Through Scythian Dian's Aricinian grove,
Cæfar approach'd the fane of Alban Jove.
Thither with yearly rites the confuls come,
And thence the chief furvey'd his native Rome:
Wondering awhile he view'd her from afar,
Long from his eyes withheld by diftant war.
Fled they from thee, Thou Seat of Gods! (he cry'd)
Ere yet the fortune of the fight was try’d?
If thou art left, what prize can earth afford,
Worth the contention of the warrior's fword?
Well for thy fafety now the gods provide,
Since Parthian inroads fpare thy naked fide;
Since yet no Scythians and Pannonians join,
Nor warlike Daci with the Getes combine;
No foreign armies are against thee led,
While thou art curft with fuch a coward head.
A gentler fate the heavenly powers bestow,
A Civil War, and Cæfar for thy foe.
He said; and straight the frighted city sought:
The city with confufion wild was fraught,
And labouring shook with every dreadful thought.
They think he comes to ravage, fack, and burn;
Religion, gods, and temples to o'erturn.
Their fears fuggeft him willing to pursue
Whatever ills unbounded power can do.
Their hearts by one low paffion only move,
Nor dare fhew hate, nor can diffemble love.
The lurking fathers, a difhearten'd band,
Drawn from their houfes forth, by proud command,
In Palatine Apollo's Temple meet,
And fadly view the confuls empty feat;
No rods, no chairs curule, adorn the place,
Nor purple magiftrates th' affembly grace.
Cæfar is all things in himself alone,
The filent court is but a looker-on;
With humble votes obedient they agree,
To what their mighty subject shall decree :
Whether as King, or God, he will be fear'd,
If royal thrones, or altars, shall be rear'd.
Ready for death, or banishment, they stand,
And wait their doom from his disposing hand:
But he, by fecret Shame's reproaches staid,
Blush'd to command, what Rome would have obey'd.
Yet Liberty, thus flighted and betray'd,
One laft effort with indignation made;
One man she chofe to try th' unequal fight,
And prove the power of juftice against might.
While with rude uproar armed hands essay
To make old Saturn's treasuring fane their prey; 180
The bold Metellus, careless of his fate,
Rush'd through, and ftood to guard the Holy Gate. So daring is the fordid love of gold!
So fearless death and dangers can behold!
Without a blow defencelefs fell the laws;
While wealth, the basest, most inglorious caufe,
Against oppreffing tyranny makes head,
Finds hands to fight, and eloquence to plead.
The bustling tribune, ftruggling in the croud,
Thus warns the victor of the wrong aloud:
Through me, thou robber! force thy horrid way, My facred blood shall stain thy impious prey.
But there are gods, to urge thy guilty fate;
Sure vengeance on thy facrilege fhall wait.
Remember, by the tribunes curse pursued,
Craffus, too late, the violation rued.
Pierce then my breast, nor shall the crime displease,
This croud is us'd to fpectacles like thefe.
In a forfaken city are we left,
Of Virtue with her nobleft fons bereft.
Why feek'st thou ours? Is there not foreign gold? Towns to be fack'd, and people to be fold?
With those reward the ruffian foldier's toil;
Nor pay him with thy ruin'd country's spoil.
Haft thou not war? Let war thy wants provide.
He fpoke. The victor, high in wrath, reply'd:
Sooth not thy foul with hopes of death so vain,
No blood of thine my conquering sword shall stain.
Thy titles and thy popular command,
Can never make thee worthy Cæfar's hand.
Art thou thy country's fole defender! thou!
Can Liberty and Rome be fall'n fo low!
Nor time, nor chance breed fuch confusions yet,
Nor are the mean fo rais'd, nor funk the great;
But laws themselves would rather choose to be
Supprefs'd by Cæfar, than preferv'd by thee.
He faid. The ftubborn tribune kept his place,
While anger
redden'd on the warrior's face;
His wrathful hand defcending grafp'd his blade,
And half forgot the peaceful part he play'd.
When Cotta, to prevent the kindling fire,
Thus footh'd the rash Metellus to retire,
Where kings prevail, all Liberty is loft,
And none but he who reigns can freedom boast;
Some fhadow of the bliss thou shalt retain,
Choofing to do what sovereign powers ordain :
Vanquish'd and long accuftom'd to submit,
With patience underneath our loads we fit;
Our chains alone our flavish fears excuse,
While we bear ill, we know not to refuse.
Far hence the fatal treasures let him bear,
The feeds of mischief, and the caufe of war.
Free states might well a loss like this deplore;
In fervitude none mifs the public ftore,
And 'tis the curfe of kings for fubjects to be poor.
The tribune with unwilling steps withdrew,
While impious hands the rude affault renew:
The brazen gates with thundering strokes refound,
And the Tarpeian mountain rings around.
At length the facred ftore-house, open laid,
The hoarded wealth of ages paft display'd;
There might be seen the fums proud Carthage sent,
Her long-impending ruin to prevent.
There heap'd the Macedonian treafures fhone,
What great Flaminius and Æmilius won
From vanquish'd Philip, and his hapless fon.
There lay, what flying Pyrrhus loft, the gold
Scorn'd by the patriot's honefty of old:
Whate'er our parfimonious fires could fave,
What tributary gifts rich Syria gave;
The hundred Cretan cities ample spoil;
What Cato gather'd from the Cyprian isle.
Riches of captive kings by Pompey born,
In happier days his triumph to adorn,
From utmost India and the rifing morn;
Wealth infinite, in one rapacious day,
Became the needy foldiers lawless prey:
And wretched Rome, by robbery laid low,
Was poorer than the bankrupt Cæfar now.
Meanwhile the world, by Pompey's fate alarm'd, 260 Nations ordain'd to fhare his fall had arm'd.
Greece first with troops the neighbouring war fupply'd,
And sent the youth of Phocis to his fide;
From Cyrrha and Amphifa's towers they mov'd,
And high Parnaffus by the Mufe belov'd;
Cephiffus' facred flood affistance lends,
And Dirce's fpring his Theban leaders fends.
Alphæus too affords his Pifa's aid :
By Pifa's walls the stream is first convey'd,
Then feeks through feas the lov'd Sicilian maid.
From Mænalus Arcadian shepherds fwarm,
And warriors in Herculean Trachyn arm;
The Dryopes Chaonia's hills forfook,
And Sellæ left Dodona's filent oak.
Though Athens now had drain'd her naval store, 275
And the Phoebean arfenal was poor,
Three fhips of Salamis to Pompey came,
To vindicate their ifle's contefted name,
And justify the antient Attic claim.
Jove's Cretan people haftening to the war,
The Gnoffian quiver and the shaft prepare;
The bending bow they draw with deadly art,
And rival ev'n the flying Parthian's dart.
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