Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Despair.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Despair.
—Let us die, and rush
Into the thickest Arms: to vanquish'd Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.
Into the thickest Arms: to vanquish'd Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.
—Thence, like Wolves
Prowling in gloomy Shade, which Hunger blind
Urges along, while their forsaken Whelps
Expect them with dry Jaws: thro' Darts, thro' Foes
We march to certain Death.—
When with sad Eyes the venerable
Sire,
Prowling in gloomy Shade, which Hunger blind
Urges along, while their forsaken Whelps
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We march to certain Death.—
Beheld his Ilion sunk in hostile Fire:
His Palace storm'd, the lofty Gates laid low,
His rich Pavilions crowded with the Foe:
In Arms, long since disus'd, the hoary Sage
Loads each stiff languid Limb that shook with Age:
Girds on an unperforming Sword, in vain!
And runs on Death amidst the hostile Train.—
In troubled Seas, and all its Steerage lost:
He gives her to the Winds, and in Despair,
Seeks his last Refuge in the Gods and Prayer.—
Thus when the stormy South is heard to roar,
And rolls huge Billows from the Lybian Shore:
When rending Sails flit with the driving Blast,
And with a Crash down comes the lofty Mast:
Some Coward Master leaps from off the Deck,
And hasty to Despair, prevents the Wreck:
And though the Bark unbroken hold her Way,
Her trembling Crew all plunge into the Sea.—
In sullen Peace, compos'd for Death, she lyes,
And waiting, longs to hear the Tempest rise:
She hopes the Seamen's Vows shall all be crost,
Prays for the Storm, and wishes to be lost.—
Soon as the Queen beheld the Foe advance
Against the Town, the Walls beleaguer'd round,
And to the Roofs the flaming Firebrands fly:
Frantic with sudden Grief Herself she calls
The Crime, the Head, the Cause of all their Woe:
A thousand Things she utters in Despair:
Distracted, wild: and rends her purple Robes,
And from a lofty Beam suspended tyes
The fatal Knot of ignominious Death.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |