe too freely he affords,
And lends his hostile father Roman swords.
But in Corfinium bold Domitius lies,
And from his walls the' advancing power defies;
Secure of heart, for all events prepar'd,
He heads the troops, once bloody Milo's guard.
Soon as he sees the cloudy dust arise,
And glittering arms reflect the sunny skies:
Away, companions of my arms! (he cried)
And haste to guard the river's sedgy side:
Break down the bridge. And thou that dwell'st
Thou wat'ry god, let all thy fountains go, below,
And rushing bid thy foamy torrent flow;
Swell to the utmost brink thy rapid stream,
Bear down the planks, and every floating beam;
Upon thy banks the lingering war delay,
Here let the headlong chief be taught to stay;
'Tis victory to stop the victor's way."
He ceas'd; and shooting swiftly cross the plain,
Drew down the soldier to the flood in vain.
For Caesar early from the neighbouring field,
The purpose to obstruct his march beheld;
Kindling to wrath, Oh basest fr! (he cries)
To whom nor towers, nor sheltering walls suffice:
Are these your coward stratagems of war?
Hope you with brooks my conquering arms to bar
Though Nile and Ister should my way control,
Though swelling Ganges should to guard you roll
What streams, what floods soe'er athwart me fall,
Who past the Rubicon shall pass 'em all.
Haste to the passage then, my friends!" He said:
Swift as a storm the nimble horse obey'd;
Across the stream their deadly darts they throw.
And from their station drive the yielding foe:
The victors at their ease the ford explore,
And pass the undefended river o'er.
The vanquish'd to Corfinium's strength retreat.
Where warlike engines round the ramparts threat:
Close to the wall the creeping vinea lies.
And mighty towers in dread approaches rise.
But see the stain of war! the soldier's shame!
And vile dishonour of the Latian name!
The faithless garrison betray the town,
And captive drag their valiant leader down.
The noble Roman, fearless, though in bands,
Before his haughty fellow-subject stands.
With looks erect, and with a daring brow.
Death he provokes, and courts the fatal blow:
But Caesar's arts his inmost thoughts descry,
His fear of pardon, and desire to die.
"From me thy forfeit life (he said) receive.
And, though repining, by my bounty live;
That all, by thy example taught, may know.
How Caesar's mercy treats a vanquish'd foe:
Still arm against me, keep thy hatred still.
And if thou conquer'st, use thy conquest, kill
Returns of love, or favour, seek I none;
Nor give thy life to bargain for my own."
So saying, on the instant he commands
To loose the galling fetters from his hands.
Oh, fortune I better were it, he had died,
And spar'd the Roman shame, and Caesar's pride.
What greater grief can on a Roman seize,
Than to be forc'd to live, on terms like these?
To be forgiven, fighting for the laws,
And need a pardon in his country's cause
Struggling with rage, undaunted he repress'd
The swelling passions in his labouring breast;
Thus murmuring to himself; Wilt thou to Rome
Base as thou art, and seek thy lazy horned
To war, to battle, to destruction fly.
And haste, as it becomes thee well, to die;
Provoke the worst effects of deadly strife,
And rid thee of tins Caesar's gift, this life."
Meanwhile, unknowing of the captiv'd chief,
Pompey prepares to march to his relief.
He means the scattering forces to unite,
And with increase of strength expect the fight.
Resolving with the following sun to move,
First he decrees the soldier's heart to prove:
Then into words like these, rever'd he broke.
The silent legions listening while he spoke.
"Ye brave avengers of your country's wrong,
You who to Rome and liberty belongs
Whose breasts our father's virtue truly warms.
Whose hands the Senate's sacred order arms
With cheerful ardour meet the coming fight.
And pray the gods to smile upon the right.
Behold the mournful view Hesperia yields.
Her flaming villages and wasted fields!
See where the Gauls a dreadful deluge flow.
And scorn fire boundaries of Alpine snow.
Already Caesar's sword is stain'd in blood,
Be that, ye gods! to us an omen good:
That glory still be his peculiar care,
Let him begin, while we sustain the war.
Yet call it not a war to which we go;
We seek a malefactor, not a foe:
Rome's awful injur'd majesty demands
The punishment of traitors at our hands.
If this be war, then war was wag'd of old,
By curs'd Cethegus, Catiline the bold.
By every villain's hand who durst conspire
In murder, robbery, or midnight hre.
Oh, wretched rage Thee, Caesar, fate design'd
To rank amongst the patrons of mankind;
With brave Camillus to enrol thy fame.
And mix thee with the great Metelli's name:
While to the Cinna's thy fierce soul inclines.
And with the slaughter-loving Marii joins.
Since then thy crimes, like theirs, for justice call,
Beneath our axe's vengeance shalt thou fall:
Thee, rebel Carbo's sentence, thee the fate
Of Lepidus and bold Sertorius wait.
Believe me yet, (if yet I am believ'd)
My heart is at the task unpleasing griev'd:
I mourn to think that Pompey's hand was chose,
His Julia's hostile father to oppose,
And mark thee down amongst the Roman foes.
Oh, that return'd in safety from the East,
This province victor Crassus had possess'd;
New honours to his name thou might'st afford.
And die, like Spartacus beneath his sword;
Like him have fall'n a victim to the laws,
The same the' avenger, and the same the cause.
But since the gods do otherwise decree,
And give thee, as my latest palm, to me;
Again my veins confess the fervent juice,
Nor has my hand forgot the Javelin's use.
And thou shall learn, that those who humbly know
To peace and just authority to bow.
Can, when their country's cause demands their care
Resume their ardour, and return to war.
But let him think my former vigour fled;
Distrust not, you, your general's hoary head;
The marks of age and long declining years,
Which I, your leader, his whole army wears:
Age still is fit to counsel, or command,
But falters in an unperforming hand.
Whate'er superior power a people free
Could to their fellow-citizen decree.
All lawful glories have my fortunes known,
And reach'd all heights of greatness, but a crown t
Who to be more, than Pompey was, desires.
To kingly rule, and tyranny aspires.
Amidst my ranks, a venerable band,
The conscript fathers and the consuls stand:
And shall the Senate and the vanquish'd State
Upon victorious Caesar's triumph wait?
Forbid it gods, in honour of mankind!
Fortune is not so shameless, nor so blind.
What Fame achiev'd, what unexampled praise,
To these high hopes the daring hero raise
Is it his age of war, for trophies calls
His two whole years spent on the rebel Gauls?
Is it the hostile Rhine forsook with haste
Is it the shoaly channel which he past,
That ocean huge he talks of? Does he boast
His flight o Britain's new discover'd coast?
Perhaps abandon'd Rome new pride supplies,
He views the naked town with joyful eyes,
While from his rage an armed people flies.
But know, vain man, no Roman fled from thee;
They left their walls, 'tis true; but 'twas to follow me
Me, who ere twice the moon her orb renew'd.
The pirates formidable fleet subdued:
Soon as the sea my shining ensigns bore,
Vanquish'd they fled and sought the safer shore:
Humbly content their forfeit lives to save,
And take the narrow lot my bounty gave.
By me the mighty Mithridates chas'd.
Through all the windings of his Pontus pass'd.
He who the fate of Rome delay'd so long,
While in suspense uncertain empire hung;
He who to Sylla's fortune scorn'd to yield.
To my prevailing arms resign'd the field:
Driven out at length, and press'd where'er he fled.
He sought a grave to hide his vanquish'd head.
O'er the wide world may various trophies rise.
Beneath the vast extent of distant skies;
Me the cold Bear, the northern climates know,
And Phasis' waters through my conquests flow;
My deeds in gypt and Syene live.
Where high meridian suns no shadow give.
Hesperian Betis my commands obeys,
Who rolls remote to seek the western seas.
As That b, when the son is in Cancer, onder which sign
By me the captive Arabs' hands were bound.
And Colchians for their ravish'd fleece renown'd;
O'er Asia wide my conquering ensigns spread,
Armenia roe, and lofty Taurus dread
To me submit Cilicia's warlike pow'rs,
And proud Sophene veils her wealthy tow'rs:
The Jews I tam'd, who with religion bow
To some mysterious name, which none beside 'em know.
Is there a land (to sum up all at last)
Through which my arms with conquest have n pass'd?
The world, by me, the world is overcome;
And Caesar finds no enemy but Rome."
He said. The crowd in dull suspension hung,
Nor with applauding acclamations rung;
No cheerful ardour waves the lifted hand.
Nor military cries the fight demand.
The chief perceiv'd the soldier's fire to fail,
And Caesar's fame forerunning to prevail;
His eagles he withdraws with timely care.
Nor trusts Rome's fates to such uncertain way.
As when with fury stung and jealous rage.
Two mighty bulls for sovereignty engage;
The vanquish'd far to banishment removes.
To lonely fields and unfrequented groves;
There, for awhile, with conscious shame he burns.
And tries on every tree his angry horns:
But when his former vigour stands confess'd,
And larger muscles shake his ample breast.
With better chance he seeks the fight again.
And drives his rival bellowing o'er the plain;
Then uncontrol'd the subject-herd he leads,
And reigns the master of the fruitful meads.
Unequal thus to Caesar, Pompey yields
The fair dominion of Hesperia's fields:
Swift through Apulia march his flying pow'rs,
And seek the safety of Brundusium's tow'rs.
This city a Dictaean people hold.
Here plac'd by tall Athenian barks of old;
When with false omens from the Cretan shore,
Their sable sails victorious Theseus bore'.
Here Italy a narrow length extends,
And in a scanty slip projected ends.
A crooked mole around the waves she winds, -
And in her folds the Adriatic binds.
Nor yet the bending shores could form a bay,
Did not a barrier-isle the winds delay.
And break the seas tempestuous in their way.
Huge mounds of rocks are plac'd, by nature's band,
To guard around the hospitable strand;
To turn the storm, repulse the rushing tide.
And bid the anchoring bark securely ride.
Hence, Nereus wide the liquid main displays,
And spreads to various ports his watery ways
Whether the pilot from Corcyra' stand.
Or for Illyrian Epidamnus' strand.
Hither when all the Adriatic roars,
And thundering billows vex the double shores;
When sable clouds around the welkin spread.
And frowning storms involve Ceraunia's head;
When white with froth Calabrian Sason lies,
Hither the tempest-beaten vessel flies.
Now Pompey, on Hesperia's utmost coast.
Sadly survey'd how all behind was lost;
Nor to Iberia could he force his way;
Long interposing Alps his passage stay.
At length, amongst the pledges of his bed,
He chose his eldest-born; and thus he said:
Haste thee, my son! to every distant land.
And bid the nations rouse at my command;
Where fam'd Euphrates flows, or where the Nile
With muddy waves improves the fattening soil
Where'er, diffus'd by victory and fe,
Thy father's arms have borne the Roman name;
Bid the Cilician quit the shore again,
And stretch the swelling canvass on the main
Bid Ptolemy with my Tigranes come.
And bold Pharnaces lend his aid to Rome.
Through each Armenia spread the loud alarm.
And bid the cold Riphaean mountains arm.
Pontus and Scythia's wandering tribes explore,
The Euxine and Maeotis' icy shore
Where heavy-loaden wains slow journeys te,
And print with groaning wheels the frozen lake.
Bat wherefore should my words delay thy haste?
Scatter my wars around through all the east:
Summon the vanquish'd world to share my fate.
And let my triumphs on my ensigns wait.
But you, whose names the Roman annals bear.
You, who distinguish the revolving year;
Ye consuls! to Epirus straight repair.
With the first northern winds that wing the air;
From thence the powers of Greece united raise,
While yet the wintry year the war delays."
So spoke the chief; his bidding all obey;
Their ships forsake the port without delay,
And speed their passage o'er the yielding way.
But Caesar, never patient long in peace.
Nor trusting in his fortune's present face;
Closely pursues his flying son behind.
While yet his fate continued to be kind.
Such towns, such fortresses, such hostile force.
Swept in the torrent of one rapid course;
Such trains of long success attending still.
And Rome herself abandon'd to his will;
Rome, the contending parties noblest prize,
To every wish but Caesar's might suffice.
But he, with empire fir'd and vast desires.
To all, and nothing less than all aspires;
He reckons not the past, while aught remain'd
Great to be done, or mighty to be gain'd.
Though Italy obey his wide command,
Though on)ey linger on the furthest strand,
He grieves to think they tread one common land;
His heart disdains to brook a rival pow'r,
Ev'n on the utmost margin of the shore;
Nor would he leave or earth or ocean free
The foe he drives from land, be bars from sea.
With moles the opening flood be would restrain,
Would block the port, and intercept the main:
But deep devouring seas his toil deride.
The plunging quarries sink beneath the tide.
And yielding sands the rocky fragments hide.
Thus, if huge Gaurus headlong should be thrown.
In fathomless Avernus deep to drown;
Or if from fair Sicilia's distant strand,
Eryx uprooted by some giant hand.
If pondrous with his rocks, the mountain vast,
Amidst the wide Aegean should be cast;
The rolling waves o'er either mass would flow,
And each be lost within the depths below.
When no firm basis for his work he found.
But still it fail'd in ocean's faithless ground;
Huge trees and barks in massy chains be bound.
For planks and beams he ravages the wood,
And the tough boom extends across the flood.
Such was the road by haughty Xerxes made.
When o'er the Hellespont his bridge he laid.
Vast was the task, and daring the design,
Europe and Asia's distant shores to join.
And make the world's divided parts combine.
Proudly he pass'd the flood tumultuous O'er'
Fearless of waves that beat, and winds that iy)ar-
Then spread his sails, and bid the land obey
And through mid Athos find his fleet a way
Like him bold Caesar yok'd the swelling tide
Like him the boistrous elements defied
This floating bank the straitening entrance bound
And rising turrets trembled on the mound.
But anxious cares revolve in Pompey's breast
The new surrounding shores His thoughts molest
Secret he meditates the means, to free
And spread the war wide-ranging o'er the sea
Oft driving on the work with well-fill'd sails
The cordage stretching with the freshening
Ships with a thundering shock the mole divide
And through the watery breach securely glide.
Huge engines oft by night their vengeance pour
And dreadful shoot from fur a fiery show'r
Through the black shade the darting flame descends
And kindling o'er the wooden wall extends
At length arriv'd with the revolving night
The chosen hour appointed for his flight
He bids his friends prevent the seaman's roar
And still the deafening clamours on the shore
No trumpets may the watch by hour renew
Nor sounding signals call aboard the crew
The heavenly maid her course had almost run
And Libra waited on the rising sun
When hush'd in silence deep, they leave the land:
No loud-mouth'd voices call with hoarse command,
To heave the flooky anchors from the sand.
Lowly the careful master's orders past,
To brace the yards, and rear the lofty mast;
Silent they spread the sails, and cables haul,
Nor to their mates for aid tumultuous call.
The chief himself to fortune breath'd a pray'r,
At length to take him to her kinder care;
That swiftly he might pass the liquid deep,
And lose the land which she forbade to keep.
Hardly the boon his niggard fate allow'd.
Unwillingly the murmuring seas were plough'd;
The foamy furrows roar'd beneath his prow.
And, sounding to the shore, alarm'd the foe.
Straight through the town their swift pursuit they sped.
(For wide her gates the faithless city spread)
Along the winding port they took their way,
But griev'd to find the fleet had gain'd the sea.
Caesar with rage the lessening sails descries.
And thinks the conquest mean, though Pompey flies.
A narrow pass the horned mole divides,
Narrow as that where Euripus' strong tides
Beat on Euboean Chalcis' rocky sides:
Here two tall ships become the victor's prey;
Just in the strait they stock; the foes belay;
The crooked grappling's steely hold they cast.
Then drag 'em to the hostile shore with haste.
Here civil slaughter first the sea profanes.
And purple Nereus blush'd in guilty stains.
The rest pursue their course before the wind,
These of the rear-most only left behind.
So when the Pagassean Argo bore
The Grecian heroes to the Colchian shore;
Earth, her Cyanean islands floating sent,
The bold adventurers' passage to prevent;
But the fam'd bark a fragment only lost,
While swiftly o'er the dangerous gulf she cross'd:
Thundering, the mountains met and shook the main
But move no more, since that attempt was vain.
Now through night's shade the early dawning broke,
And changing skies the coming sun bespoke;
As yet the morn was dress'd in dusky white,
Nor purpled o'er the east with ruddy light;
At length the Pleiads' fading beams gave way,
And dull Bootes languish'd into day;
Each larger star withdrew his fainting head.
And Lucifer from stronger Phoebus fled;
When Pompey, from Hesperia's hostile shore.
Escaping, for the azure Offin bore.
O hero, happy once, once styl'd the Great!
What turns prevail in thy uncertain fate!
How art thou chang'd since, sovereign of the main.
Thy natives cover'd o'er the liquid plain!
When the fierce pirates fled before thy prow,
Wherever waves could waft, or winds could blow!
But fortune is grown weary of thee now.
With thee, thy sons and tender wife, prepare
The toils of war and banishment to bear;
And holy household-gods thy sorrows share.
And yet a mighty exile shalt thoo go,
While nations follow, to partake thy woe.
Far lies the land in which thou art decreed.
Unjustly, by a villain's hand to bleed.
Nor think the gods a death so distant doom.
To rob thy ashes of an urn in Rome;
But fortune favourably remov'd the crime.
And forc'd the guilt on Egypt's cursed clime;
The pitying powers to Italy were good.
And sav'd her from the stain of Pompey's blood.