Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Departure of Crassus.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
The Departure of Crassus.
[“The Tribune Atticus declared the expedition to Parthia impious, and prohibited by all the auguries; and
when the proud Crassus determined to march with the Roman army to Parthia, he waited for him at the gate of
the city, and having there ready a chafing-dish, with fire in it, he threw thereon perfumes, and poured libations, as
invoking certain great deities, he devoted Crassus and his army as they passed by to destruction.”
—Plutarch.]
By the gates of the Seven-hilled City
The wrathful Tribune stands,
Up-pointing to the heavens,
With a goblet in his hands.
“What means this mad fool's juggling?”
The angry Crassus cried,
And darkly frowned the warrior,
In a hundred battles tried.
The wrathful Tribune stands,
Up-pointing to the heavens,
With a goblet in his hands.
“What means this mad fool's juggling?”
The angry Crassus cried,
And darkly frowned the warrior,
In a hundred battles tried.
But not a word the Tribune spoke,
As on the altar fire
He poured a red libation,
To hell's almighty sire.
Then Crassus reined his chafing steed,
But did not dare look up,
As the Tribune splashed the lavish wine
From a great golden cup.
As on the altar fire
He poured a red libation,
To hell's almighty sire.
Then Crassus reined his chafing steed,
But did not dare look up,
As the Tribune splashed the lavish wine
From a great golden cup.
The sky, that had been blue before,
Grew dark at the Augur's frown,
And from a sullen thunder-cloud
Lightning came streaming down.
“Speak, Tribune, by the Gods, I pray,
Why are thy looks downcast?
When Rome sent forth her armies
Thou never wert the last.”
Grew dark at the Augur's frown,
And from a sullen thunder-cloud
Lightning came streaming down.
“Speak, Tribune, by the Gods, I pray,
Why are thy looks downcast?
When Rome sent forth her armies
Thou never wert the last.”
Now on the altar's rising flame
Perfumes the Augur threw,
Then raised a terror-stricken face
As he hell's secrets knew.
“O Crassus! turn thy banners back!
Eagles should guard their nest.
How can I tell the fearful words
That burst my swelling breast?”
Perfumes the Augur threw,
Then raised a terror-stricken face
As he hell's secrets knew.
“O Crassus! turn thy banners back!
Eagles should guard their nest.
How can I tell the fearful words
That burst my swelling breast?”
“Speak, fool! Have I not heart to bear
The worst thy tongue can tell?
Ay! though 't was Pluto brought it
From the very jaws of hell.”
“Then hear,” cried mournful Atticus,
“The dream I had last night.—
I swear by great Olympus,
By Mars and by Jove's might.
The worst thy tongue can tell?
Ay! though 't was Pluto brought it
From the very jaws of hell.”
“Then hear,” cried mournful Atticus,
“The dream I had last night.—
I swear by great Olympus,
By Mars and by Jove's might.
“From under helm sword-dinted
Floats down thy long grey hair,
Upon thy broad shield brazen
It waves in the stormy air.
The eagle standard near thee
Seems like Jove's guardian bird.
Alas! for the evil tidings
That from the Fates I heard.
Floats down thy long grey hair,
Upon thy broad shield brazen
It waves in the stormy air.
The eagle standard near thee
Seems like Jove's guardian bird.
Alas! for the evil tidings
That from the Fates I heard.
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“I see broad plains wide-spreading—
An ocean of brown sand;
I see great clouds of horsemen
Gird round a weary band;
And on a knoll of palm-trees,
Cowered down beneath a shield,
A Roman, reft of armour,
Who scarce his sword can wield.
An ocean of brown sand;
I see great clouds of horsemen
Gird round a weary band;
And on a knoll of palm-trees,
Cowered down beneath a shield,
A Roman, reft of armour,
Who scarce his sword can wield.
“I see upon a lance a head
Held up with cruel shouts,—
Yes, father, 't is thy son's dark locks,
The sport of the cruel rout.
Lost on the sand plain trackless,
Faint, struggle on the flying,
And to the knees of weary men
Clings many a soldier dying.”
Held up with cruel shouts,—
Yes, father, 't is thy son's dark locks,
The sport of the cruel rout.
Lost on the sand plain trackless,
Faint, struggle on the flying,
And to the knees of weary men
Clings many a soldier dying.”
“A truce to these silly fables!”
Crassus in anger cried.
“Am I a Sabine stripling,
In but one battle tried?
Far o'er the Indian mountains
This eagle now shall soar,
Far o'er the Parthian frontier,
To the broad Oxus shore.
Crassus in anger cried.
“Am I a Sabine stripling,
In but one battle tried?
Far o'er the Indian mountains
This eagle now shall soar,
Far o'er the Parthian frontier,
To the broad Oxus shore.
“But why stay here and dally words?
Push on the banners, then!
Leave prophecies and auguries
For priests and doting men.”
As Crassus spoke he lashed with rage
The charger he bestrode,
And struck him with his dagger-point
As with an ox's goad.
Push on the banners, then!
Leave prophecies and auguries
For priests and doting men.”
As Crassus spoke he lashed with rage
The charger he bestrode,
And struck him with his dagger-point
As with an ox's goad.
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