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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Parting.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Parting.
Then old Evander, with a close Embrace,
Strain'd his departing Son, while Tears o'erflow'd his Face:
Would Heav'n, said He, my Strength and Youth recal,
Such as I was beneath Preneste's Wall:
Such if I stood renew'd, not these Alarms,
Nor Death, should rend me from my Pallas' Arms.
Ye Gods! and mighty Jove! in pity bring
Relief, and hear a Father and a King!
If Fate and You reserve these Eyes to see
My Son return with joyful Victory:
If the lov'd Boy shall bless his Father's Sight:
If we shall meet again with more delight:
Then draw my Life in Length: let me sustain,
In Hopes of his Embrace, the worst of Pain!
But, if your hard Decrees, which,—Oh!—I dread,
Have doom'd to Death his undeserving Head:
This, O this very Moment, let me die!
While Hopes and Fears in equal Ballance lie:
While, yet possess'd of all his youthful Charms,
I strain him close within these aged Arms:
Before that fatal News my Soul shall wound!—
The Servants bear him fainting to his Court.—
— My Philomel,
Strain'd his departing Son, while Tears o'erflow'd his Face:
Would Heav'n, said He, my Strength and Youth recal,
Such as I was beneath Preneste's Wall:
Such if I stood renew'd, not these Alarms,
Nor Death, should rend me from my Pallas' Arms.
Ye Gods! and mighty Jove! in pity bring
Relief, and hear a Father and a King!
If Fate and You reserve these Eyes to see
My Son return with joyful Victory:
If the lov'd Boy shall bless his Father's Sight:
If we shall meet again with more delight:
Then draw my Life in Length: let me sustain,
In Hopes of his Embrace, the worst of Pain!
But, if your hard Decrees, which,—Oh!—I dread,
Have doom'd to Death his undeserving Head:
This, O this very Moment, let me die!
While Hopes and Fears in equal Ballance lie:
While, yet possess'd of all his youthful Charms,
I strain him close within these aged Arms:
193
The Servants bear him fainting to his Court.—
If any Sense of Duty sways your Mind,
Let me from You the shortest Absence find.
He wept: then kiss'd his Child: and while he speaks,
The Tears fall gently down his aged Cheeks:
While, in a Voice, with dire Forebodings broke,
Sobbing, and faint, the last Farewel was spoke.—
But when she saw her Lord prepar'd to part,
A deadly Cold ran shiv'ring to her Heart:
Her faded Cheeks are chang'd to boxen Hue,
And in her Eyes the Tears are ever new:
She thrice essay'd to speak, but thrice in vain,
For Sobs and Sighs her falt'ring Voice restrain.—
He soon equips the Ship, supplies the Sails,
And gives the Word to launch.—She trembling views
This Pomp of Death, and parting Tears renews:
Then clasp'd him round, and took a long Farewel,
Sigh'd with a sad Presage, and swooning fell.
And gives the Word to launch.—She trembling views
This Pomp of Death, and parting Tears renews:
Then clasp'd him round, and took a long Farewel,
Sigh'd with a sad Presage, and swooning fell.
While Ceyx seeks Delays, the lusty Crew,
Rais'd on their Banks, their Oars in order drew
To their broad Breasts:—away the Vessel flew.
The Queen, recover'd, rears her humid Eyes,
And first her Husband on the Poop espies,
Shaking his Hand, at Distance, on the Main:
She took the Sign, and shook her Hand again.
Still as the Ground receeds, contracts her View
With sharpen'd Sight, till she no longer knew
The much lov'd Face: that Comfort lost supplies
With less, and now the Galley feeds her Eyes:
The Galley, born from view, by rising Gales,
She follows with her Sight the flying Sails:
When ev'n the flying Sails are seen no more,
Forsaken of all Sight she leaves the Shore:
And on her lonely Bed her Body throws,
Hoping to gain some Respite from her Woes:
Her Husband's Pillow there, and widow'd Part
Which once he press'd, again torment her Heart.—
Rais'd on their Banks, their Oars in order drew
To their broad Breasts:—away the Vessel flew.
The Queen, recover'd, rears her humid Eyes,
And first her Husband on the Poop espies,
Shaking his Hand, at Distance, on the Main:
She took the Sign, and shook her Hand again.
Still as the Ground receeds, contracts her View
With sharpen'd Sight, till she no longer knew
The much lov'd Face: that Comfort lost supplies
With less, and now the Galley feeds her Eyes:
The Galley, born from view, by rising Gales,
She follows with her Sight the flying Sails:
When ev'n the flying Sails are seen no more,
Forsaken of all Sight she leaves the Shore:
And on her lonely Bed her Body throws,
Hoping to gain some Respite from her Woes:
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Which once he press'd, again torment her Heart.—
While thus united Cæsar's Arms appear,
And Pompey finds the great Decision near,
Uneasy Thoughts his manly Soul infest,
And dear Cornelia pains his anxious Breast.
To distant Lesbos fain he would remove,
Far from the War, the Partner of his Love.
And Pompey finds the great Decision near,
Uneasy Thoughts his manly Soul infest,
And dear Cornelia pains his anxious Breast.
To distant Lesbos fain he would remove,
Far from the War, the Partner of his Love.
Oft he prepares to speak, but knows not how;
Knows they must part, but cannot bid her go:
Defers the killing News with fond Delay,
And ling'ring, puts off Fate from Day to Day.
Knows they must part, but cannot bid her go:
Defers the killing News with fond Delay,
And ling'ring, puts off Fate from Day to Day.
The fleeting Shades began to leave the Sky,
And Slumber soft forsook the drooping Eye,
When, with fond Arms, the fair Cornelia press'd
Her Lord, reluctant, to her snowy Breast:
Wond'ring she found he shunn'd her just Embrace,
And felt warm Tears upon his manly Face.
Heart-wounded with the sudden Woe, she griev'd,
And scarce the weeping Warrior yet believ'd.—
When with a Groan, thus He. My faithful Wife,
To say how much I love Thee more than Life,
Poorly expresses what my Heart would show,
Since Life, alas! is grown my Burden now.
That long, too long delay'd, that dreadful Doom,
That cruel parting Hour at length is come.
Fierce, haughty, and collected in his Might,
Advancing Cæsar calls me to the Fight.
Haste then, my gentle Love, from War retreat,
The Lesbian Isle attends, thy peaceful Seat.
Nor seek, Oh! seek not to increase my Cares,
Seek not to change my Purpose with thy Pray'rs:
My self, in vain, the fruitless Suit have try'd,
And my own pleading Heart has been deny'd.
And Slumber soft forsook the drooping Eye,
When, with fond Arms, the fair Cornelia press'd
Her Lord, reluctant, to her snowy Breast:
Wond'ring she found he shunn'd her just Embrace,
And felt warm Tears upon his manly Face.
Heart-wounded with the sudden Woe, she griev'd,
And scarce the weeping Warrior yet believ'd.—
When with a Groan, thus He. My faithful Wife,
To say how much I love Thee more than Life,
Poorly expresses what my Heart would show,
Since Life, alas! is grown my Burden now.
That long, too long delay'd, that dreadful Doom,
That cruel parting Hour at length is come.
Fierce, haughty, and collected in his Might,
Advancing Cæsar calls me to the Fight.
Haste then, my gentle Love, from War retreat,
The Lesbian Isle attends, thy peaceful Seat.
Nor seek, Oh! seek not to increase my Cares,
Seek not to change my Purpose with thy Pray'rs:
My self, in vain, the fruitless Suit have try'd,
And my own pleading Heart has been deny'd.
Stunn'd, and astonish'd, at the deadly Stroke,
All Sense, at first, the Matron sad forsook.
Motion, and Life, and Speech at length returns,
And thus, in Words of heaviest Woe she mourns.
No, Pompey! 'tis not that my Lord is dead,
'Tis not the Hand of Fate has robb'd my Bed:
But like some base Plebeian I am curst,
And by my cruel Husband stand divorc'd.
Is thy Cornelia's Faith so poorly known,
That Thou shouldst think her safer whilst alone?
Are not our Loves, our Lives, our Fortunes one?
All Sense, at first, the Matron sad forsook.
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And thus, in Words of heaviest Woe she mourns.
No, Pompey! 'tis not that my Lord is dead,
'Tis not the Hand of Fate has robb'd my Bed:
But like some base Plebeian I am curst,
And by my cruel Husband stand divorc'd.
Is thy Cornelia's Faith so poorly known,
That Thou shouldst think her safer whilst alone?
Are not our Loves, our Lives, our Fortunes one?
This said, the Matron start'd from her Bed,
And, wild with Sorrow, from her Husband fled:
She sees all ling'ring, all Delays are vain,
And rushes, headlong, to possess the Pain:
Nor will the Hurry of her Griefs afford
One last Embrace from her forsaken Lord.
How piteous was the parting of these two!
After a Love so lasting and so true,
Neither could bear to speak the Word—Adieu.
In all the woeful Days that cross'd their Bliss,
Sure never Hour was known so sad as this!
And, wild with Sorrow, from her Husband fled:
She sees all ling'ring, all Delays are vain,
And rushes, headlong, to possess the Pain:
Nor will the Hurry of her Griefs afford
One last Embrace from her forsaken Lord.
How piteous was the parting of these two!
After a Love so lasting and so true,
Neither could bear to speak the Word—Adieu.
In all the woeful Days that cross'd their Bliss,
Sure never Hour was known so sad as this!
Low on the Ground the fainting Dame is laid:
Her Train officious hasten to her Aid:
Then gently rearing, with a careful Hand,
Support her, slow-descending o'er the Strand.
There, while with eager Arms she grasp'd the Shore,
Scarcely the Mourner to the Bark they bore.—
Her Train officious hasten to her Aid:
Then gently rearing, with a careful Hand,
Support her, slow-descending o'er the Strand.
There, while with eager Arms she grasp'd the Shore,
Scarcely the Mourner to the Bark they bore.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |