Book VI

Now near encamp'd, each on a neighbouring height,
The Latian chiefs prepare for sudden fight.
The rival pair seem hither brought by fate,
As if the gods would end the dire debate,
And here determine of the Roman state.
Caesar, intent upon his hostile son,
Demands a conquest here, and here alone;
Neglects what laurels captive towns must yield,
And scorns the harvest of the Grecian field.
Impatient he provokes the fatal day,
Ordain'd to give Rome's liberties away,
And leave the world the greedy victor's prey:
Eager that last great chance of war he waits,
Where either's fall determines both their fates.
Thrice on the hills, all drawn in dread array,
His threatening eagles wide their wings display;
Thrice, but in vain, his hostile arms he show'd,
His ready rage, and thirst of Latian blood.
But when he saw, how cautious Pompey's care,
Safe in his camp, declin'd the proffer'd war;
Through woody paths he bent his secret way,
And meant to make Dyrrachium's towers his prey.
This Pompey saw; and swiftly shot before,
With speedy marches on the sandy shore:
Till on Taulantian Petra's I top he stay'd,
Sheltering the city with his timely aid.
This place I nor walls nor trenches deep can boast,
The works of labour, and expensive cost.
Vain prodigality! and labour vain!
Lost is the lavish'd wealth, and lost the fruitless pain!
What walls, what towers soe'er they rear sublime,
Must yield to wars, or more destructive time;
While fences like Dyrrhachium's fortress made,
Where nature's hand the sure foundation laid,
And with her strength the naked town array'd,
Shall stand secure against the warrior's rage,
Nor fear the ruinous decays of age.
Guarded around by steepy rocks it lies,
And all access from land, but one, denies.
No ventrous vessel there in safety rides,
But foaming surges break, and swelling tides
Roll roaring on, and wash the craggy sides:
Or when contentious winds more rudely blow,
Then mounting o'er the topmost cliff they flow,
Burst on the lofty domes, and dash the town below.
Here Caesar's daring heart vast hopes conceives,
And high with war's vindictive pleasure heaves:
Much he revolves within his thoughtful mind,
How in this camp the foe may be confin'd,
With ample lines from hill to hill design'd.
Secret and swift he means the task to try,
And runs each distance over with his eye.
Vast heaps of sod and verdant turf are brought,
And stones in deep laborious quarries wrought
Each Grecian dwelling round the work supplies,
And sudden ramparts from their ruins rise.
With wondrous strength the stable mound they rear,
Such as the' impetuous ram can never fear,
Nor hostile might o'erturn, nor forceful engine tear.
Through hills, resistless, Caesar plains his way,
And makes the rough unequal rocks obey.
Here deep beneath the gaping trenches lie,
There forts advance their airy turrets high.
Around vast tracts of land the labours wind,
Wide fields and forests in the circle bind,
And hold, as in a toil, the savage kind.
Nor ev'n the foe too strictly pent remains,
At large he forages upon the plains;
The vast inclosure gives free leave around,
Oft to decamp, and shift the various ground.
Here, from far fountains, streams their channels trace,
And while they wander through the tedious space,
Run many a mile their long-extended race:
While some, quite worn and weary of the way,
Sink, and are lost, before they reach the sea.
Ev'n Caesar's self, when through the works he goes,
Tires in the midst, and stops to take repose.
Let fame no more record the walls of Troy,
Which gods alone could build, and gods destroy:
Nor let the Parthian wonder, to have seen
The labours of the Babylonian queen s:
Behold this large, this spacious tract of ground!
Like that which Tigris or Orontes bound;
Behold this land! that majesty might bring,
And form a kingdom for an eastern king;
Behold a Latian chief this land inclose, -j
Amidst the tumult of impending foes:
He bade the walls arise, and as he bade they rose.
But ah, vain pride of power! ah, fruitless boast!
Ev'n these, these mighty labours, are all lost!
A force like this what barriers could withstand?
Seas must have fled, and yielded to the land;
The lovers' shores united might have stood,
Spite of the Hellespont's opposing flood;
While the Aegean and Ionian tide
Might, meeting, o'er the vanquish'd isthmus ride,
And Argive realms from Corinth's walls divide:
This power might change unwilling nature's face,
Unfix each order, and remove each place.
Here, as if clos'd within a list, the war
Does all its valiant combatants prepare;
Here ardent glows the blood, which fate ordains
To dye the Libyan and Emathian plains;
Here the whole rage of civil discord join'd,
Struggles for room, and scorns to be confin'd.
Nor yet, while Caesar his first labours tryd,
The warlike toil by Pompey was descry'd.
So, in mid Sicily's delightful plain,
Safe from the horrid sound, the happy swain
Dreads not loud Scylla barking o'er the main.
So northern Britons never hear the roar
Of seas that break on the far Cantian shore.
Soon as the rising ramparts' hostile height,
And tow'rs advancing, struck his anxious sight,
Sudden from Petra's safer camp he led,
And wide his legions on the hills dispread;
So Caesar, forc'd his numbers to extend,
More feebly might each various strength defend.
His camp far o'er the large incloSure reach'd,
And guarded lines along the front were stretch'd;
Far as Rome's distance from Aricia's groves,
(Aricia, which the chaste Diana loves)
Far as from Rome old Tiber seeks the sea,
Did he not wander in his winding way.
While yet no signals for the fight prepare,
Unbidden some the javelin dart from far,
And, skirmishing, provoke the lingering war.
But deeper cares the thoughtful chiefs distress,
And move the soldiers' ardour to repress.
Pompey, with secret anxious thought, beheld
How trampling hoofs the rising grass repell'd;
Waste lie the russet fields, the generous steed
Seeks on the naked soil, in vain, to feed s
Loathing from racks of husky straw he turns,
And, pining, for the verdant pasture mourns.
No more his limbs their dying load sustain,
Aiming a stride, he falters in the strain,
And sinks a ruin on the withering plain:
Dire maladies upon his vitals prey,
Dissolve his frame, and melt the mass away.
Thence, deadly plagues invade the lazy air,
Reek to the clouds, and hang malignant there.
From Nesis such, the Stygian vapours rise,
And with contagion taint the purer skies
Such do Typhoeus' steamy caves convey,
And breathe blue poisons on the golden day.
Thence liquid streams the mingling plague receive,
And deadly potions to the thirsty give:
To man the mischief spreads, the fell disease
In fatal draughts does on his entrails seize.
A rugged scurf, all loathsome to be seen,
Spreads, like a bark, upon his silken skin;
Malignant flames his swelling eyeballs dart,
And seem with anguish from their seats to start:
Fires o'er his glowing cheeks and visage stray,
And mark, in crimson streaks, their burning way;
Low droops his head, declining from its height,
And nods and totters with the fatal weight.
With winged haste the swift destruction flies,
And scarce the soldier sickens, ere he dies;
Now falling crowds at once resign their breath,
And doubly taint the noxious air with death.
Careless their putrid carcases are spread
And on the earth, their dank unwholesome bed,
The living rest in common with the dead.
Here none the last funereal rites receive;
To be cast forth the camp is all their friends can give.
At length kind Heaven their sorrows bade to cease,
And staid the pestilential foe's increase;
Fresh breezes from the sea begin to rise,
While Boreas through the lazy vapour flies,
And sweeps, with healthy wings, the rank polluted skies.
Arriving vessels now their freight unload,
And furnish plenteous harvests from abroad:
N ow sprightly strength, now cheerful health returns,
And life's fair lamp, rekindled, brightly burns.
But Caesar, unconfin'd, and camp'd on high,
Feels not the mischief of the sluggish sky;
On hills sublime he breathes the purer air,
And drinks no damps, nor poisonous vapours, there.
Yet hunger keen, an equal plague, is found;
Famine and meagre want besiege him round:
The fields as yet no hopes of harvest wear,
Nor yellow stems disclose the bearded ear.
The scatter'd vulgar search around the fields,
And pluck whate'er the doubtful herbage yields;
Some strip the trees in every neighbouring wood,
And with the cattle share their grassy food.
Whate'er the softening flame can pliant make,
Whate'er the teeth, or labouring jaws, can break;
What flesh, what roots, what herbs soe'er they get,
Though new, and strange to human taste as yet,
At once the greedy soldiers seize and eat.
What want, what pain soe'er they undergo,
Still they persist in arms, and close beset the foe.
At length, impatient longer to he held
Within the bounds of one appointed field,
O'er every bar which might his passage stay,
Pompey resolves to force his warlike way;
Wide o'er the world the ranging war to lead,
And give his loosen'd legions room to spread.
Nor takes he mean advantage from the night,
Nor steals a passage, nor declines the fight;
But bravely dat es, disdainful of the foe,
Through the proud tower's and rampart's breach to go;
Where shining spears and crested helms are seen.
Embattled thick, to guard the walls within;
Where all things death, where ruin all afford,
There Pompey marks a passage for his sword.
Near to the camp a woody thicket lay,
Close was the shade, nor did the green sward way,
With smoky clouds of dust, the march betray.
Hence sudden they appear in dread array,
Sudden their wide extended ranks display:
At once the foe beholds, with wondering eyes,
Where on broad wings Pompeian eagles rise;
At once the warriors' shouts, and trumpet-sounds surprise.
Scarce was the sword's destruction needful here,
So swiftly ran before, preventing fear;
Some fled amaz'd, while vainly valiant some
Stood, but to meet in arms a nobler doom.
Where'er they stood, now scatter'd lie the slain;
Scarce yet a few for coming deaths remain,
And clouds of flying javelins fall in vain. Ji
Here swift-consuming flames the victors throw,
And here the ram impetuous aims a blow;
Aloft, the nodding turrets feel the stroke,
And the vast rampart groans beneath the shock.
Anti now propitious fortune seem'd to doom
Freedom and peace to Pompey and to Rome;
High o'er the vanquish'd works his eagles tow'r,
And vindicate the world from Caesar's pow'r.
But what nor Caesar nor his fortune could,
What not ten thousand warlike hands withstood,
Scaeva resists alone; repels the force,
And stops the rapid victor in his course.
Scaeva! a name erewhile to Fame unknown,
And first distinguish'd on the Gallic Rhone;
There seen in hardy deeds of arms to shine,-
He reach'd the honours of the Latian vine.
Daring and bold, and ever prone to ill,
Inur'd to blood, and active to fulfil
The dictates of a lawless tyrant's will;
Nor virtue's love, nor reason's laws he knew,
But careless of the right, for hire his sword he drew.
Thus courage by an impious cause is curs'd,
And he that is the bravest is the worst.
Soon as he saw his fellows shun the fight,
And seek their safety in ignoble flight,
Whence does (he said) this coward terror grow
This shame, unknown to Caesar's arms till now?
Can you, ye slavish herd, thus tamely yield?
Thus fly, unwounded, from this bloody field?
Behold, where pil'd in slaughter'd heaps on high.
Firm to the last, your brave companions lie
Then blush to think what. wretched lives you save,
From what renown you fly, from what a glorious grave.
Though sacred fame, though virtue yield to fear.
Let rage, let indignation keep you here.
We! we, the weakest, from the rest are chose,
To yield a passage to our scornful foes!
Yet, Pompey, yet; thou shalt be yet withstood.
And stain thy victor's laurel deep in blood.
With pride, 'tis true, with joy I should have died,
If haply I had fall'n by Caesar's side;
But fortune has the noble death denied.
Then Pompey, thou, thou on my fame shalt wait.
Do thou be witness, and applaud my fate.
Now push we on, disdain we now to fear,
A thousand wounds let every bosom bear,
Till the keen sword be blunt, be broke the pointed spear.
And see the clouds of dusty battle rise!
Hark, how the shout runs rattling through the skies!
The distant legions catch the sounds from far.
And Caesar listens to the thundering war.
He comes, he comes; yet ere his soldier dies,
Like lightning swift the winged warrior flies
Haste then to death, to conquest haste away
Well do we fall, for Caesar wins the day!"
He spoke, and straight, as at the trumpet's sound.
Rekindled warmth in every breast was found:
Recall'd from flight, the youth admiring wait,
To mark their daring fellow-soldier's fate,
To see if, haply, virtue might prevail,
And ev'n beyond their hopes, do more than greatly fail.
High on the tottering wall he rears his head,
With slaughter'd carcases around him spread;
With nervous arms uplifting these, he throws,
These rolls oppressive, on ascending foes.
Each where, materials for his fury lie,
And all the ready ruins arms supply:
Ev'n his fierce self he seems to aim below,
Headlong to shoot, and dying dart a blow.
Now his tough staff repels the fierce attack,
And, tumbling, drives the bold assailants back:
Now heads, now hands he lops; the carcase falls,
While the clench'd fingers gripe the topmost walls:
Here stones he heaves; the mass, descending full,
Crushes the brain, and shivers the frail skull.
Here burning pitchy brands he whirls around;
Infix'd the flames hiss in the liquid wound,
Deep drench'd in death, in flowing crimson e drown'd.
And now the swelling heaps of slaughter'd foes,
Sublime and equal to the fortress rose;
Whence forward, with a leap, at once he sprung,
And shot himself amidst the hostile throng.
So daring, fierce with rage, so void of fear,
Bounds forth the spotted pard, and scorns the hunter's spear.
The closing ranks the warrior straight enfold,
And, compass'd in their steely circle, hold.
Undaunted still, around the ring he roams,
Fights here and there, and everywhere o'ercomes;
Till clog'd with blood, his sword obeys but ill
The dictates of its vengeful master's will;
Edgeless it falls, and though it pierce no more,
Still breaks the batter'd bones, and bruises sore.
Meantime on him the crowding war is bent,
And darts from every hand to him are sent:
It look'd as fortune did in odds delight,
And had in cruel sport ordain'd the fight;
A wondrous match of war she seem'd to make,
Her thousands here, and there her one to stake;
As if on knightly terms in lists they ran,
And armies were but equal to the man.
A thousand darts upon his buckler ring,
A thousand javelins round his temples sing;
Hard-bearing on his head, with many a blow,
His steely helm is inward taught to bow.
The missive arms, fix'd all around, he wears,
And ev'n his safety in his wounds he bears,
Fenc'd with a fatal wood, a deadly grove of spears.
Cease, ye Pompeian warriors! cease the strife,
Nor, vainly, thus attempt this single life.
Your darts, your idle javelins cast aside,
And other arms for Scaeva's death provide:
The forceful rams resistless horns prepare,
With all the ponderous vast machines of war;
Let dreadful flames, let massy rocks be thrown,
With engines thunder on, and break him down,
And win this Caesar's soldier, like a town.
At length, his fate disdaining to delay,
He hurls his shield's neglected aid away;
Resolves no part whate'er from death to hide,
But stands unguarded now on every side.
Encumber'd sore with many a painful wound,
Tardy, and stiff, he treads the hostile round;
Gloomy and fierce his eyes the crowd survey,
Mark where to fix, and single out the prey.
Such, by Getulian hunters compass'd in,
The vast unwieldy elephant is seen:
All cover'd with a steely shower from far,
Rousing he shakes, and sheds the scatter'd war;
In vain the distant troop the fight renew,
And with fresh rage the stubborn foe pursue;
Unconquer'd still the mighty savage stands,
And scorns the malice of a thousand hands.
Not all the wounds a thousand darts can make,
Though all find place, a single life can take.
When lo! address'd with some successful vow,
A shaft, sure flying from a Cretan bow,
Beneath the warrior's brow was seen to light,
And sunk, deep-piercing the left orb of sight.
But he (so rage inspir'd, and mad disdain)
Remorseless fell; and senseless of the pain,
Tore forth the bearded arrow from the wound,
With stringy nerves besmear'd and wrapt around,
And stamp'd the gory jelly on the ground.
So in Pannonian woods the growling bear
Transfix'd, grows fiercer for the hunter's spear,
Turns on her wound, runs madding round with pain.
And catches at the flying shaft in vain.
Down from his eyeless hollow ran the blood,
And hideous o'er his mangled visage flow'd;
Deform'd each awful, each severer grace,
And veil'd the manly terrors of his face.
The victors raise their joyful voices high,
And with loud triumph strike the vaulted sky:
Not Caesar thus a general joy had spread,
Though Caesar's self, like Scaeva, thus had bled.
Anxious, the wounded soldier, in his breast
The rising indignation deep repress'd,
And thus, in humble vein, his haughty foes address'd:
"Here let your rage, ye Romans, cease, (he said)
And lend your fellow-citizen your aid;
No more your darts nor useless javelins try,
These, which I bear, will deaths enow supply;
Draw forth your weapons, and behold I die:
Or rather bear me hence, and let me meet
My doom beneath the mighty Pompey's feet.
'Twere great, 'twere brave, to fall in arms, 'tis true,
Rut I renounce that glorious fate for you:
Fain would I yet prolong this vital breath,
And quit ev'n Caesar, so I fly from death."
The wretched Aulus listen'd to the wile,
Intent and greedy of the future spoil;
Advancing fondly on, with heedless ease,
He thought the captive and his arms to seize,
When, ere he was aware, his thundering sword
Deep in his throat the ready Scaeva gor'd.
Warm'd with the slaughter, with fresh rage he barns,
And vigour with the new success returns.
"So may they fall (he said) by just deceit,
Such be their fate, such as this fool has met,
Who dare believe that I am vanquish'd yet.
If you would stop the vengeance of my sword,
From Caesar's mercy be your peace implor'd
There let your leader kneel, and humbly own his I lord.
Me! could you meanly dare to fancy, me
Base, like yourselves, and fond of life to be!
But know, not all the names which grace your cause.
Your reverend senate, and your boasted laws;
Not Pompey's self, not all for which you fear,
Were e'er to you, like death to Scaeva, dear."
Thus while he spoke, a rising dust betray'd
Caesarian legions marching to his aid.
Now Pompey's troops with prudence seem to yield,
And to increasing numbers quit the field;
Dissembling shame, they hide their foul defeat,
Nor vanquish'd by a single arm, retreat.
Then fell the warrior, for till then he stood;
His manly mind supplied the want of blood.
It seem'd as rage had kindled life anew.
And courage to oppose, from opposition grew.
But now, when none were left him to repel,
Fainting for want of foes the victor fell.
Straight with officious haste his friends draw near,
And, raising, joy the noble load to bear:
To reverence and religious awe inclin'd,
Admiring, they adore his mighty mind,
That god within his mangled breast enshrin'd.
The wounding weapons, stain'd with Scaeva's blood,
Dike sacred relics to the gods are vow'd:
Forth are they drawn from every part with care,
And kept to dress the naked god of war.
Oh! happy soldier, had thy worth been tried,
In pious daring, on thy country's side!
Oh! had thy sword Iberian battles known,
Or purple with Cantabrian slaughter grown;
How had thy name in deathless annals shone!
But now no Roman paean shalt thou sing,
Nor peaceful triumphs to thy country bring,
Nor loudly bless'd in solemn pomp shalt move,
Through crowding streets, to capitolian Jove,
The law's defender, and the people's love:
Oh, hapless victor thou! oh, vainly brave!
How hast thou fought, to make thyself a slave!
Nor Pompey, thus repuls'd, the fight declines,
Nor rests encompass'd round by Caesar's lines;
Once more he means to force his warlike way,
And yet retrieve the fortune of the day.
So when fierce winds with angry ocean strive,
Full on the beach the beating billows drive;
Stable awhile the lofty mounds abide,
Check the proud surge, and stay the swelling tide;
Yet restless still the waves unwearied roll,
Work underneath at length, and sap the sinking mole,
With force renew'd the baffled warrior bends,
Where to the shore the jutting wall extends;
There proves, by land and sea, his various might,
And wins his passage by the double fight.
Wide o'er the plains diffus'd, his legions range,
And their close camp for freer fields exchange.
So, rais'd by melting streams of Alpine snow,
Beyond his utmost margin swells the Po, C.
And loosely lets the spreading deluge flow:
Where'er the weaker banks oppress'd retreat,
And sink beneath the heapy water's weight,
Forth gushing at the breach they burst their way.
And wasteful o'er the drowned country stray:
Far distant fields and meads they wander o'er,
And visit lands they never knew before.
Here, from its seat the mouldering earth is tom,
And by the flood to other masters borne;
While gathering there it heaps the growing soil.
And loads the peasant with his neighbours' spoil.
Soon as, ascending high, a rising dame
To Caesar's sight (the combat's signal) came,
Swift to the place approaching near, he found
The ruin scatter'd by the victor round,
And his proud labours humbled to the ground:
Thence to the hostile camp his eyes he turns,
Where, for their peace and sleep secure, her mourns,
With rancorous despite and envious anguish burns.
At length resolv'd (so rage inspir'd his breast),
He means to break the happy victor's rest;
Once more to kindle up the fatal strife,
And dash their joys, with hazard of his life.
Straight to Torquatus fierce he bends his way,
(Torquatus near a neighbouring castle lay)
But he, by prudent caution taught to yield,
Trusts to his walls, and quits the open field
There, safe within himself, he stands his ground,
And lines the guarded rampart strongly round.
So, when the seamen from afar descry
The clouds grow black upon the louring sky,
Hear the winds roar, and mark the seas run high;
They furl the fluttering sheet with timely care,
And wisely for the coming storm prepare.
But now the victor, with resistless haste,
Proud o'er the ramparts of the fort had pass'd;
When swift descending from the rising grounds,
Pompey with lengthening files the foe surrounds.
As when in Etna's hollow caves below,
Round the vast furnace kindling whirlwinds blow;
Rous'd in his baleful bower the giant roars',
And with a burst the burning deluge pours;
Then pale with horror shrieks the shuddering swain.
To see the fiery ruin spread the plain.
Nor with less horror, Caesar's bands behold
Huge hostile dusty clouds their rear infold;
Unknowing whom to meet, or whom to shun,
Blind with their fear, full on their fates they run.
Well, on that day, the world repose had gain'd,
And bold rebellion's blood had all been drain'd,
Had not the pious chief the rage of war restrain'd,
Oh, Rome! how free, how happy hadst thou been
Thy own great mistress, and the nation's queen!
Had Sylla, then, thy great avenger stood,
And dy'd his thirsty sword in traitors' blood.
But oh! for ever shalt thou now bemoan
The two extremes, by which thou wert undone;
The ruthless father, and too tender son.
With fatal pity, Pompey!, hast thou spar'd,
And given the blackest crime the best reward:
How had that one, one happy day, withheld
The blood of Utica, and Munda's field!
The Pharian Nile had known no crime more great
Than some vile Ptolemy's untimely fate;
Nor Afric, then, nor Juba had bemoan'd,
Nor Scipio's blood the Punic ghosts aton'd;
Cato had, for his country's good, surviv'd,
And long in peace a hoary patriot liv'd;
Rome had not worn a tyrant's hated chain,
And fate had undecreed Pharsalia's plain.
But Caesar, weary of the' unlucky land,
Swift to Emathia leads his shatter'd band;
While Pompey's wary friends, with caution wise,
To quit the baffled foe's pursuit advise.
To Italy they point his open way,
And bid him make the willing land his prey,
"Oh! never, (he replies) shall Pompey come,
Like Caesar arm'd and terrible to Rome;
Nor need I from those sacred walls have fled,!
Could I have borne our streets with slaughter red,
And seen the forum pil'd with heaps of dead,
Much rather let me pine in Scythia's frost.
Or burn on swarthy Libya's sultry coast;
No clime, no distant region is too far,
Where I can banish, with me, fatal war
I fled, to bid my country's sorrows cease;
And shall my victories invade her peace?
Let her but safe and free from arms remain,
And Caesar still shall think she wears his chain."
He spoke, and eastward sought the forest wide,
That rising clothes Candavia's shady side;
Thence to Emathia took his destin'd way,
Reserv'd by fate for the deciding day.
Where Eurus blows, and wintry suns arise,
Thessalia's boundary, proud Ossa lies;
But when the god protracts the longer day,
Pelion's broad back s receives the dawning ray.
Where through the lion's fiery sign he flies,
Othrys his leafy groves for shades supplies.
On Pindus strikes the fady western light,
When glittering Vesper leads the starry night.
Northward, Olympus hides the lamps that roll
Their paler fires around the frozen pole.
The middle space, a valley low depress'd,
Once a wide, lazy, standing lake possess'd;
While growing still the heapy waters stood,
Nor down through Tempe ran the rushing flood:
But when Alcides to the task applied,
And cleft a passage through the mountains wide;
Gushing at once the thundering torrent flow'd,
While Nereus groan'd beneath the' increasing load.
Then rose (oh, that it still a lake had lain!)
Above the waves Pharsalia's fatal plain,
Once subject to the great Achilles' reign.
Then Phylace was built, whose warriors boast
Their chief first landed on the Trojan coast;
Then Pteleos ran her circling wall around,
And Dorion, for the Muses' wrath renown'd:
Then Trachin high, and Meliboea stood,
Where Hercules his fatal shafts bestow'd;
Larissa strong arose, and Argos, now
A plain, submitted to the labouring plough.
Here stood the town, (if there be truth in fame)
That from Boeotian Thebes receiv'd its name.
Here sad Agave's wandering sense return'd,
Here for her murder'd son the mother mourn'd;
With streaming tears she wash'd his ghastly head,
And on the funeral pile the precious relic laid.
The gushing waters various soon divide,
And every river rules a separate tide;
The narrow;Eas runs a limpid flood,
Evenos blushes with the Centaur's blood;
That gently mingles with the' Ionian sea,
While Evenos, through Calydonia, cuts his way.
Slowly fair Io's aged father falls,
And in hoarse murmurs his lost daughter calls.
Thick Achelous rolls his troubled waves,
And heavily the neighbour-isles he laves;
While pure Amphrysus winds along the mead,
Where Phoebus once was wont his docks to feed
Oft on the banks be sat a shepherd swain,
And watch'd his charge upon the grassy plain.
Swift to the main his course Sperchios bends,
And sounding to the Malian gulf descends.
No breezy air near calm Anauros flies,
No dewy mists nor fleecy clouds arise.
Here Phoenix, Melas, and Asopus run,
And strong Apidanus drives slow Enipeus on.
A thousand little brooks, unknown to fame,
Are mix'd, and lost in Peneus' nobler name:
Bold Titaresus scorns his rule, alone;
And, join'd to Peneus, still himself is known:
As o'er the land his haughty waters glide,
And roll unmingling, a superior tide.
'Tis said, through secret channels winding forth.
Deep as from Styx he takes his hallow'd birth:
Thence, proud to be rever'd by gods on high,
He scorns to mingle with a mean ally.
When rising grounds uprear'd at length their heads,
And rivers shrunk within their oozy beds;
Bebrycians first are said, with early care,
In furrows deep to sink the shining share.
The Lelegians next, with equal toil.
And Dolopes, invade the mellow soil.
To these the bold Aeolidae succeed,
Magnetes, taught to rein the fiery steed,
And Minyae, to explore the deep decreed.
Or where the pleasing Titaresius glides,
And into Peneus rolls his easy tides;
Yet o'er the silver surface pure they flow,
The sacred stream, unmix'd with streams below.
Sacred and awful! From the dark abodes
Styx pours them forth the dreadful oath of gods.
Here, pregnant by Ixion's bold embrace.
The mother cloud disclos'd the Centaurs' race:
Ip Pelethronian caves she brought 'em forth,
And fill'd the land with many a monstrous birth.
Here dreadful Monychus first saw the light,
And prov'd on Pholoe's rending rocks his might;
Here tallest trees uprooting Rhoecus bore,
Which baffled storms had tried in vain before.
Here Pholus, of a gentler human breast.
Receiv'd the great Alcides for his guest
Here, with brute-fury, lustful Nessus tried
To violate the hero's beauteous bride,
Till justly by the fatal shaft he died.
This parent-land the pious beach confess'd,
Chiron, of all the double race the best:
Midst golden stars he stands refulgent now,
And threats the scorpion with his bended bow.
Here love of arms and battle reign'd of old,
And form'd the first Thessalians fierce and bold:
Here, from rude rocks, at Neptune's potent stroke,
Omen of war, the neighing courser broke;
Here, taught by skilful riders to submit,
He champ'd indignant on the foamy bit.
From fair Thessalia's Pegasaean shore.
The first bold pine the daring warriors bore,
And taught the sons of earth wide oceans to explore.
Here, when Itonus held the regal seat.
The stubborn steel he first subdu'd with heat,
And the tough bars on sounding anvils beat:
In furnaces he ran the liquid brass,
And cast in curious works the molten mass.
He taught the ruder artist to refine,
Explor'd the silver and the golden mine,
And stamp'd the costly metal into coin.
From that old era avarice was known,
Then all the deadly seeds of war were sown;
Wide o'er the world, by tale, the mischief ran,
And those curs'd pieces were the bane of man.
Huge Python, here, in many a scaly fold,
To Cyrrha's cave a length enormous roll'd;
Hence, Pythian games the hardy Greeks' renown,
And laurel wreaths the joyful victor crown.
Here proud Aloeus durst the gods defy,
And taught his impious brood to scale the sky:
While mountains pil'd on mountains interfere
With Heaven's bright orbs, and stop the circling sphere.
To this curs'd land, by fate's appointed doom,
With one consent the warring leaders come;
Their camps are fix'd, and now the vulgar fear,
To see the terrible event so near.
A few, and but a few, with souls serene.
Wait the disclosing of the dubious scene.
But Sextus, mix'd among the vulgar herd.
Like them was anxious, and unmanly fear'd:
A youth unworthy of the hero's race,
And born to be his nobler sire's disgrace.
A day shall come, when this inglorious son
Shall stain the trophies all by Pompey won;
A thief and spoiler shall he live confess'd,
And act those wrongs his father's arms redress'd.
Vex'd with a coward's fond impatience now.
He pries into that fate he fears to know;
Nor seeks he, with religious vows, to move
The Delphic tripod, or Dodonian Jove;
No priestly augur's arts employs his cares,
Nor Babylonian Seers, who read the stars;
He, nor by fibres, birds, or lightning's fires,
Nor any just though secret rites, inquires;
But horrid altars, and infernal pow'rs,
Dire mysteries of magic he explores,
Such as high heaven and gracious Jove abhors.
He thinks, 'tis little those above can know,
And seeks accurs'd assistance from below.
The place itself the impious means supplies,
While near Haemonian hags incamp'd he lies:
All dreadful deeds, all monstrous forms of old,
By fear invented, and by falsehood told,
Whate'er transcends belief, and reason's view,
Their art can furnish, and their power makes true.
The pregnant fields a horrid crop produce,
Noxious, and fit for witchcraft's deadly use;
With baleful weeds each mountain's brow is hung.
And listening rocks attend the charmer's song.
There, potent and mysterious plants arise,
Plants that compel the gods, and awe the skies;
There, leaves unfolded to Medea's view,
Such as her native Colchos never knew.
Soon as the dread Haemonian voice ascends,
Through the whole vast expanse, each power attends
Ev'n all those sullen deities, who know
No care of Heaven above, or earth below,
Hear and obey. The' Assyrian then, in vain,
And Memphian priests, their local gods detain
From every altar loose at once they fly,
And with the stronger foreign call comply.
The coldest hearts Thessalian numbers warm,
And ruthless bosoms own tire potent charm
With monstrous power they rouse perverse desire,
And kindle into lust the wintry sire:
Where noxious cups, and poisonous philters fail,
More potent spells and mystic verse prevail.
No draughts so strong the knots of love prepare,
Crop'd from her younglings by the parent-mare
Oft, sullen bridegrooms, who unkindly fled
From blooming beauty, and the genial bed,
Melt, as the thread runs on; and, sighing, feel
The giddy whirling of the magic wheel.
Whene'er the proud enchantress gives command,
Eternal motion stops her active hand;
No more heaven's rapid circles journey on,.
But universal nature stands foredone:
The lazy god of day forgets to rise,
And everlasting night pollutes the skies.
Jove wonders, to behold her shake the pole,
And, unconsenting, hears his thunders roll.
Now, with a word, she hides the sun's bright face.
And blots the wide ethereal azure space:
Loosely, anon, she shakes her flowing hair,
And straight the stormy louring Heavens are fair:
At once, she calls the golden light again,
The clouds fly swift away, and stops the drisly rain.
In Stillest calms, she bids the Waves run high,
And smooths the deep, though Boreas shakes the sky:
When winds are hush'd, her potent breath prevails,
Wafts on the bark, and fills the flagging sails.
Streams have run back at murmurs of her tongue,
And torrents from the rock suspended hung.
No more the Nile his wonted seasons knows.
And in a line the strait Maeander flows.
Arar has rush'd with headlong Waters down,
And driven unwillingly the sluggish Rhone.
Huge mountains have been levell'd with the plain,
And far from Heaven has tall Olympus lain.
Riphaean crystal has been known to melt,
And Scythian snows a sudden summer felt.
No longer press'd by Cynthia's moister beam,
Alternate Tethys heaves her swelling stream;
By charms forbid, her tides revolve no more,
But shun the margin of the guarded shore.
The pondrous earth, by magic numbers strook,
Down to her inmost centre deep has shook;
Then, rending with a yawn, at once made way,
To join the upper and the nether day;
While wondering eyes, the dreadful cleft between,
Another starry firmament have seen.
Each deadly kind, by nature form'd to kill,
Fear the dire hags, and execute their will;
Lions, to them, their nobler rage submit,
And fawning tigers couch beneath their feet;
For them the snake foregoes her wintry hold,
And on the hoary frost untwines her fold:
The poisonous race they strike with stronger death,
And blasted vipers die by human breath.
What law the heavenly natures thus constrains,
And binds ev'n godheads in resistless chains?
What wondrous power do charms and herbs imply,
And force them thus to follow and to fly?
What is it can command them to obey?
Does choice incline, or awful terror sway?
Do secret rites their deities atone,
Or mystic piety to man unknown?
Do strong inchantments all immortals brave?
Or is there one determin'd god their slave?
One, whose command obedient nature awes,
Who, subject still himself to magic laws,
Acts only as a servile second cause?
Magic the starry lamps from heaven can tear,
And shoot them gleaming through the dusky air;
Can blot fair Cynthia's countenance serene,
And poison with foul spells the silver queen.
Now pale the ghastly goddess shrinks with dread;
And now black smoky fires involve her head
As when earth's envious interposing shade
Cuts off her beamy brother from her aid:
Held by the charming song, she strives in vain;
And labours with the long pursuing pain;
Till down, and downward still; compell'd to come,
On hallow'd herbs she sheds her fatal foam.
But these, as arts too gentle and too good,
Nor yet with death or guilt enough embrew'd,
With haughty scorn the fierce Erictho view'd.
New mischief she, new monsters durst explore;
And dealt in horrors never known before.
From towns and hospitable roofs she flies,
And every dwelling of mankind defies;
Through unfrequented deserts lonely roams,
Drives out the dead, and dwells within their tombs
Spite of all laws which heaven or nature know,
The rule of gods above, and man below
Grateful to hell the living hag descends,
And sits in black assemblies of the fiends.
Dark matted elf-locks dangling on her brow,
Filthy, and foul, a loathsome burden grow:
Ghastly, and frightful pale, her face is seen,
Unknown to cheerful day, and skies serene:
But when the stars are veil'd, when storms arise,
And the bine forky flame at midnight flies,
Then forth from graves she takes her wicked way.
And thwarts the glancing lightnings as they play.
Where'er she breathes, blue poisons round her spread,
The withering grass avows her fatal tread,
And drooping Ceres hangs her blasted head.
Nor holy rites, nor suppliant prayer she knows,
Nor seeks the gods with sacrifice or vows:
Whate'er she offers is the spoil of urns,
And funeral fire upon her altars burns;
Nor needs she send a second voice on high,
Scar'd at the first, the trembling gods comply.
Oft in the grave the living has she laid,
And bid reviving bodies leave the dead:
Oft at the funeral pile she seeks her prey,
And bears the smoking ashes warm away;
Snatches some burning bone, or flaming brand,
And tears the torch from the sad father's hand
Seizes the shroud's loose fragments as they fly,
And picks the coal where clammy juices fry.
But when the dead in marble tombs are plac'd.
Where the moist carcase by degrees shall waste,
There, greedily on every part she flies,
Strips the dry nails, and digs the gory eyes.
Her teeth from gibbets gnaw the strangling noose,
And from the cross dead murderers unloose:
Her charms the use of sun-dried marrow find,
And husky entrails wither'd in the wind;
Oft drops the ropy gore upon her tongue,
With cordy sinews oft her jaws are strung,
And thus suspended oft tire filthy hag has hung.
Where'er the battle bleeds, and slaughter lies,
Thither, preventing birds and beasts, she hies;
Nor then content to seize the ready prey,
From their fell jaws she tears their food away:
She marks the hungry wolfs pernicious tooth,
And joys to rend the morsel from his mouth.
Nor ever yet remorse could stop her hand,
When human gore her cursed rites demand.
Whether some tender infant, yet unborn,
From the lamenting mother's side is torn;
Whether her purpose asks some bolder shade.
And by her knife, the ghost she wants, is made;
Or whether, curious in the choice of blood,
She catches the first gushing of the flood;
All mischief is of use, and every murder good.
When blooming youths in early manhood die,
She stands a terrible attendant by;
The downy growth from off their cheeks she tears,
Or cuts, left-handed, some selected hairs.
Oft when in death her gasping kindred lay,
Some pious office would she feign to pay;
And while close hovering o'er the bed she hung.
Bit the pale lips, and crop'd the quivering tongue;
Then, in hoarse murmurs, ere the ghost could go.
Mutter'd some message to the shades below.
A fame like this around the region spread,
To prove her power, the younger Pompey led.
Now half her sable course the night had run,
And low beneath us roll'd the beamy sun;
When the vile youth in silence cross'd the plain,
Attended by his wonted worthless train.
Through ruins waste and old, long wandering round,
Lonely upon a rock, the hag they found.
There, as it chanc'd, in sullen mood she sate,
Pondering upon the war's approaching fate:
At that same hour she ran new numbers o'er,
And spells, unheard by hell itself before.
Fearful, lest wavering destiny might change,
And bid the war in distant regions range,
She charm'd Pharsalia's field with early care,
To keep the warriors and the slaughter there.
So may her impious arts in triumph reign,
And riot in the plenty of the slain:
So, many a royal ghost she may command,
Mangle dead heroes with a ruthless hand,
And rob of many an urn Hesperia's mourning land.
Already she enjoys the dreadful field,
And thinks what spoils the rival chiefs shall yield;
With what fell rage each corse she shall invade,
And fly rapacious on the prostrate dead.
To her a lowly suppliant, thus begun
The noble Pompey's much unworthy son.
"Hail! mighty mistress of Haemonian arts,
To whom stern fate her dark decrees imparts;
At thy approving, bids her purpose stand,
Or alters it at thy rever'd command.
From thee, my humbler awful hopes presume
To learn my father's, and my country's doom:
Nor think this grace to one unworthy done,
When thou shalt know me for great Pompey's son:
With him, all fortunes am I born to share.
His ruin's partner, or his empire's heir.
Let not blind chance for ever wavering stand.
And awe us with her unresolving hand:
I own my mind unequal to the weight,
Nor can I bear the pangs of doubtful fate:
Let it be certain what we have to fear,
And then — no matter Let the time draw near.
Oh! let thy charms this truth from heaven compel.
Or force the dreadful Stygian gods to tell.
Call death, all pale and meagre, from below,
And from herself her fatal purpose know
Constrain'd by thee, the phantom shall declare
Whom she decrees to strike, and whom to spare.
Nor ever can thy skill divine foresee,
Through the blind maze of long futurity,
Events more worthy of thy arts and thee."
Pleas'd that her magic fame diffusely flies,
Thus, with a horrid smile, the hag replies.
"Hadst thou, oh noble youth! my aid implor'd
For any less decision of the sword;
The gods, unwilling, should my power confess,
And crown thy wishes with a full success.
Hadst thou desir'd some single friend to save,
Long had my charms withheld him from the grave;
Or would thy hate some foe this instant doom.
He dies, though heaven decrees him years to come.
But when effects are to their causes chain'd,
From everlasting mightily ordain'd;
When all things labour for one certain end,
And on one action centre and depend:
Then far behind, we own, our arts are cast,
And magic is by fortune's power surpass'd.
Howe'er, if yet thy soul can be content,
Only to know that undisclos'd event;
My potent charms o'er nature shall prevail,
And from a thousand mouths extort the tale:
This truth the fields, die floods, the rocks shall tell,
The thunder of high heaven, or groans of hell.
Though still more kindly oracles remain,
Among the recent deaths of yonder plain.
Of these a corse our mystic rites shall raise,
As yet unshrunk by Titan's parching blaze;
So shall no maim the vocal pipes confound,
But the sad shade shall breathe, distinct in human sound."
While yet lie spoke, a double darkness spread,
Black clouds and murky fogs involve her head,
While o'er the' unburied heaps her footsteps tread.
Wolves howl'd, and fled where'er she took her way,
And hungry vultures left the mangled prey:
The savage race, abash'd, before her yield.
And while she culls her prophet, quit the field.
To various carcases by turns she flies,
And, griping with her gory fingers, tries;
Till one of perfect organs can be found.
And fibrous lungs uninjur'd by a wound.
Of all the flitting shadows of the slain,
Fate doubts which ghost shall turn to life again.
At her strong bidding (such is her command)
Armies at once had left the Stygian strand
Hell's multitudes had waited on her charms,
And legions of the dead had risen to arms.
Among the dreadful carnage strew'd around,
One, for her purpose fit, at length she found
In his pale jaws a rusty hook she hung,
And d rag'd the wretched lifeless load along:
Anon, beneath a craggy cliff she stay'd,
And in a dreary delve her burden laid;
There evermore the wicked witch delights
To do her deeds accurs'd, and practise hellish rites.
Low as the realms where Stygian Jove is crown'd,
Subsides the gloomy vale within the ground;
A downward grove, that never knew to rise.
Or shoot its leafy honours to the skies,
From hanging rocks declines its drooping head.
And covers in the cave with dreadful shade;
Within dismay, and fear, and darkness dwell,
And filth obscene besmears the baleful cell.
There, lasting night no beamy dawning knows,
No light but such as magic flames disclose;
Heavy, as in Taenarian caverns, there
In dull stagnation sleeps the lazy air.
There meet the boundaries of life and death,
The borders of our world, and that beneath;
Thither the rulers of the' infernal court
Permit their airy vassals to resort:
Thence, with like ease, the sorceress could tell,
As if descending down, the deeds of hell.
And now she for the solemn task prepares;
A mantle patch'd with various threads she wears,
And binds, with twining snakes, her wilder hairs.
All pale, for dread, the dastard youth she spied,
Heartless his mates stood quivering by his side.
Be bold! (she cries) dismiss this abject fear
Living, and human, shall the form appear,
And breathe no sounds but what ev'n you may hear.
How had your vile, your coward souls been quell'd,
Had you the livid Stygian lakes beheld;
Heard the loud floods of rolling sulphur roar,
And burst in thunder on the burning shore?
Had you survey'd yon prison-house of woe,
And giants bound in adamant below?
Seen the vast dog with curling vipers swell;
Heard screaming Furies, at my coming, yell,
Double their rage, and add new pains to hell?"
This said: she runs the mangled carcase o'er.
And wipes from every wound the crusty gore;
Now with hot blood the frozen breast she warms.
And with strong lunar dews confirms her charms.
Anon she mingles every monstrous birth,
Which nature, wayward and perverse, brings forth.
Nor entrails of the spotted Lynx she lacks,
Nor bony joints from fell Hyena's backs;
Nor deer's hot marrow, rich with snaky food
Nor foam of raging dogs that fly the flood
Her store the tardy Remora supplies,
With stones from eagles warm, and dragons' eyes;
Snakes that on pinions cut their airy way,
And nimbly o'er Arabian deserts prey;
The viper bred in Erythraean streams,
To guard in costly shells the growing gems;
The slough by Libya's horned serpent cast;
With ashes by the dying Phoenix plac'd
On odorous altars, in the fragrant east.
To these she joins dire drugs, without a name,
A thousand poisons never known to fame;
Herbs, o'er whose leaves the hag her spells had sung,
And wet with cursed spittle as they sprung;
With every other mischief most abhor'd,
Which hell, or worse Erictho, could afford.
At length, in murmurs hoarse her voice was heard,
Her voice, beyond all plants, all magic fear'd,
And by the lowest Stygian gods rever'd.
Her gabbling tongue a muttering tone confounds,
Discordant, and unlike to human sounds:
It seem'd, of dogs the bark, of Wolves the howl.
The doleful screeching of the midnight owl;
The hiss of snakes, the hungry lion's roar,
The bound of billows beating on the shore;
The groan of winds amongst the leafy wood,
And burnt of thunder from the rending cloud:
Twas these, all these in one. At length she breaks
Thus into magic verse, and thus the gods bespeaks.
"Ye Furies! and thou black accursed hell!
Ye woes! in which the damn'd for ever dwell;
Chaos, the world, and form's eternal foe!
And thou sole arbiter of all below,
Pluto! whom ruthless fates a god ordain,
And doom to immortality of pain;
Ye fair Elysian mansions of the bless'd,
Where no Thessalian charmer hopes to rest;
Styx! and Persephone, compell'd to fly
Thy fruitful mother, and the cheerful sky!
Third Hecate! by whom my whispers breathe
My secret purpose to the shades beneath;
Thou greedy dog, who at the infernal gate
In everlasting hunger still dost wait!
And thou old Charon, horrible and hoar!
For ever labouring back from shore to shore;
Who, murmuring, dost in weariness complain,
That I so oft demand thy dead again:
Hear, all ye powers! if e'er your hell rejoice
In the lov'd horrors of this impious voice;
If still with human flesh I have been fed
If pregnant mothers have; to please you, bled;
If from the womb these ruthless hands have torn
Infants, mature and struggling to be born;
Hear and obey! Nor do I ask a ghost,
Long since receiv'd upon your Stygian coast;
But one that, new to death, for entrance waits,
And loiters yet before your gloomy gates.
Let the pale shade these herbs, these numbers hear,
And in his well-known, warlike form appear.
Here let him stand, before his leader's son,
And say what dire events are drawing on:
If blood be your delight, let this be done!"
Foaming she spoke: then rear'd her hateful head.
And hard at hand beheld the' attending shade.
Too well the trembling sprite the carcase knew,
And fear'd to enter into life anew:
Fain from those mangled limbs it would have run.
And, loathing, strove that house of pain to shun.
Ah, wretch! to whom the cruel fates deny
That privilege of human kind, to die!
Wroth was the hag at lingering death's delay,
And wonder'd hell could dare to disobey:
With curling snakes the senseless trunk she beats,
And curses dire, at every lash, repeats;
With magic numbers cleaves the groaning ground.
And thus barks downwards to the' abyss profound.
"Ye fiends hell-born! ye sisters of despair!
Thus, is it thus my will becomes your care?
Still sleep those whips within your idle hands,
Nor drive the loitering ghost this voice demands?
But mark me well! my charms, in fate's despite.
Shall drag you forth, ye Stygian dogs, to light;
Through vaults and tombs, where now secure you roam,
My vengeance shall pursue, and chase you home.
And thou, oh! Hecate, that dar'st to rise,
Various and alter'd to immortal eyes,
No more shalt veil thy horrors in disguise;
Still in thy form accursed shalt thou dwell,
Nor change the face that nature made for hell.
Each mystery beneath I will display,
And Stygian loves shall stand confess'd to-day.
Thee, Proserpine! thy fatal feast I'll show,
What leagues detain thee in the realms below,
And why thy once fond mother loads thee now.
At my command earth's barrier shall remove,
And piercing Titan vex infernal Jove;
Full on his throne the blazing beams shall beat,
And light abhor'd afflict the gloomy seat.
Yet, am I yet, ye sullen fiends, obey'd?
Or must I call your master to my aid?
At whose dread name the trembling furies quake,
Hell stands abash'd, and earth's foundations shake?
Who views the gorgons with intrepid eyes,
And your unviolable flood defies?"
She said; and, at the word, the frozen blood
Slowly began to roll its creeping flood;
Through the known channels stole the purple tide.
And warmth and motion through the members glide;
The nerves are stretch'd, the turgid muscles swells
And the heart moves within its secret cell;
The haggard eyes their stupid lights disclose,
And heavy by degrees the corpse arose.
Doubtful and faint the' uncertain life appears,
And death, all o'er, the livid visage wears,
Pale, stiff, and mute, the ghastly figure stands,
Nor knows to speak but at her dread commands.
When thus the hag: "Speak, what I wish to know.
And endless rest attends thy shade below;
Reveal the truth, and, to reward thy pain,
No charms shall drag thee back to life again;
Such hallow'd wood shall feed thy funeral fire.
Such numbers to thy last repose conspire,
No sister of our art thy ghost shall wrong.
Or force thee listen to her potent song.
Since the dark gods in mystic tripods dwell,
Since doubtful truths ambiguous prophets tell;
While each event aright and plain is read,
To every bold inquirer of the dead:
Do thou unfold what end these wars shall wait;
Persons, and things, and time, and place relate,
And be the just interpreter of fate."
She spoke, and as she spoke a spell she made.
That gave new prescience to the' unknowing shade.
When thus the spectre, weeping all for woe;
"Seek not from me the Parcae's will to know.
I saw not what their dreadful looms ordain,
Too soon recall'd to hated life again;
Recall'd, ere yet my waiting ghost had pass'd
The silent stream, that wafts us all to rest.
All I could learn was from the loose report
Of wandering shades, that to the banks resort.
Uproar and discord, never known till now,
Distract the peaceful realms of death below.
From blissful plains of sweet Elysium some,
Others from doleful dens and torments come;
While in the face of every various shade,
The woes of Rome too plainly might be read.
In tears lamenting, ghosts of patriots stood,
And mourn'd their country in a falling flood;
Sad were the Decii, and the Curii seen,
And heavy was the great Camillus' mien:
On fortune loud indignant Sylla rail'd,
And Scipio his unhappy race bewail'd;
The censor sad foresaw his Cato's doom,
Resolv'd to die for liberty and Rome.
Of all the shades that haunt the happy field,
Thee only, Brutus J smiling I beheld!
Thee, thou first consul, haughty Tarquin's dread,
From whose just wrath the conscious tyrant fled,
When freedom first uprear'd her infant head.
Meanwhile, the damn'd exult amidst their pains,
And Catiline audacious breaks his chains.
There the Cethegan naked race I view'd,
The Marii fierce, with human gore embrew'd,
The Gracchi, fond of mischief-making laws,
And Drusi, popular in faction's cause;
All clap'd their hands in horrible applause.
The crash of brazen fetters rung around,
And hell's wide caverns trembled with the sound.
No more the bounds of fate their guilt constrain,
But proudly they demand the' Elysian plain.
Thus they, while dreadful Dis, with busy cares,
New torments for the conquerors prepares;
New chains of adamant he forms below,
And opens all his deep reserves of woe:
Sharp are the pains for tyrants kept in store,
And flames yet ten times hotter than before.
But thou, oh noble youth! in peace depart,
And soothe with better hopes thy doubtful heart:
Sweet is the rest, and blissful is the place,
That wait thy sire, and his illustrious race.
Nor fondly seek to lengthen out thy date,
Nor envy the surviving victor's fate;
The hour draws near when all alike must yield,
And death shall mix the fame of every field.
Haste then, with glory, to your destin'd end,
And proudly from your humbler urns descend;
Bold in superior virtue shall you come,
And trample on the demigods of Rome.
Ah! what shall it import the mighty dead,
Or by the Nile or Tiber to be laid?
'Tis only for a grave your wars are made.
Seek not to know what for thyself remains,
That shall be told in fair Sicilia's plains;
Prophetic there, thy father's shade shall rise,
In awful vision to thy wondering eyes:
He shall thy fate reveal; though doubting yet,
Where he may best advise thee to retreat.
In vain to various climates shall you run,
In vain pursuing fortune strive to shun,
In Europe, Afric, Asia, still undone.
Wide as your triumphs shall your ruins lie,
And all in distant regions shall you die.
Ah, wretched race I to whom the world can yield
No safer refuge, than Emathia's field!"
He said, and with a silent, mournful look,
A last dismission from the hag bespoke.
Nor can the sprite, discharg'd by Death's cold hand,
Again be subject to the same command.
But charms and magic herbs must lend their aid,
And render back to rest the troubled shade.
A pile of hollow'd wood Erictho builds,
The soul with joy its mangled carcase yields;
She bids the kindling flames ascend on high,
And leaves the weary wretch at length to die.
Then, while the secret dark their footsteps hides,
Homeward the youth, all pale for fear, she guides.
And, for the light began to streak the east,
W ith potent spells the dawning she repress'd
Commanded night's obedient queen to stay,
And, till they reach'd the camp, withheld the rising day.