C. Sylla. a. U. C. 665

Whether caprice or reason sway'd his mind, Sylla at once the sovereign power resign'd; In all things singular. His deeds were such Fame could not praise him, or degrade too much. His youth shone out with no conspicuous worth, Till publick favour brought his talents forth: That, like the golden sun's enlivening ray, Matur'd his genius to its full display; Then serpent-like, by kindly warmth improv'd, More bright and dangerous at once he mov'd. Pleasure he lov'd, yet the cool statesman's eye Let not one serious care unmark'd go by; Nor could the wanton song, or circling bowl, Dissolve the native hardness of his soul; Cold as the stone beneath the flowery shade, The impenetrable inmate was o'erlaid: In the flush'd midnight hour's licentious glee He hatch'd deep crimes, and drown'd their memory. His wisdom, like his cruelty, sedate, O'er his rash rivals made him fortunate. Whene'er to sooth or terrify intent, His craft or valour won the accomplishment; For with a grac'd address his sinuous tongue Could vindicate the right, and gild the wrong; While by his side a keen, experienc'd sword Hung, the stern voucher for each flattering word. Awhile, indeed, he fairly earn'd applause, When mad sedition bow'd to rescu'd laws; When Marius, and his ravening vultures, fed With noble carnage, from his eagles fled; Then had his curtain drop'd, the woes of Rome Had left no curse on his devoted tomb. Thou, who thy harmless thoughts secure would'st keep From haggard shapes that ride the midnight sleep; Whose dreams the page perus'd by day may clog, Avert the eye;—'tis Até's catalogue. With pious horrour mangled Rome records The ruthless ravage of his ruffians' swords; Promiscuous death for all alike prepar'd, No age, no sex, no sanctity was spar'd. Engine of wrath, to scourge the human race, And all black crimes by blacker to efface, His rage to extinguish every virtuous sense, Gives him in hell the abhorr'd pre-eminence. In his dire laws astonish'd nations see Fines laid on tears, and soft humanity. His harpy edicts, past their object reach'd; To innocence unborn their claws were stretch'd; Before Lucina's, lo, his pains advance, And mulcts, ere life, made man's inheritance. Each generous passion, chain'd to earth by fear, Weak, and indignant, saw their foes draw near: Rapine, Revenge, and Perfidy, and Hate, Like famish'd kites, scream'd round the tyrant's state: He, rais'd aloft amidst the infernal brood, Cheer'd the fierce cry, and gorg'd their maws with blood. Thy demon, Marius! swill'd with human gore, Near this blotch'd tiger's gives the contest o'er. Rock'd in Bellona's cradle, foe to peace, And crown'd with laurels for deserv'd success, From thy first swath to arms and toil enur'd, And harden'd by the wrongs thyself endur'd; Disease besides, and age, and pain, combin'd, And exile had inflam'd thy furious mind; Stung by them all, thy mercy was effac'd; But Sylla mangled, when the offence was pass'd. Heaven's strong examples these fierce rivals seem Of man's worst passions, in their worst extreme. Pernicious and invincible he stood, Alike the terror of the vile and good; Able alike all semblances to wear, Remorseless, deep, unsway'd by love or fear, And most consistent, when most insincere. He left behind, more fatal than his crimes, His dire example to succeeding times; To lawless power his usurpation shew'd The conqueror's sword could cut the speediest road; And Rome enslav'd by her own arms, declares, Her future Caesars were but Sylla's heirs. To close the scene of cruelty and pride, Hear, shuddering nature! how the tyrant died. His morbid trunk one universal sore, Myriads of vermin crawl'd from every pore; Swept from their prey by cleansing care in vain, The living plague soon peopled him again. In loathsome anguish lingering long he lay, Then groan'd at last his savage soul away; And thus expir'd, with pestilential breath, The proudest tyrant by the vilest death.