Sylla, unmindful of his father's fame,
Fled at the dreadful found of Cæfar's name.
Soon as the horse near Auximon appear,
Retreating Varus owns his abject fear,
And with a coward's hafte neglects his rear ;
On flight alone intent, without delay,
Through rocks and devious woods he wings his way. 705 Th' Efculean fortrefs Lentulus forfakes,
A fwift purfuit the speedy victor makes
All arts of threats and promises apply'd,
He wins the faithlefs cohorts to his fide.
The leader with his enfigns fled alone,
To Cæfar fell the foldier, and the town.
Thou, Scipio, too doft for retreat prepare;
Thou leav'ft Luceria, trufted to thy care;
Though troops well try'd attend on thy command, (The Roman power can boast no braver band)
By wily arts of old from Cæfar rent,
Against the hardy Parthians were they fent;
But their first chief the legion now obeys,
And Pompey thus the Gallic lofs repays;
Aid to his foe too freely he affords,
And lends his hoftile father Roman fwords.
But in Corfinium bold Domitius lies,
And from his walls th' advancing power defies;
Secure of heart, for all events prepar'd,
He heads the troops once bloody Milo's guard.
Soon as he fees the cloudy duft arife,
And glittering arms reflect the funny skies:
Away, companions of my arms! he cry'd,
And hafte to guard the river's fedgy fide:
Break down the bridge. And thou that dwell'st below,
Thou watery god, let all thy fountains go,
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 lingring war delay,
Here let the headlong chief be taught to stay;
"Tis victory to stop the victor's way.
He ceas'd; and, fhooting swiftly cross the plain,
Drew down the foldier to the flood in vain.
For Cæfar early from the neighbouring field,
The purpose to obstruct his march beheld :
Kindling to wrath, oh basest fear! (he cries).
To whom nor towers, nor fheltering walls fuffice.
Are these your coward ftratagems of war?
Hope you with brooks my conquering arms to bar? 745
Though Nile and Ifter fhould my way control,
Though fwelling Ganges fhould to guard you roll,
What ftreams, what floods foe'er athwart me fall,
Who paft the Rubicon fhall pass them all.
Hafte to the paffage then, my friends. He faid;
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,
But fee the ftain of war! the foldier's fhame!
And vile dishonour of the Latian name!
The faithlefs garrifon 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 Cæfar's arts his inmoft thoughts defcry,
His fear of pardon, and desire to die.
From me thy forfeit life (he said) eceive,
And, though repining, by my bounty live;
That ail, by thy example taught, may know,
How Cæfar's mercy treats a vanquish'd foe :
Still arm against me, keep thy hatred still,
And if thou conquer'ft, use thy conquest, kill.
Returns of love, or favour, feek I none;
Nor give thy life to bargain for my own.
So faying, on the inftant he commands
To loofe the galling fetters from his hands.
Oh fortune! better were it, he had dy'd,
And fpar'd the Roman shame, and Cæfar's pride.
What greater grief can on a Roman seize,
Than to be forc'd to live on terms like thefe !
To be forgiven, fighting for the laws,
And need a pardon in his country's cause!
Struggling with rage, undaunted he represt
The fwelling paffions in his labouring breast;
Thus murmuring to himself: Wilt thou to Rome,
Bafe as thou art, and seek thy lazy home?
To war, to battle, to destruction fly,
And hafte, as it becomes thee well, to die;
Provoke the worst effects of deadly ftrife,
And rid thee of this Cæfar's gift, this life.
Meanwhile, unknowing of the captiv'd chief,
Pompey prepares to march to his relief.
He means the fcattering forces to unite,
And with increase of strength expect the fight.
Refolving with the following fun to move,
Firft he decrees the foldier's heart to prove :
Then into words like these, rever'd, he broke,
The filent legions liftening while he spoke:
Ye brave avengers of your country's wrong,
You who to Rome and liberty belong;
Whofe breafts our fathers virtue truly warms,
Whofe hands the fenate's facred order arms;
With chearful ardor meet the coming fight,
And pray the gods to fmile upon the right.
Behold the mournful view Hefperia yields,
Her flaming villages and wafted fields !
See where the Gauls a dreadful deluge flow,
And fcorn the boundaries of Alpine fnow.
Already Cæfar's fword is ftain'd in blood,
Be that, ye gods, to us an omen good;
That glory ftill be his peculiar care,
Let him begin, while we fuftain the war.
Yet call it not a war to which we go;
We feek a malefactor, not a foe;
Rome's awful injur'd majefty demands
The punishment of traitors at our hands.
If this be war, then war was wag'd of old,
By curft Cethegus, Catiline the bold,
By every villain's hand who durft confpire
In murder, robbery, or midnight fire.
Oh wretched rage! thee, Cæfar, fate defign'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 foul inclines,
And with the flaughter-loving Marii joins.
Since then thy crimes, like theirs, for juftice call, 830
Beneath our axe's vengeance fhalt thou fall:
Thee rebel Carbo's fentence, thee the fate
Of Lepidus and bold Sertorius wait.
Believe me yet, (if yet I am believ'd)
My heart is at the task unpleafing griev'd :
I mourn to think that Pompey's hand was chofe,
His Julia's hoftile father to oppose,
And mark thee down amongst the Roman foes.
Oh that, return'd in fafety from the east,
This province victor Craffus had poffeft;
New honours to his name thou might'st afford,
And die like Spartacus beneath his fword :
Like him have fall'n a victim to the laws,
The fame th' avenger, and the fame the cause.
But fince the gods do otherwife decree,
And give thee, as my latest palm, to me;
Again my veins confefs the fervent juice,
Nor has my hand forgot the javelin's use.
And thou shalt learn, that those who humbly know
Το peace and just authority to bow,
Can, when their country's caufe demands their care,
Refume their ardor, and return to war.
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