Nigh weary now, the waves inftru&t him well,

To feize th' advantage of th' alternate swell :
Borne on the mounting furge, to shore he flies,
And on the beach in safety lands his prize.
There o'er the dead he hangs with tender care,
And drops in every gaping wound a tear:
Then, lifting to the gloomy fkies his head,
Thus to the stars, and cruel gods, he pray'd:
See, fortune! where thy Pompey lies! and oh!
In pity, one, laft little boon bestow.

He asks no heaps of frankincense to rife,

No eastern odours to perfume the skies;

No Roman necks his patriot corfe to bear,
No reverend train of ftatues to appear;

No pageant shows his glories to record,

985

990

905

And tell the triumphs of his conquering sword; 1000 No inftruments in plaintive notes to found.

No legions fad to march in folemn round;

A bier, no better than the vulgar need,
A little wood the kindling flame to feed,
With fome poor hand to tend the homely fire,
Is all, thefe wretched relicks now require.
Your wrath, ye powers! Cornelia's hand denies;
Let that, for every other lofs. fuffice;

She takes not her last leave, she weeps not here,
And yet she is, ye gods! fhe is too near.

1005

ΠΟΙΟ

Thus while he spoke, he saw where through the fhade A flender flame its gleaming light display'd; There, as it chanc'd, abandon'd and unmourn'd, A poor neglected body lonely burn'd.

He

He feiz'd the kindled brands; and oh! (he faid) 1015
Whoe'er thou art, forgive me, friendless shade;
And though unpity'd and forlorn thou lie,
Thyfelf a better office fhalt supply.

If there be fenfe in fouls departed, thine
To my great leader fhall her rites refign:

1020

With humble joy fhall quit her meaner claim,
And blush to burn, when Pompey wants the flame.
He faid; and, gathering in his garment, bore
The glowing fragments to the neighbouring fhore.
There foon arriv'd, the noble trunk he found,
Half wash'd into the flood, half refting on the ground.

1025

With diligence his hands a trench prepare,

Fit it around, and place the body there.

No cloven oaks in lofty order lie,

To lift the great patrician to the sky :

1030

By chance a few poor planks were hard at hand,
By fome late fhipwreck caft upon the strand;
Thefe pious Cordus gathers where they lay,
And plants about the chief, as best he may.

Now while the blaze began to rife around,
The youth fat mournful by upon the ground:
And ah (he cry'd) if this unworthy flame
Difgrace thy great, majestic, Roman name;
If the rude outrage of the ftormy feas

Seem better to thy ghoft, than rites like thefe;
Yet let thy injur'd fhade the wrong forget,
Which duty and officious zeal commit.
Fate feems itself, in my excufe to plead,
And thy hard fortune juftifies my deed,

1035

1040

I

I only wish'd, nor is that wifh in vain,

1045

To fave thee from the monfters of the main;
From vultures claws, from lions that devour,
From mortal malice, and from Cæfar's power.

No longer, then, this humbler flame withstand; "Tis lighted to thee by a Roman hand.

1050

If e'er the god's permit unhappy me,

Once more, thy lov'd Hefperian land to see,
With me thy exil'd afhes fhall return,

And chafte Cornelia give thee to thy urn.

Mean-while, a fignal shall thy care provide,
Some future Roman votary to guide;

1055

When with due rites thy fate he would deplore,
And thy pale head to these thy limbs reftore :
Then fhall he mark the witness of my stone,
And, taught by me, thy facred ghost atone.

1060

He spoke; and straight, with bufy, pious hands,
Heap'd on the fmoaking corfe the scatter'd brands,
Slow funk amidst the fire the wasting dead,
And the faint flame with dropping marrow fed.
Now 'gan the glittering stars to fade away,
Before the rofy promife of the day,

1065

When the pale youth th' unfinish'd rites forfook,
And to the covert of his cave betook,

Ah! why thus rafhly would thy fears disclaim
That only deed, which muft record thy name?
Ev'n Cæfar's felf fhall juft applause bestow,
And praise the Roman that inters his foe.
Securely tell him where his fon is laid,
And he fhall give thee back his mangled head.

1070

But

But foon behold the bolder youth returns, While, half confum'd, the smouldering carcafe burns;

Ere yet the cleanfing fire had melted down

The fleshy muscles, from the firmer bone.

1075

1080

1085

}

1090

He quench'd the relics in the briny wave,
And hid them, hafty, in a narrow grave :
Then with a ftone the facred duft he binds,
To guard it from the breath of scattering winds :
And left fome heedlefs mariner fhould come,
And violate the warrior's humble tomb;
Thus with a line the monument he keeps,
"Beneath this stone the once great Pompey fleeps."
Oh fortune! can thy malice fwell fo high?
Canft thou with Cæfar's every with comply?
Muft he, thy Pompey once, thus meanly lie?
But oh! forbear, mistaken man, forbear!
Nor dare to fix the mighty Pompey there :
Where there are feas, or air, or earth, or fkies,
Where-e'er Rome's empire stretches, Pompey lies:
Far be the vile memorial then convey'd !
Nor let this ftone the partial gods upbraid.
Shall Hercules all Oeta's heights demand,
And Nyfa's hill, for Bacchus only, stand;
While one poor pebble is the warrior's doom,
That fought the cause of liberty and Rome?
If fate decrees he must in Ægypt lie,
Let the whole fertile realm his grave supply:
Yield the wide country to his awful shade,
Nor let us bear on any part to tread,
Fearful to violate the mighty dead.

1095,

1100

But

But if one ftone muft bear the facred name,
Let it be fill'd with long records of fame.
There let the passenger, with wonder, read,
The pirates vanquifh'd, and the ocean
freed ;
Sertorius taught to yield; the Alpine war;
And the young Roman knight's triumphal car.
With thefe, the mighty Pontic king be plac'd,
And every nation of the vanquish'd east :

Tell with what loud applause of Rome, he drove
Thrice his glad wheels to Capitolian Jove :
Tell too, the patriot's greateft, best renown,
Tell, how the victor laid his empire down,
And chang'd his armour for the peaceful gown.
But ah! what marbles to the task fuffice!
Inftead of these, turn, Roman, turn thy eyes;
Seek the known name our Fafti us'd to wear,
The noble mark of many a glorious year;
The name that wont the trophy'd arch to grace,
And ev'n the temples of the gods found place :
Decline thee lowly, bending to the ground,

And there that name, that Pompey may be found. 1125
Oh fatal land! what curfe can I bestow,

Equal to thofe, we to thy mifchiefs owe?
Well did the wife Cumaan maid of yore
Warn our Hefperian chiefs to fhun thy fhore.

Forbid, juft heavens! your dews to blefs the foil, 1130

And thou withhold thy waters, fruitful Nile!
Like Ægypt, like the land of Æthiops, burn,
And her fat earth to fandy deferts turn.
Have we, with honours, dead Ofiris crown'd,
And mourn'd him to the tinkling timbrel's found;

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