Classic Poem

When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore
The prostrate world, that bled at every pore,
And Rome beheld, in body as in mind,
A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind;
It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands,
Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
A turbot, rushing from the Illyrian main,
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream,
Mæotis renders to the solar beam,
And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease,
Through the dull Euxine's mouth, to warmer seas.
The mighty draught the wondering fisher eyes,
And to the Pontiff's board allots his prize;
For who would dare to sell it, who to buy?
When the coast swarm'd with many a practis'd spy;
Mud-rakers! leagued to swear the fish had fled
From Cæsar's ponds, where many a year it fed,
And ought, recaptur'd now, to be restor'd
To the dominion of its ancient lord.
Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain,
Whatever rare, or precious, swims the main,
Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize
The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please.
This point allow'd, our wary boatman chose
To give the prize he else was sure to lose.
Now were the dog-star's sickly fervours o'er,
Earth, pinch'd with cold, her frozen livery wore;
The old began their quartan fits to fear,
And wintry blasts deform'd the beauteous year,
And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew
As if the sultry south corruption blew.—
And now the lake, and now the hill he gains,
Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains
The Trojan fire, that but for her were lost,
And worships Vesta, though with less of cost.
The wondering crowd, that gather'd to survey
Th' enormous fish, and choak'd the fisher's way,
Satiate at length, retires; then wide unfold
The gates; the senators, shut out, behold
The luscious dainty enter: on the man
To great Atrides press'd, and thus began.
‘This, which no subject's kitchen can contain,
This fish, reserv'd for your auspicious reign,
O, chief, accept:—to free your stomach haste,
And here at large indulge your princely taste;
I sought him not,—he long'd his lord to treat,
And rush'd, a willing victim, to the net.’
Was flattery e'er so rank? yet he grows vain,
And his crest rises at the fulsome strain.
When to divine a mortal power we raise,
He looks for no hyperboles in praise!
But when was joy unmix'd? no pot is found
Capacious of the turbot's ample round:
In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state,
At once the objects of his scorn and hate,
In whose wan cheeks distrust and doubt appear,
And all a tyrant's friendship brings of fear.

The Emperor now the important question put:
‘How say ye, fathers? Shall the fish be cut ?’
‘O! far be that disgrace,’ Montanus cries,
‘No, let us form a pot of amplest size,
Within whose slender rim, the fish, dread Sire!
May spread its vast circumference entire.
Bring, bring the temper'd clay, and let it feel
The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel;
But Cæsar, thus fore-warn'd, have special care,
And bid your potters follow you to war.’
He spoke: a murmur through the assembly ran,
Applausive of the speech, so worthy of the man.
Vers'd in the old court-luxury, he knew
The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew;
And how, when potent draughts had fir'd the brain,
The jaded taste was spurr'd to gorge again.
And, in our days, none understood so well
The science of good eating; he could tell,
At the first smack, whether his oysters fed
On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed,
And from a crab, or lobster's colour, name
The country, nay the spot, from whence it came.
Here closed the solemn farce. The fathers rise,
And each, submissive, from the presence hies:—
Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in sport,
Had dragg'd, astonished, to the Alban court,
As if the stern Sicambri were in arms,
Or the fierce Catti threaten'd new alarms;
As if ill news, by flying posts, had come,
And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome.