An essay Upon the Third Punique War. Lib. I. and II To which are added Theodosius's Advice to his Son. And the phenix; Out of Claudian. By T. R. [i.e. Thomas Ross] |
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THE PHENIX:
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 | An essay Upon the Third Punique War. Lib. I. and II |  |
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THE PHENIX:
Out of CLAUDIAN.
Beyond the Indies, and where Eurus Wings
Are spread, by farthest Seas encompass'd, springs
A Grove, which, by Sol's lab'ring Steeds, of all
Is, first, awak'd, and hears the lashes fall,
When the moist borders, with the dewy Coach
Resound. Whence, by her Blush, the Morns approach
Is seen, and, in her flying Mantle, Night
From far grows pale, by the reflected light.
Here, the too happy Phenix lives, alone,
Fenc'd with a matchless Climate, touch'd by none
Of Nature's sickly Race: where ne'r opprest
By those Contagions, that the World infest,
He (like the gods) continues Firm, as are
The Stars, and, with Recruited Limbs, the War
Of Time debells; not us'd, with Cates, the rage
Of Hunger to subdue: or Thirst asswage
In Springs. But, nourish'd by the purer Rayes
O'th'Sun, and harmless Vapors of the Seas,
Lives on that Airy Food. A Secret Light
Flies from his Eyes, about his Face as bright
A Glory shines, and, on his Radiant Head,
The rising Crest a Native Star doth spread:
From whose clear Beams, divided Darkness flies,
As from the Day. Rich Scarlet paints his Thighs,
And his Wings (which Cerulean Flowers enfold)
Out-fly the Winds, above enrich'd with gold.
He, Sire, and Off-spring of Himself, does come
Neither from Seed conceiv'd, nor teeming Womb.
But, by a Fruitful Death, without the Ayd
Of Parents, his Stiff Joynts, with Age decay'd;
(From duty now discharg'd) repairs and flies
To a fresh life, as often, as he dies.
For when his Summers, through a thousand Rings
Have run; with Winters, and as many Springs
And Autumns, that to lab'ring Peasants paid
Their wealthy Shades; at length unweildy made,
To time (by numerous Ages overcome)
He yields. As Pines by Tempests shaken from
The Head of Caucasus, decline, and are
Press'd into Ruin by the Weight they bare.
Some by continued Winds, some by the rage
Of wasting showres, and some by canker'd age.
Are spread, by farthest Seas encompass'd, springs
A Grove, which, by Sol's lab'ring Steeds, of all
Is, first, awak'd, and hears the lashes fall,
When the moist borders, with the dewy Coach
Resound. Whence, by her Blush, the Morns approach
Is seen, and, in her flying Mantle, Night
From far grows pale, by the reflected light.
Here, the too happy Phenix lives, alone,
Fenc'd with a matchless Climate, touch'd by none
Of Nature's sickly Race: where ne'r opprest
By those Contagions, that the World infest,
He (like the gods) continues Firm, as are
The Stars, and, with Recruited Limbs, the War
Of Time debells; not us'd, with Cates, the rage
Of Hunger to subdue: or Thirst asswage
In Springs. But, nourish'd by the purer Rayes
O'th'Sun, and harmless Vapors of the Seas,
Lives on that Airy Food. A Secret Light
Flies from his Eyes, about his Face as bright
61
The rising Crest a Native Star doth spread:
From whose clear Beams, divided Darkness flies,
As from the Day. Rich Scarlet paints his Thighs,
And his Wings (which Cerulean Flowers enfold)
Out-fly the Winds, above enrich'd with gold.
He, Sire, and Off-spring of Himself, does come
Neither from Seed conceiv'd, nor teeming Womb.
But, by a Fruitful Death, without the Ayd
Of Parents, his Stiff Joynts, with Age decay'd;
(From duty now discharg'd) repairs and flies
To a fresh life, as often, as he dies.
For when his Summers, through a thousand Rings
Have run; with Winters, and as many Springs
And Autumns, that to lab'ring Peasants paid
Their wealthy Shades; at length unweildy made,
To time (by numerous Ages overcome)
He yields. As Pines by Tempests shaken from
The Head of Caucasus, decline, and are
Press'd into Ruin by the Weight they bare.
Some by continued Winds, some by the rage
Of wasting showres, and some by canker'd age.
His sight now waxeth dimme, his aged Beak
Distills faint Isicles about his Neck.
As when the Moon, encompass'd in a Bay
Of Clouds, with dubious Crescents shrinks away.
Those Wings, that through the Clouds were wont to fly.
Trail on the ground. Then knowing he must die,
Framing the Cradle of 's returning Form,
He chuseth driest Simples, from the warm
Adjoyning Hills, and, of that rich Perfume,
Makes both his future Birth-bed and his Tomb:
Where plac'd, (his former Strength and Vigor done)
He first, with Fainter Cries, salutes the Sun:
Then prays, and with a Suppliant Anthem claims
The Blessing of his youth-restoring flames.
Whom, when Sol sees from far, He strait appears
To stop, and thus his Pious Darling chears;
Oh thou, who shak'st off Age upon thy Pile,
And with false Sepulchres dost Fate beguile,
Who, out of thine own Ruins, oft, art born,
And from thy death, as young (as doth the Morn
From Night) returnest, thy Beginning take
Again, and, here, thy wither'd Corps forsake,
And, in thy Figure chang'd, come forth more fair.
This said, shaking his Head, a single Hair
From's yellow Locks, He, sudden, darts, and so
With Vital Lightning strikes the Willing, who
That, thus from death, He may, with speed, return
To life, with Joy, doth voluntary burn.
Distills faint Isicles about his Neck.
As when the Moon, encompass'd in a Bay
Of Clouds, with dubious Crescents shrinks away.
Those Wings, that through the Clouds were wont to fly.
Trail on the ground. Then knowing he must die,
Framing the Cradle of 's returning Form,
He chuseth driest Simples, from the warm
Adjoyning Hills, and, of that rich Perfume,
Makes both his future Birth-bed and his Tomb:
Where plac'd, (his former Strength and Vigor done)
He first, with Fainter Cries, salutes the Sun:
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The Blessing of his youth-restoring flames.
Whom, when Sol sees from far, He strait appears
To stop, and thus his Pious Darling chears;
Oh thou, who shak'st off Age upon thy Pile,
And with false Sepulchres dost Fate beguile,
Who, out of thine own Ruins, oft, art born,
And from thy death, as young (as doth the Morn
From Night) returnest, thy Beginning take
Again, and, here, thy wither'd Corps forsake,
And, in thy Figure chang'd, come forth more fair.
This said, shaking his Head, a single Hair
From's yellow Locks, He, sudden, darts, and so
With Vital Lightning strikes the Willing, who
That, thus from death, He may, with speed, return
To life, with Joy, doth voluntary burn.
These Darts from Heav'n the Heap of rich perfume
Soon kindle, and the Aged Bird consume.
The Moon, amaz'd, pulls back her Steeds; the Pole
Ceaseth, the slow Naves of the World to role.
The Pile, thus teeming, Nature (careful Dame)
Least she should lose her Bird, the faithful flame
Removes, that so, th'Immortal Grace of Things
She may restore; when strait warm Vigor springs
Through all the Members, and in every vein
Reviving Blood, begins to flow again.
Then, of it self, the living Dust assumes
Motion, and, the Rude Embers cloaths with Plumes.
He, that, of late, the Father was, the same
Is now the Son, and New succeeds the Flame
The Confines of his double Life, awhile,
Divides. Then strait to hallow, near to Nile,
His Father's Manes, cov'ring o'r with grass,
The Urn, and Parent-Nest, He, swift, doth pass
Into another Clime, and bears it to
The Pharian Land. A vast, un-numbred Crue
Of winged People (wondring as He flies)
Attend, and, in their varied flight, the Skies
Like an huge Army, cloud. Yet, among all
Those many Myriads, none their General
Presume, in flight, to cross, or go before,
But, all the Tract of their bright King adore.
Neither the furious Hawk, nor Bird that bears
The Arms of Jove, dares move, or think on Wars;
And, from their Reverence, Common Peace proceeds.
Soon kindle, and the Aged Bird consume.
The Moon, amaz'd, pulls back her Steeds; the Pole
Ceaseth, the slow Naves of the World to role.
The Pile, thus teeming, Nature (careful Dame)
Least she should lose her Bird, the faithful flame
Removes, that so, th'Immortal Grace of Things
She may restore; when strait warm Vigor springs
Through all the Members, and in every vein
Reviving Blood, begins to flow again.
Then, of it self, the living Dust assumes
Motion, and, the Rude Embers cloaths with Plumes.
He, that, of late, the Father was, the same
Is now the Son, and New succeeds the Flame
The Confines of his double Life, awhile,
Divides. Then strait to hallow, near to Nile,
His Father's Manes, cov'ring o'r with grass,
The Urn, and Parent-Nest, He, swift, doth pass
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The Pharian Land. A vast, un-numbred Crue
Of winged People (wondring as He flies)
Attend, and, in their varied flight, the Skies
Like an huge Army, cloud. Yet, among all
Those many Myriads, none their General
Presume, in flight, to cross, or go before,
But, all the Tract of their bright King adore.
Neither the furious Hawk, nor Bird that bears
The Arms of Jove, dares move, or think on Wars;
And, from their Reverence, Common Peace proceeds.
From Tygris so, the Parthian Captain leads
His barbarous Troops; in Gems, most proudly drest,
A rich Tiara doth his Brows invest;
Gold Reins his Horse; his Purple Robe is wrought
By' Assyrian Needles: and, thus swell'd with thought
Of's high Command, through Tyrian Troops he goes.
His barbarous Troops; in Gems, most proudly drest,
A rich Tiara doth his Brows invest;
Gold Reins his Horse; his Purple Robe is wrought
By' Assyrian Needles: and, thus swell'd with thought
Of's high Command, through Tyrian Troops he goes.
There is a City (which all Egypt knows)
Where, in a stately Temple, rais'd upon
An hundred Theban Columns, they the Sun
Adore, with Sacred Rites. Here first (they say)
His Custom is the Parent-Urn to lay.
Then, prostrate to the Image of the god,
Unto the Holy Flame commends his load;
And, on the Altars offers up, instead
Of Incense, his own Reliques, and his Seed:
When strait the Myrrh-annointed Pillars shine,
And holy Altars breath a Fume divine.
The Indian Odor, now it self dilates,
Through all the Pharian Coasts, and penetrates
To the Pelusian Pools, all Egypt's fill'd
With wholsom Air, which, as if Heav'n distill'd
Immortal Nectar through it, all the while,
Perfumes the seven large Mouths of Swarthy Nile.
Where, in a stately Temple, rais'd upon
An hundred Theban Columns, they the Sun
Adore, with Sacred Rites. Here first (they say)
His Custom is the Parent-Urn to lay.
Then, prostrate to the Image of the god,
Unto the Holy Flame commends his load;
And, on the Altars offers up, instead
Of Incense, his own Reliques, and his Seed:
When strait the Myrrh-annointed Pillars shine,
And holy Altars breath a Fume divine.
The Indian Odor, now it self dilates,
Through all the Pharian Coasts, and penetrates
To the Pelusian Pools, all Egypt's fill'd
With wholsom Air, which, as if Heav'n distill'd
Immortal Nectar through it, all the while,
Perfumes the seven large Mouths of Swarthy Nile.
64
Oh happy! thine own Heir! that gives to thee
New Life, by which, we all dissolved be!
From thy dead Ashes doth thine Off-spring rise,
And thou secure, thine Age before thee dies.
Whatever was Immortal, thou hast seen,
And, Time calls thee to witness what hath been.
Thou know'st what time, from springing Rocks, the Seas
Their swelling Waters to the Stars did raise:
What year it was wherein the Worlds great Frame
By Phaeton's Error perish'd in a Flame.
No Ruin can thee touch; when Earth shall be
Worn out, thou from Decay, alone, artfree.
'Gainst thee the Fates, nor Law, nor Pow'r can have,
Till the whole World shall be thy Pile and Grave.
New Life, by which, we all dissolved be!
From thy dead Ashes doth thine Off-spring rise,
And thou secure, thine Age before thee dies.
Whatever was Immortal, thou hast seen,
And, Time calls thee to witness what hath been.
Thou know'st what time, from springing Rocks, the Seas
Their swelling Waters to the Stars did raise:
What year it was wherein the Worlds great Frame
By Phaeton's Error perish'd in a Flame.
No Ruin can thee touch; when Earth shall be
Worn out, thou from Decay, alone, artfree.
'Gainst thee the Fates, nor Law, nor Pow'r can have,
Till the whole World shall be thy Pile and Grave.
FINIS.
| An essay Upon the Third Punique War. Lib. I. and II | |