Roman portraits, a poem, in heroick verse; with historical remarks and illustrations: by Robert Jephson, Esq

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [frontispiece]

- [titlepage]

- TO EDMOND MALONE, ESQ.

- PREFACE.

- CONTENTS.

- LIST OF THE ENGRAVINGS, AND DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THEM.

- ERRATA.

- GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE ROMANS.

- NUMA POMPILIUS.

- LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.

- TRIBUNES. CORIOLANUS.

- DECEMVIRS. ROMAN LAWS. GLADIATORS.

- ROMAN SOLDIERS First received pay at the siege of Veii.

- PLEBEIANS ADMITTED TO THE CONSULSHIP.

- ROMAN LEGION.

- HANNIBAL. A. U. C. 534.

- P. C. SCIPIO AFRICANUS. A. U. C. 544.

- CHANGE OF ROMAN MANNERS AFTER THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE. A. U. C. 621.

- C. MARIUS. A. U. C. 649.

- L. C. SYLLA. A. U. C. 665.

- MITHRIDATES. A. U. C. 680.

- CATILINE. A. U. C. 690.

- M. T. CICERO. A. U. C. 690.

- POMPEY. A. U. C. 700.

- BATTLE OF PHARSALIA. A. U. C. 706.

- M. CATO.

- C. JULIUS CAESAR. A. U. C. 706.

- PRODIGIES AFTER THE DEATH OF CAESAR. A. U. C. 710.

- STATE OF ROME AFTER CAESAR's DEATH.

- M. AE. LEPIDUS. A. U. C. 711.

- ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. A. U. C. 717.

- OCTAVIA.

- AUGUSTUS. A. U. C. 725.

- VIRGIL. A. U. C. 684—735.

- TIBULLUS. A. U. C. 691—734.

- HORACE. A. U. C. 689—746.

- OVID. A. U. C. 711—771.

- THE AUGUSTAN AGE.

- ADDITIONAL NOTES.

- NOTE [A.] p. 96.

- NOTE [B.] p. 144.

- NOTE [C.] p. 146.

- NOTE [D.] p. 172.

- NOTE [E.] p. 187.

- NOTE [F.] p. 229.

ROMAN PORTRAITS.

BRIGHT source of life, intelligence, and song,

Rolling unseen the harmonious worlds along,

By thy benignant will to man was given

To rule his earth, and hope thy future heaven:

Unlike the camp-born tyrant,[1] who on high

Hung his vile law to snare the straining eye,[2]

Thou by renew'd examples, broad and clear,

As empires rise, decline, and disappear,

Shew'st to the creatures of thy breath below

What thou permit'st, and they were form'd to know.

And since the social system was begun,

Whether the many rul'd, the few, or one,

Though mighty names, though many a towering state

Conspicuous far, at length have bow'd to fate,

None yet from time's immeasurable womb

Has sprung more great than all-subduing Rome.

Kings, consuls, tribunes, and dictators past,

In abject slavery she sunk at last.

Long ere the Goth had sack'd her strong-bas'd towers,

And dulness roosted in Ausonian bowers,

Wisdom's griev'd eye foresaw her empire doom'd,

When her own walls her ancient worth entomb'd.

Sons of proud Albion, studious mark her course;

Wind with the gradual deluge to its source;

See ere the modest boundaries were pass'd,

By virtue reverenc'd, as by judgment traced,

How, by her native springs alone supplied,

Flow'd through the land her power's majestick tide.

Ere vile Orontes to old Tyber's wave[3]

Convey'd the supple parasite and slave,

And Ind's and Asia's reeking streams by turns

Pour'd on th'unebbing sea their gorgeous urns,

No shore with rank fertility was crown'd,

Unwater'd none, nor by wild torrents drown'd.

Think not, though tawdry superstition reigns,

Where bold idolatry once aw'd the plains;

Though the pale semivir's ambiguous throat

Now pipes where Maro rais'd the immortal note;

And heaven's pure light, by bigot monks explor'd,

Shines less divine than pagan Tully's word;[4]

Though all her prouder monuments are gone,

Vanish'd her triumphs, and her gods o'erthrown,

The warning Muse for unimportant ends

To youth a useless retrospect commends.

While the keen eye each latent spring detects,

And sees like causes generate like effects,

In fair array the instructive lessons rise:

So taught, 'tis easy virtue to be wise.

In your own fame Rome's glories you may see;

To shun her fall, detest her luxury.

And thou, lov'd isle, where first in careless youth

I pluck'd crude berries from the stem of truth,

Which yet not quite dispers'd by vagrant wind,

Left one fair seed to enrich the opening mind,—

Since, by thine own internal vigour freed,

Honour and wealth to bonds and sloth succeed;

Thy patriots, soldiers for the publick good,[5]

And civil arms unstain'd with civil blood;

Since now thy fulgent orb, no more depress'd,

Vies with thy sister's beam, and gilds the west;

Nor ambient Neptune with upbraiding roar

Unfurls his billows round thy useless shore;

While mild Favonius wafts thy swelling sails,

And jocund Ceres loves thy plenteous vales;

At least suspend ambition's anxious toil,

To greet the muses in their favourite soil:

Fame's full meridian is but half attain'd,

Till science grace what native virtue gain'd.

Vain were the attempt in reason's sober verse

The cloudy Roman origin to pierce,

Or midst discordant fictions to decree

Which wanders least from probability:

No petty states of Greece or Rome, but trace

Their first great sounder from celestial race;[6]

And earth's worst dregs (says vanity) arise

From fond commixture with the unconscious skies.

Enough for us, that, spread through every clime,

In prose expanded, or adorn'd by rhyme,

Theme and delight of each succeeding age

To us descends the eventful Latian page:

A copious mine, where letter'd avarice gains

New hoards of knowledge from exhaustless veins.

Notes

1.
Versiculi, imperante mox eo [Caligulâ], divulgati, apud hybernas legiones procreatum indicant:

In castris natus, patriis nutritus in armis,

Jam designati principis omen erat.

SUET. in Cal. c. 8.

↵

2.
—flagitante populo Romano proposuit quidem legem; sed et minutissimis literis, et angustissimo loco: uti ne cui describere liceret.

SUET. in Cal. c. 41.

↵

3.
Jampridem Syrus in Tiberim defluxit Orontes.

Juv. Sat. iii.

↵

4.
Cicero's villa near Arpinum is now possessed by a convent of monks, and called the villa of St. Dominick; upon which Dr. Middleton makes the following spirited observation: "What a pleasure must it give to these Dominican inquisitors, to trample on the ruins of a man, whose writings, by spreading the light of reason and liberty through the world, have been one great instrument of obstructing their unwearied pains to enslave it."

Life of Cicero.

↵

5.
The spirit and alacrity with which the volunteers of Ireland took up arms in the year 1778, are unexampled, but by the wisdom and moderation with which they laid them down after the constitution and commerce of their country were secured.
↵

6.
Nulla gens tam vilis reperiatur, quae sui generis auctorem non faciat Deum, aut Deo editum.

QUINT. CURT. l. 1.

↵

ROMAN PORTRAITS, A POEM.

ROBERT JEPHSON ESQ.

ROMAN PORTRAITS, A POEM, IN HEROICK VERSE; WITH HISTORICAL REMARKS AND ILLUSTRATIONS: BY ROBERT JEPHSON, ESQ.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
DION. HAL.

SEMPER AD EVENTUM FESTINAT, ET IN MEDIAS RES,

NON SECUS AC NOTAS, AUDITOREM RAPIT; ET QUAE

DESPERAT TRACTATA NITESCERE POSSE, RELINQUIT.

HOR.

LONDON: PRINTED BY HENRY BALDWIN, FOR G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, IN PATER-NOSTER ROW. M DCC XCIV.

TO EDMOND MALONE, ESQ.

MY DEAR SIR,

THIS short address to you is not intended as a formal Dedication; but having long wished for some fair opportunity of doing myself credit by publickly subscribing myself your friend, none seems likely to occur more favourable than the present.

From our school-days to this hour, we have lived in a state of uninterrupted intimacy and kindness: natives of the same country, educated under the same masters, and pursuing similar studies, though we have not taken exactly the same path, both have been zealous in the cause of letters. Your labours have furnished instruction to the readers, and mine perhaps in a small degree may contribute to their entertainment; nor can I be insensible to the honour you have done me, when I reflect, that the best commentator on our greatest poet has condescended more than once to be my editor. Without your kind care and encouragement the following Work would not probably have been made publick; to your protection therefore it is inscribed, with every assurance of esteem and cordiality, by

Your obliged and faithful friend, ROBERT JEPHSON.
DUBLIN CASTLE, May 26, 1794.

PREFACE.

BY various accidental causes, particularly the residence of the author and editor in different kingdoms, the appearance of this work has been delayed much longer than was at first intended; but as time always affords opportunity for correction and improvement, I find upon the whole no reason to regret that the expedition of the press did not keep pace with my wish to see the task which I had undertaken more speedily completed. By this delay I had also the advantage of several judicious observations suggested by the vigilant sagacity of my editor; which produced at least considerable additions to the matter contained in the text and annotations. His patience, indeed, I have always found unwearied, like his friendship; and it gives me sincere pleasure to think, that, being now disengaged from any further kind attention to my fame, he will have more uninterrupted leisure to pursue other subjects, in which the publick may be much more interested.

Whatever deficiency may be found in the execution of the following poem, some small merit may perhaps be allowed to the novelty of the design; to which I know nothing similar in our language, unless the ingenious and learned Mr. Hayley's History of Historians, in verse, may be considered in some sort as its precursor.

It would have been no very difficult task to have swelled the size of this volume to a much larger bulk, by multiplying citations from the ancient authors where the original materials of which it is composed may be found; but though some were necessary, I thought too many might be tedious, and of no utility. Such as are inserted, were chosen rather for their brevity, than for any other reason of preference.

In some modern productions it has been the fashion to make new discoveries in the ancient history of Rome, and to assign new motives and qua¦lities to several of the principal agents; but the present seems to me to be too late a period for such investigations: they contribute less perhaps to establish right opinions, than to shake the credit of all history, and to leave the mind suspended between assent and incredulity. In every material point, (the story of the sufferings of Regulus excepted, for which Polybius must be consulted,) I find all the best writers concur; and I could not presume to advance any bold paradoxes, when I was convinced that I should want authorities, or sufficient ingenuity, to support them. A French writer of the present century, M. de St. Foix, in his account of the streets of Paris, asserts roundly, that our kings, Edward the third and Henry the fifth, were cowards; and I think, adds, were defeated at Cressy and Agincourt. He meant no doubt by a violation of truth to flatter the vanity of one nation, and to mortify that of another; but I could not be induced by the love of novelty to affirm that Sylla was not cruel, or that Julius Caesar was unmerciful.

I cannot forbear to flatter myself, that the reader will not be disappointed, should he not find in this book what the author never intended it should contain. It does not come within the province of poetry to attempt deep political disquisitions, or the adjustment of points which have frustrated the conjectures of the critick, and the antiquary's persevering researches. As to the policy of the Romans, the penetration of Montesquieu has left little for future investigation; and there are even in our own language details of the events sufficiently copious and satisfactory. But to understand the history of Rome, it is not enough to read her historians; we must also acquaint ourselves with their characters: otherwise we may pay the same deference to the misrepresentations of Dion, and the prodigies of Plutarch, as to the authenticity of Sallust, Tully, and Tacitus.

What is to be found here, is not intended for the master, but the student; it is meant rather to incite, than to satisfy. My purpose will be answered, and my ambition gratified, should it awaken in the young mind a laudable desire of more knowledge, and revive not unpleasingly in the breast of more mature scholars the recollection of those admirable writers, and illustrious characters, who claimed their attention in their early studies; the reverence for whom seems to increase, like the magnitude of mountains, in proportion to our distance from them. A great object approached too nearly can be but partially examined; at a due removal from it we discover all its sublimity.

I may presume it will not be necessary to make any apology for opinions expressed in several notes, where modern politicks and recent events are assimilated with ancient. Mine have been dictated by real admiration of, and reverence for, the most excellent constitution, and the happiest form of government, that ever regulated human affections and conduct. During the short prevalence of French superiority,[*] which was attended with the dispersion of the most noxious and abominable principles, it seemed to me next to a tacit approbation, not to endeavour to expose them. To hazard the demolition of the august fabrick of the British Constitution, in attempting to remove some trifling abuses which may adhere to its surface, would be like the wisdom of pulling down St. Paul's or Westminster Abbey, because a few swallows happened to plaister up their nests against the corners of the windows. Minute inspection is requisite to discover them; and how pitiful must be the genius which can overlook the grandeur of the whole, to dwell upon such blemishes!

A superficial similitude between the Roman republick and France in her revolutionary disorder, occurred so frequently, that not to perceive it would have been blindness, and not to have sometimes expatiated upon it, pusillanimity.

There is one remark not made in the notes to this poem, which ought to have a place somewhere. The infidels of France, when exalted into the seats of legislation, began with a policy directly opposite to the practice of every other state pre-existent to them. They commenced by taking off from human appetites all restraint from religion; and of course they dissolved with the ancient form of government, every bond upon conscience, and every obligation to virtue. The consequences have been correspondent. Let me not be suspected to be a favourer or friend of the old constitution of France, for I think nothing could make it appear tolerable, but the anarchy by which it was succeeded; yet even this they attempt impudently to varnish over by false names, and perverted examples. Alas, good Brutus! we have heard thy virtuous spirit, thy mild genius, appealed to, for the sanctification of every crime which can stain the black catalogue of human villainy. France has made thee the patron, the tutelary God of atheists and regicides; and thy fair name is invoked to reconcile the world to oppression and cruelty, to robbery, parricide, treachery, and massacre. Caesar would have fallen by some other hand, could'st thou but have foreseen that such disgrace was reserved for thy memory.

In June, 1793, look at the picture of French democracy, as displayed in the masterly colouring of Mr. Pitt, before the House of Commons of England:

What (says that great statesman) could be the effect of any negociation for peace in the present moment? It is not merely to the character of Marat, with whom we have to treat, that I object; it is not to the horrour of those crimes which have stained their legislators, crimes in every stage rising above each other in point of enormity; but I object to the consequence of that character, to the effect of those crimes. They are such as render negociation useless, and must entirely deprive of stability any peace which could be concluded under such circumstances. Where is our security for the performance of a treaty, where we have neither the good faith of a nation, nor the responsibility of a monarch? The moment that the mob of Paris becomes under the influence of a new leader, the most mature deliberations are reversed, the most solemn engagements are retracted, or free will is altogether controuled. In every one of the stages of their repeated revolutions we have said, 'now we have seen the worst, the measure of iniquity is full, we shall no longer be shocked or astonished by the contemplation of added crimes, and increasing enormities:' the next mail convinced us of our credulity, and by presenting us with fresh crimes, and enormities still more dreadful, excited impressions of new astonishment and accumulated horrour. All the crimes which disgrace history, have occurred in one country in a space so short, and with circumstances so highly aggravated, as to out-run thought, and exceed imagination. Should we treat with Marat, before we had finished the negociation, he might again be descended to the dregs of the people from whence he sprung, and have given place to a still more desperate villain. A band of leaders has swayed the mob in constant succession, all resembling in guilt, but rising above one another in point of enormity, each striving to improve upon the crimes of his predecessor, and swell the black catalogue with new modes and higher gradations of wickedness:

Aetas parentum pejor avis tulit

Nos nequiores, mox daturos

Progeniem vitiosiorem.

Lord Mornington's speech in the same assembly, on the 21st of January, 1794, will always remain as a monument of that nobleman's great abilities and eloquence, and as a faithful report of GOD's dreadful visitation of a vast kingdom, which has repeatedly dared to blaspheme his name, and abjure his worship. Our countrymen may there see the rebellious subjects of the late most christian king crowding into a period of less than one short lustrum, more impiety, oppression, cruelty, rapine and massacre, than can be found in the aggregated enormities of all the rest of Europe for a series of centuries. ‘Cedite Romani scriptores, cedite Graii!’ Your Dionysius, your Pisander, Tiberius, Nero, Caligula, Domitian, Caracalla, and Commodus, must retire to the back-ground of the picture, and yield an abominable pre-eminence to our more flagitious neighbours. The crimes of these tyrants were chiefly the offspring of frenzy, the guilt of the Gauls is deliberation and system.

France has been for four years with little intermission deluged with such torrents of native blood, that in some measure they have diverted our attention from concerns less affecting; and the pernicious effects of her guilt and frenzy spreading to every country in Europe, we have not even the melancholy consolation to reflect that the consequences of her wickedness are confined to its authors: yet what friend to genius but must read with affliction the tardy measure of the Convention decreeing, for the first time, in 1793, an imprisonment of two years against the future despoilers of the monuments of the arts dependant on the national property? What devastation must not have preceded it! We have seen their churches defaced, the noblest statues and monuments of their kings and heroes pounded in pieces, and the GOD of the universe proscribed from their constitution, by acts of state and decrees of their legislators. Not even the grave has been sacred. Like the Pyrennean wolves described by Thomson,

On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate!)

The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig

The shrowded body from the grave; o'er which,

Mixed with foul shades and frighted ghosts, they howl.

They want no Huns or Visigoths, no Scythians, or Saracens, to cast them back to the ages of darkness and barbarity; for they renew upon themselves the ancient fury of the Atillas, the Gensericks, and the Omars. To the accumulated horrours of their condition is superadded the internal war of religion against atheism, while men who sight for their faith, freedom, and property, by these monsters, audacious in their language as their actions, are called villains, enthusiasts, and madmen. How long the Ruler of all things may be pleased to suffer them to insult his providence, and to afflict his creatures, we cannot presume to conjecture; but of this we may be certain; though divine vengeance may wink, it will not sleep for ever: the bolt is but held back, to come down with double wrath, when it descends to crush them.

As to the merit of this work, I am too well acquainted with the disqualifications an author lies under, to presume at offering any leading sentiment to the judgment which the publick may be pleased to form upon it. I will only venture to affirm, that it was no very easy matter to give an air of discrimination to so many different characters of men, who, being of the same country, living under the same laws and customs, and mostly educated in the same manner, must have among them some strong and common features of resemblance. Without departing from the authority of ancient historians and biographers, who seem to me to be the best, if not the only guides on such subjects, I have endeavoured to produce this variety; but with what success the reader must determine. We often find indeed much discrepancy of opinion in the accounts given by contemporary writers of the great statesmen and generals who lived at the same time; but by discovering to what party each writer adhered, or what principles he espoused, we generally have sufficient grounds for abatement of praise or censure. In this manner we must endeavour to reconcile Tully's adulation of CAESAR in the Senate, and the private sentiments which he expressed of him in the closet. As Cicero always speaks from reflection, he frequently writes from feeling; so that we can sometimes form a better judgment of the state of his mind at the moment, than of the subject on which his familiar pen is employed.

Tacitus with his usual brevity asserts his impartiality sufficiently, when he tells us that he writes of men "nec beneficio, nec injuriâ cognitos;" and after all, this is the best security for truth: through the mists of resentment or interest, she is always seen obscurely.

There will be found in the following poem a few rhymes which modern custom, more perhaps than reason, has brought into a sort of disuse; I mean, where the terminating word of one line in a couplet chimes only with the last sound of a polysyllable in the next; as are and similar, &c. but I must acquaint the critick, that this is not the effect of necessity, but choice. We have not improved upon the rich and various versification of Dryden; and to produce authorities from his practice would be to transcribe little less than a third part of his poetry. Pope, who is supposed to be rather more exact, is somewhat more sparing; but he frequently indulges himself in this practice, and always, if I am not mistaken, with evident satisfaction. It recurs perhaps too often in the elder poet, and more judiciously in his admirer; for a mode of versifying adopted for variety loses its effect by too much repetition. Rhymes strictly correct are perhaps indispensable in very short compositions, or in such as Mr. Addison in his preface to the Georgicks calls, with simplicity enough, "a copy of verses;" but not even in these should I wish to see a vigorous expression weakened, or a thought maimed, for any compensation the ear could receive from the most exact consonance. Licentia sumpta pudenter can never appear objectionable; and this a good taste only can regulate. Rhymes, which almost constitute the essence of French poetry, in ours are but an adjunct; and yet to what shifts, what poor expedients, to what identity of sounds and terminations, are not the best versifiers of France often reduced? Take the piece in disorder from the frame, and the poetical texture will be no more discernible: we shall not find, as in Ennius, disjecti membra poetae.

One short argument upon this point appears to me to be irrefragable. He is always considered as a good reciter of rhymes, who in his recitation hardly suffers the hearer to perceive them. Why it should be requisite for the poet to produce what it is a merit in the reader to conceal, I know not. It is something almost superfluous; like the present fashion in dress, of wearing fine lace-ruffles under the sleeve of a coat which very nearly covers them. The late Mr. Quin, whom I have heard recite, though not upon the stage, and Garrick, who was consummate in the science of enunciation, would have turned away with disgust or pity from the repeater of verses who let them know that they were such, by the mere rattling of the metrical faggot.[*]

If this licence be not in a certain degree allowable, I may at least observe that it is mostly reprehended by the fastidious, and best admitted by more liberal scholars. Swift, who was a poet as he was a parson, rather from resolution than choice, is particularly rigid about rhymes, and sometimes remonstrates with Pope upon his negligence; but much as the latter feared or respected him, I do not recollect that the nightingale paid much attention to the admonitions of the raven. A great wit sometimes makes but a subordinate poet. Swift, I think, was both.

This mode of arguing, I am sensible, might be pushed much beyond my meaning, to the entire suppression of rhymes, and to the preference of the blank song upon every occasion. But not so; I acknowledge that they give a great grace to every species of poetical composition, except the Dramatick, Epick, and mock Heroick, in which last the effect is much heightened by misplaced pomp, and ludicrous dignity. All I mean to contend for is this; that very precise rhyme being not always easily found, the judicious critick will not endeavour to make that more hard which is in itself sufficiently difficult, and will suffer any other beauty in a couplet to atone for some deficiency in the exactness of consonance. Let it be a pilaster, but not the prop of the building.

What may be the reception of this poem, however anxious I may be concerning it, I cannot foresee. Every purchaser of a book buys at the same time his right to judge of and to censure it; praise too in general comes but unwillingly, and not to be pleased is considered by many as a mark of superior discernment. If however it meets with half the approbation from the publick, which it received in the manuscript, I shall have reason to be contented. It would still be a higher gratification to me, if I could flatter myself that the form of the present work might suggest an idea to some author of better endowments than I possess, and with more inclination, to produce to the world the prominent events and distinguished characters of England, with superior splendour. How abundant are the materials! How important the revolutions! How diversified the characters! How many sovereigns eminent for great virtues, vices, and achievements! What changes in religion and government! What wars and factions! Many of her statesmen and poets may vie with the outspread names which adorn the annals, and consecrate the muses, of Greece and Italy. I should not wish to see such a work brought lower than the accession of the House of Hanover; because, though I think that auspicious event established the felicity and freedom of Great Britain, and that her ascendency never appeared more conspicuously than at the present period, I apprehend it to be very difficult, if not almost impossible, in the display of transactions and characters so recent, to preserve candour and total exemption from party prejudice. We have seen controversy spring up, and not without acrimony, even from the ashes of queens Elizabeth and Mary.

In my childhood, I remember well, the first impressions which I received with any permanency of parts of the English history, were from the historical plays of Shakspeare. There is no young mind so unmusical, as not to be sensible to the harmony of numbers; and there is little doubt but that such a summary as is here recommended, if executed with brilliancy, would not only be the best vehicle to communicate early knowledge, but to rouse young faculties to the further pursuit of such subjects: ‘Os tenerum pueri balbumque pocta figurat.’ Even verses merely descriptive, which are certainly the most fugitive, dwell long upon the recollection; when facts, character, and colouring, are all blended in the same piece, the picture never vanishes. Old age seldom forgets the songs of its youth. There is a sort of mechanical reason for this, which though palpable enough when mentioned, may not perhaps occur immediately: in retaining a sentiment or proposition conveyed in verse, especially rhymes, we have a double advantage; the memory is assisted by the ear, and the ear by the memory. We know the thought must be contained within a certain number of metrical feet; and if we are at a loss to recover the one, by pondering a little upon the other, we become masters of both with accuracy. It is not the superior merit of the poetry which preserves so many of our ancient popular ballads, but the tune and the jingle.

As to myself, the shades of night are closing too fast around me, to allow of my attempting a theme so arduous; but I may hope to retain for a considerable time faculties sufficient to make me sensible of, and pleased with, the successful labours of my contemporaries.

It may be remarked, nor do I wish to shelter myself from the observation, that whatever little credit may be conferred by my approbation, has not been withheld in the notes to this poem from those of my countrymen of Ireland, who occurred to me as having distinguished themselves by works of genius or the cultivation of letters. Well would it be, if a spirit of this kind were more prevalent among us: much talent, which now lies smothered under the despondency of neglect, might by such encouragement be roused into exertion. The gentlemen of Ireland are jealous of the national honour, and abundantly ready at the hazard of their lives to assert it. For such a purpose, the pen is a better weapon than the sword or the pistol. One book of merit would produce more deference from the neighbouring nations than twenty combats[*]. That Scotland should have to boast of at least ten eminent writers for one who appears among us, (when too the course of study and the discipline in our University are excellent,) must be ascribed to the truely patriotick attention with which the gentlemen of North Britain cherish and expand every bud of genius which puts forth its promise in their native region. This local partiality may be, and sometimes is, carried rather too far; but the principle generates a great increase of excellent publications, much improvement in science, and fresh incitement to those distinguished authors, whose works, while they reflect honour on their country, contribute to the entertainment and instruction of mankind.

It is lamentable to find in such a nation as this, in many apparent respects so adapted to the encouragement of true politeness, how much its great mistress and teacher, Literature, is neglected. There are indeed in our capital some well-chosen and ample libraries; but they are very few, and very private. The collection of books is generally the least costly article in the household inventory. The contents of the cellar are often more valuable than the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 for the whole family. In Great-Britain, the gentry, however dissipated, seldom entirely neglect those studies in which they have been initiated in their early years; and no conversation engages or interests them more than the discussion of works of genius, whether of their own day, or of antiquity. A person distinguished by any publication of merit ranks among them in the first class of society, and there is an emulation to protect, encourage, and produce him. "For my own part, (says lord Chesterfield in a letter to his son,) I used to think myself in company as much above me, when I was with Mr. Addison and Mr. Pope, as if I had been with all the princes in Europe." This judicious sentiment is very general among the nobility of England. But there seems to be in this kingdom (though with very considerable exceptions) too much of a kind of Vandalish pride in disowning scholarship. A gentleman here who knows much more of a new book than the title, (pamphlet and novel excepted,) may sometimes as well conceal his knowledge; for his communication will be drowned in claret, which has a better relish than such dry aliment; or he will leave an impression with his company that he is a pedant or a coxcomb. Yet it is but justice to those very persons to acknowledge, that in their collective capacity they shew great liberality of sentiment. Though as stewards of the publick purse, they jealously examine all grants of publick money, there is no instance of an objection being offered in either house of parliament to provisions made for writers of merit, nay even for their families, when they are left without other support than the bounty of the nation.

The general neglect of letters is not however a hopeless deficiency; for no people have naturally brighter intellects than the Irish, nor better dispositions. It proceeds not from dulness or insensibility, but from inattention. If study could be made more the fashion, we should see the generality of our countrymen not less polished in their understandings, than they are well formed in their persons, and sociable in their tempers. Many of our ladies at this time, without pedantry or the affectation of science, would make a distinguished figure in the first literary circles. Ireland has not lost all female talent with Mrs. Greville. That there is no want of native genius and science at this hour, we can produce some bright examples. We have the unrivalled and all-accomplished Burke; the learned and excellent editor of Shakspeare; the author of the best comedy produced in this century; and the best translator of a great Roman historian, who, till the appearance of Mr. Murphy's version, seemed to set our language at defiance: but alas! they have migrated to a more congenial region. When books become more our occupation, or amusement, all that is wanted will follow. The face of most things among us is daily altering, and improving; the mind in its turn will become undoubtedly the principal object of cultivation.

Notes

*
Nov. 1792.
↵

*

He faggotted his notions, as they fell,

And if they rhym'd and rattled, all was well.

DRYDEN.

↵

*

It appears hardly credible, yet is true, that Dr. Edward Ryan, author of "The History of the Effects of Religion on Mankind," (a work abounding with erudition, entertainment, and instruction,) was obliged lately to publish it in London, the booksellers of Dublin not being willing to hazard the expence, where they knew there would be so few readers or purchasers of a book which required some little time and attention in the perusal. His ALMA MATER, indeed, honourably distinguished him; but his fame and his patron came from another country.

During the administration of lord Townshend in Ireland, the printer of the well-known poem addressed to Mr. G. E. Howard, with Notes by Alderman Faulkner, being asked by Mr. Courtenay, whether there was not a great demand for that publication, ‘Nothing, sir, in the memory of man (answered with pure simplicity the worthy printer) ever sold like it, except WATSON's ALMANACK.’

Mr. Monck Mason is known and respected among his countrymen as a member of parliament, a commissioner of the revenue, and a privy counsellor; but it is doubtful whether he is known in Ireland even by one in twenty of his acquaintance as one of the learned and ingenious band who have illustrated Shakspeare; yet by that distinction is his name more likely to be transmitted to posterity.

↵

CONTENTS.

- INVOCATION. Pag. 1.

- GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE ROMANS. Pag. 6.

- NUMA POMPILIUS. Pag. 10.

- LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS. Pag. 16.

- TRIBUNES. CORIOLANUS. Pag. 19.

- DECEMVIRS. ROMAN LAWS. GLADIATORS. Pag. 25.

- ROMAN SOLDIERS, STIPENDIARIES AT VEII. Pag. 32.

- PLEBEIANS ADMITTED TO THE CONSULSHIP. Pag. 34.

- ROMAN LEGION. Pag. 40.

- HANNIBAL. Pag. 43.

- P. C. SCIPIO AFRICANUS, THE ELDER. Pag. 47.

- CHANGE OF ROMAN MANNERS AFTER THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE. Pag. 50.

- C. MARIUS. Pag. 55.

- L. C. SYLLA. Pag. 63.

- MITHRIDATES. Pag. 72.

- CATILINE. Pag. 77.

- CICERO. Pag. 85.

- POMPEY. Pag. 97.

- BATTLE OF PHARSALIA. Pag. 104.

- M. CATO, THE YOUNGER. Pag. 123.

- C. JULIUS CAESAR. Pag. 131.

- PRODIGIES AFTER THE DEATH OF CAESAR. Pag. 146.

- STATE OF ROME AFTER CAESAR'S DEATH. Pag. 148.

- M. AE. LEPIDUS. Pag. 152.

- ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Pag. 156.

- OCTAVIA. Pag. 163.

- AUGUSTUS. Pag. 169.

- VIRGIL. Pag. 194.

- TIBULLUS. Pag. 205.

- HORACE. Pag. 210.

- OVID. Pag. 216.

- THE AUGUSTAN AGE. Pag. 222.

- ADDITIONAL NOTES. Pag. 253.

LIST OF THE ENGRAVINGS, AND DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THEM.

- 1. THE Author's Portrait, engraved by J. Singleton, from a drawing by—Stoker; to face the title-page.

- 2. THE VOTIVE SHIELD, commemorating the CONTINENCE of P. C. SCIPIO AFRICANUS, THE ELDER, in restoring a beautiful female captive to ALLUCIUS, a prince of Celtiberia, to whom she was betrothed: found by some fishermen in the Rhone, near Avignon, in the year 1656, and not long since in the cabinet of the late King of France, but now probably battered to pieces by his Murderers.—Engraved by F. Bartolozzi, R. A. To face p. 47.

- 3. TWO BUSTS, found in the tomb of the Scipio family, discovered at Rome near Porta Capena, (now the gate of St. Sebastian,) in 1780; supposed to be the Busts of SCIPIO AFRICANUS THE ELDER, and Q. ENNIUS. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. from a drawing by Carlo Labruzzi. p. 48.

- 4. C. MARIUS, from an ancient basso relievo. Engraved by W. Evans. p. 55.

- 5. L. C. SYLLA, from an ancient basso relievo. Engraved by W. Evans. p. 63.

- 6. CICERO, from a painting by Rubens, done at Rome, from an ancient statue, in 1638. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 85.

- 7. POMPEY, from Rossi's Ancient Statues. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 97.

- 8. JULIUS CAESAR, from a painting by Rubens, done at Rome, from an ancient statue, in 1638. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 131.

- 9. MARCUS BRUTUS, from a coin in Dr. Hunter's Museum. Engraved by R. Clamp. p. 144.

- 10. M. AE. LEPIDUS, from a coin in Dr. Hunter's Museum. Engraved by R. Clamp. p. 152.

- 11. M. ANTONY, from an ancient gem. Engraved by R. Clamp. p. 156.

- 12. CLEOPATRA; the face from an ancient gem, the head-dress, &c. from a coin in Dr. Hunter's Museum. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 158.

- 13. OCTAVIA, from Museum Florentinum. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 163.

- 14. AUGUSTUS, from a coin in Dr. Hunter's Museum. Engraved by R. Clamp. p. 169.

- 15. M. AGRIPPA, from Museum Florentinum. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 177.

- 16. VIRGIL, from Museum Capitolinum[*]. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 194.

- 17. HORACE, from Veterum Poetarum, &c. Imagines, à. I. P. Bellorio. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 210.

- 18. OVID, from the same work. Engraved by R. Clamp. p. 216.

- 19. AUGUSTUS, attended by his Courtiers, and giving a crown to some person, whose figure is wanting; from an Ancient Painting in fresco, of the same size, found in 1737, among the ruins of Augustus's palace on the Palatine Mount, (now Orti Farnesiani,) and formerly in the possession of Dr. Mead. Engraved by R. Clamp, from a drawing by Camillo Paderni. p. 222.

- 20. MAECENAS, from a gem in the collection of Philip Baron de Stosch. Engraved by E. Harding, Jun. p. 235.

The portraits of CATO THE YOUNGER, TIBULLUS, CATILINE, &c. are necessarily omitted, no genuine ancient representation of those persons having been hitherto discovered.

Notes

*
The engraved portrait of VIRGIL, which is given in Heyne's excellent edition of that author, published at Leipsick, in 1788, and is said to be taken from the same archetype, is not faithful to the original.
↵

ERRATA.

- Pag. 5. n. 6. r.—cum nulla.

- Pag. 16. ver. 226. for stroke, r. shock. 8

- Pag. 40. n. 6. l. 11. after intrigues, a comma, instead of a colon.

- Pag. 47. ver. 665. add this note: Tibi quoque inter multa egregia non in ultimis laudum hoc fuerit. Annibalem, cui tot de Romanis ducibus victoriam dii dedissent, tibi cessisse. LIV. l. xxx. c. 30.

- Ibid. ver. 673. His foes revered him, &c. Add this note: Nihilo minor fama apud hostes Scipionis erat, quam apud cives sociosque. Liv. l. xxvi. c. 20.

- Pag. 48. ver. 682. So his soft manners, &c. Add this note: Fuit enim Scipio veris non tantum virtutibus mirabilis, sed arte quoque quâdan ab juventâ in ostentationem earum compositus. Liv. l. xxvi. c. 19.

- Pag. 50. l. 5. for 621. r. 609.

- Pag. 61. ver. 870. for the, r. Rome's.

- Pag. 72. n. 4. for Hannibal, r. Annibal.

- Pag. 96. n. 4. After Note, r. [A]

- Pag. 110. ver. 1554. for ages, r. sages.

- Pag. 115. n. 5. for Epist. r. de Brevit. Vit. c. xiv.

- Pag. 129. n. 7. for Epist. r. de Consol. ad Mare. c. xx.

- Pag. 157. n. 5. l. 3. for 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, r. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

- —l. 4. for 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, r. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

- —l. 5. for 33, r. 34.

- Pag. 201. ver. 2441, for green, r. fresh.

- Pag. 215. ver. 2551, for suck'd, r. cull'd.

- Pag. 256. l. 7. from the bottom, for ingenious, r. ingenuous.

- Pag. 258. l. 9. from the bottom, for THE universe, r. THEIR universe.

GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE ROMANS.

Far from the native bed where first it rose,

With the ting'd stream the blended mineral flows;

So in the current of Rome's distant race

The founder in the progeny we trace.

Behold how like the kindred features are,

Habits, and faults, and virtues, similar:

The same proud spirit to subdue the strong,

To yield no right, and to endure no wrong;[7]

The same ambition's unremitting care,

Temperance in peace, and fortitude in war;

To let no people but themselves be free,

And guard, like life, their own lov'd liberty;[8]

As if the common boon of equal heaven,

For all design'd, to them alone was given!

To bring all duties to one centre home,—

Unbounded fondness for their parent Rome.

Each wild excess which nature shrinks to hear,

Assum'd too oft a patriot character;[9]

Disguis'd beneath that all-atoning name,

Revenge was justice, and oppression fame.

Within its precincts every virtue lies,

And swells to vice beyond its boundaries.

So, in a Christian state the worst of men,

Had been at Rome the worthiest citizen.

Remus, who mock'd his brother's new-trac'd town,

His ruffian fury to the dust struck down;

Cemented thus with parricidal blood,

Behold the first rude walls of humble mud;

Thus, in the infant settlement was given

Earnest of violence, 'gainst man and heaven.

At length, the towering fabrick pierc'd the skies,

And with the grandeur, see the guilt arise;

Her bold aggression stretch'd to every clime,

And each new conquest was an added crime.[1]

The waste she caus'd, the woes which never ceas'd,

With specious names she varnish'd and increas'd;

Rome's ruthless sword, and her fallacious tongue,

Inflicts the ruin, and imputes the wrong;

While plunder'd nations, supplicant in vain,

Bore every evil, and heard Rome complain.

Sententious, yet ne'er innocently great,

The dread and scourge of every harmless state,

When her long triumphs her own Caesars clos'd,

And on her neck their iron yoke impos'd,

Alone she mourn'd her once unrivall'd weal,

Nor claim'd the pity she could never feel.

What were the virtues of the Roman school?

Deep systems to oppress, destroy, and rule;

Ambition, pride, and tyranny, combin'd,

To raise themselves, and plunder all mankind.[2]

Notes

7.
In the whole Roman story, except in their early wars with the Gauls, there is not perhaps a single instance in which the Romans were not the aggressors. They not only, without the shadow of right, deprived kings and states of their revenues and territories, but their triumphs were additional insults of the most unfeeling barbarity. A queen led in chains was a favourite embellishment in these ostentatious processions. The consideration of their insolence and inhumanity while a republick, abates much of our commiseration for the calamities they endured under the despotism of the emperors. They but suffered under them what they had before inflicted upon the rest of mankind. "I know not (says Dr. Johnson) why any but a school-boy in his declamation should whine over the commonwealth of Rome, which grew great only by the misery of the rest of mankind."

Boswell's Life of Johnson.

↵

8.
Il fuit plus que la mort la honte d'être esclave.

CINNA, par Corneille.

↵

9.

C'est gloire de passer pour un coeur abattu,

Quand la brutalité fait la haute vertu.

HORACE, par Corneille.

↵

1.
It is hardly necessary perhaps to point out to the reader the exact similarity between the conduct, language, and policy, of the Roman commonwealth, and the audacious ambition and hypocrisy of the present French republick. The former indeed had established her superiority better than France has yet done, before she presumed to offer what she miscalled liberty to foreign malcontents, or a new form of government to nations not desirous of her interference.—There will probably be ere long another resemblance: the tyranny of atheistical clubs will terminate in the dominion of a military despot; the harrassed people flying from the oppression of a mob of task-masters to the iron shelter of some uncontroulable usurper. Kingdoms now go to war with France on the same principle that individuals endeavour to destroy highwaymen and house-breakers; not from the hope of acquiring any thing, but to prevent the mischief which such villains meditate. That desperate people have already avowed hostilities against all religion, principle, morality, and order, indeed against human nature at large; and virtue, no less than good policy, must put arms into the hands of all civilized nations to oppose them.
↵

2.
This is no morose character of the Romans considered as a people. Sallust says, "Mihi multa agitanti, constabat, paucorum civium egregiam virtutem cuncta patravisse." It is true of such men as Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabricius, the Decii, the Scipios, and some others. The victories of Pompey too added territories and glory to Rome. Marius, Sylla, and Caesar, conquered for themselves, and brought inexpressible miseries upon their country. Let the reader consult Montesquieu's admirable volume, particularly the sixth chapter: he will there see the Roman policy in its true colours; a system, profound, invariable, and completely iniquitous.
↵

NUMA POMPILIUS.

No objects Numa to the muse supplies,

But temples, priests, and pious mysteries.

He check'd Bellona's rage; and dove-ey'd peace

Saw superstition rise, and slaughter cease.

For sacred ends, was sacred truth forgot,

And hence the fiction of the Egerian grot;[3]

That Numa's holy visions might persuade,

To the meek king descends the inspiring maid:[4]

None, to believe or to obey, repine,

When human wisdom speaks by aid divine.

Credulity, an easy yielding soil,

Brought up new plants of faith with slender toil;

A tale once told, the weak enquir'd no more,

But fools believ'd what craft impos'd before.

The pagan creed, with motley legends full,

Amus'd the enlighten'd, and amaz'd the dull;

A monstrous fable clumsily devis'd,

Procession, pageants, pomp, and noise disguis'd;

While sound and show the pleas'd attention kept,

The senses only wak'd, and reason slept.

Wisdom with joy the kind delusion saw,

And turn'd the vulgar blindness into awe;

So, by an engine which herself disdain'd,

Dominion o'er the publick mind she gain'd:

As serv'd her cause she play'd the mummery o'er,

And left the crowd to wonder and adore.

Salian and Fecial Flamens thus began,

And Vestals, sacred from the embrace of man;[5]

Their task to quench the flame of love's desire,

And unextinguish'd keep pale Vesta's fire.

Sad institution! which austerely draws

The female heart from nature's genial laws;

Strangles heaven's bounty, and converts to woe

The plenteous source whence joy and life should flow:

As if the tree, whose pregnant boughs might yield

The richest honours of Pomona's field,

Should turn, perverted by the spoiler's hand,

To the vile office of a smoky brand.

Inhuman law! where reason must confess

The sanction, not the breach, was wickedness.[6]

The maid, thus torn from the best joys of life,

Denied to charm, a mistress, or a wife,

To bless the sweetness of her infant's smile,

Or the fond clasps which matron cares beguile,

If mutual passion fired her to impart

The illicit rapture of her glowing heart,

Grim death, and priests more grim, with Stygian gloom

Plung'd the warm breathing creature in the tomb.

By such preposterous punishment they strove

To avert the wrath her crime provok'd above.

Had thunder crush'd the holy murderers round,

Had earthquakes swallow'd the devoted ground,

The righteous doom true sanctity had pleas'd;

So truth had been reveal'd, and heav'n appeas'd.

Go on, insensate law-makers! proceed;

Frame statutes worse than the transgressor's deed;

Wrest from Jove's hand the slow-avenging rod,

And doubly die the sanguinary code;

Ordain, coerce, prohibit at your will;

Nature shall brave them all, and triumph still.

Though no fierce combat on the ensanguin'd plain,

Or added soil distinguish'd Numa's reign,

A fairer palm his bloodless annals boast;

Rome gain'd in virtue what in fame she lost.

Not viol tun'd, or melting song, so finds

The magick way to fierce untutor'd minds,

Not on the thirsty glebe ambrosial rain

So opes its bosom for the teeming grain,

As sweet religion's heaven-descended dews

Their mild effects o'er social life diffuse;

Then holier shrines in mortal breasts are rear'd,

And truth is sacred when a God's rever'd.

Let hope and fear compact the moral chain,

A stronger power than man may man restrain;

These are the springs invisible above,

The human will to good or ill to move:

All virtue else in the tempestuous mind,

Is weak, as Bibulus to Caesar join'd:

Who, without these the passions would command,

But holds a tyger in a flowery band.[6]

Notes

3.
—simulat sibi cum dea Egeria congressus nocturnos esse.

Liv. l. i. c. xix.

↵

4.
Omnium primum, rem ad multitudinem imperitam, et illis seculis rudem, efficacissimam, deorum metum injiciendum ratus est.

Liv. ut sup.

↵

5.
—virginesque Vestae legit;—virginitate aliisque ceremoniis venerabiles ac sanctas fecit.

Liv. l. i. c. xx.

↵

6.
That a state of celibacy should be acceptable to the abundant Giver of all things, seems to be one of the most unaccountable notions that ever proceeded from the visions of enthusiasm; and the horrible penalties annexed to a violation of chastity in the persons of those unhappy females set apart for certain purposes of religion, shew very strongly both the absurdity and wickedness of the institution. A Vestal's being buried alive for a breach of her vows or a neglect of her duty, is frequently mentioned by Livy and other ancient writers, with the indifference of any ordinary ceremony. The bigotry of modern Rome, called Christian, adopted this Order from the heathen superstition of the ancients; and both must have been conscious (though perhaps frail Nuns are not literally buried alive) that such ordinances were directly repugnant to the most general and irresistible impulse of human nature, and in itself innocent, else they would not have attempted to counteract it by restraints so unnatural.
↵

6.
Bibulus was Caesar's colleague in the consulship, and at first made some attempts to control him, but was soon obliged to desist, and to pass in entire insignificance the remainder of his nominal magistracy. This year of Rome was called the consulship of Julius and Caesar.
↵

LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.

Man's love of life beyond even life extends,

Begins with breath, nor leaves him when it ends:

Pleas'd with renew'd existence, he believes

A second being in his heirs revives.

Yet see relentless Brutus, plac'd on high,

Devote his sons to death, and view them die.

Their youth, their conscious shame for the offence,

Turn advocates more strong than innocence;

And soft compassion had their doom delay'd,

But oh! the inexorable father sway'd.

Not instantaneous were the sufferers' pains;[7]

The lictor's scourge first tore their spouting veins;

Then stooping mangled to the bloody block,

Their forfeit necks receiv'd the severing stroke.[8]

Unmov'd he sat; [9] while tears and groans confess'd

The heaving pangs of every other breast.

O heart of triple brass! can love of fame

Extinguish nature, to exalt a name?

Serenely could thine eye a sight behold,

Which chills the stranger's vital tide, when told?

What praise, alas! can fortitude receive,

Which none would imitate, nor all believe?

Take then, inhuman! thy ambition's lot;

Thy pride's remember'd, and their crime forgot.

Amazement fill'd the throng;—the general ire

Was lost in horrour at the obdurate sire;

While justice, pausing, trembled to divide

The patriot's title with the parricide.

Preposterous scene! Consul rever'd and curst;

Faithful to Rome, to nature's laws unjust!

Posterity the dread award repeals;

More for the traitors than the judge she feels;

Averts with shuddering awe th'astonish'd gaze,

And gives, at best, but wonder for thy praise.

Had any voice but thine pronounc'd their doom,

No pitying sigh had grac'd their guilty tomb:

Had other eyes at their sad fate look'd on,

The tears of Rome had fall'n for thee alone;

But in thy children's vital blood array'd,—

Stern justice turns a monster, so display'd.

Virtues o'erstrain'd, like strings in musick, fly,

Or, jarring, spoil sweet nature's harmony;

And actions, where humanity must frown,

Excite but horror, not deserve renown.[9]

Notes

7.
Exuit patrem ut consulem ageret, orbusque vivere quam publicae vindictae deesse maluit.

Val. Max. l. v. c. viii.

↵

8.
—
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

Dion. Hal. l. v.

↵

9.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

DION. HAL. l. v.

↵

9.
We find from Virgil, that even the hard-hearted Romans were divided in their opinion upon this most extraordinary transaction:
"—utcunque ferent ea facta minores,—"
Virg. Aen. vi.

Manlius, however, presents another example of still more extravagant and unnatural rigour, when he condemns his son, a gallant young conqueror, to death, for a slight deviation from discipline. This barbarian, after exhorting the young man in an unfeeling declamation to bear his fate with magnanimity, ordered his head to be struck off, and looked on at the execution of the sentence. It is reasonable to suppose that the power of life and death given by the Roman laws to parents over their children, might, in some degree, have weakened the ties of natural affection, and substituted in their place ideas of severity, which led to excesses otherwise unaccountable. Parents had it in their option either to bring up a new-born child, or to suffer it to perish: thus, what would among us be considered as the most extreme proof of inhumanity, was then looked upon as a matter of indifference. The whole youth of Rome were in a state of actual slavery; with this difference only, that their masters were their fathers. Among Catiline's conspirators was A. Fulvius, "senatoris filius; quem retractum ex itinere parens necari jussit." This parental order is mentioned by Sallust, whose words I have just now quoted. This is the state, from which declaimers are fond of taking their images of liberty.

↵

TRIBUNES. CORIOLANUS.

Ere time's slow current in his gradual course

Had purg'd the foulness of Rome's natal source,

Who could expect in her young state to see

High birth assum'd, and pride of family?

To see the outlaw's, ruffian's, robber's brood,

Puff'd with pre-eminence of noble blood?

Yet, with the names of different orders known,

Were the first seeds of fierce dissension sown.

Soon was the mean original forgot,

The clay-built city, and the straw-roof'd cot:

The new patrician now survey'd with scorn

The poor plebeian, as his vassal born;

With ostentatious pageantry display'd

The saucy ensigns of his proud parade.

Thus, in the world's great garden, still we see,

The weed of quickest growth is vanity.

But yet more hateful, by a baser vice,

To this he join'd insatiate avarice;

And made the power which wealth bestows to bless,

To poverty the source of wretchedness.

Not long the spark of discord smother'd lay,[1]

Firy and fierce it flam'd to open day;

The outrag'd sullen peasant soon began

To poize his strength, and feel himself a man;

His well-brac'd arm and massy club deny'd

The vain distinctions of usurping pride;

Till in the pompous magistrate he saw

The insult only, and forgot the awe.

Power which to full maturity would grow,

To save the substance, should conceal the show.

They met, as hostile elements, to jar,

With all the rancour of intestine war;

Petition and respect no more were heard,

The tribune's veto made the people fear'd;[2]

Sacred his person too, with every fence

Stern law could frame, to shield his insolence:

So, with that sturdy magistrate to lead,

Bold innovation rais'd its towering head,[3]

Till liberty's high spirit, in excess,

Foam'd with the dregs of foul licentiousness:

Like Scylla, by her barking offspring torn,

Rome felt their rage, and felt it but to mourn.

Chas'd by the rabble from the factious town,

Nor shelter'd by his name's deserv'd renown,

See Coriolanus to his foes repair,

Excite their fury, and conduct the war.[4]

Dire as a comet in th'eventful hour,

O'er his black brow the frowns of Até lour;

The suppliant deputations sent from home,

Return unheeded, or rebuk'd, to Rome:

For abject now, as insolent before,

The people's boasted triumph soon was o'er;

But breathing vengeance in his ireful mood,

Deaf to their prayers the surly exile stood.

At length, the matron train his mother leads;

Nature's soft murmur in his bosom pleads:

His weeping wife, in all her modest charms,

An infant child, with helpless outstretch'd arms,

Touch'd every spring where social pity lay,

And bade the husband, sire, and son, obey:

O'ercome by these, the Volscian host retires,

While he, a victim to their rage, expires.[5]

Thus ever, when opposing duties meet,

And adverse interests make one breast their seat,

By both distracted, and to neither true,

Passion precedes, and ruin must ensue.

Never had Rome a braver soldier bred;

Her martial files to victory he led;

And thrice his brows the oaken garland wore,

While many an honest scar his bosom bore:

But much unskilful in the arts of peace,

His merits with the shouts of battle cease;

He scorn'd the forum, (fraud and strife's abode,)

War his delight, and Mars his favourite God.

Sincere and dauntless, his aspiring soul

Form'd to command, but ill endur'd control;

Rash, angry thoughts, which prudence should conceal,

His pride would dictate, and his tongue reveal;

This knew his crafty foes, who watch'd to raise

The kindling spark, and fann'd it to a blaze;

Then all their lurking malice could desire,

Burst out impetuous from his boundless ire.

So falls the unsuspecting lion, led

Where first with art the treacherous toils lie spread.

All virtues but discretion he possess'd;

Yet wanting that, in vain he own'd the rest:

That cautious humble guide experience finds

Scorn'd or neglected by heroick minds;

And yet no safer pilot can be near,

Through life's rough tide man's dangerous course to steer.

Notes

1.
Civitas secum ipsa discors intestino inter patres plebemque flagrabat odio, maxime propter nexos ob aes alienum.

Liv. l. ii. c. 23.

↵

2.

Agi deinde de concordia caeptum, concessumque in conditiones, ut plebi sui magistratus essent sacrosancti, quibus auxilii latio adversus consules esset; neve cui patrum capere eum magistratum liceret.
Liv. l. ii. c. 33.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. HAL. l. vi.

↵

3.
—
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

Ibid.

↵

4.
Damnatus absens in Volscos abiit, minitans patriae, hostilesque jam rum spiritus gerens.

Liv. l. ii. c. 35.

↵

5.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

DION. HAL. l. viii.

↵

DECEMVIRS. ROMAN LAWS. GLADIATORS.

Rome's wars or treaties with each petty state

Were dull to read, and tedious to relate;

But as the wily fowler with his nets,

Brood after brood, the feathery game besets,

Or as th'encroaching gradual tide flows on,

One region first, and then the next to drown,

So, by her arts, or arms, at last obtain'd,

The sovereign rule o'er every power she gain'd.[6]

Matchless in war, and by examples great,

Laws still were wanting to confirm the state.

By no establish'd, well-known rule confin'd,

Decision varied with the judge's mind;

Wisdom and weakness in their turns appear'd,

And Themis was obey'd, but not rever'd.

But now with ancient written science fraught,

More certain codes from polish'd Greece were sought:[7]

On this pretence, the fierce Decemvir's hand,

Three years supreme, oppress'd the groaning land,

Till with a ravisher's polluting arms

His lustful fury seiz'd Virginia's charms.[8]

To bid her name in spotless honour rest,

See the sad sire transfix his daughter's breast.

"Appius! (he cries) by the dear blood thus shed,

"To sure destruction I devote thy head.[9]

"To thee and thy posterity remain

"The crime and danger, though to me the pain:

"Around her grave unfading wreaths shall bloom;

"Thine be the father's curse, and murderer's doom!

"Vein of my heart! with this unwilling wound,

"I send thee, yet unspotted, to the ground."

Wildly, aloft the reeking knife he bears,

Hot vengeance burning up his furious tears.

Oh, piteous spectacle! the sweetest maid

Of all the virgin train, in death thus laid!

No matron eye that saw her, but approv'd;

No youthful, manly heart, but sigh'd, and lov'd.

Pale her soft cheek, and clos'd her beamy eyes,

On the cold ground a welt'ring corse she lies.

A soul more form'd, all joys to share, and give,

Earth cou'd not lose, nor opening heaven receive.

Fir'd at the sight, the outrageous people rise,

Till the crush'd tyrant for the virgin dies.

Thus Rome again preserv'd, again might date

Her second freedom from a woman's fate.

Ingloriously the shameful period pass'd,

While abject slavery the soul debas'd;

No enterprize of gallant note begun,

No ally succour'd, and no field was won:

Like an ungenial frost, the tyrant's power

Had blighted every virtue's opening flower.

Though less unpolish'd than the nations round,

What barbarous licence in her code is found?

The sire, absolv'd from nature's tenderest tye,

Might doom to death his helpless progeny;[1]

And rights more cruel o'er the prostrate slave

To each hard master the prescription gave:

Torture and stripes, for every slight offence,

Or unprovok'd, the tyrant might dispense;

And, if a deed of blacker die was done,[2]

They slaughter'd hundreds, for the crime of one.[3]

Yet mark how gravely Livy's page assents [4]

To the mild tenor of Rome's punishments:

Reversing thus the purpose laws should seek,

The strong they strengthen'd, and oppress'd the weak.

Inhuman too their sports. Their eyes were fed

With grim delight, when gladiators bled;

The mangled wretches learn'd with grace to die,

So to enhance the unnatural luxury.

As gluttons praise the hospitable lord,

When costly viands heap his plenteous board,

Who then most multiply'd the dreadful sight,

Was most esteem'd the people's favourite:

So wolves and pards, endow'd with human sense,

Might better shew their savage preference.

And near five cent'ries was Rome's vigour grown

Ere yet these sanguinary sights were known.[5]

Thus closely link'd the strange advance we see

Of new refinement, and new cruelty:

Some gaudy shew, a rustick daub'd with lees,

And Thespis' cart, in earlier times could please;

No more delight the unletter'd Roman sought

Than wonder, or vacuity of thought:

And better so, than with new sense to drain

Preposterous pleasure from the source of pain.

Conscious themselves how deep impressions lie,

From shews repeated to the gazing eye,

Nor willing to pervert the female mould,

From soft to fierce, from innocent to bold,

Augustus bade the women not appear

At sights within the ghastly theatre.[6]—

Familiar thus with spectacles of blood,

Their hearts were dauntless, but were seldom good;[7]

Proud, warlike, and inflexibly severe,

No note of pity touch'd their callous ear;

But still dispos'd new pleasure to receive

From pains which nature prompts us to relieve,

The clarion's martial sound their bosom warms,

Responsive only to the din of arms.

Rome, like Achilles as a maid disguis'd,

All ornament, but shining steel, despis'd.

In such a state we wonder not to find

A Nero and Domitian waste mankind.

Notes

6.
The books of Maccabees, though treating of times much subsequent to this period, express very well the estimation in which the Romans were held by all nations. See the eighth chapter of the first book.
↵

7.
Allatas à Graecia leges decem principes iecti, jubente populo, conscripserant: ordinataque erat in duodecim tabulis tota justitia.

FLOR. l. i. c. 24.

↵

8.
Appius eo insolentiae elatus est, ut ingenuam virginem stupro destinaret.

FLOR. ut sup.

↵

9.
Pectus deinde puellae transfigit, respectansque ad tribunal, "te (inquit) Appi, tuumque caput sanguine hoc consecro."

LIV. l. iii c. 48.

↵

1.

Jus autem potestatis quod in liberos habemus proprium est civium Romanorum; nulli enim alii sunt homines, qui talem in liberos habent potestatem, qualem nos habemus.
JUSTIN. Inst. l. i.

Quidquid peperisset, decreverunt tollere.
TER. Andr. Act. I. sc. iii.

Quo defunctus est die, [Germanicus,] lapidata sunt templa,—partus conjugum expositi.
SUET. in Calig. 5.

Numerum liberorum finire, aut quenquam ex agnatis necare, [apud Germanos] flagitium habetur.
TAC. GERM. xix.

↵

2.
Ceterum cum, vetere ex more, familiam omnem quae sub eodem tecto mansitaverat, ad supplicium agi oporteret, concursu plebis quae tot innoxios protegebat, usque ad seditionem ventum est.

TAC. ANNAL. l. xiv. c. 42.

↵

3.

So late as the time of the emperor Adrian, the following restrictions with regard to slaves were considered as innovations:

Servos a dominis occidi vetuit, eosque jussit damnari per judices, si digni essent.

Si dominus in domo interemptus esset, non de omnibus servis quaestionem haberi, sed de his qui per vicinitatem poterant sentire, praecepit.

AEL. SPART. ADR. CAES.

↵

4.
Primum ultimumque illud [Metii Suffetii] supplicium apud Romanos exempli parum memoris legum humanarum fuit. In aliis gloriari licet nulli gentium mitiores placuisse poenas.

LIV. l. i. c. 28.

↵

5.
Barbari moris auctores M. et D. Junii Bruti, nescio qua pietate defuncti patris cineres honoraturi, gladiatorium munus ediderunt, magno favore civitatis. A. U. C. 490.

Frein. Sup. LIV. l. xvi. c. 42.

↵

6.

—edixeritque mulieres ante horam quintam venirent in theatrum, non placere.
SUET. in Aug. 44.

Jungendus est his P. Sempronius sophus, qui conjugem repudii notâ affecit, nihil aliud quam se ignorante ludos ausam spectare.
VAL. MAX. l. vi. c. 3.

↵

7.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

DION CASS. l. lx. 13.

↵

ROMAN SOLDIERS First received pay at the siege of Veii.

Aspiring Rome bold Veii harrass'd most,

And many a field was won, and many lost;

Till patient of a ten years' siege she fell,[8]

Nor left e'en walls, where once she tower'd to tell.[9]

Ere this, unpaid but by the hopes of spoil,

The Roman warrior bore the battle's toil;

But while abroad the conqu'ring sword he wields,

Untill'd and barren lay his little fields;

Hence, one sharp conflict o'er, he left the plain,

And rich with plunder, sought his home again:

No long continued object was pursued

With patient, persevering fortitude.

But now the Senate, wiser grown, require

A general tax to pay the soldier's hire; [1]

Who, unrepining thus, consents to bear

The lengthen'd service of the varying year.

And but for this, her conquests had not reach'd

Beyond where fertile Italy lay stretch'd;

Carthage unrivall'd had usurp'd the main,

And Eastern Kings enjoy'd their gorgeous reign;

The German in his wilds untam'd had stray'd,

Nor Britain tribute to bold Julius paid:

But imp'd by this, her eagle's wing could soar

To nobler heights, and stoop at every shore;

Mountains and seas were then securely pass'd,

When space and seasons were by gold effac'd.

Notes

8.
Veientium quanta res fuerit, indicat decennis obsidio.

FLOR. l. i. c. 12.

↵

9.
Rapti funditus deletique Veientes.

Ibid.

↵

1.
Tunc primum hiematum sub pellibus, taxata stipendio hiberna.

FLOR. l. i. c. 12.

↵

PLEBEIANS ADMITTED TO THE CONSULSHIP.[2]

As oft great fires from sparks minute begin,

So, great events from a slight origin.[3]

What object to grave wisdom's eye appears

More unimportant, than a woman's tears?

The favourite type of many a sportive bard;

How oft to April's transient showers compar'd?

Yet these soft arms resistless have been found

By breasts, which keener weapons fail'd to wound:

To souls repulsive of assault and force

Silent and sure they steal their melting course;

Their subtle progress noiselessly begin,

And scarce perceiv'd without, till felt within.

'Gainst swords or darts, prepar'd with shields we fight;

'Gainst beauty's tears, our safety is our flight.

The robes of honour by plebeians worn,

From Rome's reluctant lords by force were torn;

Commotion ever follow'd the demand,

And civil discord rent the jarring land:

Resolv'd to keep, and eager to acquire,

These strongly guard what fiercely those desire;

When with the Great their proud pretensions fail'd,

Then clamour, menace, and revolt prevail'd;

Illustrious ancestry one Order pleads;

The other, right, from more illustrious deeds.

Sacred the consul's toga still remain'd,

As yet by the inferior tribes unstain'd;

But by a woman's tears at last was gain'd.[4]

Two daughters sprung from Fabius, Hymen led,

Pleas'd, to a noble, and plebeian bed;

The elder shar'd Sulpicius' lofty state,

And wealthy Stolo was the younger's mate:

The warrior-tribune's ensigns grac'd the one;[5]

By no distinction was the other known,

But riches, and obscurity of worth,

Unblazon'd by high titles or high birth.

It chanc'd, the humbler wife, as yet content,

To visit her proud sister's mansion went;

There, while her thrifty hands the loom employs,

Alarm'd, she hears an unaccustom'd noise;

The rattling rods, which on the tribune wait,

Proclaim'd his pompous entrance at the gate.

Her simple mind some danger near believ'd,

Not by her conscious sister unperceiv'd.

"Fabia, (she cried) these sounds are new to thee,

"By custom long familiariz'd to me;

"These are my husband's train, who walk before,

"And wait the tribune's entrance at his door.

"Such sounds your quiet dwelling ne'er molest,

"More humble doubtless, tho' perhaps more bless'd:

"Some discontent must every station share,

"Nor is our dignity exempt from care.

"But come, dismiss this low, plebeian fear,

"My lord's rude lictors never enter here;

"In the same house I keep a separate home,

"Where, uninvited, not ev'n he may come."

Deep sinks the taunt.—Nor joy, nor wonted rest,

Find harbour in the insulted Fabia's breast.

To her scorn'd home, dejected, she returns;

Now pines with envy, now with anger burns;

Health's vermeil hue her fading cheeks forsook,

And Niobe seem'd pictur'd in her look.

Her sire, and doating husband, long in vain

Tried to explore the secret source of pain;

Each grasps her hand, repeats his tender fears,

Entreats to know:—she answers but with tears.

With streaming eyes at last the cause she tells,

And her patrician sister's scorn reveals:

"But never shall this bosom comfort know,

"Never these ceaseless streams forbear to flow,

"Till Rome's proud lords hear shouting Rome proclaim

"Your right, like their's, to every rank the same;

"And that ennobled dame be forc'd to see

"Her spirit quell'd, and state surpass'd by me."

Thus spoke she weeping. By her grief impress'd,

The ambitious project swell'd her husband's breast:

Invoking every sacred Power, he swears

The insult to avenge, and dry her tears.

To aid the purpose labouring in his mind

With his own strength confederate force he join'd.

Old Fabius too, by grey experience wise,

Maturer counsels to their youth supplies;

One common interest all their hopes inspir'd,

One vow engag'd them, and one ardour fir'd.

Besides, the scent of mischief lur'd along

(The scum of towns) a numerous noisy throng;

Bellowers, unfit to govern or obey,

Who little heed the cause, but love the fray;

Wholesome restraint they call the chain of slaves,

Their reason in their roar, and rhet'rick in their staves.

In vain to check their rage the nobles try'd;

"Let us be consuls," still the people cry'd.

Increasing zeal increasing numbers found;

The forum rent, return'd no second sound.

At length, the weary chiefs, o'erpower'd, retreat,

Desert their tower, and own the full defeat.

Of like success though like endeavours fail'd,

In pride's contention female pride prevail'd:

Fabia retorts her scoffing sister's scorn,

And, smiling, sees her humbled in her turn.

Years after years had eloquence, in vain,

And art and force this honour toil'd to gain;

But Fortune, still averse, reserv'd the prize

To prove the matchless power of woman's eyes.[6]

Notes

2.
For the beginning of this transaction see LIVY, l. vi. c. 34. The whole passage is too long to be inserted.
↵

3.
Parva (ut plerumque solet) rem ingentem moliundi causa intervenit.

LIV. ut sup.

↵

4.
Enfin les larmes d'une femme emporterent ce que l'eloquence, les brigues, et les cabales des tribuns n'avoient pu obtenir.

Vertot. REV. ROM. l. vii.

↵

5.
Military tribunes, more in number (which fluctuated) than the consuls, had among them the same power.
↵

6.
I have willingly adopted this sisterly quarrel, as the cause of an important change in the internal policy of Rome; first, because it has a complexion peculiarly suited to familiar poetry, and therefore mixing agreeably with other subjects of a darker hue; and next, because I am pleased to have any opportunity of paying every possible tribute to the importance of that sex, to whose sweetness and unostentatious virtues men are obliged for all that can soften the cares of life, or perhaps make them supportable; but I believe, at the same time, that the event was only hastened, and not produced, by the occurrence which I have related. The cause lay deeper: the general diffusion of wealth, from which importance is inseparable, sufficiently accounts for it. Though the French author I have quoted above, with the quondam gallantry of his countrymen, gives more weight to the tears of a lady than to state intrigues: Livy, with more circumspection, only says, this female pique was among the causes which opened the consulship to plebeians: "parva causa intervenit," is his expression.
↵

ROMAN LEGION.

Some God, propitious to the Roman name,

(Vegetius cries) inspir'd the legion's frame.[7]

More ponderous arms than other soldiers wore,

With ease, from custom, the main body bore.

Light nimble troops were posted on the flanks,

With horse to charge the foes' disorder'd ranks:[8]

Slingers and archers too, who sent from far

Their lead and arrows to provoke the war.

Machines for every siege were in its train,

With tools to encamp, and fortify the plain.

Thus in each separate legion's form we see

Compris'd an army's just epitome.[9]

Not Macedon's firm phalanx could compare

With this proud boast and master-work of war:

Thence were Rome's thunders on the nations hurl'd;

With this strong engine she subdued the world.[1]

But when by this the subject earth was spoil'd,

The faithless engine on herself recoil'd;

Not long employed to serve the parent state,

It humbled her, to make her tyrants great;[2]

A sad exchange was all her pride could boast,

Mankind subdued, and her own freedom lost.

'Tis vain to talk of liberty in states,

Where the fierce soldier's arm predominates;

Prompt to obey the stern commander's word,

He finds the law's sole comment in his sword;

With floods and fire his character accords,

The best of servants, but the worst of lords.

Notes

7.
Non tantum humano consilio, sed etiam Divinitatis instinctu legiones a Romanis arbitror constitutas.

VEGET. de Re Mil. l. ii. c. 21.

↵

8.

Nel' assalir son pronti, e nel ritrarsi;

E combatton fuggendo erranti e sparsi.

TASSO, can. i.

↵

9.
Universa quae in quoque belli genere necessaria esse creduntur, secum legio debet ubique portare, ut in quovis loco fixerit castra, armatam faciet civitatem.

VEGET. de Re Mil. l. ii. c. 25.

↵

1.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

POLYB. l. ii.

↵

2.
When Marius and Sylla, Caesar, Anthony, Augustus and all the subsequent emperors, enslaved Rome, by having the legions at their devotion.
↵

HANNIBAL. A. U. C. 534.

Thus far, where'er assailing or assail'd,

The event was certain, and Rome's arms prevail'd.

But see at last great Hannibal appear;

See her proud genius taught at last to fear.

Thy towers, Saguntum, by his skill o'erthrown,[3]

Had fill'd th' admiring world with his renown:

A dreadful prelude thy sad ruins yield

Of Thrasimene, and Cannae's direr field.

While yet a child, led by his warlike sire,[4]

'Gainst Rome the infant's lips denounc'd his ire;

His little hands outstretch'd, the altar bore

Eternal record of the oath he swore;

And, deeply crimson'd with Patrician blood,[5]

The promise of his tongue his sword made good.

No dangers his intrepid soul could daunt;[6]

Sagacious, hardy, cool, and vigilant.

Mankind in wonder of his daring lost,

He pour'd on Italy a mingled host.

On the huge peak, whose giant ribs command[7]

The teeming soil of soft Ausonia's land,

He stops well pleas'd, to scent the sharpen'd breeze

From fuming rills, and undulating trees,

Whose fruits not yet were warm in infant down,

In rugged rinds, or husks of cruder brown.

The vacant steer he views, with wicker'd food

Well pent and plenteous, by no toil renew'd;

Neat hamlets, sheds, small fanes of rustick mould,

And gaudier shrines, but built with hostile gold.

With grim delight his cruel eyes survey

The sturdy hinds, his battle's future prey;

Now health's cold gale contented they respire,

And hope an early sun, the poor man's fire.

The gay light tenants of the snow-top'd groves

Flit by unmark'd, to cheer their drooping loves:

Not so the raven's croak, the eagle's scream;

Soft to his iron sense their bodings seem.

"My birds, (he cries) your friends, your feeders know;

"Behold my labouring Africans below:

"To Jove if prostrate Italy be dear,

"Let one perpetual winter chill the year;

"For, lo, I come, and as I come prepare

"Havock, and waste, and all the woes of war."[8]

Rome still resists, like her own Alpine oak,

Shorn by the axe, or lightning's sulph'rous stroke;

Still the proud top unbending meets the skies,

And still the earth-bound root the storm defies.

How oft, alas! his course of glory run,

Do clouds obscure the hero's setting sun!

His means, his strength, all but his courage drain'd,

And hate, immortal hate, which still remained;

Driven out by base ingratitude from home,[9]

And hunted by th' ungenerous fears of Rome;

The matchless chief, with age and care declin'd,

No shelter in Bythinia's court could find;

There, dauntless as he liv'd, the envenom'd bowl

Freed from her bonds of flesh his struggling soul;

And unpropitious even in death to Rome,

His dust upbraids her from the silent tomb.[1]

A••iquus 〈◊◊〉 pur••ponde librarum XX• diametri 2 ped, cum 2 un•, rep•rtus in Rh•d••o p••p• Av•ni•nem anno 1656: ••hibens S•ipionis Africani ••p••i•ris memorand•m actionem, qua captam in expugnatione Carthaginis n•v• 〈◊〉 fo•••• ••••inem Allu•ie C•llib•r•rum principi, cui desponsata •rat •inta•t•m gr•tis reddidi•.
Polyb. x 19. LIV. XXV•. •0. A Ge••. VI. 8. Dion. Fragm. Peirese. LVIII.

CLYPEUS VOTIVUS

Notes

3.

Saguntum faederatam civitatem vi expugnavit.
COR. NEP. in Han.

—〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
POLYB. l. iii.

↵

4.
Pater Amilcar (inquit Annibal) Antioche, parvum admodum me, cum sacrificaret, altaribus admotum jurejurando adegit, nunquam amicum fore populi Romani.

LIV. l. xxxv. c. 19.

↵

5.
Documenta cladis, cruentus aliquandiu Aufidus.

FLOR. l. ii. c. 6.

↵

6.
Plurimunn audaciae ad pericula capessenda, plurimum consilii inter ipsa pericula erat. Nullo labore aut corpus fatigari, aut animus vinci poterat. Caloris et frigoris patientia par: cibi potionisque, desiderio naturali, non voluptate, modus finitus: vigiliarum somnique nec die nec nocte discriminata tempora, &c.

LIV. l. xxi. c. 4.

↵

7.

Praegressus signa Annibal, in promontorio quodam, unde longe ac late prospectus erat, consistere jussis militibus Italiam ostentat, &c.
Liv. 1. xxi. c. 35.

—〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
POLYB. l. iii.

↵

8.
Quamdiu in Italia fuit, nemo ei in acie restitit, nemo adversus eum post Cannensem pugnam in campo castra posuit.

COR. NEP. in Han.

↵

9.
Bona ejus publicarunt, domum a fundamentis disjecerunt, ipsum exulem judicarunt.

COR. NEP. in Han.

↵

1.
Liberemus (inquit) diuturnâ curâ populum Romanum, quando mortem senis expectare longum censent. Nec magnam nec memorabilem lem ex inermi proditoque Flaminius victoriam feret. Mores quidem populi Romani quantum mutaverint, vel hic dies argumento erit. Horum patres Pyrrho regi hosti armato, exercitum in Italia habenti, ut à veneno caveret, praedixerunt. Hi legatum consularem qui auctor esset Prusiae per scelus occidendi hospitis, miserunt.

LIV. l. xxxix. c. 51.

↵

P. C. SCIPIO AFRICANUS. A. U. C. 544.

Young Scipio most by grateful Rome was priz'd,

By vanquish'd Hannibal immortaliz'd.

Her armies by the African o'erthrown,

Her means exhausted, and her pride beat down,

From woes on woes despondency ensued,

His gallant spirit only unsubdued:

His ardour breath'd an animating strain,

Till up she sprung, and grasp'd her arms again.

Of every virtue, every art possess'd,[2]

His foes rever'd him, and his country bless'd:

An eagle with the mildness of the dove,

His valour claim'd esteem, his goodness love;

And manly beauty, beaming from his face,

To inborn dignity gave outward grace.

Nor blaz'd his glory in the field alone,

A harder conquest o'er himself he won:

In the wild hour of passion's lawless reign,

Rejecting joys bought by another's pain,

Fond of the fair,[5] in blooming beauty's pride

To her true lord he gave the captive bride.

If some smooth lawn its verdant mantle spreads,

Nigh to where mountains lift their craggy heads,

There the pleas'd eye directs its willing ray,

Fatigu'd too long by nature's rude display:

So his soft manners our regards engage,

Midst the stern heroes of that warlike age.

Nor think, the Great from their high place descend,

Who choose the Muse's favourite for a friend,

When mighty Scipio, Rome well pleas'd could see,

With Ennius join'd, in kindest amity;[6]

TWO BUSTS, seund in the Tomb of the Family of Scipie, diseevered at Rome, near Perla Capena, in 1780; supposed to be the Busts of P. C. SCEPIO AFRICANUS, THE ELDER, and Q. ENNIUS. Romae extra pertam Capenam in Scipienum menumento tres statuae sunt; quarum duae P. et L. Seipienum dicuntur esse, tertia poetae Q Ennii. Liv. XXXVIII. 56.

Could hear him wish their friendship might survive,

When fate's last mandate bade them cease to live;

That not ev'n death their union might o'ercome,

But blend their ashes in one common tomb.[7]

A hundred conquerors the world have torn;

Where were two Homers, or two Maros born?[8]

Genius is form'd from Nature's choicest clay,

While warriors are the ware of every day.

Notes

2.
Scipio Africanus superior, quem dii immortales nasci voluerunt, ut esset in quo se virtus per omnes numeros hominibus efficaciter ostenderet,—.

VAL. MAX. l. vi. c. 9.

↵

5.
Scipio's well-known continence, in the instance here alluded to, at the age of seven and twenty, was the more meritorious, as Polybius, his contemporary, informs us that he was naturally extremely amorous: "—
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
,—."

POLYB. x. 19.

↵

6.

Prior Africanus Q. Ennii statuam sepulchro imponi suo jussit; clarumque illud nomen, immo vero spolium ex tertia orbis parte raptum, in cinere supremo cum poetae titulo legi.
PLIN. Hist. Nat. l. vii. c. 30.

L'intime liaison de Scipion avec le poëte Ennius, avec qui il voulut avoir un tombeau commun, fait juger qu'il ne manquoit pas de goût pour les belles lettres.
HIST. ROM. par Rollin. vol. vii.

↵

7.

Ennius emeruit, Calabris in montibus ortus,

Contiguus poni, Scipio magne, tibi.

OVID. de Arte Aman. l. iii.

↵

8.

Voltaire says, and he says truly, that the superiority of one nation over another may be better estimated by the superiority of its authors, particularly poets, than by its conquests, or extent of territory. Invention, wit, wisdom, and learning, are certainly preferable to bodily strength, constitutional courage, and the science of destruction. How would the glory of kingdoms fade, and their reputation wither, were they to remain with the fame of their military atchievements, and to be deprived of their writers? Were the names of Homer and Demosthenes blotted out from the nativities of Greece; Virgil, Ovid, Cicero, and Livy, from those of Rome; Ariosto and Tasso from Italy; take from Spain her Lopez de Vega, Calderon, and Cervantes; Corneille, Racine, Moliere, and Boileau, from France; and—my pen shrinks while I write it—dismantle England of her Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope, and what a mournful chasm would be left in the intellectual world! How would our present veneration for the countries which produced these immortal names subside in a moment! They are the true luminaries of the world, and mental darkness in proportion would be the consequence of their extinction. The Goths and Tartars were as great destroyers of mankind as the Romans, but they owe the celebrity of their conquests to the genius of other nations.

There is no advantage upon which Ireland ought to value herself so much as her having given birth to such men as Southerne, Steele, Swift, Berkeley, Goldsmith, Burke, and Sheridan.—The barrenness of Scotland is covered by the fertile eloquence of her historians and moralists.

↵

CHANGE OF ROMAN MANNERS AFTER THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE. A. U. C. 621.

Now other maxims, different spirits rise,

Gold's sordid thirst, and factious jealousies.

As watchful centinels alert are found,

Who fear the strict centurion's nightly round,—

While Hannibal the commonwealth oppress'd,

No latent power lay slumb'ring in the breast;

No hour in sloth or luxury was lost,

And every virtue rous'd up to its post:

But with that mighty rival overthrown,

Rome's awful monitor, the foe, was gone;

When, proudly eminent, no more she fear'd,

Then vigilance with danger disappear'd:

As if too long buoy'd up, the publick mind

Sunk to the languid level of mankind;

All the forc'd qualities by habit taught,

Gave way to appetites which Nature brought.[9]

From pain, and peril, and unceasing toil,

The springs of life spontaneously recoil;

And man, soft man, from strong constraint set free,

Seeks of himself his own felicity.

Too long had Rome roll'd up the cumb'rous stone:

It touch'd the top, and tumbled headlong down:

As if her spirit in her armour lay,

Fatigu'd, at once she cast them both away.

Plain dress, plain roofs, plain fare no more could please,

And down, not labour, gave their slumbers ease;

Asiatick looms the Latian web depose,

And the rough virtues by which first they rose.

Now flow'ry chaplets shed their fragrant store

Round the tann'd brow the helmet crush'd before;

Relaxing baths, and precious ointments, lave

The languid limbs once brac'd in Tyber's wave;

For beechen bowls wax'd bright for homely use,

From gold engrav'd they quaff'd the racy juice:[1]

Fastidious of rich wine, and high-sauc'd meat,[2]

Musick and dance prolong'd the varying treat;

All rare and exquisite alone was good,

While earth and sea were ransack'd for their food:

In each refinement of profusion skill'd,

Ears, eyes, and appetite, at once were fill'd.

Then Ostentation sought the admiring guest,

Not to partake, but to extol the feast;

Deceit, and Fraud, and Vanity stood by,

Wiles in each word, in every look a lie.

No coarse-clad merit at that gaudy board

Found glad admittance from its selfish lord;

For though like Tully the plain Roman talk'd,

What ear would listen?—for the Roman walk'd:

But if a chariot roll'd him o'er the road,

Or sweating slaves convey'd the living load,

O then, what eloquence in all he said!

What wisdom ev'n in silence he display'd!

The host himself on his proud entrance waits,

And reconducts him through his sculptur'd gates;

Or while his viands cram the glutton's throat,

Secures his cost, and claims the venal vote.

Thus chang'd the great,—while each inferior tribe

With hand outstretch'd expects the welcome bribe;

Keen as the noiseless glider through the brook

Devours the morsel on the tempting hook.

Noxious, like sultry Aethiopia's blast,

Through every rank the dire contagion pass'd;

Then wildly grasping with Briarean hands

The rich dominion of remoter lands,

For hard-fought combats, and a scanty prize,

Lo, feeble foes, and gaudy victories.

The hardy few, who saw and mourn'd the cause

Of pride's increase, and violated laws,

By mockery silenc'd, or in tumult slain,

Confirm'd the vices they oppos'd in vain.

Rome's boasted virtues blazon'd high by fame,

And still suppos'd by children who declaim,

(Though sometimes graver senators will join

To call the example glorious and divine,)

'Tis own'd, if truth her sage historians tell,

With Carthage fallen these ancient virtues fell.

Some manly qualities remain'd, 'tis true,

Extoll'd by many, but possess'd by few;

MARIUS.

In council wise, and skilful in the field,

Pride and ambition to the last she held;

But temperance, justice, faith, and candour lost,

To conquer without right was all her boast;

Turning each new acquirement to a curse,

While all that should improve but made her worse.

If still prescription pleads the world's esteem,

Her greatness, not her morals, be the theme.

Notes

9.
Potentiae Romanorum prior Scipio viam aperuerat, luxuriae posterior aperuit. Quippe remoto Carthaginis metu, sublatâque imperii emulâ, non gradu, sed praecipti cursu, a virtute descitum, ad vitia transcursum; vetus disciplina deserta, nova inducta, in somnum a vigiliis, ab armis ad voluptates, a negotiis in otium conversa civitas.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 1.

↵

1.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
,—.

THEOC. Idyl. i.

↵

2.

Non auro, tectisve modus; mensasque priores

Aspernata fames.

LUCAN, l. i.

↵

C. MARIUS. A. U. C. 649.

See, nurs'd by Furies, and for havock bred,

Where frowning Marius lifts his rugged head;

His stature tall, with giant strength endued,

Cruel by nature, and of manners rude;

To these were join'd, as if for terror meant,

A thund'ring voice, and visage truculent.

A living column seem'd he in the wars,

Hewn from a quarry by the sword of Mars;

Though at Arpinum a Plebeian born,[3]

By him seven times the consul's robe was worn.

Through every function of the camp he pass'd,

Till merit rais'd him to command at last.

Conscious of mean descent, he feign'd to scorn[4]

The lazy greatness of the nobly born,

Who doze, and yawn, and retrospective see

Their sloth excus'd by vigorous ancestry.

While these, proud symbols in their halls display'd,

His cottage kindred shew'd the plough or spade:

For still he deem'd it true substantial fame,

Not to inherit, but create a name;

Disdain'd the borrow'd splendor could be shed

By glory beaming from another's head:

As well his health or beauty might he claim,

To prop a weak, or grace a homely frame.

"What men were once, (he cries) I little care;

"What's pass'd, is pass'd; I value what they are.

"The dwarf, from Hector or Alcides sprung,

"Must still be feeble, though his sire was strong;

"And Helen's daughter, with a Gorgon's face,

"Would charm no hero by her mother's grace."

Yet all his toil the nobles to deride,[5]

Sprung less from principle than envious pride;

For though weak mortals should not boast of aught,

What good man e'er his ancestors forgot?

If bright the track their actions leave behind,

Fair emulation fires the offspring's mind;

But if foul deeds and shame their course disgrace,

He quits the path, and runs a nobler race.

High birth, like riches, men too much may prize,

But those alone who have it not, despise.

Foremost in fight for ever was he found,

Shar'd the coarse soldier's fare, his bed the ground,

And lov'd the battle's shock, and the shrill trumpet's sound.

Great his achievements, his ambition great,

He sav'd, adorn'd, and then destroy'd the state.

Damn'd in Rome's annals to eternal fame,

Her genius trembled at his dreadful name;

In ill unrivall'd, had not Sylla stood

More hideous and defil'd with native blood.[6]

Alternate Fortune o'er his life display'd

Her brightest sunshine, and her gloomiest shade:

The inconstant's minion him awhile we see,

Then plung'd as low in hopeless misery.

As the struck bull who strives in vain to shake

The ill-aim'd hatchet from his bleeding neck,[7]—

Not knowing where to hide his forfeit head,

Bellowing with rage and shame, proscrib'd, he fled:

Thus chas'd from Rome by conquering Sylla's sway,[8]

All night in cold Minturnum's marsh he lay;

'Till naked, hungry, from the quagmire's mud

Defil'd he crept, to search for needful food;

Then rudely seiz'd, and with a halter bound,

A dungeon's straw receiv'd him on the ground.

To end the warrior's sufferings with the sword,

A Cimbrian slave the dreary cell explor'd;

Scar'd by his thund'ring voice, and dreadful look,

The assassin's grasp the murderous steel forsook:

An omen thence conceiv'd, his life was spar'd,

And for his flight a friendly bark prepar'd;

At Sicily he touch'd;—beat back by force,

Vagrant he steer'd towards Africa his course;

There his tir'd frame the hideous region found,

Where ruin'd Carthage strew'd the steril ground.[9]

He, midst the dust of all that once was great,

Like Desolation's Anarch took his seat;

Presenting thus to Contemplation's eye

A two-fold image of calamity;

The double work of persecuting fate,

An exil'd statesman, and a perish'd state.

Yet ev'n that sad asylum was deny'd;

Again disturb'd he sought the uncertain tide.

His son, escap'd from false Numidia's snares,

To his stern father's hovering sail repairs;

Then cheer'd with hopes from Cinna's arms at home,

The indignant outcast turn'd his prow towards Rome.

To direr pestilence as famine leads,[1]

So Cinna's havock his revenge succeeds.

Fate in his nod, the gaunt destroyer walks

Through the thinn'd streets, and death before him stalks:

Age pleads in vain, in vain the Flamen's prayer;

How can Revenge and Rage be taught to spare?

As o'er Parthenope Vesuvius stands,

The boast and terror of surrounding lands,—

Ere first to surge his waves of fire begin,

The mineral deluge boiling burns within;

Thick smoke, in many a dark and aweful wreath,

Rolling above, dismays the realm beneath;

Black with the brooding storm of vengeful pride,

So tower'd, so frown'd, the obdurate homicide.

The famish'd dogs of death, restrain'd no more,

Carouse and riot in Rome's richest gore.

Yet midst the horrour of these frantick times,

Chaos of ruin, massacre, and crimes,

With these, the faithful Muse still bears along

The tuneful errors of Lucretius' song;[2]

As if soft Philomel should build her bower

Where vultures gorge, and screaming kites devour.

What charms of verse! what energy of thought!

With what delusion, what false science fraught!

So from the tomb the worthless carcass comes,

Preserv'd in precious spice, and odorous gums.

Genius must mourn such powers display'd in vain,

Reject the teacher, yet admire the strain.

Champion of false philosophy he stands,

And the wide region impiously commands:

〈◊〉

.

'Gainst all the glittering weapons he can wield,

Reason scarce deigns to lift her seven-fold shield;

Their shining impotence at once disclos'd,

The reeds fall shiver'd, ere their point's oppos'd.

O had a worthier theme his flight sustain'd,

What wreaths unfading had his numbers gain'd!

How critick skill had smooth'd the vigorous lays,

Cast back on blood-stain'd men, and iron days!

Even in his robe of vain illusive die,

Sage Maro views him with a reverent eye;

And well might own, with Rome's consenting voice,

Himself but greatest by his subject's choice.

Notes

3.
Is natus, et omnem pueritiam Arpini altus,—.

SAL. Bel. Jug.

↵

4.
Contemnunt novitatem meam, ego illorum ignaviam. Quanquam ego naturam unam, et communem omnium existumo, sed fortissimum quemque generosissimum.

SAL. Bel. Jug.

↵

5.

At Marius, antea jam infescus nobilitati, tum vero multus atque ferox instare: singulos modo, modo universos laedere.
SAL. Bel. Jug.

Notwithstanding his mean birth, coarse education, military life, and ferocious nature, Marius is always described by the Roman writers, particularly by Tully, as a person of consummate art, great pride, and unbounded ambition. On many occasions he owed his success at home as much to the dexterity of his management as to the splendour of his name and the fame of his atchievements. In his speeches, or those ascribed to him by Sallust, may be found the substance of almost all those arguments and reflections which have been ever since so frequently employed to raise the consequence of the people, and to depreciate the nobility.

Though persons of slender pretensions to ancestry are most frequently apt to boast of it, yet we sometimes find instances of the same weakness in men of high birth and unquestionable understanding. It was well said by Lord Chesterfield of Lionel Duke of Dorset, that his grace was as proud of his family as if his grandfather had been a blacksmith.

↵

6.
Nihil illâ victoriâ fuisset crudelius, nisi mox Sullana esset secuta.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 22.

↵

7.

Quales mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram

Taurus, et incertam excussit cervice securim.

VIRG. Aen. ii.

↵

8.
Marius post sextum consulatum, annoque septuagessimo, nudus ac limo obrutus, oculis tantummodo ac naribus eminentibus, extractus arundineto circa paludem Maricae, in quam se, fugiens consectantes Sullae equites, abdiderat, injecto in collum loro, in carcerem Minturnensium perductus est. &c.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 19.

↵

9.
—inopemque vitam in tugurio ruinarum Carthaginensium toleravit.

VEL. PAT. ut sup.

↵

1.
Mox Caius Marius pestifero civibus suis reditu intravit maenia.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 22.

↵

2.

Nam simul ac ratio tua caepit vociferari,

Naturam rerum haud divina mente coortam,

Diffugiunt animi terrores; &c.

LUCRET. l. iii.

↵

L. C. SYLLA. A. U. C. 665.

Whether caprice or reason sway'd his mind,

Sylla at once the sovereign power resign'd;

In all things singular. His deeds were such

Fame could not praise him, or degrade too much.[3]

His youth shone out with no conspicuous worth,[4]

Till publick favour brought his talents forth:

That, like the golden sun's enlivening ray,

Matur'd his genius to its full display;

Then serpent-like, by kindly warmth improv'd,

More bright and dangerous at once he mov'd.

Pleasure he lov'd, yet the cool statesman's eye[5]

Let not one serious care unmark'd go by;

Nor could the wanton song,[6] or circling bowl,

Dissolve the native hardness of his soul;

Cold as the stone beneath the flowery shade,

The impenetrable inmate was o'erlaid:

In the flush'd midnight hour's licentious glee

He hatch'd deep crimes, and drown'd their memory.[7]

His wisdom, like his cruelty, sedate,

O'er his rash rivals made him fortunate.

Whene'er to sooth or terrify intent,

His craft or valour won the accomplishment;

For with a grac'd address his sinuous tongue

Could vindicate the right, and gild the wrong;

While by his side a keen, experienc'd sword

Hung, the stern voucher for each flattering word.

Awhile, indeed, he fairly earn'd applause,

When mad sedition bow'd to rescu'd laws;

When Marius, and his ravening vultures, fed

With noble carnage, from his eagles fled;

Then had his curtain drop'd, the woes of Rome

Had left no curse on his devoted tomb.

Thou, who thy harmless thoughts secure would'st keep

From haggard shapes that ride the midnight sleep;

Whose dreams the page perus'd by day may clog,

Avert the eye;—'tis Até's catalogue.

With pious horrour mangled Rome records

The ruthless ravage of his ruffians' swords;[8]

Promiscuous death for all alike prepar'd,

No age, no sex,[9] no sanctity was spar'd.

Engine of wrath, to scourge the human race,

And all black crimes by blacker to efface,

His rage to extinguish every virtuous sense,[1]

Gives him in hell the abhorr'd pre-eminence.

In his dire laws astonish'd nations see

Fines laid on tears, and soft humanity.[2]

His harpy edicts, past their object reach'd;

To innocence unborn their claws were stretch'd;[3]

Before Lucina's, lo, his pains advance,

And mulcts, ere life, made man's inheritance.

Each generous passion, chain'd to earth by fear,

Weak, and indignant, saw their foes draw near:

Rapine, Revenge, and Perfidy, and Hate,

Like famish'd kites, scream'd round the tyrant's state:

He, rais'd aloft amidst the infernal brood,

Cheer'd the fierce cry, and gorg'd their maws with blood.

Thy demon, Marius! swill'd with human gore,

Near this blotch'd tiger's gives the contest o'er.[4]

Rock'd in Bellona's cradle, foe to peace,

And crown'd with laurels for deserv'd success,

From thy first swath to arms and toil enur'd,

And harden'd by the wrongs thyself endur'd;

Disease besides, and age, and pain, combin'd,[5]

And exile had inflam'd thy furious mind;

Stung by them all, thy mercy was effac'd;

But Sylla mangled, when the offence was pass'd.

Heaven's strong examples these fierce rivals seem[6]

Of man's worst passions, in their worst extreme.

Pernicious and invincible he stood,

Alike the terror of the vile and good;

Able alike all semblances to wear,

Remorseless, deep, unsway'd by love or fear,

And most consistent, when most insincere.

He left behind, more fatal than his crimes,[7]

His dire example to succeeding times;

To lawless power his usurpation shew'd

The conqueror's sword could cut the speediest road;

And Rome enslav'd by her own arms, declares,[8]

Her future Caesars were but Sylla's heirs.[9]

To close the scene of cruelty and pride,

Hear, shuddering nature! how the tyrant died.

His morbid trunk one universal sore,

Myriads of vermin crawl'd from every pore;[1]

Swept from their prey by cleansing care in vain,

The living plague soon peopled him again.

In loathsome anguish lingering long he lay,

Then groan'd at last his savage soul away;

And thus expir'd, with pestilential breath,

The proudest tyrant by the vilest death.[2]

Notes

3.
—quem neque laudare neque vituperare quisquam satis digne potest.

VAL. MAX. l. ix. c. 2.

↵

4.
—eum honorem [consulatum] undequinquagesimo aetatis suae anno assecutus est. [A. U. C. 665.]

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 17.

↵

5.
—animo ingenti, cupidus voluptatum, sed gloriae cupidior: otio luxurioso esse; tamen ab negotiis nunquam voluptas remorata.

SAL. Bel. Jug.

↵

6.
—ut L. Sulla, vir tanti nominis, optime cantasse dicatur.

MACROB. l. ii. c. 10.

↵

7.
Montesquieu says, "Dans toute la vie de Sylla, au milieu de ses violences, on voit un esprit républicain." Though I think the greatest deference is due to the opinions of this enlightened writer in all matters connected with Roman policy, I am at a loss to discover where this republican spirit is discernible in the government of Sylla. He declared himself perpetual Dictator, that is, absolute master, by his own authority. By the same power he abrogated all former laws, the existence of which he found to be inconsistent with his tyranny; he made at his pleasure new laws, without suffering them to be disputed, or even canvassed by the people; he gave away to his creatures all the elective offices of the state, without permitting any election. Lucretius Offella, who persevered in petitioning for the consulship, without having all the qualifications required by one of his regulations, he ordered to be put to death upon the spot by his executioners, who constantly attended him. He proscribed the persons, and confiscated the property, of the citizens who had not espoused his cause in the contest with Marius. He did not indeed abolish the tides of the magistracies, but he nominated the persons. The names subsisted even in the time of the Emperors; and there were Consuls, Praetors, and Tribunes, under Tiberius and Nero, as under the Dictator Sylla.
↵

8.

Ces murs, dont le destin fut autrefois si beau,

N'en sont que la prison, ou plûtôt le tombeau.

SERTOR. de Corneille.

↵

9.
Adversus mulieres quoque gladios distrinxit.

VAL. MAX. l. ix. c. 2.

↵

1.
He ordained by a publick edict that those who saved or harboured any of the proscribed, should suffer in their place.

GOLDSMITH's Roman History.

↵

2.
—novus punitor miserecordiae, apud quem iniquo animo scelus intueri, scelus admittere fuit.

VAL. MAX. ut sup.

↵

3.
Proscriptorum liberis jus petendorum honorum eripuit, et bona corum vendidit; ex quibus plurima primò rapuit.

LIV. Epit.

↵

4.

Abscissa miserorum capita, modo non vultum ac spiritum retinentia, in conspectum suum afferri voluit, ut oculis illa, quia ore nefas erat, mandaret. Quam porro crudeliter se in Marco Mario praetore gessit! quem non prius vitâ privavit, quam oculos infelicis erueret, et singulas corporis partes confringeret.
VAL. MAX. ut sup.

Sulla tunc erat violentissimus, cum faciem sanguis invaserat.
SEN. Epistol.

↵

5.
Marius, whose life was become burdensome to him from a complication of diseases, is supposed by some to have put a period to his own existence, in the seventieth year of his age, A. U. C. 666. Sylla and he suffered even in this world some retribution for their abominable cruelties.
↵

6.

Per questo Mario, e Sylla pose al mondo,

E duo Neroni, e Caio furibondo.

ARIOST. c. xvii.

↵

7.
The change of Roman manners certainly took place after the second Punick war; the change of the constitution may be dated from the time of Sylla's usurpation. The whole of his Dictatorship was a complete tyranny, and the model with little variation upon which was founded the despotism of the emperors. The old government raised its head again feebly at intervals, till it was finally annihilated by Julius Caesar and his successors.
↵

8.

So many states have lost their liberty by the sword, and so many are still held in subjection by it, that we naturally look with complacency and admiration to that wise and happy constitution, where this formidable engine has no edge but for the natural enemies of the country, and the foes of freedom.

Powerful as is the military force of Great Britain, it is so peculiarly constituted as to owe its very subsistence to the will of the people; who maintain it, not like other nations to be oppressed by it, but protected. In Great Britain it may truly be called the Profession of Honour. The discipline of no army is more strict, and the pay is moderate, yet mutiny is unheard of; and the British soldier is always ready to embark with chearfulness and spirit for climates the most distant, and the most perilous services. He never loses entirely his original tincture of a freeborn citizen. It can never be forgotten, that the generous shouts of a British army at Hounslow struck the first panick to the bigotted soul of James, who vainly imagined he could make them tools to extirpate the religion and liberty they were levied to defend.

↵

9.
From the time of Marius and Sylla, the Roman legions were at the devotion of their particular leaders, and could not properly be said to belong to the republick. They fought for their general, Marius or Sylla, Caesar or Pompey, Octavius or Anthony; and thus the government of Rome became military, the conqueror only being able to reward the courage and fidelity of his soldiers.
↵

1.
Morbus pedicularis.
↵

2.

A. U. C. 675. He resigned his dictatorship the preceding year, after having destroyed above 100,000 Roman citizens, and proscribed ninety senators, and two thousand six hundred knights.

Of all the tyrants who domineered over the Romans, (Tiberius excepted) Sylla appears to have been the most detestable. In the atrocious depravity of several of the emperors, there seems to be a mixture of madness and folly, which though not less pernicious to mankind in their consequences, render the persons somewhat less accountable; but Sylla was deliberate and circumspect, and all his horrible cruelties may be referred to some motive of pride, revenge, malignity, or self-interest. He besides set the first example of systematick oppression and inhumanity. Extirpation appeared to him to be the most compendious, and, therefore, the most eligible mode of establishing his usurped authority; had there been any other more brief and sanguinary, he would have preferred it: and as he was uncommonly brave, he had not even the despicable plea of fear and cowardice to palliate his barbarities.

↵

MITHRIDATES. A. U. C. 680.

Too oft, 'tis true, the historian's record shows,

Fortune with Rome, and justice with her foes;

Too oft, alas! the impartial eye must find

Conquest with guilt in all her wreaths entwin'd:

But cruel Mithridates urg'd his fate,[3]

And fell unpitied, though unfortunate.

Resolv'd to be destroy'd, or to o'ercome,

His hate surpass'd ev'n Hannibal's to Rome.[4]

More fierce and not less brave, nor forc'd, like him,[5]

To hang for succours on a faction's whim;

Like him, to court a senate, far remov'd

From dangers they decried, and he had prov'd;

A sordid, sanguine, false, inconstant herd,

(The soldier's plague,) at once despis'd and fear'd;

Cold hearts, and boiling veins, and clamorous tongues,

Cause and proclaimers of the people's wrongs;

Just perch'd like birds of baleful note on high,

To feed and scream, while famish'd veterans die.

Not so the Pontus' king; a despot born,

He heard of laws, and heard them but to scorn.

Fatal alike in all his fierce designs,

To subjects, children, wives, and concubines:[6]

While in his furious temper love became

Pernicious as revenge, or hatred's flame;

All in their turn were victims sure to prove,

His enmity less dreadful than his love;

And his last gift to her who charm'd his soul,

The deadly poniard, or envenom'd bowl:

Compos'd of contrasts;—though suspicious, bold;

Barbarous, though learn'd;[7] and amorous, though old.

No friend he trusted, no engagement kept;

'Midst aconite and antidotes he slept;

Till on himself his poisons vainly tried,[8]

He curs'd the science that was once his pride;

And found at length his self-destroying sword

The last, best, servant of its desperate lord.[9]

Where the vast ridge of Caucasus lies stretch'd,

The wild dominions of this monarch reach'd;

With savage people fill'd, who own'd his sway,

Sequacious still where slaughter led the way:

Thence by the sea of Pontus was his reign,

His vessels covering all that subject main;

Fresh Scythian armies by his gold were gain'd,

A race exhaustless, though for ever drain'd.

Asia, the eternal seat of war's alarms,

Defenceless lay to his invading arms;

While his rich cities on the Euxine tide,

From thriving commerce stores of wealth supply'd.

No hasty, transient war he meant to wage,[1]

But felt and breath'd interminable rage:

As the chaf'd lion, gall'd by distant wounds,

With ire redoubled, on his hunters bounds;

So the proud king, defeated, not subdued,

Still with new fury his revenge pursued.[2]

Lucullus chas'd him first from Asia far,

Repuls'd, and seam'd with many a deep-trench'd scar;

And Pompey drove the outcast to despair.

Notes

3.
Nam quid atrocius uno ejus edicto, quum omnes, qui in Asia forent, Romanae civitatis homines interfici jussit?

FLOR. l. iii. c. 5.

↵

4.
Mithridates—odio in Romanos Hannibal,—.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 18.

↵

5.
Mithridates was a prince of great courage and capacity. His animosity to the Romans surpassed, if possible, that of Hannibal. He made head against their ablest generals for a period of more than forty years; and his resources being very great, had the discipline or courage of his troops equalled that of the Romans, it seems doubtful whether they would ever have been able entirely to subdue him. Finding it next to impossible to destroy him completely in the field, they resorted to their usual policy of raising internal divisions in his dominions, and of drawing off or intimidating his allies. His cruel and tyrannous government made this no very difficult undertaking; for he ruled entirely by fear, and was more hated by his subjects than his enemies.
↵

6.

Amant avec transport, mais jaloux sans retour,

Sa haine va toujours plu• loin que son amour.

RACINE. Mith.

↵

7.
Mithridates, Ponti rex inclutus, quinque et viginti gentium, quas sub ditione habuit, linguas percalluit.

A. GELL. Noc. Att.

↵

8.
Praelio victus, venena violentissima festinandae necis gratrâ frustrà expertus, suo se ipse gladio transegit.

A. GELL. Noc. Att.

↵

9.

No fact has been more frequently repeated by the ancient writers, or seems to have been received more indisputably, than that Mithridates had so fortified his constitution by antidotes against poison as not to be able to destroy himself by it; (See Dion Cassius, lib. xxxvii. p. 119, edit. Reimari: "〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉") but I believe there is some reason not to admit the certainty of this notion. He might perhaps have been skilful enough in the nature of antidotes to know by their application how to expel the strongest poison soon after it was administered; but by using remedies so efficacious as to keep the anatomy in a constant state of resistance to it, he must have destroyed the vessels capable of admitting infection: so that the means to prevent mortality would have been as mortal as any which could have been employed to produce it. He put himself to death by the sword, probably because at the time he had no poison within his reach; or he might have thought that manner of dying more expeditious and less painful. Upon this point physicians must be the best judges.

Mithridates put an end to his life, A. U. C. 690, the year in which Augustus Caesar was born.

↵

1.
Ille per quadraginta annos restitit.

FLOR. l. iii. c. 5.

↵

2.
—ut major clario
•
que in restaurando bello resurgeret, damnisque suis terribilior redderetur.

JUST. l. xxxvii. c. 1.

↵

CATILINE. A. U. C. 690.

But while new empires thus to Rome were join'd,

Her deep destruction was at home design'd.

Flagitious Catiline, his country's pest,

Hatch'd the huge mischief in his daring breast.

Unmov'd his adamantine frame could bear

Hunger's keen fang, and all the extremes of air;

Pursuing aught his furious soul desir'd,

No fear deterr'd him, and no labour tir'd.

With fluent words his tongue was well endu'd,

But wisdom thinly o'er those words was strew'd;

And small respect could eloquence produce,

For projects wild, on wealth's or power's abuse;

When his dire schemes each evil to efface,

Brought tenfold guilt and ruin in us place:

A fierce empirick, whose relentless steel

Would lop the limb a gentler hand might heal:

'Tis time to doubt the doctor's skill, or truth,

Who cuts the throat,—to cure an aching tooth.

Though for his crimes expell'd from every station,

Still roar'd he for redress and reformation:

But sober reason saw the ill-hid snare,

And of REFORMING VILLAINS bade beware.

This certain test her steady rule affords;

She trusts men's lives, and reprobates their words:

For knaves, whose deeds and doctrines disagree,

Were never form'd to mend society.

Their murd'rous arts misguiding beacons rear,

To light a course, where rocks alone are near;

Lurking insidious on the faithless coast,

They strip the vessel, by their treachery lost.

O nations bless'd, and by experience wise,

Preserve your ancient tried securities!

For some small faults, by prying mischief found,

Pull not a noble fabrick to the ground:

Examine well;—if such indeed there are,

Patient endure them,—or correct with care;

Nor from the hasty innovator's word,

Fly to new ills, and dangers unexplor'd.

The pile ascends with labour and delay,

The work of ruin asks but one short day;

Science and skill must join to build with grace,

But every fool or madman can deface:

Though virtue's mask disguise the dark design,

Too sure beneath it lurks—a Catiline.

All moods he could assume, all feelings feign,

Weep without anguish, and wear smiles in pain;

Alike for avarice and profusion known,

To covet others' wealth, and waste his own.

To win a haughty strumpet to his bed,

With aconite his only son he sped;[3]

Their fulsome Hymen then with trembling hand

Lit at the funeral pile their nuptial brand.

Yet nature, ev'n in his atrocious heart,

Forgot not quite to vindicate her part;

Though wanting power to stop the shuddering deed,

In black array her vengeful pangs succeed.

Short was the trance of joy; his colour flies;

Foul sleepless mists o'erwhelm his care-worn eyes;

Pale horrour sits on his distracted brow,

And sudden starts the stings within avow;

He runs, he stops, he hears in every wind

Fierce furies, and his gasping son behind.[4]

Could not repentance shed her healing balm?

No! publick woe his private griefs must calm;

To sooth his care one way remain'd alone,

In Rome's expiring groans to drown his own.

Glaring dismay to every breast he meets,

Like a grim beast unchain'd, he prowls the streets;

While in chill'd silence each pale passer by

Shrunk from the terrour of his deadly eye.

All modes of waste consum'd, his birth disgrac'd,

His name from honour's record quite effac'd;

Restless and wretched, in the eternal strife

To live with splendour, or escape from life;

Conscience, thy fiends his nightly visions haunt,

His joys by day, pale luxury and want.

Each shameful sin fastidious lust devis'd,

His frequent orgies had familiariz'd;

Yet, to consummate all the former ill,

One comprehensive act was wanting still;

For never could his appetites and pride

To their full guilty gorge be gratified.

Round him, like hemlock round the noxious yew,

All infant crimes found shelter as they grew;[5]

Till fat with poison, near his baleful sides

Rome's petty villains swell'd to parricides.

These bold abettors of his desperate cause[6]

Had oft escap'd, and now defy'd the laws;

Remorse was banish'd from their dire abodes;

Murder their priest, and furies were their gods.

If any dar'd to hesitate at wrong,

He lash'd the puny impulse with his tongue;

Bade them from vulgar, mean restraints be free,

And scoff'd and sham'd them into infamy.

For spoil, on him and havock they rely,

Confederate vice their bond of amity.

Remorseless as they were, combin'd with hell,

Scarce can we trust what ancient records tell:[7]

Ere yet his chart of ruin was disclos'd,

Himself the pledge of secresy propos'd;

Stabb'd in their sight he bade a slave expire,

Then, fit libation for a league so dire,

The blood distilling from the victim's wound

He swill'd, and sent the dreadful bev'rage round.[8]

Defenceless Italy (her legions far[9]

Led off by Pompey to the eastern war,)

Extended seem'd to their devouring eyes,

A tempting, rich, and unresisting prize.

Already their exulting hope surveys

The senate's bleeding throats, the city's blaze;[1]

Themselves dispers'd for slaughter through the land,

And lords of all the ruin he had plann'd.

But cords and dungeons on their crimes await;

On him attends a less ignoble fate:

Abhorring all good men, by all abhorr'd,

Fighting he perish'd by his country's sword;

Stretch'd over slaughter'd foes, his visage bore

The same grim aspect which in life it wore.

CICERO.

Notes

3.
Captus amore Aureliae Orestillae, cujus, praeter formam nihil unquam bonus laudavit; quod ea nubere illi dubitabat, timens privignum adultum aetate, necato filio, pro certo creditur vacuam domum scelestis auptiis fecisse.

SAL. in Cat.

↵

4.
Namque animus impurus, diis hominibusque infestus, neque vigiliis, neque quietibus sedari poterat: ita conscientia mentem excitam vexabat. Igitur color ejus exsanguis, foedi oculi; citus modo, modo tardus incessus: prorsus in facie vultuque vecordia inerat.

SAL. in Cat.

↵

5.

Catilina—omnium flagitiosorum atque facinorosorum circum se, tanquam stipatorum, catervas habebat.
SAL. in Cat.

Catiline seems to be almost the only traitor meditating the destruction of his country, who did not make the dregs of the people, or the mob, one of his chief instruments: his accomplices were mostly taken from the senatorial and equestrian orders. This circumstance shews the great depravity of the Roman gentry at that time, to whom the cruel and bloody tyranny of Sylla had made all crimes familiar.

↵

6.

Muretus has shewn from ancient documents that there were forty persons of noble families engaged in this conspiracy.

It is well known that Caesar and Crassus were suspected of secretly supporting this gang of desperadoes; but they managed with such caution, that no accusation could be brought home against them. Tully with great prudence discouraged every attempt to involve them in the conspiracy, well knowing that nothing would be so likely to give it additional strength as their supposed co-operation.

↵

7.

Fuere ea tempestate, qui dicerint, Catilinam oratione habita, quum ad jusjurandum populares sceleris sui adigeret, humani corporis sanguinem vino permistum in pateris circumtulisse; inde quum post execrationem omnes degustavissent, sicuti in solemnibus sacris fieri consuevit, aperuisse consilium suum.
SAL. in Cat.

Dio mentions this horrible ceremony in another manner:—
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION CASS l. xxxvii. c. 30.

↵

8.
A neighbouring nation, once holding itself out as the most polite in Europe, has in our time furnished such repeated examples of sanguinary and savage cruelty, as not to leave this atrocity without a parallel.
↵

9.
In Italia nullus exercitus: Cn. Pompeius in extremis terris bellum gerebat.

SAL. in Cat.

↵

1.
It is a melancholy consideration, that as the Romans advanced in learning and knowledge, they became in proportion more vicious and profligate. It shews, that human wisdom, without the aid of a pure and holy religion, is not sufficient to make men virtuous and happy.
↵

M. T. CICERO. A. U. C. 690.

The crimes these desperate parricides conceal'd,

A woman's tongue to Tully's ear reveal'd.[3]

Favourite of science, and by Athens school'd,

Rome's forum long the accomplish'd sage had rul'd;

Nor ancestors, nor riches made him known;[4]

His honours well acquir'd, were all his own.

Nature, a liberal mother, unconfin'd,

With all her choicest gifts had stor'd his mind;

With brightest fancy, with profoundest sense;

And syrens tun'd his tongue to eloquence.[5]

Nor wore he always wisdom's graver cloak,

But lov'd to laugh, and edge the poignant joke;[6]

Convinc'd that oft when sober reason fails,

The well-tim'd lighter pleasantry prevails.

As man's distinction too, some sages place

That gay convulsion of the enliven'd face:

Tears fall from brutes;—by human kind alone

Is mirth's expression by a laugh made known.

Greece, prone to flatter, as debas'd by fear,

Gave to his praise one honest envious tear:

"By him (she cry'd) I see our arts o'ercome,

"And our once matchless palm a plant of Rome."

Though none with him for inborn gifts could vie,

He studied with Boeotian industry.

Form'd to adorn at once, and save the state,

Who can decide in what he rose most great?[7]

Round all he touch'd such dazzling rays combine,

His inspiration proves the source divine.

As transient clouds in summer skies appear,

So shades of weakness dimm'd his character.

With more than Plato's skill to instruct and please,

He wants thy heart, unshaken Socrates!

Books, science, study, Athens, could not give

What man from nature only can receive.

Still anxious for himself, and insincere,[8]

His restless foresight sprung too oft from fear;

And often thus his timorous bark was run,

Full on the quicksands which he steer'd to shun;[9]

For bold state-pilots safer tracks explore,

Who plow the deep, nor trust the treacherous shore:

Destructive ever is the coward's course,

He shuns one peril, but encounters worse;

With shame, contempt, and terrour at his heels,

Pangs sharp as death, ev'n in escape, he feels,

See Tully, more than mortal, wise and great,

Sunk by base fear beneath a woman's state;

Though fond of virtue, more he lov'd the fame,[1]

And sometimes lost the prize, to prove the claim.

Fame, first of merit's voluntary dues,

Who oft demands thee, but demands to lose;

All but the vanity mankind forget;

They give the bounty, but refuse the debt:

Great actions paint themselves, and bright shines forth

The tongueless dignity of modest worth;

And gold, that precious mineral, the wise

Less for its splendour than its value prize.

When big with self the copious boaster pleads,

Great Pompey, and the Scipios, vail their heads;

Like glimmering stars their beams no more are seen,

While heaven's blue vault receives night's peerless queen.

"Romans! (he cries,) your saviour would you see,

"Behold me first, me last, and only me:[2]

"Warriors surpass'd, their laurels must lay down,

"Or own them wither'd by my peaceful gown:[3]

"Conquest and spoils to them their country owes;

"On me a father's title she bestows:

"O sound for ever heard! for ever dear!

"Rome from her Tully dates her natal year![4]

"On grateful marble be the inscription trac'd,

"Nor ever from the publick mind effac'd;

"From age to age the mem'ry shall succeed,

"And patriots bless me, while they hear and read."

Such praises on himself would he confer,

And violate the Roman's modest ear.

But time should throw a veil o'er every fault,

Hide how he err'd, and reverence what he taught;

And own the vigour of his mighty mind,

Who prop'd his country, and improv'd mankind,[5]

Excellent Tully! by a ruffian brav'd,[6]

He left the ungrateful city he had sav'd;

With tears the sorrowing senate saw him sent

(Their best defender) to cold banishment:[7]

They heard that voice, ne'er heard in vain before,

The exile it could not avert, deplore;

With him the genius of the state disgrac'd,

Faction triumphant, and his dwellings raz'd.[8]

But call'd with honour home, the exulting throngs

Shout from his mind the memory of pass'd wrongs:

His houses at the publick charge restored,

His name resounded, and the favourite word,

Vain now, as abject in distress before,

He thought affliction could return no more.

Alas! when tyrants o'er the laws prevail,

Man's best possessions are an idle tale;

The whirlwind sweeps them all in one fell blast,

And the last wretch is he who lives the last:

Still, still remain'd, from fate's malignant power,

A sad reverse, for his concluding hour.

Nor eloquence divine, nor reverend age,[9]

Could save great Tully from the assassin's rage.

Behold! (sad sight!) infuriate Fulvia seize[1]

The sever'd head, and fix it on her knees;

From the cold jaws she forc'd that silent tongue,

On whose sweet sounds the once-charm'd senate hung;

Hear the she-fiend with taunts exulting cry,

As thrice she pierc'd, "This for my Anthony:"

The grisly spoil thus brutally defac'd,[2]

With the lopp'd hands, was o'er the rostrum plac'd;

From thence in hideous mockery to glare,

And freeze each future patriot to despair.

Minions of fortune, who, possess'd of power,

Indulge unaw'd the transitory hour,

Make science ever your peculiar care;

The world reveres her, of the world beware!

A little while ere nature claim'd his breath,

The dagger clos'd sage Tully's eyes in death;

But grateful ages still preserve his fame,

And endless infamy his murderer's shame.[3]

Soon as his fate the wings of Rumour gains,

Curdling the tide of genius in men's veins,

The bold, in loud reproach, abhorrence vent,

The timorous droop, and murmur discontent;

While ruffian Anthony but turns to find

The general curse and horrour of mankind.[4]

POMPEY

Notes

3.

At Fulvia,—tale periculum reipublicae haud occultum habuit; sed sublato auctore, de Catilinae conjuratione quae quo modo audierat, compluribus narravit.
SALL. in Cat.

Such as are fond of contemplating the many instances in which great events have originated from slight accidents, may, I think, add to the number the manner in which the conspiracy of Catiline was first discovered.—Fulvia, a beautiful and mercenary courtesan of Rome, had, among a number of other gallants, admitted Curius, one of the conspirators; who, like most of them, was profligate, extravagant, and needy. As from his poverty he was now no longer able to furnish means for her profusion, she began to treat him with neglect and coldness. Being sensible from whence this change in her conduct towards him proceeded, he threw out hints that he should soon be able to gratify all her desires, however unbounded. From the frequent repetition of such intimations, she began to suspect that they sprung from something more than the mere levity of her lover. She set herself artfully to sift him, and, by degrees drew from him the whole secret, which she immediately communicated to the consul Cicero. It should be remembered to her credit, that when she divulged the conspiracy, she took care to conceal the name of her informer. She shewed conscience in her communication, and honour in her taciturnity.

↵

4.

—M. Cicero, qui omnia incrementa sua sibi debuit; vir novitatis nobilissimae, et ut vitâ clarus, ita ingenio maximus.
VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 34.

Cicero was born A. U. C. 647; he was therefore of the same age with Pompey, and seven years elder than Julius Caesar. He was descended from a very respectable family, though not noble. In all the offices which he held, and which he acquired by his own merit, his conduct was not only without reproach, but highly laudable and exemplary. He was Quaestor, Curule Aedile, Praetor, Consul, and Governor of Cilicia. In this last post had he proceeded with the usual rapacity of Roman governors, he might safely have plunder'd the province of about half a million; but he contented himself with his salary, and a few fair perquisites, to the amount in the whole of about twenty thousand pounds of our money: a rare instance of moderation in times of such unbounded peculation.

↵

5.

Disertissime Romuli Nepotum

Quot sunt, quotque fuere, Marce Tulli!

Quotque pose aliis erunt in annis;—.

CATUL. xlvi.

↵

6.
Atque ego, ni longum esset, referrem, in quibus causis cum nocentissimos reos tueretur, victoriam jocis adeptus sir.

MAC. l. ii. c. 2.

↵

7.

Professing a religion which abounded with false gods and superstition, in an age and country bewildered in omens, prodigies, and visions, observe how the enlightened mind of Tully soars above such weaknesses:
Haec scilicet in imbecillo remissoque animo multa omnibus confusa et variata versantur, maximeque reliquiae earum rerum moventur in animo et agitantur, de quibus vigilantes aut cogitavimus aut egimus.—An tu censes ullam anum tarn deliram futuram fuisse, ut somniis crederet, nisi ista casu nonnunquam forté temere concurrerent?—Ut mihi mirum videatur, cum mendaci homini ne verum quidem dicenti credere soleamus, quomodo isti, si somnium ver•m evasit aliquod, non ex multis potius uni fidem derogant, quam ex uno innumerabilia confirmant.
DE DIVIN. l. ii. c. 67, 71.

↵

8.

In general, the strongest testimonies to the disadvantage of a man's character are furnished by himself. Had not Cicero's Letters come down to posterity, we should have been ignorant of many of his weaknesses.

The contrariety of Tully's language in particular, when speaking to Caesar, and when speaking of him, is very remarkable. In his two celebrated Orations for Marcellus and Ligarius he has carried the encomiastick strain as far as it could well go: for his real sentiments look at numberless passages in his letters to Atticus.

↵

9.
O magnam stultitiam timoris, id ipsam quod verearis ita cavere, ut cum vitate fortasse potueris, ultro arcessas, et attrahas.

BRUT. Epist. ad Att.

↵

1.

Laudis avidissimi semper fuimus.
CIC. Epist. ad Att. l. i. c. 15.

Itaque te plane etiam atque etiam rogo, ut et ornes ea vehementius etiam quam fortasse sentis, et in eo leges historiae negligas, amorique nostro plusculum etiam quam concedet veritas, largiare.

Illa nos cupiditas incendit, de quâ. initio scripsi, festinationis, quod alacres animo sumus: ut et caeteri viventibus nobis ex litteris tuis nos cognoscant, et nosmetipsi vivi gloriolà. nostrâ perfruamur.

CIC. Ep. ad Lucium Lucceium. l. v. ep. 12.

↵

2.

Me Quintus Catulus, princeps hujus ordinis, et auctor publici consilii, frequentissimo senatu parentem patriae nominavit.

Mihi togato Senatus, non ut multis, bene gestae, sed ut nemini, conservatae reipublicae, singulari genere supplicationis, deorum immortalium templa patefecit.

—sine ulla dubitatione juravi, rempublicam atque hanc urbem meâ unius operâ esse salvam.

Cic. Orat. in L. Pisonem.

↵

3.
"Cedant arma togae,"—a well known saying of Cicero's, after Catiline's conspiracy; for the presumption of which he was much ridiculed, particularly by L. Piso and Anthony.
↵

4.

O fortunatam natam, me consule, Romam!
JUVEN. Sat. x. 122.

Thus happily translated by Dryden:

Fortune fortun'd the dying notes of Rome,

Till I her consul sole consol'd her dome.

Cicero's being unanimously chosen Consul, when there was suspicion entertained of Catiline's designs against his country, is a strong proof that the Romans did not, like Montesquieu, consider him as less qualified than Cato to sustain a first part in the state on a great emergency.

↵

5.
—omnium triumphorum lauream adepte majorem, quanto plus est ingenii Romani terminos in tantum promovisse, quam imperii.

PLIN. His. Nat. vii. 30.

↵

6.

—qui civem, quem senatus, quem populus, quem omnes gentes, urbis ac vitae civium conservatorem judicabant, servorum armis exterminavit.
CIC. pro Milone.

Me patriâ expulerat, bona diripuerat, domum incenderat, liberos, conjugem meam vexaverat.
Ibid.

↵

7.
It seems difficult to reconcile the frequency of massacres at Rome with the severity of the Roman laws against homicide, and the reluctance they always discovered to condemn any citizen judicially to capital punishment. Clodius procured the banishment of Cicero on pretence of his having put to death, without legal conviction, a few conspirators, of whose guilt not the smallest doubt was entertained; and in the course of the prosecution this ruffian himself had occasioned the assassination of hundreds, about whom there seems to have been no enquiry. Though he had a hired mob, a desperate banditti at his heels, he was not like Marius, Sylla, or Caesar, at the head of a victorious army.
↵

8.
Cicero had no less than eighteen houses and villas in Rome and different parts of Italy. See Middleton.
↵

9.
Nihil tam indignum illo tempore fuit, quam quod aut Caesar aliquem proscribere coactus est, aut ab ullo Cicero proscriptus est; abscissaque scelere Antonii vox publica est, cum ejus salutem nemo defendisset, qui per tot annos et publicam civitatis, et privatam civium, defenderet.

VEL. PAT. l. ii, c. 66.

↵

1.
—
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

DION. CASS. l. xlvii.

↵

2.
Civitas lacrymas tenere non potuit, quum recisum Ciceronis caput in
•
llis suis rostris videretur.—Haec scelera in Antonii Lepidique tabulis.

FLOR. l. iv. c. 6.

↵

3.

—omnisque posteritas illius in te scripta mirabitur, tuum in eum factum execrabitur.
VEL. PAT. ut sup.

The abhorrence so strongly expressed of a monarchical government in most part of Cicero's writings, is assigned by Middleton, with great appearance of well-founded conjecture, as the reason why the two excellent but courtly poets, Virgil and Horace, have never mentioned him. It must be observed at the same time, that Tully's conception of a monarchy was only of an absolute monarchy; of a government by conquest, and maintained by the power of the sword. Of such a constitution as the English, none of the ancients had any imagination, except Tacitus, who seems to have had some glimmering of it before him, as through a twilight.

Cicero's having been intimately connected with the conspirators who deprived Julius Caesar of his life, (as Dryden has observed,) must also have contributed to render his name extremely unpopular in the court of Augustus.

↵

4.
See Note at the end.
↵

POMPEY. A. U. C. 700.

But all the grandeur palmy Rome display'd,

Rich Crassus,[5] Pompey, and great Caesar sway'd:

The first, by wealth distinguish'd from the crowd;

The next, of pass'd exploits and triumphs proud;

A name by Rome exalted to the skies,

And spangled thick with fortune's flatteries.

The people's idol long, he lov'd to hear

His own applause, in his own theatre;[6]

And, not aware that life's best scenes were o'er,

He saw what he had been, and saw no more.[7]

No dignities his thirst of power could sate,

But, once possess'd, the use was moderate.

To each atchievement of assur'd renown

The partial publick push'd their favourite on:[8]

But sometimes, when he quell'd a foe to Rome,

He rais'd a jealous enemy at home.

Thus to the rout of Spartacus he came,

Crassus deserv'd, and he enjoy'd the fame;[9]

And harrass'd Mithridates, feeble grown,

By Sylla and Lucullus half o'erthrown,[1]

Run down to life's last dregs,—could just afford

Another facile garland to his sword.

O'er the huge height of Taurus next he pass'd,[2]

And proudly lay'd defenceless nations waste:

Media, and Syria, to his mercy yield,

And Parthia's king, Pharnaces, left the field;

Arabia saw his long-extended force

Obliquely towards fam'd Jordan wind their course;

Stopp'd at Jerusalem, the siege he form'd,[3]

And in three months the sacred Temple storm'd.[4]

Riches unknown before, within he found,

Yet trod with reverent feet on hallow'd ground.

Then first were those mysterious symbols shewn,

To sacerdotal view reveal'd alone.

Stupendous grandeur fill'd his wond'ring eye,

Columns, and palms, and gold's pure majesty;[5]

Gales, such as breathe from Sharon's spicy thorn,

Through lofty domes from fragrant woods were borne.

Amaz'd, no idol image could he find,[6]

Yet the vast void dilates the heathen's mind:

From his chaf'd brow the nodding helm he steals,

His knee involuntary reverence feels;

And while with awe the sanctuary's explor'd,

Nature's true Deity was half ador'd.[7]

The God pervading thus his humbled breast,

Unspoil'd he bade the holy treasure rest.[8]

Success and continence increas'd his fame,

And Jews with heathens join'd to extol his name.

At length, with captive monarchs in his train,

He turn'd his stately march towards Rome again.[9]

To praise accustom'd from his beardless youth,

The glare of flattery seem'd the ray of truth:

In every gracious action form'd to excel,

And from weak foes conceiv'd invincible;[1]

While mov'd by others, still his pride believ'd

He gave the impulse which himself receiv'd;

And with the shew of power too vainly pleas'd,[2]

His wiser rivals on the substance seiz'd.

From publick care by publick praise reliev'd,

His age look'd back at what his youth atchiev'd;

A partial memory of himself he kept,

And in the shade of his own laurels slept;

Unwilling to be rous'd again to strife,

Or quit the enjoyment for the toils of life.

Too soon elated, and too soon depress'd,[3]

No standard settled in his own weak breast,

He liv'd to learn, fresh fame requir'd fresh deeds;

For glory which advances not, recedes.

Great was his name in arms, but envious fate

Oppos'd him to a rival still more great,[4]

More wise, more young, more bold, and fortunate.[5]

Notes

5.

I venture to recommend to the reader the perusal of the life, or rather the death, of Crassus, by Plutarch, as one of the most interesting pieces in that author's whole collection.

The opulence of some individuals at Rome is astonishing. An estimate of the wealth of Crassus may be formed, when we know what Pompey possessed, who was not supposed to be nearly so rich. In order to remove Sextus, the son of Cnaeus Pompey, from Spain, M. Anthony and Lepidus agreed to a composition with him for the property which had been confiscated, and plundered from the father, after the battle of Pharsalia. They allowed him, after a reasonable valuation, to the amount of five millions of our money; his books, plate, and furniture not being included in the estimate.

↵

6.
—plausuque sui gaudere theatri.

LUCAN.

↵

7.

———multumque priori

Credere fortunae. Stat magni nominis umbra.

Ibid.

↵

8.
Quae in omnibus nova post hominum memoriam constituta sunt, ea tam multa non sunt, quam haec, quae in hoc uno homine vidimus.

CIC. pro lege Manil.

↵

9.
Hujus patrati gloria penes M. Crassum fuit.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 30.

↵

1.
Lucullus, Mithridatem multis locis fuderat.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 33.

↵

2.

Is primus omnium Romanorum in Tauro iter fecit.
EUTROP. l. vi. c. 6.

Dio says, Lucullus was the first. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉—〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
DION. CASS l. xxxv. 16 p. 85, edit. Reimari.

↵

3.
Romanorum primus Cn. Pompeius Judaeos domuit, templumque jure victoriae ingressus est. Inde vulgatum, nulla intus Deûm effigie, vacuam sedem, et inania arcana.

TACIT. His. l. v. c. 9.

↵

4.
Hierosolymam, caput gentis, tertio mense cepit.

EUTROP. l. vi. c. 14.

↵

5.
—et vidit illud grande impiae gentis arcanum patens, sub aureo uti coelo.

FLOR. l. iii. c. 5.

↵

6.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

DION. CASS. l. xxxvii. 17.

↵

7.
The strict adherence of the Jews to the sanctity of their Sabbaths, during which no kind of work was permitted, greatly facilitated Pompey's conquest. On these days he continued his attack, while they remained totally inactive. The Temple would not have been forced so soon, had its defenders known this wise precept of our Saviour:—"The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."
↵

8.
At Cn. Pompeius, captis Hierosolymis, victor ex illo fano nihil attigit.

CIC. pro L. Flacco.

↵

9.
Tum victor omnium, quas adierat, gentium, Pompeius,—revertit in Italiam.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 40.

↵

1.
Caesar is known to have expressed great contempt of military reputation acquired by the conquest of Asiaticks. The facility of his own victories taught him to despise such feeble enemies, formidable only by their numbers, without bodily strength, discipline, or courage.
↵

2.
Il recherchoit moins dans les dignités qu'il briguoit, la puissance qui en est inséperable, que les honneurs et l'eclat, dont elles etoient environnées.

VERTOT. Rev. Rom.

↵

3.
Cnaeus autem noster (o rem miseram et incredibilem!) ut totus jacet! non animus est, non consilium, non copiae, non diligentia.

CIC. Epist. ad Attic.

↵

4.

Nec coïere pares; alter vergentibus annis

In senium, longoque togae tranquillior usu

Dedidicit jam pace ducem:—.

LUCAN. l. i.

↵

5.

The superiority of Caesar's personal character over Pompey's, appears in several instances; in none, perhaps, more conspicuously than in their different conduct with respect to Labienus. He had been one of Caesar's favourite lieutenants, and always victorious when fighting under his auspices: however, he left his old general, and passed over to the camp of Pompey. Caesar heard the account of his desertion with his usual magnanimity, and generously sent after him all his money, equipage, and whatever besides he had left behind him. Pompey, on the contrary, received him as an acquisition of the highest value, and listened with avidity to his flattering intelligence of the weak condition of the enemy, till he was at last mournfully convinced of his mistaken credulity, by his total overthrow. Lucan makes Caesar thus speak of Labienus:

———fortis in armis

Caesareis Labienus erat; nunc transfuga vilis

Cum duce praelato terras atque aequora lustrat.

LUC. l. v. 345.

Upon considering the whole of Pompey's character and conduct, I am persuaded, that as he had more vanity than Caesar, so was he not less ambitious. What his admirers were pleased to dignify with the name of patriotism, and love of the constitution, or, in other words, his being more willing than Caesar to allow the senate sufficient authority, resulted less from his own disposition, than from sentiments which had been instilled into him by such men as Cato, Tully, and Brutus. These excellent persons seem not only to have directed his conduct, but to have formed his political mind. They had so often assisted him in the attainment of his objects, and had extolled him so much for his moderation, that he must have been divested of all feeling, could he have forgot his obligations to them; or had he been eager to undeserve, if I may be allowed the expression, the high opinion they had so publickly declared of him. He found it less hazardous, and more reputable, to be the first of several great men, than to be the only great man: besides, he loved approbation and good will, which, he knew, had he avowed a passion for governing singly, would have been immediately converted into flattery and hatred. That this, however, was his object, is clear from a circumstance mentioned by Plutarch in his life of the younger Cato, whom he would not trust with the command of the fleet (though he had already promised to invest him with it) lest he should be enabled by this means to compel him to lay down his arms, as soon as Caesar was vanquished: and Cato himself thought, that, whether Pompey or Caesar should be victorious, the event would be equally fatal to the liberty of the common wealth.

The constitution of Rome was as much subverted during the triumvirate of Pompey, Crassus, and Caesar, as when the last ruled alone; but Cicero complains less, because Pompey made a part of it. The orator knew he had little chance of managing a man of such high views and such great capacity as Caesar. Brutus, in his letters, probes him to the quick, when he seems willing to disguise to himself, and to the world, his real motives for abetting Octavius; the chief of which seems to have been, the assurance given him by that young dissembler, that he would be principally governed by his advice and experience.

↵

BATTLE OF PHARSALIA. A. U. C. 706.

NOw Pompey to rude clamour forc'd to yield,[6]

Draws forth his legions in Pharsalia's field.

The impatient youth deride his cold delays,

While he condemns the ardour he obeys;

Tir'd of their taunts, and less convinc'd, than stung

By buzzing wits, and keener Tally's tongue.[7]

The vulgar, too, in many a factious band,

Approving, censuring, and confounding stand;

Folly and fear distract the ignoble crowd,

Like cymbals ever, hollow, light, and loud;

Like cymbals too, rais'd by the master's hand,

And dumb or sounding but by his command.

Woe to the chief, whose fluctuating mind

Veers, like the vane, with every whistling wind;

For he who each new counsellor will hear,[7]

Must oft the latest to the best prefer.

His battle's strength his cavalry he deem'd;

Numerous and proud, invincible they seem'd:

Elate already with success, they feel

Sol's orient lustre dazzling from their steel;

Trim glittering bands, who in their splendour see

Not valiant deeds alone, but victory.

Alas! before those sunbeams gild the west,

Devouring vultures on their limbs shall feast;[8]

And pride be taught, that, to secure success,

Vain shew gains little, and presumption less.

Sagacious Caesar views his lines of horse,

And posts against them a reserve of force.[9]

Fortune confers what long he sought in vain,

To try the combat in the open plain;[1]

Nor can their numbers, twice his own, control

The glowing presage of his dauntless soul.

Domitius leads his centre to the fight,[2]

The left Antonius, and himself the right,

To Pompey full oppos'd.[3] Ere they advance,

He bids his hardy veterans push the lance

Strait at the faces of the gaudy host,[4]

Who more their beauty than their prowess boast.

Since the firm earth's foundations, ne'er was fought

A combat, with such mighty import fraught:[5]

How poor must towns and provinces appear,

The common objects of men's hope or fear,

When, with comparing view, is scan'd the extent

Of all depending on this huge event?

The mistress of mankind, high-seated Rome,

From this great day expects her final doom;

To see her rights, her liberty, her all,

Confirm'd for ever, or for ever fall.

And next, the matchless agents fill our eyes,

The world's best leaders, and the world the prize.

Onward they rush; but, ere the battle bleeds,

A pause, a dreadful interval, succeeds;[6]

Then, like dark clouds swell'd from the surly north,

And big with storms, their gather'd rage bursts forth.

Black, ebon black, the hour to Pompey's fame,[7]

His cohorts routed, and disgrac'd his name;

That star, long labouring to meridian height,

Shoots down at once to never-ending night:

All the bright threads by fortune's fingers spun,

The toil of years, unravell'd, backward run.

The fire-scath'd oak, with votive garlands crown'd,

Thus mourns its honours withering on the ground:

Alone, expos'd it stands, its trunk stript bare,

The herd pass by, and find no shelter there;

Trembling, the way-worn pilgrim speeds his pace,

Nor dares abide near the devoted place.

Life's varying seasons by degrees decay,

But Pompey's summer closes with a day.

Where are the crouds that hail'd his noon-tide blaze?

The senate's homage, and the people's praise?

Attendant kings that grac'd his glittering train?

Where all the oblig'd, the obsequious, and the vain?

Far, far aloof, they fly;[8] as birds disperse

When raging storms their dusky columns pierce.

Adversity, thy bitter blasts declare

What slaves to chance instable mortals are.

Ask for great Pompey now; lo, in his tent,

With visage wan, his robe of battle rent;

Where his sad eye Emathia's valley views,

His scatter'd legions fly, the foe pursues;

Ev'n in his camp he sees the hostile spear,

And Caesar's conquering name appals his ear.

The sumptuous banquet in his tents display'd,

The goblets crown'd, the purple carpets laid;

The heat excluded by the shadowing tree,

And in a field the city's luxury;

By their fallacious pomp too plain express,

How vainly pride anticipates success;[9]

Too plainly prove, to double every curse,

Minds unprepar'd for fortune's sad reverse.

Unthought-of ill assails with twofold weight,

And finds no guard against the storms of fate.

With grief and shame his quiv'ring cheeks are flush'd,

And every function of his soul lies crush'd;

Courage at first forsakes his humbled breast,

Then hope, the bosom's latest, lingering guest.

In sable sorrow's comfortless array,

Through Tempé's shades he takes his lonely way;[1]

Pondering the uncertain base of mortal pride,

While winding Peneus murmurs by his side:[2]

There, in the mazes of the silent grove,

His streaming eyes upbraid inconstant Jove;

Then, parch'd with thirst, along the river's brink

He stoops, cold comfort from the wave to drink.

Dismay'd he stops, or panting looks behind,

And hears the imagin'd foe in every wind.

All ills his rage had on the vanquish'd shed,

Pale fear inflicts on his own forfeit head;

Himself the mournful pageant of the war,

And Caesar high in his triumphal car.

Like a poor bark, her sails and rudder lost,

In vain he hopes some hospitable coast;

For chance, not choice, must now the vessel steer,

While rocks all round, and faithless shelves are near.

Where can he turn? What port will now receive

The dangerous freight, a vanquish'd fugitive?

To Lesbos, where his soul's best treasure bides,[3]

His course, at length, the harrass'd warrior guides.

As sometimes, though black clouds obscure the day.

The labouring sun emits a transient ray;

So, in his breast, one gleam of joy revives,

Reflecting, that his dear Cornelia lives:

Though interest's servile train forsake his side,

Receding with his fortune's ebbing tide,

No chance or change her constant faith can move,[4]

And woe's best balm is soft connubial love;

That cordial drop, which in life's chalice quaff'd,

Pervades and sweetens all the bitter draught.

But in what Lethe can he fancy steep?

On what kind down will restless memory sleep?

When her too faithful, busy pencil draws

What now, alas! he is, and what he was.

O, how unprescient of this dire disgrace,[5]

Was the gay tumult of their last embrace!

When weaving garlands for her lord's return,

Smiling she talk'd of ruin'd Caesar's urn;

Nor in the proud delusion could foresee,

That hope is scarce the shade of certainty.

Laurels and myrtles deck the conqueror now,

While the sad cypress fades on Pompey's brow.

O vain-disposing man! a scornful Jove

Sits mocking thy presumption, from above;[6]

Views the fond structures of the exulting mind,

Then puffs the empty bubbles to the wind;

Till sage experience owns this truth at last,

That nought on earth is certain but the past.

Long doubtful to what region he might trust,

And many bad. declin'd, he chose the worst.

Vile strumpet, Fortune! who would trust thy smile?[7]

Thy blandishments allure, but to beguile.

The master late of all Rome's naval pride,

Whose brazen prows oppress'd the foaming tide,

All but his wife and faithful freedman lost,

With one poor bark now seeks the Egyptian coast.

Not Egypt's shore the vanquish'd chief could save:

He sought a refuge, and he found a grave.

Fated to fall, the soft Etesian gale

To false Canopus wafts his luckless sail.

Dull as the banks where Lethe's poppies sleep,

Where torpid weeds their slimy chambers keep,

Lies the flat shore. No choral nautick sound,

To charm the heaving anchor from the ground;

No shepherd's pipe, nor feather'd songsters, there,

Pierce the thick ether, and revive the air;

But o'er rank swamps on tainted vapours borne,

The buzzing insect winds his peevish horn.

Along the wharf, with languid loit'ring pace,

Strolls an enervate, worthless, sun-bak'd race;

To virtue's livelier emanations dead,

And sodden as the soil on which they tread:

No balmy gales, or varying clouds they know,

But brazen skies above, and burning sands below.

Yet, what the withering vault of heaven denies,

Redundant Nile from his moist lap supplies;

Sweeping thro' seven broad mouths the flood comes down,

His secret source oft sought, and long unknown:

Ammon's great son the spring in vain explor'd,

In vain Cambyses, and the Memphian lord;[8]

Yet one brave Briton's [9] happier toil has won

What baffled Eastern kings, and Ammon's son.

Unlike all deluges his tide he leads;

Plenty, not ruin, the o'erflow succeeds;

As a kind monarch who his subjects loves,

Not wasting, but enriching, where he moves.

O'er the drench'd soil his wat'ry pinions spread,

He broods abundance, then forsakes his bed.

This wonder ancient ages saw or heard,

Profoundly reason'd, and profoundly err'd.

But most the wise in Nature's laws admire

His punctual times to visit and retire:

High swells the surge when sultry Syrius burns,

And Libra poises o'er his shrinking urns.

Here the swarth husbandman's promiscuous grain

Is sown on lazy mud, and reap'd again;

And while no toil the willing harvest needs,

Unearn'd he sees it rise, and thankless feeds;

Sol's glowing beams mature the bursting ear,

And toads and asps 'midst waving corn appear.

The land's fertility with plagues is curs'd;[1]

But of all plagues, her treacherous sons the worst.

One sullen skiff alone is seen to attend;

They beckon to the hero to descend.

With sighs suppress'd, and sad presaging heart

Cornelia sees the slender pomp depart.

High on the lonely deck the matron stands,[2]

Eyes the small boat, and lifts to heaven her hands;[3]

Then deeper darkness seem'd to obsure the pole,

Nor distant thunder, muttering ceas'd to roll.

Scarce did his foot the treacherous margin find,

When stabb'd, he falls, by ruffians' swords behind;[4]

Yet mindful ever of a hero's pride,

Great to the last, without a groan he died.[5]

Cornelia's piercing shrieks distract the air,

While life prolong'd but lengthens her despair;

With all her sails outspread, and every oar,

The hurrying vessel flies the hated shore.—

Proud of their shame, th' inglorious court they seek,

And bear his head fresh sever'd from the neck:

Athwart a bench the body rudely thrown,[6]

That head august was hackled through the bone;

While, base Septimius, vile Egyptians see,

Hang o'er the tedious bungling butchery.

O sad reverse of false-deluding chance!

O mournful lesson for man's arrogance!

A little earth, scrap'd by his freedman's nails,

Preserves the sacred trunk from tainting gales;

One oozy plank, dragg'd from the stagnant Nile,

Is all the honours of his funeral pile.

You humbly born! consign'd to fates obscure,

And kindly destin'd to be safe and poor,[7]

Survey the headless ruin as it lies,

And for your fortune thank th' indulgent skies.[8]

Notes

6.

——cum mixto murmure turba

Castrorum fremuit, fatisque trahentibus orbem

Signa petit pugnae: miseri pars maxima vulgi

Non totum visura diem,—.

LUCAN. l. vii. 45.

↵

7.

Addidit invalidae robur facundia causae.
Ibid.

Middleton asserts, that Cicero endeavoured to dissuade Pompey from hazarding the fortune of the republick on the event of a battle, and produces passages from his letters to that purpose; but how is this to be reconciled with his for ever complaining of Pompey's dilatoriness and inactivity? He seems to have been full of apprehensions, and to have disapproved of every thing. A man is sometimes apt to mistake his fears for his foresight. Pompey is known to have said of him, "Cupio ad hostes Cicero transeat, ut nos timeat." If he wished him not to risk a battle, what objection could he have to his inactivity? I think, but am not certain, that Cicero does not say he was against fighting, till after the unfortunate event of the battle of Pharsalia was known. However, I mean no attempt to diminish any credit due to the letters of Cicero, which certainly contain the very best materials for the most interesting period of the whole Roman story. It would have been more candid, perhaps, to have lamented his advice, than to have denied having given it; or had he confined his complaints to Pompey's conduct after his defeat, they would have been reasonable.

No age, perhaps, has produced together men of such genius and capacity as flourished in Rome at this period. This is the consideration which makes the history of these times so interesting. The magnitude of the object of contention is in some degree lost in the greatness of the contenders' characters. What a proficiency in morals and in science might not have been expected, had Caesar, Pompey, Cicero, Cato, and Brutus, united as strenuously to improve the world, as they struggled to govern it!

↵

7.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

EURIP. Iphigen. in Aul.

↵

8.

Morti erano infiniti, e derelitti

Al lupo, al corvo, a l'aquila grifagna.

ARIOST. can. xiv.

↵

9.
—ex tertia acie singulas cohortes detraxit, atque ex his quartam instituit, equitatuique opposuit.

CAES. de Bel. Civ. l. iii.

↵

1.
Caesar had one great advantage over Pompey, he could act entirely from himself; while the latter was distracted by a multitude of advisers, with whom his camp is known to have swarmed.
↵

2.
Sinistro cornu Antonium, media acie Cn. Domitium praeposuerat.

CAES. de Bel. Civ. ut sup.

↵

3.
Ipse contra Pompeium consistit.

Ibid.

↵

4.
Voces quoque obequitantis exceptae: altera cruenta, sed docta, et ad victoriam efficax, "Miles, faciem feri."

FLOR. l. iv. c. 2.

↵

5.
It is extraordinary, that Plutarch, Appian, and Caesar himself, give different and contradictory accounts of the order and disposition of the troops in the battle of Pharsalia, nor do they agree as to the numbers. It would be an insult to the discernment of any reader to question to whose authority he will give the preference. Plutarch must have read Caesar's account of the battle, as he mentions particularly an observation made by him upon Pompey's forbidding his men to shout or rush forward; a practice approved of by Caesar.
↵

6.
Ad medium fere spatium consisterunt.

CAES. ut sup.

↵

7.
When a civil war became inevitable, Caesar published a declaration, that he should consider all Romans as friends who did not appear in arms against him; Pompey, on the contrary, that he should treat all who did not join with him as enemies. This was, in fact, had the latter been victorious, to lay the foundation for massacre and confiscation, and a repetition of all the horrours of Sylla's proscription. Tully, with his usual humanity and wisdom, condemned it both as cruel and impolitick, though it seems greatly to have influenced him to shew himself in the camp of Pompey. He wished well to his cause; but, had it been consistent with prudence, would have preferred the appearance of neutrality.
↵

8.

Se poi si cangia in tristo il lieto stato,

Volta la turba adulatrice il piede.

ARIOST. xix. 6.

↵

9.
In castris Pompeii videre licuit triclinia strata, magnum argenti pondus expositum, recentibus cespitibus tabernacula constrata, L. etiam Lentuli et nonnullorum tabernacula protecta hederâ; multaque preterea, quae nimiam luxuriam et victoriae fiduciam designarent.

CAES. de Bel. Civ.. l. iii. 96.

↵

1.
Superstes dignitatis suae vixit, ut cum majore dedecore per Thessalica Tempe equo fugeret, et ut una navicula Lesbon applicaretur.

FLOR. l. iv. c. 2.

↵

2.

Littora contigerat, per quae Peneïus amnis

Emathiâ jam clade rubens exibat in aequor.

LUCAN. l. viii. 33.

↵

3.

Cedendum est bellis, quorum tibi tuta latebra

Lesbos erit:—.

LUCAN. l. v. 743.

↵

4.

Ma quel, che di cuor ama, riman forte,

Ed ama il suo signor dopo la morte.

ARIOS. c. xix.

↵

5.
O quantum caliginis mentibus humanis objicit magna felicitas.

SEN. Epist.

↵

6.
Enimvero Di nos, quasi pilas, homines habent.

PLAUT. Cap. in prol.

↵

7.
There are few particulars in the Roman story less easily accounted for than the wonderful popularity of Pompey: it commenced with his setting out in life, and accompanied him to the close of it. It will appear the more extraordinary, that he should have been such an early favourite, when we consider that his father was as much detested as the son was beloved and admired; and hereditary impressions are not, in general, effaced speedily. He certainly had a very distinguished military genius, and performed several signal services for his country; but we know, at the same time, that his enemies were often feeble, and the troops he commanded the best in the world. Sertorius in Spain shewed himself greatly his superior in the art of war; after much boasting and equal supineness he fled shamefully from Rome at the approach of Caesar, whom he affected to despise; and upon the rout of his cavalry early in the engagement at Pharsalia, he made no effort to retrieve the fortune of the day, but retired from the field with the most pusillanimous dejection. His popularity must have been greatly acquired by his personal advantages, by the dignity of his deportment, affable manners, and a life of unsullied decorum. Though Rome would not have been more free, had he been victorious, and he would have been a much more cruel conqueror than Caesar, when we reflect upon his former fortune it is impossible not to be deeply affected at his lamentable catastrophe.
↵

8.
Sesostris, Cambyses, and Alexander, endeavoured in vain to discover the source of the Nile.
↵

9.
Mr. Bruce. See his Travels.
↵

1.
Fertilis in mortes,—.

LUCAN, l. ix. 619.

↵

2.
—primâ pendet tamen anxia puppe.

LUCAN, l. viii. 590.

↵

3.
There cannot perhaps be imagined a finer subject for a painter than Pompey's passage from his ship, in the small boat, to the shore of Egypt. The dejected composure and resolution in the countenance of the hero himself, the tenderness and anxiety of Cornelia, and the sullen, yet exulting confidence displayed in the visages of the assassins, might surely produce the most interesting effects in a picture. I would prefer this view to the moment of his murder.
↵

4.
—ut denique in Pelusiaco littore, imperio vilissimi regis, consiliis spadonum, et ne quid malis desit, Septimii desertoris sui gladio trucidatus, sub oculis uxoris suae liberorumque moreretur.

FLOR. l. iv. c. 2.

↵

5.
—nullo gemitu consensit ad ictum.

LUCAN. l. viii. 619.

↵

6.

Collaque in oblique ponit languentia transtro.

Tunc nervos, venasque secat, nodosaque frangit

Ossa diu.

Ibid. 671.

↵

7.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

EURIP. Hippol.

↵

8.

Felix media quisquis turbae

Sorte quietus.

SEN. Agam.

↵

M. CATO.

Lost liberty indignant to survive,[9]

At Utica good Cato ceas'd to live;

With his own sword he sought the peaceful shore,[1]

Where prosperous tyrants could command no more.

Driven to extremes, too oft the unhappy brave

Found their sad refuge in a self-made grave;

Securing boldly thus the pass'd renown,

They scorn'd to drain life's loathsome chalice down;

Not shiv'ring on the verge of fate they stood,

But plung'd spontaneous in th' eternal flood;

Nor loiter'd on this mortal stage, to see

Their last sad scene conclude with infamy:

When hope's false meteor could delude no more,

They dropp'd the curtain, and the piece was o'er;

And more to consecrate the daring deed,

Applause and admiration were the meed.

No Heaven-taught precept then restrain'd the blow,

And, born to suffer, bade them bear their woe;

Not hurl back rashly on the giver's hand,

What the wise giver only might demand.

Cato's great conqueror repining heard,

That death to his proud mercy he prefer'd;

And shun'd to see the splendour of his name

Obscur'd at length by that dark cloud of shame;

But, taught by Plato, the bright sphere explor'd,

Beyond a Caesar's pity or his sword.

A soul sublime, with ancient maxims fraught,[2]

His practice stricter even than Stoicks taught;

While all their high-strain'd principles profess'd,

The clear example of his life express'd.[3]

Virtues, inherent in his honour'd race,

To him descended with a milder grace;

Though some rude particles were smooth'd away,

The gem's true lustre suffer'd no allay;

Yet, in his garb uncouth, and frequent frown,

The rigid Censor's lineage still was known.[4]

But different shades of mind in each appear,

The first was cruel, and the last severe.

To root out guilt, the elder too intent,

Felt savage pleasure in its punishment;

Ardent like him, the younger lash'd the age,

But pity temper'd his humaner rage:

The fierce-eyed Censor, Rome with terror saw;

His sage descendent with unwilling awe.

Their dates of life revers'd, fair truth might find

More difference in the times, than in the mind.

When honour's cause his glowing rhet'rick warm'd,

The worthless felt abash'd, though not reform'd;

And half-subdu'd by his reproving tongue,

Acknowledg'd what was right, though acting wrong;

Yet no amendment from conviction took,

But hated less the crime than the rebuke.

Corruption all sound principle had min'd,

Nor left one frown of early Rome behind,

Save that, which unconforming Cato wont

To wear habitual on his low'ring front.

Virtue's cold frost-work vanish'd clear away,

Too weak for luxury's dissolving ray;

Her simple elements perverted quite,

Not Cancer to the Goat more opposite:

Rome once was artless, sturdy, plain, and brave;

Now, smiling, soft, perfidious, and a slave.

In seasons rank with every mortal vice,

(Pride, lust, ambition, fraud, and avarice,)

Himself unstain'd, he wonder'd to behold

A venal people bartering truth for gold;

And talk'd of rigorous laws, and pristine days;

Fond themes of his unfashionable praise.

The useless text repeated lost its force;

His morals chang'd not, but the times grew worse;

By manners like their own, mankind beguil'd,

Yawn'd while he preach'd, or laugh'd if Caesar smil'd.

When rattling tempests sweep the angry skies,

The strong-bas'd rock their furious blast defies;

While humbler battlements, like slaves, conform,

Nod their indented crests, and own the storm:

So Cato's soul by tyrant power unbow'd,

Opposing stood, and scorn'd the servile crowd;

By interest never, or ambition mov'd,

Strict justice, for herself, he serv'd and lov'd;[4]

And Heav'n, which saw the secrets of his breast,

Saw the true temple where a God might rest.

Astraea, long the hireling judge's sport,

Fix'd in his mind her solitary court.

Not more to others than himself severe,[5]

By love unbiass'd, and uncheck'd by fear,

Ill deeds, however varnish'd, he despis'd;

The heart's applause, and not the world's, he pris'd.[6]

Yet no extremes deform'd his temperate mind,

The friend was lenient, and the father kind;

And not content with speculative good,

Firm in the pass where danger frown'd, he stood.

All trembling but himself, his host he led,

Where living poisons the burnt soil o'erspread;

While his scorchd brows sustain'd the Lybian heat,

A thousand deaths writh'd hissing at his feet;

Seps, dipsa, asp, and all the snaky brood,

Whose mortal stings polute the vital flood:

Region of terrors! where Medusas reign

Affrights and desolates the pestful plain;

A zenith sun the venom'd rage sublimes,

With dreadful bane, unknown to shadowy climes.

Bad men, who fear'd not heaven, his anger fear'd,[7]

Yet none would imitate what all rever'd:

Rome felt with him the self-inflicted wound,

And Liberty's last tear bedew'd the ground.[8]

JULIUS CAESAR.

Notes

9.
After Pompey's defeat at Pharsalia, Cato is said never to have indulged himself at his meals in a recumbent posture. To sit, eating, was among the Romans a ceremony of mourning, and was practised in times of great affliction or calamity. After the unfortunate defeat at Cannae, Terentius Varro always sat at his meals. It denoted an intentional mortification; but we cannot well judge what degree of inconvenience might have been suffered from this kind of voluntary penance, further than that the change of any habit to which men have been long accustomed, is for a time irksome. Without this consideration, it only seems to have been a resolution to discontinue swallowing horizontally, a sort of distress with which a modern does not well know how to sympathise.
↵

1.
—acceptâ partium clade nihil cunctatus, ut sapiente dignum er at, mortem etiam laetus accivit. Nam postquam filium comitesque ab amplexu dimisit, in nocte lecto ad lucernam Platonis libro, qui immortalitatem animae docet, paululum quievit. Tum circa primam vigiliam stricto gladio revelatum manu pectus semel iterumque percussit. [A. U. C. 708.]

FLOR. iv. c. 2.

↵

2.
Finxit enim te ipsa natura ad honestatem, gravitatem, temperantiam, magnitudinem animi, justitiam, ad omnes denique virtutes, magnum hominem et excelsum.

CIC. [de Caton.] pro Muraena.

↵

3.
The whole conduct of Cato's life shews him a greater Stoick than the most rigid professors of that sect; or, however they might equal him in knowledge, it is certain he shamed them in practice.

Kennet's ANTIQ.

↵

4.

Plutarch informs us, in his life of Cato the Younger, that when he was Praetor, he often came to the court without his shoes, and sat upon the bench without his gown; and that in this habit he gave judgment in capital causes on persons of the best quality.

—si quis vultu torvo ferus, et pede nudo,

Exiguaeque togae simulet textore Catonem,

Virtutemne repraesentet, moresque Catonis?

HOR. Epist. l. i. 19.

↵

4.

Ecce parens verus patriae, dignissimus aris,

Roma, tuis, per quem nunquam jurare pudebit;—.

LUCAN. l. ix. 601.

↵

5.

—cui [sc. Catoni] ut videtis, etiam cantare non serii hominis videtur.
MACROB. l. ii. c. 10.

Accessit his tot doctrina non moderata nec mitis, sed, ut mihi videtur, paulo asperior et durior quam aut veritas aut natura patiatur.
CIC. pro Muraen.

↵

6.
Cato with the highest reputation for virtue, and constantly employed in publick affairs, never attained to the consular dignity. This circumstance not only shews the great corruption of the Romans in his time, but proves also that he either despised the arts of popularity, or did not know how to practise them. Catiline was audacious enough to appear as a candidate for the consulship.
↵

7.
—neminem ausurum coram Catone peccare.

SEN. Epist.

↵

8.

Neque enim Cato post libertatem vixit, nec libertas post Catonem.
SEN. Epist.

The most injurious character of Cato I have met with, and drawn with some appearance of truth, is contained in the following words of the learned Abbé Mongault.

C'ètoit un homme qui avoit plus de droiture que de prudence, qui nuisoit plus au bon parti par son humeur austere et inflexible, qu'il ne le servoit par son zéle ardent, mais peu rêglé. Il s'etoit fait des principes dont il ne se relâchoit jamais, même en favour des meilleurs citoyens, comme etoit Pontinius. Il ne scavoit pas ménager à la République le peu de gens qui s'interessoient encore pour sa liberté. Il vouloit rappeller dans le siécle le plus corrumpu, comme le plus poli, la virtu rigide et farouche des tems les plus grossiers. Il s'oppos oit á tout sans discernement, souvent sans appui, presque toujours sans succés; il usoit ainsi son credit, et perdoit en vains efforts une autorité, qu'il faloit menager pour des occasions plus importantes.

It is to be observed that the above are strictures upon the temper and judgment of Cato, not upon his morals and virtue.

The reader may now peruse the opposite sentiments of another distinguished Frenchman on the same subject.

Je crois (says Montesquieu) que si Caton s'etoit réservé pour la république, il auroit donné aux choses tout un autre tour. Cicéron avec des parties admiraoles pour un second rôle, étoit incapable du prémier: il avoit un beau génie, mais une ame souvent commune: l'accessoire chez Cicéron c'êtoit la vertu, chez Caton c'étoit la gloire: Cicéron se voyoit tonjours le premier, Caton s'oublioit toujours: celui-ci vouloit sauver la république pour elle-même, celui-là pour s'en vanter. Quand Caton prevoyoit, Cicéron craignoit; là où Caton espéroit, Cicéron se confioit; le premier voyoit toujours les choses de sang froid, l'autre au travers de cent petites passions.

This last note on the character of Cato contains almost the whole substance of all the satires extant against Cicero.

Cicero's being unanimously chosen consul, when there was a suspicion entertained of Catiline's designs against his country, is a very strong proof that the Romans did not, like Montesquieu, consider him as less qualified than Cato to sustain a first part in the state on a great emergency.

↵

C. JULIUS CAESAR. A. U. C. 706.

The lambent flame of Caesar's fire-touch'd soul

No fears could damp, nor principle control.[1]

At manhood's dawning of his sire bereft,[2]

To form his mind was to Aurelia left;

And nature's lavish gifts, that mother's love

With care unceasing fail'd not to improve.

All that wise schools, or wiser seers could teach,

What study could acquire, or talents reach,

His youth attain'd; nor could instruction give

More than his rare endowments could receive.

Round the sharp goal to whirl the rapid car,

To launce the javelin whistling through the air,

To give new spirit to the bounding horse,[3]

And stem the headlong torrent in its course,[4]

None knew like him: thus manly toil supply'd

What daintier nature to his frame deny'd.

While yet a youth, his dauntless brow alone

With equal menace met proud Sylla's frown;

Till with prophetick voice the tyrant cry'd,

He many Marii in that boy espy'd.[5]

Graceful his mien, with eloquence to charm,[6]

In peace prevailing, as in fight his arm;

Nor Tully only would have rul'd the bar,

Had not ambition fir'd his soul for war.

When his bright orb ascends th' Hesperian sky,

Rome's lesser stars fade from the galaxy;[7]

The splendour of their former rays is gone,

Or all concenter'd shine in him alone.[8]

Whatever age had seen great Julius rise,

Where'er his birth beneath th' extended skies,

So vast, so various were his powers of mind,

He must have been supreme, and rul'd mankind.[9]

No serpent, under Africk's solstice bred,

Rolling o'er firy sands, by sunbeams fed,

With fiercer thirst e'er sought the quenching stream,

Than his hot bosom burn'd to rule supreme.

As down the o'er-seeth'd cauldron's brazen sides

At length the wat'ry distillation glides,

So, while the tale of Ammon's son he read,

To envy's flame, see copious tears succeed.

"Thou, happy Greek, (he cry'd) the world had'st won,

"In earlier youth than Caesar's name was known."

O godlike envy, yet o dire presage

Of woes too sure from his maturer age!

On sovereign domination long intent,[1]

To gods and kings he trac'd his high descent;

And in the forum, from his list'ning slaves,

By the proud vaunt, their future homage craves.

For this, the factious populace he rous'd,

The cause of Marius he for this espous'd;

Boldly for this, he bade the people see

His statues deck'd with wreaths of victory;

Assur'd, that when the seeds of strife were sown,

The future harvest must be all his own.

Against the senate still his force he bent,

Scorning their babbling gownish government.

To letters, talents, every muse a friend;[2]

Liberal to all; yet could he condescend,

When factions, like wild tempests, shook the realm,

(In hopes the boldest hand might seize the helm,)

'Gainst Tully and good Cato to combine,[1]

With desperate Clodius, and fell Catiline.

Beyond the Alps he ran his bold career;

Rome was for him too small a theatre:

Satiate of her inglorious brawls, he hies

To distant scenes of hardy enterprize.

But first, by bribes, by all that art could move,

He reign'd unrivall'd in the people's love.

Low at the bottom of the peaceful deep,

In silent caves the seaborn monsters sleep;

But when fierce winds vex'd Ocean's bosom tear,

To day's broad eye their horrid forms appear:

So, in the depths of his capacious breast

Ambition's brood in grim repose could rest,

The destin'd hour of tumult but to wait,—

Then rise reveal'd, and awe the prostrate state.

Gauls, Germans, Britain, by his arms o'ercome,

Confirm'd his sway, and fix'd his chains on Rome.

In dalliance once by Cleopatra held,[4]

Awhile he left the labours of the field;

She tried her varying poignancy of charms,

To fold him long in her voluptuous arms;

From balmy lips breath'd forth the endearing vow,

And smooth'd the furrows on his care-worn brow:

But when the trumpet's notes his trance molest,

He pluck'd the sting of pleasure from his breast;

Refulgent beam'd again in glittering arms,

To shake the coward land with war's alarms;[5]

Then Ptolemy he tumbled from his throne,

And bade the Royal Harlot rule alone.

Yet skill consummate in the soldier's art

Had form'd no callous crusting round his heart;[6]

Though from ambition oft he stretch'd the sword,

Unnecessary blood his soul abhor'd.

No brooding hate his fearless bosom kept;[7]

Soon as the steel was sheath'd, his vengeance slept.[8]

For two great ends alone he seem'd to live,

To conquer all mankind, and to forgive.[9]

E'en for a foe his kindly tears were shed;

He wept at sight of Pompey's sever'd head,[1]

Forgot the rival's hate, and mourn'd the hero dead.

Not youthful Ammon's envied, early wreath,

Not the black tides of fell proscriptive death,

Tides, that had wash'd from many a social mind

All the sweet charities of good and kind,

In Caesar's feeling breast could quite destroy

Pity's mild springs, and friendship's generous joy.[2]

His tongue, for ever ready to defend,

His hand, the willing bounty to extend,[3]

No wonder, spite of wild ambition's pride,

He liv'd endearing, and lamented died.

A soul so soft in every social part,

The unwilling tongue calls tyrant, not the heart.

For these celestial qualities, when time

With dust shall mould my perish'd form and rhyme,

His murder told, the sympathetick tear

He knew to shed, shall grace his funeral bier;

Nor, liberty, thy loudest shouts prevail,

To drown soft sorrow at the mournful tale.

O, were the devastation of mankind

The noblest triumph for a hero's mind;

Or had his milder genius been employ'd

To save but half the wasteful sword destroy'd;

No rival on the guiltless rolls of fame

Had vied with all-accomplish'd Caesar's name.[5]

While projects boundless in his bosom roll'd,

Scarce by the distant poles of heaven controll'd,

At home, devoted to an earlier fate,

Unconscious in the shade of death he sat;

Victim to liberty decreed to fall,

Streaming with blood, at Pompey's pedestal.[5]

The stoick Brutus led the daring deed;

By him he lov'd was Caesar doom'd to bleed.[6]

If this one action stain not Brutus' fame,

Rome's annals boast not any purer name;[7]

For still men doubt, in this impartial time,

To admire the virtue, or abhor the crime.

A thousand tender thoughts restrain'd his arm,

A thousand nobler thoughts his bosom warm;

MARCUS BRUT••

.

Impell'd, repell'd, and in the conflict tost,

More than the deed, the struggle was his boast.[8]

He sought no more from slaughter'd Caesar's grave,

Than nature, justice, and his country gave;

Revenge or jealousy inflam'd the rest,

To aim their daggers at the conqueror's breast;

By principle alone was Brutus mov'd,—[9]

He slew the tyrant, but the man he lov'd.[1]

Notes

1.
Lucan's Pharsalia is unquestionably a very noble poem; but young readers should be cautioned against taking their impressions of Caesar's personal character from this author. Whether he is in earnest, or only affects zeal for the republick, he takes a decided interest against that great man, and enters into the contest with all the virulence of a party-writer. To Caesar he allows no one good quality, except courage, and imputes to him vices and foibles, which, so far from being in his nature, were repugnant to it. He represents him as a vain-boaster, cruel, and insolent. Caesar was too proud and too wise to be vain; and of all conquerors he was the most merciful and generous. His insolence, if a bold spirit of enterprize attended with constant success can properly be called so, appears but little in his writings, and in the accounts we have of his discourse. A great poet may put what words he pleases into the mouth of a hero, and comment upon them afterwards, for imagination and ingenuity are not to be restricted within common boundaries; yet experience will not be misled by them. We consider a man as insolent, who treats others with a contempt which they do not deserve, and imagines he can accomplish things beyond his means or capacity. How far this description is applicable to Julius Caesar, the learned may determine.
↵

2.
—annum agens sextum decimum, patrem amisit.

SUET. in J. Caes.

↵

3.
—armorum et equitandi peritissimus.

Idem, ut supra.

↵

4.
—si flumina morarentur, nando trajiciens, vel innixus inflatis utribus, ut persaepe nuntios de se praevenerit.

Idem, ut supra.

↵

5.
—Caesari multos Marios inesse.

Idem, ut supra.

↵

6.

Hanc quum habeat praecipuam laudem in communibus, non video cui debeat cedere: splendidam quamdam minimeque veteratoriam rationem dicendi tenet, voce, motu; formâ etiam magnificâ, et generosâ quodam modo.
CIC. in Brut.

Quid? Oratorum quem huic antepones eorum qui nihil aliud egerunt? Quis sententiis aut acutior, aut crebrior? Quis verbis aut ornatior aut elegantior?
CIC. Epist. ad Corn. Nep.

Tanta in eo vis est, id acumen, ea concitatio, ut illum eodem animo dixisse, quo bellavit, appareat. Exornat tamen haec omnia mira sermonis, cujus proprie studiosus fuit, elegantia.
QUINTIL. l. x. c. 1.

Pronuntiasse dicitur voce acutâ, ardente motu, gestuque, non sine venustate.
SUET. ut sup.

↵

7.

Haud secus ac tacitum luna regnante per Arcton,

Sidereae cedunt acies.

CLAUDIAN.

↵

8.

The following summary of Caesar's character by Paterculus is worthy of being inserted:

Formâ omnium civium excellentissimus, vigore animi acerrimus, munificentiae effusissimus, animo super humanam et naturam et fidem evectus; magnitudine cogitationum, celeritate bellandi, patientiâ periculorum, magno illi Alexandro, sed sobrio, neque iracundo simillimus; qui denique semper et somno et cibo in vitam non in voluptatem uteretur. l. ii. c. 41.

↵

9.

Thou art the ruins of the noblest man,

That ever lived in the tide of times.

SHAKSPEARE. J. Caesar.

On parle beaucoup de la fortune de César; mais cet homme extraordinaire avoit rant de grandes qualités sans pas un défaut, quoiqu'il eût hien des vices, qu'il eût été bien difficile que quelque armée qu'il eut commandée, il n'eût été vainqueur, et qu'en quelque République qu'il fût né il ne l'eût gouvernée.
MONTESQUIEU, de la Grandeur des Romains, c. xi.

↵

1.

Multos annos regnare meditatus, magno labore, multis periculis, quod cogitarat, effecerat.
CIC. Phil. 2.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
HOM. α. 287.

Ipse autem socer [J. Caesar] in ore semper Graecos versus de Phoenisis habebat, quos dicam ut potero, non condite fortasse, sed tamen ut res possit intelligi:

Nam si violandum est jus, regnandi gratiâ

Violandum est: aliis rebus pietatem colas.

CIC. de Off. l. iii.

↵

2.

Mihicrede, etiam is qui omnia tenet, favet ingeniis.
CIC. Ep. ad Marcel.

—propter eximium ingenium, summamque eruditionem; cui, mehercules, hic cujus in potestate sumus, multum tribuit.

—mirifice ingeniis excellentibus—delectatur.

CIC. Epist. ad Caecin.

↵

1.
In the juxtaposition of Cato and Caesar by Sallust, the historian gives the preference to neither. One cannot well conceive two characters more strongly contrasted; for except that both were well descended, brave, and eloquent, there is between them no other feature of resemblance. Cato was as much superior to Caesar in the practice of every severe virtue, as he was his inferior in judgment, talents, and capacity. Whatsoever was Caesar's purpose, he generally embraced the most effectual and certain means of accomplishing it, while Cato had but one way of attempting every thing; so that the former was commonly successful, and the latter as frequently miscarried. He entered into many an action, as he did into the theatre, only to get out of it. Caesar, by the sweetness of his temper, and the affability of his manners, could throw a sort of grace even over bad actions, while Cato was distinguished by his abhorrence of them. Without giving our approbation to Caesar, it is difficult not to love, and impossible not to admire him. We approve of and respect Cato, but he is seldom amiable. Notwithstanding the loose morality of the Dictator, his soul was capable of an elevation which the strict stoicism and rigid principles of his antagonist could never attain to; and it should be remembered to the advantage of the conqueror of the world, that in an age and country so shamefully addicted to bloodshed and debauchery, he was always merciful and temperate.
↵

4.

Cleopatra regis soror, affusa Caesaris genibus, partem regni reposcebat. Aderat puellae forma, &c.
FLOR. l. iv. c. 2.

Caesar never display'd his great military skill and wonderful presence of mind more conspicuously than in extricating himself from all the dangers with which he was environed in the Alexandrian war. He was involved in this by his amour with Cleopatra, and it seems to have been the only instance in which he suffered his passions to get the ascendancy over his wisdom.

↵

5.
Ab eisdem percussoribus Pompeii obsessus in regiâ, quamvis exiguâ manu, ingentis exercitus molem mirâ virtute sustinuit.

FLOR. l. iv. c. 2.

↵

6.
There is an unaccountable proneness in several modern writers, to ascribe the well known clemency of Caesar towards his vanquished enemies either to policy, or to his contempt of them, and not to his natural disposition. It is directly contrary to all the testimonies of his contemporaries, and of the subsequent ancient authors. It is of no service to the cause of morality, to inquire too strictly into the motives of men's actions, when their effects are beneficial to society; and we may be content to leave Caesar in possession of his title to a virtue, which his enemies in his own time did not deny him.
↵

7.
Nemo unquam te placavit inimicus, qui illas resedisse in te simultatis reliquias senserit.

CIC. pro Reg. Deiotar.

↵

8.
Solus inquam es, C. Caesar, cujus in victoriâ ceciderit nemo nisi armatus.

Ibid.

↵

9.
Simultates contrà nullas tam graves excepit unquam, ut non occasione oblatâ, libens deponeret, et in ulciscendo naturâ lenissimus.

SUET. in J. Caes. 73.

↵

1.

Ut enim id Caesar adspexit, oblitus hostis, soceri vultum induit, ac Pompeio tum proprias, tum etiam filiae suae lacrymas reddidit.
Val. Max. l. v. c. i.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. xlii.

↵

2.
We find so few social virtues among the ancient Romans, their hospitality excepted, that wherever we can discover a humane propensity, we should, I think, cherish and applaud it.
↵

3.

O clementiam admirabilem, atque omni laude, praedicatione, literis, monumentisque decorandam!
CIC. Pro Ligar.

Caesar dando, sublevando, ignoscendo,—gloriam adeptus est.
SAL. in Bel. Catil.

Tuum est, Caesar, qui pro multis saepe dixisti,—.
CIC. Pro Reg. Deiotar.

The two celebrated speeches of Caesar and Cato upon the sentence to be pronounced against the Catilinarian conspirators, preserved, as it is called, by Sallust, seem to me no very satisfactory specimens of the manner of those eminent orators. He has doubtless preserved their different opinions upon the question, and probably the arguments by which they were supported; but there is nothing discriminating or characteristick in either, and they are plainly the author's composition: that is, the style, manner, and construction of the periods, are Sallust's. They not only do not differ in these particular from each other, but they exactly resemble his diction every where. It may be observed perhaps of all the ancient historians who pretend to record the orations of particular men, that they make them all eloquent, and all equally so. Thucidydes and Livy abound with examples. We should consider them rather as ingenious expedients used by the historian to enliven and diversify his narrative, by not always appearing in his own person, than as faithful transcripts of orations delivered at the time by the speakers to whom he ascribes them. Let the reader compare the two following passages from the speeches of Caesar and Cato, not only with the rest of the respective speeches, but with the whole structure of Sallust's diction.

CAESAR. Plerique eorum, qui ante me sententias dixerunt, composite atque magnifice casum reipublicae miserati sunt: quae belli saevitia esset, quae victis acciderent, enumeravere; rapi virgines, pueros; divelli liberos a parentum complexu; matres familiarum pati quae victoribus collibuissent; fana atque domos exspoliari; caedem, incendia fieri: postremo, armis, cadaveribus, cruore atque luctu omnia compleri.

CATO. Bene et composite C. Caesar paulo ante in hoc ordine de vitâ et morte disseruit, credo falsa existumans ea, quae de inferis memorantur; diverso itinere malos a bonis luca tetra, inculta, faeda atque formidolosa habere, &c.

The speech which was really spoken by Cato, on this occasion, was taken down in short-hand by Cicero's order, and was extant in the time of Plutarch. See his Life of Cato, the Younger.

↵

5.

Fuit in illo ingenium, ratio, memoria, literae, cura, cogitatio, diligentia.
CIC. Phil. ii.

Two finer compliments were perhaps never expressed in so few words as in this short apostrophe of Tully to Caesar:—Spero etiam te, qui oblivisci nihil soles, nisi injurias,—.
CIC. Pro Ligar

↵

5.
For some observations on the death and character of Caesar, (too long for this place) see note (B) at the end of this volume.
↵

6.

If then that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer,—not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
SHAKSP. Jul. Caes.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
PLUT. in Brut.

↵

7.

This was the noblest Roman of them all:

All the conspirators, save only he,

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;

He, only, in a general honest thought,

And common good to all, made one of them.

This sentiment of Anthony with respect to Brutus, is taken from the old translation of Plutarch.
See SHAKSP. J. Caesar, Malone's edit. vol. vii. p. 416.

↵

8.

Cette faveur si pleine, et si mal reconnue,

Par un mortel reproche a tous momens le tue.

CINNA, par Corneille.

↵

9.
Semper amavi, ut scis, M. Brutum, propter ejus summum ingenium, suavissimos mores, singularem probitatem, atque constantiam.

CIC. Epist. ad Famil. ix. 14.

↵

1.
In order to enhance the merit of Brutus in killing Caesar, some have adopted the idea of his having been his son by Servilia, with whom Caesar was known to have intrigued; but I acknowledge myself so poor a casuist as not to be able to imagine any situation in which it can be meritorious, or even justifiable, in a man to kill his father. To add to the interest of a tragedy in which Brutus is the hero, Voltaire has brought forward the circumstance of the filiation; Shakspeare, more judiciously in my mind, has passed it over without notice. The admirers of Brutus may, I think, be content to let the matter rest as it is. It is possible he might have been the son of Caesar, but very far from a certainty.
↵

PRODIGIES AFTER THE DEATH OF CAESAR.[*] A. U. C. 710.

Creation's frame seem'd passion'd by the event,

Convuls'd and torn through every element.

From Aetna's dread abyss, the affrighted world

Saw rocks of fire with bellowing thunder hurl'd;[2]

Saw the vast concave, once benignly clear,

Like Jove's whole armament of wrath appear.

Then too, the tainting east, the churlish north,

On wasteful errands sent their tempests forth;

Nor Caurus then, nor Auster lagg'd behind;

Fierce to destroy rode every willing wind:

Rain, hail, and arrowy sleet, and lightnings blue,

Athwart the expanse with sullen vengeance flew;

Huge promontories bow'd; nor ceas'd to glare

Streaming above, a comet's endless hair;[3]

Portentous, dismal blaze! through Alpine woods

Bursting in tenfold storm, with ocean's floods,

(Woe to each prostrate field, and peopled town,)

Eridanus, the horny king, came down;[4]

Ausonia felt through every trembling shore

His furious tide, and unrelenting roar.

Ashes, no longer pent up in the urn,

Resuming forms of life, to earth return;

Ghastly, and grim, and terrible, they glare,

The pallid murderer, as he stalks, to scare.

Fat blood in drops from rubent clouds fell down,

And shed their deep pollution on the town;

While indistinctly dreadful, through the air,

Battle's wild din bade Rome for war prepare.

The sun himself, by lurid mists o'er-spread,

In dim suffusion veil'd his mournful head;

Through twelve revolving signs, a sickly gleam

From his chill'd orb, with faint ungenial beam,

Scarce warming earth's cold lap, dismay'd the swains,

Who droop'd desponding, and forsook their plains.

O fair Hesperia! O delightful land!

Too oft, alas, by impious man profan'd!

O'er thy smooth rivers, and thy murmuring rills,

Thy fertile pastures, lawns, and pine-clad hills,

No tutelary power maintain'd his charge,

But giant devastation stalk'd at large.

Notes

*
See note C, at the end.
↵

2.

—Quoties cyclopum effervere in agros

Vidimus undantem ruptis fornicabus Aetnam,

Flammarumque globos, liquefactaque volvere saxa!

VIRG. Georg. i. 471.

↵

3.

Non alias coelo ceciderunt plura sereno

Fulgura; nec diri toties arsere cometae.

VIRG. Georg. i. 487.

↵

4.

Proluit insano contorquens vortice silvas,

Fluviorum rex Eridanus,—.

Idem. Georg. i. 481.

↵

STATE OF ROME AFTER CAESAR's DEATH.

No scheme beyond the hero's fall arrang'd,[*]

The state of Rome was not improv'd, but chang'd;

That bold atchievement the whole mind possess'd,

Nor left one thought to methodize the rest:

While some perhaps, who strain'd to look so far,

Thought all beyond it little worth the care;

And others, stung by envy, pride, or hate,

Quench'd these bad passions in their conqueror's fate.

To the same act, by different motives led,

In one man's death alone were all agreed;

That mountain once remov'd, the level plain,

Where all might pass, would bless their sight again:

Vain hope! the opening prospect but disclos'd,

How still beyond it loftier Alps oppos'd.

Nor all who to the work of slaughter press'd,

Glow'd with the generous ardour they profess'd;

Their worthless tale at last too plainly shews,

They less were virtue's friends, than Caesar's foes;

But all, exalted by their leader's name,

Brav'd the same danger, and partook his fame;

Yet truth, that weighs ere she confers applause,

Not always blends the agents with the cause:

Round the same banners rang'd, too oft she sees

The people's guardians, and the people's lees;

And heaven-born freedom's glittering flag unfurl'd,

Wave o'er the chiefs and miscreants of the world.

By wild distraction were Rome's councils rent,

And anarchy succeeded government;[5]

As if, herself unwilling to be free,

She felt no tyrant, yet no liberty.[6]

Effect appear'd the cause. Alas! the crime

Was less in him, than the corrupted time;

Nor was ambition to one breast confin'd,

Where hundreds more were Caesars in their mind.

Then what avail'd to pull one tyrant down,

When liberty and virtue both were gone?

When men like Cato, and firm Brutus, stood

More wonder'd at, than lov'd, for being good;

Where venal honours were not merit's meed,

But gold or favour bade the claim succeed;

Where once-priz'd honest poverty was shame,

And publick spirit a derided name.

Thus in the palsied frame how oft we see

The form remain, but lost the energy!

Reason abhors society's disgrace,

That last of rules,—a lawless populace.

Where each base upstart, busy, blind, and rude,

Disdains the noble, and insults the good;

Where two concurring wills are rarely found,

But ignorance and discord harsh abound.

The hapless state which mourns her vigour gone,

And her best laws by her worst sons o'er-thrown,

Will find at last she must submit to one;

Some head must govern, some compulsion bind

The jarring passions of perplex'd mankind;

And states have seen, as states will ever see,

The extreme of licence end in tyranny.

Notes

*
Quod scribis te nescire quid nostris faciendum sit, jam pridem me illa
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
solicitat. Itaque stulta jam Iduum Martiarum est consolatio. Animis enim usi sumus virilibus, consiliis, mihi crede, puerilibus.

CIC. Epist. ad Attic. xv. 4.

↵

5.

Fraenumque solvit pristinum licentia.
PHAED. Fab. ii.

This must always happen, when any form of government is demolished, before some other plan to replace it is arranged and settled. We cannot expect to find a palace magnificent and commodious in all its parts rise up at once without materials or workmen, merely because we see the removal of a building which before occupied the same place. In Great Britain, where the people live under the mildest government, and the most admirable constitution in the world, all measures for the security of liberty have been examined with great precaution, and have been ratified gradually: they are therefore likely to be firm and permanent. The lamentable condition of a neighbouring kingdom furnishes a living example how much easier it is to destroy, than to establish. That state has passed suddenly from an absolute monarchy to a kind of government which comes under no known denomination, but most nearly approaches to anarchy. There, the revolution was sudden, and the execution violent. Time only can discover whether it will ever come to any sober settlement, and sagacity finds it difficult to predict what that settlement may be: Whatever structure may rise out of the present ruins, will be cemented with the blood of the natives. Arbitrary commitments to a fortified state-prison were undoubtedly a great grievance; they have given place to sentence and execution without trial or commitment; and which alternative is preferable? All we know with certainty is, that the grievances complained of before, are now multiplied in tenfold proportion, under the name and pretence of reformation.

↵

6.
Vivit tyrannis, tyrannus occidit!

CIC. Epist. ad Attic. xiv. 9.

↵

M. AE. LEPIDUS. A. U. C. 711.

Ten years the last triumvirs held their rule;

But shallow Lepidus, ambition's fool,

Though small the power the pageant e'er possess'd,[7]

The mightier two of that small power divest.

LEPID••

By sufferance alone with them he reign'd;

The tool they wanted, but the man disdain'd.

Determin'd to deserve the people's hate,

Each felt it less, while three sustain'd the weight.

On his dull head the load of wrongs they heap,

The little merit to themselves they keep;

Shelt'ring their crimes behind his ready name,

They shar'd the spoil, and he endur'd the blame:

But when their height beyond his reach was grown,

Then to contempt and scorn they hurl'd him down.

So with the building does the scaffold rise,

Which once completed, in the dust it lies:

So the loose garb that bears the winter sky,

In kindlier warmth is cast neglected by.

Private and poor they left him, to lament

The irksome memory of a life ill spent;

Whence no past act new comfort can afford,

But keen reflection turns a bosom'd sword.

Sad state! and such the worthless only feel;

In their own breasts anticipated hell:

And when cold eve in dusky pall draws near,

The shades, then lengthen'd, of their crimes appear;

Forms, which the day-time's fury could control,

Embodying conscience wakes, to haunt the soul;

Each casual voice croaks, like the raven hoarse,

THE PRESENT WRETCHED, AND THE FUTURE WORSE:

Reproaches in the stagnant calm they hear,

And in each bush a vengeful minister.

One hour his statue in Rome's fanes we see,[8]

The next proclaims him Rome's worst enemy;[9]

And in these pois'd discordant acts appear

Distracted counsels, and the senate's fear.

The threats by furious Antony sent forth,

Gave e'en to Lepidus a moment's worth.

As chance had rais'd him to the triple throne,

His fall involv'd no ruin but his own.

Great deity of fools! to thee should rise

More frequent fumes from grateful sacrifice,

Would man, vain man, thy dispensations see,

Nor give to merit what is due to thee.

Obsequious ever to great Caesar's will,

The legions which he led, obey'd him still;

And with the confidence of strength elate,

His pride provok'd, and they allow'd his fate.[1]

In the first conflicts of the doubtful field,

His wavering hand awhile the balance held;

So from conjuncture, not from worth or sense,

Arose his transitory consequence.

Sure to forsake the friends he chose at first,

With all he tamper'd, but espous'd the worst;

False to the senate, of their foes afraid,

He flatter'd both alike, and both betray'd:

Unfit for power, this wonder fill'd the throng,

Not how he lost it, but preserv'd so long.

The weak man oft to fortune greatness owes,

But sense alone can keep what chance bestows.

Who without wisdom fortune would command,

Writes but on water, or erects on sand.

Notes

7.
In Shakspeare's Julius Caesar, Lepidus is well compared to an ass loaded with ingots.
↵

8.
—eique [sc. Lepido] statuam equestrem inauratam—ex hujus ordinis sententiâ statui placere.

CIC. Philip. v.

↵

9.

Lepidus—sententiis omnibus hostis a senatu judicatus est.
CIC. Epist. ad Famil. l. xii. ep. 10.

Lepidus was not ruined by the vote of the senate, which demolished his statue, and declared him a publick enemy, but, as may be seen below, by his presuming to think he could control Augustus, who was too wise and too powerful to fear him.

↵

1.

Post Pompeii fugam, collegarum alterum M. Lepidum, quem ex Africâ in auxilium evocarat, superbientem xx legionum fiduciâ, summasque sibi partes terrore ac minis vindicantem, spoliavit exercitu, supplicemque, concessâ vitâ, Circeios in perpetuum religavit. [A. U. C. 718.]
SUET. in Aug 16.

Lepidus died in obscurity, A. 741.

↵

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. A. U. C. 717.

But not content with half the world's domain,

Caesar and Antony alone would reign:

The first, a steady sceptre born to wield,

O'er all his acts extends the publick shield;[2]

The last, abhorrent from the toils of state,

Rots on the Nile, a hoary profligate:

M. ANTONY.

While subtle Caesar sapp'd his eastern throne,

He clasp'd his world in Cleopatra's zone.[3]

Not she, for whom Dardanian Troy was lost,

The pride of nature, and her country's boast,

Nor she, who bade the Macedonian's hand

Hurl at Persepolis the blazing brand,[4]

Nor Phaedra, nor Ariadne still more fair,

Could with the sorceress of Nile compare:[5]

In her, not face and shape alone could please,

(Though with unrival'd grace she charm'd by these,)

But the whole store of Cytherea's wiles,

Sighs, gentlest blandishments, and ambush'd smiles;

The ready tear, the blush of well-feign'd truth,

And the ripe woman, fresh as new-sprung youth.

Beneath her roseate palms the lute compress'd,

Chac'd thought and trouble from the anxious breast;

In dulcet bonds the imprison'd soul she held,

While the sweet chords her warbling voice excell'd.

A thousand forms the syren could put on,

And seem as many mistresses in one;

Serious or sportive, as the mood requir'd,

No whim grew irksome, and no frolick tir'd.

Enough of coyness to provoke desire,

Of warmth enough to share the amorous fire,

All, her delighted lovers could receive,

Seem'd but fond earnests she had more to give;

Nor with possession was the promise o'er;

Love's fruit and flower at once her bosom bore:

CLEOPATRA

No languid pause of bliss near her was known,

But, with new joys, new hours came laughing on.

By arts like these was wiser Julius won,

And Antony, more fond, was more undone.

His soul enamour'd to the wanton clung,

Glow'd at her eyes, or melted from her tongue;

Lull'd in the dear Elysium of her arms,

Nor interest moves him, nor ambition warms:

Sometimes with short remorse he look'd within,

But kept at once the conscience and the sin:

In vain he saw the yawning ruin nigh;

Content with her, he bade the world go by;

He sought no covert of the friendly shade,

'Twas half the zest to have his shame display'd.

He deem'd it still his best exchange through life,

A melting mistress for a railing wife.

Perpetual orgies unabash'd they keep,

Wine fires their veins, and revels banish sleep:

Timbrels, and songs, and feasts of deaf'ning joy,

By arts till then unknown, forbore to cloy.

See for one banquet a whole kingdom sink,

And gems dissolv'd impearl her luscious drink.[5]

Pleasure was hunted through each impious mode;

An Isis she, and he the vine-crown'd God.[6]

Old Nile, astonish'd, on his bosom bore

Monsters more strange than e'er deform'd his shore;

For what so monstrous sight beneath the skies,

As self-created human deities?—

But heaven, for vengeful retribution, means,[7]

The sword and asp should close these frantick scenes.[8]

Spectators mute, the sorrowing captains stand,

While empire moulders from his palsied hand:

But rous'd at length, unwilling, to the fight,

His star at Actium sunk in endless night.

With equal pomp, as when down Cydnus' stream

Her burnish'd prow struck back the sun's bright beam,

The enchantress bade her bloated train prepare,

To meet the horrours of the naval war;

But the first shouts her trembling spirits quail;

She flies, and he pursues her shameful sail:

His heart-strings to the harlot's rudder tied,

What lust began, his dotage ratified:

In Alexandria's towers he veil'd his head,

Where, self-expell'd, the vital spirit fled.

He try'd all vices, and surpass'd in all,

Luxurious, cruel, wild, and prodigal;[9]

Lavish of hours, of character, and gold,

But warlike, hardy, and in dangers bold;

His mind was suited to the boist'rous times,

A soldier's virtues, and a tyrant's crimes.[1]

OCTAVIA

Notes

2.
Qui n'agit que pour soi, feignant d'agir pour Rome.

CINNA, par Corneille.

↵

3.

Quippe post Parthos, nuum exosus arma in otio ageret, captus amore Cleopatrae, quasi bene gestis rebus, in regio se sinu reficiebat.
FLOR lib. iv. c. xi.

Antony first became acquainted with Cleopatra, A. U. C. 713, soon after the battle of Philippi. She was then in her twenty-eighth year. After the death of his third wife, Fulvia, in 714, he married Octavia, who was then pregnant by her former husband, C. Marcellus; and after she had borne him two daughters, deserted her in 717.

↵

4.
Thais et ipsa temulenta, maxim am apud omnes Graecos initurum gratiam affirmat, si regiam Persarum jussisset incendi.—Primus rex [Alexander] ignem regiae injecit; turn convivae, et ministri, pellicesque. Multa cedro aedificata erat regia, quae celeriter igne concepto, late fudit incendium.

QUINT. CURT. l. v. c. 7.

↵

5.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

DION. CASS. l. xlii. c. 33.

↵

5.
Tunc arridens regina phialam poposcit, cui aceti nonnihil acris infundit, atque illuc unionem demptum ex aure altera festinabunda demisit; eumque mature dissolutum,—absorbuit.

MACROB. l. ii. c. 13.

↵

6.
—tum redimitis hederis, coronâque velatus aureâ, et thyrsum tenens, cothurnisque succinctus, [Antonius] curru, velut Liber pater, vectus esset Alexandriae.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 87.

↵

7.
Though the less enlightened heathens seem to have had no clear conception of a future state of rewards and punishments, the minds of all, except the followers of Epicurus, were strongly impressed with the idea of the interference of a Providence with respect to the temporal consequences of human actions and conduct.
↵

8.

Antonius seipse nun segniter interemit.
VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 87.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. li. c. 13.

↵

9.
The character of Mark Antony has in our country acquired a degree of favour with several very young, and with some fair, readers, to which he is by no means entitled. They judge of him, not from history, but from the colouring under which he is exhibited to view in two well known and popular tragedies. In Shakspeare's Julius Caesar, we see him only as the grateful and affectionate friend of his benefactor Caesar, as the gallant avenger of his death, and as a powerful orator possessed of all the arts of persuasion. In Dryden's All for Love, he appears to still greater advantage. The murder of Cicero, had he committed no other great crime, is sufficient to transmit him to posterity as a ruffian not less insensible to the claims of genius, than shamefully indifferent to the censure or approbation of mankind in general. What opinion too severe can be formed of his disposition, who could deliberately wade through the slaughter of a most cruel and bloody proscription, to get at the throat of a helpless old man, whom by his own insolence he had provoked to be his enemy? To estimate the whole of a character from its exhibition in a play, is somewhat like forming an idea of a man's whole figure from seeing his head and shoulders in a portrait: his countenance may be very engaging, and the rest of his person very deformed. Whoever remembers the late Earl of Bath, will not want a strong confirmation of the truth of this remark.
↵

1.
The following anecdote, not so well known as the murder of Cicero, furnishes another shocking example of the cruel ferocity of Antony's disposition. Three of Julius Caesar's legions, returning from Macedonia, refused to follow him. He ascribed this defection to the influence of their centurions; and to revenge it, he ordered them, to the number of three hundred, to be butchered in his presence; his wife Fulvia, who was then with him, with great composure looking on at the massacre. This execrable woman had in reality all the diabolical qualities which the imagination of our Shakspeare has combined in the character of Lady Macbeth.—Cum ejus promissis legiones fortissimae reclamassent, domum ad se venire jussit centuriones, quos bene de republicâ sentire cognoverat, eosque ante pedes suos, uxorisque suae, quam secum gravis imperator ad exercitum duxerat, jugulari coegit.

CIC. Philip.

↵

OCTAVIA.

Come, decent Venus! come, each modest grace!

Assist the muse to draw a matron's face;

To paint the chaste Octavia's matchless form,

Fresh Hebe's cheek with blushing softness warm;

The pure carnation in whose colour shewn,

By genial nature's balmiest breath was blown;

Unsullied lips suffus'd with roseate dew,

Whence Hybla sounds the charm'd attention drew;

Juno's high stature, and majestick mien,

Her smiles improv'd with dignity serene;

For no repulsive arrogating air

Proclaim'd her own proud conscience she was fair;

But turning from the fond admirer's gaze,

She felt the homage, but declin'd the praise.

So, while by Rome's enamour'd youth besieg'd,

But one she favour'd, and yet all oblig'd.

Her form, her manners such; and nature join'd

Each sweet attraction of the female mind:

Not heaven's clear azure than her breast more pure,

Which winds disturb not, nor dark clouds obscure;

Yet not in stagnant apathy to sleep,

Or like the reed-chok'd stream through life to creep;

When virtue's breath her kind affections mov'd,

She felt with energy, with ardour lov'd.

Grief shook the glass, ere half its sand was run,

And sunk her sorrowing for her darling son;

No Paean could a medicine impart,

To pluck that shaft from her too tender heart.

Dove-like, the intended pledge of peace she came,

Yet, hapless, but increas'd dissention's flame.

To avert the horrours of domestick war,

Young Caesar gave her to his rival's care;

Reluctant sent her from a brother's side,

His house's ornament, and country's pride;

Hoping, while she the sweet enticement stood,

To expel the evil passion by the good.

Vainly he hop'd. Some inauspicious power

Gloomy prepar'd her hymeneal bower;

There fading short-liv'd roses thinly grew,

But cypress much, and melancholy yew:

For Antony, unworthy of the bliss,

Scarce seal'd their union with a nuptial kiss;

A few slight decencies observ'd with pain,

Soon to his sensual sty he turn'd again.

A flagrant Cupid fir'd his lustful heart,

Opprobrious pleasures, and a strumpet's art;

Strange drugs were mix'd in her Circean bowl,

First to inflame, and then unman the soul.[2]

Steep'd in the cistern of Egyptian spells,

'Gainst lawful charms the Roman's breast rebels.

The wily queen play'd her delusions o'er,

And more disgracing, but attach'd him more;

Expert in feigning what her heart ne'er felt,

A smile could warm him, as a tear could melt:

His pliant dotage serv'd but to proclaim

Her vicious triumph, and his hoary shame.

With inward pangs his slighted consort mourn'd

Her fond solicitude so ill return'd:

But no reproachful taunts assail'd his ear;

Her grief was silent, secret, and sincere.

From her perfidious libertine retir'd,

E'en he respected her, and all admir'd.

Love's bond once broke, upbraiding comes too late,

And often sours indifference into hate;

The tart remonstrance of a shrewish tongue,

Foe to itself, but justifies the wrong;

For female rage admits of no pretence;

She who begins to rail, begins the offence.

Firm to her vows, to every duty true,

Tried to the last, submissive she withdrew:

But grown more desperate in his furious course,

He seal'd her sufferings by a rude divorce.[3]

By the mad act was Caesar's friendship lost;

Yet she complain'd the least, though outrag'd most.

See her forsake the interdicted plain,

And his good genius drooping in her train.

Go, wrong'd Octavia! go, insulted wife!

Feel the soft comforts of sequester'd life;

Let these thy tyrant's injuries redeem,

Bless'd in mankind's, and thine own heart's esteem.

But ah, what peace to that sad heart can come,

While pale Marcellus points thee to the tomb?

AUGUSTUS

There, ever present to her streaming eyes,

In death's cold clasp the blooming hero lies:

Twelve annual suns roll'd o'er her head in vain,

To witness, but not mitigate her pain;

Nature's grim spoiler, by her tears implor'd,

At length the mourner to her son restor'd.

Notes

2.

It is related of Cleopatra that several of her admirers purchased the enjoyment of her favours for a single night, by an agreement to lose their heads next morning; which this queen, not less cruel than voluptuous and inconstant, never failed to have fulfilled literally.

Haec [Cleopatra] tantae libidinis erar, ut saepe prostiterit; tantae pulchritudinis, ut multi noctem illius morte emerint.
AUR. VICTOR.

The generals of the French Republick seem to share the favours of the Convention pretty much in the same manner: they are raised from the ranks to the head of armies, and very speedily afterwards conducted to the scaffold.

↵

3.

Antony's infatuated attachment to Cleopatra was no way abated by his marriage with Octavia, though he had by this most amiable woman two children. The gentle patience with which she endured repeated provocations and insults from her libertine husband, her maternal care of his children by his former termagant wife Fulvia, her admirable beauty joined to every female virtue and excellence of the mind, could not secure her from the most outrageous ill treatment. Intending to affront Caesar, who tenderly loved his sister, and to gratify Cleopatra, who hated her, Antony not only sent her a divorce, but a prohibition to reside in any of his houses, or on any of his estates. Her sense of this brutal ingratitude with her immoderate grief for the loss of her darling son Marcellus, broke her constitution, and she expired without arriving at old age, to the infinite regret of Augustus, and with the esteem and admiration of all who knew her. Her munificent present to Virgil for his beautiful lines to the memory of the Marcelli, has been often recorded. While the poet was reciting the latter part of the sixth Aeneid before the emperor and his sister, at the words, "TU MARCELLUS ERIS," Octavia fainted. Nor is it extraordinary; for nothing can be more pathetick and interesting than the whole preparation for this master-stroke of panegyrick, which even at this moment excites considerable emotion. The lamented virtues of her son, who really deserved the encomium, thus unexpectedly brought to her remembrance, impressed still more by the recitation of Virgil, who was remarkable for reading his own verses with harmonious energy, may naturally be supposed to have had such an effect on the tender and affectionate heart of Octavia.—How different is the picture of Augustus in this scene from that which he exhibited as a triumvir, seated between Antony and Lepidus, and marking down for the knife of his butchers the most respectable and virtuous of his countrymen!

In drawing the character of Octavia, beside the concurrent testimony of the ancient writers who mention her, I was assisted by having before my eyes a living example in a lady with whom I have long had the happiness of being well acquainted. The likeness, without my being more explicit, will be recognized by every one, except herself,—she so strikingly resembles the Roman lady, in every thing but her misfortunes. In these happily there is no similitude; for she is tenderly beloved by an excellent husband, and has enjoyed a distinguished state of prosperity, with the cordial esteem and affection of her friends, and the grateful blessings of all who happen to be placed as objects of her protection.

↵

AUGUSTUS. A. U. C. 725.

In life's soft down, remov'd from peril far,

By an adopting parent's early care,

Like the small bird beneath the eagle's wing,

Octavius heard the civil tempest sing.[4]

Him mighty Julius for his heir design'd,

Pleas'd with his manners, and enlighten'd mind;[5]

His winning air, his feeble health when young,[6]

Made the soft tie of natural love more strong:

Nor to the dauntless uncle were reveal'd

The faults his youth, or artifice, conceal'd;

For in the smoothness of the smiling boy,

There lurk'd a future Sylla, to destroy.

Thus Zara's tiger, tam'd by human care,

May for a while his inborn rage forbear,

Sequacious seek the haunts where men resort,

And with mild gambols make his keepers sport;

But if warm vital blood distain his jaws,

No longer he contracts his dreadful claws;

His nostrils swell, each fang is sharp with death,

In smother'd volumes rolls his firy breath;

No blandishments his fury can restrain,

And all the native savage glares again.

No towering stature gave his form its grace,[7]

But fine proportion, and Hyperion's face;

With eyes to irradiate his imposing mien,

Divinely bright, yet awfully serene:[8]

So strong their lustre, a fierce Gaul declar'd

It frustrated the blow his arm prepar'd:

Struck by their beams, he gaz'd his rage away,

And almost worship'd whom he meant to slay.

Yet nature these fallacious orbs design'd

But as bright vizors to a hideous mind:

Fair to the sight the exterior fabrick rose,

But who could wish the inside to disclose?

In him combin'd the extremes of sense and vice,

Consummate art, and cruel cowardice.[9]

That craft, which others by experience earn'd,

His callow youth intuitively learn'd;

Whether he wrote, or spoke, or frown'd, or smil'd,

In every mood, to prosper, he beguil'd.

E'en Tully was his dupe; at once he saw

Through all its varying rays, that diamond's flaw:

Feigning at first by his advice to rise,

He plied him with insidious flatteries;

And thus secur'd that never-failing voice,

To dignify the adopting tyrant's choice:

Led by his hand, and growing to his side,

He call'd him father, counsellor, and guide;[1]

Yet little could these tender titles plead,

When furious Antony proscrib'd his head.[2]

Such are the virtues which on tyrants wait,

And such the hollow friendships of the great:

Thus by the pupil was the tutor school'd,[3]

While the grey statesman the green stripling rul'd.

O base improvidence of manly fame!

Foul deed consign'd to everlasting shame!

Thy tame assent, which bade that blood be spilt,

Pollutes thee deeper than the assassin's guilt:

Still shall the black ingratitude remain,

Nor "all great Neptune's ocean" cleanse the stain.[4]

His measures with his character conform'd;

He sapp'd the liberty, which Julius storm'd.[5]

As the smooth stream, which, glist'ning thro' the grove,

Glides on, and gliding mines its banks above,

So every rampart freedom could provide,

Silent sunk in, to swell the imperial tide.

Interest and fear, his principles innate,

Made him admire the brave, not emulate:

Unfit for arms, he war'd against his will,

Deeming e'en conquest but a splendid ill.

And sure 'twas strange, in the same mind to see,

Such vast ambition, with timidity;[5]

M. AGRIPPA

Strange, two strong passions in one breast should meet,

Where each seem'd form'd the other to defeat;

For fear's tame pinion seldom soars a flight

To the proud region of an empire's height:

Life's humble vale, where safety dwells, she loves,

And flits from palaces to shelt'ring groves.

Agrippa's valour won his arms renown,[1]

And soft Maecenas deck'd his civick crown.[2]

Where'er the poet flattering incense burn'd,

Its grateful odour on the prince he turn'd;

For well the imperial dastard's soul was known,

And adulation kept its terrors down.

Yet with Maecenas this renown he shar'd[3],

True genius to discern, and to reward;[4]

The charms of song his inmost soul could pierce,[5]

For danger lurks not in harmonious verse:

Enraptur'd with the Mantuan would he sit,[6]

Lov'd easy Horace,[7] and loose Ovid's wit;[8]

Nor unprovok'd, nor willingly, he sent

That ill-star'd libertine to banishment;

And letter'd Gallus, who so ill return'd

His sovereign bounty, guilty fell, yet mourn'd.[9]

Twice to be weary of his power he feign'd,[1]

Yet still the burden to the last retain'd;

His conscious council read his thoughts aright,

Dispell'd his doubts, and sooth'd the hypocrite.

The closest echo to the prince's mind,

Will with the prince the best acceptance find:

Not truly to relinquish he desir'd

What so much labour and such crimes acquir'd.

Yet fear, corroder of the human breast,

Allow'd him sometimes joy, but seldom rest:

Beneath his robe a plaited mail he wore,

A jealous guard secur'd his audience-door:

Ent'ring, each senator was forc'd to feel

The ruffian's palm, who search'd for secret steel:[2]

Thus despots pay the forfeit of their wrong,

Suspicion in their hearts, and flattery on the tongue.

If this be greatness, greatness sure was given

In wrath, not bounty, by consenting heaven.

Be wiser, mortals! nor let vows aspire,

That Jove may curse you by your own desire.

O hard-earn'd tyranny! the innoxious knows

No dread like this, but sleeps in safe repose;

Leaves thee thy pomp and power, so dearly bought,

And is the happy thing, thou would'st be thought.

If e'er since man was born, were known to rest

Two adverse natures in one mortal breast,

One heart by vice, and one by virtue sway'd,[3]

Supreme in him that union was display'd.

Or did remorse his former rage controul?

Or good Maecenas mollify his soul?

The friend, no doubt, and tardy conscience join'd,

To humanize at length a savage mind:

While labouring to the sovereign rule to rise,

Deceit, and fear, and monstrous cruelties,

Deform'd his life; that object once attain'd,

Wise, just, and good, and merciful he reign'd.

Fear was his source of crimes;[4] but when he rose

Above his rivals, and secure from foes,[5]

When none were left, whom caution could mistrust,

His wisdom sound it safest to be just.

Intent for ever on one great design,

By nature cruel, and by art benign,

Soon as his power supreme unquestion'd stood,[6]

For thirst of praise he chang'd his thirst of blood.

While liberty or law was but a word,[7]

And all submitted to the conquering sword,

The wavering legions only seem'd to share

His kind indulgence, and deserve his care;

Rome's wretched citizens, like worthless slaves

Were crush'd by fines, or swept to sudden graves:

A vase, a villa, or well-featur'd wife,

Once his fond boast, now snar'd the owner's life:

Blood, guiltless blood, stream'd o'er the reeking plain,

And Sylla's murd'rous spirit rang'd again.

But when the harrass'd empire breath'd in peace,

He bade the soldiers dangerous license cease;

And sternly charg'd the leaders to confine

Their future rage, by rigid discipline.[8]

Restoring thus the civil rights of men,

He curb'd the soldier, by the citizen;

To the neglected toga then return'd

The ravish'd honours it so long had mourn'd;

While each the other poiz'd, himself supreme

Observ'd the balance, and sustain'd the beam.

Wrench'd from its frame the mighty engine see,

Once mov'd by fortitude and liberty,[9]

Now rolling all its wheels but at the nod

Of one great Magus, with the imperial rod.[1]

Yet with dissimulation deep he tried,

And specious veils, his o'er-grown power to hide;

Conspicuous alone in publick care,

Plain was his habit, frugal was his fare;[2]

His modest dwelling, simple to the sight,

Provok'd no envy by its towering height;

Nor deck'd with lavish splendour, to make less

The shrinking senate's humbled littleness.

The Ides of March too fatally made known,

That daggers sometimes lurk beneath the gown;

And murder'd Caius taught him to beware,

And deem it prudence to be popular.

No open force, no secret foe can move

A throne establish'd in the people's love.[3]

Form'd to enjoy what bolder Julius won,

Serene, and clear, went down his evening sun:

While its meridian lustre chas'd away

The clouds of blood that dimm'd its rising ray.[4]

Never was power by baser means obtain'd,

Never was power more nobly us'd, when gain'd.

Time and his genius wore out every fault;

Octavius in Augustus was forgot;

And with himself compar'd, the people cried,

O, would he ne'er had liv'd, or ne'er had died!

A monster next exalted to the throne,[5]

His sapient sway with double lustre shone.

To quit the sole dictatorship he feign'd,[6]

But with the prince's name the helm retain'd;

Anxiously fond to his concluding hour,

By lawful names to sanction lawless power.[7]

And could felicity at Rome be known,

Freedom's bright ray for ever sunk and gone,

So wise, so gentle, was the Augustan reign,

Bondage might smile, and almost hug the chain.

But not his power, nor gorgeous Titan's beams,

Orient and sinking o'er Rome's subject streams;

Not all the trophies of the Julian sword,

His endless Tribuneship,[8] and name ador'd;

Not that his spacious theatres could stow

A nation for spectators at a show,[9]

Where tawny lions from hot Lybia's sand

With bloody fragments strew'd th'impurpled strand;[1]

Not that his domes in statelier order rise,[2]

Proud arches bend, and columns pierce the skies;

Not ALL, such lustre o'er his reign diffuse,

As the bright record of the immortal Muse.

Notes

4.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. xlv. c. 2.

Eloquentiam studiaque liberalia ab aetate primâ et cupide et laborio •issime exercuit. Mutinensi bello in tanta mole rerum ec legisse et scripsisse et declamasse quotidie traditur.
SUET. in Aug. 84.

↵

5.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

DION. CASS. l. xlv. c. 1.

↵

6.
Coxendice, et femore, et crure sinistro, non perinde valebat, ut saepe etiam inde claudicaret: sed remedio harenarum atque harundinum confirmabatur. Dextrae quoque manus digitum salutarem tam imbecillum interdum sentiebat, ut torpentem contractumque frigore, vix cornei circuli supplemento scripturae admoveret.—neque frigora, neque aestus facile tolerabat.

SUET. in Aug. 80, 81.

↵

7.
Forma fuit eximia, et per omnes aetatis' gradus venustissima.—Staturam habuit brevem, sed quae commoditate et aequitate membrorum occuleretur.

SUET. in Aug. 79.

↵

8.
Vultu erat, vel in sermone, vel tacitus, adeo tranquillo serenoque, ut quidam e primoribus Galliarum confessus sit inter suos, eo se inhibitum ac remollitum, quo minus, ut destinarat, in transitu Alpium per simulationem colloquii proprius admissus, in praecipitium propelleret. Oculos habuit claros ac nitidos: quibus etiam existimari volebat inesse quiddam divini vigoris.

SUET. ubi supr.

↵

9.

In splendidissimum quemque captivum, non sine verborum contumeliâ, saeviit. Ut quidem umi suppli••ter sepulturam precanti respondisse dicatur, jam istam in volucrum fore potestatem; alios, patrem et filium, pro vitâ roganteis, sortiri vel dimicare jussisse, ut alterutri concederetur: ac spectasse utrumque morientem, cum patre, qui se obtulerat, occiso, filius quoque voluntariâ occubuisset nece.
SUET. in Aug. 13.

Pinarium equitem R. cum concionante se admissa turba paganorum apud milites subscribere quaedam animadvertisset, curiosum ac speculatorem ratus, coram confodi imperavit.
Idem. ubi supr. 27.

Thallo a manu, quod pro epistola proditâ denarios quinquentos accepisset, crura effregit.
Idem, ubi supr. 67.

Et Q. Gallium Praetorem, in officio salutationis, tabulas duplices veste tectas tenentem, suspicatus gladium occulere, nec quidquam statim, ne aliud inveniretur, ausus inquirere, paulo post per centuriones et milites raptum e tribunali, servilem in modum torsit: ac fatentem nihil jussit occidi, pruis oculis ejus suâ manu effossis.
Idem. ubi supr. 27.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. lv. c. 7.

On the general subject of Roman cruelty, see note (D) at the end of this volume.

↵

1.
Licet ergo patrem appellet Octavius Ciceronem, referat omnia, laudet, gratias agat; tamen illud apparebit, verba rebus esse contraria.

BRUT. Epist. ad Attic.

↵

2.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
PLUT. in Anton.

We are told by Appian, (p. 601.) that Popilius Laenas, who had solicited to be employed in the assassination of his protector and benefactor, (Val. Max. l. v. c. 3.) shewed Antony from a distance, while sitting in the court of judicature, the head and hand of Cicero, ludicrously moving them backwards and forwards, and that he was so delighted with this hideous spectacle, that he immediately ordered Laenas to be crowned, and rewarded him with two hundred and fifty thousand drachmas, (807 2l. 18s. 4d.) paying the other cut-throats employed in the proscription only the tenth part of that sum.

If any thing could have been more atrocious than Antony's assassination of Cicero, it was the baseness and ingratitude of Octavius in suffering it. We are told by Suetonius that he for some time resisted the proscription, but that when he had once acceded to it, and it was begun, he carried it on with more severity than either of his colleagues.

Restitit quidem aliquandiu collegis, ne qua fieret proscriptio, sed incoeptam utroque acerbius exercuit. Namque illis in multorum saepe personam per gratiam et preces exorabilibus, solus magnopere contendit ne cui parceretur; proscripsitque etiam C. Toranium tutorem suum, eundemque collegam patris sui Octavii in aedilitate.
SUET. in Aug. 27.

↵

3.
Utinam tam facile eum [sc. Octavium] florentem et honoribus et gratia regere ac tenere possimus, quam facile adhuc tenuimus!

CIC Epist. ad Brut.

↵

4.
Macbeth.
↵

5.
Posito triumviri nomine, consulem se ferens, et ad tuendam plebem tribunicio jure contentum; ubi militem donis, populum anonâ, cunctos dulcedine otii pellexit, insurgere PAULLATIM, munia senatus, magistratuum, legum in se trahere, nullo adversante; cum ferocissimi per acies aut proscriptione cecidissent: caeteri nobilium, quanto quis servitio promptior, opibus et honoribus extollerentur; ac novis ex rebus aucti, tuta et praesentia quàm vetera et periculosa mallent.—Domi res tranquillae; EADEM MAGISTRATUUM VOCABULA. Juniores post Actiacam victoriam, etiam senes plerique inter bella civium, nati. Quotusquisque reliquus, qui rempublicam vidisset? Igitur verso civitatis statu, nihil usquam prisci et integri moris: omnîs exuta equalitate jussa principis aspectare.

TACIT. Annal. l. i.

↵

5.
History does not entirely justify the charging Octavius with notorious deficiency of personal spirit, as a soldier. Antony's accusation, dictated less by truth than spleen and enmity, cannot be admitted as decisive evidence. He uttered whatever he thought most likely to affront or injure the man whom he hated. On some occasions, particularly on a Dalmatian expedition, he led on his troops with persevering gallantry, and was grievously wounded. His courage was not always equal and steady, or like that of Julius, when necessary, ardent; nor fierce like Antony's, who hardly possessed any other great quality; but he did not shamefully decline danger, when by encountering it his reputation or interest could be materially promoted. With his great understanding, (inconsistent as it may appear,) he was superstitious; a believer in dreams, signs, and omens. How often are the weaknesses of the silliest of mankind countenanced by similar folly in the wisest! A servant who carried a torch before him, having been struck dead by lightning, he ever after hid himself under ground when it thundered. Had Julius been witness to such an accident, he would have been more confirmed in his indifference to the future danger; reasoning from the improbability that lightning should strike twice so near the same person. The precautions of Octavius for his personal security at home, though they might have been suggested to him by his friends, certainly denote a timorous disposition; and some of his detestable cruelties can be fairly imputed to no better motive than natural cowardice, which he concealed or subdued in the field, and at the head of an army.
↵

1.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. li. c. 3.

Julius Caesar, except in one instance, was always successful, when he commanded in person; Augustus conquered by his lieutenants.

To the great ministers, Agrippa and Maecenas, was Octavius chiefly obliged, not only for the security of his reign, but for the change of his disposition; for the art of governing mildly, for the adoration of his name and memory, and for his just title to the cognomen of AUGUSTUS, conferred upon him with the approbation of the Roman people. Agrippa was a consummate statesman and soldier, and never known to miscarry in any military enterprise. The empire might almost be called his gift to Octavius.

↵

2.

Caesaris et famae vestigia juncta tenebis:

Maecenatis erunt vera trophaea fides.

PROPERT. l. iii. el. 9.

Arts and mankind, not arms, were the study of Maecenas. Humane and discerning, though apparently voluptuous and effeminate, he understood perfectly every weakness and vice of his master's heart and temper, and the whole extent of his capacity. Availing himself of this knowledge, he turned one of the young Caesar's most obvious defects, his natural timidity, into the means of his preservation, and finally of his glory. He convinced him that while he ruled only by severity, no vigilance could secure him from danger, but that by setting the example in his own person of encouraging arts, sciences, and literature in all its branches, he might by degrees soften the ferocity of the descendents of Romulus, and excite among them a competition new and harmless, which would leave to him the unmolested and unenvied possession of his supreme domination. Here he appears like the good genius of his master, employing the ministration of learned and ingenious men, poets in particular, to humanize a heart, which, left to itself, would have become daily more indurated and sanguinary. To shelter himself from any jealousy which his own great delegated power and popularity might raise in the suspicious bosom of the emperor, Maecenas gave into every kind of delicate pleasure and luxurious indulgence, even beyond the bent of his natural inclination. Thus he preserved his credit, and the power he delighted in, of encouraging and rewarding men of talents and merit.

Much praise is due to Augustus for choosing such able and excellent ministers, who while they consulted his true interest, endeared him to his people, and were not deterred from the freedom of expostulation by the fear of incurring his momentary displeasure. When Seneca attempts to disparage the memory of Maecenas, by calling him "mollem, non mitem," he sacrifices truth to the prettiness of alliteration. He was the liberal patron of genius; enriched particularly Virgil and Horace, and lived loving and beloved by them on terms of equal and manly friendship. How amiable is the picture of their society, as presented by Horace in the few following words of his ninth satire!

—Non isto vivimus illic

Quo tu rere modo; domus hac nec purior ulla est,

Nec magis his aliena malis.

↵

3.

Quod Flacco, Varioque fuit, summoque Maroni,

Maecenas, atavis regibus ortus eques,

Gentibus et populis hoc te mihi, Prisce Terenti,

Fama fuisse loquax, chartaque dicet anus.

Martial. l. xii. epigr. 4.

—minimum vati munus Alexis erat.

Idem. l. v. epigr. 16.

↵

4.
Ingenia seculi sui omnibus modis fovit. Recitantes et benigne et patienter audivit; nec tantum carmina et historias, sed et orationes, et dialogos.

SUET. in Aug. 89.

↵

5.

Plane poematum quoque non imperitus, delectabatur etiam comediâ veteri, et saepe eam exhibuit publicis spectaculis.
SUET. in Aug. 89.

—quum esset in urbe, et propter suas infinitas occupationes minus saepe, quam vellet, Attico frueretur, nullus dies tamen temerè intercessit, quo non ad eum scriberet, quo non aliquid de antiquitate ab eo requireret; modo aliquam ei questionem poeticam proponeret.
CORN. NEP. in Attic.

↵

6.

—ille tuae felix Aeneidos auctor,—.
OVID. ad Aug. Trist. l. ii. 533.

In amicos fidus exstitit; quorum praecipui erant ob taciturnitatem Maecenas, ob patientiam laboris, modestiamque, Agrippa. Diligebat praeterea Virgilium.
AUR. VICTOR. epitom.

↵

7.
An vereris ne apud posteros infame tibi sit, quod videaris familiaris nobis esse?

AUG. Epist. ad Hor. apud SUET.

↵

8.
Esse quidem memini mitissima sedibus illis Numina.

OVID. Trist. l. i. el. 1.

↵

9.

Gallo ad necem compulso, vicem suam conquestas est, quod sibi soli non liceret amicis quatenus vellet irasci.
SUET. in Aug. 66.

Cornelius Gallus was by Augustus appointed Prefect of Egypt, a peculiar kind of government, the power and insignia of which were almost kingly. He forgot his obligations to his master, and took so many indiscreet liberties with his name and character, that he lost his government, and was forbid the Court. An infamous informer afterwards accused him of being engaged in a sort of conspiracy against the emperor, of which the prone and servile senators taking cognizance, they sentenced him to banishment and confiscation. He put an end to his own life. Augustus either was or affected to be much grieved at his catastrophe, and displeased at the senate's rigour. Gallus, to whom Virgil has inscribed his tenth pastoral, was a distinguished patron of learning, and the restorer of the Alexandrian Library, which, to the great regret of Julius Caesar, had been consumed by fire while he was in Egypt.
DION. CASS. l. lii. 17. l. liii. 23. SUET. in Aug 66.

↵

1.

De reddenda republicâ bis cogitavit.
SUET. in Aug. 28. See also DION CASS. l. lii. pr.

Caesar's second proposal of restoring the Commonwealth was made in the senate-house, and the business on his part conducted with refined artifice. Knowing that the sense of the majority would be in consonance with his own, for his retaining the supreme direction of affairs, he declared he would not take upon himself the whole weight of government, but share the provinces with the senate and people. He expressed himself content to take the direction of such as were most liable to seditions and disturbances, and of the frontiers, exposed to incursions from foreign enemies; leaving to the senate those where they might enjoy the sweets of peaceful command without danger and alarm. Under this pretence, at once obliging and subdolous, he left the senate without troops, and reserved to himself the command of all the forces of the empire.

↵

2.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. liv. c. 12.

—quo tempore existimatur loricâ sub veste munitus, ferroque cinctus praesdisse, decem valentissimis senatorii ordinis amicis sellam suam circumstantibus. Cordus Cremutius scribit ne admissum quidem tune quemquam senatorum, nisi solum, et praetentato sinu.
SUET. in Aug. 35.

How despicable does the timorous precaution of Augustus for the safety of his person appear, when compared with the gallant negligence of Julius, who declared it was better to die at once, than to live in perpetual apprehension of mortality!

↵

3.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

HESIOD.

↵

4.
—cuncta ferit, dum cuncta timet; desaevit in omnes.

CLAUD.

↵

5.
—cuncta discordiis civilibus fessa, nomine principis, sub imperium accepit.

TACIT. Annal. l. 1.

↵

6.
Cum tot sustineas, et tanta negotia SOLUS,—.

HOR.

↵

7.

—Quand par le fer les choses sont vuidées,

La justice et le droit sont de vaines idées.

La mort de Pompée par Corneille.

Silent leges inter arma.

CIC.

↵

8.
Disciplinam severissime rexit.

SUET. in Aug. 24.

↵

9.

What form of government is best, has long been an undecided question; but it does not seem difficult to determine that the worst is Democracy, especially, when occasioned by a revolution, in states where the people have been little considered, and long accustomed to subjection: not that nature has made any difference between the Nobleman and the Peasant, but education and habit have made a great deal. We should be surprised to find an excellent artist in any mechanical business, who was ignorant of the rudiments of the art, and had served no apprenticeship; then why should we expect that illiterate men, whose minds have been engaged in the meanest occupations, should be qualified at once to exercise the most difficult and sublime of all arts, that of governing? To their ignorance must be added another natural cause or impediment, the spirit of revenge arising from a sense of the indignities to which they had been accustomed; always engendering cruelty, and the desire of retaliation.

The first cause of dissensions and tumults among the Romans was not so much the existence of distinctions between Patricians and Plebeians, as that such distinctions were made too apparent, by the appropriation of honours and offices in one order, and exclusion in the other. To encroach upon this line of separation was the continual endeavour of the Plebeians, while the Patricians laboured as strenuously to prevent the encroachment. Till these distinctions were removed, Rome was a perpetual theatre of secessions, feuds, and insurrection. It is remarkable, that, when the Plebeians were first allowed to be eligible and to elect to the great offices of the state, they did not choose a single magistrate from their own order; no doubt from consciousness of their deficiency. In time they turned their attention to the science of government, and became masters of it.—The way to honours and emoluments is open to all ranks of men in Great Britain.

In note (E) at the end of this volume, will be found some additional remarks on the Democracy of Athens.

↵

1.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
DION. CASS. l. liii. c. 28.

Not content with absolving him from existing laws, the Senatenabled him to make new laws at his pleasure:
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
Ibid. l. liv. c. 10.

↵

2.

Instrumenti ejus et supellectilis parsimonia apparet etiam nunc, residuis lectis atque mensis, quorum pleraque vix privatae elegantiae sunt.

Veste non temere aliâ quam domesticâ. usus est, ab uxore, et sorore, et filiâ, neptibusque confectâ.

Caenam trinis ferculis, aut, cum abundantissime senis, praebebat.

SUET. in Aug. 73, 74.

↵

3.
Caritate et benevolentia civium septum oportet esse, non armis.

Cic. Phil. ii.

↵

4.
Who that is acquainted with the life and actions of the second Caesar, would expect to find Bacon, the learned, the discriminating Bacon, "the wisest, greatest of mankind," pronouncing the following deliberate judgment upon this blood-bolter'd emperor? "Augusto Caesari, si cui mortalium, magnitudo animi inerat inturbida, serena, et ordinata." To every term of this encomium exists a huge contradiction in his unmanly and outrageous affliction for the loss of the legions under Q. Varo in Germany: "Adeo namque consternatum ferunt, (says his biographer, Suetonius,) ut per continuos menses barba capilloque summisso, caput interdum foribus illideret, vociferans, Quinctili Vare, legiones redde!" There is not much of the undisturbed and serene greatness of soul in this dejection and vociferation, even after he had assumed the name of Augustus. We may excuse his hurting himself, but we discover still less of the well regulated temper, when for a mere cowardly suspicion he tore out with his own hands the eyes of a Roman Praetor.
↵

5.
Tiberius, of all the execrable Caesars the most execrable.—The olidus senex is thus described in Paradise Regained:

"This emperor hath no son, and now is old,

"Old and lascivious, and from Rome retir'd

"To Capreae, an island small but strong

"On the Campanian shore; with purpose there

"His horrid lusts in private to enjoy;

"Committing to a wicked favourite

"All publick care, and yet of him suspicious,—

"Hated by all, and hating."—

↵

6.
Dictaturam magna vi offerente populo, genu nixus dejecta ab humeris toga, nudo pectore deprecatus est.

SUET. in Aug.

↵

7.
Every increase of his new authority, every surrender to him of a publick right, every encroachment upon the old constitution, Augustus was careful to have legalized, and formally confirmed by a decree of the senate. While he governed wisely and equitably, nothing seemed to be lost; but the same power passing into the hands of a series of daemons rather than men, made the wretched riveters of their own chains groan over them afterwards in despicable and unpitied anguish.
↵

8.

Tribunitiam potestatem perpetuam recepit.
SUET. in Aug. 27.

—ad tuendam plebem, tribunitio jure contentus.
TACIT. Annal. l. i.

The personal inviolability annexed to the office of Tribune, induced Augustus to invest himself with it in perpetuity. A singular perversion! which strongly shews the efficacy of names, the emperor sheltering himself under the title of the most popular Roman magistrate, in order more securely to deprive the people entirely of their influence and liberty. It may remind us of Choraebus in the second book of Virgil, wearing a Grecian helmet and shield, and killing the Greeks with their own weapons, of which he had despoiled them:

—Sic fatus, deinde comantem

Androgei galeam, clypeique insigne decorum

Induitur: laterique Argivum accommodat ensem.

↵

9.
Spectaculorum et assiduitate et varietate atque magnificentiâ omnes antecessit.

SUET. in Aug. 43.

↵

1.

The following lines, Sur les Arênes de Nismes, are to be found in a RECUEIL AMUSANT DE VOYAGES, and are, I think, in so good a style, that a reader who has not met with them before, will be pleased to see them here:

Quoi! dis-je, c'est ici, sur cette même pierre

Qu'ont épargne les ans, la vengeance, et la guerre,

Que ce sexe si cher au reste des mortels,

Ornement adoré de ces jeux criminels,

Venoit, d'un front serrein, et de meurtres avide,

Savourer a loisir un spectacle homicide!

C'est dans ce triste lieu qu'un jeune beauté,

Ne respirant ailleurs qu'amour et volupté,

Par le geste fatal de sa main renversée

Déclaroit sans pitié sa barbare pensée,

Et conduisoit de l'oeil le poignard suspendu

Dans le flanc du captif à ses pieds étendu!

The publick spectacles at Rome were calculated to amuse the prince and people, and to render them insensible to the feelings of humanity. How different from the genius of the intellectual theatre! Lewis the fourteenth, after having been present at the representation of Corneille's Cinna, or the Clemency of Augustus, was heard to declare, that had he then been asked to pardon the Chevalier de Rohan, he would have consented. This anecdote deserves the notice of some singularists, who affect to think that the stage is prejudicial to morals. Comedy has been sometimes licentious; but next to the Divinity which presides over the eloquence of the pulpit, the Tragick Muse has been the chief priestess of virtue. "I never thought those ugly beetles had any feeling, (says a child to its mother,) till I heard the pretty lady in MEASURE FOR MEASURE say so." The moral of the Greek stage is perhaps too much confined to prudential precept, and reverence for absurd superstition. The French drama, till its late perversion, was perfect purity. Even the Operas of Metastatio abound with the noblest sentiments; and a very small number of our own tragedies excepted, where can the vicious heart, the sullen temper, or the perverted understanding, find such efficacious pharmacy as on the stage of England? Were a deaf man to enter the theatre before "a well graced actor leaves the stage," he would soon discover what sentiment was prevalent, from the sympathy of the audience. He would see indignant scorn at succesful villainy, the kind bosom heaving for distress, or the countenance expanded and exulting at the triumph of integrity and honour. The seeds of goodness are almost in every mind, and a little culture may prevent their degenerating.

↵

2.

Urbem neque pro majestate imperii ornatam, et inundationibus incendiisque obnoxiam, excoluit adeo, ut jure sit gloriatus, marmoream se relinquere quam lateritiam accepisset.
SUET. in Aug. 29.

Some private Romans erected at their own expence publick edifices costly enough to exhaust the revenues of a Bedford or a Marlborough.

↵

VIRGIL.[3] A. U. C. 684—735.

Hush'd be each ruder breath, and clamorous tongue!

Apollo listens to the Mantuan's song.

〈◊〉

You chief, who own bright inspiration's flame,

With mighty Homer's palm divide his claim.[4]

Favourite with me of all the harmonious quire,

A child I felt him, and a man admire:

If grief or care my anxious mind engage,

Secure of ease, I search great Maro's page;

For deep and rankling, sure, must be the wounds,

That find no balm in his enchanting sounds.

As Jesse's son Saul's frenzy could compose,[5]

The madness sinking, as the musick rose;

As oil, diffus'd with philosophick skill,

At once the agitated wave can still;

His tuneful magick o'er my senses glides,

The charm prevails, and all my pain subsides.

In the wild conflict of Eliza's breast,

Ill-fated fair, what wond'rous skill's express'd![6]

For thee, Sidonian queen,[7] ensnar'd, betray'd,—

Like thy fond Anna,[8] mourns each gentle maid;

Turns with disdain from Jove's profan'd abodes,

The obdurate Trojan, and conspiring gods.[9]

A royal wretch, by love, by shame pursued!

Censure, by milder pity sinks subdued:

Her woman's frame in such a whirlwind tost,

The venial frailty in the feeling's lost:

We join the tempest of her frantick tongue,

And cry—Rocks, storms, and juster gods, revenge the wrong!

Poets, who meditate the lofty theme,—

To win the crouded theatre's esteem,

At this perennial fount the secret seek,

To bid the passions, not the fancy, speak:

No languid apathy, in pomp of phrase,

Here lulls the anguish tragick woe should raise;

His clew the mazy labour can control,

And wind through all the labyrinth of the soul.

In other strains than his, who could endure

The rugged plough describ'd, the field's manure;

The humbler duties of the shepherd's toil,

And the coarse cares that tame a stubborn soil?[1]

As hardest blocks the Phidian chissels choose,

The rudest subjects charm by Maro's muse:

He, like the lord of all th'extended land,

Superior, and unstain'd, alone can stand.

Beneath the master's eye the wain moves on,

The hinds appear to sweat, the steer to groan;

Brisk Dryades, light fawns, and satyrs lead,

While swarthy Pan inspires the jocund reed;

Abundant Ceres smiles, the vales rejoice,

And every rural god obeys his voice.

While not unseen the playful heifer feeds[2]

On the green herbage of the flowery meads,

Then nature's sting the lordly bull constrains

To drive his bellowing rival o'er the plains:

The green-ey'd monster brutal breasts can move,

To rage, like Shakspeare's Moor, with jealous love.

Hark! how the neighbouring caves are heard to moan

With the deep thunder of his smother'd groan!

Behold his spurning heel, his chest's broad size,

Like stars with blood bedimm'd, his glowing eyes!

We share the sturdy combat from afar,

And own the terrours of the horny war.

With dewlaps gor'd, and lacerated sides,

Remote, his shame the vanquish'd champion hides;

Yet one last look, indignant casts around,

To view the mistress lost, and hateful ground;

Then, stern receding from the hard-fought plain,

Threatens fierce strife, with mightier force again.

Or, when the mute prone creatures of the soil,

By plagues subdued, resign their useful toil,

His plaintive lays their secret woes reveal,

And what they cannot speak, our breasts must feel.

Majestick bard! as golden skies bestow

A mellow tinge on humble vales below,

Warm'd by thy lyre, where'er its rays descend,

Richness and radiance on the themes attend:

From Tityrus, beneath the beech reclin'd,

To Turnus shrinking from the death design'd,

Some kindred muse breathes in each tuneful line,

And the verse glows with all the assisting nine.[3]

Now, near two thousand years since Virgil's birth,

The sun, grown older, has illumin'd earth,

And brightly his inspiring beams has shed

O'er genius living, and th' illustrious dead,

Yet still supreme, unequall'd, and alone,

Sits the threat Mantuan on the epick throne.[4]

Notes

3.

From the indifferent success which has attended the several attempts to translate Virgil into our language, one would be at first led to imagine that it is next to impossible to transfuse the spirit of Roman poetry into English, and to cast the blame on our tongue, not on our translators; did not Rowe's admirable version of Lucan refute such an opinion. Whatever may be the reason, no great ancient poet is less indebted to translators than Virgil; nor without acquaintance with him in his native language can any adequate idea be formed of his peculiar genius and excellence.

Dryden, himself a great poet, is often unfaithful, diffuse, licentious, or negligent. I have never met with any person who recollected twenty lines together of his translation, while hundreds not only remember, but cannot forget, almost whole books of the original. The version of Pitt is less licentious, in particular passages more brilliant, but upon the whole languid: while Trap, as Doctor Johnson observes, is now only a clandestine refuge for the laziness of school-boys. A translation of Ariosto is extant, which like Trap's of Virgil, retains every word of the meaning without one spark of the spirit of the author: these versions may remind us of an experiment which has been attempted, of turning brandy into water. Such is the common inferiority of translation.

With respect to Virgil, the difficulty consists perhaps in this. One of the principal charms of his poetry lies in the admirable choice of his terms, the most significant and sonorous in which his images can be expressed; another, in the harmonious dignity and majestick stream of his numbers. Like his own Clitumnus, the course is smooth, but the picture is diversified with enlivening and splendid objects. He has, however, a style and composition peculiar to himself. An imitator may have many beauties, without having the beauties of Virgil. Let the English poet, for a poet he should be who attempts to resemble him, first form to himself a style, choice, rich, and glowing as his language can furnish; and giving this all the variety of modulation of which it is capable, adhere to it from the beginning, for Virgil is never unequal; and after he has completed an excellent poem, which can stand by itself with all the air of an original, he may then assure himself that he has done some justice to Maro. Pope has effected this with the Iliad. If it is not like Homer, as some are pleased to affirm, it must at least be allowed to stand alone unimitated and inimitable.

Rowe, in my opinion, would have translated Virgil better than Dryden; for though he had not equal scope and fire of genius, his taste was more correct, he was less careless, and more pathetick; and I imagine, had more literature, or had better improved the care employed in his education. It may be doubted whether a very good taste be not more requisite to make a good translator, than great genius. I do not however mean to insinuate that Pope did not possess both most eminently; though I have lived to hear (heu nefas!) the coarse couplets of the occasional Churchill preferred to his immortal labours.

Happening lately to cast my eye over a page or two of Dryden's version of the Georgicks, it really appeared to me like burlesque; more contemptibly ludicrous than the avowed travesty of Cotton; with no more resemblance to the beautiful original, than subsists beween the mask of an ape and the countenance of Antinous.—Let the reader who has curiosity, and a little time to mispend, turn to the technical storm in the first Aeneid, full of the language of the dock-yard, and to other disfigured passages; he will not hesitate to pronounce this great poet convicted either of most vicious taste, or of elaborate affectation. When I reflect, in particular, how he has contrived to degrade that eminently beautiful passage just mentioned, I can hardly forbear crying out with Angelo,
—Having waste ground enough,

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!

The inequalities of Shakspeare are not more frequent, or so unaccountable, as those of the literate John Dryden. There is indeed as much difference between Virgil in his Roman toga, and his English doublet, as between a forest tree in June and January, or as between the right and the wrong side of Gobelin tapestry.

Who that has read the late Mr. Mickle's version of the Lusiad, but must wish he had turned his thoughts to the Aeneid? He would probably have had the same success with Virgil as with Camoens.—Cervantes in the sixth chapter of the first book of Don Quixote, speaking of poetical translations, determines against them thus: "—y lo mesmo haràn todos aquellos que los libros de verso quisieren volver en otra lengua; que, por mucho cuydado que pongan, y habilidad que muestren, jamas llegeràn al punto que ellos tienen en su primer nacimiento." The Lusiad of Mickle is a shining exception.

Would the painter of the BOTANICK GARDEN condescend to become a translator of Virgil, we should see the English Georgicks illuminated with the brightest radiance of poetical genius, and, like the clouds round a fulgent setting sun in autumn, glowing with all the richness of gold and purple. His profusion of fancy and luxuriance of diction would not suffer much injury from the little restraint of conformity to a model so excellent.

↵

4.
Whoever wishes to see the numerous instances in which Virgil has borrowed from Homer, or imitated him, may find them enumerated by Macrobius. The ancients seem not to have considered the borrowing whole passages from an author who wrote in a different language, as plagiarism.
↵

5.
And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from GOD was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was weil, and the evil spirit departed from him.

1 SAMUEL, xvi. 23.

↵

6.
The fourth book of Virgil is completely dramatick, with strict preservation of character, the most affecting pathos, and the most tragick catastrophe. In this book he has penetrated into the recesses of the female heart with an intuition like Shakspeare's. In his Dido is displayed a knowledge of nature, and of the passion of love, which is only equalled by our immortal poet in the most transcendent of all his pieces, Othello. The conflict in her distracted bosom, her sense of reputation, of royal dignity, and of matron honour, all borne down by the storm of one irresistible passion, engage all our feelings in favour of this unfortunate woman; insomuch that the pious Aeneas, who is equally frail, and coolly perfidious, becomes the object of contempt or detestation, while he and his gods, who greatly embellish the Dramatis Personae, excite a more tender interest for their deluded and unsuspecting victim. This episode, as it is called, appears to me almost the master-piece of Virgil. A considerable part of the fourth book consists of Dido's speeches, and there is not a single line of declamation in any of her dialogues or soliloquies. The purity of Virgil's taste is not less conspicuous on all occasions, than his other unrivalled excellencies.
↵

7.

Hic templum Junoni ingens Sidonia Dido

Condebat,—.

Aen. i. 450.

↵

8.

Quid primum deserta querar? comitemne sororem

Sprevisti moriens? eadem me ad fata vocasses,

Idem ambas ferro dolor, atque eadem hora tulisset.

Aen. iv. 677.

↵

9.

Egregiam vero laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,

Tuque, puerque tuus; magnum et memorabile nomen;

Una dolo Divum si foemina victa duorum est.—

Aen. iv. 93.

—sed nullis ille movetur

Fletibus, aut voces ullas tractabilis audit.—

Ibid. 438.

↵

1.
See the Georgicks, passim.
↵

2.

Pascitur in magnâ silvâ formosa juvenca:

Illi alternantes multâ vi proelia miscent

Vulneribus crebris;—.

Geor. iii. 219.

↵

3.

How exquisite must have been the taste of the poet, who could order the Aeneid to be destroyed after his death, as thinking it too imperfect to do him honour!—One of the greatest obligations posterity owes to the memory of Augustus, is his not suffering the suppression of that divine poem.

Virgil is supposed to have employed seven years in the composition of his Georgicks, the most perfect poem in the opinion of many very eminent criticks extant in any language. The whole work divided into four books, consists of little more than two thousand lines; but so many beauties were perhaps never before or since comprised within so small a compass.

To a mere English reader, the SEASONS of Thomson, though a work clearly original, will convey a better idea of the Georgicks, than any translation I have met with. Thomson, in this most beautiful poem, (one of the greatest ornaments of his country,) dips his pencil in the same glowing colours with which the Mantuan has painted the face of rural nature. We can perceive that he often casts his eye upon the Roman poet; not with the servile timidity of an imitator, but like a master, able to think for himself, to select, combine, and create by the vigour of his own genius.

In the style of these two Raffaelles of description, there is very perceptible difference. Thomson, though not more rich, is more luxuriant than Virgil; more sententious, diffusive, and abounding much more in epithets. The Bricon perhaps might not have turned his thoughts to the Seasons, had not the Georgicks preceded; yet even allowing to the latter the advantage of the Latin language, it is not easy to decide which production deserves the preference: for my own part, I am commonly inclined to give it to that which I have read latest. Thomson has sometimes weak expletive lines, Virgil never. Transposition of words now and then, though but rarely, constitutes poetry in the Seasons; the structure of Virgil's verse cannot be altered without injuring the harmony or the image. Thomson's episodes are very justly commended; yet the Pastor Aristaeus in the fourth Georgick is superior to any of them.

The declamatory style which loads Thomson's tragedies, mixes well in a poem of such length and expansion as the Seasons. The mind, tranquilized by the scenes his muse has raised, allows him to assume the dignity of an instructor, and to indulge in whatever mood happens to have the ascendency. We may find perhaps upon the whole more eloquence in the modern, and in the ancient more energy.

↵

4.

The author does not mean that as an epick poet Virgil was superior to Homer, who wrote so many ages before him; but that he is superior to such as have appeared since his nativity. The number is not considerable, and of these our Milton is unquestionably the greatest. Among many other slanders, Voltaire describes him as "celui qui a gaté l'enfer et le diable du Tasse, &c." The Frenchman understood Milton but little better than he did Shakspeare. It is remarkable that in the fastidious censures of his noble Venetian Pococuranté in Candide, he praises only the three episodical books of Virgil, the second, fourth, and sixth, where there is more of relation than action; because he has himself attempted to follow these models in his Henriade: wishing always to persuade his countrymen that it is the most finished epick poem the wit of man ever produced, in any language.

There is certainly more bustle, and less interest, in the last half of the Aeneid than the first; and perhaps the episode in the ninth book is the most beautiful part of any of the last six. Wherever there is room for pathos, he is inimitable. The death of the stag in the seventh book, Nisus and Euryalus in the ninth, Pallas and Lausus, and the lamentations over them, must touch every heart not utterly divested of sensibility. He has many sublime descriptions and passages in every book, and the constant majesty of his numbers has never been equalled.

↵

TIBULLUS.[5] A. U. C. 691—734.

To learn, pale Elegy, thy genuine strain,

Let soft Tibullus move thee to complain:

A pensive maid, whose bosom's deep distress

Her sober steps and heartfelt sighs confess;

With eyes of blue, that languishingly swim,

Unconscious of the tears that swell their brim.

Her stole of violet tinge, with flowing grace,

Improves her mournful dignity of pace;

Cyprus, sad emblem of disastrous love,

(A weeping Cupid kiss'd it as he wove,)

And flowers of dusky hue, entwin'd appear,

To form the wreath, that binds her auburn hair:

O'er her white breast her folded arms are laid,

And solitude she seeks, and noiseless shade.

If feign'd the passion, and the pang unfelt,

What heart so hard his numbers could not melt?

The sympathizing soul his notes involve;

Like snows they fall, and as they fall, dissolve.

No turns, no points, for admiration call,

But all is simple, plain, and natural;

For love's true language, void of dress and art,

Neglects the fancy, and secures the heart.—

When piping winds, and thick-descending rain,[6]

Assail the shelter of his roof in vain,

His tender mind the inclement hour improves,

Till rest turns rapture with the maid he loves.

Notes

5.

The tender suavity of Tibullus, and his plaintive simplicity, cannot be too much admired; yet it has been said that his pattern was Parthenius, upon the authority, I think, of Macrobius. Of the writings of Parthenius little has been preserved. Too much indulgence has been given to the humour of preferring works which are lost to those which remain; and of regretting the want of those originals, upon which we are to suppose the excellent, though inferior, poems which we have in our hands, were formed. In this manner we must conceive Lucillius to have been superior to Horace, Varus to Virgil, and Parthenius to Tibullus. No better consequence can result from this fruitless repining after unknown and perished perfection, than to diminish the satisfaction of our actual enjoyment, by the mixture of another sentiment not so pleasing. But in our own experience we may find the true consolation. There is little doubt, that had we now only a few lucky fragments of Chaucer and Donne, some of our criticks would prefer them to Dryden and Pope; for Dryden himself in order to recommend his beautiful tale of Palamon and Arcite, modernized from Chaucer, and infinitely improved, spends several pages of the preface to his Fables, to raise the rugged old English bard to a competition with Ovid; nay, in his dedicatory verses to the Duchess of Ormond, he boldly sets him above Homer and Virgil:
He match'd their beauties, where they most excell,

Of love sung better, and of arms as well.
So sings Dryden; but poetry without harmony is to my sense no better than a violin without strings, or a cracked trumpet.

The only ancient prodigy of England is Shakspeare. His numbers are often not less sweet, than his conceptions are sublime and original. Had only a few of his best scenes and dramas descended to us, well might the modern exclaim that the loss of the rest was irreparable. Yet even in this mighty genius something is to be forgiven, and something to be rejected. Where he possesses his true inspiration, he never was, nor ever will be, equalled. "Nature (as Pope says) speaks through him."

Neither are the praises lavished by contemporary writers on each other a sure standard at all times to ascertain their real value. Horace, the most discerning of criticks, though superior to envy, now and then pays a courtly compliment to the productions of a Roman pen, when in the hand of a great statesman or magistrate, which their intrinsick merit probably would not have extorted from him. Lord Halifax, the Bufo of Great-Britain, has left his verses behind him to give the lie to his flatterers; to reach us to appreciate for ourselves, and not to depend upon the panegyrick even of an Addison, when the scribbler and the minister happen to be united in the same person.

In Tibullus the charms of elegy may be found in genuine perfection. He has been well imitated, and better translated, by the English Hammond. Lord Chesterfield in a short preface to the Love Elegies, seems aware that his friend may be considered only in the character of a translator; and says artfully enough, that "he chose Tibullus rather than Ovid as his model." It is somewhat extraordinary that Dr. Johnson in his account of this English poet, when he very justly condemns him for introducing Roman imagery and heathen mythology into verses supposed to be the effusions of amorous passion, does not seem to recollect that in all these passages and many more, Hammond is only the literal translator of Tibullus. Had this circumstance been fairly acknowledged by himself or his noble editor, he would have escaped the severity of Johnson's censure. To the best of my recollection there are scarcely one hundred original lines in Hammond's Love Elegies.

Since the foregoing remark was written, it has been suggested to me by a friend, that the same observation was made soon after the appearance of the biographical work above referred to: "Dr. Johnson, in his late admirable LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS, speaking of Mr. Hammond, observes, that 'his elegies have neither pathos, nature, or manners.' They certainly have neither of the latter; and whatever of the former they contain is the passion of a Roman, not of an Englishman. It is surprising that the cause of this defect escaped this most judicious critick. In short, these elegies are almost all, if not translations, very close imitations, of Tibullus. In the whole number there are but four original. Of this any one may be convinced, who will take the trouble to compare these poems with those of the Roman Knight. For the satisfaction of the classical reader, I will subjoin a list of those elegies which Hammond has copied:

HAMMOND.

TIBULLUS.

El. 1

l. ii. el. iv. 1—38.

2

ii. el. vi.

3

ii. el. iv. 39—50.

4

iii. el. v.

5

i. el. ii.

6

ii. el. vii.

7

ii. el. iii.

8

iii. el. iii.

9

iii. el. ii.

11

i. el. xi.

i. el. i. 45—52.

12

iii. el. vii.

13

i. el. i.

i. el. v. 31—34.

By the foregoing table the reader will observe, that of Hammond's elegies, the tenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, alone appear to have been unborrowed. It is, however, but just to add, that this unfortunate and amiable poet, though he has no pretensions to the title of an original writer, must be acknowledged to have been a very harmonious and elegant versifier.
Gentleman's Magazine, for 1781, Vol. 51. p. 369.

↵

6.

Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem,

Et dominam tenero continuisse sinu;

Aut, gelidas hybernus aquas quum fuderit auster,

Securum somnos, imbre juvante, sequi!—

Tibul. l. i. el. i.

↵

HORACE.[7] A. U. C. 689—746.

Persuasive Horace! how his varying lay

Can dash bold vice, or with light foibles play!

HORACE.

The task of reformation he beguiles,

Alike instructing, if he frowns or smiles;[8]

Till by his easy precepts wiser grown,

Men pardon others' faults, and mend their own:

They find fierce passions by calm sense withstood,

And small the labour to be just and good.

No frowning virtue in his strain appears,

To wring the heart, or stain the cheek with tears;

But gently soothing, of benign address,

And still more bless'd, as most employ'd to bless.

Bold daring crimes avenging law pursues,

Leaving man's foibles to the sportive muse;

And deep they feel, who sin 'gainst reason's rule,

The pains and penalties of ridicule:[9]

But injudicious satire in a storm,

Drives to despair the wretch it should reform;

With brazen front he stalks, abash'd no more,

And braves the shame he tried to shun before.

The black misdeeds of execrable men,

Let cords or axes punish, not the pen:

When fetters clank, and dungeons yawn in vain,

Adieu the physick of the iambick strain!

What novice now would waste his muse and time,

To tame a modern Frenchman by a rhyme?

Can the soft lute, or silver-sounding lyre,

Arrest the roaring of the tiger's ire?

Ev'n full-tongu'd Juvenal's imperial rage

Would fly the nation, and abjure the age.

Be true to virtue, bards, in all you write,

But never strive, to wash an Ethiop white;

Observe the buds of folly as they grow,

And sage, like Horace, nip them ere they blow.

When crown'd with roses in Anacreon's bower,

The Paphian queen and Bacchus own the hour.[1]

What surly cynick can the feast reprove,

Or dare profane the joys of wine and love?

But if in Pindar's tone he pours along,

The flood he paints rolls thund'ring through his song;[2]

The Theban's genius all his soul inspires,

And lifts above the example he admires.

Let youthful poets own the critick's skill,[3]

And climb with him the steep Parnassian hill,

Where crags, and thorns, and bitter springs abound,[4]

With scarce one flowery spot of pregnant ground;

So worn and harrow'd by the ancients' toil,

The tardy modern hardly gleans the soil;

But finds, too late, the imagin'd fragrant store

Borne off by bees, who suck'd its sweets before:

Yet guiding Flaccus still his hope may raise;

The path he knows, and points it to true praise.

Pleas'd with what heaven will grant or disallow,

Eternal sunshine gilds his cheerful brow;

In idle murmurs no vain hour he'll waste,

But clasps the present joy, nor mourns the past.[5]

Bless'd moralist! whose winning manners gain'd

The ease of freedom, where a despot reign'd;

Wise sensualist! who scorn'd superfluous wealth,[6]

And found true luxury in peace and health.

Notes

7.

The genius and writings of Horace will probably for ever supply abundant matter for criticism and panegyrick. He has a claim to the latter, for a species of excellence which perhaps has not been sufficiently noticed; the great variety of subjects to which he has tuned his lyre. To have produced above a hundred odes, with little resemblance between any two of them, all finished and beautiful, and some of them sublime, shews a very surprising playfulness and fertility of fancy. He calls them operosa carmina, but we see nothing but the felicity.

Considering his admiration of Pindar, whom he praises chiefly for his sublimity, we might, I think, have expected more frequent emulation of the Theban's loftiness. His most distinguished performance in that style is the ode in the fourth book, beginning with "Qualem ministrum," yet surely this ought not to be preferred to Dryden's St. Cecilia, and is greatly surpassed by THE BARD of Gray. Dryden's ode is perfect, but the latin is disgraced by the following passage, if indeed it be genuine, flatly prosaick, and damping at once all the glowing ardour of the strain, by its unexpected chilness:
——quibus

Mos unde deductus per omne

Tempus Amazoniâ securi

Dextras obarmet, quaerere distuli;

Nec scire fas est omnia.

A slight compression of the same thought, with another cast of expression, would have made it unexceptionable. As it is, the Polyhymnia of Cibber might be ashamed of it. Very rarely indeed does Horace degrade a sentiment by cloathing it improperly.

Mr. Mason's superiority as a Lyrick Poet seems in some degree to be overlooked in the admiration of his two dramas with which his odes are interwoven; yet what taste can be insensible to the charms of those beautiful compositions in Elfrida? That upon death in Caractacus breathes the genuine spirit of Homer's terrifick grandeur and sublimity.

No species of poetical composition is so difficult as the grave Ode. It demands not only peculiar endowment from nature, but also talents exercised in the practice. An indifferent serious ode, though constructed with the most exact conformity to critical rules, was never read twice willingly by any person, except the author. Even the incomparable Pope, accustomed so much to couplets and heroick measure, fails in the attempt, almost shamefully. His St. Cecilia is the mere effort of labour, without inspiration; a sedulous endeavour at perfection, without attainment. I can conceive Dryden, when employed on this subject, looking up to the sky, while the spirit of the musical saint he celebrates was descending upon him; and Pope, in vain discomposing his velvet night-cap, biting his pen, dashing it on the table, and retiring to bed, tired, disturbed, and unsatisfied. Such is the difference between imitation and genius.

When the subject of an ode is of an exalted nature, it requires all the united powers of conception, expression, and harmony, to prevent the mind from being vacant, instead of being roused and sustained by the poetry. Upon light, ludicrous, or satyrical topicks, many have been successful; no one perhaps more eminently so, than Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.

↵

8.

Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico

Tangit, et admissus circum praecordia, ludit,

Callidus excusso populum suspendere naso.

PERS. sat. i.

↵

9.
The pains penalties of idleness.

POPE.

↵

1.
O Venus, regina Cnidi, Paphique,—.

HOR. l. i. ode xxx.

↵

2.

Monte decurrens velut amnis, imbres

Quem super notas aluere ripas,

Fervet, immensusque ruit profundo

Pindarus ore.

HOR. l. iv. ode ii.

↵

3.
HOR. de Arte Poetica.
↵

4.

Quod superest arvi, tamen id natura sua vi

Sentibus obducat,—.

LUCR. l. v. 207.

↵

5.
—carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

HOR. l. i. ode xi.

↵

6.
Nollem onus, haud unquam solitus, portare molestum.

HOR. Sat. l. i. s. vi.

↵

OVID.[7] A. U. C. 711—771.

'Midst many a nameless son of vulgar earth,

Sulmo could boast she gave her Ovid birth.[8]

OVID.

Together twin'd, his learned brow displays

The lover's myrtle and the poet's bays.

Though each fair science stor'd his fertile mind,

Still rov'd his copious fancy unconfin'd.

To fix his thoughts on Themis' crabbed book,

What fruitless pains his anxious father took!

While softer Cytherea smiling cry'd,

"To learn my laws, be all thy care apply'd."

As sudden corruscations quick and bright,

His wit surprises with a dazzling light;

Whate'er the subject, barren, rude, or mean,

That fire emits its rays, and gilds the scene:

On Pontus' dreary shore his breast it warms,

Nor loses e'en in banishment its charms.

In vain thy plaintive numbers were address'd,

To soften one unmitigable breast;

But be thy crime what malice may believe,

Worse was his crime, who knew not to forgive.[9]

Led from his boyhood through the Cyprian school,

In love's soft mysteries he instructs by rule;

Master of wiles that lure the amorous heart,

Nature's first impulse feels the chains of art.[1]

Avoid the dangerous teacher, maids, avoid!

Pleasing too much, you please to be destroy'd:

But, melting virgins, most decline the song,

Lest she who reads should be no virgin long:

Timely forewarn'd, from the smooth verse refrain!

'Tis honied poison, 'tis delicious bane.

The lover's eye, your breasts when passions swell,

The unprompted secret of themselves will tell.

Fair nymphs, whom truth, and genuine blushes arm,

Disdain a taught sophisticating charm!

In adamantine links THIS charm will bind,—

A graceful outside, with a cultur'd mind;

And half your care, the former to improve,

Turn'd to the heart, secures the soul of love.

Rapture's a hasty transient flame at best,

But warm esteem an ever-biding guest:

Rapture, a meteor, at its birth expires,

Esteem new vigour with its age acquires:

She who the first prefers, prefers amiss;

A moment's transport, to a life of bliss.

Why rolls in vain, the ever-rolling eye?

Why fails the smile rehears'd, the obedient sigh?

Think you, can flaming cinnaber outspeak

The true suffusion of th' ingenuous cheek?

Or could the wise CREATING POWER intend

His daintiest work for minerals to mend?

A mien, compos'd with all an artist's care,

Invites not, but exclaims aloud, BEWARE!

Behold the fruitless preparation lost:

She least inspires a flame, who feigns it most.

Beauty's false friends, avaunt! or scorn'd, repair

Where riot roars, and orgied torches glare!

Mark, how the flowery tribes preserve unmix'd

The tints, wise nature on their birth has fix'd:

No garish die the blue-vein'd violet shews,

Nor vies the bashful snow-drop with the rose.

To no one colour various beauty's bound;

What different charms in different hues are found!

Fire to the eye let ruddy cheeks impart;

But pale mild languor melts into the heart.

Enough to charm, the modest ear may choose,

In the chaste labours of gay Ovid's muse.

When themes sublime more lofty strains demand,

The swelling chords confess a statelier hand:

In floods of day, see Sol's bright palace rise;

See his rash son hurl'd flaming down the skies:

How Pindus, Athos, hot Olympus glow!

How hisses Rhodope through piles of snow![2]

See, the great sire of gods and men alarm'd,

And 'gainst combustion, with combustion arm'd.[3]—

His sounding pinion holds a temperate flight,

Skims not the ground, nor soars beyond the sight;

More skill'd to paint the passions, than to move,

Youth will admire him, wiser age approve.

Notes

7.

It is singular enough that Ovid should have collected such a number of fabulous transformations and impossibilities, and have given them to his countrymen with such an air of gravity and devotion, without having himself the least faith in any of them; for a man of sense who examined them so much as he must have done, was of all men the least likely to believe them. His Metamorphoses may be considered as the great magazine and repository of pagan fiction and mythology.

He is supposed to have been greatly addicted to gallantry, and a very distinguished favourite among the Roman ladies, to whom he recommended himself more by his learning, talents, and poetry, than by the gracefulness of his figure, and his other personal accomplishments. He had besides reduced the mystery of female seduction to a system. There are few women of any natural delicacy of sentiment, however little they may happen to be indebted for the improvement of their minds to education, who can be insensible to the distinction which literature gives to the other sex. Nothing is less uncommon, than to find a woman's principles seduced by her understanding.

The late Earl of Chesterfield's morality with respect to women, is rather more lax than Ovid's. In his Art of Love, the Roman says,
Tuta frequensque via est, per amicum fallere nomen.

Tuta frequensque licet sit via; crimen habet.

The English Chiron, like the pirate who erased the eighth commandment from his decalogue. seems to have adopted the convenience of the couplet, leaving out the assertion contained in the final words. By what casuistry a man of unblemished reputation in his publick character, and of strict honour in private, as his lordship certainly was, could confound the same principles, by the mere distinction of sexes, I am unable to discover. It is surely to be lamented, that a few exceptionable passages in his system, which cannot be perused without severe reprehension, should have so tarnished the whole, that no publication extant has been treated with so little candour. It abounds however with good sense, and contains many excellent rules and maxims to form the manners and regulate the conduct of youth, conceived with great temper and judgment, and communicated with the utmost perspicuity, elegance, and purity of language. Though his letters are addressed to a young man of a particular character, and destined to a particular walk in life, they cannot fail of being generally instructive and useful. The characters by Lord Chesterfield, of a few of his contemporaries, are written in the spirit of Sallust, without his partialities; terse, comprehensive, and appropriate, and equal, if not superior, to any of those drawn by our best historians, from Lord Clarendon to this hour.

↵

8.
Sulmo mihi patria est, gelidis uberrimus undis.

OVID. Trist. l. iv. el. 10.

↵

9.
Few points have been left in more doubt and obscurity by the Ancients than the cause of Ovid's banishment. It has been commonly ascribed to his having been discovered in an intrigue with the emperor's daughter, Julia; but his own reference to his misfortune, in one of his poems, does not countenance that supposition; nor was the licentiousness of his writings, as some have imagined, likely to give offence to Augustus, who expresses his own affection for Horace in terms of the most gross obscenity.
↵

1.

Si quis in hoc artem populo non novit amandi,

Me legat; et lecto carmine doctus amet.

OVID. de Art. Amator.

↵

2.
Et tandem Rhodope nivibus caritura,—.

METAMORPH. l. ii.

↵

3.
—et saevis compescuit ignibus ignes.

Ibid.

↵

THE AUGUSTAN AGE.

Rivals to these, in more instructive prose,

Historians, orators, and criticks rose;

With fancy's rays the power of truth combin'd,

Pour'd rich effulgence on the enlighten'd mind.

Why teem'd the Augustan age beyond the rest,

With prodigality of genius bless'd?

Was man a different compound from before?

No;—war, and civil discord, were no more;

The iron gates of double Janus clos'd,[4]

The mind grew active, and the arm repos'd;

Fragmentum picturae veteris in pariete factae, Romae anno MDCCXXXVII inter palatii Caesaris Augusti rudera, ubi nunc sunt horti Farnesiani, in m•nte Palatino repertum, in qu• s•• figurae arte exquisita et nitidis coloribus sunt expressae•quarum una exhibetur Augustus ipse sedens, et coronam alieui, cujus imag• est abrupta, pr•t•ndens; Phraati, ut quidam non 〈◊〉 augurant, fl•xis genibus, de quo Horatius

—••s imperiumque Phraates

Caesaris accepit genibus minor.)

〈◊◊〉 adst•ntes, inter qu•s Ma••nas toga 〈◊〉 indutus 〈…〉 M. Agrippa 〈◊◊〉 dextr•m 〈…〉 imaginum cum 〈◊〉 •orum ••••isque similitud• •s••ndit. 〈…〉 argumento, et sua ipsius description• ducti 〈◊〉 Horatium inter sui patronos et 〈…〉 ex••ber• volunt, extremâ nemp•illa, corperis exigu•, figurâ 〈…〉 daud••••.
Ex museo viri illustris R Mead. M D.

Long-banish'd peace, and all her gentle train,

Return'd to tranquil Italy again:

Then, all was verse, felicity, and love,

Sportive each vale, and vocal every grove.

The useless veteran, sour, and unemploy'd,

Curs'd the fair paradise he ne'er enjoy'd;

Or told in accents hoarse to suburb swains,

Of martial Julius, and the Gaul campaigns;

And lost the memory of his scars and crimes,

In stern revision of more warlike times.

The Nile, Euphrates, Rhene, and Danaw, own

On Tyber's banks the world's great master's throne;

There the rich produce of their regions meet,

To pour their tribute at the Roman's feet;

Choice stuffs, strange beasts, rare gems, barbarick gold,

Their wonders to admiring eyes unfold:

But admiration, most THIS wonder craves,

Thy sons, Quirinus, sycophants and slaves.

Lest in grave talk too deeply might be weigh'd,

Why one man rul'd, and all the rest obey'd,

The crafty prince, in human passions wise,

Bids new delight from harmless sources rise:

Invited poets to his feasts' resort,

And verse becomes the fashion of the court;

Where liberal wit, from jaundic'd envy free,

Felt emulation without jealousy.

No dangerous topick wak'd dissention there,

Of factious tribunes for the approaching year;

What Praetor next should plunder Syria's land;

Who from broad Ister drive the Dacian band;

But for mild converse, milder themes they choose,

The sculptor's art, the pencil, and the muse:

"Why polish'd Rome so long in vain has sought

"To emulate the wonders Glycon wrought;

"Why her rough chissel scarce a form can give,

"While Corinth's models almost breathe and live;

"Why feasts the eye on bold Apelles' line,

"And, warm Parrhasius, owns thy touch divine:—

"Bless'd art, that bids the vanish'd features rise,

"To feed the dear delusion of the eyes!

"By thee, the garb, shape, smile, and look, remain,

"While absence baffled loses half its pain:

"Thy magick aid by lovers most is sought,

"Who lend the passive image words and thought;

"Who sometimes prompt the tablet, and suggest

"Wishes more fond than warm'd the breathing breast;

"And for the unreal rapture would resign

"Treasures less priz'd, which gem the unfathom'd mine:

"Thus the whole maid, no longer mourn'd, maylive;

"Part picture's boon, the rest can fancy give.—

"Rome learn'd, mature, in opulence and ease,

"Buys, not produces, miracles like these:[5]

"How savage, on destruction only bent,

"Least to excel in what's most excellent!—

"If best the tuneful Mantuan's matchless strain

"Adorns the hero, or describes the swain;

"If Terence with Menander can compare;

"What youth's most constant, or which nymph most fair;[6]

"What sums 'twould ask to gild Apollo's fane;

"To cut that Isthmus, or yon lake to drain:"—

Then, all for sports and lengthen'd shows prepare,

And bloodless battles were the emperor's care;

The tale of ancient Troy, besieg'd again,[7]

By Latian boys was acted on the plain:

The sight of war's grim picture all would share,

But death, war's grimmest feature, was not there;

Parental eyes with joy the youth beheld,

Bright in safe arms, and glitt'ring o'er the field.

Meantime the brick-built city disappears,

And a new front in polish'd marble rears;

Rome's deities forsake their mean abodes,

To rest in splendid shrines, and fit for gods.

Intent, he varied every art to please,

And lure the soften'd mind from toil to ease:

Thus, by degrees, perturbed thought subsides,

The torrent foams nor, but the current glides;

Passion's tempestuous gusts forget to rise,

Till in the calm at last ambition dies.

The plumy rover caught, with idle rage

First pines or flutters round his wiry cage;

The ruffled feathers, the desponding wing,

Proclaim his soul too sorrowful to sing;

Sullen and sad the astonish'd mourner sits,

Or shrills a captive's fretful note by fits;

His faithful mate, the well-known downy nest,

Impress their fond remembrance on his breast:

But soon the thraldom he forgets to feel,

Contented sips, and pecks his little meal;

Musick and joy inspire his gurgling throat,

Till the dome echoes with his rapturous note;

Familiariz'd at length, the abode he loves,

Nor, freed again, would seek his native groves.

E'en the fierce falcon, and Jove's royal bird,

From their high cliffs by rustick cunning lur'd,

Though in the blaze of ether once they soar'd,

And dauntless the sun's quenching eye explor'd,

Hood-wink'd, or gyv'd, forego their trackless flight,

To perch, and cow'r, in their proud master's sight:

Lions in bonds will crouch, the tiger fawn,

Tame as the fleecy nibbler of the lawn:

So second nature, habitude, we find,

Asserts like empire o'er the human mind.

The wise too own'd, revolving each event,

(Rome's manners chang'd,) which chang'd her government,[7]

"That sad experience taught them to expect

"From fatal causes like, a like effect.

"What for the publick weal, alas, was gain'd,

"While some new tyrant in succession reign'd?

"Good Cato, Tully, Brutus, liv'd no more;

"Their names, like wrecks, bestrew'd th' ill-omen'd "shore:

"No Palinurus waking, sure, would court

"A stormy sea, with certain death the port;

"Coop'd in a crazy bark, where nought was found

"But faithless mariners, and planks unsound.

"Bondage to shun, and civil war endure,

"Less dire the evil, than the desperate cure;

"The hapless land to that sad refuge driv'n,

"Feels the last vengeful scourge of angry heaven.

"Stern Marius drain'd the nobles' vital flood;

"Proud Sylla waded through Plebeian blood;

"Pompey by arms maintain'd his dangerous sway,

"Wav'd his bright blade, and trembling law gave way;

"All-conqu'ring Julius, more audacious grown,

"Bade his grim veterans frown the senate down;

"The fell Triumvirs the same track explor'd,

"While their fierce eagles o'er the rostrum soar'd:

"Freedom, the stale pretence, for ever fail'd,

"And freedom's deadliest foe, the sword, prevail'd.

"Where such examples wanted power to strike,

"The infant and the sage were wise alike."—

Rome, by repeated scenes of horrour cloy'd,

Sought gentler arts, to fill the mental void.

The genial sky, a soft luxuriant soil,

Kind to the poet's vein, and tiller's toil;

Stupendous Alps, to raise the soaring thought,

And hills and vales in gay confusion wrought;

Seas, on whose margin busy towns were built,[8]

With towers ennobled, and by sunbeams gilt;

Lakes, with these seas in vastness to compare,

The foamy Benacus, and copious Lar;[9]

And thou, mol'd Lucrine, where tall ships might brave

The harmless roaring of the Tuscan wave;

Rivers, roll'd down with deep majestick tide,

While argent streams in gentler murmurs glide;

Tumultuous Nar, and smooth Clitumnus' course,[1]

Gay with the spurning steer, and snow-white horse;

Eridanus, whose floods like ocean rise,

To spout his lofty urn through half the skies;

Slumbers supine beneath umbrageous trees,

Alive with warbling birds, and fan'd by Maia's breeze;

No chilling fear, those slumbers to prolong,

Of forky death from the coil'd serpent's tongue;

(From man's approach the noxious reptile glides,

And close in brakes his swelter'd venom hides;

Not here beheld, as where of monstrous birth

His spires amaze the sky, and hiss consumes the earth:[2]

Such as on Bagrada's polluted banks[3]

Fought for the stream, and thinn'd a consul's ranks;

With rams and warlike enginery oblig'd

To assail the Python, like a town besieg'd:

Brazen his scales, as comets flam'd his eyes,

And huge like Ossa the unmeasur'd size:)

Nor dread of poison's vegetable powers,

Fallacious hid in cups of dew-dropp'd flowers;

No pard, or darting tiger, to invade

The safe retirement of the guileless shade,

Where Damon and his Thestylis repair,

To breathe Arcadian vows in cooler air;

Temples, arcs, theatres, huge works of art,

Their dumb majestick influence to impart;

Piles, that with awe the astonish'd eye pursues,

The soul expanding, as the gazer views;

No field, no stream, but in its precinct bears

Some glorious record of departed years;

Themes prompting still the simple rustick's tongue,

Sung by some bard, or worthy to be sung;

A year twice fruitful, all Pomona's store,[4]

Spread in profusion o'er the fragrant shore;

Flowers of all hues, and nymphs as kind as fair,

With Hybla humming through the vocal air;

Pan, with the dancing Graces in his train,

And fabled gods believ'd on every plain;—

MAECENAS.

SCENES SUCH AS THESE to rapture fire the mind,

And ALL, bless'd Italy! in thee combin'd.

O redolence of joy, enough to raise

Each shepherd's reed to rival Maro's lays!

Thence fanes innumerous, such large bounties given,

Proclaim'd, they thought, a multifarious heaven:

So, from devotion, each new blessing sent,

Impair'd the worship of the Omnipotent;

For then the glimm'ring heathen's twilight soul

Saw not ONE CAUSE, great author of the whole.

But chief, to wise Maecenas should belong[5]

Mankind's just tribute for the poet's song.

His soul could feel the muse, and lov'd the bard,

Liberal the love, and boundless the reward;

He knew the immortal stamp which letters give;

(For unrecorded deeds but once can live;)[6]

That Peleus son had slept in dust unknown,[7]

Till Homer made the future world his own.

"Heroes (he cries) thus brave the power of death,

"Nor dies fair virtue with the expiring breath;

"Posterity's joint-heirs to endless time,

"They still endure, and every zone's their clime:

"The patriot's tomb may moulder into dust,

"The picture fade, or lightning strike the bust;

"But not his acts, and wide-expanded name,

"Borne on the wings of incorporeal fame."

Mark, by his kindling breath how taught to aspire,

Shines bright reveal'd the intellectual fire!

No more to shades the inglorious muses fly,

But all Parnassus fills the publick eye;

A wreath to him the grateful sisters give,

Virent so long, and blooming still to live.

Like a full river, whose exhaustless source

Through flowery meadows winds its sinuous course,

His bounty's stream still fertilizing flow'd,

Nor shrunk at all the abundance it bestow'd.

Such once was Wri'thesly[8], dear distinguish'd name!

Congenial studies, and their souls the same:

Britain's great bard his kindred taste ador'd,

And Essex honour'd his unvenal sword.

First from his eyry near tame Avon's side,

His wing our intellectual eagle tried;

Unmark'd the tow'ring flight by vulgar eyes,—

But keen Southampton saw it cleave the skies;

Bade him soar on, with trackless pinions bold,

And imp'd the wide-spread vans with strength'ning gold.

By emulation of his generous fire,

Let Albion's lords to fame like his aspire;

The drooping muse a monarch's care engage,

And bid revive a new Augustan age:

Then may new Congreves, Garths, and Swifts, be known;

Another Pope perhaps, and Addison.

In kindly climes as glowing suns produce

From mellow fruits their rich nectareous juice,

So may the beams of royal grace dispense

O'er genius their benignest influence;

To every art, be every honour shewn,

And wit adorn, as virtue guards, the throne!

But what avails the humble poet's prayer,

A monarch•s virtues, or the senate's care,

If fell Erinnys, from a neighbouring shore,

Drown reason's sober voice in frenzy's roar?

(A shore devouring Lestrygons would shun,

"Where furies' torches blaze beyond the sun;)

If ruin, ghastly death, and rapine's rage,

Britain's mild sons in their fierce strife engage?

Avert them, all that's wise and just in men!

Confine them, Heaven, to their own Gallick den!

If such detested days indeed must rise,

Giver of light, O, close thy suppliant's eyes![9]

O'er him, and all he loves, kind darkness, come,

To hide them in the accelerated tomb!—

See o'er pale Java's desolated plains

In solitary state dread Upas reigns;[1]

No pulmonary valves can bear her breath,

Shooting in pois'nous mists convulsive death;

To her, as to the lion's murd'rous den[2],

The foot may go, but ne'er return again:

High o'er her top the full-wing'd eagle's sped,

And white with bleaching bones her flinty bed;

Carnage alone in hideous piles rests there,

While hissing hydras blast the lurid air:

Where the least gasp of Orcus' spouse pervades,

Wide spreads the abortive waste, creation fades;

Whole leagues remote the human form is driven,

Far from this foe to man, and scourge of heaven:

So, the fell daemon of Lutetia lowers,

Shrieking from dungeons drear, and gore-drench'd towers.—

Britons by France instructed to esteem

Their precious birth-right! madness how extreme!

'Tis Borgia's sword,[3] to humble papal pride;

'Tis Nero, preaching against parricide.

Counts the deep inborn enmity for nought?

Are the repeated perfidies forgot?

Unlike their genius, manners, forms, are seen,

While surging rolls a roaring sea between;

Coast frowns on coast, by nature's hand disjoin'd;

Gods, fates, oppos'd, but more the adverse mind.

No,—rather sink your islands in the main,

Or, let primaeval darkness reign again;

With binding incantations charm the shade,

Where Edward sleeps, and Monmouth's dust is laid;

Lest, with burst cearments, their pale ghosts appear,

To shake at England the destroying spear:

Drive the sharp plough-share o'er each charter'd spot,

Where kings acceded, and stern barons fought;

Of your wise laws disjoint the social frame,

Clear from your rolls expunge great Nassau's name;

All that experience, learning, wisdom gave,

Be plung'd at once in blank oblivion's grave!

Shall sacred liberty, so long enjoy'd,

By her own champions blindly be destroy'd?

For her, now number'd with th'illustrious dead,

A Somers pleaded, and a Hamden bled;

Fir'd by her flame, more dear than vital breath,

Sons brav'd their sires in marshall'd fields of death;

In sea-girt Albion, goddess, was thy throne,

Where every generous virtue was thine own;

Thine, hard-earn'd rights no tyrant could debase;

Thine, the glad smile on every honest face:

And still some ancient worth our isle can boast,—

Shade of great Chatham, in thy offspring most:

Full of his sire the vigorous counsels flow,

Scorning alike the faction and the foe;

Whose false pretence, insidiously to save,

Would turn the womb of freedom to her grave;

Nor shall she recreant fly her native plains,

For he can guard them, and a Brunswick reigns.

While hoary ocean, o'er his caverns spread,

Heaves the deep gulph of his capacious bed,

While glitt'ring planets circle in their sphere,

And spring renews, and winter chills the year,

May the hot brand of unextinguish'd shame

Sear, ruthless Gauls, with infamy your name!

By no one virtue from despair redeem'd,

Your sovereign's murder'd, and your GOD blasphem'd.

O, for a hotter Aetna, to roll down

His firy deluge on the Stygian town!

Where twice the fiends of France exulting stood,

To view the scaffold, smear'd with royal blood;[4]

Rich, guiltless, sacred blood; whose steams shall rise

To pull the avenging thunder from the skies.

Deeds which might blot the sun,—their horrour lost,

By alchymy of hell become your boast.

Go, true Lycaons! execrable race!

Remain no more humanity's disgrace;

But, howling in your forests, bide the storm,

And, with the hearts of wolves, assume the form![5]

O thou SUPREME, whose majesty unseen

Directs the movements of this vast machine,

By thee, man, heaven, and earth, and air, and sea,

Form'd and sustain'd alone, all bend to thee;

Let flaming comets in the skies appear,

Let earthquakes rock the globe, or tempests tear;

Each loosen'd orb forget its station'd seat;

All nature's germins in confusion meet;

But O this pity to our sons afford,

Preserve their reverence for thy sacred word!

Parent of life and sense, ETERNAL POWER,

Ruling the final, as the natal hour,

In the last terrors of thine awful day,

Peace to the just, who walk'd thy righteous way!

But for the audacious progeny of pride,

What pines can cover them, what mountains hide?

Since frantick Gauls thy holy law despise,

And hideous crimes with specious names disguise;

Call human rights, each fiend's demoniack will,

And liberty, the unpunish'd power to kill;

Waving aloft a parricidal sword,

Red in the art'ries of their saint-like lord;

If force, not justice, must prevail with man,

And arms conclude what anarchy began,—

Though on themselves they turn their scorpion sting,

And while they curse, revenge their murder'd king,—

Hurl all thy bolts on the Titanian brood,

Confound the impious, but protect the good!

In virtue's cause, though righteous drops be spilt,

Avert the worse pollution of their guilt!

Great LORD of all, keep worthy of thy smiles,

The pure devotion of these menaced isles![6]

Notes

4.

Immane bellicae civitatis argumentum, quod semel sub regibus, iterum Tito Manlio consule, tertio, Augusto Principe, certae pacis argumentum Janus Geminus clausus dedic.

VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 38.

That the Roman legions should have been the best disciplined and the most irresistible troops in the world, will not seem extraordinary, when we consider that from the building of the city to the reign of Augustus, a period of above seven hundred years, the gates of the temple of Janus were but three times closed: once by Numa, the second king; again, after the first Punick war, A. U. C. 529; and lastly by Augustus, A. U. C. 725. One would imagine that the Romans in time of peace must have felt like foxhunters in frost, listless and uncomfortable for want of their usual exercise.—Aususque tandem Caesar Augustus septingentesimo [vicesimo quinto] ab urbe condita anno, Janum Geminum cludere, bis ante se clusum, sub Numa rege, et victâ primum Carthagine.

FLOR. l. iv. c. 12.

↵

5.

Though the opulent Romans were great admirers of the works of the Grecian artists, and purchased them at immense prices, the contemplation of such admirable models did not raise any native rival school in Italy. Poetry had no sister art among the Romans.

Innumerable volumes in different languages are extant upon sculpture and painting; like many others I have much relish for both these enchanting arts, yet cannot pretend to the least degree of science in either; but nothing I have ever read upon the latter, captivated my mind so much, as an excellent dialogue by Mr. Daniel Webb, a gentleman whose birth does honour to Ireland. The style and colouring glow with all the warmth and genius of the productions which he celebrates.—It is difficult to say, whether the Publick has most to lament in losing the pencil or the pen of the late accomplished President of the Royal Academy. As I knew and admired him, it would give me pleasure to expatiate upon his character as a scholar, an artist, and a companion; but I am restrained by recollecting that the care of his memory and writings is reserved for a friend every way qualified to do them entire justice.

↵

6.

—Dicat Opuntiae

Frater Megillae, quo beatus

Vulnere, qua pereat sagitta.

HOR. l. i. ode 27.

The ancients had a custom of drinking a glass for every letter in the name of the lady they toasted. Unless their glasses were very small, it was well that they reposed on a triclinium.
Naevia sex cyathis, septem Justina bibatur.
MARTIAL.

It is fortunate for some jovial heads and amorous hearts among us, that the rigour of this custom does not prevail where some ladies have three or four Christian names, with not less than six or seven letters in each of them.

↵

7.

—hinc maxima porro

Accepit Roma, et patrium servavit honorem;

Trojaque nunc, pueri, Trojanum dicitur agmen.

AEN. V. 600.

Sed et Trojae ludum edidit frequentissime, majorum minorumve puerorum delectu; prisci decorique moris existimans clarae stirpis indolem sic notescere.
SUET. in Aug. 43.

↵

7.
For a general revision of the Roman history and government, see note (F) at the end of this volume.
↵

8.
An mare quod supra memorem; quodque alluit infra?

VIRG. Geor. ii.

The Adriatick and the Tyrrhene or Tuscan sea.

↵

9.

Anne lacus tantos? te Lari maxime, teque

Fluctibus et fremitu assurgens, Benace, marino?

VIRG. ut supr.

↵

1.

Hinc albi, Clitumne, greges, et maxima taurus

Victima, saepe tuo purfusi flumine sacro,—.

VIRG. Geor. ii. 146.

Qua formosa suo Clitumnus flumina luco

Integit, et niveos abluit unda boves.

PROPERT. l. ii. el. xix. 25.

↵

2.

Nec rapit immensos orbes per humum, neque tanto

Squameus in spiram tractu se colligit anguis.

VIRG. Geor. ii. 153.

Virgil seems particularly to delight in painting the serpent kind. In the Georgicks and Aeneid he has many descriptions of them, all highly finished, and with considerable diversity.

↵

3.

A serpent of the enormous length of one hundred and twenty feet is said to have disputed the use of the river Bagrada in Africa with the whole Roman army under the command of the consul Regulus. The account is given, from Tubero, by Aulus Gellius:

"Tubero in historiis scriptum reliquit, bello primo Punico Attilium Regulum consulem in Africa, castris apud Bagradam flumen positis, praelium grande atque acre fecisse adversus unum serpentem illie stabulantem, inusitatae immanitatis; eumque, magna totius exercitus conflictione, ballistis atque catapultis diu oppugnatum: ejusque interfecti corium longum pedes centum ac viginti Romam misisse." NOCT. ATT. l. vi. c. 3. This monstrous creature was at length killed by a huge stone cast from an engine, which broke the spine of his back. Pliny says, (Hist. Nat. viii. 14.) that his skin was to be seen at Rome, usque ad bellum Numantinum. A. U. C. 620.

↵

4.
Bis gravidae pecudes, bis pomis utilis arbos.

VIRG. Geo. ii. 150.

↵

5.

Habuit enim ingenium et grande et virile, nisi illud secum discinxisset.

Maxima laus illi tribuitur mansuetudinis: pepercit gladio, sanguine abstinuit.

SENEC. Epis. 92. 114.

Urbis custodiis praepositus Caius Maecenas, equestri sed splendido genere natus, vir, ubi res vigiliam exigeret, sane exsomnis, providens, atque agendi sciens.
VEL. PAT. l. ii. c. 88.

↵

6.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

THEOC. Idyl. xvi. 58.

↵

7.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona

Multi; sed omnes illacrymabiles

Urgentur, ignotique longâ

Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.

HOR. l. iv. ode ix.

Quam multos scriptores rerum suarum magnus ille Alexander secum habuisse dicitur! Atque is tamen cum in Sigaeo ad Achillis tumulum adstitisset, O fortunate, inquit, adolescens, qui tuae virtutis Homerum praeconem inveneris! Et vere; nam nisi ILIAS illa exstitisset, idem tumulus qui corpus ejus contexerat, nomen etiam obruisset.
CIC. pro Archia Poeta.

↵

8.

For an account of Henry Wriothesly, earl of Southampton, see Memoirs of that nobleman, prefixed to the tenth volume of Shakspeare's Works, published by Mr. Malone; whose name cannot be mentioned without great respect by every friend to English literature. His indefatigable industry has left nothing discoverable unexplored, his sagacity nothing unnoticed, which can contribute to gratify the numerous admirers of our greatest poet.

The family name of lord Southampton, as he observes to me, was formerly pronounced Wresely, the first vowel being sounded like the French i.

See Strype's ANNALS, vol. ii. App. L.

↵

9.

Hesiod, as Mr. Malone suggests to me, has expressed the same wish in his introductory verses to the description of the IRON AGE. The whole passage, though written near three thousand years ago, is so perfectly applicable to the present barbarous state of France, that the classical reader will, I am confident, not be displeased at its being brought to his remembrance: ‘〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉’

↵

1.

In the last note to Dr. Darwin's LOVES OF THE PLANTS, or second volume of THE BOTANICK GARDEN, see a description of the Upas or Poison Tree, transcribed from the account of N. P. Foersch, a Dutch surgeon; published in the London Magazine for 1784. This tremendous and astonishing tree of Java stands in a stony waste covered with the bones of animals; and to the distance of three or four leagues round it desolates all life and vegetation. Birds caught by its effluvia fall down dead in their passage over it. Criminals sent to collect the poison, notwithstanding many preparations against it, perish in vast numbers. The points of warlike instruments are dipped in it, and it is said to produce some revenue to the emperor. The account is almost as wonderful, and little less incredible than any invention in the Arabian Nights; yet it is authenticated sufficiently. I know but one way to account for its being a fiction; by supposing that the Dutch devised it for better securing the monopoly of their spices. Some persons perhaps may think a Dutch flight of invention little less wonderful than the properties of this extraordinary tree.

Dr. Darwin in the third canto of his second volume has painted the Upas tree in bolder figures than I could venture to use, or perhaps could command for the same purpose.

↵

2.

—me vestigia terrent

Omnia te adversum spectantia, nulla retrorsum.

HOR. Epist. l. i. ep. 1.

↵

3.
Caesar Borgia, natural son of the well-known Pontifical Monster Alexander the sixth, and the worthy offspring of such a father. He murdered his brother the Duke of Gandia, and every other person within his reach, whom he supposed likely to obstruct the views of his ambition. He had a mind of such comprehensive wickedness, not without great boldness, and some capacity, that had he been reserved to be a Frenchman of the present age, he would probably have been the rival of the late Danton, in the favour of the Convention at Paris.
↵

4.

This poem had long been out of the author's hands, and considerably advanced at the press, before accounts arrived of the horrible murder of the late unfortunate queen of France; exhibiting such a scene of complicated and deliberate barbarity, as makes us almost impatient, as she seemed to be herself, for the last fatal stroke which alone could deliver her from the fangs of those merciless hell-hounds by whom she had been persecuted.

Here follows the simple and unexaggerated detail of her sufferings after the butchery of the king her husband.

A considerable time before the sixteenth of October 1793, the day of her murder, she was torn from her children and sister-in-law in the Temple, her former prison, and committed to the Conciergerie, one of the most filthy dungeons in Paris.

Behold this daughter of an empress, this sister of emperors, the wife of the once most powerful sovereign on the continent of Europe, in the very flower of her age, beautiful, calumniated, and innocent, plunged into a narrow cavern, four feet under ground, aired and lighted towards the top by one small iron-grated window, fetid, damp, and loathsome; four ruffians all day and night pent up with her in the same abyss, to witness every shocking humiliation of female delicacy: fed with the worse sustenance doled out to the vilest criminals, her bed a miserable pallet, with scanty bed-clothes not sufficient to cover her, foul and tattered; hurried from this gulph of desolation to a mock trial before savages predetermined on her condemnation; accused of impossible crimes, at the very name of which human nature shudders; a nominal advocate assigned to her, not to defend, but to inveigle and betray her: sentence of ignominious death, in defiance of evidence and conviction, pronounced upon her. In a few hours afterwards her hair cut off, her hands tied behind her back, to prevent her holding a book of prayer or a crucifix; (an indignity offered only to her;) dragged in this manner with her back to the horses' tails upon a dungcart to the scaffold; attended by an impious miscreant dressed up like a constitutional priest, not to console her last moments, but to insult and embitter them; her head severed from her body, and her poor remains thrown into a hole to be consumed with quick-lime before the eyes of her inhuman subjects, who stood round wallowing in delight at the bloody spectacle: without a bosom on which she could drop a tear; no ear to which she could impart a dying wish; no hand to which she could confide a lock of hair, or one last pledge of affection for her wretched children and sister-in-law.—She sustained it all to the last with heroick fortitude.

Thus perished the beautiful, the generous, the benevolent queen of France, furnishing the most singular example in human records of a life so dignified by birth, rank, and splendour, closed by such a flood of unmerited and overwhelming calamity. She indeed drained the chalice of affliction to its last and foulest dregs.

Whatever boundless conceptions good men may form of heavenly mercy, they will hardly imagine it can be extended to such inconceivable wickedness!

↵

5.

Fit lupus, et veteris servat vestigia formae;

Canities eadem est, eadem violentia vultu;

Idem oculi lucent; eadem feritatis imago.

OVID. METAMOR. l. i.

↵

6.
In this sketch of the time of Augustus, I have omitted to mention the most interesting and awful of all events to the universe; the birth of our Lord and Saviour JESUS CHRIST; not from irreverence, but from absolute despair of being able to satisfy my own mind, or the reader's, by announcing it with any suitable elevation of diction and sentiment. It is a theme too great for rhymes. The powers of the human mind sink under it. Even the mighty genius of Milton seems at times to be depressed by its grandeur and simplicity. A God of peace, propitiation, and mercy, may be contemplated with silent devotion and gratitude; or the ways and end of his Providence may be inculcated in pious discourses; but to be a proper subject for poetry, the Messiah must be represented in wrath and in action, with the attributes of Homer's Jupiter, "grasping ten thousand thunders," and hurling from the battlements of heaven the prince of darkness, and his host of perverted angels.
↵

ADDITIONAL NOTES.

NOTE [A.] p. 96.

Middleton's Life of Cicero is supposed after its appearance to have disappointed the previous expectations of the reverend author's admirers. As it is impossible to fix limits to expectation, it is equally so to determine whether the fault be in the work itself, or in the unreasonableness of those who profess to have been disappointed. Some without doubt would rather concur in this sort of indistinct censure, than take the trouble of examining into the grounds of it, and to such I imagine the following remarks may not be unacceptable.

It is certainly a very useful and learned work. The author shews great knowledge of ancient historians, and of Roman antiquities; and is perfectly acquainted with all the different writings of Cicero, of which his account is always distinct, candid, and satisfactory. They contain in themselves no inconsiderable body of Pagan erudition. About a third part of the work consists of quotations and translations from Cicero himself; which last (he says in his Preface) he found not the least troublesome part of his undertaking. He acknowledges that the History of Fabricius, prefixed to several editions of Cicero's works, (which is no more than a bare detail of his acts and writings, digested into exact chronological order,) together with the Annals of Pighius, which he always consulted, saved him much unentertaining investigation, which otherwise would have been necessary. The very curious work of Bellendenus de Tribus Luminibus Romanorum, (as Dr. Warton has observed) was also probably of much use to him, though he has not mentioned it.

He makes an observation, well worth remembering, upon several sentiments and opinions, which have been erroneously imputed to Tully; accounting for the mistake in this manner:—Many of Tully's treatises are thrown into the form of dialogues, and different parts in them assigned to different speakers, often with no other intention than that they should advance certain notions, in order to have them discussed and refuted. Careless readers, finding such opinions contained in writings under the name of Cicero, are apt to look no further, but to consider them as his; whereas they are produced for a purpose exactly opposite. Tully's sentiments are too wise not to make us wish to have them genuine.

Middleton's defect is his too great partiality for, and indiscriminate approbation of, Cicero; not of his genius and capacity, for it is impossible to estimate these too highly, but he hardly admits that his favourite had any human frailties or foibles; and in general he admires his conduct as much as his talents. It would be no less trice to expatiate on Tully's vanity, than fruitless to endeavour to acquit him of it. It is not easy to find any page where Cicero mentions himself, without being obliged to agree with Lord Bolingbroke, that his own eulogium is the topick upon which he always dwells with the greatest complacency. But though he was fond of receiving praise, we must allow, at the same time, that he was always ready to confer it as liberally. His copiousness of panegyrick and invective seems to be equally inexhaustible.

He certainly loved virtue; and was a true friend to the Aristocracy of Rome, or the government of the Senate. He shewed great attachment to them, when with a strong persuasion in his mind that Caesar would be successful, he went over to the camp of Pompey. In daring to undertake the defence of Roscius against the interest of Sylla, the most implacable and cruel of all tyrants, he displayed the genuine spirit of an advocate and a Roman. How vigorous was his conduct in his consulship, and how dignified in all his transactions with Antony! He met his death too from the executioner of that butcher with magnanimity.

But he was not always clear from imputation in pecuniary matters: he often flatters the man he hates, and vilifies him at one time with no less acrimony, than at another he had extravagantly extolled him. His nature seems to have been formed only for prosperity: the waves of adversity overwhelmed his spirit as much as his fortune. He bore his banishment with most piteous dejection of mind; and he sinks so under every domestick calamity, that in the condolance of his friends even a kind of disdain for his unmanly want of fortitude is discernible. His extreme sensibility induced him to think that his misfortunes were peculiarly distinguished from those of other men; and that neither himself nor the world could deplore them sufficiently. He was, notwithstanding, the most learned person of all antiquity, whose works have reached us; and had, perhaps, the most enlightened mind, the most versatile and universal capacity, that any Roman (if Julius Caesar is not to be excepted) was ever endowed with. His most elegant translator is his most rigid censurer; and I should think him most likely to form a correct judgement of Cicero, who tempers the severity of Melmoth with the panegyrick of Middleton.

NOTE [B.] p. 144.

No character of antiquity having been more canvassed, and represented under colours more opposite, than Julius Caesar, while some of the best masters have exhibited him in the darkest, I hope to be pardoned for employing a few lines to vindicate the rather favourable delineation which I have attempted of him in the verses under his title.

Most unworthy would be the endeavour to recommend his example as a pattern for the imitation of any subject who has the happiness to live under a free government; nor should he be suspected of harbouring such an intention, who declares it to be clearly his opinion that Caesar was highly criminal, not only for conceiving the design of enslaving his country, but still more for the means he employed to accomplish his pernicious project.

Rome, it is true, gained nothing but increase of calamities by his death, or by the resolution of that great patriot and truly virtuous Roman who conspired against him, and who was constrained by the fatality of the times to resort to a mode of removing him, most adverse to his humane and generous disposition. This action of Brutus has been almost as variously represented as Caesar's character.

His eloquence, the gracefulness of his person, his genius and taste for letters, the engaging manners, placability of disposition, dauntless courage unmixed with rashness, and consummate capacity for affairs of every kind, particularly for war, so conspicuous on all occasions in this daring usurper, have been universally acknowledged.

His contemporary Tully always addresses him in the most elaborate strain of elegant encomium, and writes of him with inveterate malignity. Sallust, being his creature, describes him accordingly. In Florus, (a very beautiful writer,) we find a brief recital of some of his great achievements, but with little comment upon them. The courtly Paterculus varnishes like a Caesarean. Wherever Caesar is concerned, the firy Lucan (a perfect party-writer in verse, as has been remarked in a former note) observes no moderation. Suetonius, whose tendency seems to be vituperative, admits all his great qualifications and endowments, and rather unwillingly allows him to have possessed some good dispositions. We find in the ingenious Plutarch, removed from any personal interest in the subject, the good and the bad, as they had been transmitted to him. Dion Cassius and Appian are branded for the effrontery of their misrepresentations; and all that can be picked up from ancient miscellaneous fragments relating to this extraordinary man, is so evidently tinctured with the gall of prejudice, that it serves rather to shew how the writers contradict each other, than to assist our judgment.

Among the French, Montesquieu, who thinks with most depth, and writes with most solidity, upon Roman policy, from the nature of his plan has not many opportunities of detailing Caesar's actions, or entering much into his personal character; but from what may be gathered, he imputes the subversion of the Republick to several other causes beside the dictator's ambition; and, as may be seen in a former quotation, (p. 135, n. 9.) he is of opinion, that from the superiority of his genius, let Julius have appeared when and where it might be, he must have been the ruler.

In our own language we have many Roman Histories, Essays, &c. Four Dissertations, in the form of lectures, by the learned Dr. Michael Kearney, formerly senior fellow of Dublin College, are deservedly in high estimation; but nothing I have yet seen appears to me comparable to the northern Blackwell's MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF AUGUSTUS. With the fire of Lucan, however, this able Author seems to inherit his partiality to Pompey, and inveteracy against his rival. He frankly puts him down as ready for every intended massacre; the fomenter of every sedition; and as being fully convicted of taking the lead in every plot and conspiracy against his country; where the proofs are suspicious, or at most only presumptive.—It is not necessary to go beyond notoriety to convict Caesar of gross immorality.

Though my notions of the Roman government, of their early republican virtues, and of the unexampled depravity of Caesar, happen not to coincide exactly with the opinions of this discerning writer, yet my respect for his learning and talents is in nowise abated by that selfish consideration; for I think his volumes a most animated and interesting performance, abounding with information as to the matter, full of nerve and ardour in the diction, and placing every period he treats of before the reader's view, with a masterly command of his subject. The Scoticisms, as they are called, which may be found now and then in the style, and which have given offence, real or affected, to some of our Priscians, are in my eyes maculae too small to obscure the lustre of so bright a production. Yet determined as he is to find nothing but purity and excellence among the early Romans, the fratricide of Remus and the rape of the Sabine women give him no umbrage in the character of Romulus; he is not startled at the first Brutus, or the more unnatural Manlius, ordering and superintending the execution of their own children; nor at the cruelty of money-lenders to their insolvent debtors; their barbarity to their slaves, the bloody pastimes in the theatre, and other enormities, from which I flatter myself it is no affectation of singularity in me to turn with disgust and abhorrence. A general taken from the plough-tail to conquer his country's enemies, and returning to it after his triumph,—a statesman planting his own turnips, and feeding upon them as his favourite fare,—present no very flattering picture of society and manners. This is what Shakspeare calls emphatically, "to make man's life as cheap as beasts."

In the early Romans we see a very fierce and warlike people, frugal in poverty, and cased round with some stony virtues, while they had no access to the means of corruption or luxury; but when these were within their reach, indulging in them to excess. When there was temptation, they were tempted. They were sanguine, inconstant, and cruel; frequently persecuting their best citizens and benefactors; under false names and specious pretences subjugating mankind, and trying to extend their unjust dominion to the utmost boundaries of the universe. The dugs of the wolf were not confined to the suckling of Romulus and Remus. With all this we find among them prodigies of valour, of publick spirit, and of private virtue.

After many pages of violent invective, Dr. Blackwell calls Julius Caesar "the most ambitious profligate" the nativities of Rome ever registered, and this at a time when with his usual animation he is depicting the proscriptions of the last bloody Triumvirs; when surely he had before his eyes THREE Romans not less ambitious, and much more profligate; the whole transaction conducted with iniquity so deliberate and radical, with such a spirit of inexorable cruelty, as, like the adjudications of the present French tribunals, almost benumbs the hearers' faculties into incredulous astonishment.

In the second Punick war, Roman virtue was at its meridian; from which, though the ascent to it had been tardy, the decline was rapid. Caesar found his countrymen soaked and sodden in corruption, but he did not introduce it. The worst part of his conduct was during his consulship. Here he laid the foundation of that wicked greatness, the superstructure of which he hardly lived to finish. Even the execrable Sylla shewed some regard to the prosperity of his country, by four excellent regulations: first, as the constitution stood originally, that no reference should be made to the people, and no matter debated in their assembly, which had not been first canvassed and decreed by the Senate: secondly, by prohibiting the division and voting by tribes; next by the abolition of the tribune's negative, his power of convening the Senate, or entering into any business which did not relate to a Plebeian; and lastly, by the disqualification of all but Patricians from being eligible as judges in any cause publick or private. But though the wisdom of these measures is unquestionable, yet we are justified by our knowledge of Sylla's character in ascribing them to a much less laudable motive than regard for his country's welfare. The edicts by which he abolished the turbulent tribunitial power, were dictated chiefly by his enmity to Marius, and abhorrence of his faction. Every body of men, every principle, which had been favourable to the rival whom he detested, were naturally the objects of his persecution. While he was indulging his revengeful spirit, which otherwise than by the ruin of his enemy's partisans he could not indulge, he made many regulations beneficial to patricians; but these could have no confirmed operation till after he chose to abdicate; for during his dictatorship he never suffered his will to be disputed. His principal mental gratification was the devising of new modes of afflicting and tormenting the unhappy people who could be supposed to retain any attachment to the interest of Marius. This is a more consistent way of accounting for Sylla's acts as a statesman, than the esprit republicain to which Montesquieu is pleased to ascribe them.

With keen alacrity Caesar exerted himself to overturn these salutary ordinances. All his proceedings having the same seditious tendency, Q. Catulus, the Prince of the Senate, declared aloud not long afterwards, ‘that Caesar was not undermining the constitution, but storming it with a battering ram.’

But indefensible as is all this, how can we forget that he was at this time in strict junction with Pompey, who, if he did not suggest the measures, certainly connived at, nay sometimes openly abetted, them? To support an Agrarian law, and alienate the publick revenue, this moral citizen threatened to bring his sword as well as buckler, if necessary. To say he was deceived or managed by his associate, is at best a poor palliative for his principles, at the expence of his understanding; an apology with which, above all others, that great, but vain, man would have been least satisfied. Pompey had many obligations to Cicero, Caesar had none; but they both let loose at him that monster Clodius, who seems to have lapped the blood of the Centaur, Nessus. To make this Roman Danton a more fatal implement of mischief, they agreed to metamorphose him into a Plebeian. In devising this expedient, or consenting to it, the infamy of Pompey exceeds Caesar's; the latter only intended to worry an enemy, Pompey was base and ungrateful to a friend and benefactor. Had Tully been without any other claim to his protection, the oration for the Manilian law deserved a different requital.

It is perhaps no great credit to think erroneously of Caesar with some of his admirers, with Dion Cassius, Paterculus, or St. Evremond; but if he was the worst man in the world, some of the best have taken pains to mislead our judgment; for who can rise from the perusal of Tully's orations for Ligarius, for Marcellus, nay from the Philippicks, with an impression on his mind that all this incense was offered at the shrine of virtue existing only in the imagination of the orator? Had the heart of Julius been impenetrable to mercy, Cicero would not have chosen that quality which "droppeth like the gentle dew from heaven," as the subject of so much beautiful panegyrick.

He had great vices, and great virtues. He was intrepid and humane, considerate, friendly, and bountiful; "naturá ulciscendo lenissimus," says the severe Suetonius; and he never remembered an offence or an injury when an overture was made towards a reconciliation. Before he ordered the pirates to be crucified, a fate with which he had often threatened them while their prisoner, he took care to have them first dispatched expeditiously; and perhaps he was the only gentleman of Rome, who would have listened to any dictate of humanity in the punishment of such villains.

For his own preservation he was in some measure forced into the civil war; and he was certainly ill-treated by the senate, which was rash enough to exasperate, without having strength enough to resist him.

It is not true that he exulted in shedding the blood of his countrymen. Lucan, who says it often in very fine verse, is no authority, though Blackwell seems to have repeated it from him: at Pharsalia, he ordered his veterans to fall upon the allies, and spare the Romans; and "miles, faciem feri!" which Florus calls "vox ad victoriam efficax," was perfectly allowable. The slaughter of his victory filled his bosom with deep regret: "They would have it thus," was an expression wrung from the sincere anguish of his heart, and will admit of no perversion.

Had Caesar never lived, Rome would have lost her liberty. Manners were so utterly changed, her dominions so extended, that the unwieldy empire could not have continued much longer under the form of a republick.

When his incomparable abilities, the lenity of his disposition, his temperance, and conciliating manners, come to be fairly estimated, it is reasonable to conclude that had he lived at a later era, had the diadem descended to him by succession, he would probably have been the most wise and excellent sovereign that ever governed the empire. He was too sagacious to be perplexed by suspicion, and too intrepid to admit fear, that mean infirmity, that nidus in the bosom of despots, where so many base vices are for ever hatching, to crawl out for the plague and persecution of the subject.

The populace, and the army, were the stilts upon which Julius raised himself above the laws of his country. How cruelly they tyrannise in a neighbouring kingdom, the seat of injustice, rapine, desolation, and carnage, every day furnishes us with fresh examples. From the modification and noble spirit of the British troops, were their numbers trebled, nothing is to be apprehended, but by the enemy. The dregs of mankind, or the mob, are pretty much the same in all nations, ignorant, precipitate, venal, and sanguinary; and any appearance of their aiming at, or obtaining the supremacy, should be jealously watched, and vigourously put down, by every friend to good order and the existence of civil society. Every historical page of ancient Greece and Rome holds out a warning, every murderous record of modern France speaks to us on this subject, with "most miraculous organ."

There is no danger from a Caesar, for who has his means, his boldness, and capacity? nor from such instruments as he employed, for we have a wise and vigilant government; but it is always a valuable occupation of leisure to examine the first seeds of revolutions, and to prevent the growth of those noxious weeds which seldom fail to spring up from them.

Such are the notions which I have been able to form of Caesar's character: if they are entirely ill founded, I know not where to discover fresh materials for better information.

NOTE [C.] p. 146.

Prodigy is a fanciful province, from which the descriptive Muse does not wish to retire speedily. The portents which are said to have been observed about the time of Caesar's assassination offered a favourable occasion to the poetical courtiers of Augustus, to indulge their vein, and flatter the Emperor. Virgil and Ovid have accordingly described them with great force and majesty. When they both write on the same subject, it is not necessary to say which is most excellent. Some persons of acknowledged taste have been known to prefer Virgil to Homer, but I believe Ovid was never preferred to Virgil. Yet admirable as are the verses towards the conclusion of the first Georgick, they are perhaps surpassed by Shakspeare's sublimity on the same topick in the tragedy of Hamlet.

The lines are in the part of Horatio, which being seldom filled by an eminent actor, I have never happened to hear them recited on the stage; and as they may possibly have escaped general notice, no apology is necessary for transcribing them. Mr. Malone (doubtless for the best reasons) does not exhibit the fifth line as it is found in other modern editions; but though I think there can be no appeal from his authority, rather than produce the passage imperfectly, I will give it as it stands in the copy which happens to be next to me:

In the most high and palmy state of Rome,

A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;

Stars shone with trains of fire, dews of blood sell;

Disasters dimm'd the sun; and the moist star,

Upon whose influence Neptune's empire hangs,

Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.

There is something wonderfully striking in the awful but obscure imagery here raised up to the imagination. Such beauties cannot be reached by the pencil.

As to Caesar's death being the cause of these phenomena, I think like Hotspur, "so would they have been, if his mother's cat had kittened." Some of the Caesarean writers wish to impress a persuasion that divine justice pursued the conspirators against Julius; most of them having fallen by violent deaths, and some by the very daggers which they had plunged into his body. That Providence should interpose in punishing the death of an usurper, and upon men, some of whom were of much better morals undoubtedly than he whom they destroyed, will not be easily reconciled to the faith of Christians; who can account better for the fate of these conspirators, by observing, that the leaders in bold and perilous enterprises are of course exposed in dangerous situations.

We cannot however affect the same incredulity with respect to a recent and striking example in the fate which has attended so many of the murderers of the late innocent and excellent King of France. Maxims, principles, and practices, of their own introducing, and a tribunal erected in iniquity and blood, have turned the edge of destruction upon its inventors. Such of them as have not fallen by their own weapons, (one regicide, and the deified assassin, Marat, excepted,) have left their heads upon their own revolutionary scaffold, after a trial, which, like that of their sovereign, exhibits the most shameless violation of every principle of justice, reason, and equity. "Shall I not visit for these things? saith the Lord."—From what we have already seen, and see daily, it would hardly be a rash prediction, that in the same miserable manner every man of them will perish.

The state of Rome under Tiberius bears so precise a similitude to the present wretched condition of France, that the following words of Tacitus seem like a prophetick anticipation of what exists at this moment: ‘Nos saeva jussa, continuas accusationes, fallaces amicitias, perniciem innocentium, et easdem exitu causas conjungimus obviâ rerum similitudine et satietate.’ ‘We have nothing before us but acts of despotism, continual accusations, the treachery of friends, the ruin of innocence, and trial after trial ending always in the same tragick catastrophe.’—Of this single passage I have transcribed the translation from Mr. Murphy's excellent work, lately published. These volumes deserve the attentive perusal of every English reader, as he will there find the true meaning and spirit of the Roman historian, without the affected quaintness of expression, and distorted position of sentence, which disfigure former versions; and still more, because he may discover, in almost every section, the surprising resemblance between the most hideous despotism avowed, and the present chaotick French Republick, which with a throat of brass dares to call all the sovereigns of Europe, TYRANTS, the king of Great Britain being included in the number.

NOTE [D.] p. 172.

Of all vices incident to human nature Cruelty is the worst, and at the same time the most unaccountable: envy, revenge, avarice, and other bad passions, rise in the mind from objects proper to excite them, and a certain degree of instinctive sense impells men to seek their gratification; but how is it consistent with the least shadow of reflection, with the elements of a frame endued with sensibility and feeling, to find delight in devising, inflicting, and superintending the infliction of the most exquisite and ingenious torments? Yet this was the abomination to which the Romans were most addicted. It did not begin with, nor was it confined to, the Emperors, but long before had contaminated the lives of too many of their most illustrious citizens. A propensity so general must have had some cause as general.

We must consider that the Romans were more constantly than any other nation engaged in wars either foreign or domestick. Battles were not decided then, as since the discovery of gunpowder, by weapons which sent destruction at a distance; but every Roman saw the wounds and death which he inflicted on every enemy. The carnage to which they were accustomed lost its horrour, and indifference to bloodshed soon grew to be interwoven with their nature. To this must be added the savage cast of their recreations. Their pleasure resulted from seeing hundreds of the most furious wild beasts tearing one another to pieces, and devouring before their eyes human bodies thrown to them alive in the arena; and from the combats of Gladiators, who were instructed to give and receive wounds with grace and agility, and to expire before them in attitudes proper for the imitation of the statuary and painter. The Romans in short, after spilling human blood in the field as their profession, went to the theatre to see it shed for their amusement. Forgiveness of injuries, besides, made no part of their religion; that benevolent precept was reserved for a divine founder. In this manner they were trained up and enticed to be wicked, and they became as cruel as butchers, from similar habits, and for the same reason. Had equal care been employed to cultivate in their breasts the seeds of benignity and compassion, it would have been equally efficacious. The state pretence for indulging the people in these barbarous exhibitions was, that by thus familiarizing them with the sight of pain and death they became more fearless, and braver soldiers; but it only served to make them more inhuman. The emperors most infamous for cruelty, and a passion for these bloody spectacles, were at the same time not less notorious for cowardice.—Though boxing is not a science with the French as with the English, the French are certainly a more cruel people; and perhaps it may be ascribed to the frequency of the tortures inflicted on criminals at their publick executions, which were always more numerously attended in proportion to their severity and duration. Considerable sums were given by French ladies to secure a commodious seat to see the horrible execution of Damien. The abolition of the rack, mitigation of the penal code, and a more equitable mode of proceeding in criminal prosecutions, were the only substantial advantages held out to France by the promoters of her boasted revolution: of these the first is the only one which she has actually obtained; and it is well known that this humane abolition originated with his late Majesty.

NOTE [E.] p. 187.

The government of Athens was democratical, and she stands out in the history of mankind stained with the foulest injustice and iniquity; inconstant, weak, suspicious, ungrateful, and sanguinary, perpetually defiled with the blood of her deliverers and most deserving citizens. See them enumerated by Lucian in his dialogue against giving too hasty an assent to calumny. Socrates, Phocion, Miltiades, Themistocles, Aristides, Cimon, Timotheus, Alcibiades, and other illustrious characters, whose very names excite reverence and admiration, as a reward for their virtues and glorious achievements, were condemned by their inhuman countrymen to fines, imprisonment, exile, or death; so that every Athenian who distinguished himself in the service of his country, seemed to be warned by the catastrophe of his predecessors, that he was but accelerating his own perdition. When the excellent Phocion was led to an ignominious death, to which he had been unjustly doomed by the people of Athens, he declared that he expected no better, for such had been the fate of almost every illustrious Athenian.

The great exploits of the Athenians furnish no proof of the energy of a democratick constitution, for these were always performed when the people were led and governed by some eminent person, upon whom at the time were devolved the whole powers of the state; so that in fact the democracy was then suspended. It signifies little what a government may be called, when it acts on principles in nowise analogous to its denomination. At Athens it was easily known when the people took the helm again into their own hands; for weakness, confusion, and cruelty, immediately succeeded. The first display of their power was commonly the disgrace or death of those very persons to whom they owed their renown and security. The treatment of Hannibal by the people of Carthage, of Coriolanus, Camillus, the Scipios, Tully, and other great men, by the demagogues of Rome, and the consequences, are well known. Repentance makes but poor atonement for ruin. During the vigorous usurpation of Cromwell, England was called a Commonwealth, and was much respected; but what sovereign was ever more absolute, or acted under less control, than the Protector? A nation entirely governed by one man is an absolute monarchy, not a republick. The common people, who are afraid of tyrants, mistake; they are in no danger from them; indigence and obscurity excite neither their apprehensions nor their envy: the wise, the virtuous, and the opulent, are as naturally the defenders of the people, as they are the terror and the prey of the tyrant.

The insolence of Mark Antony, and the excesses of which he was so often guilty, made Tully wish that Brutus had not killed Caesar; in like manner, the friends of liberty in France, consider the Bastile as comparatively a less evil than the capricious and bloody tyranny of the people who destroyed it. Whoever expresses his disapprobation of a democracy is exposed to the calumny of furious zealots, who immediately hold him out as an indirect advocate for despotism: but, the good subjects of Great-Britain glory in its constitution, because they know it enjoys the most perfect rational freedom that ever existed since the first institution of civil society. If every kingdom in the world were to struggle for such a constitution as the English, nay, to encounter for it the worst of all calamities, a civil war, it would not be surprising; but, that men should be found in the very bosom of that enviable country, absurd or desperate enough to disseminate notions which tend to its subversion; that societies should be formed, to hold up the bloody tablature of France, under the false title of Liberty and Equality, as an object to excite the emulation of rational creatures, is a manifestation of human effrontery unexampled before, and hardly to be credited even by those who witness it. Could all the injustice, cruelty, and oppression of French despotism, since the reign of that obdurate bigot, Louis XI. with his hangman, Tristan, be collected together, and put into one scale of iniquity; and the atrocities of a single day in France, since the rabble have been rulers, thrown into the other, they would preponderate against it. It is, in short, a species of government which is always exerted to do wrong, and which can be operative only for mischief.

Men may as well go out of the world as they came into it, without observation or memory, as when the same effects are constantly produced by the same causes, to discern the last, and not to prevent the former.

The necessity the Romans were under of creating a dictator, or a magistrate without control, on every great exigency of affairs, either domestick or foreign, shews their consciousness of the defect in a divided executive: they detested the name of King, but they could not exist without his functions. It is computed that there are now in the city of Paris above ten thousand dictators, without parts, property, principles, or experience; and by these the publick business is conducted. Events are in the hands of God, and the sagacity of mortals is always fallible; but if ever the grounds were laid which threatened the duration of calamity in any state, when it was easy to foresee and not presumptuous to prophecy, the actual condition of ill-fated France seems to invite the most melancholy predictions.

NOTE [F.] p. 229.

Upon a general revision of the Roman history to the time of Augustus, it will be found to contain a series of obstinate and bloody wars, either foreign or civil, with a few short intervals of peace, and these constantly disturbed by seditions, feuds, and tumults; insomuch that the common expedient for securing the publick tranquillity was, to direct the fierce passions of the people against some unfortunate country, the conquest and plunder of which might for a time at least appease their restless ambition and insatiable avarice.

The internal commotions which commonly originated at Rome in some pretence for the people's advantage, though they produced nominal extension of their privileges, seldom ended in any material improvement of their condition; nor had the revolutions in the state much other effect than to aggrandize the leaders, and give additional authority to the few.

By the abolition of Royalty they gained nothing; a power over their lives beyond what had ever been claimed by Kings, undefined and without limitation, passed into the hands of dictators, consuls, and other magistrates, who exercised it always with rigour, and often wantonly. That short but frequent formula—NE QUID RESPUBLICA DETREMENTI CAPERET, delivered over at once the lives and liberties of the citizens to the magistrate's disposal.

Whoever will take the trouble to examine the Roman annals from the first institution of the consulship to the entire subversion of the republick, will perhaps be surprised to find how frequently during that period the government was under different dictators, that is, under the dominion of a single chief magistrate, invested by the law, the constitution, and usage, with uncontroulable authority, and after the expiration of his despotick office, not accountable to the people, or to any tribunal, for the manner in which he had exercised it. Who had the nomination of this arbitrary magistrate? Not the people, but another magistrate. The object always was to keep down the people. In the second Punick war, Livy says, they named Q. Fabius Maximus prodictator, the consul being absent; but he takes care to have it known, that it was the single instance,—quod nunquam ante eum diem factum erat; nor probably would this innovation have been thought of or permitted, but at such a calamitous season as the invasion of Hannibal.

There were, I think, about sixteen dictators at different times in less than two centuries; so that the Roman republick was sixteen times suspended, and under a domination not less arbitrary than that of Louis the Fourteenth over France, or of the emperor of Morocco over his barbarians. Had we no other information more direct upon the subject to evince the aristocracy of the Roman government, its policy profound and invariable as it was unjust and oppressive, especially with respect to foreign states, sufficiently demonstrates, that such a system could not have been devised and prosecuted by the multitude; but that it was the work of enlightened statesmen, who discerned its effects by their experience, and transmitted it to their successors in a clear collection of principles and maxims, which could never be departed from without hazarding the whole by any partial relaxation. At the intervals when the people presumed to take the reins into their own hands, the machine either stood still or went backwards; and when the chiefs of the senate resumed their functions, their vigour and wisdom were doubly exerted to restore it again to its original capacity of progression.

The TRIBUNE, that great popular officer who hung like a dead weight upon the neck of the law, was chiefly formidable by factious opposition to the Senate. When he put forth his power to do mischief, democracy, that is, confusion, was triumphant; but many tribunes being intelligent and temperate, their wisdom was shewn in acquiescence; not in thwarting the measures of their country's most respectable assembly. Besides, it must be remembered, that these disturbers had no jurisdiction beyond the walls of the city; and as the dissent of one of them rendered the proceedings of the rest a nullity, it was no very difficult matter for the senate to secure that one in their interest, so to re-act upon them all, and to impede the impeders. The first measure of these demagogues was to instigate the many-headed monster to banish Rome's bravest commander, the patrician Coriolanus: which drove him to take refuge with the enemy, to march back in the van of a Volscian army, laying all waste before him with sword and fire to the very walls of the city; which, but for the intercession of his noble mother, he would have depopulated and reduced to ashes. No defence is here implied of his vindictive resentment.

Tully the warmest and most eloquent advocate for the senatorial bench, at last declares himself of opinion, that the institution of the tribune, supposed for a time to be so fatal to good government, preserved Rome from unutterable confusion and anarchy; because, the extravagant views and jarring disposition of the multitude being in some measure compressed and rendered intelligible through the organ of their officer, it became practicable either to defeat their opposition or to reconcile them, by the management of him in whom they confided as their orator and representative.

Spurius Cassius Viscellinus, the first propounder of an Agrarian law, which he expiated from the Tarpeian rock, Spurius Maelius, who fell by the sword of Ahala, Manlius, (another Cassius in his ambition, and his catastrophe,) the Gracchi, Marius, Clodius, Caesar, all were tyrants, or attempted to be so, not by undue influence in the senate, but by corrupting and inflaming the most numerous, the most despicable, and most dangerous part of the community. No man can love the rabble for themselves; he may indeed value them as the engineer does gunpowder, for the destructive use which may be made of it.

The simplicity of names imposed much upon the generality of Romans, as it seems to have done upon too many modern writers. Though there was the greatest difference as to power, there was little distinction of titles. Caius Caesar, and Cneius Pompey, at the time Rome was completely under their subjection, were the appellations by which those great men were best known. Republican pride was not wounded on the surface, and the ear at least was little accustomed to humiliation.

To the king of Great Britain, as the palladium of British liberty, the law has taken care to give every decoration which epithets can add for his personal inviolability and magisterial honour; yet titles which flow from him (those annexed to professional peerages excepted) are sometimes veils for insignificance, mere gilded pent-houses for inefficient vanity. When they are ancient and hereditary, unless disgraced by the possessors, we pay to them an involuntary respect, because they are always accompanied with some idea of superiority. A person of mean endowments, ennobled even in the most modern times, is commonly possessed at least of considerable property; and the world seems to acknowledge, that wealth gives one sufficient claim to importance. But this man of importance, with his title and his riches, can infringe no law of England with impunity, while the ancient Roman republican, like the modern French anarchist without either, we see violating all the natural and municipal rights of his fellow-citizens with the most undisguised effrontery.

There is no subject upon which more erroneous notions have been formed, or more ill-considered dissertations published, than the Roman Constitution while under the name of a republick; but especial care must be taken not to confound two terms, Populus Romanus, and Plebes, as if they were of the same import. The former comprises the senators, patricians, knights, and gentry; the latter means, the idle, the indigent, and worthless; or what we understand by the monosyllabical denomition, MOB.

The real government was in the senate, or rather in a few chiefs of the senate. Whoever was observed to court the favour of the populace, and to neglect the conscript fathers, was immediately suspected of harbouring designs subversive of the constitution. The criterion was infallible. It instantly produced unanimity in the senate; they knew that the faeces populi Romani could be cajoled or stimulated only to create confusion, and to make the demagogue their tyrant.

With respect to the interference of the lowest order in the business of legislation, the sentiments of Cato, (that self-devoted martyr to Roman liberty,) though he was sometimes reluctantly compelled to submit to it, were little different from those of Coriolanus, or of the proudest patrician who reprobated the idea with disdain and indignation. They were often employed as instruments to disturb, but seldom to regulate, and their consequence terminated with the close of an election, or the suppression of a tumult, unless a succession of shameless tribunes chose to keep them in a state of permanent insurrection. The senate were averse to, and afraid of, monarchy, not the populace. The latter loved even the emperors; the former flattered them, knowing their danger, and trying to shelter themselves from it: the herd were safe, and therefore indifferent. Nero was not unpopular at Rome, till after he had set it on fire; nor was Henry the Eighth in England. But even military despotism is less intolerable than anarchy, because some subordination may be expected in the one, and caprice and cruelty are for ever to be apprehended in the other.

I would not be understood to assert, that the people at Rome had not regularly considerable power; where many great offices were elective, and the people electors, it could not be otherwise; nay where their general sense could be collected in favour of any measure not utterly unreasonable, it was generally prevalent: but they did not constitute the preponderating weight in the government; and at all times, when they got more than their proper share of subordinate influence, they as constantly made a very bad use of it. In England, where the government is nominally monarchical, in what instance has not the sense of the majority been respected? but the clamour of a multitude is not to be mistaken for the sense of a nation.

Were I to fix upon the period of Roman history in which the lowest class had legitimately the most power, I should not hesitate to pronounce (however singular it may appear) that it was for not much less than one hundred and forty years, from the time of Romulus to the collecting the suffrages by centuries under the sixth king Servius Tullius. The young Horatius condemned to death by the Duumviri for killing his sister, auctore Tullo (REGE) was absolved in consequence of an appeal to the people. The king declined trying the cause, and referred it to two judges, to avoid the censure of too much severity on one side, and the inconvenience of unpopularity on the other; and so suggested an appeal from the judicial sentence: which shews the consideration in which the people were then held. Servius, the sixth king, certainly thought they were likely to prevail too much, and depressed them by changing the mode of collecting the suffrages. As to acts of violence by hired mobs, composed at Rome as every where else of the dregs of mankind, it only proves, that they were not the government. Not only the chief power of the state, but all real freedom of action seemed to reside in the Senate, and in the persons of a few magistrates during their continuance in office. Did the statute-books or the common law of Great Britain secure liberty only to members of parliament, to the board of treasury, the lord mayor, and a few other magistrates, what reasonable man would affirm that REFORM was, at present, a speculation idle, unnecessary, or factious?

The consuls were ANNUAL KINGS, invested under another name with more authority than is allowed to limited royalty. Why the democratick ascendency has been sometimes asserted, may perhaps be thus easily accounted for. Writers have taken up the subject by parts, without a fair examination of the whole. Having some favourite system to support, or theory to illustrate, (at once flattering to ingenuity, and irreconcileable to experience,) they find a particular occurrence, or some detached passages of an ancient author, which may be accommodated to their purpose; and they build upon them some crude and hasty dogma, which afterwards is not to be relinquished. Their partiality will not allow them to discern their error at the time, nor will their want of candour upon better information suffer the retraction. To every passage which can be found countenancing the supremacy of the populace at large, it is not too much to affirm, that at least half a dozen may be opposed of a contrary tendency. Exaggeration and high colouring must be expected in orations; they consitute the grace, not the substance of history, and often are the work of the historian's invention; but we see the speeches of Demagogues abounding in general with complaints of the degradation and abject state of Plebeians, and with bitter reprehensions of the overweening ambition and jealous tyranny of the Nobles.

But allowing this point to remain undecided, we may turn our view to another, where there is no room for misrepresentation, theory, or the fertility of conjectural inference. Behold then—"This nurse of heroes, this delight of gods," under a dictator, as described already, with a numerous army by sea and land, scourged or cudgeled by the centurion, and decimated by the general; wives exposed to divorce from the avarice, disgust, or capricious inconstancy of their husbands; usurious creditors permitted by the law to imprison, lash, and torture the persons of their insolvent debtors; the whole youth of Rome holding their lives at the pleasure of their fathers, who might have cast them out at their birth to perish by cold or famine; with slaves abounding in every family, less in estimation than the cattle of their owners; and where can be found a picture of more complete subjection and inequality? for equality beyond that of protection from just laws, is but a word which knaves utter, and their dupes swallow. Yet the commonwealth of Rome, and Roman liberty, are sounds for ever in the mouth of hypocrites or visionaries.

For the preposterous doctrine of equality in its most preposterous latitude, the example of Rome has been produced repeatedly, whether for the sake of mischief or from ignorance, I know not: but the contest there was for the partition of distinctions, not for their abolition; not that there should be no offices of great power and emolument, but that all orders should have a right of admission to them. That plebeians should be eligible to the consulship, that they should have lictors and fasces, was the demand of the people; not that there should be no consulship, and no insignia.

But we cannot be deceived; the veil of imposition is too transparent not to be seen through. Declaimers among us mean to divert the attention of their hearers from the blessings which they enjoy, to contemplate imaginary and impracticable perfection which never existed, and to transfer the worship of freedom's true divinity at home, to the grim and deformed idol in ancient Rome, or modern France, which assumes her name, but has not one of her attributes.

After we have looked to antiquity, or to the nations which surround us, after we have examined the states which have been, and are extinguished, after we have scrutinized unreal republicks, sketched in the lucubrations of a Grecian philosopher or a British theorist, the judgment returns homeward to repose on the unrivalled constitution of our own country; where a long succession of mature experiments has ended in the establishment of a system, in which the best faculties have been directed to two great objects, the ascertaining human rights, and securing social felicity.

When we contemplate the means of happiness which Providence has been pleased to distribute so abundantly over the universe, we must acknowledge that the grandeur and superiority of the Romans were very dearly purchased. To be engaged in war, or in civil commotions, for a period of above seven hundred years, and to sink into the most abject slavery afterwards, was the fate of this extolled and envied people. What a state for social creatures! as if men were sent into the world for no better purpose than to worry and drive others out of it.

Were glory the most desirable end of human pursuits and actions, Rome must certainly be considered as the first country in the universe; but if virtue and contentment are preferable, perhaps it was the last.

THE END.

Information about this book

Title statement

Roman portraits, a poem, in heroick verse; with historical remarks and illustrations: by Robert Jephson, Esq

Jephson, Robert, 1736-1803.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3826

ID [isbn10]

1106008251

ID [isbn13]

9781106008251

ID [TCP]

K030166.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313178904

ID [ECLL]

0536901100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Roman portraits, a poem, in heroick verse; with historical remarks and illustrations: by Robert Jephson, Esq, Jephson, Robert, 1736-1803.. [4],xxxiv,[2],242,245-277,[1]p.,plates : ports. ; 4⁰. London :: printed by Henry Baldwin, for G. G. and J. Robinson,. 1794.. [With a half-title.] [The pagination jumps from 242 to 245, but text and register are continuous.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT20779.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.