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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Imprecation.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
525
Imprecation.
For him, ye Gods! for Crastinus, whose Spear
With impious Eagerness began the War,
Some more than common Punishment prepare:
Beyond the Grave long lasting Plagues ordain,
Surviving Sense, and never-ceasing Pain.—
With impious Eagerness began the War,
Some more than common Punishment prepare:
Beyond the Grave long lasting Plagues ordain,
Surviving Sense, and never-ceasing Pain.—
—For Crimes like These,
So bold, and monstrous, may the righteous Gods
(If Heav'n has any Justice, that regards
Such Outrages) reward Thee, as thy Deeds
Deserve! who thus hast forc'd me to behold
The Murder of my Son, and with his Blood,
Barbarian! could'st pollute a Father's Sight.—
So bold, and monstrous, may the righteous Gods
(If Heav'n has any Justice, that regards
Such Outrages) reward Thee, as thy Deeds
Deserve! who thus hast forc'd me to behold
The Murder of my Son, and with his Blood,
Barbarian! could'st pollute a Father's Sight.—
Thou Sun! who view'st at once the World below!
Thou Juno! Guardian of the nuptial Vow!
Thou Hecate! hearken from the dark Abodes:
Ye Furies! Fiends! and violated Gods!
All Powers invok'd with Dido's dying Breath,
Attend her Curses, and avenge her Death.
If so the Fates ordain, and Jove Commands
Th' ungrateful Wretch should find the Latian Lands:
Yet let a Race untam'd, and haughty Foes,
His peaceful Entrance with dire Arms oppose:
Oppress'd with Numbers in th' unequal Field,
His Men discourag'd, and himself expell'd,
Let him for Succour sue from Place to Place,
Torn from his Subjects, and his Son's Embrace.
First let him see his Friends in Battle slain,
And their untimely Fate lament in vain:
And when, at length, the cruel War shall cease,
On hard Conditions may he buy his Peace.
Nor let him then enjoy supreme Command,
But fall, untimely, by some hostile Hand:
And lye unbury'd on the barren Sand.
These are my Pray'rs, and this my dying Will,
And you, my Tyrians, every Curse fulfil:
Perpetual Hate, and mortal Wars proclaim,
Against the Prince, the People, and the Name:
These grateful Off'rings on my Grave bestow,
Nor League, nor Love, the hostile Nations know:
Now, and from hence, in every future Age,
When Rage excites your Arms, and Strength supplies the Rage:
Rise some Avenger of our Lybian Blood,
With Fire and Sword pursue the perjur'd Brood:
Our Arms, our Seas, our Shores oppos'd to theirs,
And the same Hate descend on all our Heirs.—
Thou Juno! Guardian of the nuptial Vow!
Thou Hecate! hearken from the dark Abodes:
Ye Furies! Fiends! and violated Gods!
All Powers invok'd with Dido's dying Breath,
Attend her Curses, and avenge her Death.
If so the Fates ordain, and Jove Commands
Th' ungrateful Wretch should find the Latian Lands:
Yet let a Race untam'd, and haughty Foes,
His peaceful Entrance with dire Arms oppose:
Oppress'd with Numbers in th' unequal Field,
His Men discourag'd, and himself expell'd,
Let him for Succour sue from Place to Place,
Torn from his Subjects, and his Son's Embrace.
First let him see his Friends in Battle slain,
And their untimely Fate lament in vain:
And when, at length, the cruel War shall cease,
On hard Conditions may he buy his Peace.
Nor let him then enjoy supreme Command,
But fall, untimely, by some hostile Hand:
And lye unbury'd on the barren Sand.
527
And you, my Tyrians, every Curse fulfil:
Perpetual Hate, and mortal Wars proclaim,
Against the Prince, the People, and the Name:
These grateful Off'rings on my Grave bestow,
Nor League, nor Love, the hostile Nations know:
Now, and from hence, in every future Age,
When Rage excites your Arms, and Strength supplies the Rage:
Rise some Avenger of our Lybian Blood,
With Fire and Sword pursue the perjur'd Brood:
Our Arms, our Seas, our Shores oppos'd to theirs,
And the same Hate descend on all our Heirs.—
— Tisiphone!
Oh hear, and aid the Vengeance I require,
If worthy Thee, and what Thou might'st inspire!
My Sons their old unhappy Sire despise,
Spoil'd of his Kingdom, and depriv'd of Eyes:
Guideless, I wander, unregarded mourn,
While these exalt their Scepters o'er my Urn:
These Sons, ye Gods! who with flagitious Pride,
Insult my Darkness, and my Groans deride.
Art thou a Father, unregarding Jove!
And sleeps thy Thunder in the Realms above?
Thou Fury then, some lasting Curse entail,
Which o'er their Children's Children shall prevail:
Place on their Heads that Crown distain'd with Gore,
Which these dire Hands from my slain Father tore:
Go, and a Parent's heavy Curses bear:
Break all the Bonds of Nature, and prepare
Their kindred Souls to mutual Hate and War!
Give them to dare, what I might wish to see,
Blind as I am, some glorious Villany!—
Oh hear, and aid the Vengeance I require,
If worthy Thee, and what Thou might'st inspire!
My Sons their old unhappy Sire despise,
Spoil'd of his Kingdom, and depriv'd of Eyes:
Guideless, I wander, unregarded mourn,
While these exalt their Scepters o'er my Urn:
These Sons, ye Gods! who with flagitious Pride,
Insult my Darkness, and my Groans deride.
Art thou a Father, unregarding Jove!
And sleeps thy Thunder in the Realms above?
Thou Fury then, some lasting Curse entail,
Which o'er their Children's Children shall prevail:
Place on their Heads that Crown distain'd with Gore,
Which these dire Hands from my slain Father tore:
Go, and a Parent's heavy Curses bear:
Break all the Bonds of Nature, and prepare
Their kindred Souls to mutual Hate and War!
Give them to dare, what I might wish to see,
Blind as I am, some glorious Villany!—
May Ghosts surround her with complaining Cries;
And the dire Owl scream at her from the Skies:
May She, of ev'ry Kind of Food bereft,
Rob Graves, and gnaw the Bones that Wolves have left!—
And the dire Owl scream at her from the Skies:
May She, of ev'ry Kind of Food bereft,
Rob Graves, and gnaw the Bones that Wolves have left!—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |