1200

The crash of brazen fetters rung around, And hell's wide caverns trembled with the found.

No more the bounds of fate their guilt conftrain,

But proudly they demand th' Elyfian plain.
Thus they, while dreadful Dis, with bufy cares,
New torments for the conquerors prepares; 1205
New chains of adamant he forms below,
And opens all his deep referves of woe:
Sharp are the pains for tyrants kept in store,
And flames yet ten times hotter than before.
But thou, O noble youth! in peace depart, 1210
And footh, with better hopes, thy doubtful
heart;

Sweet is the rest, and blissful is the place,
That wait thy fire, and his illustrious race.
Nor fondly feek to lengthen out thy date,
Nor envy the furviving victor's fate;

The hour draws near when all alike muft yield,
And death fhall mix the fame of every field.
Halte then, with glory, to your deftin'd end,
And proudly from your humbler urns defcend;
Bold in fuperior virtue fhall you come,
And trample on the demigods of Rome.
Ah! what fhall 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 thyfelf remains, 1225
That fhall be told in fair Sicilia's plains;
Prophetic there thy father's fhade fhall rife,
In awful vifion to thy wondering eyes:
He fhall thy fate reveal; though doubting yet,
Where he may beft advife thee to retreat. 1230
In vain to various climates fhall you run,
In vain pursuing Fortune Atrive to fhun,
In Europe, Afric, Afia, fill undone.
Wide as your triumphs fhall your ruins lie,
And all in diftant regions fhall you die.
Ah, wretched race! to whom the world can
yield

No fafer refuge, than Emathia's field.

}

1235

He faid, and with a filent mournful look, A laft difmiflion from the hag bespoke. Nor can the fpr.te, difcharg'd by death's cold hand,

Again be fubject to the fame command; 1241 But charms and magic herbs must lend their aid,

And render back to reft the troubled fhade.
A pile of hollow'd wood Ericho builds,
The foul with joy its mangled carcafe yields; 1245
She bids the kindling flames afcend on high,
And leaves the weary wretch at length to die.
Then, while the fecret dark their footsteps hides,
Homeward the youth, all pale for fear, fhe
guides;

And, for the light began to ftreak the caft, 1250
With potent spells the dawning fhe reprefs'd;
Commanded night's obedient queen to stay,
And, till they reach'd the camp, withheld the
rifing day.

In the feventh Book is told, firf, Pompey's dream the night before the battle of Pharfulia; after that, the impatient defire of bis army to engage, which is reinforced by Tully. Pompey, though againfi bis ervn opinion and inclination, agrees to a battle. Then follows the Speech of each general to his ar my, and the battle itself: the flight of Pompey; Cafar's behaviour after bis villory; and an invec tive against him, and the very country of Theffaly, for being the feene (according to this and other authors) of fo many misfortunes to the people of

Rome.

LATE, and unwilling, from his water head
Uprear'd the mournful fun, his cloudy head;

He ficken'd to behold Emathia's plain,
And would have fought the backward caft again:
Full oft he turned him from the deftin'd race, 5
And wifh'd fome dark eclipse might veil his ra-

diant face.

10

Pompey, meanwhile, in pleafing vifions paft The night, of all his happy nights the last. It feem'd, as if, in all his former ftate, In his own theatre fecure he fate : About his fight unnumber'd Romans croud, And, joyful, fhout his much-lov'd name aloud: The echoing benches feem to ring around, And his charm'd ears devour the pleafing found. Such both himself, and fuch the people feem, 15 In the falfe profpect of the feigning dream; As when in early manhood's beardless bloom, He ftood the darling hope and joy of Rome. When fierce Sertorius by his arms fuppreft, And Spain fubdued, the conqueror confest: When rais'd with honours never known before, The conful's purple, yet a youth, he wore; When the pleas'd fenate fat with new delight, To view the triumph of a Roman knight.

20

Perhaps, when our good days no longer last, 25 The mind runs backward, and enjoys the paft: Perhaps, the riddling vifions of the night With contrarieties delude our fight; And when fair scenes of pleasure they disclose, Pain they foretel, and fure enfuing woes. Or was it not, that, fince the fates ordain Pompey should never fee his Rome again, One last good office yet they meant to do, And gave him in a dream this parting view?

Oh, may no trumpet bid the leader wake! 35 Long, let him long the blifsful flumber take! Too foon the morrow's fleepless night will come, Full fraught with flaughter, mifery, and Rome; With horror, and difmay, thofe fhades fhali rife, And the loft battle live before his eyes. 40

How bleft his fellow-citizens had been, Though but in dreams their Pompey to have feen!

45

Oh! that the gods, in pity, would allow,
Such long-try'd friends their destiny to know;
So cach to each might their fad thoughts con-
vey,
And make the most of their last mournful day.
But now, unconscious of the ruin nigh,
Within his native land he thinks to die:
While her fond hopes with confidence prefume,
Nothing fo terrible from fate can come,
As to be robb'd of her lov'd Pompey's tomb.
Had the fad city Fate's decree foreknown,
What floods, faft falling, fhould her lofs bemoan!
Then fhould the lufty youth, and fathers hoar,
With mingling tears, their chief renown'd de-
plore ;

}

55

Maids, matrons, wives, and babes, a helpless train,

As once for godlike Brutus, fhould complain; Their treffes fhould they tear, their bofoms beat, And cry loud-wailing in the doleful street.

Nor fhalt thou, Rome, thy gushing forrows 60 keep, Though aw'd by Cæfar, and forbid to weep; Though, while he tells thee of thy Pompey dead, He shakes his threatening fauchion o'er thy head. Lamenting crowds the conqueror fhall meet, And with a peal of groans his triumph greet; 65 In fad proceffion, fighing, ftill they go, And ftain his laurels with the ftreams of woc.

But now, the fainting ftars at length gave

way,

And hid their vanquish'd fires in beamy day;
When round the leader's tent the legions croud, 70
And, urg'd by fate, demand the fight aloud.
Wretches! that long their little life to waste,
And hurry on those hours that fly too faft!
Too foon, for thoufands, fhali the day be done,
Whose eyes no more fhall fee the setting fun. 75
Tumultuous fpeech th' impulfive rage confest,
And Rome's bad genius rofe in every breast.
With vile difgrace they blot their leader's

name,

Pronounce ev'n Pompey fearful, flow, and

tame,

And cry, He firks beneath his father's fame.
Some charge him with ambition's guilty views, 81
And think 'tis power, and empire, he purfues;
That, fearing peace, he practifes delay,
And would, for ever, make the world obey.
While eastern kings of lingering wars com-
plain,

85

And wish to view their native realms again. Thus when the gods are pleas'd to plague mankind,

90

Our own rash hands are to the task affign'd;
By them ordain'd the tools of fate to be,
We blindly act the mischiefs they decrce;
We call the battle, we the fword prepare,
And Rome's destruction is the Roman prayer.
The general voice, united, Tully takes,
And for the reft the sweet perfuader speaks;
Tully, for happy eloquence renown'd,
With ev'ry Roman grace of language crown'd;
Beneath whofe rule and government rever'd,
Fierce Cataline the peaceful axes fear'd:

95

102

more:

fay,

114

way;

held:

120

125

read

Some dire delufion by the gods decreed;
He faw the fates malignantly inclin'd,
To thwart his purpofe and perplex his mind.

Since thus (he cry'd) it is by all decreed, Since my impatient friends and country need My hand to fight, and not my head to lead; Pompey no longer fall your fate delay, But let pernicious Fortune take her way, And waite the world on one devoted day. But, oh! be witness thou, my native home, 141 With what a fad fore-bodang heart I come; To thy hard fate unwillingly I yield, While thy rafh fons compel me to the field. How easily had Cæfar been fubdued, And the best victory been free from blood! But the fond Romans cheap rown difdain, They with for deaths to purple o'er the plain, And reeking gore their guilty fwords to ftain. Driv'n by my fleets, behold, the flying foe At once the empire of the deep forego? Here by neceflity they feem to stand, Coop'd up within a corner of the land.

145

150

Be kind, and to thyfelf the rule refume,
And in the fight, defend the caufe of Rome:
To thy own crowns, the wreath of conquext join;
Nor let the glory, nor the crime, be mine.
But fee! thy hopes, unhappy Pompey fail: 180
We fight; the Cæfar's fronger vows prevail.
Oh, what a feene of guilt this day shall show!
What crouds fhall fall, what nations be laid low!
Red fhall Enipeus run with Roman blood,
And to the margin fwell his foamy flood.
Oh! if our caufe my aid no longer need,
Oh! may my bofom be the first to bleed:
Me let the thrilling javelin foremost strike,
Since death and victory are now alike.
To-day, with ruin shall my name be join'd, 195
Or ftand the common curie of all mankind;
By every woe the vanquith'd fhall be known,
And every infamy the victor crown.

185

He fpoke; and, yielding to the impetuous croud,

195

The battle to his frantic bands allow'd,
So, when long vex'd by formy Corus' b'aft,
The weary pilot quits the helm at last;
He leaves his veftel to the vnds to guide,
And drive unsteady with the tumbling tide.
Loud through the camp the riling murmurs
found,

Blue Neptune's trident, and ftern Mars's fword;
In terrible array, the blue-cy'd maid
The horrors of her Gorgon fhield difplay'd;
Phoebus his once victorious fhafts renew'd,
Dfus'd and rufty with the Python's blood; 230
While, with unweary'd toil, the Cyclops ftrove
To forge new thunders for imperial Jove.

Nor wanted then dire omens, to declare
What curft events Theffalia's plains prepare ;
Black forms oppos'd against the warriors lay, 235
And lightnings thwarted their forbidden way;
Ful in their eyes the dazzling flashes broke,
And with amaze their troubled fenfes ftroke:"
Tall fiery columns in the fkies were feen,
With watery Typhons interwove between. 240
Glancing along the bands fwift meteors fhoot,
And from the helm the plumy honours cut;
Sudden the flame diffolves the javelin's head,
And liquid runs the fhining steely blade.
Strange to behold! their weapons disappear, 245
While fulphurous odour taints the smoking air.
The findard, as unwilling to be borne,
With pain from the tenacious earth is torn ;
Anon, black fwarms hang cluftering on its height,
And prefs the bearer with unwonted weight. 250
Big drops of grief each fweating, marble wears,
And Parian gods and heroes ftand in tears.
No more th' aufpicious victim tamely dies,
But furious from the hallow'd fane he flies;
Breaks off the rites with prodigies prophane, 255
And bellowing feeks Emathia's fatal plain :

But who, O Celar! who were then thy gods? Whom didft thou fummon from their dark abodes?

260

The Furies liften'd to thy grateful vows,
And dreadful to the day the powers of hell
} arofe.
Did then the monsters, fame records, appear?
Or were the only phanthoms form'd by fear?
Some faw the moving mountains meet like foes,
And rending earth new gaping caves disclose.
Others beheld a fanguine torrent take
Its purple courfe through fair Bebeis's lake;
Heard each returning night, portentous, yield
Loud fhouts of battle on Pharfalia's field.
While others thought they faw the light decay,
And fudden fhades opprefs the fainting day; 270

205

Fancy'd wild horror in each other's face,
And faw the ghofts of all their bury'd race;
Beheld them rife and glare with pale affright,
And talk around them, in the new-made
night.
274

Whate'er the caufe, the croud, by fate decreed,)
To make their brothers, fons, and fathers bleed,
Confenting, to the prodigies agreed;
And, while they thirft impatient for that blood,
Blefs thefe nefarious omens all as good.

But wherefore fhould we wonder, to behold 280 That death's approach by madness was foreto'd? Wild are the wandering thoughts which left fur

vive;

And these had not another day to live.
Thefe fhook for what they faw; while diftant
climes,

Unknowing, trembled for Emathia's crimes. 285
Where Tyrian Gades fees the fetting fun,
And where Araxes' rapid waters run,
From the bright orient to the glowing weft,
In every nation, every Roman breaft
The terrors of that dreadful day confeft.
Where Aponus first springs in smoky fleam; 291
And full Timavus rolls his nobler stream;
Upon a hill that day, if fame be true,
A learned augur fat the fkies to view:

'Tis come, the great event is come (he cry'd), 295

Our impious chiefs their wicked war decide. Whether the feer obferv'd Jove's forky flame, And mark'd the firmament's difcordant frame; Or whether, in that gloom of fudden night, The fruggling fun declar'd the

fight:

dreadful

From the first birth of morning in the skies, Sure never day like this was known to rife; In the blue vault, as in a volume spread, Plain might the Latian deftiny be read.

300

[305

Oh Rome! oh people, by the go 's aflign'd To be the worthy mafters of mankind!

310

On thee the heavens with all their fignals wait,
And fuffering nature labours with thy fate.
When thy great name's to latest times convey'd,
By fame, or by my verfe immortal made,
In free-born nations juttly fhall prevail,
And rouze their paflions with this nobleft tale;
How shall they fear for thy approaching doom.
As if each paft event were yet to come!
How fhall their bofoms fwell with vaft concern,
And long the doubtful chance of war to learn!
Ev'n then the favouring world with thee fhall
join,

1315

And every honeft heart to Pompey's caufe in

In the mid battle daring Scipio fought,
With eight full legions from Cilicia brought.
Submiflive here to Pompey's high command,
The warrior undiftinguifh'd took his fand,
Referv'd to be the chief on Libya's burning
fand.

332

Near the low marfhes and Enipeus' flood,
The Pontic horse and Cappadoc an stood.
While kings and tetrarchs proud, a purple train,
Liegemen and vaffals to the Latian reign,
Poficfs'd the rifing grounds and drier plain.
Here troops of black Numidians fcour the field,
And bold Iberians narrow bucklers wield;
Here twang the Syrian and the Cretan bow,
And the fierce Gauls provoke their well-known
foe.
340
Go, Pompe, lead to death th' unnumber'd
hoft,

Let the whole human race at once be loft.
Let nations, upon nations, heap the plain,
And tyranny want fubjects for its reign.
Cæfar, as chance ordain'd, that morn de-
creed
345

The spoiling bands of foragers to lead;
When, with a fudden, but a glad furprize,
The foe defcending ftruck his wondering eyes.
Eager, and burning for unbounded fway,
Long had he borne the tedious war's delay; 350
Long had he struggled with protracting time,
That fav'd his country, and deferr'd his crime:
At length he fees the wifh'd-for day is come:
To end the ftrife for liberty and Rome;
Fate's dark myfterious threatenings to

plain,

ex

355

And cafe th' impatience of ambition's pain.
But, when he faw the vast event fo nigh,
Unufual horror damp'd his impious joy;
For one cold moment funk his heart fuppref'd,
And doubt hung heavy on his anxious breaft 360
Though his paft fortunes promife now fuccefs,
Yet Pompey, from his own, expects no lefs.
His changing thoughts revolve with various
cheer,

While thefe forbid to hope, and thofe to fear.
At length his wonted confidence returns,
With his first fires his daring kofem burns;
As if fecure of victory, he ftands,

355

And fearless thus befpeaks the liftening bands: Ye warriors! who have mace your Cæfar great.

370

On whom the world, on whom my fortunes
wait,
To-day, the gods, whate'er you wish, afford,
And fate attends on the deciding fword.
By your firm aid alone your leader ftands,
And trufts his all to your long-faithful hands.
This day fhall make our promis'd glories
good,

The hopes of Rubicon's diftinguish'd flood.
For this bleft morn we trufted long to fate,
Deferr'd our fame, and bad the triumph wait.
This day, my gallant friends, this happy day,
Shall the long labours of your arms repay;
Shall give you back to every joy of life,
To the lov'd offspring and the tender wife;

375

350

395

I hope no hopes, no wishes of my own,
But well could hide me in a private gown:
At my expence of fame, exalt your powers,
Let me be nothing, fo the world be yours.
Nor think the task too bloody fhall be found,
With cafy glory fhall our arms be crown'd: 400.
Yon hoft come le rn'd in academic rules,
A band of difputants from Grecian schools.
To thefe, luxurious eaftern crouds are join'd,
Of many a tongue, and many a different kind:
Their own first fhouts fhall fill each foul with
fears,

And their own trumpets fhock their tender 406

ears,

Unjustly this, a civil war, we call.
Where none but foes of Rome, barbarians, fall.
On then, my friends! and end it at a blow;
Lay thefe foft, lazy, worthlefs nations low. 410
Shew Pompey, that fubdu'd them, with what
eafe

Your valour gains fuch victories as these :
Shew him, if juftice ftill the palm confers,
One triumph was too much for all his wars.
From diftant Tigris fhall Armenians come, 415
To judge between the citizens of Rome?
Will fierce barbarian aliens wafte their blood,
To make the caufe of Latian Pompey good?
Believe me, no. To them we are all the fame,
They hate alike the whole Aufonian name; 420
But moft thofe haughty mafters whom they
know,

425

Who taught their fervile vanquifh'd necks to bow.
Meanwhile, as round my joyful eyes are roll d,
None but my try'd companions I behold;
For years in Gaul we made our hard abode,
And many a march in partnership have trod.
Is there a foldier to your chief unknown?
A fword, to whom I truft not, like my own?
Could I not mark each javelin in the sky,
And fay from whom the fatal weapons By? 430
Ev'n now I view aufpicious furies rife,
And rage redoubled flashes in your eyes.
With joy thofe omens of fuccefs I r.ad,
And fee the certain victory decreed;
1 fee the purple deluge float the plain,
Huge piles of carnage, nations of the flain:
Dead chiefs, with mangled monarchs, I survey,
And the pale fenate crowns the glorious day.
But oh! forgive my tedious lavish tongue,
Your eager virtue I withhold too long;

435

440

My foul exults with hopes too fierce to bear,
I feel good fortune and the gods draw near.
All we can afk, with full confent they yield,
And nothing bars us but this narrow field.
The battle o'er, what boon can I deny?
The treafures of the world before you lie.
Oh, Theffaly! what ftars, what powers divine,
To thy diftinguish'd land this great event af-
fign?

Btween extremes, to-day our fourtune lies,
The vileft punishment, and nobleft prize.
Confider well the captive's loft estate,

445

450

Chains, racks, and croffes, for the vanquish'd

Hear, and let him the happy victor live,. 465 Who fhall with mercy ufe the power you give; Whose rage for flaughter with the war fhall cease,

And fpare his vanquish'd enemies in peace.
Nor is Dyrrachium's fatal field forgot,
Nor what was then our brave companion's lot; 47
When, by advantage of the straiter ground,
Successful Pompey compafs'd us around;
When quite difarm'd your ufelefs valour stood,
Till his fell fword was fatiated with blood, 474
But gentler hands, but nobler hearts you bear,
And, oh! remember 'tis your leader's prayer,
Whatever Roman flies before you, spare.
But, while oppos'd and menacing they fand,
Let no regard withhold thy lifted hand:
Let friendship, kindred, all remorse, give
place,
480

485

And mangling wounds deform the reverend face;
Still let refiftance be repaid with blood,
And hoftile force by hoftile force fubdued;
Stranger, or friend, whatever be the name,
Your merit ftill, to Cæfar, is the fame.
Fill then the trenches, break the ramparts round,
And let our works lie level with the ground;
So fhall no obftacles our march delay,
Nor stop one moment our victorious way.
Nor fpare your camp; this night I mean to lie 490
In that from whence the vanquish'd foe fhall fly.
Scarce had he spoke, when, fudden at the
word,

They feize the lance, and draw the shining fword:

At once the turfy fences all lie waste, And through the breach the crouding legions hafte: 495