Of injur'd virtue with so much applause,
That tears in streams did from his hearers flow;
His tongue so well describ'd another's woe :
And ev'ry one, who had a tear to shed

Could not withhold it when they saw him dead.

Next, view great Cato (44) whose more lasting name Stands yet unrival'd on the rolls of fame.

He liv'd, unconquer'd, and, unconquer'd died,
Despising Cæsar, (45) and his childish pride.
No gold, no vice, no fear could once control
The spotless virtue of great Cato's soul.
He calin'd the sea of Rome's contentious parts,
And gain'd esteem from all the worthiest hearts.
Not fond of praise, yet like a god he stood,
The firmest champion of his country's good.
Humble though great, tho' eloquent not vain;
Just and yet cautious, brave and yet humane ;
Moral yet free from superstitious fear,
Though rich not pompous, firm but not austere ;
Active and yet he felt no love of sway ;
His strongest impulse in his virtue lay.

He sought no fame, but still he watch'd the foes,
Who, drunk with pow'r against his country rose.
His great compassion taught the human mind
To act with mercy, and be always kind.
Extorted praises never pleas'd his ear;

All paid him homage, free from hope or fear.
Though active, brave, (46) and skilful, yet his mind,
Detested war, the curse of human kind.

Rich without pride, and without envy learn'd,

In danger calm, and yet the most concern'd;
But not for self, for others always more,
He toil'd for others till his toil was oe'r.
Sincere in love, and in his friendships too,
In all his actions he was just and true.
Thus Cato lived; and quite as bravely died;-
His sword gave that, which stupid knaves denied
It gave that freedom which he lov'd so well;
For that he fought, for that he bravely fell.

Such was the man, who when by tyrants press'd,
Plung'd his broad faulchion in his generous breast;
And show'd that virtue in his latest hour;
Which always rul'd him in his greatest pow'r.
For lo! the scene where Cato bravely dies;
There, half embowel'd, bath'd, in blood, he lies..
And there his friends in mournful groups surround,
And wash with tears the dreadful, streaming wound.
Ah live, they say, and do not leave us here;
Hard is your fate, but ours is more severe;
without your aid a more unenvied fate
will soon oe'rtake us from the pow'rs elate.
For us you toil'd, and watch'd alone by night;
And your last care prepar'd us all for flight:
But if you die, our fairest prospect end;
Ah live to serve your country and your friends!.
The time may come when knaves will rise in vain,
You then may serve the cause of man again.

we ca'nt endure to see our Cato die;

They said, as tears distill'd from ev'ry eye.

They weeping, begg'd that he would not despair,

But save that life which Cæsar meant to spare.
And some propos'd in his behalf to sue,

And pledg❜d their lives for Cæsar's pardon too :
But such conditions all great souls disdain;
He scorn'd to live to wear a tyrant's chain :
And to the last, he show'd too firm a soul,
For knaves to rule, or cruel sots control.
His godlike mind to freedom ever true,
Now prov'd its firmness, and it's greatness too :
For while he welter'd, bath'd in tepid gore,
And lay, unconscious, on the crimson'd floor,
The doctor came; with all his skill essay'd
To dress the wound which Cato's sword had made.
But when his hands the fearful work began,
His touch reviv'd the great, but dying man,
Whose sense return'd and rising undismay'd,
He thrust the doctor, and refus'd his aid:

With his own hands the gaping wound he tore,
And dash'd his entrails, smoking on the floor.
Resolv'd to leave a world where monarchs sway,
He went were kings could never force their way
And while his soul enjoys celestial light,
Curs'd Cæsar groans in dark, infernal night.

As Cæsar's line have fill'd the world with blood,
And sail'd in triumph down the crimson flood;
My fancy follows the destructive tide,

To mark the scene where honest Lucius (47) died.
Gentle and mild, he led a harmless life,

Belov'd himself, he lov'd his friends and wife.

He liv'd on fruit, (48) and though possess'd of wealth,

He only wish'd for plenty, peace and health.
Well vers'd in maxims taught in stoic schools,
He polish'd man by useful, moral rules.
He practis❜d strictly all the rules he taught,
And wise and upright he was justly thought!
Although his pow'rs of mind adorn'd the age,
To speak in (49) public he would not engage,
Lest truth, if told, [and he to truth was prone
Should give offence to him who fill'd the throne;
And draw the scepter'd slave's ungovern'd ire,
To use a monarch's lcgic, sword and fire.
Because with these he spread conviction round
The realm he govern'd, to its utmost bound.
Such cogent arguments could leave no doubt
All must believe, or have their brains knock'd out;
Or else be roasted, butcher'd, hang'd or rack'd;
Have houses burn'd, or towns and cities sack'd.
By such strong reasons kings convince their slaves,
That truth is false, and kings distinct from knaves.
For slaves would rather own that black is white,
Or be convinc'd that day itself is night,
Than fall by fire, or falchions reeking blade,
Or let the rack their trembling nerves invade.
But Lucius now was too well known to fame
To live in woods, and there confine his name :
It had already spread on loud report,

Throughout the realm, and through the Roman court.
Hence Nero's mother call'd the peaceful sage

To teach her son, until he reach'd his age.

And how to teach he knew, alas! too well

To live and rest where peace and safety dwell;
Or live, secluded, far from strife and noise,
Rapacious monarchs, and thier gew-gaw toys.
With great reluctance forc'd to yield to pow'r
He left his peaceful and sequester'd bow'r,
To haunt the guilty labyrinths of court,

Where schemes of murder, form the schemer's sport.
This change, though great, with fortitude he bore ;
And train'd his pupil in scholastic lore.

While Nero learn'd his good preceptor's plan,

Men hop'd to see in him an honest man ;
And, had he follow'd where his master trod,

He would have been "the noblest work of God,"
At first, death warrants did so much affright,
He sigh'd and wish'd he was untaught to write;
But when his minions occupied his heart,
He then could act the bloody tyrant's part :
His wife, his mother, and ten thousand more,
He cooly murder'd though so good before :
Thus manifesting in the clearest way,

That man should never trust (50) monarchal sway;
That pow'r corrupts, and cankering at the heart,
Leaves but the beastly, and obdurate part.
For though great Lucius, ever just and right,
Beheld his pupil with unfeign'd delight,
Imbibing precepts, which were well design'd,
To form a pure and conscientious mind,
Yet, lo! how soon contaminating pow'r
Destroy'd his hopes, and cut the tender flower
Which he had nurs'd with constant skill and care,