Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Plague - Pleasure) Poem by Henry Baker

Plague. Murrain.

Dark Clouds, at first, hung heavy o'er the Earth,
Where sluggish Heat lay rip'ning into Birth.
While four pale Moons their growing Horns unite,
And did again withdraw their feeble Light,
Hot baneful Blasts the fatal South--wind blew:
The Lakes and Fountains thence infected grew:
Millions of Vipers trail'd the Fields untill'd,
And all the Rivers with their Venom fill'd.

Dogs, Sheep, and Oxen, first, the dire Disease,
And Birds, and savage Beasts, did sudden seize:
The sorrowing Plowmen with Amazement, spy,
The lab'ring Oxen in the Furrows die.
The fleecy Flocks with Anguish faintly bleat,
Their Wool falls off, they pine away with Heat.
The warlike Steed, oppress'd with inward Pain,
Forgets his Honours on the dusty Plain:
Groans at the Manger, heedless of the Prize,
And by a lazy Fate inglorious dies.
The Stag forgets his Speed: his Rage the Boar:
The Bear insults the horned Herd no more:
A general Faintness ev'ry where is spread,
And Woods and Fields all labour with the Dead.
The Stench infects the Air: and, (strange to say,)
Nor Dogs, nor Birds, nor Wolves will touch the Prey.
Th' offensive Bodies rot upon the Ground,
And spread the dire Contagion all around.

The growing Plague gets next among the Swains:
Then to the City, where at large it reigns.
Internal Heats upon the Vitals seize,
And ruddy Spots declare the sad Disease.
Their scorching Breath with Pain they scarce expel,
Their Tongues turn furry, and with Blisters swel:
They gape for Air, believing 'twill abate
Their inward Flame: but that augments the Heat.
No Bed, no Garment can the Wretches bear,
On the hard Ground they lie, in open Air:
The Ground no Coolness to their Bodies gives,
But glows with Heat which it from them receives.

No Drug avails: the dreadful Pest invades
The learned Leech, nor Art the Artist aids:
Whoe'er most faithfully the Sick attends,
Hastes his own Fate, and dies before his Friends.
No Hope they have: the Anguish they endure,
In Death alone can find a certain Cure.
Wherefore from what they fancy none refrain,
Nor care what's good, since all their Cares are vain.
At Brooks and Streams, regardless of the Shame,
Each Sex, promiscuous, strives to quench their Flame:
Nor vainly do they strive to quench it there,
For Thirst and Life at once extinguish'd are.
Down in the Streams the dying Bodies sink,
And yet those tainted Waters others drink.

Their Beds so much th' unhappy Wretches hate,
From thence they fly, to struggle with their Fate:
Ev'n those who cannot stand, so weak they're found,
Their Bodies roll along upon the Ground:
Each from his Home, as Death were there, withdraws,
And blames the Place, unknowing of the Cause.
Poor ghastly half--dead Creatures may'st Thou meet,
Wand'ring they know not where, in ev'ry Street,
Untill they faint and fall: with mournful Cries,
Others lie on the Earth, their heavy Eyes
And Hands rais'd up to Heav'n: but whilst they pray,
By Death surpriz'd, they breathe their Souls away.

On ev'ry Side, turn where one will the Eye,
Spread o'er the Ground the wretched People lie:
Like Acorns scatter'd by too rude a Breeze,
Or mellow Apples from the shaken Trees.
The common fun'ral Honours are unpaid;
Nor can the Gates let out the num'rous Dead:
But un--interr'd upon the Ground they lie,
Or else without Regard to Decency,
All Rites of Burial lost, the Bodies burn:
Nor pious Tears are shed upon the Urn.
The Ghosts of Old and Young, of Sons and Sires,
All wander undeplor'd:--
Nor Room for Tombs is left, nor Wood for fun'ral Fires.--

--A Plague from tainted Air
Rose, and with all the Fires of Autumn burn'd:
Beasts, tame, and savage, of all Species, slew:
Poison'd the Rivers: o'er the Pastures spread
Contagious Juice.--

Oft, standing at the Altar, and with Wreaths
And wooly Fillets bound, the Victim Bull,
In the mid Honour of the Gods, fell dead
Between the ling'ring Sacrificer's Hands.

In ev'ry Pasture, on the verdant Grass,
The Calves all die: and render their sweet Souls
Before the plenteous Racks: the gentle Dogs
Run mad: the wheezing Swine with rattling Coughs
Are torn, and strangled in their swelling Throats.

Unhappy of his Toils, the Victor Steed
Sinks, and forgets his Food: and loaths the Streams,
And paws the Ground, and hangs his flagging Ears;
Bedew'd with doubtful Sweats: and those, near Death,
Clammy and cold: his rigid Hide resists
The Touch, and harden'd no Impression takes.
These Symptoms first; but as the Evil grows
More obstinate, and gathers Strength from Time,
His Eyes are all inflam'd: from his deep Breast
His Breath with Labour heaves: long Sobs and Groans
Distend his Entrails: from his Nostrils drops
Black ropy Gore: and to his Jaws his Tongue,
Clotted with Filth and Putrefaction, cleaves,

Smoking beneath the Plow the sturdy Steer
Falls down, and spues a Flood of Gore and Foam,
And groans his last:--the pensive Hind unyokes
His mourning Fellow--Lab'rer, and amidst
Th' unfinish'd Furrow leaves the sticking Share.

The Wolf no longer, nightly roaming round,
Prouls, and explores the Cotts: a sharper Care
Subdues him. Now the tim'rous Hinds and Dear
Among the Dogs, and round the Houses, rove.

Now the vast Ocean's Progeny, and all
The finny Race, like Shipwreck'd Bodies thrown
Upon the Shore, lie beaten by the Waves:
The Phocae to the wondring Rivers fly:
The Viper vainly by her winding Den
Defended, and the Snakes, with staring Scales
Amaz'd expire.--Ev'n to the Birds the Air
Is mortal: and beneath the Clouds aloft
They leave their Lives, and headlong fall to Earth.

With bleating Sheep and lowing Herds, the Streams,
The sloping Mountains, and dry Banks, resound.
Now Heaps on Heaps expire: ev'n in the Stalls,
And Stables, Carcasses promiscuous lie
Rotting in Gore: 'Till, urg'd by that Distress,
They learn'd to hide, and bury them in Earth.
For of their Skins no use was made: their Flesh
No Water could dilute, nor Fire subdue.
Nor could they sheer the Fleeces, by the Plague,
And running Sores, corrupted: nor ev'n touch,
Unhurt, the putrid Wool: or, if they try'd
Th' infectious Clothing, fiery Whelks and Blains,
And Sweats, of noisome Stench, their Bodies seiz'd:
And, in short Space, from that contagious Touch,
The sacred Fire their tainted Limbs devour'd.--

The rising Grass by trampling Hoofs repell'd,
Waste lie the Russet Fields: the gen'rous Steed
Seeks on the naked Soil, in vain, to feed:
Loathing, from Racks of husky Straw he turns,
And, pining for the verdant Pasture, mourns.
No more his Limbs his dying Load sustain,
Aiming a Stride, he falters in the Strain,
And sinks, a Ruin, on the wither'd Plain:
Dire Maladies upon his Vitals prey,
Dissolve his Frame, and melt the Mass away.
Thence mortal Plagues invade the lazy Air,
Reek to the Clouds, and hang malignant there:
Thence liquid Streams the mingling Plague receive,
And deadly Potions to the thirsty give.
To Man the Mischief spreads, the fell Disease
In fatal Draughts does on his Entrails seize:
A rugged Scurf, all loathsome to be seen,
Spreads, like a Bark, upon his silken Skin:
Malignant Flames his swelling Eye--balls dart,
And seem, with Anguish, from their Seats to start:
Fires o'er his glowing Cheeks and Visage stray,
And mark, in crimson Streaks, their burning Way:
Low droops his Head, declining from it's Height,
And nods, and totters, with the fatal Weight.
With winged Haste the swift Destruction flies,
And scarce the Soldier sickens e'er he dies.
Now falling Crowds, at once, resign their Breath,
And doubly taint the noxious Air with Death.
Careless their putrid Carcasses are spread,
And on the Earth, their dank unwholesome Bed,
The Living rest in common with the Dead.
For none the last funereal Rites receive;
To be cast forth the Camp is all their Friends can give.--

A Fatal Fever laid Achaia waste,
Thro' ev'ry Street, in ev'ry Town it pass'd;
From Egypt's Coasts the dire Distemper came,
And with the Air diffus'd the deadly Flame:
The raging Pest at last to Athens spread,
Where Heaps on Heaps were number'd with the Dead.

First fierce unusual Heats attack'd the Head,
The glowing Eyes, with blood--shot Beams, look'd red:
The Mouth and Jaws were fill'd with clotted Blood,
Sore Ulcers seiz'd the Throat,--
And putrid Gore the speaking Tongue o'erflow'd:
Whence feeble, hard to move, and rough it grew.--

When from the Mouth, advancing thro' the Breast,
The dire Disease the heaving Heart possess'd,
Then Life began to fail: then too the Breath
Stunk like a Corpse, and told approaching Death.
With raging Pains were joyn'd tormenting Care,
And racking Anguish, Groanings, and Despair:
Complaints, continual Sobs, and deep--drawn Sighs,
Fatigue beyond the Strength, dissolve the Ties
Of Soul and Body:--and the Patient dies.--

Such Plagues Achaia felt; the fierce Disease
Laid Athens waste, and spoil'd the Town in Peace.
It bore the helpless Nation to the Grave,
No Physick could assist, no Vows could save:
Heaps fell on Heaps, and while they gasp'd for Breath,
Heaps fell on those, and finish'd half their Death.
None nurs'd the Sick: the nearest Kinsmen fled;
None stay'd to bury, or to mourn the Dead.
The Fires grown weary, dy'd beneath their Spoils,
And heap'd--up Limbs supply'd the Place of Piles.
Vast Emptiness and Desolation reign'd,
And to a Nation scarce an Heir remain'd.--

Infections, from one single Case begun,
Soon spread their Poison, and thro' Numbers run.
So one Sheep touch'd, few of the Flock escape:
And the whole Bunch rots from one rotten Grape.--


Planets (their Influence.)

The Sun the Seasons of the Year supplies,
And bids the Ev'ning and the Morning rise:
Commands the Planets with superior Force,
And keeps each wand'ring Orb to it's appointed Course.
The silver Moon o'er briny Seas presides,
And heaves huge Ocean with alternate Tides.
Saturn's cold Rays prevail beneath the Pole:
And o'er the Winds and Thunders Mars bears rule.
Where Jove ascends, the Skies are still serene:
And fruitful Venus is the genial Queen:
While ev'ry limpid Spring, and rolling Stream,
Submits to Mercury's o'er--ruling Beam.--


Pleasure.

Pleasure in Cloth of Gold and Purple Dye,
With glaring Lustre overwhelms the Eye:
Ambrosial Fragrance from her Locks exhales,
And in her Breath are all Arabia's Gales:
Her Beauty shines with ev'ry Help of Art,
That can allure, and captivate the Heart.
Her sparkling Eyes in sprightly Motions dance,
And dart lascivious Flames at ev'ry Glance.--

--A different Dress did Virtue wear:
Rude from her Forehead fell th' unplaited Hair:
With dauntless Mein aloft she rear'd her Head,
And next to manly was the Virgin's Tread:
Her Height, her sprightly Blush, the Goddess show,
And Robes, unsullied, as the falling Snow.--

No mortal Bliss does ever come sincere,
Pleasure may lead, but Grief brings up the Rear.—