Did glut himself again: | a meal was bought With blood; and each sat sullenly apart, | Gorging himself in gloom.
All earth was but one thought; and that was death, | Immediate, and inglo'rious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all en trails. | Men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; | The meager by the meager were devour'd. | Ev'n dogs' assail'd their masters; | all, save one, | And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds, and beasts, and famish❜d men at bay', | Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead | Lured their lank jaws. Himself sought out no food, | But with a piteous, and perpetual moan, | And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer'd not with a caress, | he died. |
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two' Of an enormous city, did survive ; |
And they were enemies. They met beside The dying embers of an altar-place, |
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things | For an unholy u'sage: they rak'd up, |
And, shivering, scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands, | The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath |
Blew for a little life, and made a flame |
Which was a mockery. Then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter', and beheld
Each other's aspects- saw, and shriek'd', and died: | Ev'n of their mutual hid'eousness they died, |
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow | Famine had written fiend. |
The populous, and the powerful was* a lump, |
*Some, being anxious to correct what is already right, have substituted were for was.
Seasonless, herb.less, tree less, I man'less, | life less― | A lump of death a chaos of hard clay.[ The rivers, lakes', and o'cean, all stood still; | And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths. | Ships, sai lorless, | lay rotting on the sea; | And their masts fell down piece-meal; as they dropp'd, They slept on the abyss, without a surge. The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,- The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; | The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air; | And the clouds perish'd. | Darkness had no need Of aid from them she she,, was the universe. |
CATO'S SENATE.
(ADDISON.)
Lucius, Sempronius, and Senators.
Semp. Rome still survives in this assembl'd sen ate! | Let us remember we are Ca'to's friends, | And act like men who claim that glorious title. |
Luc. Cato will soon be here, and open to us
The occasion of our meeting. Hark! he comes ! |
May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him! |
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council— | Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together; | And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. | How shall we treat this bold aspiring man? | Success still follows him, and backs his crimes、 : | Pharsalia gave him Rome'; | Egypt has since Receiv'd his yoke; and the whole Nile' is Cæsar's. | Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? | Numidia's burning sands Still smoke with blood. | 'Tis time we should decree What course to take. Our foe advan'ces on us, | And envies us e'en Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts are they still fixt| To hold it out, and fight it to the last? |
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought By time, and ill success, to a submission? | Sempronius, speak. |
My voice is still for war. }
Can a Roman senate long debate | Which of the two to choose
| slav'ry, or death' ? | No let us rise at once, gird on our swords', | And, at the head of our remaining troops, |
Attack the foe, | break through the thick array | Of his throng'd legions, and charge home' upon him:| Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, |
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.! Rise, fathers, rise'!'T is Rome demands your help; | Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd cit`izens, |
Or share their fate! The corpse of half her sen`ate, | Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here deliberating in cold debates, I Whether to sacrifice our lives to honour, | Or wear them out in servitude, and chains. | Rouse up, for shame! | our brothers of Pharsalia | Point at their wounds, and cry aloud to bat'tle! | Great Pompey's shade, | complains that we are slow; | And Scipio's ghost | walks unreveng'd' amongst us! | Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal | Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason: | True fortitude | is seen in great exploits |
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides,- | All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction. | Are not the lives of those who draw the sword In Rome's defence, entrusted to our care? | Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter, | Might not the impartial world, with reason, say, | We lavish'd at our deaths | the blood of thou'sands, | To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious? | Lucius, we next would know what's your' opinion.
Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace.
Already have our quarrels | fill'd the world With widows, and with orphans: | Scythia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions | Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome. -| "T is time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind. | It is not Cæsar, | but the gods', my fathers, | The gods declare against us, and repel
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, | Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair, Were to refuse the awards of providence,a | And not to rest in heav''n's determination. | Already have we shown our love to Rome, Now, let us show submission to the gods. | We took up arms, not to revenge' ourselves, | But free the commonwealth: when this end fails, | Arms have no further use. Our country's cause, | That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands, And bids us not delight in Roman blood, | Unprofitably shed. What men could do, |
Is done already: | heaven, and earth will witness, | If Rōme must fall, that we are innocent. |
Semp. This smooth
Conceal a traitor All is not right. -
discourse, and mild behaviour, oft something whispers me Cato, beware of Lucius. |
Cato. Let us be neither rash nor diffident Immod'rate valour swells into a fault; } And fear, admitted into public councils, I Betrays like treason. | Let us shun them both. | Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
thus desp❜rate | we have bulwarks'
Within our walls, | are troops, inured to toil In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, | Ready to rise at its young prince's call. |
a Prov'è-dêns; not prov'ur-dunce.
While there is hope, I do not distrust the gods'; } But wait, at least, till Cæsar's near approach | Force' us to yield. | 'T will never be too late | To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time? | No, let us draw her term of freedom out | In its full length', and spin it to the last | So shall we gain still one day's liberty: | And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment, | A day, an hour', of virtuous liberty, | Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. |
Marc. Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate, | Lodg'd on my post, a her'ald is arriv'd
From Cæsar's camp; and with him, comes old De'cius, The Roman knight he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Ca to. | Cato. By your permission, fathers bid him enter. | I
Decius was once my friend; but other prospects Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar. | His message may determine our resolves. |
Dec. Cæsar sends health to Ca'to. |
To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome. | Are not your orders to address the senʼate? |
Dec. My business is with Ca'to. Cæsar sees The straits to which you 're driven; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. I
Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome'. | Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this and tell him too, | Cato Disdains a life | which he has power to offer. |
Dec. Rome, and her senators, submit to Cæsar; | Her generals, and her consuls, are no more, |
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