When weary oft in heaviness she lies,
And dozy slumbers steals upon her eyes; [prest,
Fain, with fond arms, her lord she would have
But weeps to find the pillow at her breast.
Though raging in her veins a fever burns,
Painful she lies, and restless oft she turns.
She shuns his sacred side with awful fear,
And would not be convinc'd he is not there.
But, oh! too soon the want shall be supply'd,
The gods too cruelly for that provide:
Again, the circling hours bring back her lord,
And Pompey shall be fatally restor❜d.

BOOK VI.

THE ARGUMENT.

Cæsar and Pompey lying now near Dyrrachium, after several marches and counter-marches, the former with incredible diligence runs a vast line, or work, round the camp of the latter. This, Pompey, after suffering for want of pro- | visions, and a very gallant resistance of Scæva, a centurion of Cæsar s, at length breaks through. After this, Cæsar makes another unsuccessful attempt upon a part of Pompey's army, and then marches away into Thessaly: and Pompey, against the persuasion and counsel of his friends, follows him. After a description of the ancient inhabitants, the boundaries, the mountains, and rivers of Thessaly; the poet takes occasion, from this country being famous for witchcraft, to introduce Sextus Pompeius, inquiring the event of the civil war from the sorceress Erictho.

Shall stand secure against the warrior's rage,
Nor fear the ruinous decays of age.
Guarded, around, by steepy rocks it lies,
And all access from land, but one, denies.
No venturous vessel there in safety rides,
But foaming surges break, and swelling tides
Roll roaring on, and wash the craggy sides:
Or when contentious winds more rudely blow,
Then mounting o'er the topmost cliff they flow,
Burst on the lofty domes, and dash the town
below.

Here Cæsar's daring heart vast hopes conceives,
And high with war's vindictive pleasures heaves;
Much he revolves within his thoughtful mind,
How, in this camp, the foe may be confin'd,
With ample lines from hill to hill design'd.
Secret and swift he means the task to try,
And runs each distance over with his eye.
Vast heaps of sod and verdant turf are brought,
And stones in deep laborious quarries wrought;
Each Grecian dwelling round the work supplies,
And sudden ramparts from their ruins rise.
With wond'rous strength the stable mound they
Such as th' impetuous ram can never fear, [rear,
Nor hostile might o'erturn, nor forceful engine

tear.

height,

The Latian chiefs prepare for sudden fight. The rival pair seem hither brought by fate, As if the gods would end the dire debate, And here determine of the Roman state. Cæsar, intent upon his hostile son, Demands a conquest here, and here alone; Neglects what laurels captive towns must yield, And scorns the harvest of the Grecian field. Impatient he provokes the fatal day, Ordain'd to give Rome's liberties away, And leave the world the greedy victor's prey. Eager, that last great chance of war he waits, Where either's fall determines both their fates. Thrice, on the hills, all drawn in dread array, His threatening eagles wide their wings display; Thrice, but in vain, his hostile arms he show'd, His ready rage, and thirst of Latian blood. But when he saw, how cautious Pompey's care, Safe in his camp, declin'd the proffer'd war; Through woody paths he bent his secret way, And meant to make Dyrrachium's towers his prey. This Pompey saw; and swiftly shot before, With speedy marches on the sandy shore: Till on Taulantian Petra's top he stay'd, Sheltering the city with his timely aid. This place, nor walls, nor trenches deep can The works of labour, and expensive cost. Vain prodigality! and labour vain! [pain! Lost is the lavish wealth, and lost the fruitless What walls, what towers soe'er they rear sublime, Must yield to wars, or more destructive time; While fences like Dyrrachium's fortress made, Where Nature's hand the sure foundation laid, And with her strength the naked town array'd,

[boast,

The vast enclosure gives free leave around,
Oft to decamp, and shift the various ground.
Here, from far mountains, streams their channels
⚫trace,

And, while they wander through the tedious space,
Run many a mile their long extended race:
While some, quite worn and weary of the way,
Sink, and are lost before they reach the sea:
E'en Cæsar's self, when through the works he

goes,

Tires in the midst, and stops to take repose.
Let fame no more record the walls of Troy,
Which gods alone could build, and gods destroy;
Nor let the Parthian wonder, to have seen
The labours of the Babylonian queen:
Behold this large, this spacious tract of ground!
Like that, which Tigris or Orontes bound;
Behold this land! that majesty might bring,
And form a kingdom for an eastern king;
Behold a Latian chief this land enclose,
Amidst the tumult of impending foes:
He bad the walls arise, and as he bad they rose.
But ah! vain pride of power! ah! fruitless boast!
E'en these, these mighty labours are all lost!
A force like this what barriers could withstand?
Seas must have fled, and yielded to the land;
The lovers shores united might have stood,
Spite of the Hellespont's opposing flood;
While the Egean and Ionian tide,
Might meeting o'er the vanquish'd isthmus ride,
And Argive realms from Corinth's walls divide;
This power might change unwilling nature's face,
Unfix each order, and remove each place.
Here, as if clos'd within a list, the war
Does all its valiant combatants prepare;

Here ardent glows the blood, which fate ordains
To dye the Libyan and Emathian plains;
Here the whole rage of civil discord join'd,
Struggles for room, and scorns to be confin'd.
Nor yet, while Cæsar his first labours try'd,
The warlike toil by Pompey was descry'd.
So, in mid Sicily's delightful plain,
Safe from the horrid sound, the happy swain
Dreads not loud Scylla barking o'er the main.
So, northern Britons never hear the roar
Of seas, that break on the far Cantian shore.
Soon as the rising ramparts' hostile height,
And towers advancing, struck his anxious sight,
Sudden from Petra's safer camp he led,
And wide his legions on the hills dispread;
So, Cæsar, fore'd his numbers to extend,
More feebly might each various strength defend.
His camp far o'er the large enclosure reach'd,
And guarded lines along the front were stretch'd;
Far as Rome's distance from Aricia's groves,
(Aricia which the chaste Diana loves)
Far as from Rome old Tiber seeks the sea,
Did he not wander in his winding way.
While yet no signals for the fight prepare,
Unbidden, some the javelin dart from far,
And, skirmishing, provoke the lingering war.
But deeper cares the thoughtful chiefs distress,
And move, the soldiers ardour to repress.
Pompey, with secret anxious thought, beheld,
How trampling hoofs the rising grass repell'd;
Waste lie the russet fields, the generous steed
Seeks on the naked soil, in vain, to feed:
Loathing from racks of husky straw he turns,
And, pining, for the verdant pasture mourns.
No more his limbs their dying load sustain,
Aiming a stride, he falters in the strain,
And sinks a ruin on the withering plain:
Dire maladies upon his vitals prey,
Dissolve his frame, and melt the mass away.
Thence deadly plagues invade the lazy air,
Reek to the clouds, and hang malignant there.
From Nesis such, the Stygian vapours rise,
And with contagion taint the purer skies;
Such do Typhoeus' steamy caves convey,
And breathe blue poisons on the golden day.
Thence liquid streams the mingling plague receive,
And deadly potions to the thirsty give:
To man the inischief spreads, the fell disease
Jo fatal draughts does on his entrails seize.
A rugged scurf, all loathsome to be seen,
Spreads, like a bark, upon his silken skin;
Malignant flames his swelling eye-balls dart,
And seem with anguish from their seats to start;
Fires o'er his glowing cheeks and visage stray,
And mark, in crimson streaks, their burning
way;

Low droops his head, declining from its height,
And nods, and totters with the fatal weight,
With winged haste the swift destruction flies,
And scarce the soldier sickens ere he dies;
Now falling crowds at once resign their breath,
And doubly taint the noxious air with death.
Careless their putrid carcasses are spread;
And on the earth, their dank unwholesome bed,
The living rest in common with the dead.
Here none the last funereal rites receive;

To be cast forth the camp is all their friends can give.

At length kind Heaven their sorrows bad to cease, And staid the pestilential foe's increase;

Fresh breezes from the sea begin to rise,
While Boreas through the lazy vapour flies,
And sweeps, with healthy wings, the rank polluted
Arriving vessels now their freight unload, [skies.
And furnish plenteous harvests from abroad:
Now sprightly strength, now cheerful health, re
turns,

And life's fair lamp, rekindled, brightly burns.
But Cæsar, unconfin'd, and camp'd on high,
Feels not the mischief of the sluggish sky:
On hills sublime he breathes the purer air,
And drinks no damps, nor poisonous vapours,
there.

Yet hunger keen an equal plague is found;
Famine and meagre want besiege him round:
The fields, as yet, no hopes of harvest wear,
Nor yellow stems disclose the bearded ear.
The scatter'd vulgar search around the fields,
And pluck whate'er the doubtful herbage yields;
Some strip the trees in every neighbouring wood,
And with the cattle share their grassy food.
Whate'er the softening flame can pliant make,
Whate'er the teeth, or labouring jaws, can break;
What flesh, what roots, what herbs so'er they get,
Though new, and strange to human taste as yet,
At once the greedy soldiers seize and eat.
What want, what pain soe'er they undergo,
Still they persist in arms, and close beset the foe,
At length, impatient longer to be held
Within the bounds of one appointed field,
O'er every bar which might his passage stay,
Pompey resolves to force his warlike way;
Wide o'er the world the ranging war to lead,
And give his loosen'd legions room to spread.
Nor takes he mean advantage from the night,
Nor steals a passage, nor declines the fight;
But bravely dares, disdainful of the foe,
Through the proud towers and ramparts breach to
Where shining spears, and crested helms are seen,
Embattled thick to guard the walls within;
Where all things death, where ruin all afford,
There Pompey marks a passage for his sword.
Near to the camp a woody thicket lay,
Close was the shade, nor did the greensward way
With smoky clouds of dust, the march betray.
Hence, sudden they appear in dread array,
Sudden their wide-extended ranks display;
At once the foe beholds with wondering eyes
Where on broad wings Pompeian eagles rise;
At once the warriors' shouts and trumpet-sounds
surprise.

[go.

Scarce was the sword's destruction needful here,
So swiftly ran before preventing fear;
Some filed amaz'd, while vainly valiant some
Stood, but to meet in arms a nobler doom.
Where'er they stood, now scatter'd lie the slain,
Scarce yet a few for coming deaths remain,
And clouds of flying javelias fall in vain.
Here swift consuming flames the victors throw,
And here the ram impetuous aims a blow;
Aloft the nodding turrets feel the stroke,
And the vast rampart groans beneath the shock.
And now propitious Fortune seem'd to doom
Freedom and peace, to Pompey, and to Rome;
High o'er the vanquish'd works his eagles tower,
And vindicate the world from Cæsar's power.

But (what nor Cæsar, nor his fortune cou’d)
What not ten thousand warlike hands withstood,
Scæva resists alone; repels the force,
And stops the rapid victor in his course,

Scæva! a name erewhile to fame unknown,
And first distinguish'd on the Gallic Rhone;
There scen in hardy deeds of arms to shine,
He reach'd the honours of the Latian vine.
Daring and bold, and ever prone to ill,
Inur'd to blood, and active to fulfil
The dictates of a lawless tyrant's will;

Nor virtue's love, nor reason's laws he knew,

And now the swelling heaps of slaughter'd foes, Sublime and equal to the fortress rose; Whence, forward with a leap, at once he sprung, And shot himself amidst the hostile throng. So daring, fierce with rage, so void of fear, Bounds forth the spotted pard, and scorns the hunter's spear.

The closing ranks the warrior straight infold,

drew.

[grow,

Thus courage by an impious cause is curst,
And he that is the bravest, is the worst.
Soon as he saw his fellows shun the fight,
And seek their safety in ignoble flight,
"Whence does," he said, "this coward's terrour
This shame, unknown to Cæsar's arms till now?
Can you, ye slavish herd, thus tamely yield?
Thus fly, unwounded, from the bloody field?
Behold, where pil'd in slaughter'd heaps on high,
Firm to the last, your brave companions lie;
Then blush to think what wretched lives you save,
From what renown you fly, from what a glorious
grave.

Though sacred fame, though virtue yield to fear,
Let rage, let indignation keep you here.
We! we the weakest, from the rest are chose,
To yield a passage to our scornful foes!
Yet, Pompey, yet, thou shalt be yet withstood,
And stain thy victor's laurel deep in blood.
With pride 't is true, with joy I should have dy'd,
If haply I had fall'n by Cæsar's side;
But Fortune has the noble death deny'd.

Undaunted still, around the ring he roams,
Fights here and there, and every where o'ercomes;
Till, clogg'd with blood, his sword obeys but ill
The dictates of its vengeful master's will;
Edgeless it falls, and though it pierce no more,
Still breaks the batter'd bones, and bruises sore.
Mean time, on him the crowding war is bent,
And darts from every hand, to him are sent:
It look'd as Fortune did in odds delight,
And had in cruel sport ordain'd the fight;
A wond'rons match of war she seem'd to make,
Her thousands here, and there her one to stake;
As if on nightly terms in lists they ran,
And armies were but equal to the man.
A thousand darts upon his buckler ring,
A thousand javelins round his temples sing;
Hard bearing on his head, with many a blow,
His steely helm is inward taught to bow.
The missive arms, fix'd all around, he wears,
And e'en his safety in his wounds he bears,
Fenc'd with a fatal wood, a deadly grove of

spears.

Do thou be witness, and applaud my fate.
Now push we on, disdain we now to fear,
A thousand wounds let every bosom bear,

Till the keen sword be blunt, be broke the pointed spear.

And see the clouds of dusty battle rise!

[fail.

Hark how the shout runs rattling through the skies!
The distant legions catch the sounds from far,
And Cæsar listens to the thundering war.
He comes, he comes, yet ere his soldier dies,
Like lightning swift the winged warrior flies:
Haste then to death, to conquest haste away;
Well do we fall, for Cæsar wins the day." [sound,
He spoke, and straight, as at the trumpet's
Rekindled warmth in every breast was found;
Recall'd from flight, the youth admiring wait,
To mark their daring fellow-soldier's fate,
To see if haply virtue might prevail,
And, e'en beyond their hopes, do more than greatly
High on the tottering wall he rears his head,
With slaughter'd carcasses around him spread;
With nervous arms uplifting these he throws,
These rolls oppressive, on ascending foes.
Each where materials for his fury lie,
And all the ready ruins arms supply:.
Even his fierce self he seems to aim below,
Headlong to shoot, and dying dart a blow.
Now his tough staff repels the fierce attack,
And tumbling, drives the bold assailants back:
Now heads, now hands he lops, the carcass falls,
Whilst the clench'd fingers gripe the topmost
walls:

Here stones he heaves; the mass descending full,
Crushes the brain, and shivers the frail scull.
Here burning pitchy brands he whirls around;
Infix'd, the flames hiss in the liquid wound,
Deep drench'd in death, in flowing crimson drown'd.

Your darts, your idle javelins cast aside,
And other arms for Scæva's death provide:
The forceful rams' resistless horus prepare,
With all the ponderous vast machines of war;
Let dreadful flames, let massy rocks be thrown,
With engines thunder on, and break him down,
And win this Cæsar's soldier, like a town.
At length, his fate disdaining to delay,
He hurls his shield's neglected aid away,
Resolves no part whate'er from death to hide,
But stands unguarded now on every side.
Encumber'd sore with many a painful wound,
Tardy and stiff he treads the hostile round;
Gloomy and fierce his eyes the crowd survey,
Mark where to fix, and single out the prey.
Such, by Getulian hunters compass'd in,
The vast unweildy elephant is seen:
All cover'd with a steely shower from far,
Rousing he shakes, and sheds the scatter'd warg
In vain the distant troops the fight renew,
And with fresh rage the stubborn foe pursue;
Unconquer'd still the mighty savage stands,
And scorns the malice of a thousand hands.
Not all the wounds a thousand darts can make,
Though all find place, a single life can take.
When lo! addrest with some successful vow,
A shaft, sure flying from a Cretan bow,
Beneath the warrior's brow was seen to light,
And sunk, deep piercing the left orb of sight.
But he (so rage inspir'd, and mad disdain)
Remorseless fell, and senseless of the pain,
Tore forth the bearded arrow from the wound,
With stringy nerves besmear'd and wrapp'4
around,

And stamp'd the gory jelly on the ground.
So in Pannonian woods the growling bear,
Transfix'd, grows fiercer for the hunter's spear,

Turns on her wound, runs madding round with
And catches at the flying shaft in vain. [pain,
Down from his eyeless hollow ran the blood,
And hideous o'er his mangled visage flow'd;
Deform'd each awful, each severer grace,
And veii'd the manly terrours of his face.
The victors raise their joyful voices high,
And with load triumph strike the vaulted sky:
Not Cæsar thus a general joy had spread,
Though Cæsar's self like Scava thus had bled.
Anxious, the wounded soldier, in his breast,
The rising indignation deep represt,

[drest:
And thus, in humble vein, his haughty foes ad-
"Here let your rage, ye Romans, cease," he said,
"And lend your fellow-citizen your aid;
No more your darts nor useless javelins try,
These, which I bear, will deaths enow supply,
Draw forth your weapons, and behold I die.
Or rather bear me hence, and let me meet
My doom beneath the mighty Pompey's feet:
'I were great, 't were brave, to fail in arms, 't is
But I renounce that glorious fate for you. [true,
Fain would I yet prolong this vital breath,
And quit e'en Cæsar, so I fly from death."
The wretched Aulus listen'd to the wile,
Latent and greedy of the future spoil;
Advancing fondly on, with heedless ease,
He thought the captive and his arms to seize,
When, ere he was aware, his thundering sword
Deep in his throat the ready Scæva gor'd.
Warm'd with the slaughter, with fresh rage he
burns,

And vigour with the new success returns.

So may they fall,” he said, “by just deceit, Sneh be their fate, such as this fool has met, Who dare believe that I am vanquish'd yet! If you would stop the vengeance of my sword, From Cæsar's mercy be your peace implor'd, There let your leader kneel, and bumbly own his Me! could you meanly dare to fancy me [lord. Base, like yourselves, and fond of life to be! But know, not all the names which grace your

cause,

YOL. XX.

Oh! had thy sword Iberian battles known,
Or purple with Cantabrian slaughter grown;
How had thy name in deathless annals shone!
But now no Roman pæan shalt thou sing,
Nor peaceful triumphs to thy country bring,
Nor loudly blest in solemn pomp shalt move,
Through crowding streets to Capitolian Jove,
The laws defender, and the people's love:
Oh, hapless victor thou! oh, vainly brave!
How hast thou fought, to make thyself a slave!

Nor Pompey, thus repuls'd, the fight declines,
Nor rests encompass'd round by Cæsar's lines;
Once more he means to force his warlike way,
And yet retrieve the fortune of the day.
So when fierce winds with angry ocean strive,
Full on the beach the beating billows drive;
Stable awhile the lofty mounds abide,
Check the proud surge, and stay the swelling tide:
Yet restless still the waves unweary'd roll,
Work underneath at length, and sap the sinking
mole.

With force renew'd the baffled warrior bends,
Where to the shore the jutting wall extends:
There proves, by land and sea, his various might,
And wins his passage by the double fight.
Wide o'er the plains diffus'd his legions range,
And their close camp for freer fields exchange.
So, rais'd by melting streams of Alpine snow,
Beyond his utmost margin swells the Po,
And loosely lets the spreading deluge flow:
Where'er the weaker banks opprest retreat,
And sink beneath the heapy waters' weight,
Forth gushing at the breach, they burst their way,
And wasteful o'er the drowned country stray:
Far distant fields and meads they wander o'er,
And visit lands they never knew before;
Here, from its seat the mouldering earth is torn,
And by the flood to other masters borne;
While gathering, there, it heaps the growing soil,
And loads the peasant with his neighbour's spoil.
Soon as, ascending high, a rising flame,
To Cæsar's sight, the combat's signal came,
Swift to the place approaching near, he found
The ruins scatter'd by the victor round,
And his proud labours humbled to the ground.
Thence to the hostile camp his eyes he turns,
Where for their peace, and sleep secure, he
[burns.

mourns,

With rancorous despite, and envious anguish,
At length resolv'd, (so rage inspir'd his breast)
He means to break the happy victor's rest;
Once more to kindle up the fatal strife,
And dash their joys with hazard of his life.
Straight to Torquatus fierce he bends his way,
(Torquatus near a neighbouring castle lay)
But he, by prudent caution taught to yield,
Trusts to his walls, and quits the open field;
There, safe within himself, he stands his ground,
And lines the guarded ramparts strongly round.
So when the seamen from afar descry
The clouds grow black upon the low'ring sky,
Hear the winds roar, and mark the seas run high,
They furl the fluttering sheet with timely care,
And wisely for the coming storm prepare.
But now the victor, with resistless haste,
Proud o'er the ramparts of the fort had past;
When swift descending from the rising grounds,
Pompey with lengthening files the foe surrounds,
As when in Etna's hollow caves below,
Round the vast furnace kindling whirlwinds blow;

F