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While fortune, who his triumphs once beheld,
Nor, oh! do thou thy vanquish'd lot deplere, But fly with pleasure from those seas of gore : Look back upon the horror, guiltless thou, And pity Cæfar, for whose fake they flow. With what a heart, what triumph shall he come, 1005 A vićtor, red with Roman blood, to Rome? Though misery thy banishment attends, Though thou shalt die, by thy false Pharian friends; Yet trust securely to the choice of heaven, And know thy loss was for a blessing giv’n : Though flight may seem the warrior's shame and curse; To conquer, in a caule like this, is worfe.
And, oh! let every mark of grief be spar'd.
Larissa first the constant chief beheld,
Now in huge lakes Hesperian crimson stood,
The great patricians fall'n, his pity spar'd
you done to-day, for Cæfar's sake;
valour gain’d, and not my gift. Treasures immense yon wealthy tents enfold, The gems
of Asia, and Hesperian gold; For
you the once-great Pompey's store attends, 1060
He said ; and with the rage of rapine ftung,
1065 On swords, and spears, on fires and fons they tread, And all remorfeless spurn the gory
There, wealth collected from the world around,
But,' oh! not golden Arimaspus' store,
1086 And regal couches are by ruffians press’d : There impious parricides the bed invade, And fieep where late their flaughter'd fires were laid. Meanwhile the battle stands in dreams renew'd, And Stygian horrors o'er their flumbers brood. 1085 Astonishment and dread their souls infest, And guilt fits painful on each heaving breast. Arms, blood, and death, work in the labouring brain; They figh, they start, they strive, and fight it o’er again. Ascending fiends infect the air around,
1090. And hell breathes baleful through the groaning ground: Hence dire affright distracts the warriors souls, Vengeance divine their daring hearts controuls, Snakes hiss, and livid flame tormenting rolls. Each, as his hands in guilt have been imbrued, 1095 By some pale spectre flies all night pursued. In various forms the ghosts unnumber'd groan, The brother, friend, the father, and the son : To every wretch his proper phantom fell, While Cæfar sleeps the general care of hell. Such were his pangs as mad Orestes felt, Ere yet the Scythian altar purg'd his guilt. Such horrors Pentheus, such Agave knew; He when his rage first came, and íhe when her's withdrew.
Present and future swords his bosom bears,
1105 And feels the blow that Brutus now defers. Vengeance, in all her pomp of pain, attends ; To wheels the binds him, and with vultures rends, With racks of conscience, and with whips of fiends. But soon the visionary horrors pafs, And his first rage with day resumes its place : Again his eyes rejoice to view the lain, And run unweary'd o'er the dreadful plain. He bids his train prepare his impious board, And feasts amidst the heaps of death abhorr'd. IIIS There each pale face at leisure he may know, And still behold the purple current flow. He views the woeful wide horizon round, Then joys that earth is no where to be found, And owns, those gods he ferves, his utmost wish have
crown'd; Still greedy to possess the curs’d delight, To glut his soul, and gratify his sight, The last funereal honours he denies, And poisons with the stench Emathia's skies, Not thus the sworn inveterate foe of Rome, 1125 Refus’d the vanquish'd consul's bones a tomb : His piety the country round beheld, And bright with fires shone Canna's fatal field. But Cæsar's rage from fiercer motives rofe ; These were his countrymen, his worst of foes.
1130 But, oh! relent, forget thy hatred past, And give the wandering shades to rest at last. Nor seek we fingle honours for the dead, At once let nations on the pile be laid :