Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. I. (Boxiing - Ceres) Poem by Henry Baker

Boxing.

--Forthwith uprises stern,
Dares: and with the Murmur of the Croud,
Rears his rough Visage, and prodigious Strength:
Shews his broad Shoulders, his Alternate Arms
Protends, and in mock Duel beats the Air.

For him a Match is sought: nor dares ev'n One
From all that vast Assembly to approach
The Challenger, or arm his Hands for Fight.
Acestes then Entellus thus upbraids:
Entellus, bravest Hero once in vain,
Where is our Eryx, vainly boasted God,
Your Master? Where your Fame thro' all this Isle
Renown'd? And Trophies hanging round your Roof?
To whom Entellus; 'Tis not that the Love
Of Praise and Glory has my Breast thro' Fear
Abandon'd; But my Blood by freezing Age
Is cold, retarded: And my Strength benumb'd
Within my sapless Trunk.--This said, He flings
Into the Midst two Gauntlets huge, of Weight
Enormous: Those which warlike Eryx wore
In Fight, and whose stiff Leather brac'd his Arms.
Amaz'd were All: so vast the sev'n tough Hides
Of Bulls, with Lead and Iron sewn between:
But more than all the rest, the Champion's Self,
Dares, aghast, and at a Distance stands,
Refusing.--Him thus the aged Sire bespeaks:
If Trojan Dares thinks these Arms unequal,
Let Us have due Proportion in the Strife.
--Thus he spoke:
And from his Shoulders flings his double Vest,
Strips his huge Limbs, huge Bones, and brawny Arms:
And in the Midst with mighty Stature stands.--
Then Prince Æneas equal Gauntlets brings,
And binds the Wrists of both with equal Weight.

Forthwith, erect, and high upon their Toes,
Both stand, and fearless raise their Arms in Air:
Lean back their lofty Heads, to shun the Stroke,
Mix Hands with Hands, and irritate the Fight.
The One excelling in his nimble Feet,
And confident in Youth: The Other strong
In Limbs, and Bulk: but slow with trembling Knees
He staggers, and the panting Labour shakes
His huge--built Trunk. In vain repeated Wounds
They aim alternate: On their hollow Flanks
The Strokes redoubled ring: Their throbbing Breasts
Are batter'd with loud Noise: The bandy'd Blows
Err round their Ears and Temples: And beneath
The rigid Lead their cracking Jaws resound.

Firm by his Weight, in one fix'd Posture stands
Entellus: With his Body and quick Eyes
Alone, eluding his Assailant's Strokes.
He, like a Warrior, who some lofty Town
Assaults by Storm; or under Arms besets
A Castle on a Hill, now These, now Those
Approaches tries, the Place all round with Art
Exploring: and with various Efforts vain
Urges his Foe.--Entellus shews his Arm
Rais'd high: The Other swift foresees the Blow
Descending from his Head, and nimbly slips
Aside: Entellus on the empty Air
Loses his Strength, and heavy to the Ground
Falls with vast Weight.--
Heav'n rings with Shouts. But, not at all dismay'd,
Nor by his Fall retarded, to the Fight
The Hero with redoubled Force returns:
Rouses his Strength with Rage: Shame fires his Soul,
And conscious Worth: O'er all the Field he drives
Dares precipitate: now with the Right,
Now with the Left, reit'rating his Blows:
Nor Pause, nor Respite. Thick as Hail in Storms
Rattles on Roofs, with such repeated Strokes,
This Way, and That, the Hero with both Hands
Buffets his Foe: and turns, and whirls him round.

Then Prince Æneas could no longer bear
Such Fury to proceed, but ends the Fight,
And rescues fainting Dares--
--Him, with tott'ring Pace
Trailing his Legs along, on either Side
Swagging his Head, and belching from his Throat
Thick Clots of Gore, and Teeth commix'd with Blood,
His Mates, officious to their vanquish'd Friend,
Lead--


Bribery.

Believe me, Men and Gods with Gifts are pleas'd:
Ev'n angry Jove by Off'rings is appeas'd.
With Presents Fools and Wise alike are caught,
Give but enough, the Husband may be bought.--

But bring your Price, come with a Gift prepar'd,
And You may quickly influence the Guard:
Gold's mighty Pow'r sets open ev'ry Door,
And ev'n th' obliging Dog will bark no more.--

A Tow'r of Brass, Gates strong, and barr'd,
And watchful Dogs those Gates to Guard,
Must safely keep, (one wou'd have said,)
Imprison'd Danae's Maiden--Head:

And so they would, if cunning Jove,
And Venus Favourer of Love,
Had not with pow'rful Bribes betray'd
Acrisius' Guards about the Maid:
Bribes open'd for the God a Way:
When chang'd to Gold nought could his Passage stay.

Where Money reigns, what signify the Laws?
A poor Man there can never gain his Cause.
Ev'n those grave Sirs that rail against the World,
Can stoop sometimes to sell their Voice for Gold.
Justice is now a common Bargain grown,
Bribe well the Judge, the Cause You buy's your own--


Bulls Fighting.

--With mighty Force
Two Bulls in Battle join: repeated Wounds
Mutual inflict: Black Gore their Bodies laves:
Their Horns against each other struggling push
Direct: They roar aloud: The Woods, and huge
Olympus' Top reverberate the Noise.
Nor after this can both together feed:
The Vanquish'd quits the Field, and exil'd seeks
Some unknown distant Coast, his dire Disgrace
Much mourning, and the haughty Victor's Wounds,
And his lost Loves, which unreveng'd he leaves:
And looking back, with oft retorted Eye,
From his hereditary Realm retires.--

As when two mighty Bulls, with hostile Force,
And pushing Horns, in dreadful Battle join,
The trembling Keepers, and the Herd aloof
Stand mute with Fear: the Heifers faintly lowe,
Doubtful to which the Empire of the Wood
Must fall, which Lord the Pastures must obey.
They with prodigious Strength alternate Wounds
Inflict: with clatt'ring Horns each other gore,
And with large Blood their Necks and Dewlaps lave:
The Wood all round rebellows to the Noise.--


Captive.

The faithless Garrison betray the Town,
And Captive drag their valiant Leader down.
The noble Roman, fearless, tho' in Bands,
Before his haughty Fellow--Subject stands,
With Looks erect, and with a daring Brow,
Death he provokes, and courts the fatal Blow.--

At length in Presence of the Victor plac'd,
A fitting Dignity his Gesture grac'd,
That spoke his present Fortunes and his past.
With decent Mixture in his manly Mein,
The Captive and the General were seen.--

Behold Cassandra, lo! the Royal Fair,
From Pallas' Shrine, with loose dishevel'd Hair,
Drag'd by the shouting Victors:--To the Skies
She rais'd, but rais'd in vain! her glowing Eyes:
Her Eyes,--she could no more--the Grecian Bands
Had rudely manacled her tender Hands.--


Care.

The Fears and Cares which torture human Hearts,
Despite the Clash of Arms, and points of Darts;
With mighty Kings and Potentates make bold,
Maugre their Purple, and their shining Gold.--

Let no Concern, no Cares for Life approach;
For Life, which lasts not long, and asks not much.
Youth soon is gone, and Beauty quickly fades,
And sapless Age besilvers o'er our Heads:
Swift, swift away, the smiling Minutes move,
And leave no room for Rest, or wanton Love.

Nor Flow'rs with vernal Glory alway blow,
Nor her bright Face does Phoebe always show:
And why don't you to harrass out forbear
A Mind unequal to continual Care?

Why underneath some tow'ring Poplar's Shade,
Or spreading Pine, ar'n't we supinely laid:
Our silver Hairs with fragrant Roses crown'd,
Assyrian Nard perfuming all around?
Why rashly, whilst we can, do we delay
To drink our Troubles and our Cares away?--


Why should our Time run out in useless Years,
Of anxious Troubles, and tormenting Fears?
With no Success, and no Advantage crown'd,
Why should we still tread an unfinish'd Round?
Why should deluding Hopes disturb our Ease,
Vain to pursue, yet eager to possess?
Grown grey in Cares, how senseless is the Strife!
In seeking how to live we waste a Life.
The more we have, the meaner is our Store,
Whilst what we have we lose, and only crave for more.--


Ceres.

First Ceres taught, the Ground with Grain to sow,
And arm'd with Iron Shares the crooked Plough,
When now Dodonian Oaks no more supply'd
Their Mast, and other Trees their Forests Fruits deny'd.--

Thy annual Off'rings to great Ceres bring,
On the green Turf performing sacred Rites,
When Winter ends, and Spring now smiles serene.

Ceres let all thy rustic Youth adore:
For her do Thou with Honey mingle Milk,
And gentle Wine: And round the recent Grain
Let the propitious Victim thrice be led:
Her in full Chorus let the Peasants all
Singing attend, and with loud Shouts invite
Ceres beneath their Rooss: Nor any thrust
His Sickle to the Corn: till wreath'd with Oak,
To Ceres he has paid the Honours due,
With uncouth Dances, and unpolish'd Verse.--

The solemn Feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white Linnen Stoles the Matrons wear:
Rank'd in Procession walk the pious Train,
Off'ring First--fruits, and Wreaths of golden Grain:
For nine long Nights the Nuptial Bed they shun,
And sanctifying Harvest, lie alone.--

Ceres her Dragons guides; aloft they fly,
And print a winding Track along the Sky:
The curbing Bit with rising Foam they stain,
And work their harmless Poison on the Rein.
High rise their Crests, and beauteous to behold,
Their speckled Backs are scal'd with green and gold.
Now thro' the Zephyrs they direct their Flight,
And now descending, on the Meadows light:
The whirling Wheels revolving o'er the Ground,
The Fields impregnate, as the Glebe they wound:
A sudden Harvest starts upon the Plain,
And in the Furrows springs the yellow Grain,
Where e'er she comes.--

Ceres the Pow'r of the prolific Year,
A Daughter had superlatively fair,
Nor bore a second Birth: in This alone
More Honours she obtain'd, and more Renown,
Than all the teeming Mothers: in her Face
Her Proserpine had summ'd the Beauties of a Race.—