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Brutus the Trojan

Founder of the British Empire. An Epic poem. Written by Hildebrand Jacob

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 1. 
THE FIRST BOOK OF Brutus the Trojan; &c.
 2. 
 3. 
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THE FIRST BOOK OF Brutus the Trojan; &c.



The Argument.

Brutus the Son of Silvius from Æneas the Trojan, sailing with his Followers in Pursuit of the Island, promis'd him by the Goddess Diana, meets with a violent Tempest in the Tyrrhenian Sea. Iris is sent to Æolus, which God, in Obedience to Jupiter's Commands withdraws his Winds from the Ocean, while the Trojans land, where they are join'd by some of the Descendants of those, who accompany'd Antenor in his Flight from Troy, with Corinæus their Chief, who requests Brutus to relate his Adventures from his Banishment out of Latium till his Arrival at that Place, which takes up the Second, and Third Books, including what happen'd before the Overture of the Poem.


1

I sing the Founder of the British Throne,
Renowned Brutus, of the Race of Troy.
Say, Muse! what Toils he bore, e'er he attain'd
To fix the lasting Seat of Albion's Kings.
Long Time by adverse Winds from Shoar to Shoar
The Trojan Navy driven, now dispers'd,
And scatter'd wide on the Tyrrhenian Sea,
New Storms essay'd. Diana from above,
As in the Council of assembled Gods
She sat, still mindful of the wandring Chief,

2

Hear'd her lov'd Hero's Vows, and with Concern
Viewing the raging Ocean, to her Sire,
Almighty Jove, the Goddess thus began.
Father of Gods, and Men, whose awful Nod
Makes high Olympus shake! Anchises Son
And brave Antenor, all the Dardan Chiefs
Who fled from Grecian Rage, and Ilion's Flames,
Their Toils, and Dangers past, have now fulfill'd
Their destin'd Courses, while their Houshold Gods
Possess secure Retreats. Brutus alone,
From King Æneas Third, of all the Race
Of Troy now wanders on the angry Deep,
The Sport of Winds, and Waves: Some Heav'nly Pow'r,
Haply, still jealous of the Trojan Fame,
Tho' Troy, tho' Priam's House be now no more,
Detains this Hero from the happy Isle;

3

Long by the Fates design'd him, from a Throne
Our Oracles confirm, O, can it be,
That Mortals, prone to Evil, in whose Breasts
The Seeds of Wrath, are planted, may by Time,
By Presents, or Submission be appeas'd,
And that celestial Minds no Bounds prescribe
To dire Revenge? She said, on Heav'ns proud Queen
Turning her Eyes. Juno majestic rose,
And, scornful, with a haughty Smile reply'd.
While Ilion the Pride of Asia stood
No greater Foe than I to Priam's Race,
No Deity more injur'd; yet appeas'd,
Here in this sacred Synod I declare,
No longer to oppose the Sons of Troy.
Where e'er the Fates their lasting Seats resolve,
Where e'er their Altars to Saturnia rise,
They'll find the Consort of eternal Jove
Henceforth propitious to their Pray'r, and Vows.

4

But never let the banish'd Race presume
From Dust their hated City to restore!
While savage Herds on Priam's Tomb shall sport
While raging Oceans from the Phrygian Coast
Divide their new Aboads, they reign secure:
But shou'd again curs'd Ilion's Walls arise,
Again the Trojan Matrons shou'd in Chains
Their fallen Tow'rs, and captive Sons deplore!
She ended with a Frown, and mounting strait
Her golden Car, to Samos bent her Way.
Th' assembled Gods in awful Silence sat
'Till Jove to Dian thus. Offspring belov'd,
Whose threefold Pow'r, and Influence is known
In Heav'n, on Earth, and in the Realms below!
The Evils which the Dardans have sustain'd,
For Troy's Offences surely now attone.
Juno no more resents the fatal Prize;
And wrathful Neptune, of all Saturn's Sons

5

The hardest to appease, no longer feels
The Treachery of false Laomedon;
Nor any here of these celestial Pow'rs
Who taste our Nectar, and surround our Throne,
E'er sought thy favour'd Brutus to detain
From the blest Isle, thy Oracles proclaim.
That God, on whom the Empire of the Winds
We have bestow'd, this mighty Tempest sends
For Vows forgotten, and neglected Rites,
When late he sail'd from the Trinacrean Shoar.
An Hecatomb to us, a sable Steer
To Neptune fell; to all the Sea-born Race
Due Victims bled: Loud Æolus alone
Amidst th' Immortals found his Altars cold.
Our Son shou'd be appeas'd; but cease to fear
For these thy Trojans! Fate shall be obey'd!
So saying, Iris, swifter than the Wind,
He calls, and thus the sacred Messenger

6

Of Heav'n bespoke. To Æolus descend!
Let him the Fury of his Winds asswage,
And call them from the Ocean, that the Sons
Of Troy, now erring on the troubled Main,
May safely land on the Tyrrhenian Shoar!
Quick as the Lightning from Jove's dreaded Arm
She gains the Ocean, and resounding Caves
Where Æole with his Deiopeia reigns,
And thus—To thee, who at thy Will provok'st,
Or bind'st the raging Winds, Jove's Words I bear!
Their Fury, God of Tempest, strait asswage,
And call them from the Ocean, that the Sons
Of Troy, now erring on the troubled Main,
May safely land or the Tyrrhenian Shoar!
The God, tho' pale with Ire, at Jove's Commands
Call'd home his Winds, and chain'd each furious Blast.

7

The Ocean smooth'd, the Trojans now resume
Their wonted Hopes, the Oar with Ardour ply,
And, weary, soon the wish'd-for Land attain.
Here on the Coast a hardy Race they find
Deriv'd of those by bold Antenor led
From flaming Ilion, and Grecian Bonds.
Their Captain Corinæus, daring Chief,
Whom none in Stature, none in Strength excell'd,
Tow'rds Brutus on the crouded Shoar advanc'd,
And strait the Dardan Hero thus address'd.
Leader, whoe'er thou art of Trojan Race,
Who thus in lofty Ships of Greece arriv'st,
Not unexpected, or of Chance thou com'st;
But by the sacred Ministry of Heav'n.
Know, Chief, from bleeding Priam's fated Tow'rs
Our Fathers with Antenor fled; he rais'd
Near angry Adria's Waves his Regal Throne,
Whose narrow Limits now become too small

8

For her increasing Sons, to us it fell
New Walls to seek, which here the Gods refuse,
The Fates, our holy Prophecies declare,
Have destin'd thee to build (but far from hence)
Another Troy, and everlasting Seat.
Three Thousand Trojans arm'd, inur'd to War,
And Labour in Thrice Twenty Ships I lead.
Permit that under thy auspicious Sway
The wand'ring Sons of Ilion unite,
Thy Gods, thy Laws our own, where'er thou reign'st.
Brutus receives their Homage, and assents;
And now, the Trojans landed, and their Ships
In Order rang'd along the winding Coast,
The Son of Polydoron Brutus calls,
Swift Hyllus, and the Herald thus ordains.
Fly, sacred Messenger, thro'out the Host,
And call before the Ships each warlike Chief,
That all may witness to our plighted Faith!

9

The Herald strait obeys, and nimbly spreads
The Hero's Orders o'er the spacious Fleet.
First at Polites Vessels he declares
The Will of Brutus; at Evander's next:
Pantheus, and Ripheus, and brave Dymas now,
Receiving the Command, in Haste depart,
With Turonus, whom to the valiant Tros
The fair Latina, Brutus Sister, bore,
Belov'd by Brutus, and more closely join'd
In Friendship than in Blood, from early Youth
The sole Companion of the exil'd Prince.
Mempricius, thro' Age advancing slow,
Supported by his warlike Sons, arriv'd,
And sage Gerion, venerable Seer,
Iphitus, Rhesus, and of Grecian Race
Assaricus, still haughty and reserv'd,
Whom factious Strife, and Discontent at home
To Brutus join'd; suspected yet abroad,
Nor lov'd, nor trusted in the Trojan Host.

10

All these, and many warlike Leaders more
Th' august Convention form. The solemn League
First sworn before the Chiefs, near Brutus plac'd
In the Assembly Corinæus sat,
And thus the Son of Silvius began.
Ye Dardan Chiefs for whom the Grecian Bonds
At length too weak have prov'd, behold the Day
Which wise Gerion promis'd was at Hand!
Our Numbers are increas'd; so be our Hopes!
For if our Faith this sacred Seer may claim,
Who ne'er to prophecy in vain was found,
Our Wand'rings after this united Force
Shall soon have End, and the long wish'd-for Isle,
Decreed by Fate, Troy's weary Sons receive.
While yet he spoke, the Seer Gerion rose,
And thus. Great Leader of the Trojan Host,
Whom next to Jove we glory to obey!
Much to thy Care is due, to Dian more,

11

Under whose Auspice, safe, at length, we find
This daring Man, of whom I long foretold.
This Hero, and his hardy Followers
Are given unto us, and we to them:
So have the Gods decreed! Their smaller Force
Well may supply the Losses we've sustain'd,
Our greater Numbers shall their Troops support.
But know, O Brutus, all our Suff'rings past,
Our many Toils by Sea, and Land essay'd,
Have not fulfill'd the Measure of our Woes!
More yet remain in the dark Womb of Time;
Nations unknown, wide Oceans yet unplough'd
By Trojans, or by Greeks, beyond the Bounds
Of great Alcides for our Patience call.
Rough are the Paths of Virtue, Honour, Fame!
Faint not, ye Trojans, in the glorious Race!
When Labour ends, the laurel'd Victor's Crown
Begins to fade. Here Corinæus, warm'd
With martial Ardour at Gerion's Words,
Sprang from his Seat, and thus the Chiefs address'd.

12

Bred as I am to War, inur'd to Toils,
The Tongue of Corinæus never knew
The Pow'r of Eloquence, and moving Speech.
Great Jupiter distributes unto all
His various Gifts: Courage, and Strength are mine,
And active Feats of Arms. Let Honour call,
I'll follow her tho' to Earth's last Verge!
But 'tis enough! My Deeds shall speak my Praise!
Wherever Danger fronts in this our Course.
There let me turn! I've tarry'd here too long!
A cruel, vile, unhospitable Race
Possess this Coast, the savage Followers
Of King Tyrrhenus from the Lydian Shoar:
Here farther with fell Monsters it abounds,
The Syrens, Lestrigons, and Circe dire;
But there, and far remov'd, o'er Latian Lands
Æneas his Successours reign in Peace,
And rising Glory: So wide Fame relates.

13

In Peace Æneas his Successours reign!
(Brutus with Sighs reply'd) What then am I?
Is Brute no more of old Anchises Line?
Sever'd, divided, torn in blooming Youth
From the lov'd Branch, where flourishing I grew,
Fate cast me forth, like an unwholsom Weed,
Doom'd by the Gods a wretched Wanderer,
An Exile for Offences, not my own!
Thrice happy they, who in their native Soil
Beneath paternal Shadows rest secure!
More he had utter'd; but a rising Flood
Of filial Grief his fault'ring Tongue delay'd;
When rose divine Mempricius from his Seat,
Hoary with Age, majestically slow,
And fam'd in Council: Long Experience,
And Wisdom drew Attention to his Words;
For unto Mortal Jupiter before
A Race of Time so lasting ne'er bestow'd.

14

Brutus, he cry'd, we know these Sorrows spring
From pleading Nature, and a nobler Soul;
But now the great Occasion louder calls
For Toils, for Council, and the Frowns of Mars.
By whatsoe'er Afflictions thou art try'd,
The Hand of all disposing Destiny
Hath mark'd them for our good. Monarchs are born
Less for themselves, than those they're doom'd to rule.
Had Silvius thy Sire, been yet alive,
Hadst thou not fled, a guiltless Parricide,
Forc'd by the Anger of a mighty God,
From Latian Alba's Tow'rs to distant Lands,
Beneath those Grecian Chains we still had groan'd,
Which, since Troy fell, we, and our Offspring wore.
But who so hard, to hear of Grecian Chains,
And burning Troy, and yet not mourn her Fall?
These Eyes were Witness to the dreadful Blaze,
And all the Horrors of that bloody Night,
The last of Priam's Reign: The good, old King,

15

At th' Altar's Side, all welt'ring in his Gore,
By the inexorable Pyrrhus fell,
More cruel than his Sire! O how unlike
That rev'rend Head, when from Achilles Tent
He bore dead Hector home! Troy's sacred Walls,
The Work of Heav'nly Hands, I saw profan'd
With smould'ring Flames, and steaming all with Smoak
From Grecian Brands. O Ilion, alas!
Ill fated Troy! How sternly thou gav'st Way
To Destiny, when Numbers, Fraud, and Flame
To thy Destruction all at once combin'd?
Then dreadful Mars, and the dire Furies rag'd,
Scatt'ring Dismay, and Terror all around!
Then Dymas thy brave Grandsire I beheld
Greatly contending with a Thousand Deaths!
Nor thine, O Pantheus, with less Glory fell,
Encompass'd by his Foes: His mitred Head

16

Not Phoebus sacred Fillets cou'd defend!
Nor far from these our good Æneas fought,
To whom we owe thee, Brutus, while his Sword
Resistless thro' the Grecians forc'd its Way.
Nor was I unemploy'd, or first subdu'd,
Nor did these Limbs, unprofitable now,
Deserve the Chains they wore, tho' then in Arms
So young, I scarce cou'd to Remembrance bring
What Time from Tenedos we first descry'd
Th' invading Fleet, and for Defence prepar'd.
Forgive, ye Trojans, while your Country's Ills
I thus revive! Ye Dardan Chiefs, forgive,
If with too warm Impatience I expect
Your promis'd Glory! Lasting may it prove!
Again may no offending Paris rise!
A milder Fate attend on future Troy!
But now e'er Thetis watry Bed receives
Descending Phoebus let th' accustom'd Rites
To Jove, and to our Guardian Pow'r be paid!
Tho' here it be not given to abide,

17

The Gods with Sacrifices may be found,
Where'er we wander: Jove's in ev'ry Place!
He said, and sat, when Brutus thus return'd.
Divine Mempricius! Venerable Eld!
The fainting Dardans of another Troy
Wisely thou dost remind, and of the Rites
We owe to Jove, and to our Guardian Pow'r,
The great Diana, whose protecting Hand,
Whose Influence, so manifest to all,
Has deign'd our daring Enterprize to guide.
Our Sacrifices past, our Host refresh'd,
Let every Leader to his Ships return,
And every Warrior to his wish'd Repose.
While Corinæus with his fresh Supplies
Around our Vessels watch. When Dawn appears,
With joint, and equal Labour we'll refit
Our shatter'd Navy. Here th' Assembly rose.

18

The Chiefs disperse, and strait to ev'ry Band
His choicest Victims Corinæus sends,
Which from the Tyrrhene Swains in many a Course,
And many an Inroad bold the Hero won.
Of Earth in Haste an Hundred Altars rise
To Dian, and to Jove. The Rites fulfill'd,
The Host, in Order rang'd, Repasts prepare
Of what remains, and due Libations pay
In old Lyæus, from the Vessels brought,
'Till Night her sable Veil began to spread
O'er Nature's Works. Now ev'ry Ship receives
Her weary Troops, while in their lofty Tents
The Chiefs before their Vessels seek Repose.
Now Corinæus on the winding Coast
His wakeful Trojans plac'd; their watchful Fires
Pierce the wide Womb of Darkness: From afar
Tyrrhenian Shepherds on the Mountain Tops
With dire Amazement view the distant Blaze

19

'Till the Return of Morn; when Brutus rose,
Convenes his Host, and the Day's Toil divides.
Part seek the Woods, and with repeated Blows
Level the lofty Fir, or knotted Oak,
While with new Noise the hollow Vale resounds,
And frighted Dryads from their Haunts retire.
With Echoes loud from the steep Mountain's Side
The falling Groves rush forward on the Plain.
The busy'd Youth below the Branches lop,
And to their Vessels drag th' enormous Trunks.
Some, by Minerva taught, in Haste divide
The massy Timber, and with ready Art
Or Helms, or Ribs repair; some from the Pine
New Masts erect: Each in his Talent toils.
So when, rude Winter past, the prudent Hives
Feel the soft Vernal Breezes, and send forth
Their active Legions, Part the flow'ry Meads,
Still vagrant, range; Part nearer Home receive

20

The Wand'rers Loads, and to their Store-house bear
The fragrant Thyme; while others, provident,
The labour'd Treasure in its Cells dispose:
Each shares the Task: The Region all around
Rings with their Work, and weary Travellers,
Lull'd by the Sound, sleep in refreshing Shades.
Not less industrious the Trojans toil'd,
And with the setting Sun their Labour ends.
Brutus the while amidst th' assembled Chiefs
At Council in his high Pavillion sat,
Intent on public Cares. The Hero now
Each Leader to a short Repast invites.
The Tables spread, the Portions they divide,
And, sated, with Libations crown the Feast.
The Banquet ended, all in Silence sat,
'Till Corinæus thus the Chief bespoke.

21

O Brutus, favour'd of the Gods, chose out
From all the Sons of Troy Troy's Sons to free
From Grecian Bondage, and who now dost lead
The wandering Remains of Ilion
To lasting Glory, and secure Retreats!
Say, thro' what Maze, what Labyrinth of Ills
Thou now arriv'st on the Tyrrhenian Coast?
For much by Sea, and Land thou hast endur'd,
Since first, from Latium compell'd by Fate,
Thou wast constrain'd to seek a foreign Land.
The Night's not far advanc'd, and our still Host
Secure within their Vessels taste Repose.
Here Corinæus ceas'd, and fix'd his Eyes
On Brutus, who, reluctant, thus began.
End of the first Book.
 

A Trojan Prince, who, escaping from the Destruction of his Country, built Padua.

See Horat. Ode 3. Lib. 3.

Æolus.

Sicilian.

See Virg. Æn. Lib. 1.

The Son of Achilles.

The Walls of Troy were said to have been built by Apollo, and Neptune.