The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes The whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: with A Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, To the Death of Hannibal. By Tho: Ross |
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The First Book.
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 | The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes |  |
The First Book.
The Argument.
The Romane Piety, and Zeal to pay(At Scipio's Return) the Vows, which they
In War had made. King Syphax Captive dies
By voluntary Famine. The sad Cries
Of Carthaginian Dames. Their Citie's quite
Disarmd. Imilce's parting Tears. By Night,
Great Hannibal his Treach'rous Country flies;
Sails to Cercinna: and, in Sacrifice,
A Day consumes. Fearing to be betray'd;
Those, whom he doubts, by Wine asleep are lay'd.
Now had great Scipio brought his Trophies Home,
And with loud Triumphs fill'd the Streets of Rome:
The People to their num'rous Altars bring
Their pleasing Off'rings, and glad Pæans sing.
Such Store of Sweets, in ev'ry Temple smoak;
As if not Libya onely felt the Yoak
Of this great Conquest: but Arabia there
Her Tribute gave, and the Sabæans were
Their Vassals. Or, as if to Prophesie,
That all the World, in Time to come, should be
By them subdu'd, and Rome, Triumphant, stand
The wealthy Store-house of each conquer'd Land;
Bulls, that with Snow, for Whiteness, might contend,
Wash'd in Clitumnus sacred Streams, ascend
The Capitol: their curled Foreheads Crown'd
With flowry Wreaths, their Horns with Fillets bound.
And with loud Triumphs fill'd the Streets of Rome:
The People to their num'rous Altars bring
Their pleasing Off'rings, and glad Pæans sing.
Such Store of Sweets, in ev'ry Temple smoak;
As if not Libya onely felt the Yoak
Of this great Conquest: but Arabia there
Her Tribute gave, and the Sabæans were
2
That all the World, in Time to come, should be
By them subdu'd, and Rome, Triumphant, stand
The wealthy Store-house of each conquer'd Land;
Bulls, that with Snow, for Whiteness, might contend,
Wash'd in Clitumnus sacred Streams, ascend
The Capitol: their curled Foreheads Crown'd
With flowry Wreaths, their Horns with Fillets bound.
These all in solemn Order, round the Hill
Thrice, slowly, lead: the Joyful People fill
The trembling Air with Shouts: then enter, while
The Gods seem pleas'd, and in their Statues smile;
Pleas'd, that Devotion with Success they see
So duely mix'd, and grateful Piety
To pay those holy Vows, which first arose
From Fears of Ruin, and insulting Foes.
First, to the Queen of Gods, a Purple Vest,
Whose rich Embroid'ry all the Art exprest
Of the Sidonian Dames, and then a Crown
Of Gold, which, hapless Syphax overthrown,
His Sophonisba wore, the Matrons bring;
And, Off'ring at her Shrine, thus, Pious, sing.
Thrice, slowly, lead: the Joyful People fill
The trembling Air with Shouts: then enter, while
The Gods seem pleas'd, and in their Statues smile;
Pleas'd, that Devotion with Success they see
So duely mix'd, and grateful Piety
To pay those holy Vows, which first arose
From Fears of Ruin, and insulting Foes.
First, to the Queen of Gods, a Purple Vest,
Whose rich Embroid'ry all the Art exprest
Of the Sidonian Dames, and then a Crown
Of Gold, which, hapless Syphax overthrown,
His Sophonisba wore, the Matrons bring;
And, Off'ring at her Shrine, thus, Pious, sing.
Sister, and Wife of Jove, Celestial Queen,
Whom we, so long, so full of Wrath have seen;
That Rome, almost despairing of her Fate,
Saw these her Walls besieg'd; let not thy Hate
To Trojan Blood still prompt Thee to despise
Our Piety: but, with serener Eyes,
Behold Us now, and hear Us, when We pray,
And our Oblations on thine Altars lay.
Why should thy Love to Libya still enflame
Thy Rage 'gainst Us, who from Æneas came?
Let it suffice: We, to this very Time,
Have expiated, with our Blood, that Crime
Of Paris. Oh! believe him now to be
In Us, repenting his Disdain of Thee.
Be then appeas'd! thy Mercy will no less,
Then doth thy Power, thy Deity confess:
And, if at length, with other Gods, and Fate
Thou wilt comply, to bless the Romane State;
As Thou on the Supreamest Throne above
The Heav'ns art seated: so, here, next to Jove,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, and the World shall come
To bring their Off'rings unto Thee at Rome.
Whom we, so long, so full of Wrath have seen;
That Rome, almost despairing of her Fate,
Saw these her Walls besieg'd; let not thy Hate
To Trojan Blood still prompt Thee to despise
Our Piety: but, with serener Eyes,
Behold Us now, and hear Us, when We pray,
And our Oblations on thine Altars lay.
Why should thy Love to Libya still enflame
Thy Rage 'gainst Us, who from Æneas came?
Let it suffice: We, to this very Time,
Have expiated, with our Blood, that Crime
3
In Us, repenting his Disdain of Thee.
Be then appeas'd! thy Mercy will no less,
Then doth thy Power, thy Deity confess:
And, if at length, with other Gods, and Fate
Thou wilt comply, to bless the Romane State;
As Thou on the Supreamest Throne above
The Heav'ns art seated: so, here, next to Jove,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, and the World shall come
To bring their Off'rings unto Thee at Rome.
The Flamen, while they thus invoke, his Hands
Display'd to Heav'n, at Jove's high Altar stands,
And thus exhorts. Oh! may We ever see
Religion thus to Crown thy Victory,
(Quirinus Progeny) these Pious Charms
(Oh Rome) will force the Gods to bless thine Arms.
Then, O, then, let thy Piety encrease,
As now, when War is ended, and thy Peace
Confirm: Impiety alone the Fates
Provokes, and flingeth open Janus Gates.
This said: an hundred Bulls at once are slain,
Which, with their Blood, an hundred Altars stain.
Their Entrails all, enquir'd for what's to come,
Promise a lasting Happiness to Rome:
That She the Head of all the World should stand,
And next to Jove the Universe command.
The Gods thus serv'd; they all begin to Feast,
And in their costly Banquets spend the rest
O'th' Day. The Senate seated are alone,
And to great Scipio's Honour, one by one,
A stately Goblet quaff of Massick Wine.
His Cheeks, mean while, with modest Blushes shine;
As if they'd Fire the Laurel on his Brow,
Unwilling those Just Praises to allow.
So, in the Gyants War, when Heav'n again
Was free from Fear, and mighty Typhon slain,
To Mirth themselves the Gods dispos'd, and, round
The Tables, Hebè with Nepenthè crown'd
Their Cups: while all Apollo's Skill proclaim,
Commend his Bow, his Shafts, and certain Aim,
By which the Gyants fell; when they upon
The Stars had seiz'd, and Jove's Celestial Throne
Almost possess'd. But, back again to Hell,
Struck with these Heav'nly Arms, the Rebels fell.
Display'd to Heav'n, at Jove's high Altar stands,
And thus exhorts. Oh! may We ever see
Religion thus to Crown thy Victory,
(Quirinus Progeny) these Pious Charms
(Oh Rome) will force the Gods to bless thine Arms.
Then, O, then, let thy Piety encrease,
As now, when War is ended, and thy Peace
Confirm: Impiety alone the Fates
Provokes, and flingeth open Janus Gates.
This said: an hundred Bulls at once are slain,
Which, with their Blood, an hundred Altars stain.
Their Entrails all, enquir'd for what's to come,
Promise a lasting Happiness to Rome:
That She the Head of all the World should stand,
And next to Jove the Universe command.
The Gods thus serv'd; they all begin to Feast,
And in their costly Banquets spend the rest
O'th' Day. The Senate seated are alone,
And to great Scipio's Honour, one by one,
A stately Goblet quaff of Massick Wine.
His Cheeks, mean while, with modest Blushes shine;
As if they'd Fire the Laurel on his Brow,
Unwilling those Just Praises to allow.
4
Was free from Fear, and mighty Typhon slain,
To Mirth themselves the Gods dispos'd, and, round
The Tables, Hebè with Nepenthè crown'd
Their Cups: while all Apollo's Skill proclaim,
Commend his Bow, his Shafts, and certain Aim,
By which the Gyants fell; when they upon
The Stars had seiz'd, and Jove's Celestial Throne
Almost possess'd. But, back again to Hell,
Struck with these Heav'nly Arms, the Rebels fell.
The solemn Day thus spent: the Night succeeds,
Inviting all to Rest. While Syphax bleeds
Within: the Trumpet, which their Triumphs sounds,
Grates on his Ears, strikes to his Heart, and wounds
His very Soul. Sometimes, He thinks upon
His former State, when, sitting on a Throne
Of Native Ivory, He did command
Those Nations, which the Æthiopian Land,
And Nasamon confines, with those, that by
The Carthaginian Bounds, and Hammon ly;
With all, that South-ward dwell near Nile, and those,
Where the Herculean Sea 'gainst Calpè throws
Its foaming Waves: when he could summon, to
The War, whole Myriads of Horsemen, who
On naked Steeds did ride, and gave them Law:
And between Rome, and Carthage when he saw
The World disputed was, that He had been
The Umpire of their Quarrel, and had seen
Them both his Friendship seek, until his Flame
Of Love the Ruin of his Throne became.
Sad with these Thoughts, that, in his troubled Breast,
Swell like a raging Tempest, and all Rest
Deny: at length his Sighs (that, as a Winde,
Within the Bowels of the Earth confin'd,
Shakes the whole Fabrick, untill forth it breaks
Into the Air) make Way, and thus he speaks.
Inviting all to Rest. While Syphax bleeds
Within: the Trumpet, which their Triumphs sounds,
Grates on his Ears, strikes to his Heart, and wounds
His very Soul. Sometimes, He thinks upon
His former State, when, sitting on a Throne
Of Native Ivory, He did command
Those Nations, which the Æthiopian Land,
And Nasamon confines, with those, that by
The Carthaginian Bounds, and Hammon ly;
With all, that South-ward dwell near Nile, and those,
Where the Herculean Sea 'gainst Calpè throws
Its foaming Waves: when he could summon, to
The War, whole Myriads of Horsemen, who
On naked Steeds did ride, and gave them Law:
And between Rome, and Carthage when he saw
The World disputed was, that He had been
The Umpire of their Quarrel, and had seen
Them both his Friendship seek, until his Flame
Of Love the Ruin of his Throne became.
Sad with these Thoughts, that, in his troubled Breast,
Swell like a raging Tempest, and all Rest
Deny: at length his Sighs (that, as a Winde,
Within the Bowels of the Earth confin'd,
5
Into the Air) make Way, and thus he speaks.
Is then the Birth, and Title of a King,
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name
Among her Captives. Nor, then, had these Hands,
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,
For Tribute brought: to whom, with Lions Tame,
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name
6
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,
7
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.
But while, at Rome, their Triumphs still encrease,
At Carthage the sad purchase of their Peace
Shews them a Face of things, which they deplore
As much, as those deep Wounds they had before
In War receiv'd, and Zama's fatal Plain,
On which so many Libyans were slain,
And Hannibal disarm'd. For now they see,
That nor in Peace, nor War, they can be free.
Not all the Wealth their num'rous Conquests gave,
Nor Subjects, gain'd by Hannibal, could save
Their own at Home: for, while his conqu'ring Hand
O'return'd Sagunthus, and the Iberian Land
Subdu'd, and when his Troops Pyrenè past,
The Celtæ gain'd, and Italy did waste,
Their Victories abroad (still calling for
Recruits) as costly prov'd, as if the War
Had been in Libya made: onely their Fear
Of Utter Ruin was not then so near.
At Carthage the sad purchase of their Peace
Shews them a Face of things, which they deplore
As much, as those deep Wounds they had before
In War receiv'd, and Zama's fatal Plain,
On which so many Libyans were slain,
And Hannibal disarm'd. For now they see,
That nor in Peace, nor War, they can be free.
Not all the Wealth their num'rous Conquests gave,
Nor Subjects, gain'd by Hannibal, could save
Their own at Home: for, while his conqu'ring Hand
O'return'd Sagunthus, and the Iberian Land
Subdu'd, and when his Troops Pyrenè past,
The Celtæ gain'd, and Italy did waste,
Their Victories abroad (still calling for
Recruits) as costly prov'd, as if the War
Had been in Libya made: onely their Fear
Of Utter Ruin was not then so near.
It was not now enough, that they had seen
Those wealthy Trophies, that had thither been
From Sicily, from the Herculean Bars,
And farthest Nations, in preceeding Wars,
By great Amilcar sent, transported all
To Rome, and there, within the Capitol,
Among Ægates Spoils, hung up, to be
Eternal Monuments of Infamy.
Their dreadful Elephants, that had, so long,
Against all stranger Nations, been so strong
A living Wall: with all the Arms, which there,
Since Dido first Phœnician Walls did rear,
Had been stor'd up, and had a Pannick Dread.
Over the Alps, and high Pyrenè, spread,
Are yielded to their Foes, with trembling Hands:
And conquer'd Carthage, now, as Naked stands,
As when Eliza first her Walls begun,
Or when enrag'd Hyarbas over-run
(Full of Revenge) her narrow Bounds, and, while
Her Ashes yet were warm, upon her Pyle
Fix'd his victorious Arms: Nor can they see,
By Land, a Period to their Misery.
Earth hath not space enough, whereon to lay
Their Chains, which now, extended to the Sea,
Confine the Force of Carthage; that no more
It can, from Africk, to Europa's Shore
Terrour diffuse: but melts into a Name,
Like Troy, in Ruin onely known to Fame.
Those wealthy Trophies, that had thither been
From Sicily, from the Herculean Bars,
And farthest Nations, in preceeding Wars,
By great Amilcar sent, transported all
To Rome, and there, within the Capitol,
Among Ægates Spoils, hung up, to be
Eternal Monuments of Infamy.
Their dreadful Elephants, that had, so long,
Against all stranger Nations, been so strong
8
Since Dido first Phœnician Walls did rear,
Had been stor'd up, and had a Pannick Dread.
Over the Alps, and high Pyrenè, spread,
Are yielded to their Foes, with trembling Hands:
And conquer'd Carthage, now, as Naked stands,
As when Eliza first her Walls begun,
Or when enrag'd Hyarbas over-run
(Full of Revenge) her narrow Bounds, and, while
Her Ashes yet were warm, upon her Pyle
Fix'd his victorious Arms: Nor can they see,
By Land, a Period to their Misery.
Earth hath not space enough, whereon to lay
Their Chains, which now, extended to the Sea,
Confine the Force of Carthage; that no more
It can, from Africk, to Europa's Shore
Terrour diffuse: but melts into a Name,
Like Troy, in Ruin onely known to Fame.
That Navy, which (before the Fate of Rome
Prevail'd) had brought unvalu'd Treasures Home;
Which through the Seas, from East to West, had flown,
And where the Romane Eagles were not known,
Under its swelling Wings Sidonian Dyes
Had often born, and chang'd for such Supplies,
As Meroè, and black Syenè yields,
With whatsoe're renowns those spicy Fields,
Where Ganges flows; by which the Libyan Land
(Though they dire Serpents, in the barren Sand,
Plough up) as great a Plenty ev'ry where
Enjoy'd, as theirs, whose Harvest, twice a Year,
Their Garners fills: is, by this Storm of Fate,
Contracted to so small a Number, that
They now despair, e're more, with Hostile Oars,
To fright from Latian, and Sicilian Shores
The trembling Nymphs; but must, for ever, stand
Condemn'd, as Slaves, to a parch'd Barren Land.
Prevail'd) had brought unvalu'd Treasures Home;
Which through the Seas, from East to West, had flown,
And where the Romane Eagles were not known,
Under its swelling Wings Sidonian Dyes
Had often born, and chang'd for such Supplies,
As Meroè, and black Syenè yields,
With whatsoe're renowns those spicy Fields,
Where Ganges flows; by which the Libyan Land
(Though they dire Serpents, in the barren Sand,
Plough up) as great a Plenty ev'ry where
Enjoy'd, as theirs, whose Harvest, twice a Year,
Their Garners fills: is, by this Storm of Fate,
Contracted to so small a Number, that
They now despair, e're more, with Hostile Oars,
To fright from Latian, and Sicilian Shores
9
Condemn'd, as Slaves, to a parch'd Barren Land.
As some hot Plague, by a Malignant Star
Diffus'd into an Universal War,
First the wide Air infects, next Beasts, and then
The Commons, till, at last, the Best of Men
Are snatch'd away, by the same cruel Fate,
Which none but Heav'n knows, where t'will terminate:
So, when the Romane Fury, in whose Hand
Alone, the Fate of Carthage seem'd to stand,
Had strip'd them of all Force by Land, and Sea,
And nothing now was left, but to Obey;
At length, their Spirits, by a dreadful Doom,
Are seiz'd: the Best of all their Youth to Rome
(As Pledges of their Faith) must strait be born,
And Libyan Mothers Tears become the Scorn
Of Latian Dames. It had been better they
(While Hannibal in Italy did stay)
Had granted been to re-inforce his Bands.
They then their Country not with fetter'd Hands,
But arm'd had left, and might have Fighting dy'd,
Nor thus been Sacrificed to the Pride
Of an Insulting Fo, whose Malice knows
No Bounds; but, fed, still more Insatiate grows.
Diffus'd into an Universal War,
First the wide Air infects, next Beasts, and then
The Commons, till, at last, the Best of Men
Are snatch'd away, by the same cruel Fate,
Which none but Heav'n knows, where t'will terminate:
So, when the Romane Fury, in whose Hand
Alone, the Fate of Carthage seem'd to stand,
Had strip'd them of all Force by Land, and Sea,
And nothing now was left, but to Obey;
At length, their Spirits, by a dreadful Doom,
Are seiz'd: the Best of all their Youth to Rome
(As Pledges of their Faith) must strait be born,
And Libyan Mothers Tears become the Scorn
Of Latian Dames. It had been better they
(While Hannibal in Italy did stay)
Had granted been to re-inforce his Bands.
They then their Country not with fetter'd Hands,
But arm'd had left, and might have Fighting dy'd,
Nor thus been Sacrificed to the Pride
Of an Insulting Fo, whose Malice knows
No Bounds; but, fed, still more Insatiate grows.
But now the Fatal Day arrives, and Fears)
Wound ev'ry Breast, fill ev'ry Eye with Tears.
The weeping Mothers with dishevel'd Hair
Run through the Streets, and, vainly, beat the Air
With loud Complaints. Sometimes they call upon
The Gods: then strait exclaim, that there are None,
At least, that they are Deaf; else might their Tears
Prevail, and their Oppressions touch their Ears.
Sometimes the Authour of the War, and those
Infernal Altars, that, at first, their Foes
Provok'd, they curse. Sometimes those Men they blame,
Whose Envy, without Reason, to the Name
Of Hannibal, had fix'd Victorious Rome
In that great Height, and brought those Ruins Home,
Which Jove himself once fear'd; whose onely Hand,
With Thunder Arm'd, could Hannibal withstand,
And keep the Capitol. But Oh (Ye Gods)
What boots it now (say they) that so great Ods
Carthage did once enjoy, above the World:
Since, from the Height of Glory, She is hurl'd
Into the depth of Shame. But thus you still
Are Prone to give things Great, yet never will
Preserve them so. In vain (alass!) the Toils
Of our great Fathers have, with wealthy Spoils,
Enrich'd your Temples, and, with noble Wounds,
The Pow'r of Carthage stretch'd beyond the Bounds
Of Africa, and with such dreadful Aw
Her Name had spread, that all the World their Law
Expected from her Hand. But (Oh!) how small
A Shadow, now, remains to Us of all
Our former Glories? We are Mothers made,
That, by this Blessing, We might be betray'd
To a far greater Curse, and add more weight
Unto our Ruin, and Unhappy Fate.
Had these upon your cruel Altars dy'd,
Religion might perhaps have satisfi'd
Our Loss, and We, at least, might Home return
With this Content, that in their Native Urn
Their Ashes were preserv'd. But these are born
To be the Grief of Carthage, and the Scorn
Of Rome, whose now they are, and not our Own:
Nor will they be for such hereafter known;
But taught their Country's Manners to disclaim,
And bury in the Gown the Tyrian Name.
Wound ev'ry Breast, fill ev'ry Eye with Tears.
The weeping Mothers with dishevel'd Hair
Run through the Streets, and, vainly, beat the Air
With loud Complaints. Sometimes they call upon
The Gods: then strait exclaim, that there are None,
At least, that they are Deaf; else might their Tears
Prevail, and their Oppressions touch their Ears.
Sometimes the Authour of the War, and those
Infernal Altars, that, at first, their Foes
10
Whose Envy, without Reason, to the Name
Of Hannibal, had fix'd Victorious Rome
In that great Height, and brought those Ruins Home,
Which Jove himself once fear'd; whose onely Hand,
With Thunder Arm'd, could Hannibal withstand,
And keep the Capitol. But Oh (Ye Gods)
What boots it now (say they) that so great Ods
Carthage did once enjoy, above the World:
Since, from the Height of Glory, She is hurl'd
Into the depth of Shame. But thus you still
Are Prone to give things Great, yet never will
Preserve them so. In vain (alass!) the Toils
Of our great Fathers have, with wealthy Spoils,
Enrich'd your Temples, and, with noble Wounds,
The Pow'r of Carthage stretch'd beyond the Bounds
Of Africa, and with such dreadful Aw
Her Name had spread, that all the World their Law
Expected from her Hand. But (Oh!) how small
A Shadow, now, remains to Us of all
Our former Glories? We are Mothers made,
That, by this Blessing, We might be betray'd
To a far greater Curse, and add more weight
Unto our Ruin, and Unhappy Fate.
Had these upon your cruel Altars dy'd,
Religion might perhaps have satisfi'd
Our Loss, and We, at least, might Home return
With this Content, that in their Native Urn
Their Ashes were preserv'd. But these are born
To be the Grief of Carthage, and the Scorn
Of Rome, whose now they are, and not our Own:
Nor will they be for such hereafter known;
But taught their Country's Manners to disclaim,
And bury in the Gown the Tyrian Name.
11
As thus they sadly to the Gods complain,
The Winde the Romane Navy to the Main
Invites. The Masters for the Captives call;
While at their Feet the weeping Parents fall,
And, Prostrate, thus implore. If yet that Ire
Appeased be, that did your Breasts inspire
At Zama's Field; wherein our Fates gave Way
To Yours, and Crown'd You with an happy Day;
Now mildely hear our Pray'rs: and, as you are
Rais'd, by the Gods, to this great Height in War,
That by their Blessing You may Higher rise,
Be Merciful, like them: do not despise
The Tears of such, as fall; their Cries the Scale
Of Fortune often turn, and may prevail
With Heav'n to break the Chain of your Success,
If, whom the Gods afflict, You shall oppress.
The bravest Souls no longer will pursue
Their Rage, then while it serves them to subdue.
And, when the Conquer'd do submit, they finde
A Sanctuary in a Noble Minde.
When therefore our Unhappy Sons shall come
(Sons not for Carthage born, but Conqu'ring Rome)
Within your Walls, Oh! be not too Severe,
Lay easy Chains upon them, think they were
Once free, as You: so may a better Fate
Your Issue bless; so may You propagate
Your lasting Names to Honour, and, near crost
By Fortune, keep that Freedom We have lost.
As thus they plead, from their Embraces torn,
Two hundred Noblest Tyrian Youths are born
Away to Sea, at Rome ordain'd to stand
The faithful Plegdes of their Native Land.
The Winde the Romane Navy to the Main
Invites. The Masters for the Captives call;
While at their Feet the weeping Parents fall,
And, Prostrate, thus implore. If yet that Ire
Appeased be, that did your Breasts inspire
At Zama's Field; wherein our Fates gave Way
To Yours, and Crown'd You with an happy Day;
Now mildely hear our Pray'rs: and, as you are
Rais'd, by the Gods, to this great Height in War,
That by their Blessing You may Higher rise,
Be Merciful, like them: do not despise
The Tears of such, as fall; their Cries the Scale
Of Fortune often turn, and may prevail
With Heav'n to break the Chain of your Success,
If, whom the Gods afflict, You shall oppress.
The bravest Souls no longer will pursue
Their Rage, then while it serves them to subdue.
And, when the Conquer'd do submit, they finde
A Sanctuary in a Noble Minde.
When therefore our Unhappy Sons shall come
(Sons not for Carthage born, but Conqu'ring Rome)
Within your Walls, Oh! be not too Severe,
Lay easy Chains upon them, think they were
Once free, as You: so may a better Fate
Your Issue bless; so may You propagate
Your lasting Names to Honour, and, near crost
By Fortune, keep that Freedom We have lost.
As thus they plead, from their Embraces torn,
Two hundred Noblest Tyrian Youths are born
Away to Sea, at Rome ordain'd to stand
The faithful Plegdes of their Native Land.
But, while all other Breasts with Grief, and Care,
Are fill'd, and ev'ry one, with sad Despair
Of future Liberty, resolves the Yoke
To bear with Patience, and no more provoke
Those Arms, which, after such expense of Blood,
And Wealth (too late, alass!) they understood
Superiour to their own: Revenge puts on
Amilcar's Shape, and thus, by Night, his Son
Excites to War. O Hannibal, canst Thou
(After the Fame of thy so early Vow
To prosecute this War) sit still, and see,
By Rome, upon thy Country's Liberty
Such heavy Yoaks impos'd? Canst thou, my Son,
Tamely desist from what Thou hast begun?
And see that Wealth, which, from so many Lands,
By our great Ancestours Victorious Hands
Together heap'd, enabled Thee to spread
Thy Conqu'ring Ensigns o're Pyrene's Head;
And o're the pathless Alps to make thy Way,
Become the Prize of Rome; Yet thou that Day
Survive? At length, awake, and let me finde
Thy Valour, fierce, and active, as the Winde
On Adriatick Seas. Let not the Tears
Of trembling Mothers, or the vainer Fears
Of Utter Ruin, move thee to conspire
So much with Hanno's Wish, or Rome's Desire.
That Hannibal should now sit still, is more,
Then all the Victories they had before:
Those onely did subdue thine Arms; but This
Over thy Minde a greater Conquest is:
And all, that Scipio now, at Rome, doth boast;
Where he at Zama, when the Field was lost,
Thee flying shews, and, afterward regains,
And thy Pale Image loads with golden Chains,
(As he great Syphax led in Triumph) Thou,
Resolving thus to bear it, dost allow.
Nor will the World condemn what Hanno saies;
While, in the Senate, he upon thee layes
The Crimes of all these Ills; records the Rites,
We once perform'd to Hecatè; excites
The People's Rage, while he doth on them call:
Where now is your Victorious Hannibal?
Where is that Arm, that could alone defend
These Walls? that durst with Fate it self contend?
Where are Sagunthus Spoils? or those, which He
From Spain hath brought? or conquer'd Italy?
If yet that Arm survive, let him from Rome,
Rescue our Captiv'd Sons, and bring them Home.
Or if those Spoils, which he at Thrasimen,
Trebia, or Cannæ gain'd, remain; why then
Do We for our exacted Talents grieve?
Nor rather, with that Wealth, our selves relieve?
But, if, consum'd through his Ambition, We
Have, with our Riches, lost our Liberty;
Why should that guilty Head, to whom we ow
These Ruins, and the Curse of all our Wo,
Amongst Us still remain; and, with a Pride,
Great as the Conquerours, our Tears divide?
Consider this: and, as infused Oil
Doth heighten Flames, hence let thy Fury boil;
Create more Spleen within Thee; make Thee rude,
As Caucasus, till thou hast fully shew'd
Th'amazed World, thou wert not born to bear
The Romane Yoak. But do, what others dare
Not think, and 'gainst the Latine Name, where're
There shall be War, do Thou in Arms appear;
Till Fate absolve thy Vow, and Thou shalt be
Crown'd with a Noble Death, or Victory.
Are fill'd, and ev'ry one, with sad Despair
12
To bear with Patience, and no more provoke
Those Arms, which, after such expense of Blood,
And Wealth (too late, alass!) they understood
Superiour to their own: Revenge puts on
Amilcar's Shape, and thus, by Night, his Son
Excites to War. O Hannibal, canst Thou
(After the Fame of thy so early Vow
To prosecute this War) sit still, and see,
By Rome, upon thy Country's Liberty
Such heavy Yoaks impos'd? Canst thou, my Son,
Tamely desist from what Thou hast begun?
And see that Wealth, which, from so many Lands,
By our great Ancestours Victorious Hands
Together heap'd, enabled Thee to spread
Thy Conqu'ring Ensigns o're Pyrene's Head;
And o're the pathless Alps to make thy Way,
Become the Prize of Rome; Yet thou that Day
Survive? At length, awake, and let me finde
Thy Valour, fierce, and active, as the Winde
On Adriatick Seas. Let not the Tears
Of trembling Mothers, or the vainer Fears
Of Utter Ruin, move thee to conspire
So much with Hanno's Wish, or Rome's Desire.
That Hannibal should now sit still, is more,
Then all the Victories they had before:
Those onely did subdue thine Arms; but This
Over thy Minde a greater Conquest is:
And all, that Scipio now, at Rome, doth boast;
Where he at Zama, when the Field was lost,
Thee flying shews, and, afterward regains,
And thy Pale Image loads with golden Chains,
(As he great Syphax led in Triumph) Thou,
Resolving thus to bear it, dost allow.
13
While, in the Senate, he upon thee layes
The Crimes of all these Ills; records the Rites,
We once perform'd to Hecatè; excites
The People's Rage, while he doth on them call:
Where now is your Victorious Hannibal?
Where is that Arm, that could alone defend
These Walls? that durst with Fate it self contend?
Where are Sagunthus Spoils? or those, which He
From Spain hath brought? or conquer'd Italy?
If yet that Arm survive, let him from Rome,
Rescue our Captiv'd Sons, and bring them Home.
Or if those Spoils, which he at Thrasimen,
Trebia, or Cannæ gain'd, remain; why then
Do We for our exacted Talents grieve?
Nor rather, with that Wealth, our selves relieve?
But, if, consum'd through his Ambition, We
Have, with our Riches, lost our Liberty;
Why should that guilty Head, to whom we ow
These Ruins, and the Curse of all our Wo,
Amongst Us still remain; and, with a Pride,
Great as the Conquerours, our Tears divide?
Consider this: and, as infused Oil
Doth heighten Flames, hence let thy Fury boil;
Create more Spleen within Thee; make Thee rude,
As Caucasus, till thou hast fully shew'd
Th'amazed World, thou wert not born to bear
The Romane Yoak. But do, what others dare
Not think, and 'gainst the Latine Name, where're
There shall be War, do Thou in Arms appear;
Till Fate absolve thy Vow, and Thou shalt be
Crown'd with a Noble Death, or Victory.
When thus the Fury had her self inspir'd
Into his Soul, with Night She strait retir'd
To Hell. While He, now void of all Repose,
Soon as from Tithon's Bed Aurora rose,
To that fam'd Stygian Temple doth repair,
Where, when a Childe, his Father made him swear
The War. Soon as He comes into the Grove,
Strange, horrid Murmurs, round about him, move.
The Goddess call'd to Minde, what he before
Had offer'd there, and now expected more.
Then over all the Place a Cloud She casts,
Which thither calls the Night again, and blasts
The rising Day. At length, She open throws
The Temple-Gates, while on he, Fearless, goes;
Till at the Entrance, from her Gloomy Cell,
The aged Priestess thus bespeaks him. Tell,
What is it, that so early hither Thee
Invites? and, who thou art? For well I see
Thou com'st to offer to the Pow'rs below,
And therefore, with this Horrour, they foreshow
Thy Welcome: tell me then, what is thy Name?
Into his Soul, with Night She strait retir'd
14
Soon as from Tithon's Bed Aurora rose,
To that fam'd Stygian Temple doth repair,
Where, when a Childe, his Father made him swear
The War. Soon as He comes into the Grove,
Strange, horrid Murmurs, round about him, move.
The Goddess call'd to Minde, what he before
Had offer'd there, and now expected more.
Then over all the Place a Cloud She casts,
Which thither calls the Night again, and blasts
The rising Day. At length, She open throws
The Temple-Gates, while on he, Fearless, goes;
Till at the Entrance, from her Gloomy Cell,
The aged Priestess thus bespeaks him. Tell,
What is it, that so early hither Thee
Invites? and, who thou art? For well I see
Thou com'st to offer to the Pow'rs below,
And therefore, with this Horrour, they foreshow
Thy Welcome: tell me then, what is thy Name?
Though, now, thou know'st Me not, I'me sure my Fame
(Said Hannibal) long since hath fill'd thine Ears.
I am that Hannibal, who, e're my Years
Two Lustra had fulfill'd, a War, before
These Stygian Altars, 'gainst the Romans swore;
The rest the World hath told Thee: and I now
(In prosecution of that Sacred Vow)
Am come to know, what yet remains by Me
To be pursu'd, and what the Fates decree.
The Priestess thus. I know Thee now: nor can
The Universe afford another Man
More dear unto the Pow'rs, which we adore:
But we our Rites cannot perform before
The following Night hath finish'd half her Reign.
Now therefore to thy House make haste again,
And my Advice embrace. For often Wo
Have of the Gods enquir'd concerning Thee,
Whose thread of Life is twisted with the Fate
Of Carthage, and in That her better State
Consists: and hence it is Imperious Rome
By her Embassadours, who, now, are come,
Will not so much for Masanissa plead,
As joyn with Hanno, to obtain thy Head,
Or cast Thee into Chains: therefore till Night
Returns, be Wary, and prepare for Flight;
And when Bootes hath his lazy Wain
Turn'd half about the Pole, hither again
Repair, and I shall then enquire the Minde
O'th'Gods, and what they have for Thee design'd.
(Said Hannibal) long since hath fill'd thine Ears.
I am that Hannibal, who, e're my Years
Two Lustra had fulfill'd, a War, before
These Stygian Altars, 'gainst the Romans swore;
The rest the World hath told Thee: and I now
(In prosecution of that Sacred Vow)
Am come to know, what yet remains by Me
To be pursu'd, and what the Fates decree.
The Priestess thus. I know Thee now: nor can
The Universe afford another Man
More dear unto the Pow'rs, which we adore:
But we our Rites cannot perform before
The following Night hath finish'd half her Reign.
Now therefore to thy House make haste again,
15
Have of the Gods enquir'd concerning Thee,
Whose thread of Life is twisted with the Fate
Of Carthage, and in That her better State
Consists: and hence it is Imperious Rome
By her Embassadours, who, now, are come,
Will not so much for Masanissa plead,
As joyn with Hanno, to obtain thy Head,
Or cast Thee into Chains: therefore till Night
Returns, be Wary, and prepare for Flight;
And when Bootes hath his lazy Wain
Turn'd half about the Pole, hither again
Repair, and I shall then enquire the Minde
O'th'Gods, and what they have for Thee design'd.
Pensive with this Advice, strait Home He goes,
And, ruminating on his Country's Woes,
His Chamber enters, with a troubl'd Face;
When, almost drown'd in Tears, to his Embrace
Imilcè flys, and thus begins: What now
Thy Minde disturbs? what on thy Angry Brow
Creates that Cloud? which, wheresoe're it be
Discharg'd (my Hannibal) must Ruin Me.
I know 'tis War: for such the dire Alarms
Of lost Sagunthus snatch'd I hee from mine Arms.
So from my Bed, before the Night was done,
To meet their Sallies, thou wert wont to run.
While Fury arm'd thee, and pale Death did wait
Upon Thee, as upon the Hand of Fate.
But then Thou wert protected; Heav'n did then
For Thee, and Carthage fight: if now agen
The Gods would hear our Pray'rs, and bless Thee so,
How gladly would I yield to let Thee go?
But they (alass!) are Angry, and no more
Will lend their Thunder, as they did before,
Unto Thine Arm. Rome now their Ears hath charm'd
Against Thee, and Thy Fortune quite disarm'd.
Naked against the World Thou now dost stand:
All have submitted to Her Conqu'ring Hand.
Carthage is Hers, nor Libya, nor Spain,
Pyrenè, nor the Celtæ can again
Afford Thee Aid. The Macedonian King,
Who to our fainting Hopes appear'd to bring
Some Shadows of Relief, while He o'reran
The Bounds of Athens, and a War began
With that sad Omen, that Sagunthus turn'd
To Ashes, and the Abydenians burn'd,
On Pyles of their own Wealth, is forc'd at last
To yield to Fortune, and himself to cast
A Prostrate at Rome's Feet, and Peace implore.
Content with those great Acts, that He before
Had done, He now resolves, at Home, t'attend
His Fate: and, would my Hannibal now lend
A Pity to these Tears, Thou should'st no more
That Hand of Fortune try, which Thee before
In one Day thrust from that great Height, to which
The Toil of seventeen Years had rais'd Thee. Rich
In Fame thou art, and, though all else is gone,
That's such a Treasure, that for it alone
The World may envy Thee, and Times to come
Shall put thy Name in Balance against Rome,
And all her Generals. But what of Life
(After such Deeds) remains, unto thy Wife,
And Son should be allow'd: and, if thy Breast
With Thoughts of sworn Revenge be still possest,
(Since Fortune courts the Young, and Thou art now
In Years, to which She seldom doth allow
Her Smiles) derive thine Anger to thy Son,
Instruct him here, at Home, what's to be done
To perfect thy Desires, and at thy Death,
Into His Breast, with thy Departing Breath,
Inspire (my Hannibal) thy mighty Spirit,
That so He may entirely Thee Inherit,
And live the Fear of Rome. But, if Thou fly
From hence, and leave Us to the Cruelty
Of Our insulting Foes, Our Captiv'd Names
Will strait become the Talk of Romane Dames,
'Midst their Triumphal Feasts; or be in Scorn
Suppress'd, as if We never had been born.
And, ruminating on his Country's Woes,
His Chamber enters, with a troubl'd Face;
When, almost drown'd in Tears, to his Embrace
Imilcè flys, and thus begins: What now
Thy Minde disturbs? what on thy Angry Brow
Creates that Cloud? which, wheresoe're it be
Discharg'd (my Hannibal) must Ruin Me.
I know 'tis War: for such the dire Alarms
Of lost Sagunthus snatch'd I hee from mine Arms.
So from my Bed, before the Night was done,
To meet their Sallies, thou wert wont to run.
While Fury arm'd thee, and pale Death did wait
Upon Thee, as upon the Hand of Fate.
But then Thou wert protected; Heav'n did then
For Thee, and Carthage fight: if now agen
The Gods would hear our Pray'rs, and bless Thee so,
How gladly would I yield to let Thee go?
But they (alass!) are Angry, and no more
Will lend their Thunder, as they did before,
16
Against Thee, and Thy Fortune quite disarm'd.
Naked against the World Thou now dost stand:
All have submitted to Her Conqu'ring Hand.
Carthage is Hers, nor Libya, nor Spain,
Pyrenè, nor the Celtæ can again
Afford Thee Aid. The Macedonian King,
Who to our fainting Hopes appear'd to bring
Some Shadows of Relief, while He o'reran
The Bounds of Athens, and a War began
With that sad Omen, that Sagunthus turn'd
To Ashes, and the Abydenians burn'd,
On Pyles of their own Wealth, is forc'd at last
To yield to Fortune, and himself to cast
A Prostrate at Rome's Feet, and Peace implore.
Content with those great Acts, that He before
Had done, He now resolves, at Home, t'attend
His Fate: and, would my Hannibal now lend
A Pity to these Tears, Thou should'st no more
That Hand of Fortune try, which Thee before
In one Day thrust from that great Height, to which
The Toil of seventeen Years had rais'd Thee. Rich
In Fame thou art, and, though all else is gone,
That's such a Treasure, that for it alone
The World may envy Thee, and Times to come
Shall put thy Name in Balance against Rome,
And all her Generals. But what of Life
(After such Deeds) remains, unto thy Wife,
And Son should be allow'd: and, if thy Breast
With Thoughts of sworn Revenge be still possest,
(Since Fortune courts the Young, and Thou art now
In Years, to which She seldom doth allow
Her Smiles) derive thine Anger to thy Son,
Instruct him here, at Home, what's to be done
17
Into His Breast, with thy Departing Breath,
Inspire (my Hannibal) thy mighty Spirit,
That so He may entirely Thee Inherit,
And live the Fear of Rome. But, if Thou fly
From hence, and leave Us to the Cruelty
Of Our insulting Foes, Our Captiv'd Names
Will strait become the Talk of Romane Dames,
'Midst their Triumphal Feasts; or be in Scorn
Suppress'd, as if We never had been born.
This, with a thousand Sighs, and all the Charms
Of Kisses, mix'd with Tears, between his Arms,
Speaking, She sinks: while, with that constant Face,
With which He entred, in a strict Embrace,
He holds Her up, and thus replies; Thy Love
(My dear Imilcè) is so much above
The Value of my Life, that I would all
Those Dangers stand, which can upon Me fall,
T'enjoy Thee here: But this our Enemies
Will not allow. Domestick Treacheries
Have now so far above the Arms of Rome
Prevail'd, that I a Captive shall, at Home,
In Peace, be made, and hence in Chains be born,
(Snatch'd from thy dear Embrace) to be the Scorn
Of second Triumphs, and when that is done
(A Pride peculiar unto Rome alone)
I shall not dy like Syphax, from the View
Of all the World; but they will something New
For Me invent. Whatever was by Us,
Before, Inflicted on their Regulus,
Will be esteem'd too Little; I shall be
In Parts divided through all Italy,
And feel, in each, a Death, and yet not all
Their Malice satiate, when to Minde they call
The Fun'rals of their Friends. But, that I may
Their Plots avoid, and keep a better Way
Still open to my Fall, I now must fly
M'Ingrateful Country, or resolve to dy,
This Day, before thine Eyes: for in this Hand
Of Mine, alone, my Fate shall ever stand.
Nor shall the World believe, the Life, and Death
Of Hannibal depends upon the Breath
Of Rome. As this He spake, She stop'd the rest
With Kisses, and, reclining on his Brest
Her drooping Head (whil'st Tears, like April-rain,
Into his Bosom flow, by Sighs again
Dry'd up) Since so it is (said She) no more
Will I (my Hannibal) thy Stay implore.
Go, and be Happy! may those Gods, who Thee,
With such Severity, deny to Me,
Protect Thee, when Alone: go, Happy! may
Thy wish'd Return be speedy! But I Pray
For what I cannot Hope; those Gods, who now
Us separate (alass!) will not allow,
That We should meet again. As from her Tongue
These last Words fell, about his Neck She flung
Her Arms, and, after many Kisses past,
While both contended, who should give the Last,
With a long Silence (for with Grief each Heart
Too big for Language swell'd) at length they part.
Of Kisses, mix'd with Tears, between his Arms,
Speaking, She sinks: while, with that constant Face,
With which He entred, in a strict Embrace,
He holds Her up, and thus replies; Thy Love
(My dear Imilcè) is so much above
The Value of my Life, that I would all
Those Dangers stand, which can upon Me fall,
T'enjoy Thee here: But this our Enemies
Will not allow. Domestick Treacheries
Have now so far above the Arms of Rome
Prevail'd, that I a Captive shall, at Home,
In Peace, be made, and hence in Chains be born,
(Snatch'd from thy dear Embrace) to be the Scorn
Of second Triumphs, and when that is done
(A Pride peculiar unto Rome alone)
I shall not dy like Syphax, from the View
Of all the World; but they will something New
For Me invent. Whatever was by Us,
Before, Inflicted on their Regulus,
Will be esteem'd too Little; I shall be
In Parts divided through all Italy,
And feel, in each, a Death, and yet not all
Their Malice satiate, when to Minde they call
18
Their Plots avoid, and keep a better Way
Still open to my Fall, I now must fly
M'Ingrateful Country, or resolve to dy,
This Day, before thine Eyes: for in this Hand
Of Mine, alone, my Fate shall ever stand.
Nor shall the World believe, the Life, and Death
Of Hannibal depends upon the Breath
Of Rome. As this He spake, She stop'd the rest
With Kisses, and, reclining on his Brest
Her drooping Head (whil'st Tears, like April-rain,
Into his Bosom flow, by Sighs again
Dry'd up) Since so it is (said She) no more
Will I (my Hannibal) thy Stay implore.
Go, and be Happy! may those Gods, who Thee,
With such Severity, deny to Me,
Protect Thee, when Alone: go, Happy! may
Thy wish'd Return be speedy! But I Pray
For what I cannot Hope; those Gods, who now
Us separate (alass!) will not allow,
That We should meet again. As from her Tongue
These last Words fell, about his Neck She flung
Her Arms, and, after many Kisses past,
While both contended, who should give the Last,
With a long Silence (for with Grief each Heart
Too big for Language swell'd) at length they part.
Now Night the middle of her Course had run,
Between the Rising, and the Falling Sun;
When Libya's anxious Champion at the Fane
(All things prepar'd for Flight) arrives again;
There findes the Priestess; from her hoary Head
Tresses, like curling Serpents, overspread
Her wrinckled Neck: a Mantle cross her Breast,
In which forsaken Dido's Death, exprest
By her fair Sister's Hand, and there bequeath'd
As Sacred (with the Sword, She, Frantick, sheath'd
In her own Bosom) fastn'd by a Charm
On her left Shoulder, and her other Arm
Quite Naked, waving round a Stygian Wand,
With which, by adding Words, She could command
The Pow'rs of Hell, She meets him at the Door,
And leads him in. The Sacrifice before
Prepar'd, and She (no Minutes now delay'd)
Invoking some Infernal Names, to aid
The Work, strait horrid Voices rend the Air;
Some mornful Groans; some Sighs of sad Despair:
Then, as if Hell were near, the Noise of Chains,
With doleful Cries, which their inflicted Pains
Extort. For all the Ghosts of Cadmus Race,
Whom Guilt had stain'd, frequenting still the Place,
To the un-kindled Altars brought Supplies
Of Bloodlike Flames, which of themselves to rise
Appear, and by their gloomy Light, and Smell
Of Sulphur, shew, that they were brought from Hell.
At length, the Sacrifice was open lay'd,
Whose Entrails when the Priestess had survay'd,
She thus the Gods declar'd. “If Hannibal
“Be from his Country free, He never shall
“Become a Slave to Rome. His very Name
“Shall make the Syrian Armies own'd by Fame,
“And Italy once more shall fear, lest She
“By his Invasive Arms should ruin'd be.
“Scipio shall not more Fortunate at Rome
“By th'World be held, then Hannibal at Home.
“One Year shall give a Period to their Breath,
“And each finde Satisfaction in his Death.
“In Latian Ground shall Scipio's Ashes ly,
“On Libyssæan Hannibal shall dy.
With this ambiguous Oracle, his Minde
As Great, and High, as when he first design'd
The War, as if the Gods were still the Same,
Away he speeds? Thoughts of his former Fame,
And Victories, all present Fears allay,
And, with reviving Hopes, his Faith betray
To a vain Confidence, That He, alone,
If arm'd, could shake the World, and Rome unthrone.
Ambition, and Revenge think nought too great
For their Attempt, and, whil'st he doth repeat
The Actions, which atchiev'd his former Fame,
He counts all Easy, that's within his Aim,
Nor weighs th'Incertainty of Fates to come.
Those civil Factions, that, before, at Home,
Weak'ned his Arms, now, undistinguish'd, groan
Under that Yoke, which Rome for Him, alone,
So long prepar'd: so that ev'n He might boast
A Victory, when Envious Carthage lost
Her Liberty, and Captiv'd Hanno found,
No other Hand could cure that Fatal Wound,
But Hannibal's alone; who, now, got Free,
Would search the World to finde a Remedy.
Between the Rising, and the Falling Sun;
When Libya's anxious Champion at the Fane
(All things prepar'd for Flight) arrives again;
There findes the Priestess; from her hoary Head
Tresses, like curling Serpents, overspread
Her wrinckled Neck: a Mantle cross her Breast,
In which forsaken Dido's Death, exprest
19
As Sacred (with the Sword, She, Frantick, sheath'd
In her own Bosom) fastn'd by a Charm
On her left Shoulder, and her other Arm
Quite Naked, waving round a Stygian Wand,
With which, by adding Words, She could command
The Pow'rs of Hell, She meets him at the Door,
And leads him in. The Sacrifice before
Prepar'd, and She (no Minutes now delay'd)
Invoking some Infernal Names, to aid
The Work, strait horrid Voices rend the Air;
Some mornful Groans; some Sighs of sad Despair:
Then, as if Hell were near, the Noise of Chains,
With doleful Cries, which their inflicted Pains
Extort. For all the Ghosts of Cadmus Race,
Whom Guilt had stain'd, frequenting still the Place,
To the un-kindled Altars brought Supplies
Of Bloodlike Flames, which of themselves to rise
Appear, and by their gloomy Light, and Smell
Of Sulphur, shew, that they were brought from Hell.
At length, the Sacrifice was open lay'd,
Whose Entrails when the Priestess had survay'd,
She thus the Gods declar'd. “If Hannibal
“Be from his Country free, He never shall
“Become a Slave to Rome. His very Name
“Shall make the Syrian Armies own'd by Fame,
“And Italy once more shall fear, lest She
“By his Invasive Arms should ruin'd be.
“Scipio shall not more Fortunate at Rome
“By th'World be held, then Hannibal at Home.
“One Year shall give a Period to their Breath,
“And each finde Satisfaction in his Death.
“In Latian Ground shall Scipio's Ashes ly,
“On Libyssæan Hannibal shall dy.
20
As Great, and High, as when he first design'd
The War, as if the Gods were still the Same,
Away he speeds? Thoughts of his former Fame,
And Victories, all present Fears allay,
And, with reviving Hopes, his Faith betray
To a vain Confidence, That He, alone,
If arm'd, could shake the World, and Rome unthrone.
Ambition, and Revenge think nought too great
For their Attempt, and, whil'st he doth repeat
The Actions, which atchiev'd his former Fame,
He counts all Easy, that's within his Aim,
Nor weighs th'Incertainty of Fates to come.
Those civil Factions, that, before, at Home,
Weak'ned his Arms, now, undistinguish'd, groan
Under that Yoke, which Rome for Him, alone,
So long prepar'd: so that ev'n He might boast
A Victory, when Envious Carthage lost
Her Liberty, and Captiv'd Hanno found,
No other Hand could cure that Fatal Wound,
But Hannibal's alone; who, now, got Free,
Would search the World to finde a Remedy.
Thus, chearful with the Gods, misunderstood,
(As a fierce Tyger, thirsting after Blood,
Far from his Covert rangeth, seeking Prey)
O're the Vocanian Plains he took his Way,
And, through the Thapsian Fields, his Course pursu'd:
Where (still the Gods resolving to delude
His Thoughts with dubious things) he Waking dreams
Of future Fates, and, swiftly Posting, seems
This Language, from the Genius of the Place,
To hear. Fly hence, fly Hannibal apace.
Let Asia, no longer now attend
Thine Arm, the World's great Quarrel to defend.
Delay the Mother is of Doubts, and Fears,
And he, that long the Yoke of Bondage bears,
Forgets, that he was Free, and entertains
A Servile Love of Safety with his Chains.
Thy Presence shall encrease the Noble Fire
In Syrian Breasts, and they, at length, conspire
'Gainst Rome with Thee, and Carthage entertain
An Hope by Thee her Freedom to regain.
That War, which Thou didst, with so great Applause,
Wages as Thine Own, is made the Common Cause
Of the whole World, and all Mankinde is now
Provok'd to be Assertours of thy Vow.
Of Romane Blood, all Seas, all Lands shall taste,
And Thapsus, 'mong the Chief, in Fame be plac't.
(As a fierce Tyger, thirsting after Blood,
Far from his Covert rangeth, seeking Prey)
O're the Vocanian Plains he took his Way,
And, through the Thapsian Fields, his Course pursu'd:
Where (still the Gods resolving to delude
His Thoughts with dubious things) he Waking dreams
Of future Fates, and, swiftly Posting, seems
This Language, from the Genius of the Place,
To hear. Fly hence, fly Hannibal apace.
Let Asia, no longer now attend
Thine Arm, the World's great Quarrel to defend.
21
And he, that long the Yoke of Bondage bears,
Forgets, that he was Free, and entertains
A Servile Love of Safety with his Chains.
Thy Presence shall encrease the Noble Fire
In Syrian Breasts, and they, at length, conspire
'Gainst Rome with Thee, and Carthage entertain
An Hope by Thee her Freedom to regain.
That War, which Thou didst, with so great Applause,
Wages as Thine Own, is made the Common Cause
Of the whole World, and all Mankinde is now
Provok'd to be Assertours of thy Vow.
Of Romane Blood, all Seas, all Lands shall taste,
And Thapsus, 'mong the Chief, in Fame be plac't.
No sooner did the Blushes of the Morn
The Stars extinguish, and the Day was born,
When they arriv'd near to that Fatal Shore,
Where trembling Seamen hear the Billows roar
Against those Syrts, which, moving to and fro,
Bring certain Ruin, wheresoe're they go.
Charybdis, nor dire Scylla's Rage, so great
A Danger to Sicilian Vessels threat:
Sometimes themselves, above the Waves, they heave,
And stand like Promontories to deceive
Unskilful Mariners; strait, falling back,
Choak up the Chanel, and prepare a Wrack
Under smooth Waters, where, with all their Pride
Display'd, tall Ships of late might safely ride.
But Hannibal less fears the Treach'rous Sand,
Or raging Seas, then the more Treach'rous Land,
Which, Confident of better Fate, he quits,
And to a little Bark himself commits.
The Seas, as Conscious, that he was too Great
To be their Sacrifice, their Rage forget.
The Syrts retire, and the Conspiring Gales
Pursue the Bark, and swell her pregnant Sails.
The careful Pilot for Cercina steers,
Scarce knowing, that the Fraight his Vessel bears,
Once balanc'd the whole World; yet wonders Heav'n,
In that tempestuous Track, a Course so ev'n
Allow'd: so much the flatt'ring Destinies,
With a smooth Vizor of Success, disguise
Intended Ruin; that ev'n Hannibal
Measures, from hence, what ever might befal
Himself, and, while they yet the Africk Shore
(On which the Fates resolv'd henever more
Should tread) in View retain'd: I now am Free
(Perfidious Country) both from Rome, and Thee;
My better Fortune now (saith He) doth stand
Not in a Senate's Vote, but in this Hand,
This Hand, which (maugre thy Ingratitude)
Shall Thee (if Me the Gods do not delude)
Redeem; and Thou, at length, confess, that none
Can breake thy Yoke, but Hannibal alone.
The Stars extinguish, and the Day was born,
When they arriv'd near to that Fatal Shore,
Where trembling Seamen hear the Billows roar
Against those Syrts, which, moving to and fro,
Bring certain Ruin, wheresoe're they go.
Charybdis, nor dire Scylla's Rage, so great
A Danger to Sicilian Vessels threat:
Sometimes themselves, above the Waves, they heave,
And stand like Promontories to deceive
Unskilful Mariners; strait, falling back,
Choak up the Chanel, and prepare a Wrack
Under smooth Waters, where, with all their Pride
Display'd, tall Ships of late might safely ride.
But Hannibal less fears the Treach'rous Sand,
Or raging Seas, then the more Treach'rous Land,
Which, Confident of better Fate, he quits,
And to a little Bark himself commits.
The Seas, as Conscious, that he was too Great
To be their Sacrifice, their Rage forget.
22
Pursue the Bark, and swell her pregnant Sails.
The careful Pilot for Cercina steers,
Scarce knowing, that the Fraight his Vessel bears,
Once balanc'd the whole World; yet wonders Heav'n,
In that tempestuous Track, a Course so ev'n
Allow'd: so much the flatt'ring Destinies,
With a smooth Vizor of Success, disguise
Intended Ruin; that ev'n Hannibal
Measures, from hence, what ever might befal
Himself, and, while they yet the Africk Shore
(On which the Fates resolv'd henever more
Should tread) in View retain'd: I now am Free
(Perfidious Country) both from Rome, and Thee;
My better Fortune now (saith He) doth stand
Not in a Senate's Vote, but in this Hand,
This Hand, which (maugre thy Ingratitude)
Shall Thee (if Me the Gods do not delude)
Redeem; and Thou, at length, confess, that none
Can breake thy Yoke, but Hannibal alone.
Now from the flying Ship the Land withdrew:
The Libyan Shore descends; no more in View
Those Altars, which Ulysses once did rear,
To rescue his forgetful Friends, appear.
Unhappy Men! who in those Dang'rous Fields
Found out those strange Delights, that Lotus yields,
Whose Taste all other Pleasures far exceeds,
Man nothing more to make him Happy needs;
In this all dear Delights at once they found,
And Memory of Friends, and Country drown'd.
No sooner these were lost, but to their Eyes
Cercîna, 'midst the Waves, began to rise.
Approaching near the Port, some Ships they found,
Whose Carthaginian Owners, Homeward bound,
Soon as the Prince they spy'd upon the Shore,
Haste to salute Him, and almost Adore.
The Memory of his high Deeds, within
Their Breasts still liv'd: how great He once had been,
To Minde they call, and pay unto his Name
Those Honours, which, they know, his Merits claim;
Though now his State be less: for with a Cloud
O'recast, or else Eclips'd, the Sun's allow'd
To be the same in Virtue, as before,
When it shin'd Brightest; nor was He the more
To be neglected, 'cause the borrow'd Rays
Of Train, at which the Common People gaze,
And great with Envy swell, aside are lay'd.
He still is that fam'd Hannibal, who made
So many Barb'rous Nations to submit
To his Commands, and Native Rites forget;
While fierce Massylians, with Iberians, stood
In Fight, Revengers each of others Blood;
While rude Cantabrians, with the Celtæ, came
T'assert his Quarrel, and beneath his Name
United liv'd, as if one Clime their Birth
Had giv'n, and nurtur'd them on Fertile Earth.
The Libyan Shore descends; no more in View
Those Altars, which Ulysses once did rear,
To rescue his forgetful Friends, appear.
Unhappy Men! who in those Dang'rous Fields
Found out those strange Delights, that Lotus yields,
Whose Taste all other Pleasures far exceeds,
Man nothing more to make him Happy needs;
In this all dear Delights at once they found,
And Memory of Friends, and Country drown'd.
No sooner these were lost, but to their Eyes
Cercîna, 'midst the Waves, began to rise.
Approaching near the Port, some Ships they found,
Whose Carthaginian Owners, Homeward bound,
23
Haste to salute Him, and almost Adore.
The Memory of his high Deeds, within
Their Breasts still liv'd: how great He once had been,
To Minde they call, and pay unto his Name
Those Honours, which, they know, his Merits claim;
Though now his State be less: for with a Cloud
O'recast, or else Eclips'd, the Sun's allow'd
To be the same in Virtue, as before,
When it shin'd Brightest; nor was He the more
To be neglected, 'cause the borrow'd Rays
Of Train, at which the Common People gaze,
And great with Envy swell, aside are lay'd.
He still is that fam'd Hannibal, who made
So many Barb'rous Nations to submit
To his Commands, and Native Rites forget;
While fierce Massylians, with Iberians, stood
In Fight, Revengers each of others Blood;
While rude Cantabrians, with the Celtæ, came
T'assert his Quarrel, and beneath his Name
United liv'd, as if one Clime their Birth
Had giv'n, and nurtur'd them on Fertile Earth.
Here all are busy to express their Care
To entertain Him, and to such, as were
Inquisitive to know, what did invite
Him thither, cunning, He, reply'd: I might
(Indeed) have gone to Tyre another Way;
But none so near I judg, since I this Day
Must spend in Sacrifice, to th'Pow'rs above,
That what I there must prosecute, may prove
Propitious to the State, which thither Me
Hath sent, and since, within this Island, We
Few Trees for Shelter finde, let Me entreat
Your Sails, this Day, to shroud Us from the Heat
O'th'scorching Sun. No sooner said, but all
Their Hands employ; some from the Masts let fall
The Sails; some lift them with their Yards to Land,
On which extended streight, for Tents, they stand.
And now whatever Rare the Isle affords,
Makes up the Feast, and round the hast'ned Boards
Lyæus flows: and first, To Liberty
A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily
Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde
Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde
Expel. And, as the sparkling Liquour warms
Their Blood, each man, as if he were in Arms,
Defies the Pow'r of Rome; now scorns to bear
That Yoak, which, in a Sober mind, his Fear
Would prompt him to imbrace, and what before
He durst not Think, he now dares Act, and more.
All former Fears are banish'd: This exclaims
'Gainst Hanno's Pride; and That his Countrey blames
For want of Courage, bids the Prince again
Attempt to take away that Fatal Stain,
For which, as in th'inflaming Juice he steeps
His Brains, he in a Drunken Pity weeps.
To entertain Him, and to such, as were
Inquisitive to know, what did invite
Him thither, cunning, He, reply'd: I might
(Indeed) have gone to Tyre another Way;
But none so near I judg, since I this Day
Must spend in Sacrifice, to th'Pow'rs above,
That what I there must prosecute, may prove
Propitious to the State, which thither Me
Hath sent, and since, within this Island, We
Few Trees for Shelter finde, let Me entreat
Your Sails, this Day, to shroud Us from the Heat
24
Their Hands employ; some from the Masts let fall
The Sails; some lift them with their Yards to Land,
On which extended streight, for Tents, they stand.
And now whatever Rare the Isle affords,
Makes up the Feast, and round the hast'ned Boards
Lyæus flows: and first, To Liberty
A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily
Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde
Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde
Expel. And, as the sparkling Liquour warms
Their Blood, each man, as if he were in Arms,
Defies the Pow'r of Rome; now scorns to bear
That Yoak, which, in a Sober mind, his Fear
Would prompt him to imbrace, and what before
He durst not Think, he now dares Act, and more.
All former Fears are banish'd: This exclaims
'Gainst Hanno's Pride; and That his Countrey blames
For want of Courage, bids the Prince again
Attempt to take away that Fatal Stain,
For which, as in th'inflaming Juice he steeps
His Brains, he in a Drunken Pity weeps.
But Hannibal, whose Thoughts were far from thence
Remov'd, and entertain'd a nobler Sense
Of what they suffer'd, then themselves, mean while,
Looks on their Follies with a scornful Smile,
And, with repeated Cups, still feeds the Flame;
Untill, as he design'd, he overcame
Their Strength, and, while their Hands as yet retain'd
The Blushing Bowls, Sleep all their Senses chain'd.
Remov'd, and entertain'd a nobler Sense
Of what they suffer'd, then themselves, mean while,
Looks on their Follies with a scornful Smile,
And, with repeated Cups, still feeds the Flame;
Untill, as he design'd, he overcame
Their Strength, and, while their Hands as yet retain'd
The Blushing Bowls, Sleep all their Senses chain'd.
The End of the First Book of the Continuation.
| The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes | |