Melodious maids of Pindus, who inspire
The flowing strains, and tune the vocal lyre,
Tradition’s secrets are unlock’d to you,
Old tales revive, and ages past renew;
You who can hidden causes best expound,
Say, whence the isle which Tiber flows around,
Its altars with a heavenly stranger graced,
And in our shrines the god of physic placed.
A wasting plague infected Latium’s skies;
Pale, bloodless looks were seen, with ghastly eyes;
The dire disease’s marks each visage wore,
And the pure blood was changed to putrid gore:
In vain were human remedies applied;
In vain the power of healing herbs was tried:
Wearied with death, they seek celestial aid,
And visit Phoebus in his Delphic shade;
In the world’s centre sacred Delphos stands,
And gives its oracles to distant lands:
Here they implore the god, with fervent vows,
His salutary power to interpose,
And end a great afflicted city’s woes.
The holy temple sudden tremours proved;
The laurel grove and all its quivers moved;
In hollow sounds the priestess thus began,
And through each bosom thrilling horrors ran:
“The assistance, Roman, which you here implore,
Seek from another, and a nearer shore;
Relief must be implored, and succour won,
Not from Apollo, but Apollo’s son;
My son, to Latium borne, shall bring redress;
Go with good omens, and expect success.”
When these clear oracles the senate knew,
The sacred tripod’s counsels they pursue,
Depute a pious and a chosen band,
Who sail to Epidaurus’ neighbouring land.
Before the Grecian elders when they stood,
They pray them to bestow the healing god:
“Ordain’d was he to save Ausonia’s state;
So promised Delphos, and unerring fate.”
Opinions various their debates enlarge:
Some plead to yield to Rome the sacred charge;
Others, tenacious of their country’s wealth,
Refuse to grant the power who guards its health.
While dubious they remain’d, the wasting light
Withdrew before the growing shades of night;
Thick darkness now obscured the dusky skies:
Now, Roman, closed in sleep were mortal eyes,
When health’s auspicious god appears to thee,
And thy glad dreams his form celestial see:
In his left hand, a rural staff preferr’d,
His right is seen to stroke his decent beard.
“Dismiss,” said he, with mildness all divine,
“Dismiss your fears; I come, and leave my shrine.
This serpent view, that with ambitious play
My staff encircles, mark him every way;
His form, though larger, nobler, I’ll assume,
And changed, as gods should be, bring aid to Rome.”
Here fled the vision, and the vision’s flight
Was follow’d by the cheerful dawn of light.
Nor was the morn with blushing streaks o’erspread,
And all the starry fires of heaven were fled;
The chiefs perplex’d, and fill’d with doubtful care,
To their protector’s sumptuous roofs repair,
By genuine signs implore him to express,
What seats he deigns to choose, what land to bless:
Scarce their ascending prayers had reached the sky;
Lo, the serpentine god, erected high!
Forerunning hissings his approach confess’d;
Bright shone his golden scales, and waved his lofty crest;
The trembling altar his appearance spoke;
The marble floor, and glittering ceiling shook;
The doors were rock’d; the statue seemed to nod;
And all the fabric own’d the present god;
His radiant chest he taught aloft to rise,
And round the temple cast his flaming eyes:
Struck was the astonish’d crowd; the holy priest,
His temples with white bands of ribboned dress’d,
With reverent awe the power divine confess’d!
“The god! the god!” he cries; “all tongues be still!
Each conscious breast devoutest ardour fill!
Oh beauteous! oh divine! assist our cares,
And be propitious to thy vot’ries prayers!”
All with consenting hearts, and pious fear,
The words repeat, the deity revere:
The Romans in their holy worship join’d,
With silent awe, and purity of mind:
Gracious to them, his crest is seen to nod,
And, as an earnest of his care, the god,
Thrice hissing, vibrates thrice his forked tongue;
And now the smooth descent he glides along:
Still on the ancient seats he bends his eyes,
In which his statue breathes, his altars rise;
His long-loved shrine with kind concern he leases,
And to forsake the accustom’d mansion grieves:
At length his weeping bulk in state is borne
Through the throng’d streets, which scatter’d flowers adorn;
Through many a fold he winds his mazy course,
And gains the port and moles, which break the ocean’s force.
’Twas here he made a stand, and having view’d
The pious train, who his last steps pursued,
Seem’d to dismiss their zeal with gracious eyes,
While gleams of pleasure in his aspect rise.
And now the Latian vessel he ascends;
Beneath the weighty god the vessel bends:
The Latins on the strand great Jove appease,
Their cables loose, and plough the yielding seas:
The high-rear’d serpent from the stern displays
His gorgeous form, and the blue deep surveys;
The ship is wafted on with gentle gales,
And o’er the calm Ionian smoothly sails;
On the sixth morn the Italian coast they gain,
And touch Lacinia, graced with Juno’s fane;
Now fair Calabria to the sight is lost,
And all the cities on her fruitful coast;
They pass at length the rough Sicilian shore,
The Brutian soil, rich with metallic ore,
The famous isles, where Aeolus was king,
And Paestus blooming with eternal spring:
Minerva’s cape they leave, and Capreae’s isle,
Campania, on whose hills the vineyards smile,
The city, which Alcides’ spoils adorn,
Naples, for soft delight and pleasure born;
Fair Stabiae, with Cumean sibyls’ seats,
And Baiae’s tepid baths, and green retreats;
Linternum next they reach, where balmy gums
Distil from mastic trees, and spread perfumes;
Cajeta, from the nurse so named for whom
With pious care Aeneas raised a tomb.
Vulturne, whose whirlpools suck the numerous sands,
And Trachas, and Minturnae’s marshy lands,
And Formia’s coast is left, and Circe’s plain,
Which yet remembers her enchanting reign;
To Antium, last, his course the pilot guides.
Here, while the anchor’d vessel safely rides,
(For now the ruffled deep portends a storm,)
The spiry god unfolds his spheric form,
Through large indentings draws his lubric train,
And seeks the refuge of Apollo’s fane;
The fane is situate on the yellow shore:
When the sea smiled, and the winds raged no more,
He leaves his father’s hospitable lands,
And furrows, with his rattling scales, the sands
Along the coast; at length the ship regains,
And sails to Tibur, and Lavinium’s plains.
Here mingling crowds to meet their patron came,
Ev’n the chaste guardians of the Vestal flame,
From every part tumultuous they repair,
And joyful acclamations rend the air:
Along the flow’ry banks, on either side,
Where the tall ship floats on the swelling tide,
Disposed in decent order altars rise,
And crackling incense, as it mounts the skies,
The air with sweets refreshes; while the knife,
Warm with the victim’s blood, lets out the streaming life.
The world’s great mistress, Rome, receives him now;
On the mast’s top reclined he waves his brow,
And from that height surveys the great abodes,
And mansions, worthy of residing gods.
The land, a narrow neck, itself extends,
Round which his course the stream divided bends;
The stream’s two arms, on either side, are seen,
Stretch’d out in equal length; the land between.
The isle, so call’d, from hence derives its name:
’Twas here the salutary serpent came;
Nor sooner has he left the Latian pine,
But he assumes again his form divine,
And now no more the drooping city mourns,
Joy is again restored, and health returns.