Part II

Thus, as I view'd th' interminable host,The prospect seem'd at last in dimness lost:But still the wish remain'd their doom to know,As, watchful, I survey'd the passing show.As each majestic form emerged to light,Thither, intent, I turn'd my sharpen'd sight;And soon a noble pair my notice drew,That, hand in hand approaching, met my view.In gentle parley, and communion sweet--With looks of love, they seem'd mine eyes to meet;Yet strange was their attire--their tongue unknownSpoke them the natives of a distant zone;But every doubt my kind assistant clear'd,Instant I knew them, when their names were heard.To one, encouraged by his aspect mild,I spoke--the other with a frown recoil'd.--"O Masinissa!"--thus my speech began,"By Scipio's friendship, and the gentle banOf constant love, attend my warm request."Turning around, the solemn shade address'dHis answer thus:--"With like desire I glowYour lineage, name, and character, to know,Since you have learnt my name." With soft replyI said, "A name like mine can nought supplyThe notice of renown like yours to claim.No smother'd spark like mine emits a flameTo catch the public eye, as you can boast--A leading name in Cupid's numerous host!Alike his future victims and the pastShall own the common tie, while time itself shall last.But tell me (if your guide allow a spaceThe semblance of those tendant shades to trace)The names and fortunes of the following pairWho seem the noblest gifts of mind to share."--"My name," he said, "you seem to know so wellThat faithful Memory all the rest can tell;But as the sad detail may soothe my woes,Listen, while I my mournful doom disclose:--To Rome and Scipio's cause my faith was bound,E'en Laelius scarce a warmer friendship own'd:Where'er their ensigns fann'd the summer sky,I led my Libyans on, a firm ally;Propitious Fortune still advanced his name,Yet more than she bestow'd, his worth might claim.Still we advanced, and still our glory grewWhile westward far the Roman eagle flewWith conquest wing'd; but my unlucky starLed me, unconscious, to the fatal snareWhich Love had laid. I saw the regal dame--Our hearts at once confess'd a mutual flame.Caught by the lure of interdicted joys,Proudly I scorn'd the stern forbidding voiceOf Roman policy; and hoped the vowsAt Hymen's altar sworn, might save my spouse.But, oh! that wondrous man, who ne'er would yieldTo passion's call, the cruel sentence seal'd,That tore my consort from my fond embrace,And left me sunk in anguish and disgrace.Unmoved he saw my briny sorrows flow,Unmoved he listen'd to my tale of woe!But friendship, waked at last, with reverent awe,Obsequious, own'd his mind's superior law;And to that holy and unclouded light,That led him on through passion's dubious night,Submiss I bow'd; for, oh! the beam of dayIs dark to him that wants her guiding ray!--Love, hardly conquer'd, long repined in vain,When Justice link'd the adamantine chain;And cruel Friendship o'er the conquer'd groundRaised with strong hand th' insuperable mound.To him I owed my laurels nobly won--I loved him as a brother, sire, and son,For in an equal race our lives had run;Yet the sad price I paid with burning tears;--Dire was the cause that woke my gloomy fears!Too well the sad result my soul divined,Too well I knew the unsubmitting mindOf Sophonisba would prefer the tombTo stern captivity's ignoble doom.I, too, sad victim of celestial wrath,Was forced to aid the tardy stroke of death:With pangs I yielded to her piercing cries,To speed her passage to the nether skies;And worse than death endured, her mind to saveFrom shame, more hateful than the yawning grave.--What was my anguish, when she seized the bowl,She knows! and you, whose sympathising soulHas felt the fiery shaft, may guess my pains--Now tears and anguish are her sole remains.That treasure, to preserve my faith to Rome,Those hands committed to th' untimely tomb;And every hope and joy of life resign'dTo keep the stain of falsehood from my mind.But hasten, and the moving pomp survey,(The light-wing'd moments brook no long delay),To try if any form your notice claimsAmong those love-lorn youths and amorous dames."--With poignant grief I heard his tale of woe,That seem'd to melt my heart like vernal snow,When a low voice these sullen accents sung:--"Not for himself, but those from whom he sprung,He merits fate; for I detest them allTo whose fell rage I owe my country's fall.""Oh, calm your rage, unhappy Queen!" I cried;"Twice was the land and sea in slaughter dyedBy cruel Carthage, till the sentence pass'dThat laid her glories in the dust at last."--"Yet mournful wreaths no less the victors crown'd;In deep despair our valour oft they own'd.Your own impartial annals yet proclaimThe Punic glory and the Roman shame."She spoke--and with a smile of hostile spiteJoin'd the deep train, and darken'd to my sight.Then, as a traveller through lands unknownWith care and keen observance journeys on;Whose dubious thoughts his eager steps retard,Thus through the files I pass'd with fix'd regard;Still singling some amid the moving show,Intent the story of their loves to know.A spectre now within my notice came,Though dubious marks of joy, commix'd with shame,His features wore, like one who gains a boonWith secret glee, which shame forbids to own,O dire example of the Demon's power!The father leaves the hymeneal bowerFor his incestuous son; the guilty spouseWith transport mix'd with honour, meets his vows!In mournful converse now, amidst the host,Their compact they bewail'd, and Syria lost!Instant, with eager step, I turn'd aside,And met the double husband, and the bride,And with an earnest voice the first address'd:--A look of dread the spectre's face express'd,When first the accents of victorious RomeBrought to his mind his kingdom's ancient doom.At length, with many a doleful sigh, he said,"You here behold Seleucus' royal shade.Antiochus is next; his life to save,My ready hand my beauteous consort gave,(From me, whose will was law, a legal prize,)That bound our souls in everlasting tiesIndissolubly strong. The royal fairForsook a throne to cure the deep despairOf him, who would have dared the stroke of Death,To keep, without a stain, his filial faith.A skilful leech the deadly symptoms guess'd;His throbbing veins the secret soon confess'dOf Love with honour match'd, in dire debate,Whenever he beheld my lovely mate;Else gentle Love, subdued by filial dread,Had sent him down among th' untimely dead."--Then, like a man that feels a sudden thoughtHis purpose change, the mingling crowd he sought,And left the question, which a moment hungScarce half suppress'd upon my faltering tongue.Suspended for a moment, still I stood,With various thoughts oppress'd in musing mood.At length a voice was heard, "The passing dayIs yours, but it permits not long delay."--I turn'd in haste, and saw a fleeting trainOutnumbering those who pass'd the surging mainBy Xerxes led--a naked wailing crew,Whose wretched plight the drops of sorrow drewFrom my full eyes.--Of many a clime and tongueCommix'd the mournful pageant moved alongWhile scarce the fortunes or the name of oneAmong a thousand passing forms was known.I spied that Ethiopian's dusky charms,Which woke in Perseus' bosom Love's alarms;And next was he who for a shadow burn'd,Which the deceitful watery glass return'd;Enamour'd of himself, in sad decay--Amid abundance, poor--he look'd his life away;And now transform'd through passion's baneful power,He o'er the margin hangs, a drooping flower;While, by her hopeless love congeal'd to stone,His mistress seems to look in silence on;Then he that loved, by too severe a fate,The cruel maid who met his love with hate,Pass'd by; with many more who met their doomBy female pride, and fill'd an early tomb.--There too, the victim of her plighted vows,Halcyone for ever mourns her spouse;Who now, in feathers clad, as poets feign,Makes a short summer on the wintry main.--Then he that to the cliffs the maid pursued,And seem'd by turns to soar, and swim the flood;--And she, who, snared by Love, her father sold,With her, who fondly snared the rolling gold;And her young paramour, who made his boastThat he had gain'd the prize his rival lost.--Acis and Galatea next were seen,And Polyphemus with infuriate mien;--And Glaucus there, by rival arts assail'd,Fell Circe's hate and Scylla's doom bewail'd.--Then sad Carmenta, with her royal lord,Whom the fell sorceress clad, by arts abhorr'd,With plumes; but still the regal stamp impress'dOn his imperial wings and lofty crest.--Then she, whose tears the springing fount supplied;--And she whose form above the rolling tideHangs a portentous cliff--the royal fair,Who wrote the dictates of her last despairTo him whose ships had left the friendly strand.With the keen steel in her determined hand.--There, too, Pygmalion, with his new-made spouse,With many more, I spied, whose amorous vowsAnd fates in never-dying song resoundWhere Aganippe laves the sacred ground:--And, last of all, I saw the lovely maidOf Love unconscious, by an oath betray'd.