To warlike Parthia therefore let us turn,
Where stars unknown in diftant azure burn;
Where Cafpian hills to part the world arife,
And night and day fucceed in other skies ;
Where rich Affyrian plains Euphrates laves,
And feas difcolour'd roll their ruddy waves.
Ambition, there, delights in arms to reign,
There rushing fquadrons thunder o'er the plain;
There young and old the bow promifcuous bend, 385
And fatal fhafts with aim unerring fend.
They first the Macedonian phalanx broke,
And hand to hand repell'd the Grecian stroke;
They drove the Mede and Bactrian from the field,
And taught afpiring Babylon to yield;`
Fearless against the Roman pile they ftood,
And triumph'd in our vanquifh'd Craffus' blood.
Nor trust they to the points of piercing darts,
But furnish death with new improving arts,
In mortal juices dipt their arrows fly,
And if they taste the blood, the wounded die.
Too well their powers and favouring gods we know,
And with our fate much rather would allow
Some other aid against the common foe.
With unaufpicious fuccour fhall they come,
Nurs'd in the hate and rivalíhip of Rome.
With thefe, the neighbouring nations round shall arm,
And the whole eaft rouze at the dire alarm.
Should the barbarian race their aid deny,
Yet would I choofe in that ftrange land to die : 405
There let our fhipwreck'd poor remains be thrown,
Our lofs forgotten, and our names unknown:
Securely there ill-fortune would I brave,
Nor meanly fue to kings, whofe crowns I gave:
From Cæfar free, enjoy my latest hour,
And fcorn his anger's and his mercy's pow'r.
Still, when my thoughts my former days reftore,
With joy, methinks, I run thofe regions o'er;
There, much the better parts of life I prov'd,
Rever'd by all, applauded, and belov'd;
Wide o'er Mæotis fpread my happy name,
And Tanaïs ran confcious of my fame;
My vanquish'd enemies my conquests mourn'd,
And cover'd ftill with laurels, I return'd.
Approve then, Rome, my prefent cares for thee; 420
Thine is the gain, whate'er the event shall be.
What greater boon canft thou from heaven demand, -
Than in thy caufe to arm the Parthian's hand?
Barbarians thus fhall wage thy civil war,
And thofe that hate thee, in thy ruin fhare.
When Cæfar and Phraates battle join,
They must revenge, or Craffus' wrongs, or mine.
The leader ceas'd; and straight a murmuring found
Ran through the difapproving fathers round.
With thefe, in high pre-eminence, there fate
Diftinguifh'd Lentulus, the conful late :
None with more generous indignation stung,
Or nobler grief, beheld his country's wrong..
Sudden he rofe, rever'd, and thus began,
In words that well became the fubject, and the man :-
Can then Pharfalia's ruins thus control
The former greatness of thy Roman foul ?./
Muft the whole world, our laws and country, yield
To one unlucky day, one ill-fought field ?
Haft thou no hopes of fuccour, no retreat,
But mean proftration at the Parthian's feet?
Art thou grown weary of our earth and sky,
That thus thou feek'ft a fugitive to fly;
New ftars to view, new regions to explore,
To learn new manners, and new gods adore?
Wilt thou before Chaldean altars bend,
Worship their fires, and on their kings depend?
Why didft thou draw the world to arms around,
Why cheat mankind with liberty's sweet found?
Why on Emathia's plain fierce Cæsar brave,
When thou canst yield thyself a tyrant's flave?
Shall Parthia, who with terror shook from far,
To hear thee nam'd, to head the Roman war,
Who faw thee lead proud monarchs in thy chain,
From wild Hyrcania and the Indian main;
Shall fhe, that very Parthia, fee thee now,
A poor, dejected, humble fuppliant bow?
Then haughtily with Rome her greatnefs mate,
And fcorn thy country, for thy groveling fate?
Thy tongue, in eastern languages untaught,
Shall want the words that should explain thy thought:
Tears, then, unmanly, muft thy fuit declare;
And fuppliant hands, uplifted, fpeak thy prayer.
Shall Parthia (fhall it to our fhame be known)
Revenge Rome's wrongs, ere Rome revenge her own?
Our war no interfering kings demands,
Nor fhall be trufted to barbarian hands :
Among ourselves our bonds we will deplore,
And Rome fhall ferve the rebel fon fhe bore.
Why would't thou bid our foes trangrefs their bound,
And teach their feet to tread Hefperian ground?
With enfigns, torn from Craffus, fhall they come,
And, with his ravifh'd honours, threaten Rome;
His fate thofe blood-ftain'd eagles fhall recall,
And hover dreadful o'er their native wall.
Canft thou believe the monarch, who withheld
His only forces from Emathia's field,
Will bring his fuccours to thy waining state,
And bravely now defy the victor's hate?
No eastern courage forms a thought fo great.
In cold laborious climes the wintery north
Brings her undaunted hardy wariors forth,
In body and in mind untaught to yield,
Stubborn of foul, and fteady in the field;
While Afia's fofter climate, form'd to please,
Diffolves her fons in infolence and ease.
Here filken robes inveft unmanly limbs,
And in long trains the flowing purple streams.
Where no rude hills Sarmatia's wilds restrain,
Or rushing Tigris cuts the level plain,
Swifter than winds along the champian borne,
At liberty they fly, or fight, or turn,
And, distant still, the vain purfuer scorn.
Nor with like eafe they force their warlike way,
Where rough unequal grounds their speed delay. 495
Whene'er the thicker fhades of night arife,
Unaim'd the shaft, and unavailing, flies.
Nor are they form'd with conftancy to meet
Those toils, that make the panting foldier sweat :
To climb the heights, to ftem the rapid flood,
To make the dufty noon-day battle good,
Horrid with wounds, and crusted o'er in blood.
Nor war's machines they know, nor have the skill
To shake the rampire, or the trench to fill :
Each fence that can their winged shafts endure,
Stands, like a fort impregnable, fecure.
Light are their skirmishes, their war is flight,
And ftill to wheel their wavering troops delight.
To taint their coward darts, is all their care,
And then to trust them to the flitting air.
Whene'er their bows have spent the feather'd store,
The mighty business of their war is o'er :
No manly ftrokes they try, nor hand to hand
With cleaving fwords in sturdy combate stand.
With fwords the valiant ftill their foes invade;
Thefe call in drugs and poifon to their aid.
Are there the powers to whom thou bidft us fly?
Is this the land in which thy bones would lie?
Shall these barbarian hands for thee provide
The grave, to thy unhappy friend deny'd?
But be it fo! that death fhall bring thee peace,
That here thy forrows and thy toils fhall cease.
Death is what man fhould wish. But, oh! what fate
Shall on thy wife, thy fad furvivor, wait!
For her, where luft with lawlefs empire reigns,
Somewhat more terrible than death remains.
Have we not heard, with what abhorr'd defires
The Parthian Venus feeds her guilty fires?
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