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.

When Caesar saw the fleet escape his grasp And hidden from his view by lengthening seas, Left without rival on Hesperian soil, He found no joy in triumph; rather grieved That thus in safety Magnus' flight was 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. For famine only makes a city free; By gifts of food the tyrant buys a crowd To cringe before him: but a people starved Is fearless ever.

Curio he bids Cross over to Sicilian cities, where Or ocean by a sudden rise o'erwhelmed The land, or split the isthmus right in twain, Leaving a path for seas. Unceasing tides There labour hugely 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 (4), 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 (5) 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: "Who would not fight for such a god-like town? And have they left thee, Rome, without a blow? Thank the high gods no eastern hosts are here To wreak their 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; and to his private voice (6) All else were listeners. The fathers sat Ready to grant a temple or a throne, If such his wish; and for themselves to vote Or death or exile. Well it was for Rome That Caesar blushed to order what they feared. Yet in one breast the spirit of freedom rose Indignant for the laws; for when the gates Of Saturn's temple hot Metellus saw, Were yielding to the shock, he clove 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 (7), Who, followed by our curses, sought the war And met disaster on the Parthian plains. Draw then thy sword, nor fear the crowd that gapes To view thy crimes: the citizens are gone. Not from our treasury reward for guilt Thy hosts shall ravish: other towns are left, And other nations; wage the war on them — Drain not Rome's peace for spoil." The victor then, Incensed to ire: "Vain is thy hope to fall In noble death, as guardian of the right; 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 (8), 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 (9), 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 (10) 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: Boeotian leaders muster in the meads By Dirce laved, and where Cephisus rolls Gifted with fateful power his stream along: And where Alpheus, who beyond the sea (11) In fount Sicilian seeks the day again. Pisa deserted stands, and Oeta, loved By Hercules of old; Dodona's oaks Are left to silence by the sacred train, And all Epirus rushes to the war. And proud Athena, mistress of the seas, Sends three poor ships (alas! her all) to prove Her ancient victory 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 (12), 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 (13) 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 (14); Arcadian Maenalus; the Thracian mount Named Haemus; Strymon whence, as autumn falls, Winged squadrons seek the banks of warmer Nile; And all the 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 (15), 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 Pactolus leaves his golden source and leaps From Earth permitting; and 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 (16) 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 (17) The Macedonian conqueror stayed his foot And found the world his victor; here too rolls Indus his torrent with Hydaspes joined Yet hardly feels it; 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. (18)

Nor fails 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. (19) 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 come, 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 (20); 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. (21) 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, (22) The Persian told the number of his host; Nor when th' avenger (23) 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 (24) 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 seek'st to join in battle, weeping then We 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 (25) 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 turn'st thou now Thy rapid march? Nor 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: Nor shall this people shun, for freedom's sake, The ills Saguntum bore in Punic siege; (26) 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."

Fearless he turns His march upon the 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 (27) 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 clown the weapons; but the Grecian bolts With 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 Advanced 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 gave way; and worn with toil All spent in vain, the wearied troops withdrew And sought 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.

Meantime had Caesar's squadron kept the isles Named Stoechades (28), and Brutus (29) turret ship Mastered the Rhone. 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 rose in air Drowning with resonant din the beat of oars And note of trumpet summoning: and all Sat on the benches and with mighty stroke Swept o'er the sea and gained 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; while with grappling hooks Others laid fast the foe, themselves by oars Held back the while. And now no outstretched arm Hurls forth the javelin, but hand to hand With swords they wage the 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 Meets, and the blood, uncertain whence to flow, Stands still, arrested, till with double course Forth by a sudden gush it drives each dart, And sends 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 To-morrow's light would bring. His rushing stem Shattered a Roman vessel: but a dart Hurled at the moment quivers 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 fails 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 Lysidas 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 (30) Were torn asunder and the stream of life Gushed o'er his limbs till lost amid the deep. 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 yawned his chest; blood issued from his mouth With flesh commingled; and the brazen beaks Resounding clashed 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 do 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 quails not Their heart in shipwreck: from the waves they pluck The fallen darts and furnishing the ship 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 rigour 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 failing drave it home. His aged sire From furthest portion of the conquered ship Beheld; than whom in prime 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, nor on his breast One blow he struck, but 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 (31) 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. (32)

ENDNOTES:

(1) Reading adscenso, as Francken (Leyden, 1896). (2) So: "The rugged Charon fainted, And asked a navy, rather than a boat, To ferry over the sad world that came." (Ben Jonson, "Catiline", Act i., scene 1.) (3) I take "tepido busto" as the dative case; and, as referring to Pompeius, doomed, like Cornelia's former husband, to defeat and death. (4) It may be remarked that, in B.C. 46, Caesar, after the battle of Thapsus, celebrated four triumphs: for his victories over the Gauls, Ptolemaeus, Pharnaces, and Juba. (5) Near Aricia. (See Book VI., 92.) (6) He held no office at the time. (7) The tribune Ateius met Crassus as he was setting out from Rome and denounced him with mysterious and ancient curses. (Plutarch, "Crassus", 16.) (8) That is, the liberty remaining to the people is destroyed by speaking freely to the tyrant. (9) That is, the gold offered by Pyrrhus, and refused by Fabricius, which, after the final defeat of Pyrrhus, came into the possession of the victors. (10) See Plutarch, "Cato", 34, 39. (11) It was generally believed that the river Alpheus of the Peloponnesus passed under the sea and reappeared in the fountain of Arethusa at Syracuse. A goblet was said to have been thrown into the river in Greece, and to have reappeared in the Sicilian fountain. See the note in Grote's "History of Greece", Edition 1863, vol. ii., p. 8.) (12) As a serpent. XXXXX is the Greek word for serpent. (13) Conf. Book VI., 473. (14) The Centaurs. (15) Probably the flute thrown away by Pallas, which Marsyas picked up and then challenged Apollo to a musical contest. For his presumption the god had him flayed alive. (16) That is, the Little Bear, by which the Phoenicians steered, while the Greeks steered by the Great Bear. (See Sir G. Lewis's "Astronomy of the Ancients", p. 447.) In Book VI., line 193, the pilot declares that he steers by the pole star itself, which is much nearer to the Little than to the Great Bear, and is (I believe) reckoned as one of the stars forming the group known by that name. He may have been a Phoenician. (17) He did not in fact reach the Ganges, as is well known. (18) Perhaps in allusion to the embassy from India to Augustus in B.C. 19, when Zarmanochanus, an Indian sage, declaring that he had lived in happiness and would not risk the chance of a reverse, burnt himself publicly. (Merivale, chapter xxxiv.) (19) That is to say, looking towards the west; meaning that they came from the other side of the equator. (See Book IX., 630.) (20) See Book I., 117. (21) A race called Heniochi, said to be descended from the charioteer of Castor and Pollux. (22) "Effusis telis". I have so taken this difficult expression. Herodotus (7, 60) says the men were numbered in ten thousands by being packed close together and having a circle drawn round them. After the first ten thousand had been so measured a fence was put where the circle had been, and the subsequent ten thousands were driven into the enclosure. It is not unlikely that they piled their weapons before being so measured, and Lucan's account would then be made to agree with that of Herodotus. Francken, on the other hand, quotes a Scholiast, who says that each hundredth man shot off an arrow. (23) Agamemnon. (24) Massilia (Marseilles) was founded from Phocaea in Asia Minor about 600 B.C. Lucan (line 393) appears to think that the founders were fugitives from their city when it was stormed by the Persians sixty years later. See Thucydides I. 13; Grote, "History of Greece", chapter xxii. (25) A difficult passage, of which this seems to be the meaning least free from objection. (26) Murviedro of the present day. Its gallant defence against Hannibal has been compared to that of Saragossa against the French. (27) See note to Book I., 506. (28) Three islands off the coast near Toulon, now called the Isles d'Hyeres. (29) This was Decimus Brutus, an able and trusted lieutenant of Caesar, who made him one of his heirs in the second degree. He, however, joined the conspiracy, and it was he who on the day of the murder induced Caesar to go to the Senate House. Less than two years later, after the siege of Perasia, he was deserted by his army, taken and put to death. (30) According to some these were the lines which Lucan recited while bleeding to death; according to others, those at Book ix., line 952. (31) It was regarded as the greatest of misfortunes if a child died before his parent. (32) It was Brutus who gained the naval victory over the Veneti some seven years before; the first naval fight, that we know of, fought in the Atlantic Ocean.



BOOK IV

CAESAR IN SPAIN. WAR IN THE ADRIATIC SEA. DEATH OF CURIO.

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 fulfillment. There on Magnus' side Afranius and Petreius (1) 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 (2) 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 (3) 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 Essayed attack, in shame of impious strife. One day they gave their country and her 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 lands that stretched towards the sky Which whelms the sinking stars, 'neath wintry heavens Were parched and arid. But when Titan neared The Ram, who, backward gazing on the stars, Bore perished Helle, (4) and the hours were held In juster balance, and the day prevailed, The earliest faded moon which in the vault Hung with uncertain horn, from eastern winds Received a fiery radiance; whose blasts 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 (5) 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 (6) 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 were thawed the Pyrenaean snows Which Titan had not conquered; all the rocks Were wet with melting ice; accustomed springs Found not discharge; and from the very banks Each stream received 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; and rivers whelmed in one; Beasts with their homes sweep downwards; and the tide Repels the foaming torrent. Nor did night Acknowledge Phoebus' rise, for all the sky Felt her dominion and obscured its face, And darkness joined 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 (7) the stars which in the middle zone Kindle their flames. Thus, Father of the world, And thou, 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, bore the weight of man And swam the torrent. Thus on sluggish Po Venetians float; and on th' encircling sea (8) 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 placed 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, when he saw that Caesar's fates Swept all before them, left Ilerda's steep, His trust no longer in the Roman world; And sought for strength amid those distant tribes, Who, loving death, rush in upon the foe, (9) 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 cried: "Seek not the bridge nor ford: plunge in the stream And breast the foaming torrent." Then did hope Of coming battle find for them a way Which they had shunned in flight.

Their arms regained, Their streaming limbs they cherished till the blood Coursed in their veins; until the shadows fell Short on the sward, and day was at the height. Then dashed the horsemen on, and held 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 cried, "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 leaped The hostile rampart; every hand outstretched (10) Embraced the hand of foeman, palm in palm; One calls by name his neighhour, 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 Peace That sway'st the world; thou whose eternal bands Sustain the order of material things, Come, gentle Concord! (11) 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; on altars built of turf Pour out libations from the mingled cup; On mutual couch with stories of their fights, They wile 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 was renewed and trust. Thus made the fates Their doom complete, 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 stirs his guard to work An impious slaughter: the defenceless foe Flings headlong forth: and parts the 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? (12) 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 for dishonourable peace Could thus be bought. The foe are pledged to fight By their own guilt. But you, who still might hope For pardon if defeated — what can match Your deep dishonour? 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 at chance, and in the night Of battle, had brought hatred on the gods, Though blindly struck, their 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: with monstrous joy Through the wild camp they smite 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 plains 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; To 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. Where'er on foulest mud some stagnant slime Or moisture lies, though doomed to die they lap With greedy tongues the draught their lips had loathed Had life been theirs to choose. Beast-like they drain The swollen udder, and where milk was not, They sucked the life-blood forth. From herbs and boughs Dripping with dew, from tender shoots they pressed, Say, 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; had'st 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, was scarcely drawn, And scarce again returned; and yet agape, Their panting mouths sucked 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 was his bearing, and despite of ills, His mien majestic, of his triumphs past Still mindful in disaster — thus he stood, 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 amour 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; (13) but 'gainst his arms Dared somewhat, where Salona's lengthy waste Opposes 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; but his troops Gnawed the dry herbage of the scanty turf Within their rampart lines. But when they knew That Baslus 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 twin companions: over each uprose 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 May 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 leash 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 Hung in mid passage, and by ropes was hauled Below o'ershadowing rocks. These hollowed out In ponderous masses overhung the main, And nodding seemed to fall: shadowed by trees Dark lay the waves beneath. Hither the tide Brings wreck and corpse, and, burying with the flow, Restores them with the ebb: and when the caves Belch forth the ocean, swirling billows fall In boisterous surges back, as boils the tide In 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 bands that held them; without hope he fights, Uncertain where to avoid or front the foe. Caught in this 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 alone whose end Inspires them, know the happiness of death, Which the high gods, that men may bear to live, Keep hid from others." Thus his noble words Warmed his brave comrades' hearts; and 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 (14) 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, and life forsworn, And careless of the battle: no debate Could shake their high resolve. (15) In numbers few 'Gainst foemen numberless by land and sea, They wage the desperate fight; 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! would'st 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 (16) 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 (17) 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 rigour 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 rubs 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 Antaeas' 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 muscle 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. Again they join in fight, one with the powers Which earth bestowed, the other with his own: Nor did the hatred of his step-dame (18) find In all his conflicts greater room for hope. She sees bedewed in sweat the neck and limbs Which once had borne the mountain of the gods 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 earth: but she no more Could give her offspring rigour. 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 (19), this region called Antaeus' kingdom. But a greater name It gained from Scipio, when he recalled From Roman citadels the Punic chief. Here was his camp; here can'st thou see the trace Of that most famous rampart (20) 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 (21) 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 Equal 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) (23) 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 (24). 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 leads 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. Thus doth the sly ichneumon (25) with his tail Waving, allure 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 distend: and every curb is dry With bloody foam; 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 so 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 (26) 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 too abundant wealth, in transverse stream Swept o'er his wavering mind: and 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. (27)

ENDNOTES:

(1) Both of these generals were able and distinguished officers. Afranius was slain by Caesar's soldiers after the battle of Thapsus. Petreius, after the same battle, escaped along with Juba; and failing to find a refuge, they challenged each other to fight. Petreius was killed, and Juba, the survivor, put an end to himself. (2) These are the names of Spanish tribes. The Celtiberi dwelt on the Ebro. (3) Lerida, on the river Segre, above its junction with the Ebro. Cinga is the modern Cinca, which falls into the Segre (Sicoris). (4) Phrixus and Helle, the children of Nephele, were to be sacrificed to Zeus: but Nephele rescued them, and they rode away through the air on the Ram with the golden fleece. But Helle fell into the sea, which from her was named the Hellespont. (See Book IX., 1126.) The sun enters Aries about March 20. The Ram is pictured among the constellations with his head averse. (5) See Book I., 463. (6) See Mr. Heitland's introduction, upon the meaning of the word "cardo". The word "belt" seems fairly to answer to the two great circles or four meridians which he describes. The word occurs again at line 760; Book V., 80; Book VII., 452. (7) The idea is that the cold of the poles tempers the heat of the equator. (8) Fuso: either spacious, outspread; or, poured into the land (referring to the estuaries) as Mr. Haskins prefers; or, poured round the island. Portable leathern skiffs seem to have been in common use in Caesar's time in the English Channel. These were the rowing boats of the Gauls. (Mommsen, vol. iv., 219.) (9) Compare Book I., 519. (10) Compare the passage in Tacitus, "Histories", ii., 45, in which the historian describes how the troops of Otho and Vitellius wept over each other after the battle and deplored the miseries of a civil war. "Victi victoresque in lacrumas effusi, sortem civilium armorum misera laetitia detestantes." (11) "Saecula nostra" may refer either to Lucan's own time or to the moment arrived at in the poem; or it may, as Francken suggests, have a more general meaning. (12) "Petenda est"? — "is it fit that you should beg for the lives of your leaders?" Mr. Haskins says, "shall you have to beg for them?" But it means that to do so is the height of disgrace. (13) The scene is the Dalmatian coast of the Adriatic. Here was Diocletian's palace. (Described in the 13th chapter of Gibbon.) (14) That is, night was at its shortest. (15) On the following passage see Dean Merivale's remarks, "History of the Roman Empire", chapter xvi. (16) That is, Sicilian. (17) For Phlegra, the scene of the battle between the giants and the gods, see Book VII., 170, and Book IX., 774. Ben Jonson ("Sejanus", Act v., scene 10) says of Sejanus: — "Phlegra, the field where all the sons of earth Mustered against the gods, did ne'er acknowledge So proud and huge a monster." (18) Juno. (19) That is, extols ancient deeds. (20) Referring to the battle of Zama. (21) See line 82. (22) Curio was tribune in B.C. 50. His earlier years are stated to have been stained with vice. (23) See Book II., 537. (24) Preferring the reading "praeripe", with Francken. (25) Bewick ("Quadrupeds," p. 238) tells the following anecdote of a tame ichneumon which had never seen a serpent, and to which he brought a small one. "Its first emotion seemed to be astonishment mixed with anger; its hair became erect; in an instant it slipped behind the reptile, and with remarkable swiftness and agility leaped upon its head, seized it and crushed it with its teeth." (26) Reading "arce", not "arte". The word "signifer" seems to favour the reading I have preferred; and Dean Merivale and Hosius adopted it. (27) For the character and career of Curio, see Merivale's "History of the Roman Empire", chapter xvi. He was of profligate character, but a friend and pupil of Cicero; at first a rabid partisan of the oligarchy, he had, about the period of his tribuneship (B.C. 50-49), become a supporter of Caesar. How far Gaulish gold was the cause of this conversion we cannot tell. It is in allusion to this change that he was termed the prime mover of the civil war. His arrival in Caesar's camp is described in Book I., line 303. He became Caesar's chief lieutenant in place of the deserter Labienus; and, as described in Book III., was sent to Sardinia and Sicily, whence he expelled the senatorial forces. His final expedition to Africa, defeat and death, form the subject of the latter part of this book. Mommsen describes him as a man of talent, and finds a resemblance between him and Caesar. (Vol. iv., p. 393.)



BOOK V

THE ORACLE. THE MUTINY. THE STORM

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' (1) 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 (2) Ere yet the year was dead: a foreign land Obscure received the magistrates of Rome, And heard their high debate. No warlike camp This; for the Consul's and the Praetor's axe Proclaimed the Senate-house; and Magnus sat One among many, and the state was all.

When all were silent, from his lofty seat Thus Lentulus began, while stern and sad The Fathers listened: "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 Your distance from the captured city: yours This proud assembly, yours the high command 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. (3) 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 deep upon our foes: in Libyan wastes Is fallen their Curio, the weightier part (4) 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! thy sword was only sharp Against thy people. Ah if that were all! The fatal gift gave, too, Pompeius' life; Bereft thy sister of her sire's bequest, (5) 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 (6) alone Feared for 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 (7) 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 one high 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) (8) 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 to prophesy.

Which of 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. (9)

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 hath turned their steps Aright, as with the Tyrians; (10) and raised The hearts of nations to confront their foe, As prove the waves of Salamis: (11) when earth Hath been unfruitful, or polluted air Has plagued mankind, this utterance benign Hath raised their hopes 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 (12) 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; (13) 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 thro' the world Wanders in devious paths; or else the fane, Consumed to ashes by barbarian (14) 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 For this thy fraud the punishment; unless Thou enter the recess, and speak no more, Of this world-war, this tumult of mankind, Thine own inventions." 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 Drove out her former mind, expelled the man, And made her wholly his. In maddened trance She whirls throughout the cave, her locks erect With horror, and the fillets of the god Dashed to the ground; her steps unguided turn To this side and to that; the tripods fall O'erturned; within her seethes 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 (15) 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, (16) 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 had'st 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.