The pitchy planks their crackling prey become;
The painted sterns, and rowers feats confume.
There, hulks half-burnt fink in the main; and here,
Arms on the waves and drowning men appear.
Nor thus fuffic'd, the flames from thence afpire,
And feize the buildings with contagious fire.
Swift o'er the roofs by winds increas'd, they fly; 655
So thooting meteors blaze along the sky,
And lead their wandering course with sudden glare,
By fulphurous atoms fed in fields of thinneft air.
Affrighted crouds the growing ruin view;
To fave the city from the fiege they flew,
When Cæfar, wont the lucky hour to chuse
Of fudden chance in war, and wifely-ufe,
Loft not in flothful reft the favouring night,
But shipp'd his men, and sudden took his flight.
Pharos he feiz'd, an island heretofore,
When prophet Proteus Ægypt's fceptre bore,
Now by a chain of moles contiguous to the shore.
Here Cæfar's arms a double use obtain ;
Hence from the ftraiten'd foe he bars the main,
While to his friends th' important harbour lies
A fafe retreat, and open to fupplies.
Nor longer now the doom suspended stands,
Which Juftice on Pothinus' guilt demands.
Yet not as guilt, unmatch'd like his, requires,
Not by the shameful crofs, or torturing fires, 675
Nor torn by ravenous beafts, the howling wretch
The fword difhonour'd did his head divide,
And by a fate like Rome's best son he dy'd.
Arfinoe now, by well-concerted fnares
'Scap'd from the palace, to the foe repairs;
The trufty Ganymede affifts her flight.
Then o'er the camp she claim'd a sovereign's right;
Her brother abfent, fhe affumes the fword,
And frees the tyrant from his houshold lord;
By her juft hand Achillas meets his fate,
Rebel accurs'd! in blood and mischief great!
Another victim, Pompey, to thy fhade;
But think not yet the full atonement made,
Though Ægypt's king, though all the royal line
Should fall, thy murmuring ghoft would ftill repine;
Still unreveng'd thy murder would remain,
Till Cæfar's purple life the fenate's fwords fhall stain.
Nor does the fwelling tempeft yet fubfide.
The chief remov'd that did its fury guide,
To the fame charge bold Ganymede fucceeds,
Profperous awhile in many hardy deeds.
So long th' event of war in balance lay,
So great the dangers of that doubtful day,
That Cæfar from that day alone might claim
Immortal wreaths, and all the warrior's fame.
Now while to quit the straiten'd mole he ftrove,
And to the vacant fhips the fight remove,
War's utmost terrors prefs on every fide;
Before the strand befieging navies ride;
Behind, the troops advance. No way is seen
T'efcape, or fcarce a glorious death to win.
No room with flaughter'd foes to ftrew the plain,
And bravely fall amidst a pile of flain.
A captive to the place he now appears,
Doubtful if death should move his hope, or fears. 710
In this distress a sudden thought inspir'd
His hardy breaft, by great examples fir'd;
Bold Scæva's action he to mind recalls,
And glory won near fam'd Dyrrachium's walls;
Where, whilft his men a doubtful fight maintain, 715
And Pompey ftrove the batter'd works to gain,
Amidft a field of foes, that hemm'd him round,
Alone the brave Centurion kept his ground.
Here the original poem breaks off abruptly, having been left unfinished by the author.
Anacreon, Ode III.
The Story of Pyramus and Thisbe
The Triumph of Love
The Picture
But by the deed which we together shar'd,
In vain, if not by new attempts repair'd,
By that strict league a hero's blood has bound,
Bring fpeedy war, and all their joys confound,
Rush boldly on; with slaughter let us stain
Their nuptial torch; the cruel bride be slain
Ev'n in her bed, and which foe'er fupplies
In present turn the husband's place, he dies.
Nor Cæfar's name our purpose shall appall;
Fortune's the common miftrefs of us all,
And fhe, that lifts him now above mankind,
Courted by us, may be to us as kind.
We share his brightest glory, and are great
By Pompey's death, as he by his defeat.
Look on the shore, and read good omens there,
And ask the bloody waves what we may dare.
Behold what tomb the wretched trunk fupplies,
Half hid in fand, half naked to the skies!
Yet this was Cæfar's equal whom we flew :
And doubt we then new glory to pursue?
Grant that our birth 's obfcure; yet, fhall we need 500
Kings or rich states confederate to the deed?
No, Fate's our own, and Fortune in our way,
Without our toil, presents a nobler prey;
Appeafe we now the Romans while we may !
This fecond victim fhall their rage remove
For Pompey's death, and turn their hate to love.
Nor dread we mighty names, which flaves adore;
Stripp'd of his army what 's this soldier more
Than thou or I?-to-night then let us end
His civil wars; to-night the fates shall fend
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