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Soon as the landed on the friendly strand,
Her lord's last rites employ her pious hand;
To his dear fhade the builds a funeral pile,
And decks it proud with many a noble spoil.

There shone his arms with antic gold inlaid,
There the rich robes which she herself had made,
Robes to imperial Jove in triumph erst display'd :
The relicks of his past victorious days,
Now this his latest trophy serve to raise,
And in one common flame together blaze.
Such, was the weeping matron's pious care:
The soldiers, taught by her, their fires prepare ;
To every valiant friend a pile they build,
That fell for Rome in curs’d Pharfalia's field :

305 Stretch'd wide along the shores, the flames extend, And, grateful to the wandering ihades, afcend. So when Apulian hinds, with art, renew The wintery pastures to their verdant hue, That flowers may rise, and springing grass return, 310 With spreading flames the wither'd fields they burn, Garganus then and lofty Vultur blaze, And draw the distant wandering swains to gaze ; Far are the glittering fires descry'd by night, And gild the dusky skies around with light. 315

But, oh! not all the sorrows of the croud That spoke their free impatient thoughts aloud, That tax'd the gods, as authors of their woe, And charg'd them with neglect of things below; Not all the marks of the wild people's love,

320 The hero's soul, like Cato’s praise, could move; $90



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Few were his words, but from an honest heart,
Where faction and where favour had no part,
But truth made up for passion and for art.
We've lost a Roman citizen (he faid):

One of the noblest of that name is dead ;
Who, though not equal to our fathers found,
Nor by their strictest rules of justice bound,
Yet from his faults this benefit we draw,
He, for his country's good, transgress'd her law,
To keep a bold licentious age in awe.
Rome held her freedom ftill, though he was great;
He sway'd the fenate, but they rul'd the statę.
When crouds, were willing to have worn his chain,
He chose his private station to retain,
That all might free, and equal all remain.
War's boundless power he never sought to use,
Nor ask'd, but what the people might refuse :
Much he possess’d, and wealthy was his store,
Yet still he gather'd but to give the more,
And Rome, while he was rich, could ne'er be poor.
He drew the sword, but knew its rage to charm,
And lov'd peace beft, when he was forc'd to arm ;
Unmoy'd with all the glittering pomp of

power, He took with joy, but laid it down with more : 345 His chalter houshold and his frugal board, Nor lewdness did, nor luxury afford, Ev n in the highest fortunes of their lord. His noble name, his country's honour grown, Was venerably round the nations known, - And as Rome's fairelt light and brightest glory shone.



When betwixt Marius and fierce Sylla toft,
The commonwealth her ancient freedom lost,
Some shadow yet was left, some fhew of power ;
Now ev'n the name with Pompey is no more : 355
Senate and people all at once are gone,
Nor need the tyrant blush to mount the throne.
Oh, happy Pompey! happy in thy fate,
Happy by falling with the falling state,
Thy death a benefit the gods did grant,
Thon might'st have liv'd those Pharian swords to want.
Freedom, at least, thou dost by dying gain,
Nor liv'st to see thy Julia's father reign;
Free death is man's first bliss, the next is to be flain.
Such mercy only I from Juba crave,

365 (If Fortune should ordain me Juba's fave) To Cæfar let him shew, but shew me dead, And keep my carcafe, so he takes my head.

He said, and pleas’d the noble fhade below,
More than a thousand orators could do ;
Though Tully too had lent his charming tongue,
And Rome's full Forum with his praise had rung.

But discord now infects the sullen croud,
And now they tell their discontents aloud :
When Tarchon first his flying enligns bore, 375
Callid out to march, and haltend to the more ;
Him Cato thus, pursuing as he mov'd,
Sternly bespoke, and justly thus reprov’d:

Oh, restless author of the roving war,
Dost thou again piratic arms prepare ?
Pompey, thy terror and thy scourge, is gone,
*And now thow hop'st to rule the seas alone.





He said, and bent his frown upon the rest, Of whom one bolder thus the chief address'd, And thus their weariness of war confess d :

For Pompey's fake (nor thou disdain to hear) The Civil War we wage, these arms we bear ; Him we preferr'd to peace : but, Cato, now, That cause, that master of our arms lies low. Let us no more our absent country muurn, 390 But to our homes and houshold gods return; To the chaste arms from whose embrace we fled, And the dear pledges of the nuptial bed. For, oh! what period can the war attend, Which nor Pharfalia's field nor Pompey’s death can end? The better times of flying life are past, Let death come gently on in peace at laft. Let age at length with providential care The necessary pile and urn prepare, All rites the cruel Civil War denies,

-400 Part ev’n of Pompey yet unbury'd lies. Though vanquish d, yet by no barbarian hand, We fear not exile in a foreign land, Nor are our necks by fortune now bespoke, To bear the Scythian or Armenian yoke ;

- 405 The victor still a citizen we own, And yield obedience to the Roman gown. While Pompey liv’d, he bore the sovereign fway; Cæfar.was next, and him we now obey ; With reverence be the sacred shadle ador'd,

410 But war has given us now another lord : To Cæfar and superior chance we yield : All was determin'd in Emathia's field,



Nor shall our arms on other leaders wait,
Nor for uncertain hopes moleft the state,
We follow'd Pompey once, but now we follow Fate.
What terms, what safety, can we hope for now,
But what the victor's mercy shall allow ?
Once Pompey's presence justify'd the cause,
Then fought we for our liberties and laws;

With him the honours of that cause lie dead,
And all the sanctity of war is fled.
If, Cato, thou for Rome these arms doft bear,
If still thy country only be thy care,
Seek we the legions where Rome's. ensigns fly, 425
Where her proud eagles wave their wings on high :
No matter who to Pompey's power succeeds,
We follow where a Roman consul leads.

This faid, he leap'd aboard ; the youthful fort Join in his flight, and haste to leave the port ; 430 The senseless croud their liberty disdain, And long to wear victorious Cæsar's chain. Tyrannic power now sudden seem'd to threat The ancient glories of Rome's free-born state, Till Cato spoke, and thus deferr'd her fate :

Did then your vows and servile prayers conspire Nought but a haughty master to desire ? Did you, when eager for the battle, come The Naves of Pompey, not the friends of Rome? Now, weary of the toil, from war you fly, 440 And idly lay your useless armour by; Your hands neglect to wield the shining sword, Nor can you fight but for a king and lord,



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