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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Compassion.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Compassion.
See Clemency.
Compassion proper to Mankind appears,
Which Nature witness'd when she lent us Tears:
Of tender Sentiments We only give
Those Proofs:—to weep is our Prerogative:
To shew by pitying Looks, and melting Eyes,
How with a suff'ring Friend we sympathize.
Nature commands a Sigh, when in the Street,
With some fair blooming Virgin's Hearse we meet,
Or Infant's Funeral.—
Which Nature witness'd when she lent us Tears:
Of tender Sentiments We only give
Those Proofs:—to weep is our Prerogative:
To shew by pitying Looks, and melting Eyes,
How with a suff'ring Friend we sympathize.
Nature commands a Sigh, when in the Street,
With some fair blooming Virgin's Hearse we meet,
Or Infant's Funeral.—
Touch'd with the moving Eloquence of Tears,
His Life we gave him, and dispell'd his Fears.—
His Life we gave him, and dispell'd his Fears.—
But when Anchises' Son his Visage saw,
His Visage wondrous Pale, and chang'd in Death:
Deeply he groan'd with Pity, and his Hand
Extended, as he fell: and to his Thoughts
The Image soft of filial Piety
Itself presented. What, ill-fated Youth!
What Honours, by such mighty Virtue claim'd,
To thy Deserts can good Æneas pay?
The Arms, which pleas'd Thee living, still be thine:
And to thy Parents' Manes, and their Dust
(If aught That Care sollicit thee in Death)
Thy breathless Corps I willingly restore.
And let this Thought console thy rigid Doom,
By great Æneas' Hand Thou fall'st. At once
He chides his ling'ring Friends, and from the Ground
Uplifts him, with his Tresses, form'd by Art,
All foul in Dust, and clung with clotted Gore.—
His Visage wondrous Pale, and chang'd in Death:
Deeply he groan'd with Pity, and his Hand
Extended, as he fell: and to his Thoughts
The Image soft of filial Piety
Itself presented. What, ill-fated Youth!
What Honours, by such mighty Virtue claim'd,
To thy Deserts can good Æneas pay?
The Arms, which pleas'd Thee living, still be thine:
And to thy Parents' Manes, and their Dust
(If aught That Care sollicit thee in Death)
Thy breathless Corps I willingly restore.
And let this Thought console thy rigid Doom,
By great Æneas' Hand Thou fall'st. At once
He chides his ling'ring Friends, and from the Ground
Uplifts him, with his Tresses, form'd by Art,
All foul in Dust, and clung with clotted Gore.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |