Or as when Cippus in the current view’d
The shooting horns that on his forehead stood,
His temples first he feels, and, with surprise,
His touch confirms the assurance of his eyes.
Straight to the skies his horned front he rears,
And to the gods directs these pious prayers:
“If this portent be prosperous, oh decree
To Rome the event; if otherwise, to me.”
An altar then of turf he hastes to raise;
Rich gums in fragrant exhalations blaze;
The panting entrails crackle as they fry,
And boding fumes pronounce a mystery.
Soon as the augur saw the holy fire,
And victims with presaging signs expire,
To Cippus then he turns his eyes with speed,
And views the horny honours of his head;
Then cried, “Hail, conqueror! thy call obey;
Those omens I behold presage thy sway:
Rome waits thy nod, unwilling to be free,
And owns thy sovereign power as fate’s decree.”
He said; and Cippus, starting at the event,
Spoke in these words his pious discontent:
“Far hence, ye gods, this execration send,
And the great race of Romulus defend.
Better that I in exile live abhorr’d,
Than e’er the capitol should style me lord.”
This spoke, he hides with leaves his omen’d head
Then prays; the senate next convenes, and said:
“If augurs can foresee, a wretch is come,
Design’d by destiny the bane of Rome.
Two horns (most strange to tell) his temples crown:
If e’er he pass the walls, and gain the town,
Your laws are forfeit that ill-fated hour,
And liberty must yield to lawless power.
Your gates he might have enter’d; but this arm
Seized the usurper, and withheld the harm.
Haste, find the monster out, and let him be
Condemn’d to all the senate can decree;
Or tied in chains, or into exile thrown,
Or by the tyrant’s death prevent your own.”
The crowd such murmurs utter as they stand,
As swelling surges breaking on the strand:
Or as when gathering gales sweep o’er the grove,
And their tall heads the bending cedars move.
Each with confusion gazed, and then began
To feel his fellow’s brows, and find the man.
Cippus then shakes his garland off, and cries,
“The wretch you want I offer to your eyes.”
The anxious throng look’d down, and, sad in thought,
All wish’d they had not found the sign they sought.
In haste, with laurel wreaths his head they bind:
Such honour to such virtue was assign’d.
Then thus the senate: “Hear, oh Cippus, hear:
So godlike is thy tutelary care,
That since in Rome thyself forbids thy stay,
For thy abode those acres we convey
The ploughshare can surround, the labour of a day.
In deathless records thou shalt stand enroll’d;
And Rome’s rich posts shall shine with horns of gold.”
Occasion of Esculapius Being Brought to Rome
The city of Rome is delivered from a plague by the presence of Esculapius, who willingly accompanies the Roman ambassadors from Epidaurus in the form of a serpent.
Melodious maids of Pindus, who inspire
The flowing strains, and tune the vocal lyre,
Tradition’s secrets are unlock’d to you,
Old tales revive, and ages past renew;
You who can hidden causes best expound,
Say, whence the isle which Tiber flows around,
Its altars with a heavenly stranger graced,
And in our shrines the god of physic placed.
A wasting plague infected Latium’s skies;
Pale, bloodless looks were seen, with ghastly eyes;
The dire disease’s marks each visage wore,
And the pure blood was changed to putrid gore:
In vain were human remedies applied;
In vain the power of healing herbs was tried:
Wearied with death, they seek celestial aid,
And visit Phoebus in his Delphic shade;
In the world’s centre sacred Delphos stands,
And gives its oracles to distant lands:
Here they implore the god, with fervent vows,
His salutary power to interpose,
And end a great afflicted city’s woes.
The holy temple sudden tremours proved;
The laurel grove and all its quivers moved;
In hollow sounds the priestess thus began,
And through each bosom thrilling horrors ran:
“The assistance, Roman, which you here implore,
Seek from another, and a nearer shore;
Relief must be implored, and succour won,
Not from Apollo, but Apollo’s son;
My son, to Latium borne, shall bring redress;
Go with good omens, and expect success.”
When these clear oracles the senate knew,
The sacred tripod’s counsels they pursue,
Depute a pious and a chosen band,
Who sail to Epidaurus’ neighbouring land.
Before the Grecian elders when they stood,
They pray them to bestow the healing god:
“Ordain’d was he to save Ausonia’s state;
So promised Delphos, and unerring fate.”
Opinions various their debates enlarge:
Some plead to yield to Rome the sacred charge;
Others, tenacious of their country’s wealth,
Refuse to grant the power who guards its health.
While dubious they remain’d, the wasting light
Withdrew before the growing shades of night;
Thick darkness now obscured the dusky skies:
Now, Roman, closed in sleep were mortal eyes,
When health’s auspicious god appears to thee,
And thy glad dreams his form celestial see:
In his left hand, a rural staff preferr’d,
His right is seen to stroke his decent beard.
“Dismiss,” said he, with mildness all divine,
“Dismiss your fears; I come, and leave my shrine.
This serpent view, that with ambitious play
My staff encircles, mark him every way;
His form, though larger, nobler, I’ll assume,
And changed, as gods should be, bring aid to Rome.”
Here fled the vision, and the vision’s flight
Was follow’d by the cheerful dawn of light.
Nor was the morn with blushing streaks o’erspread,
And all the starry fires of heaven were fled;
The chiefs perplex’d, and fill’d with doubtful care,
To their protector’s sumptuous roofs repair,
By genuine signs implore him to express,
What seats he deigns to choose, what land to bless:
Scarce their ascending prayers had reached the sky;
Lo, the serpentine god, erected high!
Forerunning hissings his approach confess’d;
Bright shone his golden scales, and waved his lofty crest;
The trembling altar his appearance spoke;
The marble floor, and glittering ceiling shook;
The doors were rock’d; the statue seemed to nod;
And all the fabric own’d the present god;
His radiant chest he taught aloft to rise,
And round the temple cast his flaming eyes:
Struck was the astonish’d crowd; the holy priest,
His temples with white bands of ribboned dress’d,
With reverent awe the power divine confess’d!
“The god! the god!” he cries; “all tongues be still!
Each conscious breast devoutest ardour fill!
Oh beauteous! oh divine! assist our cares,
And be propitious to thy vot’ries prayers!”
All with consenting hearts, and pious fear,
The words repeat, the deity revere:
The Romans in their holy worship
