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Let not our thoughts, by fad remembrance led,
Bewail thofe captive walls from whence we fled.
This time demands that to ourselves we turn,
Nor, fathers, have we leisure now to mourn;
But let each early care, each honest heart,
Our fenate's facred dignity affert.
To all around proclaim it, wide, and near,
That power which kings obey, and nations fear,
That only legal power of Rome, is here.
For whether to the Northern Bear we go,
Where pale she glitters o'er eternal fnow;
Or whether in thofe fultry climes we burn,
Where night and day with equal hours return;
The world shall still acknowledge us its head,
And empire follow wherefoe'er we lead.
When Gallic flames the burning city felt,
At Veiæ Rome with her Camillus dwelt.
Beneath forfaken roofs proud Cæfar reigns,
Our vacant courts, and filent laws constrains;
While flaves obedient to his tyrant will,
Outlaws, and profligates, his fenate fill ;
With him a banifh'd guilty croud appear,
All that are just and innocent are here.
Dispers'd by war, though guiltless of its crimes,
Our order yielded to these impious times;
At length returning each from his retreat,
In happy hour the scatter'd members meet.
The gods and fortune greet us on the way,
And with the world loft Italy repay.
Upon Illyria's favourable coaft,
Vulteius with his furious band are loft ;
While in bold Curio, on the Libyan plain,
One half of Cæfar's fenators lie flain.
March then, ye warriors! fecond fate's defign,
And to the leading gods your ardour join,
With equal conftancy to battle come,
As when you shunn'd the foe, and left your native Rome.
The period of the confuls power is near,
Who yield our Fafces with the ending year:
But you, ye fathers, whom we still obey,
Who rule mankind with undetermin'd sway,
Attend the public weal, with faithful care,
And bid our greatest Pompey lead the war.
In loud applause the pleas'd assembly join,
And to the glorious task the chief affign:
His country's fate they trust to him alone,
And bid him fight Rome's battles, and his own.
Next, to their friends their thanks are dealt around,
And fome with gifts, and fome with praise are crown'd:
Of these, the chief are Rhodes, by Phoebus lov'd,
And Sparta rough, in virtue's lore approv'd.
Of Athens much they speak; Maffilia's aid
Is with her parent Phocis' freedom paid.
Deiotarus his truth they much commend,
Their ftill unfhaken faithful Asian friend.
Brave Cotys and his valiant fon they grace,
With bold Rhafipolis from stormy Thrace.
While gallant Juba justly is decreed
To his paternal fceptre to fucceed.
And thou too, Ptolemy, (unrighteous fate!)
Wert rais'd unworthy to the regal state;
The crown upon thy perjur'd temples fhone,
That once was borne by Philip's godlike fon.
O'er Ægypt shakes the boy his cruel fword:
(Oh! that he had been only Ægypt's lord!)
But the dire gift more dreadful mischiefs wait,
While Lagos' fceptie gives him Pompey's fate :
Preventing Cæfar's, and his fifter's hand,
He feiz'd his parricide, and her command.
Th' assembly rofe, and all on war intent
Buftle to arms, and blindly wait th' event.
Appius alone, impatient to be taught,
With what the threatening future times were fraught,
With bufy curiofity explores
The dreadful purpose of the heavenly powers.
To Delphos ftraight he flies, where long the god
In filence had poffefs'd his close abode;
His oracles had long been known to cease,
And the prophetic virgin liv'd in peace.
Between the ruddy west and eastern skies,
In the mid-earth Parnaffus' tops arise :
To Phoebus, and the chearful god of wine,
Sacred in common ftands the hill divine.
Still as the third revolving year comes round,
The Mænades, with leafy chaplets crown'd,
The double deity in folemn fongs refound.
When, o'er the world, the deluge wide was spread,
This only mountain rear'd his lofty head ;
One rifing rock, preserv'd, a bound was given,
Between the vafty deep, and ambient heaven.
Here, to revenge long-vex'd Latona's pain,
Python by infant Pean's darts was flain,
While yet the realm was held by Themis' righteous
But when the god perceiv'd, how from below
The confcious caves diviner breathings blow,
How vapours could unfold th' enquirer's doom,
And talking winds could speak of things to come;
Deep in the hollows plunging he retir'd,
There, with foretelling fury firft infpir'd,
From thence the prophet's art and honours he acquir’d.
So runs the tale. And oh! what god indeed
Within this gloomy cavern's depth is hid?
What power divine forfakes the heaven's fair light,
To dwell with earth, and everlasting night?
What is this fpirit, potent, wife, and great,
Who deigns to make a mortal frame his feat;
Who the long chain of fecret caufes knows,
Whofe oracles the years to come difclofe;
Who through eternity at once foresees,
And tells that fate which he himself decrees?
Part of that foul, perhaps, which moves in all,
Whofe energy informs the pendent ball,
Through this dark paffage feeks the realms above,
And ftrives to re-unite itself to Jove.
Whate'er the Dæmon, when he stands confeft
Within his raging pricftefs' panting breaft,
Dreadful his godhead from the virgin breaks,
And thundering from her foamy mouth he speaks.
Such is the burst of bellowing Etna's found,
When fair Sicilia's paftures thake around;
Such from Inarimè Typhoeus roars,
While rattling rocks beftrew Campania's fhores.
The liftening god, still ready with replies,
To none his aid, or oracle, denies;
Yet, wife and righteous ever, fcorns to hear
The fool's fond wishes, or the guilty's prayer;
Though vainly in repeated vows they trust,
None e'er find grace before him, but the just.
Oft to a banish'd, wandering, houseless race,
The facred dictates have affign'd a place.
Oft from the strong he faves the weak in war :
This truth, ye Salaminian feas, declare!
And heals the barren land, and peftilential air.
Of all the wants with which this age is curft,
The Delphic filence furely is the worst.
But tyrants, juftly fearful of their doom,
Forbid the gods to tell us what 's to come.
Mean-while, the prophetefs may well rejoice,
And bless the ceasing of the sacred voice :
Since death too oft her holy task attends,
And immature her dreadful labour ends,
Torn by the fierce diftracting rage fhe springs,
And dies beneath the god for whom the fings.
These filent caves, thefe Tripods long unmov'd,
Anxious for Rome, inquiring Appius prov'd:
He bids the guardian of the dread abode
Send in the trembling priestess to the god.