Thou Jove, who doft in heaven fupremely reign,
Why does thy providence thefe figns ordain,
And give us prefcience to increase our pain?
Doubly we bear thy dread-inflicting doom,
And feel our miferies before they come.
Whether the great creating parent soul,
When first from Chaos rude he form'd the whole,
Difpos'd futurity with certain hand,
And bade the neceffary caufes ftand;
Made one decree for ever to remain,
And bound himself in fate's eternal chain;
*Or whether fickle fortune leads the dance,
Nothing is fix'd, but all things come by chance;
Whate'er thou fhalt ordain, thou ruling power,
Unknown and fudden be the dreadful hour:
Let mortals to their future fate be blind,
And hope relieve the miferable mind.
While thus the wretched citizens behold
What certain ills the faithful gods foretold;
Juftice fufpends her course in mournful Rome,
And all the noify courts at once are dumb;
No honours thine in the diftinguish'd weed,
Nor rods the purple magiftrate precede:
A difmal filent forrow fpreads around,
No
groan is heard, nor one complaining found.
So when fome generous youth resigns his breath,
And parting finks in the laft pangs of death;
With ghaftly eyes, and many a lift-up hand,
Around his bed the still attendants.ftand;
No tongue as yet prefumes his fate to tell,
Nor speaks aloud the folemn laft farewell;
As yet the mother by her darling lies,
Nor breaks lamenting into frantic cries;
And though he stiffens in her fond embrace,
His eyes are fet, and livid pale his face;
Horror a while prevents the fwelling tear,
Nor is her paffion grief, as yet, but fear;
In one fix'd posture motionless she keeps,
And wonders at her woe before the weeps.
The matrons fad their rich attire lay by,
And to the temples madly crowding fly :
Some on the shrines their gufhing forrows pour,
Some dash their breafts against the marble floor,
Some on the facred thresholds rend their hair,
And howling feek the gods with horrid prayer.
Nor Jove receiv'd the wailing fuppliants all,
In various fanes on various powers they call.
No altar then, no god was left alone,
Unvex'd by fome impatient parent's moan.
Of these, one wretch her grief, above the rest,
With visage torn, and mangled arms confest.
Ye mothers! beat (fhe cry'd) your bofoms now,
Now tear the curling honours from your
brow;
The present hour ev'n all your tears demands,
While doubtful fortune yet fufpended ftands.
When one fhall conquer, then for joy prepare,
The victor chief, at least, fhall end the war.
Thus, from renew'd complaints they seek relief,
And only find fresh causes out for grief.
G 2
The men too, as to different camps they go,
Join their fad voices to the public woe ;
Impatient to the gods they raise their cry,
And thus expoftulate with those on high:
Oh hapless times! oh that we had been born, When Carthage made our vanquish'd country mourn! Well had we then been number'd with the flain
On Trebia's banks, or Canne's fatal plain. Nor afk we peace, ye powers, nor foft repofe; Give us new wars, and multitudes of foes; Let every potent city arm for fight, And all the neighbour nations round unite; From Median Sufa let the Parthians come, And Massagetes beyond their Ifter roam : Let Elbe and Rhine's unconquer'd springs send forth The yellow Suevi from the farthest north: Let the confpiring world in arms engage, And fave us only from domestic rage. Here let the hoftile Dacian inroads make, And there his way the Gete invader take. Let Cæfar in Iberia tame the foe; Let Pompey break the deadly eastern bow, And Rome no hand unarm'd for battle know. But if Hefperia stand condemn'd by fate, And ruin on our name and nation wait ; Now dart thy thunder, dread almighty fire, Let all thy flaming heavens defcend in fire; On chiefs and parties hurl thy bolts alike, And, ere their crimes have made them guilty, ftrike.
Is it a caufe fo worthy of our care,
That power may fall to this, or that man's fhare?
Do we for this the gods and confcience brave,
That one may rule, and make the rest à slave ?
When thus ev'n liberty we scarce should buy,
But think a civil war a price too high.
Thus groan they at approaching dire events,
And thus expiring piety laments.
Mean-while the hoary fire his years deplores,
And age that former miferies reftores:
He hates his weary life prolong'd for woe,
Worfe days to fee, more impious rage to know.
Then fetching old examples from afar,
'Twas thus (he cries) Fate ufher'd in the war:
When Cimbrians fierce, and Libya's fwarthy lord,
Had fall'n before triumphant Marius' sword:
Yet to Minturnæ's marsh the victor fled,
And hid in oozy flags his exil'd head.
The faithless foil the hunted chief reliev'd,
And fedgy waters fortune's pledge receiv'd.
Deep in a dungeon plung'd at length he lay,
Where gyves and rankling fetters eat their way,
And noisome vapours on his vitals prey.
Ordain'd at eafe to dine in wretched Rome,
He fuffer'd then, for wickedness to come.
In vain his foes had arm'd the Cimbrian's hand,
Death will not always wait upon command;
About to strike, the flave with horror fhook,
The useless steel his loofening gripe forfook;
Thick flashing flames a light unusual gave,
And fudden fhone around the gloomy cave;
Dreadful the Gods of guilt before him stood,
And Marius terrible in future blood;
When thus a voice began: Rash man forbear,
Nor touch that head which fate refolves to fpare;
Thousands are doom'd beneath his arm to bleed,
And countless deaths before his own decreed;
Thy wrath and purpose to destroy is vain:
Would'ft thou avenge thee for thy nation flain?
Preferve this man; and in fome coming day
The Cimbrian flaughter well he shall repay.
No pitying god. no power to mortals good,
Could fave a falvage wretch who joy'd in blood:
But Fate referv'd him to perform its doom,
And be the minifter of wrath to Rome.
By fwelling feas too favourably toft,
Safely he reach'd Numidia's hoftile coaft;
There, driv'n from man, to wilds he took his way, 140
And on the earth, where once he conquer'd, lay;
There in the lone unpeopled defert field,
Proud Carthage in her ruins he beheld;
Amidft her afhes pleas'd he fat him down,
And joy'd in the destruction of the town.
The genius of the place, with mutual hate,
Rear'd its fad head, and smil'd at Marius' fate;
Each with delight furvey'd their fallen foe,
And each forgave the gods, that laid the other low.
There with new fury was his foul pofleft,
And Libyan rage collected in his breast.
Soon as returning førtune own'd his cause,
Troops of revolting bond-men forth he draws ;
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