Not with such joy, Corvinus, I survey

My natal hour, as this auspicious day;

This day, on which the festive turf demands

The promised victims, at my willing hands.

A snow-white lamb to Juno I decree, 5

Another to Minerva; and to thee,

Tarpeian Jove! a steer, which, from afar,

Shakes his long rope, and meditates the war.

'Tis a fierce animal, that proudly scorns

The dug, since first he tried his budding horns 10

Against an oak; free mettled, and, in fine,

Fit for the knife, and sacrificial wine.

O, were my power but equal to my love,

A nobler victim should my rapture prove!

A bull high fed, and boasting in his veins, 15

The luscious juices of Clitumnus' plains,

Fatter than fat Hispulla, huge and slow,

Should fall, but fall beneath no common blow--

Fall for my friend, who now, from danger free,

Revolves the recent perils of the sea; 20

Shrinks at the roaring waves, the howling winds,

And scarcely trusts the safety which he finds!

For not the gods' inevitable fire,

The surging billows that to heaven aspire,

Alone, perdition threat; black clouds arise, 25

And blot out all the splendor of the skies;

Loud and more loud the thunder's voice is heard,

And sulphurous fires flash dreadful on the yard.--

Trembled the crew, and, fixed in wild amaze,

Saw the rent sails burst into sudden blaze; 30

While shipwreck, late so dreadful, now appeared

A refuge from the flames, more wished than feared.

Horror on horror! earth, and sea, and skies,

Convulsed, as when POETIC TEMPESTS rise!

From the same source another danger view, 35

With pitying eye--though dire alas! not new;

But known too well, as Isis' temples show,

By many a pictured scene of votive woe;

Isis, by whom the painters now are fed,

Since our own gods no longer yield them bread!-- 40

And such befell our friend: for now a sea,

Upsurging, poured tremendous o'er the lee,

And filled the hold; while, pressed by wave and wind,

To right and left, by turns, the ship inclined:

Then, while Catullus viewed, with drooping heart, 45

The storm prevailing o'er the pilot's art,

He wisely hastened to compound the strife,

And gave his treasure to preserve his life.

The beaver thus to scape his hunter tries,

And leaves behind the medicated prize; 50

Happy to purchase with his dearest blood,

A timely refuge in the well-known flood.

"Away with all that's mine," he cries, "away!"

And plunges in the deep, without delay,

Purples, which soft Mæcenases might wear, 55

Crimsons, deep-tinctured in the Bætic air,

Where herbs, and springs of secret virtues, stain

The flocks at feed, with Nature's richest grain.

With these, neat baskets from the Britons bought,

Rare silver chargers by Parthenius wrought, 60

A huge two-handed goblet, which might strain

A Pholus, or a Fuscus' wife, to drain;

Followed by numerous services of plate,

Plain, and enchased; with cups of ancient date,

In which, while at the city's strength he laughed, 65

The wily chapman of Olynthus quaffed.

Yet show me, in this elemental strife,

Another, who would barter wealth for life!--

Few GAIN TO LIVE, Corvinus, few or none,

But, blind with avarice, LIVE TO GAIN alone. 70

Now had the deep devoured their richest store;

Nor seems their safety nearer than before:

The last resource alone was unexplored--

To cut the mast and rigging by the board;

Haply the vessel so might steadier ride 75

O'er the vexed surface of the raging tide.

Dire threats the impending blow, when, thus distress'd,

We sacrifice a part, to save the rest!

Go now, fond man, the faithless ocean brave,

Commit your fortune to the wind and wave; 80

Trust to a plank, and draw precarious breath,

At most, seven inches from the jaws of death!

Go, but forget not that a storm may rise,

And put up hatchets with your sea supplies.

But now the winds were hushed; the wearied main 85

Sunk to repose, a calm, unruffled plain;

For fate, superior to the tempest's power,

Averted from my friend the mortal hour:

A whiter thread the cheerful Sisters spun,

And lo, with favoring hands their spindles run! 90

Mild as the breeze of eve, a rising gale

Rippled the wave, and filled their only sail;

Others the crew supplied, of vests combined,

And spread to catch each vagrant breath of wind:

By aids like these, slow o'er the deep impelled, 95

The shattered bark her course for Ostia held;

While the glad sun uprose, supremely bright,

And hope returned with the returning light.

At length the heights, where, from Lavinum moved,

Iülus built the city which he loved, 100

Burst on the view; auspicious heights! whose name

From a white sow and thirty sucklings came.

And now, the port they gain; the tower, whose ray

Guides the poor wanderer o'er the watery way,

And the huge mole, whose arms the waves embrace, 105

And stretching, an immeasurable space,

Far into Ocean's bosom, leave the coast,

Till, in the distance, Italy is lost!--

Less wonderful the bays which Nature forms,

And less secure against assailing storms: 110

Here rides the wave-worn bark, devoid of fear;

For Baian skiffs might ply with safety here.

The joyful crew, with shaven crowns, relate

Their timely rescue from the jaws of fate;

On every ill a pomp of words bestow, 115

And dwell delighted on the tale of woe.

Go then, my boys--but let no boding strain

Break on the sacred silence--dress the fane

With garlands, bind the sod with ribbons gay,

And on the knives the salted offering lay: 120

This done, I'll speed, myself the rites to share,

And finish what remains, with pious care.

Then, hastening home, where chaplets of sweet flowers

Bedeck my Lares, dear, domestic Powers!

I'll offer incense there, and at the shrine 125

Of highest Jove, my father's god, and mine;

There will I scatter every bud that blows,

And every tint the various violet knows.

All savors here of joy; luxuriant bay }

O'ershades my portal, while the taper's ray } 130

Anticipates the feast, and chides the tardy day: }

Nor think, Corvinus, interest fires my breast:

Catullus, for whose sake my house is dress'd,

Has three sweet boys, who all such hopes destroy,

And nobler views excite my boundless joy. 135

Yet who besides, on such a barren friend,

Would waste a sickly pullet? who would spend

So vast a treasure, where no hopes prevail,

Or, for a FATHER, sacrifice a quail?--

But should the symptoms of a slight disease 140

The childless Paccius or Gallita seize,

Legions of flatterers to the fanes repair,

And hang in rows their votive tablets there.

Nay, some with vows of hecatombs will come--

For yet no elephants are sold at Rome; 145

The breed, to Latium and to us unknown,

Is only found beneath the burning zone:

Thence to our shore, by swarthy Moors conveyed,

They roam at large through the Rutulian shade,

Kept for the imperial pleasure, envied fate! 150

And sacred from the subject, and the state.

Though their progenitors, in days of yore,

Did worthy service, and to battle bore

Whole cohorts; taught the general's voice to know,

And rush, themselves an army, on the foe. 155

But what avails their worth! could gold obtain

So rare a creature, worth might plead in vain:

Novius, without delay, their blood would shed,

To raise his Paccius from affliction's bed;

An offering, sacred to the great design, 160

And worthy of the votary and the shrine!

Pacuvius, did our laws the crime allow,

The fairest of his numerous slaves would vow;

The blooming boy, the love-inspiring maid,

With garlands crown, and to the temple lead; 165

Nay, seize his Iphigene, prepared to wed,

And drag her to the altar, from the bed;

Though hopeless, like the Grecian sire, to find,

In happy hour, the substituted hind.

And who shall say my countryman does ill? 170

A thousand ships are trifles to a Will!

For Paccius, should the fates his health restore,

May cancel every _item_ framed before

(Won by his friend's vast merits, and beset,

On all sides, by the inextricable net), 175

And, in one line, convey plate, jewels, gold,

Lands, every thing to him, "to have and hold."

With victory crowned, Pacuvius struts along,

And smiles contemptuous on the baffled throng;

Then counts his gains, and deems himself o'erpaid 180

For the cheap murder of one wretched maid.

Health to the man! and may he THUS get more

Than Nero plundered! pile his shining store

High, mountain high; in years a Nestor prove,

And, loving none, ne'er know another's love! 185

SATIRE XIII.

TO CALVINUS.

Man, wretched man, whene'er he stoops to sin,

Feels, with the act, a strong remorse within;

'Tis the first vengeance: Conscience tries the cause,

And vindicates the violated laws;

Though the bribed Prætor at their sentence spurn, 5

And falsify the verdict of the Urn.

What says the world, not always, friend, unjust,

Of his late injury, this breach of trust?

That thy estate so small a loss can bear,

And that the evil, now no longer rare, 10

Is one of that inevitable set,

Which man is born to suffer and forget.

Then moderate thy grief: 'tis mean to show

An anguish disproportioned to the blow.

But thou, so new to crosses, as to feel 15

The slightest portion of the slightest ill,

Art tired with rage, because a friend forswears

The sacred pledge, intrusted to his cares.

What, thou, Calvinus, bear so weak a mind!

Thou, who hast left full three-score years behind! 20

Heaven, have they taught thee nothing! nothing, friend!

And art thou grown gray-headed to no end!--

Wisdom, I know, contains a sovereign charm,

To vanquish fortune, or at least disarm:

Blest they who walk in her unerring rule!-- 25

Nor those unblest, who, tutored in life's school,

Have learned of old experience to submit,

And lightly bear the yoke they can not quit.

What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes,

No secret fraud, no open rapine stains? 30

What hour, in which no dark assassins prowl,

Nor point the sword for hire, nor drug the bowl?

THE GOOD, ALAS, ARE FEW! "The valued file,"

Less than the gates of Thebes, the mouths of Nile!

For now an age is come, that teems with crimes, 35

Beyond all precedent of former times;

An age so bad, that Nature can not frame

A metal base enough to give it name!

Yet you, indignant at a paltry cheat,

Call heaven and earth to witness the deceit, 40

With cries as deafening, as the shout that breaks

From the bribed audience, when Fæsidius speaks.

Dotard in nonage! are you to be told

What loves, what graces, deck another's gold?

Are you to learn, what peals of mirth resound, 45

At your simplicity, from all around?

When you step forth, and, with a serious air, }

Bid them abstain from perjury, and beware }

To tempt the altars--for A GOD IS THERE! }

Idle old man! there was, indeed, a time, 50

When the rude natives of this happy clime

Cherished such dreams: 'twas ere the king of heaven,

To change his sceptre for a scythe was driven;

Ere Juno yet the sweets of love had tried,

Or Jove advanced beyond the caves of Ide. 55

'Twas when no gods indulged in sumptuous feasts,

No Ganymede, no Hebe served the guests;

No Vulcan, with his sooty labors foul,

Limped round, officious, with the nectared bowl;

But each in private dined: 'twas when the throng 60

Of godlings, now beyond the scope of song,

The courts of heaven, in spacious ease, possess'd,

And with a lighter load poor Atlas press'd!--

Ere Neptune's lot the watery world obtained,

Or Dis and his Sicilian consort reigned; 65

Ere Tityus and his ravening bird were known,

Ixion's wheel, or Sisyphus's stone:

While yet the shades confessed no tyrant's power,

And all below was one Elysian bower!

Vice was a phœnix in that blissful time, 70

Believed, but never seen: and 'twas a crime,

Worthy of death, such awe did years engage,

If manhood rose not up to reverend age,

And youth to manhood, though a larger hoard

Of hips and acorns graced the stripling's board. 75

Then, then was age so venerable thought,

That every day increase of honor brought;

And children, in the springing down, revered

The sacred promise of a hoary beard!

Now, if a friend, miraculously just, 80

Restore the pledge, with all its gathered rust,

'Tis deemed a portent, worthy to appear

Among the wonders of the Tuscan year;

A prodigy of faith, which threats the state,

And a ewe lamb can scarcely expiate!-- 85

Struck at the view, if now I chance to see

A man of ancient worth and probity,

To pregnant mules the MONSTER I compare,

Or fish upturned beneath the wondering share:

Anxious and trembling for the woe to come, 90

As if a shower of stones had fallen on Rome;

As if a swarm of bees, together clung,

Down from the Capitol, thick-clustering, hung;

Or Tiber, swollen to madness, burst away,

And roll'd, a milky deluge, to the sea. 95

And dost thou at a trivial loss repine!

What, if another, by a friend like thine,

Is stripp'd of ten times more! a third, again,

Of what his bursting chest would scarce contain!

For 'tis so common, in this age of ours, 100

So easy, to contemn the Immortal Powers,

That, can we but elude man's searching eyes.

We laugh to scorn the witness of the skies.

Mark, with how bold a voice, and fixed a brow,

The villain dares his treachery disavow! 105

"By the all-hallowed orb that flames above,

I HAD IT NOT! By the red bolts of Jove,

By the winged shaft that laid the Centaur low,

By Dian's arrows, by Apollo's bow,

By the strong lance that Mars delights to wield, 110

By Neptune's trident, by Minerva's shield,

And every weapon that, to vengeance given,

Stores the tremendous magazine of heaven!--

Nay, IF I HAD, I'll slay this son of mine,

And eat his head, soused in Egyptian brine." 115

There are, who think that chance is all in all,

That no First Cause directs the eternal ball;

But that brute Nature, in her blind career,

Varies the seasons, and brings round the year:

These rush to every shrine, with equal ease, 120

And, owning none, swear by what Power you please.

Others believe, and but believe, a god,

And think that punishment MAY follow fraud;

Yet they forswear, and, reasoning on the deed,

Thus reconcile their actions with their creed: 125

"Let Isis storm, if to revenge inclined,

And with her angry sistrum strike me blind,

So, with my eyes, she ravish not my ore,

But let me keep the pledge which I forswore.

Are putrid sores, catarrhs that seldom kill, 130

And crippled limbs, forsooth, so great an ill!

Ladas, if not stark mad, would change, no doubt,

His flying feet for riches and the gout;

For what do those procure him? mere renown,

And the starved honor of an olive crown." 135

"But grant the wrath of heaven be great; 'tis slow,

And days, and months, and years precede the blow.

If, then, to punish ALL, the gods decree,

When, in their vengeance, will they come to me?

But I, perhaps, their anger may appease-- 140

For they are wont to pardon faults like these:

At worst, there's hope; since every age and clime

See different fates attend the self-same crime;

Some made by villainy, and some undone,

And this ascend a scaffold, that a throne." 145

These sophistries, to fix a while suffice

The mind, yet shuddering at the thought of vice;

And, thus confirmed, at the first call they come,

Nay, rush before you to the sacred dome:

Chide your slow pace, drag you, amazed, along, 150

And play the raving Phasma, to the throng.

(For impudence the vulgar suffrage draws,

And seems the assurance of a righteous cause.)

While you, poor wretch, suspected by the crowd,

With Stentor's lungs, or Mars', exclaim aloud: 155

"Jove! Jove! will naught thy indignation rouse?

Canst thou, in silence, hear these faithless vows?

When all thy fury, on the slaves accurst,

From lips of marble or of brass should burst!--

Or else, why burn we incense at thy shrine, 160

And heap thy altars with the fat of swine,

When we might crave redress, for aught I see,

As wisely of Bathyllus as of thee!"

Rash man!--but hear, in turn, what I propose,

To mitigate, if not to heal, your woes; 165

I, who no knowledge of the schools possess,

Cynic, or Stoic, differing but in dress,

Or thine, calm Epicurus, whose pure mind

To one small garden every wish confined.

In desperate cases, able doctors fee; 170

But trust your pulse to Philip's boy--or me.

If no example of so foul a deed

On earth be found, I urge no more: proceed,

And beat your breast, and rend your hoary hair;

'Tis just:-for thus our losses we declare; 175

And money is bewailed with deeper sighs,

Than friends or kindred, and with louder cries.

There none dissemble, none, with scenic art,

Affect a sorrow, foreign from the heart;

Content in squalid garments to appear, 180

And vex their lids for one hard-gotten tear:

No, genuine drops fall copious from their eyes,

And their breasts labor with unbidden sighs.

But when you see each court of justice thronged

With crowds, like you, by faithless friendship wronged, 185

See men abjure their bonds, though duly framed,

And oft revised, by all the parties named,

While their own hand and seal, in every eye,

Flash broad conviction, and evince the lie;

Shall you alone on Fortune's smiles presume, 190

And claim exemption from the common doom?

--From a white hen, forsooth, 'twas yours to spring,

Ours, to be hatched beneath some luckless wing!

Pause from your grief, and, with impartial eyes,

Survey the daring crimes which round you rise; 195

Your injuries, then, will scarce deserve a name,

And your false friend be half absolved from blame!

What's he, poor knave! to those who stab for hire,

Who kindle, and then spread, the midnight fire?

Say, what to those, who, from the hoary shrine, 200

Tear the huge vessels age hath stamped divine,

Offerings of price, by grateful nations given,

And crowns inscribed, by pious kings, to heaven?

What to the minor thieves, who, missing these,

Abrade the gilded thighs of Hercules, 205

Strip Neptune of his silvery beard, and peel

Castor's leaf gold, where spread from head to heel?

Or what to those, who, with pernicious craft,

Mingle and set to sale the deadly draught;

Or those, who in a raw ox-hide are bound, 210

And, with an ill-starred ape, poor sufferer! drowned?

Yet these--how small a portion of the crimes,

That stain the records of those dreadful times,

And Gallicus, the city præfect, hears,

From light's first dawning, till it disappears! 215

The state of morals would you learn at Rome?

No farther seek than his judicial dome:

Give one short morning to the horrors there,

And then complain, then murmur, if you dare!

Say, whom do goitres on the Alps surprise? 220

In Meroë, whom the breast's enormous size?

Whom locks, in Germany, of golden hue,

And spiral curls, and eyes of sapphire blue?

None; for the prodigy, among them shared,

Becomes mere nature, and escapes regard. 225

When clouds of Thracian birds obscure the sky,

To arms! to arms! the desperate Pigmies cry:

But soon, defeated in the unequal fray,

Disordered flee; while, pouncing on their prey,

The victor cranes descend, and, clamoring, bear 230

The wriggling manikins aloft in air.

Here, could our climes to such a scene give birth,

We all should burst with agonies of mirth;

There, unsurprised, they view the frequent fight,

Nor smile at heroes scarce a foot in height. 235

"Shall then no ill the perjured head attend,

No punishment o'ertake this faithless friend?"

Suppose him seized, abandoned to your will,

What more would rage? to torture or to kill;

Yet still your loss, your injury would remain, 240

And draw no retribution from his pain.

"True,; but methinks the smallest drop of blood,

Squeezed from his mangled limbs, would do me good:

Revenge, THEY SAY, and I believe their words,

A pleasure sweeter far than life affords." 245

WHO SAY? the fools, whose passions, prone to ire,

At slightest causes, or at none take fire;

Whose boiling breasts, at every turn, o'erflow

With rancorous gall: Chrysippus SAID not so;

Nor Thales, to our frailties clement still; 250

Nor that old man, by sweet Hymettus' hill,

Who drank the poison with unruffled soul,

And dying, from his foes withheld the bowl.

Divine philosophy! by whose pure light

We first distinguish, then pursue the right, 255

Thy power the breast from every error frees,

And weeds out all its vices by degrees:--

Illumined by thy beam, revenge we find, }

The abject pleasure of an abject mind, }

And hence so dear to poor, weak, womankind. } 260

But why are those, Calvinus, thought to scape

Unpunished, whom, in every fearful shape,

Guilt still alarms, and conscience, ne'er asleep,

Wounds with incessant strokes, "not loud but deep,"

While the vexed mind, her own tormentor, plies 265

A scorpion scourge, unmarked by human eyes!

Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign,

Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain

He feels, who night and day, devoid of rest,

Carries his own accuser in his breast. 270

A Spartan once the Oracle besought

To solve a scruple which perplexed his thought,

And plainly tell him, if he might forswear

A purse, of old confided to his care.

Incensed, the priestess answered--"Waverer, no! 275

Nor shalt thou, for the doubt, unpunished go."

With that, he hastened to restore the trust;

But fear alone, not virtue, made him just:

Hence, he soon proved the Oracle divine,

And all the answer worthy of the shrine; 280

For plagues pursued his race without delay,

And swept them from the earth, like dust, away.

By such dire sufferings did the wretch atone

The crime of meditated fraud alone!

For, IN THE EYE OF HEAVEN, a wicked deed 285

Devised, is done: What, then, if we proceed?--

Perpetual fears the offender's peace destroy,

And rob the social hour of all its joy:

Feverish, and parched, he chews, with many a pause,

The tasteless food, that swells beneath his jaws: 290

Spits out the produce of the Albanian hill,

Mellowed by age;--you bring him mellower still,

And lo, such wrinkles on his brow appear,

As if you brought Falernian vinegar!

At night, should sleep his harassed limbs compose, 295

And steal him one short moment from his woes,

Then dreams invade; sudden, before his eyes

The violated fane and altar rise;

And (what disturbs him most) your injured shade,

In more than mortal majesty arrayed, 300

Frowns on the wretch, alarms his treacherous rest,

And wrings the dreadful secret from his breast.

These, these are they, who tremble and turn pale

At the first mutterings of the hollow gale! 305

Who sink with terror at the transient glare

Of meteors, glancing through the turbid air!

Oh, 'tis not chance, they cry; this hideous crash

Is not the war of winds; nor this dread flash

The encounter of dark clouds; but blasting fire,

Charged with the wrath of heaven's insulted sire! 310

That dreaded peal, innoxious, dies away;

Shuddering, they wait the next with more dismay,

As if the short reprieve were only sent

To add new horrors to their punishment.

Yet more; when the first symptoms of disease, 315

When feverish heats, their restless members seize,

They think the plague by wrath divine bestowed,

And feel, in every pang, the avenging God.

Racked at the thought, in hopeless grief they lie,

And dare not tempt the mercy of the sky: 320

For what can such expect! what victim slay,

That is not worthier far to live than they!

With what a rapid change of fancy roll

The varying passions of the guilty soul!--

Bold to offend, they scarce commit the offense, 325

Ere the mind labors with an innate sense

Of right and wrong;--not long, for nature still,

Incapable of change, and fixed in ill,

Recurs to her old habits:--never yet

Could sinner to his sin a period set. 330

When did the flush of modest blood inflame

The cheek, once hardened to the sense of shame?

Or when the offender, since the birth of time,

Retire, contented with a single crime?

And this false friend of ours shall still pursue 335

His dangerous course, till vengeance, doubly due,

O'ertake his guilt; then shalt thou see him cast

In chains, 'mid tortures to expire his last;

Or hurried off, to join the wretched train

Of exiled great ones in the Ægean main. 340

THIS, THOU SHALT SEE; and, while thy voice applauds

The dreadful justice of the offended gods,

Reform thy creed, and, with an humble mind,

Confess that Heaven is NEITHER DEAF NOR BLIND!

SATIRE XIV.

TO FUSCINUS.

Yes, there are faults, Fuscinus, that disgrace

The noblest qualities of birth and place;

Which, like infectious blood, transmitted, run,

In one eternal stream, from sire to son.

If, in destructive play, the senior waste 5

His joyous nights, the child, with kindred taste,

Repeats, in miniature, the darling vice,

Shakes the small box, and cogs the little dice.

Nor does that infant fairer hopes inspire,

Who, trained by the gray epicure, his sire, 10

Has learned to pickle mushrooms, and, like him,

To souse the becaficos, till they swim!--

For take him, thus to early luxury bred,

Ere twice four springs have blossomed o'er his head,

And let ten thousand teachers, hoar with age, 15

Inculcate temperance from the stoic page;

His wish will ever be, in state to dine,

And keep his kitchen's honor from decline!

Does Rutilus inspire a generous mind,

Prone to forgive, and to slight errors blind; 20

Instill the liberal thought, that slaves have powers,

Sense, feeling, all, as exquisite as ours;

Or fury? He, who hears the sounding thong

With far more pleasure than the Siren's song;

Who, the stern tyrant of his small domain, 25

The Polypheme of his domestic train,

Knows no delight, save when the torturer's hand

Stamps, for low theft, the agonizing brand.--

O, what but rage can fill that stripling's breast,

Who sees his savage sire then only blest, 30

When his stretched ears drink in the wretches' cries,

And racks and prisons fill his vengeful eyes!

And dare we hope, yon girl, from Larga sprung,

Will e'er prove virtuous; when her little tongue

Ne'er told so fast her mother's wanton train, 35

But that she stopped and breathed, and stopped again?

Even from her tender years, unnatural trust!

The child was privy to the matron's lust:--

Scarce ripe for man, with her own hand, she writes

The billets, which the ancient bawd indites, 40

Employs the self-same pimps, and looks, ere long,

To share the visits of the amorous throng!

So Nature prompts: drawn by her secret tie,

We view a parent's deeds with reverent eye;

With fatal haste, alas! the example take, 45

And love the sin, for the dear sinner's sake.--

One youth, perhaps, formed of superior clay,

And warmed, by Titan, with a purer ray,

May dare to slight proximity of blood,

And, in despite of nature, to be good: 50

One youth--the rest the beaten pathway tread,

And blindly follow where their fathers led.

O fatal guides! this reason should suffice

To win you from the slippery route of vice,

This powerful reason; lest your sons pursue 55

The guilty track, thus plainly marked by you!

For youth is facile, and its yielding will

Receives, with fatal ease, the imprint of ill:

Hence Catilines in every clime abound;

But where are Cato and his nephew found! 60

Swift from the roof where youth, Fuscinus, dwell,

Immodest sights, immodest sounds expel;

THE PLACE IS SACRED: Far, far hence, remove,

Ye venal votaries of illicit love!

Ye dangerous knaves, who pander to be fed, 65

And sell yourselves to infamy for bread!

REVERENCE TO CHILDREN, AS TO HEAVEN, IS DUE:

When you would, then, some darling sin pursue,

Think that your infant offspring eyes the deed;

And let the thought abate your guilty speed, 70

Back from the headlong steep your steps entice,

And check you, tottering on the verge of vice.

O yet reflect! for should he e'er provoke,

In riper age, the law's avenging stroke

(Since not alone in person and in face, 75

But even in morals, he will prove his race,

And, while example acts with fatal force,

Side, nay outstrip, you, in the vicious course),

Vexed, you will rave and storm; perhaps, prepare,

Should threatening fail, to name another heir! 80

--Audacious! with what front do you aspire

To exercise the license of a sire?

When all, with rising indignation, view

The youth, in turpitude, surpassed by you,

By you, old fool, whose windy, brainless head, 85

Long since required the cupping-glass's aid!

Is there a guest expected? all is haste,

All hurry in the house, from first to last.

"Sweep the dry cobwebs down!" the master cries,

Whips in his hand, and fury in his eyes, 90

"Let not a spot the clouded columns stain;

Scour you the figured silver; you, the plain!"

O inconsistent wretch! is all this coil,

Lest the front hall, or gallery, daubed with soil

(Which, yet, a little sand removes), offend 95

The prying eye of some indifferent friend?

And do you stir not, that your son may see

The house from moral filth, from vices free!

True, you have given a citizen to Rome;

And she shall thank you, if the youth become, 100

By your o'er-ruling care, or soon or late,

A useful member of the parent state:

For all depends on you; the stamp he'll take,

From the strong impress which, at first, you make;

And prove, as vice or virtue was your aim, 105

His country's glory, or his country's shame.

The stork, with snakes and lizards from the wood

And pathless wild, supports her callow brood;

And the fledged storklings, when to wing they take,

Seek the same reptiles, through the devious brake. 110

The vulture snuffs from far the tainted gale,

And, hurrying where the putrid scents exhale,

From gibbets and from graves the carcass tears,

And to her young the loathsome dainty bears;

Her young, grown vigorous, hasten from the nest, 115

And gorge on carrion, with the parent's zest.

While Jove's own eagle, bird of noble blood,

Scours the wide champaign for untainted food,

Bears the swift hare, or swifter fawn away,

And feeds her nestlings with the generous prey; 120

Her nestlings hence, when from the rock they spring,

And, pinched by hunger, to the quarry wing,

Stoop only to the game they tasted first,

When, clamorous, from the shell, to light they burst.

Centronius planned and built, and built and planned; 125

And now along Cajeta's winding strand,

And now amid Præneste's hills, and now

On lofty Tibur's solitary brow,

He reared prodigious piles, with marble brought

From distant realms, and exquisitely wrought: 130

Prodigious piles! that towered o'er Fortune's shrine,

As those of gelt Posides, Jove, o'er thine!

While thus Centronius crowded seat on seat,

He spent his cash, and mortgaged his estate;

Yet left enough his family to content: 135

Which his mad son, to the last farthing, spent,

While, building on, he strove, with fond desire,

To shame the stately structures of his sire!

Sprung from a father who the sabbath fears,

There is, who naught but clouds and skies reveres; 140

And shuns the taste, by old tradition led,

Of human flesh, and swine's, with equal dread:--

This first: the prepuce next he lays aside,

And, taught the Roman ritual to deride,

Clings to the Jewish, and observes with awe 145

All Moses bade in his mysterious law:

And, therefore, to the circumcised alone

Will point the road, or make the fountain known;

Warned by his bigot sire, who whiled away,

Sacred to sloth, each seventh revolving day. 150

But youth, so prone to follow other ills,

Are driven to AVARICE, against their wills;

For this grave vice, assuming Virtue's guise,

Seems Virtue's self, to undiscerning eyes.

The miser, hence, a frugal man, they name; 155

And hence, they follow, with their whole acclaim,

The griping wretch, who strictlier guards his store,

Than if the Hesperian dragon kept the door.--

Add that the vulgar, still a slave to gold,

The worthy, in the wealthy, man behold; 160

And, reasoning from the fortune he has made,

Hail him, A perfect master of his trade!

And true, indeed, it is--such MASTERS raise

Immense estates; no matter, by what ways;

But raise they do, with brows in sweat still dyed, 165

With forge still glowing, and with sledge still plied.

The father, by the love of wealth possest,

Convinced--the covetous alone are blest,

And that, nor past, nor present times, e'er knew

A poor man happy--bids his son pursue 170

The paths they take, the courses they affect,

And follow, at the heels, this thriving sect.

Vice boasts its elements, like other arts;

These, he inculcates first: anon, imparts

The petty tricks of saving; last, inspires, 175

Of endless wealth, the insatiable desires.--

Hungry himself, his hungry slaves he cheats,

With scanty measures, and unfaithful weights;

And sees them lessen, with increasing dread,

The flinty fragments of his vinewed bread. 180

In dog-days, when the sun, with fervent power,

Corrupts the freshest meat from hour to hour,

He saves the last night's hash, sets by a dish

Of sodden beans, and scraps of summer fish,

And half a stinking shad, and a few strings 185

Of a chopped leek--all told, like sacred things,

And sealed with caution, though the sight and smell

Would a starved beggar from the board repel.

But why this dire avidity of gain?

This mass collected with such toil and pain? 190

Since 'tis the veriest madness, to live poor,

And die with bags and coffers running o'er.

Besides, while thus the streams of affluence roll,

They nurse the eternal dropsy of the soul,

For thirst of wealth still grows with wealth increast, 195

And they desire it less, who have it least.--

Now swell his wants: one manor is too small,

Another must be bought, house, lands, and all;

Still "cribbed confined," he spurns the narrow bounds,

And turns an eye on every neighbor's grounds: 200

There all allures; his crops appear a foil

To the rich produce of their happier soil.

"And this, I'll purchase, with the grove," he cries,

"And that fair hill, where the gray olives rise."

Then, if the owner to no price will yield 205

(Resolved to keep the hereditary field),

Whole droves of oxen, starved to this intent,

Among his springing corn, by night, are sent,

To revel there, till not a blade be seen,

And all appear like a close-shaven green. 210

"Monstrous!" you say--And yet, 'twere hard to tell,

What numbers, tricks like these have forced to sell.

But, sure, the general voice has marked his name,

And given him up to infamy and shame:--

"And what of that?" he cries. "I valued more 215

A single lupine, added to my store,

Than all the country's praise; if cursed by fate

With the scant produce of a small estate."--

'Tis well! no more shall age or grief annoy,

But nights of peace succeed to days of joy, 220

If more of ground to you alone pertain,

Than Rome possessed, in Numa's pious reign!

Since then, the veteran, whose brave breast was gored,

By the fierce Pyrrhic, or Molossian sword,

Hardly received for all his service past, 225

And all his wounds, TWO ACRES at the last;

The meed of toil and blood! yet never thought

His country thankless, or his pains ill bought.

For then, this little glebe, improved with care,

Largely supplied, with vegetable fare, 230

The good old man, the wife in childbed laid,

And four hale boys, that round the cottage played,

Three free-born, one a slave: while, on the board,

Huge porringers, with wholesome pottage stored,

Smoked for their elder brothers, who were now, 235

Hungry and tired, expected from the plow.--

TWO ACRES will not now, so changed the times,

Afford a garden plot:--and hence our crimes!

For not a vice that taints the human soul,

More frequent points the sword, or drugs the bowl, 240

Than the dire lust of an "untamed estate"--

Since, he who covets wealth, disdains to wait:

Law threatens, Conscience calls--yet on he hies,

And this he silences, and that defies,

Fear, Shame--he bears down all, and, with loose rein, 245

Sweeps headlong o'er the alluring paths of gain!

"Let us, my sons, contented with our lot,

Enjoy, in peace, our hillock and our cot"

(The good old Marsian to his children said),

"And from our labor seek our daily bread. 250

So shall we please the rural Powers, whose care,

And kindly aid, first taught us to prepare

The golden grain, what time we ranged the wood,

A savage race, for acorns, savage food!

The poor who, with inverted skins, defy 255

The lowering tempest and the freezing sky,

Who, without shame, without reluctance go,

In clouted brogues, through mire and drifted snow,

Ne'er think of ill: 'tis purple, boys, alone,

Which leads to guilt--purple, to us unknown." 260

Thus, to their children, spoke the sires of yore.

Now, autumn's sickly heats are scarcely o'er,

Ere, while deep midnight yet involves the skies,

The impatient father shakes his son, and cries,

"What, ho, boy, wake! Up; pleas, rejoinders draw, 265

Turn o'er the rubric of our ancient law;

Up, up, and study: or, with brief in hand,

Petition Lælius for a small command,

A captain's!--Lælius loves a spreading chest,

Broad shoulders, tangled locks, and hairy breast: 270

The British towers, the Moorish tents destroy,

And the rich Eagle, at threescore, enjoy!"

"But if the trump, prelusive to the fight,

And the long labors of the camp affright,

Go, look for merchandise of readiest vent, 275

Which yields a sure return of cent. per cent.

Buy this, no matter what; the ware is good,

Though not allowed on this side Tiber's flood:

Hides, unguents, mark me, boy, are equal things,

And gain smells sweet, from whatsoe'er it springs. 280

This golden sentence, which the Powers of heaven,

Which Jove himself, might glory to have given,

Will never, never, from your thoughts, I trust--

NONE QUESTION WHENCE IT COMES; BUT COME IT MUST."

This, when the lisping race a farthing ask, 285

Old women set them, as a previous task;

The wondrous apophthegm all run to get,

And learn it sooner than their alphabet.

But why this haste? Without your care, vain fool!

The pupil will, ere long, the tutor school: 290

Sleep, then, in peace; secure to be outdone,

Like Telamon, or Peleus, by your son.

O, yet indulge awhile his tender years:

The seeds of vice, sown by your fostering cares,

Have scarce ta'en root; but they will spring at length, 295

"Grow with his growth, and strengthen with his strength."

Then, when the firstlings of his youth are paid,

And his rough chin requires the razor's aid,

Then he will swear, then to the altar come,

And sell deep perjuries for a paltry sum!-- 300

Believe your step-daughter already dead,

If, with an ample dower, she mount his bed:

Lo! scarcely laid, his murderous fingers creep,

And close her eyes in everlasting sleep.

For that vast wealth which, with long years of pain, 305

You thought would be acquired by land and main,

He gets a readier way: the skill's not great,

The toil not much, to make a knave complete.

But you will say hereafter, "I am free:

He never learned those practices of me." 310

Yes, all of you:--for he who, madly blind,

Imbues with avarice his children's mind,

Fires with the thirst of riches, and applauds

The attempt, to double their estate by frauds,

Unconscious, flings the headlong wheels the rein, 315

Which he may wish to stop, but wish in vain;

Deaf to his voice, with growing speed they roll,

Smoke down the steep, and spurn the distant goal!

None sin by rule; none heed the charge precise,

THUS, AND NO FARTHER, MAY YE STEP IN VICE; 320

But leap the bounds prescribed, and, with free pace,

Scour far and wide the interdicted space.

So, when you tell the youth, that FOOLS alone

Regard a friend's distresses as their own;

You bid the willing hearer riches raise, 325

By fraud, by rapine, by the worst of ways;

Riches, whose love is on your soul imprest,

Deep as their country's on the Decii's breast;

Or Thebes on his, who sought an early grave

(If Greece say true), her sacred walls to save. 330

Thebes, where, impregned with serpents' teeth, the earth

Poured forth a marshaled host, prodigious birth!

Horrent with arms, that fought with headlong rage,

Nor asked the trumpet's signal, to engage.--

But mark the end! the fire, derived, at first, 335

From a small sparkle, by your folly nurst,

Blown to a flame, on all around it preys,

And wraps you in the universal blaze.

So the young lion rent, with hideous roar,

His keeper's trembling limbs, and drank his gore. 340

"Tush! I am safe," you cry; "Chaldæan seers

Have raised my Scheme, and promised length of years."

But has your son subscribed? will he await

The lingering distaff of decrepit Fate?

No; his impatience will the work confound, 345

And snap the vital thread, ere half unwound.

Even now your long and stag-like age annoys

His future hopes, and palls his present joys.

Fly then, and bid Archigenes prepare

An antidote, if life be worth your care; 350

If you would see another autumn close,

And pluck another fig, another rose:--

Take mithridate, rash man, before your meat,

A FATHER, you? and without medicine eat!

Come, my Fuscinus, come with me, and view 355

A scene more comic than the stage e'er knew.

Lo! with what toil, what danger, wealth is sought,

And to the fane of watchful Castor brought;

Since MARS THE AVENGER slumbered, to his cost,

And, with his helmet, all his credit lost! 360

Quit then the plays! the FARCE OF LIFE supplies

A scene more comic in the sage's eyes.

For who amuses most?--the man who springs,

Light, through the hoop, and on the tight-rope swings;

Or he, who, to a fragile bark confined, 365

Dwells on the deep, the sport of wave and wind?

Fool-hardy wretch! scrambling for every bale

Of stinking merchandise, exposed to sale;

And proud to Crete, for ropy wine, to rove,

And jars, the fellow-citizens of Jove! 370

THAT skips along the rope, with wavering tread,

Dangerous dexterity, which brings him bread;

THIS ventures life, for wealth too vast to spend,

Farm joined to farm, and villas without end!

Lo! every harbor thronged and every bay, 375

And half mankind upon the watery way!

For, where he hears the attractive voice of gain,

The merchant hurries, and defies the main.--

Nor will he only range the Libyan shore,

But, passing Calpé, other worlds explore; 380

See Phœbus, sinking in the Atlantic, lave

His fiery car, and hear the hissing wave.

And all for what? O glorious end! to come,

His toils o'erpast, with purse replenished, home,

And, with a traveler's privilege, vent his boasts, 385

Of unknown monsters seen on unknown coasts.

What varying forms in madness may we trace!--

Safe in his loved Electra's fond embrace,

Orestes sees the avenging Furies rise,

And flash their bloody torches in his eyes; 390

While Ajax strikes an ox, and, at the blow,

Hears Agamemnon or Ulysses low:

And surely he (though, haply, he forbear,

Like these, his keeper and his clothes to tear)

Is just as mad, who to the water's brim 395

Loads his frail bark--a plank 'twixt death and him!

When all this risk is but to swell his store

With a few coins, a few gold pieces more.

Heaven lowers, and frequent, through the muttering air,

The nimble lightning glares, or seems to glare: 400

"Weigh! weigh!" the impatient man of traffic cries,

"These gathering clouds, this rack that dims the skies,

Are but the pageants of a sultry day;

A thunder shower, that frowns, and melts away."

Deluded wretch! dashed on some dangerous coast, 405

This night, this hour, perhaps, his bark is lost;

While he still strives, though whelmed beneath the wave,

His darling purse with teeth or hand to save.

Thus he, who sighed, of late, for all the gold

Down the bright Tagus and Pactolus rolled, 410

Now bounds his wishes to one poor request,

A scanty morsel and a tattered vest;

And shows, where tears, where supplications fail,

A daubing of his melancholy tale!

Wealth, by such dangers earned, such anxious pain, 415

Requires more care to keep it, than to gain:

Whate'er my miseries, make me not, kind Fate,

The sleepless Argus of a vast estate!

The slaves of Licinus, a numerous band,

Watch through the night, with buckets in their hand, 420

While their rich master trembling lies, afraid

Lest fire his ivory, amber, gold, invade,

The naked Cynic mocks such restless cares,

His earthen tub no conflagration fears;

If cracked, to-morrow he procures a new, 425

Or, coarsely soldering, makes the old one do.

Even Philip's son, when, in his little cell

Content, he saw the mighty master dwell,

Owned, with a sigh, that he, who naught desired,

Was happier far, than he who worlds required, 430

And whose ambition certain dangers brought,

Vast, and unbounded, as the object sought.--

Fortune, advanced to heaven by fools alone,

Would lose, were wisdom ours, her shadowy throne.

"What call I, then, ENOUGH?" What will afford 435

A decent habit, and a frugal board;

What Epicurus' little garden bore,

And Socrates sufficient thought, before:

These squared by Nature's rules their blameless life--

Nature and Wisdom never are at strife. 440

You think, perhaps, these rigid means too scant,

And that I ground philosophy on want;

Take then (for I will be indulgent now,

And something for the change of times allow),

As much as Otho for a knight requires:-- 445

If this, unequal to your wild desires,

Contract your brow; enlarge the sum, and take

As much as two--as much as three--will make.

If yet, in spite of this prodigious store,

Your craving bosom yawn, unfilled, for more, 450

Then, all the wealth of Lydia's king, increast

By all the treasures of the gorgeous East,

Will not content you; no, nor all the gold

Of that proud slave, whose mandate Rome controlled,

Who swayed the Emperor, and whose fatal word 455

Plunged in the Empress' breast the lingering sword!

SATIRE XV.

TO VOLUSIUS BITHYNICUS.

Who knows not to what monstrous gods, my friend,

The mad inhabitants of Egypt bend?--

The snake-devouring ibis, these enshrine,

Those think the crocodile alone divine;

Others, where Thebes' vast ruins strew the ground, 5

And shattered Memnon yields a magic sound,

Set up a glittering brute of uncouth shape,

And bow before the image of an ape!

Thousands regard the hound with holy fear,

Not one, Diana: and 'tis dangerous here, 10

To violate an onion, or to stain

The sanctity of leeks with tooth profane.

O holy nations! Sacro-sanct abodes!

Where every garden propagates its gods!

They spare the fleecy kind, and think it ill, 15

The blood of lambkins, or of kids, to spill:

But, human flesh--O! that is lawful fare.

And you may eat it without scandal there.

When, at the amazed Alcinous' board, of old,

Ulysses of so strange an action told, 20

He moved of some the mirth, of more the gall,

And, for a lying vagrant, passed with all.

"Will no one plunge this babbler in the waves

(Worthy a true Charybdis)--while he raves

Of monsters seen not since the world began, 25

Cyclops and Læstrigons, who feed on man!

For me--I less should doubt of Scylla's train,

Of rocks that float and jostle in the main,

Of bladders filled with storms, of men, in fine,

By magic changed, and driven to grunt with swine, 30

Than of his cannibals:--the fellow feigns,

As if he thought Phæacians had no brains."

Thus, one, perhaps, more sober than the rest,

Observed, and justly, of their traveled guest,

Who spoke of prodigies till then unknown; 35

Yet brought no attestation but his own.

--I bring my wonders, too; and I can tell,

When Junius, late, was consul, what befell,

Near Coptus' walls; tell of a people stained

With deeper guilt than tragedy e'er feigned: 40

For, sure, no buskined bard, from Pyrrha's time,

E'er taxed a whole community with crime;

Take then a scene yet to the stage unknown,

And, by a nation, acted--IN OUR OWN!

Between two neighboring towns a deadly hate, 45

Sprung from a sacred grudge of ancient date,

Yet burns; a hate no lenients can assuage,

No time subdue, a rooted, rancorous rage!

Blind bigotry, at first, the evil wrought:

For each despised the other's gods, and thought 50

Its own the true, the genuine, in a word,

The only deities to be adored!

And now the Ombite festival drew near:

When the prime Tent'rites, envious of their cheer,

Resolved to seize the occasion, to annoy 55

Their feast, and spoil the sacred week of joy.--

It came: the hour the thoughtless Ombites greet,

And crowd the porches, crowd the public street,

With tables richly spread; where, night and day,

Plunged in the abyss of gluttony, they lay: 60

(For savage as the nome appears, it vies

In luxury, if I MAY TRUST MY EYES,

With dissolute Canopus:) Six were past,

Six days of riot, and the seventh and last

Rose on the feast; and now the Tent'rites thought, 65

A cheap, a bloodless victory might be bought,

O'er such a helpless crew: nor thought they wrong,

Nor could the event be doubtful, where a throng

Of drunken revelers, stammering, reeling-ripe,

And capering to a sooty minstrel's pipe. 70

Coarse unguents, chaplets, flowers, on this side fight,

On that, keen hatred, and deliberate spite!

At first both sides, though eager to engage.

With taunts and jeers, the heralds of their rage,

Blow up their mutual fury; and anon, 75

Kindled to madness, with loud shouts rush on;

Deal, though unarmed, their vengeance blindly round,

And with clenched fists print many a ghastly wound.

Then might you see, amid the desperate fray,

Features disfigured, noses torn away, 80

Hands, where the gore of mangled eyes yet reeks,

And jaw-bones starting through the cloven cheeks!

But this is sport, mere children's play, they cry--

As yet beneath their feet no bodies lie,

And, to what purpose should such armies fight 85

The cause of heaven, if none be slain outright?

Roused at the thought, more fiercely they engage,

With stones, the weapons of intestine rage;

Yet not precisely such, to tell you true,

As Turnus erst, or mightier Ajax, threw: 90

Nor quite so large as that two-handed stone,

Which bruised Æneas on the huckle-bone;

But such as men, in our degenerate days,

Ah, how unlike to theirs! make shift to raise.

Even in his time, Mæonides could trace 95

Some diminution of the human race:

Now, earth, grown old and frigid, rears with pain

A pigmy brood, a weak and wicked train;

Which every god, who marks their passions vile,

Regards with laughter, though he loathes the while. 100

But to our tale. Enforced with armed supplies.

The zealous Tent'rites feel their courage rise,

And wave their swords, and, kindling at the sight,

Press on, and with fell rage renew the fight.

The Ombites flee; they follow:--in the rear, 105

A luckless wretch, confounded by his fear,

Trips and falls headlong; with loud yelling cries,

The pack rush in, and seize him as he lies.

And now the conquerors, none to disappoint

Of the dire banquet, tear him joint by joint, 110

And dole him round; the bones yet warm, they gnaw,

And champ the flesh that heaves beneath their jaw.

They want no cook to dress it--'twould be long,

And appetite is keen, and rage is strong.

And here, Volusius, I rejoice at least, 115

That fire was unprofaned by this cursed feast,

Fire, rapt from heaven! and you will, sure, agree

To greet the element's escape, with me.

--But all who ventured on the carcass, swore

They never tasted--aught so sweet before! 120

Nor did the relish charm the first alone--

Those who arrived too late for flesh, or bone,

Stooped down, and scraping where the wretch had lain,

With savage pleasure licked the gory plain!

The Vascons once (the story yet is rife), 125

With such dire sustenance prolonged their life;

But then the cause was different: Fortune, there,

Proved adverse: they had borne the extremes of war,

The rage of famine, the still-watchful foe,

And all the ills beleaguered cities know. 130

(And nothing else should prompt mankind to use

Such desperate means.) May this their crime excuse!

For after every root and herb were gone,

And every aliment to hunger known;

When their lean frames, and cheeks of sallow hue, 135

Struck even the foe with pity at the view,

And all were ready their own flesh to tear,

They first adventured on this horrid fare.

And surely every god would pity grant

To men so worn by wretchedness and want, 140

And even the very ghosts of those they ate,

Absolve them, mindful of their dreadful state!

True, we are wiser; and, by Zeno taught,

Know life itself may be too dearly bought;

But the poor Vascon, in that early age, 145

Knew naught of Zeno, or the Stoic page.--

Now, thanks to Greece and Rome, in wisdom's robe

The bearded tribes rush forth, and seize the globe;

Already, learned Gaul aspires to teach

Your British orators the Art of Speech, 150

And Thulé, blessings on her, seems to say,

She'll hire a good grammarian, cost what may.

The Vascons, then, who thus prolonged their breath,

And the Saguntines, true, like them, to death,

Brave too, like them, but by worse ills subdued, 155

Had some small plea for this abhorred food.

Diana first (and let us doubt no more

The barbarous rites we disbelieved of yore)

Reared her dread altar near the Tauric flood,

And asked the sacrifice of human blood: 160

Yet there the victim only lost his life,

And feared no cruelty beyond the knife.

Far, far more savage Egypt's frantic train,

They butcher first, and then devour the slain!

But say, what causa impelled them to proceed, 165

What siege, what famine, to this monstrous deed?

What could they more, had Nile refused to rise,

And the soil gaped with ever-glowing skies,

What could they more, the guilty Flood to shame,

And heap opprobrium on his hateful name! 170

Lo! what the barbarous hordes of Scythia, Thrace,

Gaul, Britain, never dared--dared by a race

Of puny dastards, who, with fingers frail,

Tug the light oar, and hoist the little sail,

In painted pans! What tortures can the mind 175

Suggest for miscreants of this abject kind,

Whom spite impelled worse horrors to pursue,

Than famine, in its deadliest form, e'er knew!

NATURE, who gave us tears, by that alone

Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own; 180

And 'tis her noblest boon: This bids us fly,

To wipe the drops from sorrowing friendship's eye,

Sorrowing ourselves; to wail the prisoner's state,

And sympathize in the wronged orphan's fate,

Compelled his treacherous guardian to accuse, 185

While many a shower his blooming cheek bedews,

And through his scattered tresses, wet with tears,

A doubtful face, or boy or girl's, appears.

As Nature bids, we sigh, when some bright maid

Is, ere her spousals, to the pyre conveyed; 190

Some babe--by fate's inexorable doom,

Just shown on earth, and hurried to the tomb.

For who, that to the sanctity aspires

Which Ceres, for her mystic torch, requires,

Feels not another's woes? This marks our birth; 195

The great distinction from the beasts of earth!

And therefore--gifted with superior powers,

And capable of things divine--'tis ours,

To learn, and practice, every useful art;

And, from high heaven, deduce that better part, 200

That moral sense, denied to creatures prone,

And downward bent, and found with man alone!--

For He, who gave this vast machine to roll,

Breathed LIFE in them, in us a REASONING SOUL;

That kindred feelings might our state improve, 205

And mutual wants conduct to mutual love;

Woo to one spot the scattered hordes of men,

From their old forest and paternal den;

Raise the fair dome, extend the social line,

And, to our mansion, those of others join, 210

Join too our faith, our confidence to theirs,

And sleep, relying on the general cares:--

In war, that each to each support might lend,

When wounded, succor, and when fallen, defend;

At the same trumpet's clangor rush to arms, 215

By the same walls be sheltered from alarms,

Near the same tower the foe's incursions wait,

And trust their safety to one common gate.

--But serpents, now, more links of concord bind:

The cruel leopard spares the spotted kind; 220

No lion spills a weaker lion's gore,

No boar expires beneath a stronger boar;

In leagues of friendship tigers roam the plain,

And bears with bears perpetual peace maintain.

While man, alas! fleshed in the dreadful trade, 225

Forges without remorse the murderous blade,

On that dire anvil, where primæval skill,

As yet untaught a brother's blood to spill,

Wrought only what meek nature would allow,

Goads for the ox, and coulters for the plow! 230

Even this is trifling: we have seen a rage

Too fierce for murder only to assuage;

Seen a whole state their victim piecemeal tear,

And count each quivering limb delicious fare.

O, could the Samian Sage these horrors see, 235

What would he say? or to what deserts flee?

He, who the flesh of beasts, like man's, declined,

And scarce indulged in pulse--of every kind!

SATIRE XVI.

TO GALLUS.

Who can recount the advantages that wait,

Dear Gallus, on the Military State?--

For let me once, beneath a lucky star,

Faint as I am of heart, and new to war,

But join the camp, and that ascendant hour 5

Shall lord it o'er my fate with happier power,

Than if a line from Venus should commend

My suit to Mars, or Juno stand my friend!

And first, of benefits which all may share:

'Tis somewhat--that no citizen shall dare 10

To strike you, or, though struck, return the blow:

But waive the wrong; nor to the Prætor show

His teeth dashed out, his face deformed with gore,

And eyes no skill can promise to restore!

A Judge, if to the camp your plaints you bear, 15

Coarse shod, and coarser greaved, awaits you there:

By antique law proceeds the cassocked sage,

And rules prescribed in old Camillus' age;

_To wit_, ~Let soldiers seek no foreign bench,~

~Nor plead to any charge without the trench~. 20

O nicely do Centurions sift the cause,

When buff-and-belt-men violate the laws!

And ample, if with reason we complain,

Is, doubtless, the redress our injuries gain!

Even so:--but the whole legion are our foes, 25

And, with determined aim, the award oppose.

"These sniveling rogues take special pleasure still

To make the punishment outweigh the ill."

So runs the cry; and he must be possest

Of more, Vagellius, than thy iron breast, 30

Who braves their anger, and, with ten poor toes,

Defies such countless hosts of hobnailed shoes.

Who so untutored in the ways of Rome,

Say, who so true a Pylades, to come

Within the camp?--no; let thy tears be dried, 35

Nor ask that kindness, which must be denied,

For, when the Court exclaims, "Your witness, here!"

Let that firm friend, that man of men, appear,

And testify but what he saw and heard;

And I pronounce him worthy of the beard 40

And hair of our forefathers! You may find

False witnesses against an honest hind,

Easier than true (and who their fears can blame?),

Against a soldier's purse, a soldier's fame!

But there are other benefits, my friend, 45

And greater, which the sons of war attend:

Should a litigious neighbor bid me yield

My vale irriguous, and paternal field;

Or from my bounds the sacred landmark tear,

To which, with each revolving spring, I bear, 50

In pious duty to the grateful soil,

My humble offerings, honey, meal, and oil;

Or a vile debtor my just claims withstand,

Deny his signet, and abjure his hand;

Term after Term I wait, till months be past, 55

And scarce obtain a hearing at the last.

Even when the hour is fixed, a thousand stays

Retard my suit, a thousand vague delays:

The cause is called, the witnesses attend,

Chairs brought, and cushions laid--and there an end: 60

Cæditius finds his cloak or gown too hot,

And Fuscus slips aside to seek the pot;

Thus, with our dearest hopes the judges sport,

And when we rise to speak, dismiss the Court!

But spear-and-shield-men may command the hour; 65

The time to plead is always in their power;

Nor are their wealth and patience worn away,

By the slow drag-chain of the law's delay.

Add that the soldier, while his father lives,

And he alone, his wealth bequeaths or gives; 70

For what by pay is earned, by plunder won,

The law declares, vests solely in the son.

Coranus therefore sees his hoary sire,

To gain his Will, by every art, aspire!--

He rose by service; rank in fields obtained, 75

And well deserved the fortune which he gained.

And every prudent chief must, sure, desire,

That still the worthiest should the most acquire;

That those who merit, their rewards should have,

Trappings, and chains, and all that decks the brave. 80

PERSIUS.

PROLOGUE.

'Twas never yet my luck, I ween,

To drench my lips in Hippocrene;

Nor, if I recollect aright,

On the forked Hill to sleep a night,

That I, like others of the trade, 5

Might wake--a poet ready made!

Thee, Helicon, with all the Nine,

And pale Pyrene, I resign,

Unenvied, to the tuneful race,

Whose busts (of many a fane the grace) 10

Sequacious ivy climbs, and spreads

Unfading verdure round their heads.

Enough for me, too mean for praise,

To bear my rude, uncultured lays

To Phœbus and the Muses' shrine, 15

And place them near their gifts divine.

Who bade the parrot χαῖρε cry;

And forced our language on the pie?

The BELLY: Master, he, of Arts,

Bestower of ingenious parts; 20

Powerful the creatures to endue

With sounds their natures never knew!

For, let the wily hand unfold

The glittering bait of tempting gold,

And straight the choir of daws and pies, 25

To such poetic heights shall rise,

That, lost in wonder, you will swear

Apollo and the Nine are there!

SATIRE I.

Alas, for man! how vain are all his cares!

And oh! what bubbles, his most grave affairs!

Tush! who will read such trite--Heavens! this to me?

Not one, by Jove. Not one? Well, two, or three;

Or rather--none: a piteous case, in truth! 5

Why piteous? _lest Polydamas_, forsooth,

_And Troy's proud dames_, pronounce my merits fall

Beneath their Labeo's! I can bear it all.

Nor should my friend, though still, as fashion sways,

The purblind town conspire to sink or raise, 10

Determine, as her wavering beam prevails,

And trust his judgment to her coarser scales.

O not abroad for vague opinion roam;

The wise man's bosom is his proper home:

And Rome is--What? Ah, might the truth be told!-- 15

And, sure it may, it must.--When I behold

What fond pursuits have formed our prime employ,

Since first we dropped the playthings of the boy,

To gray maturity, to this late hour,

When every brow frowns with censorial power, 20

Then, then--O yet suppress this carping mood.

Impossible! I could not if I would;

For nature framed me of satiric mould,

And spleen, too petulant to be controlled.

Immured within our studies, we compose; 25

Some, shackled metre; some, free-footed prose;

But all, bombast; stuff, which the breast may strain,

And the huge lungs puff forth with awkward pain.

'Tis done! and now the bard, elate and proud,

Prepares a grand rehearsal for the crowd. 30

Lo! he steps forth in birthday splendor bright,

Combed and perfumed, and robed in dazzling white;

And mounts the desk; his pliant throat he clears,

And deals, insidious, round his wanton leers;

While Rome's first nobles, by the prelude wrought, 35

Watch, with indecent glee, each prurient thought,

And squeal with rapture, as the luscious line

Thrills through the marrow, and inflames the chine.

Vile dotard! Canst thou thus consent to please!

To pander for such itching fools as these! 40

Fools--whose applause must shoot beyond thy aim,

And tinge thy cheek, bronzed as it is, with shame!

But wherefore have I learned, if, thus represt,

The leaven still must swell within my breast?

If the wild fig-tree, deeply rooted there, 45

Must never burst its bounds, and shoot in air?

Are these the fruits of study! these of age!

O times, O manners--Thou misjudging sage,

Is science only useful as 'tis shown,

And is thy knowledge nothing, if not known? 50

"But, sure, 'tis pleasant, as we walk, to see

The pointed finger, hear the loud _That's he_,

On every side:--and seems it, in your sight,

So poor a trifle, that whate'er we write

Is introduced to every school of note, 55

And taught the youth of quality by rote?

--Nay, more! Our nobles, gorged, and swilled with wine,

Call, o'er the banquet, for a lay divine.

Here one, on whom the princely purple glows,

Snuffles some musty legend through his nose; 60

Slowly distills Hypsipyle's sad fate,

And love-lorn Phillis, dying for her mate,

With what of woeful else is said or sung;

And trips up every word, with lisping tongue.

The maudlin audience, from the couches round, 65

Hum their assent, responsive to the sound.--

And are not now the poet's ashes blest!

Now lies the turf not lightly on his breast!

They pause a moment--and again, the room

Rings with his praise: now will not roses bloom, 70

Now, from his relics, will not violets spring,

And o'er his hallowed urn their fragrance fling!

"You laugh ('tis answered), and too freely here

Indulge that vile propensity to sneer.

Lives there, who would not at applause rejoice, 75

And merit, if he could, the public voice?

Who would not leave posterity such rhymes,

As cedar oil might keep to latest times;

Rhymes, which should fear no desperate grocer's hand,

Nor fly with fish and spices through the land! 80

Thou, my kind monitor, whoe'er thou art,

Whom I suppose to play the opponent's part,

Know--when I write, if chance some happier strain

(And chance it needs must be) rewards my pain,

Know, I can relish praise with genuine zest; 85

Not mine the torpid, mine the unfeeling breast:

But that I merely toil for this acclaim,

And make these eulogies my end and aim,

I must not, can not grant: for--sift them all,

Mark well their value, and on what they fall: 90

Are they not showered (to pass these trifles o'er)

On Labeo's Iliad, drunk with hellebore?

On princely love-lays driveled without thought,

And the crude trash on citron couches wrought?

You spread the table--'tis a master-stroke, 95

And give the shivering guest a threadbare cloak,

Then, while his heart with gratitude dilates

At the glad vest and the delicious cates,

Tell me, you cry--for truth is my delight,

What says the Town of me, and what I write? 100

He can not:--he has neither ears nor eyes.

But shall I tell you, who your bribes despise?

--Bald trifler! cease at once your thriftless trade;

That mountain paunch for verse was never made.

O Janus, happiest of thy happy kind!-- 105

No waggish stork can peck at thee behind:

No tongue thrust forth, expose to passing jeers;

No twinkling fingers, perked like ass's ears,

Point to the vulgar mirth:--but you, ye Great,

To a blind occiput condemned by fate, 110

Prevent, while yet you may, the rabble's glee,

And tremble at the scoff you can not see!--

"What says the Town"--precisely what it ought:

All you produce, sir, with such skill is wrought,

That o'er the polished surface, far and wide, 115

The critic nail without a jar must glide;

Since every verse is drawn as straight and fine

As if one eye had fixed the ruddled line.

--Whate'er the subject of his varied rhymes,

The humors, passions, vices of the times; 120

The pomp of nobles, barbarous pride of kings,

All, all is great, and all inspired he sings!

Lo! striplings, scarcely from the ferule freed,

And smarting yet from Greek, with headlong speed

Rush on heroics; though devoid of skill 125

To paint the rustling grove, or purling rill;

Or praise the country, robed in cheerful green,

Where hogs, and hearths, and osier frails are seen,

And happy hinds, who leap o'er smouldering hay,

In honor, Pales, of thy sacred day. 130

_--Scenes of delight!--there Remus lived, and there,_

_In grassy furrows Quinctius tired his share;_

_Quinctius, on whom his wife, with trembling haste,_

_The dictatorial robes, exulting, placed,_

_Before his team; while homeward, with his plow, 135_

_The lictors hurried_--Good! a Homer, thou!

There are, who hunt out antiquated lore;

And never, but on musty authors, pore;

These, Accius' jagged and knotty lines engage,

And those, Pacuvius' hard and horny page; 140

Where, in quaint tropes, Antiopa is seen

To--_prop her dolorific heart with teen_!

O, when you mark the sire, to judgment blind,

Commend such models to the infant mind,

Forbear to wonder whence this olio sprung, 145

This sputtering jargon which infests our tongue;

This scandal of the times, which shocks my ear,

And which our knights bound from their seats to hear!

How monstrous seems it, that we can not plead,

When called to answer for some felon deed, 150

Nor danger from the trembling head repel,

Without a wish for--_Bravo! Vastly well!_

This Pedius is a thief, the accusers cry.

You hear them, Pedius; now, for your reply?

In terse antitheses he weighs the crime, 155

Equals the pause, and balances the chime;

And with such skill his flowery tropes employs,

That the rapt audience scarce contain their joys.

_O charming! charming! he must sure prevail._

THIS, _charming_! Can a Roman wag the tail? 160

Were the wrecked mariner to chant his woe,

Should I or sympathy or alms bestow?

Sing you, when, in that tablet on your breast,

I see your story to the life exprest;

A shattered bark, dashed madly on the shore, 165

And you, scarce floating, on a broken oar!--

No, he must feel that would my pity share,

And drop a natural, not a studied tear.

But yet our numbers boast a grace unknown

To our rough sires, a smoothness all our own. 170

True: the spruce metre in sweet cadence flows,

And answering sounds a tuneful chime compose:

Blue Nereus here, the Dolphin swift divides;

And Idè there, sees Attin climb her sides:

Nor this alone--for, in some happier line, 175

We win the chine of the long Apennine!

_Arms and the man_--Here, too, perhaps, you find

A pithless branch beneath a fungous rind?

Not so;--a seasoned trunk of many a day,

Whose gross and watery parts are drawn away. 180

But what, in fine (for still you jeer me), call

For the moist eye, bowed head, and lengthened drawl,

What strains of genuine pathos?--_O'er the hill_

_The dismal slug-horn sounded, loud and shrill,_

_A Mimallonian blast: fired at the sound, 185_

_In maddening groups the Bacchants pour around,_

_Mangle the haughty calf with gory hands,_

_And scourge the indocile lynx with ivy wands;_

_While Echo lengthens out the barbarous yell,_

_And propagates the din from cell to cell!_ 190

O were not every spark of manly sense,

Of pristine vigor quenched, or banished hence,

Could this be borne! this cuckoo-spit of Rome,

Which gathers round the lips in froth and foam!

--The _haughty calf_, and _Attin's_ jangling strain, 195

Dropped, without effort, from the rheumy brain;

No savor they of bleeding nails afford,

Or desk, oft smitten for the happy word.

But why must you, alone, displeased appear,

And with harsh truths thus grate the tender ear? 200

O yet beware! think of the closing gate!

And dread the cold reception of the great:

This currish humor you extend too far,

While every word growls with that hateful gnar!

Right! From this hour (for now my fault I see) 205

All shall be charming--charming all, for me:

What late seemed base, already looks divine,

And wonders start to view in every line!

Tis well, you cry: this spot let none defile,

Or turn to purposes obscene and vile. 210

Paint, then, two snakes entwined; and write around,

URINE NOT, CHILDREN, HERE; 'TIS HOLY GROUND.

Awed, I retire: and yet--when vice appeared,

Lucilius o'er the town his falchion reared;

On Lupus, Mutius, poured his rage by name, 215

And broke his grinders on their bleeding fame.

And yet--arch Horace, while he strove to mend,

Probed all the foibles of his smiling friend;

Played lightly round and round the peccant part,

And won, unfelt, an entrance to his heart. 220

Well skilled the follies of the crowd to trace,

And sneer, with gay good humor in his face.

And I!--I must not mutter? No; nor dare--

Not to myself? No. To a ditch? Nowhere.

Yes, here I'll dig--here, to sure trust confide 225

The secret which I would, but can not, hide.

My darling book, a word;--"King Midas wears

(These eyes beheld them, these!) such ass's ears!"--

This quip of mine, which none must hear, or know,

This fond conceit, which takes my fancy so, 230

This nothing, if you will; you should not buy

With all those Iliads that you prize so high.

But thou, whom Eupolis' impassioned page,

Hostile to vice, inflames with kindred rage,

Whom bold Cratinus, and that awful sire, 235

Force, as thou readest, to tremble and admire;

O, view my humbler labors:--there, if aught

More highly finished, more maturely wrought,

Detain thy ear, and give thy breast to glow

With warmth, responsive to the inspiring flow-- 240

I seek no farther:--Far from me the rest,

Yes, far the wretch, who, with a low-born jest,

Can mock the blind for blindness, and pursue

With vulgar ribaldry the Grecian shoe:

Bursting with self-conceit, with pride elate, 245

Because, forsooth, in magisterial state,

His worship (ædile of some paltry town)

Broke scanty weights, and put false measures down.

Far too be he--the monstrous witty fool,

Who turns the numeral scale to ridicule; 250

Derides the problems traced in dust or sand,

And treads out all Geometry has planned--

Who roars outright to see Nonaria seize,

And tug the cynic's beard--To such as these

I recommend, at morn, the Prætor's bill, 255

At eve, Calirrhoë, or--what they will.

SATIRE II.

TO PLOTIUS MACRINUS (ON HIS BIRTHDAY).

Health to my friend! and while my vows I pay,

O mark, Macrinus, this auspicious day,

Which, to your sum of years already flown,

Adds yet another--with a whiter stone.

Indulge your Genius, drench in wine your cares:-- 5

It is not yours, with mercenary prayers

To ask of Heaven what you would die with shame,

Unless you drew the gods aside, to name;

While other great ones stand, with down-cast eyes,

And with a silent censer tempt the skies!-- 10

Hard, hard the task, from the low, muttered prayer,

To free the fanes; or find one suppliant there,

Who dares to ask but what his state requires,

And live to heaven and earth with known desires!

Sound sense, integrity, a conscience clear, 15

Are begged aloud, that all at hand may hear:

But prayers like these (half whispered, half supprest)

The tongue scarce hazards from the conscious breast:

_O that I could my rich old uncle see,_

_In funeral pomp!--O that some deity 20_

_To pots of buried gold would guide my share!_

_O that my ward, whom I succeed as heir,_

_Were once at rest! poor child, he lives in pain,_

_And death to him must be accounted gain.--_

_By wedlock, thrice has Nerius swelled his store, 25_

_And now--is he a widower once more!_

These blessings, with due sanctity, to crave,

Once, twice, and thrice in Tiber's eddying wave

He dips each morn, and bids the stream convey

The gathered evils of the night, away! 30

One question, friend:--an easy one, in fine--

What are thy thoughts of Jove? My thoughts! Yes; thine.

Wouldst thou prefer him to the herd of Rome?

To any individual?--But, to whom?

To Staius, for example. Heavens! a pause? 35

Which of the two would best dispense the laws?

Best shield the unfriended orphan? Good! Now move

The suit to Staius, late preferred to Jove:--

"O Jove! good Jove!" he cries, o'erwhelmed with shame,

And must not Jove himself, _O Jove!_ exclaim? 40

Or dost thou think the impious wish forgiven,

Because, when thunder shakes the vault of heaven,

The bolt innoxious flies o'er thee and thine,

To rend the forest oak and mountain pine?

--Because, yet livid from the lightning's seath, 45

Thy mouldering corpse (a monument of wrath)

Lies in no blasted grove, for public care

To expiate with sacrifice and prayer;

Must, therefore, Jove, unsceptred and unfeared,

Give to thy ruder mirth his foolish beard? 50

What bribe hast thou to win the Powers divine,

Thus, to thy nod? The lungs and lights of swine.

Lo! from his little crib, the grandam hoar,

Or aunt, well versed in superstitious lore,

Snatches the babe; in lustral spittle dips 55

Her middle finger, and anoints his lips

And forehead:--"Charms of potency," she cries,

"To break the influence of evil eyes!"

The spell complete, she dandles high in air

Her starveling hope; and breathes a humble prayer, 60

That heaven would only tender to his hands

All Crassus' houses, all Licinius' lands!--

"Let every gazer by his charms be won,

And kings and queens aspire to call him son:

Contending virgins fly his smiles to meet, 65

And roses spring where'er he sets his feet!"

Insane of soul--but I, O Jove, am free.

Thou knowest, I trust no nurse with prayers for me:

In mercy, then, reject each fond demand,

Though, robed in white, she at thy altar stand. 70

This begs for nerves to pain and sickness steeled,

A frame of body that shall slowly yield

To late old age:--'Tis well, enjoy thy wish.--

But the huge platter, and high-seasoned dish,

Day after day the willing gods withstand, 75

And dash the blessing from their opening hand.

That sues for wealth: the laboring ox is slain,

And frequent victims woo the "god of gain."

"O crown my hearth with plenty and with peace,

And give my flocks and herds a large increase!" 80

Madman! how can he, when, from day to day,

Steer after steer in offerings melt away?--

Still he persists; and still new hopes arise,

With harslet and with tripe, to storm the skies.

"Now swell my harvests! now my fields! now, now, 85

It comes--it comes--auspicious to my vow!"

While thus, poor wretch, he hangs 'twixt hope and fear,

He starts, in dreadful certainty, to hear

His chest reverberate the hollow groan

Of his last piece, to find itself alone? 90

If from my sideboard I should bid you take

Goblets of gold or silver, you would shake

With eager rapture; drops of joy would start,

And your left breast scarce hold your fluttering heart:

Hence, you presume the gods are bought and sold; 95

And overlay their busts with captured gold.

For, of the brazen brotherhood, the Power

Who sends you dreams, at morning's truer hour,

Most purged from phlegm, enjoys your best regards,

And a gold beard his prescient skill rewards! 100

Now, from the temples, GOLD has chased the plain

And frugal ware of Numa's pious reign;.

The ritual pots of brass are seen no more,

And Vesta's pitchers blaze in burnished ore.

O groveling souls! and void of things divine! 105

Why bring our passions to the Immortals' shrine,

And judge, from what this CARNAL SENSE delights,

Of what is pleasing in their purer sights?

THIS, the Calabrian fleece with purple soils,

And mingles cassia with our native oils; 110

Tears from the rocky conch its pearly store,

And strains the metal from the glowing ore.

This, this, indeed, is vicious; yet it tends

To gladden life, perhaps; and boasts its ends;

But you, ye priests (for, sure, ye can), unfold-- 115

In heavenly things, what boots this pomp of gold?

No more, in truth, than dolls to Venus paid

(The toys of childhood), by the riper maid!

No; let me bring the Immortals, what the race

Of great Messala, now depraved and base, 120

On their huge charger, can not;--bring a mind,

Where legal and where moral sense are joined

With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell

In the soul's most retired and sacred cell;

A bosom dyed in honor's noblest grain, 125

Deep-dyed:--with these let me approach the fane,

And Heaven will hear the humble prayer I make,

Though all my offering be a barley cake.

SATIRE III.

What! ever thus? See! while the beams of day

In broad effulgence o'er the shutters play,

Stream through the crevice, widen on the walls,

On the fifth line the gnomon's shadow falls!

Yet still you sleep, like one that, stretched supine, 5

Snores off the fumes of strong Falernian wine.

Up! up! mad Sirius parches every blade,

And flocks and herds lie panting in the shade.

Here my youth rouses, rubs his heavy eyes,

"Is it _so_ late? so _very_ late?" he cries; 10

"Shame, shame! Who waits? Who waits there? quick, my page!

Why, when!" His bile overflows; he foams with rage,

And brays so loudly, that you start in fear,

And fancy all Arcadia at your ear.

Behold him, with his bedgown and his books, 15

His pens and paper, and his studious looks,

Intent and earnest! What arrests his speed,

Alas! the viscous liquid clogs the reed.

Dilute it. Pish! now every word I write

Sinks through the paper, and eludes the sight; 20

Now the pen leaves no mark, the point's too fine;

Now 'tis too blunt, and doubles every line!

O wretch! whom every day more wretched sees--

Are these the fruits of all your studies? these!

Give o'er at once: and like same callow dove, 25

Some prince's heir, some lady's infant love,

Call for chewed pap; and, pouting at the breast,

Scream at the lullaby that woos to rest!

"But why such warmth? See what a pen! nay, see!"--

And is this subterfuge employed on me? 30

Fond boy! your time, with your pretext, is lost;

And all your arts are at your proper cost.

While with occasion thus you madly play,

Your best of life unheeded leaks away,

And scorn flows in apace: the ill-baked ware, 35

Rung by the potter, will its fault declare;

Thus--But you yet are moist and yielding clay:

Call for some plastic hand without delay,

Nor cease the labor, till the wheel produce

A vessel nicely formed, and fit for use. 40

"But wherefore this? My father, thanks to fate,

Left me a fair, if not a large, estate:--

A salt unsullied on my table shines,

And due oblations, in their little shrines,

My household gods receive; my hearth is pure, 45

And all my means of life confirmed and sure:

What need I more?" Nay, nothing; it is well.

--And it becomes you, too, with pride to swell,

Because, the thousandth in descent, you trace

Your blood, unmixed, from some high Tuscan race; 50

Or, when the knights march by the censor's chair,

In annual pomp, can greet a kinsman there!

Away! these trappings to the rabble show:

Me they deceive not; for your soul I know,

Within, without.--And blush you not to see 55

Loose Natta's life and yours so well agree?

--But Natta's is not _life_: the sleep of sin

Has seized his powers, and palsied all within;

Huge cawls of fat envelope every part,

And torpor weighs on his insensate heart: 60

Absolved from blame by ignorance so gross,

He neither sees nor comprehends his loss;

Content in guilt's profound abyss to drop,

Nor, struggling, send one bubble to the top!

Dread sire of gods! when lust's envenomed stings 65

Stir the fierce natures of tyrannic kings;

When storms of rage within their bosoms roll,

And call, in thunder, for thy just control,

O, then relax the bolt, suspend the blow,

And thus, and thus alone, thy vengeance show, 70

In all her charms, set Virtue in their eye,

And let them see their loss, despair, and--die!

Say, could the wretch severer tortures feel,

Closed in the brazen bull?--Could the bright steel,

That, while the board with regal pomp was spread, 75

Gleamed o'er the guest, suspended by a thread,

Worse pangs inflict than he endures, who cries

(As on the rack of conscious guilt he lies,

In mental agony), "Alas! I fall,

Down, down the unfathomed steep, without recall!" 80

And withers at the heart, and dares not show

His bosom wife the secret of his woe!

Oft (I remember yet), my sight to spoil.

Oft, when a boy, I bleared my eyes with oil,

What time I wished my studies to decline, 85

Nor make great Cato's dying speeches mine;

Speeches my master to the skies had raised,

Poor pedagogue! unknowing what he praised;

And which my sire, suspense 'twixt hope and fear,

With venial pride, had brought his friends to hear. 90

For then, alas! 'twas my supreme delight

To study chances, and compute aright,

What sum the lucky sice would yield in play,

And what the fatal aces sweep away:

Anxious no rival candidate for fame 95

Should hit the long-necked jar with nicer aim;

Nor, while the whirling top beguiled the eye,

With happier skill the sounding scourge apply.

But you have passed the schools; have studied long,

And learned the eternal bounds of Right and Wrong, 100

And what the Porch (by Mycon limned, of yore,

With trowsered Medes), unfolds of ethic lore,

Where the shorn youth, on herbs and pottage fed,

Bend, o'er the midnight page, the sleepless head:

And, sure, the letter where, divergent wide, 105

The Samian branches shoot on either side,

Has to your view, with no obscure display,

Marked, on the right, the strait but better way.

And yet you slumber still! and still opprest

With last night's revels, knock your head and breast! 110

And stretching o'er your drowsy couch, produce

Yawn after yawn, as if your jaws were loose!

Is there no certain mark at which to aim?--

Still must your bow be bent at casual game?

With clods, and potsherds, must you still pursue 115

Each wandering crow that chance presents to view;

And, careless of your life's contracted span,

Live from the moment, and without a plan?

When bloated dropsies every limb invade.

In vain to hellebore you fly for aid: 120

Meet with preventive skill the young disease,

And Craterus will boast no golden fees.

Mount, hapless youths, on Contemplation's wings,

And mark the Causes and the End of things:--

Learn what we are, and for what purpose born, 125

What station here 'tis given us to adorn;

How best to blend security with ease,

And win our way through life's tempestuous seas;

What bounds the love of property requires,

And what to wish, with unreproved desires; 130

How far the genuine use of wealth extends;

And the just claims of country, kindred, friends

What Heaven would have us be, and where our stand,

In this GREAT WHOLE, is fixed by high command.

Learn these--and envy not the sordid gains 135

Which recompense the well-tongued lawyer's pains;

Though Umbrian rustics, for his sage advice,

Pour in their jars of fish, and oil, and spice,

So thick and fast, that, ere the first be o'er,

A second, and a third, are at the door. 140

"But here, some brother of the blade, some coarse

And shag-haired captain, bellows loud and hoarse;

Away with this cramp, philosophic stuff!

My learning serves my turn, and that's enough.

I laugh at all your dismal Solons, I; 145

Who stalk with downcast looks, and heads awry,

Muttering within themselves, where'er they roam,

And churning their mad silence till it foam!

Who mope o'er sick men's dreams, howe'er absurd,

And on protruded lips poise every word; 150

_Nothing can come from nothing._ Apt and plain!

_Nothing return to nothing._ Good, again!

And this it is for which they peak and pine,

This precious stuff, for which they never dine!"

Jove, how he laughs! the brawny youths around 155

Catch the contagion, and return the sound;

Convulsive mirth on every cheek appears,

And every nose is wrinkled into sneers!

"Doctor, a patient said, employ your art,

I feel a strange wild fluttering at the heart; 160

My breast seems tightened, and a fetid smell

sets my breath--feel here; all is not well,"

Medicine and rest the fever's rage compose,

And the third day his blood more calmly flows.

The fourth, unable to contain, he sends 165

A hasty message to his wealthier friends,

And _just about to bathe_--requests, in fine,

A moderate flask of old Surrentin wine.

"Good heavens! my friend, what sallow looks are here?"

Pshaw! nonsense! nothing! "Yet 'tis worth your fear, 170

Whate'er it be: the waters rise within,

And, though unfelt, distend your sickly skin."

--And yours still more! Whence springs this freedom, tro'?

Are you, forsooth, my guardian? Long ago

I buried him; and thought my nonage o'er: 175

But you remain to school me! "Sir, no more."--

Now to the bath, full gorged with luscious fare,

See the pale wretch his bloated carcass bear;

While from his lungs, that faintly play by fits,

His gasping throat sulphureous steam emits!-- 180

Cold shiverings seize him, as for wine he calls,

His grasp betrays him, and the goblet falls!

From his loose teeth the lip, convulsed, withdraws,

And the rich cates drop through his listless jaws.

Then trumpets, torches come, in solemn state; 185

And my fine youth, so confident of late,

Stretched on a splendid bier, and essenced o'er,

Lies, a stiff corpse, heels foremost at the door.

Romans of yesterday, with covered head,

Shoulder him to the pyre, and--all is said!-- 190

"But why to me? Examine every part;

My pulse:--and lay your finger on my heart;

You'll find no fever: touch my hands and feet,

A natural warmth, and nothing more, you'll meet."

'Tis well! But if you light on gold by chance, 195

If a fair neighbor cast a sidelong glance,

Still will that pulse with equal calmness flow,

And still that heart no fiercer throbbings know?

Try yet again. In a brown dish behold,

Coarse gritty bread, and coleworts stale and old: 200

Now, prove your taste. Why those averted eyes?

Hah! I perceive:--a secret ulcer lies

Within that pampered mouth, too sore to bear

The untender grating of plebeian fare!

Where dwells this _natural warmth_, when danger's near, 205

And "each particular hair" starts up with fear?

Or where resides it, when vindictive ire

Inflames the bosom; when the veins run fire,

The reddening eye-balls glare; and all you say,

And all you do, a mind so warped betray, 210

That mad Orestes, if the freaks he saw,

Would give you up at once to chains and straw!

SATIRE IV.

What! you, my Alcibiades, aspire

To sway the state!--(Suppose that bearded sire,

Whom hemlock from a guilty world removed,

Thus to address the stripling that he loved.)

On what apt talents for a charge so high, 5

Ward of great Pericles, do you rely?

Forecast on others by gray hairs conferred,

Haply, with you, anticipates the beard!

And prompts you, prescient of the public weal,

Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal! 10

Hence, when the rabble form some daring plan,

And factious murmurs spread from man to man,

Mute and attentive you can bid them stand,

By the majestic wafture of your hand!

Lo! all is hushed: what now, what will he speak, 15

What floods of sense from his charged bosom break!

"Romans! I think--I fear--I think, I say,

This is not well:--perhaps, the better way."--

O power of eloquence! But you, forsooth,

In the nice, trembling scale can poise the truth, 20

With even hand; can with intentive view,

Amid deflecting curves, the right pursue;

Or, where the rule deceives the vulgar eye

With its warped foot, the unerring line apply:

And, while your sentence strikes with doom precise, 25

Stamp the black Theta on the front of vice!

Rash youth! relying on a specious skin,

While all is dark deformity within,

Check the fond thought; nor, like the peacock proud,

Spread your gay plumage to the applauding crowd, 30

Before your hour arrive:--Ah, rather drain

Whole isles of hellebore, to cool your brain!

For, what is YOUR chief good? "To heap my board

With every dainty earth and sea afford;

To bathe, and bask me in the sunny ray, 35

And doze the careless hours of life away."

Hold, hold! you tattered beldame, hobbling by,

If haply asked, would make the same reply.

"But I am nobly born." Agreed. "And fair."

'Tis granted too: yet goody Baucis there, 40

Who, to the looser slaves, her pot-herbs cries,

Is just as philosophic, just as wise.--

How few, alas! their proper faults explore!

While, on his loaded back, who walks before,

Each eye is fixed.--You touch a stranger's arm, 45

And ask him if he knows Vectidius' farm?

"Whose," he replies? That rich old chuff's, whose ground

Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round.

"O ho! that wretch, on whose devoted head

Ill stars and angry gods their rage have shed! 50

Who on high festivals, when all is glee,

And the loose yoke hangs on the cross-way tree,

As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay,

Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day;

Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine; 55

And while his hungry hinds exulting dine

On barley broth, sucks up, with thrifty care,

The mothery dregs of his palled vinegar!"

But, if "YOU bask you in the sunny ray,

And doze the careless hours of youth away," 60

There are, who at such gross delights will spurn,

And spit their venom on your life in turn;

Expose, with eager hate, your low desires,

Your secret passions, and unhallowed fires.--

"Why, while the beard is nursed with every art, 65

Those anxious pains to bare the shameful part?

In vain:--should five athletic knaves essay

To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away,

Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil,

Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil!" 70

Misled by rage, our bodies we expose,

And while we give, forget to ward, the blows;

This, this is life! and thus our faults are shown,

By mutual spleen: we know--and we are known!

But your defects elude inquiring eyes!-- 75

Beneath the groin the ulcerous evil lies,

Impervious to the view; and o'er the wound

The broad effulgence of the zone is bound!

But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain,

Thus cheat the sense of languor and of pain? 80

"But if the people call me wise and just,

Sure I may take the general voice on trust!"--

No:--If you tremble at the sight of gold;

Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontrolled;

Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour, 85

Girt with a ruffian band, the Forum scour;

Then, wretch! in vain the voice of praise you hear,

And drink the vulgar shout with greedy ear.

Hence, with your spurious claims! Rejudge your cause

And fling the rabble back their vile applause; 90

To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair,

And blush to find how poor a stock is there!

SATIRE V.

TO ANNÆUS CORNUTUS.

PERSIUS. Poets are wont a hundred mouths to ask,

A hundred tongues--whate'er the purposed task;

Whether a tragic tale of Pelops' line

For the sad actor, with deep mouth, to whine;

Or Epic lay;--the Parthian winged with fear, 5

And wrenching from his groin the Roman spear.

CORNUTUS. Heavens! to what purpose (sure I heard thee wrong),

Tend those huge gobbets of robustious song,

Which, struggling into day, distend thy lungs,

And need a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues? 10

Let fustian bards to Helicon repair,

And suck the spongy fogs that hover there,

Bards, in whose fervid brains, while sense recoils,

The pot of Progne, or Thyestes boils,

Dull Glyco's feast!--But what canst thou propose? 15

Puffed by thy heaving lungs no metal glows;

Nor dost thou, mumbling o'er some close-spent strain,

Croak the grave nothings of an idle brain;

Nor swell, until thy cheeks, with thundering sound,

Displode, and spurt their airy froth around. 20

Confined to common life, thy numbers flow,

And neither soar too high, nor sink too low;

There strength and ease in graceful union meet,

Though polished, subtle, and though poignant, sweet;

Yet powerful to abash the front of crime, 25

And crimson error's cheek with sportive rhyme.

O still be this thy study, this thy care:

Leave to Mycenæ's prince his horrid fare,

His head and feet; and seek, with Roman taste,

For Roman food--a plain but pure repast. 30

PERSIUS. Mistake me not. Far other thoughts engage

My mind, Cornutus, than to swell my page

With air-blown trifles, impotent and vain,

And grace, with noisy pomp, an empty strain.

Oh, no: the world shut out, 'tis my design, 35

To open (prompted by the inspiring Nine)

The close recesses of my breast, and bare

To your keen eye each thought, each feeling, there;

Yes, best of friends! 'tis now my wish to prove

How much you fill my heart, engross my love. 40

Ring then--for, to your practiced ear, the sound

Will show the solid, and where guile is found

Beneath the varnished tongue: for THIS, in fine,

I dared to wish a hundred voices mine;

Proud to declare, in language void of art, 45

How deep your form is rooted in my heart,

And paint, in words--ah! could they paint the whole--

The ineffable sensations of my soul.

When first I laid the purple by, and free,

Yet trembling at my new-felt liberty, 50

Approached the hearth, and on the Lares hung

The bulla, from my willing neck unstrung;

When gay associates, sporting at my side.

And the white boss, displayed with conscious pride,

Gave me, unchecked, the haunts of vice to trace, 55

And throw my wandering eyes on every face,

When life's perplexing maze before me lay,

And error, heedless of the better way,

To straggling paths, far from the route of truth,

Woo'd, with blind confidence, my timorous youth, 60

I fled to you, Cornutus, pleased to rest

My hopes and fears on your Socratic breast,

Nor did you, gentle Sage, the charge decline:

Then, dextrous to beguile, your steady line

Reclaimed, I know not by what winning force, 65

My morals, warped from virtue's straighter course;

While reason pressed incumbent on my soul,

That struggled to receive the strong control,

And took like wax, tempered by plastic skill;

The form your hand imposed; and bears it still! 70

Can I forget how many a summer's day,

Spent in your converse, stole, unmarked, away?

Or how, while listening with increased delight,

I snatched from feasts the earlier hours of night?

--One time (for to your bosom still I grew), 75

One time of study, and of rest, we knew;

One frugal board where, every care resigned,

An hour of blameless mirth relaxed the mind.

And sure our lives, which thus accordant move

(Indulge me here, Cornutus), clearly prove 80

That both are subject to the self-same law,

And from one horoscope their fortunes draw;

And whether Destiny's unerring doom

In equal Libra poised our days to come;

Or friendship's holy hour our fates combined, 85

And to the Twins a sacred charge assigned;

Or Jove, benignant, broke the gloomy spell

By angry Saturn wove;--I know not well--

But sure some star there is, whose bland control

Subdues, to yours, the temper of my soul! 90

Countless the various species of mankind,

Countless the shades which separate mind from mind;

No general object of desire is known;

Each has his will, and each pursues his own;

With Latian wares, one roams the Eastern main, 95

To purchase spice, and cummin's blanching grain;

Another, gorged with dainties, swilled with wine,

Fattens in sloth, and snores out life, supine;

This loves the Campus; that, destructive play;

And those, in wanton dalliance melt away:-- 100

But when the knotty gout their strength has broke,

And their dry joints crack like some withered oak,

Then they look back, confounded and aghast,

On the gross days in fogs and vapors past;

With late regret the waste of life deplore, 105

No purpose gained, and time, alas! no more.

But you, my friend, whom nobler views delight,

To pallid vigils give the studious night;

Cleanse youthful breasts from every noxious weed,

And sow the tilth with Cleanthean seed. 110

There seek, ye young, ye old, secure to find

That certain end which stays the wavering mind;

Stores, which endure, when other means decay,

Through life's last stage, a sad and cheerless way.

"Right; and to-morrow this shall be our care." 115

Alas! to-morrow, like to-day, will fare.

"What! is one day, forsooth, so great a boon?"

But when it comes (and come it will too soon),

Reflect, that yesterday's to-morrow's o'er.--

Thus "one to-morrow! one to-morrow! more," 120

Have seen long years before them fade away;

And still appear no nearer than to-day!

So while the wheels on different axles roll,

In vain (though governed by the self-same pole)

The hindmost to o'ertake the foremost tries: 125

Fast as the one pursues the other flies!

FREEDOM, in truth, it steads us much to have:

Not that by which each manumitted slave,

Each Publius, with his tally, may obtain

A casual dole of coarse and damaged grain. 130

--O souls! involved in Error's thickest shade,

Who think a Roman with one turn is made!

Look on this paltry groom, this Dama here,

Who at three farthings would be prized too dear;

This blear-eyed scoundrel, who your husks would steal, 135

And outface truth to hide the starving meal;

Yet--let his master twirl this knave about,

And MARCUS DAMA in a trice steps out!

Amazing! MARCUS surety?--yet distrust!

MARCUS your judge?--yet fear a doom unjust! 140

MARCUS avouch it?--then the fact is clear.

The writings!--set your hand, good MARCUS, here."

This is mere liberty--a name, alone:

Yet this is all the cap can make our own.

"Sure, there's no other. All mankind agree 145

That those who live without control are free:

_I_ live without control; and _therefore_ hold

Myself more free than Brutus was of old."

Absurdly put; a Stoic cries, whose ear,

Rinsed with sharp vinegar, is quick to hear: 150

True;--all who live without control are free;

But that YOU live so, I can ne'er agree.

"No? From the Prætor's wand when I withdrew,

Lord of myself, why, might I not pursue

My pleasure unrestrained, respect still had 155

To what the rubric of the law forbad?"

Listen--but first your brows from anger clear,

And bid your nose dismiss that rising sneer;

Listen, while I the genuine truth impart,

And root those old wives' fables from your heart. 160

It was not, is not in the "Prætor's wand,"

To gift a fool with power, to understand

The nicer shades of duty, and educe,

From short and rapid life, its end and use;

The laboring hind shall sooner seize the quill, 165

And strike the lyre with all a master's skill.

Reason condemns the thought, with mien severe,

And drops this maxim in the secret ear,

"Forbear to venture, with preposterous toil,

On what, in venturing, you are sure to spoil." 170

In this plain sense of what is just and right

The laws of nature and of man unite;

That Inexperience should some caution show,

And spare to reach at what she does not know.

Prescribe you hellebore! without the skill 175

To weigh the ingredients, or compound the pill?--

Physic, alarmed, the rash attempt withstands,

And wrests the dangerous mixture from your hands.

Should the rude clown, skilled in no star to guide

His dubious course, rush on the trackless tide, 180

Would not Palemon at the fact exclaim,

And swear the world had lost all sense of shame!

Say, is it yours, by wisdom's steady rays,

To walk secure through life's entangled maze?

Yours to discern the specious from the true, 185

And where the gilt conceals the brass from view?

Speak, can you mark, with some appropriate sign,

What to pursue, and what, in turn, decline?

Does moderation all your wishes guide,

And temperance at your cheerful board preside? 190

Do friends your love experience? are your stores

Now dealt with closed and now with open doors,

As fit occasion calls? Can you restrain

The eager appetite of sordid gain?

Nor feel, when in the mire a doit, you note, 195

Mercurial spittle gurgle in your throat?

If you can say, and truly, "THESE ARE MINE,

And THIS I CAN:"--suffice it. I decline

All farther question; you are wise and free,

No less by Jove's than by the law's decree. 200

But if, good Marcus, you who formed so late

One of our batch, of our enslaved estate,

Beneath a specious outside, still retain

The foul contagion of your ancient strain;

If the sly fox still burrow in some part, 205

Some secret corner, of your tainted heart;

I straight retract the freedom which I gave,

And hold your Dama still, and still a slave!

Reason concedes you nothing. Let us try.

Thrust forth your finger. "See." O, heavens, awry! 210

Yet what so trifling?--But, though altars smoke,

Though clouds of incense every god invoke,

In vain you sue, one drachm of RIGHT to find,

One scruple, lurking in the foolish mind.

Nature abhors the mixture; the rude clown 215

As well may lay his spade and mattock down,

And with light foot and agile limbs prepare

To dance three steps with soft Bathyllus' air!

"Still I am free." You! subject to the sway

Of countless masters, FREE! What _datum_, pray, 220

Supports your claim? Is there no other yoke

Than that which, from your neck, the Prætor broke!

"Go, bear these scrapers to the bath with speed;

What! loitering, knave?"--Here's servitude indeed!

Yet you unmoved the angry sounds would hear; 225

You owe no duty, and can know no fear.

But if within you feel the strong control--

If stormy passions lord it o'er your soul,

Are you more free than he whom threatenings urge

To bear the strigils and escape the scourge? 230

'Tis morn; yet sunk in sloth you snoring lie.

"Up! up!" cries Avarice, "and to business hie;

Nay, stir." I will not. Still she presses, "Rise!"

I can not. "But you must and shall," she cries.

And to what purpose? "This a question! Go, 235

Bear fish to Pontus, and bring wines from Co;

Bring ebon, flax, whate'er the East supplies,

Musk for perfumes, and gums for sacrifice:

Prevent the mart, and the first pepper take

From the tired camel ere his thirst he slake. 240

Traffic forswear, if interest intervene"--

But Jove will overhear me.--"Hold, my spleen!

O dolt; but, mark--that thumb will bore and bore

The empty salt (scraped to the quick before)

For one poor grain, a vapid meal to mend, 245

If you aspire to thrive with Jove your friend!"

You rouse (for who can truths like these withstand?),

Victual your slaves, and urge them to the strand.

Prepared in haste to follow; and, ere now,

Had to the Ægean turned your vent'rous prow, 250

But that sly Luxury the process eyed,

Waylaid your desperate steps, and, taunting, cried,

"Ho, madman, whither, in this hasty plight?

What passion drives you forth? what furies fright?

Whole urns of hellebore might hope in vain 255

To cool this high-wrought fever of the brain.

What! quit your peaceful couch, renounce your ease,

To rush on hardships, and to dare the seas!

And while a broken plank supports your meat,

And a coiled cable proves your softest seat, 260

Suck from squab jugs that pitchy scents exhale,

The seaman's beverage, sour at once and stale!

And all for what? that sums, which now are lent,

At modest five, may sweat out twelve per cent.!--

"O rather cultivate the joys of sense, 265

And crop the sweets which youth and health dispense;

Give the light hours to banquets, love, and wine:

THESE are the zest of life, and THESE are mine!

Dust and a shade are all you soon must be:

Live, thou, while yet you may. Time presses.--See! 270

Even while I speak, the present is become

The past, and lessens still life's little sum."

Now, sir, decide; shall this, or that, command?

Alas, the bait, displayed on either hand,

Distracts your choice:--but, ponder as you may, 275

Of this be sure; both, with alternate sway,

Will lord it o'er you, while, with slavish fears,

From side to side your doubtful duty veers.

Nor must you, though in some auspicious hour

You spurn their mandate, and resist their power, 280

At once conclude their future influence vain:--

With struggling hard the dog may snap his chain;

Yet little freedom from the effort find,

If, as he flies, he trails its length behind.

"Yes, I am fixed; to Love a long adieu!-- 285

Nay, smile not, Davus; you will find it true."

So, while his nails, gnawn to the quick, yet bled,

The sage Chærestratus, deep-musing, said.--

"Shall I my virtuous ancestry defame,

Consume my fortune, and disgrace my name, 290

While, at a harlot's wanton threshold laid,

Darkling, I whine my drunken serenade!"

Tis nobly spoken:--Let a lamb be brought

To the Twin Powers that this deliverance wrought.

"But--if I quit her, will she not complain? 295

Will she not grieve? Good Davus, think again."

Fond trifler! you will find her "grief" too late;

When the red slipper rattles round your pate,

Vindictive of the mad attempt to foil

Her potent spell, and all-involving toil. 300

Dismissed, you storm and bluster: hark! she calls

And, at the word, your boasted manhood falls.

"Mark, Davus; of her own accord, she sues!

Mark, she invites me! Can I now refuse?"

Yes, Now, and EVER. If you left her door 305

Whole and entire, you must return no more.

Right. This is He, the man whom I demand;

This, Davus; not the creature of a wand

Waved by some foolish lictor.--And is he,

This master of himself, this truly free, 310

Who marks the dazzling lure Ambition spreads,

And headlong follows where the meteor leads?

"Watch the nice hour, and on the scrambling tribes

Pour, without stint, your mercenary bribes,

Vetches and pulse; that, many a year gone by, 315

Graybeards, as basking in the sun they lie,

May boast how much your Floral Games surpast,

In cost and splendor, those they witnessed last!"

A glorious motive! And on Herod's day,

When every room is decked in meet array, 320

And lamps along the greasy windows spread,

Profuse of flowers, gross, oily vapors shed;

When the vast tunny's tail in pickle swims,

And the crude must foams o'er the pitcher's brims;

You mutter secret prayers, by fear devised, 325

And dread the sabbaths of the circumcised!

Then a cracked egg-shell fills you with affright,

And ghosts and goblins haunt your sleepless night.

Last, the blind priestess, with her sistrum shrill,

And Galli, huge and high, a dread instill 330

Of gods, prepared to vex the human frame

With dropsies, palsies, ills of every name,

Unless the trembling victim champ, in bed,

Thrice every morn, on a charmed garlic-head.

Preach to the martial throng these lofty strains, 335

And lo! some chief more famed for bulk than brains,

Some vast Vulfenius, blessed with lungs of brass,

Laughs loud and long at the scholastic ass;

And, for a clipt cent-piece, sets, by the tale,

A hundred Greek philosophers to sale! 340

SATIRE VI.

TO CÆSIUS BASSUS.

Say, have the wintry storms, which round us beat,

Chased thee, my Bassus, to thy Sabine seat?

Does music there thy sacred leisure fill,

While the strings quicken to thy manly quill?--

O skilled, in matchless numbers, to disclose 5

How first from Night this fair creation rose;

And kindling, as the lofty themes inspire,

To smite, with daring hand, the Latian lyre!

Anon, with youth and youth's delights to toy,

And give the dancing chords to love and joy; 10

Or wake, with moral touch, to accents sage,

And hymn the heroes of a nobler age!

To me, while tempests howl and billows rise,

Liguria's coast a warm retreat supplies,

Where the huge cliffs an ample front display, 15

And, deep within, recedes the sheltering bay.

_The Port of Luna, friends, is worth your note_--

So, in his sober moments, Ennius wrote,

When, all his dreams of transmigration past,

He found himself plain Quintus at the last! 20

Here to repose I give the cheerful day,

Careless of what the vulgar think or say;

Or what the South, from Afric's burning air,

Unfriendly to the fold, may haply bear:

And careless still, though richer herbage crown 25

My neighbors' fields, or heavier crops embrown.

--Nor, Bassus, though capricious Fortune grace

Thus with her smiles a low-bred, low-born race,

Will e'er thy friend, for that, let Envy plow,

One careful furrow on his open brow; 30

Give crooked age upon his youth to steal,

Defraud his table of one generous meal;

Or, stooping o'er the dregs of mothery wine,

Touch, with suspicious nose, the sacred sign.

But inclinations vary:--and the Power 35

That beams, ascendant, on the natal hour,

Even Twins produces of discordant souls,

And tempers, wide asunder as the poles.

The one on birthdays, and on those alone,

Prepares (but with a forecast all his own) 40

On tunny-pickle, from the shops, to dine,

And dips his withered pot-herbs in the brine;

Trembles the pepper from his hands to trust,

And sprinkles, grain by grain, the sacred dust.

The other, large of soul, exhausts his hoard, 45

While yet a stripling, at the festive board.

To USE my fortune, Bassus, I intend:

Nor, therefore, deem me so profuse, my friend,

So prodigally vain, as to afford

The costly turbot for my freedmen's board; 50

Or so expert in flavors, as to show

How, by the relish, thrush from thrush I know.

"Live to your means"--'tis wisdom's voice you hear--

And freely grind the produce of the year:

What scruples check you? Ply the hoe and spade, 55

And lo! another crop is in the blade.

True; but the claims of duty caution crave.

A friend, scarce rescued from the Ionian wave,

Grasps a projecting rock, while in the deep

His treasures, with his prayers, unheeded sleep: 60

I see him stretched, desponding, on the ground.

His tutelary gods all wrecked around,

His bark dispersed in fragments o'er the tide,

And sea-mews sporting on the ruins wide.

Sell, then, a pittance ('tis my prompt advice) 65

Of this your land, and send your friend the price;

Lest, with a pictured storm, forlorn and poor,

He ask cheap charity from door to door.

"But then, my angry heir, displeased to find

His prospects lessened by an act so kind, 70

May slight my obsequies; and, in return,

Give my cold ashes to a scentless urn;

Reckless what vapid drugs he flings thereon,

Adulterate cassia, or dead cinnamon!--

Can I (bethink in time) my means impair, 75

And with impunity provoke my heir?"

--Here Bestius rails--"A plague on Greece," he cries,

"And all her pedants!--there the evil lies;

For since their mawkish, their enervate lore,

With dates and pepper, cursed our luckless shore, 80

Luxury has tainted all; and plowmen spoil

Their wholesome barley-broth with luscious oil."

Heavens! can you stretch (to fears like these a slave)

Your fond solicitude beyond the grave?

Away!--But thou, my heir, whoe'er thou art, 85

Step from the crowd, and let us talk apart.

Hearest thou the news? Cæsar has won the day

(So, from the camp, his laureled missives say),

And Germany is ours! The city wakes,

And from her altars the cold ashes shakes.-- 90

Lo! from the imperial spoils, Cæsonia brings

Arms, and the martial robes of conquered kings,

To deck the temples; while, on either hand,

Chariots of war and bulky captives stand

In long array. I, too, my joy to prove, 95

Will to the emperor's Genius, and to Jove,

Devote, in gratitude for deeds so rare,

Two hundred well-matched fencers, pair by pair.

Who blames--who ventures to forbid me? You?

Woe to your future prospects! if you do. 100

--And, sir, not this alone; for I have vowed

A supplemental largess to the crowd,

Of corn and oil. What! muttering still? draw near,

And speak aloud, for once, that I may hear.

"My means are not so low that I should care 105

For that poor pittance you may leave your heir."

Just as you please: but were I, sir, bereft

Of all my kin; no aunt, no uncle left;

No nephew, niece; were all my cousins gone,

And all my cousins' cousins, every one, 110

Aricia soon some Manius would supply,

Well pleased to take that "pittance," when I die.

"Manius! a beggar of the first degree,

A son of earth, your heir!" Nay, question me,

Ask who my grandsire's sire? I know not well, 115

And yet, on recollection, I might tell;

But urge me one step farther--I am mute:

A son of earth, like Manius, past dispute.

Thus his descent and mine are equal proved,

And we at last are cousins, though removed. 120

But why should you, who still before me run,

Require my torch ere yet the race be won?

Think me your Mercury: Lo! here I stand,

As painters represent him, purse in hand:

Will you, or not, the proffered boon receive, 125

And take, with thankfulness, whate'er I leave?

Something, you murmur, of the heap is spent.

True: as occasion called it freely went;

In life 'twas mine: but death your chance secures,

And what remains, or more or less, is yours. 130

Of Tadius' legacy no questions raise,

Nor turn upon me with a grandsire-phrase,

"Live on the interest of your fortune, boy;

To touch the principal is to destroy."

"What, after all, may I expect to have?" 135

_Expect!_--Pour oil upon my viands, slave,

Pour with unsparing hand! shall my best cheer

On high and solemn days be the singed ear

Of some tough, smoke-dried hog, with nettles drest;

That your descendant, while in earth I rest, 140

May gorge on dainties, and, when lust excites,

Give to patrician beds his wasteful nights?

Shall I, a napless figure, pale and thin,

Glide by, transparent, in a parchment skin,

That he may strut with more than priestly pride, 145

And swag his portly paunch from side to side?

Go, truck your soul for gain! buy, sell, exchange;

From pole to pole in quest of profit range.

Let none more shrewdly play the factor's part;

None bring his slaves more timely to the mart; 150

Puff them with happier skill, as caged they stand,

Or clap their well-fed sides with nicer hand.

Double your fortune--treble it--yet more--

'Tis four, six, ten-fold what it was before:

O bound the heap--You, who could yours confine, 155

Tell me, Chrysippus, how to limit mine!

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Added missing footnote anchors, e. g. p. 21.

Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical

errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

Enclosed distinctive font in ~tildes~.