Since thus (he cry'd) it is by all decreed,
Since my impatient friends and country need
My hand to fight, and not my head to lead;
Pompey no longer shall your fate delay,
But let pernicious Fortune take her way,
And wafte the world on one devoted day.
But, oh! be witness thou, my native Rome,
With what a fad fore-boding heart I come;
To thy hard fate unwillingly I yield,
While thy rafh fons compel me to the field.
How easily had Cæfar been fubdued,
And the bleft victory been free from blood!
But the fond Romans cheap renown disdain,
They wish for deaths to purple o'er the plain,
And reeking gore their guilty fwords to ftain.
Driv'n by my fleets, behold, the flying foe
At once the empire of the deep forego;
Here by neceffity they feem to ftand,
Coop'd-up within a corner of the land.
By famine to the laft extremes compell'd,
They fnatch green harvefts from th' unripen'd field; 155
And wish we may this only grace afford,
To let them die like foldiers, by the fword.
'Tis true, it feems an earnest of success,
That thus our bolder youth for action press:
But let them try their inmoft hearts with care,
And judge betwixt true valour and rash fear;
Let them be fure this eagerness is right,
And certain fortitude demands the fight.
In war, in dangers, oft it has been known,
That fear has driven the headlong coward on.
Give me the man, whofe cooler foul can wait,
With patience, for the proper hour of Fate.
See what a profperous face our fortunes bear!
Why fhould we trust them to the chance of war?
Why must we rifk the world's uncertain doom,
And rather choose to fight, than overcome?
Thou Goddess Chance! who to my careful hand
Haft given this wearifome fupreme command;
If I have, to the task of empire just,
Enlarg'd the bounds committed to my trust;
Be kind, and to thyfelf the rule refume,
And, in the fight, defend the cause of Rome :
To thy own crowns, the wreath of conquest join;
Nor let the glory, nor the crime, be mine.
But fee! thy hopes, unhappy Pompey ! fail:
We fight; and Cæfar's ftronger vows prevail.
Oh, what a scene of guilt this day shall show!
What crouds fhall fall, what nations be laid low!
Red fhall Enipeus run with Roman blood,
And to the margin fwell his foamy flood.
Oh! if our caufe my aid no longer need,
Oh! may my bofom be the first to bleed :
Me let the thrilling javelin foremost strike,
Since death and victory are now alike.
To-day, with ruin fhall my name be join'd,
Or ftand the common curfe of all mankind;
By every woe the vanquish'd fhall be known,
And every infamy the victor crown.
He spoke; and, yielding to th' impetuous croud, The battle to his frantic bands allow'd.
So, when long vex'd by ftormy Corus' blast,
The weary pilot quits the helm at last;
He leaves his veffel to the winds to guide,
And drive unfteady with the tumbling tide.
Loud through the camp the rifing murmurs found, 200 And one tumultuous hurry runs around;
Sudden their bufy hearts began to beat,
And each pale vifage wore the marks of Fate.
Anxious, they fee the dreadful day is come,
That must decide the deftiny of Rome.
This fingle vaft concern employs the hoft,
And private fears are in the public loft.
Should earth be rent, should darkness quench the sun,
Should swelling seas above the mountains run,
Should univerfal nature's end draw near,
Who could have leifure for himself to fear?
With fuch confent his fafety each forgot,
And Rome and Pompey took up every thought.
And now the warriors all, with bufy care,
Whet the dull fword, and point the blunted fpear; 215
With tougher nerves they ftring the bended bow,
And in full quivers steely shafts bestow;
The horfeman fees his furniture made fit,
Sharpens the fpur, and burnishes the bit;
Fixes the rein, to check or urge his fpeed,
And animates to fight the fnorting steed.
Such once the bufy gods employments were,
If mortal men to gods we may compare,
When earth's bold fons began their impious war.
The Lemnian power, with many a stroke, restor’d 225
Blue Neptune's trident, and ftern Mars's fword;
In terrible array, the blue-ey'd maid
The horrors of her Gorgon fhield display'd;
Phoebus his once victorious fhafts renew'd,
Difus'd, and rusty with the Python's blood;
While, with unweary'd toil, the Cyclops ftrove
To forge new thunders for imperial Jove.
Nor wanted then dire omens, to declare
What curft events Theffalia's plains prepare;
Black ftorms oppos'd against the warriors lay,
And lightnings thwarted their forbidden way;
Full in their eyes the dazzling flashes broke,
And with amaze their troubled fenfes stroke:
Tall fiery columns in the skies were seen,
With watery Typhons interwove between.
Glancing along the band's fwift meteors shoot,
And from the helm the plumy honours cut;
Sudden the flame diffolves the javelin's head,
And liquid runs the fhining steely blade.
Strange to behold! their weapons disappear,
While fulphurous odour taints the smoking air.
The ftandard, as unwilling to be borne,
With pain from the tenacious earth is torn :
Anon, black fwarms hang clustering on its height,
And prefs the bearer with unwonted weight.
Big drops of grief each fweating marble wears,
And Parian gods and heroes ftand in tears.
No more th' aufpicious victim tamely dies,
But furious from the hallow'd fane he flies;
Breaks off the rites with prodigies prophane,
And bellowing feeks Emathia's fatal plain:
U 4
But who, O Cæfar! who were then thy gods? Whom didit thou fummon from their dark abodes? The Furies liften'd to thy grateful vows,
And dreadful to the day the powers of hell arose. 260
Did then the monsters, fame records, appear ?
Or were they only phantoms form'd by fear?
Some faw the moving mountains meet like foes,
And rending earth new gaping caves disclose.
Others beheld a fanguine torrent take
Its purple courfe, through fair Babeïs' lake;
Heard each returning night, portentous, yield
Loud fhouts of battle on Pharfalia's field.
While others thought they faw the light decay,
And fudden fhades opprefs the fainting day;
Fancy'd wild horrors in each other's face,
And faw the ghofts of all their bury'd race;
Beheld them rife and glare with pale affright,
And ftalk around them, in the new-made night..
Whate'er the caufe, the croud, by fate decreed,
To make their brothers, fons, and fathers bleed,
Confenting, to the prodigies agreed;
And, while they thirst impatient for that blood,
Blefs thefe nefarious omens all as good.
But wherefore fhould we wonder, to behold
That death's approach by madrefs was foretold?
Wild are the wandering thoughts which laft furvive
And thefe had not another day to live.
Thefe fhook for what they faw; while diftant climes, Unknowing, trembled for Emathia's crimes.
Where Tyrian Gades fees the fetting fun,
And where Araxes' rapid waters run,
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