T. Cicero. a. U. C. 690

The crimes these desperate parricides conceal'd, A woman's tongue to Tully's ear reveal'd. Favourite of science, and by Athens school'd, Rome's forum long the accomplish'd sage had rul'd; Nor ancestors, nor riches made him known; His honours well acquir'd, were all his own. Nature, a liberal mother, unconfin'd, With all her choicest gifts had stor'd his mind; With brightest fancy, with profoundest sense; And syrens tun'd his tongue to eloquence. Nor wore he always wisdom's graver cloak, But lov'd to laugh, and edge the poignant joke; Convinc'd that oft when sober reason fails, The well-tim'd lighter pleasantry prevails. As man's distinction too, some sages place That gay convulsion of the enliven'd face: Tears fall from brutes;—by human kind alone Is mirth's expression by a laugh made known. Greece, prone to flatter, as debas'd by fear, Gave to his praise one honest envious tear: "By him (she cry'd) I see our arts o'ercome, "And our once matchless palm a plant of Rome." Though none with him for inborn gifts could vie, He studied with Boeotian industry. Form'd to adorn at once, and save the state, Who can decide in what he rose most great? Round all he touch'd such dazzling rays combine, His inspiration proves the source divine. As transient clouds in summer skies appear, So shades of weakness dimm'd his character. With more than Plato's skill to instruct and please, He wants thy heart, unshaken Socrates! Books, science, study, Athens, could not give What man from nature only can receive. Still anxious for himself, and insincere, His restless foresight sprung too oft from fear; And often thus his timorous bark was run, Full on the quicksands which he steer'd to shun; For bold state-pilots safer tracks explore, Who plow the deep, nor trust the treacherous shore: Destructive ever is the coward's course, He shuns one peril, but encounters worse; With shame, contempt, and terrour at his heels, Pangs sharp as death, ev'n in escape, he feels, See Tully, more than mortal, wise and great, Sunk by base fear beneath a woman's state; Though fond of virtue, more he lov'd the fame, And sometimes lost the prize, to prove the claim. Fame, first of merit's voluntary dues, Who oft demands thee, but demands to lose; All but the vanity mankind forget; They give the bounty, but refuse the debt: Great actions paint themselves, and bright shines forth The tongueless dignity of modest worth; And gold, that precious mineral, the wise Less for its splendour than its value prize. When big with self the copious boaster pleads, Great Pompey, and the Scipios, vail their heads; Like glimmering stars their beams no more are seen, While heaven's blue vault receives night's peerless queen. "Romans! (he cries,) your saviour would you see, "Behold me first, me last, and only me: "Warriors surpass'd, their laurels must lay down, "Or own them wither'd by my peaceful gown: "Conquest and spoils to them their country owes; "On me a father's title she bestows: "O sound for ever heard! for ever dear! "Rome from her Tully dates her natal year! "On grateful marble be the inscription trac'd, "Nor ever from the publick mind effac'd; "From age to age the mem'ry shall succeed, "And patriots bless me, while they hear and read." Such praises on himself would he confer, And violate the Roman's modest ear. But time should throw a veil o'er every fault, Hide how he err'd, and reverence what he taught; And own the vigour of his mighty mind, Who prop'd his country, and improv'd mankind, Excellent Tully! by a ruffian brav'd, He left the ungrateful city he had sav'd; With tears the sorrowing senate saw him sent (Their best defender) to cold banishment: They heard that voice, ne'er heard in vain before, The exile it could not avert, deplore; With him the genius of the state disgrac'd, Faction triumphant, and his dwellings raz'd. But call'd with honour home, the exulting throngs Shout from his mind the memory of pass'd wrongs: His houses at the publick charge restored, His name resounded, and the favourite word, Vain now, as abject in distress before, He thought affliction could return no more. Alas! when tyrants o'er the laws prevail, Man's best possessions are an idle tale; The whirlwind sweeps them all in one fell blast, And the last wretch is he who lives the last: Still, still remain'd, from fate's malignant power, A sad reverse, for his concluding hour. Nor eloquence divine, nor reverend age, Could save great Tully from the assassin's rage. Behold! (sad sight!) infuriate Fulvia seize The sever'd head, and fix it on her knees; From the cold jaws she forc'd that silent tongue, On whose sweet sounds the once-charm'd senate hung; Hear the she-fiend with taunts exulting cry, As thrice she pierc'd, "This for my Anthony:" The grisly spoil thus brutally defac'd, With the lopp'd hands, was o'er the rostrum plac'd; From thence in hideous mockery to glare, And freeze each future patriot to despair. Minions of fortune, who, possess'd of power, Indulge unaw'd the transitory hour, Make science ever your peculiar care; The world reveres her, of the world beware! A little while ere nature claim'd his breath, The dagger clos'd sage Tully's eyes in death; But grateful ages still preserve his fame, And endless infamy his murderer's shame. Soon as his fate the wings of Rumour gains, Curdling the tide of genius in men's veins, The bold, in loud reproach, abhorrence vent, The timorous droop, and murmur discontent; While ruffian Anthony but turns to find The general curse and horrour of mankind.