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Where-e'er his fear explores untrodden ways, 15
His well-known visage still his flight betrays.
Many he meets unknowing of his chance,
Whose gathering forces to his aid advance.
With gaze astonish'd, these their chief behold,
And scarce believe what by himself is told.
In vain, to overt, from the world he Aies,
Fortune still grieves him with pursuing eyes :
Still aggravates, still urges his disgrace,
And gails him with the thoughts of what he was.
His youthful triumph sadly now returns,
His Pontic and piratic wars he mourns,
While ftung with secret shame and anxious care he
Thus age to forrows oft the great betrays,
When loss of empire comes with length of days.
Life and enjoyment ftill' one end shall have,
Left early misery prevent the grave,
The good, that lasts not, was in vain bestow'd,
And ease once past becomes the present load :
Then let the wise, in fortune's kindest hour, 35
Still keep one safe retreat within his power ;
Let death be near, to guard him from surprize,
And free him, when the fickle goddess flies.
Now to those shores the hapless Pompey came,
Where hoary Peneus rolls his ancient stream :
Red with Emathian slaughter ran his flood,
And dy'd the ocean deep in Roman blood.
There a poor bark, whose keel perhaps might glide
Safe down some river's smooth defcending tide,
Receiv'd the mighty master of the main,
Whose spreading navies hide the liquid plain. 45
In this he braves the winds and stormy fea,
And to the Lesbian isle directs his way.
There the kind partner of his every care,
His faithful, lov'd Cornelia, languish'd there :
At that fad distance more unhappy far,
Than in the midst of danger, death, and war.
There on her heart, ev'n all the live-long day,
Foreboding thought a weary burden lay :
Sad visions haunt her slumbers with affright,
And Theffaly returns with every night,
Soon as the ruddy morning paints the skies,
Swift to the shore the pensive mourner flies ;
There, lonely sitting on the cliff's bleak brow,
Her fight she fixes on the seas below;
Attentive marks the wide horizon's bound,
And kens each sail that rises in the round:
Thick beats her heart, as every prow draws near,
And dreads the fortunes of her lord to hear.
At length, behold! the fatal bark is come!
See! the fwoln canvas labouring with her doom.
Preventing fame, misfortune lends him wings,
And Pompey's self his own sad story brings.
Now bid thy eyes, thou loft Cornelia, flow,
And change thy fears to certain sorrows, now.
Swift glides the woeful veílel on to land;
Forth flies the headlong matron to the strand.
There soon she found what worst the gods could do,
There foon her dear much-alter'd lord she knew;
Though fearful all and ghastly was his hue.
Rude, o'er his face, his hoary locks were grown, 75
And duft was cast upon his Roman gown.
She faw, and, fainting, funk in fudden night;
Grief stopp'd her breath, and shut out loathsome light :
The loosening nerves no more their force exert,
And motion ceas'd' within the freezing heart;
Death kindly seein'd her wishes to obey,
And, stretch'd upon the beach, a corse The lay.
But now the mariners the vessel moor,
And Pompey, landing, views the lonely shore.
The faithful maids their loud lamentings ceas'd,
And reverendly their ruder grief suppress’d.
Straight, while with doteous care they kneel around,
And 1 aise their wretched mistress from the ground,
Her lord infolds her with a strict embrace,
And joins his cheek close to her lifelefs face :
At the known touch, her failing sense returns,
And vital warmth in kindling blushes burns.
At length, from virtue thus he seeks relief,
And kindly chides her violence of grief :
94 Canst thou then fink, thou daughter of the great, Sprung from the noblest guardians of our state; Canit thou thus yield to the first shock of fate ? Whatever deathless monuments of praise Thy sex can merit, 'tis in thee to raife. On man alone life's ruder trials wait, 'The fields of battle, and the cares of state ; While the wife's virtue then is only try'd, When faithless fortune quits her husband's fide. Arni then thy soul, the glorious task to prove, And learn, thy miserable lord to love.
Behold me of my power
By all my kings, and by Rome's fathers left:
Oh make that loss thy glory; and be thou
The only follower of Pompey now.
This grief becomes thee not, while I survive ;
War wounds not thee, since I am still alive :
These tears a dying husband should deplore,
And only fall when Pompey is no more.
'Tis true, my former greatness all is lost;
Who weep for that, no love for me can boast,
But mourn the loss of what they valued most.
Mov'd at her lord's reproof, the matron rose;
Yet, still coinplaining, thus avow'd her woes :
Ah! wherefore was I not much rather led, A fatal bride, to Cæsar's hated bed ? To thee unlucky, and a curse, I came, Unblest by yellow Hymen's holy flame: My bleeding Crassus, and his fire, stood by, And fell Erynnis shook her torch on high. My fate on thee the Parthian vengeance draws, 125 And urges heaven to hate the juster cause. Ah! my once greatest lord ! ah! cruel hour! Is thy victorious head in fortune's power? Since miseries my baneful love pursue, Why did I wed thee, only to undo?
130 But see, to death my willing neck I bow; Atone the angry gods by one kind blow. Long since, for thee, my life I would have given; Yet, let me, yet prevent the wrath of heaven.
Kill me, and scatter me upon the sea,
So shall propitious tides thy fleets convey,
Thy kings be faithful, and the world obey.
And thou, where-e'er thy fullen phantom flies,
Oh! Julia ! let thy rival's blood suffice;
Let me the rage of jealous vengeance bear, 14"
But him, thy lord, thy once-lov'd Pompey spare.
She said, and sunk within his arms again ;
In streams of sorrow melt the mournful train :
Ev’n his, the warrior's eyes, were forc’d to yield,
That saw, without a tear, Pharsalia's field. 145
Now to the strand the Mitylenians press’d, And humbly thus bespoke their noble guest :
If, to succeeding times, our ille shall boast The pledge of Pompey left upon her coaft, Disdain not, if thy presence now we claim, 150 And fain would consecrate our walls to fame. Make thou this place in future story great, Where pious Romans may direct their feet, "To view with adoration thy retreat. This may we plead, in favour of the town; 155 That, while mankind the prosperous victor own, Already, Cæsar's foes avow'd, are we, Nor add new guilt, by duty paid to thee. Some safety too our ambient seas secure; Cæsar wants ships, and we defy his power. Here may Rome's scatter'd fathers well unite And arm against a second happier fight. Our Lesbian youth with ready courage stands, To man thy navies, or recruit thy bands.