BOOK IX

CATO

Yet in those ashes on the Pharian shore, In that small heap of dust, was not confined So great a shade; but from the limbs half burnt And narrow cell sprang forth (1) and sought the sky Where dwells the Thunderer. Black the space of air Upreaching to the poles that bear on high The constellations in their nightly round; There 'twixt the orbit of the moon and earth Abide those lofty spirits, half divine, Who by their blameless lives and fire of soul Are fit to tolerate the pure expanse That bounds the lower ether: there shall dwell, Where nor the monument encased in gold, Nor richest incense, shall suffice to bring The buried dead, in union with the spheres, Pompeius' spirit. When with heavenly light His soul was filled, first on the wandering stars And fixed orbs he bent his wondering gaze; Then saw what darkness veils our earthly day And scorned the insults heaped upon his corse. Next o'er Emathian plains he winged his flight, And ruthless Caesar's standards, and the fleet Tossed on the deep: in Brutus' blameless breast Tarried awhile, and roused his angered soul To reap the vengeance; last possessed the mind Of haughty Cato.

He while yet the scales Were poised and balanced, nor the war had given The world its master, hating both the chiefs, Had followed Magnus for the Senate's cause And for his country: since Pharsalia's field Ran red with carnage, now was all his heart Bound to Pompeius. Rome in him received Her guardian; a people's trembling limbs He cherished with new hope and weapons gave Back to the craven hands that cast them forth. Nor yet for empire did he wage the war Nor fearing slavery: nor in arms achieved Aught for himself: freedom, since Magnus fell, The aim of all his host. And lest the foe In rapid course triumphant should collect His scattered bands, he sought Corcyra's gulfs Concealed, and thence in ships unnumbered bore The fragments of the ruin wrought in Thrace. Who in such mighty armament had thought A routed army sailed upon the main Thronging the sea with keels? Round Malea's cape And Taenarus open to the shades below And fair Cythera's isle, th' advancing fleet Sweeps o'er the yielding wave, by northern breeze Borne past the Cretan shores. But Phycus dared Refuse her harbour, and th' avenging hand Left her in ruins. Thus with gentle airs They glide along the main and reach the shore From Palinurus (2) named; for not alone On seas Italian, Pilot of the deep, Hast thou thy monument; and Libya too Claims that her waters pleased thy soul of yore. Then in the distance on the main arose The shining canvas of a stranger fleet, Or friend or foe they knew not. Yet they dread In every keel the presence of that chief Their fear-compelling conqueror. But in truth That navy tears and sorrow bore, and woes To make e'en Cato weep.

For when in vain Cornelia prayed her stepson and the crew To stay their flight, lest haply from the shore Back to the sea might float the headless corse; And when the flame arising marked the place Of that unhallowed rite, "Fortune, didst thou Judge me unfit," she cried, "to light the pyre To cast myself upon the hero dead, The lock to sever, and compose the limbs Tossed by the cruel billows of the deep, To shed a flood of tears upon his wounds, And from the flickering flame to bear away And place within the temples of the gods All that I could, his dust? That pyre bestows No honour, haply by some Pharian hand Piled up in insult to his mighty shade. Happy the Crassi lying on the waste Unburied. To the greater shame of heaven Pompeius has such funeral. And shall this For ever be my lot? her husbands slain Cornelia ne'er enclose within the tomb, Nor shed the tear beside the urn that holds The ashes of the loved? Yet for my grief What boots or monument or ordered pomp? Dost thou not, impious, upon thy heart Pompeius' image, and upon thy soul Bear ineffaceable? Dust closed in urns Is for the wife who would survive her lord Not such as thee, Cornelia! And yet Yon scanty light that glimmers from afar Upon the Pharian shore, somewhat of thee Recalls, Pompeius! Now the flame sinks down And smoke drifts up across the eastern sky Bearing thine ashes, and the rising wind Sighs hateful in the sail. To me no more Dearer than this whatever land may yield Pompeius' victory, nor the frequent car That carried him in triumph to the hill; Gone is that happy husband from my thoughts; Here did I lose the hero whom I knew; Here let me stay; his presence shall endear The sands of Nile where fell the fatal blow. Thou, Sextus, brave the chances of the war And bear Pompeius' standard through the world. For thus thy father spake within mine ear: 'When sounds my fatal hour let both my sons Urge on the war; nor let some Caesar find Room for an empire, while shall live on earth Still one in whom Pompeius' blood shall run. This your appointed task; all cities strong In freedom of their own, all kingdoms urge To join the combat; for Pompeius calls. Nor shall a chieftain of that famous name Ride on the seas and fail to find a fleet. Urged by his sire's unconquerable will And mindful of his rights, mine heir shall rouse All nations to the conflict. One alone, (Should he contend for freedom) may ye serve; Cato, none else!' Thus have I kept the faith; Thy plot (3) prevailed upon me, and I lived Thy mandate to discharge. Now through the void Of space, and shades of Hell, if such there be, I follow; yet how distant be my doom I know not: first my spirit must endure The punishment of life, which saw thine end And could survive it; sighs shall break my heart, Tears shall dissolve it: sword nor noose I need Nor headlong plunge. 'Twere shameful since thy death, Were aught but grief required to cause my own."

She seeks the cabin, veiled, in funeral garb, In tears to find her solace, and to love Grief in her husband's room; no prayers were hers For life, as were the sailors'; nor their shout Roused by the height of peril, moved her soul, Nor angered waves: but sorrowing there she lay, Resigned to death and welcoming the storm.

First reached they Cyprus on the foamy brine; Then as the eastern breeze more gently held The favouring deep, they touched the Libyan shore Where stood the camp of Cato. Sad as one Who deep in fear presages ills to come, Cnaeus beheld his brother and his band Of patriot comrades. Swift into the wave He leaps and cries, "Where, brother, is our sire? Still stands our country mistress of the world, Or are we fallen, Rome with Magnus' death Rapt to the shades?" Thus he: but Sextus said

"Oh happy thou who by report alone Hear'st of the deed that chanced on yonder shore! These eyes that saw, my brother, share the guilt. Not Caesar wrought the murder of our sire, Nor any captain worthy in the fray. He fell beneath the orders of a king Shameful and base, while trusting to the gods Who shield the guest; a king who in that land By his concession ruled: (this the reward For favours erst bestowed). Within my sight Pierced through with wounds our noble father fell: Yet deeming not the petty prince of Nile So fell a deed would dare, to Egypt's strand I thought great Caesar come. But worse than all, Worse than the wounds which gaped upon his frame Struck me with horror to the inmost heart, Our murdered father's head, shorn from the trunk And borne aloft on javelin; this sight, As rumour said, the cruel victor asked To feast his eyes, and prove the bloody deed. For whether ravenous birds and Pharian dogs Have torn his corse asunder, or a fire Consumed it, which with stealthy flame arose Upon the shore, I know not. For the parts Devoured by destiny I only blame The gods: I weep the part preserved by men."

Thus Sextus spake: and Cnaeus at the words Flamed into fury for his father's shame. "Sailors, launch forth our navies, by your oars Forced through the deep though wind and sea oppose: Captains, lead on: for civil strife ne'er gave So great a prize; to lay in earth the limbs Of Magnus, and avenge him with the blood Of that unmanly tyrant. Shall I spare Great Alexander's fort, nor sack the shrine And plunge his body in the tideless marsh? Nor drag Amasis from the Pyramids, And all their ancient Kings, to swim the Nile? Torn from his tomb, that god of all mankind Isis, unburied, shall avenge thy shade; And veiled Osiris shall I hurl abroad In mutilated fragments; and the form Of sacred Apis; (4) and with these their gods Shall light a furnace, that shall burn the head They held in insult. Thus their land shall pay The fullest penalty for the shameful deed. No husbandman shall live to till the fields Nor reap the benefit of brimming Nile. Thou only, Father, gods and men alike Fallen and perished, shalt possess the land."

Such were the words he spake; and soon the fleet Had dared the angry deep: but Cato's voice While praising, calmed the youthful chieftain's rage.

Meanwhile, when Magnus' fate was known, the air Sounded with lamentations which the shore Re-echoed; never through the ages past, By history recorded, was it known That thus a people mourned their ruler's death. Yet more when worn with tears, her pallid cheek Veiled by her loosened tresses, from the ship Cornelia came, they wept and beat the breast. The friendly land once gained, her husband's garb, His arms and spoils, embroidered deep in gold, Thrice worn of old upon the sacred hill (5) She placed upon the flame. Such were for her The ashes of her spouse: and such the love Which glowed in every heart, that soon the shore Blazed with his obsequies. Thus at winter-tide By frequent fires th' Apulian herdsman seeks To render to the fields their verdant growth; Till blaze Garganus' uplands and the meads Of Vultur, and the pasture of the herds By warm Matinum.

Yet Pompeius' shade Nought else so gratified, not all the blame The people dared to heap upon the gods, For him their hero slain, as these few words From Cato's noble breast instinct with truth: "Gone is a citizen who though no peer (6) Of those who disciplined the state of yore In due submission to the bounds of right, Yet in this age irreverent of law Has played a noble part. Great was his power, But freedom safe: when all the plebs was prone To be his slaves, he chose the private gown; So that the Senate ruled the Roman state, The Senate's ruler: nought by right of arms He e'er demanded: willing took he gifts Yet from a willing giver: wealth was his Vast, yet the coffers of the State he filled Beyond his own. He seized upon the sword, Knew when to sheath it; war did he prefer To arts of peace, yet armed loved peace the more. Pleased took he power, pleased he laid it down: Chaste was his home and simple, by his wealth Untarnished. Mid the peoples great his name And venerated: to his native Rome He wrought much good. True faith in liberty Long since with Marius and Sulla fled: Now when Pompeius has been reft away Its counterfeit has perished. Now unshamed Shall seize the despot on Imperial power, Unshamed shall cringe the Senate. Happy he Who with disaster found his latest breath And met the Pharian sword prepared to slay. Life might have been his lot, in despot rule, Prone at his kinsman's throne. Best gift of all The knowledge how to die; next, death compelled. If cruel Fortune doth reserve for me An alien conqueror, may Juba be As Ptolemaeus. So he take my head My body grace his triumph, if he will." More than had Rome resounded with his praise Words such as these gave honour to the shade Of that most noble dead.

Meanwhile the crowd Weary of warfare, since Pompeius' fall, Broke into discord, as their ancient chief Cilician called them to desert the camp. But Cato hailed them from the furthest beach: "Untamed Cilician, is thy course now set For Ocean theft again; Pompeius gone, Once more a pirate?" Thus he spake, and gazed At all the stirring throng; but one whose mind Was fixed on flight, thus answered, "Pardon, chief, 'Twas love of Magnus, not of civil war, That led us to the fight: his side was ours: With him whom all the world preferred to peace, Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes Long since unseen, our children and our wives. If nor the rout nor dread Pharsalia's field Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war, Whence comes the end? The vigour of a life For us is vanished: in our failing years Give us at least some pious hand to speed The parting soul, and light the funeral pyre. Scarce even to its captains civil strife Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke Of distant nations. In the garb of Rome And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been Second to Magnus living, he shall be My first hereafter: to that sacred shade Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints My lord but not my leader. Thee alone I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates. Nor hope we now for victory, nor wish; For all our Thracian army is fled In Caesar's victory, whose potent star Of fortune rules the world, and none but he Has power to keep or save. That civil war Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty Is impious now. If in the public right Thou, patriot Cato, find'st thy guide, we seek The standards of the Consul." Thus he spake And with him leaped into the ship a throng Of eager comrades.

Then was Rome undone, For all the shore was stirring with a crowd Athirst for slavery. But burst these words From Cato's blameless breast: "Then with like vows As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek A lord and master! not for Rome the fight, But for Pompeius! For that now no more Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves, Not for some despot chief, ye live and die; Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord Shall rob you, victors, of a world subdued — Ye flee the war, and on your abject necks Feel for the absent yoke; nor can endure Without a despot! Yet to men the prize Were worth the danger. Magnus might have used To evil ends your blood; refuse ye now, With liberty so near, your country's call? Now lives one tyrant only of the three; Thus far in favour of the laws have wrought The Pharian weapons and the Parthian bow; Not you, degenerate! Begone, and spurn This gift of Ptolemaeus. (8) Who would think Your hands were stained with blood? The foe will deem That you upon that dread Thessalian day First turned your backs. Then flee in safety, flee! By neither battle nor blockade subdued Caesar shall give you life! O slaves most base, Your former master slain, ye seek his heir! Why doth it please you not yet more to earn Than life and pardon? Bear across the sea Metellus' daughter, Magnus' weeping spouse, And both his sons; outstrip the Pharian gift, Nor spare this head, which, laid before the feet Of that detested tyrant, shall deserve A full reward. Thus, cowards, shall ye learn In that ye followed me how great your gain. Quick to your task and purchase thus with blood Your claim on Caesar. Dastardly is flight Which crime commends not."

Cato thus recalled The parting vessels. So when bees in swarm Desert their waxen cells, forget the hive Ceasing to cling together, and with wings Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light On thyme to taste its bitterness — then rings The Phrygian gong — at once they pause aloft Astonied; and with love of toil resumed Through all the flowers for their honey store In ceaseless wanderings search; the shepherd joys, Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept His cottage store, the riches of his home.

Now in the active conduct of the war Were brought to discipline their minds, untaught To bear repose; first on the sandy shore Toiling they learned fatigue: then stormed thy walls, Cyrene; prizeless, for to Cato's mind 'Twas prize enough to conquer. Juba next He bids attack, though Nature on the path Had placed the Syrtes; which his sturdy heart Aspired to conquer. Either at the first When Nature gave the universe its form She left this region neither land nor sea; Not wholly shrunk, so that it should receive The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand Against its buffets — all the pathless coast Lies in uncertain shape; the land by earth Is parted from the deep; on sandy banks The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal The waves advance to sound upon the shore. Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone, Unfashioned to men's use — Or else of old A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse, But Titan feeding from the briny depths His burning fires (near to the zone of heat) Reduced the waters; and the sea still fights With Phoebus' beams, which in the length of time Drank deeper of its fountains.

When the main Struck by the oars gave passage to the fleet, Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale Upon his realm, and from the watery plain Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals Compelled the billows, and in middle sea Raised up a bank. Forth flew the bellying sails Beyond the prows, despite the ropes that dared Resist the tempest's fury; and for those Who prescient housed their canvas to the storm, Bare-masted they were driven from their course. Best was their lot who gained the open waves Of ocean; others lightened of their masts Shook off the tempest; but a sweeping tide Hurried them southwards, victor of the gale. Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast, Part hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt. Fierce rage the waves till hems (9) them in the land; Nor Auster's force in frequent buffets spent Prevails upon the shore. High from the main By seas inviolate one bank of sand, Far from the coast arose; there watched in vain The storm-tossed mariners, their keel aground, No shore descrying. Thus in sea were lost Some portion, but the major part by helm And rudder guided, and by pilots' hands Who knew the devious channels, safe at length Floated the marsh of Triton loved (as saith The fable) by that god, whose sounding shell (10) All seas and shores re-echo; and by her, Pallas, who springing from her father's head First lit on Libya, nearest land to heaven, (As by its heat is proved); here on the brink She stood, reflected in the placid wave And called herself Tritonis. Lethe's flood Flows silent near, in fable from a source Infernal sprung, oblivion in his stream; Here, too, that garden of the Hesperids Where once the sleepless dragon held his watch, Shorn of its leafy wealth. Shame be on him Who calls upon the poet for the proof Of that which in the ancient days befell; But here were golden groves by yellow growth Weighed down in richness, here a maiden band Were guardians; and a serpent, on whose eyes Sleep never fell, was coiled around the trees, Whose branches bowed beneath their ruddy load. But great Alcides stripped the bending boughs, And bore their shining apples (thus his task Accomplished) to the court of Argos' king.

Driven on the Libyan realms, more fruitful here, Pompeius (11) stayed the fleet, nor further dared In Garamantian waves. But Cato's soul Leaped in his breast, impatient of delay, To pass the Syrtes by a landward march, And trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown To lead his legions. And the storm which closed The main to navies gave them hope of rain; Nor biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime; Nor suns too scorching in the falling year.

Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake: "Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall With pride unbroken should the fates command, Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise With hearts resolved to conquer. For we march On sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world; Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height Burns pitiless, unclouded; and the slime Of poisonous serpents fouls the dusty earth. Yet shall men venture for the love of laws And country perishing, upon the sands Of trackless Libya; men who brave in soul Rely not on the end, and in attempt Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts On this our enterprise to lead a band Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk. Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake, Whom I shall see for honour and for Rome Bear up against the worst. But whose needs A pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet, Let him by fairer journey seek his lord. First be my foot upon the sand; on me First strike the burning sun; across my path The serpent void his venom; by my fate Know ye your perils. Let him only thirst Who sees me at the spring: who sees me seek The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat; Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks Plodding their weary march: such be the lot Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief And not a comrade. Snakes, thirst, burning sand The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast Finds happiness in labour. By its cost Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land Such cloud of ills can furnish as might make Men flee unshamed." 'Twas thus that Cato spake, Kindling the torch of valour and the love Of toil: then reckless of his fate he strode The desert path from which was no return: And Libya ruled his destinies, to shut His sacred name within a narrow tomb.

One-third of all the world, (12) if fame we trust, Is Libya; yet by winds and sky she yields Some part to Europe; for the shores of Nile No more than Scythian Tanais are remote From furthest Gades, where with bending coast, Yielding a place to Ocean, Europe parts From Afric shores. Yet falls the larger world To Asia only. From the former two Issues the Western wind; but Asia's right Touches the Southern limits and her left The Northern tempest's home; and of the East She's mistress to the rising of the Sun. All that is fertile of the Afric lands Lies to the west, but even here abound No wells of water: though the Northern wind, Infrequent, leaving us with skies serene, Falls there in showers. Not gold nor wealth of brass It yields the seeker: pure and unalloyed Down to its lowest depths is Libyan soil. Yet citron forests to Maurusian tribes Were riches, had they known; but they, content, Lived 'neath the shady foliage, till gleamed The axe of Rome amid the virgin grove, To bring from furthest limits of the world Our banquet tables and the fruit they bear. (13) But suns excessive and a scorching air Burn all the glebe beside the shifting sands: There die the harvests on the crumbling mould; No root finds sustenance, nor kindly Jove Makes rich the furrow nor matures the vine. Sleep binds all nature and the tract of sand Lies ever fruitless, save that by the shore The hardy Nasamon plucks a scanty grass. Unclothed their race, and living on the woes Worked by the cruel Syrtes on mankind; For spoilers are they of the luckless ships Cast on the shoals: and with the world by wrecks Their only commerce.

Here at Cato's word His soldiers passed, in fancy from the winds That sweep the sea secure: here on them fell Smiting with greater strength upon the shore, Than on the ocean, Auster's tempest force, And yet more fraught with mischief: for no crags Repelled his strength, nor lofty mountains tamed His furious onset, nor in sturdy woods He found a bar; but free from reining hand, Raged at his will o'er the defenceless earth. Nor did he mingle dust and clouds of rain In whirling circles, but the earth was swept And hung in air suspended, till amazed The Nasamon saw his scanty field and home Reft by the tempest, and the native huts From roof to base were hurried on the blast. Not higher, when some all-devouring flame Has seized upon its prey, in volumes dense Rolls up the smoke, and darkens all the air. Then with fresh might he fell upon the host Of marching Romans, snatching from their feet The sand they trod. Had Auster been enclosed In some vast cavernous vault with solid walls And mighty barriers, he had moved the world Upon its ancient base and made the lands To tremble: but the facile Libyan soil By not resisting stood, and blasts that whirled The surface upwards left the depths unmoved. Helmet and shield and spear were torn away By his most violent breath, and borne aloft Through all the regions of the boundless sky; Perchance a wonder in some distant land, Where men may fear the weapons from the heaven There falling, as the armour of the gods, Nor deem them ravished from a soldier's arm. 'Twas thus on Numa by the sacred fire Those shields descended which our chosen priests (14) Bear on their shoulders; from some warlike race By tempest rapt, to be the prize of Rome.

Fearing the storm prone fell the host to earth Winding their garments tight, and with clenched hands Gripping the earth: for not their weight alone Withstood the tempest which upon their frames Piled mighty heaps, and their recumbent limbs Buried in sand. At length they struggling rose Back to their feet, when lo! around them stood, Forced by the storm, a growing bank of earth Which held them motionless. And from afar Where walls lay prostrate, mighty stones were hurled, Thus piling ills on ills in wondrous form: No dwellings had they seen, yet at their feet Beheld the ruins. All the earth was hid In vast envelopment, nor found they guide Save from the stars, which as in middle deep Flamed o'er them wandering: yet some were hid Beneath the circle of the Libyan earth Which tending downwards hid the Northern sky.

When warmth dispersed the tempest-driven air, And rose upon the earth the flaming day, Bathed were their limbs in sweat, but parched and dry Their gaping lips; when to a scanty spring Far off beheld they came, whose meagre drops All gathered in the hollow of a helm They offered to their chief. Caked were their throats With dust, and panting; and one little drop Had made him envied. "Wretch, and dost thou deem Me wanting in a brave man's heart?" he cried, "Me only in this throng? And have I seemed Tender, unfit to bear the morning heat? He who would quench his thirst 'mid such a host, Doth most deserve its pangs." Then in his wrath Dashed down the helmet, and the scanty spring, Thus by their leader spurned, sufficed for all.

Now had they reached that temple which possess Sole in all Libya, th' untutored tribes Of Garamantians. Here holds his seat (So saith the story) a prophetic Jove, Wielding no thunderbolts, nor like to ours, The Libyan Hammen of the curved horn. No wealth adorns his fane by Afric tribes Bestowed, nor glittering hoard of Eastern gems. Though rich Arabians, Ind and Ethiop Know him alone as Jove, still is he poor Holding his shrine by riches undefiled Through time, and god as of the olden days Spurns all the wealth of Rome. That here some god Dwells, witnesses the only grove That buds in Libya — for that which grows Upon the arid dust which Leptis parts From Berenice, knows no leaves; alone Hammon uprears a wood; a fount the cause Which with its waters binds the crumbling soil. Yet shall the Sun when poised upon the height Strike through the foliage: hardly can the tree Protect its trunk, and to a little space His rays draw in the circle of the shade. Here have men found the spot where that high band Solstitial divides in middle sky (15) The zodiac stars: not here oblique their course, Nor Scorpion rises straighter than the Bull, Nor to the Scales does Ram give back his hours, Nor does Astraea bid the Fishes sink More slowly down: but watery Capricorn Is equal with the Crab, and with the Twins The Archer; neither does the Lion rise Above Aquarius. But the race that dwells Beyond the fervour of the Libyan fires Sees to the South that shadow which with us Falls to the North: slow Cynosure sinks (16) For them below the deep; and, dry with us, The Wagon plunges; far from either pole, No star they know that does not seek the main, But all the constellations in their course Whirl to their vision through the middle sky.

Before the doors the Eastern peoples stood Seeking from horned Jove to know their fates: Yet to the Roman chief they yielded place, Whose comrades prayed him to entreat the gods Famed through the Libyan world, and judge the voice Renowned from distant ages. First of these Was Labienus: (17) "Chance," he said, "to us The voice and counsel of this mighty god Has offered as we march; from such a guide To know the issues of the war, and learn To track the Syrtes. For to whom on earth If not to blameless Cato, shall the gods Entrust their secrets? Faithful thou at least, Their follower through all thy life hast been; Now hast thou liberty to speak with Jove. Ask impious Caesar's fates, and learn the laws That wait our country in the future days: Whether the people shall be free to use Their rights and customs, or the civil war For us is wasted. To thy sacred breast, Lover of virtue, take the voice divine; Demand what virtue is and guide thy steps By heaven's high counsellor."

But Cato, full Of godlike thoughts borne in his quiet breast, This answer uttered, worthy of the shrines: "What, Labienus, dost thou bid me ask? Whether in arms and freedom I should wish To perish, rather than endure a king? Is longest life worth aught? And doth its term Make difference? Can violence to the good Do injury? Do Fortune's threats avail Outweighed by virtue? Doth it not suffice To aim at deeds of bravery? Can fame Grow by achievement? Nay! No Hammen's voice Shall teach us this more surely than we know. Bound are we to the gods; no voice we need; They live in all our acts, although the shrine Be silent: at our birth and once for all What may be known the author of our being Revealed; nor Chose these thirsty sands to chaunt To few his truth, whelmed in the dusty waste. God has his dwelling in all things that be, In earth and air and sea and starry vault, In virtuous deeds; in all that thou can'st see, In all thy thoughts contained. Why further, then, Seek we our deities? Let those who doubt And halting, tremble for their coming fates, Go ask the oracles. No mystic words, Make sure my heart, but surely-coming Death. Coward alike and brave, we all must die. Thus hath Jove spoken: seek to know no more."

Thus Cato spake, and faithful to his creed He parted from the temple of the god And left the oracle of Hammon dumb.

Bearing his javelin, as one of them Before the troops he marched: no panting slave With bending neck, no litter bore his form. He bade them not, but showed them how to toil. Spare in his sleep, the last to sip the spring When at some rivulet to quench their thirst The eager ranks pressed onward, he alone Until the humblest follower might drink Stood motionless. If for the truly good Is fame, and virtue by the deed itself, Not by sucoessful issue, should be judged, Yield, famous ancestors! Fortune, not worth Gained you your glory. But such name as his Who ever merited by successful war Or slaughtered peoples? Rather would I lead With him his triumph through the pathless sands And Libya's bounds, than in Pompeius' car Three times ascend the Capitol, (18) or break The proud Jugurtha. (19) Rome! in him behold His country's father, worthiest of thy vows; A name by which men shall not blush to swear, Whom, should'st thou break the fetters from thy neck, Thou may'st in distant days decree divine.

Now was the heat more dense, and through that clime Than which no further on the Southern side The gods permit, they trod; and scarcer still The water, till in middle sands they found One bounteous spring which clustered serpents held Though scaroe the space sufficed. By thirsting snakes The fount was thronged and asps pressed on the marge. But when the chieftain saw that speedy fate Was on the host, if they should leave the well Untasted, "Vain," he cried, "your fear of death. Drink, nor delay: 'tis from the threatening tooth Men draw their deaths, and fatal from the fang Issues the juice if mingled with the blood; The cup is harmless." Then he sipped the fount, Still doubting, and in all the Libyan waste There only was he first to touch the stream.

Why fertile thus in death the pestilent air Of Libya, what poison in her soil Her several nature mixed, my care to know Has not availed: but from the days of old A fabled story has deceived the world.

Far on her limits, where the burning shore Admits the ocean fervid from the sun Plunged in its waters, lay Medusa's fields Untilled; nor forests shaded, nor the plough Furrowed the soil, which by its mistress' gaze Was hardened into stone: Phorcus, her sire. Malevolent nature from her body first Drew forth these noisome pests; first from her jaws Issued the sibilant rattle of serpent tongues; Clustered around her head the poisonous brood Like to a woman's hair, wreathed on her neck Which gloried in their touch; their glittering heads Advanced towards her; and her tresses kempt Dripped down with viper's venom. This alone Thou hast, accursed one, which men can see Unharmed; for who upon that gaping mouth Looked and could dread? To whom who met her glance, Was death permitted? Fate delayed no more. But ere the victim feared had struck him down: Perished the limbs while living, and the soul Grew stiff and stark ere yet it fled the frame. Men have been frenzied by the Furies' locks, Not killed; and Cerberus at Orpheus' song Ceased from his hissing, and Alcides saw The Hydra ere he slew. This monster born Brought horror with her birth upon her sire Phorcus, in second order God of Waves, And upon Ceto and the Gorgon brood, (20) Her sisters. She could threat the sea and sky With deadly calm unknown, and from the world Bid cease the soil. Borne down by instant weight Fowls fell from air, and beasts were fixed in stone. Whole Ethiop tribes who tilled the neighbouring lands Rigid in marble stood. The Gorgon sight No creature bore and even her serpents turned Back from her visage. Atlas in his place Beside the Western columns, by her look Was turned to rocks; and when on snakes of old Phlegraean giants stood and frighted heaven, She made them mountains, and the Gorgon head Borne on Athena's bosom closed the war. Here born of Danae and the golden shower, Floating on wings Parrhasian, by the god Arcadian given, author of the lyre And wrestling art, came Perseus, down from heaven Swooping. Cyllenian Harp (21) did he bear Still crimson from another monster slain, The guardian of the heifer loved by Jove. This to her winged brother Pallas lent Price of the monster's head: by her command Upon the limits of the Libyan land He sought the rising sun, with flight averse, Poised o'er Medusa's realm; a burnished shield Of yellow brass upon his other arm, Her gift, he bore: in which she bade him see The fatal face unscathed. Nor yet in sleep Lay all the monster, for such total rest To her were death — so fated: serpent locks In vigilant watch, some reaching forth defend Her head, while others lay upon her face And slumbering eyes. Then hero Perseus shook Though turned averse; trembled his dexter hand: But Pallas held, and the descending blade Shore the broad neck whence sprang the viper brood. What visage bore the Gorgon as the steel Thus reft her life! what poison from her throat Breathed! from her eyes what venom of death distilled! The goddess dared not look, and Perseus' face Had frozen, averse, had not Athena veiled With coils of writhing snakes the features dead. Then with the Gorgon head the hero flew Uplifted on his wings and sought the sky. Shorter had been his voyage through the midst Of Europe's cities; but Athena bade To spare her peoples and their fruitful lands; For who when such an airy courser passed Had not looked up to heaven? Western winds Now sped his pinions, and he took his course O'er Libya's regions, from the stars and suns Veiled by no culture. Phoebus' nearer track There burns the soil, and loftiest on the sky (22) There fails the night, to shade the wandering moon, If o'er forgetful of her course oblique, Straight through the stars, nor bending to the North Nor to the South, she hastens. Yet that earth, In nothing fertile, void of fruitful yield, Drank in the poison of Medusa's blood, Dripping in dreadful dews upon the soil, And in the crumbling sands by heat matured.

First from the dust was raised a gory clot (23) In guise of Asp, sleep-bringing, swollen of neck: Full was the blood and thick the poison drop That were its making; in no other snake More copious held. Greedy of warmth it seeks No frozen world itself, nor haunts the sands Beyond the Nile; yet has our thirst of gain No shame nor limit, and this Libyan death, This fatal pest we purchase for our own. Haemorrhois huge spreads out his scaly coils, Who suffers not his hapless victims' blood To stay within their veins. Chersydros sprang To life, to dwell within the doubtful marsh Where land nor sea prevails. A cloud of spray Marked fell Chelyder's track: and Cenchris rose Straight gliding to his prey, his belly tinged With various spots unnumbered, more than those Which paint the Theban (24) marble; horned snakes With spines contorted: like to torrid sand Ammodytes, of hue invisible: Sole of all serpents Scytale to shed In vernal frosts his slough; and thirsty Dipsas; Dread Amphisbaena with his double head Tapering; and Natrix who in bubbling fount Fuses his venom. Greedy Prester swells His foaming jaws; Pareas, head erect Furrows with tail alone his sandy path; Swift Jaculus there, and Seps (25) whose poisonous juice Makes putrid flesh and frame: and there upreared His regal head, and frighted from his track With sibilant terror all the subject swam, Baneful ere darts his poison, Basilisk (26) In sands deserted king. Ye serpents too Who in all other regions harmless glide Adored as gods, and bright with golden scales, In those hot wastes are deadly; poised in air Whole herds of kine ye follow, and with coils Encircling close, crush in the mighty bull. Nor does the elephant in his giant bulk, Nor aught, find safety; and ye need no fang Nor poison, to compel the fatal end.

Amid these pests undaunted Cato urged His desert journey on. His hardy troops Beneath his eyes, pricked by a scanty wound, In strangest forms of death unnumbered fall. Tyrrhenian Aulus, bearer of a flag, Trod on a Dipsas; quick with head reversed The serpent struck; no mark betrayed the tooth: The aspect of the wound nor threatened death, Nor any evil; but the poison germ In silence working as consuming fire Absorbed the moisture of his inward frame, Draining the natural juices that were spread Around his vitals; in his arid jaws Set flame upon his tongue: his wearied limbs No sweat bedewed; dried up, the fount of tears Fled from his eyelids. Tortured by the fire Nor Cato's sternness, nor of his sacred charge The honour could withhold him; but he dared To dash his standard down, and through the plains Raging, to seek for water that might slake The fatal venom thirsting at his heart. Plunge him in Tanais, in Rhone and Po, Pour on his burning tongue the flood of Nile, Yet were the fire unquenched. So fell the fang Of Dipsas in the torrid Libyan lands; In other climes less fatal. Next he seeks Amid the sands, all barren to the depths, For moisture: then returning to the shoals Laps them with greed — in vain — the briny draught Scarce quenched the thirst it made. Nor knowing yet The poison in his frame, he steels himself To rip his swollen veins and drink the gore. Cato bids lift the standard, lest his troops May find in thirst a pardon for the deed.

But on Sabellus' yet more piteous death Their eyes were fastened. Clinging to his skin A Seps with curving tooth, of little size, He seized and tore away, and to the sands Pierced with his javelin. Small the serpent's bulk; None deals a death more horrible in form. For swift the flesh dissolving round the wound Bared the pale bone; swam all his limbs in blood; Wasted the tissue of his calves and knees: And all the muscles of his thighs were thawed In black distilment, and file membrane sheath Parted, that bound his vitals, which abroad Flowed upon earth: yet seemed it not that all His frame was loosed, for by the venomous drop Were all the bands that held his muscles drawn Down to a juice; the framework of his chest Was bare, its cavity, and all the parts Hid by the organs of life, that make the man. So by unholy death there stood revealed His inmost nature. Head and stalwart arms, And neck and shoulders, from their solid mass Melt in corruption. Not more swiftly flows Wax at the sun's command, nor snow compelled By southern breezes. Yet not all is said: For so to noxious humours fire consumes Our fleshly frame; but on the funeral pyre What bones have perished? These dissolve no less Than did the mouldered tissues, nor of death Thus swift is left a trace. Of Afric pests Thou bear'st the palm for hurtfulness: the life They snatch away, thou only with the life The clay that held it.

Lo! a different fate, Not this by melting! for a Prester's fang Nasidius struck, who erst in Marsian fields Guided the ploughshare. Burned upon his face A redness as of flame: swollen the skin, His features hidden, swollen all his limbs Till more than human: and his definite frame One tumour huge concealed. A ghastly gore Is puffed from inwards as the virulent juice Courses through all his body; which, thus grown, His corselet holds not. Not in caldron so Boils up to mountainous height the steaming wave; Nor in such bellying curves does canvas bend To Eastern tempests. Now the ponderous bulk Rejects the limbs, and as a shapeless trunk Burdens the earth: and there, to beasts and birds A fatal feast, his comrades left the corse Nor dared to place, yet swelling, in the tomb.

But for their eyes the Libyan pests prepared More dreadful sights. On Tullus great in heart, And bound to Cato with admiring soul, A fierce Haemorrhois fixed. From every limb, (27) (As from a statue saffron spray is showered In every part) there spouted forth for blood A sable poison: from the natural pores Of moisture, gore profuse; his mouth was filled And gaping nostrils, and his tears were blood. Brimmed full his veins; his very sweat was red; All was one wound.

Then piteous Levus next In sleep was victim, for around his heart Stood still the blood congealed: no pain he felt Of venomous tooth, but swift upon him fell Death, and he sought the shades; more swift to kill No draught in poisonous cups from ripened plants Of direst growth Sabaean wizards brew.

Lo! Upon branchless trunk a serpent, named By Libyans Jaculus, rose in coils to dart His venom from afar. Through Paullus' brain It rushed, nor stayed; for in the wound itself Was death. Then did they know how slowly flies, Flung from a sling, the stone; how gently speed Through air the shafts of Scythia.

What availed, Murrus, the lance by which thou didst transfix A Basilisk? Swift through the weapon ran The poison to his hand: he draws his sword And severs arm and shoulder at a blow: Then gazed secure upon his severed hand Which perished as he looked. So had'st thou died, And such had been thy fate!

Whoe'er had thought A scorpion had strength o'er death or fate? Yet with his threatening coils and barb erect He won the glory of Orion (28) slain; So bear the stars their witness. And who would fear Thy haunts, Salpuga? (29) Yet the Stygian Maids Have given thee power to snap the fatal threads.

Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the night With darkness gave them peace. The very earth On which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor straw They piled for couches, but upon the ground Unshielded from the fates they laid their limbs, Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of night The frozen pests found shelter; in whose jaws Harmless the while, the lurking venom slept. Nor did they know the measure of their march Accomplished, nor their path; the stars in heaven Their only guide. "Return, ye gods," they cried, In frequent wail, "the arms from which we fled. Give back Thessalia. Sworn to meet the sword Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek That region by the horses of the sun Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky Descend our fate! Not, Africa, of thee Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men Should perish by their venom. To the realms Of serpents have we come. Hater of men, Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods Severed this region upon either hand, With death in middle space. Our march is set Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world. Perchance some greater wonders on our path May still await us; in the waves be plunged Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole Stoop from its height. By further space removed No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land There may we long, where yet some living thing Gives consolation. Not my native land Nor European fields I hope for now Lit by far other suns, nor Asia's plains. But in what land, what region of the sky, Where left we Africa? But now with frosts Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws Which rule the seasons, in this little space? Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies And stars we tread; behind our backs the home Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates This solace pray we, that on this our track Pursuing Caesar with his host may come."

Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaints Disburdened. But the bravery of their chief Forced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand, All bare, he lies and dares at every hour Fortune to strike: he only at the fate Of each is present, flies to every call; And greatest boon of all, greater than life, Brought strength to die. To groan in death was shame In such a presence. What power had all the ills Possessed upon him? In another's breast He conquers misery, teaching by his mien That pain is powerless.

Hardly aid at length Did Fortune, wearied of their perils, grant. Alone unharmed of all who till the earth, By deadly serpents, dwells the Psyllian race. Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood, Nor gives admission to the poison germ E'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itself Placed in such venomous tract and serpent-thronged Gained them this vantage, and a truce with death, Else could they not have lived. Such is their trust In purity of blood, that newly born Each babe they prove by test of deadly asp For foreign lineage. So the bird of Jove Turns his new fledglings to the rising sun And such as gaze upon the beams of day With eves unwavering, for the use of heaven He rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' rays Casts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descent The babe who, dreading not the serpent touch, Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake. Nor with their own immunity from harm Contented do they rest, but watch for guests Who need their help against the noisome plague.

Now to the Roman standards are they come, And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed, First all the sandy space within the lines With song they purify and magic words From which all serpents flee: next round the camp In widest circuit from a kindled fire Rise aromatic odours: danewort burns, And juice distils from Syrian galbanum; Then tamarisk and costum, Eastern herbs, Strong panacea mixt with centaury From Thrace, and leaves of fennel feed the flames, And thapsus brought from Eryx: and they burn Larch, southern-wood and antlers of a deer Which lived afar. From these in densest fumes, Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose; And thus in safety passed the night away. But should some victim feel the fatal fang Upon the march, then of this magic race Were seen the wonders, for a mighty strife Rose 'twixt the Psyllian and the poison germ. First with saliva they anoint the limbs That held the venomous juice within the wound; Nor suffer it to spread. From foaming mouth Next with continuous cadence would they pour Unceasing chants — nor breathing space nor pause — Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permit A moment's silence. Oft from the black flesh Flies forth the pest beneath the magic song: But should it linger nor obey the voice, Repugmant to the summons, on the wound Prostrate they lay their lips and from the depths Now paling draw the venom. In their mouths, Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death, Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall know The snake they conquer.

Aided thus at length Wanders the Roman host in better guise Upon the barren fields in lengthy march. (30) Twice veiled the moon her light and twice renewed; Yet still, with waning or with growing orb Saw Cato's steps upon the sandy waste. But more and more beneath their feet the dust Began to harden, till the Libyan tracts Once more were earth, and in the distance rose Some groves of scanty foliage, and huts Of plastered straw unfashioned: and their hearts Leaped at the prospect of a better land. How fled their sorrow! how with growing joy They met the savage lion in the path! In tranquil Leptis first they found retreat: And passed a winter free from heat and rain. (31)

When Caesar sated with Emathia's slain Forsook the battlefield, all other cares Neglected, he pursued his kinsman fled, On him alone intent: by land his steps He traced in vain; then, rumour for his guide, He crossed the sea and reached the Thracian strait For love renowned; where on the mournful shore Rose Hero's tower, and Helle born of cloud (32) Took from the rolling waves their former name. Nowhere with shorter space the sea divides Europe from Asia; though Pontus parts By scant division from Byzantium's hold Chalcedon oyster-rich: and small the strait Through which Propontis pours the Euxine wave. Then marvelling at their ancient fame, he seeks Sigeum's sandy beach and Simois' stream, Rhoeteum noble for its Grecian tomb, And all the hero's shades, the theme of song. Next by the town of Troy burnt down of old Now but a memorable name, he turns His steps, and searches for the mighty stones Relics of Phoebus' wall. But bare with age Forests of trees and hollow mouldering trunks Pressed down Assaracus' palace, and with roots Wearied, possessed the temples of the gods. All Pergamus with densest brake was veiled And even her stones were perished. He beheld Thy rock, Hesione; the hidden grove, Anchises' nuptial chamber; and the cave Where sat the arbiter; the spot from which Was snatched the beauteous youth; the mountain lawn Where played Oenone. Not a stone but told The story of the past. A little stream Scarce trickling through the arid plain he passed, Nor knew 'twas Xanthus: deep in grass he placed, Careless, his footstep; but the herdsman cried "Thou tread'st the dust of Hector." Stones confused Lay at his feet in sacred shape no more: "Look on the altar of Jove," thus spake the guide, "God of the household, guardian of the home."

O sacred task of poets, toil supreme, Which rescuing all things from allotted fate Dost give eternity to mortal men! Grudge not the glory, Caesar, of such fame. For if the Latian Muse may promise aught, Long as the heroes of the Trojan time Shall live upon the page of Smyrna's bard, So long shall future races read of thee In this my poem; and Pharsalia's song Live unforgotten in the age to come.

When by the ancient grandeur of the place The chieftain's sight was filled, of gathered turf Altars he raised: and as the sacred flame Cast forth its odours, these not idle vows Gave to the gods, "Ye deities of the dead, Who watch o'er Phrygian ruins: ye who now Lavinia's homes inhabit, and Alba's height: Gods of my sire Aeneas, in whose fanes The Trojan fire still burns: pledge of the past Mysterious Pallas, (24) of the inmost shrine, Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat, Most famous offspring of Iulus' race, I call upon you and with pious hand Burn frequent offerings. To my emprise Give prosperous ending! Here shall I replace The Phrygian peoples, here with glad return Italia's sons shall build another Troy, Here rise a Roman Pergamus."

This said, He seeks his fleet, and eager to regain Time spent at Ilium, to the favouring breeze Spreads all his canvas. Past rich Asia borne, Rhodes soon he left while foamed the sparkling main Beneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretch His bending sails, till on the seventh night The Pharian beam proclaimed Egyptian shores. But day arose, and veiled the nightly lamp Ere rode his barks on waters safe from storm. Then Caesar saw that tumult held the shore, And mingled voices of uncertain sound Struck on his ear: and trusting not himself To doubtful kingdoms, of uncertain troth, He kept his ships from land. But from the king Came his vile minion forth upon the wave, Bearing his dreadful gift, Pompeius' head, Wrapped in a covering of Pharian wool. First took he speech and thus in shameless words Commends the murder: "Conqueror of the world, First of the Roman race, and, what as yet Thou dost not know, safe by thy kinsman slain; This gift receive from the Pellaean king, Sole trophy absent from the Thracian field, To crown thy toils on lands and on the deep. Here in thine absence have we placed for thee An end upon the war. Here Magnus came To mend his fallen fortunes; on our swords Here met his death. With such a pledge of faith Here have we bought thee, Caesar; with his blood Seal we this treaty. Take the Pharian realm Sought by no bloodshed, take the rule of Nile, Take all that thou would'st give for Magnus' life: And hold him vassal worthy of thy camp To whom the fates against thy son-in-law Such power entrusted; nor hold thou the deed Lightly accomplished by the swordsman's stroke, And so the merit. Guest ancestral he Who was its victim; who, his sire expelled, Gave back to him the sceptre. For a deed So great, thou'lt find a name — or ask the world. If 'twas a crime, thou must confess the debt To us the greater, for that from thy hand We took the doing."

Then he held and showed Unveiled the head. Now had the hand of death Passed with its changing touch upon the face: Nor at first sight did Caesar on the gift Pass condemnation; nor avert his gaze, But dwelt upon the features till he knew The crime accomplished. Then when truth was sure The loving father rose, and tears he shed Which flowed at his command, and glad in heart Forced from his breast a groan: thus by the flow Of feigned tears and grief he hoped to hide His joy else manifest: and the ghastly boon Sent by the king disparaging, professed Rather to mourn his son's dissevered head, Than count it for a debt. For thee alone, Magnus, he durst not fail to find a tear: He, Caesar, who with mien unaltered spurned The Roman Senate, and with eyes undimmed Looked on Pharsalia's field. O fate most hard! Didst thou with impious war pursue the man Whom 'twas thy lot to mourn? No kindred ties No memory of thy daughter and her son Touch on thy heart. Didst think perchance that grief Might help thy cause 'mid lovers of his name? Or haply, moved by envy of the king, Griev'st that to other hands than thine was given To shed the captive's life-blood? and complain'st Thy vengeance perished and the conquered chief Snatched from thy haughty hand? Whate'er the cause That urged thy grief, 'twas far removed from love. Was this forsooth the object of thy toil O'er lands and oceans, that without thy ken He should not perish? Nay! but well was reft From thine arbitrament his fate. What crime Did cruel Fortune spare, what depth of shame To Roman honour! since she suffered not, Perfidious traitor, while yet Magnus lived, That thou should'st pity him!

Thus by words he dared, To gain their credence in his sembled grief: "Hence from my sight with thy detested gift, Thou minion, to thy King. Worse does your crime Deserve from Caesar than from Magnus' hands. The only prize that civil war affords Thus have we lost — to bid the conquered live. If but the sister of this Pharian king Were not by him detested, by the head Of Cleopatra had I paid this gift. Such were the fit return. Why did he draw His separate sword, and in the toil that's ours Mingle his weapons? In Thessalia's field Gave we such right to the Pellaean blade? Magnus as partner in the rule of Rome I had not brooked; and shall I tolerate Thee, Ptolemaeus? In vain with civil wars Thus have we roused the nations, if there be Now any might but Caesar's. If one land Yet owned two masters, I had turned from yours The prows of Latium; but fame forbids, Lest men should whisper that I did not damn This deed of blood, but feared the Pharian land. Nor think ye to deceive; victorious here I stand: else had my welcome at your hands Been that of Magnus; and that neck were mine But for Pharsalia's chance. At greater risk So seems it, than we dreamed of, took we arms; Exile, and Magnus' threats, and Rome I knew, Not Ptolemaeus. But we spare the boy: Pass by the murder. Let the princeling know We give no more than pardon for his crime. And now in honour of the mighty dead, Not merely that the earth may hide your guilt, Lay ye the chieftain's head within the tomb; With proper sepulture appease his shade And place his scattered ashes in an urn. Thus may he know my coming, and may hear Affection's accents, and my fond complaints. Me sought he not, but rather, for his life, This Pharian vassal; snatching from mankind The happy morning which had shown the world A peace between us. But my prayers to heaven No favouring answer found; that arms laid down In happy victory, Magnus, once again I might embrace thee, begging thee to grant Thine ancient love to Caesar, and thy life. Thus for my labours with a worthy prize Content, thine equal, bound in faithful peace, I might have brought thee to forgive the gods For thy disaster; thou had'st gained for me From Rome forgiveness."

Thus he spake, but found No comrade in his tears; nor did the host Give credit to his grief. Deep in their breasts They hide their groans, and gaze with joyful front (O famous Freedom!) on the deed of blood: And dare to laugh when mighty Caesar wept.

ENDNOTES:

(1) This was the Stoic theory. The perfect of men passed after death into a region between our atmosphere and the heavens, where they remained until the day of general conflagration, (see Book VII. line 949), with their senses amplified and rendered akin to divine. (2) A promontory in Africa was so called, as well as that in Italy. (3) Meaning that her husband gave her this commission in order to prevent her from committing suicide. (4) See Book VIII., line 547. (5) See line 709. (6) This passage is described by Lord Macaulay as "a pure gem of rhetoric without one flaw, and, in my opinion, not very far from historical truth" (Trevelyan's "Life and Letters", vol. i., page 462.) (7) "... Clarum et venembile nomen Gentibus, et multum nostrae quod profuit urbi," quoted by Mr. Burke, and applied to Lord Chatham, in his Speech on American taxation. (8) That is, liberty, which by the murder of Pompeius they had obtained. (9) Reading "saepit", Hosius. The passage seems to be corrupt. (10) "Scaly Triton's winding shell", (Comus, 878). He was Neptune's son and trumpeter. That Pallas sprang armed from the head of Jupiter is well known. (11) Cnaeus. (12) Compare Herodotus, ii., 16: "For they all say that the earth is divided into three parts, Europe, Asia and Libya." (And see Bunbury's "Ancient Geography", i., 145, 146, for a discussion of this subject.) (13) Citron tables were in much request at Rome. (Comp. "Paradise Regained", Book iv., 115; and see Book X., line 177.) (14) Alluding to the shield of Mars which fell from heaven on Numa at sacrifice. Eleven others were made to match it ("Dict. Antiq.") While Horace speaks of them as chief objects of a patriot Roman's affection ("Odes" iii., 5, 9), Lucan discovers for them a ridiculous origin. They were in the custody of the priests of Mars. (See Book I., 666.) (15) I.e. Where the equinoctial circle cuts the zodiac in its centre. — Haskins. (16) Compare Book III., 288. (17) See Book V., 400. (18) 1st. For his victories in Sicily and Africa, B.C. 81; 2nd. For the conquest of Sertorius, B.C. 71; 3rd. For his Eastern triumphs, B.C. 61. (Compare Book II., 684, &c.) (19) Over whom Marius triumphed. (20) Phoreus and Ceto were the parents of the Gorgons — Stheno, Euryale. and Medusa, of whom the latter alone was mortal, (Hesiod. "Theogony", 276.) Phorcus was a son of Pontus and Gaia (sea and land), ibid, 287. (21) The scimitar lent by Hermes (or Mercury) to Perseus for the purpose; with which had been slain Argus the guardian of Io (Conf. "Prometheus vinctus", 579.) Hermes was born in a cave in Mount Cyllene in Arcadia. (22) The idea seems to be that the earth, bulging at the equator, casts its shadow highest on the sky: and that the moon becomes eclipsed by it whenever she follows a straight path instead of an oblique one, which may happen from her forgetfulness (Mr. Haskins' note). (23) This catalogue of snakes is alluded to in Dante's "Inferno", 24. "I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Libya vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas, and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisbaena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she showed." — Carey. (See also Milton's "Paradise Lost", Book X., 520-530.) (24) The Egyptian Thebes. (25) "... All my being Like him whom the Numidian Seps did thaw Into a dew with poison, is dissolved, Sinking through its foundations." —Shelley, "Prometheus Unbound", Act iii, Scene 1. (26) The glance of the eye of the basilisk or cockatrice, was supposed to be deadly. (See "King Richard III", Act i., Scene 2: — Gloucester: Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne: Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!) The word is also used for a big cannon. ("1 King Henry IV", Act ii., Scene 3.) (27) See Book III., 706. (28) According to one story Orion, for his assault on Diana, was killed by the Scorpion, who received his reward by being made into a constellation. (29) A sort of venomous ant. (30) No other author gives any details of this march; and those given by Lucan are unreliable. The temple of Hammon is far from any possible line of route taken from the Lesser Syrtes to Leptis. Dean Merivale states that the inhospitable sands extended for seven days' journey, and ranks the march as one of the greatest exploits in Roman military history. Described by the names known to modern geography, it was from the Gulf of Cabes to Cape Africa. Pope, in a letter to Henry Cromwell, dated November 11, 1710, makes some caustic remarks on the geography of this book. (See "Pope's Works", Vol. vi., 109; by Elwin & Courthope.) (31) See Line 444. (32) See Book IV., 65. (33) The "Palladium" or image of Pallas, preserved in the temple of Vesta. (See Book I., 659.)



BOOK X

CAESAR IN EGYPT

When Caesar, following those who bore the head, First trod the shore accursed, with Egypt's fates His fortunes battled, whether Rome should pass In crimson conquest o'er the guilty land, Or Memphis' arms should ravish from the world Victor and vanquished: and the warning shade Of Magnus saved his kinsman from the sword.

First, by the crime assured, his standards borne Before, he marched upon the Pharian town; But when the people, jealous of their laws, Murmured against the fasces, Caesar knew Their minds were adverse, and that not for him Was Magnus' murder wrought. And yet with brow Dissembling fear, intrepid, through the shrines Of Egypt's gods he strode, and round the fane Of ancient Isis; bearing witness all To Macedon's vigour in the days of old. Yet did nor gold nor ornament restrain His hasting steps, nor worship of the gods, Nor city ramparts: but in greed of gain He sought the cave dug out amid the tombs. (1) The madman offspring there of Philip lies The famed Pellaean robber, fortune's friend, Snatched off by fate, avenging so the world. In sacred sepulchre the hero's limbs, Which should be scattered o'er the earth, repose, Still spared by Fortune to these tyrant days: For in a world to freedom once recalled, All men had mocked the dust of him who set The baneful lesson that so many lands Can serve one master. Macedon he left His home obscure; Athena he despised The conquest of his sire, and spurred by fate Through Asia rushed with havoc of mankind, Plunging his sword through peoples; streams unknown Ran red with Persian and with Indian blood. Curse of all earth and thunderbolt of ill To every nation! On the outer sea (2) He launched his fleet to sail the ocean wave: Nor flame nor flood nor sterile Libyan sands Stayed back his course, nor Hammon's pathless shoals; Far to the west, where downward slopes the world He would have led his armies, and the poles Had compassed, and had drunk the fount of Nile: But came his latest day; such end alone Could nature place upon the madman king, Who jealous in death as when he won the world His empire with him took, nor left an heir. Thus every city to the spoiler's hand Was victim made: Yet in his fall was his Babylon; and Parthia feared him. Shame on us That eastern nations dreaded more the lance Of Macedon than now the Roman spear. True that we rule beyond where takes its rise The burning southern breeze, beyond the homes Of western winds, and to the northern star; But towards the rising of the sun, we yield To him who kept the Arsacids in awe; And puny Pella held as province sure The Parthia fatal to our Roman arms.

Now from the stream Pelusian of the Nile, Was come the boyish king, taming the rage Of his effeminate people: pledge of peace; And Caesar safely trod Pellaean halls; When Cleopatra bribed her guard to break The harbour chains, and borne in little boat Within the Macedonian palace gates, Caesar unknowing, entered: Egypt's shame; Fury of Latium; to the bane of Rome Unchaste. For as the Spartan queen of yore By fatal beauty Argos urged to strife And Ilium's homes, so Cleopatra roused Italia's frenzy. By her drum (3) she called Down on the Capitol terror (if to speak Such word be lawful); mixed with Roman arms Coward Canopus, hoping she might lead A Pharian triumph, Caesar in her train; And 'twas in doubt upon Leucadian (4) waves Whether a woman, not of Roman blood, Should hold the world in awe. Such lofty thoughts Seized on her soul upon that night in which The wanton daughter of Pellaean kings First shared our leaders' couches. Who shall blame Antonius for the madness of his love, When Caesar's haughty breast drew in the flame? Who red with carnage, 'mid the clash of arms, In palace haunted by Pompeius' shade, Gave place to love; and in adulterous bed, Magnus forgotten, from the Queen impure, To Julia gave a brother: on the bounds, Of furthest Libya permitting thus His foe to gather: he in dalliance base Waited upon his mistress, and to her Pharos would give, for her would conquer all.

Then Cleopatra, trusting to her charms, Tearless approached him, though in form of grief; Her tresses loose as though in sorrow torn, So best becoming her; and thus began: "If, mighty Caesar, aught to noble birth Be due, give ear. Of Lagian race am I Offspring illustrious; from my father's throne Cast forth to banishment; unless thy hand Restore to me the sceptre: then a Queen Falls at thy feet embracing. To our race Bright star of justice thou! Nor first shall I As woman rule the cities of the Nile; For, neither sex preferring, Pharos bows To queenly governance. Of my parted sire Read the last words, by which 'tis mine to share With equal rights the kingdom and the bed. And loves the boy his sister, were he free; But his affections and his sword alike Pothinus orders. Nor wish I myself To wield my father's power; but this my prayer: Save from this foul disgrace our royal house, Bid that the king shall reign, and from the court Remove this hateful varlet, and his arms. How swells his bosom for that his the hand That shore Pompeius' head! And now he threats Thee, Caesar, also; which the Fates avert! 'Twas shame enough upon the earth and thee That of Pothinus Magnus should have been The guilt or merit."

Caesar's ears in vain Had she implored, but aided by her charms The wanton's prayers prevailed, and by a night Of shame ineffable, passed with her judge, She won his favour.

When between the pair (5) Caesar had made a peace, by costliest gifts Purchased, a banquet of such glad event Made fit memorial; and with pomp the Queen Displayed her luxuries, as yet unknown To Roman fashions. First uprose the hall Like to a fane which this corrupted age Could scarcely rear: the lofty ceiling shone With richest tracery, the beams were bound In golden coverings; no scant veneer Lay on its walls, but built in solid blocks Of marble, gleamed the palace. Agate stood In sturdy columns, bearing up the roof; Onyx and porphyry on the spacious floor Were trodden 'neath the foot; the mighty gates Of Maroe's throughout were formed, He mere adornment; ivory clothed the hall, And fixed upon the doors with labour rare Shells of the tortoise gleamed, from Indian seas, With frequent emeralds studded. Gems of price And yellow jasper on the couches shone. Lustrous the coverlets; the major part Dipped more than once within the vats of Tyre Had drunk their juice: part feathered as with gold; Part crimson dyed, in manner as are passed Through Pharian leash the threads. There waited slaves In number as a people, some in ranks By different blood distinguished, some by age; This band with Libyan, that with auburn hair Red so that Caesar on the banks of Rhine None such had witnessed; some with features scorched By torrid suns, their locks in twisted coils Drawn from their foreheads. Eunuchs too were there, Unhappy race; and on the other side Men of full age whose cheeks with growth of hair Were hardly darkened.

Upon either hand Lay kings, and Caesar in the midst supreme. There in her fatal beauty lay the Queen Thick daubed with unguents, nor with throne content Nor with her brother spouse; laden she lay On neck and hair with all the Red Sea spoils, And faint beneath the weight of gems and gold. Her snowy breast shone through Sidonian lawn Which woven close by shuttles of the east The art of Nile had loosened. Ivory feet Bore citron tables brought from woods that wave (6) On Atlas, such as Caesar never saw When Juba was his captive. Blind in soul By madness of ambition, thus to fire By such profusion of her wealth, the mind Of Caesar armed, her guest in civil war! Not though he aimed with pitiless hand to grasp The riches of a world; not though were here Those ancient leaders of the simple age, Fabricius or Curius stern of soul, Or he who, Consul, left in sordid garb His Tuscan plough, could all their several hopes Have risen to such spoil. On plates of gold They piled the banquet sought in earth and air And from the deepest seas and Nilus' waves, Through all the world; in craving for display, No hunger urging. Frequent birds and beasts, Egypt's high gods, they placed upon the board: In crystal goblets water of the Nile They handed, and in massive cups of price Was poured the wine; no juice of Mareot grape (7) But noble vintage of Falernian growth Which in few years in Meroe's vats had foamed, (For such the clime) to ripeness. On their brows Chaplets were placed of roses ever young With glistening nard entwined; and in their locks Was cinnamon infused, not yet in air Its fragrance perished, nor in foreign climes; And rich amomum from the neighbouring fields. Thus Caesar learned the booty of a world To lavish, and his breast was shamed of war Waged with his son-in-law for meagre spoil, And with the Pharian realm he longed to find A cause of battle.

When of wine and feast They wearied and their pleasure found an end, Caesar drew out in colloquy the night Thus with Achoreus, on the highest couch With linen ephod as a priest begirt: "O thou devoted to all sacred rites, Loved by the gods, as proves thy length of days, Tell, if thou wilt, whence sprang the Pharian race; How lie their lands, the manners of their tribes, The form and worship of their deities. Expound the sculptures on your ancient fanes: Reveal your gods if willing to be known: If to th' Athenian sage your fathers taught Their mysteries, who worthier than I To bear in trust the secrets of the world? True, by the rumour of my kinsman's flight Here was I drawn; yet also by your fame: And even in the midst of war's alarms The stars and heavenly spaces have I conned; Nor shall Eudoxus' year (8) excel mine own. But though such ardour burns within my breast, Such zeal to know the truth, yet my chief wish To learn the source of your mysterious flood Through ages hidden: give me certain hope To see the fount of Nile — and civil war Then shall I leave."

He spake, and then the priest: "The secrets, Caesar, of our mighty sires (9) Kept from the common people until now I hold it right to utter. Some may deem That silence on these wonders of the earth Were greater piety. But to the gods I hold it grateful that their handiwork And sacred edicts should be known to men.

"A different power by the primal law, Each star possesses: (10) these alone control The movement of the sky, with adverse force Opposing: while the sun divides the year, And day from night, and by his potent rays Forbids the stars to pass their stated course. The moon by her alternate phases sets The varying limits of the sea and shore. 'Neath Saturn's sway the zone of ice and snow Has passed; while Mars in lightning's fitful flames And winds abounds' beneath high Jupiter Unvexed by storms abides a temperate air; And fruitful Venus' star contains the seeds Of all things. Ruler of the boundless deep The god (11) Cyllenian: whene'er he holds That part of heaven where the Lion dwells With neighbouring Cancer joined, and Sirius star Flames in its fury; where the circular path (Which marks the changes of the varying year) Gives to hot Cancer and to Capricorn Their several stations, under which doth lie The fount of Nile, he, master of the waves, Strikes with his beam the waters. Forth the stream Brims from his fount, as Ocean when the moon Commands an increase; nor shall curb his flow Till night wins back her losses from the sun. (12)

"Vain is the ancient faith that Ethiop snows (13) Send Nile abundant forth upon the lands. Those mountains know nor northern wind nor star. Of this are proof the breezes of the South, Fraught with warm vapours, and the people's hue Burned dark by suns: and 'tis in time of spring, When first are thawed the snows, that ice-fed streams In swollen torrents tumble; but the Nile Nor lifts his wave before the Dog star burns; Nor seeks again his banks, until the sun In equal balance measures night and day. Nor are the laws that govern other streams Obeyed by Nile. For in the wintry year Were he in flood, when distant far the sun, His waters lacked their office; but he leaves His channel when the summer is at height, Tempering the torrid heat of Egypt's clime. Such is the task of Nile; thus in the world He finds his purpose, lest exceeding heat Consume the lands: and rising thus to meet Enkindled Lion, to Syene's prayers By Cancer burnt gives ear; nor curbs his wave Till the slant sun and Meroe's lengthening shades Proclaim the autumn. Who shall give the cause? 'Twas Parent Nature's self which gave command Thus for the needs of earth should flow the Nile.

"Vain too the fable that the western winds (14) Control his current, in continuous course At stated seasons governing the air; Or hurrying from Occident to South Clouds without number which in misty folds Press on the waters; or by constant blast, Forcing his current back whose several mouths Burst on the sea; — so, forced by seas and wind, Men say, his billows pour upon the land. Some speak of hollow caverns, breathing holes Deep in the earth, within whose mighty jaws Waters in noiseless current underneath From northern cold to southern climes are drawn: And when hot Meroe pants beneath the sun, Then, say they, Ganges through the silent depths And Padus pass: and from a single fount The Nile arising not in single streams Pours all the rivers forth. And rumour says That when the sea which girdles in the world (15) O'erflows, thence rushes Nile, by lengthy course, Softening his saltness. More, if it be true That ocean feeds the sun and heavenly fires, Then Phoebus journeying by the burning Crab Sucks from its waters more than air can hold Upon his passage — this the cool of night Pours on the Nile.

"If, Caesar, 'tis my part To judge such difference, 'twould seem that since Creation's age has passed, earth's veins by chance Some waters hold, and shaken cast them forth: But others took when first the globe was formed A sure abode; by Him who framed the world Fixed with the Universe.

"And, Roman, thou, In thirsting thus to know the source of Nile Dost as the Pharian and Persian kings And those of Macedon; nor any age Refused the secret, but the place prevailed Remote by nature. Greatest of the kings By Memphis worshipped, Alexander grudged (16) To Nile its mystery, and to furthest earth Sent chosen Ethiops whom the crimson zone Stayed in their further march, while flowed his stream Warm at their feet. Sesostris (17) westward far Reached, to the ends of earth; and necks of kings Bent 'neath his chariot yoke: but of the springs Which fill your rivers, Rhone and Po, he drank. Not of the fount of Nile. Cambyses king In madman quest led forth his host to where The long-lived races dwell: then famine struck, Ate of his dead (17) and, Nile unknown, returned. No lying rumour of thy hidden source Has e'er made mention; wheresoe'er thou art Yet art thou sought, nor yet has nation claimed In pride of place thy river as its own. Yet shall I tell, so far as has the god, Who veils thy fountain, given me to know. Thy progress. Daring to upraise thy banks 'Gainst fiery Cancer's heat, thou tak'st thy rise Beneath the zenith: straight towards the north And mid Bootes flowing; to the couch Bending, or to the risings, of the sun In sinuous bends alternate; just alike To Araby's peoples and to Libyan sands. By Seres (18) first beheld, yet know they not

Whence art thou come; and with no native stream Strik'st thou the Ethiop fields. Nor knows the world To whom it owes thee. Nature ne'er revealed Thy secret origin, removed afar. Nor did she wish thee to be seen of men While still a tiny rivulet, but preferred Their wonder to their knowledge. Where the sun Stays at his limit, dost thou rise in flood Untimely; such try right: to other lands Bearing try winter: and by both the poles Thou only wanderest. Here men ask thy rise And there thine ending. Meroe rich in soil And tilled by swarthy husbandmen divides Thy broad expanse, rejoicing in the leaves Of groves of ebony, which though spreading far Their branching foliage, by no breadth of shade Soften the summer sun — whose rays direct Pass from the Lion to the fervid earth. (20) Next dost thou journey onwards past the realm Of burning Phoebus, and the sterile sands, With equal volume; now with all thy strength Gathered in one, and now in devious streams Parting the bank that crumbles at thy touch. Then by our kingdom's gates, where Philae parts Arabian peoples from Egyptian fields The sluggish bosom of thy flood recalls Try wandering currents, which through desert wastes Flow gently on to where the merchant track Divides the Red Sea waters from our own. Who, gazing, Nile, upon thy tranquil flow, Could picture how in wild array of foam (Where shelves the earth) thy billows shall be plunged Down the steep cataracts, in fuming wrath That rocks should bar the passage of thy stream Free from its source? For whirled on high the spray Aims at the stars, and trembles all the air With rush of waters; and with sounding roar The foaming mass down from the summit pours In hoary waves victorious. Next an isle In all our ancient lore "untrodden" named Stems firm thy torrent; and the rocks we call Springs of the river, for that here are marked The earliest tokens of the coming flood. With mountain shores now nature hems thee in And shuts thy waves from Libya; in the midst Hence do thy waters run, till Memphis first Forbids the barrier placed upon thy stream And gives thee access to the open fields."

Thus did they pass, as though in peace profound, The nightly watches. But Pothinus' mind, Once with accursed butchery imbued, Was frenzied still; since great Pompeius fell No deed to him was crime; his rabid soul Th' avenging goddesses and Magnus' shade Stirred to fresh horrors; and a Pharian hand No less was worthy, as he deemed, to shed That blood which Fortune purposed should bedew The conquered fathers: and the fell revenge Due to the senate for the civil war This hireling almost snatched. Avert, ye fates, Far hence the shame that not by Brutus' hand This blow be struck! Shall thus the tyrant's fall Just at our hands, become a Pharian crime, Reft of example? To prepare a plan (Fated to fail) he dares; nor veils in fraud A plot for murder, but with open war Attacks th' unconquered chieftain: from his crimes He gained such courage as to send command To lop the head of Caesar, and to join In death the kinsmen chiefs.

These words by night His faithful servants to Achillas bear, His foul associate, whom the boy had made Chief of his armies, and who ruled alone O'er Egypt's land and o'er himself her king: "Now lay thy limbs upon the sumptuous couch And sleep in luxury, for the Queen hath seized The palace; nor alone by her betrayed, But Caesar's gift, is Pharos. Dost delay Nor hasten to the chamber of thy Queen? Thou only? Married to the Latian chief, The impious sister now her brother weds And hurrying from rival spouse to spouse Hath Egypt won, and plays the bawd for Rome. By amorous potions she has won the man: Then trust the boy! Yet give him but a night In her enfondling arms, and drunk with love Thy life and mine he'll barter for a kiss. We for his sister's charms by cross and flame Shall pay the penalty: nor hope of aid; Here stands adulterous Caesar, here the King Her spouse: how hope we from so stern a judge To gain acquittal? Shall she not condemn Those who ne'er sought her favours? By the deed We dared together and lost, by Magnus' blood Which wrought the bond between us, be thou swift With hasty tumult to arouse the war: Dash in with nightly band, and mar with death Their shameless nuptials: on the very bed With either lover smite the ruthless Queen. Nor let the fortunes of the Western chief Make pause our enterprise. We share with him The glory of his empire o'er the world. Pompeius fallen makes us too sublime. There lies the shore that bids us hope success: Ask of our power from the polluted wave, And gaze upon the scanty tomb which holds Not all Pompeius' ashes. Peer to him Was he whom now thou fearest. Noble blood True, is not ours: what boots it? Nor are realms Nor wealth of peoples given to our command. Yet have we risen to a height of power For deeds of blood, and Fortune to our hands Attracts her victims. Lo! a nobler now Lies in our compass, and a second death Hesperia shall appease; for Caesar's blood, Shed by these hands, shall give us this, that Rome Shall love us, guilty of Pompeius' fall. Why fear these titles, why this chieftain's strength? For shorn of these, before your swords he lies A common soldier. To the civil war This night shall bring completion, and shall give To peoples slain fit offerings, and send That life the world demands beneath the shades. Rise then in all your hardihood and smite This Caesar down, and let the Roman youths Strike for themselves, and Lagos for its King. Nor do thou tarry: full of wine and feast Thou'lt fall upon him in the lists of love; Then dare the venture, and the heavenly gods Shall grant of Cato's and of Brutus' prayers To thee fulfilment."

Nor was Achillas slow To hear the voice that counselled him to crime. No sounding clarion summoned, as is wont, His troops to arms; nor trumpet blare betrayed Their nightly march: but rapidly he seized All needed instruments of blood and war. Of Latian race the most part of his train, Yet to barbarian customs were their minds By long forgetfulness of Rome debased: Else had it shamed to serve the Pharian King; But now his vassal and his minion's word Compel obedience. Those who serve in camps Lose faith and love of kin: their pittance earned (21) Makes just the deed: and for their sordid pay, Not for themselves, they threaten Caesar's life. Where finds the piteous destiny of the realm Rome with herself at peace? The host withdrawn From dread Thessalia raves on Nilus' banks As all the race of Rome. What more had dared, With Magnus welcomed, the Lagean house? Each hand must render to the gods their due, Nor son of Rome may cease from civil war; By Heaven's command our state was rent in twain; Nor love for husband nor regard for sire Parted our peoples. 'Twas a slave who stirred Afresh the conflict, and Achillas grasped In turn the sword of Rome: nay more, had won, Had not the fates adverse restrained his hand From Caesar's slaughter.