Plac. In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw, Where in a square he did a circle draw; Four angles, made by that circumference, Bore holy words inscribed, of mystic sense. When first a hollow wind began to blow, The sky grew black, and bellied down more low; Around the fields did nimble lightning play, Which offered us by fits, and snatched the day. 'Midst this was heard the shrill and tender cry Of well-pleased ghosts, which in the storm did fly; Danced to and fro, and skimmed along the ground, Till to the magic circle they were bound. They coursing it, while we were fenced within, We saw this dreadful scene of fate begin.
Char. Speak without fear; what did the vision shew?
Plac. A curtain, drawn, presented to our view A town besieged; and on the neighbouring plain Lay heaps of visionary soldiers slain. A rising mist obscured the gloomy head Of one, who, in imperial robes, lay dead. Near this, in fetters, stood a virgin crowned, Whom many Cupids strove in vain to wound: A voice,—To-morrow, still To-morrow rung; Another,—lo, lo Pæan sung.
Char. Visions and oracles still doubtful are, And ne'er expounded till the event of war. The gods' foreknowledge on our swords will wait: If we fight well, they must foreshow good fate.
To them a Centurion.
Cent. A rising dust, which troubles all the air, And this way travels, shews some army near.
Char. I hear the sound of trumpets from afar.
[Exit Albinus.
Max. It seems the voice of triumph, not of war.
To them Albinus again.