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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Delphic Oracle.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
173
Delphic Oracle.
The Priestess every sacred Rite prepares.
A Fillet gathers up her formost Hairs,
While the white Wreath and Bays her Temples bind,
And knit the looser Locks which flow behind.
Close to the holy breathing Vent she cleaves,
And largely the unwonted God receives:
Nor Age the potent Spirit had decay'd,
But with full Force he fills the heaving Maid.
The mortal Mind, driv'n out, forsook her Breast,
And the sole Godhead ev'ry Part possess'd.
A Fillet gathers up her formost Hairs,
While the white Wreath and Bays her Temples bind,
And knit the looser Locks which flow behind.
Close to the holy breathing Vent she cleaves,
And largely the unwonted God receives:
Nor Age the potent Spirit had decay'd,
But with full Force he fills the heaving Maid.
The mortal Mind, driv'n out, forsook her Breast,
And the sole Godhead ev'ry Part possess'd.
Now swell her Veins, her turgid Sinews rise,
And, bounding frantick, thro' the Cave she flies:
Her bristling Locks the wreathy Fillet scorn,
And her fierce Feet the tumbling Tripods spurn.
Now wild she dances o'er the vacant Fane,
And whirls her giddy Head, and bellows with the Pain.
Nor yet the less, th' avenging wrathful God,
Pours in his Fires, and shakes his sounding Rod:
He lashes now, and goads her on amain,
And now He checks her stubborn to the Rein,
Curbs in her Tongue, just lab'ring to disclose
And speak that Fate which in her Bosom glows.
And, bounding frantick, thro' the Cave she flies:
Her bristling Locks the wreathy Fillet scorn,
And her fierce Feet the tumbling Tripods spurn.
Now wild she dances o'er the vacant Fane,
And whirls her giddy Head, and bellows with the Pain.
Nor yet the less, th' avenging wrathful God,
Pours in his Fires, and shakes his sounding Rod:
He lashes now, and goads her on amain,
And now He checks her stubborn to the Rein,
Curbs in her Tongue, just lab'ring to disclose
And speak that Fate which in her Bosom glows.
Ages on Ages throng, a painful Load,
Myriads of Images, and Myriads croud:
Men, Times, and Things, or present, or to come,
Work lab'ring in her Breast, and urge for room.
Whatever is, shall be, or e'er has been,
Rolls in her Thought, and to her Sight is seen.
The Ocean's utmost Bounds her Eyes explore,
And number ev'ry Sand on ev'ry Shore:
Nature, and all her Marks, at once they see,
Know when she first began, and when her End shall be.
Myriads of Images, and Myriads croud:
Men, Times, and Things, or present, or to come,
Work lab'ring in her Breast, and urge for room.
Whatever is, shall be, or e'er has been,
Rolls in her Thought, and to her Sight is seen.
The Ocean's utmost Bounds her Eyes explore,
And number ev'ry Sand on ev'ry Shore:
Nature, and all her Marks, at once they see,
Know when she first began, and when her End shall be.
175
At length her foamy Mouth begins to flow,
Groans more distinct, and Murmurs plainer grow:
A doleful Howl the roomy Cavern shook,
And thus the Maid in fainting Accents spoke.—
Groans more distinct, and Murmurs plainer grow:
A doleful Howl the roomy Cavern shook,
And thus the Maid in fainting Accents spoke.—
She said: the God her lab'ring Tongue supprest,
And in eternal Darkness veil'd the rest.
Now thro' the Gates, with all her Force display'd,
Impetuous sallies the prophetick Maid;
Nor yet the holy Rage was all suppress'd,
Part of the God still heaving in her Breast:
Urg'd by the Demon, still she rolls her Eyes,
And wildly wanders o'er the spacious Skies.
Now horrid Purple flushes in her Face,
And now a livid Pale supplies the Place:
A double Madness paints her Cheeks by turns,
With Fear she freezes, and with Fury burns:
Nor can her weary Breast it's Heavings cease,
But bursting Sighs rise fast to give her Ease.
And in eternal Darkness veil'd the rest.
Now thro' the Gates, with all her Force display'd,
Impetuous sallies the prophetick Maid;
Nor yet the holy Rage was all suppress'd,
Part of the God still heaving in her Breast:
Urg'd by the Demon, still she rolls her Eyes,
And wildly wanders o'er the spacious Skies.
Now horrid Purple flushes in her Face,
And now a livid Pale supplies the Place:
A double Madness paints her Cheeks by turns,
With Fear she freezes, and with Fury burns:
Nor can her weary Breast it's Heavings cease,
But bursting Sighs rise fast to give her Ease.
Now, by Degrees, the Fire Etherial fail'd,
And the dull human Sense again prevail'd:
Mean while, the God, in an eternal Shade,
Hides the past Visions from the mortal Maid.
Thick Clouds of dark Oblivion rife between,
And snatch away at one the wond'rous Scene.
Stretch'd on the Ground the fainting Priestess lies,
While to the Tripod, back, th' informing Spirit flies.—
And the dull human Sense again prevail'd:
Mean while, the God, in an eternal Shade,
Hides the past Visions from the mortal Maid.
Thick Clouds of dark Oblivion rife between,
And snatch away at one the wond'rous Scene.
Stretch'd on the Ground the fainting Priestess lies,
While to the Tripod, back, th' informing Spirit flies.—
To dwell with Earth, and everlasting Night?
What is this Spirit, potent, wise, and great,
Who deigns to make a mortal Frame his Seat?
Who the long Chain of secret Causes knows:
Whose Oracles the Years to come disclose:
Who thro' Eternity at once foresees,
And tells that Fate which He himself decress?
Part of that Soul, perhaps, which moves in All,
Whose Energy informs the pendant Ball,
Thro' this dark Passage seeks the Realms above,
And strives to re-unite itself to Jove.
177
Within his raging Priestess' panting Breast,
Dreadful his Godhead from the Virgin breaks,
And thund'ring from her foamy Mouth He speaks.—
The gracious God, still ready with Replies,
To none his Aid, or Oracle denies:
Yet wise, and righteous ever, scorns to hear
The Fool's fond Wishes, or the Guilty's Pray'r:
Tho', vainly, in repeated Vows they trust,
None e'er find Grace before him, but the Just.
Oft to a banish'd, wandring, houseless Race,
The sacred Dictates have assign'd a Place:
Oft from the Strong He saves the Weak, in War:
This Truth, ye Salaminian Seas declare!
And heals the barren Land, and pestilential Air.—
The Phœnicians, driven by Earthquakes from their Habitations, were advised by the Delphic Oracle, to settle first at Sidon, and afterwards at Tyre. When Greece was invaded by Xerxes, the Athenians were advised by the same Oracle, to trust to their wooden Walls, (their Ships) and, so doing, destroyed the Persians at Sea, at the Engagement of Salamis. A Famine in Egypt, and the Plague at Thebes, were likewise remov'd by consulting this Oracle.
Full of the God that harbour'd in his Breast,
Thoughts worthy of a God great Cato thus express'd.
Thoughts worthy of a God great Cato thus express'd.
Whither, O Labienus, wouldst Thou go?
What mighty Secrets dost Thou want to know?
Is it a Doubt if Death should be my Doom,
Rather than live till Kings and Bondage come:
Rather than see a Tyrant crown'd in Rome?
Or wouldst Thou know if Life itself be aught?
Or what the Diff'rence 'twixt the long and short?
Wouldst Thou be told if all the World conjoyn'd,
Can shake, or hurt, the brave and honest Mind?
If stable Virtue can her Ground maintain,
While Fortune feebly threats and frowns in vain?
If Truth and Justice with Uprightness dwell,
And Praise be due for but intending well?
Whether our Loss, or whether our Success,
Can make our Honesty, or more, or less.
What mighty Secrets dost Thou want to know?
Is it a Doubt if Death should be my Doom,
Rather than live till Kings and Bondage come:
Rather than see a Tyrant crown'd in Rome?
Or wouldst Thou know if Life itself be aught?
Or what the Diff'rence 'twixt the long and short?
Wouldst Thou be told if all the World conjoyn'd,
Can shake, or hurt, the brave and honest Mind?
If stable Virtue can her Ground maintain,
While Fortune feebly threats and frowns in vain?
179
And Praise be due for but intending well?
Whether our Loss, or whether our Success,
Can make our Honesty, or more, or less.
If These the Secrets are You wou'd unfold,
These may without an Oracle be told.
Unsought, for These, be Ammon's sacred Ground,
A nearer Temple of the God is found:
From God deriv'd, to God by Nature join'd,
We act the Dictates of his mighty Mind:
And tho' the Priests and Oracles be still,
God never wants a Voice to speak his Will:
All that for us to know He thought was fit
Is by himself within our Bosoms writ.
Canst Thou believe the vast eternal Mind,
To barren Plains of scorching Sands confin'd?
That He would chuse this waste, this desart Ground,
To teach the thin Inhabitants around,
And let his Truth in Wilds alone be found?
Is there a Place that God would chuse to love,
Beyond this Earth, and Sea, yon' Heav'n above,
And virtuous Minds, the noblest Throne of Jove?
Why seek we farther then?—Behold around,
Whate'er Thou seest dost with the God abound:
He's ev'ry where, and always to be found.
Let those weak Minds who live in Doubt and Fear,
To jugling Priests for Oracles repair:
The Oracles no Certainty can give,
But Death will surely all our Woes relieve:
One common Fate must wait upon Us all,
The Coward, and the Brave, are doom'd to fall.
This solves all Doubts, this leaves no room to fear:
Jove told Us this, and needs no more declare.—
These may without an Oracle be told.
Unsought, for These, be Ammon's sacred Ground,
A nearer Temple of the God is found:
From God deriv'd, to God by Nature join'd,
We act the Dictates of his mighty Mind:
And tho' the Priests and Oracles be still,
God never wants a Voice to speak his Will:
All that for us to know He thought was fit
Is by himself within our Bosoms writ.
Canst Thou believe the vast eternal Mind,
To barren Plains of scorching Sands confin'd?
That He would chuse this waste, this desart Ground,
To teach the thin Inhabitants around,
And let his Truth in Wilds alone be found?
Is there a Place that God would chuse to love,
Beyond this Earth, and Sea, yon' Heav'n above,
And virtuous Minds, the noblest Throne of Jove?
Why seek we farther then?—Behold around,
Whate'er Thou seest dost with the God abound:
He's ev'ry where, and always to be found.
Let those weak Minds who live in Doubt and Fear,
To jugling Priests for Oracles repair:
The Oracles no Certainty can give,
But Death will surely all our Woes relieve:
One common Fate must wait upon Us all,
The Coward, and the Brave, are doom'd to fall.
This solves all Doubts, this leaves no room to fear:
Jove told Us this, and needs no more declare.—
So spoke the Hero: and to keep his Word,
Nor Ammon, nor his Oracle explor'd:
But left the Crowd at Freedom to believe,
And take such Answers as the Priest should give.—
Nor Ammon, nor his Oracle explor'd:
But left the Crowd at Freedom to believe,
And take such Answers as the Priest should give.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |