Shall at old doting Numa's laws repine,
Who could to fuch bleak wilds his Latine rites affign.
Ev'n now behold! where wafte Hefperia lies,
Where empty cities shock our mournful eyes;
Untouch'd by time, our infamy they stand,
The marks of civil difcord's murderous hand.
How is the stock of human-kind brought low!
Walls want inhabitants, and hands the plow.
Our fathers fertile fields by flaves are till'd,
And Rome with dregs of foreign lands is fill'd:
Such were the heaps, the millions of the flain,
As 'twere the purpose of Emathia's plain,
That none for future mifchiefs fhould remain.
Well may our annals lefs misfortunes yield,
Mark Allia's flood, and Cannæ's fatal field;
But let Pharfalia's day be ftill forgot,
Be ras'd at once from every Roman thought.
'Twas there, that fortune, in her pride, display'd
The greatnefs her own mighty hands had made;
Forth in array the powers of Rome the drew,
And fet her fubject nations all to view;
As if he meant to fhew the haughty queen,
Ev'n by her ruins, what her height had been.
Oh countless lofs! that well might have supply'd
The defolation of all deaths befide.
Though famine with blue peftilence confpire,
And dreadful earthquakes with destroying fire;
Pharfalia's blood the gaping wounds had join'd,
And built again the ruins of mankind.
Immortal gods! with what resistless force,
Our growing empire ran its rapid course!
Still every year with new fuccess was crown'd,
And conquering chiefs enlarge the Latian bound;
Till Rome stood mistress of the world confefs'd,
From the gray orient, to the ruddy weft;
From pole to pole, her wide dominions run,
Where-e'er the stars, or brighter Phoebus fhone;
As heaven and earth were made for her alone.
But now, behold, how fortune tears away
The gift of ages in one fatal day!
One day shakes off the vanquish'd Indians chain,
And turns the wandering Däæ loose again:
No longer fhall the victor conful now
Trace our Sarmatian cities with the plow:
Exulting Parthia shall her slaughters boast,
Nor feel the vengeance due to Craffus' ghost.
While liberty, long wearied by our crimes,
Forfakes us for fome better barbarous climes;
Beyond the Rhine and Tanaïs she flies,
To snowy mountains, and to frozen skies;
While Rome, who long pursued that chiefest good,
O'er fields of flaughter, and through feas of blood,
In flavery, her abject state shall mourn,
Nor dare to hope the goddess will return.
Why were we ever free? Oh why has heaven
A fhort-liv'd tranfitory bleffing given?
Of thee, first Brutus, justly we complain !
Why didft thou break thy groaning country's chain," And end the proud lascivious tyrant's reign ?
Why did thy patriot hand on Rome bestow
Laws, and her confuls righteous rule to know?
In fervitude more happy had we been,
Since Romulus firft wall'd his refuge in,
Ev'n fince the twice fix vulturs bad him build,
To this curft period of Pharfalia's field..
Medes and Arabians of the flavish East
Beneath eternal bondage may be blest;
While, of a differing mold and nature, we,
From fire to fon accuftom'd to be free,
Feel indignation rifing in our blood,
And blush to wear the chains that make them proud.
Can there be gods, who rule yon azure sky?
Can they behold Emathia from on high,
And yet forbear to bid their lightnings Aly?
Is it the bufinefs of a thundering Jove,
To rive the rocks, and blaft the guiltless grove?
While Caffius holds the balance in his stead,
And wreaks due vengeance on the tyrant's head.
The fun ran back from Atreus' monftrous feast,
And his fair beams in murky clouds fupprefs'd;
Why fhines he now? why lends his golden light
To these worse parricides, this more accurfed fight?
But chance guides all; the gods their task forego,
And providence no longer reigns below.
Yet are they juft, and fome revenge afford
While their own heavens are humbled by the fword,
And the proud victors, like themselves, ador'd:
With rays adorn'd, with thunders arm'd they stand,
And incenfe, prayers, and facrifice demand;
While, trembling, flavifh, fuperftitious Rome,
Swears by a mortal wretch, that moulders in a tomb.
Now either hoft the middle plain had pass'd, And front to front in threatening ranks were plac'd; Then every well known feature ftood to view, Brothers their brothers, fons their fathers knew. 685 Then first they feel the curfe of civil hate, Mark where their mischiefs are assign'd by fate, And fee from whom themfelves deftruction wait. Stupid awhile, and at a gaze, they stood, While creeping horror froze the lazy blood : Some fmall remains of piety withstand, And stop the javelin in the lifted hand; Remorfe for one fhort moment step'd between, And motionlefs, as ftatues, all were feen. And oh! what favage fury could engage, While lingering Cæfar yet fufpends his rage? For him, ye gods! for Craftinus, whose spear With impious eagerness began the war, Some more than common punishment prepare; Beyond the grave long lafting plagues ordain, Surviving fenfe, and never-ceafing pain. Straight, at the fatal fignal, all around
A thousand fifes, a thousand clarions, found;
Beyond where clouds, or glancing lightnings fly,
The piercing clangors strike the vaulted sky.
The joining battles shout, and the loud peal
Bounds from the hill, and thunders down the vale;
Old Pelion's caves the doubling roar return,
And Oeta's rocks and groaning Pindus mourn;
From pole to pole the tumult spreads afar,
And the world trembles at the diftant war.
Now fit the thrilling darts through liquid air,
And various vows from various mafters bear:
Some feek the nobleft Roman heart to wound,
And fome to err upon the guiltless ground;
While chance decrees the blood that shall be spilt,
And blindly scatters innocence and guilt.
But random fhafts too scanty death afford,“
A civil war is bufinefs for the fword:
Where face to face the parricides may meet,
Know whom they kill, and make the crime complete. Firm in the front, with joining bucklers clos`d,
Stood the Pompeian infantry difpos'd;
So crouded was the space, it scarce affords
The power to tofs their piles, or yield their fwords. 725
Forward, thus thick embattled though they stand,
With headlong wrath rush furious Cæfar's band;
In vain the lifted fhield their rage retards,
Or plaited mail devoted bofoms guards;
Through fhields, through mail, the wounding weapons
And to the heart drive home each deadly blow;
Oh rage ill match'd! Oh much unequal war,
Which thofe wage proudly, and these tamely bear!
Thefe, by cold, ftupid piety difarm'd :
Thofe, by hot blood, and fioking flaughter warm'd. 735
Nor in fufpenfe uncertain fortune hung,
But yields, o'er-mafter'd by a power too strong,
And borne by fates impetuous ftream along.
From Pompey's ample wings, at length the horfe
Wide o'er the plain extending take their courfe;
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