LUCAN'S PHARSALIA. воок VII. THE ARGUMENT. In the Seventh Book is told, firft, Pompey's dream the night before the battle of Pharfalia; after that, the impatient defire of his army to engage, which is reinforced by Tully. Pompey, though against his own opinion and inclination, agrees to a battle. Then follows the fpeech of each general to his army, and the battle itself : the flight of Pompey; Cæfar's behaviour after his victory.; and an invective against him, and the very country of Theffaly, for being the fcene (according to this and other authors) of fo many misfortunes to the people of Rome. LATE, and unwilling, from his watery bed, Uprear'd the mournful fun his cloudy head; He ficken'd to behold Emathia's plain, And would have fought the backward east again: And with'd fome dark eclipse might veil his radiant face. Pompey, meanwhile, in pleafing visions paft The night, of all his happy nights the last. It feem'd, as if, in all his former state, In his own theatre fecure he fate: τα About his fide unnumber'd Romans croud, And, joyful, fhout his much-lov'd name aloud; The The echoing benches feem to ring around, Perhaps, when our good days no longer laft, And when fair scenes of pleasure they disclose, $5 20 25 ૩૦ 35 40 Oh! Oh! that the gods, in pity, would allow, } So each to each might their fad thoughts convey, 45 65 Nor fhalt thou, Rome, thy gufhing forrows keep, 60 Though aw'd by Cæfar, and forbid to weep; Though, while he tells thee of thy Pompey dead, He shakes his threatening fauchion o'er thy head. Lamenting crouds the conqueror fhall meet, And with a peal of groans his triumph greet; In fad proceffion, fighing fhall they go, And ftain his laurels with the ftreams of woe. But now, the fainting stars at length gave way, And hid their vanquish'd fires in beamy day; When round the leader's tent the legions croud, And, urg'd by fate, demand the fight aloud. Wretches that long their little life to waste, And hurry on thofe hours that fly too fast! U 70 Too Too foon, for thousands, shall the day be done, 75 } And would, for ever, make the world obey. By them ordain'd the tools of Fate to be, The general voice, united, Tully takes, With every Roman grace of language crown'd; But now, detain'd amidst an armed throng, 90 95 } For 105 110 For all that fortune for thy arms has done, For all thy fame acquir'd, thy battles won; This only boon her fuppliant vows implore, That thou would'ft deign to use her aid once more: In this, O Pompey! kings and chiefs unite, And, to chastise proud Cæfar, ask the fight. Shall he, one man against the world combin'd, Protract deftruction, and embroil mankind? What will the vanquish'd nations murmuring fay, Where once thy conquests cut their winged way; When they behold thy virtue lazy now, And fee thee move thus languishing and flow? Where are thofe fires that warm'd thee to be great? That ftable foul, and confidence in Fate? Can't thou the gods ungratefully mistrust ? Or think the fenate's facred cause unjust? Scarce are th' impatient enfigns yet withheld : Why art thou, thus, to victory compell'd? Doft thou Rome's chief, and in her caufe, appear? 'Tis hers to choose the field, and fhe appoints it here. Why is this ardor of the world withstood, 115 120 } The injur'd world, that thirfts for Cæfar's blood? 125 He saw the fates malignantly inclin'd, To thwart his purpose, and perplex his mind. U 2 130 Since |