WARS worse than civil on Emathian plains, 
 And crime let loose we sing: how Rome 's high race 
 Plunged in her vitals her victorious sword; 
 Armies akin embattled, with the force 
 Of all the shaken earth bent on the fray; 
 And burst asunder, to the common guilt, 
 A kingdom's compact; eagle with eagle met, 
 Standard to standard, spear opposed to spear. 
 Whence, citizens, this rage, this boundless lust 
 To sate barbarians with the blood of Rome ? 
 Did not the shade of Crassus, wandering still, 
 
 Cry for his vengeance? Could ye not have spoiled, 
 To deck your trophies, haughty Babylon ? 
 Why wage campaigns that send no laurels home? 
 What lands, what oceans might have been the prize 
 Of all the blood thus shed in civil strife! 
 Where Titan rises, where night hides the stars, 
 'Neath southern noons with fiery rays aflame, 
 Or where keen frost that never yields to spring 
 In icy fetters binds the Scythian main: 
 Long since barbarian Araxes' stream, 
 And all the distant East, and those who know 
 (If any such there be) the birth of Nile , 
 Had felt our yoke. Then, then, with all the world 
 Beneath thee, Rome , if for nefarious war 
 Such be thy passion, turn upon thyself: 
 Not yet was wanting for thy sword a foe. 
 That crumbled houses and half-ruined homes 
 Now mark our cities; that the ancient streets 
 Scarce hear the footfall of the passer-by; 
 That mighty fragments lie beside the walls; 
 That hearths are desolate; that far and wide 
 Fields thick with bramble and untilled for years 
 Demand the labours of the hind in vain: 
 All this nor Pyrrhus caused, nor Punic chief, 
 Nor sword thrust deep. 'Twas civil strife alone 
 That dealt the wound and left the death behind. 
 
 Yet if the fates could find no other way
 
 
 For Nero 's coming, nor the gods with ease 
 Gain thrones in heaven; and if the Thunderer 
 Prevailed not till the giants' war was done, 
 We plain no more, ye gods! for such a boon 
 All wickedness be welcome and all crime; 
 Thronged with our dead be dire Pharsalia 's fields, 
 Be Punic ghosts avenged by Roman blood; 
 Add, Caesar, to these ills the Mutin toils; 
 
 Perusia 's dearth; on Munda's final field 
 The shock of battle joined; let Leucas' Cape 
 Shatter the routed navies; servile hands 
 Unsheath the sword on fiery Etna 's slopes: 
 Still Rome is gainer by the civil war. 
 Thou, Caesar, art her prize. When thou shalt choose, 
 Thy watch relieved, to seek at length the stars, 
 All heaven rejoicing; and shalt hold a throne, 
 Or else elect to govern Phoebus' car 
 And light a subject world that shall not dread 
 To owe her brightness to a different Sun; 
 All shall concede thy right: do what thou wilt, 
 Select thy Godhead, and the central clime 
 Whence thou shalt rule the world with power divine. 
 And yet the Northern or the Southern Pole 
 We pray thee, choose not; but in rays direct 
 Vouchsafe thy radiance to thy city Rome . 
 Press thou on either side, the universe 
 Should lose its equipoise: take thou the midst, 
 And weight the scales, and let that part of heaven 
 Where Caesar sits be evermore serene 
 And smile upon us with unclouded blue. 
 Then may all men lay down their arms, and peace 
 Through all the nations reign, and shut the gates 
 That close the temple of the God of War. 
 Be thou my help, to me e'en now divine! 
 Let Delphi 's steep her own Apollo guard, 
 And Nysa keep her Bacchus, uninvoked. 
 
 Rome is my subject and my muse art thou! 
 First of such deeds I purpose to unfold 
 The causes task immense what drove to arms 
 A maddened nation and from all the world 
 Struck peace away. 
 By envious fate's decrees 
 Abide not long the mightiest lords of earth; 
 Too great the burden, great shall be the fall. 
 Thus Rome o'ergrew her strength. So when that hour, 
 The last in all the centuries, shall sound 
 The world's disruption, all things shall revert 
 To that primaeval chaos, stars on stars 
 Shall crash; and fiery meteors from the sky 
 Plunge in the ocean. Earth shall then no more 
 Front with her bulwark the encroaching sea: 
 The moon, indignant at her path oblique, 
 Shall drive her chariot 'gainst her brother Sun 
 And claim the day for hers; and discord huge 
 Shall rend the spheres asunder. On themselves 
 The great are dashed: such end the gods have set 
 To height of power: nor ever Fortune shares 
 With other lands the weapons of her spite 
 Against a nation lord of land and sea. 
 Thou, Rome , degraded, sold, the common prey 
 Of triple despots, of a tyrant rule 
 Partnered as ne'er before-thyself art cause 
 Of all the ills. Ye chiefs, with greed of power 
 Blind, leagued for evil, is your force conjoined 
 To hold the world in common as your prize? 
 So long as Sea on Earth and Earth on Air 
 Lean for support while Titan runs his course, 
 And night with day divides an equal sphere, 
 No king shall brook his fellow, nor shall rule 
 Endure a rival. Search no foreign lands: 
 These walls are proof that in their infant days 
 A hamlet, not the world, was prize enough 
 To cause the shedding of a brothers blood. 
 Concord, on discord based, brief time endured, 
 Unwelcome to the rivals; and alone 
 Crassus delayed the advent of the war. 
 Like to the slender neck that separates 
 The seas of Graecia: should it be engulfed 
 Then would th' Ionian and Aegean mains 
 Break each on other : thus when Crassus fell, 
 Who held apart the chiefs, in piteous death, 
 And stained Assyria's plains with Latian blood, 
 Defeat in Parthia loosed the war in Rome . 
 More in that victory than ye thought was won, 
 Ye sons of Arsaces; your conquered foes 
 Took at your hands the rage of civil strife. 
 By sword the realm is parted; and the state 
 Supreme o'er earth and sea, wide as the world, 
 Could not find space for two. For Julia bore, 
 Cut off by fate unpitying, the bond 
 Of that ill-omened marriage and the pledge 
 Of blood united, to the shades below. 
 Hadst thou but longer stayed, it had been thine 
 To keep the parent and the spouse apart, 
 Strike sword from grasp and join the threatening hands; 
 As Sabine matrons in the days of old 
 Joined in the midst the bridegroom and the sire. 
 With thee all trust was buried, and the chiefs 
 Could give their courage vent, and rushed to war. 
 Lest newer glories triumphs past obscure, 
 Late conquered Gaul the bays from pirates won, 
 This, Magnus, is thy fear; thy roll of fame, 
 Of glorious deeds accomplished for the state 
 Allows no equal; nor will Caesar's pride 
 A prior rival in his triumphs brook; 
 Which had the right 'twere impious to enquire; 
 Each for his cause can vouch a judge supreme; 
 The victor, heaven: the vanquished, Cato, thee. 
 
 Nor were they like to like: the one in years 
 Now verging towards decay, in times of peace 
 Had unlearned war; but thirsting for applause 
 Gave to the people much, and proud of fame 
 His former glory cared not to renew, 
 But joyed in plaudits of the theatre, 
 
 His gift to Rome : his triumphs in the past, 
 Himself the shadow of a mighty name. 
 As when some oak, in fruitful field sublime, 
 
 Adorned with venerable spoils, and gifts 
 Of bygone leaders, by its weight to earth 
 With feeble roots still clings; its naked arms 
 And hollow trunk, though leafless, give a shade; 
 And though condemned beneath the tempest's shock 
 To speedy fall, amid the sturdier trees 
 In sacred grandeur rules the forest still. 
 No such repute had Caesar won, nor fame; 
 But energy was his that could not rest- 
 The only shame he knew was not to win. 
 Keen and unvanquished, where revenge or hope 
 Might call, resistless would he strike the blow 
 With sword unpitying: every victory won 
 Reaped to the full; the favour of the gods 
 Pressed to the utmost; all that stayed his course 
 Aimed at the summit of power, was thrust aside: 
 Triumph his joy, though ruin marked his track. 
 As parts the clouds a bolt by winds compelled, 
 With crack of riven air and crash of worlds, 
 And veils the light of day, and on mankind, 
 Blasting their vision with its flames oblique, 
 Sheds deadly fright; then turning to its home, 
 Nought but the air opposing, through its path 
 Spreads havoc, and collects its scattered fires.
 
 
 Such were the hidden motives of the chiefs; 
 But in the public life the seeds of war 
 Their hold had taken, such as are the doom 
 Of potent nations: and when fortune poured 
 Through Roman gates the booty of a world, 
 The curse of luxury, chief bane of states, 
 Fell on her sons. Farewell the ancient ways! 
 Behold the pomp profuse, the houses decked 
 With ornament; their hunger loathed the food 
 Of former days; men wore attire for dames 
 Scarce fitly fashioned; poverty was scorned, 
 Fruitful of warriors; and from all the world 
 Came that which ruins nations; while the fields 
 Furrowed of yore by great Camillus ' plough, 
 Or by the mattock which a Curius held, 
 Lost their once narrow bounds, and widening tracts 
 By hinds unknown were tilled. No nation this 
 To sheathe the sword, with tranquil peace content 
 And with her liberties; but prone to ire; 
 Crime holding light as though by want compelled: 
 Great was the glory in the minds of men, 
 Ambition lawful even at point of sword, 
 To rise above their country: might their law: 
 Decrees were forced from Senate and from Plebs: 
 Consul and Tribune broke the laws alike: 
 Bought were the fasces, and the people sold 
 For gain their favour: bribery's fatal curse 
 Stained every yearly contest of the Field. 
 Then covetous usury rose, and interest 
 Was greedier with the seasons; and all trust 
 Was crushed; and many found a boon in war. 
 Caesar has crossed the Alps , his mighty soul 
 Great tumults pondering and the coming shock. 
 Now on the marge of Rubicon , he saw, 
 In face most sorrowful and ghostly guise, 
 His trembling country's image; huge it seemed 
 Through mists of night obscure; and hoary hair 
 Streamed from the lofty front with turrets crowned: 
 Torn were her locks and naked were her arms. 
 Then thus, with broken sighs the Vision spake: 
 What seek ye, men of Rome ? and whither hence 
 Bear ye my standards? If by right ye come, 
 My citizens, stay here; these are the bounds; 
 No further dare.' But Caesar's hair was stiff 
 With horror as he gazed, and ghastly dread 
 Restrained his footsteps on the further bank. 
 Then spake he, ' Thunderer, who from the rock 
 Tarpeian seest the wall of mighty Rome ; 
 Gods of my race who watched o'er Troy of old; 
 Thou Jove of Alba's height, and Vestal fires, 
 And rites of Romulus erst rapt to heaven, 
 And God-like Rome ; be friendly to my quest. 
 Not with offence or hostile arms I come, 
 Thy Caesar, conqueror by land and sea, 
 Thy soldier here and wheresoe'er thou wilt: 
 No other's; his, his only be the guilt 
 Whose acts make me thy foe.' He gives the word 
 And bids his standards cross the swollen stream. 
 So in the wastes of Afric's burning clime 
 The lion crouches as his foes draw near, 
 Feeding his wrath the while, his lashing tail 
 Provokes his fury; stiff upon his neck 
 Bristles his mane: deep from his gaping jaws 
 Resounds the muttered growl, and should a lance 
 Or javelin reach him from the hunter's ring, 
 Scorning the puny scratch he bounds afield. 
 From modest fountain blood-red Rubicon 
 
 In summer's heat flows on; his pigmy tide 
 Creeps through the valleys and with slender marge 
 Divides the Italian peasant from the Gaul . 
 Then winter gave him strength, and fraught with rain 
 The third day's crescent moon; while Eastern winds 
 Thawed from the Alpine slopes the yielding snow. 
 The cavalry first form across the stream 
 To break the torrent's force; the rest with ease 
 Beneath their shelter gain the further bank. 
 When Caesar crossed and trod beneath his feet 
 The soil of Italy 's forbidden fields, 
 Here,' spake he, 'peace, here broken laws be left; 
 Farewell to treaties. Fortune, lead me on; 
 War is our judge, and in the fates our trust.' 
 Then in the shades of night he leads the troops 
 Swifter than Balearic sling or shaft 
 Winged by retreating Parthian, to the walls 
 Of threatened Rimini , while fled the stars, 
 Save Lucifer, before the coming sun, 
 Whose fires were veiled in clouds, by south wind driven, 
 Or else at heaven's command: and thus drew on 
 The first dark morning of the civil war. 
 Now stood the troops within the captured town, 
 Their standards planted; and the trumpet clang 
 Rang forth in harsh alarums, giving note 
 Of impious strife: roused from their sleep the men 
 Rushed to the hall and snatched the ancient arms 
 Long hanging through the years of peace; the shield 
 With crumbling frame; dark with the tooth of rust 
 Their swords; and javelins with blunted point. 
 But when the well-known signs and eagles shone, 
 And Caesar towering o'er the throng was seen, 
 They shook for terror, fear possessed their limbs, 
 And thoughts unuttered stirred within their souls. 
 O miserable those to whom their home 
 Denies the peace that all men else enjoy! 
 Placed as we are beside the Northern bounds 
 And scarce a footstep from the restless Gaul , 
 We fall the first; would that our lot had been 
 Beneath the Eastern sky, or frozen North, 
 To lead a wandering life, rather than keep 
 ' The gates of Latium . Brennus sacked the town 
 ' And Hannibal, and all the Teuton hosts. 
 ' This is the path when Rome 's the prize of war.' 
 Deep in their breasts they breathed the silent moan; 
 But dared not speak their sorrow nor their fear. 
 As when in winter all the fields are still, 
 And birds are voiceless, and no murmured sound 
 Breaks on the silence of the central sea; 
 So deep the stillness. But when through the shades 
 The day had broken, lo! the torch of war! 
 For by the hand of Fate is swift dispersed 
 All Caesar's shame of battle, and his mind 
 Scarce doubted more; and Fortune toiled to make 
 His action just and give him cause for arms. 
 For while Rome wavered and her patriots' names 
 Were loud and frequent in the mouths of men, 
 The Senate angered and in scorn of right 
 
 Drove out the Tribunes who withstood their will. 
 To Caesar's troops already on the march 
 They haste with Curio, who in former days 
 With bold and venal tongue had dared to speak 
 For Freedom, and to voice the people's wrongs, 
 And summon to their side the chiefs in arms. 
 Who, when he saw that Caesar doubted still, 
 Spake out; ' So long as I the rostrum held 
 ' By this my voice against the Senate's will 
 ' Was thy command prolonged, and to thy side 
 ' By me were drawn the wavering men of Rome . 
 ' Mute now are laws in war; we from our hearths 
 Are driven, yet willing exiles; for thine arms 
 Shall make us citizens of Rome again. 
 'Strike; for no strength as yet the foe hath gained. 
 'To pause when ready is to court defeat: 
 'Like risk, like labour, thou hast known before, 
 'But never such reward. Could Gallia hold 
 'Thine armies ten long years ere victory came, 
 'That little nook of earth? One paltry fight 
 'Or twain, fought out by thy resistless hand, 
 'And Rome for thee shall have subdued the world: 
 'Tis true no triumph now would bring thee home; 
 'No captive tribes would grace thy chariot wheels 
 'Winding in pomp around the ancient hill: 
 'Spite, gnawing spite, denies thee all thy due; 
 For all thy conquests, for a world well won 
 'Scarce shalt thou go unpunished. Yet 'tis fate 
 'Thou should'st subdue thy kinsman: share the world 
 'With him thou canst not; rule thou canst, alone.'
 
 
 As when at Elis ' festival a horse 
 In stable pent gnaws at his prison bars 
 Impatient, and should clamour from without 
 Strike on his ear, bounds furious at restraint, 
 So then was Caesar, eager for the fight, 
 Stirred by the words of Curio. To the ranks 
 He bids his soldiers; with majestic mien 
 And hand commanding silence as they come. 
 Comrades,' he cried, ' victorious returned, 
 'Who by my side for ten long years have faced, 
 'Mid Alpine winters and on Arctic shores, 
 'The thousand dangers of the battle-field--- 
 Is this our country's welcome, this her prize 
 ' For death and wounds and Roman blood outpoured? 
 ' Rome arms her choicest sons; the sturdy oaks 
 ' Are felled to make a fleet;-what could she more 
 ' If from the Alps fierce Hannibal were come 
 ' With all his Punic host? " By land and sea 
 ' Caesar shall fly!" Fly? Though in adverse war 
 ' Our best had fallen, and the savage Gaul 
 
 ' Were hard upon our track, we would not fly. 
 'And now, when fortune smiles and kindly gods 
 ' Beckon us on to glory! -Let him come 
 ' Fresh from his years of peace, with all his crowd 
 ' Of conscript burgesses, Marcellus' tongue 
 
 ' And Cato's empty name! We will not fly. 
 ' Shall Eastern hordes and greedy hirelings keep 
 ' Their loved Pompeius ever at the helm? 
 ' Shall chariots of triumph be for him 
 'Though youth and law forbad them? Shall he seize 
 ' On Rome's chief honours ne'er to be resigned? 
 ' And what of harvests blighted through the world 
 ' And ghastly famine made to serve his ends? 
 ' Who hath forgotten how Pompeius' bands 
 ' Seized on the forum? the grim sheen of swords 
 ' When outraged justice trembled, and the spears 
 ' Hemmed in the judgment-seat where Milo 
 stood? 
 ' And now when worn and old and ripe for rest, 
 
 ' Greedy of power, the impious sword again 
 ' He draws. As tigers in Hyrcanian woods 
 ' Wandering, or in the caves that saw their birth, 
 ' Once having lapped the blood of slaughtered kine, 
 ' Shall never cease from rage; e'en so this whelp 
 ' Of cruel Sulla, nursed in civil war, 
 ' Outstrips his master; and the tongue which licked 
 ' That reeking weapon ever thirsts for more. 
 ' Stain once the lips with blood, no other meal 
 ' They shall enjoy. And shall there be no end 
 ' Of these long years of power and of crime? 
 ' Nay, this one lesson, ere it be too late, 
 ' Learn of thy gentle Sulla-to retire! 
 ' Of old his victory o'er Cilician thieves 
 ' And Pontus' weary monarch gave him fame, 
 ' By poison scarce attained. His latest prize 
 ' Shall I be, Caesar, I, who would not quit 
 ' My conquering eagles at his proud command? 
 ' Nay, if no triumph is reserved for me, 
 ' Let these at least of long and toilsome war 
 ''Neath other leaders the rewards enjoy. 
 ' Where shall the weary soldier find his rest? 
 ' What cottage homes their joys, what fields their fruit 
 ' Shall to our veterans yield? Will Magnus say 
 ' That pirates only till the fields aright? 
 ' Unfurl your standards; victory gilds them yet, 
 ' As through those glorious years. Deny our rights! 
 ' He that denies them makes our quarrel just. 
 ' Nay! use the strength that we have made our own. 
 ' No booty seek we, nor imperial power. 
 ' This would-be ruler of subservient Rome 
 
 'We force to quit his grasp; and Heaven shall smile 
 'On those who seek to drag the tyrant down.' 
 Thus Caesar spake; but doubtful murmurs ran 
 Throughout the crowd; their household gods and homes 
 Made pause their minds though long inured to blood: 
 But fear of Caesar and the pride of war 
 Drew them to him. Then Laelius, who wore 
 The well-earned crown for Roman life preserved, 
 The foremost Captain of the army, spake: 
 'O greatest leader of the Roman name, 
 'If thou dost ask it, and the law permits, 
 'I tell thee all: our just complaint is this, 
 'That gifted with such strength thou didst refrain 
 'From using it. Hadst thou no trust in us? 
 'While the hot life-blood fills these glowing veins, 
 ' While these strong arms avail to hurl the lance, 
 'Wilt thou in peace endure the Senate's rule? 
 'Is civil conquest then so base and vile? 
 'Lead us through Scythian deserts, lead us where 
 'The inhospitable Syrtes line the shore 
 'Of Afric's burning sands, or where thou wilt: 
 'This hand, to leave a conquered world behind, 
 'Held firm the oar that tamed the Northern Sea 
 And Rhine 's swift torrent foaming to the main. 
 'To follow thee fate gives me now the power: 
 'The will was mine before. No citizen 
 'I count the man 'gainst whom thy trumpets sound. 
 'By ten campaigns of victory, I swear, 
 'By all thy triumphs, bid me plunge the sword 
 'In sire or brother or in pregnant spouse, 
 By this unwilling hand the deed were done: 
 'Bid spoil the gods and set the fanes ablaze, 
 Great Juno's shrine were kindled with our fires; 
 'Bid plant our arms o'er Tuscan Tiber's stream, 
 'Italian land I'll quarter for the camp: 
 'Bid raze the wall, I'll drive the fatal ram 
 'And rive the stones asunder, though the prize 
 ' Were Rome herself.' His comrades lift their hands 
 And vow to follow wheresoever he leads. 
 And such a clamour rends the sky as when 
 Some Thracian blast on Ossa's pine-clad rocks 
 Falls headlong, and the loud re-echoing woods, 
 Or bending, or rebounding from the stroke, 
 In sounding chorus lift the roar on high. 
 When Caesar saw them welcome thus the war 
 And Fortune leading on, and favouring fates, 
 He seized the moment, called his troops from Gaul , 
 And breaking up his camp set on for Rome .
 
 
 The tents are vacant by Lake Leman's side; 
 The camps upon the beetling crags of Vosges 
 
 No longer hold the warlike Lingon down, 
 Fierce in his painted arms; Isere is left, 
 Who past his shallows gliding, flows at last 
 Into the current of more famous Rhone , 
 To reach the ocean in another name. 
 The fair-haired people of Cevennes are free: 
 Soft Aude rejoicing bears no Roman keel, 
 Nor pleasant Var, since then Italia 's bound; 
 The harbour sacred to Alcides' name 
 Where hollow crags encroach upon the sea, 
 Is left in freedom: there nor Zephyr gains 
 Nor Caurus access, but the Circian blast 
 Forbids the roadstead by Monaecus' hold. 
 Left is the doubtful shore, which the vast sea 
 And land alternate claim, whene'er the tide 
 Pours in amain or when the wave rolls back 
 Be it the wind which thus compels the deep 
 From furthest pole, and leaves it at the flood; 
 Or else the moon that makes the tide to swell, 
 Or else, in search of fuel for his fires, 
 The sun draws heavenward the ocean wave; - 
 Whatever the cause that may control the main 
 I leave to others; let the gods for me 
 Lock in their breasts the secrets of the world. 
 Those who keep watch beside the western shore 
 Have moved their standards home; the happy Gaul 
 
 Rejoices in their absence; fair Garonne 
 
 Through peaceful meads glides onward to the sea. 
 And where the river broadens, neath the cape 
 Her quiet harbour sleeps. No outstretched arm 
 Except in mimic war now hurls the lance. 
 No skilful warrior of Seine directs 
 The chariot scythed against his country's foe. 
 Now rest the Belgians, and th' Arvernian race 
 That boasts our kinship by descent from Troy ; 
 And those brave rebels whose undaunted hands 
 Were dipped in Cotta's blood, and those who wear 
 Sarmatian garb. Batavia 's warriors fierce 
 No longer listen for the trumpet's call, 
 Nor those who dwell where Rhone 's swift eddies sweep 
 
 Saone to the ocean; nor the mountain tribes 
 Who dwell about its source. Thou, too, oh Treves , 
 Rejoicest that the war has left thy bounds. 
 Ligurian tribes, now shorn, in ancient days 
 First of the long-haired nations, on whose necks 
 Once flowed the auburn locks in pride supreme; 
 And those who pacify with blood accursed 
 Savage Teutates, Hesus' horrid shrines, 
 And Taranis' altars, cruel as were those 
 Loved by Diana, goddess of the north; 
 All these now rest in peace. And you, ye Bards, 
 Whose martial lays send down to distant times 
 The fame of valorous deeds in battle done, 
 Pour forth in safety more abundant song. 
 While you, ye Druids, when the war was done, 
 To mysteries strange and hateful rites returned: 
 To you alone 'tis given the heavenly gods 
 To know or not to know; secluded groves 
 Your dwelling-place, and forests far remote. 
 If what ye sing be true, the shades of men 
 Seek not the dismal homes of Erebus 
 Or death's pale kingdoms; but the breath of life 
 Still rules these bodies in another age- 
 Life on this hand and that, and death between. 
 Happy the peoples 'neath the Northern Star 
 In this their false belief; for them no fear 
 Of that which frights all others: they with hands 
 And hearts undaunted rush upon the foe 
 And scorn to spare the life that shall return. 
 Ye too depart who kept the banks of Rhine 
 
 Safe from the foe, and leave the Teuton tribes 
 Free at their will to march upon the world. 
 When strength increased gave hope of greater deeds 
 Caesar dispersed throughout Italia 's bounds 
 His countless bands, and filled the neighbouring towns. 
 Then empty rumour to well-grounded fear 
 Gave strength, and heralding the coming war 
 In hundred voices 'midst the people spread. 
 One cries in terror, ' Swift the squadrons come 
 ' Where Nar with Tiber joins: and where, in meads 
 'By oxen loved, Mevania spreads her walls, 
 'Fierce Caesar hurries his barbarian horse. 
 ' With all his eagles and his standards joined 
 'He leads the throng that sweeps along the land.' 
 Nor as they knew him do they paint the chief, 
 But stronger than the truth, and pitiless 
 And fiercer far-as from his conquered foes 
 Advancing; in his rear the peoples march, 
 Snatched from their homes between the Rhine and Alps , 
 To sack the city while her sons look on. 
 Thus each man's panic thought swells rumour's lie: 
 They fear the phantoms they themselves create. 
 Nor did the terror seize the crowd alone: 
 But fled the Fathers, to the Consuls first 
 Issuing their hated order, as for war; 
 And doubting of the peril, doubting too 
 Where safety lay, through all the choking gates 
 In dense array they urged the people forth. 
 Thou wouldst believe that blazing to the torch 
 Were men's abodes, or nodding to their fall. 
 So streamed they onwards, frenzied with affright, 
 As though in exile only could they find 
 Hope for their country. So, when southern blasts 
 From Libyan whirlpools drive the boundless main, 
 And mast and sail crash down upon a ship 
 With ponderous weight, but still the frame is sound, 
 Her crew and captain leap into the sea, 
 Each making shipwreck for himself. 'Twas thus 
 They passed the city gates and fled to war. 
 No aged parent now could stay his son; 
 Nor wife her spouse, nor did they pray the gods 
 To grant the safety of their fatherland. 
 None linger on the threshold for a look 
 Of their loved city, though perchance the last. 
 Ye gods, who lavish priceless gifts on men, 
 Nor care to guard them given! thus was Rome 
 
 Teeming with conquered nations, whose vast walls 
 Had compassed all mankind, by coward hands 
 To coming Caesar left an easy prey. 
 The Roman soldier, when in foreign lands 
 Pressed by the enemy, in narrow trench 
 And hurried mound finds guard enough to make 
 His tented sleep secure: thou Rome alone 
 Upon the rumour of advancing war 
 Art left a desert, and thy battlements 
 Not trusted for a night. Yet for their fear 
 This one excuse was left; Pompeius fled.
 
 
 Nor found they room for hope; for nature gave 
 Unerring portents of worse ills to come. 
 The angry gods filled earth and air and sea 
 With frequent prodigies; in darkest nights 
 Strange constellations sparkled through the gloom: 
 The pole was all afire, and torches flew 
 Across the depths of heaven; with horrid hair 
 A blazing comet stretched from east to west 
 And threatened change to kingdoms. From the blue 
 Pale lightning flashed, and in the murky air 
 The fire took divers shapes; a lance afar 
 Would seem to quiver or a misty torch; 
 A noiseless thunderbolt from cloudless sky 
 Rushed down, and drawing fire in northern parts 
 Plunged on the summit of the Alban mount. 
 The stars that run their courses in the void 
 Of night, came forth at noontide, and the moon 
 Whose orb complete gave back her brother's rays, 
 Hid by the shade of earth, grew pale and wan. 
 The sun himself, when poised in mid career, 
 Shrouded his burning car in blackest gloom 
 And plunged the world in darkness, so that men 
 Despaired of day-like as he veiled his light 
 From that fell banquet which Mycenae saw. 
 The jaws of Etna were agape with flame 
 That rose not heavenwards, but headlong fell 
 In smoking stream upon th' Italian flank. 
 Then black Charybdis, from her boundless depth, 
 Threw up a gory sea. In piteous tones 
 Howled the wild dogs; the Vestal fire was snatched 
 From off the altar; and the flame that crowned 
 The Latin festival was split in twain, 
 As on the Theban pyre, in ancient days; 
 Earth tottered on its base: the mighty Alps 
 
 From off their summits shook th' eternal snow. 
 
 In huge upheaval Ocean raised his waves 
 O'er Calpe's rock and Atlas' hoary head. 
 The native gods shed tears, and holy sweat 
 Dropped from the idols; gifts in temples fell: 
 Foul birds defiled the day; beasts left the woods 
 And made their lair among the streets of Rome . 
 All this we hear; nay more: dumb oxen spake; 
 Monsters were brought to birth and mothers shrieked 
 At their own offspring; words of dire import 
 From Cumae 's prophetess were noised abroad. 
 
 Bellona 's priests with bleeding arms, and slaves 
 Of Cybele's worship, with ensanguined hair, 
 Howled chants of havoc and of woe to men. 
 Arms clashed; and sounding in the pathless woods 
 Were heard strange voices; spirits walked the earth: 
 And dead men's ashes muttered from the urn. 
 Those who live near the walls desert their homes, 
 For lo! with hissing serpents in her hair, 
 Waving in downward whirl a blazing pine, 
 A fiend patrols the town, like that which erst 
 At Thebes urged on Agave, or which hurled 
 Lycurgus' bolts, or that which as he came 
 From Hades seen, at haughty Juno's word, 
 Brought terror to the soul of Hercules. 
 Trumpets like those that summon armies forth 
 Were heard re-echoing in the silent night: 
 And from the earth arising Sulla's ghost 
 Sang gloomy oracles, and by Anio's wave 
 All fled the homesteads, frighted by the shade 
 Of Marius waking from his broken tomb. 
 In such dismay they summon, as of yore, 
 The Tuscan sages to the nation's aid. 
 Aruns, the eldest, leaving his abode 
 In desolate Luca , came, well versed in all 
 The lore of omens; knowing what may mean 
 The flight of hovering bird, the pulse that beats 
 In offered victims, and the levin bolt. 
 All monsters first, by most unnatural birth 
 Brought into being, in accursed flames 
 He bids consume. Then round the walls of Rome 
 
 
 Each trembling citizen in turn proceeds. 
 The priests, chief guardians of the public faith, 
 With holy sprinkling purge the open space 
 That borders on the wall; in sacred garb 
 Follows the lesser crowd: the Vestals come 
 By priestess led with laurel crown bedecked, 
 To whom alone is given the right to see 
 Minerva's effigy that came from Troy . 
 
 Next come the keepers of the sacred books 
 And fate's predictions; who from Almo's brook 
 Bring back Cybebe laved; the augur too 
 Taught to observe sinister flight of birds; 
 And those who serve the banquets to the gods; 
 And Titian brethren; and the priest of Mars, 
 Proud of the buckler that adorns his neck; 
 By him the Flamen, on his noble head 
 The cap of office. While they tread the path 
 That winds around the walls, the aged seer 
 Collects the thunderbolts that fell from heaven, 
 And lays them deep in earth, with muttered words 
 Naming the spot accursed. Next a steer, 
 Picked for his swelling neck and beauteous form, 
 He leads to the altar, and with slanting knife 
 Spreads on his brow the meal, and pours the wine. 
 The victim's struggles prove the gods averse; 
 But when the servers press upon his horns 
 He bends the knee and yields him to the blow. 
 No crimson torrent issues at the stroke, 
 But from the wound a dark empoisoned stream 
 Ebbs slowly downward. Aruns at the sight 
 Aghast, upon the entrails of the beast 
 Essayed to read the anger of the gods. 
 Their very colour terrified the seer; 
 Spotted they were and pale, with sable streaks 
 Of lukewarm gore bespread; the liver damp 
 With foul disease, and on the hostile part 
 The angry veins defiant; of the lungs 
 The fibre hid, and through the vital parts 
 The membrane small; the heart has ceased to throb; 
 Blood oozes through the ducts; the caul is split: 
 And, fatal omen of impending ill, 
 One lobe o'ergrows the other; of the twain 
 The one lies flat and sick, the other beats 
 And keeps the pulse in rapid strokes astir. 
 Disaster's near approach thus learned, he cries- 
 ' Whatever may be the purpose of the gods, 
 ' Tis not for me to tell; this offered beast 
 ' Not Jove possesses, but the gods below. 
 ' We dare not speak our fears, yet fear doth make 
 ' The future worse than fact. May all the gods 
 ' Prosper the tokens, and the sacrifice 
 ' Be void of truth, and Tages (famous seer) 
 
 ' Have vainly taught these mysteries.' Such his words 
 Involved, mysterious.
 
 
 Figulus, to whom 
 For knowledge of the secret depths of space 
 And laws harmonious that guide the stars 
 
 Memphis could find no peer, then spake at large: 
 ' Either,' he said, ' the world and countless orbs 
 ' Throughout the ages wander at their will; 
 ' Or, if the fates control them, ruin huge 
 ' Hangs o'er this city and o'er all mankind. 
 ' Shall Earth yawn open and engulph the towns? 
 ' Shall scorching heat usurp the temperate air 
 ' And fields refuse their timely fruit? The streams 
 ' Flow mixed with poison? In what plague, ye gods, 
 'In what destruction shall ye wreak your ire? 
 'Whate'er the truth, the days in which we live 
 ' Shall find a doom for many. Had the star 
 ' Of baleful Saturn, frigid in the height, 
 ' Kindled his lurid fires, the sky had poured 
 'Its torrents forth as in Deucalion's time, 
 ' And whelmed the world in waters. Or if thou, 
 ' Phoebus, beside the Nemean lion fierce 
 ' Wert driving now thy chariot, flames should seize 
 'The universe and set the air ablaze. 
 ' These are at peace; but, Mars, why art thou bent 
 ' On kindling thus the Scorpion, his tail 
 ' Portending evil and his claws aflame? 
 ' Deep sunk is kindly Jupiter , and dull 
 ' Sweet Venus' star, and rapid Mercury 
 ' Stays on his course: Mars only holds the sky. 
 'Why does Orion's sword too brightly shine? 
 ' Why planets leave their paths and through the void 
 'Thus journey on obscure? Tis war that comes, 
 ' Fierce rabid war: the sword shall bear the rule 
 ' Confounding justice; hateful crime usurp 
 ' The name of virtue; and the havoc spread 
 ' Through many a year. But why entreat the gods? 
 ' The end Rome longs for and the final peace 
 'Comes with a despot. Draw thou out thy chain 
 'Of lengthening slaughter, and (for such thy fate) 
 ' Make good thy liberty through civil war.' 
 The frightened people heard, and as they heard 
 His words prophetic made them fear the more. 
 But worse remained; for as on Pindus' slopes 
 Possessed with fury from the Theban god 
 Speeds some Bacchante, thus in Roman streets 
 Behold a matron run, who, in her trance, 
 Relieves her bosom of the god within. 
 ' Where dost thou snatch me, Paean, to what shore 
 'Through airy regions borne? I see the snows 
 'Of Thracian mountains; and Philippi 's plains 
 'Lie broad beneath. But why these battle lines, 
 'No foe to vanquish- Rome on either hand? 
 'Again I wander 'neath the rosy hues 
 'That paint thine eastern skies, where regal Nile 
 
 'Meets with his flowing wave the rising tide. 
 'Known to mine eyes that mutilated trunk 
 ' That lies upon the sand! Across the seas 
 'By changing whirlpools to the burning climes 
 'Of Libya borne, again I see the hosts 
 'From Thracia brought by fate's command. And now 
 'Thou bear'st me o'er the cloud-compelling Alps 
 
 'And Pyrenean summits; next to Rome . 
 'There in mid-Senate see the closing scene 
 'Of this foul war in foulest murder done. 
 'Again the factions rise; through all the world 
 Once more I pass; but give me some new land, 
 'Some other region, Phoebus, to behold 
 'Washed by the Pontic billows! for these eyes 
 'Already once have seen Philippi 's plains! ' 
 
 The frenzy left her and she speechless fell.

THUS was made plain the anger of the gods; 
 The world gave signs of war: Nature reversed 
 In monstrous tumult fraught with prodigies 
 Her laws, and prescient spake the coming guilt. 
 How seemed it just to thee, Olympus ' king, 
 That suffering mortals at thy doom should know 
 By dreadful omens massacres to come? 
 Or did the primal parent of the world 
 When first the flames gave way and yielding left 
 Matter unformed to his subduing hand, 
 And realms unbalanced, fix by stern decree 
 Unalterable laws to bind the whole 
 (Himself, too, bound by law), so that for aye 
 All Nature moves within its fated bounds? 
 Or, is Chance sovereign over all, and we 
 The sport of Fortune and her turning wheel? 
 Whate'er be truth, keep thou the future veiled 
 From mortal vision, and amid their fears 
 May men still hope. 
 Thus known how great the woes 
 The world should suffer, from the truth divine, 
 A solemn fast was called, the courts were closed, 
 All men in private garb; no purple hem 
 Adorned the togas of the chiefs of Rome ; 
 No plaints were uttered, and a voiceless grief 
 Lay deep in every bosom : as when death 
 Knocks at some door but enters not as yet, 
 Before the mother calls the name aloud 
 Or bids her grieving maidens beat the breast, 
 While still she marks the glazing eye, and soothes 
 The stiffening limbs and gazes on the face, 
 In dread, not sorrow yet, in wondering awe 
 Of death approaching: and with mind distraught 
 Clings to the dying in a last embrace. 
 The matrons laid aside their wonted garb: 
 Crowds filled the temples-on the unpitying stones 
 Some dashed their bosoms; others bathed with tears 
 The statues of the gods; some tore their hair 
 Upon the holy threshold, and with shrieks 
 And vows unceasing called upon the names 
 Of those whom mortals supplicate. Nor all 
 Lay in the Thunderer's fane: at every shrine 
 Some prayers were offered which refused would bring 
 Reproach on heaven. One whose livid arms 
 Were dark with blows, whose cheeks with tears bedewed, 
 Cried, 'Now, unhappy mothers, rend the lock, 
 Nor keep your sorrows till the battle day : 
 Now ye may weep: when either chieftain wins 
 Rejoice ye must.' Thus sorrow stirs itself. 
 Meanwhile the men in seeking either camp 
 And marching onward in the path to war, 
 Address the cruel gods in just complaint. 
 Happy the youths who born in Punic days 
 On Cannae 's uplands or by Trebia's stream 
 Fought and were slain! What wretched lot is ours! 
 No peace we ask for: let the nations rage; 
 Rouse fiercest cities! may the world find arms 
 To wage a war with Rome : let Parthian hosts 
 Rush forth from Susa ; Scythian Ister curb 
 ' No more the Massagete: unconquered Rhine 
 
 ' Let loose from furthest North her fair-haired tribes: 
 ' Elbe , pour thy Suevians forth! Let us be foes 
 ' Of all the peoples. May the Getan press 
 ' Here, and the Dacian there; Pompeius meet 
 'The Eastern archers, Caesar in the West 
 ' Confront th' Iberian. Leave to Rome no hand 
 ' To raise against herself in civil strife. 
 ' Or, if Italia by the gods be doomed, 
 ' Let all the sky, fierce Parent, be dissolved 
 'And falling on the earth in flaming bolts, 
 ' Their hands still bloodless, strike both leaders down, 
 ' With both their hosts! Why plunge in novel crime 
 ' To settle which of them shall rule in Rome ? 
 ' Scarce were it worth the price of civil war 
 ' To hinder either.' Thus the patriot voice 
 Still found an utterance, soon to speak no more. 
 Meantime, the aged fathers o'er their fates 
 In anguish grieved, detesting life prolonged 
 That brought with it another civil war.
 
 
 And thus spake one, to justify his fears: 
 ' No other deeds the fates laid up in store 
 ' When Marius, victor over Teuton hosts, 
 ' Afric's high conqueror, cast out from Rome , 
 'Lay hid in marshy ooze, at thy behest, 
 ' O Fortune! by the yielding soil concealed 
 ' And waving rushes; but ere long the chains 
 ' Of prison wore his weak and aged frame, 
 ' And lengthened squalor: thus he paid for crime 
 ' His punishment beforehand; doomed to die 
 ' Consul in triumph over wasted Rome . 
 'Death oft refused him; and the very foe, 
 ' In act of slaughter, shuddered in the stroke 
 ' And dropped the weapon from his nerveless hand. 
 ' For through the prison gloom a flame of light 
 ' He saw; the deities of crime abhorred; 
 ' The Marius to come. A voice proclaimed 
 ' Mysterious, " Hold! the fates permit thee not 
 ' " That neck to sever. Many a death he owes 
 ' " To time's predestined laws ere his shall come; 
 ' " Cease from thy madness. If ye seek revenge 
 ' " For that he blotted out your Cimbrian tribes, 
 ' " Let this man live, live out his fated days." 
 ' Not as their darling did the gods protect 
 ' The man of blood, but for his ruthless hand 
 ' Fit to prepare that sacrifice of gore 
 ' Which fate demanded. By the sea's despite 
 ' Borne to our foes, Jugurtha's wasted realm 
 ' He saw, now conquered; there in squalid huts 
 ' Awhile he lay, and trod the hostile dust 
 ' Of Carthage, and his ruin matched with hers: 
 ' Each from the other's fate some solace drew, 
 ' And prostrate, pardoned heaven. On Libyan soil 
 ' Fresh fury gathering, next, when Fortune smiled 
 'The prisons he threw wide and freed the slaves. 
 ' Forth rushed the murderous bands, their melted chains 
 ' Forged into weapons for his ruffian needs. 
 ' No charge he gave to mere recruits in guilt 
 ' Who brought not to the camp some proof of crime. 
 ' How dread that day when conquering Marius seized 
 ' The city's ramparts! with what fated speed 
 ' Death strode upon his victims! plebs alike 
 
 ' And nobles perished; far and near the sword 
 ' Struck at his pleasure, till the temple floors 
 'Ran wet with slaughter and the crimson stream 
 ' Befouled with slippery gore the holy walls. 
 ' No age found pity: men of failing years, 
 ' Just tottering to the grave, were hurled to death; 
 ' From infants, in their being's earliest dawn, 
 
 ' The growing life was severed. For what crime? 
 'Twas cause enough for death that they could die. 
 ' The fury grew : soon 'twas a sluggard's part 
 ' To seek the guilty: hundreds died to swell 
 'The tale of victims. Shamed by empty hands, 
 ' The bloodstained conqueror snatched a reeking head 
 ' From neck unknown. One way of life remained, 
 ' To kiss with shuddering lips the red right hand. 
 
 ' Degenerate people! Had ye hearts of men, 
 ' Though ye were threatened by a thousand swords, 
 ' Far rather death than centuries of life 
 ' Bought at such price; much more that breathing space 
 ' Till Sulla comes again. But time would fail 
 ' In weeping for the deaths of all who fell. 
 'Encircled by innumerable bands 
 ' Fell Baebius, his limbs asunder torn, 
 ' His vitals dragged abroad. Antonius too, 
 ' Prophet of ill, whose hoary head was placed, 
 ' Dripping with blood, upon the festal board. 
 ' There headless fell the Crassi; mangled frames 
 'Neath Fimbria's falchion: and the prison cells 
 ' Were wet with tribunes' blood. Hard by the fane 
 ' Where dwells the goddess and the sacred fire, 
 ' Fell aged Scaevola, though that gory hand 
 
 ' Had spared him, but the feeble tide of blood 
 ' Still left the flame alive upon the hearth. 
 ' That selfsame year the seventh time restored 
 
 ' The Consul's rods; that year to Marius brought 
 ' The end of life, when he at Fortune's hands 
 ' All ills had suffered; all her goods enjoyed. 
 ' And what of those who at the Sacriport 
 
 ' And Colline gate were slain, then, when the rule 
 ' Of Earth and all her nations almost left 
 ' This city for another, and the chiefs 
 ' Who led the Samnite hoped that Rome might bleed 
 ' More than at Caudium's Forks she bled of old? 
 ' Then came great Sulla to avenge the dead, 
 ' And all the blood still left within her frame 
 ' Drew from the city; for the surgeon knife 
 ' Which shore the cancerous limbs cut in too deep, 
 ' And shed the life stream from still healthy veins. 
 ' True that the guilty fell, but not before 
 ' All else had perished. Hatred had free course 
 ' And anger reigned unbridled by the law. 
 ' The victor's voice spake once; but each man struck 
 ' Just as he wished or willed. The fatal steel 
 ' Urged by the servant laid the master low. 
 ' Sons dripped with gore of sires; and brothers fought 
 ' For the foul trophy of a father slain, 
 ' Or slew each other for the price of blood. 
 ' Men sought the tombs and, mingling with the dead, 
 ' Hoped for escape; the wild beasts' dens were full. 
 ' One strangled died; another from the height 
 ' Fell headlong down upon the unpitying earth, 
 ' And from the encrimsoned victor snatched his death: 
 ' One built his funeral pyre and oped his veins, 
 ' And scaled the furnace ere his blood was gone. 
 ' Borne through the trembling town the leaders' heads 
 ' Were piled in middle forum: hence men knew 
 ' Of murders else unpublished. Not on gates 
 ' Of Diomedes, tyrant king of Thrace , 
 ' Nor of Antaeus, Libya 's giant brood, 
 ' Were hung such horrors; nor in Pisa 's hall 
 'Were seen and wept for when the suitors died. 
 ' Decay had touched the features of the slain 
 ' When round the mouldering heap, with trembling steps 
 ' The grief-struck parents sought and stole their dead. 
 ' I, too, the body of my brother slain 
 ' Thought to remove, my victim to the peace 
 ' Which Sulla made, and place his loved remains 
 ' On the forbidden pyre. The head I found, 
 ' But not the butchered corse. 
 Why now renew 
 ' The tale of Catulus's shade appeased? 
 ' And those dread tortures which the living frame 
 ' Of Marius suffered at the tomb of him 
 ' Who haply wished them not? Pierced, mangled, torn- 
 ' Nor speech nor grasp was left: his every limb 
 ' Maimed, hacked and riven; yet the fatal blow 
 ' The murderers with savage purpose spared. 
 ''Twere scarce believed that one poor mortal frame 
 ' Such agonies could bear ere death should come. 
 ' Thus crushed beneath some ruin lie the dead; 
 ' Thus shapeless from the deep are borne the drowned. 
 ' Why spoil delight by mutilating thus, 
 ' The head of Marius? To please Sulla's heart 
 ' That mangled visage must be known to all. 
 ' Fortune, high goddess of Praeneste 's fane, 
 ' Saw all her townsmen hurried to their deaths 
 ' In one fell instant. All the hope of Rome , 
 ' The flower of Latium , stained with blood the field 
 ' Where once the peaceful tribes their votes declared. 
 ' Famine and Sword, the raging sky and sea, 
 ' And Earth upheaved, have laid such numbers low : 
 ' But ne'er one man's revenge. Between the slain 
 ' And living victims there was space no more, 
 ' Death thus let slip, to deal the fatal blow. 
 ' Hardly when struck they fell; the severed head 
 ' Scarce toppled from the shoulders; but the slain 
 ' Blent in a weighty pile of massacre 
 ' Pressed out the life and helped the murderer's arm. 
 ' Secure from stain upon his lofty throne, 
 ' Unshuddering sat the author of the whole, 
 ' Nor feared that at his word such thousands fell. 
 'At length the Tuscan flood received the dead 
 ' The first upon his waves; the last on those 
 ' That lay beneath them; vessels in their course 
 ' Were stayed, and while the lower current flowed 
 ' Yet to the sea, the upper stood on high 
 Dammed back by carnage. Through the streets meanwhile 
 ' In headlong torrents ran a tide of blood, 
 ' Which furrowing its path through town and field 
 'Forced the slow river on. But now his banks 
 ' No longer held him, and the dead were thrown 
 ' Back on the fields above. With labour huge 
 'At length he struggled to his goal and stretched 
 ' In crimson streak across the Tuscan Sea. 
 ' For deeds like these, shall Sulla now be styled 
 ' " Darling of Fortune," " Saviour of the State "? 
 ' For these, a tomb in middle field of Mars 
 ' Record his fame? Like horrors now return 
 ' For us to suffer; and the civil war 
 ' Thus shall be waged again and thus shall end. 
 'Yet worse disasters may our fears suggest, 
 ' For now with greater carnage of mankind 
 ' The rival hosts in weightier battle meet. 
 ' To exiled Marius, the prize of war 
 ' Was Rome regained; triumphant Sulla knew 
 ' No greater joy than on his hated foes 
 ' To wreak his vengeance with unsparing sword. 
 'But these more powerful rivals Fortune calls 
 ' To worse ambitions; nor would either chief 
 'For such reward as Sulla's wage the war.' 
 Thus, mindful of his youth, the aged man 
 Wept for the past, but feared the coming days.
 
 
 Such terrors found in haughty Brutus' breast 
 No home. When others sat them down to fear 
 He did not so, but in the dewy night 
 When the great wain was turning round the pole 
 He sought his kinsman Cato's humble home. 
 Him sleepless did he find, not for himself 
 Fearing, but pondering the fates of Rome, 
 And deep in public cares. And thus he spake: 
 'O thou in whom that virtue, which of yore 
 Took flight from earth, now finds its only home, 
 Outcast to all besides, but safe with thee: 
 Vouchsafe thy counsel to my wavering soul 
 And make my weakness strength. While Caesar some, 
 Pompeius others, follow in the fight, 
 Cato is Brutus' guide. Art thou for peace, 
 Holding thy footsteps in a tottering world 
 Unshaken? Or wilt thou with the leaders' crimes 
 And with the people's fury take thy part, 
 And by thy presence purge the war of guilt? 
 In impious battles men unsheath the sword; 
 But each by cause impelled: the household crime; 
 Laws feared in peace; want by the sword removed; 
 And credit, in the ruin of a world 
 Blending its ruin. Drawn by hope of gain, 
 And not by thirst for blood, they seek the camp. 
 Shall Cato for war's sake make war alone? 
 What profits it through all these wicked years 
 That thou hast lived untainted? This were all 
 Thy meed of virtue, that the wars which find 
 Guilt in all else, shall make thee guilty too. 
 ' Ye gods, permit not that this fatal strife 
 Should stir those hands to action! When the clouds 
 Of flying javelins hiss upon the air, 
 Let not a dart be thine; nor spent in vain 
 Such virtue! All the fury of the war 
 ' Shall launch itself on thee, for who, when faint 
 ' And wounded, would not rush upon thy sword, 
 'Take thence his death, and make the murder thine? 
 'Do thou live on thy peaceful life apart 
 'As on their paths the stars unshaken roll. 
 'The lower air that verges on the earth 
 ' Gives flame and fury to the levin bolt; 
 ' The deeps below the world engulph the winds 
 ' And tracts of flaming fire. By Jove's decree 
 ' Olympus rears his summit o'er the clouds: 
 'In lowlier valleys storms and winds contend, 
 ' But peace eternal reigns upon the heights. 
 'What joy for Caesar, if the tidings come 
 'That such a citizen has joined the war? 
 ' Glad would he see thee e'en in Magnus' tents; 
 'For Cato's conduct shall approve his own. 
 'Pompeius, with the Consul in his ranks, 
 ' And half the Senate and the other chiefs, 
 ' Vexes my spirit; and should Cato too 
 ' Bend to a master's yoke, in all the world 
 'The one man free is Caesar. But if thou 
 ' For freedom and thy country's laws alone 
 'Be pleased to raise the sword, nor Magnus then 
 ' Nor Caesar shall in Brutus find a foe. 
 ' Not till the fight is fought shall Brutus strike, 
 'Then strike the victor.' 
 Brutus thus; but spake 
 Cato from inmost breast these sacred words: 
 'Chief in all wickedness is civil war, 
 ' Yet virtue in the paths marked out by fate 
 'Treads on securely. Heaven's will be the crime 
 'To have made even Cato guilty. Who has strength 
 ' To gaze unawed upon a toppling world? 
 'When stars and sky fall headlong, and when earth 
 'Slips from her base, who sits with folded hands? 
 'Shall unknown nations, touched by western strife, 
 ' And monarchs born beneath another clime 
 ' Brave the dividing seas to join the war? 
 ' Shall Scythian tribes desert their distant north, 
 ' And Getae haste to view the fall of Rome , 
 'And I look idly on? As some fond sire, 
 ' Reft of his sons, compelled by grief, himself 
 ' Marshals the long procession to the tomb, 
 ' Thrusts his own hand within the funeral flames, 
 ' Soothing his heart, and, as the lofty pyre 
 'Rises on high, applies the kindled torch: 
 ' Nought, Rome , shall tear thee from me, till I hold 
 ' Thy form in death embraced; and Freedom's name, 
 ' Shade though it be, I'll follow to the grave. 
 ' Yea! let the cruel gods exact in full 
 ' Rome 's expiation : of no drop of blood 
 ' The war be robbed. I would that, to the gods 
 ' Of heaven and hell devoted, this my life 
 ' Might satisfy their vengeance. Decius fell, 
 ' Crushed by the hostile ranks. When Cato falls 
 ' Let Rhine's fierce barbarous hordes and both the hosts 
 'Thrust through my frame their darts! May I alone 
 ' Receive in death the wounds of all the war! 
 'Thus may the people be redeemed, and thus 
 ' Rome for her guilt pay the atonement due. 
 ' Why should men die who wish to bear the yoke 
 ' And shrink not from the tyranny to come? 
 'Strike me, and me alone, of laws and rights 
 'In vain the guardian: this vicarious life 
 ' Shall give Hesperia peace and end her toils. 
 ' Who then will reign shall find no need for war. 
 ' You ask, Why follow Magnus? If he wins 
 
 ' He too will claim the Empire of the world. 
 ' Then let him, conquering with my service, learn 
 ' Not for himself to conquer.' Thus he spoke 
 And stirred the blood that ran in Brutus ' veins 
 Moving the youth to action in the war.
 
 
 Soon as the sun dispelled the chilly night, 
 The sounding doors flew wide, and from the tomb 
 Of dead Hortensius grieving Marcia came. 
 
 First joined in wedlock to a greater man 
 Three children did she bear to grace his home: 
 Then Cato to Hortensius gave the dame 
 To be a fruitful mother of his sons 
 And join their houses in a closer tie. 
 And now the last sad offices were done 
 She came with hair dishevelled, beaten breast, 
 And ashes on her brow, and features worn 
 With grief; thus only pleasing to the man. 
 ' When youth was in me and maternal power 
 ' I did thy bidding, Cato , and received 
 ' A second husband: now in years grown old 
 ' Ne'er to be parted I return to thee. 
 ' Renew our former pledges undefiled: 
 ' Give back the name of wife: upon my tomb 
 ' Let " Marcia , spouse to Cato ," be engraved. 
 ' Nor let men question in the time to come, 
 ' Didst thou compel, or did I willing leave 
 ' My first espousals. Not in happy times, 
 ' Partner of joys, I come; but days of care 
 ' And labour shall be mine to share with thee. 
 ' Nor leave me here, but take me to the camp, 
 ' Thy fond companion: why should Magnus' wife 
 ' Be nearer, Cato , to the wars than thine?' 
 Although the times were warlike and the fates 
 Called to the fray, he lent a willing ear. 
 Yet must they plight their faith in simple form 
 Of law; their witnesses the gods alone. 
 No festal wreath of flowers crowned the gate 
 Nor glittering fillet on each post entwined; 
 No flaming torch was there, nor ivory steps, 
 No couch with robes of broidered gold adorned; 
 No comely matron placed upon her brow 
 The bridal garland, or forbad the foot 
 
 To touch the threshold stone; no saffron veil 
 Concealed the timid blushes of the bride; 
 No jewelled belt confined her flowing robe 
 
 Nor modest circle bound her neck; no scarf 
 Hung lightly on the snowy shoulder's edge 
 Around the naked arm. Just as she came, 
 Wearing the garb of sorrow, while the wool 
 Covered the purple border of her robe, 
 Thus was she wedded. As she greets her sons 
 She greets her husband. Nor, in Sabine use 
 Did mournful Cato share the festal taunt: 
 Nor friend nor foe was bidden : silent both 
 They joined in marriage, yet content, unseen 
 By any save by Brutus . Sad and stern 
 On Cato 's lineaments the marks of grief 
 Were still unsoftened, and the hoary hair 
 Hung o'er his reverend visage; for since first 
 Men flew to arms, his locks were left unkempt 
 To stream upon his brow, and on his chin 
 His beard untended grew. 'Twas his alone 
 Who hated not, nor loved, for all mankind 
 To mourn alike. Nor did their former couch 
 Again receive them, for his lofty soul 
 E'en lawful love resisted. 'Twas his rule 
 
 Inflexible, to keep the middle path 
 Marked out and bounded; to observe the laws 
 Of natural right; and for his country's sake 
 To risk his life, his all, as not for self 
 Brought into being, but for all the world: 
 Such was his creed. To him a sumptuous feast 
 Was hunger conquered, and the lowly hut, 
 Which scarce kept out the winter, was a home 
 Equal to palaces: a robe of price 
 Such hairy garments as were worn of old: 
 The end of marriage, offspring. To the State 
 Father alike and husband, right and law 
 He ever followed with unswerving step: 
 No thought of selfish pleasure turned the scale 
 In Cato 's acts, or swayed his upright soul. 
 Meanwhile Pompeius led his trembling host 
 To fields Campanian, and held the walls 
 First founded by the chief of Trojan race. 
 These chose he for the central seat of war, 
 Some troops despatching who might meet the foe 
 Where shady Apennine lifts up the ridge 
 Of mid Italia ; nearest to the sky 
 Upsoaring, with the seas on either hand, 
 The upper and the lower. Pisa 's sands 
 Breaking the margin of the Tuscan deep, 
 Here bound his mountains: there Ancona 's towers 
 Laved by Dalmatian waves. Rivers immense, 
 In his recesses born, pass on their course, 
 To either sea diverging. To the left 
 Metaurus and Crustumium's torrent fall 
 And Sena 's streams and Aufidus who bursts 
 On Adrian billows; and that mighty flood 
 Which, more than all the rivers of the earth, 
 Sweeps down the soil and tears the woods away 
 And drains Hesperia's springs. In fabled lore 
 His banks were first by poplar shade enclosed: 
 
 And when by Phaethon the waning day 
 Was drawn in path transverse, and all the heaven 
 Blazed with his car aflame, and from the depths 
 Of inmost earth were rapt all other floods, 
 
 Padus still rolled in pride of stream along. 
 
 Nile were no larger, but that o'er the sand 
 Of level Egypt he spreads out his waves; 
 Nor Ister, if he sought the Scythian main 
 Unhelped upon his journey through the world 
 By tributary waters not his own. 
 But on the right hand Tiber has his source, 
 Deep-flowing Rutuba, Vulturnus swift, 
 And Sarnus breathing vapours of the night 
 
 Rise there, and Liris with Vestinian wave 
 Still gliding through Marica 's shady grove, 
 And Siler flowing through Salernian meads: 
 And Macra's swift unnavigable stream 
 Near Luna rests in Ocean. On the Alps 
 
 Whose spurs strike plainwards, and on fields of Gaul 
 
 The cloudy heights of Apennine look down 
 In further distance: on his nearer slopes 
 The Sabine turns the ploughshare; Umbrian kine 
 And Marsian fatten; with his pineclad rocks 
 He girds the tribes of Latium , nor leaves 
 Hesperia's soil until the waves that beat 
 On Scylla's cave compel. His southern spurs 
 Extend to Juno's temple, and of old 
 Stretched further than Italia , till the main 
 O'erstepped his limits and the lands repelled. 
 But, when the seas were joined, Pelorus claimed 
 His latest summits for Sicilia 's isle.
 
 
 Caesar, in rage for war, rejoicing finds 
 Foes in Italia ; no bloodless steps 
 Nor vacant homes had pleased him; so his march 
 Were wasted: now the coming war was joined 
 Unbroken to the past; to force the gates, 
 Not find them open, fire and sword to bring 
 Upon the harvests, not through fields unharmed 
 To pass his legions-this was Caesar's joy; 
 In peaceful guise to march, this was his shame. 
 
 Italia 's cities, doubtful in their choice, 
 Though to the earliest onset of the war 
 About to yield, strengthen their walls with mounds 
 And deepest trench encircling: massive stones 
 And bolts of war to hurl upon the foe 
 They place upon the turrets. Magnus most 
 The people's favour held, yet faith with fear 
 Fought in their breasts. As when, with strident blast, 
 A southern tempest has possessed the main 
 And all the billows follow in its track: 
 Then, by the Storm-king smitten, should the earth 
 Set Eurus free upon the swollen deep, 
 It shall not yield to him, though cloud and sky 
 Confess his strength; but in the former wind 
 Still find its master. But their fears prevailed, 
 And Caesar's fortune, o'er their wavering faith. 
 For Libo fled Etruria; Umbria lost 
 Her freedom, driving Thermus from her bounds; 
 Great Sulla's son, unworthy of his sire, 
 Feared at the name of Caesar: Varus sought 
 The caves and woods, when smote the hostile horse 
 The gates of Auximon; and Spinther driven 
 From Asculum , the victor on his track, 
 Fled with his standards, soldierless; and thou, 
 Scipio, didst leave Nuceria's citadel 
 Deserted, though by bravest legions held 
 Sent home by Caesar for the Parthian war; 
 
 Whom Magnus earlier, to his kinsman gave 
 A loan of Roman blood, to fight the Gaul . 
 But brave Domitius held firm his post 
 
 Behind Corfinium 's ramparts; his the troops 
 Who newly levied kept the judgment hall 
 At Milo 's trial. When from far the plain 
 Rolled up a dusty cloud, beneath whose veil 
 The sheen of armour glistening in the sun, 
 Revealed a marching host. ' Dash down,' he cried, 
 Swift as ye can, the bridge that spans the stream; 
 And thou, O river, from thy mountain source 
 With all thy torrents rushing, planks and beams 
 Ruined and broken on thy foaming breast 
 Bear onward to the sea. The war shall pause 
 Here, at these bounds : here shall this headlong chief 
 Await in idleness our victory.' 
 He bade his squadrons, speeding from the walls, 
 Charge on the bridge: in vain: for Caesar saw 
 They sought to free the river from his chains 
 
 And bar his march; and roused to ire, he cried: 
 Were not the walls sufficient to protect 
 Your coward souls? Seek ye by barricades 
 And streams to keep me back? What though the flood 
 Of swollen Ganges were across my path? 
 Now Rubicon is passed, no stream on earth 
 Shall hinder Caesar! Forward, horse and foot, 
 And ere it totters rush upon the bridge.' 
 Urged in their swiftest gallop to the front 
 Dashed the light horse across the sounding plain; 
 And suddenly, as storm in summer, flew 
 A cloud of javelins forth, by sinewy arms 
 Hurled at the foe; the guard is put to flight, 
 And conquering Caesar, seizing on the bridge, 
 Compels the enemy to keep the walls. 
 Now do the mighty engines, soon to hurl 
 Gigantic stones, press forward, and the ram 
 Creeps 'neath the ramparts; when the gates fly back, 
 And lo! the traitor troops (foul crime in war) 
 Yield up their leader. Him they place before 
 His proud compatriot; yet with upright form, 
 And scornful features and with noble mien, 
 He asks his death. But Caesar knew his wish 
 Was punishment, and pardon was his fear: 
 Live though thou wouldst not,' so the chieftain spake, 
 And by my gift, unwilling, see the day: 
 Be to my conquered foes the cause of hope, 
 Proof of my clemency-or if thou wilt 
 Take arms again-and should'st thou conquer, count 
 This pardon nothing.' Thus he spake, and bade 
 Let loose the bands and set the captive free. 
 Ah! better had he died, and fortune spared 
 The Roman's last dishonour, whose worse doom 
 It is, that he who joined his country's camp 
 And fought with Magnus for the Senate's cause 
 Should gain for this-a pardon! Yet he curbed 
 His anger, thinking, ' Wilt thou then to Rome 
 
 ' And peaceful scenes, degenerate? Rather war, 
 The furious battle and the certain end! 
 Break with life's ties : be Caesar's gift in vain.'
 
 
 Pompeius, ignorant that his captain thus 
 Was taken, armed his levies newly raised 
 To give his legions strength; and as he thought 
 To sound his trumpets with the coming dawn, 
 To test his soldiers ere he moved his camp 
 Thus in majestic tones their ranks addressed: 
 True host of Rome ! avengers of her laws 
 Ranked 'neath the standards of the better right, 
 To whom the Senate gives no private arms, 
 Ask by your voices for the battle sign. 
 Fierce falls the pillage on Hesperian fields, 
 And Gallia 's fury o'er the snowy Alps 
 
 Is poured upon us. Caesar's swords at last 
 ' Are red with Roman blood. But with the wound 
 We gain the better cause; the crime is theirs. 
 Through me her captain Rome for vengeance calls; 
 ' Tis no true fight to wreak your country's ire. 
 ' Was that a war when Catilina's hand 
 ' Lifted against her roofs the flaming torch, 
 ' And, partner in his fury, Lentulus, 
 ' And mad Cethegus with his naked arm? 
 ' Is such thy madness, Caesar? when the Fates 
 ' With great Camillus' and Metellus' names 
 ' Might place thine own, dost thou prefer to rank 
 ' With Marius and Cinna? Swift shall be 
 ' Thy fall: as Lepidus before the sword 
 ' Of Catulus; or who my axes felt, 
 ' Carbo , now buried in Sicanian tomb; 
 ' Or who, in exile, roused Iberia 's hordes, 
 ' Sertorius-yet, witness Heaven, with these 
 ' I hate to rank thee; hate the task that Rome 
 
 ' Has laid upon me, to oppose thy rage. 
 ' Would that in safety from the Parthian war 
 ' And Scythian steppes had conquering Crassus come! 
 ' Then haply hadst thou fallen by the hand 
 ' That smote vile Spartacus the robber foe. 
 ' But if among my triumphs fate has said 
 ' Thy conquest shall be written, know this heart 
 ' Still sends the life blood coursing: and this arm 
 ' Still vigorously flings the dart afield. 
 ' He deems me slothful. Caesar, thou shalt learn 
 'We brook not peace because we lag in war. 
 ' Old, does he call me? Fear not ye mine age. 
 
 ' Let me be elder, if his soldiers are. 
 ' The highest point a citizen can reach 
 ' And leave his people free, is mine: a throne 
 ' Alone were higher; whoso would surpass 
 ' Pompeius, aims at that. Both Consuls stand 
 ' Here; here for battle stand your lawful chiefs: 
 ' And shall this Caesar drag the Senate down? 
 ' Not with such blindness, not so lost to shame 
 ' Does Fortune rule. Does he take heart from Gaul , 
 ' For years on years rebellious, and a life 
 ' Spent there in labour? or because he fled 
 ' Rhine 's icy torrent and the shifting pools 
 ' He calls an ocean? or unchallenged sought 
 ' Britannia 's cliffs; then turned his back in flight? 
 ' Or does he boast because his citizens 
 ' Were driven in arms to leave their hearths and homes? 
 'Ah, vain delusion! not from thee they fled: 
 ' My steps they follow-mine, whose conquering signs 
 ' Swept all the ocean, and who, ere the moon 
 ' Twice filled her orb and waned, compelled to flight 
 ' The pirate, shrinking from the open sea, 
 ' And humbly begging for a narrow home 
 ' In some poor nook on shore. 'Twas I again 
 ' Who, happier far than Sulla, drave to death 
 
 ' That king who, exiled to the deep recess 
 ' Of Scythian Pontus, held the fates of Rome 
 
 ' Still in the balances. Where is the land 
 ' That has not seen my trophies? Icy waves 
 ' Of northern Phasis , hot Egyptian shores, 
 ' And where Syene 'neath its noontide sun 
 ' Knows shade on neither hand: all these have learned 
 ' To fear Pompeius: and far Baetis' stream, 
 ' Last of all floods to join the refluent sea. 
 ' Arabia and the warlike hordes that dwell 
 ' Beside the Euxine wave: the famous land 
 ' That lost the golden fleece; Cilician wastes, 
 ' And Cappadocian, and the Jews who pray 
 ' Before an unknown God; Sophene soft- 
 ' All felt my yoke. What conquests now remain, 
 ' What wars not civil can my kinsman wage? ' 
 No loud acclaim received his words, nor shout 
 Asked for the promised battle: and the chief 
 Drew back the standards, for the soldier's fears 
 Were in his soul alike; nor dared he trust 
 An army, vanquished by the fame alone 
 Of Caesar's powers, to fight for such a prize. 
 And as some bull, his early combat lost, 
 Forth driven from the herd, in exile roams 
 Through lonely plains or secret forest depths, 
 Whets on opposing trunks his growing horn, 
 And proves himself for battle, till his neck 
 Is ribbed afresh with muscle: then returns, 
 Defiant of the hind, and victor now 
 Leads wheresoever he will his lowing bands: 
 Thus Magnus, yielding to a stronger foe, 
 Gave up Italia , and sought in flight 
 
 Brundusium 's sheltering battlements. Here of old 
 Fled Cretan settlers when the dusky sail 
 
 Spread the false message of the hero dead; 
 Here, where Hesperia, curving as a bow, 
 Draws back her coast, a little tongue of land 
 Shuts in with bending horns the sounding main. 
 Yet insecure the spot, unsafe in storm, 
 Were it not sheltered by an isle on which 
 The Adriatic billows dash and fall, 
 And tempests lose their strength: on either hand 
 A craggy cliff opposing breaks the gale 
 That beats upon them, while the ships within 
 Held by their trembling cables ride secure. 
 Hence to the mariner the boundless deep 
 Lies open, whether for Corcyra 's port 
 He shapes his sails, or for Illyria 's shore, 
 And Epidamnus facing to the main 
 Ionian. Here, when raging in his might 
 Fierce Adria whelms in foam Calabria 's coast, 
 When clouds tempestuous veil Ceraunus' height, 
 The sailor finds a haven. 
 
 
 When the chief 
 Could find no hope in battle on the soil 
 He now was quitting, and the lofty Alps 
 
 Forbad Iberia, to his son he spake, 
 The eldest scion of that noble stock: 
 Search out the far recesses of the earth, 
 ' Nile and Euphrates , wheresoe'er the fame 
 Of Magnus lives, where, through thy father's deeds, 
 The people tremble at the name of Rome . 
 'Lead to the sea again the pirate bands; 
 'Rouse Egypt's kings; Tigranes, wholly mine, 
 'And Pharnaces and all the vagrant tribes 
 'Of both Armenias; and the Pontic hordes, 
 ' Warlike and fierce; the dwellers on the hills 
 'Rhipaean, and by that dead northern marsh 
 'Whose frozen surface bears the loaded wain. 
 Why further stay thee? Let the eastern world 
 Sound with the war, all cities of the earth 
 'Conquered by me, as vassals, to my camp 
 'Send all their levied hosts. And you whose names 
 'Within the Latian book recorded stand, 
 'Strike for Epirus with the northern wind; 
 'And thence in Greece and Macedonian tracts, 
 (While winter gives us peace) new strength acquire 
 'For coming conflicts.' They obey his words 
 And loose their ships and launch upon the main. 
 But Caesar's might, intolerant of peace 
 Or lengthy armistice, lest now perchance 
 The fates might change their edicts, swift pursued 
 The footsteps of his foe. To other men, 
 So many cities taken at a blow, 
 So many strongholds captured, might suffice; 
 And Rome herself, the mistress of the world, 
 Lay at his feet, the greatest prize of all. 
 Not so with Caesar: instant on the goal 
 He fiercely presses; thinking nothing done 
 
 While aught remained to do. Now in his grasp 
 Lay all Italia ;-but while Magnus stayed 
 Upon the utmost shore, his grieving soul 
 Deemed all was shared with him. Yet he essayed 
 Escape to hinder, and with labour vain 
 Piled in the greedy main gigantic rocks: 
 Mountains of earth down to the sandy depths 
 Were swallowed by the vortex of the sea; 
 Just as if Eryx and its lofty top 
 Were cast into the deep, yet not a speck 
 Should mark the watery plain; or Gaurus huge 
 Split from his summit to his base, were plunged 
 In fathomless Avernus' stagnant pool. 
 The billows thus unstemmed, 'twas Caesar's will 
 To hew the stately forests and with trees 
 Enchained to form a rampart. Thus of old 
 (If fame be true) the boastful Persian king 
 Prepared a way across the rapid strait 
 'Twixt Sestos and Abydos , and made one 
 The European and the Trojan shores; 
 And marched upon the waters, wind and storm 
 Counting as nought, but trusting his emprise 
 To one frail bridge, so that his ships might pass 
 Through middle Athos . Thus a mighty mole 
 Of fallen forests grew upon the waves, 
 Free until then, and lofty turrets rose, 
 And land usurped the entrance to the main. 
 This when Pompeius saw, with anxious care 
 His soul was filled; yet hoping to regain 
 The exit lost, and win a wider world 
 Wherein to wage the war, on chosen ships 
 He hoists the sails; these, driven by the wind 
 Which filled the bellying sails, not once nor twice 
 Scattered the beams asunder; and at night 
 Not seldom engines, worked by stalwart arms, 
 Flung flaming torches forth. But when the time 
 For secret flight was come, no sailor shout 
 Rang on the shore, no trumpet marked the hour, 
 No clarion called the armament to sea. 
 Already shone the Virgin in the sky 
 Leading the Scorpion in her course, whose claws 
 Foretell the rising Sun, when noiseless all 
 They cast the vessels loose; no song was heard 
 To greet the anchor wrenched from stubborn sand; 
 No captain's order, when the lofty mast 
 Was raised, or yards were bent; a silent crew 
 Drew down the sails which hung upon the ropes, 
 Nor shook the mighty cables, lest the wind 
 Should sound upon them. But the chief, in prayer, 
 Thus spake to Fortune: ' Thou whose high decree 
 Has made us exiles from Italia 's shores, 
 Grant us at least to leave them.' Yet the fates 
 Hardly permitted, for a murmur vast 
 Came from the ocean, as the countless keels 
 Furrowed the waters, and with ceaseless splash 
 The parted billows rose again and fell. 
 Then were the gates thrown wide; for with the fates 
 The city turned to Caesar: and the foe, 
 Seizing the town, rushed onward by the pier 
 That circled in the harbour; then they knew 
 With shame and sorrow that the fleet was gone 
 And held the open: and Pompeius' flight 
 Gave a poor triumph. Yet was narrower far 
 The channel which gave access to the sea 
 Than that Euboean strait whose waters lave 
 The shore by Chalcis . Here two ships stuck fast 
 Alone, of all the fleet; the fatal hook 
 Grappled their decks and drew them to the land, 
 And the first bloodshed of the civil war 
 Here left a blush upon the ocean wave. 
 As when the famous ship sought Phasis ' stream 
 The rocky gates closed in and hardly gripped 
 Her flying stern; then from the empty sea 
 The cliffs rebounding to their ancient seat 
 Were fixed to move no more. But now the steps 
 Of morn approaching tinged the eastern sky 
 With roseate hues: the Pleiades were dim, 
 The wagon of the Charioteer grew pale, 
 The planets faded, and the silvery star 
 Which ushers in the day, was lost in light. 
 Thou, Magnus, hold'st the deep; yet not the same 
 Now are thy fates, as when from every sea 
 Thy fleet triumphant swept the pirate pest. 
 Tired of thy conquests, Fortune now no more 
 Shall smile upon thee. With thy spouse and sons, 
 Thy household gods, and peoples in thy train, 
 Still great in exile, in a distant land 
 Thou seek'st thy fated fall; not that the gods, 
 Wishing to rob thee of a Roman grave, 
 Decreed the strands of Egypt for thy tomb: 
 'Twas Italy they spared, that far away 
 Fortune on shores remote might hide her crime, 
 And Roman soil be pure of Magnus' blood.

WITH canvas yielding to the southern wind 
 The navy sailed the deep, and every eye 
 Gazed on Ionian billows. But the chief 
 Turned not his vision from his native shore 
 Now left for ever, while the morning mists 
 Drew down upon the mountains, and the cliffs 
 Faded in distance till his aching sight 
 No longer knew them. Then his wearied frame 
 Sank in the arms of sleep. But Julia's shape, 
 In mournful guise, dread horror on her brow, 
 Rose through the gaping earth, and from her tomb 
 Erect, in form as of a Fury spake: 
 'Driven from Elysian fields and from the plains 
 'The blest inhabit, when the war began, 
 'I dwell in Stygian darkness where abide 
 'The souls of all the guilty. There I saw 
 'Th' Eumenides with torches in their hands 
 'Prepared against thy battles; and the fleets 
 
 ' Which by the ferryman of the flaming stream 
 'Were made to bear thy dead: and Hell enlarged 
 'To hold thy punishments: the sisters three 
 ' With busy fingers all their needful task 
 ' Could scarce accomplish, and the threads of fate 
 'Dropped from their weary hands. With me thy wife, 
 'Thou, Magnus, leddest happy triumphs home: 
 'New wedlock brings new luck. Thy concubine, 
 ' Whose star brings all her mighty husbands ill, 
 'Cornelia, weds in thee a breathing tomb. 
 
 'Through wars and oceans let her cling to thee 
 'So long as I may break thy nightly rest: 
 ' No moment left thee for her love, but all 
 'By night to me, by day to Caesar given. 
 'Me not the oblivious banks of Lethe's stream 
 ' Have made forgetful; and the kings of death 
 ' Have suffered me to join thee; in mid fight 
 'I will be with thee, and my haunting ghost 
 'Remind thee Caesar's daughter was thy spouse. 
 'Thy sword kills not our pledges; civil war 
 'Shall make thee wholly mine.' She spake and fled. 
 But he, though heaven and hell thus bode defeat, 
 More bent on war, with mind assured of ill, 
 'Why dread vain phantoms of a dreaming brain? 
 Or nought of sense and feeling to the soul 
 Is left by death; or death itself is nought.' 
 Now fiery Titan in declining path 
 Dipped to the waves, his bright circumference 
 So much diminished as a growing moon 
 Not yet full circled, or when past the full; 
 When to the fleet a hospitable coast 
 Gave access, and the ropes in order laid, 
 The sailors struck the masts and rowed ashore. 
 Thus was the fleet set free and rapt from view 
 By favouring breezes. On Italian soil 
 Sole lord stood Caesar: but he found no joy 
 In triumph over Magnus-rather grieved 
 That thus in safety had his flight been sped. 
 Not any gifts of fortune now sufficed 
 His fiery spirit; and no victory won, 
 Unless the war was finished with the stroke. 
 Then arms he laid aside, in guise of peace 
 Seeking the people's favour; skilled to know 
 How to arouse their ire, and how to gain 
 The popular love by corn in plenty given. 
 Alone through famine cities can be won; 
 By food a tyrant bribes the crowd to cringe; 
 And starving peoples know not how to fear. 
 He orders Curio to stem the waves 
 And cross to lands Sicilian, where of old 
 Or ocean by a sudden rise o'erwhelmed 
 The land, or split the isthmus right in twain, 
 Leaving a path for seas. The mighty deep 
 There labours ever lest again should meet 
 The mountains rent asunder. Nor were left 
 Sardinian shores unvisited: each isle 
 Is blest with noble harvests which have filled 
 More than all else the granaries of Rome , 
 And poured their plenty on Hesperia's shores. 
 Not even Libya , with its fertile soil, 
 Their yield surpasses, when the southern wind 
 Gives way to northern and permits the clouds 
 To drop their moisture on the teeming earth. 
 This ordered, Caesar leads his legions on, 
 Not armed for war, but as in time of peace 
 Returning to his home. Ah! had he come 
 With only Gallia conquered and the North, 
 
 What long array of triumph had he brought! 
 What pictured scenes of battle! how had Rhine 
 
 And Ocean borne his chains! How noble Gaul , 
 And Britain 's fair-haired chiefs his lofty car 
 Had followed! Such a triumph had he lost 
 By further conquest. Now in silent fear 
 They watched his marching troops, nor joyful towns 
 Poured out their crowds to welcome his return. 
 Yet did the conqueror's proud soul rejoice, 
 Far more than at their love, at such a fear.
 
 
 Now Anxur 's hold was passed, the oozy road 
 That separates the marsh, the grove sublime 
 
 Where reigns the Scythian goddess, and the path 
 By which men bear the fasces to the feast 
 On Alba's summit. From the height afar- 
 Gazing in awe upon the walls of Rome 
 
 His native city, since the Northern war 
 Unseen, unvisited-thus Caesar spake: 
 'Seat of the gods, have men deserted thee, 
 'Thee, Rome , without a blow? Then for what town 
 'Shall men do battle? Thank the gods, no host 
 'From Eastern climes has sought Italia 's shores 
 'To wreak its fury; nor Sarmatian horde 
 'With northern tribes conjoined; by Fortune's gift 
 'This war is civil: else this coward chief 
 'Had been thy ruin.' 
 Trembling at his feet 
 He found the city: deadly fire and flame, 
 As from a conqueror; gods and fanes dispersed; 
 Such was the measure of their fear, as though 
 His power and wish were one. No festal shout 
 Greeted his march, no feigned acclaim of joy. 
 Scarce had they time for hate. In Phoebus' hall 
 Their hiding places left, a crowd appeared 
 Of Senators, uncalled, for none could call. 
 No Consul there the sacred shrine adorned 
 Nor Praetor next in rank, and every seat 
 Placed for the officers of state was void: 
 Caesar was all; his private voice was heard; 
 
 All else were dumb. They sat prepared to vote 
 For him a throne or temple; for themselves 
 Or death or exile. Thank the gods that he 
 Blushed more to order than did Rome to serve. 
 Yet in one breast the spirit of Freedom rose 
 Enraged lest force should override the laws; 
 For hot Metellus, when he saw the gates 
 Of Saturn's temple yielding to the shock, 
 With rapid step burst in between the ranks 
 Of Caesar's troops, and stood before the doors 
 As yet unopened. 'Tis the love of gold 
 Alone that fears not death; no hand is raised 
 For perished laws or violated rights: 
 But for this dross, the vilest cause of all, 
 Men fight and die. Thus did the Tribune bar 
 The victor's road to rapine, and with voice 
 Clear ringing spake: ' Save o'er Metellus dead 
 'This temple opens not; my sacred blood 
 ' Shall flow, thou robber, ere the gold be thine. 
 'And surely shall the Tribune's power defied 
 'Find an avenging god; this Crassus knew, 
 
 ' Who, followed by our curses, sought the war 
 'And met disaster on the Parthian plains. 
 ' All Rome is empty; draw thy falchion then, 
 'Nor fear a crowd to gaze upon the crime. 
 'Not from our treasury reward for guilt 
 'Thy hosts shall ravish : other towns are left, 
 'And other nations; seek thy gifts from them; 
 'Nor drain Rome 's peace for spoil: war still is thine.' 
 Aroused to anger then the victor spake: 
 ' Vain is thy hope to fall in noble death; 
 'Dost reckon Freedom safe with thee for guard? 
 ' With all thine honours, thou of Caesar's rage 
 'Art little worthy: never shall thy blood 
 ' Defile his hand. Time lowest things with high 
 ' Confounds not yet so much that, if thy voice 
 ' Could save the laws, it were not better far 
 'They fell by Caesar.' Such his lofty words. 
 But as the Tribune yielded not, his rage 
 Rose yet the more, and at his soldiers' swords 
 One look he cast, forgetting for the time 
 What robe he wore; but soon Metellus heard 
 These words from Cotta: ' When men bow to power 
 ' Freedom of speech is only Freedom's bane, 
 
 ' Whose shade at least survives, if with free will 
 ' Thou dost whate'er is bidden thee. For us 
 ' Some pardon may be found: a host of ills 
 ' Compelled submission, and the shame is less 
 'That to have done which could not be refused. 
 ' Yield, then, this wealth, the seeds of direful war. 
 ' A nation's anger is by losses stirred, 
 ' When laws protect it; but the hungry slave 
 ' Brings danger to his master, not himself.' 
 At this Metellus yielded from the path; 
 And as the gates rolled backward, echoed loud 
 
 The rock Tarpeian, and the temple's depths 
 Gave up the treasure which for centuries 
 No hand had touched: all that the Punic foe 
 And Perses and Philippus conquered gave, 
 And all the gold which Pyrrhus panic-struck 
 Left when he fled: that gold, the price of Rome, 
 Which yet Fabricius sold not, and the hoard 
 Laid up by saving sires; the tribute sent 
 By Asia 's richest nations; and the wealth 
 Which conquering Metellus brought from Crete , 
 And Cato bore from distant Cyprus home; 
 And last, the riches torn from captive kings 
 And borne before Pompeius when he came 
 In frequent triumph. Thus was robbed the shrine, 
 And Caesar first brought poverty to Rome .
 
 
 Meanwhile all nations of the earth were moved 
 To share in Magnus' fortunes and the war, 
 And in his fated ruin. Graecia sent, 
 Nearest of all, her succours to the host. 
 From Cirrha and Parnassus ' double peak 
 And from Amphissa , Phocis sent her youth: 
 From swift Cephisus' fate-declaring stream, 
 And Theban Dirce, chiefs Boeotian came: 
 All Pisa mustered and Alpheus' youths, 
 
 Alpheus who in far Sicilian lands 
 Beyond the billows seeks the day again: 
 Arcadian Maenalus, and OEta loved 
 By Hercules, and old Dodona 's oaks 
 Are left to silence; for the sacred train 
 With all Epirus rushes to the war. 
 
 Athens , deserted at the call to arms, 
 Yet found three vessels in Apollo's port 
 To prove her triumph o'er the Persian king. 
 Next seek the battle Creta 's hundred tribes 
 Beloved of Jove and rivalling the east 
 In skill to wing the arrow from the bow. 
 The walls of Dardan Oricum, the woods 
 Where Athamanians wander, and the banks 
 Of swift Absyrtus foaming to the main 
 Are left forsaken. Enchelaean tribes 
 Whose king was Cadmus, and whose name records 
 His transformation, join the host; and those 
 Who till Penean fields and turn the share 
 Above Iolcos in Thessalian lands. 
 There first men steeled their hearts to dare the waves 
 
 And 'gainst the rage of ocean and the storm 
 To match their strength, when the rude Argo sailed 
 Upon that distant quest, and spurned the shore, 
 Joining remotest nations in her flight, 
 And gave the fates another form of death. 
 Left too was Pholoe; pretended home 
 Where dwelt the fabled race of double form; 
 
 Arcadian Maenalus; the Thracian mount 
 Named Hemus; Strymon, whence, as autumn falls, 
 Winged squadrons seek the banks of warmer Nile ; 
 And all those isles the mouths of Ister bathe 
 Mixed with the tidal wave; the land through which 
 The cooling eddies of Caicus flow 
 Idalian; and Arisbe bare of glebe. 
 The hinds of Pitane , and those who till 
 Celaenae's fields which mourned of yore the gift 
 Of Pallas, and the vengeance of the god, 
 All draw the sword; and those from Marsyas' flood 
 First swift, then doubling backwards with the stream 
 Of sinuous Meander: and from where 
 Earth gives Pactolus and his golden store 
 Free passage forth; and where with rival wealth 
 Rich Hermus parts the meads. Nor stayed the bands 
 Of Troy , but (doomed as in old time) they joined 
 Pompeius' fated camp: nor held them back 
 The fabled past, nor Caesar's claimed descent 
 From their Iulus. Syrian peoples came 
 From palmy Idumea and the walls 
 Of Ninus great of yore; from windy plains 
 Of far Damascus and from Gaza 's hold, 
 From Sidon 's courts enriched with purple dye, 
 And Tyre oft trembling with the shaken earth. 
 All these led on by Cynosura's light 
 
 Furrow their certain path to reach the war. 
 Phoenicians first (if story be believed) 
 Dared to record in characters; for yet 
 Papyrus was not fashioned, and the priests 
 Of Memphis , carving symbols upon walls 
 Of mystic sense (in shape of beast or fowl) 
 Preserved the secrets of their magic art. 
 Next Persean Tarsus and high Taurus' groves 
 Are left deserted, and Corycium's cave; 
 And all Cilicia 's ports, pirate no more, 
 Resound with preparation. Nor the East 
 Refused the call, where furthest Ganges dares, 
 Alone of rivers, to discharge his stream 
 Against the sun opposing; on this shore 
 
 The Macedonian conqueror stayed his foot 
 And found the world his victor; Indus rolls 
 Here his vast torrent, by Hydaspes joined 
 Yet scarce augmented; here from luscious reed 
 Men draw sweet liquor; here they dye their locks 
 With tints of saffron, and with coloured gems 
 Bind down their flowing garments; here are they, 
 Who satiate of life and proud to die, 
 Ascend the blazing pyre, and conquering fate, 
 Scorn to live longer; but triumphant give 
 The remnant of their days in flame to heaven. 
 
 Nor failed to join the host a hardy band 
 Of Cappadocians, tilling now the soil, 
 Once pirates of the main : nor those who dwell 
 Where steep Niphates hurls the avalanche, 
 And where on Median Coatra's sides 
 The giant forest rises to the sky. 
 And you, Arabians, from your distant home 
 Came to a world unknown, and wondering saw 
 The shadows fall no longer to the left. 
 
 Then fired with ardour for the Roman war 
 Oretas came, and far Carmania's chiefs, 
 Whose clime lies southward, yet men thence descry 
 Low down the Pole star, and Bootes runs 
 Hasting to set, part seen, his nightly course; 
 And Ethiopians from that southern land 
 Which lies without the circuit of the stars, 
 Did not the Bull with curving hoof advanced 
 O'erstep the limit. From that mountain zone 
 They came, where rising from a common fount 
 
 Euphrates flows and Tigris , and did earth 
 Permit, were joined with either name; but now 
 While like th' Egyptian flood Euphrates spreads 
 His fertilising water, Tigris first 
 Drawn down by earth in covered depths is plunged 
 And holds a secret course; then born again 
 Flows on unhindered to the Persian sea. 
 But warlike Parthia wavered 'twixt the chiefs, 
 Content to have made them two ; while Scythia 's hordes 
 Dipped fresh their darts in poison, whom the stream 
 Of Bactros bounds and vast Hyrcanian woods. 
 Hence springs that rugged nation swift and fierce, 
 Descended from the Twins' great charioteer. 
 
 Nor failed Sarmatia , nor the tribes that dwell 
 By richest Phasis , and on Halys' banks, 
 Which sealed the doom of Croesus king; nor where 
 From far Rhipaean ranges Tanais flows, 
 On either hand a quarter of the world, 
 
 Asia and Europe , and in winding course 
 Carves out a continent; nor where the strait 
 In boiling surge pours to the Pontic deep 
 Maeotis' waters, rivalling the pride 
 Of those Herculean pillar-gates that guard 
 The entrance to an ocean. Thence with hair 
 In golden fillets, Arimaspians came, 
 And fierce Massagetae, who quaff the blood 
 Of the brave steed on which they fight and flee. 
 Not when great Cyrus on Memnonian realms 
 His warriors poured; nor when, their weapons piled, 
 
 The Persian told the number of his host; 
 Nor when th' avenger of a brother's shame 
 Loaded the billows with his mighty fleet, 
 Beneath one chief so many kings made war; 
 Nor e'er met nations varied thus in garb 
 And thus in language. To Pompeius' death 
 Thus Fortune called them: and a world in arms 
 Witnessed his ruin. From where Afric's god, 
 Two-horned Ammon, rears his temple, came 
 All Libya ceaseless, from the wastes that touch 
 The bounds of Egypt to the shore that meets 
 The Western Ocean. Thus, to award the prize 
 Of Empire at one blow, Pharsalia brought 
 'Neath Caesar's conquering hand the banded world.
 
 
 Now Caesar left the walls of trembling Rome 
 
 And swift across the cloudy Alpine tops 
 He winged his march; but while all others fled 
 Far from his path, in terror of his name, 
 
 Phocaea 's manhood with un-Grecian faith 
 Held to their pledged obedience, and dared 
 To follow right, not fate; but first of all 
 With olive boughs of truce before them borne 
 The chieftain they approach, with peaceful words 
 In hope to alter his unbending will 
 And tame his fury. 'Search the ancient books 
 Which chronicle the deeds of Latian fame; 
 Thou'lt ever find, when foreign foes pressed hard, 
 
 Massilia 's prowess on the side of Rome . 
 
 And now, if triumphs in an unknown world 
 Thou seekest, Caesar, here our arms and swords 
 Accept in aid: but if, in impious strife 
 Of civil discord, with a Roman foe 
 Thou arm'st for battle, tears we give thee then 
 And hold aloof: no stranger hand may touch 
 Celestial wounds. Should all Olympus ' hosts 
 Have rushed to war, or should the giant brood 
 Assault the stars, yet men would not presume 
 Or by their prayers or arms to help the gods: 
 And, ignorant of the fortunes of the sky, 
 Taught by the thunderbolts alone, would know 
 That Jupiter supreme still held the throne. 
 Add that unnumbered nations join the fray: 
 Nor shrinks the world so much from taint of crime 
 That civil wars reluctant swords require. 
 But grant that strangers shun thy destinies 
 And only Romans fight-shall not the son 
 Shrink ere he strike his father? on both sides 
 Brothers forbid the weapon to be hurled? 
 The world's end comes when other hands are armed 
 ' Than those which custom and the gods allow. 
 ' For us, this is our prayer: Leave, Caesar, here 
 ' Thy dreadful eagles, keep thy hostile signs 
 ' Back from our gates, but enter thou in peace 
 ' Massilia 's ramparts; let our city rest 
 ' Withdrawn from crime, to Magnus and to thee 
 ' Safe: and should favouring fate preserve our walls 
 ' Inviolate, when both shall wish for peace 
 ' Here meet unarmed. Why hither dost thou turn 
 ' Thy rapid march, when to Iberian fights 
 'The war commands thee? Weight nor power have we 
 ' To sway the mighty conflicts of the world. 
 ' We boast no victories since our fatherland 
 'We left in exile: when Phocaea 's fort 
 ' Perished in flames, we sought another here; 
 'And here on foreign shores, in narrow bounds 
 ' Confined and safe, our boast is sturdy faith; 
 ' Nought else. But if our city to blockade 
 ' Is now thy mind-to force the gates, and hurl 
 ' Javelin and blazing torch upon our homes- 
 ' Do what thou wilt: cut off the source that fills 
 ' Our foaming river, force us, prone in thirst, 
 ' To dig the earth and lap the scanty pool; 
 ' Seize on our corn and leave us food abhorred: 
 ' This people shall not shun, for freedom's sake, 
 ' The ills Saguntum bore in Punic siege; 
 
 ' Torn, vainly clinging, from the shrunken breast 
 ' The starving babe shall perish in the flames. 
 ' Wives at their husbands' hands shall pray their fate, 
 ' And brothers' weapons deal a mutual death. 
 ' Such be our civil war; not, Caesar, thine.' 
 But Caesar's visage stern betrayed his ire 
 Which thus broke forth in words: ' Vain is the hope 
 Ye rest upon my march: speed though I may 
 Towards my western goal, time still remains 
 To blot Massilia out. Rejoice, my troops! 
 ' Unsought the war ye longed for meets you now: 
 The fates concede it. As the tempests lose 
 Their strength by sturdy forests unopposed, 
 And as the fire that finds no fuel dies, 
 Even so to find no foe is Caesar's ill. 
 When those who may be conquered will not fight, 
 That is defeat. Degenerate, disarmed 
 Their gates admit me! Not content, forsooth, 
 With shutting Caesar out they shut him in! 
 They shun the taint of war! Such prayer for peace 
 Brings with it chastisement. In Caesar's age 
 Learn that not peace, but war within his ranks 
 Alone can make you safe.' 
 He turns his march 
 Upon the fearless city, and beholds 
 Fast barred the gate-ways, while in arms the youths 
 Stand on the battlements. Hard by the walls 
 A hillock rose, upon the further side 
 Expanding in a plain of gentle slope, 
 Fit (as he deemed it) for a camp with ditch 
 And mound encircling. To a lofty height 
 The nearest portion of the city rose, 
 While intervening valleys lay between. 
 These summits with a mighty trench to bind 
 The chief resolves, gigantic though the toil. 
 But first, from furthest boundaries of his camp, 
 Enclosing streams and meadows, to the sea 
 To draw a rampart, upon either hand 
 Heaved up with earthy sod; with lofty towers 
 Crowned; and to shut Massilia from the land. 
 Then did the Grecian city win renown 
 Eternal, deathless, for that uncompelled 
 Nor fearing for herself, but free to act 
 She made the conqueror pause: and he who seized 
 All in resistless course found here delay: 
 And Fortune, hastening to lay the world 
 Low at her favourite's feet, was forced to stay 
 For these few moments her impatient hand. 
 Now fell the forests far and wide, despoiled 
 Of all their giant trunks: for as the mound 
 On earth and brushwood stood, a timber frame 
 Held firm the soil, lest pressed beneath its towers 
 The mass might topple down.
 
 
 There stood a grove 
 Which from the earliest time no hand of man 
 Had dared to violate; hidden from the sun 
 
 Its chill recesses; matted boughs entwined 
 Prisoned the air within. No sylvan nymphs 
 Here found a home, nor Pan, but savage rites 
 And barbarous worship, altars horrible 
 On massive stones upreared; sacred with blood 
 Of men was every tree. If faith be given 
 To ancient myth, no fowl has ever dared 
 To rest upon those branches, and no beast 
 Has made his lair beneath: no tempest falls, 
 Nor lightnings flash upon it from the cloud. 
 Stagnant the air, unmoving, yet the leaves 
 Filled with mysterious trembling; dripped the streams 
 From coal-black fountains; effigies of gods 
 Rude, scarcely fashioned from some fallen trunk 
 Held the mid space: and, pallid with decay, 
 Their rotting shapes struck terror. Thus do men 
 Dread most the god unknown. 'Twas said that caves 
 Rumbled with earthquakes, that the prostrate yew 
 Rose up again; that fiery tongues of flame 
 Gleamed in the forest depths, yet were the trees 
 Unkindled; and that snakes in frequent folds 
 Were coiled around the trunks. Men flee the spot 
 Nor dare to worship near: and e'en the priest 
 Or when bright Phoebus holds the height, or when 
 Dark night controls the heavens, in anxious dread 
 Draws near the grove and fears to find its lord. 
 Spared in the former war, still dense it rose 
 Where all the hills were bare, and Caesar now 
 Its fall commanded. But the brawny arms 
 Which swayed the axes trembled, and the men, 
 Awed by the sacred grove's dark majesty, 
 Held back the blow they thought would be returned. 
 This Caesar saw, and swift within his grasp 
 Uprose a ponderous axe, which downward fell 
 Cleaving a mighty oak that towered to heaven, 
 While thus he spake: ' Henceforth let no man dread 
 'To fell this forest : all the crime is mine. 
 'This be your creed.' He spake, and all obeyed, 
 For Caesar's ire weighed down the wrath of Heaven. 
 Yet ceased they not to fear. Then first the oak, 
 
 Dodona 's ancient boast; the knotty holm; 
 The cypress, witness of patrician grief, 
 The buoyant alder, laid their foliage low 
 Admitting day; though scarcely through the stems 
 Their fall found passage. At the sight the Gauls 
 Grieved; but the garrison within the walls 
 Rejoiced: for thus shall men insult the gods 
 And find no punishment? Yet fortune oft 
 Protects the guilty; on the poor alone 
 The gods can vent their ire. Enough hewn down, 
 They seize the country wagons; and the hind, 
 His oxen gone which else had drawn the plough, 
 Mourns for his harvest. 
 But the eager chief 
 Impatient of the combat by the walls 
 Carries the warfare to the furthest west. 
 Meanwhile a giant mound, on star-shaped wheels 
 Concealed, they fashion, crowned with double towers 
 High as the battlements, by cause unseen 
 Slow creeping onwards; while amazed the foe 
 Beheld, and thought some subterranean gust 
 Had burst the caverns of the earth and forced 
 The nodding pile aloft, and wondered sore 
 Their walls should stand unshaken. From its height 
 Hissed down the weapons; but the Grecian bolts 
 WVith greater force were on the Romans hurled; 
 Nor by the arm unaided, for the lance 
 Urged by the catapult resistless rushed 
 Through arms and shield and flesh, and left a death 
 Behind, nor stayed its course : and massive stones 
 Cast by the beams of mighty engines fell; 
 As from the mountain top some time-worn rock 
 At length by winds dislodged, in all its track 
 Spreads ruin vast: nor crushed the life alone 
 Forth from the body, but dispersed the limbs 
 In fragments undistinguished and in blood. 
 But as protected by the armour shield 
 The might of Rome drew nigh beneath the wall 
 (The front rank with their bucklers interlaced 
 And held above their helms), the missiles fell 
 Behind their backs, nor could the toiling Greeks 
 Deflect their engines, throwing still the bolts 
 Far into space; but from the rampart top 
 Flung ponderous masses down. Long as the shields 
 Held firm together, like to hail that falls 
 Harmless upon a roof, so long the stones 
 Crushed down innocuous; but as the blows 
 Rained fierce and ceaseless and the Romans tired, 
 Some here and there sank fainting. Next the roof 
 Moves on with earth besprinkled: underneath 
 The ram conceals his head, which, poised and swung, 
 They dash with mighty force upon the wall, 
 Covered themselves with mantlets. Though the head 
 Light on the lower stones, yet as the shock 
 Falls and refalls, from battlement to base 
 The rampart soon shall topple. But by balks 
 And rocky fragments overwhelmed, and flames, 
 The roof at length gives way; and worn with toil 
 All spent in vain, the wearied troops withdraw 
 And seek the shelter of their tents again. 
 Thus far to hold their battlements was all 
 The Greeks had hoped; now, venturing attack, 
 With glittering torches for their arms, by night 
 Fearless they sallied forth: nor lance they bear 
 Nor deadly bow, nor shaft; for fire alone 
 Is now their weapon. Through the Roman works 
 Driven by the wind the conflagration spread: 
 Nor did the newness of the wood make pause 
 The fury of the flames, which, fed afresh 
 By living torches, 'neath a smoky pall 
 Leaped on in fiery tongues. Not wood alone 
 But stones gigantic crumbling into dust 
 Dissolved beneath the heat; the mighty mound 
 Lay prone, yet in its ruin larger seemed.
 
 
 Next, conquered on the land, upon the main 
 They try their fortunes. On their simple craft 
 No painted figure-head adorned the bows 
 Nor claimed protection from the gods; but rude, 
 Just as they fell upon their mountain homes, 
 The trees were knit together, and the deck 
 Gave steady foot-hold for an ocean fight. 
 Meanwhile had Caesar's squadron left the Rhone 
 
 And reached with Brutus' turret ship the strait 
 By Stoechas' isles. Nor less the Grecian host- 
 Boys not yet grown to war, and aged men, 
 Armed for the conflict, with their all at stake. 
 Nor only did they marshal for the fight 
 Ships meet for service; but their ancient keels 
 Brought from the dockyards. When the morning rays 
 Broke from the waters, and the sky was clear, 
 And all the winds were still upon the deep, 
 Smoothed for the battle, swift on either part 
 The fleets essay the open; and the ships 
 Tremble beneath the oars that urge them on, 
 By sinewy arms impelled. Upon the wings 
 That bound the Roman fleet, the larger craft 
 With triple and quadruple banks of oars 
 Gird in the lesser: so they front the sea; 
 While in their rear, shaped as a crescent moon, 
 Liburnian galleys follow. Over all 
 Towers Brutus' deck praetorian. Oars on oars 
 Propel the bulky vessel through the main, 
 Six ranks; the topmost strike the waves afar. 
 When such a space remained between the fleets 
 As could be covered by a single stroke, 
 Innumerable voices rise in air 
 Drowning with resonant din the beat of oars 
 And note of trumpet summoning: and all 
 Sit on the benches and with mighty stroke 
 Sweep o'er the sea and gain the space between. 
 Then crashed the prows together, and the keels 
 Rebounded backwards, and unnumbered darts 
 Or darkened all the sky or, in their fall, 
 The vacant ocean. As the wings grew wide, 
 Less densely packed the fleet, some Grecian ships 
 Pressed in between; as when with west and east 
 The tide contends, this way the waves are driven 
 And that the sea; so as they plough the deep 
 In various lines converging, what the prow 
 Throws up advancing, from the foemen's oars 
 Falls back repelled. But soon the Grecian fleet 
 Was handier found in battle, and in flight 
 Pretended, and in shorter curves could round; 
 More deftly governed by the guiding helm : 
 While on the Roman side their steadier keels 
 Gave vantage, as to men who fight on land. 
 Then Brutus to the pilot of his ship: 
 ' Dost suffer them to range the wider deep, 
 'Contending with the foe in naval skill? 
 ' Draw close the war and drive us on the prows 
 'Of these Phocaeans.' Him the pilot heard; 
 And turned his vessel slantwise to the foe. 
 Then was the sea all covered with the war: 
 Then Grecian ships attacking Brutus found 
 Their ruin in the stroke, and vanquished lay 
 Beside his bulwarks; with curved hooks and chains 
 The foe they grapple, by entangled oars 
 Themselves held back. And now no outstretched arm 
 Hurls forth the javelin, but sword in hand 
 They wage a naval fight: each from his ship 
 Leans forward to the stroke, and falls when slain 
 Upon a foeman's deck. Deep flows the stream 
 Of purple slaughter to the foamy main : 
 By piles of floating corpses are the sides, 
 Though grappled, kept asunder. Some, half dead, 
 Plunge in the ocean, gulping down the brine 
 Encrimsoned with their blood; some lingering still 
 Draw their last struggling breath amid the wreck 
 Of broken navies: weapons which have missed 
 Find yet their victims, and the falling steel 
 Fails not in middle deep to deal the wound. 
 One vessel circled by Phocaean keels 
 Divides her strength, and on the right and left 
 On either side with equal war contends; 
 On whose high poop while Tagus fighting gripped 
 The stern Phocaean, pierced his back and breast 
 Two fatal weapons; in the midst the steel 
 Met, and the blood, uncertain whence to flow, 
 Stood still, arrested, till with double course 
 Forth by a sudden gush it drove each dart, 
 And sent the life abroad through either wound. 
 Here fated Telon also steered his ship: 
 No pilot's hand upon an angry sea 
 More deftly ruled a vessel. Well he knew, 
 Or by the sun or crescent moon, how best 
 To set his canvas fitted for the breeze 
 The coming hours would bring. His rushing stem 
 Shattered a Roman vessel: but a dart 
 Hurled at the moment quivered in his breast. 
 He falls, and in the fall his dying hand 
 Diverts the prow. Then Gyareus, in act 
 To climb the friendly deck, by javelin pierced, 
 Still as he hung, by the retaining steel 
 Fast to the side was nailed. 
 Twin brethren stand 
 A fruitful mother's pride; with different fates, 
 But ne'er distinguished till death's savage hand 
 Struck once, and ended error: he that lived, 
 Cause of fresh anguish to their sorrowing souls, 
 Called ever to the weeping parents back 
 The image of the lost: who, as the oars 
 Grecian and Roman mixed their teeth oblique, 
 Grasped with his dexter hand the Roman ship; 
 When fell a blow that shore his arm away. 
 So died, upon the side it held, the hand, 
 Nor loosed its grasp in death. Yet with the wound 
 His noble courage rose, and maimed he dared 
 Renew the fray, and stretched across the sea 
 To grasp the lost-in vain! another blow 
 Lopped arm and hand alike. Nor shield nor sword 
 Henceforth are his. Yet even now he seeks 
 No sheltering hold, but with his chest advanced 
 Before his brother armed, he claims the fight, 
 And holding in his breast the darts which else 
 Had slain his comrades, pierced with countless spears, 
 He falls in death well earned; yet ere his end 
 Collects his parting life, and all his strength 
 Strains to the utmost and with failing limbs 
 Leaps on the foeman's deck; by weight alone 
 Injurious; for streaming down with gore 
 And piled on high with corpses, while her sides 
 Sounded to ceaseless blows, the fated ship 
 Let in the greedy brine until her ways 
 Were level with the waters-then she plunged 
 In whirling eddies downwards-and the main 
 First parted, then closed in upon its prey. 
 Full many wondrous deaths, with fates diverse, 
 Upon the sea in that day's fight befell.
 
 
 Caught by a grappling-hook that missed the side, 
 Had Lycidas been whelmed in middle deep; 
 But by his feet his comrades dragged him back, 
 And rent in twain he hung; nor slowly flowed 
 As from a wound the blood; but all his veins 
 
 Were torn asunder and the stream of life 
 Gushed o'er his limbs till lost amid the waves. 
 From no man dying has the vital breath 
 Rushed by so wide a path; the lower trunk 
 Succumbed to death, but with the lungs and heart 
 Long strove the fates, and hardly won the whole. 
 While, bent upon the fight, an eager crew 
 Were gathered to the margin of their deck 
 (Leaving the upper side as bare of foes), 
 Their ship was overset. Beneath the keel 
 Which floated upwards, prisoned in the sea, 
 And powerless by spread of arms to float 
 The main, they perished. One who haply swam 
 Amid the battle, chanced upon a death 
 Strange and unheard of; for two meeting prows 
 Transfixed his body. At the double stroke 
 Wide yawns his chest; blood issues from his mouth 
 With flesh commingled; and the brazen beaks 
 Resounding clash together, by the bones 
 Unhindered: now they part and through the gap 
 Swift pours the sea and drags the corse below. 
 Next, of a shipwrecked crew, the larger part 
 Struggling with death upon the waters, reached 
 A comrade bark; but when with elbows raised 
 They seized upon the bulwarks and the ship 
 Rolled, nor could bear their weight, the ruthless crew 
 Hacked off their straining arms; then maimed they sank 
 Below the seething waves, to rise no more. 
 Now every dart was hurled and every spear, 
 The soldier weaponless; yet their rage found arms: 
 One hurls an oar; another's brawny arm 
 Tugs at the twisted stern; or from the seats 
 The oarsmen driving, swings a bench in air. 
 The ships are broken for the fight. They seize 
 The fallen dead and snatch the sword that slew. 
 Nay, many from their wounds, frenzied for arms, 
 Pluck forth the deadly steel, and pressing still 
 Upon their yawning sides, hurl forth the spear 
 Back to the hostile ranks from which it came; 
 Then ebbs their life blood forth. 
 But deadlier yet 
 Was that fell force most hostile to the sea; 
 For, thrown in torches and in sulphurous bolts 
 Fire all-consuming ran among the ships, 
 Whose oily timbers soaked in pitch and wax 
 Inflammable, gave welcome to the flames. 
 Nor could the waves prevail against the blaze 
 Which claimed as for its own the fragments borne 
 Upon the waters. Lo! on burning plank 
 One hardly 'scapes destruction; one to save 
 His flaming ship, gives entrance to the main. 
 Of all the forms of death each fears the one 
 That brings immediate dying: yet quail not 
 Their hearts in shipwreck : from the waves they pluck 
 The fallen darts and furnishing the ships 
 Essay the feeble stroke; and should that hope 
 Still fail their hand, they call the sea to aid 
 And seizing in their grasp some floating foe 
 Drag him to mutual death. But on that day 
 Phoceus above all others proved his skill. 
 Well trained was he to dive beneath the main 
 And search the waters with unfailing eye; 
 And should an anchor 'gainst the straining rope 
 Too firmly bite the sands, to wrench it free. 
 Oft in his fatal grasp he seized a foe 
 Nor loosed his grip until the life was gone. 
 Such was his frequent deed; but this his fate: 
 For rising, victor (as he thought), to air, 
 Full on a keel he struck and found his death. 
 Some, drowning, seized a hostile oar and checked 
 The flying vessel; not to die in vain, 
 Their single care; some on their vessel's side 
 Hanging, in death, with wounded frame essayed 
 To check the charging prow. Tyrrhenus high 
 Upon the bulwarks of his ship was struck 
 By leaden bolt from Balearic sling 
 Of Lygdamus; straight through his temples passed 
 The fated missile; and in streams of blood 
 Forced from their seats his trembling eyeballs fell. 
 Plunged in a darkness as of night, he thought 
 That life had left him; yet ere long he knew 
 The living vigour of his limbs; and cried, 
 'Place me, O friends, as some machine of war 
 Straight facing towards the foe; then shall my darts 
 Strike as of old; and thou, Tyrrhenus, spend 
 Thy latest breath, still left, upon the fight: 
 So shalt thou play, not wholly dead, the part 
 That fits a soldier, and the spear that strikes 
 Thy frame, shall miss the living.' Thus he spake, 
 And hurled his javelin, blind, but not in vain; 
 For Argus, generous youth of noble blood, 
 Below the middle waist received the spear 
 And falling drave it home. His aged sire 
 From furthest portion of the conquered ship 
 Beheld; than whom in pride of manhood none 
 More brave in battle: now no more he fought, 
 Yet did the memory of his prowess stir 
 Phocaean youths to emulate his fame. 
 Oft stumbling o'er the benches the old man hastes 
 To reach his boy, and finds him breathing still. 
 No tear bedewed his cheek; upon his breast 
 No blow he struck; but all his frame was stiff, 
 His hands outspread : and o'er his eyes there fell 
 A dark impenetrable veil of mist 
 That blotted out the day; nor could he more 
 Discern his luckless Argus. He, who saw 
 His parent, raising up his drooping head 
 With parted lips and silent features asks 
 A father's latest kiss, a father's hand 
 To close his dying eyes. But soon his sire, 
 Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless grief 
 Possessed his spirit, 'This short space,' he cried, 
 ' I lose not, which the cruel gods have given, 
 ' But die before thee. Grant thy sorrowing sire 
 ' Forgiveness that he fled thy last embrace. 
 Not yet has passed thy life blood from the wound 
 Nor yet is death upon thee-still thou may'st 
 
 Outlive thy parent.' Thus he spake, and seized 
 The reeking sword and drave it to the hilt, 
 Then plunged into the deep, with headlong bound, 
 To anticipate his son: for this he feared 
 A single form of death should not suffice. 
 Now gave the fates their judgment, and in doubt 
 No longer was the war: the Grecian fleet 
 In most part sunk; -some ships by Romans oared 
 Conveyed the victors home: in headlong flight 
 Some sought the yards for shelter. On the strand 
 What tears of parents for their offspring slain, 
 How wept the mothers! 'Mid the pile confused 
 Ofttimes the wife sought madly for her spouse 
 And chose for her last kiss some Roman slain; 
 While wretched fathers by the blazing pyres 
 Fought for the dead. But Brutus thus at sea 
 First gained a triumph for great Caesar's arms.

BUT in the distant regions of the earth 
 Fierce Caesar warring, though in fight he dealt 
 No baneful slaughter, hastened on the doom 
 To swift fulfilment. There on Magnus' side 
 Afranius and Petreius held command, 
 Who ruled alternate, and the rampart guard 
 Obeyed the standard of each chief in turn. 
 There with the Romans in the camp were joined 
 Asturians swift, and Vettons lightly armed, 
 And Celts who, exiled from their ancient home, 
 Had joined ' Iberus ' to their former name. 
 Where the rich soil in gentle slope ascends 
 And forms a modest hill, Ilerda 
 stands, 
 Founded in ancient days; beside her glides 
 Not least of western rivers, Sicoris 
 Of placid current, by a mighty arch 
 Of stone o'erspanned, which not the winter floods 
 Shall overwhelm. Upon a rock hard by 
 Was Magnus' camp; but Caesar's on a hill, 
 Rivalling the first; and in the midst a stream. 
 Here boundless plains are spread beyond the range 
 Of human vision; Cinga girds them in 
 With greedy waves; forbidden to contend 
 With tides of ocean; for that larger flood 
 Who names the land, Iberus , sweeps along 
 The lesser stream commingled with his own. 
 Guiltless of war, the first day saw the hosts 
 In long array confronted; standard rose 
 Opposing standard, numberless; yet none 
 Attacked, through shame of strife; one bloodless day 
 They gave their country and her broken laws. 
 But Caesar, when from heaven fell the night, 
 Drew round a hasty trench; his foremost rank 
 With close array concealing those who wrought. 
 Then with the morn he bids them seize the hill 
 Which parted from the camp Ilerda 's walls, 
 And gave them safety. But in fear and shame 
 On rushed the foe and seized the vantage ground, 
 First in the onset. From the height they held 
 Their hopes of conquest; but to Caesar's men 
 Their hearts by courage stirred, and their good swords 
 Promised the victory. Burdened up the ridge 
 The soldier climbed, and from the opposing steep 
 But for his comrade's shield had fallen back; 
 None had the space to hurl the quivering lance 
 Upon the foeman: spear and pike made sure 
 The failing foothold, and the falchion's edge 
 Hewed out their upward path. But Caesar saw 
 Ruin impending, and he bade his horse 
 By circuit to the left, with shielded flank, 
 Hold back the foe. Thus gained his troops retreat, 
 For none pressed on them; and the victor chiefs, 
 Forced to withdrawal, gained the day in vain. 
 Henceforth the fitful changes of the year 
 Governed the fates and fashioned out the war. 
 For stubborn frost still lay upon the land, 
 And northern winds, controlling all the sky, 
 Prisoned the rain in clouds; the hills were nipped 
 With snow unmelted, and the lower plains 
 By frosts that fled before the rising sun; 
 And all the land, there nearer to the sky 
 That whelms the stars, was hard and arid grown 
 By suns of winter. But when Titan neared 
 The Ram, who, backward gazing on the stars, 
 Bore perished Helle, and the hours were held 
 In balance, and the days again prevailed, 
 The earliest faded moon which in the vault 
 Hung with uncertain horn, from eastern wind 
 Received a fiery radiance; whose blast 
 Forced Boreas back: and breaking on the mists 
 Within his regions, to the Occident 
 Drave all that shroud Arabia and the land 
 Of Ganges; all that or by Caurus borne 
 Bedim the Orient sky, or rising suns 
 Permit to gather; pitiless flamed the day 
 Behind them, while in front the wide expanse 
 Was driven; nor on mid earth sank the clouds 
 Though weighed with vapour. North and south alike 
 Were showerless, for on Calpe 's rock alone 
 All moisture gathered; here at last, forbidden 
 To pass that sea by Zephyr's bounds contained, 
 And by the furthest belt of heaven, they pause, 
 In masses huge convolved; the widest breadth 
 Of murky air scarce holds them, which divides 
 Earth from the heavens; till pressed by weight of sky 
 In densest volume to the earth they pour 
 Their cataracts; no lightning could endure 
 Such storm unquenched: though oft athwart the gloom 
 Gleamed its pale fire. Meanwhile a watery arch 
 Scarce touched with colour, in imperfect shape 
 Embraced the sky and drank the ocean waves, 
 So rendering to the clouds their flood outpoured. 
 And now the snows which Titan never yet 
 Could melt were thawed: the Pyrenaean rocks 
 Are wet with flowing ice; accustomed springs 
 Find not discharge; and from the very banks 
 Each stream receives a torrent. Caesar's arms 
 Are shipwrecked on the field, his tottering camp 
 Swims on the rising flood; the trench is filled 
 With whirling waters; and the plain no more 
 Yields corn or kine; for those who forage seek, 
 Err from the hidden furrow. Famine knocks 
 (First herald of o'erwhelming ills to come) 
 Fierce at the door; and while no foe blockades 
 The soldier hungers; fortunes buy not now 
 The meanest measure; yet, alas! is found 
 The fasting peasant, who, in gain of gold, 
 Will sell his little all! And now the hills 
 Are seen no more; rivers in one vast sea 
 Of whirlpools overwhelmed; beasts borne away 
 And sucked beneath the stream; their rocky dens 
 Sweep onwards; and the torrent's raging force 
 Bears back the inflowing ocean. Nor does night 
 Acknowledge Phoebus' rise, for all the sky 
 Feels her dominion and obscures its face, 
 And darkness joins with darkness. Thus doth lie 
 The lowest earth beneath the snowy zone 
 And never-ending winters, where the sky 
 Is starless ever, and no growth of herb 
 Sprouts from the frozen earth; but standing ice 
 Tempers the stars which in the middle zone 
 Kindle their flames. Thus, Father of the world, 
 And thou, O trident-god who rul'st the sea 
 Second in place, Neptunus, load the air 
 With clouds continual; forbid the tide, 
 Once risen, to return : forced by thy waves 
 Let rivers backward run in different course, 
 Thy shores no longer reaching; and the earth, 
 Shaken, make way for floods. Let Rhine o'erflow 
 And Rhone their banks; let torrents spread afield 
 Unmeasured waters: melt Rhipaean snows: 
 Spread lakes upon the land, and seas profound, 
 And snatch the groaning world from civil war.
 
 
 Thus for a little moment Fortune tried 
 Her darling son; then smiling to his part 
 Returned; and gained her pardon for the past 
 By greater gifts to come. For now the air 
 Had grown more clear, and Phoebus' warmer rays 
 Coped with the flood and scattered all the clouds 
 In fleecy masses; and the reddening east 
 Proclaimed the coming day; the land resumed 
 Its ancient marks; no more in middle air 
 The moisture hung, but from about the stars 
 Sank to the depths; the forest glad upreared 
 Its foliage; hills again emerged to view 
 And 'neath the warmth of day the plains grew firm. 
 When Sicoris kept his banks, the shallop light 
 Of hoary willow bark they build, which bent 
 On hides of oxen, bears the weight of man 
 And swims the torrent. Thus on sluggish Po 
 Venetians float; and on th' encircling sea 
 
 Are borne Britannia 's nations; and when Nile 
 
 Fills all the land, are Memphis ' thirsty reeds 
 Shaped into fragile boats that swim his waves. 
 The further bank thus gained, they haste to curve 
 The fallen forest, and to form the arch 
 By which imperious Sicoris shall be spanned. 
 Yet fearing he might rise in wrath anew, 
 Not on the nearest marge they place the beams, 
 But in mid-field. Thus the presumptuous stream 
 They tame with chastisement, parting his flood 
 In devious channels out; and curb his pride. 
 Petreius, seeing that all things gave way 
 To Caesar's destiny, leaves Ilerda 's steep, 
 His trust no longer in the Roman world; 
 And seeks for strength amid those distant tribes, 
 Who, loving death, rush in upon the foe, 
 
 And win their conquests at the point of sword. 
 But in the dawn, when Caesar saw the camp 
 Stand empty on the hill, ' To arms! ' he cries: 
 ' No bridge nor ford; but stem with brawny arms 
 ' The foaming river.' Rushing to the fray 
 They dare the torrent they had feared in flight. 
 Their arms regained, they race until the blood 
 Throbs in their veins anew, and their wet limbs 
 Are warm again. At length the shadows fall 
 Short on the sward, and day is at the height. 
 Then dash the horsemen on, and hold the foe 
 'Twixt flight and battle. In the plain arose 
 Two rocky heights: from each a loftier ridge 
 Of hills ranged onwards, sheltering in their midst 
 A hollow vale, whose deep and winding paths 
 Were safe from warfare; which, when Caesar saw 
 That if Petreius held, the war must pass 
 To lands remote by savage tribes possessed; 
 'Speed on,' he cries, ' and meet their flight in front; 
 'Fierce be your frown and battle in your glance: 
 ' No coward's death be theirs; but as they flee 
 'Plunge in their breasts the sword.' They seize the pass 
 And place their camp. Short was the span between 
 Th' opposing sentinels; with eager eyes 
 Undimmed by space, they gazed on brothers, sons, 
 Or friends and fathers; and within their souls 
 They grasped the impious horror of the war. 
 
 Yet for a little while no voice was heard, 
 For fear restrained; by waving blade alone 
 Or gesture, spake they; but their passion grew, 
 And broke all discipline; and soon they leap 
 The hostile rampart; every hand outstretched 
 Embraces hand of foeman, palm in palm; 
 One calls by name his neighbour, one his host, 
 Another with his schoolmate talks again 
 Of olden studies: he who in the camp 
 Found not a comrade, was no son of Rome . 
 Wet are their arms with tears, and sobs break in 
 Upon their kisses; each, unstained by blood, 
 Dreads what he might have done. Why beat thy breast? 
 Why, madman, weep? The guilt is thine alone 
 To do or to abstain. Dost fear the man 
 Who takes his title to be feared from thee? 
 When Caesar's trumpets sound the call to arms 
 Heed not the summons; when thou seest advance 
 His standards, halt. The civil Fury thus 
 Shall fold her wings; and in a private robe 
 Caesar shall love his kinsman. 
 Holy Love 
 Who sway'st the universe, whose firm embrace 
 Binds the compacted fabric of the world; 
 Come, gentle Concord! these our times do now 
 For good or evil destiny control 
 The coming centuries! Ah, cruel fate! 
 Now have the people lost their cloak for crime: 
 Their hope of pardon. They have known their kin. 
 Woe for the respite given by the gods 
 Making more black the hideous guilt to come! 
 Now all was peaceful, and in either camp 
 Sweet converse held the soldiers; on the grass 
 They place the meal, and pour the mingled cup; 
 Bright glows the turf upon the friendly fire; 
 On mutual couch with stories of their fights, 
 They while the sleepless hours in talk away; 
 'Where stood the ranks arrayed, from whose right hand 
 The quivering lance was sped:' and while they boast, 
 Or challenge, deeds of prowess in the war, 
 Faith is renewed and trust. Thus envious fate 
 Made worse their doom, and all the crimes to be 
 Grew with their love. For when Petreius knew 
 The treaties made, himself and all his camp 
 Sold to the foe, he stirred his guard to work 
 An impious slaughter: the defenceless foe 
 Flung headlong forth: and parted fond embrace 
 By stroke of weapon and in streams of blood. 
 And thus in words of wrath, to stir the war: 
 'Of Rome forgetful, to your faith forsworn! 
 'And could ye not with victory gained return, 
 'Restorers of her liberty, to Rome? 
 'Lose then! but losing call not Caesar lord. 
 'While still your swords are yours, with blood to shed 
 'In doubtful battle, while the fates are hid, 
 'Will you like cravens to your master bear 
 'Doomed eagles? Will you ask upon your knees 
 'That Caesar deign to treat his slaves alike, 
 'And spare, forsooth, like yours, your leaders' lives? 
 
 'Nay! never shall our safety be the price 
 'Of base betrayal! Not for boon of life 
 'We wage a civil war. This name of peace 
 'Drags us to slavery. Ne'er from depths of earth, 
 'Fain to withdraw her wealth, should toiling men 
 'Draw store of iron; ne'er entrench a town; 
 'Ne'er should the war-horse dash into the fray 
 'Nor fleet with turret bulwarks breast the main, 
 If freedom ever could for peace be sold, 
 And fame unsoiled: 'tis true our foes are sworn 
 To cursed crime; should you whose cause is just, 
 And who may hope for pardon in defeat, 
 Hold cheap your honour? Shame upon your peace! 
 Thou callest, Magnus, ignorant of fate, 
 From all the world thy powers, and dost entreat 
 Monarchs of distant realms, while haply here 
 We in our treaties bargain for thy-life! ' 
 Thus did he stir their minds and rouse anew 
 The love of impious battle. So when beasts 
 Grown strange to forests, long confined in dens, 
 Their fierceness lose, and learn to bear with man; 
 Once should they taste of blood, their thirsty jaws 
 Swell at the touch, and all the ancient rage 
 Comes back upon them till they hardly spare 
 Their keeper. Thus they rush on every crime: 
 And blows which dealt in blindness of affray 
 Might seem the crimes of chance, or of the gods 
 Wreaking their hate, such recent vows of love 
 Made monstrous, horrid. Where they lately spread 
 The mutual couch and banquet, and embraced 
 Some new-found friend, now falls the fatal blow 
 Upon the self-same breast; and though at first 
 Groaning at the fell chance, they drew the sword; 
 Hate rises as they strike, the murderous arm 
 Confirms the doubtful will: in dreadful joy 
 Through the wild camp they smote their kinsmen down; 
 And carnage raged unchecked; and each man strove, 
 Proud of his crime, before his leader's face 
 To prove his shamelessness of guilt.
 
 
 But thou, 
 Caesar, though losing of thy best, dost know 
 The gods do favour thee. Thessalian fields 
 Gave thee no better fortune, nor the waves 
 That lave Massilia ; nor on Pharos' main 
 Didst thou so triumph. By this crime alone 
 Thou from this moment of the better cause 
 Shalt be the Captain. 
 Since the troops were stained 
 With foulest slaughter thus, their leaders shunned 
 All camps with Caesar's joined, and sought again 
 
 Ilerda 's lofty walls; but Caesar's horse 
 Seized on the plain and forced them to the hills 
 Reluctant. There by steepest trench shut in, 
 He cuts them from the river, nor permits 
 Their circling ramparts to enclose a spring. 
 By this dread path Death trapped his captive prey. 
 Which when they knew, fierce anger filled their souls, 
 And took the place of fear. They slew the steeds 
 Now useless grown, and rushed upon their fate; 
 Hopeless of life and flight. But Caesar cried: 
 Hold back your weapons, soldiers, from the foe, 
 Strike not the breast advancing; let the war 
 ' Cost me no blood; he falls not without price 
 ' Who with his life-blood challenges the fray. 
 Scorning their own base lives and hating light, 
 To Caesar's loss they rush upon their death, 
 Nor heed our blows. But let this frenzy pass, 
 This madman onset; let the wish for death 
 Die in their souls.' Thus to its embers shrank 
 The fire within, when battle was denied, 
 And fainter grew their rage until the night 
 Drew down her starry veil and sank the sun. 
 Thus keener fights the gladiator whose wound 
 Is recent, while the blood within the veins 
 Still gives the sinews motion, ere the skin 
 Shrinks on the bones: but as the victor stands 
 His fatal thrust achieved, and points the blade 
 Unfaltering, watching for the end, there creeps 
 Torpor upon the limbs, the blood congeals 
 About the gash, more faintly throbs the heart, 
 And slowly fading, ebbs the life away. 
 Raving for water now they dig the plain 
 Seeking for hidden fountains, not with spade 
 And mattock only searching out the depths, 
 But with the sword; they hack the stony heights, 
 In shafts that reach the level of the plain. 
 No further flees from light the pallid wretch 
 Who tears the bowels of the earth for gold. 
 Yet neither riven stones revealed a spring, 
 Nor streamlet whispered from its hidden source; 
 No water trickled on the gravel bed, 
 Nor dripped within the cavern. Worn at length 
 With labour huge, they crawl to light again, 
 After such toil to fall to thirst and heat 
 The readier victims: this was all they won. 
 All food they loathe; and 'gainst their deadly thirst 
 Call famine to their aid. Damp clods of earth 
 They squeeze upon their mouths with straining hands. 
 Wherever on foulest mud some stagnant slime 
 Or moisture lies, each dying soldier strives 
 With dying comrade first to lap the draught, 
 Loathsome had life been his. Like beasts they drain 
 The swollen udder, and where milk was not, 
 They suck the life-blood forth. From herbs and boughs 
 Dripping with dew, from tender shoots they press, 
 Nay, from the pith of trees, the juice within. 
 Happy the host that onward marching finds 
 Its savage enemy has fouled the wells 
 With murderous venom; hadst thou, Caesar, cast 
 The reeking filth of shambles in the stream, 
 And henbane dire and all the poisonous herbs 
 That lurk on Cretan slopes, still had they drunk 
 The fatal waters, rather than endure 
 Such lingering agony. Their bowels racked 
 With torments as of flame; the swollen tongue 
 And jaws now parched and rigid, and the veins; 
 Each laboured breath with anguish from the lungs 
 Enfeebled, moistureless, is scarcely drawn, 
 And scarce again returned; and yet agape, 
 Their panting mouths suck in the nightly dew; 
 They watch for showers from heaven, and in despair 
 Gaze on the clouds, whence lately poured a flood. 
 Nor were their tortures less that Meroe 
 
 Saw not their sufferings, nor Cancer's zone, 
 Nor where the Garamantian turns the soil; 
 But Sicoris and Iberus at their feet, 
 Two mighty floods, but far beyond their reach, 
 Rolled down in measureless volume to the main.
 
 
 But now their leaders yield; Afranius, 
 Vanquished, throws down his arms, and leads his troops, 
 Now hardly living, to the hostile camp 
 Before the victor's feet, and sues for peace. 
 Proud is his bearing, and despite of ills, 
 His mien majestic, of his triumphs past 
 Still mindful in disaster thus he stands, 
 Though suppliant for grace, a leader yet; 
 From fearless heart thus speaking: 'Had the fates 
 Thrown me before some base ignoble foe, 
 Not, Caesar, thee; still had this arm fought on 
 And snatched my death. Now if I suppliant ask, 
 'Tis that I value still the boon of life 
 Given by a worthy hand. No party ties 
 'Roused us to arms against thee; when the war, 
 'This civil war, broke out, it found us chiefs; 
 And with our former cause we kept the faith, 
 So long as brave men should. The fates' decree 
 'No longer we withstand. Unto thy will 
 We yield the western tribes: the east is thine 
 'And all the world lies open to thy march. 
 'Be generous! blood nor sword nor wearied arm 
 'Thy conquests bought. Thou hast not to forgive 
 Aught but thy victory won. Nor ask we much. 
 'Give us repose; to lead in peace the life 
 'Thou shalt bestow; suppose these armed lines 
 'Are corpses prostrate on the field of war, 
 'Ne'er were it meet that thy victorious ranks 
 Should mix with ours, the vanquished. Destiny 
 'Has run for us its course: one boon I beg; 
 'Bid not the conquered conquer in thy train.' 
 Such were his words, and Caesar's gracious smile 
 Granted his prayer, remitting rights that war 
 Gives to the victor. To th' unguarded stream 
 The soldiers speed: prone on the bank they lie 
 And lap the flood or foul the crowded waves. 
 In many a burning throat the sudden draught 
 Poured in too copious, filled the empty veins 
 And choked the breath within: yet left unquenched 
 The burning pest which, though their frames were full, 
 Craved water for itself. Then, nerved once more, 
 Their strength returned. Oh, lavish luxury, 
 Contented never with the frugal meal! 
 Oh, greed that searchest over land and sea 
 To furnish forth the banquet! Pride that joy'st 
 In sumptuous tables! learn what life requires, 
 How little nature needs! No ruddy juice 
 Pressed from the vintage in some famous year, 
 Whose consuls are forgotten, served in cups 
 With gold and jewels wrought, restores the spark, 
 The failing spark, of life; but water pure 
 And simplest fruits of earth. The flood, the field 
 Suffice for nature. Ah! the weary lot 
 Of those who war! But these, their armour laid 
 Low at the victor's feet, with lightened breast, 
 Secure themselves, no longer dealing death, 
 Beset by care no more, seek out their homes. 
 What priceless gift in peace had they secured! 
 How grieved it now their souls to have poised the dart 
 With arm outstretched; to have felt their raving thirst; 
 And prayed the gods for victory in vain! 
 Nay, hard they think the victor's lot, for whom 
 A thousand risks and battles still remain; 
 If fortune never is to leave his side, 
 How often must he triumph! and how oft 
 Pour out his blood where'er great Caesar leads! 
 Happy, thrice happy, he who, when the world 
 Is nodding to its ruin, knows the spot 
 Where he himself shall, though in ruin, lie! 
 No trumpet call shall break his sleep again: 
 But in his humble home, with faithful spouse 
 And sons unlettered, Fortune leaves him free 
 From rage of party; for if life he owes 
 To Caesar, Magnus sometime was his lord. 
 Thus happy they alone live on apart, 
 Nor hope nor dread the event of civil war.
 
 
 Not thus did Fortune upon Caesar smile 
 In all the parts of earth; but 'gainst his arms 
 Dared somewhat, where Salona 's lengthy waste 
 Is laved by Hadria , and Iadar warm 
 Meets with his waves the breezes of the west. 
 There brave Curectae dwell, whose island home 
 Is girded by the main; on whom relied 
 Antonius, and, beleaguered by the foe, 
 Upon the furthest margin of the shore 
 (Safe from all ills but famine) placed his camp. 
 But for his steeds the earth no forage gave, 
 Nor golden Ceres harvest; and his troops 
 Gnawed the dry herbage of the scanty turf 
 Within their rampart lines. But when they knew 
 That Basilus was on th' opposing shore 
 With friendly force, by novel mode of flight 
 They aim to reach him. Not the accustomed keel 
 They lay, nor build the ship, but shapeless rafts 
 Of timbers knit together, strong to bear 
 All ponderous weight; on empty casks beneath 
 By tightened chains made firm, in double rows 
 Supported; nor upon the deck were placed 
 The oarsmen, to the hostile dart exposed, 
 But in a hidden space, by beams concealed. 
 And thus the eye amazed beheld the mass 
 Move silent on its path across the sea, 
 By neither sail nor stalwart arm propelled. 
 They watch the main until the refluent waves 
 Ebb from the growing sands; then, on the tide 
 Receding, launch their vessel; thus she floats 
 With comrades twin: and rises over each 
 With quivering battlements a lofty tower. 
 Octavius, guardian of Illyrian seas, 
 Restrained his swifter keels, and left the rafts 
 Free from attack, in hope of larger spoil 
 From fresh adventures; for the peaceful sea 
 Might tempt them, and their goal in safety reached, 
 To dare a second voyage. Round the stag 
 Thus will the cunning hunter draw a line 
 Of tainted feathers poisoning the air; 
 Or spread the mesh, and muzzle in his grasp 
 The straining jaws of the Molossian hound, 
 And leash the Spartan pack; nor is the brake 
 Trusted to any dog but such as tracks 
 The scent with lowered nostrils, and refrains 
 From giving tongue the while; content to mark 
 By shaking cord the covert of the prey. 
 Ere long they manned the rafts in eager wish 
 To quit the island, when the latest glow 
 Still parted day from night. But Magnus' troops, 
 Cilician once, taught by their ancient art, 
 In fraudulent deceit had left the sea 
 To view unguarded; but with chains unseen 
 Fast to Illyrian shores, and hanging loose, 
 They blocked the outlet in the waves beneath. 
 The leading rafts passed safely, but the third, 
 Caught by the rope, was drawn beneath the rocks. 
 These, hollowed by the sea, in ponderous mass 
 O'erhanging, seemed upon the point to fall; 
 And trees made dark the wave. Here oft the main 
 Within the deep recess sweeps broken wrecks 
 And bodies of the drowned, till ebbing tides 
 Return the spoil. Then from the cavernous arch 
 Is belched the ocean forth in such turmoil 
 Of swirling billows, as excels the rage 
 Of that famed whirlpool on Sicilian shores. 
 Here, with Venetian settlers for its load, 
 Stood motionless the raft. Octavius' ships 
 Gathered around, while foemen on the land 
 Filled all the shore. But well the captain knew, 
 Volteius, how the secret fraud was planned, 
 And tried in vain with sword and steel to burst 
 The chains that held them; without hope he fights, 
 Uncertain where to avoid or front the foe. 
 Caught in the strait they strove as brave men should 
 Against opposing hosts; nor long the fight, 
 For fallen darkness brought a truce to arms. 
 Then to his men disheartened and in fear 
 Of coming fate Volteius, great of soul, 
 Thus spake in tones commanding: ' Free no more, 
 'Save for this little night, consult ye now 
 'In this last moment, soldiers, how to face 
 'Your final fortunes. No man's life is short 
 ' Who can take thought for death, nor is your fame 
 ' Less than a conqueror's, if with breast advanced 
 'Ye meet your destined doom. None know how long 
 'The life that waits them. Summon your own fate, 
 'And equal is your praise, whether the hand 
 'Quench the last flicker of departing light, 
 ' Or shear the hope of years. But choice to die 
 'Is thrust not on the mind-we cannot flee; 
 'See at our throats, e'en now, our kinsmen's swords. 
 ' Then choose for death; desire what fate decrees. 
 'At least in war's blind cloud we shall not fall; 
 ' Nor when the flying weapons hide the day, 
 'And slaughtered heaps of foemen load the field, 
 'And death is common, and the brave man sinks 
 'Unknown, inglorious. Us within this ship, 
 'Seen of both friends and foes, the gods have placed; 
 'Both land and sea and island cliffs shall bear, 
 'From either shore, their witness to our death, 
 'In which some great and memorable fame 
 'Thou, Fortune, dost prepare. What glorious deeds 
 ' Of warlike heroism, of noble faith, 
 'Time's annals show! All these shall we surpass. 
 'True, Caesar, that to fall upon our swords 
 'For thee is little; yet beleaguered thus, 
 'With neither sons nor parents at our sides, 
 'Shorn of the glory that we might have earned, 
 'We give thee here the only pledge we may. 
 'Yet let these hostile thousands fear the souls 
 'That rage for battle and that welcome death, 
 'And know us for invincible, and joy 
 'That no more rafts were stayed. They'll offer terms, 
 'And tempt us with a base unhonoured life. 
 'Would that, to give that death which shall be ours 
 'The greater glory, they may bid us hope 
 'For pardon and for life! lest when our swords 
 'Are reeking with our hearts'-blood, they may say 
 'This was despair of living. Great must be 
 'The prowess of our end, if in the hosts 
 'That fight his battles, Caesar is to mourn 
 'This little handful lost. For me, should fate 
 'Grant us retreat-myself would scorn to shun 
 'The coming onset. Life I cast away, 
 'The frenzy of the death that comes apace 
 'Controls my being. Those whose end is near 
 'Alone may know the happiness of death; 
 'Which pitying heaven from all else conceals 
 'That men may bear to live.' His stirring words 
 Warmed his brave comrades' hearts-they who with fear 
 And tearful eyes had looked upon the Wain, 
 Turning his nightly course, now hoped for day, 
 Such precepts deep within them. Nor delayed 
 The sky to dip the stars below the main; 
 For Phoebus in the Twins his chariot drave 
 At noon near Cancer; and the hours of night 
 
 Were shortened by the Archer. 
 When day broke, 
 Lo! on the rocks the Istrians; while the sea 
 Swarmed with the galleys and their Grecian fleet 
 All armed for fight: but first the war was stayed 
 And terms proposed: life to the foe they thought 
 Would seem the sweeter, by delay of death 
 Thus granted. But the band devoted stood, 
 Proud of their promised end, life all forsworn, 
 And careless of the fight: no jarring note 
 Opposed their high resolve. In numbers few 
 'Gainst foemen numberless by land and sea, 
 They wage the desperate war; then satiate 
 Turn from the foe. And first demanding death 
 Volteius bared his throat. ' What youth,' he cries, 
 ' Dares strike me down, and through his captain's wounds 
 'Attest his love for death? ' Then through his side 
 Plunge blades uncounted on the moment drawn. 
 He praises all : but him who struck the first 
 Grateful, with dying strength, he does to death. 
 They rush together, and without a foe 
 Work all the guilt of battle. Thus of yore, 
 Rose up the glittering Dircaean band 
 From seed by Cadmus sown, and fought and died, 
 Dire omen for the brother kings of Thebes . 
 And so in Phasis ' fields the sons of earth, 
 Born of the sleepless dragon, all inflamed 
 By magic incantations, with their blood 
 Deluged the monstrous furrow, while the Queen 
 Feared at the spells she wrought. Devoted thus 
 To death, they fall, yet in their death itself 
 Less valour show than in the fatal wounds 
 They take and give; for e'en the dying hand 
 Missed not a blow nor did the stroke alone 
 Inflict the wound, but rushing on the sword 
 Their throat or breast received it to the hilt; 
 And when by fatal chance or sire with son, 
 Or brothers met, yet with unfaltering weight 
 Down flashed the pitiless sword: this proved their love, 
 To give no second blow. Half living now 
 They dragged their mangled bodies to the side, 
 Whence flowed into the sea a crimson stream 
 Of slaughter. 'Twas their pleasure yet to see 
 The light they scorned; with haughty looks to scan 
 The faces of their victors, and to feel 
 The death approaching. But the raft was now 
 Piled up with dead; which, when the foemen saw, 
 Wondering at such a chief and such a deed, 
 They gave them burial. Never through the world 
 Of any brave achievement was the fame 
 More widely blazed. Yet meaner men, untaught 
 By such examples, see not that the hand 
 Which frees from slavery needs no valiant mind 
 To guide the stroke. But tyranny is feared 
 As dealing death; and Freedom's self is galled 
 By ruthless arms; and knows not that the sword 
 Was given for this, that none need live a slave. 
 Ah Death! wouldst thou but let the coward live 
 And grant the brave alone the prize to die! 
 Nor less were Libyan fields ablaze with war.
 
 
 For Curio rash from Lilybaean coast 
 Sailed with his fleet, and borne by gentle winds 
 Betwixt half-ruined Carthage , mighty once, 
 And Clupea's cliff, upon the well-known shore 
 His anchors dropped. First from the hoary sea 
 Remote, where Bagra slowly ploughs the sand, 
 He placed his camp: then sought the further hills 
 And mazy passages of cavernous rocks, 
 Antaeus' kingdom called. From ancient days 
 This name was given; and thus a swain retold 
 The story handed down from sire to son: 
 'Not yet exhausted by the giant brood, 
 'Earth still another monster brought to birth, 
 'In Libya 's caverns: huger far was he, 
 'More justly far her pride, than Briareus 
 With all his hundred hands, or Typhon fierce, 
 Or Tityos: 'twas in mercy to the gods 
 'That not in Phlegra's fields Antaeus grew, 
 'But here in Libya; to her offspring's strength, 
 'Unmeasured, vast, she added yet this boon, 
 'That when in weariness and labour spent 
 'He touched his parent, fresh from her embrace 
 'Renewed in vigour he should rise again. 
 'In yonder cave he dwelt, 'neath yonder rock 
 'He made his feast on lions slain in chase: 
 'There slept he; not on skins of beasts, or leaves, 
 'But fed his strength upon the naked earth. 
 Perished the Libyan hinds and those who came, 
 'Brought here in ships, until he scorned at length 
 'The earth that gave him strength, and on his feet 
 'Invincible and with unaided might 
 'Made all his victims. Last to Afric shores, 
 ' Drawn by the rumour of such carnage, came 
 ' Magnanimous Alcides, he who freed 
 'Both land and sea of monsters. Down on earth 
 'He threw his mantle of the lion's skin 
 ' Slain in Cleone; nor Antaeus less 
 'Cast down the hide he wore. With shining oil, 
 'As one who wrestles at Olympia 's feast, 
 'The hero rubbed his limbs: the giant feared 
 ' Lest standing only on his parent earth 
 'His strength might fail; and cast o'er all his bulk 
 ' Hot sand in handfuls. Thus with arms entwined 
 'And grappling hands each seizes on his foe; 
 'With hardened muscles straining at the neck 
 'Long time in vain; for firm the sinewy throat 
 ' Stood column-like, nor yielded; so that each 
 ' Wondered to find his peer. Nor at the first 
 'Divine Alcides put forth all his strength, 
 ' By lengthy struggle wearing out his foe, 
 'Till chilly drops stood on Antaeus' limbs, 
 'And toppled to its fall the stately throat, 
 'And smitten by the hero's blows, the legs 
 ' Began to totter. Breast to breast they strive 
 'To gain the vantage, till the victor's arms 
 'Gird in the giant's yielding back and sides, 
 'And squeeze his middle part: next 'twixt the thighs 
 ' He puts his feet, and forcing them apart, 
 'Lays low the mighty monster limb by limb. 
 'The dry earth drank his sweat, while in his veins 
 'Warm ran the life-blood, and with strength refreshed, 
 'The muscles swelled and all the joints grew firm, 
 'And with his might restored, he breaks his bonds 
 'And rives the arms of Hercules away. 
 'Amazed the hero stood at such a strength. 
 'Not thus he feared, though then unused to war, 
 'That hydra fierce which, smitten in the marsh 
 'Of Inachus, renewed its severed heads. 
 'They fought as peers, the giant with the powers 
 'Which earth bestowed, the hero with his own: 
 ' Nor did the hatred of his step-dame find 
 'In all his conflicts greater room for hope. 
 ' She sees bedewed in sweat the neck and limbs 
 'Which once had borne the burden of the heavens 
 ' Nor knew the toil: and when Antaeus felt 
 ' His foeman's arms close round him once again, 
 ' He flung his wearying limbs upon the sand 
 ' To rise with strength renewed; all that the earth, 
 'Though labouring sore, could breathe into her son 
 'She gave his frame. But Hercules at last 
 ' Saw how his parent gave the giant strength. 
 '" Stand thou," he cried; "no more upon the ground 
 ' "Thou liest at thy will-here must thou stay 
 '" Within mine arms constrained; against this breast, 
 '" Antaeus, shalt thou fall." He lifted up 
 ' And held by middle girth the giant form, 
 'Still struggling for the soil: but she no more 
 'Could give her offspring vigour. Slowly came 
 'The chill of death upon him, and 'twas long 
 'Before the hero, of his victory sure, 
 'Trusted the earth and laid the giant down. 
 'Hence, hoar antiquity that loves to prate 
 'And wonders at herself, this region called 
 'Antaeus' kingdom. But a greater name 
 ' Yon hills from Scipio gained, when he recalled 
 'From Roman citadels the Punic chief. 
 'Here was his camp; here canst thou see the trace 
 ' Of that most famous rampart whence at length 
 'Issued the Eagles of triumphant Rome .' 
 But Curio rejoiced, as though for him 
 The fortunes of the spot must hold in store 
 The fates of former chiefs: and on the place 
 Of happy augury placed his tents ill-starred; 
 Took from the hills their omens; and with force 
 Unequal, challenged his barbarian foe. 
 All Africa that bore the Roman yoke 
 Then lay 'neath Varus. He, though placing first 
 Trust in his Latian troops, from every side 
 And furthest regions, summons to his aid 
 The nations who confessed King Juba's rule. 
 Not any monarch over wider tracts 
 Held the dominion. From the western belt 
 
 Near Gades , Atlas parts their furthest bounds; 
 But from the southern, Hammon girds them in 
 Hard by the whirlpools; and their burning plains 
 Stretch forth unending 'neath the torrid zone, 
 In breadth its equal, till they reach at length 
 The shore of ocean upon either hand. 
 From all these regions tribes unnumbered flock 
 To Juba's standard: Moors of swarthy hue 
 As though from Ind; Numidian nomads there 
 And Nasamon's needy hordes; and those whose darts 
 Rival the flying arrows of the Mede : 
 Dark Garamantians leave their fervid home; 
 And those whose coursers unrestrained by bit 
 Or saddle, yet obey the rider's hand 
 Which wields the guiding switch: the hunter, too, 
 Who wanders forth, his home a fragile hut, 
 And blinds with flowing robe (if spear should fail) 
 The angry lion, monarch of the steppe. 
 Not eagerness alone to save the state 
 Stirred Juba's spirit: private hatred too 
 Roused him to war. For in the former year, 
 When Curio all things human and the gods 
 
 Polluted, he by tribune law essayed 
 To ravish Libya from the tyrant's sway, 
 And drive the monarch from his father's throne, 
 While giving Rome a king. To Juba thus, 
 Still smarting at the insult, came the war, 
 A welcome harvest for his crown retained. 
 These rumours Curio feared: nor had his troops 
 (Ta'en in Corfinium 's hold) in waves of Rhine 
 
 Been tested, nor to Caesar in the wars 
 Had learned devotion: wavering in their faith, 
 Their second chief they doubt, their first betrayed. 
 Yet when the general saw the spirit of fear 
 Creep through his camp, and discipline to fail, 
 And sentinels desert their guard at night, 
 Thus in his fear he spake : ' By daring much 
 ' Fear is disguised; let me be first in arms, 
 'And bid my soldiers to the plain descend, 
 While still my soldiers. Idle days breed doubt. 
 ' By fight forestall the plot. Soon as the thirst 
 'Of bloodshed fills the mind, and eager hands 
 ' Grip firm the sword, and pressed upon the brow 
 ' The helm brings valour to the failing heart- 
 ' Who cares to measure leaders' merits then? 
 ' Who weighs the cause? With whom the soldier stands, 
 'For him he fights; as at the fatal show 
 No ancient grudge the gladiator's arm 
 ' Nerves for the combat, yet as he shall strike 
 ' He hates his rival.' Thinking thus he led 
 His troops in battle order to the plain. 
 Then victory on his arms deceptive shone 
 Hiding the ills to come: for from the field 
 Driving the hostile host with sword and spear, 
 He smote them till their camp opposed his way.
 
 
 But after Varus' rout, unseen till then, 
 All eager for the glory to be his, 
 By stealth came Juba: silent was his march; 
 His only fear lest rumour should forestall 
 His coming victory. In pretended war 
 He sends Sabura forth with scanty force 
 To tempt the enemy, while in hollow vale 
 He holds the armies of his realm unseen. 
 'Tis thus the sly ichneumon with his tail 
 Waving, allures the serpent of the Nile 
 
 Drawn to the moving shadow: he, with head 
 Turned sideways, watches till the victim glides 
 Within his reach, then seizes by the throat 
 Behind the deadly fangs: forth from its seat 
 Balked of its purpose, through the brimming jaws 
 Gushes a tide of poison. Fortune smiled 
 On Juba's stratagem; for Curio 
 (The hidden forces of the foe unknown) 
 Sent forth his horse by night without the camp 
 To scour more distant regions. He himself 
 At earliest peep of dawn bids carry forth 
 His standards; heeding not his captains' prayer 
 Urged on his ears: ' Beware of Punic fraud, 
 ' The craft that taints a Carthaginian war.' 
 Hung over him the doom of coming death 
 And gave the youth to fate; and civil strife 
 Dragged down its author. 
 On the lofty tops 
 Where broke the hills abruptly to their fall 
 He ranks his troops and sees the foe afar: 
 Who still deceiving, simulated flight, 
 Till from the height in loose unordered lines 
 The Roman forces streamed upon the plain, 
 In thought that Juba fled. Then first was known 
 The treacherous fraud: for swift Numidian horse 
 On every side surround them: leader, men- 
 All see their fate in one dread moment come. 
 No coward flees, no warrior bravely strides 
 To meet the battle: nay, the trumpet call 
 Stirs not the charger with resounding hoof 
 To spurn the rock, nor galling bit compels 
 To champ in eagerness; nor toss his mane 
 And prick the ear, nor prancing with his feet 
 To claim his share of combat. Tired, the neck 
 Droops downwards: smoking sweat bedews the limbs: 
 Dry from the squalid mouth protrudes the tongue, 
 Hoarse, raucous panting issues from their chests; 
 Their flanks distended: and on every curb 
 Dry foam of blood; the ruthless sword alone 
 Could move them onward, powerless even then 
 To charge; but giving to the hostile dart 
 A nearer victim. But when the Afric horse 
 First made their onset, loud beneath their hoofs 
 Rang the wide plain, and rose the dust in air 
 As by some Thracian whirlwind stirred; and veiled 
 The heavens in darkness. When on Curio's host 
 The tempest burst, each footman in the rank 
 Stood there to meet his fate-no doubtful end 
 Hung in the balance: destiny proclaimed 
 Death to them all. No conflict hand to hand 
 Was granted them, by lances thrown from far 
 And sidelong sword-thrusts slain: nor wounds alone, 
 But clouds of weapons falling from the air 
 By weight of iron o'erwhelmed them. Still drew in 
 The straightening circle, for the first pressed back 
 On those behind; did any shun the foe, 
 Seeking the inner safety of the ring, 
 He needs must perish by his comrades' swords. 
 And as the front rank fell, still narrower grew 
 The close crushed phalanx, till to raise their swords 
 Space was denied. Still close and closer forced 
 The armed breasts against each other driven 
 Pressed out the life. Thus not upon a scene 
 Such as their fortune promised, gazed the foe. 
 No tide of blood was there to glut their eyes, 
 No members lopped asunder, though the earth 
 Was piled with corpses; for each Roman stood 
 In death upright against his comrade dead. 
 Let cruel Carthage rouse her hated ghosts 
 By this fell offering; let the Punic shades, 
 And bloody Hannibal, from this defeat 
 Receive atonement: yet 'twas shame, ye gods, 
 That Libya gained not for herself the day; 
 And that our Romans on that field should die 
 To save Pompeius and the Senate's cause. 
 Now was the dust laid low by streams of blood, 
 And Curio, knowing that his host was slain, 
 Chose not to live; and, as a brave man should, 
 He rushed upon the heap, and fighting fell. 
 In vain with turbid speech hast thou profaned 
 The pulpit of the forum; waved in vain 
 From that proud citadel the tribune flag: 
 And armed the people, and the Senate's rights 
 Betraying, hast compelled this impious war 
 Betwixt the rival kinsmen. Low thou liest 
 Before Pharsalus ' fight, and from thine eyes 
 Is hid the war. 'Tis thus to suffering Rome , 
 For arms seditious and for civil strife 
 Ye mighty make atonement with your blood. 
 Happy were Rome and all her sons indeed, 
 Did but the gods as rigidly protect 
 As they avenge, her violated laws! 
 There Curio lies; untombed his noble corpse, 
 Torn by the vultures of the Libyan wastes. 
 Yet shall we, since such merit, though unsung, 
 Lives by its own imperishable fame, 
 Give thee thy meed of praise. Rome never bore 
 Another son, who, had he right pursued, 
 Had so adorned her laws; but soon the times, 
 Their luxury, corruption, and the curse 
 Of copious wealth swept o'er his wavering mind 
 In stream transverse; and, bribed by spoils of Gaul 
 
 And golden gifts of Caesar, Curio changed 
 Turned with his change the scale of human things. 
 True, mighty Sulla, cruel Marius, 
 And bloody Cinna, and the long descent 
 Of Caesar and of Caesar's house became 
 Lords of our lives. But who had power like him? 
 All others bought the state: he sold alone.

THUS had the smiles of Fortune and her frowns 
 Brought either chief to Macedonian shores 
 Still equal to his foe. From cooler skies 
 Sank Atlas' daughters down, and Haemus ' slopes 
 Were white with winter, and the day drew nigh 
 Devoted to the god who leads the months, 
 And marking with new names the book of Rome , 
 When came the Fathers from their distant posts 
 By both the Consuls to Epirus called 
 
 Ere yet their year was dead: a foreign land 
 Obscure received the magistrates of Rome ; 
 A senate sojourning in foreign lands 
 Held there high questions, not in warlike camp 
 But hedged by all the axes of the law; 
 And all men gazing on the reverend ranks 
 Knew that no Magnus' party there was met, 
 But all the state; and Magnus was but one. 
 Mid silent sadness from his lofty seat 
 Thus spake the Consul: ' If your hearts still beat 
 ' With Latian blood, and if within your breasts 
 ' Still lives your fathers' vigour, look not now 
 ' On this strange land that holds us, nor enquire 
 'How far the captured city. Know the face 
 Of your own company; the rulers you 
 In all that comes. Be this your first decree, 
 ' Whose truth all peoples and all kings confess; 
 ' Be this the Senate. Let the frozen wain 
 ' Demand your presence, or the torrid zone 
 ' Wherein the day and night with equal tread 
 'For ever march; still follows in your steps 
 ' The central power of Imperial Rome. 
 ' When flamed the Capitol with fires of Gaul , 
 ' When Veii held Camillus, there with him 
 ' Was Rome , nor ever though it changed its clime 
 ' Your order lost its rights. In Caesar's hands 
 ' Are sorrowing houses and deserted homes, 
 ' Laws silent for a space, and forums closed 
 ' In public fast. His Senate-house beholds 
 ' Those Fathers only whom from Rome it drove, 
 ' While Rome was full. Of that high order all 
 ' Not here, are exiles. Ignorant of war, 
 'Its crimes and bloodshed, through long years of peace, 
 'Ye fled its outburst: now in session all 
 'Are here assembled. See ye how the gods 
 Weigh down Italia 's loss by all the world 
 'Thrown in the other scale? Illyria 's wave 
 'Rolls on our foes: in Libya 's arid wastes 
 'Is fallen their Curio, the weightier part 
 
 'Of Caesar's senate! Lift your standards, then, 
 'Spur on your fates and prove your hopes to heaven. 
 'Let Fortune, smiling, give you courage now 
 'As, when ye fled, your cause. The Consuls' power 
 ' Fails with the dying year: not so does yours; 
 ' By your commandment for the common weal 
 ' Decree Pompeius leader.' With applause 
 They heard his words, and placed their country's fates, 
 Nor less their own, within the chieftain's hands. 
 Then did they shower on people and on kings 
 Honours well earned- Rhodes , Mistress of the Seas, 
 Was decked with gifts; Athena, old in fame, 
 Received her praise, and the rude tribes who dwell 
 On cold Taygetus; Massilia 's sons 
 Their own Phocaea 's freedom; on the chiefs 
 Of Thracian tribes, fit honours were bestowed. 
 They order Libya by their high decree 
 To serve King Juba's sceptre; and, alas! 
 On Ptolemaeus, of a faithless race 
 The faithless sovereign, scandal to the gods, 
 And shame to Fortune, placed the diadem 
 Of Pella . Boy! against the common herd 
 Fierce is thy weapon. Ah, if that were all! 
 The fatal gift gave, too, Pompeius' life; 
 Bereft thy sister of her sire's bequest, 
 
 Half of the kingdom: Caesar of a crime. 
 Then all to arms. While soldier thus and chief, 
 In doubtful sort, against their hidden fate 
 Devised their counsel, Appius only feared 
 To face the chances of the war, and sought 
 Through Phoebus' ancient oracle to break 
 The silence of the gods, and know the end.
 
 
 Between the western belt and that which bounds 
 
 The furthest east, midway Parnassus rears 
 His double summit: to the Bromian god 
 And Paean consecrate, to whom conjoined 
 The Theban band leads up the Delphic feast 
 On each third year. This mountain, when the sea 
 Poured o'er the earth her billows, rose alone, 
 By loftiest peak scarce master of the waves, 
 Parting the crest of waters from the stars. 
 There, to avenge his mother, from her home 
 Chased by the angered goddess while as yet 
 She bore him quick within her, Paean came 
 (When Themis ruled the tripods and the spot) 
 
 And with unpractised darts the Python slew. 
 But when he saw how from the yawning cave 
 A godlike knowledge breathed, and all the air 
 Was full of voices murmured from the depths, 
 He took the shrine and filled the deep recess; 
 Henceforth a prophet. Which of all the gods 
 Has left heaven's light in this dark cave to hide? 
 What spirit that knows the secrets of the world 
 And things to come, here condescends to dwell, 
 Divine, omnipotent? bear the touch of man, 
 And at his bidding deigns to lift the veil? 
 Perchance he sings the fates; perchance his song, 
 Once sung, is fate. Haply some part of Jove 
 Sent here to rule the earth with mystic power, 
 Balanced upon the void immense of air, 
 Sounds through the caves, and in its flight returns 
 To that high home of thunder whence it came. 
 Caught in a virgin's breast, this deity 
 Strikes on the human spirit: then a voice 
 Sounds from her breast, as when the lofty peak 
 Of Etna boils, forced by compelling flames, 
 Or as Typheus on Campania 's shore 
 Frets 'neath the pile of huge Inarime . 
 
 Though free to all that ask, denied to none, 
 No human passion lurks within the voice 
 That heralds forth the god; no whispered vow, 
 No evil prayer prevails; none favour gain: 
 Of things unchangeable the song divine; 
 Yet loves the just. When men have left their homes 
 To seek another, it has turned their steps 
 Aright, as with the Tyrians; and raised 
 The hearts of men to war, as prove the waves 
 Of Salamis : when earth refused her fruits 
 Or plague has filled the air, this voice benign 
 Has given fresh hope and pointed to the end. 
 No gift from heaven's high gods so great as this 
 Our centuries have lost, since Delphi 's shrine 
 Has silent stood, and kings forbade the gods 
 
 To speak the future, fearing for their fates. 
 Nor does the priestess sorrow that the voice 
 Is heard no longer; and the silent fane 
 To her is happiness; for whatever breast 
 Contains the deity, its shattered frame 
 Surges with frenzy, and the soul divine 
 Shakes the frail breath that with the god receives, 
 As prize or punishment, untimely death. 
 These tripods Appius seeks, unmoved for years, 
 These soundless caverned rocks, in quest to learn 
 Hesperia's destinies. At his command 
 To loose the sacred gateways and permit 
 The prophetess to enter to the god, 
 The keeper calls Phemonoe; whose steps 
 Round the Castalian fount and in the grove 
 Were wandering careless; her he bids to pass 
 The portals. But the priestess feared to tread 
 The awful threshold, and with vain deceits 
 Sought to dissuade the chieftain from his zeal 
 To learn the future. ' What this hope,' she cried, 
 Roman, that moves thy breast to know the fates? 
 'Long has Parnassus and its silent cleft 
 'Stifled the god; perhaps the breath divine 
 'Has left its ancient gorge and through the world 
 'Wanders in devious paths; or else the fane, 
 'Consumed to ashes by barbarian fire, 
 'Closed up the deep recess and choked the path 
 'Of Phoebus; or the ancient Sibyl's books 
 'Disclosed enough of fate, and thus the gods 
 'Decreed to close the oracle; or else 
 'Since wicked steps are banished from the fane, 
 'In this our impious age the god finds none 
 'Whom he may answer.' But the maiden's guile 
 Was known, for though she would deny the gods 
 Her fears approved them. On her front she binds 
 A twisted fillet, while a shining wreath 
 Of Phocian laurels crowns the locks that flow 
 Upon her shoulders. Hesitating yet, 
 The priest compelled her, and she passed within. 
 But horror filled her of the holiest depths 
 From which the mystic oracle proceeds; 
 And resting near the doors, in breast unmoved 
 She dares invent the god in words confused, 
 Which proved no mind possessed with fire divine; 
 By such false chant less injuring the chief 
 Than faith in Phoebus and the sacred fane. 
 No burst of words with tremor in their tones, 
 No voice re-echoing through the spacious vault 
 Proclaimed the deity, no bristling locks 
 Shook off the laurel chaplet; but the grove 
 Unshaken, and the summits of the shrine, 
 Gave proof she shunned the god. The Roman knew 
 The tripods yet were idle, and in rage, 
 'Wretch,' he exclaimed, 'to us and to the gods, 
 'Whose presence thou pretendest, thou shalt pay 
 'The punishment; unless thou enter the recess, 
 'And cease to speak in phrases of thine own 
 Of this vast conflict, of a world by war 
 'Convulsed and shaken.' Then by fear compelled, 
 At length the priestess sought the furthest depths, 
 And stayed beside the tripods; and there came 
 Into her unaccustomed breast the god, 
 Breathed from the living rock for centuries 
 Untouched; nor ever with a mightier power 
 Did Paean's inspiration seize the frame 
 Of Delphic priestess; his pervading touch 
 Expelled the mortal, and her former mind, 
 And made her wholly his. In maddened trance 
 She whirled throughout the cave, her locks erect 
 With horror, and the fillets of the god 
 Dashed to the ground; her steps unguided turned 
 To this side and to that; the tripods fell 
 O'erturned; within her seethed the mighty fire 
 Of angry Phoebus; nor with whip alone 
 He urged her onwards, but with curb restrained; 
 Nor was it given her by the god to speak 
 All that she knew; for into one vast mass 
 
 All time was gathered, and her panting chest 
 Groaned 'neath the centuries. In order long 
 All things lay bare: the future yet unveiled 
 Struggled for light; each fate required a voice; 
 The compass of the seas, Creation's birth, 
 Creation's death, the number of the sands, 
 All these she knew. Thus on a former day 
 The prophetess upon the Cuman shore, 
 
 Disdaining that her frenzy should be slave 
 To other nations, from the boundless threads 
 Chose out with pride of hand the fates of Rome . 
 E'en so Phemonoe, for a time oppressed 
 With fates unnumbered, laboured ere she found, 
 Beneath such mighty destinies concealed, 
 Thine, Appius, who alone hadst sought the god 
 In land Castalian; then from foaming lips 
 First rushed the madness forth, and murmurs loud 
 Uttered with panting breath and blent with groans; 
 Till through the spacious vault a voice at length 
 Broke from the virgin conquered by the god: 
 'From this great struggle thou, O Roman, free 
 'Escap'st the threats of war : alive, in peace, 
 'Thou shalt possess the hollow in the coast 
 'Of vast Euboea .' Thus she spake, no more. 
 Ye mystic tripods, guardians of the fates 
 And Paean, thou, from whom no day is hid 
 By heaven's high rulers, Master of the truth, 
 Why fear'st thou to reveal the deaths of kings, 
 
 Rome 's murdered princes, and the latest doom 
 Of her great Empire tottering to its fall, 
 And all the bloodshed of that western land? 
 Were yet the stars in doubt on Magnus' fate 
 Not yet decreed, and did the gods yet shrink 
 From that, the greatest crime? Or wert thou dumb 
 That Fortune's sword for civil strife might wreak 
 Just vengeance, and a Brutus' arm once more 
 Strike down the tyrant? 
 From the temple doors 
 Rushed forth the prophetess in frenzy driven, 
 Not all her knowledge uttered; and her eyes, 
 Still troubled by the god who reigned within, 
 Or filled with wild affright, or fired with rage 
 Gaze on the wide expanse: still works her face 
 Convulsive; on her cheeks a crimson blush 
 With ghastly pallor blent, though not of fear. 
 Her weary heart throbs ever; and as seas 
 Boom swollen by northern winds, she finds in sighs, 
 All inarticulate, relief. But while 
 She hastes from that dread light in which she saw 
 The fates, to common day, lo! on her path 
 The darkness fell. Then by a Stygian draught 
 Of the forgetful river, Phoebus snatched 
 Back from her soul his secrets; and she fell 
 Yet hardly living. Nor did Appius dread 
 Approaching death, but by dark oracles 
 Baffled, while yet the Empire of the world 
 Hung in the balance, sought his promised realm 
 In Chalcis of Euboea . Yet to escape 
 All ills of earth, the crash of war-what god 
 Can give thee such a boon, but death alone? 
 For on the solitary shore a grave 
 Awaits thee, where Carystos' marble crags 
 
 Draw in the passage of the sea, and where 
 The fane of Rhamnus rises to the gods 
 
 Who hate the proud, and where the ocean strait 
 Boils in swift whirlpools, and Euripus draws 
 Deceitful in his tides, a bane to ships, 
 Chalcidian vessels to bleak Aulis ' shore.
 
 
 But Caesar carried from the conquered west 
 His eagles to another world of war; 
 When envying his victorious course the gods 
 Almost turned back the prosperous tide of fate. 
 Not on the battle-field borne down by arms, 
 But in his tents, within the rampart lines, 
 The hoped-for prize of this unholy war 
 Seemed for a moment gone. That faithful host, 
 His comrades trusted in a hundred fields, 
 Almost forsook him. The sad trump perchance 
 Mute for a moment, and the blade in sheath 
 Grown cold, had tamed their frenzy for the war; 
 Or else in hope of greater gifts, their cause 
 And leader they betrayed, and sold the sword 
 Still soiled with murder. By no other risk 
 Caesar more surely learned how as he looked 
 O'er all things else, the height on which he stood 
 Trembled beneath him. But a moment since 
 His high behest drew nations to the war; 
 Now, maimed of all who smote, no weapon left 
 Saving his own, he knows that swords unsheathed 
 Are wielded by the soldier, not the chief. 
 No timorous voice was there; no silent wrath 
 Concealed; nor doubting mind, as though alone 
 Indignant at the wrong, and in distrust 
 Of those in turn distrusting. Fear in each 
 Had fled before the boldness of the host: 
 The crime is free where thousands bear the guilt. 
 They hurled their menace: 'Caesar, give us leave 
 'To quit thy crimes; thou seek'st by land and sea 
 'The sword to slay us; let the fields of Gaul 
 
 And far Iberia , and the world proclaim 
 'How for thy victories our comrades fell. 
 'What boots it us that by an army's blood 
 'The Rhine and Rhone and all the northern lands 
 'Thou hast subdued? Thou giv'st us civil war 
 'For all these battles; such the prize. When fled 
 'The Senate trembling, and when Rome was ours 
 'What homes or temples did we spoil? Our hands 
 'Reek with offence! Aye, but our poverty 
 'Proclaims our innocence! What end shall be 
 Of arms and armies? What shall be enough 
 'If Rome suffice not? and what lies beyond? 
 'Behold these silvered locks, these nerveless hands 
 'And shrunken arms, once stalwart! In thy wars 
 'Gone is the strength of life, gone all its pride! 
 'Dismiss thine aged soldiers to their deaths. 
 'How shameless is our prayer! Not on hard turf 
 'To stretch our dying limbs; nor seek in vain, 
 ' When parts the soul, a hand to close our eyes; 
 'Not with the helm to strike the stony ground: 
 
 ' Rather to feel the dear one's last embrace, 
 ' And gain a humble but a separate tomb. 
 'Let sickness end old age. If Caesar's slaves, 
 ' Let something more than battle be our doom. 
 ' Deem'st thou we are thy dupes? that we alone 
 ' In civil war are ignorant what crime 
 ' Will fetch the highest price? What thou canst dare 
 ' These years have proved, or nothing; law divine 
 ' Nor human ordinance shall hold thine hand. 
 'He was our leader on the banks of Rhine ; 
 ' Now is our equal; for the stain of crime 
 ' Makes all men like. And for a judge ingrate 
 ' We waste our valour; for as fortune's gift 
 ' He takes the victory which our arms have won: 
 'But we his fortunes are, his fates are ours 
 'To fashion as we will. Boast that the gods 
 ' Shall do thy bidding! Nay, thy soldiers' will 
 ' Shall close the war.' With threatening mien and speech 
 Thus through the camp the troops demand their chief. 
 When faith and loyalty are fled, and hope 
 For aught but evil, thus may civil war 
 In mutiny and discord find its end! 
 What general had not feared at such revolt? 
 But mighty Caesar trusting on the throw, 
 
 As was his wont, his fortune, and o'erjoyed 
 To front their anger raging at its height 
 Unflinching comes. No temples of the gods, 
 Not Jove's high fane on the Tarpeian rock, 
 Not Rome 's high dames nor maidens had he grudged 
 To their most savage lust: that they should ask 
 The worst, his wish, and love the spoils of war. 
 Nor feared he aught save order at the hands 
 Of that unconquered host. Art thou not shamed 
 That strife should please thee only, now condemned 
 Even by thy minions? Shall they shrink from blood, 
 They from the sword recoil? and thou rush on 
 Heedless of guilt, through right and through unright, 
 Nor learn that men may lay their arms aside 
 Yet bear to live? This civil butchery 
 Escapes thy grasp. Stay thou thy crimes at length; 
 Nor force thy will on those who will no more. 
 Upon a turfy mound unmoved he stood 
 And, since he feared not, worthy to be feared; 
 And thus while anger stirred his soul began : 
 ' Thou that with voice and hand didst rage but now 
 ' Against thine absent chief, behold me here; 
 Plunge in this breast, all ready for the wound 
 And bare, thy sword; and end the war and flee. 
 This mutiny devoid of daring deed 
 Betrays your coward souls, betrays the youth 
 ' Who tires of victories which gild the arms 
 Of an unconquered chief, and yearns for flight. 
 Leave me to fate; with that I'll wage the war 
 You I cast forth. For every weapon left, 
 Fortune shall find a man, to wield it well. 
 Shall Magnus in his flight with such a fleet 
 Draw nations in his train; and not to me 
 ' My victories bring legions? They shall reap 
 ' For its mere close the prizes of the war 
 ' Won by your toil, and scatheless join the train 
 'That leads my chariot to the sacred hill: 
 ' While you, despised in age and battle worn, 
 ' Gaze on our triumph from the civic crowd. 
 ' Think you your dastard flight shall give me pause? 
 ' If all the rivers that now seek the sea 
 ' Were to withdraw their waters, it would fail 
 ' By not one inch, no more than by their flow 
 'It rises now. Have then your efforts given 
 ' Strength to my cause? Not so: the heavenly gods 
 ' Stoop not so low; fate has no time to judge 
 ' Your lives and deaths. The fortunes of the world 
 ' Follow heroic souls: for the fit few 
 'The many live; and you who terrified 
 ' With me the northern and Iberian worlds, 
 ' Would flee when led by Magnus. Strong with me 
 ' Was Labienus: vile deserter now; 
 ' A homeless exile with his chief preferred. 
 ' Nor were your faith more firm if, neither side 
 'Espoused, you ceased from arms. Who leaves me once, 
 'Though not to fight against me with the foe, 
 'Joins not my ranks again. Surely the gods 
 'Smile on these arms who for so great a war 
 'Grant me fresh soldiers. From what heavy load 
 'Fortune relieves me! for the hands which aimed 
 'At all, to which the world did not suffice, 
 'I now disarm, and for myself alone 
 'Reserve the conflict. Quit ye, then, my camp, 
 'And leave my standards to the grasp of men, 
 'Coward Quirites! But some guilty few 
 'I keep, not as their captain, but their judge. 
 'Lie, traitors, prone on earth, stretch out the neck 
 'And take th' avenging blow. And thou whose strength 
 'Shall now support me, young and yet untaught, 
 'Behold the doom and learn to strike and die.' 
 Such were his words of ire, and all the host 
 Drew back and trembled at the voice of him 
 They would depose, as though their very swords 
 Would from their scabbards leap at his command 
 Themselves unwilling; but he only feared 
 Lest hand and blade to satisfy the doom 
 Might be denied; till they submitting pledged 
 Their lives and swords alike, beyond his hope. 
 To strike and suffer holds in surest thrall 
 The heart inured to guilt; and Caesar kept, 
 By dreadful compact ratified in blood, 
 Those whom he feared to lose.
 
 
 He bids them reach 
 In ten days' march Brundusium , and recall 
 From old Tarentum and from Hydrus lone 
 His navy, and from Leucas ' point remote, 
 And the Salapian marsh where Sipus lies 
 By rich Garganus, jutting from the shore 
 In huge escarpment that divides the waves 
 Of Hadria ; on each hand, his seaward slopes 
 Buffeted by the winds; or Auster borne 
 From sweet Apulia , or the sterner blast 
 Of Boreas rushing from Dalmatian strands. 
 But Caesar entered safe without a guard 
 
 Rome , trembling, taught to serve the garb of peace, 
 Dictator named, to grant their prayers, forsooth: 
 Consul, in honour of the roll of Rome . 
 Then first of all the names by which we now 
 Lie to our masters, men found out the use: 
 For to preserve his right to wield the sword 
 He mixed the civil axes with his brands; 
 With eagles, fasces; with an empty word 
 Clothing his power; and stamped upon the time 
 A worthy designation; for what name 
 Could better mark the dread Pharsalian year 
 Than 'Caesar, Consul'? Now the famous field 
 Pretends its ancient ceremonies: calls 
 The tribes in order and divides the votes 
 In vain solemnity of empty urns. 
 Nor did they heed the portents of the sky: 
 Deaf were the augurs to the thunder roll; 
 The owl flew on the left; yet were the birds 
 Propitious sworn. Then was the ancient name 
 Degraded first; and monthly Consuls, now 
 Shorn of their rank, were chosen to mark the years. 
 And Trojan Alba's god (since Latium 's fall 
 Deserving not) beheld the wonted fires 
 Blaze from his altars on the festal night. 
 Then through Apulia 's fallows, which her hinds 
 Left all untilled, to sluggish weeds a prey 
 Passed Caesar onward, swifter than the fire 
 Of heaven, or tigress dam: until he reached 
 
 Brundusium 's winding ramparts, built of old 
 By Cretan colonists. There icy winds 
 Constrained the billows, and his trembling fleet 
 Feared for the winter storms nor dared the main. 
 But Caesar's soul burned at the moments lost 
 For speedy battle, nor could brook delay 
 Within the port, indignant that the sea 
 Should give safe passage to his routed foe: 
 And thus he stirred his troops, in seas unskilled, 
 With words of courage: 'When the winter wind 
 'Has seized on sky and ocean, firm its hold; 
 But the inconstancy of cloudy spring 
 'Permits no certain breezes to prevail 
 'Upon the billows. Straight shall be our course. 
 'No winding nooks of coast, but open seas 
 Struck by the northern wind alone we plough, 
 'And may he bend the spars, and bear us swift 
 'To Grecian cities; else Pompeius' ships 
 'From coasts Phaeacian, with their swifter oars 
 May catch our flagging sails. Cast loose the ropes 
 'From our victorious prows. Too long we waste 
 'Tempests that blow to bear us to our goal.' 
 Now sank the sun to rest; the evening star 
 Shone on the darkening heaven, and the moon 
 Reigned with her paler light, when all the fleet 
 Freed from retaining cables seized the main. 
 With slackened sheet the canvas wooed the breeze, 
 Which rose and fell and fitful died away, 
 Till motionless the sails, and all the waves 
 Were still as deepest pool, where never wind 
 Ripples the surface. Thus in Scythian climes 
 Cimmerian Bosphorus restrains the deep 
 Bound fast in frosty fetters; Ister's streams 
 
 No more impel the main, and ships constrained 
 Stand fast in ice; and while in depths below 
 The waves still murmur, loud the charger's hoof 
 Sounds on the surface, and the travelling wheel 
 Furrows a track upon the frozen marsh. 
 Cruel as tempest was the calm that lay 
 In stagnant pools upon the mournful deep: 
 Against the course of nature lay outstretched 
 A rigid ocean: 'twas as if the sea 
 Forgat its ancient ways and knew no more 
 The ceaseless tides, nor any breeze of heaven, 
 Nor quivered at the image of the sun, 
 Mirrored upon its wave. For while the fleet 
 Hung in mid passage motionless, the foe 
 Might hurry to attack, with sturdy stroke 
 Churning the deep; or famine's deadly grip 
 Might seize the ships becalmed. For dangers new 
 New vows they found: for tempests was their prayer, 
 To rouse the billows till the watery plain 
 Freed from its torpor should be sea once more. 
 But cloudless was the sky and calm the deep, 
 All hope of shipwreck gone, till night was fled, 
 And marred by gathering mist the day arose 
 And stirred the depths, and moved the fleet along 
 Towards the Ceraunian headland; and the waves 
 And favouring breezes followed on the ships, 
 Now speeding faster, till (their goal attained) 
 They cast their anchors on Palaeste's shore. 
 This land first saw the chiefs in neighbouring camps 
 Confronted, which the streams of Apsus bound 
 And swifter Genusus; a lengthy course 
 Is run by neither, but on Apsus' waves 
 Scarce flowing from a marsh, the frequent boat 
 Finds room to swim; while on the foamy bed 
 Of Genusus by sun or shower compelled 
 The melted snows pour seawards. Here were met 
 (So Fortune ordered it) the mighty pair; 
 And in its woes the world yet vainly hoped 
 That, brought to nearer touch, their crime itself 
 Might breed abhorrence: for from either camp 
 Voices were clearly heard and features seen. 
 Nor e'er, Pompeius, since that distant day 
 When Caesar's daughter and thy spouse was reft 
 By pitiless fate away, nor left a pledge, 
 Did thy loved kinsman (save on sands of Nile ) 
 So nearly look upon thy face again.
 
 
 But Caesar's mind though frenzied for the fight 
 Was forced to pause until Antonius brought 
 The rearward troops; Antonius even now 
 Rehearsing Leucas ' fight. With prayers and threats 
 Caesar exhorts him. ' Why delay the fates, 
 Thou cause of evil to the suffering world? 
 My speed hath won the major part: from thee 
 Fortune demands the final stroke alone. 
 Do Libyan whirlpools with deceitful tides 
 Uncertain separate us? Is the deep 
 Untried to which I call? To unknown risks 
 Art thou commanded? Caesar bids thee come, 
 Thou sluggard, not to leave him. Long ago 
 I ran my ships midway through sands and shoals 
 To harbours held by foes; and dost thou fear 
 My friendly camp? I mourn the waste of days 
 'Which fate allotted us. Upon the waves 
 And winds I call unceasing: hold not back 
 Thy willing troops, but let them dare the sea; 
 Here gladly shall they come to join my camp, 
 Though risking shipwreck: with indignant voice 
 I call upon thee. Not in equal shares 
 'The world has fallen between us: thou alone 
 Dost hold Italia , but Epirus I 
 And all the lords of Rome .' Twice called and thrice 
 Antonius lingered still: but Caesar's mind 
 Was that he failed the gods, not they his cause. 
 By night he braved the strait which others feared 
 Though bidden: for he knew that daring deeds 
 Are safely wrought beneath the smile of heaven: 
 And thus he hoped in fragile boat to cross 
 The stormy billows fearful to a fleet. 
 Now gentle night had brought repose from arms; 
 And sleep, blest guardian of the poor man's couch, 
 Restored the weary; and the camp was still. 
 The hour was come that called the second watch 
 When mighty Caesar, in the silence vast 
 With cautious tread advanced to such a deed 
 
 As slaves should dare not. Fortune for his guide, 
 Alone he passes on, and o'er the guard 
 Stretched in repose he leaps, in secret wrath 
 At such a sleep. Pacing the winding beach, 
 Fast to a sea-worn rock he finds a boat 
 On ocean's marge afloat. Hard by on shore 
 Its master dwelt within his humble home. 
 No solid front it reared, for sterile rush 
 And marshy reed enwoven formed the walls, 
 Propped by a shallop with its bending sides 
 Turned upwards. Caesar's hand upon the door 
 Knocks twice and thrice until the fabric shakes. 
 Amyclas from his couch of soft seaweed 
 Arising, calls: ' What shipwrecked sailor seeks 
 'My humble home? Who hopes for aid from me, 
 ' By fates adverse compelled? ' He stirs the heap 
 Upon the hearth, until a tiny spark 
 Glows in the darkness, and throws wide the door. 
 Careless of war, he knew that civil strife 
 Stoops not to cottages. O! happy life 
 That poverty affords! great gift of heaven 
 Too little understood! what mansion wall, 
 What temple of the gods, would feel no fear 
 When Caesar called for entrance? Then the chief: 
 ' Enlarge thine hopes and look for better things. 
 ' Do but my bidding, and on yonder shore 
 ' Place me, and thou shalt cease from one poor boat 
 ' To earn thy living; and in years to come 
 ' Look for a rich old age: and trust thy fates 
 ' To those high gods whose wont it is to bless 
 ' The poor with sudden plenty.' So he spake 
 E'en at such time in accents of command, 
 For how could Caesar else? Amyclas said, 
 ''Twere dangerous to brave the deep to-night. 
 ' The sun descended not in ruddy clouds 
 ' Or peaceful rays to rest; part of his beams 
 ' Presaged a southern gale, the rest proclaimed 
 ' A northern tempest; and his middle orb, 
 ' Shorn of its strength, permitted human eyes 
 ' To gaze upon his grandeur; and the moon 
 ' Rose not with silver horns upon the night 
 ' Nor pure in middle space; her slender points 
 'Not drawn aright, but blushing with the track 
 ' Of raging tempests, till her lurid light 
 'Was sadly veiled within the clouds. Again 
 ' The forest sounds; the surf upon the shore; 
 ' The dolphin's mood, uncertain where to play; 
 ' The sea-mew on the land; the heron used 
 ' To wade among the shallows, borne aloft 
 ' And soaring on his wings-all these alarm; 
 ' The raven, too, who plunged his head in spray, 
 ' As if to anticipate the coming rain, 
 And trod the margin with unsteady gait. 
 But if the cause demands, behold me thine. 
 'Either we reach the bidden shore, or else 
 'Storm and the deep forbid-we can no more.' 
 Thus said he loosed the boat and raised the sail. 
 No sooner done than stars were seen to fall 
 In flaming furrows from the sky: nay, more; 
 The pole star trembled in its place on high: 
 Black horror marked the surging of the sea; 
 The main was boiling in long tracts of foam, 
 Uncertain of the wind, yet seized with storm. 
 Then spake the captain of the trembling bark: 
 See what remorseless ocean has in store! 
 Whether from east or west the storm may come 
 Is still uncertain, for as yet confused 
 'The billows tumble. Judged by clouds and sky 
 'A western tempest: by the murmuring deep 
 'A wild south-eastern gale shall sweep the sea. 
 'Nor bark nor man shall reach Hesperia's shore 
 In this wild rage of waters. To return 
 'Back on our course forbidden by the gods, 
 'Is our one refuge, and with labouring boat 
 'To reach the shore ere yet the nearest land 
 'May be too distant.' 
 But great Caesar's trust 
 Was in himself, to make all dangers yield. 
 And thus he answered: ' Scorn the threatening sea, 
 Spread out thy canvas to the raging wind; 
 If for thy pilot thou refusest heaven, 
 'Me in its stead receive. Alone in thee 
 One cause of terror just-thou dost not know 
 'Thy comrade, ne'er deserted by the gods, 
 'Whom fortune blesses e'en without a prayer. 
 'Break through the middle storm and trust in me. 
 'The burden of this fight falls not on us 
 But on the sky and ocean; and our bark 
 Shall swim the billows safe in him it bears. 
 Nor shall the wind rage long: the boat itself 
 Shall calm the waters. Flee the nearest shore, 
 Steer for the ocean with unswerving hand: 
 Then in the deep, when to our ship and us 
 No other port is given, believe thou hast 
 ' Calabria 's harbours. And dost thou not know 
 'The purpose of such havoc? Fortune seeks 
 'In all this tumult of the sea and sky 
 A boon for Caesar.'
 
 
 Then a hurricane 
 Swooped on the boat and tore away the sheet: 
 The fluttering sail fell on the fragile mast: 
 And groaned the joints. From all the universe 
 Commingled perils rushed. In Atlas' seas 
 First Corus raised his head, and stirred the depths 
 To fury, and had forced upon the rocks 
 Whole seas and oceans; but the chilly north 
 Drove back the deep that doubted which was lord. 
 But Scythian Aquilo prevailed, whose blast 
 Tossed up the main and showed as shallow pools 
 Each deep abyss; and yet was not the sea 
 Heaped on the crags, for Corus' billows met 
 The waves of Boreas: such seas had clashed 
 Even were the winds withdrawn; Eurus enraged 
 Burst from the cave, and Notus black with rain, 
 And all the winds from every part of heaven 
 Strove for their own; and thus the ocean stayed 
 Within his boundaries. No petty seas 
 Rapt in the storm are whirled. The Tuscan deep 
 Invades th' AEgean ; in Ionian gulfs 
 Sounds wandering Hadria . How long the crags 
 Which that day fell, the Ocean's blows had braved! 
 What lofty peaks did vanquished earth resign! 
 And yet on yonder coast such mighty waves 
 Took not their rise; from distant regions came 
 Those monster billows, driven on their course 
 By that great current which surrounds the world. 
 
 Thus did the King of Heaven, when length of years 
 Wore out the forces of his thunder, call 
 His brother's trident to his help, what time 
 The earth and sea one second kingdom formed 
 And ocean knew no limit but the sky. 
 Now, too, the sea had risen to the stars 
 In mighty mass, had not Olympus ' chief 
 Pressed down its waves with clouds: that night from heaven 
 Came not, as others; but the murky air 
 Was dim with pallor of the realms below; 
 
 The sky lay on the deep; within the clouds 
 The waves received the rain : the lightning flash 
 Clove through the parted air a path obscured 
 By mist and darkness: and the heavenly vaults 
 Re-echoed to the tumult, and the frame 
 That holds the sky was shaken. Nature feared 
 Chaos returned, as though the elements 
 Had burst their bonds, and night had come to mix 
 Th' infernal shades with heaven. 
 In such turmoil 
 Not to have perished was their only hope. 
 Far as from Leucas point the placid main 
 Spreads to the horizon, from the billow's crest 
 They viewed the dashing of th' infuriate sea; 
 Thence sinking to the middle trough, their mast 
 Scarce topped the watery height on either hand, 
 Their sails in clouds, their keel upon the ground. 
 For all the sea was piled into the waves, 
 And drawn from depths between laid bare the sand. 
 The master of the boat forgot his art, 
 For fear o'ercame; he knew not where to yield 
 Or where to meet the wave: but safety came 
 From ocean's self at war: one billow forced 
 The vessel under, but a huger wave 
 Repelled it upwards, and she rode the storm 
 Through every blast triumphant. Not the shore 
 Of humble Sason , nor Thessalia 's coast 
 Indented, not Ambracia 's scanty ports 
 Dismayed the mariners, but the giddy tops 
 Of high Ceraunia's cliffs. 
 But Caesar now, 
 Thinking the peril worthy of his fates: 
 Are such the labours of the gods? ' exclaimed, 
 Bent on my downfall have they sought me thus, 
 Here in this puny skiff in such a sea? 
 If to the deep the glory of my fall 
 Is due, and not to war, intrepid still 
 Whatever death they send shall strike me down. 
 Let fate cut short the deeds that I would do 
 And hasten on the end: the past is mine. 
 The northern nations fell beneath my sword; 
 'My dreaded name compels the foe to flee. 
 'Pompeius yields me place; the people's voice 
 Gave at my order what the wars denied. 
 And all the titles which denote the powers 
 Known to the Roman state my name shall bear. 
 Let none know this but thou who hear'st my prayers, 
 Fortune! that Caesar summoned to the shades, 
 Dictator, Consul, full of honours, died 
 Ere his last prize was won. I ask no pyre 
 Or tomb, ye gods! wherein my dust may rest: 
 Nay! plunge in middle deep this battered frame! 
 All earth shall look for me, nor shall men cease 
 At Caesar's name to fear.' Such words he spake, 
 When lo! a tenth gigantic billow raised 
 The feeble keel, and where between the rocks 
 A cleft gave safety, placed it on the shore. 
 Thus in a moment fortune, kingdoms, lands, 
 Once more were Caesar's. 
 But on his return 
 When daylight came, he entered not the camp 
 Silent as when he parted; for his friends 
 Soon pressed around him, and with weeping eyes 
 In accents welcome to his ears began: 
 'Whither in reckless daring hast thou gone, 
 Unpitying Caesar? Were these humble lives 
 Left here unguarded while thy limbs were given, 
 Unsought for, to be scattered by the storm? 
 'When on thy breath so many nations hang 
 For life and safety, and so great a world 
 Calls thee its master, to have courted death 
 Proves want of heart. Were none of all thy friends 
 Deserving held to join their fate with thine? 
 'When thou wast tossed upon the stormy main 
 We lay in slumber! Shame upon such sleep! 
 'And why thyself didst seek Italia 's shores? 
 '"Twere cruel (such thy thought) to speak the word 
 That bade another dare the furious sea. 
 All men must bear what chance or fate may bring, 
 The sudden peril and the stroke of death; 
 But shall the ruler of the world attempt 
 'The raging ocean? With incessant prayers 
 Why weary heaven? is it indeed enough 
 To crown the war, that Fortune and the deep 
 'Have cast thee on our shores? And wouldst thou use 
 'The grace of favouring deities, to gain 
 Not lordship, not the empire of the world, 
 'But lucky shipwreck! ' Night dispersed, and soon 
 The sun beamed on them, and the wearied deep, 
 The winds permitting, lulled its waves to rest. 
 And when Antonius saw a breeze arise 
 Fresh from a cloudless heaven, to break the sea, 
 He loosed his ships which, by the pilots' hands 
 And by the wind in equal order held, 
 Swept as a marching host across the main. 
 But night unfriendly from the seamen snatched 
 All governance of sail, parting the ships 
 In divers paths asunder. Like as cranes 
 Deserting frozen Strymon for the streams 
 Of Nile , when winter falls, in casual lines 
 Of wedge-like figures first ascend the sky; 
 But when in loftier heaven the southern breeze 
 Strikes on their pinions tense, in loose array 
 Dispersed at large, in flight irregular, 
 They wing their journey onwards. Stronger winds 
 With day returning blew the navy on, 
 Past Lissus ' shelter which they vainly sought, 
 Till bare to northern blasts, Nymphaeum 's port, 
 But safe in southern, gave the fleet repose.
 
 
 When Caesar's troops were gathered in their strength 
 And Magnus saw the battle day was near 
 Before his camp, Cornelia he resolved 
 To send to Lesbos ' shore, from rage of fight 
 Safe and apart: so lifting from his soul 
 The weight that burdened it. Thus, lawful Love, 
 Thus art thou tyrant o'er the mightiest mind! 
 His spouse was the one cause why Magnus stayed 
 Nor met his fortunes, though he staked the world 
 And all the destinies of Rome . The word 
 He speaks not though resolved; so sweet it seemed, 
 When on the future pondering, to gain 
 A pause from Fate! But at the close of night, 
 When drowsy sleep had fled, Cornelia sought 
 To soothe the anxious bosom of her lord 
 And win his kisses; when amazed she saw 
 His cheek was tearful, and with boding soul 
 Shrank from the hidden wound, nor dared surprise 
 Magnus in tears. But sighing thus he spake: 
 ' Dearer to me than life itself, when life 
 'Is happy (not at moments such as these); 
 'The day of sorrow comes, too long delayed, 
 'Nor long enough! With Caesar at our gates 
 ' With all his forces, a secure retreat 
 'Shall Lesbos give thee. Try me not with prayers. 
 'This fatal boon I have denied myself. 
 'Thou wilt not long be absent from thy spouse. 
 'Disasters hasten, and things highest fall 
 With speediest ruin. 'Tis enough for thee 
 ' To hear of Magnus' peril; and thy love 
 'Deceives thee with the thought that thou canst gaze 
 'Unmoved on civil strife. It shames my soul 
 'On the eve of war to slumber at thy side, 
 'And rise from thy dear breast when trumpets call 
 'A woeful world to misery and arms. 
 'I dread lest Magnus in this war endure 
 'Nor loss nor sorrow. But do thou lie hid 
 'Safer than kings or peoples, far removed; 
 'That so the grievous fortunes of thy lord 
 ' May lighter fall on thee. If unkind heaven 
 ' Our armies rout, still let my choicest part 
 ' Survive in thee; if fated is my flight, 
 ' Still leave me that whereto I fain would flee.' 
 Hardly at first her senses grasped the words 
 In their full misery; then her mind amazed 
 Could scarce find utterance for the grief that pressed. 
 Nought, Magnus, now is left wherewith to upbraid 
 'The gods and fates of marriage; 'tis not death 
 'That parts our love, nor yet the funeral pyre, 
 Nor that dread torch which marks the end of all. 
 I share the ignoble lot of vulgar lives: 
 'My spouse rejects me. Yes, the foe is come! 
 'Break we our bonds and Julia's sire appease! - 
 Is this thy consort, Magnus, this thy faith 
 'In her fond loving heart? Can danger fright 
 'Her and not thee? Long since our mutual fates 
 'Hang by one chain; and dost thou bid me now 
 'The thunder-bolts of ruin to withstand 
 Without thee? Is it well that I should die 
 'Even while you pray for fortune? And suppose 
 ' I flee from evil and with death self-sought 
 ' Follow thy footsteps to the realms below-- 
 ' Am I to live till to that distant isle 
 ' Some tardy rumour of thy fall may come? 
 ' And then thou say'st, unfeeling! that by use 
 ' Strength shall be mine to bear such load of ills 
 ' As fate reserves for us: but at such a strength 
 ' My spirit trembles. Ah! forgive the truth. 
 ' And if the favouring gods shall hear my prayers, 
 ' I shall be last to hear the victory 
 ' In that lone isle of rocks. When all are glad, 
 ' My heart shall throb with anguish, and the sail 
 ' Which brings the message I shall see with fear, 
 ' Not safe e'en then: for Caesar in his flight 
 ' Might seize me there, abandoned and alone 
 To be his hostage. If thou place me there, 
 The spouse of Magnus, shall not all the world 
 'Well know the secret Mitylene holds? 
 This my last prayer: if all is lost but flight, 
 'And thou shalt seek the ocean, to my shores 
 'Turn not thy keel, ill-fated one: for there, 
 'There will they seek thee.' Thus she spoke distraught, 
 Leaped from the couch and rushed upon her fate; 
 No stop nor stay: she clung not to his neck 
 Nor threw her arms about him; both forego 
 The last caress, the last fond pledge of love, 
 And grief rushed in unchecked upon their souls; 
 Still gazing as they part no final words 
 Could either utter, and the sweet Farewell 
 Remained unspoken. This the saddest day 
 Of all their lives: for other woes that came 
 More gently struck on hearts inured to grief. 
 Borne to the shore with failing limbs she fell 
 And grasped the sands, embracing, till at last 
 Her maidens placed her senseless in the ship. 
 Not in such grief she left her country's shores 
 When Caesar's host drew near; for now she leaves, 
 Though faithful to her lord, his side in flight 
 And flees her spouse. All that next night she waked; 
 Then first what means a widowed couch she knew, 
 Its cold, its solitude. When slumber found 
 Her eyelids, and forgetfulness her soul, 
 Seeking with outstretched arms the form beloved, 
 She grasps but air. Though tossed by restless love, 
 She leaves a place beside her as for him 
 Returning. Yet she feared Pompeius lost 
 To her for ever. Nay! such happy lot 
 The gods prepared not; for the hour drew near 
 Which gave her Magnus to her arms again.

Now that the chiefs with minds intent on fight 
 Had drawn their armies near upon the hills 
 And all the gods beheld their chosen pair, 
 Caesar, the Grecian towns despising, scorned 
 To reap the glory of successful war 
 Save at his kinsman's cost. In all his prayers 
 He seeks that moment, fatal to the world, 
 When shall be cast the die, to win or lose, 
 And all their fortunes hang upon the throw. 
 Thrice he drew out his troops, his eagles thrice, 
 Demanding battle; to the ruin of Rome 
 
 Thus prompt as ever: but his kinsman foe, 
 Proof against every art, refused to leave 
 The rampart of his camp. Then marching swift 
 By hidden path between the wooded fields 
 He seeks, and hopes to seize, Dyrrhachium 's fort; 
 But Magnus, swifter speeding by the sea, 
 First camped on Petra 's slopes, a rocky hill 
 Thus by the natives named. From thence he keeps 
 Watch o'er the fortress of Corinthian birth 
 Which by its towers alone without a guard 
 Was safe against a siege. No hand of man 
 In ancient days built up her lofty wall, 
 No hammer rang upon her massive stones: 
 Not all the works of war, nor Time himself 
 Shall undermine her. Nature's hand has raised 
 Her adamantine rocks and hedged her in 
 With bulwarks girded by the foamy main: 
 And but for one short bridge of narrow earth 
 
 Dyrrhachium were an island. Steep and fierce, 
 Dreaded of sailors, are the cliffs that bear 
 Her walls; and tempests, howling from the south, 
 Toss up the foaming main upon the roofs; 
 And homes and temples tremble at the shock. 
 Thirsting for battle and with hopes inflamed 
 Here Caesar hastes, with distant rampart lines 
 Seeking unseen to coop his foe within, 
 Though spread in spacious camp upon the hills. 
 With eagle eye he measures out the land 
 Meet to be compassed, nor content with turf 
 Fit for a hasty mound, he bids his troops 
 Tear from the quarries many a giant rock: 
 And spoils the dwellings of the Greeks, and drags 
 Their walls asunder for his own. Thus rose 
 A mighty barrier which no ram could burst 
 Nor any ponderous machine of war. 
 Mountains are cleft, and level through the hills 
 The work of Caesar strides : wide yawns the moat, 
 Forts show their towers rising on the heights, 
 And in vast circle forests are enclosed 
 And groves and spacious lands, and beasts of prey, 
 As in a line of toils. Pompeius lacked 
 Nor field nor forage in th' encircled span 
 Nor room to move his camp; nay, rivers rose 
 Within, and ran their course and reached the sea; 
 And Caesar wearied ere he saw the whole, 
 And daylight failed him. Let the ancient tale 
 Attribute to the labours of the gods 
 The walls of Ilium : let the fragile bricks 
 Which compass in great Babylon , amaze 
 The fleeting Parthian. Here a larger space 
 Than those great cities which Orontes swift 
 And Tigris ' stream enclose, or that which boasts 
 In Eastern climes, the lordly palaces 
 Fit for Assyria's kings, is closed by walls 
 Amid the haste and tumult of a war 
 Forced to completion. Yet this labour huge 
 Was spent in vain. So many hands had joined 
 Or Sestos with Abydos , or had tamed 
 With mighty mole the Hellespontine wave, 
 Or Corinth from the realm of Pelops king 
 Had rent asunder, or had spared each ship 
 Her voyage round the long Malean cape, 
 Or had done anything most hard, to mould 
 The world's created surface. Here the war 
 Was prisoned: blood predestinate to flow 
 In all the parts of earth; the host foredoomed 
 To fall in Libya or in Thessaly 
 
 Was here: in such small amphitheatre 
 The tide of civil passion rose and fell. 
 At first Pompeius knew not: so the hind 
 Who peaceful tills the mid-Sicilian fields 
 Hears not Pelorus sounding to the storm; 
 So billows thunder on Rutupian shores, 
 
 Unheard by distant Caledonia 's tribes. 
 But when he saw the mighty barrier stretch 
 O'er hill and valley, and enclose the land, 
 He bade his columns leave their rocky hold 
 And seize on posts of vantage in the plain; 
 Thus forcing Caesar to extend his troops 
 On wider lines; and holding for his own 
 Such space encompassed as divides from Rome 
 
 
 Aricia , sacred to that goddess chaste 
 Of old Mycenae ; or as Tiber holds 
 From Rome 's high ramparts to the Tuscan sea, 
 Unless he deviate. No trumpet call 
 Commands an onset, and the darts that fly 
 Fly though forbidden; but the arm that flings 
 For proof the lance, at random, here and there 
 Deals impious slaughter. Weighty care compelled 
 Each leader to withhold his troops from fight; 
 For there the weary earth of produce failed 
 Pressed by Pompeius' steeds, whose horny hoofs 
 Rang in their gallop on the grassy fields 
 And killed the succulence. They strengthless lay 
 Upon the mown expanse, nor pile of straw, 
 Brought from full barns in place of living grass, 
 Relieved their craving; shook their panting flanks, 
 And as they wheeled Death struck his victim down. 
 Then foul contagion filled the murky air 
 Whose poisonous weight pressed on them in a cloud 
 Pestiferous; as in Nesis' isle the breath 
 Of Styx rolls upwards from the mist-clad rocks; 
 Or that fell vapour which the caves exhale 
 From Typhon raging in the depths below. 
 Then died the soldiers, for the streams they drank 
 Held yet more poison than the air: the skin 
 Was dark and rigid, and the fiery plague 
 Made hard their vitals, and with pitiless tooth 
 Gnawed at their wasted features, while their eyes 
 Started from out their sockets, and the head 
 Drooped from sheer weariness. So the disease 
 Grew swifter in its strides till scarce was room, 
 'Twixt life and death, for sickness, and the pest 
 Slew as it struck its victim, and the dead 
 Thrust from the tents (such all their burial) lay 
 Blent with the living. Yet their camp was pitched 
 Hard by the breezy sea by which might come 
 All nations' harvests, and the northern wind 
 Not seldom rolled the murky air away. 
 Their foe, not vexed with pestilential air 
 Nor stagnant waters, ample range enjoyed 
 Upon the spacious uplands: yet as though 
 In leaguer, famine seized them for its prey. 
 Scarce were the crops half grown when Caesar saw 
 How prone they seized upon the food of beasts, 
 And stripped of leaves the bushes and the groves, 
 And dragged from roots unknown the doubtful herb, 
 Which might be death: all things they ate that fire 
 May soften, or teeth may bite, or arid throat 
 May swallow; things that never heretofore 
 Were placed on tables-thus the host at large- 
 Yet was there plenty with the leaguered foe.
 
 
 When Magnus first was pleased to break his bonds, 
 No nightly dash he makes, by craft to seize 
 His sleeping foe unarmed: his soul had scorned 
 Such path obscure to victory. Twas his aim, 
 To lay the turrets low; to mark his track, 
 By ruin spread afar; and with the sword 
 To hew a path between his slaughtered foes. 
 Minucius' turret was the chosen spot 
 Where groves of trees and thickets gave approach 
 Safe, unbetrayed by dust. Up from the fields 
 Flashed all at once his eagles into sight 
 And all his trumpets blared. But ere the sword 
 Could win the battle, on the hostile ranks 
 Dread panic fell; prone as in death they lay 
 Where else upright they should withstand the foe; 
 Nor more availed their valour, and in vain 
 The cloud of weapons flew, with none to slay. 
 Then blazing torches rolling pitchy flame 
 Are hurled, and shaken nod the lofty towers 
 And threaten ruin, and the bastions groan 
 Struck by the frequent engine, and the troops 
 Of Magnus by triumphant eagles led 
 Stride o'er the rampart, in their front the world. 
 Yet now that passage which not Caesar's self 
 Nor thousand valiant squadrons had availed 
 To rescue from their grasp, one man in arms 
 Steadfast till death refused them; Scaeva named 
 This hero soldier: long he served in fight 
 Waged 'gainst the savage on the banks of Rhone ; 
 And now centurion made, through deeds of blood, 
 He bore the staff before the marshalled line. 
 Prone to all wickedness, he little recked 
 How valourous deeds in civil war may be 
 Greatest of crimes; and when he saw how turned 
 His comrades fron the war and sought in flight 
 A refuge, ' Whence,' he cried, 'this impious fear 
 Unknown to Caesar's armies? Do ye turn 
 'Your backs on death, and are ye not ashamed 
 Not to be found where slaughtered heroes lie? 
 'Is loyalty too weak? Yet love of fight 
 'Might bid you stand. We are the chosen few 
 'Through whom the foe would break. Unbought by blood 
 'This day shall not be theirs. 'Neath Caesar's eye, 
 'True, death would be more happy; but this boon 
 'Fortune denies: at least my fall shall be 
 'Praised by Pompeius. Shatter with your breasts 
 ' Their weapons; blunt the edges of their swords 
 ' With throats unyielding. In the distant lines 
 ' The dust is seen already, and the sound 
 ' Of tumult and of ruin finds the ear 
 Of Caesar: strike; the victory is ours: 
 'For he shall come who while his soldiers die 
 Shall make the fortress his.' His voice calls forth 
 The courage that the trumpets failed to rouse 
 When first they rang: his comrades mustering come 
 To watch his deeds; and, wondering at the man, 
 To test if valour thus by foes oppressed, 
 In narrow space, could hope for aught but death. 
 But Scaeva standing on the tottering bank 
 Heaves from the brimming turret on the foe 
 The corpses of the fallen; the ruined mass 
 Gives weapons to his hands; with beams and poles 
 And ponderous stones, with his own breast he threats 
 His enemies; and thrusts with mighty stakes 
 The host advancing; when they grasp the wall 
 He lops the arm: rocks crush the foeman's skull 
 And rive the scalp asunder: fiery bolts 
 Dashed at another set his hair aflame, 
 Till rolls the greedy blaze about his eyes 
 With hideous crackle. As the pile of slain 
 Rose to the summit of the wall he sprang, 
 Swift as across the nets a hunted pard, 
 Above the swords upraised, till in mid throng 
 Of foes he stood, hemmed in by densest ranks 
 And ramparted by war; in front and rear, 
 Where'er he struck, the victor. Now his sword 
 Blunted with gore congealed no more could wound, 
 But brake the stricken limb; while every hand 
 Flung every quivering dart at him alone; 
 Nor missed their aim, for rang against his shield 
 Dart after dart unerring, and his helm 
 In broken fragments pressed upon his brow; 
 His vital parts were safeguarded by spears 
 That bristled in his body. Fortune saw 
 Thus waged a novel combat, for there warred 
 Against one man an army. Why with darts, 
 Madmen, assail him and with slender shafts, 
 'Gainst which his life is proof? Or ponderous stones 
 This warrior chief shall overwhelm, or bolts 
 Flung by the twisted thongs of mighty slings. 
 Let steel-shod ram or catapult remove 
 This champion of the gate. No fragile wall 
 Stands here for Caesar, blocking with its bulk 
 Pompeius' way to freedom. Now he trusts 
 His shield no more, lest his sinister hand, 
 Idle, give life by shame; and on his breast 
 Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil 
 And worn with onset, falls upon his foe 
 And braves alone the wounds of all the war. 
 Thus may an elephant in Afric wastes, 
 Oppressed by frequent darts, break those that fall 
 Rebounding from his horny hide, and shake 
 Those that find lodgment, while his life within 
 Lies safe, protected, nor does spear avail 
 To reach the fount of blood. Unnumbered wounds 
 By arrow dealt, or lance, thus fail to slay 
 This single warrior. But lo! from far 
 A Cretan archer's shaft, more sure of aim 
 Than vows could hope for, strikes on Scaeva's brow 
 To light within his eye: the hero tugs 
 Intrepid, bursts the nerves, and tears the shaft 
 Forth with the eyeball, and with dauntless heel 
 Treads them to dust. Not otherwise a bear 
 Pannonian, fiercer for the wound received, 
 Maddened by dart from Libyan thong propelled, 
 Turns circling on her wound, and still pursues 
 The weapon fleeing as she whirls around. 
 Thus, in his rage destroyed, his shapeless face 
 Stood foul with crimson flow. The victors' shout 
 Glad to the sky arose; no greater joy 
 A little blood could give them had they seen 
 That Caesar's self was wounded. Down he pressed 
 Deep in his soul the anguish, and, with mien 
 No longer bent on fight, submissive cried, 
 Spare me, ye citizens; remove the war 
 Far hence: no weapons now can haste my death; 
 Draw from my breast the darts, but add no more. 
 Yet raise me up to place me in the camp 
 Of Magnus, living: this your gift to him; 
 No brave man's death my title to renown, 
 But Caesar's flag deserted.' So he spake. 
 Unhappy Aulus thought his words were true, 
 Nor saw within his hand the ready sword; 
 And leaping forth in haste to make his own 
 The prisoner and his arms, in middle throat 
 Received the lightning blade. By this one death 
 Rose Scaeva's valour again; and thus he cried, 
 Such be the punishment of all who thought 
 Great Scaeva vanquished; if Pompeius seeks 
 Peace from this reeking sword, low let him lay 
 ' At Caesar's feet his standards. Me do ye think 
 ' Such as yourselves, and slow to meet the fates? 
 'Your love for Magnus and the Senate's cause 
 'Is less than mine for death.' These were his words; 
 And dust in columns proved that Caesar came. 
 Thus was Pompeius' glory spared the stain 
 Of flight compelled by Scava. He, when ceased 
 The battle, fell, no more by rage of fight, 
 Or sight of blood out-pouring from his wounds, 
 Roused to the combat. Fainting there he lay 
 Upon the shoulders of his comrades borne, 
 Who him adoring (as though deity 
 Dwelt in his bosom) for his matchless deeds, 
 Plucked forth the gory shafts and took his arms 
 To deck the gods and shield the breast of Mars. 
 Thrice happy thou with such a name achieved, 
 Had but the fierce Iberian from thy sword, 
 Or heavy shielded Teuton, or had fled 
 The light Cantabrian: now no spoils of thine 
 Shall deck the Thunderer's temple, nor upraise 
 The shout of triumph in the ways of Rome . 
 For all thy prowess, all thy deeds of pride 
 Do but prepare her lord.
 
 
 Nor on this hand 
 Repulsed, Pompeius idly ceased from war, 
 Content within his bars; but as the sea 
 Tireless, which tempests force upon the crag 
 That breaks it, or which gnaws a mountain side 
 Some day to fall in ruin on itself; 
 He sought the turrets nearest to the main, 
 On double onset bent; nor closely kept 
 His troops in hand, but on the spacious plain 
 Spread forth his camp. They joyful leave the tents 
 And wander at their will. Thus Padus flows 
 In brimming flood, and foaming at his bounds, 
 Making whole districts quake; and should the bank 
 Fail 'neath his swollen waters, all his stream 
 Breaks forth in swirling eddies over fields 
 Not his before; some lands are lost, the rest 
 Gain from his bounty. 
 Hardly from his tower 
 Had Caesar seen the fire or known the fight: 
 And coming found the rampart overthrown, 
 The dust no longer stirred, the ruins cold 
 As from a battle done. The peace that reigned 
 There and on Magnus' side, as though men slept, 
 Their victory won, aroused his angry soul. 
 Quick he prepares, so that he end their joy 
 Careless of slaughter or defeat, to rush 
 With threatening columns on Torquatus' post. 
 But swift as sailor, by his trembling mast 
 Warned of Circeian tempest, furls his sails, 
 So swift Torquatus saw, and prompt to wage 
 The war more closely, he withdrew his men 
 Within a narrower wall. 
 Now past the trench 
 Were Caesar's companies, when from the hills 
 Pompeius hurled his host upon their ranks 
 Shut in, and hampered. Not so much o'erwhelmed 
 As Caesar's soldiers is the hind who dwells 
 On Etna 's slopes, when blows the southern wind, 
 And all the mountain pours its cauldrons forth 
 Upon the vale; and huge Enceladus 
 
 Writhing beneath his load spouts o'er the plains 
 A blazing torrent. Blinded by the dust, 
 Encircled, vanquished, ere the fight, they fled 
 In cloud of terror on their rearward foe, 
 So rushing on their fates. Thus had the war 
 Shed its last drop of blood and peace ensued, 
 But Magnus suffered not, and held his troops 
 Back from the battle. 
 Thou, O Rome , hadst been 
 Free, happy, mistress of thy laws and rights 
 Were Sulla here. Now shalt thou ever grieve 
 That in his crowning crime, to have met in fight 
 A pious kinsman, Caesar's vantage lay. 
 Oh tragic destiny! Nor Munda's fight 
 
 Hispania had wept, nor Libya mourned 
 Encrimsoned Utica, nor Nilus' stream, 
 With blood unspeakable polluted, borne 
 A nobler corse than her Egyptian kings: 
 Nor Juba lain unburied on the sands, 
 Nor Scipio with his blood outpoured appeased 
 The ghosts of Carthage ; this had been thy last 
 Disaster, Rome ; nor had the blameless life 
 Of Cato ended: and Pharsalia's name 
 Had so been blotted from the book of fate. 
 But Caesar left the region where his arms 
 Had found the deities adverse, and marched 
 His shattered columns to Thessalian lands. 
 Then to Pompeius came (whose mind was bent 
 To follow Caesar wheresoe'er he fled) 
 His captains, striving to persuade their chief 
 To seek Ausonia, his native land, 
 Now freed from foes. 'Ne'er will I pass,' he said, 
 ' My country's limit, nor revisit Rome 
 
 ' Like Caesar, at the head of banded hosts. 
 
 ' Hesperia when the war began was mine; 
 ' Mine, had I chosen in our country's shrines, 
 ' In midmost forum of her capital, 
 ' To join the battle. So that banished far 
 ' Be war from Rome , I'll cross the torrid zone 
 ' Or those for ever frozen Scythian shores. 
 What! shall my victory rob thee of the peace 
 I gave thee by my flight? Rather than thou 
 Shouldst feel the evils of this impious war, 
 'Let Caesar deem thee his.' He turned his course 
 Towards the uprising sun, and sought by paths 
 Remote, and forests wide, the land by fate 
 Foredoomed to see the issue of the war. 
 
 Thessalia on that side where Titan first 
 Raises the wintry day, by Ossa 's rocks 
 Is prisoned in: but in th' advancing year 
 When higher in the vault his chariot rides 
 'Tis Pelion that meets the morning rays. 
 And when beside the Lion's flames he drives 
 The middle course, Othrys with woody top 
 Screens his chief ardour. On the hither side 
 Pindus receives the breezes of the west 
 And as the evening falls brings darkness in. 
 There too Olympus , at whose foot who dwells 
 Nor fears the north nor sees the shining bear. 
 Between these mountains hemmed, in ancient time 
 The fields were marsh, for Tempe 's pass not yet 
 Was cleft, to give an exit to the streams 
 That filled the plain: but when Alcides' hand 
 Smote Ossa from Olympus at a blow, 
 
 And Nereus wondered at the sudden flood 
 Of waters to the main, then on the shore 
 (Would it had slept for ever 'neath the deep) 
 Seaborn Achilles' home Pharsalus rose; 
 And Phylace whence sailed that ship of old 
 Whose keel first touched upon the beach of Troy ; 
 And Dorion mournful for the Muses' ire 
 On Thamyris vanquished: Trachis ; Melibe 
 Strong in the shafts of Hercules, the price 
 Of that most awful torch; Larissa's hold 
 Potent of yore; and Argos , famous erst, 
 O'er which men pass the ploughshare: and the spot 
 Fabled as Echionian Thebes , where once 
 Agave bore in exile to the pyre 
 (Grieving 'twas all she had) the head and neck 
 Of Pentheus massacred. The lake set free 
 Flowed forth in many rivers: to the west 
 AEas, a gentle stream; nor stronger flows 
 The sire of Isis ravished from his arms; 
 And Achelous, rival for the hand 
 Of OEneus' daughter, rolls his earthy flood 
 
 To silt the shore beside the neighbouring isles. 
 Evenus purpled by the Centaur's blood 
 Wanders through Calydon: in the Malian Gulf 
 Thy rapids fall, Spercheius: pure the wave 
 With which Amphrysos irrigates the meads 
 Where once Apollo served: Anaurus flows 
 Breathing no vapour forth; no humid air 
 Ripples his surface: and whatever stream, 
 Nameless itself, to Ocean gives its waves 
 Through thee, Peneus: whirled in eddies foams 
 Apidanus; Enipeus lingers on 
 Swift only when fresh streams his volume swell: 
 And thus Asopus takes his ordered course, 
 Phoenix and Melas ; but Eurotas keeps 
 His stream aloof from that with which he flows, 
 Peneus, gliding on his top as though 
 Upon the channel. Fable says that, sprung 
 From darkest pools of Styx, with common floods 
 He scorns to mingle, mindful of his source, 
 So that the gods above may fear him still. 
 Soon as were sped the rivers, Boebian ploughs 
 Dark with its riches broke the virgin soil; 
 Then came Lelegians to press the share, 
 And Dolopes and sons of AEolus 
 By whom the glebe was furrowed. Steed-renowned 
 Magnetians dwelt there, and the Minyan race 
 Who smote the sounding billows with the oar. 
 There in the cavern from the pregnant cloud 
 Ixion's sons found birth, the Centaur brood 
 Half beast, half human: Monychus who broke 
 The stubborn rocks of Pholoe, Rhoetus fierce 
 Hurling from OEta's top gigantic elms 
 Which northern storms could hardly overturn; 
 Pholus, Alcides' host: Nessus who bore 
 The Queen across Evenus' waves, to feel 
 The deadly arrow for his shameful deed; 
 And aged Chiron who with wintry star 
 Against the huger Scorpion draws his bow. 
 Here sparkled on the land the warrior seed; 
 
 Here leaped the charger from Thessalian rocks 
 
 Struck by the trident of the Ocean King, 
 Omen of dreadful war; here first he learned, 
 Champing the bit and foaming at the curb, 
 Yet to obey his lord. From yonder shore 
 The keel of pine first floated, and bore men 
 To dare the perilous chance of seas unknown: 
 And here Ionus ruler of the land 
 First from the furnace molten masses drew 
 Of iron and brass; here first the hammer fell 
 To weld them, shapeless; here in glowing stream 
 Ran silver forth and gold, soon to receive 
 The minting stamp. 'Twas thus that money came 
 Whereby men count their riches, cause accursed 
 Of warfare. Hence came down that Python huge 
 On Cirrha : hence the laurel wreath which crowns 
 The Pythian victor: here Aloeus' sons 
 Gigantic rose against the gods, what time 
 
 Pelion had almost touched the stars supreme, 
 And Ossa's loftier peak amid the sky 
 Opposing, barred the constellations' way.
 
 
 When in this fated land the chiefs had placed 
 Their several camps, foreboding of the end 
 Now fast approaching, all men's thoughts were turned 
 Upon the final issue of the war. 
 And as the end drew near, all coward minds 
 Trembling beneath the shadow of the fate 
 Now hanging o'er them, deemed disaster near: 
 While some took heart; yet doubted what might fall, 
 In hope and fear alternate. 'Mid the throng 
 Sextus, unworthy son of worthy sire 
 Who soon upon the waves that Scylla guards, 
 
 Sicilian pirate, exile from his home, 
 Stained by his deeds of shame the fights he won, 
 Could bear delay no more; his feeble soul, 
 Sick of uncertain fate, by fear compelled, 
 Forecast the future: yet consulted not 
 The shrine of Delos nor the Pythian caves; 
 Nor was he satisfied to learn the sound 
 Of Jove's brass cauldron, 'mid Dodona 's oaks, 
 By her primaeval fruits the nurse of men: 
 Nor sought he sages who by flight of birds, 
 Or watching with Assyrian care the stars 
 And fires of heaven, or by victims slain, 
 May know the fates to come; nor any source 
 Lawful though secret. For to him was known 
 That which excites the hate of gods above; 
 Magicians' lore, the savage creed of Dis 
 And all the shades; and sad with gloomy rites 
 Mysterious altars. For his frenzied soul 
 Heaven knew too little. And the spot itself 
 Kindled his madness, for hard by there dwelt 
 The brood of Haemon whom no storied witch 
 Of fiction e'er transcended; all their art 
 In things most strange and most incredible; 
 There were Thessalian rocks with deadly herbs 
 Thick planted, sensible to magic chants, 
 Funereal, secret: and the land was full 
 Of violence to the gods: the Queenly guest 
 
 From Colchis gathered here the fatal roots 
 That were not in her store: hence vain to heaven 
 Rise impious incantations, all unheard; 
 For deaf the ears divine: save for one voice 
 Which penetrates the furthest depths of air 
 Compelling e'en th' unwilling deities 
 To hearken to its accents. Not the care 
 Of the revolving sky or starry pole 
 Can call them from it ever. Once the sound 
 Of those dread tones unspeakable has reached 
 The constellations, then nor Babylon 
 
 Nor secret Memphis , though they open wide 
 The shrines of ancient magic and entreat 
 The gods, could draw them from the fires that smoke 
 Upon the altars of far Thessaly . 
 To hearts of flint those incantations bring 
 Love, strange, unnatural; the old man's breast 
 Burns with illicit fire. Nor lies the power 
 In harmful cup nor in the juicy pledge 
 Of love maternal from the forehead drawn; 
 
 Charmed forth by spells alone the mind decays, 
 By poisonous drugs unharmed. With woven threads 
 Crossed in mysterious fashion do they bind 
 Those whom no passion born of beauteous form 
 Or loving couch unites. All things on earth 
 Change at their bidding; night usurps the day; 
 The heavens disobey their wonted laws; 
 At that dread hymn the Universe stands still; 
 And Jove while urging the revolving wheels 
 Wonders they move not. Torrents are outpoured 
 Beneath a burning sun; and thunder roars 
 Uncaused by Jupiter. From their flowing locks 
 Vapours immense shall issue at their call; 
 When falls the tempest seas shall rise and foam 
 
 Moved by their spell; though powerless the breeze 
 To raise the billows. Ships against the wind 
 With bellying sails move onward. From the rock 
 Hangs motionless the torrent: rivers run 
 Uphill; the summer heat no longer swells 
 
 Nile in his course; Maeander 's stream is straight; 
 Slow Rhone is quickened by the rush of Saone ; 
 Hills dip their heads and topple to the plain; 
 
 Olympus sees his clouds drift overhead; 
 And sunless Scythia 's sempiternal snows 
 Melt in mid-winter; the inflowing tides 
 Driven onward by the moon, at that dread chant 
 Ebb from their course; earth's axes, else unmoved, 
 Have trembled, and the force centripetal 
 Has tottered, and the earth's compacted frame 
 Struck by their voice has gaped, till through the void 
 Men saw the moving sky. All beasts most fierce 
 And savage fear them, yet with deadly aid 
 Furnish the witches' arts. Tigers athirst 
 For blood, and noble lions on them fawn 
 With bland caresses: serpents at their word 
 Uncoil their circles, and extended glide 
 Along the surface of the frosty field; 
 The viper's severed body joins anew; 
 And dies the snake by human venom slain. 
 Whence comes this labour on the gods, compelled 
 To hearken to the magic chant and spells, 
 Nor daring to despise them? Doth some bond 
 Control the deities? Is their pleasure so, 
 Or must they listen? and have silent threats 
 Prevailed, or piety unseen received 
 So great a guerdon? Against all the gods 
 Is this their influence, or on one alone 
 Who to his will constrains the universe, 
 Himself constrained? Stars most in yonder clime 
 Shoot headlong from the zenith; and the moon 
 Gliding serene upon her nightly course 
 Is shorn of lustre by their poisonous chant, 
 Dimmed by dark earthly fires, as though our orb 
 Shadowed her brother's radiance and barred 
 The light bestowed by heaven; nor freshly shines 
 Until descending nearer to the earth 
 She sheds her baneful drops upon the mead.
 
 
 These sinful rites and these her sister's songs 
 Abhorred Erichtho, fiercest of the race, 
 Spurned for their piety, and yet viler art 
 Practised in novel form. To her no home 
 Beneath a sheltering roof-her direful head 
 Thus to lay down were crime: deserted tombs 
 Her dwelling-place, from which, darling of hell, 
 She dragged the dead. Nor life nor gods forbad 
 But that she knew the secret homes of Styx 
 And learned to hear the whispered voice of ghosts 
 At dread mysterious meetings. Never sun 
 Shed his pure light upon that haggard cheek 
 Pale with the pallor of the shades, nor looked 
 Upon those locks unkempt that crowned her brow. 
 In starless nights of tempest crept the hag 
 Out from her tomb to seize the levin bolt; 
 Treading the harvest with accursed foot 
 She burned the fruitful growth, and with her breath 
 Poisoned the air else pure. No prayer she breathed 
 Nor supplication to the gods, nor knew 
 The pulse of entrails : logs from flaming pyres 
 She loves to cast on altars of the gods, 
 And incense pilfered from the smoking tomb. 
 The gods at her first utterance grant her prayer 
 For things unlawful, lest they hear again 
 Its fearful accents: men whose limbs were quick 
 With vital power she thrust within the grave 
 Despite the fates who owed them years to come: 
 The funeral reversed brought from the tomb 
 Those who were dead no longer; and the pyre 
 Yields to her shameless clutch still smoking dust 
 And bones enkindled, torches which but now 
 Some grieving father held, and fragments mixed 
 In sable smoke and ceremental cloths 
 Singed with the redolent fire that burned the dead. 
 But those who lie within a stony cell 
 Untouched by fire, whose dried and mummied frames 
 No longer know corruption, limb by limb 
 Venting her rage she tears, the bloodless eyes 
 Drags from their cavities, and mauls the nail 
 Upon the withered hand: she gnaws the noose 
 By which some wretch has died, and from the tree 
 Drags down a pendent corpse, its members torn 
 Asunder to the winds: forth from the palms 
 Wrenches the iron, and from the unbending bond 
 Hangs by her teeth, and with her hands collects 
 The slimy gore which drips upon the limbs. 
 Where lay a corpse upon the naked earth 
 On ravening birds and beasts of prey the hag 
 Kept watch, nor marred by knife or hand her spoil, 
 Till on his victim seized some nightly wolf; 
 
 Then dragged the morsel from his thirsty fangs; 
 Nor fears she murder, if some banquet fell 
 Need blood fresh issued from the gaping throat, 
 Or panting entrail. By unnatural means 
 Wombs yield to her the infant to be placed 
 On glowing altars: and whene'er she needs 
 Some fierce undaunted ghost, he fails not her 
 Who has all deaths in use. Her hand has chased 
 From smiling cheeks the rosy bloom of life; 
 And with sinister hand from dying youth 
 Has shorn the fatal lock: and holding oft 
 In foul embraces some departed friend 
 Severed the head, and through the ghastly lips, 
 Held by her own apart, some impious tale 
 Dark with mysterious horror hath conveyed 
 Down to the darkness of the Stygian shades. 
 When Sextus first, through rumours of the place, 
 Heard of the hag, what time beneath the earth 
 Titan was wheeling at full height, and here 
 Night in mid course, in quest of her he trod 
 Through desert fields. Meanwhile a faithful band, 
 His ministers of guilt, mid tombs and vaults 
 All ruined wandering, beheld the witch 
 Seated afar upon a lofty crag 
 Where Haemus reaches out Pharsalian spurs. 
 
 There was she proving for her gods and priests 
 Of magic, words unknown, and framing chants 
 Of dire and novel purpose : for she feared 
 Lest Mars should stray into another world, 
 And spare Thessalian soil the blood ere long 
 To flow in torrents; and thus she forbade 
 
 Philippi 's field, polluted with her song, 
 Thick with her poisonous distilments sown, 
 To let the war pass by. Such deaths, she hopes, 
 Soon shall be hers! the blood of all the world 
 Shed for her use! to her it shall be given 
 To sever from their trunks the heads of kings, 
 Plunder the ashes of the noble dead, 
 
 Italia 's bravest, and in triumph add 
 The mightiest warriors to her host of shades. 
 This her sole toil, from Magnus' tombless corse 
 What she may snatch, on which of Caesar's limbs 
 Her grasp may fasten. 
 To whom the coward son 
 Of Magnus thus: 'Thou greatest ornament 
 Of Haemon's daughters, in whose power it lies 
 Or to reveal the fates, or from its course 
 'To turn the future, be it mine to know 
 'By thy sure utterance to what final end 
 'Fortune now guides the issue. Not the least 
 'Of all the Roman host on yonder plain 
 Am I, but Magnus' most illustrious son, 
 Lord of the world or heir to death and doom. 
 'The unknown affrights me: I can firmly face 
 The certain terror. Bid my destiny 
 Yield to thy power the dark and hidden end, 
 And let me fall foreknowing. From the gods 
 Extort the truth, or, if thou spare the gods, 
 Force it from hell itself. Fling back the gates 
 That bar th' Elysian fields; let Death confess 
 'Whom from our ranks he seeks. No humble task 
 I bring, but worthy of Erichtho's skill 
 Of such a struggle fought for such a prize 
 To search and tell the issue.' 
 Then the witch 
 Pleased that her impious fame was noised abroad 
 Thus made her answer : 'If some lesser fates 
 'Thy wish had been to change, against their wish 
 'It had been easy to compel the gods 
 'To its accomplishment. My art has power 
 When of one man the constellations press 
 The speedy death, to compass a delay;. 
 And mine it is, though every star decrees 
 A ripe old age, by mystic herbs to shear 
 The life midway. But should some purpose set 
 From the beginning of the universe, 
 And all the labouring fortunes of mankind, 
 'Be brought in question, then Thessalian art 
 'Bows to the power supreme. But if thou be 
 Content to know the issue pre-ordained, 
 'Simple the task and plain; for earth and air 
 And sea and space and Rhodopaean crags 
 'Shall speak the future. Yet it easiest seems 
 Where death in these Thessalian fields abounds 
 
 'To raise a single corpse. From dead men's lips 
 Scarce cold, in fuller accents falls the voice; 
 Not from some mummied frame in accents shrill 
 Uncertain to the ear.'
 
 
 Thus spake the hag 
 And through redoubled night, a squalid veil 
 Swathing her pallid features, stole among 
 Unburied carcases. Fast fled the wolves, 
 The carrion birds with maw unsatisfied 
 Relaxed their talons, as with creeping step 
 She sought her prophet. Firm must be the flesh 
 As yet, though cold in death, and firm the lungs 
 Untouched by wound. Now in the balance hung 
 The fates of slain unnumbered; had she striven 
 Armies to raise and order back to life 
 Whole ranks of warriors, the laws had failed 
 Of Erebus; and, summoned up from Styx , 
 Its ghostly tenants had obeyed her call, 
 And rising fought once more. At length the witch 
 Picks out her victim with pierced throat agape 
 Fit for her purpose. Gripped by pitiless hook 
 O'er rocks she drags him to the mountain cave 
 Accursed by her fell rites, that shall restore 
 The dead man's life. Close to the hidden brink 
 The land that girds the precipice of hell 
 Sinks towards the depths: with ever falling leaves 
 A wood o'ershadows, and a spreading yew 
 Casts shade impenetrable. Foul decay 
 Fills all the space, and in the deep recess 
 Darkness unbroken, save by chanted spells, 
 Reigns ever. Not where gape the misty jaws 
 Of caverned Taenarus, the gloomy bound 
 Of either world, through which the nether kings 
 Permit the passage of the dead to earth, 
 So poisonous, mephitic, hangs the air. 
 Nay, though the witch had power to call the shades 
 Forth from the depths, 'twas doubtful if the cave 
 Were not a part of hell. Discordant hues 
 Flamed on her garb as by a fury worn; 
 Bare was her visage, and upon her brow 
 Dread vipers hissed, beneath her streaming locks 
 In sable coils entwined. But when she saw 
 The youth's companions trembling, and himself 
 With eyes cast down, with visage as of death, 
 Thus spake the witch: ' Forbid your craven souls 
 'These fears to cherish: soon returning life 
 'This frame shall quicken, and in tones which reach 
 Even the timorous ear shall speak the man. 
 'If I have power the Stygian lakes to show, 
 The bank that sounds with fire, the fury band, 
 'And giants fettered, and the hound that shakes 
 'Bristling with heads of snakes his triple head, 
 What fear is this that cringes at the sight 
 Of timid shivering shades? ' 
 Then to her prayer. 
 First through his gaping bosom blood she pours 
 Still fervent, washing from his wounds the gore. 
 Then copious poisons from the moon distils 
 Mixed with all monstrous things which Nature's pangs 
 Bring to untimely birth; the froth from dogs 
 Stricken with madness, foaming at the stream; 
 A lynx's entrails: and the knot that grows 
 Upon the fell hyaena; flesh of stags 
 Fed upon serpents; and the sucking fish 
 Which holds the vessel back though eastern winds 
 Make bend the canvas; dragon's eyes; and stones 
 That sound beneath the brooding eagle's wings. 
 Nor Araby 's viper, nor the ocean snake 
 Who in the Red Sea waters guards the shell, 
 Are wanting; nor the slough on Libyan sands 
 By horned reptile cast; nor ashes fail 
 Snatched from an altar where the Phoenix died. 
 And viler poisons many, which herself 
 Has made, she adds, whereto no name is given: 
 Pestiferous leaves pregnant with magic chants 
 And blades of grass which in their primal growth 
 Her cursed mouth had slimed. Last came her voice 
 More potent than all herbs to charm the gods 
 Who rule in Lethe. Dissonant murmurs first 
 And sounds discordant from the tongues of men 
 She utters, scarce articulate: the bay 
 Of wolves, and barking as of dogs, were mixed 
 With that fell chant; the screech of nightly owl 
 Raising her hoarse complaint; the howl of beast 
 And sibilant hiss of snake-all these were there; 
 And more-the wail of waters on the rock, 
 The sound of forests and the thunder peal. 
 Such was her voice; but soon in clearer tones 
 Reaching to Tartarus, she raised her song: 
 ' Ye awful goddesses, avenging power 
 ' Of Hell upon the damned, and Chaos huge 
 ' Who striv'st to mix innumerable worlds, 
 ' And Pluto, king of earth, whose weary soul 
 ' Grieves at his godhead; Styx ; and plains of bliss 
 ' We may not enter: and thou, Proserpine, 
 ' Hating thy mother and the skies above, 
 ' My patron goddess, last and lowest form 
 
 ' Of Hecate, through whom the shades and I 
 ' Hold silent converse; warder of the gate 
 ' Who castest human offal to the dog: 
 ' Ye sisters who shall spin the threads again; 
 
 ' And thou, O boatman of the burning wave, 
 ' Now wearied of the shades from hell to me 
 ' Returning, hear me if with voice I cry 
 ' Abhorred, polluted; if the flesh of man 
 ' Hath ne'er been absent from my proffered song, 
 Flesh washed with brains still quivering; if the child 
 Whose severed head I placed upon the dish 
 But for this hand had lived-a listening ear 
 Lend to my supplication! From the caves 
 'Hid in the innermost recess of hell 
 ' I claim no soul long banished from the light. 
 ' For one but now departed, lingering still 
 ' Upon the brink of Orcus, is my prayer. 
 Grant (for ye may) that listening to the spell 
 'Once more he seek his dust; and let the shade 
 Of this our soldier perished (if the war 
 Well at your hands has merited), proclaim 
 The destiny of Magnus to his son.' 
 Such prayers she uttered; then upraised her head 
 And foaming lips, and present saw the ghost. 
 Hard by he stood, beside the hated corpse 
 His ancient prison, and loathed to enter in. 
 There was the yawning chest where fell the blow 
 That was his death; and yet the gift supreme 
 Of death, his right, (Ah, wretch! ) was reft away. 
 Angered at Death the witch, and at the pause 
 Conceded by the fates, with living snake 
 Scourges the nerveless corse; and on the dead 
 She barks through fissures gaping to her song, 
 Breaking the silence of their gloomy home: 
 ' Tisiphone, Megaera, heed ye not? 
 Flies not this wretched soul before your whips 
 ' The void of Erebus? By your very names, 
 ' She-dogs of hell, I'll call you to the day, 
 Not to return; through sepulchres and death 
 Your gaoler: from funereal urns and tombs 
 I'll chase you forth. And thou, too, Hecate, 
 Who to the gods in comely shape and mien, 
 Not that of Erebus, appear'st, henceforth 
 Wasted and pallid as thou art in hell 
 'At my command shalt come. I'll noise abroad 
 The banquet that beneath the solid earth 
 Holds thee, thou maid of Enna ; by what bond 
 'Thou lov'st night's King, by what mysterious stain 
 Infected, so that Ceres fears from hell 
 'To call her daughter. And for thee, base king, 
 'Titan shall pierce thy caverns with his rays 
 And sudden day shall smite thee. Do ye hear? 
 'Or shall I summon to mine aid that god 
 'At whose dread name earth trembles; who can look 
 Unflinching on the Gorgon's head, and drive 
 'The Furies with his scourge, who holds the depths 
 ' Ye cannot fathom, and above whose haunts 
 Ye dwell supernal; who by waves of Styx 
 
 Forswears himself unpunished? '
 
 
 Then the blood 
 Grew warm and liquid, and with softening touch 
 Cherished the stiffened wounds and filled the veins, 
 Till throbbed once more the slow returning pulse 
 And every fibre trembled, as with death 
 Life was commingled. Then, not limb by limb, 
 With toil and strain, but rising at a bound 
 Leaped from the earth erect the living man. 
 Fierce glared his eyes uncovered, and the life 
 Was dim, and still upon his face remained 
 The pallid hues of hardly parted death. 
 Amazement seized upon him, to the earth 
 Brought back again: but from his lips tight drawn 
 No murmur issued; he had power alone 
 When questioned to reply. 'Speak,' quoth the hag, 
 As I shall bid thee; great shall be thy gain 
 If true thine answers, freed for evermore 
 From all Haemonian art. Such burial place 
 Shall now be thine, and on thy funeral pyre 
 Such fatal woods shall burn, such chant shall sound, 
 'That to thy ghost no more or magic song 
 Or spell shall reach, and thy Lethaean sleep 
 Shall never more be broken in a death 
 ' From me received anew: for such reward 
 ' Think not this second life enforced in vain. 
 ' Obscure may be the answers of the gods 
 ' By priestess spoken at the holy shrine; 
 ' But whoso braves the oracles of death 
 ' In search of truth, should gain a sure response. 
 ' Then speak, I pray thee. Let the hidden fates 
 ' Tell through thy voice the mysteries to come.' 
 Thus spake she, and her words by mystic force 
 Gave him his answer; but with gloomy mien, 
 And tears swift flowing, thus he made reply: 
 'Called from the margin of the silent stream 
 I saw no fateful sisters spin the threads. 
 'Yet know I this, that 'mid the Roman shades 
 'Reigns fiercest discord; and this impious war 
 'Destroys the peace that ruled the fields of death. 
 'Elysian meads and deeps of Tartarus 
 'In paths diverse the Roman chieftains leave 
 'And thus disclose the fates. The blissful ghosts 
 Bear visages of sorrow. Sire and son 
 'The Decii, who gave themselves to death 
 'In expiation of their country's doom, 
 'And great Camillus , wept; and Sulla's shade 
 'Complained of fortune. Scipio bewailed 
 'The scion of his race about to fall 
 ' In sands of Libya : Cato , greatest foe 
 ' To Carthage, grieves for that indignant soul 
 ' Which shall disdain to serve. Brutus alone 
 ' In all the happy ranks I smiling saw, 
 ' First consul when the kings were thrust from Rome . 
 ' The chains were fallen from boastful Catiline. 
 ' Him too I saw rejoicing, and the pair 
 ' Of Marii, and Cethegus' naked arm. 
 
 ' The Drusi, heroes of the people, joyed, 
 ' In laws immoderate; and the famous pair 
 
 ' Of greatly daring brothers: guilty bands 
 ' By bars eternal shut within the doors 
 ' That close the prison of hell, applaud the fates, 
 'Claiming the plains Elysian: and the King 
 ' Throws wide his pallid halls, makes hard the points 
 ' Of craggy rocks, and forges iron chains, 
 ' The victor's punishment. But take with thee 
 'This comfort, youth, that there a calm abode, 
 ' And peaceful, waits thy father and his house. 
 ' Nor let the glory of a little span 
 ' Disturb thy boding heart: the hour shall come 
 ' When all the chiefs shall meet. Shrink not from death, 
 ' But glorying in the greatness of your souls, 
 ' E'en from your humble sepulchres descend, 
 ' And tread beneath your feet, in pride of place, 
 ' The wandering phantoms of the gods of Rome . 
 
 ' Which chieftain's tomb by Tiber shall be laved, 
 ' And which by Nile ; their fate, and theirs alone, 
 ' This battle shall decide. Nor seek to know 
 ' From me thy fortunes: for the fates in time 
 ' Shall give thee all thy due; and thy great sire, 
 
 ' A surer prophet, in Sicilian fields 
 'Shall speak thy future-doubting even he 
 ' What regions of the world thou shouldst avoid 
 ' And what shouldst seek. O miserable race! 
 ' Europe and Asia and Libya 's plains, 
 
 ' Which saw your conquests, now shall hold alike 
 ' Your burial-place-nor has the earth for you 
 ' A happier land than this.' 
 His task performed, 
 He stands in mournful guise, with silent look 
 Asking for death again; yet could not die 
 Till mystic herb and magic chant prevailed. 
 For nature's law, once used, had power no more 
 To slay the corpse and set the spirit free. 
 With plenteous wood she builds the funeral pyre 
 To which the dead man comes: then as the flames 
 Seized on his form outstretched, the youth and witch 
 Together sought the camp; and as the dawn 
 Now streaked the heavens, by the hag's command 
 The day was stayed till Sextus reached his tent, 
 And mist and darkness veiled his safe return.

NE'ER to the summons of the Eternal laws 
 More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds, 
 Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven, 
 With gloomier presage; wishing to endure 
 The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse; 
 And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames, 
 
 But lest his light upon Thessalian earth 
 Might fall undimmed. 
 Pompeius on that morn, 
 To him the latest day of happy life, 
 In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived. 
 For in the watches of the night he heard 
 Innumerable Romans shout his name 
 Within his theatre; the benches vied 
 To raise his fame and place him with the gods; 
 As once in youth, when victory was won 
 O'er conquered tribes whom swift Iberus girds, 
 
 And when Sertorius' armies fought and fled, 
 He sat triumphant for the west subdued, 
 In pure white gown, and heard the Senate cheer; 
 No less majestic as a Roman knight 
 Than had the purple robe adorned his car. 
 Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul, 
 Shunning the future, wooed the happy past; 
 Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed 
 That which was not to be, by doubtful forms 
 Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade 
 Return to Italy , this glimpse of Rome 
 
 Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep, 
 Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call 
 Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night 
 Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war 
 Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou 
 The poor man's happiness of sleep regain? 
 Happy if thus, e'en thus, thy Rome could see 
 Once more her captain! Would the gods had given 
 To thee and to thy country one day yet 
 To reap the latest fruit of such a love: 
 Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on 
 As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die; 
 She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee 
 Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed 
 Such evil destiny, that she should lose 
 The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb. 
 Then young and old had blent their tears for thee, 
 And child unbidden; women torn their hair 
 And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead. 
 E'en now though trembling at the victor's sword, 
 Though cruel Caesar herald thy defeat, 
 Yet shall they grieve, while at the Thunderer's throne 
 They offer incense and the laurel wreath. 
 Ah, wretched fate! In silence must they groan; 
 Nor in that theatre which heard thy praise 
 Proclaim their sorrow for Pompeius dead. 
 The stars had fled before the growing morn, 
 When eager voices (as the fates drew on 
 The world to ruin) round Pompeius' tent 
 Ask for the signal. What! shall those condemned 
 To die ere fall of eve, provoke the hour 
 Of hastening death, demand the fatal doom 
 Their own, their country's? 'Magnus fears,' they cry, 
 He's patient of his kinsman, slow to strike, 
 'And fondly holds beneath his sway the world; 
 'So dreads a peace.' And kings from Orient lands, 
 And peoples, eager for their distant homes, 
 Already murmured at the lengthy war. 
 Thus has it pleased the gods, when woe impends 
 On guilty men, to make them seem its cause. 
 We court disaster, crave the fatal sword. 
 Of Magnus' camp Pharsalia was the prayer; 
 For Tullius, of all the sons of Rome 
 
 Chief orator, beneath whose civil rule 
 Fierce Catiline at the peace-compelling axe 
 Trembled and fled, arose, to Magnus' ear 
 Bearing the voice of all. To him was war 
 Grown hateful, and he longed once more to hear 
 The Senate's plaudits; and with eloquent lips 
 He lent persuasion to the weaker cause. 
 Fortune, Pompeius, for her gifts to thee 
 'Asks this one boon, that thou shouldst use her now. 
 Here at thy feet thy leading captains lie; 
 ' And here thy monarchs, and a suppliant world 
 ' Entreats thee prostrate for thy kinsman's fall. 
 ' So long shall Caesar plunge the world in war? 
 ' Swift was thy tread when these proud nations fell; 
 ' How deep their shame, and justly, should delay 
 'Now mar thy conquests! Where thy trust in Fate, 
 Thy fervour where? Ingrate! Dost dread the gods, 
 ' Or think they favour not the Senate's cause? 
 ' Thy troops unbidden shall the standards seize 
 ' And conquer; thou in shame be forced to win. 
 ' If at the Senate's orders and for us 
 ' The war is waged, then give to us the right 
 ' To choose the battle-field. Why dost thou keep 
 ' From Caesar's throat the swords of all the world? 
 ' The weapon quivers in the eager hand: 
 ' Scarce one awaits the signal. Strike at once, 
 ' Or without thee the trumpets sound the frav. 
 ' Art thou the Senate's comrade or her lord? 
 ' We wait your answer.' 
 But Pompeius groaned; 
 His mind was adverse, but he felt the fates 
 Opposed his wish, and knew the hand divine.
 
 
 'Since all desire it, and the fates prevail, 
 ' So let it be; your leader now no more, 
 ' I share the labours of the battle-field. 
 ' Let Fortune roll the nations of the earth 
 ' In one red ruin; myriads of mankind 
 ' See their last sun to-day. Yet, Rome , I swear, 
 ' This day of blood was forced upon thy son. 
 ' Without a wound, the prizes of the war 
 ' Might have been thine, and he who broke the peace 
 ' In peace forgotten. Whence this lust for crime? 
 ' Shall bloodless victories in civil war 
 ' Be shunned, not sought? We've ravished from our foe 
 All boundless seas, and land; his starving troops 
 ' Have snatched earth's crop half-grown, in vain attempt 
 ' Their hunger to appease; they prayed for death, 
 ' Sought for the sword-thrust, and within our ranks 
 ' Were fain to mix their life-blood with your own. 
 ' Much of the war is done: the conscript youth 
 ' Whose heart beats high, who burns to join the fray 
 ' (Though men fight hard in terror of defeat), 
 ' The shock of onset need no longer fear. 
 ' Bravest is he who promptly meets the ill 
 ' When fate commands it and the moment comes, 
 Yet brooks delay, in prudence; and shall we, 
 ' Our happy state enjoying, risk it all? 
 ' Trust to the sword the fortunes of the world? 
 ' Not victory, but battle, ye demand. 
 ' Do thou, O Fortune, of the Roman state 
 ' Who mad'st Pompeius guardian, from his hands 
 ' Take back the charge grown weightier, and thyself 
 ' Commit its safety to the chance of war. 
 · Nor blame nor glory shall be mine to-day. 
 'Thy prayers unjustly, Caesar, have prevailed: 
 ' We fight! What wickedness, what woes on men, 
 ' Destruction on what realms this dawn shall bring! 
 ' Crimson with Roman blood yon stream shall run. 
 ' Would that (without the ruin of our cause) 
 ' The first fell bolt hurled on this cursed day 
 ' Might strike me lifeless! Victory to me 
 ' Were not more joyful, for this battle brings 
 ' A name of pity or a name of hate. 
 ' The loser bears the burden of defeat; 
 ' The victor wins, but conquest is a crime.' 
 Thus to the soldiers, burning for the fray, 
 He yields, forbidding, and throws down the reins. 
 So may a sailor give the winds control 
 Upon his barque, which, driven by the seas, 
 Bears him an idle burden. Now the camp 
 Hums with impatience, and the brave man's heart 
 With beats tumultuous throbs against his breast; 
 And all the host had standing in their looks 
 The paleness of the death that was to come. 
 
 On that day's fight 'twas manifest that Rome 
 
 And all the future destinies of man 
 Hung trembling; and by weightier dread possessed, 
 They knew not danger. Who would fear for self 
 Should ocean rise and whelm the mountain tops, 
 And sun and sky descend upon the earth 
 In universal chaos? Every mind 
 Is bent upon Pompeius, and on Rome . 
 They trust no sword until its deadly point 
 Glows on the sharpening stone; no lance will serve 
 Till straightened for the fray; each bow is strung 
 Anew, and arrows chosen for their work 
 Fill all the quivers; horsemen try the curb 
 And fit the bridle rein and whet the spur. 
 If toils divine with human may compare, 
 'Twas thus, when Phlegra bore the giant crew, 
 
 In Etna 's furnace glowed the sword of Mars, 
 Neptunus' trident felt the flame once more; 
 And great Apollo after Python slain 
 Sharpened his darts afresh: on Pallas' shield 
 Was spread anew the dread Medusa's hair; 
 And for the battle in Pallene 's fields 
 The Cyclops forged new thunderbolts for Jove. 
 Yet Fortune failed not, as they sought the field, 
 In various presage of the ills to come; 
 All heaven opposed their march: portentous fire 
 In columns filled the plain, and torches blazed: 
 And thirsty whirlwinds mixed with meteor bolts 
 Smote on them as they strode, whose sulphurous flames 
 Perplexed the vision. Crests were struck from helms; 
 The melted sword-blade flowed upon the hilt: 
 The spear ran liquid, and the hurtful steel 
 Smoked with a sulphur that had come from heaven. 
 Nay, more, the standards, hid by swarms of bees 
 Innumerable, weighed the bearer down, 
 Scarce lifted from the earth; bedewed with tears; 
 No more of Rome the standards, or her state. 
 And from the altar fled the frantic bull 
 To fields afar; nor was a victim found 
 To grace the sacrifice of coming doom. 
 But thou, O Caesar, to what gods of ill 
 Didst thou appeal? What furies didst thou call, 
 What powers of madness and what Stygian Kings 
 Whelmed in th' abyss of hell? Didst favour gain 
 By sacrifice in this thine impious war? 
 Strange sights were seen; or caused by hands divine 
 Or due to fearful fancy. Haemus ' top 
 Plunged headlong in the valley, Pindus met 
 With high Olympus , while at Ossa's feet 
 Red ran Boebeis, and Pharsalia's field 
 Gave warlike voices as in depth of night. 
 Now darkness came upon their wondering gaze, 
 Now daylight pale and wan, their helmets wreathed 
 In pallid mist; the spirits of their sires 
 Hovered in air, and shades of kindred dead 
 Passed flitting through the gloom. Yet had the host, 
 Conscious of guilty prayers, and of the hope 
 To do to death their brothers and their sires, 
 One solace: that they found in hearts amazed 
 With horrors, and in earth and air distraught, 
 A happy omen of the crimes to come. 
 Was't strange that peoples whom their latest day 
 Of happy life awaited (if the mind 
 Of man foreknows) should tremble with affright? 
 Romans who dwelt by far Araxes' stream, 
 And Tyrian Gades , in whatever clime, 
 'Neath every sky, struck by mysterious dread 
 Were plunged in sorrow-yet rebuked the tear, 
 For yet they knew not of the fatal day. 
 Thus on Euganean hills where sulphurous fumes 
 Disclose the rise of Aponus from earth, 
 And where Timavus broadens in the meads, 
 An augur spake: 'The last great day is come; 
 ' To-day in battle meet the impious arms 
 ' Of Caesar and of Magnus.' Or he saw 
 The bolts of Jupiter , predicting ill; 
 Or else the sky discordant o'er the space 
 Of heaven, from pole to pole; or else perchance 
 The sun was sad and misty in the height 
 And told the battle by his wasted beams. 
 By Nature's fiat that Thessalian day 
 Passed not as others; if the gifted sense 
 Of reading portents had been given to all, 
 All men had known Pharsalia. Gods of heaven! 
 How do ye mark the great ones of the earth! 
 The world gives tokens of their weal or woe; 
 The sky records their fates: in distant climes 
 To future races shall their tale be told, 
 Or by the fame alone of mighty deeds 
 Had in remembrance, or by this my care 
 Borne through the centuries: and men shall read 
 In hope and fear the story of the war 
 And breathless pray, as though it were to come, 
 For that long since accomplished; and for thee 
 E'en then, Pompeius, shall that prayer be given.
 
 
 Reflected from their arms, th' opposing sun 
 Filled all the slope with radiance as they marched 
 In ordered ranks to that ill-fated fight, 
 And stood arranged for battle. On the left 
 Thou, Lentulus, hadst charge; two legions there, 
 The fourth, and bravest of them all, the first: 
 While on the right, Domitius, ever stanch, 
 Though fates be adverse, stood: in middle line 
 The hardy soldiers from Cilician lands, 
 In Scipio's care; their chief in Libyan days, 
 To-day their comrade. By Enipeus' pools 
 And by the rivulets, the mountain troops 
 Of Cappadocia , and loose of rein 
 Thy squadrons, Pontus : on the firmer ground 
 
 Galatia 's tetrarchs and the greater kings; 
 And all the purple-robed, the slaves of Rome . 
 Numidian hordes were there from Afric shores, 
 There Creta 's host and Ituraeans found 
 Full space to wing their arrows; there the tribes 
 From brave Iberia clashed their shields, and there 
 
 Gaul stood arrayed against her ancient foe. 
 Let all the nations be the victor's prize, 
 None grace in future a triumphal car; 
 This fight demands the slaughter of a world. 
 Caesar that day to send his troops for spoil 
 Had left his tent, when on the further hill 
 Behold! his foe descending to the plain. 
 The moment asked for by a thousand prayers 
 Is come, which puts his fortune on the risk 
 Of imminent war, to win or lose it all. 
 For burning with desire of kingly power 
 His eager soul ill brooked the small delay 
 This civil war compelled: each instant lost 
 Robbed from his due! But when at length he knew 
 The last great conflict come, the fight supreme, 
 Whose prize the leadership of all the world: 
 And felt the ruin nodding to its fall: 
 Swiftest to strike, yet for a little space 
 His rage for battle failed; the spirit bold 
 To pledge itself the issue, wavered now: 
 For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope, 
 Though Caesar's none for fear. Deep in his soul 
 Such doubt was hidden, as to rouse the throng 
 He spake of victory: ' Ye men of Rome 
 
 ' Who made my fortunes, host that won the world! 
 'Prayed for so oft, the dawn of fight is come. 
 'No more entreat the gods: with sword in hand 
 'Seize on our fates; and Caesar in your deeds 
 This day is great or little. This the day 
 'For which I hold since Rubicon was passed 
 Your promise given: for this we flew to arms: 
 
 'For this deferred the triumphs which we won, 
 'And which the foe forbad : this gives you back 
 ' Your homes and kindred, and the peaceful farm, 
 ' Your prize for years of service in the field. 
 ' And by the fates' command this day shall prove 
 ' Whose quarrel juster: for defeat is guilt 
 
 ' To him on whom it falls. If in my cause 
 ' With fire and sword ye did your country wrong, 
 ' Strike for acquittal! Should another judge 
 ' This war, not Caesar, none were blameless found. 
 ' Not for my sake this battle, but for you, 
 ' To give you, soldiers, liberty and law 
 'Gainst all the world. Wishful myself for life 
 ' Apart from public cares, and for the gown 
 ' That robes the private citizen, I refuse 
 ' To yield from office till the law allows 
 ' Your right in all things. On my shoulders rest 
 ' All blame; all power be yours. Nor deep the blood 
 ' Between yourselves and conquest. Grecian schools 
 ' Of exercise and wrestling send us here 
 ' Their chosen darlings to await your swords; 
 ' And scarcely armed for war, a dissonant crowd 
 ' Barbaric, that will start to hear our trump, 
 ' Nay, their own clamour. Not in civil strife 
 ' Your blows shall fall-the battle of to-day 
 ' Sweeps from the earth the enemies of Rome . 
 ' Dash through these cowards and their vaunted kings: 
 ' One stroke of sword and all the world is yours. 
 ' Make plain to all men that the crowds who decked 
 'Pompeius' hundred pageants scarce were fit 
 'For one poor triumph. Shall Armenia care 
 'Who leads her masters, or barbarians shed 
 'One drop of blood to make Pompeius chief 
 'O'er our Italia ? Rome , 'tis Rome they hate, 
 'Their lord and master: yet they hate the most 
 'Those whom they know. My fate is in the hands 
 'Of you, mine own true soldiers, proved in all 
 'The wars we fought in Gallia . When the sword 
 'Of each of you shall strike, I know the hand: 
 'The javelin's flight to me betrays the arm 
 'That launched it hurtling: and to-day once more 
 'I see the faces stern, the threatening eyes, 
 'Unfailing proofs of victory to come. 
 'E'en now the battle rushes on my sight; 
 'Kings trodden down and scattered senators 
 'Fill all th' ensanguined plain, and peoples float 
 'Unnumbered on the crimson tide of death. 
 'Enough of words-I but delay the fates; 
 'And you who burn to dash into the fray, 
 'Forgive the pause. I tremble with the hope 
 
 'Thus finding utterance. I ne'er have seen 
 'The mighty gods so near; this little field 
 'Alone dividing us; their hands are full 
 'Of my predestined honours: for 'tis I 
 'Who when this war is done shall have the power 
 'O'er all that peoples, all that kings enjoy 
 'To shower it where I will. But has the sky 
 'Swerved from its course, has some high star of heaven 
 'Turned backwards, that such mighty deeds should pass 
 'Here on Thessalian earth? To-day we reap 
 ' Of all our wars the harvest or the doom. 
 ' Think of the cross that threats us, and the chain, 
 ' Limbs hacked asunder, Caesar's head displayed 
 ' Upon the rostra; and that narrow field 
 ' Piled up with slaughter: for this hostile chief 
 ' Is savage Sulla's pupil. 'Tis for you, 
 ' If conquered, that I grieve: my lot apart 
 ' Is cast long since. This sword, should one of you 
 ' Turn from the battle ere the foe be fled, 
 ' Shall rob the life of Caesar. O ye gods, 
 ' Drawn down from heaven by the throes of Rome , 
 ' May he be conqueror who shall not draw 
 ' Against the vanquished an inhuman sword, 
 ' Nor count it as a crime if men of Rome 
 
 ' Preferred another's standard to his own. 
 ' Pompeius' sword drank deep Italian blood 
 'When cabined in yon space the brave man's arm 
 ' No more found room to strike. But you, I pray, 
 ' Touch not the foe who turns him from the fight, 
 ' A fellow citizen, a foe no more. 
 ' But while the gleaming weapons threaten still, 
 ' Let no fond memories unnerve the arm, 
 
 ' No pious thought of father or of kin; 
 ' But full in face of brother or of sire, 
 ' Drive home the blade: of victims e'en unknown 
 ' Your foes account the slaughter as a crime. 
 ' Spare not our camp, but lay the rampart low 
 ' And fill the fosse with ruin; not a man 
 ' But holds his post within the ranks to-day. 
 ' And yonder tents, deserted by the foe, 
 ' Shall give us shelter when the rout is done.' 
 Scarce had he paused; they snatch the hasty meal, 
 And seize their armour and with swift acclaim 
 Welcome the chief's predictions of the day, 
 Tread low their camp when rushing to the fight; 
 And take their post: nor word nor order given, 
 In fate they put their trust. Nor, hadst thou placed 
 All Caesars there, all striving for the throne 
 Of Rome their city, had their serried ranks 
 With speedier tread dashed down upon the foe.
 
 
 But when Pompeius saw the hostile troops 
 Move forth in order and demand the fight, 
 And knew the gods' approval of the day, 
 He stood astonied, while a deadly chill 
 Struck to his heart-omen itself of woe, 
 That such a chief should at the call to arms, 
 Thus dread the issue: but with fear repressed, 
 Borne on his noble steed along the line 
 Of all his forces, thus he spake: ' The day 
 'Your bravery demands, that final end 
 Of civil war ye asked for, is at hand. 
 Put forth your strength, your all; the sword to-day 
 Does its last work. One crowded hour is charged 
 With nations' destinies. Whoe'er of you 
 Longs for his land and home, his wife and child, 
 Seek them with sword. Here in mid battle-field, 
 The gods place all at stake. Our better right 
 Bids us expect their favour; they shall dip 
 Your brands in Caesar's blood, and thus shall give 
 Another sanction to the laws of Rome , 
 Our cause of battle. If for him were meant 
 An empire o'er the world, had they not put 
 An end to Magnus' life? That I am chief 
 Of all these mingled peoples and of Rome 
 
 Disproves an angry heaven. See here combined 
 'All means of victory. Noble men have sought 
 'Unasked the risks of war. Our soldiers boast 
 'Ancestral statues. If to us were given 
 'A Curius, if Camillus were returned, 
 Or patriot Decius to devote his life, 
 'Here would they take their stand. From furthest east 
 'All nations gathered, cities as the sand 
 'Unnumbered, give their aid: a world complete 
 'Serves 'neath our standards. North and south and all 
 'Who have their being 'neath the starry vault, 
 'Here meet in arms conjoined: and shall we not 
 Crush with our closing wings this paltry foe? 
 'Few shall find room to strike; the rest with voice 
 'Must be content to aid: for Caesar's ranks 
 'Suffice not for us. Think from Rome 's high walls 
 ' The matrons watch you with their hair unbound; 
 ' Think that the Senate hoar, too old for arms, 
 ' With snowy locks outspread; and Rome herself, 
 ' The world's high mistress, fearing now, alas! 
 ' A despot-all exhort you to the fight. 
 ' Think that the people that is and that shall be 
 'Joins in the prayer-in freedom to be born, 
 ' In freedom die, their wish. If 'mid these vows 
 ' Be still found place for mine, with wife and child, 
 ' So far as Imperator may, I bend 
 ' Before you suppliant-unless this fight 
 ' Be won, behold me exile, your disgrace, 
 ' My kinsman's scorn. From this, 'tis yours to save. 
 ' Then save! Nor in the latest stage of life, 
 ' Let Magnus be a slave.' 
 Then burned their souls 
 At these his words, indignant at the thought, 
 And Rome rose up within them, and to die 
 Was welcome. 
 Thus alike with hearts aflame 
 Moved either host to battle, one in fear 
 And one in hope of empire. These hands shall do 
 Such work as not the rolling centuries, 
 Not all mankind, though free from sword and war, 
 Shall e'er make good. Nations that were to live 
 This fight shall crush, and peoples pre-ordained 
 To make the history of the coming world 
 Shall come not to the birth. The Latin names 
 Shall sound as fables in the ears of men, 
 And ruins loaded with the dust of years 
 Shall hardly mark her cities. Alba's hill, 
 Home of our gods, no human foot shall tread, 
 Save of some Senator at the nightly feast 
 By Numa's orders founded-he compelled 
 Serves his high office. Void and desolate 
 Are Veii , Cora and Laurentum's hold; 
 Yet not the tooth of envious time destroyed 
 These storied monuments-'twas civil war 
 That rased their citadels. Where now has fled 
 The teeming life that once Italia knew? 
 Not all the earth can furnish her with men: 
 Untenanted her dwellings and her fields: 
 Slaves till her soil: one city holds us all: 
 Crumbling to ruin, the ancestral roof 
 Finds none on whom to fall; and Rome herself, 
 Void of her citizens, draws within her gates 
 The dregs of all the world. That none might wage 
 A civil war again, thus deeply drank 
 Pharsalia's fight the life-blood of her sons. 
 Dark in the calendar of Rome for aye, 
 The days when Allia and Cannae fell: 
 And shall Pharsalus ' morn, darkest of all, 
 Stand on the page unmarked? Alas, the fates! 
 Not plague nor pestilence nor famine's rage, 
 Not cities given to the flames, nor towns 
 Trembling at shock of earthquake shall weigh down 
 Such heroes lost, when Fortune's ruthless hand 
 Lops at one blow the gift of centuries, 
 Leaders and men embattled. How great art thou, 
 
 Rome , in thy fall! Stretched to the widest bounds 
 War upon war laid nations at thy feet 
 Till flaming Titan nigh to either pole 
 Beheld thine empire; and the furthest east 
 Was almost thine, till day and night and sky 
 For thee revolved, and all the stars could see 
 Throughout their course was Roman. But the fates 
 In one dread day of slaughter and despair 
 Turned back the centuries and spoke thy doom. 
 And now the Indian fears the axe no more 
 Once emblem of thy power, now no more 
 The girded Consul curbs the Getan horde, 
 Or in Sarmatian furrows guides the share: 
 
 Still Parthia boasts her triumphs unavenged: 
 Foul is the public life; and Freedom, fled 
 To furthest Earth beyond the Tigris stream, 
 And Rhine 's broad river, wandering at her will 
 'Mid Teuton hordes and Scythian, though by sword 
 Sought, yet returns not. Would that from the day 
 When Romulus, aided by the vulture's flight, 
 Ill-omened, raised within that hateful grove 
 
 Rome 's earliest walls, down to the crimsoned field 
 In dire Thessalia fought, she ne'er had known 
 
 Italia 's peoples! Did the Bruti strike 
 In vain for liberty? Why laws and rights 
 Sanctioned by all the annals designate 
 With consular titles? Happier far the Medes 
 And blest Arabia , and the Eastern lands 
 Held by a kindlier fate in despot rule! 
 That nation serves the worst which serves with shame. 
 No guardian gods watch over us from heaven: 
 Jove is no king; let ages whirl along 
 In blind confusion: from his throne supreme 
 Shall he behold such carnage and restrain 
 His thunderbolts? On Mimas shall he hurl 
 His fires, on Rhodope and OEta's woods 
 Unmeriting such chastisement, and leave 
 This life to Cassius' hand? On Argos fell 
 At grim Thyestes' feast untimely night 
 By him thus hastened; shall Thessalia 's land 
 Receive full daylight, wielding kindred swords 
 In fathers' hands and brothers'? Careless of men 
 Are all the gods. Yet for this day of doom 
 Such vengeance have we reaped as deities 
 May give to mortals; for these wars shall raise 
 Our parted Caesars to the gods; and Rome 
 
 Shall deck their effigies with thunderbolts, 
 And stars and rays, and in the very fanes 
 Swear by the shades of men.
 
 
 With swift advance 
 They seize the space that yet delays the fates 
 Till short the span dividing. Then they gaze 
 For one short moment where may fall the spear, 
 What hand may deal their death, what monstrous task 
 Soon shall be theirs; and all in arms they see, 
 In reach of stroke, their brothers and their sires 
 With front opposing; yet to yield their ground 
 It pleased them not. But all the host was dumb 
 With horror; cold upon each loving heart, 
 Awe-struck, the life-blood pressed; and all men held 
 With arms outstretched their javelins for a time, 
 Poised yet unthrown. Now may th' avenging gods 
 Allot thee, Crastinus, not such a death 
 As all men else do suffer! In the tomb 
 May'st thou have feeling and remembrance still! 
 For thine the hand that first flung forth the dart, 
 Which stained with Roman blood Thessalia 's earth. 
 Madman! To speed thy lance when Caesar's self 
 Still held his hand! Then from the clarions broke 
 The strident summons, and the trumpets blared 
 Responsive signal. Upward to the vault 
 The sound re-echoes where nor clouds may reach 
 Nor thunder penetrate; and Haemus ' slopes 
 
 Reverberate to Pelion the din; 
 Pindus re-echoes; OEta's lofty rocks 
 Groan, and Pangaean cliffs, till at their rage 
 Borne back from all the earth they shook for fear. 
 Unnumbered darts they hurl, with prayers diverse; 
 Some hope to wound: others, in secret, yearn 
 For hands still innocent. Chance rules supreme, 
 And wayward Fortune upon whom she wills 
 Makes fall the guilt. Yet, for the hatred bred 
 By civil war suffices spear nor lance, 
 Urged on their flight afar: the hand must grip 
 The sword and drive it to the foeman's heart. 
 But while Pompeius' ranks, shield wedged to shield, 
 Were ranged in dense array, and scarce had space 
 To draw the blade, came rushing at the charge 
 Full on the central column Caesar's host, 
 Mad for the battle. Man nor arms could stay 
 The crash of onset, and the furious sword 
 Clove through the stubborn panoply to the flesh, 
 There only stayed. One army struck-their foes 
 Struck not in answer; Magnus' swords were cold, 
 But Caesar's reeked with slaughter and with guilt. 
 Nor Fortune lingered, but decreed the doom 
 Which swept the ruins of a world away. 
 Soon as withdrawn from all the spacious plain, 
 Pompeius' horse was ranged upon the flanks; 
 Passed through the outer files, the lighter armed 
 Of all the nations joined the central strife, 
 With divers weapons armed, but all for blood 
 Of Rome athirst: then blazing torches flew, 
 Arrows and stones, and ponderous balls of lead 
 Molten by speed of passage through the air. 
 There Ituraean archers and the Mede 
 
 Winged forth their shafts unaimed, till all the sky 
 Grew dark with missiles hurled; and from the night 
 Brooding above, Death struck his victims down. 
 Guiltless such blow, while all the crime was heaped 
 Upon the Roman spear. In line oblique 
 Behind the standards Caesar in reserve 
 Had placed some companies of foot, in fear 
 The foremost ranks might waver. These at his word, 
 No trumpet sounding, break upon the ranks 
 Of Magnus' horsemen where they rode at large 
 Flanking the battle. They, unshamed of fear 
 And careless of the fray, when first a steed 
 Pierced through by javelin spurned with sounding hoof 
 The temples of his rider, turned the rein, 
 And through their comrades spurring from the field 
 In panic, proved that not with warring Rome 
 
 Barbarians may grapple. Then arose 
 Immeasurable carnage: here the sword, 
 There stood the victim, and the victor's arm 
 Wearied of slaughter. Oh, that to thy plains, 
 Pharsalia, might suffice the crimson stream 
 From hosts barbarian, nor other blood 
 Pollute thy fountains' sources! these alone 
 Shall clothe thy pastures with the bones of men! 
 Or if thy fields must run with Roman blood 
 Then spare the nations who in times to come 
 Must be her peoples! 
 Now the terror spread 
 Through all the army, and the favouring fates 
 Decreed for Caesar's triumph: and the war 
 Ceased in the wider plain, though still ablaze 
 Where stood the chosen of Pompeius' force, 
 Upholding yet the fight. Not here allies 
 Begged from some distant king to wield the sword: 
 Here were the Roman sons, the sires of Rome , 
 Here the last frenzy and the last despair: 
 Here, Caesar, was thy crime: and here shall stay 
 My Muse repelled: no poesy of mine 
 Shall tell the horrors of the final strife, 
 Nor for the coming ages paint the deeds 
 Which civil war permits. Be all obscured 
 In deepest darkness! Spare the useless tear 
 And vain lament, and let the deeds that fell 
 In that last fight of Rome remain unsung.
 
 
 But Caesar adding fury to the breasts 
 Already flaming with the rage of war, 
 That each might bear his portion of the guilt 
 Which stained the host, unflinching through the ranks 
 Passed at his will. He looked upon the brands, 
 These reddened only at the point, and those 
 Streaming with blood and gory to the hilt: 
 He marks the hand which trembling grasped the sword, 
 Or held it idle, and the cheek that grew 
 Pale at the blow, and that which at his words 
 Glowed with the joy of battle: midst the dead 
 He treads the plain and on each gaping wound 
 Presses his hand to keep the life within. 
 Thus Caesar passed: and where his footsteps fell 
 As when Bellona shakes her crimson lash, 
 Or Mavors scourges on the Thracian mares 
 
 When shunning the dread face on Pallas' shield, 
 He drives his chariot, there arose a night 
 Dark with huge slaughter and with crime, and groans 
 As of a voice immense, and sound of arms 
 As fell the wearer, and of sword on sword 
 Crashed into fragments. With a ready hand 
 Caesar supplies the weapon and bids strike 
 Full at the visage; and with lance reversed 
 Urges the flagging ranks and stirs the fight. 
 Where flows the nation's blood, where beats the heart, 
 Knowing, he bids them spare the common herd, 
 But seeks the senators-thus Rome he strikes, 
 Thus the last hold of Freedom. In the fray, 
 Then fell the nobles with their mighty names 
 Of ancient prowess; there Metellus' sons, 
 Corvini, Lepidi, Torquati too, 
 Not once nor twice the conquerors of kings, 
 First of all men, Pompeius' name except, 
 Lay dead upon the field. 
 But, Brutus, where, 
 Where was thy sword? Veiled by a common helm 
 Unknown thou wanderest. Thy country's pride, 
 Hope of the Senate, thou (for none besides); 
 Thou latest scion of that race of pride, 
 Whose fearless deeds the centuries record, 
 Tempt not the battle, nor provoke the doom! 
 Awaits thee on Philippi 's fated field 
 Thy Thessaly. Not here shalt thou prevail 
 'Gainst Caesar's life. Not yet hath he surpassed 
 The height of power and deserved a death 
 Noble at Brutus' hands-then let him live, 
 Thy fated victim! 
 There upon the field 
 Lay all the honour of Rome ; no common stream 
 Mixed with the purple tide. And yet of all 
 Who noble fell, one only now I sing, 
 Thee, brave Domitius. Whene'er the day 
 Was adverse to the fortunes of thy chief 
 Thine was the arm which vainly stayed the fight. 
 Vanquished so oft by Caesar, now 'twas thine 
 Yet free to perish. By a thousand wounds 
 Came welcome death, nor had thy conqueror power 
 Again to pardon. Caesar stood and saw 
 The dark blood welling forth and death at hand, 
 And thus in words of scorn: ' And dost thou lie, 
 'Domitius, there? And did Pompeius name 
 'Thee his successor, thee? Why leavest thou then 
 His standards helpless?' But the parting life 
 Still faintly throbbed within Domitius' breast, 
 Thus finding utterance: 'Yet thou hast not won 
 Thy hateful prize, for doubtful are the fates; 
 'Nor thou the master, Caesar; free as yet, 
 'With great Pompeius for my leader still, 
 ' Warring no more, I seek the silent shades, 
 Yet with this hope in death, that thou subdued 
 'To Magnus and to me in grievous guise 
 'Mayst pay atonement.' So he spake: no more; 
 Then closed his eyes in death. 
 'Twere shame to shed, 
 When thus a world was perishing, the tear 
 Meet for each fate, or sing the wound that reft 
 Each life away. One spurned upon the soil 
 His vitals as they trailed; one faced the foe 
 And as the sword struck deep into his throat 
 Breathed forth his life: another fell to earth 
 Prone at the stroke; one stood though shorn of limb; 
 Glanced from this breast unharmed the quivering spear; 
 That it transfixed to earth. Here from the veins 
 Spouted the life-blood, till the foeman's arms 
 Were crimsoned. One his brother slew, nor dared 
 To spoil the corse, till severed from the neck 
 He flung the head afar. Another dashed 
 Full in his father's teeth the fatal sword, 
 By murderous frenzy striving to disprove 
 His kinship with the slain. Yet for each death 
 We find no separate dirge, nor weep for men 
 When peoples fell. Thus, Rome , thy doom was wrought 
 At dread Pharsalus . Not, as in other fields, 
 By soldiers slain, or captains; here were swept 
 Whole nations to the death; Assyria here, 
 
 Achaia , Pontus ; and the blood of Rome 
 
 Gushing in torrents forth, forbade the rest 
 To stagnate on the plain. Nor life was reft, 
 Nor safety only then; but reeled the world 
 And all her manifold peoples at the blow 
 In that day's battle dealt; nor only then 
 Felt, but in all the times that were to come. 
 Those swords gave servitude to every age 
 That shall be slavish; by our sires was shaped 
 For us our destiny, the despot yoke. 
 Yet have we trembled not, nor feared to bare 
 Our throats to slaughter, nor to face the foe: 
 We bear the penalty for others' shame, 
 Such be our doom; yet, Fortune, sharing not 
 In that last battle, 'twas our right to strike 
 One blow for freedom ere we served our lord.
 
 
 Now saw Pompeius, grieving, that the gods 
 Had left his side, and knew the fates of Rome 
 
 Passed from his governance; yet all the blood 
 That filled the field scarce brought him to confess 
 His fortunes fled. A little hill he sought 
 Whence to descry the battle raging still 
 Upon the plain, which when he nearer stood 
 The warring ranks concealed. Thence did the chief 
 Gaze on unnumbered swords that flashed in air 
 And sought his ruin; and the tide of blood 
 In which his host had perished. Yet not as those 
 Who, prostrate fallen, would drag nations down 
 To share their evil fate, Pompeius did. 
 Still were the gods thought worthy of his prayers 
 To give him solace, in that after him 
 Might live his Romans. 'Spare, ye gods,' he said, 
 Nor lay whole peoples low; my fall attained, 
 The world and Rome may stand. And if ye need 
 More bloodshed, here on me, my wife, and sons 
 'Wreak out your vengeance-pledges to the fates 
 Such have we given. Too little for the war 
 Is our destruction? Doth the carnage fail, 
 The world escaping? Magnus' fortunes lost, 
 Why doom all else beside him? ' Thus he cried, 
 And passed amid his standards, and recalled 
 His vanquished host that rushed on fate declared. 
 Not for his sake such carnage should be wrought. 
 So thought Pompeius; nor the foeman's sword 
 He feared, nor death; but lest upon his fall 
 To quit their chief his soldiers might refuse, 
 And o'er his prostrate corpse a world in arms 
 Might find its ruin: or perchance he wished 
 From Caesar's eager eyes to veil his death. 
 In vain, unhappy! for the fates decree 
 He shall behold, shorn from the bleeding trunk, 
 Again thy visage. And thou, too, his spouse, 
 Beloved Cornelia, didst cause his flight; 
 Thy longed-for features; yet he shall not die 
 When thou art present. 
 
 Then upon his steed, 
 Though fearing not the weapons at his back, 
 Pompeius fled, his mighty soul prepared 
 To meet his final doom. He saw thy field, 
 
 Pharsalia , tearless and without a groan; 
 For solemn grief and majesty of mien 
 Were in his face, as for the woes of Rome . 
 No pride in him the day of victory found, 
 Nor rout shall find despair; alike in days 
 When fickle Fortune triple triumph gave 
 And when she fled, her lord. 
 The burden laid 
 Of thine impending fate, thou partest free 
 To muse upon the happy days of yore. 
 Hope now has fled; but in the fleeting past 
 How wast thou great! Seek thou the wars no more, 
 And call the gods to witness that for thee 
 Henceforth no man shall die. The fights to come 
 On Afric's mournful shore, by Pharos' stream 
 And fateful Munda , and the final scene 
 Of dire Pharsalia 's battle are not thine. 
 Thy name no more shall stir the world to war, 
 But those great rivals biding with us yet, 
 Caesar and Liberty; and not for thee 
 When thou hadst fled the field, but for itself 
 The dying Senate still upheld the fight. 
 Find'st thou not solace thus to quit the field 
 Nor witness all the horrors of its close? 
 Look back upon the crimsoned ranks of war, 
 The rivers turbid with ensanguined stream; 
 Then pity thou thy kinsman. How shall he 
 Enter the city, who on such a field 
 Finds happiness? Whate'er in lands unknown 
 Thine exiled lot, whate'er the Pharian king 
 May place upon thee, trust thou in the gods; 
 Trust the long story of the favouring fates: 
 'Twere worse to conquer. Then forbid the tear, 
 The nation's grief, the weeping of mankind, 
 And let the world adore thee in defeat 
 As in thy triumphs. With unaltered gaze 
 Look down upon the kings, thy subjects still; 
 Look on the realms and cities which they hold, 
 
 Egypt and Libya , gifts from thee of yore; 
 And choose the country that befits thy death. 
 Larissa first was witness of thy fall, 
 Thy noble mien, as victor of the fates; 
 And loud in sorrow, yet with gifts of price 
 Fit for a conqueror flung back her gates 
 And poured her citizens forth. ' Our homes and fanes 
 To thee are open; would it were our lot 
 With thee to perish; of thy mighty name 
 Still much survives and conquered by thyself, 
 Thyself alone, still couldst thou to the war 
 All nations call and challenge fate again.' 
 But thus he spake: 'To cities nor to men 
 Avails the conquered aught: then pledge your faith 
 To him who has the victory.' Caesar still 
 Trod deep in piles of slaughter on the field, 
 His country's vitals, while his daughter's spouse 
 Thus gave him kingdoms. But Pompeius fled 
 'Mid sobs and groans and blaming of the gods 
 For this their fierce commandment; and he fled 
 Full of the fruits and knowledge of the love 
 The peoples bore him, which he knew not his 
 In times of happiness.
 
 
 When Italian blood 
 Flowed deep enough upon the fatal field, 
 Caesar gave mercy to the meaner crowd 
 Whose deaths were vain. But that the hostile camp 
 Might not recall the foe, nor calm of night 
 Banish their fears, he bids his cohorts dash, 
 While Fortune glowed and terror filled the plain, 
 Straight on the ramparts of the conquered foe. 
 Light was the task to urge them to the spoil 
 Though worn by battle, wearied with the fray: 
 Soldiers,' he said, ' the victory is ours, 
 Full and triumphant: there doth lie the prize 
 Which you have won, not Caesar; at your feet 
 Behold the booty of the hostile camp. 
 Snatched from Hesperian nations ruddy gold, 
 And all the riches of the Orient world, 
 Are piled within the tents. The wealth of kings 
 And of Pompeius here awaits its lords. 
 Haste, soldiers, and outstrip the flying foe; 
 E'en now the vanquished of Pharsalia 's field 
 Anticipate your spoils.' No more he said, 
 But drave them, blind with frenzy for the gold, 
 To spurn the bodies of their fallen sires, 
 And trample chiefs in dashing on their prey. 
 What rampart had restrained them as they rushed 
 To seize the prize for wickedness and war 
 And learn the price of guilt? And though they found 
 In ponderous masses heaped for need of war 
 The trophies of a world, yet were their minds 
 Unsatisfied, that asked for all. Whate'er 
 Iberian mines or Tagus bring to day, 
 Or Arimaspians from golden sands 
 May gather, had they seized; still they had thought 
 Their guilt too cheaply sold. When pledged to them 
 Was the Tarpeian rock, for victory won, 
 And all the spoils of Rome , by Caesar's word, 
 Shall camps suffice them? Then plebeian limbs 
 On senators' turf took rest, on kingly couch 
 The soldier wretch; and there the murderer lay 
 Where yesternight his brother or his sire. 
 In maddened dreams the fury of the fight 
 Still raged, and in their sleep the guilty hand 
 Still wrought its deed, of blood, and restless gripped 
 The phantom sword-hilt. Thou hadst said that groans 
 Issued from all the plain, that parted souls 
 Had breathed a life into the guilty soil, 
 That earthly darkness teemed with gibbering ghosts 
 And Stygian terrors. Victory foully won 
 Thus claimed its punishment. The slumbering sense 
 Already heard the hiss of vengeful flames: 
 There troop the ghostly slain: a slaughtered sire 
 Tortures the breast of one; a brother's shape 
 There haunts his murderer's couch: each sees the form 
 Of him whose life he took. But all the dead 
 In Caesar's dreams were visioned. In such guise 
 Orestes saw the Furies, ere he fled 
 To purge his sin within the Scythian bounds; 
 Such fierce convulsions raged within the soul 
 Of Pentheus mad; and in Agave's mind 
 When she had known her son. Before his gaze 
 Flashed all the javelins which Pharsalia saw, 
 Or that avenging day when drew their blades 
 The Roman senators; and monstrous shapes 
 Scourged all his frame. 'Tis thus the wretch shall find 
 In guilty conscience punishment most dire: 
 He saw the Styx before his rival died: 
 And goblin horrors from the depths of Hell 
 Thronged on his sleep. 
 Yet when the radiant sun 
 Unveiled the butchery of Pharsalia 's field 
 
 He shrank not from its horror, nor withdrew 
 His feasting gaze. There rolled the streams in flood 
 With crimson carnage; there a seething heap 
 Rose shrouding all the plain, now in decay 
 Slow settling down; there numbered he the host 
 Of Magnus slain; and for the morn's repast 
 That spot he chose whence he might watch the dead, 
 And feast his eyes upon Emathia 's field 
 Concealed by corpses; of the bloody sight 
 Insatiate, he forbad the funeral pyre, 
 And cast Emathia in the face of heaven. 
 Nor by the Punic victor was he taught, 
 Who at the close of Cannae 's fatal fight 
 Laid in the earth the Roman consul dead, 
 To find fit burial for his fallen foes; 
 For these were all his countrymen, nor yet 
 His ire by blood appeased. Yet ask we not 
 For separate pyres or sepulchres apart 
 Wherein to lay the ashes of the fallen: 
 Burn in one holocaust the nations slain; 
 Or should it please thy soul to torture more 
 Thy kinsman, pile on high from OEta's slopes 
 And Pindus' top the woods: thus shall he see 
 While fugitive on the deep the blaze that marks 
 Thessalian bounds. Yet by this idle rage 
 Nought dost thou profit; for these corporal frames 
 Bearing innate from birth the certain germs 
 Of dissolution, whether by decay 
 Or fire consumed, shall fall into the lap 
 Of all-embracing nature. Thus if now 
 Thou shouldst deny the pyre, still in that flame 
 When all shall crumble, earth and rolling seas 
 And stars commingled with the bones of men, 
 These too shall perish. Where thy soul shall go 
 These shall companion thee; no higher flight 
 In airy realms is thine, nor smoother couch 
 Beneath the Stygian darkness; for the dead 
 No fortune favours, and our Mother Earth 
 
 All that is born from her receives again, 
 And he whose bones no tomb or urn protects 
 
 Yet sleeps beneath the canopy of heaven. 
 And thou, proud conqueror, who wouldst deny 
 The rites of burial to thousands slain, 
 Why flee thy field of triumph? Why desert 
 This reeking plain? Drink, Caesar, if thou canst 
 Of these ensanguined streams, and breathe the air 
 Of cursed Thessalia : but from thy grasp 
 The earth is ravished, and th' unburied host, 
 Routing their victor, hold Pharsalia's field. 
 Then to the ghastly harvest of the war 
 Came all the beasts of earth whose facile sense 
 Of odour tracks the bodies of the slain. 
 Sped from his northern home the Thracian wolf; 
 Bears left their dens and lions from afar 
 Scenting the carnage; dogs obscene and foul 
 Their homes deserted: all the air was full 
 Of gathering fowl, who in their flight had long 
 Pursued the armies. Cranes who yearly change 
 The frosts of Thracia for the banks of Nile , 
 This year delayed their voyage. As ne'er before 
 The air grew dark with vultures' hovering wings, 
 Innumerable, for every grove and wood 
 Sent forth its denizens; on every tree 
 Dripped from their crimsoned beaks a gory dew. 
 Oft on the conquerors and their impious arms 
 Or purple rain of blood, or mouldering flesh 
 Fell from the lofty heaven; or limbs of men 
 From weary talons dropped. Yet even so 
 The peoples passed not all into the maw 
 Of ravening beast or fowl; the inmost flesh 
 Scarce did they touch, nor limbs-thus lay the dead 
 Scorned by the spoiler; and the Roman host 
 By sun and length of days, and rain from heaven, 
 At length was mingled with Emathia 's plain. 
 Ill-starred Thessalia ! By what hateful crime 
 Didst thou offend that thus on thee alone 
 Was laid such carnage? By what length of years 
 Shalt thou be cleansed from the curse of war? 
 When shall the harvest of thy fields arise 
 Free from their purple stain? And when the share 
 Cease to upturn the slaughtered hosts of Rome ? 
 First shall the battle onset sound again, 
 Again shall flow upon thy fated earth 
 A crimson torrent. Thus may be o'erthrown 
 Our sires' memorials; those erected last, 
 Or those which pierced by ancient roots have spread 
 Through broken stones their sacred urns abroad. 
 Thus shall the ploughman of Haemonia gaze 
 On more abundant ashes, and the rake 
 Pass o'er more frequent bones. Wert, Thracia , thou, 
 Our only battlefield, no sailor's hand 
 Upon thy shore should make his cable fast; 
 No spade should turn, the husbandman should flee 
 Thy fields, the resting-place of Roman dead; 
 No lowing kine should graze, nor shepherd dare 
 To leave his fleecy charge to browse at will 
 On fields made fertile by our mouldering dust; 
 All bare and unexplored thy soil should lie, 
 As past man's footsteps, parched by cruel suns, 
 Or palled by snows unmelting! But, ye gods, 
 Give us to hate the lands which bear the guilt; 
 Let not all earth be cursed, though not all 
 Be blameless found. 
 'Twas thus that Munda's fight 
 And blood of Mutina , and Leucas ' cape, 
 And sad Pachynus, made Philippi pure.

Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe 's groves 
 Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens 
 And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed 
 Scarce heeding now the spur; by devious tracks 
 Seeking to veil the footsteps of his flight: 
 The rustle of the foliage, and the noise 
 Of following comrades filled his anxious soul 
 With terrors, as he fancied at his side 
 Some ambushed enemy. Fallen from the height 
 Of former fortunes, still the chieftain knew 
 His life not worthless; mindful of the fates: 
 And 'gainst the price he set on Caesar's head, 
 He measures Caesar's value of his own. 
 Yet, as he rode, the features of the chief 
 Made known his ruin. Many as they sought 
 The camp Pharsalian, ere yet was spread 
 News of the battle, met the chief, amazed, 
 And wondered at the whirl of human things: 
 Nor held disaster sure, though Magnus' self 
 Told of his ruin. Every witness seen 
 Brought peril on his flight: 'twere better far 
 Safe in a name obscure, through all the world 
 To wander; but his ancient fame forbad. 
 Too long had great Pompeius from the height 
 Of human glory, envied of mankind, 
 Looked on all others; nor for him henceforth 
 Could life be lowly. The honours of his youth 
 Too early thrust upon him, and the deeds 
 Which brought him triumph in the Sullan days, 
 His conquering navy and the Pontic war, 
 Made heavier now the burden of defeat, 
 And crushed his pondering soul. So length of days 
 Drags down the haughty spirit, and life prolonged 
 When power has fled. Unless when honour fails 
 Comes end of life, and timely death forestalls 
 Ensuing woe, the glory of past years 
 Is present shame. Who'd venture on the sea 
 Of favouring fortune but for death at need? 
 Hard by Peneus' flood he reached the main 
 Now with Pharsalus ' slaughter blushing red: 
 And borne in sloop, to shallows of a stream 
 Scarce equal, dared the deep: Liburnia's lord, 
 Lord of Cilicia , at whose countless oars 
 Yet Leucas ' inlets and Corcyra shook, 
 Crept to the shelter of a tiny bark. 
 For thou didst beckon him to Lesbos ' shores, 
 Thou, partner of the sorrows of thy lord, 
 Cornelia! Sadder far thy life apart 
 Than wert thou present in Thessalia 's fields. 
 Racked is thy heart with presages of ill; 
 Pharsalia fills thy dreams and when the shades 
 Give place to dawn, with hasty step thou tread'st 
 Some cliff sea-beaten, and with gaze intent 
 To mark the sail of each approaching ship 
 Art first: yet dar'st not ask thy husband's fate. 
 Lo! the ship comes, her load of ills unknown, 
 Thy worst of fears some messenger of woe, 
 Some evil tidings of the battle day: 
 Nay! it is he, thy husband in defeat: 
 Fear then no more, but weep; nor waste the hour. 
 He leaps to land; she marks the cruel doom 
 Wrought by the gods upon him: pale and wan 
 His weary features, by the hoary locks 
 Shaded; the dust of travel on his garb. 
 Dark on her soul a night of anguish fell; 
 Her trembling limbs no longer bore her frame: 
 Scarce throbbed her heart, and prone on earth she lay 
 Deceived in hope of death. The boat made fast, 
 Pompeius treading the lone waste of sand 
 Drew near; whom when Cornelia's maidens saw, 
 They stayed their weeping, yet with sighs subdued, 
 Reproached the fates; and tried in vain to raise 
 Their mistress' form, till Magnus to his breast 
 Drew her with cherishing arms; and at the touch 
 Of soothing hands the life-blood to her veins 
 Returned once more, and she could bear to look 
 Upon his features. He forbad despair, 
 Chiding her grief. ' Not at the earliest blow 
 By Fortune dealt, inheritress of fame 
 Bequeathed by noble fathers, should thy strength 
 Thus fail and yield: renown shall yet be thine, 
 To last through ages; not of laws decreed 
 Nor conquests won; a gentler path to thee 
 As to thy sex, is given; thy husband's woe. 
 Let thine affection struggle with the fates, 
 And in his misery love thy lord the more. 
 I bring thee greater glory, for that gone 
 Is all the pomp of lictors, gone the crowd 
 Of faithful senators, and the band of kings; 
 Now first Pompeius for himself alone 
 'Tis thine to love. Curb this unbounded grief, 
 ' While yet I breathe, unseemly. O'er my tomb 
 ' Weep out thy full, the final pledge of faith. 
 ' Thou hast no loss, nor has the war destroyed 
 ' Aught save my fortune. If for that thy grief, 
 ' That was thy love.' 
 Roused by her husband's words, 
 Yet scarcely could she raise her trembling limbs, 
 Thus speaking through her sobs: ' Would I had sought 
 ' Detested Caesar's couch, ill-omened wife 
 ' Of spouse unhappy; at my nuptials twice 
 ' A Fury has been bridesmaid; and the ghosts 
 ' Of slaughtered Crassi, with avenging shades 
 ' Brought by my wedlock to thy doomed camp 
 ' A Parthian massacre. Twice my star has cursed 
 ' The world, and peoples have been hurled to death 
 ' In one red moment; and the gods through me 
 ' Have left the better cause. 0, hero mine, 
 ' O mightiest husband, wedded to a wife 
 ' Unworthy! 'Twas through her that Fortune gained 
 'The right to strike thee. Wherefore did I wed 
 ' To bring thee misery? Mine, mine the guilt, 
 ' Mine be the penalty. And that the wave 
 ' May bear thee gently onwards, and the kings 
 'May keep their faith to thee, and all the earth 
 ' Be ready to thy rule, me from thy side 
 ' Cast to the billows. Rather had I died 
 ' To bring thee victory; thy disasters thus, 
 Thus expiate. And, cruel Julia, thee, 
 ' Who by this war hast vengeance on our vows, 
 ' From thine abode I call: atonement find 
 ' In this thy rival's death, and spare at least 
 ' Thy Magnus.' Then upon his breast she fell, 
 While all the concourse wept-e'en Magnus' self, 
 Who saw Thessalia 's field without a tear.
 
 
 But now upon the shore a numerous band 
 From Mitylene thus approached the chief: 
 'If 'tis our greatest glory to have kept 
 ' The pledge with us by such a husband placed, 
 ' Do thou one night within these friendly walls 
 ' We pray thee, stay; thus honouring the homes 
 ' Long since devoted, Magnus, to thy cause. 
 This spot in days to come the guest from Rome 
 
 ' For thee shall honour. Nowhere shalt thou find 
 ' A surer refuge in defeat. All else 
 ' May court the victor's favour; we long since 
 ' Have earned his chastisement. And though our isle 
 ' Rides on the deep, girt by the ocean wave, 
 ' No ships has Caesar: and to us shall come, 
 ' Be sure, thy captains, to our trusted shore, 
 ' The war renewing. Take, for all is thine, 
 ' The treasures of our temples and the gold, 
 ' Take all our youth by land or on the sea 
 ' To do thy bidding: Lesbos only asks 
 ' This from the chief who sought her in his pride, 
 ' Not in his fall to leave her.' Pleased in soul 
 At such a love, and joyed that in the world 
 Some faith still lingered, thus Pompeius said: 
 Earth has for me no dearer land than this. 
 ' Did I not trust it with so sweet a pledge 
 ' And find it faithful? Here was Rome for me, 
 ' Country and household gods. This shore I sought 
 ' Home of my wife, this Lesbos , which for her 
 ' Had merited remorseless Caesar's ire: 
 ' Nor was afraid to trust you with the means 
 ' To gain his mercy. But enough-through me 
 'Your guilt was caused-I part, throughout the world 
 'To prove my fate. Farewell thou happiest land! 
 'Famous for ever, whether taught by thee 
 ' Some other kings and peoples may be pleased 
 ' To give me shelter; or shouldst thou alone 
 Be faithful. And now seek I in what lands 
 ' Right may be found or wrong. My latest prayer 
 'Receive, 0 deity, if still with me 
 'Thou bidest, thus. May it be mine again, 
 Conquered, with hostile Caesar on my track, 
 'To find a Lesbos where to enter in 
 'And whence to part, unhindered.' 
 In the boat 
 He placed his spouse: while from the shore arose 
 Such lamentation, and such hands were raised 
 In ire against the gods, that thou hadst deemed 
 All left their kin for exile, and their homes. 
 And though for Magnus grieving in his fall 
 Yet for Cornelia chiefly did they mourn 
 Long since their gentle guest. For her had wept 
 The Lesbian matrons had she left to join 
 A victor husband: for she won their love, 
 By kindly modesty and gracious mien, 
 Ere yet her lord was conquered, while as yet 
 Their fortunes stood. Now slowly to the deep 
 Sank fiery Titan; but not yet to those 
 He sought (if such there be) was shown his orb, 
 Though veiled from those he quitted. Magnus' mind, 
 Anxious with waking cares, sought through the kings 
 His subjects, and the cities leagued with Rome 
 
 In faith, and through the pathless tracts that lie 
 Beyond the scorching suns of southern climes: 
 Till trouble of his cares and hateful thought 
 Of that which might be, made him cast afar 
 His wavering doubts, and from the captain seek 
 Some counsel on the heavens; how by the sky 
 He marked his track upon the deep; what star 
 Guided the path to Syria , and what points 
 Found in the Wain would pilot him aright 
 To shores of Libya . But thus replied 
 The well-skilled watcher of the silent skies: 
 'Not by the constellations moving ever 
 'Across the heavens do we guide our barks; 
 'For that were perilous; but by that star 
 
 'Which never sinks nor dips below the wave, 
 'Girt by the glittering groups men call the Bears. 
 'When stands the pole-star clear before the mast, 
 'Then to the Bosphorus look we, and the main 
 'Which carves the coast of Scythia . But the more 
 'Bootes dips, and nearer to the sea 
 'Is Cynosura seen, so much the ship 
 ' Towards Syria tends, till bright Canopus 
 shines, 
 'In southern skies content to hold his course; 
 ' With him upon the left past Pharos borne 
 'Straight for the Syrtes shalt thou plough the deep. 
 ' But whither now dost bid me shape the yards 
 'And set the canvas? ' 
 Magnus, doubting still; 
 'This only be thy care: from Thracia steer 
 ' The vessel onward; shun with all thy skill 
 ' Italia 's distant shore: and for the rest 
 'Trust to the winds for guidance. When I sought, 
 ' Pledged with the Lesbians, my spouse beloved, 
 'My course was sure: now, Fortune, where thou wilt 
 Give me a refuge.' These his answering words. 
 The pilot, as they hung from level yards 
 Shifted the sails; and hauling to the stern 
 One sheet, he slacked the other, to the left 
 Steering, where Samian rocks and Chian marred 
 The stillness of the waters; while the sea 
 Sent up in answer to the changing keel 
 A different murmur. Not so deftly turns 
 Curbing his steeds, his wain the Charioteer, 
 While glows his dexter wheel, and with the left 
 He almost touches, yet avoids the goal. 
 Now Titan veiled the stars and showed the shore; 
 When, following Magnus, came a scattered band 
 Saved from the Thracian storm. From Lesbos ' port 
 His son; next, captains who preserved their faith; 
 . For at his side, though vanquished in the field, 
 Cast down by fate, in exile, still there stood, 
 Lords of the earth and all her Orient realms, 
 The Kings, his ministers. To the furthest lands 
 He bids Deiotarus: ' O faithful friend,
 
 
 'Since in Emathia 's battle-field was lost 
 'The world, so far as Roman, it remains 
 ' To test the faith of peoples of the East 
 ' Who drink of Tigris and Euphrates ' stream, 
 'Secure as yet from Caesar. Be it thine 
 'Far as the rising of the sun to trace 
 ' The fates that favour Magnus: to the courts 
 ' Of Median palaces, to Scythian steppes; 
 'And to the son of haughty Arsaces, 
 'To bear my message, "Hold ye to the faith, 
 '" Pledged by your priests and by the Thunderer's name 
 ' "Of Latium sworn? Then fill your quivers full, 
 ' "Draw to its fullest span th' Armenian bow; 
 '" And, Getan archers, wing the fatal shaft. 
 '" And you, ye Parthians, if when I sought 
 '"The Caspian gates, and on th' Alaunian tribes 
 " Fierce, ever-warring, pressed, I suffered you 
 " In Persian tracts to wander, nor compelled 
 " To seek for shelter Babylonian walls; 
 " If beyond Cyrus' kingdom and the bounds 
 " Of wide Chaldaea, where from Nysa 's top 
 '"Pours down Hydaspes , and the Ganges stream 
 ' Foams to the ocean, nearer far I stood 
 '" Than Persia's bounds to Phoebus' rising fires; 
 '" If by my sufferance, Parthians, you alone 
 '" Decked not my triumphs, but in equal state 
 " Sole of all Eastern princes, face to face 
 " Met Magnus in his pride, nor only once 
 ' Through me were saved; (for after that dread day 
 " Who but Pompeius soothed the kindling fires 
 " Of Latium's anger?) - by my service paid 
 '"Come forth to victory : burst the ancient bounds 
 ' By Macedon's hero set: in Magnus' cause 
 " March, Parthians, to Rome 's conquest. Rome herself 
 ' Prays to be conquered."' 
 Hard the task imposed; 
 Yet doffed his robe, and swift obeyed, the king 
 Wrapped in a servant's mantle. If a Prince 
 For safety play the boor, then happier, sure, 
 The peasant's lot than lordship of the world. 
 The king thus parted, past Icaria 's rocks 
 Pompeius' vessel skirts the foamy crags 
 Of little Samos : Colophon 's tranquil sea 
 And Ephesus lay behind him, and the air 
 Breathed freely on him from the Coan shore. 
 
 Cnidos he shunned, and, famous for its sun, 
 
 Rhodos , and steering for the middle deep 
 Escaped the windings of Telmessus' bay; 
 Till rose Pamphylian coasts before the bark, 
 And first the fallen chieftain dared to find 
 In small Phaselis shelter; for therein 
 Scarce was the husbandman, and empty homes 
 Forbad to fear. Next Taurus' heights he saw 
 And Dipsus falling from his lofty sides: 
 So sailed he onward. 
 Did Pompeius dream, 
 When giving safety to the seas, he made 
 Flight for himself secure? His little boat 
 Flies unmolested past Cilician shores; 
 But to their exiled lord in chiefest part 
 The senate of Rome was drawn. Celendrae there 
 Received their fleet, where fair Selinus ' stream 
 In spacious bay gives refuge from the main; 
 And to the gathered chiefs in mournful words 
 At length Pompeius thus resolved his thoughts : 
 O faithful comrades mine in war and flight! 
 To me, my country! Though this barren shore 
 Our place of meeting, and no gathered host 
 'Surrounds us, yet upon our changed estate 
 I seek your counsel. Rouse ye as of yore 
 With hearts of courage! Magnus on the field 
 'Not all is perished, nor do fates forbid 
 But that I rise afresh with living hope 
 Of future victories, and spurn defeat. 
 'From Libyan ruins did not Marius rise 
 'Again recorded Consul on the page 
 Full of his honours? shall a lighter blow 
 'Keep Magnus down, whose thousand chiefs and ships 
 'Still plough the billows; by defeat his strength 
 'Not whelmed but scattered? And the fame alone 
 ' Of our great deeds of glory in the past 
 ' Shall now protect us, and the world unchanged 
 'Still love its hero. Weigh upon the scales 
 Ye chiefs, which best may help the needs of Rome , 
 'In faith and armies; or the Parthian realm 
 ' Egypt or Libya . For myself, I keep 
 'No secret thoughts apart, but thus advise. 
 'Place no reliance on the Pharian king: 
 'Faith, to be constant, needs a riper age; 
 'Nor on th' unstable cunning of the Moor, 
 Who vain of Punic blood, and of descent 
 
 'Supposed from Hannibal, is swollen with pride 
 'At Varus' prayer for aid, and sees in thought 
 
 Rome 's fates beneath his own. Then, comrades, seek 
 'At speed, the Eastern world. Those mighty realms 
 ' Euphrates severs from us, and the gates 
 'Called Caspian; on another sky than ours 
 ' There day and night revolve; another sea 
 ' Of different hue is parted from our own. 
 
 ' Rule is their wish, nought else: and in their plains 
 ' Taller the war-horse, stronger twangs the bow; 
 ' There fails nor youth nor age to wing the shaft 
 ' Fatal in flight. Their archers first subdued 
 ' The lance of Macedon and Bactra 's walls, 
 ' Home of the Mede; and haughty Babylon 
 
 ' With all her storied towers: nor shall they dread 
 ' The Roman onset; trusting to the shafts 
 ' By which the host of fated Crassus fell. 
 ' Nor trust they only to the javelin blade 
 ' Untipped with poison: from the rancorous edge 
 'The slightest wound deals death. Would that my lot 
 ' Forced me not thus to trust that savage race 
 ' Of Arsaces! Yet now their emulous fate 
 ' Contends with Roman destinies: the gods 
 ' Smile favouring on their nation. Thence I'll pour 
 ' On Caesar peoples from another earth 
 ' And all the Orient ravished from its home. 
 ' But should the East and barbarous treaties fail, 
 ' Fate, bear our shipwrecked fortunes past the bounds 
 ' Of earth, as known to men. The kings I made 
 ' I supplicate not, but in death shall take 
 ' To other spheres this solace, chief of all; 
 ' His hands, my kinsman's, never shed my blood 
 ' Nor soothed me dying. Yet as my mind in turn 
 ' The varying fortunes of my life recalls, 
 ' How was I glorious in that Eastern world! 
 ' How great my name by far Maeotis marsh 
 ' And where swift Tanais flows! No other land 
 'Has so resounded with my conquests won, 
 ' So sent me home triumphant. Rome , do thou 
 ' Approve my enterprise! What happier chance 
 ' Could favouring gods afford thee? Parthian hosts 
 ' Shall fight the civil wars of Rome , and share 
 ' Her ills, and fall enfeebled. When the arms 
 ' Of Caesar meet with Parthian in the fray, 
 ' Then must kind Fortune vindicate my lot 
 'Or Crassus be avenged.' But murmurs rose, 
 And Magnus speaking knew his words condemned. 
 Then Lentulus answered, with indignant soul, 
 Foremost to rouse their valour, thus in words 
 Worthy a Consul:
 
 
 'Have Thessalian woes 
 ' Broken thy spirit so? One day's defeat 
 ' Condemned the world to ruin? Is the cause 
 ' Lost in one battle and beyond recall? 
 ' Find we no cure for wounds? Does Fortune drive 
 ' Thee, Magnus, to the Parthians' feet alone? 
 ' And dost thou, fugitive, spurn the lands and skies 
 ' Known heretofore, and seek for other poles 
 ' And constellations, and Chaldean gods, 
 ' And rites barbarian, servant of the realm 
 ' Of Parthia? But why then took we arms 
 ' For love of liberty? If thou canst slave 
 ' Thou hast deceived the world! Shall Parthia see 
 ' Thee at whose name, ruler of mighty Rome , 
 ' She trembled, at whose feet she captive saw 
 ' Hyrcanian kings and Indian princes kneel, 
 ' Now humbly suppliant, victim of the fates; 
 ' And at thy prayer her puny strength extol 
 ' In mad contention with the Western world? 
 ' Nor think, Pompeius, thou shalt plead thy cause 
 ' In that proud tongue unknown to Parthian ears 
 ' Of which thy fame is worthy; sobs and tears 
 ' He shall demand of thee. And has our shame 
 ' Brought us to this, that some barbarian foe 
 ' Shall venge Hesperia's wrongs ere Rome her own? 
 ' Thou wert our leader for the civil war: 
 ' Mid Scythia's peoples dost thou bruit abroad 
 ' Wounds and disasters which are ours alone? 
 ' Rome until now, though subject to the yoke 
 ' Of civic despots, yet within her walls 
 ' Has brooked no foreign lord. And art thou pleased 
 ' From all the world to summon to her gates 
 ' These savage peoples, while the standards lost 
 ' By far Euphrates when the Crassi fell 
 ' Shall lead thy columns? Shall the only king 
 ' Who failed Emathia , while the fates yet hid 
 'Their favouring voices, brave the victor's power, 
 ' And join with thine his fortune? Nay, not so 
 'This nation trusts itself. Each race that claims 
 ' A northern birth, unconquered in the fray 
 ' Claims but the warrior's death; but as the sky 
 ' Slopes towards the eastern tracts and gentler climes 
 ' So are the nations. There in flowing robes 
 ' And garments delicate are men arrayed. 
 'True that the Parthian in Sarmatia 's plains, 
 ' Where Tigris spreads across the level meads, 
 ' Contends invincible; for flight is his 
 ' Unbounded; but should uplands bar his path 
 ' He scales them not; nor through the night of war 
 ' Shall his weak bow uncertain in its aim 
 ' Repel the foeman; nor his strength of arm 
 ' The torrent stem; nor all a summer's day 
 ' In dust and blood bear up against the foe. 
 ' They fill no hostile trench, nor in their hands 
 ' Shall battering engine or machine of war 
 ' Dash down the rampart; and whate'er avails 
 ' To stop their arrows, battles like a wall. 
 
 ' Wide sweep their horsemen, fleeting in attack 
 ' And light in onset, and their troops shall yield 
 ' A camp, not take it: poisoned are their shafts; 
 ' Nor do they dare a combat hand to hand; 
 ' But as the winds may suffer, from afar 
 ' They draw their bows at venture. Brave men love 
 ' The sword which, wielded by a stalwart arm, 
 ' Drives home the blow and makes the battle sure. 
 ' Not such their weapons; and the first assault 
 ' Shall force the flying Mede with coward hand 
 'And empty quiver from the field. His faith 
 ' In poisoned blades is placed; but trustest thou 
 ' Those who without such aid refuse the war? 
 ' For such alliance wilt thou risk a death, 
 ' With all the world between thee and thy home? 
 ' Shall some barbarian earth or lowly grave 
 ' Enclose thee perishing? E'en that were shame 
 ' While Crassus seeks a sepulchre in vain. 
 ' Thy lot is happy; death, unfeared by men, 
 ' Is thy worst doom, Pompeius; but no death 
 ' Awaits Cornelia-such a fate for her 
 ' This king shall not reserve; for know not we 
 ' The hateful secrets of barbarian love, 
 ' Blind as of savage beasts? That palace knows 
 ' No laws of kin: the royal bed is foul 
 ' With concubines. The tale of that one crime 
 ' Of old by OEdipus unwitting wrought 
 ' Made nations shudder at the name of Thebes : 
 ' How many an offspring of such foul embrace 
 Has held the Parthian throne? Where incest's right 
 'What shall be wickedness? This gracious dame 
 'Born of Metellus, noblest blood of Rome , 
 'Shall share the couch of the barbarian king 
 ' With thousand others: yet in savage joy, 
 'Proud of her former husbands, he may grant 
 'Some larger share of favour; and the fates 
 May seem to smile on Parthia ; for the spouse 
 ' Of Crassus, captive, shall to him be brought 
 ' As spoil of former conquest. If the wound 
 ' Dealt in that fell defeat in eastern lands 
 ' Still stirs thy heart, then double is the shame 
 'First to have waged the war upon ourselves, 
 ' Then ask the foe for succour. For what blame 
 ' Can rest on thee or Caesar worse than this, 
 'That in the clash of conflict ye forgot 
 ' For Crassus' slaughtered troops the vengeance due? 
 'First should united Rome upon the Mede 
 
 'Have poured her captains, and the troops who guard 
 'The northern frontier from the Dacian hordes; 
 'And all her legions should have left the Rhine 
 
 'Free to the Teuton, till the Parthian dead 
 ' Were piled in heaps upon the sands that hide 
 ' Our heroes slain; and haughty Babylon 
 
 'Lay at her victor's feet. To this foul peace 
 'We pray an end; and if Thessalia 's day 
 'Has closed our warfare, let the conqueror march 
 'Straight on our Parthian foe. Then should this heart, 
 'Then only, leap at Caesar's triumph won. 
 'Go thou and pass Araxes' chilly stream 
 'On this thine errand; and the mournful ghost 
 'Pierced by the Scythian shaft shall greet thee thus: 
 ' "Dost thou, to whom our wandering shades have looked 
 '" For vengeance and for war, seek from the foe 
 '"A treaty and a peace? " And there profuse 
 Shall meet thee sad memorials of the rout: 
 'Red is yon wall where passed their headless trunks; 
 ' Euphrates here engulfed them, Tigris there 
 ' Cast up to perish. Gaze on such array, 
 'And thou canst supplicate at Caesar's feet 
 ' In mid Thessalia seated. Nay, thy glance 
 ' Turn on the Roman world, and if thou fear'st 
 King Juba faithless and the southern realms, 
 Then seek we Pharos. Egypt on the west 
 Girt by the trackless Syrtes forces back 
 By sevenfold stream the ocean; rich in glebe 
 And gold and merchandise; and proud of Nile 
 
 Asks for no rain from heaven. Now holds this boy 
 Her sceptre, owed to thee; his guardian thou : 
 And who shall fear this shadow of a name? 
 Hope not from monarchs old, whose shame is fled, 
 Or laws or troth or honour of the gods: 
 New kings bring mildest sway.' His words prevailed 
 Upon his hearers. With what freedom speaks, 
 When states are trembling, patriot despair! 
 Pompeius' voice was quelled.
 
 
 For Cyprus then 
 They shaped their course, whose altars more than all 
 The goddess loves who from the Paphian wave 
 Sprang, mindful of her birth, if such be truth, 
 And gods have origin. Past the craggy isle 
 Pompeius sailing, left at length astern 
 Its southern cape, and struck across the main 
 With winds transverse and tides; nor reached the mount 
 Grateful to sailors for its nightly gleam: 
 But to the bounds of Egypt hardly won 
 With battling canvas, where divided Nile 
 
 Pours through the shallows his Pelusian stream. 
 
 Now was the season when the heavenly scale 
 Most nearly balances the varying hours, 
 Once only equal; for the wintry day 
 Repays to night her losses of the spring; 
 And Magnus learning that th' Egyptian king 
 Lay by Mount Casius, ere the sun was set 
 Or flagged his canvas, thither steered his ship. 
 Already had a horseman from the shore 
 In rapid gallop to the trembling court 
 Brought news their guest was come. Short was the time 
 For counsel given; but in haste were met 
 All who advised the base Pellaean king, 
 Monsters, inhuman; there Achoreus sat 
 Less harsh in failing years, in Memphis born 
 Of empty rites, and guardian of the rise 
 
 Of fertilising Nile . While he was priest 
 Not only once had Apis lived the space 
 Marked by the crescent on his sacred brow. 
 First was his voice, for Magnus raised and troth 
 And for the pledges of the king deceased: 
 But, skilled in counsel meet for shameless minds 
 And tyrant hearts, Pothinus, dared to claim 
 Judgment of death on Magnus. ' Laws and right 
 ' Make many guilty, Ptolemaeus king. 
 ' And faith thus lauded brings its punishment 
 ' When it supports the fallen. To the fates 
 ' Yield thee, and to the gods; the wretched shun 
 ' But seek the happy. As the stars from earth 
 ' Differ, and fire from ocean, so from right 
 'Expedience. The tyrant's shorn of strength 
 'Who ponders justice; and regard for right 
 'Brings ruin on a throne. The power to sin, 
 'Swords drawn at will, the tyrant king protect; 
 'And savage deeds find safety when they're done. 
 'Who would be righteous, let him flee the throne, 
 'For right's the bane of rule. He lives in dread 
 'Who shrinks from cruelty. Nor let this chief 
 'Unpunished scorn thy youth, who thinks that thou 
 'Not even the conquered from our shore canst bar. 
 'Nor to a stranger, if thou wouldst not reign, 
 'Resign thy sceptre, for the ties of blood 
 'Speak for thy banished sister. Let her rule 
 'O'er Nile and Pharos: we shall at the least 
 'Preserve our Egypt from the Latian arms. 
 'What Magnus owned not ere the war was done, 
 No more shall Caesar. Driven from all the world, 
 'Trusting no more to Fortune, now he seeks 
 'Some foreign nation which may share his fate. 
 'Shades of the slaughtered in the civil war 
 'Compel him: nor from Caesar's arms alone 
 'But from the Senate also does he fly, 
 'Whose blood outpoured has gorged Thessalian fowl; 
 'Monarchs he fears whose all he has destroyed, 
 'And nations piled in one ensanguined heap, 
 'By him deserted. Victim of the blow 
 ' Thessalia dealt, refused in every land, 
 ' He asks for help from ours not yet betrayed. 
 ' But none than Egypt with this chief from Rome 
 
 ' Has juster quarrel; who has sought with arms 
 ' To stain our Pharos, distant from the strife 
 'And peaceful ever, and to make our realm 
 'Suspected by his victor. Why alone 
 'Should this our country please thee in thy fall? 
 ' Why bring'st thou here the burden of thy fates, 
 ' Pharsalia's curse? In Caesar's eyes long since 
 'We have offence which by the sword alone 
 ' Can find its condonation, in that we 
 'By thy persuasion from the Senate gained 
 'This our dominion. By our prayers we helped 
 ' If not by arms thy cause. This sword, which fate 
 ' Bids us make ready, not for thee I hold 
 ' Prepared, but for the vanquished; and thy heart 
 '(I had preferred thy kinsman's) shall I pierce: 
 ' For to his side, as all things, are we borne. 
 ' And dost thou doubt, since thou art in my power, 
 'Thou art my victim? By what trust in us 
 'Cam'st thou, unhappy? Scarce our people tills 
 ' The fields, though softened by the refluent Nile : 
 ' Know well our strength, and know we can no more. 
 ' Rome 'neath the ruin of Pompeius lies: 
 'Shalt thou, O king, uphold him? Shalt thou dare 
 ' To stir Pharsalia's ashes and to call 
 ' War to thy kingdom? Ere the fight was fought 
 ' We joined not either army-shall we now 
 ' Make Magnus friend whom all the world deserts? 
 'And fling a challenge to the conquering chief 
 'And all his proud successes? Fair is help 
 'Lent in disaster, yet reserved for those 
 'Whom fortune favours. Faith her friends selects 
 'Not from the wretched.'
 
 
 Then they all decree 
 The crime's accomplishment. Proud is the boy king 
 Of such unwonted honour, that his slaves 
 So soon give power for so great a deed. 
 They choose Achillas for the work of death; 
 And where the treacherous shore in Casian sands 
 Runs out, and shallow waters of the sea 
 Attest the Syrtes near, in little boat 
 He and his partners in the monstrous crime 
 With swords embark. Ye gods! and shall the Nile 
 
 And barbarous Memphis and th' effeminate crew 
 That throngs Pelusian Canopus raise 
 Its thoughts to such an enterprise? Do thus 
 Our fates press on the world? Is Rome thus fallen 
 That in our civil frays the Pharian sword 
 Finds place, or Egypt ? 0, may civil war 
 Be thus far faithful that the hand which strikes 
 Be of our kindred; and the foreign fiend 
 Held worlds apart! Pompeius, great in soul, 
 Noble in spirit, had deserved a death 
 From Caesar's self. And, king, hast thou no fear 
 At such a ruin of so great a name? 
 And dost thou dare when heaven's high thunder rolls, 
 Thou, puny boy, to mingle with its tones 
 Thine impure utterance? Had he not won 
 A world by arms, and thrice in triumph scaled 
 The sacred Capitol, and vanquished kings, 
 And championed the Roman Senate's cause; 
 He, kinsman of the victor? 'Twas enough 
 To cause forbearance in a Pharian king, 
 That he was Roman. Wherefore with thy sword 
 Dost stab our breasts? Thou know'st not, impious boy, 
 How stand thy fortunes; now no more by right 
 Hast thou the sceptre of the land of Nile ; 
 For prostrate, vanquished in the civil wars 
 Is he who gave it. 
 Furling now his sails, 
 Magnus with oars approached th' accursed land, 
 When in their little boat the murderous crew 
 Drew nigh. and feigning from th' Egyptian court 
 A ready welcome, blamed the double tides 
 Broken by shallows, and their scanty beach 
 Unfit for fleets; and bade him to their craft 
 Leaving his loftier ship. Had not the fates' 
 Eternal and unalterable laws 
 Called for their victim and decreed his end 
 Now near at hand, his comrades' warning voice 
 Yet might have stayed his course: for if the court 
 To Magnus, who bestowed the Pharian crown, 
 In truth were open, should not king and fleet 
 In pomp have come to greet him? But he yields: 
 The fates compel. Welcome to him was death 
 Rather than fear. But, rushing to the side, 
 His spouse would follow, for she dared not stay, 
 Fearing the guile. Then he, ' Abide, my wife, 
 And son, I pray you; from the shore afar 
 ' Await my fortunes; mine shall be the life 
 ' To test their honour.' But Cornelia still 
 Withstood his bidding, and with arms outspread 
 Frenzied she cried: ' And whither without me, 
 ' Cruel, departest? Thou forbad'st me share 
 ' Thy risks Thessalian; dost again command 
 ' That I should part from thee? No happy star 
 ' Breaks on our sorrow. If from every land 
 ' Thou dost debar me, why didst turn aside 
 ' In flight to Lesbos ? On the waves alone 
 ' Am I thy fit companion? ' Thus in vain, 
 Leaning upon the bulwark, dazed with dread; 
 Nor could she turn her straining gaze aside, 
 Nor see her parting husband. All the fleet 
 Stood silent, anxious, waiting for the end: 
 Not that they feared the murder which befell, 
 But lest their leader might with humble prayer 
 Kneel to the king he made. 
 As Magnus passed, 
 A Roman soldier from the Pharian boat, 
 Septimius, salutes him. Gods of heaven! 
 There stood he, minion to a barbarous king, 
 Nor bearing still the javelin of Rome ; 
 But vile in all his arms; giant in form 
 Fierce, brutal, thirsting as a beast may thirst 
 For carnage. Didst thou, Fortune, for the sake 
 Of nations, spare to dread Pharsalus field 
 This savage monster's blows? Or dost thou place 
 Throughout the world, for thy mysterious ends, 
 Some ministering swords for civil war? 
 Thus, to the shame of victors and of gods, 
 This story shall be told in days to come: 
 A Roman swordsman, once within thy ranks, 
 Slave to the orders of a puny prince, 
 Severed Pompeius' neck. And what shall be 
 Septimius' fame hereafter? By what name 
 This deed be called, if Brutus wrought a crime? 
 Now came the end, the latest hour of all: 
 Rapt to the boat was Magnus, of himself 
 No longer master, and the miscreant crew 
 Unsheathed their swords; which when the chieftain saw 
 He swathed his visage, for he scorned unveiled 
 To yield his life to fortune; closed his eyes 
 And held his breath within him, lest some word, 
 Or sob escaped, might mar the deathless fame 
 His deeds had won. And when within his side 
 Achillas plunged his blade, nor sound nor cry 
 He gave, but calm consented to the blow 
 And proved himself in dying; in his breast 
 These thoughts revolving: ' In the years to come 
 ' Men shall make mention of our Roman toils, 
 ' Gaze on this boat, ponder the Pharian faith; 
 ' And think upon thy fame and all the years 
 ' While Fortune smiled: but for the ills of life 
 ' How thou couldst bear them, this men shall not know 
 ' Save by thy death. Then weigh thou not the shame 
 ' That waits on thine undoing. Whoso strikes, 
 ' The blow is Caesar's. Men may tear this frame 
 'And cast it mangled to the winds of heaven; 
 'Yet have I prospered, nor can all the gods 
 ' Call back my triumphs. Life may bring defeat, 
 'But death no misery. If my spouse and son 
 'Behold me murdered, silently the more 
 ' I suffer: admiration at my death 
 'Shall prove their love.' So did Pompeius die, 
 And so kept guard upon his thoughts in death.
 
 
 His spouse, less patient to behold the crime 
 Than to endure it, filled the airs with cries; 
 '0, husband, whom my wicked self hath slain! 
 'That lonely isle apart thy bane hath been 
 'And stayed thy coming. Caesar to the Nile 
 
 'Has won before us; for what other hand 
 'May do such work? But whosoe'er thou art 
 'Sent from the gods with power, for Caesar's ire, 
 'Or thine own sake, to slay, thou dost not know 
 'Where lies the heart of Magnus. Thou dost haste 
 To deal the blow as he would have it fall. 
 'Let me die first, and let him seeing bear 
 'An agony no less than death can bring. 
 'No freedom mine from blame of war. Alone 
 Of Roman wives, through oceans and through camps, 
 Fearing no fates, I followed him afield; 
 And in defeat when even monarchs feared 
 Received my husband. Did I then deserve 
 Thus to be left of thee, and didst thou seek 
 To spare me? And when rushing on thine end 
 Was I to live? Without the monarch's help 
 Death shall be mine, either by headlong leap 
 Beneath the waters; or some sailor's hand 
 Shall bind around this neck the fatal cord; 
 Or else some comrade, worthy of his chief, 
 Drive to my heart his blade for Magnus' sake, 
 And claim the service done to Caesar's arms. 
 What! does your cruelty withhold my fate? 
 Ah! still he lives, nor is it mine as yet 
 To win this freedom; they forbid me death, 
 Kept for the victor's triumph.' Thus she spake, 
 While friendly hands upheld her fainting form; 
 And sped the trembling vessel from the shore. 
 Men say that Magnus, when the deadly blows 
 Fell thick upon him, lost nor form divine, 
 Nor venerated mien; and as they gazed 
 Upon his lacerated head they marked 
 Still on his features anger with the gods. 
 For fierce Septimius in the very blow 
 Made yet more black his crime-unwound the folds 
 That swathed the face, and seized the noble head 
 And drooping neck ere yet was fled the life: 
 Then placed upon the bench; and with his blade 
 Slow at its hideous task, and blows unskilled 
 Hacked through the flesh and brake the knotted bone; 
 For yet man had not learned by swoop of sword 
 Deftly to lop the neck. Achillas claimed 
 The gory head dissevered. What! shalt thou 
 A Roman soldier, while thy blade yet reeks 
 From Magnus' slaughter, play the second part 
 To this base varlet of the Pharian king? 
 Nor bear thyself the bleeding trophy home? 
 Then, that the impious boy (ah! shameful fate) 
 Might know the features of the hero slain, 
 Seized by the locks, the dread of kings, which waved 
 Upon his stately front, on Pharian pike 
 The head was lifted; while almost the life 
 Gave to the tongue its accents, and the eyes 
 Were yet scarce glazed: that head at whose command 
 Was peace or war, that tongue whose eloquent tones 
 Would move assemblies, and that noble brow 
 On which were showered the rewards of Rome . 
 Nor to the tyrant did the sight suffice 
 To prove the murder done. The perishing flesh, 
 The tissues, and the brain he bids remove 
 By art nefarious: the shrivelled skin 
 Draws tight upon the bone; and poisonous juice 
 Gives to the face its lineaments in death. 
 Last of thy race, thou base degenerate boy, 
 About to perish soon, and yield the throne 
 To thine incestuous sister; while the Prince 
 From Macedon here in consecrated vault 
 Now rests, and ashes of the kings are closed 
 In mighty pyramids, and lofty tombs 
 Of thine unworthy fathers mark the graves; 
 Shall Magnus' body hither and thither borne 
 Be battered, headless, by the ocean wave? 
 Too much it troubled thee to guard the corse 
 Unmutilated, for his kinsman's eye 
 To witness! Such the fate which Fortune kept 
 With prosperous Pompeius to the end. 
 'Twas not for him in evil days some ray 
 Of light to hope for. Shattered from the height 
 Of power in one short moment to his death! 
 Years of unbroken victories balanced down 
 By one day's carnage! In his happy time 
 Heaven did not harass him, nor did she spare 
 In misery. Long Fortune held the hand 
 That dashed him down. Now beaten by the sands, 
 Torn upon rocks, the sport of ocean's waves 
 Poured through its wounds, his headless carcase lies, 
 Save by the lacerated trunk unknown.
 
 
 Yet ere the victor touched the Pharian sands 
 Some scanty rites to Magnus Fortune gave, 
 Lest he should want all burial. Pale with fear 
 Came Cordus, hasting from his hiding place; 
 Quaestor, he joined Pompeius on thy shore, 
 Idalian Cyprus, bringing in his train 
 A cloud of evils. Through the darkening shades 
 Love for the dead compelled his trembling steps, 
 Hard by the margin of the deep to search 
 And drag to land his master. Through the clouds 
 The moon shone sadly, and her rays were dim; 
 But by its hue upon the hoary main 
 He knew the body. In a fast embrace 
 He holds it, wrestling with the greedy sea, 
 And deftly watching for a refluent wave 
 Gains help to bring his burden to the land. 
 Then clinging to the loved remains, the wounds 
 Washed with his tears, thus to the gods he speaks, 
 And misty stars obscure: 'Here, Fortune, lies 
 Pompeius, thine: no costly incense rare 
 Or pomp of funeral he dares to ask; 
 Nor that the smoke rise heavenward from his pyre 
 With eastern odours rich; nor that the necks 
 Of pious Romans bear him to the tomb, 
 Their parent; while the forums shall resound 
 ' With dirges; nor that triumphs won of yore 
 'Be borne before him; nor for sorrowing hosts 
 'To cast their weapons forth. Some little shell 
 He begs as for the meanest, laid in which 
 His mutilated corse may reach the flame. 
 Grudge not his misery the pile of wood 
 ' Lit by this menial hand. Is't not enough 
 'That his Cornelia with dishevelled hair 
 ' Weeps not beside him at his obsequies, 
 ' Nor with a last embrace shall place the torch 
 ' Beneath her husband dead, but on the deep 
 ' Hard by still wanders? ' 
 Burning from afar 
 He sees the pyre of some ignoble youth 
 Deserted of his own, with none to guard: 
 And quickly drawing from beneath the limbs 
 Some glowing logs, ' Whoe'er thou art,' he said, 
 Neglected shade, uncared for, dear to none, 
 Yet happier than Pompeius in thy death, 
 Pardon I ask that this my stranger hand 
 ' Should violate thy tomb. Yet if to shades 
 'Be sense or memory, gladly shalt thou yield 
 'This from thy pyre to Magnus. 'Twere thy shame, 
 'Blessed with due burial, if his remains 
 Were homeless.' Speaking thus, the wood aflame 
 Back to the headless trunk at speed he bore, 
 Which hanging on the margin of the deep, 
 Almost the sea had won. In sandy trench 
 The gathered fragments of a broken boat, 
 Trembling, he placed around the noble limbs. 
 No pile above the corse nor under lay, 
 Nor was the fire beneath. Then as he crouched 
 Beside the blaze, ' 0, greatest chief,' he cried, 
 Majestic champion of Hesperia's name, 
 'If to be tossed unburied on the deep 
 Rather than these poor rites thy shade prefer, 
 'From these mine offices thy mighty soul 
 Withdraw, Pompeius. Injuries dealt by fate 
 Command this duty, lest some bird or beast 
 'Or ocean monster, or fierce Caesar's wrath 
 'Should venture aught upon thee. Take the fire; 
 All that thou canst; by Roman hand at least 
 'Enkindled. And should Fortune grant return 
 'To loved Hesperia's land, not here shall rest 
 'Thy sacred ashes; but within an urn 
 Cornelia, from this humble hand received, 
 Shall place them. Here upon a meagre stone 
 We draw the characters to mark thy tomb. 
 These letters reading may some kindly friend 
 'Bring back thine head, dissevered, and may grant 
 'Full funeral honours to thine earthly frame.' 
 Then did he cherish the enfeebled fire 
 Till Magnus' body mingled with its flames. 
 But now the harbinger of coming dawn 
 Had paled the constellations: he in fear 
 Seeks for his hiding place. Whom dost thou dread, 
 Madman, what punishment for such a crime, 
 For which thy fame by rumour trumpet-tongued 
 Has been sent down to ages? Praise is thine 
 For this thy work, at impious Caesar's hands; 
 Sure of a pardon, go; confess thy task, 
 And beg the head dissevered. But his work 
 Was still unfinished, and with pious hand 
 (Fearing some foe) he seizes on the bones 
 Now half consumed, and sinews; and the wave 
 Pours in upon them, and in shallow trench 
 Commits them to the earth; and lest some breeze 
 Might bear away the ashes, or by chance 
 Some sailor's anchor might disturb the tomb, 
 A stone he places, and with stick half burned 
 Traces the sacred name: Here Magnus lies. 
 And art thou, Fortune, pleased that such a spot 
 Should be his tomb which even Caesar's self 
 Had chosen, rather than permit his corse 
 To rest unburied? Why, with thoughtless hand 
 Confine his shade within the narrow bounds 
 Of this poor sepulchre? Where the furthest sand 
 Hangs on the margin of the baffled deep 
 Cabined he lies; yet where the Roman name 
 Is known, and Empire, such in truth shall be 
 The boundless measure of his resting-place. 
 Blot out this stone, this proof against the gods! 
 OEta finds room for Hercules alone, 
 And Nysa 's mountain for the Bromian god; 
 
 Not all the lands of Egypt should suffice 
 For Magnus dead: and shall one Pharian stone 
 Mark his remains? Yet should no turf disclose 
 His title, peoples of the earth would fear 
 To spurn his ashes, and the sands of Nile 
 
 No foot would tread. But if the stone deserves 
 So great a name, then add his mighty deeds: 
 Write Lepidus conquered and the Alpine war, 
 And fierce Sertorius by his aiding arm 
 O'erthrown; the chariots which as knight he drove; 
 
 Cilician pirates driven from the main, 
 And Commerce safe to nations; Eastern kings 
 Defeated and the barbarous Northern tribes; 
 Write that from arms he ever sought the robe; 
 Write that content upon the Capitol 
 Thrice only triumphed he, nor asked his due. 
 What mausoleum were for such a chief 
 A fitting monument? This paltry stone 
 Records no syllable of the lengthy tale 
 Of honours: and the name which men have read 
 Upon the sacred temples of the gods, 
 And lofty arches built of hostile spoils, 
 On desolate sands here marks his lowly grave 
 With characters obscure, such as erect 
 No traveller could read, and Roman guest 
 Without a hand to guide would pass unseen.
 
 
 Thou land of Egypt , doomed to bear a part 
 In civil warfare, not unreasoning sang 
 High Cumae 's prophetess, when she forbad 
 
 The stream Pelusian to the Roman arms, 
 And all the banks which in the summer-tide 
 Are covered by his flood. What grievous curse 
 Shall I call down upon thee? May the Nile 
 
 Turn back his water to his source, thy fields 
 Want for the winter rain, and all the land 
 Crumble to desert wastes! We in our fanes 
 Have known thine Isis and thy hideous gods, 
 Half hounds, half human, and the drum that bids 
 To sorrow, and Osiris, whom thy dirge 
 
 Proclaims for man. Thou, Egypt , in thy sand 
 Our dead containest. Nor, though her temples now 
 Serve a proud master, has Rome yet required 
 Pompeius' ashes: in a foreign land 
 Still lies her chief. But though men feared at first 
 The victor's ire, now, Rome , at length receive 
 Thy Magnus' bones, if still the restless wave 
 Has not prevailed upon that hated shore. 
 Shall men have fear of tombs and dread to move 
 The dust of those who should be with the gods? 
 0, may my country place the crime on me, 
 If crime it be, to violate such a tomb 
 Of such a hero, and to bear his dust 
 Home to Ausonia. Happy, happy he 
 Who bears such holy office in his trust! 
 
 Haply when famine rages in the land 
 Or burning southern winds, or fires abound 
 And earthquake shocks, and Rome shall pray an end 
 From angry heaven-by the gods' command, 
 In council given, shalt thou be transferred 
 To thine own city, and the priest shall bear 
 Thy sacred ashes to their last abode. 
 Who now may seek beneath the raging Crab 
 Or hot Syene 's waste, or Thebes athirst 
 Under the rainy Pleiades, to gaze 
 On Nile 's broad stream; or whoso may exchange 
 On the Red Sea or in Arabian ports 
 Some Eastern merchandise, shall turn in awe 
 To view the venerable stone that marks 
 Thy grave, Pompeius; and shall worship more 
 Thy dust commingled with the arid sand, 
 Thy shade though exiled, than the fane upreared 
 
 On Casius' mount to Jove! In temples shrined 
 And gold, thy memory were viler deemed: 
 Fortune lies with thee in thy lowly tomb 
 And makes thee rival of Olympus ' king. 
 More awful is that stone by Libyan seas 
 Lashed, than are Conquerors' altars. There a god 
 Rests in dark earth to whom all men shall bow 
 More than to gods Tarpeian: and his name 
 Shall shine the brighter in the days to come 
 For that no marble tomb about him stands 
 Nor lofty monument. That little dust 
 Time soon shall scatter and the tomb shall fall 
 And all the proofs shall perish of his death. 
 And happier days shall come when men shall gaze 
 Upon the stone, nor yet believe the tale: 
 And Egypt 's fable, that she holds the grave 
 Of great Pompeius, be believed no more 
 Than Crete 's which boasts the sepulchre of Jove.

YET in those ashes on the Pharian shore, 
 In that small heap of dust, was not confined 
 So great a shade; but from th' ignoble pyre 
 And limbs half burnt sprang forth and sought the sky 
 Where dwells the Thunderer. Black the space of air 
 Upreaching to the poles that bear on high 
 The constellations in their nightly round; 
 There 'twixt the orbit of the moon and earth 
 Abide those lofty spirits, half divine, 
 Who by their blameless lives and fire of soul 
 Are fit to tolerate the pure expanse 
 That bounds the lower ether: there shall dwell, 
 Where nor the monument encased in gold, 
 Nor richest incense, shall suffice to bring 
 The buried dead, in union with the spheres, 
 Pompeius' spirit. When with heavenly light 
 His soul was filled, first on the wandering stars 
 And fixed orbs he bent his wondering gaze; 
 Then saw what darkness veils our earthly day 
 And scorned the insults heaped upon his corse. 
 Next o'er Emathian plains he winged his flight, 
 And ruthless Caesar's standards, and the fleet 
 Tossed on the deep: in Brutus' blameless breast 
 Tarried awhile, and roused his angered soul 
 To reap the vengeance; last possessed the mind 
 Of haughty Cato. 
 He while yet the scales 
 Were poised and balanced, nor the war had given 
 The world its master, hated both the chiefs, 
 But followed Magnus for the Senate's cause 
 And for his country: now in all his heart 
 Was bound to Magnus, since Pharsalia's field. 
 Shorn of her guardian his country found 
 In him her guide; the people's trembling limbs 
 He cherished with new hope, and weapons gave 
 Back to the craven hands that cast them forth. 
 Nor yet for empire did he wage the war 
 Nor fearing slavery: nor in arms achieved 
 Aught for himself: freedom, since Magnus fell, 
 The aim of all his host. And lest the foe 
 In rapid course triumphant should collect 
 His scattered bands, he sought Corcyra 's gulfs 
 Concealed, and bore in thousand ships away 
 The fragments of the ruin wrought in Thrace . 
 Who in such mighty navy had believed 
 A host defeated sailed upon the main 
 Thronging the sea with keels? Round Malea's cape 
 And Taenarus open to the shades below 
 And fair Cythera 's isle, th' advancing fleet 
 Sweeps o'er the yielding wave, by northern breeze 
 Borne past the Cretan shores. But Phycus dared 
 Refuse her harbour, and th' avenging hand 
 Left her in ruins. Thus with gentle airs 
 They glide along the main and reach the shore 
 From Palinurus named; for not alone 
 On seas Italian, Pilot of the deep, 
 Hast thou thy monument; and Libya too 
 Claims that her tranquil harbours pleased thy soul. 
 Then in the distance on the main arose 
 The shining canvas of a stranger fleet, 
 Or friend or foe they knew not. Yet they dread 
 In every keel the presence of that chief 
 Their fear-compelling conqueror. But in truth 
 That navy tears and sorrow bore, and woes 
 To make e'en Cato weep. 
 For when in vain 
 Cornelia prayed her stepson and the crew 
 To stay their flight, lest haply from the shore 
 Back to the sea might float the headless corse; 
 And when the flame arising marked the place 
 Of that unhallowed rite, ' Fortune, didst thou 
 Judge me unfit,' she cried, ' to light the pyre 
 'To cast myself upon the hero dead, 
 'The lock to sever, and compose the limbs 
 'Tossed by the cruel billows of the deep, 
 To shed a flood of tears upon his wounds, 
 To fill my robe with ashes from his urn, 
 And scatter in the temples of the gods 
 All that I could, his dust? That pyre bestows 
 No honour, haply by some Pharian hand 
 Piled up in insult to his mighty shade. 
 Happy the Crassi lying on the waste 
 Unburied. To the greater shame of heaven 
 ' Pompeius has such funeral. And shall this 
 ' For ever be my lot? her husbands slain 
 ' Cornelia ne'er enclose within the tomb, 
 ' Nor shed the tear beside the urn that holds 
 ' The ashes of the loved? Yet for my grief 
 ' What boots or monument or ordered pomp? 
 ' Dost thou not, impious, upon thy heart 
 · Pompeius' image, and upon thy soul 
 ' Bear ineffaceable? Dust closed in urns 
 ' Is for the wife who would survive her lord, 
 ' Not such as thee, Cornelia! And yet 
 'Yon scanty light that glimmers from afar 
 ' Upon the Pharian shore, somewhat of thee 
 ' Recalls, Pompeius! Now the flame sinks down 
 ' And smoke drifts up across the eastern sky 
 ' Bearing thine ashes, and the rising wind 
 ' Sighs hateful in the sail. To me no more 
 ' Dearer than this whatever land has given 
 ' Pompeius victory, nor the frequent car 
 ' That carried him in triumph to the hill; 
 ' Gone is that happy husband from my thoughts; 
 ' Here did I lose the hero whom I knew; 
 ' Here let me stay; his presence shall endear 
 ' The sands of Nile where fell the fatal blow. 
 ' Thou, Sextus, brave the chances of the war 
 'And bear Pompeius' standard through the world. 
 ' For thus thy father spake within mine ear: 
 ' " When sounds my fatal hour let both my sons 
 ' " Urge on the war; nor let some Caesar find 
 ' " Room for an empire, while shall live on earth 
 ' " Still one in whom Pompeius' blood shall run. 
 ' " This your appointed task; all cities strong 
 ' " In freedom of their own, all kingdoms urge 
 ' " To join the combat; for Pompeius calls. 
 ' " Nor shall a chieftain of that famous name 
 ' ' Ride on the seas and fail to find a fleet. 
 ' Urged by his sire's unconquerable will 
 ' " And mindful of his rights, mine heir shall rouse 
 ' " All nations to the conflict. One alone, 
 ' " (Should he contend for freedom) may ye serve; 
 ' " Cato, none else! " Thus have I kept the faith; 
 ' Thy plot prevailed upon me, and I lived 
 'Thy mandate to discharge. Now through the void 
 · Of space, and shades of Hell, if such there be, 
 ' I follow; yet how distant be my doom 
 ' I know not: first my spirit must endure 
 ' The punishment of life, which saw thine end 
 ' And could survive it; sighs shall break my heart, 
 "Tears shall dissolve it: sword nor noose I need 
 Nor headlong plunge. 'Twere shameful since thy death, 
 ' Were aught but grief required to cause my own.' 
 
 She seeks the cabin, veiled, in funeral garb, 
 In tears to find her solace, and to love 
 Grief in her husband's room; no tempest howl 
 Among the shrouds, no angered waves aroused 
 Her soul, nor cry of sailors in dismay: 
 For life their prayers; not hers: and prone she lies 
 Resigned to death and welcoming the storm.
 
 
 First reached they Cyprus on the foamy brine; 
 Then as the eastern breeze more gently held 
 The favouring deep, they touched the Libyan shore 
 Where stood the camp of Cato. Sad as one 
 Who deep in fear presages ills to come, 
 Cnaeus beheld his brother and his band 
 Of patriot comrades. Swift into the wave 
 He leaped and cried, ' Where, brother, is our sire? 
 ' Still stands our country mistress of the world, 
 ' Or are we fallen, Rome with Magnus' death 
 ' Rapt to the shades? ' Thus he: but Sextus said 
 ' Oh happy thou who by report alone 
 ' Hear'st of the deed that chanced on yonder shore! 
 'These eyes that saw, my brother, share the guilt. 
 ' Not Caesar wrought his death, nor any chief 
 ' Worthy to cause the ruin of our sire. 
 ' He fell by order of that shameful king 
 ' Who rules o'er Nilus; trusting to the gods 
 ' Who shield the guest, and to his princely boon 
 ' Of yore-a victim for the realm he gave. 
 ' I saw them pierce our noble father's breast; 
 ' Yet deeming not the petty Pharian prince 
 ' So fell a deed would dare, on Egypt 's strand 
 ' I thought great Caesar stood. But worse than all, 
 ' Worse than the wounds which gaped upon his frame 
 ' Struck me with horror to the inmost heart, 
 ' Our murdered father's head, shorn from the trunk 
 ' And borne aloft on javelin; this sight, 
 ' As rumour said, the cruel victor asked 
 ' To feast his eyes, and prove the bloody deed. 
 ' For whether ravenous birds and Pharian dogs 
 ' Have torn his corse asunder, or a fire 
 ' Consumed it, which with stealthy flame arose, 
 ' I know not. For the fates' unjust decree 
 'Which reft his limbs asunder, I forgive 
 ' The gods: I weep the part preserved by men.' 
 Thus Sextus spake: but Cnaeus at the tale 
 Restrained the tear, and for his father's shame 
 Flamed into fury: ' Launch our navies forth, 
 ' Ye sailors, from the shore, by stalwart arms 
 ' Forced through the deep against opposing winds: 
 ' Captains, lead on: for civil strife ne'er gave 
 ' So great a prize; to lay in earth the limbs 
 'Of Magnus, and avenge him with the blood 
 'Of that unmanly tyrant. Shall I spare 
 Great Alexander's fort, nor sack the shrine 
 And plunge his body in the tideless marsh? 
 Nor drag Amasis from the Pyramids, 
 'And all their ancient kings, to swim the Nile ? 
 'Torn from his tomb, that god of all mankind 
 'Isis, unburied, shall avenge thy shade; 
 And veiled Osiris shall I hurl abroad 
 'And sacred Apis; and with these their gods 
 'I'll light a furnace that shall burn the head 
 'They held in insult. Thus their land shall pay 
 'Atonement to the shade of Magnus dead. 
 No husbandman shall live to till the fields 
 Nor reap the benefit of brimming Nile . 
 'Thou only, Father, gods and men alike 
 'Fallen and perished, shalt possess the land.' 
 Such were the words he spake; and soon the fleet 
 Had dared the angry deep: but Cato 's voice 
 While praising, calmed the youthful chieftain's rage. 
 Meanwhile, when Magnus' fate was known, the air 
 Sounded with lamentations which the shore 
 Re-echoed; never through the ages past, 
 By history recorded, was it known 
 That thus a people mourned their ruler's death. 
 Yet more, when worn with tears, her pallid cheek 
 Veiled by her loosened tresses, from the ship 
 Cornelia came, they wept and beat the breast. 
 Soon as she stood upon the friendly land, 
 Ill-fated Magnus' spoils, his arms of price, 
 His gold-embroidered robe, three times of old 
 
 Displayed to Jove upon the hill, she placed 
 Upon the mournful fire. Such was for her 
 The dust of Magnus. And her love so touched 
 The hearts of all, that soon along the shore 
 Pyres blazed in memory of Pharsalia's dead. 
 'Tis thus in winter to depastured fields 
 By frequent fires th' Apulian herdsman seeks 
 To render verdant growth; and glow with flame 
 Garganus' slopes, and Vultur, and the meads 
 Of warm Matinum. 
 Yet Pompeius' shade 
 Nought else so gratified, not all the blame 
 The people dared to heap upon the gods, 
 For him their hero slain, as these few words 
 From Cato's noble breast instinct with truth: 
 'Gone is a citizen who though no peer 
 
 'Of those who disciplined the state of yore 
 In due submission to the bounds of right, 
 'Yet in this age irreverent of law 
 'Has played a noble part. Great was his power, 
 'But freedom safe: when all the plebs was prone 
 'To be his slaves, he chose the private gown; 
 'So that the Senate ruled the Roman state, 
 'Its chief was Cato: nought by right of arms 
 'He e'er demanded: willing took he gifts 
 'Yet from a willing giver: wealth was his 
 Vast, yet the coffers of the State he filled 
 'Beyond his own. He seized upon the sword, 
 'Knew when to sheath it; war did he prefer 
 'To arts of peace, yet armed loved peace the more. 
 'Pleased took he power, pleased he laid it down: 
 'Chaste was his home and simple, by his wealth 
 'Untarnished. Mid the peoples great his name 
 
 And venerated : to his native Rome 
 
 He wrought much good. True faith in liberty 
 Long since with Marius and Sulla fled: 
 Now when Pompeius has been reft away 
 'Its counterfeit has perished. Now unshamed 
 Shall seize the despot on Imperial power, 
 'Unshamed shall cringe the Senate. Happy he 
 Who with disaster found his latest breath 
 'And met the Pharian sword prepared to slay. 
 Life might have been his lot, in despot rule, 
 Prone at his kinsman's throne. Best gift of all 
 'The knowledge how to die; next, death compelled. 
 If cruel Fortune doth reserve for me 
 An alien conqueror, may Juba be 
 As Ptolemaeus. So he take my head 
 My body grace his triumph, if he will.'
 
 
 More than had Rome resounded with his praise 
 Words such as these gave honour to the shade 
 Of that most noble dead. Meanwhile the crowd 
 Weary of warfare, since Pompeius' fall, 
 Broke into discord, as their ancient chief 
 Cilician called them to desert the camp. 
 They seize upon their ships and float the wave; 
 But Cato hailed them from the nearest shore; 
 ' Untamed Cilician, is thy course now set 
 ' For Ocean theft again; Pompeius gone, 
 ' Pirate art thou once more? ' Then all the air 
 Hummed with the murmur of the throng; and one 
 Resolved on flight thus answered, ' Pardon, chief, 
 ' Twas love of Magnus, not of civil war, 
 ' That led us to the fight: his side was ours: 
 ' With him whom all the world preferred to peace, 
 ' Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes 
 ' Long since unseen, our children and our wives. 
 If nor the rout on dread Pharsalia 's field 
 Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war, 
 Whence comes the end? Our span of life is fled: 
 Give death safe haven, give old age his pyre. 
 Scarce even to its captains civil strife 
 Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat 
 Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke 
 Of distant nations. In the garb of Rome 
 
 And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been 
 Second to Magnus living, he shall be 
 My first hereafter: to that sacred shade 
 Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints 
 My lord but not my leader. Thee alone 
 I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates. 
 'Nor have I right to hope for victory now, 
 Nor wish: our Thracian array is fled 
 'In Caesar's triumph, whose all-potent star 
 Of fortune rules the world; and none but he 
 Has power to keep or save. That civil war 
 Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty 
 Is impious now. Let country lead thee on, 
 ' Cato , and public right; but let us seek 
 ' The standards of the Consul.' Thus he spake 
 And with him leaped into the ship a throng 
 Of eager comrades. 
 Then was Rome undone, 
 For all the shore was stirring with a crowd 
 Athirst for slavery. But burst these words 
 From Cato 's blameless breast: ' Then with like vows 
 ' As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek 
 ' A lord and master! not for Rome the fight, 
 But for Pompeius! For that now no more 
 'Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves, 
 'Not for some despot chief, ye live and die; 
 ' Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord 
 ' Shall rob you, victors, of a world subdued- 
 ' Ye flee the war, and on your abject necks 
 'Feel for the absent yoke; nor can endure 
 ' Without a despot! Yet to men the prize 
 ' Were worth the danger. Magnus might have used 
 ' To evil ends your blood; refuse ye now, 
 ' With liberty so near, your country's call? 
 ' Now lives one tyrant only of the three; 
 ' Thus far in favour of the laws have wrought 
 ' The Pharian weapons and the Parthian bow; 
 ' Not you, degenerate! Begone, and spurn 
 ' This gift of Ptolemaeus. Who would think 
 ' Your hands were stained with blood? The foe will deem 
 ' That you upon that dread Thessalian day 
 ' First turned your backs. Then flee in safety, flee! 
 ' By neither battle nor blockade subdued 
 ' Caesar shall give you life! 0 slaves most base, 
 ' Your former master slain, ye seek his heir! 
 ' Why doth it please you not yet more to earn 
 'Than life and pardon? Bear across the sea 
 ' Metellus' daughter, Magnus' weeping spouse, 
 ' And both his sons; outstrip the Pharian gift. 
 ' Nor spare this head, which, laid before the feet 
 ' Of that detested tyrant, shall deserve 
 'A full reward. Thus, cowards, shall ye learn 
 ' In that ye followed me how great your gain. 
 ' Quick to your task and purchase thus with blood 
 'Your claim on Caesar. 'Tis a dastard crime; 
 ' Flight without slaughter!' 
 
 Cato thus recalled 
 The parting vessels. So when bees in swarm 
 Desert their empty comb, forget the hive, 
 Ceasing to cling together, and with wings 
 Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light 
 On thyme to taste its bitterness-then rings 
 The Phrygian gong-at once they pause aloft 
 Astonied; and with love of toil resumed 
 Through all the flowers for their honey store 
 In ceaseless wanderings search; the shepherd joys, 
 Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept 
 His cottage store, the riches of his home. 
 Now in the active conduct of the war 
 Were brought to discipline their minds, untaught 
 To bear repose; first on the sandy shore 
 Toiling they learned fatigue: then stormed thy walls, 
 
 Cyrene ; prizeless, for to Cato 's mind 
 'Twas prize enough to conquer. Juba next 
 He bids approach, though Nature on the path 
 Had placed the Syrtes; which his sturdy heart 
 Aspired to conquer. Either at the first 
 When Nature gave the universe its form 
 She left this region neither land nor sea; 
 Not wholly shrunk, so that it should receive 
 The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand 
 Against its buffets-all the pathless coast 
 Lies in uncertain shape; earth by the deep 
 Is parted from the land; on sandy banks 
 The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal 
 The waves advance to sound upon the shore. 
 Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone, 
 Unfashioned to men's use-Or else of old 
 A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse, 
 But Titan feeding from the briny depths 
 His burning fires (near to the zone of heat) 
 Reduced the waters. Still the main contends; 
 But in long time the Sun's destructive rays 
 Shall make the Syrtes land, and shallow pools 
 E'en now proclaim the sea's defeat to come.
 
 
 When first the billows to the fleet gave way, 
 Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale 
 Upon his realm, and from the watery plain 
 Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals 
 Compelled the waves, and in the middle sea 
 Raised up a bank. Forth flew the bellying sails 
 Beyond the prows, despite the ropes that dared 
 Resist the tempest's fury; and for those 
 Who prescient housed their canvas to the storm, 
 Bare-masted they were driven from their course. 
 Best was their lot who gained the open waves 
 Of ocean; others lightened of their masts 
 Shook off the tempest; but a sweeping tide 
 Hurried them southwards, victor of the gale. 
 Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced 
 Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast, 
 Part hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt. 
 Fierce rage the waves till hems them in the land; 
 Nor Auster's force in frequent buffets spent 
 Prevails upon the shore. High from the main, 
 By seas inviolate, one bank of sand 
 Far from the coast arose; there watched in vain 
 The storm-tossed mariners, their keel aground, 
 No shore descrying. Thus in sea were lost 
 Some portion, but the major part by helm 
 And rudder guided, and by pilots' hands 
 Who knew the devious channels, safe at length 
 Floated the marsh of Triton loved (as saith 
 The fable) by that god, whose sounding shell 
 
 All seas and shores re-echo; and by her, 
 Pallas, who springing from her father's head 
 First lit on Libya , nearest land to heaven, 
 (As by its heat is proved); here on the brink 
 She stood, reflected in the placid wave 
 And called herself Tritonis. Lethe's flood 
 Flows silent near, in fable from a source 
 Infernal sprung, oblivion in his stream; 
 Here, too, that garden of the Hesperids, 
 Its boughs all golden, where of old his watch 
 The sleepless dragon held. Shame be on him 
 Who calls upon the poet for the proof 
 Of that which in the ancient days befell; 
 But here were golden groves by yellow growth 
 Weighed down in richness, here a maiden band 
 Were guardians; and a serpent, on whose eyes 
 Sleep never fell, was coiled around the trees, 
 Whose branches bowed beneath their ruddy load. 
 But great Alcides stripped the goodly boughs 
 Of all their riches, left them poor and light, 
 And bore the shining fruit to Argos ' king. 
 Driven on the Libyan realms, more fruitful here, 
 Pompeius stayed the fleet, nor further dared 
 To Garamantian waves. But Cato's soul 
 Leaped in his breast, impatient of delay, 
 To pass the Syrtes by a landward march, 
 And trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown 
 To lead his legions. And the storm which closed 
 The main to navies gave them hope of rain; 
 Nor biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime; 
 Nor suns too scorching in the falling year. 
 Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake: 
 ' Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone 
 ' Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall 
 ' With pride unbroken should the fates command, 
 ' Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise 
 ' With hearts resolved to conquer. For we march 
 ' On sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world; 
 ' Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height 
 ' Burns pitiless, unclouded; and the slime 
 ' Of poisonous serpents fouls the dusty earth. 
 ' Yet shall men venture for the love of laws 
 ' And country perishing, upon the sands 
 ' Of trackless Libya ; men who brave in soul 
 ' Rely not on the end, and in attempt 
 ' Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts 
 ' On this our enterprise to lead a band 
 ' Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk. 
 ' Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake, 
 ' Whom I shall see for honour and for Rome 
 
 ' Bear up against the worst. But whoso needs 
 ' A pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet, 
 ' Let him by fairer journey seek his lord. 
 ' First be my foot upon the sand; on me 
 ' First strike the burning sun; across my path 
 ' The serpent void his venom; by my fate 
 ' Know ye your perils. Let him only thirst 
 ' Who sees me at the spring: who sees me seek 
 ' The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat; 
 ' Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks 
 ' Plodding their weary march: such be the lot 
 ' Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief 
 ' And not a comrade. Snakes, thirst, burning sand 
 'The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast 
 ' Finds happiness in labour. By its cost 
 ' Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land 
 ' Such cloud of ills can furnish as might make 
 'Men flee unshamed.' 'Twas thus that Cato spake, 
 Kindling the torch of valour and the love 
 Of toil: then reckless of his fate he strode 
 The desert path from which was no return: 
 And Libya ruled his destinies, to shut 
 His sacred name within a narrow tomb.
 
 
 One-third of all the world, if fame we trust, 
 Is Libya ; yet by winds and sky she proves 
 Equal to Europe ; for the shores of Nile 
 
 No more than Scythian Tanais are remote 
 From furthest Gades , where with bending coast, 
 Yielding a place to Ocean, Europe parts 
 From Afric shores. Yet falls the larger world 
 To Asia only. From the former two 
 Issues the Western wind; but Asia 's right 
 Touches the Southern limits and her left 
 The Northern tempest's home, and of the East 
 She's mistress to the rising of the Sun. 
 All that is fertile of the Afric lands 
 Lies to the west, but even here abound 
 No wells of water: though the Northern wind, 
 Infrequent, leaving us with skies serene, 
 Falls there in showers. Not gold nor wealth of brass 
 It yields the seeker; pure and unalloyed 
 Down to its lowest depths is Libyan soil. 
 Yet citron forests to Maurusian tribes 
 Were riches, had they known; but they, content, 
 Lived 'neath the shady foliage, till gleamed 
 The axe of Rome amid the virgin grove, 
 To bring from furthest limits of the world 
 Our banquet tables and the fruit they bear. 
 
 But suns excessive and a scorching clime 
 Burn all the glebe beside the shifting sands: 
 There die the harvests on the crumbling mould; 
 No root finds sustenance, nor kindly Jove 
 Makes rich the furrow nor matures the vine. 
 Sleep binds all nature and the tract of sand 
 Lies ever fruitless, save that by the coast 
 The hardy Nasamon plucks a scanty grass. 
 Unclothed their race, and living on the woes 
 Worked by the cruel Syrtes on the world. 
 He dwells a spoiler by the sandy waves, 
 And while no ships unlade upon his shore, 
 Grows rich by wrecks-his only trade with man. 
 By such a path at hardy Cato's word 
 His soldiers passed, in thought from winds secure 
 Nor dreading storms: but fearful was their lot 
 More than on ocean waves; for Auster's force 
 Here strikes with greater strength upon the sands, 
 And yet more fraught with mischief: neither crags 
 Repelled his strength, nor lofty mountains tamed 
 His furious onset, nor in sturdy woods 
 He found a bar; but free from curb he raged 
 O'er the defenceless earth. Nor merely dust 
 Swirled up in drifts of rain, but Earth herself, 
 In major part, was rapt into the air 
 On ceaseless whirlwinds borne, until amazed 
 The Nasamon saw his scanty field and home 
 Reft by the tempest, and the native huts 
 From roof to base were hurried on the blast. 
 Not higher, when some all-devouring flame 
 Has seized upon its prey, in volumes dense 
 Rolls up the smoke, and darkens all the air. 
 Then with fresh might he fell upon the host 
 Of marching Romans, snatching from their feet 
 The sand they trod. Had Auster been enclosed 
 In some vast cavernous vault with solid walls 
 And mighty barriers, he had moved the world 
 Upon its ancient base and made the lands 
 To tremble: but the facile Libyan soil 
 By not resisting stood, and blasts that whirled 
 The surface upwards left the depths unmoved. 
 Helmet and shield and spear were torn away 
 By his most violent breath, and borne aloft 
 Through all the regions of the boundless sky; 
 Perchance a wonder in some distant land, 
 Where men may fear the weapons from the heaven 
 There falling, as the armour of the gods, 
 Nor deem them ravished from a soldier's arm. 
 'Twas thus on Numa by the sacred fire 
 Those shields descended which our chosen priests 
 
 Bear on their shoulders; from some warlike race 
 By tempest rapt, to be the prize of Rome . 
 While thus the tempest whirled the earth aloft 
 Prone fell the host, and wound their garments tight, 
 And gripped the soil; but hardly thus prevailed. 
 Weight had not held them safe; the raging blast 
 Piles heaps upon them, their recumbent limbs 
 Are whelmed in sand. At length they struggling rose 
 Back to their feet, when lo! around them stood, 
 Forced by the storm, a growing bank of earth 
 Which held them motionless. And from afar 
 Where walls lay prostrate, mighty stones were hurled, 
 Thus piling ills on ills in wondrous form: 
 No dwellings had they seen, yet at their feet 
 Beheld the ruins. All the earth was hid 
 In vast envelopment, nor found they guide 
 Save from the stars, which as in middle deep 
 Flamed o'er them wandering: yet some were hid 
 Beneath the circle of the Libyan earth 
 Which tending downwards hid the Northern sky. 
 When warmth dispersed the tempest-driven air, 
 And rose upon the earth the flaming day, 
 Bathed were their limbs in sweat, but parched and dry 
 Their gaping lips; when to a scanty spring 
 Far off beheld they came, whose meagre drops 
 All gathered in the hollow of a helm 
 They offered to their chief. Caked were their throats 
 With dust, and panting; and one little drop 
 Had made him envied. 'Wretch, and dost thou deem 
 Me wanting in a brave man's heart? ' he cried, 
 ' Me only in this throng? And have I seemed 
 'Tender, unfit to bear the morning heat? 
 He who would quench his thirst 'mid such a host, 
 'Doth most deserve its pangs.' Then in his wrath 
 Dashed down the helmet, and the scanty spring, 
 Thus by their leader spurned, sufficed for all.
 
 
 Now had they reached that temple which possess, 
 Sole in all Libya , th' untutored tribes 
 Of Garamantians. Here holds his seat 
 (So saith the story) a prophetic Jove, 
 Wielding no thunderbolts, nor like to ours; 
 The Libyan Hammon of the curved horn. 
 No wealth adorns his fane by Afric tribes 
 Bestowed, nor glittering hoard of Eastern gems. 
 Though rich Arabians, Ind and Ethiop 
 Know him alone as Jove, still he is poor 
 Holding his shrine by riches undefiled 
 Through time; and pure as gods of olden days 
 He spurns the wealth of Rome . That here sone god 
 Dwells, witnesses the only grove 
 That buds in Libya-for that which grows 
 Upon the arid dust which Leptis parts 
 From Berenice , knows no leaves; alone 
 Hammon uprears a wood; a fount the cause 
 Which with its waters binds the crumbling soil. 
 Yet shall the Sun when poised upon the height 
 Strike through the foliage: hardly can the tree 
 Protect its trunk, and to a little space 
 His rays draw in the circle of the shade. 
 Here have men found the spot where that high band 
 Solstitial divides in middle sky 
 
 The zodiac stars: not here oblique their course, 
 Nor Scorpion rises straighter than the Bull, 
 Nor to the Scales does Ram give back his hours, 
 Nor does Astraea bid the Fishes sink 
 More slowly down: but watery Capricorn 
 Is equal with the Crab, and with the Twins 
 The Archer; neither does the Lion rise 
 Above Aquarius. But the race that dwells 
 Beyond the fervour of the Libyan fires 
 Sees to the South that shadow which with us 
 Falls to the North : slow Cynosura sinks 
 
 For them below the deep; and, dry with us, 
 The Wagon plunges; far from either pole, 
 No star they know that does not seek the nain, 
 But all the constellations in their course 
 Whirl to their vision through the middle sky. 
 Before the doors the Eastern peoples stood 
 Seeking from horned Jove to know their fates: 
 Yet to the Roman chief they yielded place, 
 Whose comrades prayed him to entreat the gods 
 Famed through the Libyan world, and judge the voice 
 Renowned from distant ages. First of these 
 Was Labienus: 'Chance,' he said, 'to us 
 'The voice and counsel of this mighty god 
 'Has offered as we march; from such a guide 
 'To know the issues of the war, and learn 
 'To track the Syrtes. For to whom on earth 
 'If not to blameless Cato , shall the gods 
 Entrust their secret truths? Thou at the least 
 'Their faithful follower through life hast been. 
 'Lo! thou hast liberty to speak with Jove. 
 Ask impious Caesar's fates, and learn the laws 
 'That wait our country in the future days: 
 'Whether the people shall be free to use 
 'Their rights and customs, or the civil war 
 'For us is wasted. To thy sacred breast, 
 'Lover of virtue, take the voice divine; 
 'Demand what virtue is and guide thy steps 
 'By heaven's high counsellor.' 
 But Cato, full 
 Of godlike thoughts borne in his quiet breast, 
 This answer uttered, worthy of the shrines: 
 'What, Labienus, dost thou bid me ask? 
 'Whether in arms and freedom I should wish 
 ' To perish, rather than endure a king? 
 ' Is longest life worth aught? And doth its term 
 ' Make difference? Can violence to the good 
 Do injury? Do Fortune's threats avail 
 Outweighed by virtue? Doth it not suffice 
 To aim at deeds of bravery? Can fame 
 Grow by achievement? Nay! No Hammon's voice 
 Shall teach us this more surely than we know. 
 Bound are we to the gods; no voice we need; 
 They live in all our acts, although the shrine 
 Be silent: at our birth and once for all 
 What may be known the author of our being 
 Revealed; nor chose these thirsty sands to chaunt 
 'To few his truth, whelmed in the dusty waste. 
 God has his dwelling in all things that be, 
 
 In earth and air and sea and starry vault, 
 In virtuous deeds; in all that thou canst see, 
 In all thy thoughts contained. Why further, then, 
 Seek we our deities? Let those who doubt 
 And halting, tremble for their coming fates, 
 Go ask the oracles. No mystic words, 
 Make sure my heart, but surely coming Death. 
 " Coward alike and brave, we all must die. 
 Thus hath Jove spoken : seek to know no more.' 
 Thus Cato spoke, and faithful to his creed 
 He parted from the temple of the god 
 And left the oracle of Hammon dumb. 
 Bearing his javelin, as one of them 
 He strode afoot before the panting troops: 
 No bending neck, no litter bore his form. 
 He bade them not, but showed them how to toil. 
 Spare in his sleep, the last to sip the spring, 
 When at some rivulet to quench their thirst 
 The eager ranks pressed onward, he alone 
 Until the humblest follower might drink 
 Stood motionless. If for the truly good 
 Is fame, and virtue by the deed itself, 
 Not by successful issue, should be judged, 
 Yield, famous ancestors! Fortune, not worth 
 Gained you your glory. But such name as his 
 Who ever merited by successful war 
 Or slaughtered peoples? Rather would I lead 
 With him his triumphs through the pathless sands 
 And Libya 's bounds, than in Pompeius' car 
 Three times ascend the Capitol, or break 
 The proud Jugurtha. 
 Rome ! in him behold 
 His country's father, worthiest of thy vows; 
 A name by which men shall not blush to swear, 
 Whom, shouldst thou break the fetters from thy neck, 
 Thou mayst in distant days decree divine. 
 Now was the heat more dense, and through that clime 
 Than which no further on the Southern side 
 The gods permit, they trod; and scarcer still 
 The water, till in middle sands they found 
 One copious fountain; but its brimming wave 
 Was thronged with serpents which it hardly held, 
 And thirsty asps were pressing on the marge. 
 But when the chieftain saw that speedy fate 
 Was on the host, if they should leave the well 
 Untasted, ' Vain,' he cried, your fear of death. 
 ' Drink, nor delay: 'tis from the threatening tooth 
 " Men draw their deaths, and fatal from the fang 
 ' Issues the juice if mingled with the blood; 
 ' The cup is harmless.' Then he sipped the fount, 
 Still doubting, and in all the Libyan waste 
 There only was he first to touch the stream.
 
 
 Why fertile thus in death the pestilent air 
 Of Libya , what poison in her soil 
 Her several nature mixed, my care to know 
 Has not availed: but from the days of old 
 A fabled story has deceived the world. 
 Far on her limits, where the burning shore 
 Admits the ocean fervid from the sun 
 Plunged in its waters, lay Medusa's fields 
 Untilled; nor forests shaded, nor the plough 
 Furrowed the soil, which by its mistress' gaze 
 Was hardened into stone: Phorcus, her sire. 
 Malevolent nature from her body first 
 Drew forth these noisome pests; first from her jaws 
 Issued the sibilant rattle of serpent tongues; 
 Clustered around her head the poisonous brood 
 Like to a woman's hair, wreathed on her neck 
 Which gloried in their touch; their glittering heads 
 Advanced towards her; and her tresses kempt 
 Dripped down with viper's venom. This alone 
 Thou hast, accursed one, which men can see 
 Unharmed; for who upon that gaping mouth 
 Looked and could dread? Whom suffered she to die 
 Who saw her face? He rushed upon his fate 
 And ere he feared was stricken to the death. 
 Perished the limbs while living, and the soul 
 Grew stiff and stark ere yet it fled the frame. 
 Men have been frenzied by the Furies' locks, 
 Not killed; and Cerberus at Orpheus' song 
 Ceased from his hissing, and Alcides saw 
 The Hydra ere he slew. This monster born 
 Brought horror with her birth upon her sire 
 Phorcus, in second order God of Waves, 
 And upon Ceto and the Gorgon brood, 
 
 Her sisters. She could treat the sea and sky 
 With deadly calm unknown, and from the world 
 Bid cease the soil. Borne down by instant weight 
 Fowls fell from air, and beasts were fixed in stone. 
 Whole Ethiop tribes who tilled the neighbouring lands 
 Rigid in marble stood. The Gorgon sight 
 No creature bore and even her serpents turned 
 Back from her visage. Atlas in his place 
 Beside the Western columns, by her look 
 Was turned to granite; and when Phlegra's brood 
 Gigantic, serpent-tailed, were feared of heaven, 
 She made them mountains, and the Gorgon head 
 Borne on Athena's bosom closed the war. 
 Here born of Danae and the golden shower, 
 Floating on wings Parrhasian, by the god 
 Arcadian given, author of the lyre 
 And wrestling art, came Perseus, swooping down 
 From heaven. Cyllenian Harpe did he bear 
 Still crimson from another monster slain, 
 The guardian of the heifer loved by Jove. 
 This to her winged brother Pallas lent 
 Price of the monster's head: by her command 
 He sought the limits of the Libyan land, 
 Poised o'er Medusa's realm, with head averse 
 Towards the rising sun: a burnished shield 
 Of yellow brass upon his other arm, 
 Her gift, her bore: in which she bade him see 
 The fatal face unscathed. Nor yet in sleep 
 Lay all the monster, for such total rest 
 To her were death-so fated: serpent locks 
 In vigilant watch, some reaching forth defend 
 Her head, while others lay upon her face 
 And slumbering eyes. Then hero Perseus shook 
 Though turned averse; trembled his dexter hand: 
 But Pallas held, and the descending blade 
 Shore the broad neck whence sprang the viper brood. 
 What visage bore the Gorgon as the steel 
 Thus reft her life! what poison from her throat 
 Breathed! from her eyes what venom of death distilled! 
 The goddess dared not look, and Perseus' face 
 Had frozen, averse, had not Athena veiled 
 With coils of writhing snakes the features dead. 
 Then with the Gorgon head the hero flew 
 Uplifted on his wings and sought the sky. 
 Shorter had been his voyage through the midst 
 Of Europe 's cities; but Athena bade 
 To spare her peoples and their fruitful lands; 
 For who when such an airy courser passed 
 Had not looked up to heaven? Western winds 
 Now sped his pinions, and he took his course 
 O'er Libya 's regions, from the stars and suns 
 Veiled by no culture. Phoebus' nearer track 
 There burns the soil, and loftiest on the sky 
 
 There falls the night, to shade the wandering moon, 
 If e'er forgetful of her course oblique, 
 Straight through the stars, nor bending to the North 
 Nor to the South, she hastens. Yet that earth, 
 In nothing fertile, void of fruitful yield, 
 Drank in the poison of Medusa's blood, 
 Dripping in dreadful dews upon the soil, 
 And in the crumbling sands by heat matured. 
 Where first within the dust the venom germ 
 
 Took life, an asp was reared of turgid neck 
 And sleep compelling: thick the poison drop 
 That was his making, in no fang of snake 
 More closely pressed. Greedy of warmth it seeks 
 No frozen world itself, nor haunts the sands 
 Beyond the Nile ; yet has our thirst of gain 
 No shame nor limit, and this Libyan death, 
 This fatal pest we purchase for our own. 
 Haemorrhois huge spreads out his scaly coils, 
 Who suffers not his hapless victims' blood 
 To stay within their veins. Chersydros sprang 
 To life, to dwell within the doubtful marsh 
 Where land nor sea prevails. A cloud of spray 
 Marked fell Chelyder's track: and Cenchris rose 
 Straight gliding to his prey, his belly tinged 
 With various spots unnumbered, more than those 
 Which paint the Theban marble; horned snakes 
 With spines contorted: like to torrid sand 
 Ammodytes, of hue invisible: 
 Sole of all serpents Scytale to shed 
 In vernal frosts his slough; and thirsty Dipsas; 
 Dread Amphisbaena with his double head 
 Tapering; and Natrix who in bubbling fount 
 Fuses his venom. Greedy Prester swells 
 His foaming jaws; Pareas, head erect 
 Furrows with tail alone his sandy path; 
 Swift Jaculus there, and Seps whose poisonous juice 
 Makes liquid bone and flesh: and there upreared 
 His regal head, and frighted from his track 
 With sibilant terror all the subject swarm, 
 Baneful ere darts his poison, Basilisk 
 
 In sands deserted king. Ye serpents too 
 Who in all other regions harmless glide 
 Adored as gods, and bright with golden scales, 
 Are deadly here: for Afric air inhaled 
 Bestows malignant gift, as poised on wings 
 Whole herds of kine ye follow, and with coils 
 Encircling close, crush in the mighty bull. 
 Nor does the elephant in his giant bulk, 
 Nor aught, find safety; and ye need no fang 
 Nor poison, to compel the fatal end.
 
 
 Amid these pests undaunted Cato urged 
 His desert journey on. His hardy troops 
 Beneath his eyes, pricked by a scanty wound, 
 In strangest forms of death unnumbered fall. 
 Tyrrhenian Aulus, bearer of a flag, 
 Trod on a Dipsas; quick with head reversed 
 The serpent struck; no mark betrayed the tooth: 
 The aspect of the wound nor threatened death, 
 Nor any evil; but the poison germ 
 In silence working as consuming fire 
 Absorbed the moisture of his inward frame, 
 Draining the natural juices that were spread 
 Around his vitals; in his arid jaws 
 Set flame upon his tongue: his wearied limbs 
 No sweat bedewed; dried up, the fount of tears 
 Fled from his eyelids. Tortured by the fire 
 Nor Cato's sternness, nor of his sacred charge 
 The honour could withhold him; but he dared 
 To dash his standard down, and through the plains 
 Raging, to seek for water that might slake 
 The fatal venom thirsting at his heart. 
 Plunge him in Tanais , in Rhone and Po, 
 Pour on his burning tongue the flood of Nile , 
 Yet were the fire unquenched. So fell the fang 
 Of Dipsas in the torrid Libyan lands; 
 In other climes less fatal. Next he seeks 
 Amid the sands, all barren to the depths, 
 For moisture: then returning to the shoals 
 Laps them with greed-in vain-the briny draught 
 Scarce quenched the thirst it made. Nor knowing yet 
 The poison in his frame, he steels himself 
 To rip his swollen veins and drink the gore. 
 Cato bids lift the standard, lest his troops 
 May find in thirst a pardon for the deed. 
 But on Sabellus' yet more piteous death 
 Their eyes were fastened. Clinging to his skin 
 A Seps with curving tooth, of little size, 
 He seized and tore away, and to the sands 
 Pierced with his javelin. Small the serpent's bulk; 
 None deals a death more horrible in form. 
 For swift the flesh dissolving round the wound 
 Bared the pale bone; swam all his limbs in blood; 
 Wasted the tissue of his calves and knees: 
 And all the muscles of his thighs were thawed 
 In black distilment, and the membrane sheath 
 Parted, that bound his vitals, which abroad 
 Flowed upon earth: yet seemed it not that all 
 His frame was loosed, for by the venomous drop 
 Were all the bands that held his muscles drawn 
 Down to a juice; the framework of his chest 
 Was bare, its cavity, and all the parts 
 Hid by the organs of life, that make the man. 
 So by unholy death there stood revealed 
 His inmost nature. Head and stalwart arms, 
 And neck and shoulders, from their solid mass 
 Melt in corruption. Not more swiftly flows 
 Wax at the sun's command, nor snow compelled 
 By southern breezes. Yet not all is said: 
 For so to noxious humours fire consumes 
 Our fleshly frame; but on the funeral pyre 
 What bones have perished? These dissolve no less 
 Than did the mouldered tissues, nor of death 
 Thus swift is left a trace. Of Afric pests 
 Thou bear'st the palm for hurtfulness: the life 
 They snatch away, thou only with the life 
 The clay that held it. 
 Lo! a different fate, 
 Not this by melting! for a Prester's fang 
 Nasidius struck, who erst in Marsian fields 
 Guided the plough. Upon his face there burns 
 A redness as of flame: swollen the skin, 
 His features hidden, swollen all his limbs 
 Till more than human: and his definite frame 
 One tumour huge conceals. A ghastly gore 
 Is puffed from inwards as the virulent juice 
 Courses through all his body; which, thus grown, 
 His corselet holds not. Not in caldron so 
 Boils up to mountainous height the steaming wave; 
 Nor in such bellying curves does canvas bend 
 To Eastern tempests. Now the ponderous bulk 
 Rejects the limbs, and as a shapeless trunk 
 Burdens the earth: and there, to beasts and birds 
 A fatal feast, his comrades leave the corse; 
 Nor dare to place, yet swelling, in the tomb. 
 But for their eyes the Libyan pests prepared 
 More dreadful sights. On Tullus great in heart, 
 And bound to Cato with admiring soul, 
 A fierce Haemorrhois fixed. From every limb, 
 
 (As from a statue saffron spray is showered 
 In every part) there spouted forth for blood 
 A sable poison: from the natural pores 
 Of moisture, gore profuse; his mouth was filled 
 And gaping nostrils, and his tears were blood. 
 Brimmed full his veins; his very sweat was red; 
 All was one wound. 
 Then piteous Levus next 
 In sleep was victim, for around his heart 
 Stood still the blood congealed: no pain he felt 
 Of venomous tooth, but swift upon him fell 
 Death, and he sought the shades; more swift to kill 
 No draught in poisonous cups from ripened plants 
 Of direst growth Sabaean wizards brew. 
 Lo! Upon branchless trunk a serpent, named 
 By Libyans Jaculus, rose in coils to dart 
 His venom from afar. Through Paullus' brain 
 It rushed, nor stayed; for in the wound itself 
 Was death. Then did they know how slowly flies, 
 Flung from a sling, the stone; how gently speed 
 Through air the shafts of Scythia . What availed, 
 Murrus, the lance by which thou didst transfix 
 A Basilisk? Swift through the weapon ran 
 The poison to his hand: he drew his sword 
 And severed arm and shoulder at a blow: 
 Then gazed secure upon his severed hand 
 Which perished as he looked. So hadst thou died, 
 And such had been thy fate! 
 Whoe'er had thought 
 A scorpion had strength o'er death and fate? 
 Yet with his threatening coils and barb erect 
 He won the glory of Orion slain; 
 So bear the stars their witness. And who would fear 
 Thy haunts, Salpuga? Yet the Stygian Maids 
 Have given thee power to snap the fatal threads.
 
 
 Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the night 
 With darkness gave them peace. The very earth 
 On which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor straw 
 They piled for couches, but upon the ground 
 Unshielded from the fates they laid their limbs, 
 Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of night 
 The frozen pests found shelter; in whose jaws 
 Harmless the while, the lurking venom slept. 
 Nor did they know the measure of their march 
 Accomplished, nor their path; the stars in heaven 
 Their only guide. ' Return, ye gods,' they cried, 
 In frequent wail, ' the arms from which we fled. 
 ' Give back Thessalia . Sworn to meet the sword 
 ' Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place 
 ' The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake 
 ' Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek 
 ' That region by the horses of the sun 
 ' Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall 
 'Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky 
 ' Descend our fate! Not, Africa , of thee 
 ' Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind 
 ' Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests 
 ' She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields 
 ' Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men 
 'Should perish by their venom. To the realms 
 ' Of serpents have we come. Hater of men, 
 ' Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods 
 ' Severed this region upon either hand, 
 ' With death in middle space. Our march is set 
 'Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host 
 ' Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world. 
 ' Perchance some greater wonders on our path 
 ' May still await us; in the waves be plunged 
 ' Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole 
 'Stoop from its height. By further space removed 
 ' No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice 
 ' Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land 
 ' There may we long, where yet some living thing 
 ' Gives consolation. Not my native land 
 ' Nor European fields I hope for now 
 ' Lit by far other suns, nor Asia 's plains. 
 ' But in what land, what region of the sky, 
 ' Where left we Africa ? But now with frosts 
 ' Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws 
 ' Which rule the seasons, in this little space? 
 ' Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies 
 ' And stars we tread; behind our backs the home 
 ' Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance 
 ' Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates 
 ' This solace pray we, that on this our track 
 ' Pursuing Caesar with his host may come.' 
 Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaints 
 Disburdened. But the bravery of their chief 
 Forced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand, 
 All bare, he lies and dares at every hour 
 Fortune to strike: he only at the fate 
 Of each was present, flew to every call; 
 And roused their hearts to fight the poison germ. 
 Not life he brings them, but the strength in death 
 To die without a groan-to groan were shame 
 When he was witness-over him what power 
 Had plague or venom? In a comrade's breast 
 They see him conquer anguish; and they learn, 
 Gazing on him, how weak the power of pain. 
 Some aid from Fortune, weary of their woes, 
 At length they gained. Of all who till the earth 
 The Psyllians only are by snakes unharmed. 
 Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood, 
 Nor gives admission to the poison germ 
 E'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itself 
 Placed in such venomous tract and serpent-thronged 
 Gained them this vantage, and a truce with death, 
 Else could they not have lived. Such is their trust 
 In purity of blood, that newly born 
 Each babe they prove by test of deadly asp 
 For foreign lineage. So the bird of Jove 
 Turns his new fledglings to the rising sun 
 And such as gaze upon the beams of day 
 With eyes unwavering, for the use of heaven 
 He rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' rays 
 Casts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descent 
 The babe who, dreading not the serpent touch, 
 Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake. 
 Nor with their own immunity from harm 
 Contented do they rest, but watch for guests 
 Who need their help against the noisome plague. 
 Now to the Roman standards are they come, 
 And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed, 
 First all the sandy space within the lines 
 With song they purify and magic words 
 From which all serpents flee: next round the camp 
 In widest circuit from a kindled fire 
 Rise aromatic odours: danewort burns, 
 And juice distils from Syrian galbanum; 
 Then mournful tamarisk, costum from the East, 
 Strong panacea mixed with centaury 
 From Thrace , and leaves of fennel feed the flames, 
 And thapsus brought from Eryx : and they burn 
 Larch, southern-wood and antlers of a deer 
 Which lived afar. From these in densest fumes, 
 Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose; 
 And thus in safety passed the night away. 
 But should some victim feel the fatal fang 
 Upon the march, then of this magic race 
 Were seen the wonders; with saliva first 
 They smear the limb, whose silent working keeps 
 
 The venom in the wound. From foaming mouth 
 Next with continuous cadence would they pour 
 Unceasing chants-nor breathing space nor pause- 
 Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permit 
 A moment's silence. Oft from the black flesh 
 Flies forth the pest beneath the magic song: 
 But should it linger nor obey the voice, 
 Repugnant to the summons, on the wound 
 Prostrate they lay their lips and from the depths 
 Now paling draw the venom. In their mouths, 
 Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death, 
 Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall know 
 The nature of the snake whose bite they cure.
 
 
 Thus helped, the Roman host with lighter heart 
 Trod through the barren fields in lengthy march. 
 
 Twice veiled the moon her light and twice renewed; 
 Yet still, with waning or with growing orb 
 Saw Cato's steps upon the sandy waste. 
 But more and more beneath their feet the dust 
 Began to harden, till the Libyan tracts 
 Once more were earth, and in the distance rose 
 Some groves of scanty foliage, and huts 
 Of plastered straw unfashioned: and their hearts 
 Leaped at the prospect of a better land. 
 How fled their sorrow! how with growing joy 
 They met the savage lion in the path! 
 In tranquil Leptis first they found retreat: 
 And passed a winter free from heat and rain. 
 
 When Caesar sated with Emathia 's slain 
 Forsook the battlefield, all other cares 
 Neglected, he pursued his kinsman fled, 
 On him alone intent: by land his steps 
 He traced in vain; then, rumour for his guide, 
 He crossed the sea and reached the Thracian strait 
 For love renowned; where on the mournful shore 
 Rose Hero's tower, and Helle born of cloud 
 Took from the rolling waves their former name. 
 Nowhere with shorter space the sea divides 
 
 Europe from Asia ; though Pontus parts 
 By scant division from Byzantium 's hold 
 
 Chalcedon oyster-rich: and small the strait 
 Through which Propontis pours the Euxine wave. 
 Then marvelling at their ancient fame, he seeks 
 Sigeum's sandy beach and Simois' stream, 
 Rhoeteum noble for its Grecian tomb, 
 And all the heroes' shades, the theme of song. 
 Next by the town of Troy burnt down of old 
 Now but a memorable name, he turns 
 His steps, and searches for the mighty stones 
 Relics of Phoebus' wall. But bare with age 
 Forests of trees and mouldering trunks oppressed 
 Assaracus' palace, and with wearied roots 
 Possessed the ancient temples of the gods. 
 All Pergamus with densest brake was veiled 
 And even her stones were perished. He beheld 
 Thy rock, Hesione; the hidden grove, 
 Anchises' nuptial chamber; and the cave 
 Where sat the arbiter; the spot from which 
 Was snatched the beauteous youth; the mountain lawn 
 Where mourned OEnone. Not a stone but told 
 The story of the past. A little stream 
 Scarce trickling through the arid plain he passed, 
 Nor knew 'twas Xanthus : deep in grass he placed, 
 Careless, his footstep; but the herdsman cried 
 Thou tread'st the dust of Hector.' Stones confused 
 Lay at his feet in sacred shape no more: 
 'Look on the altar of Jove,' thus spake the guide, 
 God of the household, guardian of the home.' 
 O sacred task of poets, toil supreme, 
 Which rescuing all things from allotted fate 
 Dost give eternity to mortal men! 
 Grudge not the glory, Caesar, of such fame. 
 For if the Latian Muse may promise aught, 
 Long as the heroes of the Trojan time 
 Shall live upon the page of Smyrna 's bard, 
 So long shall future races read of thee 
 In this my poem; and Pharsalia's song 
 Live unforgotten in the age to come. 
 When by the ancient grandeur of the place 
 The chieftain's sight was filled, of gathered turf 
 Altars he raised: and as the sacred flame 
 Cast forth its odours, these not idle vows 
 Gave to the gods, 'Ye deities of the dead, 
 ' Who watch o'er Phrygian ruins: ye who now 
 Lavinia's homes inhabit, and Alba's height: 
 Gods of my sire AEneas, in whose fanes 
 The Trojan fire still burns: pledge of the past 
 'Mysterious Pallas, of the inmost shrine, 
 Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat, 
 'Most famous offspring of Iulus' race, 
 'I call upon you and with pious hand 
 Burn frequent offerings. To my emprise 
 Give prosperous ending! Here shall I replace 
 'The Phrygian peoples, here in glad return 
 ' Italia 's sons shall build a Pergamus 
 
 And from these stones shall rise a Roman Troy.' 
 He seeks his fleet, and eager to regain 
 Time spent at Ilium , to the favouring breeze 
 Spreads all his canvas. Past rich Asia borne, 
 
 Rhodes soon he left while foamed the sparkling main 
 Beneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretch 
 His bending sails, till on the seventh night 
 The Pharian beam proclaimed Egyptian shores. 
 But day arose, and veiled the nightly lamp 
 Ere rode his barks on waters safe from storm. 
 Then Caesar saw that tumult held the shore, 
 And mingled voices of uncertain sound 
 Struck on his ear: and trusting not himself 
 To doubtful kingdoms, of uncertain troth, 
 He kept his ships from land. But from the king 
 Came his vile minion forth upon the wave, 
 Bearing his dreadful gift, Pompeius' head, 
 Wrapped in a covering of Pharian wool. 
 First took he speech and thus in shameless words 
 Commends the murder: ' Conqueror of the world, 
 First of the Roman race, and, what as yet 
 Thou dost not know, safe by thy kinsman slain; 
 This gift receive from the Pellaean king, 
 Sole trophy absent from the Thracian field, 
 'To crown thy toils on land and on the deep. 
 Here in thine absence have we placed for thee 
 'An end upon the war. Here Magnus came 
 To mend his fallen fortunes; on our swords 
 'Here met his death. With such a pledge of faith 
 Here have we bought thee, Caesar; with his blood 
 Seal we this treaty. Take the Pharian realm 
 Sought by no bloodshed, take the rule of Nile , 
 Take all that thou wouldst give for Magnus' life: 
 And hold him vassal worthy of thy camp 
 'To whom the fates against thy son-in-law 
 'Such power entrusted; nor hold thou the deed 
 'Lightly accomplished by the swordsman's stroke, 
 And so the merit. Guest ancestral he 
 Who was its victim; who, his sire expelled, 
 ' Gave back to him the sceptre. For a deed 
 ' So great, thou'lt find a name-or ask the world. 
 ' If 'twas a crime, thou must confess the debt 
 'To us the greater, for that from thy hand 
 ' We took the doing.' 
 Then he held and showed 
 Unveiled the head. Now had the hand of death 
 Passed with its changing touch upon the face: 
 Nor at first sight did Caesar on the gift 
 Pass condemnation; nor avert his gaze, 
 But dwelt upon the features till he knew 
 The crime accomplished. Then when truth was sure 
 The loving father rose, and tears he shed 
 Which flowed at his command, and glad in heart 
 Forced from his breast a groan : thus by the flow 
 Of feigned tears and grief he hoped to hide 
 His joy else manifest: and the ghastly boon 
 Sent by the king disparaging, professed 
 Rather to mourn his son's dissevered head, 
 Than count it for a debt. For thee alone, 
 Magnus, he durst not fail to find a tear: 
 He, Caesar, who with mien unaltered spurned 
 The Roman Senate, and with eyes undimmed 
 Looked on Pharsalia's field. O fate most hard! 
 Didst thou with impious war pursue the man 
 Whom 'twas thy lot to mourn? No kindred ties, 
 No memory of thy daughter and her son 
 Touch on thy heart? Didst think perchance that grief 
 Might help thy cause 'mid lovers of his name? 
 Or haply, moved by envy of the king, 
 Griev'st that to other hands than thine was given 
 To shed the captive's life-blood? and complain'st 
 Thy vengeance perished and the conquered chief 
 Snatched from thy haughty hand? Whate'er the cause 
 That urged thy grief, 'twas far removed from love. 
 Was this forsooth the object of thy toil 
 O'er lands and oceans, that without thy ken 
 He should not perish? Nay! but well was reft 
 From thine arbitrament his fate. What crime 
 Did cruel Fortune spare, what depth of shame 
 To Roman honour! since she suffered not, 
 Perfidious traitor, while yet Magnus lived, 
 That thou shouldst pity him! 
 Thus by words he dared 
 To gain their credence in his sembled grief: 
 Hence from my sight with his detested gift, 
 Thou minion, to thy king. Worse does your crime 
 Deserve from Caesar than from Magnus' hands. 
 The only prize that civil war affords 
 Thus have we lost-to bid the conquered live. 
 If but the sister of this Pharian king 
 Were not by him detested, by the head 
 Of Cleopatra had I paid this gift. 
 Such were the fit return. Why did he draw 
 His separate sword, and in the toil that's ours 
 Mingle his weapons? In Thessalia's field 
 Gave we such right to the Pellaean blade? 
 Such licence did your mutual kingdom gain? 
 Magnus as partner in the rule of Rome 
 
 I had not brooked; and shall I tolerate 
 Thee, Ptolemaeus? In vain with civil wars 
 Thus have we roused the nations, if there be 
 Now any might but Caesar's, if any land 
 Yet owns you masters. From your shore I'd turn 
 The prows of Latium ; but fame forbids, 
 Lest men should whisper that I did not damn 
 This deed of blood, but feared the Pharian land. 
 Nor think ye to deceive; victorious here 
 I stand: else had my welcome at your hands 
 Been that of Magnus; and that neck were mine 
 But for Pharsalia's chance. At greater risk 
 So seems it, than we dreamed of, took we arms; 
 Exile, and Magnus' threats, and Rome I knew, 
 Not Ptolemaeus. But we spare the boy: 
 Pass by the murder. Let the princeling know 
 We give no more than pardon for his crime. 
 And now in honour of the mighty dead, 
 Not merely that the earth may hide your guilt, 
 Lay ye the chieftain's head within the tomb; 
 ' With proper sepulture appease his shade 
 'And place his scattered ashes in an urn. 
 Thus may he know my coming, and may hear 
 Affection's accents, and my fond complaints. 
 Me sought he not, but rather, for his life, 
 This Pharian vassal; snatching from mankind 
 The happy morning which had shown the world 
 A peace between us. But my prayers to heaven 
 No favouring answer found; that arms laid down 
 'In happy victory, Magnus, once again 
 I might embrace thee, begging thee to grant 
 'Thine ancient love to Caesar, and thy life. 
 'Thus for my labours with a worthy prize 
 'Content, thine equal, bound in faithful peace, 
 'I might have brought thee to forgive the gods 
 'For thy disaster; thou hadst gained for me 
 'From Rome forgiveness.' 
 Thus he spake, but found 
 No comrade in his tears; nor did the host 
 Give credit to his grief. Deep in their breasts 
 They hide their groans, and gaze with joyful front 
 (O famous Freedom! ) on the deed of blood: 
 And dare to laugh when mighty Caesar wept.

WHEN Caesar, following those who bore the head, 
 First trod the shore accursed, with Egypt 's fates 
 His fortunes battled, whether Rome should pass 
 In crimson conquest o'er the guilty land, 
 Or Memphis ' arms should ravish from the world 
 Victor and vanquished: and the warning shade 
 Of Magnus saved his kinsman from the sword. 
 By that dread crime assured, his standards borne 
 Before, he marched upon the Pharian town; 
 But when the people, jealous of their laws, 
 Murmured against the fasces, Caesar knew 
 Their minds were adverse, and that not for him 
 Was Magnus' murder wrought. And yet with brow 
 Dissembling fear, intrepid, through the shrines 
 Of Egypt 's gods he strode, and round the fane 
 Of ancient Isis; bearing witness all 
 To Macedon 's vigour in the days of old. 
 Yet did nor gold nor ornament restrain 
 His hasting steps, nor worship of the gods, 
 Nor city ramparts: but in greed of gain 
 He sought the cave dug out amid the tombs. 
 
 The madman offspring there of Philip lies, 
 The famed Pellaean robber, Fortune's friend, 
 Snatched off by fate, in vengeance for the world. 
 In sacred sepulchre the hero's limbs, 
 Which should be scattered o'er the earth, repose, 
 Still spared by Fortune to these tyrant days: 
 For in a world to freedom once recalled, 
 All men had mocked the dust of him who set 
 The baneful lesson that so many lands 
 Can serve one master. Macedon he left 
 His home obscure; Athena he despised, 
 The conquest of his sire, and spurred by fate 
 Through Asia rushed with havoc of mankind, 
 Plunging his sword through peoples; red with blood 
 Unknown to them Euphrates , Ganges ran. 
 Curse of all earth, fell star of evil fate 
 To every nation! On the outer sea 
 He launched his fleet to sail the ocean wave: 
 Nor flame nor flood nor sterile Libyan sands 
 Stayed back his course, nor Hammon's pathless shoals; 
 Far to the west, where downward slopes the world 
 He would have led his armies, and the poles 
 Had compassed, and had drunk the fount of Nile : 
 But came his latest day; such end alone 
 Could nature place upon the madman king, 
 Who jealous in death as when he won the world 
 His empire with him took, nor left an heir. 
 Thus every city to the spoiler's hand 
 Was victim made. Yet in his fall was his 
 
 Babylon ; and Parthia feared him. Shame on us 
 That Eastern nations dreaded more the lance 
 Of Macedon than now the Roman spear. 
 True that we rule beyond where takes its rise 
 The burning southern breeze, beyond the homes 
 Of western winds, and to the northern star; 
 But towards the rising of the sun, we yield 
 To him who kept the Arsacids in awe; 
 And puny Pella held as province sure 
 The Parthia fatal to our Roman arms. 
 Now from the stream Pelusian of the Nile , 
 Was come the boyish king, taming the rage 
 Of his effeminate people: pledge of peace; 
 And Caesar safely trod Pellean halls; 
 When Cleopatra bribed her guard to break 
 The harbour chains, and borne in little boat 
 Within the Macedonian palace gates, 
 Caesar unknowing, entered: Egypt 's shame; 
 Fury of Latium ; to the bane of Rome 
 
 Unchaste. For as the Spartan queen of yore 
 By fatal beauty Argos urged to strife 
 And Ilium 's homes, so Cleopatra roused 
 
 Italia 's frenzy. By her drum she called 
 Down on the Capitol terror (if to speak 
 Such word be lawful); mixed with Roman arms 
 Coward Canopus , hoping she might lead 
 A Pharian triumph, Caesar in her train; 
 And 'twas in doubt upon Leucadian waves 
 Whether a woman, not of Roman blood, 
 Should hold the world in awe. Such lofty thoughts 
 Seized on her soul upon that night in which 
 The wanton daughter of Pellean kings 
 First shared our leaders' couches. Who shall blame 
 Antonius for the madness of his love, 
 When Caesar's haughty breast drew in the flame? 
 Who red with carnage, 'mid the clash of arms, 
 In palace haunted by Pompeius' shade, 
 Gave place to love; and in adulterous bed, 
 Magnus forgotten, from the Queen impure, 
 To Julia gave a brother: on the bounds 
 Of furthest Libya permitting thus 
 His foe to gather: while in dalliance base 
 He waited on his mistress, and to her 
 Pharos would give; for her would conquer all. 
 Then Cleopatra, trusting to her charms, 
 Tearless approached him, though in form of grief; 
 Her tresses loose as though in sorrow torn, 
 So best becoming her; and thus began: 
 'If, mighty Caesar, aught to noble birth 
 ' Be due, give ear. Of Lagian race am I 
 ' Offspring illustrious; from my father's throne 
 'Cast forth to banishment; unless thy hand 
 'Restore to me the sceptre: then a Queen 
 ' Falls at thy feet embracing. To our race 
 ' Bright star of justice thou Nor first shall I 
 ' As woman rule the cities of the Nile ; 
 ' For, neither sex preferring, Pharos bows 
 'To queenly governance. Of my parted sire 
 ' Read the last words, by which 'tis mine to share 
 ' With equal rights the kingdom and the bed. 
 'And the boy loves his sister, were he free; 
 ' But his affections and his sword alike 
 ' Pothinus orders. Nor wish I myself 
 ' To wield my father's power; but this my prayer: 
 ' Save from this foul disgrace our royal house, 
 ' Bid that the king shall reign, and from the court 
 'Remove this hateful varlet, and his arms. 
 'How swells his bosom for that his the hand 
 'That shore Pompeius' head! And now he threats 
 Thee, Caesar, also; which the Fates avert! 
 Shame on the earth and thee that Magnus' death 
 Should be Pothinus' triumph or his guilt.' 
 Her words were nothing to his stubborn ear; 
 Her face achieved the prayer, her wanton smile, 
 The long voluptuous night of shame untold: 
 So did she bribe her judge; so Caesar fell.
 
 
 When she had purchased at so vast a price 
 Peace from the chief, the joys of such a peace 
 A feast proclaimed. There in full pomp the Queen 
 Displayed her luxuries, as yet unknown 
 To Roman manners. Spacious rose the hall 
 Like to such fane as this corrupted age 
 Shall scarcely rear: the lofty ceiling shone 
 With richest tracery, the beams were bound 
 In golden coverings; no scant veneer 
 Lay on its walls, but built in solid blocks 
 Of marble, gleamed the palace. Agate stood 
 In sturdy columns, bearing up the roof; 
 Onyx and porphyry on the spacious floor 
 Were trodden 'neath the foot; the mighty gates 
 Of Maroe's ebony throughout were formed, 
 No mere adornment; ivory clothed the hall, 
 Studded with emerald spots; upon the doors 
 Gleamed polished tortoise shells from Indian seas: 
 And gems of price and yellow jasper shone 
 On couch and coverlet, whose greater part 
 Dipped more than once within the vats of Tyre 
 
 Had drunk their juice; and part were feathered gold; 
 Part crimson dyed, in manner as are passed 
 Through Pharian leash the threads. There waited slaves 
 In number as a people, some in ranks 
 By different blood distinguished, some by age; 
 This band with Libyan, that with auburn hair 
 Red so that Caesar on the banks of Rhine 
 
 None such had witnessed; some with features scorched 
 By torrid suns, their locks in twisted coils 
 Drawn from their foreheads. Eunuchs too were there, 
 Unhappy race; and on the other side 
 Men of full age whose cheeks with growth of hair 
 Were hardly darkened. 
 Upon either hand 
 Lay kings, and Caesar in the midst supreme. 
 There in her fatal beauty lay the Queen 
 Thick daubed with unguents, nor with throne content 
 Nor with her brother spouse; laden she lay 
 On neck and hair with all the Red Sea spoils, 
 And faint beneath the weight of gems and gold. 
 Her snowy breast shone through Sidonian lawn 
 Which woven close by shuttles of the East 
 The art of Nile had loosened. Ivory feet 
 Bore citron tables brought from woods that wave 
 
 On Atlas, such as Caesar never saw 
 When Juba was his captive. Blind in soul 
 By madness of ambition, thus to fire 
 By such profusion of her wealth, the mind 
 Of Caesar armed, her guest in civil war! 
 Not though he aimed with pitiless hand to grasp 
 The riches of a world; not though were here 
 Those ancient leaders of the simple age, 
 Fabricius or Curius stern of soul, 
 Or he who, Consul, left in sordid garb 
 His Tuscan plough, could all their several hopes 
 Have risen to such spoil. On plates of gold 
 They piled the banquet sought in earth and air 
 And from the deepest seas and Nilus' waves, 
 Through all the world; in craving for display, 
 No hunger urging. Frequent birds and beasts, 
 
 Egypt 's high gods, they placed upon the board: 
 In crystal goblets water of the Nile 
 
 They handed, and in massive cups of price 
 Was poured the wine; no juice of Mareot grape, 
 
 But noble vintage of Falernian growth 
 Which seasons few in Meroe 's famous vats 
 Had mellowed as with age. Upon their brows 
 Chaplets were placed of roses ever young 
 With glistening nard entwined; and in their locks 
 Was cinnamon infused, not yet in air 
 Its fragrance perished, nor in foreign climes; 
 And rich amomum from the neighbouring fields. 
 Thus Caesar learned the booty of a world 
 To lavish, and his breast was shamed of war 
 Waged with his son-in-law, from whose defeat 
 His spoils were meagre, and he longed to find 
 A cause of battle with the Pharian realm. 
 When of the banquet and of wine and feast 
 They wearied and their pleasure found an end, 
 Caesar drew out in colloquy the night 
 Thus with Achoreus, on the highest couch 
 With linen ephod as a priest begirt: 
 'O thou devoted to all sacred rites, 
 'Loved by the gods, as proves thy length of days, 
 'Tell, if thou wilt, whence sprang the Pharian race; 
 'How lie their lands, the manners of their tribes, 
 'The form and worship of their deities. 
 'Expound the sculptures on your ancient fanes: 
 'Reveal your gods if willing to be known: 
 'If to th' Athenian sage your fathers taught 
 'Their mysteries, who worthier than I 
 ' To bear in trust the secrets of the world? 
 ' True, by the rumour of my kinsman's flight 
 ' Here was I drawn; yet also by your fame: 
 ' And even in the midst of war's alarms 
 ' The stars and heavenly spaces have I conned; 
 'Nor shall Eudoxus' year excel mine own. 
 ' But though such ardour burns within my breast, 
 ' Such zeal to know the truth, yet my chief wish 
 ' To learn the source of your mysterious flood 
 ' Through ages hidden : give me certain hope 
 ' To see the fount of Nile-and civil war 
 ' I quit for ever.' He spake, and then the priest:
 
 
 ' The secrets, Caesar, of our mighty sires 
 
 ' Kept from the common people until now 
 ' I hold it right to utter. Some may deem 
 ' That silence on these wonders of the earth 
 ' Were greater piety. But to the gods 
 ' I hold it grateful that their handiwork 
 ' And sacred edicts should be known to men. 
 ' A different power by the primal law, 
 ' Each star possesses: these alone control 
 ' The movement of the sky, with adverse force 
 ' Opposing: while the sun divides the year, 
 ' And day from night, and by his potent rays 
 ' Forbids the stars to pass their stated course. 
 ' The moon by her alternate phases sets 
 ' The varying limits of the sea and shore. 
 ' Neath Saturn's sway the zone of ice and snow 
 ' Has passed; while Mars in lightning's fitful flames 
 ' And winds abounds: beneath high Jupiter 
 
 ' Unvexed by storms abides a temperate air; 
 ' And fruitful Venus' star contains the seeds 
 ' Of all things. Ruler of the boundless deep 
 ' The god Cyllenian : whene'er he holds 
 ' That part of heaven where the Lion dwells 
 ' With neighbouring Cancer joined, and Sirius star 
 ' Flames in its fury; where the circular path 
 ' (Which marks the changes of the varying year) 
 ' Gives to hot Cancer and to Capricorn 
 ' Their several stations, under which doth lie 
 ' The fount of Nile , he, master of the waves, 
 ' Strikes with his beam the waters. Forth the stream 
 ' Brims from his fount, as Ocean when the moon 
 ' Commands an increase; nor shall curb his flow 
 ' Till night wins back her losses from the sun. 
 
 ' Vain is the ancient faith that Ethiop snows 
 
 ' Send Nile abundant forth upon the lands. 
 ' Those mountains know nor northern wind nor star. 
 ' Of this are proof the breezes of the South, 
 ' Fraught with warm vapours, and the people's hue 
 ' Burned dark by suns: and 'tis in time of spring, 
 ' When first are thawed the snows, that ice-fed streams 
 ' In swollen torrents tumble; but the Nile 
 
 ' Nor lifts his wave before the Dog star burns; 
 ' Nor seeks again his banks, until the sun 
 ' In equal balance measures night and day. 
 ' Nor are the laws that govern other streams 
 ' Obeyed by Nile. For in the wintry year 
 'Were he in flood, when distant far the sun, 
 ' His waters lacked their office; but he leaves 
 ' His channel when the summer is at height, 
 ' Tempering the torrid heat of Egypt 's clime. 
 ' Such is the task of Nile ; thus in the world 
 ' He finds his purpose, lest exceeding heat 
 ' Consume the lands: and rising thus to meet 
 ' Enkindled Lion, to Syene 's prayers 
 ' By Cancer burnt gives ear; nor curbs his wave 
 ' Till the slant sun and Meroe 's lengthening shades 
 ' Proclaim the autumn. Who shall give the cause? 
 ' 'Twas Parent Nature's self which gave command 
 ' Thus for the needs of earth should flow the Nile . 
 ' Vain too the fable that the western winds 
 
 ' Control his current, in continuous course 
 ' At stated seasons governing the air; 
 ' Or hurrying from Occident to South 
 ' Clouds without number which in misty folds 
 ' Press on the waters; or by constant blast, 
 ' Forcing his current back whose several mouths 
 ' Burst on the sea;-so, forced by seas and wind, 
 'Men say, his billows pour upon the land. 
 ' Some speak of hollow caverns, breathing holes 
 ' Deep in the earth, within whose mighty jaws 
 ' Waters in noiseless current underneath 
 ' From northern cold to southern climes are drawn; 
 'And when hot Meroe pants beneath the sun, 
 ' Then, say they, Ganges through the silent depths 
 ' And Padus pass: and from a single fount 
 ' The Nile arising not in single streams 
 ' Pours all the rivers forth. And rumour says 
 ' That when the sea which girdles in the world 
 
 ' O'erflows, thence rushes Nile , by lengthy course, 
 ' Softening his saltness. More, if it be true 
 ' That ocean feeds the sun and heavenly fires, 
 ' Then Phoebus journeying by the burning Crab 
 ' Sucks from its waters more than air can hold 
 ' Upon his passage-this the cool of night 
 ' Pours on the Nile . If, Caesar, 'tis my part 
 ' To judge such difference, 'twould seem that since 
 ' Creation's age has passed, earth's veins by chance 
 ' Some waters hold, and shaken cast them forth: 
 ' But others took when first the globe was formed 
 ' A sure abode; by Him who framed the world 
 ' Fixed with the Universe. And, Roman, thou, 
 ' In thirsting thus to know the source of Nile, 
 ' Dost as the Pharian and Persian kings 
 ' And those of Macedon ; nor any age 
 ' Refused the secret, but the place prevailed 
 ' Remote by nature. Greatest of the kings 
 ' By Memphis worshipped, Alexander grudged 
 
 ' To Nile its mystery, and to furthest earth 
 ' Sent chosen Ethiops whom the crimson zone 
 ' Stayed in their further march, while flowed his stream 
 ' Warm at their feet. Sesostris westward far 
 ' Reached, to the ends of earth; and necks of kings 
 ' Bent 'neath his chariot yoke: but of the springs 
 ' Which fill your rivers, Rhone and Po, he drank, 
 'Not of the fount of Nile . Cambyses king 
 'In madman quest led forth his host to where 
 'The long-lived races dwell: then famine struck, 
 'Ate of his dead and, Nile unknown, returned. 
 No lying rumour of thy hidden source 
 'Has e'er made mention; wheresoe'er thou art 
 'Yet art thou sought, nor yet has nation claimed 
 'In pride of place thy river as its own. 
 ' Yet shall I tell, so far as has the god, 
 ' Who veils thy fountain, given me to know, 
 'Thy progress. Daring to upraise thy banks 
 ''Gainst fiery Cancer's heat, thou tak'st thy rise 
 'Beneath the zenith: straight towards the north 
 'And mid Bootes flowing; to the couch 
 'Bending, or to the risings, of the sun 
 'In sinuous bends alternate; just alike 
 'To Araby's peoples and to Libyan sands. 
 'By Seres 
 first beheld, yet know they not 
 Whence art thou come; and with no native stream 
 Strik'st thou the Ethiop fields. Nor knows the world 
 'To whom it owes thee. Nature ne'er revealed 
 'Thy secret origin, removed afar. 
 'Nor did she wish thee to be seen of men 
 ' While still a tiny rivulet, but preferred 
 ' Their wonder to their knowledge. Where the sun 
 ' Stays at his limit, dost thou rise in flood 
 ' Untimely; such thy right: to other lands 
 ' Bearing thy winter: and by both the poles 
 ' Thou only wanderest. Here men ask thy rise 
 ' And there thine ending. Meroe rich in soil 
 'And tilled by swarthy husbandmen divides 
 'Thy broad expanse, rejoicing in the leaves 
 'Of groves of ebony, which though spreading far 
 'Their branching foliage, by no breadth of shade 
 'Soften the summer sun-whose rays direct 
 'Pass from the Lion to the fervid earth. 
 
 'Next dost thou journey onwards past the realm 
 'Of burning Phoebus, and the sterile sands, 
 'With equal volume; now with all thy strength 
 'Gathered in one, and now in devious streams 
 'Parting the bank that crumbles at thy touch. 
 'Then by our kingdom's gates, where Philae parts 
 'Arabian peoples from Egyptian fields 
 ' The sluggish bosom of thy flood recalls 
 ' Thy wandering currents, which through desert wastes 
 ' Flow gently on to where the merchant track 
 ' Divides the Red Sea waters from our own. 
 ' Who, gazing, Nile , upon thy tranquil flow, 
 ' Could picture how in wild array of foam 
 ' (Where shelves the earth) thy billows shall be plunged 
 ' Down the steep cataracts, in fuming wrath 
 ' That rocks should bar the passage of thy stream 
 ' Free from its source? For whirled on high the spray 
 ' Aims at the stars, and trembles all the air 
 With rush of waters; and with sounding roar 
 The foaming mass down from the summit pours 
 In hoary waves victorious. Next an isle 
 In all our ancient lore "untrodden" named 
 Stems firm thy torrent; and the rocks we call 
 Springs of the river, for that here are marked 
 The earliest tokens of the coming flood. 
 With mountain shores now nature hems thee in 
 And shuts thy waves from Libya ; in the midst 
 Hence do thy waters run, till Memphis first 
 Forbids the barrier placed upon thy stream 
 And gives thee access to the open fields.'
 
 
 Thus did they pass, as though in peace profound, 
 The nightly watches. But Pothinus' mind, 
 Once with accursed butchery imbued, 
 Was frenzied still; since great Pompeius fell 
 No deed to him was crime; his rabid soul 
 Th' avenging goddesses and Magnus' shade 
 Stirred to fresh horrors; and a Pharian hand 
 No less was worthy, as he deemed, to shed 
 That blood which Fortune purposed should bedew 
 The conquered fathers: and the fell revenge 
 Due to the senate for the civil war 
 This hireling almost snatched. Avert, ye fates, 
 Far hence the shame that not by Brutus' hand 
 This blow be struck! Shall thus the tyrant's fall, 
 Just at our hands, become a Pharian crime. 
 Reft of example? To prepare a plan 
 (Fated to fail) he dares; nor veils in fraud 
 A plot for murder, but with open war 
 Attacks th' unconquered chieftain : from his crimes 
 He gained such courage as to send command 
 To lop the head of Caesar, and to join 
 In death the kinsmen chiefs. These words by night 
 His faithful servants to Achillas bear, 
 His foul associate, whom the boy had made 
 Chief of his armies, and who ruled alone 
 O'er Egypt's land and o'er himself her king: 
 ' Now lay thy limbs upon the sumptuous couch 
 ' And sleep in luxury, for the Queen hath seized 
 'The palace; nor alone by her betrayed, 
 ' But Caesar's gift, is Pharos. Dost delay 
 ' Nor hasten to the chamber of thy Queen? 
 ' Thou only? Married to the Latian chief, 
 'The impious sister now her brother weds 
 ' And hurrying from rival spouse to spouse 
 ' Hath Egypt won, and plays the bawd for Rome . 
 ' By amorous potions she has won the man: 
 ' Then trust the boy! Yet give him but a night 
 ' In her enfondling arms, and drunk with love 
 ' Thy life and mine he'll barter for a kiss. 
 ' We for his sister's charms by cross and flame 
 ' Shall pay the penalty: nor hope of aid; 
 ' Here stands adulterous Caesar, here the King 
 ' Her spouse: how hope we from so stern a judge 
 ' To gain acquittal? Shall she not condemn 
 'Those who ne'er sought her favours? By the deed 
 We dared together and lost, by Magnus' blood 
 ' Which wrought the bond between us, be thou swift 
 ' With hasty tumult to arouse the war: 
 ' Dash in with nightly band, and mar with death 
 ' Their shameless nuptials: on the very bed 
 With either lover smite the ruthless Queen. 
 ' Nor let the fortunes of the Western chief 
 ' Make pause our enterprise. We share with him 
 ' The glory of his empire o'er the world. 
 ' Pompeius fallen makes us too sublime, 
 There lies the shore that bids us hope success: 
 Ask of our power from the polluted wave, 
 And gaze upon the scanty tomb which holds 
 Not all Pompeius' ashes. Peer to him 
 Was he whom now thou fearest. Noble blood, 
 ' True, is not ours: what boots it? Nor are realms 
 ' Nor wealth of peoples given to our command. 
 'Yet have we risen to a height of power 
 For deeds of blood, and Fortune to our hands 
 Attracts her victims. Lo! a nobler now 
 Lies in our compass, and a second death 
 Hesperia shall appease; for Caesar's blood, 
 Shed by these hands, shall give us this, that Rome 
 
 Shall love us, guilty of Pompeius' fall. 
 Why fear these titles, why this chieftain's strength? 
 For shorn of these, before your swords he lies 
 A common soldier. To the civil war 
 This night shall bring completion, and shall give 
 To peoples slain fit offerings, and send 
 That life the world demands beneath the shades. 
 Rise then in all your hardihood and smite 
 This Caesar down, and let the Roman youths 
 Strike for themselves, and Lagos for its King. 
 No do thou tarry: full of wine and feast 
 Thou'lt fall upon him in the lists of love; 
 Then dare the venture, and the heavenly gods 
 Shall grant of Cato's and of Brutus' prayers 
 To thee fulfilment.' 
 Nor was Achillas slow 
 To hear the voice that counselled him to crime. 
 No sounding clarion summoned, as is wont, 
 His troops to arms; nor trumpet blare betrayed 
 Their nightly march: but rapidly he seized 
 All needed instruments of blood and war. 
 Of Latian race the most part of his train, 
 Yet to barbarian customs were their minds 
 By long forgetfulness of Rome debased: 
 Else had it shamed to serve the Pharian King; 
 But now his vassal and his minion's word 
 Compel obedience. Those who serve in camps 
 Lose faith and love of kin: their pittance earned 
 
 Makes just the deed: and for their sordid pay, 
 Not for themselves, they threaten Caesar's life. 
 Where finds the piteous destiny of the realm 
 
 Rome with herself at peace? The host withdrawn 
 From dread Thessalia raves on Nilus' banks 
 As all the race of Rome . What more had dared, 
 With Magnus welcomed, the Lagean house? 
 Each hand must render to the gods their due, 
 Nor son of Rome may cease from civil war; 
 By Heaven's command our state was rent in twain; 
 Nor love for husband nor regard for sire 
 Parted our peoples. 'Twas a slave who stirred 
 Afresh the conflict, and Achillas grasped 
 In turn the sword of Rome : nay more, had won, 
 Had not the fates adverse restrained his hand 
 From Caesar's slaughter. 
 For the murderous pair 
 Ripe for their plot were met; the spacious hall 
 Still busied with the feast. So might have flowed 
 Into the kingly cups a stream of gore, 
 And in mid banquet fallen Caesar's head. 
 Yet did they fear lest in the nightly strife 
 (The fates permitting) some incautious hand- 
 So did they trust the sword-might slay the King. 
 Thus stayed the deed, for in the minds of slaves 
 The chance of doing Caesar to the death 
 Might bear postponement: when the day arose 
 Then should he suffer; and a night of life 
 Thus by Pothinus was to Caesar given.
 
 
 Now from the Casian rock looked forth the Sun 
 Flooding the land of Egypt with a day 
 Warm from its earliest dawn, when from the walls 
 Not wandering in disorder are they seen, 
 But drawn in close array, as though to meet 
 A foe opposing; ready to receive 
 Or give the battle. Caesar, in the town 
 Placing no trust, within the palace courts 
 Lay in ignoble hiding place, the gates 
 Close barred : nor all the kingly rooms possessed, 
 But in the narrowest portion of the space 
 He drew his band together. There in arms 
 They stood, with dread and fury in their souls. 
 He feared attack, indignant at his fear. 
 Thus will a noble beast in little cage 
 Imprisoned, fume, and break upon the bars 
 His teeth in frenzied wrath; nor more would rage 
 The flames of Vulcan in Sicilian depths 
 Should Etna 's top be closed. He who but now 
 By Haemus ' mount against Pompeius chief, 
 
 Italia 's leaders and the Senate line, 
 His cause forbidding hope, looked at the fates 
 He knew were hostile, with unfaltering gaze, 
 Now fears before the crime of hireling slaves, 
 And in mid palace trembles at the blow: 
 He whom nor Scythian nor Alaun had dared 
 To violate, nor the Moor who aims the dart 
 Upon his victim slain, to prove his skill. 
 The Roman world but now did not suffice 
 To hold him, nor the realms from furthest Ind 
 To Tyrian Gades. Now, as puny boy, 
 Or woman, trembling when a town is sacked, 
 Within the narrow corners of a house 
 He seeks for safety; on the portals closed 
 His hope of life: and with uncertain gait 
 He treads the halls; yet not without the King; 
 In purpose, Ptolemaeus, that thy life 
 For his shall give atonement; and to hurl 
 Thy severed head among the servant throng 
 Should darts and torches fail. So story tells 
 The Colchian princess with sword in hand, 
 And with her brother's neck bared to the blow, 
 Waited her sire, avenger of his realm 
 Despoiled, and of her flight. In the imminent risk 
 Caesar, in hopes of peace, an envoy sent 
 To the fierce vassals, from their absent lord 
 Bearing a message, thus : ' At whose command 
 Wage ye the war?' But not the laws which bind 
 All nations upon earth, nor sacred rights, 
 Availed to save or messenger of peace, 
 Or King's ambassador; or thee from crime 
 Such as befitted thee, thou land of Nile 
 
 Fruitful in monstrous deeds: not Juba's realm, 
 Vast though it be, nor Pontus , nor the land 
 Thessalian, nor the arms of Pharnaces, 
 Nor yet the tracts which chill Iberus girds, 
 Nor Libyan coasts such wickedness have dared, 
 As thou, and all thy minions. Closer now 
 War hemmed them in, and weapons in the courts, 
 Shaking the innermost recesses, fell. 
 Yet did no ram, fatal with single stroke, 
 Assail the portal, nor machine of war; 
 Nor flame they called in aid; but blind of plan 
 They wander purposeless, in separate bands 
 Around the circuit, nor at any spot 
 With strength combined attempt to breach the wall. 
 The fates forbad, and Fortune from their hands 
 Held fast the palace as a battlement. 
 Nor failed they to attack from ships of war 
 The regal dwelling, where its frontage bold 
 Made stand apart the waters of the deep : 
 There, too, was Caesar's all-protecting arm; 
 For these at point of sword, and those with fire 
 He forces back, and though besieged he dares 
 To storm th' assailants: and as lay the ships 
 Joined rank to rank, bids drop upon their sides 
 Lamps drenched with reeking tar. Nor slow the fire 
 To seize the hempen cables and the decks 
 Oozing with melting pitch; the oarsman's bench 
 All in one moment, and the topmost yards 
 Burst into flame: half merged the vessels lay 
 While swam the foemen, all in arms, the wave; 
 Nor fell the blaze upon the ships alone, 
 But seized with writhing tongues the neighbouring homes, 
 
 And fanned to fury by the Southern breeze 
 Tempestuous, it leaped from roof to roof; 
 Not otherwise than on its heavenly track, 
 Unfed by matter, glides the ball of light, 
 By air alone aflame. 
 This pest recalled 
 Some of the forces to the city's aid 
 From the besieged halls. Nor Caesar gave 
 To sleep its season; swifter than all else 
 To seize the crucial moment of the war. 
 Quick in the darkest watches of the night 
 He leaped upon his ships, and Pharos seized, 
 Gate of the main; an island in the days 
 Of Proteus seer, now bordering the walls 
 Of Alexander's city. Thus he gained 
 A double vantage, for his foes were pent 
 Within the narrow entrance, which for him 
 And for his aids gave access to the sea. 
 Nor longer was Pothinus' doom delayed, 
 Yet not with cross or flame, nor with the wrath 
 His crime demanded; nor by savage beasts 
 Torn, did he suffer; but by Magnus' death, 
 Alas the shame! he fell; his head by sword 
 Hacked from his shoulders. Next by frauds prepared 
 By Ganymede her base attendant, fled 
 
 Arsinoe 
 from the Court to Caesar's foes; 
 There in the absence of the King she ruled 
 As of Lagean blood: there at her hands, 
 The savage minion of the tyrant boy, 
 Achillas, fell by just avenging sword. 
 Thus did another victim to thy shade 
 Atone, Pompeius; but the gods forbid 
 That this be all thy vengeance! Not the King 
 Nor all the stock of Lagos for thy death 
 Would make fit sacrifice! So Fortune deemed; 
 And not till patriot swords shall drink the blood 
 Of Caesar, Magnus, shalt thou be appeased. 
 Still, though was slain the author of the strife, 
 Sank not their rage: with Ganymede for chief 
 Again they rush to arms; in deeds of fight 
 Again they conquer. So might that one day 
 Have witnessed Caesar's fate; so might its fame 
 Have lived through ages. 
 As the Roman Chief, 
 Crushed on the narrow surface of the mole, 
 Prepared to throw his troops upon the ships, 
 Sudden upon him the surrounding foes 
 With all their terrors came. In dense array 
 Their navy lined the shores, while on the rear 
 The footmen ceaseless charged. No hope was left, 
 For flight was not, nor could the brave man's arm 
 Achieve or safety or a glorious death. 
 Not now were needed for great Caesar's fall, 
 Caught in the toils of nature, routed host 
 Or mighty heaps of slain: his only doubt 
 To fear or hope for death: while on his brain 
 Brave Scaeva's image flashed, now vainly sought, 
 Who on the wall by Epidamnus ' fields 
 Earned fame immortal, and with single arm 
 Drove back Pompeius as he trod the breach.