In sable sorrow's comfortless array,

1464

Through Tempé's shades he takes his lonely way;'

Pondering the uncertain base of mortal pride,
While winding Peneus murmurs by his side:*
There, in the mazes of the silent grove,

His streaming eyes upbraid inconstant Jove; 1469
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 Cæsar high in his triumphal car.

1

1475

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

* Littora contigerat, per quæ Peneïus amnis

FLOR. 1. iv. c. 2.

Emathiâ jam clade rubens exibat in æquor. LUCAN. 1. viii. 33.

Like a poor bark, her sails and rudder lost, In vain he hopes some hospitable coast;

1479

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,

1587

Reflecting, that his dear Cornelia lives:

Receding with his fortune's ebbing tide,

1491

Though interest's servile train forsake his side,

No chance or change her constant faith can move,* And woe's best balm is soft connubial love;

3 Cedendum est bellis, quorum tibi tuta latebra Lesbos erit:-. LUCAN. 1. v. 743..

Ma quel, che di cuor ama, riman forte,

Ed ama il suo signor dopo la morte.

ARIOS. c. xix.

That

That cordial drop, which in life's chalice quaff'd, Pervades and sweetens all the bitter draught. 1495

1500

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,' Was the gay tumult of their last embrace! When weaving garlands for her lord's return, Smiling she talk'd of ruind Cæsar'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;

1505

! O quantum caliginis mentibus humanis objicit magna felicitas.

• Enimvero Di nos, quasi pilas, homines habent.

SEN. Epist.

Views the fond structures of the exulting mind, Then puffs the empty bubbles to the wind; 1511 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. 1515 Vile strumpet, Fortune! who would trust thy smile?"

Thy blandishments allure, but to beguile.

The

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 Cæsar, 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

The master late of all Rome's naval pride,

1520

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.

1525

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;

1531

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 Cæsar, when we reflect upon his former fortune it is impossible not to be deeply affected at his lamentable catastrophe.