Thou mayst the fervor of thy mind allay,
And gentle curb unto thy passions give.

Patience is misery's best lenitive.

[Exit.

Med. Gone! is it e'en so? hast thou forgotten me?

And all my merits slipped from thy memory?

No; we will ne'er slip thence. (To herself.) Now mind

thy part;

Summon together all thy strength and art.

'Tis thy best use of ills to think there's none.

HIS PROPHECY OF AMERICA.

THE chorus in the tragedy of "Medea" laments the building of the Argo, the first ship, and tells the progress of discovery, ending with a prophecy of the New World.

What was the purchase of so bold
A voyage, but a fleece of gold;
And greater mischief than the sea,
Medea: fit the freight to be

Of the first ship? The passive main
Now yields, and does all laws sustain.
Nor the famed Argo, by the hand
Of Pallas built, by heroes manned,
Does now alone complain she's forced
To sea; each petty boat's now coursed
About the deep; no bound'ry stands,
New walls by towns in foreign lands
Are raised; the pervious world in its old
Place leaves nothing. Indians the cold
Araxis drink, the Elbe, and Rhine

The Persians. The age shall come, in fine
Of many years, wherein the main
Shall loose the universal chain;
And mighty tracts of land be shown,
To search of elder days unknown;
New worlds by some new Tiphys found,
Nor Thule be earth's farthest bound.

LUCAN.

LUCAN is the chief epic poet of the Silver Age, and shows the faults as well as the merits of his period. Marcus Annæus Lucanus was born at Corduba (Cordova), in Spain, A.D. 38. He was a

nephew of Seneca, by whose writings the education and literature of the time were considerably affected. Going to Rome, Lucan soon attracted the favorable notice of the Emperor Nero by the excellence of his poetry. By imperial favor he was appointed quæstor and made a member of the college of augurs. Although a thorough republican at heart, he was a court poet, and sang the praises of his royal master. But soon he imprudently engaged with the emperor in a contest for supremacy in poetical skill and gained the prize, but lost place and preferment. He was prohibited not only from reciting his poetry in public, but also from exercising his rhetorical power at the bar. The poet joined Piso's conspiracy for the assassination of the emperor. The plot was detected, Lucan received capital sentence, and was allowed to choose the manner of his death. He ordered the physicians to open the arteries in his legs and arms, and as life ebbed out, repeated his own verses describing the death of Cato's soldier: "So the warm blood at once from every part ran purple poison down."

Of the many works of Lucan, only one has been preserved, the "Pharsalia." This rhetorical epic abounds in beautiful descriptions. Scenes, characters, events and incidents of war are treated with great vigor, but in too much detail. The narrative begins with Cæsar's crossing of the Rubicon and is continued to the time when that hero leaps into the sea at Alexandria and reaches his fleet in safety.

Though Lucan probably inclined to Pompey's side, he des cribes the rival leaders with equal vigor.

THE RIVALS, POMPEY AND CÆSAR.

THE Sword is now the umpire to decide,
And part what friendship knew not to divide.
'Twas hard, an empire of so vast a size
Could not for two ambitious minds suffice;
The peopled earth, and wide extended main,
Could furnish room for only one to reign.
When dying Julia* first forsook the light,
And Hymen's tapers sunk in endless night,
The tender ties of kindred-love were torn,
Forgotten all, and buried in her urn.

Oh! if her death had haply been delayed,
How might the daughter and the wife persuade!
Like the famed Sabine dames, she had been seen
To stay the meeting war, and stand between:
On either hand had wooed them to accord,
Soothed her fierce father, and her furious lord,
To join in peace, and sheathe the ruthless sword.
But this the fatal sisters' doom denied;
The friends were severed, when the matron died.
The rival leaders mortal war proclaim,

Rage fires their souls with jealousy of fame,

And emulation fans the rising flame.

Thee, Pompey, thy past deeds by turns infest,
And jealous glory burns within thy breast;
Thy famed piratic laurel† seems to fade
Beneath successful Cæsar's rising shade;
His Gallic wreaths thou viewest with anxious eyes
Above thy naval crowns triumphant rise.

Thee, Cæsar, thy long labors past incite,
Thy use of war, and custom of the fight;
While bold ambition prompts thee in the race,
And bids thy courage scorn a second place.

* Julia, the daughter of Julius Cæsar, was married to Pompey. † Pompey had won his first great reputation by clearing the Mediterranean of the pirates who had infested it, but Cæsar acquired yet greater fame by his conquest of Gaul.

Superior power, fierce faction's dearest care,

One could not brook, and one disdained to share.
Justly to name the better cause were hard,
While greatest names for either side declared:
Victorious Cæsar by the gods was crowned,
The vanquished party was by Cato owned.

Nor came the rivals equal to the field;
One to increasing years began to yield,
Old Age came creeping in the peaceful gown,
And civil functions weighed the soldier down;
Disused to arms, he turned him to the laws,
And pleased himself with popular applause;
With gifts and liberal bounty sought for fame,
And loved to hear the vulgar shout his name;
In his own theatre rejoiced to sit,

Amidst the noisy praises of the pit.
Careless of future ills that might betide,
No aid he sought to prop his failing side,
But on his former fortune much relied.
Still seemed he to possess and fill his place;
But stood the shadow of what once he was;
So in the field with Ceres' bounty spread,
Uprears some ancient oak his reverend head;
Chaplets and sacred gifts his boughs adorn,
And spoils of war by mighty heroes worn.
But the first vigor of his root now gone,
He stands dependent on his weight alone;
All bare his naked branches are displayed,
And with his leafless trunk he forms a shade:
Yet though the winds his ruin daily threat,
As every blast would heave him from his seat;
Though thousand fairer trees the field supplies,
That rich in youthful verdure round him rise;
Fixed in his ancient state he yields to none,
And wears the honors of the grove alone.

But Cæsar's greatness, and his strength, was more

Than past renown and antiquated power;

'Twas not the fame of what he once had been,

Or tales in old records and annals seen;

But 'twas a valor, restless, unconfined,

Which no success could sate, nor limits bind;

'Twas shame, a soldier's shame, untaught to yield,

That blushed for nothing but an ill-fought field;
Fierce in his hopes he was, nor knew to stay,
Where vengeance or ambition led the way;
Still prodigal of war whene'er withstood,
Nor spared to stain the guilty sword with blood;
Urging advantage, he improved all odds,

And made the most of fortune and the gods;
Pleased to o'erturn whate'er withheld his prize,
And saw the ruin with rejoicing eyes.

Such while earth trembles and heaven thunders loud,
Darts the swift lightning from the rending cloud;
Fierce through the day it breaks, and in its flight
The dreadful blast confounds the gazer's sight;
Resistless in its course delights to rove,
And cleaves the temples of its master Jove:
Alike where'er it passes or returns,

With equal rage the fell destroyer burns;

Then with a whirl full in its strength retires,

And re-collects the force of all its scattered fires.

CATO RE-WEDS THE WIDOW MARTIA.

CATO THE YOUNGER, great-grandson of Cato the Censor, and a man of like severe character, is said to have given his wife Martia, with her father's consent, to his friend Hortensius, who had been childless. After the death of Hortensius, Martia returns to her former husband.

Now 'gan the sun to lift his dawning light,
Before him fled the colder shades of night;
When lo! the sounding doors are heard to turn,
Chaste Martia comes from dead Hortensius' urn.

Once to a better husband's happier bed,
With bridal rites, a virgin was she led.
When every debt of love and duty paid,
And thrice a parent by Lucina made;
The teeming matron, at her lord's command,
To glad Hortensius gave her plighted hand;
With a fair stock his barren house to grace,
And mingle by the mother's side the race.
At length this husband in his ashes laid,

And every rite of due religion paid,

Forth from his monument the mournful dame,

With beaten breasts, and locks dishevelled, came;