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Let not our thoughts, by sad remembrance led,

Bewail those 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 senate's sacred dignity assert.
To all around proclaim it, wide, and near,

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 snow;
Or whether in those sultry climes we burn,
Where night and day with equal hours return;
The world shall still acknowledge us its head,
And empire follow wheresoe’er we lead.

When Gallic flames the burning city felt,
At Veiæ Rome with her Camillus dwelt.
Beneath forsaken roofs proud Cæfar reigns,
Our vacant courts, and filent laws constrains;
While slaves 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 lost Italy repay.
Upon Illyria's favourable coast,


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60 Vulteius with his furious band are lost;


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While in bold Curio, on the Libyan plain,
One half of Cæsar's senators lie slain.
March then, ye warriors ! second fate's design,
And to the leading gods your ardour join,

With equal constancy to battle come,
As when you shunn’d the foe, and left your native Rome.
The period of the consuls power is near,
Who yield our Fasces 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 afsembly join,
And to the glorious task the chief assign :
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 some with gifts, and some with praise are crown'd:
Of these, the chief are Rhodes, by Phæbus lov’d, 80
And Sparta rough, in virtue's lore approv'd.
Of Athens much they speak; Masfilia’s aid
Is with her parent Phocis' freedom paid.
Deiotarus his truth they much commend,
Their still unshaken faithful Asian friend.

Brave Cotys and his valiant son they grace,
With bold Rhasipolis from stormy Thrace.
While gallant Juba juftly is decreed
To his paternal sceptre to succeed.
And thou too, Ptolemy, (unrighteous fate!) 90
Wert rais'd unworthy to the regal state ;


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The crown upon thy perjur'd temples shone,
That once was borne by Philip's godlike fon.
O'er Ægypt shakes the boy his cruel sword :
(Oh! that he had been only Ægypt's lord !)

But the dire gift more dreadful mischiefs wait,
While Lagos’ sceptie gives him Pompey's fate :
Preventing Caefar's, and his sister's hand,
He seiz’d his parricide, and her command.

Th' assembly rose, and all on war intent
Bustle to arms, and blindly wait th' event.
Appius alone, impatient to be taught,
With what the threatening future times were fraught,
With bufy curiosity explores
The dreadful purpose of the heavenly powers. 105
To Delphos straight he flies, where long the god
In silence had possess’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 Parnassus' tops arise :
To Phoebus, and the chearful god of wine,
Sacred in common stands the hill divine.
Still as the third revolving year comes round,
The Mänades, with leafy chaplets crown'd,
The double deity in solemn songs resound.
When, o'er the world, the deluge wide was spread,
This only mountain rear'd his lofty head;
One rising rock, preserv’d, a bound was given,
Between the vafty deep, and ambient heaven,






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Here, to revenge long-vex'd Latona's pain,
Python by infant Pæan's darts was Nain,
While yet the realm was held by Themis' righteous

But when the god perceiv’d, how from below
The conscious caves diviner breathings blow, 125
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 first inspir'd,
From thence the prophet's art and honours he acquir’d.

So runs the tale. And oh! what god indeed 131
Within this gloomy cavern's depth is hid ?
What power

divine forsakes the heaven's fair light,
To dwell with earth, and everlasting night?
What is this spirit, potent, wise, and great, I 35
Who deigns to make a mortal frame his feat;
Who the long chain of secret causes knows, '
Whose oracles the years to come disclose ;
Who through eternity at once foresees,
And tells that fate which he himself decrees? 140
Part of that soul, perhaps, which moves in all,
Whose energy informs the pendent ball,
Through this dark passage seeks the realms above,
And strives to re-unite itself to Jove.
Whate'er the Dæmon, when he stands confest
Within his raging priestess' panting breaft,
Dreadful his godhead from the virgin breaks,
And thundering from her foamy mouth he speaks.




Such is the burst of bellowing Ætna's sound,
When fair Sicilia's pastures thake around; 150
Such from Inarimè Typhæus roars,
While rattling rocks bestrew Campania's fores.

The listening god, still ready with replies,
To none his aid, or oracle, denies;
Yet, wise and righteous ever, scorns 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 banith’d, wandering, houseless race,
The facred dictates have assign'd a place. 160
Oft from the strong he saves the weak in war :
This truth, ye Salaminian seas, declare !
And heals the barren land, and peftilential air.
Of all the wants with which this age is curst,
The Delphic filence surely is the worst.
But tyrants, juftly fearful of their doom,
Forbid the gods to tell us what 's to come.
Mean-while, the prophetess may well rejoice,
And bless the ceasing of the sacred voice :
Since death too oft her holy task attends,

170 And immature her dreadful labour ends, Torn by the fierce distracting rage she springs, And dies beneath the god for whom she sings.

These filent caves, these Tripods long unmov'd, Anxious for Rome, inquiring Appius prov’d: 175 He bids the guardian of the dread abode Send in the trembling priestess to the god, P



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