And war and dread of Cefar's frown prevail'd.
Straight Lelius from amidst the rest stood forth,
An old centurion of diftinguish'd worth;
The oaken wreath his hardy temples wore,
Mark of a citizen preferv'd he bore.
If against thee (he cry’d) I may exclaim,
Thou greatest leader of the Roman name;
If truth for injur'd honour may be bold,
What lingering patience does thy arms withhold? 650
Canft thou diftruft our faith so often try'd,
In thy long wars not shrinking from thy fide?
While in my veins this vital torrent flows,
This heaving breath within my bofom blows
While yet these arms fufficient vigour yield
To dart the javelin, and to lift the shield;
While thefe remain, my general, wilt thou own
The vile dominion of the lazy gown?
Wilt thou the lordly fenate choofe to bear,
Rather than conquer in a civil war ?
With thee the Scythian wilds we 'll wander o'er,
With thee the burning Libyan fands explore,
And tread the Syrt's inhofpitable shore.
Behold! this hand, to nobler labours traiņ'd,
For thee the fervile oar has not disdain'ḍ,
For thee the fwelling feas were taught to plow,
Through the Rhine's whirling ftream to force thy prow,
That all the vanquish'd world to thee might bow.
Each faculty, each power, thy will obey,
And inclination ever leads the way.
No friend, no fellow-citizen I know,
Whom Cæfar's trumpet once proclaims a foe.
By the long labours of thy sword, I fwear,
By all thy fame acquir'd in ten years war,
By thy paft triumphs, and by those to come,
(No matter where the vanquish'd be, nor whom)
Bid me to ftrike my dearest brother dead,
To bring my aged father's hoary head,
Or ftab the pregnant partner of my bed;
Though nature plead, and ftop my trembling hand, 680 I swear to execute thy dread command.
Doft thou delight to fpoil the wealthy gods,
And scatter flames through all their proud abodes.?
See through thy camp our ready torches burn,
Moneta foon her finking fane fhall mourn.
Wilt thou yon haughty factious senate brave,
And awe the Tuscan river's yellow wave ?
On Tiber's bank thy enfigns shall be plac'd,
And thy bold foldier lay Hesperia waste.
Doft thou devote fome hoftile city's walls?
Beneath our thundering rams the ruin falls ;
She falls, ev'n though thy wrathful fentence doom
The world's imperial mistress, mighty Rome.
He faid; the ready legions vow to join
Their chief belov'd, in every bold defign;
All lift their well-approving hands on high,
And rend with peals of loud applause the sky.
Such is the found when Thracian Boreas spreads
His weighty wing o'er Offa's piney heads:
At once the noisy groves are all inclin’d,
And, bending, roar beneath the sweeping wind;
At once their rattling branches all they rear,
And drive the leafy clamour through the air.
Cæfar with joy the ready bands beheld,
Urg'd-on by fate, and eager for the field;
Swift orders straight the scatter'd warriors call,
From every part of wide-extended Gaul;
And, left his fortune languish by delay,
To Rome the moving enfigns speed their way,
Some, at the bidding of the chief, forfake
Their fix'd encampment near the Leman lake:
Some from Vogefus' lofty rocks withdraw,
Plac'd on those heights the Lingones to awe;
The Lingones ftill frequent in alarms,
And rich in many-colour'd painted arms.
Others from Ifara's low torrent came,
Who winding keeps through many a mead his name;
But feeks the fea with waters not his own,
Loft and confounded in the nobler Rhone.
Their garrifon the Ruthen city fend,
Whofe youth's long locks in yellow rings depend.
No more the Varus and the Atax feel
The lordly burden of the Latian keel.
Alcides' fane the troops commanded leave,
Where winding rocks the peaceful flood receive; 725
Nor Corus there, nor Zephyrus refort,
Nor roll rude furges in the Sacred Port ;
Circius' loud blaft alone is heard to roar,
And vex the fafety of Monoechus' fhore.
The legions move from Gallia's fartheft fide,
Wash'd by the restless ocean's various tide ;
Now o'er the land flows in the pouring main,
Now rears the land its rifing head again,
And feas and earth alternate rule maintain.
If driven by winds from the far diftant pole,
This way and that, the floods revolving roll;
Or if, compell'd by Cynthia's filver beam,
Obedient Tethys heaves the fwelling stream;
Or if, by heat attracted to the sky,
Old ocean lifts his heavy waves on high,
And briny deeps the wasting sun supply;
What cause foe'er the wondrous motion guide,
And prefs the ebb, or raise the flowing tide;
Be that your task, ye fages, to explore,
Who fearch the secret springs of nature's power: 745
To me,
for fo the wifer gods ordain,
Untrac'd the mystery shall still remain.
From fair Nemoffus moves a warlike band,
From Atur's banks, and the Tarbellian strand,
Where winding round the coaft pursues its way,
And folds the fea within a gentle bay.
The Santones are now with joy releast
From hoftile inmates, and their Roman gueft,
Now the Bituriges forget their fears,
And Sueffons nimble with unwieldy spears:
Exult the Leuci, and the Remi now,
Expert in javelins, and the bending bow.
The Belge taught on cover'd wains to ride,
The Sequani the wheeling horse to guide;
The bold Averni who from Ilium come,
And boaft an ancient brotherhood with Rome;
The Nervi oft rebelling, oft fubdued,
Whofe hands in Gotta's flaughter were imbrued;
Vangiones, like loose Sarmatians drest,
Who with rough hides their brawny thighs invest; 765
Batavians fierce, whom brazen trumps delight,
And with hoarfe rattlings animate to fight;
The nations where the Cinga's waters flow,
And Pyrenæan mountains stand in fnow;
Those where flow Arar meets the rapid Rhone,
And with his stronger stream is hurry'd down;
Thofe o'er the mountains lofty fummit spread,
Where high Gebenna lifts her hoary head;
With these the Trevir, and Ligurian fhorn,
Whose brow no more long falling locks adorn;
Though chief amongst the Gauls he wont to deck,
With ringlets comely spread, his graceful neck:
And you where Hefus' horrid altar ftands,
Where dire Teutates human blood demands;
Where Taranis by wretches is obey'd,
And vies in flaughter with the Scythian maid:
All fee with joy the war's departing rage,
Seek diftant lands, and other foes engage.
You too, ye bards! whom facred raptures fire,
To chaunt your heroes to your country's lyre;
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