Still urging on his pious cares, he strove
The sense of outward evils to remove;
And, by his presence, taught them to disdain
The feeble rage and impotence of pain.
But now, so many toils and dangers past,
Fortune grew kind, and brought relief at last.
Of all who scorching Afric's sun endure,
None like the swarthy Psyllians are secure.
Skill'd in the lore of powerful herbs and charms,
Them, nor the serpent's tooth, nor poison harms;
Nor do they thus in arts alone excel,
But nature too their blood has temper'd well,
And taught with vital force the venom to repel.
With healing gifts, and privileges grac'd,
Well in the land of serpents were they plac'd;
Truce with the dreadful tyrant, Death, they have,
And border safely on his realm, the grave.
Such is their confidence in true-born blood,
That oft with asps they prove their doubtful brood;
When wanton wives their jealous rage inflame,
The new-born infant clears or damns the dame;
If subject to the wrathful serpent's wound,
The mother's shame is by the danger found;
But if unhurt the fearless infant laugh,
The wife is honest, and the husband safe.
So when Jove's bird, on some tall cedar's head,
Has a new race of generous eaglets bred,
While yet unplum'd, within the nest they lie,
Wary she turns them to the eastern sky;
Then if, unequal to the god of day,
Abash'd they shrink, and shun the potent ray,
She spurns them forth, and casts them quite away:
But if with daring eyes unmov'd they gaze,
Withstand the light, and bear the golden blaze;
Tender she broods them with a parent's love,
The future servants of her master Jove.
Nor safe themselves, alone, the Psyllians are,
But to their guests extend their friendly care.
First, where the Roman camp is mark'd, around
Circling they pass, then chanting, charm the ground,
And chase the serpents with the mystic sound.
Beyond the farthest tents rich fires they build,
That healthy medicinal odours yield;
There foreign galbanum dissolving fries,
And crackling flames from humble wall-wort rise;
There tamarisk, which no green leaf adorns,
And there the spicy Syrian costus burns.
There centaury supplies the wholesome flame,
That from Thessalian Chiron takes its name;
The gummy larch-tree, and the thapsos there,
Wound-wort and maiden-weed perfume the air.
There the large branches of the long-liv'd hart,
With southern-wood, their odours strong impart.
The monsters of the land, the serpents fell,
Fly far away, and shun the hostile smell.
Securely thus they pass the nights away;
And if they chance to meet a wound by day,
The Psyllian artists straight their skill display.
Then strives the leach the power of charms to show,
And bravely combats with the deadly foe:
With spittle first, he marks the part around,
And keeps the poison prisoner in the wound;
Then sudden he begins the magic song,
And rolls the numbers hasty o'er his tongue;
Swift he runs on; nor pauses once for breath,
To stop the progress of approaching death:
He fears the cure might suffer by delay,
And life be lost but for a moments stay.
Thus oft, though deep within the veins it lies,
By magic numbers chas'd the mischief flies:
But if it hear too slow, if still it stay,
And scorn the potent charmer to obey;
With forceful lips he fastens on the wound,
Drains out, and spits the venom to the ground.
Thus, by long use and oft experience taught,
He knows from whence his hurt the patient got;
He proves the part through which the poison past,
And knows each various serpent by the taste.
The warriors thus reliev'd, amidst their pains,
Held on their passage through the desert plains:
And now the silver empress of the night
Had lost, and twice regain'd, her borrow'd light,
While Cato, wandering o'er the wasteful field,
Patient in all his labours, she beheld.
At length condens'd in clods the sands appear,
And show a better soil and country near:
Now from afar thin tufts of trees arise,
And scattering cottages delight their eyes.
But when the soldier once beheld again
The raging lion shake his horrid mane,
What hopes of better lands his soul possest!
What joys he felt, to view the dreadful beast!
Leptis at last they reach'd, that nearest lay,
There free from storms, and the Sun's parching ray,
At ease they pass'd the wintery year away.
When sated with the joys which slaughters yield, Retiring Cæsar left Emathia's field; His other cares laid by, he sought alone To trace the footsteps of his flying son. Led by the guidance of reporting fame, First to the Thracian Hellespont he came. Here young Leander perish'd in the flood, And here the tower of mournful Hero stood: Here, with a narrow stream, the flowing tide, Europe from wealthy Asia does divide. From hence the curious victor passing o'er, Admiring sought the fam'd Sigaan shore, There might he tombs of Grecian chiefs behold, Renown'd in sacred verse by bards of old. There the long ruins of the walls appear'd, Once by great Neptune, and Apollo, rear'd: There stood old Troy, a venerable name; For ever consecrate to deathless fame. Now blasted mossy trunks with branches scar,, Brambles and weeds, a loathsome forest rear; Where once, in palaces of regal state, Old Priam, and the Trojan princes, sat, Where temples once, on lofty columns borne, Majestic did the wealthy town adorn, All rude, all waste and desolate is laid, And even the ruin'd ruins are decay'd. Here Cæsar did each storied place survey, Here saw the rock, where, Neptune to obey, Hesione was bound the monster's prey. Here, in the covert of a secret grove, The blest Anchises clasp'd the queen of love: Here fair Oenone play'd, here stood the cave Where Paris once the fatal judgment gave; Here lovely Ganymede to Heaven was borne, Each rock, and every tree, recording tales adorn, Here all that does of Xanthus' stream remain, Creeps a small brook along the dusty plain. Whilst careless and securely on they pass, The Phrygian guide forbids to press the grass; This place, he said, for ever sacred keep, For here the sacred bones of Hector sleep. Then warns him to observe, where, rudely cast Disjointed stones lay broken and defac'd; Here his last fate, he cries, did Priam prove; Here, on this altar of Hercæan Jove.
O poesy divine! O sacred song!
To thee, bright fame and length of days belong;
Thou, goddess! thou eternity canst give,
And bid secure the mortal hero live.
Nor, Cæsar, thon disdain, that I rehearse
Thee, and thy wars, in no ignoble verse;
Since, if in aught the Latian Muse excel,
My name, and thine, immortal 1 foretell;
Eternity our labours shall reward,
And Lucan flourish, like the Grecian bard;
My numbers shall to latest times convey
The tyrant Cæsar, and Pharsalia's day.
Deign, Cæsar! deign to think my royal lord
Worthy the aid of thy victorious sword:
In the first rank of greatness shall he stand;
He, who could Pompey's destiny command.
Nor frown disdainful on the proffer'd spoil,
Because not dearly bought with blood and toil:
But think, oh think, what sacred ties were broke,
How friendship pleaded, and how nature spoke:
That Pompey, who restor'd Auletes' crown,
The father's ancient guest was murder'd by the son.
Then judge thyself, or ask the world and fame,
If services like these deserve a name.
When long the chief his wond'ring eyes had If gods and men the daring deed abhor,
On ancient monuments of ages past;
Of living turf an altar straight he made,
Then on the fire rich guns and incense laid,
And thus, successful in his vows, he pray'd.
"Ye shades divine! who keep this sacred place,
And thou, Eneas! author of my race,
Think, for that reason, Cæsar owes the more;
This blood for thee, though not by thee, was spilt;
Thou hast the benefit, and we the guilt."
He said, and straight the horrid gift unveil'd,
And stedfast to the gazing victor held.
Chang'd was the face, deform'd with death all o'er,
Pale, ghastly, wan, and stain'd with clotted gore,
Ye powers, whoe'er from burning Troy did come, Unlike the Pompey Cæsar knew before.
Domestic gods of Alba, and of Rome,
Who still preserve your ruin'd country's name,
And on your altars guard the Phrygian flme:
And thou, bright maid, who art to men deny'd;
Pallas, who dost thy sacred privilege confide
To Rome, and in her inmost temple hide;
Hear, and auspicious to my vows incline,
To me, the greatest of the Julian line:
Prosper my future ways; and lo! I vow
Your ancient state and honours to bestow;
Ausonian hands shall Phrygian walls restore,
And Rome repay, what Troy conferr'd before."
He said; and hasted to his fleet away,
Swift to repair the loss of this delay.
Up sprung the wind, and with a freshening gale,
The kind north-west fil'd every swelling sail;
Light o'er the foamy waves the navy flew,
Till Asia's shores and Rhodes no more they view.
Six times the night her sable round had made,
The seventh now passing on, the chief survey'd
High Pharos shining through the gloomy shade;
The coast descry'd, he waits the rising day,
Then safely to the port directs his way.
There wide with crowds o'erspread he sees the shore,
And echoing hears the loud tumultuous roar.
Distrustful of his fate, he gives command
To stand aloof, nor trust the doubted land;
When lo! a messenger appears, to bring
A fatal pledge of peace from Egypt's king:
Hid in a veil, and closely cover'd o'er,
Pompey's pale visage in his hand he bore.
An impious orator the tyrant sends, [commends.
Who thus, with fitting words, the monstrous gift
"Hail! first and greatest of the Roman naine;
In power most mighty, most renown'd in fame:
Hail! rightly now, the world's unrivall❜d lord!
That benefit thy Pharian friends afford.
My king bestows the prize thy arms have sought,
For which Pharsalia's field in vain was fought.
No task remains for future labours now;
The civil wars are finish'd at a blow.
To heal Thessalia's ruins, Pompey fled
To us for succour, and by us lies dead.
Thee, Casar, with this costly pledge we buy,
Thee to our friendship, with this victim, tie.
Egypt's proud sceptre freely then receive,
Whate'er the fertile flowing Nile can give:
Accept the treasures which this deed has spar'd;
Accept the benefit, without reward.
He, nor at first disdain'd the fatal boon,
Nor started from the dreadful sight too soon.
Awhile his eyes the murderous scene endure,
Doubting they view; but shun it, when secure.
At length he stood convinc'd, the deed was done;
He saw 't was safe to mourn his lifeless son:
And straight the ready tears, that staid till now,
Swift at command with pious semblance flow:
As if detesting, from the sight he turns,
And groaning, with a heart triumphaut mourns.
He fears his impious thought should be descried,
And seeks in tears the swelling joy to hide.
Thus the curst Pharian tyrant's hopes were crost,
Thus all the merit of his gift was lost;
Thus for the murder Cæsar's thanks were spar'd;
He chose to mourn it, rather than reward.
He who, relentless, through Pharsalia rode,
And on the senate's mangled fathers trod;
He who, without one pitying sigh, beheld
The blood and slaughter of that woeful field;
Thee, murder'd Pompey, could not ruthless see,
But paid the tribute of his grief to thee.
Oh mystery of fortune, and of fate!
Oh ill-consorted piety and hate!
And canst thou, Cæsar, then thy tears afford
To the dire object of thy vengeful sword?
Didst thou, for this, devote his hostile head,
Pursue him living, to bewail him dead?
Could not the gentle ties of kindred move?
Wert thou not touch'd with thy sad Julia's love?
And weep'st thou now? Dost thou these tears pro-
To win the friends of Pompey to thy side?
Perhaps, with secret rage thou dost repine,
That he should die by any hand but thine:
Thence fall thy tears, that Ptolemy has done
A murder due to Cæsar's hand alone.
What secret springs soe'er these currents know,
They ne'er, by piety, were taught to flow.
Or didst thou kindly, like a careful friend,
Pursue him flying, only to defend?
Well was his fate deny'd to thy command!
Well was he snatch'd by fortune from thy hand!
Fortune withheld this glory from thy name,
Forbad thy power to save, and spar'd the Roman
shame.
Still he goes on to vent his griefs aloud,
And artful, thus, deceives the easy crowd.
"Hence from my sight, nor let me see thee more Haste, to thy king his fatal gift restore.
At Cæsar have you aim'd the deadly blow,
And wounded Cæsar worse than Pompey now;
The crue hands by which this deed was done,
Have toru away the wreaths my sword had won,
That noblest prize this civil war could give,
The victor's right to bid the vanquish'd live.
Then tell your king, his gift shall be repaid;
I would have sent him Cleopatra's head;
But that he wishes to behold her dead.
How has he dar'd, this Egypt's petty lord,
To join his murders to the Roman sword?
Did I, for this, in heat of war, distain
With noblest blood Emathia's purple plain,
To license Ptolemy's pernicious reign?
Did I with Pompey scorn the world to share?
And can I an Egyptian partner bear?
In vain the warlike trumpet's dreadful sound
Has rous'd the universe to arms around;
Vain was the shock of nations, if they own,
Now, any power on Earth but mine alone.
If hither to your impious shores I came,
Twas to assert at once my power and fame;
Lest the pale fury, Envy, should have said,
Your crimes 1 damn'd not, or your arms I fled.
Nor think to fawn before me and deceive;
I know the welcome you prepare to give.
Thessalia's field preserves me from your hate,
And guards the victor's head from Pompey's fate.
What ruin, gods! attended on my arms,
What dangers unforeseen! what waiting harms!
Pompey, and Rome, and exile, were my fear;
See yet a fourth, see Ptolemy appear!
The boy-king's vengeance loiters in the rear.
But we forgive his youth, and bid him know
Pardon and life 's the most we can bestow.
For you, the meaner herd, with rites divine,
And pious cares, the warrior's head enshrine:
Atone with penitence the injur'd shade,
And let his ashes in their urn be laid;
Pleas'd, let his ghost lamenting Cæsar know,
And feel my presence here, e'en in the realms
Oh, what a day of joy was lost to Rome, [below.
When hapless Pompey did to Egypt come!
When, to a father and a friend unjust
He rather chose the Pharian boy to trust.
The wretched world that loss of peace shall rue,
Of peace which from our friendship might ensue:
But thus the gods their hard decrees have made;
In vain, for peace, and for repose, I pray'd;
In vain implor'd, that wars and rage might end,
That, suppliant like, I might to Pompey bend,
Beg him to live, and once more be my friend.
There had my labours met their just reward,
And, Pompey, thou in all my glories shar'd,
Then, jars and enmities all past and gone,
In pleasure had the peaceful years roll'd on;
All should forgive, to make the joy complete;
Thou shouldst thy harder fate, and Rome my wars
forget."
Fast failing still the tears, thus spoke the chief,
But found no partner in the specious grief.
Ob glorious liberty! when all shall dare
A face, unlike their mighty lord, to wear!
Each in his breast the rising sorrow kept,
whom, at the instigation of Photinus, and his other evil counsellors, he had deprived of her share in the kingdom, and imprisoned: she finds means to escape, comes privately to Cæsar, and puts herself under his protection. Cæsar interposes in the quarrel, and reconciles them. They in return entertain him with great magnificence and luxury at the royal palace in Alexandria. At this feast Cæsar, who at his first arrival had visited the tomb of Alexander the Great, and whatever else was curious in that city, inquires of the chief priest Achoreus, and is by him informed of the course of the Nile, its stated increase and decrease, with the several causes that had been till that time assigned for it. In the mean time Photinus writes privately to Achillas, to draw the army to Alexandria, and surprise Cæsar; this he immediately performs, and besieges the palace. But Cæsar, having set the city and many of the Ægyptian ships on fire, escapes to the island and tower of Pharos, carrying the young king and Photinus, whom he still kept in his power, with him; there, having discovered the treachery of PhoAt the same time tinus, he puts him to death.
Arsincë, Ptolemy's younger sister, having by
the advice of her tutor, the eunuch Ganymedes,
assumed the regal authority, orders Achillas to
be killed likewise, and renews the war against
Cæsar. Upon the mole between Pharos and
Alexandria he is encompassed by the enemy,
and very near being slain, but at length breaks
through, leaps into the sea, and with his usual
courage and good fortune swims in safety to
his own fleet.
SOON as the victor reach'd the guilty shore,
Yet red with stains of murder'd Pompey's gore,
New toils his still prevailing fortune met,
By impious Ægypt's genius hard beset.
The strife was now, if this detested land
Should own imperial Rome's supreme command,
Or Cæsar bleed beneath some l'harian hand.
But thou, O Pompey! thy diviner shade,
Came timely to this cruel father's aid;
Thy influence the deadly sword withstood, [blood.
Nor suffer'd Nile, again, to blush with Roman
Safe in the pledge of Pompey, slain so late,
Proud Cæsar enters Alexandria's gate:
Ensigus on high the long procession lead;
The warrior and his armed train succeed.
Meanwhile, loud-murmuring, the moody throng,
Behold his fasces borne in state along;
Of innovations fiercely they complain,
And scornfully reject the Roman reign.
Soon saw the chief th' untoward bent they take,
And found that Pompey fell not for his sake.
Wisely, howe'er, he hid his secret fear,
And held his way with well-dissembled cheer.
Careless, he runs their gods and temples o'er,
The monuments of Macedonian power;
But neither god, nor shrine, nor mystic rite,
Their city, nor her walls, his soul delight:
Their caves beneath his fancy chiefly led,
To search the gloomy mansions of the dead:
And thought it safe to laugh, though Casar wept. Thither with secret pleasure he descends,
CESAR, upon his arrival in Ægypt, finds Ptolemy engaged in a quarrel with his sister Cleopatra;
And to the guide's recording tale attends. [prize,
There the vain youth who made the world his
That prosperous robber, Alexander, lies.
When pitying death, at length, had freed man,
To sacred rest his bones were here consign'd:
His bones, that better had been toss'd and hurl'd,
With just contempt, around the injur'd world.
But Fortune spar'd the dead; and partial Fate,
For ages, fix'd his Pharian empire's date.
If e'er our long-lost liberty return,
That carcass is reserv'd for public scorn:
Now, it remains a monument confest,
How one proud man could lord it o'er the rest.
To Macedon, a corner of the Earth,
The vast ambitious spoiler ow'd his birth:
There, soon, he scorn'd his father's humbler reign,
And view'd his vanquish'd Athens with disdain.
Driv'n headlong on, by fate's resistless force,
Through Asia's realms he took his dreadful course:
His ruthless sword laid human nature waste,
And desolation follow'd where he pass'd.
Red Ganges blush'd, and fam'd Euphrates' flood,
With Persian this, and that with Indian blood.
Such is the bolt which angry Jove employs,
When, undistinguishing, his wrath destroys:
Such to mankind, portentous meteors rise,
Trouble the gazing Earth, and blast the skies.
| Glowing alike with greatness and delight,
She rose still bolder from each guilty night.
Then blame me, hapless Anthony, no more,
Lost and undone by fatal beauty's power;
If Cæsar, long inur'd to rage and arms,
Submits his stubborn heart to those soft charms;
If, reeking from Emathia's dreadful plain,
And horrid with the blood of thousands slain,
He sinks lascivious in a lewd embrace,
While Pompey's ghastly spectre haunts the place;
If Julia's chastest name he can forget,
And raise her brethren of a bastard set;
If indolently he permits, from far,
Bold Cato to revive the fainting war;
If he can give away the fruits of blood,
And fight to make a strumpet's title good.
To him disdaining, or to feign a tear,
Or spread her artfully-dishevell❜d hair,
In comely sorrow's decent garb array'd,
And trusting to her beauty's certain aid,
In words like these began the Pharian maids
"If royal birth and the Lagaan name,
Nor flame, nor flood, his restless rage withstand,Thy favouring pity, greatest Cæsar, claim,
Nor Syrts unfaithful, nor the Libyan sand:"
O'er waves unknown he meditates his way,
And seeks the boundless empire of the sea;
E'en to the utmost west he would have gone,
Where Tethys' lap receives the setting Sun;
Around each pole his circuit would have made,
And drunk from secret Nile's remotest head,
When Nature's hand his wild ambition stay'd.
With him, that power his pride had lov'd so well,
His monstrous universal empire, fell:
No heir, no just successor left behind,
Eternal wars he to his friends assign'd,
To tear the world, and scramble for mankind,
Yet still he died the master of his fame,
And Parthia to the last rever'd his name:
The haughty east from Greece receiv'd her doom,
With lower homage than she pays to Rome.
Though from the frozen pole our empire run,
Far as the journies of the southern Sun;
Ia triumph though our conqu ring eagles fly,
Where'er soft zephyrs fan the western sky;
Still to the haughty Parthian must we yield,
And mourn the loss of Cannæ's dreadful field:
Still shall the race untam'd their pride avow,
And lift those heads aloft which Pella taught to bow.
From Cas.um now the beardless monarch came,
To quench the kindling Alexand: ians' flame.
Th' unwarlike rabble soon the tumult cease,
And he, their king, remains the pledge of peace;
When, veil'd in secrecy, and dark disguise,
To mighty Cæsar Cleopatra flies.
Won by persuasive gold, and rich reward,
Her keeper's hand her prison-gates unbarr'd,
And a light galley for her flight prepar'd.
O fatal form! thy native Egypt's shame!
Thou lewd perdition of the Latian name!
How wert thou doom'd our furies to increase,
And be what Helen was to Troy and Greece!
When with an host, from vile Canopus led,
Thy vengeance aim'd at great Augustus' head;
When thy shrill timbrel's sound was heard from far,
And Rome herself shook at the coming war;
When doubtful fortune, near Leucadia's strand,
Suspended long the world's supreme command.
And almost gave it to a woman's hand.
Such daring courage swells her wanton heart,
While Roman lovers Roman fires impart:
Redress my wrongs, thus humbly I implore,
And to her state an injur'd queen restore.
Here shed thy juster influence, and rise
A star auspicious to Egyptian skies.
Nor is it strange for Pharos to behold
A woman's temples bound with regal gold;
No laws our softer sex's powers restrain,
But undistinguish'd equally we reign.
Vouchsafe my royal father's will to read,
And learn what dying Ptolemy decreed:
My just pretensions stand recorded there,
My brother's empire and his bed to share.
Nor would the gentle boy his love refuse,
Did curs'd Photinus leave him free to choose;
But now in vassalage he holds his crown,
And acts by power and passions not his own.
Nor is my soul on empire fondly set,
But could with ease my royal rights forget;
So thou the throne from vile dishonour save,
Restore the master, and depose the slave.
What scorn, what pride, his haughty bosom swell,
Since, at his bidding, Roman Pompey fell!
(E'en now, which O ye righteous gods avert!
His sword is levell'd at thy noble heart)
Thou and mankind are wrong'd, when he shall
dare,
Or in thy prize, or in thy crime to share."
In vain her words the warrior's ears assail'd,
Had not her face beyond her tongue prevail'd;
From thence resistless eloquence she draws,
And with the sweet persuasion gains her cause.
His stubborn heart dissolves in loose delight,
And grants her suit for one lascivious night.
Ægypt and Cæsar, now, in peace agreed,
Riot and feasting to the war succeed:
The wanton queen displays her wealthy store,
Excess unknown to frugal Rome before.
Rich, as some fane by slavish zealots rear'd,
For the proud banquet, stood the hall prepar'd:
Thick golden plates the latent beams infold,
And the high roof was fretted o'er with gold:
Of solid marble all the walls were made,
And onyx e'en the meaner floor inlay'd;
While porphyry and agat, round the court,
In massy columns, rose a proud support.
Of solid ebony each post was wrought,
From swartby Meroë profusely brought:
With ivory was the entrance crusted o'er,
And polish'd tortoise hid each shining door;
While on the cloudy spots enchas'd was seen
The lively emerald's never-fading green.
Within, the royal beds and couches shone,
Beamy and bright with many a costly stone.
In glowing purple rich the coverings lie;
Twice had they drunk the noblest Tyrian dye;
Others, as Pharian artists have the skill
To mix the party-colour'd web at will,
With winding trails of various silks were made,
Where branching gold set off the rich brocade.
Around, of every age, and choicer form,
Huge crowds, whole nations of attendants swarm:
Some wait in yellow rings of golden hair,
The vanquish'd Rhine show'd Cæsar none so fair:
Others were seen with swarthy woolly heads,
Black as eternal night's unchanging shades.
Here squealing eunuchs, a dismember'd train,
Lament the loss of genial joys in vain:
There Nature's noblest work, a youthful band,
In the full pride of blooming manhood stand.
All duteous on the Pharian princes wait,
The princes round the board recline in state,
With mighty Cæsar, more than princes great.
On ivory feet the citron board was wrought, -
Richer than those with captive Juba brought.
With every wile ambitious beauty tries
To fix the daring Roman's heart her prize.
Her brother's meaner bed and crown she scorns,
And with fierce hopes for nobler empire burns;
Collects the mischiefs of her wanton eyes,
And her faint cheeks with deeper roses dyes;
Amidst the braidings of her flowing hair,
The spoils of orient rocks and shells appear;
Like midnight stars, ten thousand diamonds deck
The comely rising of her graceful neck:
Of wond'rous work, a thin transparent lawn
O'er each soft breast in decency was drawn;
Where stiil by turns the parting threads withdrew,
And all the panting bosom rose to view.
Her robe, her every part, her air, confess
The power of female skill exhausted in her dress.
Fantastic madness of unthinking pride, [hide!
To boast that wealth, which prudence strives to
In civil wars such treasures to display,
And tempt a soldier with the hopes of prey!
Had Cæsar not been Cæsar, impious, bold,
And ready to lay waste the world for gold,
But just as all our frugal names of old;
This wealth could Curius or Fabricius know,
Or ruder Cincinnatus from the plough,
As Caesar, they had seiz'd the mighty spoil,
And to enrich their Tiber robb'd the Nile.
Now, by a train of slaves, the various feast
In massy gold magnificent was plac'd:
Whatever earth, or air, or seas afford,
In vast profusion crowns the labouring board.
For dainties, Ægypt every land explores,
Nor spares those very gods her zeal adores.
The Nile's sweet wave capacious crystals pour,
And gems of price the grapes delicious store;
No growth of Mareotis' marsby fields,
But such as Meroë maturer yields;
Where the warm Sun the racy juice refines,
And mellows into age the infant wines.
With wreaths of nard the guests their temples bind,
And blooming roses of immortal kind;
Their dropping locks with oily odours flow,
Recent from near Arabia, where they grow:
The vigorous spices breathe their strong perfume, And the rich vapour fills the spacious room.
Here Cæsar Pompey's poverty disdain'd,
And learn'd to waste that world his arms had gain'd.
He saw th' Ægyptian wealth with greedy eyes,
And wish'd some fair pretence to seize the prize.
Sated at length with the prodigious feast,
Their weary appetites from riot ceas'd;
When Cæsar, curious of some new delight,
In conversation sought to wear the night:
Then gently thus addrest the good old priest,
Reclining decent in his linen vest:
"O wise Achoreus! venerable seer!
Whose age bespeaks thee Heaven's peculiar care,
Say from what origin thy nation sprung,
What boundaries to Egypt's land belong?
What are thy people's customs, aud their modes,
What rites they teach, what forms they give their
Each ancient sacred mystery explain,
Which monumental sculptures yet retain.
Divinity disdains to be confin'd,
Fain would be known, and reverenc'd by mankind.
'Tis said, thy holy predecessors thought
Cecropian Plato worthy to be taught:
And sure the sages of your schools have known
No soul more form'd for science than my own.
Fame of my potent rival's flight, 'tis true,
To this your Pharian shore my journey drew;
Yet know the love of learning led me too.
In all the hurries of tumultuous war,
The stars, the gods, and heavens, were still my
Nor shall my skill to fix the rolling year
Inferior to Eudoxus' art appear.
Long has my curious soul, from early youth,
Toil'd in the noble search of sacred truth:
Yet still no views have urg'd my ardour more,
Than Nile's remotest fountain to explore.
Then say what source the famous stream supplies,
And bids it at revolving periods rise;
Show me that head from whence, since time begun,
The long succession of his waves has run;
This let me know, and all my toils shall cease,
The sword be sheath'd, and Earth be blest with
peace."
The warrior spoke; and thus the seer replied:
"Nor shalt thou, mighty Cæsar, be denied.
Our sires forbad all, but themselves, to know,
And kept with care profaner laymen low:
My soul, I own, more generously inclin❜d,
Would let in daylight to inform the blind.
Nor would I truth in mysteries restrain,
But make the gods, their power and precepts, plain;
Would teach their miracles, would spread their
And well-taught minds to just devotion raise.
Know then, to all those stars, by Nature driven
In opposition to revolving Heaven,
Some one peculiar influence was given.
The Sun the seasons of the year supplies,
And bids the evening and the morning rise;
Commands the planets with superior force,
And keeps each wandering light to his appointed
The silver Moon o'er briny seas presides, [course.
And heaves huge ocean with alternate tides.
Saturn's cold rays in icy climes prevail;
Mars rules the winds, the storm, and rattling hail;
Where Jove ascends the skies are still serene;
And fruitful Venus is the genial queen:
While every limpid spring, and falling stream,
Submits to radiant Hermes' reigning beam.
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