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This day, my gallant friends, this happy day,
me, with sword and fire laid waste
of famè, exalt your powers,
On then, my friends! and end it at a blow;
420 But most those haughty masters whom they know, Who taught their servile vanquish'd necks to bow. Mean-while, as round my joyful eyes are roll'd, None but my try'd companions I behold; For years in Gaul we made our hard abode,
425 And many a march in partnership have trod. Is there a soldier to your chief unknown ? A sword, to whom I trust not, like my own? Could I not mark each javelin in the sky, And say from whom the fatal weapons fly? Ev'n now I view auspicious furies rise, And rage redoubled flashes in your eyes. With joy those omens of success J read, And see the certain victory decreed ; I see the purple deluge float the plain,
435 Huge piles of carnage, nations of the plain : Dead chiefs, with mangled monarchs, I furvey, And the pale senate crowns the glorious day.
But, oh! forgive my tedious lavish tongue,
445 The treasures of the world before you lie. Oh Theffaly! what stars, what powers divine, To thy distinguish'd land this great event affign? Between extremes, to-day our fortune lies, The vilest punishment, and noblest prize.
450 Consider well the captive's lost estate, Chains, racks, and crosses, for the vanquish'd wast. My limbs are each allotted to its place, And my pale head the Roftrum's height shall grace: But that 's a thought. unworthy Cæsar's care, 455 More for
friends than for myself I fear.
rage for slaughter with the war Shall cease, And spare his vanquish'd enemies in peace.
Nor is Dyrrhachium's fatal field forgot,
Scarce had he spoke, when, sudden at the word, They seize the lance, and draw the shining sword: At once the turfy fences all lie waste, And through the breach the crouding legions haste; 495 Regardless all of order and array They land, and trust to fate alone the day. Each had propos d an empire to be won, Had each once known a Pompey for his son ;
Had Cæsar's soul inform'd each private breast,
500 A fiercer fury could not be express’d.
With sad presages, Pompey, now, beheld His foes advancing o'er the neighbouring field : He saw the gods had fix'd the day of fate, And felt his heari hang heavy with new weight. 505 Dire is the omen when the valiant fear, Which yet he strove to hide, with well-dissembled cheer. High on his warrior steed, the chief o'erran The wide array, and thus at length began :
The time to ease your groaning country's pain, 510. Which long your eager valour sought in vain ; The great deciding hour at length is come, To end the strivings of distracted Rome : For this one last effort exert your power, Strike home to day, and all your
toils are o'er.
515 If. the dear pledges of connubial love, Your houshold-gods, and Rome, your souls can move, Hither by fate they seem together brought, And for that prize, to-day, the battle shall be fought. Let none the favouring gods assistance fear; They always make the juster cause their care. The flying dart to Cætar shall they guide, And point the sword at his devoted fide : Our injur'd laws shall be on him made good, And liberty establish'd his ood.
$25 Could heaven, in violence of wrath, ordain The world to groan beneath a tyrant's reign, It had not spar'd your Pompey's head so long, Nor lengthen’d out my age to see the wrong.