« ПредишнаНапред »
Ev’n thronging on their fellows swords they run,
Genius of Carthage! rear thy drooping head,
The dust, at length, in crimson floods was laid,
Now what avail thy popular arts and fame, Thy restless mind that shook thy country's frame; Thy moving tongue that knew so well to charm, 1255 And urge the madding multitude to arm ? What boots it, to have sold the senate's right, And driven the furious leaders on to fight? Thou the first victim of thy war art lain, Nor shalt thou see Pharsalia's fatal plain. 1266 Behold! ye potent troublers of the state, What wretched ends on curst ambition wait!
See ! where, a prey, unbury'd Curio lies,