Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Oracles - Palace) Poem by Henry Baker

Oracles.
See Sibyl.

Oracle of Faunus.
Uneasy at these Prodigies, the King
Repairs to Faunus' Oracle. From hence
All the Italian and Œnotrian Realms
In Doubts seek Answers: Hither when the Priest
Has brought his Off'rings, and in silent Night
Sleeps on spread Skins of fleecy Victims slain:
Unnumber'd Fantoms flutt'ring round He sees
In wondrous Forms, and various Voices hears:
These he consults, the future Fates to know,
From the superior Gods, and from the Pow'rs below,--


Delphic Oracle.

The Priestess every sacred Rite prepares.
A Fillet gathers up her formost Hairs,
While the white Wreath and Bays her Temples bind,
And knit the looser Locks which flow behind.
Close to the holy breathing Vent she cleaves,
And largely the unwonted God receives:
Nor Age the potent Spirit had decay'd,
But with full Force he fills the heaving Maid.
The mortal Mind, driv'n out, forsook her Breast,
And the sole Godhead ev'ry Part possess'd.

Now swell her Veins, her turgid Sinews rise,
And, bounding frantick, thro' the Cave she flies:
Her bristling Locks the wreathy Fillet scorn,
And her fierce Feet the tumbling Tripods spurn.
Now wild she dances o'er the vacant Fane,
And whirls her giddy Head, and bellows with the Pain.
Nor yet the less, th' avenging wrathful God,
Pours in his Fires, and shakes his sounding Rod:
He lashes now, and goads her on amain,
And now He checks her stubborn to the Rein,
Curbs in her Tongue, just lab'ring to disclose
And speak that Fate which in her Bosom glows.

Ages on Ages throng, a painful Load,
Myriads of Images, and Myriads croud:
Men, Times, and Things, or present, or to come,
Work lab'ring in her Breast, and urge for room.
Whatever is, shall be, or e'er has been,
Rolls in her Thought, and to her Sight is seen.
The Ocean's utmost Bounds her Eyes explore,
And number ev'ry Sand on ev'ry Shore:
Nature, and all her Marks, at once they see,
Know when she first began, and when her End shall be.

At length her foamy Mouth begins to flow,
Groans more distinct, and Murmurs plainer grow:
A doleful Howl the roomy Cavern shook,
And thus the Maid in fainting Accents spoke.--

She said: the God her lab'ring Tongue supprest,
And in eternal Darkness veil'd the rest.
Now thro' the Gates, with all her Force display'd,
Impetuous sallies the prophetick Maid;
Nor yet the holy Rage was all suppress'd,
Part of the God still heaving in her Breast:
Urg'd by the Demon, still she rolls her Eyes,
And wildly wanders o'er the spacious Skies.
Now horrid Purple flushes in her Face,
And now a livid Pale supplies the Place:
A double Madness paints her Cheeks by turns,
With Fear she freezes, and with Fury burns:
Nor can her weary Breast it's Heavings cease,
But bursting Sighs rise fast to give her Ease.

Now, by Degrees, the Fire Etherial fail'd,
And the dull human Sense again prevail'd:
Mean while, the God, in an eternal Shade,
Hides the past Visions from the mortal Maid.
Thick Clouds of dark Oblivion rife between,
And snatch away at one the wond'rous Scene.
Stretch'd on the Ground the fainting Priestess lies,
While to the Tripod, back, th' informing Spirit flies.--

What Pow'r Divine forsakes the Heav'n's fair Light,
To dwell with Earth, and everlasting Night?
What is this Spirit, potent, wise, and great,
Who deigns to make a mortal Frame his Seat?
Who the long Chain of secret Causes knows:
Whose Oracles the Years to come disclose:
Who thro' Eternity at once foresees,
And tells that Fate which He himself decress?
Part of that Soul, perhaps, which moves in All,
Whose Energy informs the pendant Ball,
Thro' this dark Passage seeks the Realms above,
And strives to re--unite itself to Jove.
Whate'er the Demon, when He stands confess'd
Within his raging Priestess' panting Breast,
Dreadful his Godhead from the Virgin breaks,
And thund'ring from her foamy Mouth He speaks.--

The gracious God, still ready with Replies,
To none his Aid, or Oracle denies:
Yet wise, and righteous ever, scorns to hear
The Fool's fond Wishes, or the Guilty's Pray'r:
Tho', vainly, in repeated Vows they trust,
None e'er find Grace before him, but the Just.
Oft to a banish'd, wandring, houseless Race,
The sacred Dictates have assign'd a Place:
Oft from the Strong He saves the Weak, in War:
This Truth, ye Salaminian Seas declare!
And heals the barren Land, and pestilential Air.--

Full of the God that harbour'd in his Breast,
Thoughts worthy of a God great Cato thus express'd.

Whither, O Labienus, wouldst Thou go?
What mighty Secrets dost Thou want to know?
Is it a Doubt if Death should be my Doom,
Rather than live till Kings and Bondage come:
Rather than see a Tyrant crown'd in Rome?
Or wouldst Thou know if Life itself be aught?
Or what the Diff'rence 'twixt the long and short?
Wouldst Thou be told if all the World conjoyn'd,
Can shake, or hurt, the brave and honest Mind?
If stable Virtue can her Ground maintain,
While Fortune feebly threats and frowns in vain?
If Truth and Justice with Uprightness dwell,
And Praise be due for but intending well?
Whether our Loss, or whether our Success,
Can make our Honesty, or more, or less.

If These the Secrets are You wou'd unfold,
These may without an Oracle be told.
Unsought, for These, be Ammon's sacred Ground,
A nearer Temple of the God is found:
From God deriv'd, to God by Nature join'd,
We act the Dictates of his mighty Mind:
And tho' the Priests and Oracles be still,
God never wants a Voice to speak his Will:
All that for us to know He thought was fit
Is by himself within our Bosoms writ.
Canst Thou believe the vast eternal Mind,
To barren Plains of scorching Sands confin'd?
That He would chuse this waste, this desart Ground,
To teach the thin Inhabitants around,
And let his Truth in Wilds alone be found?
Is there a Place that God would chuse to love,
Beyond this Earth, and Sea, yon' Heav'n above,
And virtuous Minds, the noblest Throne of Jove?
Why seek we farther then?--Behold around,
Whate'er Thou seest dost with the God abound:
He's ev'ry where, and always to be found.
Let those weak Minds who live in Doubt and Fear,
To jugling Priests for Oracles repair:
The Oracles no Certainty can give,
But Death will surely all our Woes relieve:
One common Fate must wait upon Us all,
The Coward, and the Brave, are doom'd to fall.
This solves all Doubts, this leaves no room to fear:
Jove told Us this, and needs no more declare.--

So spoke the Hero: and to keep his Word,
Nor Ammon, nor his Oracle explor'd:
But left the Crowd at Freedom to believe,
And take such Answers as the Priest should give.--


Orion.

Who that the Scorpion's Insect Form surveys,
Would think how ready Death his Call obeys?
Threat'ning, he rears his knotty Tail on high:
The vast Orion thus he doom'd to die,
And fix'd him, his proud Trophy, in the Sky.--

Next the bright Twins, see great Orion rise:
His Arms extended, stretch o'er half the Skies:
His Stride as large: and, with a stately Pace,
He marches on, and measures a vast Space.
On each broad Shoulder a bright Star's display'd,
And three obliquely, grace his shining Blade.
In his vast Head, immerst in boundless Spheres,
Three Stars less bright, but yet as great, he bears:
Tho' farther off remov'd, their Splendor's lost.
Thus grac'd, and arm'd, he leads the starry Host.--


Osiris.
See Bacchus.

Osiris first, to frame the Plow--share found,
And first with Steel tore up the tender Ground:
First in th' unpractic'd Earth the Seed he threw,
And first, from Trees unknown, ripe Apples drew.
First prop'd the bending Branches of the Vine,
And taught the clasping Tendrils where to twine:
To prune the shooting Trees with timely Care,
And stop the wild Luxuriance of the Year.
He to express the Wine first taught the Use,
And made the Vat o'erflow with gen'rous Juice.
Wine tun'd the Voice to chant the charmful Song,
And taught the Feet to bound in measur'd times along.
Bacchus to Country Swains oppress'd with Cares,
Gives Courage, and dissolves invading Fears.
Bacchus gives Respite to the Wretch's Pains,
Altho' with Fetters gall'd, and rattling Chains.
Nor Cares, nor Woes, Osiris, Thee annoy,
But thine the Song, the Dance, and Love's endearing Joy:
The flowry Chaplet, and the Ivy Crown,
The Saffron Mantle flowing loosely down,
The purple Vest, the Flute's melodious Sound,
And mystic Rites in sacred Silence bound.--


Palace.
See Banquet.

A spacious Structure in the City's Height,
Sublime upon an hundred Pillars stood,
With gloomy Groves religiously obscure,
Laurentian Picus' Palace: Where the Kings
The first Inauguration of their Sway,
The Scepters, and the regal Fasces took:
This Court their Temple: Here the sacred Feasts:
And here the Fathers, by th' accustom'd Rite,
Killing a Victim Ram, in order sate
Along the Forms. Before the stately Doors
Th' Effigies of their Ancestors stood rang'd
In Rows of antique Cedar: Italus,
Father Sabinus, Planter of the Vine,
Holding in Imag'ry his crooked Scythe,
And aged Saturn, and the double Front
Of Janus: and the other antient Kings,
Who for their Country suffer'd Wounds in War.
Besides: thick Arms upon the sacred Posts,
Curve Scymiters, and captive Chariots hung;
And Crests of Helmets: massy Bars of Gates:
And Darts, and Shields, and Beaks from Vessels torn.--

Here Ceres' Palace, by the Cyclops rear'd,
A stately Pile! in glitt'ring Pomp appear'd.
Ir'n were the Posts and Walls: the spacious Door,
With Sheets of stubborn Steel was plated o'er.
The drudging Brethren, ne'er with equal Toil,
Labour'd so vast a Work, or rais'd so firm a Pile:
Nor the huge Bellows with their hollow Frame,
Swell'd with such gather'd Blasts to urge the Flame:
Nor ever such a rolling Flood before,
Of molten Metal the hot Furnace bore.
The Hall with Ivory was cover'd round,
And Beams of Brass the lofty Summit bound:
Amber in tow'ring Columns rose on high,
And with it's golden Splendor charm'd the Eye.--

The Palatine, proud Rome's imperial Seat,
(An awful Pile!) stands venerably Great:
Thither the Kingdoms and the Nations come,
In supplicating Crouds to learn their Doom:
To Delphi less th' enquiring Worlds repair,
Nor does a greater God inhabit there.
This sure the pompous Mansion was design'd
To please the mighty Rulers of Mankind:
Inferior Temples rise on either Hand,
And on the Borders of the Palace stand,
While o'er the rest her Head she proudly rears,
And lodg'd amidst her Guardian Gods appears.—