Marius. a. U. C. 649

See, nurs'd by Furies, and for havock bred, Where frowning Marius lifts his rugged head; His stature tall, with giant strength endued, Cruel by nature, and of manners rude; To these were join'd, as if for terror meant, A thund'ring voice, and visage truculent. A living column seem'd he in the wars, Hewn from a quarry by the sword of Mars; Though at Arpinum a Plebeian born, By him seven times the consul's robe was worn. Through every function of the camp he pass'd, Till merit rais'd him to command at last. Conscious of mean descent, he feign'd to scorn The lazy greatness of the nobly born, Who doze, and yawn, and retrospective see Their sloth excus'd by vigorous ancestry. While these, proud symbols in their halls display'd, His cottage kindred shew'd the plough or spade: For still he deem'd it true substantial fame, Not to inherit, but create a name; Disdain'd the borrow'd splendor could be shed By glory beaming from another's head: As well his health or beauty might he claim, To prop a weak, or grace a homely frame. "What men were once, (he cries) I little care; "What's pass'd, is pass'd; I value what they are. "The dwarf, from Hector or Alcides sprung, "Must still be feeble, though his sire was strong; "And Helen's daughter, with a Gorgon's face, "Would charm no hero by her mother's grace." Yet all his toil the nobles to deride, Sprung less from principle than envious pride; For though weak mortals should not boast of aught, What good man e'er his ancestors forgot? If bright the track their actions leave behind, Fair emulation fires the offspring's mind; But if foul deeds and shame their course disgrace, He quits the path, and runs a nobler race. High birth, like riches, men too much may prize, But those alone who have it not, despise. Foremost in fight for ever was he found, Shar'd the coarse soldier's fare, his bed the ground, And lov'd the battle's shock, and the shrill trumpet's sound. Great his achievements, his ambition great, He sav'd, adorn'd, and then destroy'd the state. Damn'd in Rome's annals to eternal fame, Her genius trembled at his dreadful name; In ill unrivall'd, had not Sylla stood More hideous and defil'd with native blood. Alternate Fortune o'er his life display'd Her brightest sunshine, and her gloomiest shade: The inconstant's minion him awhile we see, Then plung'd as low in hopeless misery. As the struck bull who strives in vain to shake The ill-aim'd hatchet from his bleeding neck,— Not knowing where to hide his forfeit head, Bellowing with rage and shame, proscrib'd, he fled: Thus chas'd from Rome by conquering Sylla's sway, All night in cold Minturnum's marsh he lay; 'Till naked, hungry, from the quagmire's mud Defil'd he crept, to search for needful food; Then rudely seiz'd, and with a halter bound, A dungeon's straw receiv'd him on the ground. To end the warrior's sufferings with the sword, A Cimbrian slave the dreary cell explor'd; Scar'd by his thund'ring voice, and dreadful look, The assassin's grasp the murderous steel forsook: An omen thence conceiv'd, his life was spar'd, And for his flight a friendly bark prepar'd; At Sicily he touch'd;—beat back by force, Vagrant he steer'd towards Africa his course; There his tir'd frame the hideous region found, Where ruin'd Carthage strew'd the steril ground. He, midst the dust of all that once was great, Like Desolation's Anarch took his seat; Presenting thus to Contemplation's eye A two-fold image of calamity; The double work of persecuting fate, An exil'd statesman, and a perish'd state. Yet ev'n that sad asylum was deny'd; Again disturb'd he sought the uncertain tide. His son, escap'd from false Numidia's snares, To his stern father's hovering sail repairs; Then cheer'd with hopes from Cinna's arms at home, The indignant outcast turn'd his prow towards Rome. To direr pestilence as famine leads, So Cinna's havock his revenge succeeds. Fate in his nod, the gaunt destroyer walks Through the thinn'd streets, and death before him stalks: Age pleads in vain, in vain the Flamen's prayer; How can Revenge and Rage be taught to spare? As o'er Parthenope Vesuvius stands, The boast and terror of surrounding lands,— Ere first to surge his waves of fire begin, The mineral deluge boiling burns within; Thick smoke, in many a dark and aweful wreath, Rolling above, dismays the realm beneath; Black with the brooding storm of vengeful pride, So tower'd, so frown'd, the obdurate homicide. The famish'd dogs of death, restrain'd no more, Carouse and riot in Rome's richest gore. Yet midst the horrour of these frantick times, Chaos of ruin, massacre, and crimes, With these, the faithful Muse still bears along The tuneful errors of Lucretius' song; As if soft Philomel should build her bower Where vultures gorge, and screaming kites devour. What charms of verse! what energy of thought! With what delusion, what false science fraught! So from the tomb the worthless carcass comes, Preserv'd in precious spice, and odorous gums. Genius must mourn such powers display'd in vain, Reject the teacher, yet admire the strain. Champion of false philosophy he stands, And the wide region impiously commands: 'Gainst all the glittering weapons he can wield, Reason scarce deigns to lift her seven-fold shield; Their shining impotence at once disclos'd, The reeds fall shiver'd, ere their point's oppos'd. O had a worthier theme his flight sustain'd, What wreaths unfading had his numbers gain'd! How critick skill had smooth'd the vigorous lays, Cast back on blood-stain'd men, and iron days! Even in his robe of vain illusive die, Sage Maro views him with a reverent eye; And well might own, with Rome's consenting voice, Himself but greatest by his subject's choice.