Shall at old doting Numa's laws repine,
Who could to fuch bleak wilds his Latine rites affign.
Ev'n now behold! where waste Hesperia lies,
Where empty cities shock our mournful eyes;
Untouch'd by time, our infamy they stand,
The marks of civil difcord's murderous hand.
How is the stock of human-kind brought low!
Walls want inhabitants, and hands the plow.
Our fathers fertile fields by slaves are till`d,
And Rome with dregs of foreign lands is fill'd:
Such were the heaps, the millions of the flain,
As 'twere the purpose of Emathia's plain,
That none for future mifchiefs fhould remain.
Well may our annals lefs misfortunes yield,
Mark Allia's flood, and Canna's fatal field;
But let Pharfalia's day be ftill forgot,
Be ras'd at once from every Roman thought.
'Twas there, that fortune, in her pride, difplay'd
The greatness her own mighty hands had made;
Forth in array the powers of Rome she drew,
And fet her subject nations all to view;
As if the meant to fhew the haughty queen,
Ev'n by her ruins, what her height had been.
Oh countless lofs! that well might have supply'd
The defolation of all deaths befide.
Though famine with blue peftilence confpire,
And dreadful earthquakes with destroying fire;
Pharfalia's blood the gaping wounds had join'd,
And built again the ruins of mankind.
Immortal gods! with what refiftless force,
Our growing empire ran its rapid course!
Still every year with new fuccefs was crown'd,
And conquering chiefs enlarge the Latian bound;
Till Rome stood mistress of the world confefs'd,
From the gray orient, to the ruddy weft;
From pole to pole, her wide dominions run,
Where-e'er the ftars, or brighter Phoebus fhone;
As heaven and earth were made for her alone.
But now, behold, how fortune tears away
The gift of ages in one fatal day!
One day shakes off the vanquish'd Indians chain,
And turns the wandering Däx loose again :
No longer fhall the victor conful now
Trace our Sarmatian cities with the plow:
Exulting Parthia shall her flaughters boast,
Nor feel the vengeance due to Crafsus' ghost.
While liberty, long wearied by our crimes,
Forfakes us for fome better barbarous climes;
Beyond the Rhine and Tanaïs she flies,
To fnowy mountains, and to frozen skies;
While Rome, who long pursued that chiefest good,
O'er fields of flaughter, and through seas of blood,
In slavery, her abject state shall mourn,
Nor dare to hope the goddess will return.
Why were we ever free? Oh why has heaven
A fhort-liv'd tranfitory bleffing given?
Of thee, first Brutus, juftly we complain!
Why didst thou break thy groaning country's chain,
And end the proud lascivious tyrant's reign?
Why did thy patriot hand on Rome bestow
Laws, and her confuls righteous rule to know?
In fervitude more happy had we been,
Since Romulus first wall'd his refuge in,
Ev'n fince the twice fix vulturs bad him build,
To this curst period of Pharfalia's field.
Medes and Arabians of the flavish Eaft
Beneath eternal bondage may be blest ;
While, of a differing mold and nature, we,
From fire to fon accuftom'd to be free,
Feel indignation rising in our blood,
And blush to wear the chains that make them proud. Can there be gods, who rule yon azure sky?
Can they behold Emathia from on high, forbear to bid their lightnings fly?
Is it the business of a thundering Jove,
To rive the rocks, and blaft the guiltlefs grove?
While Caffius holds the balance in his ftead,
And wreaks due vengeance on the tyrant's head.
The fun ran back from Atreus' monftrous feast,
And his fair beams in murky clouds fupprefs'd; 670
Why shines he now? why lends his golden light
To these worse parricides, this more accurfed fight?
But chance guides all; the gods their task forego,
And providence no longer reigns below.
Yet are they just, and some revenge afford
While their own heavens are humbled by the fword,
And the proud victors, like themselves, ador'd:
With rays adorn'd, with thunders arm'd they stand,
And incenfe, prayers, and facrifice demand;
While, trembling, flavifh, fuperftitious Rome,
Swears by a mortal wretch, that moulders in a tomb.
Now either hoft the middle plain had pass'd, And front to front in threatening ranks were plac'd; Then every well known feature stood to view, Brothers their brothers, fons their fathers knew. 685 Then first they feel the curfe of civil hate, Mark where their mischiefs are affign'd by fate, And fee from whom themselves deftruction wait. Stupid awhile, and at a gaze, they stood, While creeping horror froze the lazy blood : Some small remains of piety withstand, And ftop the javelin in the lifted hand; Remorfe for one fhort moment ftep'd between, And motionlefs, as ftatues, all were seen. And oh what favage fury could engage, While lingering Cæfar yet fufpends his rage? For him, ye gods! for Craftinus, whose spear With impious eagernefs began the war, Some more than common punishment prepare ; Beyond the grave long lasting plagues ordain, Surviving fenfe, and never-ceafing pain. Straight, at the fatal fignal, all around A thousand fifes, a thousand clarions, found; Beyond where clouds, or glancing lightnings fly, The piercing clangors ftrike the vaulted sky. The joining battles fhout, and the loud peal Bounds from the hill, and thunders down the vale ; Old Pelion's caves the doubling roar return, And Oeta's rocks and groaning Pindus mourn; From pole to pole the tumult fpreads afar, And the world trembles at the diftant war.
Now fit the thrilling darts through liquid air,
And various vows from various matters bear:
Some feek the nobleft Roman heart to wound,
And some to err upon the guiltless ground;
While chance decrees the blood that shall be spilt,
And blindly scatters innocence and guilt.
But random fhafts too fcanty death afford,
A civil war is bufinefs for the fword:
Where face to face the parricides may meet,
Know whom they kill, and make the crime complete. Firm in the front, with joining bucklers clos'd,
Stood the Pompeian infantry difpos'd;
So crouded was the space, it scarce affords
The power to tofs their piles, or yield their swords. 725
Forward, thus thick embattled though they stand,
With headlong wrath rush furious Cæfar's band;
In vain the lifted fhield their rage retards,
Or plaited mail devoted bofoms guards;
Through fhields, through mail, the wounding weapons
And to the heart drive home each deadly blow;
Oh rage ill match'd! Oh much unequal war,
Which those wage proudly, and these tamely bear!
Thefe, by cold, ftupid piety disarm'd :
Thofe, by hot blood, and smoking slaughter warm'd. 735
Nor in fufpenfe uncertain fortune hung,
But yields, o'er-master'd by a power too strong,
And borne by fates impetuous ftream along.
From Pompey's ample wings, at length the horfe
Wide o'er the plain extending take their course;
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