Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Worship - Zones) Poem by Henry Baker

Worship:
What sort acceptable to the Gods.

But say, ye Priests, if I may be so bold,
What are the Gods the better for our Gold?
The Wretch that offers from his wealthy Store
Such Presents, bribes the Pow'rs to give him more:
As Maids to Venus offer Baby--Toys,
To bless the Marriage--Bed with Girls and Boys.

But let Us for the Gods a Gift prepare,
Which the Great Man's great Fortune cannot bear:
A Soul, where Laws both human and divine,
In Practice more than Speculation shine:
A genuine Virtue, of a vig'rous Kind,
Pure in the last Recesses of the Mind.
When with such Off'rings to the Gods I come,
A Cake, thus giv'n, is worth a Hecatomb.--

The Blood of Bulls cannot the Gods delight:
But from the Heart performing what is Right,
Justice, and Truth, are pleasing in their Sight.--

The pious Off'ring of a piece of Bread,
If with pure Hands upon the Altar laid,
Than costly Hecatombs will better please
Th' offended Gods, and their just Wrath appease.--

Thou hop'st with Sacrifice of Oxen slain
To compass Wealth, and bribe the God of Gain.
Increase my Flocks and Herds, Good God, I pray!--
Fool! how can they increase, when ev'ry Day,
Thy choicest Young are sacrific'd away?
Yet think'st Thou when the fatten'd Flames aspire,
Thou see'st the Accomplishment of thy Desire.
Now, now, my bearded Harvest gilds the Plain!
The scanty Folds can scarce my Sheep contain!
And Show'rs of Gold come pouring in amain!

Thus dreams the Wretch, and vainly thus dreams on,
Till his lank Purse declares his Money gone.--

The Gods are pure, and Purity require:
Before the Pow'rs in spotless Garments stand,
And sprinkle Water with unsully'd Hand.--


Wounds.
See Battle. Combat. Dying. Slaughter.

--Almo fell
Shot by a founding Arrow: For the Wound
Beneath his Wezon stuck, and with his Blood
Clos'd up the Passage of the humid Voice,
And choak'd the slender Life.--

Full, as he rose, He bury'd all the Sword
Deep in his Breast: and with abundant Death
Receiv'd him: He with gushing Wine and Gore
Vomits his purple Soul; and dying pours
A blended Flood.--

--The flying Spear
Fixes in Sulmo's Back averse: and there
The Wood breaks short: the pointed Steel divides
His Lungs, and whizzing passes thro' his Breast.
Shiv'ring he totters, from his Bosom pours
A reeking Flood, and with long Sobs distends
His heaving Entrails.--

Hurt by Themilla first, but slight the Wound,
His Shield thrown by, to mitigate the Smart,
He clap'd his Hand upon the wounded Part:
A feather'd Shaft came swift and unespy'd,
And pierc'd his Hand, and nail'd it to his Side:
Transfix'd his breathing Lungs, and beating Heart:
The Soul came issuing out, and hiss'd against the Dart.--

Then rising, on his utmost Stretch he stood:
And aim'd from high: the full descending Blow
Cleaves the broad Front and beardless Cheeks in two:
Down sinks the Warrior with a thund'ring Sound,
His pond'rous Limbs oppress the trembling Ground:
Blood, Brains and Foam, gush from the gaping Wound.
Scalp, Face, and Neck, the cutting Steel divides,
And the shar'd Visage hangs on equal Sides.--

Lynceus advancing opposite in Arms,
And calling on his Friends, with brandish'd Sword
From the high Mound he to the Right, assails:
At one full Stroke off flew his gasping Head,
And, with his Helmet, at a Distance lay.--

-- The Jav'lin flies
Bores his Right Arm, and cuts it's bloody Way:
And from his Shoulder by the stringy Nerves
The dying Limb hangs down.--

As Lucagus prone, hanging on the Blow,
Goads with a Dart his Horses, and prepares,
With his Left Foot protended, for the Fight,
Beneath the Border of his shining Shield
The Spear takes Place, and pierces his left Groin:
He from his Chariot dying rolls to Earth.--

Now Podalirius, with his Sword unsheath'd,
The Shepherd Alsus, rushing thro' the Darts
In the first Rank, pursues, and o'er him him stands
Threat'ning aloft: He turning on the Foe,
Full in the middle with his Ax divides
His Forehead and his Chin: and smears his Arms
With spatter'd Brains all o'er: A deadly Rest,
And iron Slumber seals his heavy Eyes,
And closes them in everlasting Night.--

Æneas with a Rock's enormous Weight,
Driv'n like a Whirlwind, strikes Murranus down
Headlong to Earth.--
The Wheels beneath the Axle, and the Reins,
Whirl rapid o'er him: and his trampling Steeds
Crush him to Mire, unmindful of their Lord.--

--Ebusus springs on,
And aims a Blow: Him Chorinaeus meets,
And dashes o'er his Face a flaming Brand
Snatch'd from the Altar: his huge bushy Beard
Blazes, and spreads a Stench. The Other close
Urges his startled Foe, and in his Hair
Twists his left Hand: and, pressing with his Knee
His Stomach, nails him prostrate to the Ground:
And plunges in his Side the rigid Steel.--

He fled full speed; but an unerring Dart
O'ertook him, quick discharg'd and sped with Art:
Fix'd in his Neck behind, it trembling stood,
And at his Throat came out besmear'd with Blood.
Prone as his Posture was, he tumbled o'er
His Courser's Neck, and bath'd the Ground with steaming Gore.--

-- A thrilling Dart,
By Phaebus guided, pierc'd him to the Heart.
This, as they drew it forth, the Midriff tore,
It's barbed Point the fleshy Fragments bore,
And let the Soul gush out in Streams of purple Gore.--

Poor Damasicthon by a double Wound,
Beardless, and young, lay gasping on the Ground.
Fix'd in his sinewy Ham, the steely Point,
Struck thro' his Knee, and pierc'd the nervous Joint:
And, as he stoop'd to tug the painful Dart,
Another struck him in a vital Part:
Shot thro' his Wezon, by the Wing it hung,
The Life--Blood forc'd it out, and darting upward sprung.--

--With both his Hands
A Golden Cup he seizes, high emboss'd,
And at his Head the massy Goblet toss'd:
It hits, and from his Forehead bruis'd rebounds,
And Blood, and Brains, he vomits from his Wounds.
Thund'ring he falls, along the Floor he lies,
And Death for ever shuts his swimming Eyes.--

But closely round an Altar as he hung,
And there with trembling Arms for safety clung,
Fierce Chromis lop'd his Head, and lop'd so well,
The jointed Head upon the Altar fell:
And gasping, curs'd among the curling Fires,
And in a shining Blaze at last expires.--

Swift from his Hand the winged Jav'lin flies,
And Argus of illustrious Lineage wounds:
Deep sinks the piercing Point, where to the Loins
Above the Naval high the Belly joins:
The stagg'ring Youth falls forward on his Fate,
And helps the goring Weapon with his Weight.--

One Spear transfix'd his Back, and one his Breast,
And deadly met within his heaving Chest.
Doubtful awhile the Flood was seen to stay:
At length the steely Points at once gave way:
Then fleeting Life a twofold Passage found,
And ran divided from each streaming Wound.--


Wretch.

Now from the Wood shot sudden forth to View,
A Wretch in Rags, that flutter'd as he flew.
The human Form in meager Hunger lost!
The suppliant Stranger more than half a Ghost,
Stretch'd forth his Hands, and pointed to the Coast.
We turn'd to view the Sight:--His Vest was torn,
And all the tatter'd Garb was tagg'd with Thorn.
His Beard hangs long, and Filth the Wretch distains,
And scarce the Shadow of a Man remains.

Soon as our Dardan Dress and Arms he view'd,
In Fear suspended for a Space he stood:
Stood, stop'd, and paus'd:--then springing forth he flies,
All headlong to the Shore with Pray'rs and Cries.
Oh! by this vital Air, the Stars on high,
By ev'ry pitying Pow'r who treads the Sky!
Ye Trojans take me hence; I ask no more:
But bear, Oh! bear me to some other Shore.

Then kneel'd the Wretch, and suppliant clung around
My Knees with Tears, and grovell'd on the Ground.--


Writing.

Phoenicians first, if ancient Fame be true,
The wond'rous Art of forming Letters knew:
They first essay'd, as 'twere by Magic bound,
To picture Speech, and fix the flying Sound:
By uncouth Figures which their Fancy wrought,
Colour and Body gave to Voice and Thought.
Then Memphis, e'er the ready Leaf was known,
Engrav'd her Precepts and her Arts on Stone:
With Birds and Beasts, in various Order plac'd,
The learned Hieroglyphick Column grac'd.--


Year.

Perceiv'st thou not the Process of the Year,
How the four Seasons in four Forms appear,
Resembling human Life in ev'ry Shape they wear?

Spring first, like Infancy, shoots out her Head,
With milky Juice requiring to be fed:
Helpless, tho' fresh: and wanting to be led.
The green Stem grows in Stature and in Size,
But only feeds with Hope the Farmer's Eyes.
Then laughs the childish Year, with Flow'rets crown'd,
And lavishly perfumes the Fields around:
But no substantial Nourishment receives,
Infirm the Stalks, unsolid are the Leaves.

Proceeding onwards, whence the Year began,
The Summer grows adult, and ripens into Man:
This Season, as in Men, is most replete
With kindly Moisture and prolific Heat.

Autumn succeeds: a sober, tepid Age,
Not froze with Fear, nor boiling into Rage:
More than mature, and tending to Decay,
When our brown Locks begin to mix with Grey.

Then aged Winter comes with trembling Pace,
Depriv'd of Strength, despoil'd of ev'ry Grace,
And bald, or white as Snow, concludes the Race.--


Zephyr.
See Winds.

His balmy Wings auspicious Zephyr shakes,
The trickling Dew a joyous Season makes:
Where--e'er he flies appears the vernal Dye:
The Ground is green, and smiles the cheerful Sky.
With crimson Grace he paints the blushing Rose,
He on the darker Hyacinth bestows
A shaded Splendor, and with Purple bright
Makes the sweet scented Violet delight.
Not so, with Gems enchas'd, around the Loins
Of Parthian Kings the glitt'ring Girdle shines.
What Fleece, that with Assyrian Tincture glows,
Such rich Variety of Beauty shows?
Not Juno's Bird, the Glory of the Skies,
Proud of his Tail diversify'd with Eyes,
Displays such Colours in his curious Train,
Nor the bright changeful Bow, that circles round the Rain.


Zones.
See Embroidery.

Five Zones the Heav'ns infold: with constant Sun
Still red, still scorch'd in torrid Heat the One:
Round This, on either Hand, wind distant Coasts,
Regions of Storm, and everlasting Frosts.
Betwixt the First, and These, by bounteous Heav'n
To feeble Mortals Two are kindly giv'n:
A--cross them both a Path oblique inclines,
Where in successive Order turn the Signs.--

And, as two equal Zones on either Side,
On Right, and Left, the measur'd Heav'n's divide,
While the Fifth rages with intenser Heat;
So Lines alike this earthly Ball compleat.
The Sun with Rays directly darting down,
Inhabitable makes the Middle Zone:
On Two, eternal Hills of Snow are seen:
And Two, indulgent Heav'n has plac'd between:
Whose Climes a due proportion'd Mixture hold,
Temper'd with equal Parts of Heat and Cold.--

The ambient Air does this our Earth surround,
And five Divisions on its Orb are found:
Two Parts thereof in cheerless Regions lye,
Where Frost and Cold eternal fills the Sky:
There sullen Night sits brooding o'er the Ground,
And all with Darkness are invelop'd round.
No living Waters there the Lands divide,
No gentle Streams in mazy Wand'rings glide;
But everlasting Ice the Floods constrains,
And Drifts of Snow o'erspread the dreary Plains:
There never did the Sun diffuse a Ray,
Or give the chearful Promise of a Day.

The middle Regions feel the scorching Sun,
Whether he nearer brings our Summer on,
Or when he does a swifter Course display,
And in short Circles wheels the wintry Day.
There then the Plough can never be in Use,
No Corn the Fields, nor Herbs the Lands produce:
No God, indulgent, makes the Fields his Care,
Bacchus and Ceres never visit there.
No Cattle there can graze the parch'd--up Ground,
There nothing that possesses Life is found.

Between the freezing Cold, and scorching Heat,
Our temp'rate Zone is plac'd, a happy Seat!
To this oppos'd a fellow Climate lies;
Happy alike the Temper of its Skies.
Here, first, the stubborn Steer to Toil was broke,
And Oxen bent their Necks beneath the Yoke:
Here Vines were taught to climb the neighb'ring Trees,
And annual Harvests gave a large Increase.
Here first the Soil receiv'd the iron Plough,
Here first the Ocean felt the brazen Prow:
Here well--built Towns, and mighty Cities rise,
With stately Walls, and Tow'rs that brave the Skies.—