Since thus (he cry'd) it is by all decreed,
Since my impatient friends and country need
My hand to fight, and not my head to lead;
Pompey no longer shall your fate delay,
But let pernicious Fortune take her way,
And waste the world on one devoted day.
But, oh! be witnefs thou, my native Rome,
With what a fad fore-boding heart I come ;
To thy hard fate unwillingly I yield,
While thy rafh fons compel me to the field.
How eafily had Cæfar been subdued,
And the bleft victory been free from blood!
But the fond Romans cheap renown disdain,
They wish for deaths to purple o'er the plain,
And reeking gore their guilty fwords to stain.
Driv'n by my fleets, behold, the flying foe
At once the empire of the deep forego;
Here by neceffity they seem to stand,
Coop'd-up within a corner of the land.
By famine to the last extremes compell'd,
They fnatch green harvests from th' unripen'd field; 155 And wish we may this only grace afford,
To let them die like foldiers, by the sword.
'Tis true, it seems an earnest of fuccefs,
That thus our bolder youth for action press:
But let them try their inmoft hearts with care,
And judge betwixt true valour and rash fear;
Let them be sure this eagerness is right,
And certain fortitude demands the fight.
In war, in dangers, oft it has been known,
That fear has driven the headlong coward on.
Give me the man, whofe cooler foul can wait,
With patience, for the proper hour of Fate.
See what a profperous face our fortunes bear!
Why should we truft them to the chance of war?
Why muft we risk the world's uncertain doom,
And rather choose to fight, than overcome?
Thou Goddess Chance! who to my careful hand
Haft given this wearifome fupreme command;
If I have, to the task of empire juft,
Enlarg'd the bounds committed to my trust;
Be kind, and to thyfelf the rule refume,
And, in the fight, defend the cause of Rome :
To thy own crowns, the wreath of conquest join ;
Nor let the glory, nor the crime, be mine.
But fee thy hopes, unhappy Pompey ! fail:
We fight; and Cæfar's ftronger vows prevail.
Oh, what a scene of guilt this day shall show!
What crouds fhall fall, what nations be laid low!
Red shall Enipeus run with Roman blood,
And to the margin fwell his foamy flood.
Oh! if our caufe my aid no longer need,
Oh! máy my bofom be the first to bleed :
Me let the thrilling javelin foremost strike,
Since death and victory are now alike.
To-day, with ruin fhall my name be join'd,
Or ftand the common curfe of all mankind;
By every woe the vanquish'd shall be known,
And every infamy the victor crown.
He spoke; and, yielding to th' impetuous croud, The battle to his frantic bands allow'd.
So, when long vex'd by ftormy Corus' blast,
The weary pilot quits the helm at last;
He leaves his veffel to the winds to guide,
And drive unfteady with the tumbling tide.
Loud through the camp the rifing murmurs found, 200 And one tumultuous hurry runs around;
Sudden their busy hearts began to beat,
And each pale vifage wore the marks of Fate.
Anxious, they fee the dreadful day is come,
That must decide the destiny of Rome.
This fingle vaft concern employs the host,
And private fears are in the public loft.
Should earth be rent, fhould darknefs quench the fun,
Should fwelling feas above the mountains run,
Should univerfal nature's end draw near,
Who could have leisure for himself to fear?
With fuch confent his fafety each forgot,
And Rome and Pompey took up every thought.
And now the warriors all, with bufy care,
Whet the dull fword, and point the blunted fpear; 215
With tougher nerves they ftring the bended bow,
And in full quivers steely shafts bestow;
The horseman fees his furniture made fit,
Sharpens the fpur, and burnishes the bit;
Fixes the rein, to check or urge his speed,
And animates to fight the fnorting steed.
Such once the busy gods employments were,
If mortal men to gods we may compare,
When earth's bold fons began their impious war.
The Lemnian power, with many a stroke, restor❜d 225
Blue Neptune's trident, and ftern Mars's fword;
In terrible array, the blue-ey'd maid
The horrors of her Gorgon fhield display'd ; ·
Phoebus his once victorious fhafts renew'd,
Disus'd, and rusty with the Python's blood;
While, with unweary'd toil, the Cyclops ftrove
To forge new thunders for imperial Jove.
Nor wanted then dire omens, to declare
What curft events Theffalia's plains prepare;
Black ftorms oppos'd against the warriors lay,
And lightnings thwarted their forbidden way;
Full in their eyes the dazzling flashes broke,
And with amaze their troubled fenfes ftroke:
Tall fiery columns in the fkies were seen,
With watery Typhons interwove between.
Glancing along the bands swift meteors shoot,
And from the helm the plumy honours cut;
Sudden the flame diffolves the javelin's head,
And liquid runs the fhining steely blade.
Strange to behold! their weapons disappear,
While fulphurous odour taints the smoking air.
The standard, as unwilling to be borne,
With pain from the tenacious earth is torn :
Anon, black fwarms hang clustering on its height,
And prefs the bearer with unwonted weight.
Big drops of grief each fweating marble wears,
And Parian gods and heroes stand in tears.
No more th' aufpicious victim tamely dies,
But furious from the hallow'd fane he flies;
Breaks off the rites with prodigies prophane,
And bellowing feeks Emathia's fatal plain:
U 4
But who, O Cæfar! who were then thy gods? Whom didst thou fummon from their dark abodes? The Furies liften'd to thy grateful vows,
And dreadful to the day the powers of hell arofe. 260
Did then the monsters, fame records, appear?
Or were they only phantoms form'd by fear?
Some faw the moving mountains meet like foes,
And rending earth new gaping caves disclose.
Others beheld a fanguine torrent take
Its purple course, through fair Bobeïs' lake;
Heard each returning night, portentous, yield
Loud fhouts of battle on Pharfalia's field.
While others thought they saw the light decay,
And fudden shades opprefs the fainting day ;
Fancy'd wild horrors in each other's face,
And faw the ghofts of all their bury'd race;
Beheld them rife and glare with pale affright,
And stalk around them, in the new-made night.
Whate'er the cause, the croud, by fate decreed,
To make their brothers, fons, and fathers bleed,
Confenting, to the prodigies agreed;
And, while they thirst impatient for that blood,
Bless these nefarious omens all as good.
But wherefore should we wonder, to behold That death's approach by madness was foretold? Wild are the wandering thoughts which last survive; And these had not another day to live.
These fhook for what they faw; while distant climes, Unknowing, trembled for Emathia's crimes.
Where Tyrian Gades fees the fetting fun,
And where Araxes' rapid waters run,
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