Story of Cippus
A noble Roman, named Cippus, while returning victorious to the city, finds horns growing on his forehead, which are pronounced by the soothsayers to foretell his future reign if he should enter Rome—Unwilling to enslave his country, he voluntarily banishes himself; and a large portion of land without the city walls is allotted for his support by the grateful senate.
Or as when Cippus in the current view’d The shooting horns that on his forehead stood, His temples first he feels, and, with surprise, His touch confirms the assurance of his eyes. Straight to the skies his horned front he rears, And to the gods directs these pious prayers:
“If this portent be prosperous, oh decree To Rome the event; if otherwise, to me.” An altar then of turf he hastes to raise; Rich gums in fragrant exhalations blaze; The panting entrails crackle as they fry, And boding fumes pronounce a mystery. Soon as the augur saw the holy fire, And victims with presaging signs expire, To Cippus then he turns his eyes with speed, And views the horny honours of his head; Then cried, “Hail, conqueror! thy call obey; Those omens I behold presage thy sway: Rome waits thy nod, unwilling to be free, And owns thy sovereign power as fate’s decree.”
He said; and Cippus, starting at the event, Spoke in these words his pious discontent:
“Far hence, ye gods, this execration send, And the great race of Romulus defend. Better that I in exile live abhorr’d, Than e’er the capitol should style me lord.”
This spoke, he hides with leaves his omen’d head Then prays; the senate next convenes, and said:
“If augurs can foresee, a wretch is come, Design’d by destiny the bane of Rome. Two horns (most strange to tell) his temples crown: If e’er he pass the walls, and gain the town, Your laws are forfeit that ill-fated hour, And liberty must yield to lawless power. Your gates he might have enter’d; but this arm Seized the usurper, and withheld the harm. Haste, find the monster out, and let him be Condemn’d to all the senate can decree; Or tied in chains, or into exile thrown, Or by the tyrant’s death prevent your own.”
The crowd such murmurs utter as they stand, As swelling surges breaking on the strand: Or as when gathering gales sweep o’er the grove, And their tall heads the bending cedars move. Each with confusion gazed, and then began To feel his fellow’s brows, and find the man. Cippus then shakes his garland off, and cries, “The wretch you want I offer to your eyes.”
The anxious throng look’d down, and, sad in thought, All wish’d they had not found the sign they sought. In haste, with laurel wreaths his head they bind: Such honour to such virtue was assign’d. Then thus the senate: “Hear, oh Cippus, hear: So godlike is thy tutelary care, That since in Rome thyself forbids thy stay, For thy abode those acres we convey The ploughshare can surround, the labour of a day. In deathless records thou shalt stand enroll’d; And Rome’s rich posts shall shine with horns of gold.”