The heaving fighs through ftraiter paffes blow,
And scorch the painful palate as they go;

535

The parch'd rough tongue night's humid vapours draws,
And reftlefs rolls within the clammy jaws;

With gaping mouths they wait the falling rain,
And want thofe floods that lately fpread the plain. 540
Vainly to heaven they turn their longing eyes,

And fix them on the dry relentless skies.
Nor here by fandy Afric are they curft,
Nor Cancer's fultry line inflames their thirst;
But to enhance their pain, they view below,
Where lakes stand full, and plenteous rivers flow;
Between two streams expires the panting host,
And in a land of water are they lost.

Now preft by pinching want's unequal weight,
The vanquish'd leaders yield to adverse fate:
Rejecting arms, Afranius feeks relief,
And fues fubmiffive to the hoftile chief.
Foremost himself, to Cæfar's camp he leads
His famish'd troops, a fainting band fucceeds.
At length, in prefence of the victor plac'd,
A fitting dignity his gefture grac'd,
That spoke his prefent fortunes, and his past.
With decent mixture in his manly mien,
The captive and the general were seen :
Then, with a free, fecure, undaunted breast,

For mercy thus his pious fuit he preft.

545

550

560

Had Fate and my ill fortune laid me low, Beneath the power of fome ungenerous foe My fword hung ready to protect my fame, And this right-hand had fav'd my foul from fhame: 565

But

But now with joy I bend my fuppliant knee,
Life is worth asking, since 'tis given by thee.
No party-zeal our factious arms inclines,
No hate of thee, or of thy bold defigns.
War with its own occafions came unfought,
And found us on the fide for which we fought:
True to our caufe, as beft becomes the brave,
Long as we could, we kept that faith we gave.
Nor fhall our arms thy stronger fate delay,

570

Behold! our yielding paves thy conquering way: 575
The western nations all at once we give,
Securely these behind thee shalt thou leave;
Here while thy full dominion stands confest,
Receive it as an earneft of the east.

Nor this thy easy victory difdain,

Bought with no feas of blood, nor hills of flain;
Forgive the foes that fpare thy fword a pain.
Nor is the boon for which we fue too great,
The weary foldier begs a laft retreat;

In some poor village, peaceful at the plough,
Let them enjoy the life thou doft bestow.

Think, in fome field, among the flain we lie,
And loft to thy remembrance cast us by.
Mix not our arms in thy fuccefsful war,

585

Not let thy captives in thy triumph fhare.
These unprevailing bands their fate have try`d,
And prov'd that fortune fights not on their fide.
Guiltless to cease from flaughter we implore,
Let us not conquer with thee, and we afk no more.
He faid. The victor, with a gentler grace,
And mercy foftening his feverer face,

N 2

590

595

Bade

600

Bade his attending foes their fears difmifs,
Go free from punishment, and live in peace.
The truce on equal terms at length agreed,
The waters from the watchful guard are freed:
Eager to drink, down rush the thirsty croud,
Hang o'er the banks, and trouble all the flood.
Some, while too fierce the fatal draughts they drain,
Forget the gasping lungs that heave in vain;

No breathing airs the choking channels fill,

605

But every spring of life at once ftands ftill.
Some drink, nor yet the fervent pest asswage,
With wonted fires their bloated entrails rage;
With bursting fides each bulk enormous heaves,
While ftill for drink th' infatiate fever craves.
At length returning health dispers'd the pain,
And lufty vigour ftrung the nerves again.
Behold! ye Sons of Luxury, behold!
Who scatter in excess your lavish gold;
You who the wealth of frugal ages waste,
T'indulge a wanton fupercilious taste :
For whom all earth, all ocean are explor'd,
To spread the various proud voluptuous board:
Behold! how little thrifty nature craves,

610

615

And what a cheap relief the lives of thousands faves! No coftly wines these fainting legions know,

Mark'd by old confuls many a year ago;

No waiting flaves the precious juices pour,
From Myrrhine goblets, or the golden ore :

But with pure draughts they cool the boiling blood, 625
And feek their fuccour from the crystal flood..

Who, but a wretch, would think it worth his care, The toils and wickednefs of war to fhare,

When all we want thus eafily we find?
The field and river can fupply mankind.
Difmifs'd, and safe from danger and alarms,
The vanquish'd to the victor quits his arms;
Guiltless from camps, to cities he repairs,
And in his native land forgets his cares.
There in his mind he runs, repenting o'er
The tedious toils and perils once he bore ;.

630

635

His fpear and fword of battle stand accurst,

He hates the weary march, and parching thirst;
And wonders much, that e'er with pious pain
He pray'd so oft for victory in vain :

640

For victory! the curfe of those that win,
The fatal end where ftill new woes begin.

Let the proud mafters of the horrid field

Count all the gains their dire fucceffes yield;

Then let them think what wounds they yet muft feel,

Ere they can fix revolving fortune's wheel :

As yet th' imperfect task by halves is done,

Blood, blood remains, more battles must be won,

And many a heavy labour undergone :

Still conquering, to new guilt they fhall fucceed, 650
Where-ever reftlefs Fate and Cæfar lead.

How happier lives the man to peace affign'd,
Amidft this general storm that wrecks mankind! -

In his own quiet house ordain'd to die,

He knows the place in which his bones fhall lie. 655
No trumpet warns him 'put his harness on,
Though faint, and all with weariness fore-done:

N 3

But

But when night falls, he lies fecurely down,

And calls the creeping flumber all his own.
His kinder fates the warrior's hopes prevent,

660

665

670

And ere the time, the wifh'd difmiffion fent;
A lowly cottage, and a tender wife,
Receive him in his early days of life;
His boys, a ruftic tribe, around him play,
And homely pleasures wear the vacant day.
No factious parties here the mind engage,
Nor work th' imbitter'd paffions up to rage;
With equal eyes the hoftile chiefs they view,
To This their faith, to That their lives are due :
To both oblig'd alike, no part they take.
Nor vows for conquest, nor against it, make.
Mankind's misfortunes they behold from far,
Pleas'd to stand neuter, while the world's at war.
But Fortune, bent to check the victor's pride,
In other lands forfook her Cæfar's fide;
With changing cheer the fickle goddess frown'd,
And for awhile her favourite caufe difown'd.
Where Adria's fwelling furge Salonæ laves,
And warm Iader rolls his gentle waves,
Bold in the brave Curitan's warlike band,
Antonius camps upon the utmost strand:
Begirt around by Pompey's floating power,
He braves the navy from his well-fenc'd thore.
But while the diftant war no more he fears,
Famine, a worfe, refiftlefs foe, appears :
No more the meads their graffy pafture yield,
Nor waving harvefts crown the yellow field.

675

680

685

On