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This day, my gallant friends, this happy day,
Shall the long labours of your arms repay ;

Shall give you back to every joy of life,
To the lov'd offspring and the tender wife
Shall find my veteran out a safe retreat,
And lodge his age within a peaceful feat.
The long dispute of guilt shall now be clear'd,
And conquest shall the juster cause reward.


me, with sword and fire laid waste
Your country's bleeding bosom, as you paft?
Let the saine swords as boldly strike to-day,
And the last wounds shall wipe the first away. 390
Whatever faction's partial notions are,
No hand is wholly innocent in war.
Yours is the cause to which my vows are join'd,
I seek to make you free, and masters of mankind.
I have no hopes, no wishes of my own,

But well could hide me in a private gown :
At my expence

of famè, exalt your powers,
Let me be nothing, so the world be yours.
Nor think the talk too bloody shall be found,
With easy glory hall our arms be crown’d:
Yon host come learn'd in academic rules,
A band of disputants from Grecian schools.
To these, luxurious eastern crouds are join'd,
Of many a tongue, and many a differing kind :
Their own first thouts shall fill each soul with fears,
And their own trumpets shook their tender ears. 406
Unjustly this, a civil war, we call,
Where none but foes of Rome, barbarians, fall,



On then, my friends! and end it at a blow;
Lay these soft, lazy, worthless nations low.

Shew Pompey, that subdued them, with what ease
Your valour gains such victories as these :
Shew him, if justice still the palm confers,
One triumph was too much for all his wars.
From distant Tigris shall Armenians come, 415
To judge between the citizens of Rome?
Will fierce barbarian aliens waste their blood,
To make the cause of Latian Pompey good ?
Believe me, no. To them we are all the same,
They hate alike the whole Ausonian Name;

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,
virtue I withhold too long;

My soul exults with hopes too fierce to bear,
I feel good fortune and the gods draw near.
All we can alk, with full consent they yield,
And nothing bars us but this narrow-field.
The battle o.'er, what boon can I deny?

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.
On my good sword securely I rely,
And, if I conquer not, am fure to die.
But oh! for you my anxious soul foresees,
Pompey shall copy Sylla's curlt decrees;

The Martian field shall blush with gore again,
And massacres once more the peaceful Septa stain.
Hear, oh! ye gods, who in Rome's strugglings share,
Who leave your heaven, to make our earth your care ;
Hear, and let him the happy victor live,
Who shall with mercy use the power you give ;

rage for slaughter with the war Shall cease, And spare his vanquish'd enemies in peace.




Nor is Dyrrhachium's fatal field forgot,
Nor what was then our brave companions lot; 470
When, by advantage of the straiter ground,
Successful Pompey compass’d us around ;
When quite difarm'd your useless valour ftood,
Till his fell sword was fatiated with blood.
But gentler hands, but nobler hearts you bear,
And, oh! remember 'tis your leader's prayer,
Whatever Roman flies' before you, spare.
But, while oppos'd and renacing they ftand,
Let no regard withhold the lifted hand :
Let friendship, kindred, all remorse, give place, 480
And mangling wounds deform the reverend face:
Still let resistance be repaid with blood,
And hoftile force by hostile force subdued ;
Stranger, or friend, whatever be the naine,
Your merit still, to Cæsar, is the same.

Fill then the trenches, break the jamparts round,
And let our works lie level with the ground;
So thall.no obstacles our march delay,
Nor-stop one moment our victorious way.
Nor spare your camp; this night we mean to lie 490
In that from whence the vanquish'd foe fhall fly.

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.



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