Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History BookIn breasts, affined to so remote a king!-- Yet know, amid these "dregs," low grandeur's scorn, 75 Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn: Some, skilled to plead a noble blockhead's cause, And solve the dark enigmas of the laws; Some, who the Tigris' hostile banks explore, And plant our eagles on Batavia's shore: 80 While thou, in mean, inglorious pleasure lost, With "Cecrops! Cecrops!" all thou hast to boast, Art a full brother to the crossway stone, Which clowns have chipped the head of Hermes on: For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block 85 Is formed of flesh and blood, and theirs of rock. Of beasts, great son of Troy, who vaunts the breed, Unless renowned for courage, strength, or speed? 'Tis thus we praise the horse, who mocks our eyes, While, to the goal, with lightning's speed, he flies! 90 Whom many a well-earned palm and trophy grace, And the Cirque hails, unrivaled in the race! --Yes, he is noble, spring from whom he will, Whose footsteps, in the dust, are foremost still; While Hirpine's stock are to the market led, 95 If Victory perch but rarely on their head: For no respect to pedigree is paid, No honor to a sire's illustrious shade. Flung cheaply off, they drag the cumbrous wain, With shoulders bare and bleeding from the chain; 100 Or take, with some blind ass in concert found, At Nepo's mill, their everlasting round. That Rome may, therefore, YOU, not YOURS, admire, By virtuous actions, first, to praise aspire; Seek not to shine by borrowed light alone, 105 But with your father's glories blend your own. THIS to the youth, whom Rumor brands as vain, And swelling--full of his Neronian strain; Perhaps, with truth:--for rarely shall we find A sense of modesty in that proud kind. 110 But were my Ponticus content to raise His honors thus, on a forefather's praise, Worthless the while--'twould tinge my cheeks with shame-- 'Tis dangerous building on another's fame, Lest the substructure fail, and on the ground 115 Your baseless pile be hurled, in fragments, round.-- Stretched on the plain, the vine's weak tendrils try To clasp the elm they drop from; fail--and die! Be brave, be just; and when your country's laws Call you to witness in a dubious cause, 120 Though Phalaris plant his bull before your eye, And, frowning, dictate to your lips the lie, Think it a crime no tears can e'er efface, To purchase safety with compliance base, At honor's cost a feverish span extend, 125 AND SACRIFICE FOR LIFE, LIFE'S ONLY END! LIFE! 'tis not life--who merits death is dead; Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread, Though his limbs drip with exquisite perfume, And the late rose around his temples bloom! 130 O, when the province, long desired, you gain, Your boiling rage, your lust of wealth, restrain, And pity our allies: all Asia grieves-- Her blood, her marrow, drained by legal thieves. Revere the laws, obey the parent state; 135 Observe what rich rewards the good await. What punishments the bad: how Tutor sped, While Rome's whole thunder rattled round his head! And yet what boots it, that one spoiler bleed, If still a worse, and still a worse succeed; 140 If neither fear nor shame control their theft, And Pansa seize the little Natta left? Haste then, Chærippus, ere thy rags be known, And sell the few thou yet canst call thine own, And O, conceal the price! 'tis honest craft; 145 Thou could'st not keep the hatchet--save the haft. Not such the cries of old, nor such the stroke, When first the nations bowed beneath our yoke. Wealth, then, was theirs, wealth without fear possess'd, Full every house, and bursting every chest-- 150 Crimson, in looms of Sparta taught to glow, And purple, deeply dyed in grain of Co; Busts, to which Myro's touch did motion give, And ivory, taught by Phidias' skill to live; On every side a Polyclete you viewed, 155 And scarce a board without a Mentor stood. These, these, the lust of rapine first inspired, These, Antony and Dolabella fired. And sacrilegious Verres:--so, for Rome They shipped their secret plunder; and brought home 160 More treasures from our friends, in peace obtained, Than from our foes, in war, were ever gained! Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey, The few brood mares and oxen swept away, The Lares--if the sacred hearth possess'd } 165 One little god, that pleased above the rest-- } Mean spoils, indeed! but such were now their best } Perhaps you scorn (and may securely scorn) The essenced Greek, whom arts, not arms, adorn: Soft limbs, and spirits by refinement broke, 170 Would feebly struggle with the oppressive yoke. But spare the Gaul, the fierce Illyrian spare, And the rough Spaniard, terrible in war; Spare too the Afric hind, whose ceaseless pain Fills our wide granaries with autumnal grain, 175 And pampers Rome, while weightier cares engage Her precious hours--the Circus and the Stage! For, should you rifle them, O think in time, What spoil would pay the execrable crime, When greedy Marius fleeced them all so late, 180 And bare and bleeding left the hapless state! But chief the brave, and wretched--tremble there; Nor tempt too far the madness of despair: For, should you all their little treasures drain, Helmets, and spears, and swords, would still remain; 185 THE PLUNDERED NE'ER WANT ARMS. What I foretell } Is no trite apophthegm, but--mark me well-- } True as a Sibyl's leaf! fixed as an oracle! } If men of worth the posts beneath you hold, And no spruce favorite barter law for gold; 190 If no inherent stain your wife disgrace, Nor, harpy-like, she flit from place to place, A fell Celæno, ever on the watch, And ever furious, all she sees to snatch; Then choose what race you will: derive your birth 195 From Picus, or those elder sons of earth, Who shook the throne of heaven; call him your sire, Who first informed our clay with living fire; Or single from the songs of ancient days, What tale may suit you, and what parent raise. 200 But--if rash pride, and lust, your bosom sway, If, with stern joy, you ply, from day to day The ensanguined rods, and head on head demand, Till the tired axe drop from the lictor's hand; Then, every honor, by your father won, 205 Indignant to be borne by such a son, Will, to his blood, oppose your daring claim, And fire a torch to blaze upon your shame!-- Vice glares more strongly in the public eye, As he who sins, in power or place is high. 210 SEE! by his great progenitors' remains Fat Damasippus sweeps, with loosened reins. Good Consul! he no pride of office feels, But stoops, himself, to clog his headlong wheels. "But this is all by night," the hero cries. 215 Yet the MOON sees! yet the STARS stretch their eyes, Full on your shame!--A few short moments wait, And Damasippus quits the pomp of state: Then, proud the experienced driver to display, He mounts his chariot in the face of day, 220 Whirls, with bold front, his grave associate |