She fees all lingering, all delays are vain,
And rushes headlong to poffefs the pain;
Nor will the hurry of her griefs afford
One last embrace from her forfaken lord.
Uncommon cruel was the fate, for two,
Whofe lives had lafted long, and been so true,
To lose the pleasure of one last adieu.
In all the woful days that crofs'd their blifs,
Sure never hour was known fo fad as this;
By what they suffer'd now, inur'd to pain,
They met all after-forrows with disdain,
And fortune fhot her envious fhafts in vain.
Low on the ground the fainting dame is laid;
Her train officious haften to her aid:
Then gently rearing, with a careful hand,
Support her, flow-defcending o'er the strand.
There, while with eager arms fhe grafp'd the shore,
Scarcely the mourner to the bark they bore.
Not half this grief of heart, thefe pangs, fhe knew,
When from her native Italy fhe flew :
Lonely, and comfortless, fhe takes her flight,
Sad feems the day, and long the fleepless night.
In vain her maids the downy couch provide,
She wants the tender partner of her side.
When weary oft in heavinefs fhe lies,
And dozy slumber steals upon her eyes;
Fain, with fond arms, her lord she would have preft,
But weeps to find the pillow at her breast.
Though raging in her veins a fever burns,
Painful the lies, and reftlefs oft he turns.
She fhuns his facred fide with awful fear,
And would not be convinc'd he is not there.
But, oh! too foon the want shall be supply'd,
The gods too cruelly for that provide:
Again, the circling hours bring back her lord, 1135 -And Pompey shall be fatally reftorid.
Cæfar and Pompey lying now near Dyrrhachium, after feveral marches and counter-marches, the former with incredible diligence runs a vaft line, or work, round the camp of the latter. This, Pompey, after fuffering for want of provifions, and a very gallant resistance of Scæva, a centurion of Cæfar's, at length breaks through. After this, Cæfar makes another unsuccessful attempt upon a part of Pompey's army, and then marches away into Theffaly: And Pompey, against the perfuafion and counsel of his friends, follows him. After a defcription of the ancient inhabitants, the boundaries, the mountains, and rivers of Theffaly; the poet takes occafion, from this country being famous for witchcraft, to introduce Sextus Pompeius, inquiring the event of the civil war from the forcerefs Erictho.
WOW, near encamp'd, each on a neighbouring
height,
The Latian chiefs prepare for fudden fight.
The rival pair seem hither brought by fate,
As if the gods would end the dire debate,
And here determine of the Roman state.
Cæfar, intent upon his hoftile fon,
Demands a conqueft here, and here alone;
Neglects what laurels captive towns must yield,
And fcorns the harvest of the Grecian field.
Impatient he provokes the fatal day,
Ordain'd to give Rome's liberties away,
And leave the world the greedy victor's prey.
Eager, that laft, great chance of war he waits,
Where either's fall determines both their fates.
Thrice, on the hills, all drawn in dread array,
His threatening eagles wide their wings difplay;
Thrice, but in vain, his hoftile arms he fhew'd,
His ready rage, and thirst of Latian blood.
But when he faw, how cautious Pompey's care,
Safe in his camp, declin'd the proffer'd war;
Through woody paths he bent his fecret way,
And meant to make Dyrrhachium's towers his
This Pompey faw; and fwiftly fhot before,
With speedy marches on the fandy shore:
Till on Taulantian Petra's top he stay'd,
Sheltering the city with his timely aid.
This place, nor walls, nor trenches deep can boaft,
The works of labour, and expensive coft.
Vain prodigality! and labour vain !
Loft is the lavish'd wealth, and loft the fruitlefs pain! 30
What walls, what towers foe'er they rear fublime,
Muft yield to wars, or more destructive time;
While fences like Dyrrhachium's fortrefs made,
Where nature's hand the fure foundation laid,
And with her strength the naked town array'd,.
Shall stand secure against the warrior's rage,
Nor fear the ruinous decays of age.
Guarded, around, by fteepy rocks it lies,
And all accefs from land, but one, denies.
No venturous veffel there in fafety rides,
But foaming furges break, and fwelling tides.
Roll roaring on, and wash the craiggy fides :
Or when contentious winds more rudely blow,
Then mounting o'er the topmaft cliff they flow,
Burft on the lofty domes, and dash the town below.
Here Cæfar's daring heart vast hopes conceives, 46.
And high with war's vindictive pleasures heaves;
Much he revolves within his thoughtful mind,
How, in this camp, the foe may be confin'd,
With ample lines from hill to hill defign'd.
Secret and swift he means the task to try,
And runs each distance over with his
Vaft heaps of fod and verdant turf are brought,
And ftones in deep laborious quarries wrought ;
Each Grecian dwelling round the work supplies,
And fudden ramparts from their ruins rife.
With wondrous ftrength the ftable mound they rear,
Such as th' impetuous ram can never fear,
Nor hoftile might o'erturn, nor forceful engine tear.
Through hills, refiftlefs, Cæfar plains his way,
And makes the rough unequal rocks obey.
Here deep, beneath, the gaping trenches lie,
There forts advance their airy turrets high.
Around vaft tracts of land the labours wind,
Wide fields and forefts in the circle bind,
And hold as in a toil the favage kind.
Nor ev'n the foe too ftrictly pent remains,
At large he forages upon the plains;
The vaft inclosure gives free leave around,
Oft to decamp, and shift the various ground.
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