The crown upon thy perjur'd temples flione,
That once was borne by Philip's godlike fon.
O'er Ægypt shakes the boy his cruel sword:
(Oh! that he had been only Ægypt's lord !)
But the dire gift more dreadful mischiefs wait,
While Lagos' fceptre gives him Pompey's fate :
Preventing Cæfar's, and his fifter's hand,
He feiz'd his parricide, and her command.
Th' affembly rofe, and all on war intent
Buftle to arms, and blindly wait th' event.
Appius alone, impatient to be taught,
With what the threatening future times were fraught,
With bufy curiosity explores
The dreadful purpose of the heavenly powers.
To Delphos ftraight he flies, where long the god
In filence had poffefs'd his close abode ;
His oracles had long been known to cease,
And the prophetic virgin liv'd in peace.
Between the ruddy west and eastern skies,
In the mid-earth Parnaffus' tops arise :
To Phoebus, and the chearful god of wine,
Sacred in common ftands the hill divine.
Still as the third revolving year comes round,
The Mænades, with leafy chaplets crown'd,
The double deity in folemn fongs refound.
When, o'er the world, the deluge wide was spread,
This only mountain rear'd his lofty head;
One rifing rock, preferv'd, a bound was given,
Between the valty deep, and ambient heaven.
Here, to revenge long-vex'd Latona's pain,
Python by infant Pæan's darts was flain,
While yet the realm was held by Themis' righteous
reign.
But when the god perceiv'd, how from below
The confcious caves diviner breathings blow,
How vapours could unfold th' enquirer's doom,
And talking winds could fpeak of things to come;
Deep in the hollows plunging he retir'd,
There, with foretelling fury first inspir'd,
From thence the prophet's art and honours he acquir'd.
So runs the tale. And oh! what god indeed
Within this gloomy cavern's depth is hid ?
What power divine forsakes the heaven's fair light,
To dwell with earth, and everlasting night?
What is this fpirit, potent, wife, and great,
Who deigns to make a mortal frame his feat;
Who the long chain of fecret caufes knows,
Whofe oracles the years to come disclofe;
Who through eternity at once forefees,
And tells that fate which he himself decrees?
Part of that foul, perhaps, which moves in all,
Whose energy informs the pendent ball,,
Through this dark paffage feeks the realms above,
And ftrives to re-unite itself to Jove.
Whate'er the Dæmon, when he stands confeft
Within his raging prieftefs' panting breaft,
Dreadful his godhead from the virgin breaks,
And thundering from her foainy mouth he fpeaks.
Such is the burft of bellowing Ætna's found,
When fair Sicilia's pastures thake around;
Such from Inarimè Typhoeus roars,
While rattling rocks bestrew Campania's shores.
The listening god, ftill ready with replies,
To none his aid, or oracle, denies;
Yet, wife and righteous ever, fcorns to hear
The fool's fond wishes, or the guilty's prayer;
Though vainly in repeated vows they trust,
None e'er find grace before him, but the just.
Oft to a banish'd, wandering, houseless race,
The facred dictates have affign'd a place.
Oft from the strong he faves the weak in war:
This truth, ye Salaminian feas, declare!
And heals the barren land, and pestilential air.
Of all the wants with which this age is curft,
The Delphic filence furely is the worst.
Bat tyrants, juftly fearful of their doom,
Forbid the gods to tell us what 's to come.
Mean-while, the prophetefs may well rejoice,
And bless the ceafing of the facred voice:
Since death too oft her holy task attends,
And immature her dreadful labour ends.
Torn by the fierce distracting rage she springs,
And dies beneath the god for whom the fings.
These filent caves, thefe Tripods long unmov'd,
Anxious for Rome, inquiring Appius prov'd:
Ke bids the guardian of the dread abode
Send in the trembling prieftefs to the god.
The reverend fire the Latian chief obey'd,
And sudden feiz'd the unfuspecting maid,
Where careless in the peaceful grove she stray'd.
Difmay'd, aghaft, and pale, he drags her on;
She ftops, and strives the fatal task to shun:
Subdued by force, to fraud and art she flies,
And thus to turn the Roman's purpose tries :
What curious hopes thy wandering fancy move,
The filent Delphic oracle to prove?
In vain, Aufonian Appius, art thou come ;
Long has our Phoebus and his cave been dumb.
Whether, difdaining us, the facred voice
Has made fome other distant land its choice;
Or whether, when the fierce barbarians' fires
Low in the duft had laid our lofty fpires,
In heaps the mouldering afhes heavy rod,
And chok'd the channels of the breathing god:
Or whether heaven no longer gives replies,
But bids the Sibyls mystic verse suffice;
Or, if he deigns not this bad age to bear,
And holds the world unworthy of his care;
Whate'er the caufe, our god has long been mute,
And answers not to any fuppliant's fuit.
But, ah! too well her artifice is known,
Her fears confefs the god, whom they disown.
Howe'er, each rite the feemingly prepares ;
A fillet gathers up her foremost hairs;
While the white wreath and bays her temples bind, 205 And knit the loofer locks which flow behind.
Sudden, the stronger prieft, though yet she strives,
The lingering maid within the temple drives :
But ftill fhe fears, ftill fhuns the dreadful shrine,
Lags in the outer fpace, and feigns the rage divine. 210
But far unlike the god, her calmer breast
No ftrong enthusiastic throes confeft;
No terrors in her starting hairs were seen,
To caft from off her brow the wreathing green;
No broken accents half obftructed hung,
Nor fwelling murmurs roll her labouring tongue.
From her fierce jaws no founding horrors come,
No thunders bellow through the working foam,
To rend the fpacious cave, and shake the vaulted dome.
Too plain, the peaceful groves and fane betray'd 220
The wily, fearful, god-diffembling maid.
The furious Roman foon the fraud espy'd,
And, Hope not thou to 'scape my rage, he cry'd;
Sore fhalt thou rue thy fond deceit, profane,
(The gods and Appius are not mock'd in vain)
Unless thou cease thy mortal founds to tell,
Unless thou plunge thee in the mystic cell,
Unless the gods themselves reveal the doom,
Which shall befall the warring world and Rome.
He fpoke, and, aw'd, by the fuperior dread,
The trembling priestess to the Tripod fled :
Clofe to the holy breathing vent she cleaves,
And largely the unwonted god receives.
Nor age the potent spirit had decay'd,
But with full force he fills the heaving maid;
Nor e'er fo ftrong infpiring Pean came,
Nor stretch'd, as now, her agonizing frame :
The mortal mind driv'n out forfook her breast,
And the fole godhead every part poffeft.
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