The love of honor bade two youths advance,
Achaians born, to try the glorious chance;
A third arose, of Acarnania he,
Of Pisa one, and three from Ephyre;
Nor more, for now Nesimachus's son,
By acclamations roused, came towering on.
Another orb upheaved his strong right hand,
Then thus: "Ye Argive flower, ye warlike band,
Who trust your arms shall raise the Tyrian towers
And batter Cadmus' walls with stony showers,
Receive a worthier load; yon puny ball
Let youngsters toss."
He said, and scornful flung the unheeded weight
Aloof; the champions, trembling at the sight,
Prevent disgrace, the palm despaired resign;
All but two youths the enormous orb decline,
Those conscious shame withheld, and pride of noble line.
As bright and huge the spacious circle lay,
With double light it beamed against the day;
So glittering shows the Thracian's godhead's shield,
With such a gleam affrights Pangæa's field,
When blazing 'gainst the sun it shines from far,
And, clashed, re-bellows with the din of war.
Phlegyas the long-expected play began,
Summoned his strength, and called forth all the man.
All eyes were bent on his experienced hand,
For oft in Pisa's sports his native land
Admired that arm, oft on Alpheus' shore
The ponderous brass in exercise he bore;
Where flowed the wider stream he took his stand,
Nor stopped till it had cut the further strand.
And now in dust the polished ball he rolled,
Then grasped its weight, elusive of his hold;
Now fitting to his gripe and nervous arm,
Suspends the crowd with expectation warm;
Nor tempts he yet the plain, but hurled upright,
Emits the mass, a prelude of his might;
Firmly he plants each knee, and o'er his head,
Collecting all his force, the circle sped;
It towers to cut the clouds; now through the skies
Sings in its rapid way, and strengthens as it flies;
Anon, with slackened rage, comes quivering down,
Heavy and huge, and cleaves the solid ground.
So from the astonished stars, her nightly train,
The sun's pale sister, drawn by magic strain,
Deserts precipitant her darkened sphere;
In vain the nations with officious fear
Their cymbals toss, and sounding brass explore;
The Æmonian hag enjoys her dreadful hour,
And smiles malignant on the laboring power.
Third in the labors of the disc came on,
With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon ;
Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight,
By Phlegyas warned, and fired by Mnestheus' fate,
That to avoid, and this to emulate.
His vigorous arm he tried before he flung,
Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung;
Then, with a tempest's whirl, and wary eye,
Pursued his cast, and hurled the orb on high,
The orb on high tenacious of its course,
True to the mighty arm that gave it force,
Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see
Its ancient lord secure of victory.
The theatre's green height and woody wall
Tremble ere it precipitates its fall;
The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground,
While vales, and woods, and echoing hills rebound.
As when, from Ætna's smoking summit broke,
The eyeless Cyclops heaved the craggy rock;
Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar,
And parting surges round the vessel roar;
'T was there he aimed the meditated harm,
And scarce Ulysses scaped his giant arm.
A tiger's pride the victor bore away,
With native spots and artful labor gay,
A shining border round the margin rolled,
And calmed the terrors of his claws in gold.
Cambridge, May 8, 1736.
FRAGMENT OF THE TRAGEDY OF AGRIPPINA.
AGRIP. 'T IS well, begone! your errand is performed: [Speaks as to Anicetus entering.
The message needs no comment. Tell your master,
His mother shall obey him. Say you saw her
Yielding due reverence to his high command:
Alone, unguarded and without a lictor,
As fits the daughter of Germanicus.
Say, she retired to Antium; there to tend
Her household cares, a woman's best employment.
What if you add, how she turned pale and trembled :
You think you spied a tear stand in her eye,
And would have dropped, but that her pride restrained it? (Go! you can paint it well) 't will profit you,
And please the stripling. Yet 't would dash his joy
To hear the spirit of Britannicus
Yet walks on earth: at least there are who know
Without a spell to raise, and bid it fire
A thousand haughty hearts unused to shake
When a boy frowns, nor to be lured with smiles
To taste of hollow kindness, or partake
His hospitable board; they are aware
Of the unpledged bowl, they love not aconite.
ACER. He's gone: and much I hope these walls alone
And the mute air are privy to your passion.
Forgive your servant's fears, who sees the danger
Which fierce resentment cannot fail to raise
In haughty youth, and irritated power.
AGRIP. And dost thou talk to me, to me of danger, Of haughty youth and irritated power,
To her that gave it being, her that armed
This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand
To aim the forkéd bolt; while he stood trembling,
Scared at the sound, and dazzled with its brightness?
"T is like thou hast forgot, when yet a stranger
To adoration, to the grateful steam
Of flattery's incense, and obsequious vows
From voluntary realms, a puny boy,
Decked with no other lustre than the blood
Of Agrippina's race, he lived unknown
To fame or fortune; haply eyed at distance
Some edileship, ambitious of the power
To judge of weights and measures: scarcely dared
On expectation's strongest wing to soar
High as the consulate, that empty shade
Of long-forgotten liberty: when I
Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness;
Showed him where empire towered, and bade him strike
The noble quarry. Gods! then was the time
To shrink from danger; Fear might then have worn
The mask of Prudence; but a heart like mine,
A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire,
If bright Ambition from her craggy seat
Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted,
Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous honor.
ACER. Through various life I have pursued your steps,
Have seen your soul and wondered at its daring:
Hence rise my fears. Nor am I yet to learn
How vast the debt of gratitude which Nero
To such a mother owes; the world, you gave him,
Suffices not to pay the obligation.
I well remember too (for I was present)
When in a secret and dead hour of night,
Due sacrifice performed with barbarous rites
Of muttered charms, and solemn invocation,
You bade the Magi call the dreadful powers,
That read futurity, to know the fate
Impending o'er your son: their answer was,
If the son reign, the mother perishes.
Perish (you cried) the mother! reign the son!
He reigns, the rest is Heaven's; who oft has bade,
Even when its will seemed wrote in lines of blood,
The unthought event disclose a whiter meaning.
Think too how oft in weak and sickly minds
The sweets of kindness lavishly indulged
|