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 |
 | I. |
|
|
| II. |
|
|
|
War.
|
 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
War.
See Battle. Rout. Siege. Slaughter. War (Civil.)
Who was it first began the dang'rous Trade,
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul itself was Steel.
Then Wars began, then 'rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he, unthinking Wretch! no Harm design'd;
We took the cursed Hint, to Ills inclin'd:
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We madly turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of old:
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And beachen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No Need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.—
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul itself was Steel.
Then Wars began, then 'rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he, unthinking Wretch! no Harm design'd;
We took the cursed Hint, to Ills inclin'd:
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We madly turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of old:
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And beachen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No Need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.—
What Madness is it, in distracted Broils,
To hasten on our Fate by martial Toils?
Or Death provoke, by seeking high Renown?
Uncall'd, with silent Pace, he comes, too soon.—
To hasten on our Fate by martial Toils?
Or Death provoke, by seeking high Renown?
Uncall'd, with silent Pace, he comes, too soon.—
—They Right and Wrong confound:
From ev'ry Quarter impious Arms resound,
And monstrous Crimes in ev'ry Shape are crown'd.
The peaceful Peasant to the War is prest;
The Fields lie fallow, in disgraceful Rest:
The Plain no Pasture to the Flocks affords:
The crooked Scythes are straiten'd into Swords.
Perfidious Mars long plighted Leagues divides,
And o'er the wasted World in Triumph rides.—
From ev'ry Quarter impious Arms resound,
And monstrous Crimes in ev'ry Shape are crown'd.
The peaceful Peasant to the War is prest;
The Fields lie fallow, in disgraceful Rest:
The Plain no Pasture to the Flocks affords:
The crooked Scythes are straiten'd into Swords.
Perfidious Mars long plighted Leagues divides,
And o'er the wasted World in Triumph rides.—
483
The peaceful Cities of th' Ausonian Shore,
Lull'd in their Ease, and undisturb'd before,
Are all on Fire: and some, with studious Care,
Their restiff Steeds in sandy Fields prepare:
Some their soft Limbs in painful Marches try,
And War is all their Wish, and Arms the gen'ral Cry.
Part scour the rusty Shields with Seam, and Part
New grind the blunted Ax, and point the Dart.
With Joy they view the waving Ensigns fly,
And hear the Trumpet's Clangor pierce the Sky.
Some hammer Helmets for the fighting Field,
Some twine young Sallows to support the Shield.
The Corslet some, and some the Cuisses mold,
With Silver plated, and with ductile Gold.
The rustic Honours of the Scythe and Share,
Give Place to Swords and Plumes, the Pride of War.
Old Faulchions are new temper'd in the Fires:
The sounding Trumpet ev'ry Soul inspires.
The Word is giv'n: with eager Haste they lace
The shining Headpiece, and the Shield embrace.
The neighing Steeds are to the Chariot ty'd,
The trusty Weapon sits on ev'ry Side.—
Lull'd in their Ease, and undisturb'd before,
Are all on Fire: and some, with studious Care,
Their restiff Steeds in sandy Fields prepare:
Some their soft Limbs in painful Marches try,
And War is all their Wish, and Arms the gen'ral Cry.
Part scour the rusty Shields with Seam, and Part
New grind the blunted Ax, and point the Dart.
With Joy they view the waving Ensigns fly,
And hear the Trumpet's Clangor pierce the Sky.
Some hammer Helmets for the fighting Field,
Some twine young Sallows to support the Shield.
The Corslet some, and some the Cuisses mold,
With Silver plated, and with ductile Gold.
The rustic Honours of the Scythe and Share,
Give Place to Swords and Plumes, the Pride of War.
Old Faulchions are new temper'd in the Fires:
The sounding Trumpet ev'ry Soul inspires.
The Word is giv'n: with eager Haste they lace
The shining Headpiece, and the Shield embrace.
The neighing Steeds are to the Chariot ty'd,
The trusty Weapon sits on ev'ry Side.—
The high-born Nobles with the Vulgar fall:
Wide wastes the Sword, and Slaughter reaches all:
Murder ev'n Temples finds: distain'd with Gore,
Slipp'ry with Carnage, is the sacred Floor.
No Age is spar'd: low-bending to the Grave,
Life's small Remains the Ancient cannot save:
Infants, new-born, and reeking from the Womb,
The plunging Steel sends hasty to the Tomb.
What can such Infants do to merit Death?
'Tis a sufficient Crime that they have Breath.—
Wide wastes the Sword, and Slaughter reaches all:
Murder ev'n Temples finds: distain'd with Gore,
Slipp'ry with Carnage, is the sacred Floor.
No Age is spar'd: low-bending to the Grave,
Life's small Remains the Ancient cannot save:
Infants, new-born, and reeking from the Womb,
The plunging Steel sends hasty to the Tomb.
What can such Infants do to merit Death?
'Tis a sufficient Crime that they have Breath.—
—Horrid War invents
New Methods, and a thousand Forms of Death:
War gluts the Earth, and dyes the Seas with Blood.
Then Wickedness broke loose, ranges at Will
Thro' ev'ry Place, nor House, nor Temple 'scapes.
No Crime is uncommitted.—
New Methods, and a thousand Forms of Death:
War gluts the Earth, and dyes the Seas with Blood.
Then Wickedness broke loose, ranges at Will
Thro' ev'ry Place, nor House, nor Temple 'scapes.
No Crime is uncommitted.—
485
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |