Cut-throats and flaves refort to his command,

And arms were given to every baser hand.
None worthily the leader's standard bore,

Unftain'd with blood or blackeft crimes before:
Villains of fame, to fill his bands, were sought,
And to his camp increase of crimes they brought.
Who can relate the horrors of that day,

When first these walls became the victor's prey!
With what a stride devouring Slaughter past,
And swept promifcuous orders in her hafte!⠀⠀
Oer noble and plebeian rang'd the fword;
Nor pity or remorfe one paufe afford.

The fliding streets with blood were clotted o'er,
And facred temples ftood in pools of gore.
The ruthless steel, impatient of delay,
Forbade the fire to linger out his day :
It ftruck the bending father to the earth,
And cropt the wailing infant at his birth.
(Can innocents the rage of parties know,
And they who ne'er offended find a foe?)
Age is no plea, and childhood no defence,
To kill is all the murderer's pretence..

Rage stays not to inquire who ought to die,
Numbers must fall, no matter which, or why;
Each in his hand a griefly vifage bears,

And as the trophy of his virtue wears.

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1656

1702

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Who wants a prize, ftraight rushes through the streets, 180
And undiftinguish'd mows the first he meets;
The trembling crowd with fear officious strive,
And thefe who ki's the tyrant's hand furvive..

Oh could you fall fo low, degenerate race!

And purchase fafety at a price fo base?

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What though the fword was master of your doom,
Though Marius could have given you years to come,
Can Romans live by infamy fo mean?

But foon your changing fortune fhifts the feene;
Short is your date; you only live to mourn
Your hopes deceiv'd, and Sylla's swift return.
The vulgar falls, and none laments his fate,
Sorrow has hardly leifure for the great.
What tears could Bæbius' hafty death deplore!
A thoufand hands his mangled carcafe tore;
His fcatter'd entrails round the ftreets were toft,
And in a moment all the man was loft.

Who wept, Antonius' murder to behold,
Whose moving tongue the mischief oft foretold ?
Spite of his age and eloquence he bled;
The barbarous foldier fnatch'd his hoary head
Dropping he bore it to his joyful lord,
And while he feafted plac'd it on the board.
The Craffi both by Fimbria's hand was flain,
And bleeding magiftrates the pulpit ftain.
Then did the doom of that neglecting hand;
Thy fate, O holy Scævola, command;
In vain for fuccour to the gods he flies,
The priest before the Veftal altar dies:
A feeble ftream pour'd-forth the exhausted fire,
And spar'd to quench the everliving fire.
The seventh returning Fafees now appear,
And bring ftern Marius' latest destin'd year:

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Thus

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Thus the long toils of changing life o'erpast,
Hoary and full of days he breath'd his laft.
While Fortune frown'd, her fierceft wrath he bore,
And while fhe fmil'd enjoy'd her amplest power:
All various turns of good and bad he knew,
And prov'd the most that chance or fate could do.
What heaps of flain the Colline gate did yield! 220
What bodies ftrow'd the Sacriportan field,
When empire was ordain'd to change her feat,
To leave her Rome, and make Prænefte great
When the proud Samnites troops the state defy'd,
In terms beyond their Caudine treaty's pride..
Nor Sylla with lefs cruelty returns,
With equal rage the fierce avenger burns:
What blood the feeble city yet retain'd,
With too fevere a healing hand he drain'd
Too deeply was the fearching fteel employ'd,
What maladies had hurt, the leach destroy'd.
The guilty only were of life bereft :
Alas! the guilty only then were left.
Diffembled hate and rancour rang'd at will,
All as they pleas'd took liberty to kill;
And while revenge no longer fear'd the laws,
Each private murder was the public caufe.
The leader bade deftroy: and at the word,
The mafter fell beneath the fervant's fword.
Brothers on brothers were for gifts beftow'd,
And fons contended for their father's blood.
For refuge fome to caves and forefts fled;

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Some to the lonely manfions of the dead

Some

Some, to prevent the cruel victor, die;

Thefe ftrangled hang from fatal beams on high 245
While thofe, from tops of lofty turrets thrown,.
Came headlong on the dashing pavement down..
Some for their funerals the wood prepare,
And build the facred pile with hasty care:
Then bleeding to the kindling flames they prefs,
And Roman rites, while yet they may, poffefs.
Pale heads of Marian chiefs are borne on high,
And heap'd together in the Forum lie;

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There join the meeting flaughters of the town,
There each performing villain's deeds are known. 255
No fight like this the Thracian ftables knew,
Antæus' Libyan fpoils to these were few:
Nor Greece beheld fo many fuitors fall,
Το grace the Pifan tyrant's horrid hall.

At length, when putrid gore, with foul disgrace, 260
Hid the diftinguish'd features of the face,

By night the miferable parents came,
And bore their fons to fome forbidden flame.
Well I remember, in that woeful reign,
How I my brother fought amongst the slain;
Hopeful by stealth his poor remains to burn,
And close his afhes in a peaceful urn;
His vifage in my trembling hand I bore,
And turn'd pacific Sylla's trophies o'er;
Full many a mangled trunk I try'd, to see

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Which carcafe with the head would beft agree.

Why fhould my grief to Catulus return,

And tell the victim offer'd at his urn;

When,

When, ftruck with horror, the relenting shade
Beheld his wrongs too cruelly repay'd?

I faw where Marius' hapless brother stood,
With limbs all torn, and cover'd o'er with blood
A thousand gaping wounds increas'd his pain,
While weary
life a paffage fought in vain;
That mercy ftill his ruthlefs foes deny,

And, whom they mean to kill, forbid to die.
This from the wrift the fuppliant hands divides,
That hews his arms from off his naked fides;
One crops his breathing noftrils, one his ears,
While from the roots his tongue another tears;
Panting awhile upon the earth it lies,

And with mute motion trembles ere it dies :
Laft, from the facred caverns where they lay,
The bleeding orbs of fight are rent away.
Can late pofterity believe, whene'er
This tale of Marius and his foes they hear,
They could inflict fo.much, or he could bear?
Such is the broken carease seen to lie,
Crush'd by fome tumbling turret from on high;
Such to the shore the fhipwreckt corfe is borne,
By rending rocks and greedy monsters torn.
Mistaken rage! thus mangling to difgrace,
And blot the lines of Marius' hated face!
What joy can Sylla take, unless he know
And mark the features of his dying foe?
Fortune beheld, from her Præneftine fane,
Her helpless worshipers around her flain;

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300%

One hour of fate was common to them all,
And like one man the faw a people fall.

Then