Figulus, to whom
For knowledge of the secret depths of space
And laws harmonious that guide the stars,
Memphis could find no peer, then spake at large:—
“Either,” he said, “the world and countless orbs
Throughout the ages wander at their will;
Or, if the Fates control them, ruin huge
Hangs o'er the city and o'er all mankind.
Shall Earth yawn open and engulf the towns?
Shall scorching heat usurp the temperate air
And fields refuse their timely fruit? The streams
Flow mixt with poison? In what plague, ye Gods,
In what destruction shall ye wreak your ire?
Whate'er the truth, the days in which we live
Shall find a doom for many. Had the star
Of baleful Saturn, frigid in the height,
Kindled his lurid fires, the sky had poured
Its torrents forth as in Deucalion's time,
And whelmed the world in waters. Or if thou,
Phœbus, beside the Nemean lion fierce
Wert driving now thy chariot, flames should seize
The universe and set the air ablaze.
These are at peace; but Mars, why art thou bent
On kindling thus the Scorpion, his tail
Portending evil and his claws aflame?
Deep sunk is kindly Jupiter, and dull
Sweet Venus' star, and rapid Mercury
Stays on his course: Mars only holds the sky!
Why does Orion's sword too brightly shine?
Why planets leave their paths and through the void
Thus journey on obscure? 'T is war that comes,
Fierce, rabid war: the sword shall bear the rule,
Confounding justice; hateful crime usurp
The name of virtue; and the havoc spread
Through many a year. But why entreat the Gods?
The end Rome longs for and the final peace
Comes with a despot. Draw thou out thy chain
Of lengthening slaughter, and (for such thy fate)
Make good thy liberty through civil war.”
The frightened people heard, and as they heard
His words prophetic made them fear the more.
But worse remained; for as on Pindus, slopes
Possest with fury from the Theban God
Speeds some Bacchante, thus in Roman streets
Behold a matron run, who, in her trance,
Relieves her bosom of the god within:—
“Where dost thou snatch me, Pæan, to what shore
Through airy regions borne? I see the snows
Of Thracian mountains; and Philippi's plains
Lie broad beneath. But why these battle-lines,
No foe to vanquish—Rome on either hand?
Again I wander 'neath the rosy hues
That paint thine eastern skies, where regal Nile
Meets with his flowing wave the rising tide.
Known to mine eyes that mutilated trunk
That lies upon the sand. Across the seas
By changing whirlpools to the burning climes
Of Libya borne, again I see the hosts
From Thracia brought by Fate's command. And now
Thou bear'st me o'er the cloud-compelling Alps
And Pyrenean summits; next to Rome.
There in mid-Senate see the closing scene
Of this foul war in foulest murder done.
Again the factions rise; through all the world
Once more I pass; but give me some new land,
Some other region, Phœbus, to behold,
Washt by the Pontic billows, for these eyes
Already once have seen Philippi's plains.”
The frenzy left her and she speechless fell.