The cautious mariner relies on none,
But keeps him to the conftant pole alone.
When o'er the yard the leffer Bear aspires,
And from the topmaft gleam its paly fires,
Then Bofphorus near-neighbouring we explore,
And hear loud billows beat the Scythian fhore:
But when Califto's fhining fon defcends,
And the low Cynofure tow'rds ocean bends,
For Syria ftraight we know the veffel bears,
Where firft Canopos' fouthern fign appears.
If ftill upon the left those stars thou keep,
And, paffing Pharos, plow the foamy deep,
Then right a-head thy luckless bark fhall reach
The Libyan fhoals, and Syrts unfaithful beach, 40
But fay, for lo! on thee attends my hand,
What course doft thou affign? what feas, what
Speak, and the helm shall turn at thy command.
To him the chief, by doubts uncertain toft;
Oh, fly the Latian and Theffalian coast:
Those only lands avoid. For all befide,
Yield to the driving winds, and rolling tide;
Let fortune, where the please, a port provide.
Till Lefbos did my deareft pledge restore,
That thought determin'd me to seek that shore:
All ports, all regions, but thofe fatal two,
Are equal to unhappy Pompey now.
Scarce had he spoke, when ftraight the mafter veer'd,
And right for Chios, and for Asia steer'd.
The working waves the courfe inverted feel,
And dash and foam beneath the winding keel.
With art like this, on rapid chariots borne,
Around the column fkilful racers turn:
The nether wheels bear nicely on the goal,
The farther, wide, in diftant circles roll.
Now day's bright beams the various earth disclose, And o'er the fading ftars the fun arofe; When Pompey gathering to his fide beheld The fcatter'd relicks of Pharfalia's field.
First from the Lesbian isle his son drew near,
And foon a troop of faithful chiefs appear.
Nor purple princes, yet, difdain to wait
On vanquish'd Pompey's humbler low estate.
Proud monarchs, who in eaftern kingdoms reign,
Mix in the great illuftrious exile's train.
From thefe, apart, Deiotarus he draws,
The long-approv'd companion of his cause:
Thou beft (he cries) of all my royal friends!
Since with our lofs Rome's power and empire ends;
What yet remains, but that we call from far
The eastern nations, to fupport the war!
Euphrates has not own'd proud Cæfar's fide,
And Tigris tolls a yet unconquer'd tide.
Let it not grieve thee, then, to seek for aid
From the wild Scythian, and remotest Mede.
To Parthia's monarch my diftrefs declare,
And at his throne speak this my humble prayer.
If faith in ancient leagues is to be found,
Leagues by our altars and your Magi bound,
Now ftring the Getic and Armenian bow,
And in full quivers feather'd fhafts beftow.
If when o'er Cafpian hills my troops I led,
"Gainft Allans, in eternal warfare bred,
I fought not once to make your Parthians yield,
But left them free to range the Perfian field.
Beyond th' Affyrian bounds my eagles flew,
And conquer'd realms, that Cyrus never knew;
Ev'n to the utmost east I urg'd my way,
And ere the Perfian, faw the rising day :
Yet while beneath my yoke the nations bend,
I fought the Parthian only as my friend.
Yet more; when Carre blush'd with Craffus' blood,
And Latium her fevereft vengeance vow'd;
When war with Parthia was the common cry,
Who ftop'd the fury of that rage, but I?
If this be true, through Zeugma take your way,
Nor let Euphrates' ftream the march delay;
In gratitude, to my affistance come;
Fight Pompey's caufe, and conquer willing Rome.
He faid; the monarch chearfully obey'd,
And straight aside his royal robes he laid;
Then bid his flaves their humbler vestments bring:
And in that fervile veil conceals the king,
Thus majesty gives its proud trappings o'er,
And humbly feeks for fafety from the poor.
The poor, who no difguifes need, nor wear;
Unbleft with greatness, and unvex'd with fear.
His princely friend now fafe convey'd to land,
The chief o'erpafs'd the fam'd Ephesian strand,
Icaria's rocks, with Colophon's smooth deep,
And foamy cliffs with rugged Samos keep.
From Coan fhores foft breathes the western wind,
And Rhodes and Gnidos foon are left behind.
Then croing o'er Telmeffos' ample bay,
Right to Pamphilia's coaft he cuts his way.
Sulpicious of the land, he keeps the main,
Till poor
Phafelis, firft, receives his wandering train.
There, free from fears, with ease he may command
Her citizens, fcarce equal to his band.
Nor lingering there, his fwelling fails are spread, 325
Till he difcerns proud Taurus' rifing head:
A mighty mafs he ftands, while down his fide
Defcending Dipfas rolls his headlong tide.
In a flight bark he runs fecurely o'er
The pirates once-infested dreadful shore.
Ah! when he fet the watery empire free,
And fwept the fierce Cilician from the fea,
Could the fuccefsful warrior have forethought
'Twas for his future fafety, then, he fought!
At length the gathering fathers of the ftate,
In full affembly, on their leader wait:
Within Syedra's walls their fenate meets,
Whom, fighing, thus th' illuftrious exile greets.
My friends! who with me fought, who with me fled,
And now are to me in my country's ftead;
Though quite defenceless and unarm'd we stand,
On this Cilician, naked, foreign strand;
Though every mark of fortune's wrath we bear,
And feem to feek for counfel in despair;
Preferve your fouls undaunted, free, and great,
And know I am not fall'n intirely, yet,
Spite of the ruins of Emathia's plain,
Yet can I rear my drooping head again.
From Afric's dust abandon'd Marius rofe,
To feize the Fafces, and infult his foes.
My lofs is lighter, lefs is my difgrace;
Shall I defpair to reach my former place?
Still on the Grecian feas my navies ride,
And many a valiant leader owns my fide.
All that Pharfalia's lucklefs field could do,
Was to disperse my forces, not subdue.
Still fafe beneath my former fame I stand,
Dear to the world, and lov'd in every land.
'Tis yours
to counsel and determine, whom
We shall apply to, in the cause of Rome;
What faithful friend may beft affiftance bring;
The Libyan, Parthian, or Egyptian king.
What most diflike me in the Pharian prince,
For me, what course my thoughts incline to take,
Here freely, and at large, I mean to speak.
Are his raw years, and yet unpractis'd sense:
Virtue, in youth, no ftable footing finds,
And conftancy is built on manly minds.
Nor, with lefs danger, may our truft explore
The faith uncertain of the crafty Moor:
From Carthaginian blood he draws his race,
Still mindful of the vanquish'd town's difgrace;
From thence Numidian mifchiefs he derives,
And Hannibal in his falfe heart furvives:
With pride he faw fubmiffive Varus bow,
And joys to hear the Roman power lies low.
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