Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Revenge - Rout) Poem by Henry Baker

Revenge.

Revenge is sweeter much than Life!--'tis true,
So the unthinking say, and the mad Crew
Of hect'ring Blades, who for slight Cause, or none,
At ev'ry turn, are into Passion blown.
Not so meek Thales, or Chrysippus taught,
Or Socrates, who took the Poyson--Draught
With a forgiving Soul, nor wish'd to see
His base Accuser drink as deep as he.

Much Satisfaction in Revenge to find,
Denotes a little, mean, ungen'rous Mind:
This, Observation will most plainly shew,
For none so eagerly Revenge pursue,
Or love it half so well as Women do.--

In such tumultuous Haste her Passions sprung,
They choak'd her Voice, and quite disarm'd her Tongue.
No room for female Tears: the Furies rise,
And ev'ry Thought of Right or Wrong despise:
Reason's calm Dictates no Admittance find,
Revenge alone commands her raging Mind.--

Tears, unavailing, but defer our Time,
The stabbing Sword must expiate the Crime:
Or worse, if Wit on bloody Vengeance bent,
A Weapon more tormenting can invent.
O Sister! I 'ave prepar'd my stubborn Heart,
To act some hellish and unheard--of Part:
Some great, some mighty Mischief I've design'd,
But yet the Draught's unfinisht in my Mind.--

She stands attentive to his Perjuries,
And darts avenging Horror from her Eyes.
Raging Resentment fires her boiling Blood:
She springs upon him 'midst the Captive Crowd,
(Her Thirst of Vengeance want of Strength supplies,)
She thrusts her forky Fingers in his Eyes:
Tares out the rooted Balls: her Rage pursues,
And in the hollow Orbs her Hands imbrews.--


Revolution.
See Golden Age Restor'd.

The self--same Sun does ev'ry Morn appear,
And as He drives a Day, He whirls a Year.
From the same East He comes with equal Pace,
To the same West He still directs his Race,
And not one Change is seen in Nature's Face.
The same Moon shines, and at a certain Day,
Her Light encreases, and her Horns decay.
Nature does still her beaten Track pursue,
Nor like a Novice wanders in a new.
Phoebus still warms those Signs where first he shone,
And Day goes round with one eternal Sun:
Thus prov'd:--because by just Degrees the Hours
In different Countries are the same with our's.
The Eastern Nations view the rising Fires,
Whilst Night shades Us, and lazily retires.
As to the distant West we nimbly run,
That still removes, nor can we reach the Sun:
His Race no East begins, no West doth bound,
But on he drives in one continual Round.--

When round the great Platonic Year has turn'd,
In their old Ranks the wand'ring Stars shall stand,
As when first marshal'd by th' Almighty's Hand.--


Rewards.
See Munificence.

Then in the Center of the Cirque are plac'd
The Prizes, sacred Tripods, Wreaths of Greens,
And Palms for Victors: Arms, and purple Robes,
Talents of massy Silver, and of Gold.--

-- On every Ship
Three Heifers, to be chosen, he bestows,
A silver Talent's massy Weight, and Wine,
As Prizes.--To the Conq'ror first he gives
A Cloak, with Gold embroider'd, edg'd with Fringe
Of Meliboean Purple, doubly round
Entwining.--

To him whose Merit held the second Place
A Coat of Mail he gives, compact with Hooks,
And wrought with triple Tissue: to defend
At once and deck the Warrior.--
Two brazen Cauldrons to the Third he gives,
And silver Bowls with Figures rough emboss'd.--

Not One of all this Number shall from me
Go unrewarded: I'll on each bestow
Two Gnossian Jav'lins, bright with polish'd Steel,
And a carv'd Battle--Ax with Silver wrought.
This Honour shall be one to All. The Three
Who first excell, shall diff'rent Prizes share,
And with pale Olive bind their Heads. The First
A Steed enrich'd with Trappings shall receive:
The Next an Amazonian Quiver, fill'd
With Thracian Arrows, which a Belt around
Incloses with broad Gold, a Buckle clasps
With round smooth Diamonds: Be the Third content
With this Argolick Shield.--

--A huge Getulian Lion's Hide
He gives to Salius, rough with heavy Fur,
And golden Claws.--

--Then He commands to bring
A Shield, the Work of Didymaon's Art,
Torn by the Grecians from the sacred Posts
Of Neptune: and with that excelling Gift
Distinguishes the well--deserving Youth.--

He said: And for the Combat two Rewards
Propos'd: The Victor's Prize, a Bull adorn'd
With Gold, and Wreaths: a Sword, and burnish'd Helm,
The Solace of the Vanquish'd.--

Two Goblets I will give, in Silver wrought,
And rough with Sculpture: which my Father took
From sack'd Arisba: And two Talents Weight
Of massy Gold: two Tripods: and a Bowl
Of antique Cast, which Tyrian Dido gave.
But if 'tis giv'n Us in the Chance of War
To conquer Latium, and its Scepter wield,
Victorious, and by Lot to share the Spoils:
Saw'st Thou the Steed by Turnus press'd, the Arms
In which he rode, all glitt'ring, all in Gold?
That very Shield, and those red Plumes which grace
His Helmet, from the Lot I will exempt,
Already, Nisus, thy adjudg'd Reward.
Besides, twelve choicest Dames, twelve captive Youths,
With their own Arms, my Father shall bestow:
And, added to them All, that Tract of Land,
Which by the King Latinus is possess'd.--

--Drawing from his Belt
His gilded Sword, which wrought with wondrous Art
Lycaon, born of Gnossian Race, had made,
And in an iv'ry Scabbard fit inclos'd,
That Present on the lovely Youth bestows.--


Rites (Religious.)
See Funerals. Manes. Palace. Procession. Sacrifice.

They sprinkled first their Garments, and their Head,
Then took the Way which to the Temple led:
Before the Gradual, prostrate they ador'd,
Kiss'd the cold Stone, and trembling thus implor'd.--

Be this a solemn Feast, the Priest had said,
Be with each Mistress unemploy'd each Maid:
With Skins of Beasts your tender Limbs inclose,
And with an ivy Crown adorn your Brows:
The leafy Thyrsus high in Triumph bear,
And give your Locks to wanton in the Air.
These Rites profan'd, the holy Seer fore show'd
A mourning People, and a vengeful God.--

-- The holy Things
Take you, my Father, and our Country--Gods:
In me 'twere Guilt to touch them, just return'd
Recent from so much Slaughter, and besmear'd
With War: 'till in the living Stream I wash
The Blood away.--

He said, and paid the Gods their Honour due:
A Bull to Neptune, and a Bull to Thee,
Beauteous Apollo: To the stormy Pow'r
A sable Ewe: a white one to the smooth
Propitious Zephyrs.--

But when your Ships rest wafted o'er the Main,
And you on Altars rais'd along the Shore
Pay your vow'd Off'rings, with a purple Veil
Cover your Head: lest any hostile Face
Appearing, should disturb the solemn Rites,
The holy Fires, and Honour of the Gods.
This Form in sacrificing let your Friends
With you observe; and let your future Race
Pious in this Religion persevere.--

--He to mighty Jove
An hundred spatious Temples, in his Realms
Of wide Extent, an hundred Altars built:
And consecrated to the Gods the Hearths
Of everlasting Fire: The Ground with Blood
Of slaughter'd Victims smoking: and the Doors
With various colour'd flow'ry Wreaths adorn'd.--

He wakes the Embers, and the sleeping Fire,
And with a holy Cake and Censer fill'd,
The Trojan Lar, and aged Vesta's Shrine
Suppliant adores.--

Now from your Bowls to Jove Libations pour:
My Sire Anchises with religious Pray'rs
Invoke: and on your Boards replace the Wine.
This said, He binds his Temples with a Wreath
Of verdant Boughs, and supplicant adores
The Genius of the Place, and Earth the first
Of Deities, the Nymphs, and River--Gods
As yet unknown, and Night, and of the Night
The rising starry Signs: in order next
The Phrygian Mother, and Idaean Jove,
And both his Parents, one rever'd in Heav'n,
And one in Erebus.--

Sleep leaves Æneas, and the Night retires.
Rising, he turns him to the rising Sun,
And, from the River, in his hollow Hands,
By solemn Rite accustom'd, Water takes,
And thus prefers his Suit in open Air.
Ye Nymphs! Laurentian Nymphs! from whom the Birth
Of Rivers springs: And Thou, supreme of Floods,
O Father Tyber! with thy sacred Stream
Receive Æneas, and relieve his Toils.
Thou, who with Pity dost regard our Woes,
In whate'er Soil thy beauteous Head is rais'd,
Where--e'er thy Source: For ever shall by me
Thy Deity be honour'd, horny God,
King of Hesperian Rivers. Only grant
To Us thy nearer Succour I implore.--

Æneas (tho' th' Interment of his Friends
Hurries his Thoughts, with Fun'ral Cares perplex'd,)
With the first Dawn of Morning, Victor pays
His Vows to Heav'n.--


River (passing over.)

--To them the rapid Water's Course,
First plung'd amidst the Flood the bolder Horse:
With Strength oppos'd against the Stream they lead,
While to the smoother Ford the Foot with Ease succeed.--

--Spur on the winged Horse:
And march the Foot, the Bridge, tho' falling, force.
Make good your Passage, my brave Friends! he said:
Swift as a Storm the nimble Horse obey'd:
A--cross the Stream their deadly Darts they throw,
And from their Station drive the yielding Foe.
The Victors at their Ease the Ford explore,
And pass the undefended River o'er.--

Caesar commands to Arms: Without delay
The Soldier to the River bends his Way:
None then with cautious Care the Bridge explor'd,
Or sought the Shallows of the safer Ford:
Arm'd at all Points, they plunge amidst the Flood,
And with strong Sinews make the Passage good:
Dangers they scorn'd that might the Bold affright,
And stop ev'n panting. Cowards in their Flight.
At length the farther Bank attaining safe,
Chill'd by the Stream, their dropping Limbs they chafe:
Then with fresh Vigour urge the Foes Pursuit,
And in the sprightly Chace the Pow'rs of Life recruit.--


Rose.

She in the Morning calls; Ye Maids! prepare,
In rosy Garlands bind your flowing Hair:
'Tis Venus' Plant: The Blood fair Venus shed,
O'er the gay Beauty pour'd immortal Red:
From Love's soft Kiss a sweet Ambrosial Smell
Was taught for ever on the Leaves to dwell:
From Gems, from Flames, from orient Rays of Light,
The richest Lustre makes it's Purple bright.--


Rout.
See Battle. Slaughter.

Their Queen thus slain, first flies Camilla's Wing
Light--arm'd: the Rutuli confounded fly,
And brave Atinas, and the scatter'd Chiefs,
And broken Troops: To safer Posts they run,
And spur their foaming Steeds to reach the Town.
Nor now can any force in Arms sustain
The Trojans, pressing, and dispensing Death:
Or stand oppos'd: But languid back they bear
Their Bows unbent, and o'er their Shoulders slung:
And the swift Horses shake the putrid Soil
With sounding Hoofs. A turbid Cloud of Dust
Rolls to the City: On the lofty Tow'rs
The Matrons stand, and to th' etherial Stars
Raise female Cries: And frantick beat their Breasts.

With Those who thro' the open Gates first croud
Into the Town, a mingled Throng of Foes
Together presses: Nor a cruel Death
Do they escape: but ev'n within their Walls,
Their Houses, and beneath their native Roofs,
Transfix'd expire their Souls. Some shut the Gates:
Nor durst permit their own imploring Friends
To enter: Those with Arms the Passes guard,
These rush against those Arms: Among them All,
A Slaughter vast, and terrible, ensues.
Others, before their weeping Parents Eyes,
Excluded, by the Rout, and Ruin urg'd,
Down the steep Trenches leap: With loosen'd Reins
Some forward spur their Steeds, and blindly tilt
Against the Gates, the Bars, and solid Posts.--

The fiery Steeds, impatient of a Wound,
Hurl their neglected Riders to the Ground:
Or on their Friends with Rage ungovern'd turn,
And trampling o'er the helpless Foot, are born.
Hence foul Confusion and Dismay succeed,
The Victors murder, and the Vanquish'd bleed:
Their weary Hands the tir'd Destroyers ply,
Scarce can these kill, so fast as those can die.—