Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Sacrifice - Secrets) Poem by Henry Baker

Sacrifice.
See Funerals. Religious Rites.

Soon as the Hills at Distance we behold
Obscure in Mists, and Italy's low Plains,
My Sire Anchises a large Goblet crowns,
Fills it with Wine, and standing on the Deck
Aloft, invokes the Gods.--
Ye Gods! Controulers of the Land, the Seas,
And Tempests: speed our Voyage by the Winds,
And breathe propitious!--

First to the Temple they repair, and seek
Heav'n's Favour at the Altars: On them laid,
Selected Victims, with accustom'd Rites,
To Ceres Law--giver, and Phoebus, bleed,
And Father Bacchus:--But above the rest
To Juno, who presides o'er nuptial Beds.
The beauteous Queen herself a Goblet holds
In her Right Hand, and for Libation pours
The Wine betwixt the Snow--white Heifer's Horns:
Or round the smoking Altars slowly walks
Before the Statues of the Gods: with Gifts
Renews the Day: and on the open'd Breasts
Of Victims, eagerly intent, consults
Their breathing Entrails.--

Now all the People nine whole Days had spent
In Feasts: and Honour to the Altars paid:
Three Calves to Eryx, to the Storms a Lamb
He then commands to Sacrifice, and loose
The Cables all in order from the Shore.
Himself with Olive--Foliage shorn entwines
His Head: and, standing on the distant Deck,
A Goblet holds, and on the briny Deep
Scatters the Entrails, pouring purest Wine.--

It chanc'd that on That Day, th' Arcadian King,
Before the City, in a Grove's Recess,
To great Alcides, and the Gods, perform'd
A solemn Sacrifice: At which his Son
Pallas assisted, and the chosen Youth,
And wealthless Senate: Clouds of Incense rose,
And at the Altars smok'd the tepid Blood.

The chosen Youth, industrious, and the Priest
Bring roasted Flesh of Bulls, distribute Bread
In Baskets pil'd, and minister the Wine.
Æneas, and, with him the Trojan Youth
Feed on a solid Steer's perpetual Chine,
And hallow'd Entrails for Lustration fry'd.--

He said: the double--colour'd Poplar veils
His Temples with Herculean Shade, and hangs
In twining Leaves: A consecrated Bowl
Fills his left Hand: All, joyous, on the Board
Pour their Libations, and invoke the Gods.
Mean--while the Ev'ning to the Sky convex
Rolls near: The Priests, Potitius at their Head,
Bear lighted Torches: and, begirt with Skins
Accustom'd, in Procession walk, restore
The Banquets, bring the second grateful Chear,
And with fill'd Chargers pile the sacred Hearths.
The Salii next, with poplar Garlands wreath'd,
To tuneful Measures round the Altars dance.
A Youthful This, as That an aged Quire.
These sing the Praises and the God--like Deeds
Of Hercules.--Hail! undoubted Son of Jove!
New Honour to the Gods! Be present here
Propitious, and thy Sacrifice adorn.--

--In the Wood a Sow
Of Milk--white Colour, with her Milk--white Young,
Were found together on the verdant Shore.
Them good Æneas to thy Altar brings,
Great Queen of Gods, a Sacrifice to Thee.--

The Feast approach'd, when to the blew--ey'd Maid,
His Vows, for Cygnus slain, Achilles paid,
And a white Heifer on her Altar laid.
The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw,
And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew:
Heav'n had it's Part in Sacrifice: The rest
Was broil'd, and roasted, for the future Feast.
The chief invited Guests were plac'd around;
And Hunger first asswag'd, the Bowls were crown'd,
Which in deep Draughts their Cares and Labours drown'd.--

Affection giving way to public Good,
No more the Parent now the King withstood;
The weeping Priests fair Iphigenia lead,
At the high Altar's Side prepar'd to bleed.
All mourn her Fate: but no Relief appear'd:
The Royal Victim bound, the Knife was rear'd:
When that offended Pow'r, who caus'd their Woe,
Relenting ceas'd her Wrath, and stopp'd the coming Blow:
A Mist before the Ministers she cast,
And, in the Virgin's Room a Hind she plac'd.
Th' Oblation slain, and Phoebe reconcil'd,
The Storm was hush'd, and roaring Ocean smil'd:
A prosp'rous Gale the thousand Vessels bore,
Which, long distress'd, now gain the Phrygian Shore.--


Sacrifice to the Infernal Powers.

Four Bullocks first, with Hides of sable Hue,
The Priestess here before the Altars plac'd:
And full upon their Foreheads downwards pour'd
The Wine: Then plucking from between their Horns
Their foremost Hairs, into the holy Fire
The first Oblation flings: invoking loud
Great Hecatè, potent in Hell, and Heav'n.
Some, sticking Knives beneath, in Bowls receive
The tepid Blood: Æneas with his Sword
Himself dispatches to th' infernal Pow'rs,
The Mother of the Furies, and to Earth
Her Sister Deity, a black Ewe Lamb,
And, Proserpine, a barren Cow to Thee.
Then, to the Stygian Monarch he begins
The nightly Sacrifice: the solid Flesh
Of Bulls upon the flaming Altar lays,
And o'er their burning Entrails pours the Oil.--


Sailing.
See Navigation. Pilot. Storm at Sea.

--He gives command with speed
To raise the Masts, with Yards to stretch the Sails:
At once they tug the Haulsers all: at once
The left Side now unfurl, and now the right:
Now this, now that way, tack at once: The Fleet
With it's own Breezes smoothly plows the Waves.
Before them all, first Palinurus leads
Th' embody'd Line: The rest commanded steer
Their Course to him.--

--Then all at once
The Trojans urge their Toil, and from the Dock
Draw their tall Ships: the new--pitch'd Gallies float.--

--From all Parts, thou seest,
Rushing they croud the Shore; Their Sails unfurl'd
Invite the Breezes, and with joyful Haste
The shouting Mariners have crown'd their Ships.--

--Good Æneas then,
Soon as the Deep lay smooth, with Canvas spread
Unmoors, and leaves the Port. A Breeze at Night
Springs fresh: Nor does the silver Moon deny
Her Beams, which tremble on the glim'ring Waves.--

Neptune with Winds propitious swell'd their Sails,
And sped them safe beyond the boiling Tides.--

--All at once the Winds
Lay hush'd, and ev'ry Blast: the lab'ring Oars
Cleave the smooth Marble of the yielding Deep.--

He spoke, and spread His Canvas to the Wind,
Unmoor'd his Boat, and left the Shore behind.
Swift flew the nimble Keel: and as they past,
Long Trails of Light the shooting Meteors cast:
Ev'n the fixt Stars above in Motion seem,
Shake thro' the Blast, and dart a quiv'ring Beam.
Black Horrors on the gloomy Ocean brood,
And in long Ridges rolls the threatning Flood:
While loud and louder murm'ring Winds arise,
And growl from ev'ry Quarter of the Skies.
When thus the trembling Master, pale with Fear,
Behold what Wrath the dreadful Gods prepare!
My Art is at a Loss: the various Tide
Beats my unstable Bark on ev'ry Side:
From the Nor--West the setting Current swells,
While Southern Storms the driving Rack foretells.
Our only means of Safety is to yield,
And measure back with Haste the foamy Field:
To reach, while yet we may, the neighb'ring Shore,
And give our unavailing Labour o'er.--


Satyr.

Sharp as a Sword, Lucilius drew his Pen,
And struck, with pannic Terror, guilty Men:
At his just Strokes the hardned Wretch would start,
Feel the cold Sweat, and tremble at the Heart.--

--With conceal'd Design
Did crafty Horace his low Numbers join:
And, with a sly insinuating Grace,
Laugh'd at his Friend, and look'd him in the Face:
Would raise a Blush, where secret Vice he found,
And tickle, whilst he gently prob'd the Wound.
With seeming Innocence the Crowd beguil'd:
But made the desp'rate Passes when he smil'd.--


Scylla and Charybdis.

Far off we hear the Sea with dreadful Roar
Break on the Rocks, and dash upon the Shore.
The foamy Waves boil high on ev'ry Side,
And scoop the Sands, and blacken all the Tide.
Charybdis' Gulf, my Father cries, behold!
And those the Rocks which Helenus foretold:
Ply, ply your Oars, my Friends, and bear away:
Swift as the Word, the Mariners obey.
First skillful Palinure: then all the Train
Steer to the left, and plow the liquid Main.
Now on a tow'ring Arch of Waves we rise,
Heav'd on the bounding Billows to the Skies;
Then as the roaring Surge retreating fell,
We shoot down headlong to the Depths of Hell.
Thrice the rough Rocks rebellow in our Ears,
Thrice mount we on the Waves, and see the dewy Stars.--

On the right Hand roars Scylla, on the Left
Implacable Charybdis, which, with Gulf
Voracious, thrice sucks in the broken Tides;
Then spouts them high, disgorg'd, into the Air,
Alternate, and with Billows beats the Stars.
But Scylla, with dark Caverns round inclos'd,
Uprears her Head, and draws among her Rocks
The Vessels: Human is her upper Part,
A Virgin's beauteous Face, and beauteous Breast;
Her nether Shape a monstrous Pristis joyn'd
To Tails of Dolphins, and the Wombs of Wolves.--

Here cruel Scylla guards the rocky Shore,
And there the Waves of loud Charybdis roar:
This sucks, and vomits Ships, and Bodies drown'd,
And rav'nous Dogs the Womb of That surround:
In Face a Virgin: and (if ought be true
By Bards recorded) once a Virgin too.--


Sea.
See Storm at Sea.

As when the Ocean whitens with the Foam,
And from a--far rolls wavy to the Shore,
Roaring with dreadful Noise among the Rocks,
And riding, ridgy, of a Mountain's Height;
The lowest Deep with circling Eddy boils,
And to the Surface hurls the sable Sand.--


Sea--Fight.

All rush at once: And all the Ocean foams
Convuls'd with dashing Oars, and trident Beaks.
They hoise to Sea: The Cyclades up--torn
You would have thought were floating on the Deep:
Or lofty Hills encount'ring Hills: So huge
The tow'ring Vessels, rigg'd and mann'd for War.
Fire--Balls of Tow, and missile Jav'lins fly:
And recent Gore discolours Neptune's Fields.--

Now, Prow to Prow, advance each hostile Fleet,
And want but one concurring Stroke to meet:
Now Peals of Shouts, and mingling Clamours roar,
And drown the brazen Trump, and plunging Oar.
The brushing Pine the frothy Surface plies,
While on the Banks their lusty Rowers rise;
Each brings the Stroke back on his ample Chest,
Then firm upon his Seat he lights represt.
With clashing Beaks the launching Vessels meet,
And from the mutual Shock alike retreat.
Thick Clouds of flying Shafts the Welkin hide,
Then fall, and floating strow the Ocean wide.
At length the stretching Wings their Order leave,
And in the Line the mingling Foe receive.

Some lie, by Chains and Grapplings strong compell'd,
Whilst Others by the tangling Oars are held:
The Seas are hid beneath the closing War,
Nor need they cast the Jav'lin now from far:
With hardy Strokes the Combatants engage,
And with keen Faulchions deal their deadly Rage.
Man against Man, and Board by Board they lie,
And on those Decks their Arms defended, die.
The rolling Surge is stain'd around with Blood,
And foamy Purple swells the rising Flood.--


Seasons.
See Autumn. Spring. Winter. Year.

There stood gay Spring, fair Flow'rs her Brows surround,
There Summer, naked, and with Wheat--Ears crown'd.
With trodden Grapes, there Autumn stood besmear'd;
And icy Winter, with his hoary Beard.--

In every Season Pleasures may be found;
Autumn with Fruit, with Harvest Summer's crown'd:
The Spring's adorn'd with Flow'rs to charm the Eye,
And Winter Fires the absent Sun supply.--

First comes the Spring, and Venus ever gay,
And flutt'ring Zephyrus that prepares her Way:
Flora, before them, with a lib'ral Hand,
Indulgent, strows her Blessings o'er the Land:
Now various Flow'rs enrich'd with Brilliant Dyes,
Now fragrant Odours ev'ry where arise.
Heat, next, and dusty Harvest come in Place,
And Summer Breezes fan the Sun--burnt Face.
Then Autumn comes, repleat with sparkling Wine:
All Hail, Great Bacchus, glorious and divine!
Unsettled then, and changeable the Skies,
And all uncertain are the Winds that rise.
From East and South the roaring Tempest springs,
And with loud Thunder flashing Lightning brings.
Cold then, benumbing, comes, severely blows
The piercing North, and scatters Frosts and Snows.
Winter succeeds, decrepid, wrinkled, old,
Chatter his Teeth, his Limbs all shake with Cold.--

Spring's genial Warmth the Winter Cold succeeds;
Then Summer comes, and parches up the Meads;
Close follows fruitful Autumn, crown'd with Grain;
And shiv'ring Winter soon returns again.--


Secrets.

O Corydon, art Thou so dull to think,
A Great Man's Vices e'er can be conceal'd?
Suppose his Servants hush; yet ev'n his Beasts,
His Dog, his Columns, and his Walls will tell.
Bar fast the Windows, ev'ry Crevice stop,
Shut the Doors close, and take the Lights away:
Be Silence all around, no Mortal near:
Yet whate'er Crime at Midnight he commits,
His Butler knows before the rising Day:
And quickly shall he hear his Steward and Cook,
With snarling Scoffs, enlarging on the Tale.
For Servants never scruple to revenge
Their Master's angry Words, or hasty Blows,
By charging on them ev'ry Crime they can.
Nor shalt Thou fail to find upon the Road,
Some drunken Rogue to plague thee with his Jokes,
And din thy Faults, and Follies, in thy Ears.

A virtuous Life on all Accounts is best,
And amongst Others, that Thou may'st despise
The Tongues of Servants: for the greatest Harm
Those Rascals can commit, is with their Tongues.
Yet more a Wretch than they, is that poor Slave,
Who stands in Awe of those he feeds and pays.--

Yes, trust me, ev'ry Mouth of human Mold,
Can Fire, much sooner than a Secret hold:
For whatsoe'er in Whispers you confide,
Strait flies abroad, exulting, far and wide.
While such Additions the proud Wonder swell,
As burthen even Fame herself to tell.—