Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. I. (Fray - Frost) Poem by Henry Baker

Fray.

A stag there was, of comely Shape, and tall
With branching Horns: whom ravish'd from his Dam
The Sons of Tyrrheus nourish'd.--
This Beast, accustom'd to their gentle Rule,
Their Sister Sylvia with uncommon Care
Adorn'd, and with soft Wreaths his Antlers crown'd,
And comb'd, and wash'd him in the limpid Stream.
He, patient of the Hand, his Master's Board
Attended: wander'd in the Woods: at Night,
Tho' late, spontaneous to his Home return'd.

Him, at a Distance straying, in the Chace,
The eager Dogs of young Jülus rous'd:
As gliding down the Stream by Chance he swam,
And on the grassy Bank allay'd the Heat.
Ascanius' self, inflam'd with Thirst of Praise,
Levell'd an Arrow from his bended Bow.

--The Shaft, with hissing Sound,
Driv'n thro' the hollow Flank and Entrails flew.
To his lov'd Home the wounded Beast repairs:
Bloody, and groaning, enters his known Stall,
Like One imploring: and with plaintive Noise
Fills all the House. Their Sister Sylvia first,
Shrieking with loud Laments, her Bosom beats,
And calls the sturdy Peasants to her Aid.
They, startled, at the Summons strait appear:
One with a Firebrand, with a knotty Stake
Another arm'd: whate'er they find at Hand
Rage makes a Weapon.--

And now Alecto, Fury come from Hell,
This Juncture fit for Mischief having gain'd,
Ascends the Stall; and on it's Summit sounds
The rustick Charge, and thro' the crooked Horn
Swells her Tartarean Voice.--

Swift to the Sound, where--e'er the shrill Horn gave
The direful Signal, snatching up their Arms,
From ev'ry Part the hardy Peasants run:
And, from their open Tents, the Trojan Youth
Pour out their Forces to Ascanius' Aid.
They form their Ranks: nor now in rustick Fray
With knotty Clubs, or sharpen'd Stakes they fight,
But with the two--edg'd Steel: And all around
Rises a horrid Crop of Swords unsheath'd:
Their Arms against the Sun reflected Shine,
And to the Clouds flash back a brighter Ray.--

He said: and running forwards hurl'd a Dart
Amidst the Throng of Foes: the well aim'd Ash
Flies on direct, and hissing cuts the Air.
A thund'ring Shout succeeds: Then all the Ranks
Tumultuous take th' Alarm, and burn with Rage.
Some draw their Swords, some snatch the missive Steel,
And blind rush on: 'Gainst them th' Ausonian Troops,
Resisting, croud: To These again oppos'd
A Tide of Trojans, by th' Arcadians join'd
With painted Arms, and all Agylla's Youth:
All with like Ardor fir'd to end the Strife
By open War: They hurl the Altars down:
An Iron Tempest, and a Storm of Darts
Hovers aloft, and blackens all the Sky.
The sacred Hearths and Goblets They o'er--turn:
Latinus' self, the League now broken, flies,
And carries back his disappointed Gods.
Some rein their Chariots, or with active Bound
Leap on their Steeds, and with drawn Weapons run.--

Within the Palace Walls was heard aloud,
The roaring Clamour of the noisy Crowd:
Not like the Songs which chearful Friends prepare
For nuptial Days, but Sounds that threaten War:
And all the Pleasures of this happy Feast,
To tumult turn'd, in wild Disorder ceas'd.
Thus, when the Seas are calm, we often find
A sudden Storm rais'd by some furious Wind.--

To Arms, to Arms they call: A Medly--Flight
Of Bowls, and Jars, at first supply the Fight,
Once Instruments of Feasts, but now of Fate:
Wine animates their Rage, and Arms their Hate.--


Friendship.
See Fidelity. Race.

Friendship's fair Name, while Int'rest serves, may stand:
Like Draughtsmen guided by the Gamester's Hand.
While Fortune serves, thy smiling Friends will stay:
But if she turns, they too will haste away.
The World's a Comedy: one acts a Lord,
This a grave Father, and his Son a third:
But soon as e'er the Curtain is let down,
All quit these borrow'd Shapes, and take their own.--

Nature, within the Soul of Man has form'd,
Nothing more noble, or more rare than Friendship.
Thro' all it's Ages, the whole World pretends
To boast but one poor single Pair of Friends:
Do but Pylades and Orestes name,
And You have all the Instances of Fame.
Once Death was strove for; 'twas a gen'rous Strife:
Not who should keep, but who should lose a Life
Was their Dispute, contending to deny
Each other the great Privilege to die.
The Surety fear'd his guilty Friend's return;
The guilty Friend did his own Absence mourn:
And ran to Danger: here they disagreed,
One hop'd to free, One fear'd to be so freed.--

To guard the Gate brave Nisus stood in Arms,
And by his Side Euryalus: than whom
Was none more beauteous, clad in Trojan Arms:
The first soft Down of Youth had just begun
To bloom upon his Cheeks: One was their Love:
One common Hazard in the War they shar'd,
And now were both by Choice upon the Guard.

Then Nisus: do the Gods, my Friend, infuse
This Ardor of the Soul? or make we Gods
Of our own strong Desires? My Mind, long since
Eager of Action prompts me to engage
Or in the Fight, or in some great Attempt:
Nor this dull Rest endures.--

Struck with Surprize, and fir'd with Thirst of Fame,
Thus sudden to his ardent Friend reply'd
Euryalus. And wouldst Thou then refuse
To add me, Nisus, to the brave Design?
And shall I suffer Thee to go expos'd
To such a perilous Attempt alone?
Here too, here dwells a Soul, that with Contempt
Regards this vital Air: and thinks with Life
That Fame well bought to which thy Soul aspires.

Nisus to this: No such injurious Thought
Of Thee, no such Suspicion, in my Breast
Was ever harbour'd: No: as this is Truth,
So may great Jove, or whate'er God regards
These Things with equal Eyes, restore me crown'd
With Conquest to thy Arms.--But if some Chance
(As many in such hazardous Attempts
Thou seest) if any Chance or Power divine
Snatch me from Earth: Thee I would leave behind:--
Thy Age can shew a better Claim to Life.
Let there survive, who may with solemn Rites
Inurn my Body, rescu'd from the Foe
In Battle, or redeem by Ransom paid:
Or (That if Fate forbid) an empty Tomb
May build, and grace my Manes with a Grave.
Nor to thy wretched Mother let me cause
So great a Grief: thy Mother, who, alone
Of all the Trojan Dames, for Thee, dear Youth,
Follows our Camp.--
Then He: Thy empty Reasons urg'd in vain
Thou dost alledge: nor is my Purpose chang'd:
Haste we, he said: Then wakes the Sentries: They
Succeed, and mount the Guard: the friendly Pair,
Quitting their Station, seek the General's Tent.--

Volscens impatient foams, and burns with Rage:
And, with his Sword unsheath'd, advanc'd direct
Against Euryalus.--Then Nisus, wild
With Terror and Amaze, cries out aloud,
Nor longer in the Covert of the Grove
Could hide himself, nor such a Sight endure.
Me, Me: I did it: on me turn your Steel,
Ye Rutuli: 'Twas all my Fraud: He nought
Nor could, nor durst: This Heav'n and conscious Stars
I call to witness: All his Crime, poor Youth,
Was loving his unhappy Friend too well.
Thus far he spoke: but driv'n with forceful Swing
The Sword had pierc'd Euryalus, and bor'd
His snowy Breast: He staggering rolls in Death:
The trickling Blood runs down his beauteous Limbs,
And on his Shoulder lies his Neck reclin'd.
So languishes, and dies a purple Flower,
Cut by the pointed Share: So Poppies droop,
O'er--charg'd with Rain and hang their sickly Heads.

Then Nisus, rushing, darts into the Midst:
Volscens alone he seeks, at Volscens drives:
The pressing Foes throng round, and bear him back
With tilted Spears: He not the less springs on,
And whirls his flashing Sword: till in the Mouth,
Full opposite, of Volscens clam'ring loud
He plung'd it deep, and dying stabb'd his Foe:
Then on his breathless Friend his Body flung,
And there at last in pleasing Death repos'd.--

No. Fate my vow'd Affection shall divide,
From Thee, heroic Youth; be wholly mine:
Take full Possession: all my Soul is thine:
One Faith, one Fame, one Fate shall both attend,
My Life's Companion, and my Bosom Friend:
My Peace shall be committed to thy Care,
And to thy Conduct, my Concerns in War.--

True Lovers, in their fav'rite charming She,
Can find no Faults, or love those Faults they see.
Oh! that this Error in our Friendship reign'd,
And had the Credit of a Virtue gain'd!
As some fond Parent, with a partial Eye,
His Darling's Faults beholds, and passes by:
So should we treat the Failings of a Friend,
And find Excuses, when we can't commend.

If the poor Boy is born with squinting Eyes,
See, what a pretty Cast! the Father cries:
The dwarfish ill--shap'd Thing, that's ever sick,
It's Father fondly calls, his little Chick:
Or if its bandy Legs by Chance he shows,
Smiling he cries, the Boy turns in his Toes.

Thus among Friends: One's close,--that Prudence call:
Another's vain, and brags,--that's Frankness all:
One's proud and haughty,--he'll be no Man's Slave:
Another struts and blusters,--He is brave.
In my Opinion, this would Friends procure,
And knit the Bands of sacred Friendship sure.--

'Tis common to deceive thro' Friendship's Name;
But common tho' it be, 'tis still to blame.--

With num'rous Friends was I encompass'd round,
While favourable Gales my Vessel crown'd:
But when the Ocean was tempestuous grown,
My shatter'd Bark and I were left alone.--


Fright.
See Fear.

Just in the Center of the Court, beneath
The open Sky a spacious Altar stood:
Near it an ancient Lawrel, hanging o'er
The sacred Hearth, and cov'ring with its Shade
The Household Gods. Here Hecuba and All
Her Daughters, like a Flock of trembling Doves
Driv'n by a Tempest, vainly round the Shrines
Clinging, embrac'd the Statues of the Gods.--

Amaz'd, I shook with Horror and Affright,
My Blood all curdled at the dreadful Sight.--

Confounded, and amaz'd, Æneas stood:
Up rose his Hair erect: and to his Mouth
His Speech with Horror cleav'd.--

Him, while he spoke, a sudden Trembling seiz'd
O'er all his Limbs: Fix'd stood his haggard Eyes.--

--Him unusual Fear
Stiff'ning benumbs: Up rose his Hair erect,
And to his Mouth his Speech with Horror cleav'd.--

-- Her Eyes a Body found,
Quiv'ring in Death, and gasping on the Ground.
She started back, the Red her Cheeks forsook,
And ev'ry Nerve with thrilling Horror shook.
So trembles the smooth Surface of the Seas,
When brush'd o'er gently with a rising Breeze.
But when her View her bleeding Love confess'd,
She shriek'd, she tore her Hair, she beat her Breast.
She rais'd the Body, and embrac'd it round,
And bath'd with Tears unfeign'd the gaping Wound.

--The good old Woman shook:
Her Blood ran cold, and ghastly was her Look:
Her hoary Hair upright with Horror stood.--


Frost.
See Winter.

As when the Winter's freezing Breath constrains
The Scythian Euxine in her icy Chains:
No more the Bosphori their Streams maintain,
Nor rushing Ister heaves the languid Main:
Hem'd in with Ice, each Keel forgets its Course;
Whilst o'er the new made Champian bounds the Horse.
Bold roam the Thracians on the chrystal Plains,
And print the stable Tide with sounding Wains.—