Receiv'd her Ifis to divine abodes,

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And rank'd her dogs deform'd with Roman gods;
While, in defpite to Pompey's injur'd fhade,
Low in her duft his facred bones are laid!
And thou, oh Rome! by whofe forgetful hand
Altars and temples, rear'd to tyrants, stand,
Canst thou neglect to call thy hero home,
And leave his ghost in banishment to roam ?
What though the victor's frown, and thy base fear,
Bad thee, at firft, the pious task forbear ;

Yet now, at least, oh let him now return,
And reft with honour in a Roman urn.
Nor let mistaken fuperftition dread,

On fuch occafions, to difturb the dead:

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Oh! would commanding Rome my hand employ, 1150
The impious task should be perform'd with joy :
How would I fly to tear him from the tomb,
And bear his ashes in my bosom home!

Perhaps, when flames their dreadful ravage make,
Or groaning earth fhall from the center shake;
When blafting dews the rifing harvest seize,
Or nations ficken with fome dire difeafe:

The gods, in mercy to us, fhall command
To fetch our Pompey from th' accursed land.
Then, when his venerable bones draw near,
In long proceffions shall the priests appear,
And their great chief the facred relicks bear.
Or if thou still poffefs the Pharian shore,
What traveller but shall thy grave explore;
Whether he tread Syene's burning foil,
Or vifit fultry Thebes, or fruitful Nile :

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Or

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Or if the merchants drawn by hopes of gain,
Seek rich Arabia, and the ruddy main;
With holy rites thy fhade shall he atone,
And bow before thy venerable stone.
For who but shall prefer thy tomb above
The meaner fane of an Ægyptian Jove?
Nor envy thou, if abject Romans raise
Statues and temples, to their tyrant's praise ;
Though his proud name on altars may prefide, 1175
And thine be wash'd by every rolling tide;

Thy grave shall the vain pageantry despise,
Thy grave, where that great god, thy fortune, lies.
Ev'n those who kneel not to the gods above,
Nor offer facrifice or prayer to Jove,
To the Bidental bend their humble eyes,

And worship where the bury'd thunder lies.

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Perhaps fate wills, in honour to thy fame, No marble fhall record thy mighty name. So may thy duft, ere long, be worn away, And all remembrance of thy wrongs decay: Perhaps a better age fhall come, when none Shall think thee ever laid beneath this stone; When Ægypt's boast of Pompey's tomb fhall prove As unbeliev'd a tale, as Crete relates of Jove.

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LUCAN'S

LUCAN'S

PHARSALIA.

воок

IX.

THE ARGUMENT.

The poet having ended the foregoing book with the death of Pompey, begins this with his Apotheofis; from thence, after a fhort account of Cato's gathering up the relicks of the battle of Pharfalia, and tranfporting them to Cyrene in Africa, he goes on to defcribe Cornelia's paffion upon the death of her husband. Amongst other things, the informs his fon Sextus of his father's laft commands, to continue the war in defence of the commonwealth. Sextus fets fail for Cato's camp, where he meets his elder brother Cn. Pompeius, and acquaints him with the fate of their father. Upon this occafion the poet describes the rage of the elder Pompey, and the diforders that happened in the camp, both which Cato appeafes. To prevent any future inconvenience of this kind, he refolves to put them upon action, and in order to that to join with Juba. After a defcription of the Syrts, and their dangerous paffage by them, follows Cato's fpeech to encourage the foldiers to march through the deferts of Libya; then an account of Libya, the deferts, and their march. In the middle of which is a beautiful digreffion concerning the temple of Jupiter-Ammon, with Labienus's perfuafion to Cato to enquire of the oracle concerning the event of the war, and Cato's famous anfwer. From thence, after a warm elogy upon Cato, the author goes on to the account of the original of ferpents in Afric; and this, with the defcription of the various kinds, and the feveral deaths of

B b

the

the foldiers by them, is perhaps the most poetical part of this whole work. At Leptis he leaves Cato, and returns to Cæfar, whom he brings into Egypt, after having fhewn him the ruins of Troy, and from thence taken an occafion to speak well of poetry in general, and himself in particular. Cæfar, upon his arrival on the coaft of Egypt, is met by an ambassador from Ptolemy with Pompey's head. He receives the prefent (according to Lucan) with a feigned abhorrence, and concludes the book with tears, and a feeming grief for the misfortune of fo great a man.

N

OR in the dying embers of its pile
Slept the

great foul upon the banks of Nile,
Nor longer, by the earthy parts restrain'd,
Amidst its wretched reliques was detain'd;

But, active and impatient of delay,

Shot from the mouldering heap, and upwards urg'd its

way.

Far in thofe azure regions of the air

Which border on the rolling ftarry sphere,
Beyond our orb, and nearer to that height,
Where Cynthia drives around her filver light;
Their happy. feats the demi-gods poffefs,
Refin'd by virtue, and prepar'd for bliss ;
Of life unblam'd, a pure and pious race,
Worthy that lower heaven and stars to grace,
Divine, and equal to the glorious place.

ΤΟ

There Pompey's soul, adorn`d with heavenly light, 16 Soon fhone among the reft, and as the reft was bright. New to the bleft abode, with wonder fill'd,

The stars and moving planets he beheld;

5

Then

Then looking down on the fun's feeble ray,
Survey'd our dusky, faint, imperfect day,
And under what a cloud of night we lay.
But when he faw, how on the shore forlorn
His headless trunk was caft for public fcorn;
When he beheld, how envious fortune, ftill,
Took pains to use a fenfelefs carcafe ill,
He fmil'd at the vain malice of his foe,
And pity'd impotent mankind below,
Then lightly pafling o'er Emathia's plain,
His flying navy scatter'd on the main,

And cruel Cæfar's tents; he fix'd at last
His refidence in Brutus' facred breaft:

There brooding o'er his country's wrongs he fate,
The state's avenger, and the tyrant's fate;

25

30

40

There mournful Rome might ftill her Pompey find, 35
There, and in Cato's free unconquer'd mind.
He, while in deep fuspense the world yet lay,
Anxious and doubtful whom it should obey,
Hatred avow'd to Pompey's felf did bear,
Though his companion in the common war.
Though, by the fenate's juft command, they stood
Engag'd together for the public good;
But dread Pharfalia did all doubts decide,
And firmly fix'd him to the vanquish'd fide.
His helpleis country, like an orphan left,
Friendless and poor, of all support bereft,
He took and cherish'd with a father's care,
He comforted, he bad her not to fear;
And taught her feeble hands once more the trade

of war.

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Nor