Freely paraphrased from the second Book of the Sylvae of Statius.
And was it but for this, thou did'st divest,
Of each wild habit, that once savage breast?
For this, by all the subject beasts ador'd,
Lord of the woods, obey a feebler lord?
Renounce, for this, the thirst of human gore,
Harmless to man, an homicide no more?
By instinct taught to make mankind thy prey,
Taught by mankind to be as mild as they!
Convert to innocence! reclaim'd in vain!
And is, at length, no more than this thy gain?
How would'st thou, grown domestic, leave thy home,
And back, with steps unforc'd, familiar come!
How would thy magnanimity forbear
A conqueror's rage, and learn the fall'n to spare!
And that dread mouth, once human carnage stain'd,
Mumble, with playful love, th' inserted hand!
Brute nature could not match thy mended kind,
Where all the lamb and all the lion join'd!
Gentle in peace, as terrible in fight,
Almost humanity adorn'd thy might!
Yet could not all thy winning sweetness bend
Those ruthless Fates that frown'd upon thine end!
Oh great in combat, at the solemn show,
Thou'rt fall'n at last, and fall'n, alas, how low!
'Twas not the pit, with treach'rous ground o'erlaid,
And mouth well-mask'd, thy trusting foot betray'd:
Nor by deceitful toils wert thou beset,
Impatient captive of the wily net:
Nor was it thine, provok'd to open war,
Impetuous springing on the hunter's spear,
To leave thy smoaking blood with glory there:
Long thy fame's theatre, yon circling wall,
Before a foe beneath thee, saw thee fall:
Saw thee, till then secure to overcome,
Oft on her games as smil'd exulting Rome,
Disdain th' ignoble spoiler of thy breath,
And feel more anguish from defeat than death.
Oh, humbling close! Oh, strangely issuing strife!
A foe that fear'd thee, triumph'd o'er thy life!
A coward beast, for speed alone renown'd,
Fierce from excess of terror, dealt the wound;
Snatch'd, with a hurried rage, thy life, and fled;
E'en fled thee falling, and half fear'd thee dead.
Yon range of dens thy mournful fate declare;
All clos'd, but thine, denote their tenants there:
Sad looks the cell, and asks, with open door,
A dweller that must enter there no more!
How ill thy royal kindred brook'd to see,
Thy glory tarnish'd thus, and theirs in thee!
Struck and confounded at the new disgrace,
A gen'rous shame possess'd th' imperial race:
Low droop'd their manes, and their large brows, drawn down,
O'erhung their bury'd eyes, and hid 'em in a frown.
Yet, through that hour, for thee, of deepest night,
Thy spirit shot a ray of splendid light!
Refusing thus to fall, thy struggling mind
Rose against Fate — rebellious — unresign'd —
So hard it strain'd to hold the issuing life,
It wrestled with a half-prevailing strife!
The mighty pride detain'd the fleeting breath,
Kindled new soul, and animated death!
Eager for fight, e'en in that fainting hour,
Thine eyes fought on, when nerve could act no more.
And when th' unconquer'd soul was wholly fled,
Still low'r'd thy fierce remains, and threaten'd still tho' dead!
So some brave warrior, whose distinguish'd sword
Had many a laurel reap'd, to grace its lord;
Whose bosom, printed with historic scars,
Records the glorious story of his wars;
By Vict'ry, long his friend, at length forsook,
Raging in death, resents the fatal stroke:
Hard strives his tottering frame to reach the foe,
Ere yet he fall, to lay his conqueror low:
Of feebleness impatient, he contends
With mighty Fate, and looks of fury sends:
Fierce he devours his foe with ardent eyes —
But the brave act his failing arm denies.
Stung by remembrance of his former deeds,
The falling hero blushes as he bleeds:
His face, while yet a spark of soul remains,
Receives the mounting crimson from his veins;
As weak and weaker burns life's languid flame,
Faint and more faint appears the fading shame;
The stately spirit scornfully retires,
And, with his dying breath, the soldier's pride expires.
Yet, vanquish'd beast, this soothing requiem hear!
Thy fall is honour'd by the public tear.
Thy savage grandeur civil glory knew;
The forest's king the city's favourite grew.
And chief let this console thy sullen shade;
'Midst all th' innumerous tribes of bestial dead,
Of costliest race, that bit the scenic plain,
An unlamented heap of vulgar slain,
(Oh, proud distinction to thy memory shown!)
Great Caesar's sigh adorns thy death alone.
And was it but for this, thou did'st divest,
Of each wild habit, that once savage breast?
For this, by all the subject beasts ador'd,
Lord of the woods, obey a feebler lord?
Renounce, for this, the thirst of human gore,
Harmless to man, an homicide no more?
By instinct taught to make mankind thy prey,
Taught by mankind to be as mild as they!
Convert to innocence! reclaim'd in vain!
And is, at length, no more than this thy gain?
How would'st thou, grown domestic, leave thy home,
And back, with steps unforc'd, familiar come!
How would thy magnanimity forbear
A conqueror's rage, and learn the fall'n to spare!
And that dread mouth, once human carnage stain'd,
Mumble, with playful love, th' inserted hand!
Brute nature could not match thy mended kind,
Where all the lamb and all the lion join'd!
Gentle in peace, as terrible in fight,
Almost humanity adorn'd thy might!
Yet could not all thy winning sweetness bend
Those ruthless Fates that frown'd upon thine end!
Oh great in combat, at the solemn show,
Thou'rt fall'n at last, and fall'n, alas, how low!
'Twas not the pit, with treach'rous ground o'erlaid,
And mouth well-mask'd, thy trusting foot betray'd:
Nor by deceitful toils wert thou beset,
Impatient captive of the wily net:
Nor was it thine, provok'd to open war,
Impetuous springing on the hunter's spear,
To leave thy smoaking blood with glory there:
Long thy fame's theatre, yon circling wall,
Before a foe beneath thee, saw thee fall:
Saw thee, till then secure to overcome,
Oft on her games as smil'd exulting Rome,
Disdain th' ignoble spoiler of thy breath,
And feel more anguish from defeat than death.
Oh, humbling close! Oh, strangely issuing strife!
A foe that fear'd thee, triumph'd o'er thy life!
A coward beast, for speed alone renown'd,
Fierce from excess of terror, dealt the wound;
Snatch'd, with a hurried rage, thy life, and fled;
E'en fled thee falling, and half fear'd thee dead.
Yon range of dens thy mournful fate declare;
All clos'd, but thine, denote their tenants there:
Sad looks the cell, and asks, with open door,
A dweller that must enter there no more!
How ill thy royal kindred brook'd to see,
Thy glory tarnish'd thus, and theirs in thee!
Struck and confounded at the new disgrace,
A gen'rous shame possess'd th' imperial race:
Low droop'd their manes, and their large brows, drawn down,
O'erhung their bury'd eyes, and hid 'em in a frown.
Yet, through that hour, for thee, of deepest night,
Thy spirit shot a ray of splendid light!
Refusing thus to fall, thy struggling mind
Rose against Fate — rebellious — unresign'd —
So hard it strain'd to hold the issuing life,
It wrestled with a half-prevailing strife!
The mighty pride detain'd the fleeting breath,
Kindled new soul, and animated death!
Eager for fight, e'en in that fainting hour,
Thine eyes fought on, when nerve could act no more.
And when th' unconquer'd soul was wholly fled,
Still low'r'd thy fierce remains, and threaten'd still tho' dead!
So some brave warrior, whose distinguish'd sword
Had many a laurel reap'd, to grace its lord;
Whose bosom, printed with historic scars,
Records the glorious story of his wars;
By Vict'ry, long his friend, at length forsook,
Raging in death, resents the fatal stroke:
Hard strives his tottering frame to reach the foe,
Ere yet he fall, to lay his conqueror low:
Of feebleness impatient, he contends
With mighty Fate, and looks of fury sends:
Fierce he devours his foe with ardent eyes —
But the brave act his failing arm denies.
Stung by remembrance of his former deeds,
The falling hero blushes as he bleeds:
His face, while yet a spark of soul remains,
Receives the mounting crimson from his veins;
As weak and weaker burns life's languid flame,
Faint and more faint appears the fading shame;
The stately spirit scornfully retires,
And, with his dying breath, the soldier's pride expires.
Yet, vanquish'd beast, this soothing requiem hear!
Thy fall is honour'd by the public tear.
Thy savage grandeur civil glory knew;
The forest's king the city's favourite grew.
And chief let this console thy sullen shade;
'Midst all th' innumerous tribes of bestial dead,
Of costliest race, that bit the scenic plain,
An unlamented heap of vulgar slain,
(Oh, proud distinction to thy memory shown!)
Great Caesar's sigh adorns thy death alone.