Bold on the crystal plains the Thracians ride,
And print with founding keels the stable tide.
So ftill a form th' Ionian waters take,
Dull as the muddy marth and standing lake:
No breezes o'er the curling furface país,
Nor fun-beams tremble in the liquid glass;
No ufual turns revolving Tethys knows,
Nor with alternate rollings ebbs and flows:
But fluggish ocean fleeps in ftupid peace,
And weary nature's motions feem to cease.
With differing eyes the hoftile fleets beheld
The falling winds, and useless watery field.
There Pompey's daring powers attempt in vain
To plow their passage through th' unyielding main;
While, pinch'd by want, proud Cæfar's legions here
The dire diftrefs of meagre famine fear.
With vows unknown before they reach the skies,
That waves may dash, and mounting billows rife; 650
That ftorms may with returning fury reign,
And the rude ocean be itself again.
At length the still, the sluggish darkness fled,
And cloudy morning rear'd its louring head.
The rolling flood the gliding navy bore,
And hills appear'd to pafs upon the shore.
Attending breezes waft them to the land,
And Cæfar's anchors bite Palæfte's strand.
In neighbouring camps the hoftile chiefs fit down, Where Genufus the fwift, and Apfus run; Among th' ignobler croud of rivers, these Soon lofe their waters in the mingling seas :
No mighty ftreams nor diftant fprings they know,
But rife from muddy lakes, and melting fnow.
Here meet the rivals who the world divide,
Once by the tendereft bands of kindred ty❜d.
The world with joy their interview beheld,
Now only parted by a fingle field.
Fond of the hopes of peace, mankind believe,
Whene'er they come thus near, they muft forgive. 670
Vain hopes for foon they part to meet no more,
Till both shall reach the curft Ægyptian shore;
Till the proud father shall in arms fucceed,
And fee his vanquifh'd fon untimely bleed;
Till he beholds his afhes on the ftrand,
Views his pale head within a villain's hand;
Till Pompey's fate fhall Cæfar's tears demand.
The latter yet his eager rage restrains,
While Antony the lingering troops detains.
Repining much, and griev'd at war's delay,
Impatient Cæfar often chides his stay,
Oft he is heard to threat, and humbly oft to pray.
Still fhall the world (he cries) thus anxious wait?
Still wilt thou ftop the gods, and hinder fate?
What could be done before, was done by me :
Now ready fortune only ftays for thee.
What holds thee then? Do rocks thy courfe withstand ?
Or Libyan Syrts oppose their faithless strand ?
Or doft thou fear new dangers to explore?
I call thee not, but where I pafs'd before.
For all thofe hours thou lofeft, I complain,
And fue to heaven for profperous winds in vain.
My foldiers (often has their faith been try'd)
If not withheld, had haften'd to my fide.
What toil, what hazards will they not partake?
What feas and fhipwrecks scorn, for Cæfar's fake?
Nor will I think the gods fo partial are,
To give thee fair Aufonia for thy share;
While Cæfar, and the fenate, are forgot,
And in Epirus bound their barren lot.
In words like thefe, he calls him oft in vain, And thus the hafty miffives oft complain. At length the lucky chief, who oft had found What vaft fuccefs his rather darings crown'd; Who faw how much the favouring gods had done, 705 Nor would be wanting, when they urg'd him on; Fierce, and impatient of the tedious stay, Refolves by night to prove the doubtful way: Bold, in a single skiff, he means to go, And tempt thofe feas that navies dare not plow.
'Twas now the time when cares and labour ceafe, And ev'n the rage of arms was hush'd to peace: Snatch'd from their guilt and toil, the wretched lay, And flept the founder for the painful day.
Through the ftill camp the night's third hour refounds,
And warns the fecond watches to their rounds;
When through the horrors of the murky shade,
Secret the careful warriors footsteps tread.
His train, unknowing, flept within his tent,
And fortune only follow'd where he went.
With filent anger he perceiv'd, around,
The fleepy fentinels beftrew the ground :
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Yet, unreproving, now, he pafs'd them o'er,
And fought with eager hafte the winding fhore.
There through the gloom, his fearching eyes explor'd, 725
Where to the mouldering rock a bark was moor`d.
The mighty mafter of this little boat,
Securely flept within a neighbouring cot:
No maffy beans fupport his humble hall,
But reeds and marshy rushes wove the wall;
Old fhatter'd planking for a roof was spread,
And cover'd in from rain the needy shed.
Thrice on the feeble door the warrior ftruck,
Beneath the blow the trembling dwelling fhook.
What wretch forlorn (the poor Amyclas cries)
Driven by the raging seas, and stormy skies,
To my poor lowly roof for shelter flies?
He spoke; and hasty left his homely bed,
With oozy flags and withering fea-weed spread.
Then from the hearth the finoking match he takes, 740
And in the tow the droufy fire awakes;
Dry leaves, and chips, for fuel, he supplies,
Till kindling sparks and glittering flames arife.
Oh happy poverty! thou greatest good,
Bestow'd by heaven, but feldom understood!
Here nor the cruel fpoiler feeks his prey,
Nor ruthless armies take their dreadful way:
Security thy narrow limits keeps,
Safe are thy cottages, and found thy fleeps.
Behold! ye dangerous dwellings of the great,
Where gods and godlike princes choose their feat;
See in what peace the poor Amyclas lies,
Nor ftarts, though Cæfar's call commands to rife.
What terrors had you felt, that call to hear!
How had your towers and ramparts fhook with fear,
And trembled, as the mighty man drew near!
The door unbarr'd : Expect (the leader faid)
Beyond thy hopes, or wishes, to be paid;
If in this inftant hour thou waft me o'er,
With speedy hafte, to yon Hefperian fhore.
No more fhall want thy weary hand constrain,
To work thy bark upon the boisterous main :
Henceforth good days and plenty shall betide;
The gods and I will for thy age provide.
A glorious change attends thy low eftate,
Sudden and mighty riches round the wait;
Be wife, and use the lucky hour of fate.
Thus he; and though in humble vestments drefs'd,
Spite of himself, his words his power express d,
And Cæfar in his bounty ftood confefs'd.
To him the wary pilot thus replies:
A thousand omens threaten from the skies;
A thoufand boding figns my foul affright,
And warn me not to tempt the feas by night.
In clouds the fetting fun obfcur'd his head,
Nor painted o'er the ruddy weft with red :
Now north, now fouth, he fhot his parted beams,
And tipp'd the fullen black with golden gleams:
Pale fhone his middle orb with faintifh rays,
And fuffer'd mortal eyes at eafe to gaze.
Nor rofe the filver queen of night ferene,
Supine and dull her blunted horns were seen,
With foggy stains and cloudy blots between.
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