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Here, from far fountains, ftreams their channels trace,
And, while they wander through the tedious fpace,
Run many a mile their long extended race :
While fome, quite worn and weary of the way,
Sink, and are loft before they reach the sea :

Ev'n Cæfar's felf, when through the works he goes,
Tires in the midft, and ftops to take repose.

Let fame no more record the walls of Troy,
Which gods alone could build, and gods destroy;
Nor let the Parthian wonder, to have feen.
The labours of the Babylonian queen :
Behold this large, this fpacious tract of ground!
Like that, which Tigris or Orontes bound;.
Behold this land! that majefty might bring,
And form a kingdom for an eastern king;
Behold a Latian chief this land inclofe,.
Amidst the tumult of impending foes:

He bade the walls arife, and as he bade they rofe.
But ah! vain pride of power! ah! fruitless boast'
Ev'n thefe, thefe mighty labours are all loft!
A force like this what barriers could withstand?
Seas must have fled, and yielded to the land;
The lovers fhores united might have stood;
Spite of the Hellefpont's oppofing flood;
While the Ægean and Ionian tide,

Might meeting o'er the vanquish'd Ifthmus ride,
And Argive realms from Corinth's walls divide;
This power might change unwilling nature's face,,
Unfix each order, and remove each place.

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Here,

Here, as if clos'd within a lift, the war
Does all its valiant combatants prepare;

Here ardent glows the blood, which fate ordains
To dye the Libyan and Emathian plains ;
Here the whole rage of civil discord join'd, '
Struggles for room, and scorns to be confin’d.

Nor yet, while Cæfar his firft labours try'd,
The warlike toil by Pompey was descry'd.
So, in mid Sicily's delightful plain,
Safe from the horrid found, the happy swain
Dreads not loud Scylla barking o'er the main.
So, northern Britons never hear the roar
Of feas, that break on the far Cantian fhore,
Soon as the rifing ramparts hoftile height,
And towers advancing, ftruck his anxious fight,
Sudden from Petra's fafer camp he led,
And wide his legions on the hills dispread;
So, Cæfar, forc'd his numbers to extend,
More feebly might each various strength defend.
His camp far o'er the large inclosure reach'd,
And guarded lines along the front were stretch'd;
Far as Rome's diftance from Aricia's groves,
(Aricia which the chafte Diana loves)
Far as from Rome old Tiber feeks the fea,
Did he not wander in his winding way.
While yet no fignals for the fight prepare,
Unbidden, fome the javelin dart from far,
And, fkirmishing, provoke the lingering war.
But deeper cares the thoughtful chiefs distress,
And move, the foldiers ardour to repress.

Pompey,

upon

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Pompey, with fecret anxious thought, beheld,
How trampling hoofs the rifing grafs repell'd;
Waste lie the ruffet fields, the generous fteed
Seeks on the naked foil, in vain, to feed:
Loathing from racks of husky straw he turns,
And, pining, for the verdant pafture mourns.
No more his limbs their dying load sustain,
Aiming a stride, he falters in the strain,
And finks a ruin on the withering plain :
Dire maladies
his vitals prey,
Diffolve his frame, and melt the mafs away.
Thence deadly plagues invade the lazy air,
Reek to the clouds, and hang malignant there.
From Nefis fuch, the Stygian vapours rise,.
And with contagion taint the purer skies;
Such do Typhoeus' steamy caves convey,
And breathe blue poifons on the golden day.
Thence liquid ftreams the mingling plague receive,
And deadly potions to the thirty, give:
To man the mischief spreads, the fell disease
In fatal draughts does on his entrails feize.
A rugged fcurf, all loathfom to be seen,
Spreads, like a bark, upon his filken skin;
Malignant flames his fwelling eye-balls dart,
And feem with anguifh from their feats to ftart;
Fires o'er his glowing cheeks and visage stray,
And mark, in crimson ftreaks, their burning way;
Low droops his head, declining from its height,
And nods, and totters with the fatal weight.
With winged hafte the swift deftruction flies,
And fcarce the foldier fickens ere he dies;

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Now

Now falling crouds at once refign their breath,
And doubly taint the noxious air with death.
Careless their putrid carcafes are spread;
And on the earth, their dank unwholfome bed,
The living rest in common with the dead.

Here none the last funereal rites receive;

}

To be caft forth the camp, is all their friends can give.
At length kind heaven their forrows bade to cease,
And ftaid the peftilential foe's increase;

Fresh breezes from the fea begin to rife,

While Boreas through the lazy vapour flies,
And fweeps, with healthy wings, the rank polluted
fkies.

Arriving veffels now their freight unload,

And furnifh plenteous harvests from abroad:
Now fprightly strength, now chearful health, returns, 175
And life's fair lamp, rekindled, brightly burns.
But Cæfar, unconfin'd, and camp'd on high,
Feels not the mifchief of the fluggish sky:..
On hills fublime he breathes the purer air,
And drinks no damps, nor poisonous vapours, there. 180.
Yet hunger keen an equal plague is found;
Famine and meagre want befiege him round :
The fields, as yet, no hopes of harvest wear,
Nor yellow stems disclose the bearded ear.
The scatter'd vulgar fearch around the fields,
And pluck whate'er the doubtful herbage yields;
Some strip the trees in every neighbouring wood,
And with the cattle share their grassy food.
Whate'er the foftening flame can pliant make,
Whate'er the teeth, or labouring jaws, can break; 190

185

What

What flesh, what roots, what herbs foe'er they get,
Though new, and strange to human taste as yet,
At once the greedy foldiers feize and eat.

What want, what pain foe'er they undergo,

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Still they perfift in arms, and close befet the foe. 195
At length, impatient longer to be held
Within the bounds of one appointed field,
O'er every bar which might his paffage stay,
Pompey refolves to force his warlike way;
Wide o'er the world the ranging war to lead,
And give his loofen'd legions room to spread.
Nor takes he mean advantage from the night,
Nor steals a paffage, nor declines the fight;
But bravely dares, difdainful of the foe,

200

Through the proud towers and ramparts breach to go. 205
Where fhining fpears, and crefted helms are feen,

Embattled thick to guard the walls within;
Where all things death, where ruin all afford,
There Pompey marks a paffage for his sword.
Near to the camp a woody thicket lay,

Clofe was the fhade, nor did the greenfward way,
With smoky clouds of duft, the march betray.
Hence, fudden they appear in dread array,
Sudden their wide-extended ranks display;
At once the foe beholds with wondering eyes,
Where on broad wings Pompeian eagles rife ;
At once the warriors fhouts and trumpet-founds

furprise.

Scarce was the fword's deftruction needful here,
So fwiftly ran before preventing fear;

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