YET in those ashes on the Pharian shore,
In that small heap of dust, was not confined
So great a shade; but from th' ignoble pyre
And limbs half burnt sprang forth
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, hated both the chiefs,
But followed Magnus for the Senate's cause
And for his country: now in all his heart
Was bound to Magnus, since Pharsalia's field.
Shorn of her guardian his country found
In him her guide; the people's trembling limbs
He cherished with new hope, and weapons gave
Back to the craven hands that cast them forth.
Nor yet for empire did he wage the war
Nor fearing slavery: nor in arms achieved
Aught for himself: freedom, since Magnus fell,
The aim of all his host. And lest the foe
In rapid course triumphant should collect
His scattered bands, he sought
Corcyra
's gulfs
Concealed, and bore in thousand ships away
The fragments of the ruin wrought in
Thrace
.
Who in such mighty navy had believed
A host defeated sailed upon the main
Thronging the sea with keels? Round Malea's cape
And Taenarus open to the shades below
And fair
Cythera
's isle, th' advancing fleet
Sweeps o'er the yielding wave, by northern breeze
Borne past the Cretan shores. But Phycus dared
Refuse her harbour, and th' avenging hand
Left her in ruins. Thus with gentle airs
They glide along the main and reach the shore
From Palinurus
2
named; for not alone
On seas Italian, Pilot of the deep,
Hast thou thy monument; and
Libya
too
Claims that her tranquil harbours pleased thy soul.
Then in the distance on the main arose
The shining canvas of a stranger fleet,
Or friend or foe they knew not. Yet they dread
In every keel the presence of that chief
Their fear-compelling conqueror. But in truth
That navy tears and sorrow bore, and woes
To make e'en Cato weep.
For when in vain
Cornelia prayed her stepson and the crew
To stay their flight, lest haply from the shore
Back to the sea might float the headless corse;
And when the flame arising marked the place
Of that unhallowed rite, ' Fortune, didst thou
Judge me unfit,' she cried, ' to light the pyre
'To cast myself upon the hero dead,
'The lock to sever, and compose the limbs
'Tossed by the cruel billows of the deep,
To shed a flood of tears upon his wounds,
To fill my robe with ashes from his urn,
And scatter in the temples of the gods
All that I could, his dust? That pyre bestows
No honour, haply by some Pharian hand
Piled up in insult to his mighty shade.
Happy the Crassi lying on the waste
Unburied. To the greater shame of heaven
' Pompeius has such funeral. And shall this
' For ever be my lot? her husbands slain
' Cornelia ne'er enclose within the tomb,
' Nor shed the tear beside the urn that holds
' The ashes of the loved? Yet for my grief
' What boots or monument or ordered pomp?
' Dost thou not, impious, upon thy heart
· Pompeius' image, and upon thy soul
' Bear ineffaceable? Dust closed in urns
' Is for the wife who would survive her lord,
' Not such as thee, Cornelia! And yet
'Yon scanty light that glimmers from afar
' Upon the Pharian shore, somewhat of thee
' Recalls, Pompeius! Now the flame sinks down
' And smoke drifts up across the eastern sky
' Bearing thine ashes, and the rising wind
' Sighs hateful in the sail. To me no more
' Dearer than this whatever land has given
' Pompeius victory, nor the frequent car
' That carried him in triumph to the hill;
' Gone is that happy husband from my thoughts;
' Here did I lose the hero whom I knew;
' Here let me stay; his presence shall endear
' The sands of
Nile
where fell the fatal blow.
' Thou, Sextus, brave the chances of the war
'And bear Pompeius' standard through the world.
' For thus thy father spake within mine ear:
' " When sounds my fatal hour let both my sons
' " Urge on the war; nor let some Caesar find
' " Room for an empire, while shall live on earth
' " Still one in whom Pompeius' blood shall run.
' " This your appointed task; all cities strong
' " In freedom of their own, all kingdoms urge
' " To join the combat; for Pompeius calls.
' " Nor shall a chieftain of that famous name
' ' Ride on the seas and fail to find a fleet.
' Urged by his sire's unconquerable will
' " And mindful of his rights, mine heir shall rouse
' " All nations to the conflict. One alone,
' " (Should he contend for freedom) may ye serve;
' " Cato, none else! " Thus have I kept the faith;
' Thy plot
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.'
4
She seeks the cabin, veiled, in funeral garb,
In tears to find her solace, and to love
Grief in her husband's room; no tempest howl
Among the shrouds, no angered waves aroused
Her soul, nor cry of sailors in dismay:
For life their prayers; not hers: and prone she lies
Resigned to death and welcoming the storm.
117
First reached they
Cyprus
on the foamy brine;
Then as the eastern breeze more gently held
The favouring deep, they touched the Libyan shore
Where stood the camp of Cato. Sad as one
Who deep in fear presages ills to come,
Cnaeus beheld his brother and his band
Of patriot comrades. Swift into the wave
He leaped and cried, ' Where, brother, is our sire?
' Still stands our country mistress of the world,
' Or are we fallen,
Rome
with Magnus' death
' Rapt to the shades? ' Thus he: but Sextus said
' Oh happy thou who by report alone
' Hear'st of the deed that chanced on yonder shore!
'These eyes that saw, my brother, share the guilt.
' Not Caesar wrought his death, nor any chief
' Worthy to cause the ruin of our sire.
' He fell by order of that shameful king
' Who rules o'er Nilus; trusting to the gods
' Who shield the guest, and to his princely boon
' Of yore-a victim for the realm he gave.
' I saw them pierce our noble father's breast;
' Yet deeming not the petty Pharian prince
' So fell a deed would dare, on
Egypt
's strand
' I thought great Caesar stood. But worse than all,
' Worse than the wounds which gaped upon his frame
' Struck me with horror to the inmost heart,
' Our murdered father's head, shorn from the trunk
' And borne aloft on javelin; this sight,
' As rumour said, the cruel victor asked
' To feast his eyes, and prove the bloody deed.
' For whether ravenous birds and Pharian dogs
' Have torn his corse asunder, or a fire
' Consumed it, which with stealthy flame arose,
' I know not. For the fates' unjust decree
'Which reft his limbs asunder, I forgive
' The gods: I weep the part preserved by men.'
Thus Sextus spake: but Cnaeus at the tale
Restrained the tear, and for his father's shame
Flamed into fury: ' Launch our navies forth,
' Ye sailors, from the shore, by stalwart arms
' Forced through the deep against opposing winds:
' Captains, lead on: for civil strife ne'er gave
' So great a prize; to lay in earth the limbs
'Of Magnus, and avenge him with the blood
'Of that unmanly tyrant. Shall I spare
Great Alexander's fort, nor sack the shrine
And plunge his body in the tideless marsh?
Nor drag Amasis from the Pyramids,
'And all their ancient kings, to swim the
Nile
?
'Torn from his tomb, that god of all mankind
'Isis, unburied, shall avenge thy shade;
And veiled Osiris shall I hurl abroad
'And sacred Apis;
5
and with these their gods
'I'll light a furnace that shall burn the head
'They held in insult. Thus their land shall pay
'Atonement to the shade of Magnus dead.
No husbandman shall live to till the fields
Nor reap the benefit of brimming
Nile
.
'Thou only, Father, gods and men alike
'Fallen and perished, shalt possess the land.'
Such were the words he spake; and soon the fleet
Had dared the angry deep: but
Cato
's voice
While praising, calmed the youthful chieftain's rage.
Meanwhile, when Magnus' fate was known, the air
Sounded with lamentations which the shore
Re-echoed; never through the ages past,
By history recorded, was it known
That thus a people mourned their ruler's death.
Yet more, when worn with tears, her pallid cheek
Veiled by her loosened tresses, from the ship
Cornelia came, they wept and beat the breast.
Soon as she stood upon the friendly land,
Ill-fated Magnus' spoils, his arms of price,
His gold-embroidered robe, three times of old
6
Displayed to Jove upon the hill, she placed
Upon the mournful fire. Such was for her
The dust of Magnus. And her love so touched
The hearts of all, that soon along the shore
Pyres blazed in memory of Pharsalia's dead.
'Tis thus in winter to depastured fields
By frequent fires th' Apulian herdsman seeks
To render verdant growth; and glow with flame
Garganus' slopes, and Vultur, and the meads
Of warm Matinum.
Yet Pompeius' shade
Nought else so gratified, not all the blame
The people dared to heap upon the gods,
For him their hero slain, as these few words
From Cato's noble breast instinct with truth:
'Gone is a citizen who though no peer
7
'Of those who disciplined the state of yore
In due submission to the bounds of right,
'Yet in this age irreverent of law
'Has played a noble part. Great was his power,
'But freedom safe: when all the plebs was prone
'To be his slaves, he chose the private gown;
'So that the Senate ruled the Roman state,
'Its chief was Cato: nought by right of arms
'He e'er demanded: willing took he gifts
'Yet from a willing giver: wealth was his
Vast, yet the coffers of the State he filled
'Beyond his own. He seized upon the sword,
'Knew when to sheath it; war did he prefer
'To arts of peace, yet armed loved peace the more.
'Pleased took he power, pleased he laid it down:
'Chaste was his home and simple, by his wealth
'Untarnished. Mid the peoples great his name
8
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.'
215
More than had
Rome
resounded with his praise
Words such as these gave honour to the shade
Of that most noble dead. Meanwhile the crowd
Weary of warfare, since Pompeius' fall,
Broke into discord, as their ancient chief
Cilician called them to desert the camp.
They seize upon their ships and float the wave;
But
Cato
hailed them from the nearest shore;
' Untamed Cilician, is thy course now set
' For Ocean theft again; Pompeius gone,
' Pirate art thou once more? ' Then all the air
Hummed with the murmur of the throng; and one
Resolved on flight thus answered, ' Pardon, chief,
' Twas love of Magnus, not of civil war,
' That led us to the fight: his side was ours:
' With him whom all the world preferred to peace,
' Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes
' Long since unseen, our children and our wives.
If nor the rout on dread
Pharsalia
's field
Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war,
Whence comes the end? Our span of life is fled:
Give death safe haven, give old age his pyre.
Scarce even to its captains civil strife
Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat
Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke
Of distant nations. In the garb of
Rome
And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been
Second to Magnus living, he shall be
My first hereafter: to that sacred shade
Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints
My lord but not my leader. Thee alone
I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates.
'Nor have I right to hope for victory now,
Nor wish: our Thracian array is fled
'In Caesar's triumph, whose all-potent star
Of fortune rules the world; and none but he
Has power to keep or save. That civil war
Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty
Is impious now. Let country lead thee on,
'
Cato
, and public right; but let us seek
' The standards of the Consul.' Thus he spake
And with him leaped into the ship a throng
Of eager comrades.
Then was
Rome
undone,
For all the shore was stirring with a crowd
Athirst for slavery. But burst these words
From
Cato
's blameless breast: ' Then with like vows
' As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek
' A lord and master! not for
Rome
the fight,
But for Pompeius! For that now no more
'Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves,
'Not for some despot chief, ye live and die;
' Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord
' Shall rob you, victors, of a world subdued-
' Ye flee the war, and on your abject necks
'Feel for the absent yoke; nor can endure
' Without a despot! Yet to men the prize
' Were worth the danger. Magnus might have used
' To evil ends your blood; refuse ye now,
' With liberty so near, your country's call?
' Now lives one tyrant only of the three;
' Thus far in favour of the laws have wrought
' The Pharian weapons and the Parthian bow;
' Not you, degenerate! Begone, and spurn
' This gift of Ptolemaeus.
9
Who would think
' Your hands were stained with blood? The foe will deem
' That you upon that dread Thessalian day
' First turned your backs. Then flee in safety, flee!
' By neither battle nor blockade subdued
' Caesar shall give you life! 0 slaves most base,
' Your former master slain, ye seek his heir!
' Why doth it please you not yet more to earn
'Than life and pardon? Bear across the sea
' Metellus' daughter, Magnus' weeping spouse,
' And both his sons; outstrip the Pharian gift.
' Nor spare this head, which, laid before the feet
' Of that detested tyrant, shall deserve
'A full reward. Thus, cowards, shall ye learn
' In that ye followed me how great your gain.
' Quick to your task and purchase thus with blood
'Your claim on Caesar. 'Tis a dastard crime;
' Flight without slaughter!'
Cato
thus recalled
The parting vessels. So when bees in swarm
Desert their empty comb, forget the hive,
Ceasing to cling together, and with wings
Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light
On thyme to taste its bitterness-then rings
The Phrygian gong-at once they pause aloft
Astonied; and with love of toil resumed
Through all the flowers for their honey store
In ceaseless wanderings search; the shepherd joys,
Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept
His cottage store, the riches of his home.
Now in the active conduct of the war
Were brought to discipline their minds, untaught
To bear repose; first on the sandy shore
Toiling they learned fatigue: then stormed thy walls,
'Twas prize enough to conquer. Juba next
He bids approach, though Nature on the path
Had placed the Syrtes; which his sturdy heart
Aspired to conquer. Either at the first
When Nature gave the universe its form
She left this region neither land nor sea;
Not wholly shrunk, so that it should receive
The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand
Against its buffets-all the pathless coast
Lies in uncertain shape; earth by the deep
Is parted from the land; on sandy banks
The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal
The waves advance to sound upon the shore.
Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone,
Unfashioned to men's use-Or else of old
A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse,
But Titan feeding from the briny depths
His burning fires (near to the zone of heat)
Reduced the waters. Still the main contends;
But in long time the Sun's destructive rays
Shall make the Syrtes land, and shallow pools
E'en now proclaim the sea's defeat to come.
319
When first the billows to the fleet gave way,
Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale
Upon his realm, and from the watery plain
Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals
Compelled the waves, and in the middle sea
Raised up a bank. Forth flew the bellying sails
Beyond the prows, despite the ropes that dared
Resist the tempest's fury; and for those
Who prescient housed their canvas to the storm,
Bare-masted they were driven from their course.
Best was their lot who gained the open waves
Of ocean; others lightened of their masts
Shook off the tempest; but a sweeping tide
Hurried them southwards, victor of the gale.
Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced
Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast,
Part hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt.
Fierce rage the waves till hems
10
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
11
All seas and shores re-echo; and by her,
Pallas, who springing from her father's head
First lit on
Libya
, nearest land to heaven,
(As by its heat is proved); here on the brink
She stood, reflected in the placid wave
And called herself Tritonis. Lethe's flood
Flows silent near, in fable from a source
Infernal sprung, oblivion in his stream;
Here, too, that garden of the Hesperids,
Its boughs all golden, where of old his watch
The sleepless dragon held. Shame be on him
Who calls upon the poet for the proof
Of that which in the ancient days befell;
But here were golden groves by yellow growth
Weighed down in richness, here a maiden band
Were guardians; and a serpent, on whose eyes
Sleep never fell, was coiled around the trees,
Whose branches bowed beneath their ruddy load.
But great Alcides stripped the goodly boughs
Of all their riches, left them poor and light,
And bore the shining fruit to
Argos
' king.
Driven on the Libyan realms, more fruitful here,
Pompeius
12
stayed the fleet, nor further dared
To Garamantian waves. But Cato's soul
Leaped in his breast, impatient of delay,
To pass the Syrtes by a landward march,
And trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown
To lead his legions. And the storm which closed
The main to navies gave them hope of rain;
Nor biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime;
Nor suns too scorching in the falling year.
Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake:
' Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone
' Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall
' With pride unbroken should the fates command,
' Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise
' With hearts resolved to conquer. For we march
' On sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world;
' Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height
' Burns pitiless, unclouded; and the slime
' Of poisonous serpents fouls the dusty earth.
' Yet shall men venture for the love of laws
' And country perishing, upon the sands
' Of trackless
Libya
; men who brave in soul
' Rely not on the end, and in attempt
' Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts
' On this our enterprise to lead a band
' Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk.
' Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake,
' Whom I shall see for honour and for
Rome
' Bear up against the worst. But whoso needs
' A pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet,
' Let him by fairer journey seek his lord.
' First be my foot upon the sand; on me
' First strike the burning sun; across my path
' The serpent void his venom; by my fate
' Know ye your perils. Let him only thirst
' Who sees me at the spring: who sees me seek
' The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat;
' Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks
' Plodding their weary march: such be the lot
' Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief
' And not a comrade. Snakes, thirst, burning sand
'The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast
' Finds happiness in labour. By its cost
' Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land
' Such cloud of ills can furnish as might make
'Men flee unshamed.' 'Twas thus that Cato spake,
Kindling the torch of valour and the love
Of toil: then reckless of his fate he strode
The desert path from which was no return:
And
Libya
ruled his destinies, to shut
His sacred name within a narrow tomb.
410
One-third of all the world,
13
if fame we trust,
Is
Libya
; yet by winds and sky she proves
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.
14
But suns excessive and a scorching clime
Burn all the glebe beside the shifting sands:
There die the harvests on the crumbling mould;
No root finds sustenance, nor kindly Jove
Makes rich the furrow nor matures the vine.
Sleep binds all nature and the tract of sand
Lies ever fruitless, save that by the coast
The hardy Nasamon plucks a scanty grass.
Unclothed their race, and living on the woes
Worked by the cruel Syrtes on the world.
He dwells a spoiler by the sandy waves,
And while no ships unlade upon his shore,
Grows rich by wrecks-his only trade with man.
By such a path at hardy Cato's word
His soldiers passed, in thought from winds secure
Nor dreading storms: but fearful was their lot
More than on ocean waves; for Auster's force
Here strikes with greater strength upon the sands,
And yet more fraught with mischief: neither crags
Repelled his strength, nor lofty mountains tamed
His furious onset, nor in sturdy woods
He found a bar; but free from curb he raged
O'er the defenceless earth. Nor merely dust
Swirled up in drifts of rain, but Earth herself,
In major part, was rapt into the air
On ceaseless whirlwinds borne, until amazed
The Nasamon saw his scanty field and home
Reft by the tempest, and the native huts
From roof to base were hurried on the blast.
Not higher, when some all-devouring flame
Has seized upon its prey, in volumes dense
Rolls up the smoke, and darkens all the air.
Then with fresh might he fell upon the host
Of marching Romans, snatching from their feet
The sand they trod. Had Auster been enclosed
In some vast cavernous vault with solid walls
And mighty barriers, he had moved the world
Upon its ancient base and made the lands
To tremble: but the facile Libyan soil
By not resisting stood, and blasts that whirled
The surface upwards left the depths unmoved.
Helmet and shield and spear were torn away
By his most violent breath, and borne aloft
Through all the regions of the boundless sky;
Perchance a wonder in some distant land,
Where men may fear the weapons from the heaven
There falling, as the armour of the gods,
Nor deem them ravished from a soldier's arm.
'Twas thus on Numa by the sacred fire
Those shields descended which our chosen priests
15
Bear on their shoulders; from some warlike race
By tempest rapt, to be the prize of
Rome
.
While thus the tempest whirled the earth aloft
Prone fell the host, and wound their garments tight,
And gripped the soil; but hardly thus prevailed.
Weight had not held them safe; the raging blast
Piles heaps upon them, their recumbent limbs
Are whelmed in sand. At length they struggling rose
Back to their feet, when lo! around them stood,
Forced by the storm, a growing bank of earth
Which held them motionless. And from afar
Where walls lay prostrate, mighty stones were hurled,
Thus piling ills on ills in wondrous form:
No dwellings had they seen, yet at their feet
Beheld the ruins. All the earth was hid
In vast envelopment, nor found they guide
Save from the stars, which as in middle deep
Flamed o'er them wandering: yet some were hid
Beneath the circle of the Libyan earth
Which tending downwards hid the Northern sky.
When warmth dispersed the tempest-driven air,
And rose upon the earth the flaming day,
Bathed were their limbs in sweat, but parched and dry
Their gaping lips; when to a scanty spring
Far off beheld they came, whose meagre drops
All gathered in the hollow of a helm
They offered to their chief. Caked were their throats
With dust, and panting; and one little drop
Had made him envied. 'Wretch, and dost thou deem
Me wanting in a brave man's heart? ' he cried,
' Me only in this throng? And have I seemed
'Tender, unfit to bear the morning heat?
He who would quench his thirst 'mid such a host,
'Doth most deserve its pangs.' Then in his wrath
Dashed down the helmet, and the scanty spring,
Thus by their leader spurned, sufficed for all.
511
Now had they reached that temple which possess,
Sole in all
Libya
, th' untutored tribes
Of Garamantians. Here holds his seat
(So saith the story) a prophetic Jove,
Wielding no thunderbolts, nor like to ours;
The Libyan Hammon of the curved horn.
No wealth adorns his fane by Afric tribes
Bestowed, nor glittering hoard of Eastern gems.
Though rich Arabians, Ind and Ethiop
Know him alone as Jove, still he is poor
Holding his shrine by riches undefiled
Through time; and pure as gods of olden days
He spurns the wealth of
Rome
. That here sone god
Dwells, witnesses the only grove
That buds in Libya-for that which grows
Upon the arid dust which
Leptis
parts
From
Berenice
, knows no leaves; alone
Hammon uprears a wood; a fount the cause
Which with its waters binds the crumbling soil.
Yet shall the Sun when poised upon the height
Strike through the foliage: hardly can the tree
Protect its trunk, and to a little space
His rays draw in the circle of the shade.
Here have men found the spot where that high band
Solstitial divides in middle sky
16
The zodiac stars: not here oblique their course,
Nor Scorpion rises straighter than the Bull,
Nor to the Scales does Ram give back his hours,
Nor does Astraea bid the Fishes sink
More slowly down: but watery Capricorn
Is equal with the Crab, and with the Twins
The Archer; neither does the Lion rise
Above Aquarius. But the race that dwells
Beyond the fervour of the Libyan fires
Sees to the South that shadow which with us
Falls to the North : slow Cynosura sinks
17
For them below the deep; and, dry with us,
The Wagon plunges; far from either pole,
No star they know that does not seek the nain,
But all the constellations in their course
Whirl to their vision through the middle sky.
Before the doors the Eastern peoples stood
Seeking from horned Jove to know their fates:
Yet to the Roman chief they yielded place,
Whose comrades prayed him to entreat the gods
Famed through the Libyan world, and judge the voice
Renowned from distant ages. First of these
Was Labienus:
18
'Chance,' he said, 'to us
'The voice and counsel of this mighty god
'Has offered as we march; from such a guide
'To know the issues of the war, and learn
'To track the Syrtes. For to whom on earth
'If not to blameless
Cato
, shall the gods
Entrust their secret truths? Thou at the least
'Their faithful follower through life hast been.
'Lo! thou hast liberty to speak with Jove.
Ask impious Caesar's fates, and learn the laws
'That wait our country in the future days:
'Whether the people shall be free to use
'Their rights and customs, or the civil war
'For us is wasted. To thy sacred breast,
'Lover of virtue, take the voice divine;
'Demand what virtue is and guide thy steps
'By heaven's high counsellor.'
But Cato, full
Of godlike thoughts borne in his quiet breast,
This answer uttered, worthy of the shrines:
'What, Labienus, dost thou bid me ask?
'Whether in arms and freedom I should wish
' To perish, rather than endure a king?
' Is longest life worth aught? And doth its term
' Make difference? Can violence to the good
Do injury? Do Fortune's threats avail
Outweighed by virtue? Doth it not suffice
To aim at deeds of bravery? Can fame
Grow by achievement? Nay! No Hammon's voice
Shall teach us this more surely than we know.
Bound are we to the gods; no voice we need;
They live in all our acts, although the shrine
Be silent: at our birth and once for all
What may be known the author of our being
Revealed; nor chose these thirsty sands to chaunt
'To few his truth, whelmed in the dusty waste.
God has his dwelling in all things that be,
19
In earth and air and sea and starry vault,
In virtuous deeds; in all that thou canst see,
In all thy thoughts contained. Why further, then,
Seek we our deities? Let those who doubt
And halting, tremble for their coming fates,
Go ask the oracles. No mystic words,
Make sure my heart, but surely coming Death.
" Coward alike and brave, we all must die.
Thus hath Jove spoken : seek to know no more.'
Thus Cato spoke, and faithful to his creed
He parted from the temple of the god
And left the oracle of Hammon dumb.
Bearing his javelin, as one of them
He strode afoot before the panting troops:
No bending neck, no litter bore his form.
He bade them not, but showed them how to toil.
Spare in his sleep, the last to sip the spring,
When at some rivulet to quench their thirst
The eager ranks pressed onward, he alone
Until the humblest follower might drink
Stood motionless. If for the truly good
Is fame, and virtue by the deed itself,
Not by successful issue, should be judged,
Yield, famous ancestors! Fortune, not worth
Gained you your glory. But such name as his
Who ever merited by successful war
Or slaughtered peoples? Rather would I lead
With him his triumphs through the pathless sands
And
Libya
's bounds, than in Pompeius' car
Three times ascend the Capitol,
20
or break
His country's father, worthiest of thy vows;
A name by which men shall not blush to swear,
Whom, shouldst thou break the fetters from thy neck,
Thou mayst in distant days decree divine.
Now was the heat more dense, and through that clime
Than which no further on the Southern side
The gods permit, they trod; and scarcer still
The water, till in middle sands they found
One copious fountain; but its brimming wave
Was thronged with serpents which it hardly held,
And thirsty asps were pressing on the marge.
But when the chieftain saw that speedy fate
Was on the host, if they should leave the well
Untasted, ' Vain,' he cried, your fear of death.
' Drink, nor delay: 'tis from the threatening tooth
" Men draw their deaths, and fatal from the fang
' Issues the juice if mingled with the blood;
' The cup is harmless.' Then he sipped the fount,
Still doubting, and in all the Libyan waste
There only was he first to touch the stream.
619
Why fertile thus in death the pestilent air
Of
Libya
, what poison in her soil
Her several nature mixed, my care to know
Has not availed: but from the days of old
A fabled story has deceived the world.
Far on her limits, where the burning shore
Admits the ocean fervid from the sun
Plunged in its waters, lay Medusa's fields
Untilled; nor forests shaded, nor the plough
Furrowed the soil, which by its mistress' gaze
Was hardened into stone: Phorcus, her sire.
Malevolent nature from her body first
Drew forth these noisome pests; first from her jaws
Issued the sibilant rattle of serpent tongues;
Clustered around her head the poisonous brood
Like to a woman's hair, wreathed on her neck
Which gloried in their touch; their glittering heads
Advanced towards her; and her tresses kempt
Dripped down with viper's venom. This alone
Thou hast, accursed one, which men can see
Unharmed; for who upon that gaping mouth
Looked and could dread? Whom suffered she to die
Who saw her face? He rushed upon his fate
And ere he feared was stricken to the death.
Perished the limbs while living, and the soul
Grew stiff and stark ere yet it fled the frame.
Men have been frenzied by the Furies' locks,
Not killed; and Cerberus at Orpheus' song
Ceased from his hissing, and Alcides saw
The Hydra ere he slew. This monster born
Brought horror with her birth upon her sire
Phorcus, in second order God of Waves,
And upon Ceto and the Gorgon brood,
22
Her sisters. She could treat the sea and sky
With deadly calm unknown, and from the world
Bid cease the soil. Borne down by instant weight
Fowls fell from air, and beasts were fixed in stone.
Whole Ethiop tribes who tilled the neighbouring lands
Rigid in marble stood. The Gorgon sight
No creature bore and even her serpents turned
Back from her visage. Atlas in his place
Beside the Western columns, by her look
Was turned to granite; and when Phlegra's brood
Gigantic, serpent-tailed, were feared of heaven,
She made them mountains, and the Gorgon head
Borne on Athena's bosom closed the war.
Here born of Danae and the golden shower,
Floating on wings Parrhasian, by the god
Arcadian given, author of the lyre
And wrestling art, came Perseus, swooping down
From heaven. Cyllenian Harpe
23
did he bear
Still crimson from another monster slain,
The guardian of the heifer loved by Jove.
This to her winged brother Pallas lent
Price of the monster's head: by her command
He sought the limits of the Libyan land,
Poised o'er Medusa's realm, with head averse
Towards the rising sun: a burnished shield
Of yellow brass upon his other arm,
Her gift, her bore: in which she bade him see
The fatal face unscathed. Nor yet in sleep
Lay all the monster, for such total rest
To her were death-so fated: serpent locks
In vigilant watch, some reaching forth defend
Her head, while others lay upon her face
And slumbering eyes. Then hero Perseus shook
Though turned averse; trembled his dexter hand:
But Pallas held, and the descending blade
Shore the broad neck whence sprang the viper brood.
What visage bore the Gorgon as the steel
Thus reft her life! what poison from her throat
Breathed! from her eyes what venom of death distilled!
The goddess dared not look, and Perseus' face
Had frozen, averse, had not Athena veiled
With coils of writhing snakes the features dead.
Then with the Gorgon head the hero flew
Uplifted on his wings and sought the sky.
Shorter had been his voyage through the midst
Of
Europe
's cities; but Athena bade
To spare her peoples and their fruitful lands;
For who when such an airy courser passed
Had not looked up to heaven? Western winds
Now sped his pinions, and he took his course
O'er
Libya
's regions, from the stars and suns
Veiled by no culture. Phoebus' nearer track
There burns the soil, and loftiest on the sky
24
There falls the night, to shade the wandering moon,
If e'er forgetful of her course oblique,
Straight through the stars, nor bending to the North
Nor to the South, she hastens. Yet that earth,
In nothing fertile, void of fruitful yield,
Drank in the poison of Medusa's blood,
Dripping in dreadful dews upon the soil,
And in the crumbling sands by heat matured.
Where first within the dust the venom germ
25
Took life, an asp was reared of turgid neck
And sleep compelling: thick the poison drop
That was his making, in no fang of snake
More closely pressed. Greedy of warmth it seeks
No frozen world itself, nor haunts the sands
Beyond the
Nile
; yet has our thirst of gain
No shame nor limit, and this Libyan death,
This fatal pest we purchase for our own.
Haemorrhois huge spreads out his scaly coils,
Who suffers not his hapless victims' blood
To stay within their veins. Chersydros sprang
To life, to dwell within the doubtful marsh
Where land nor sea prevails. A cloud of spray
Marked fell Chelyder's track: and Cenchris rose
Straight gliding to his prey, his belly tinged
With various spots unnumbered, more than those
Which paint the Theban marble; horned snakes
With spines contorted: like to torrid sand
Ammodytes, of hue invisible:
Sole of all serpents Scytale to shed
In vernal frosts his slough; and thirsty Dipsas;
Dread Amphisbaena with his double head
Tapering; and Natrix who in bubbling fount
Fuses his venom. Greedy Prester swells
His foaming jaws; Pareas, head erect
Furrows with tail alone his sandy path;
Swift Jaculus there, and Seps whose poisonous juice
Makes liquid bone and flesh: and there upreared
His regal head, and frighted from his track
With sibilant terror all the subject swarm,
Baneful ere darts his poison, Basilisk
26
In sands deserted king. Ye serpents too
Who in all other regions harmless glide
Adored as gods, and bright with golden scales,
Are deadly here: for Afric air inhaled
Bestows malignant gift, as poised on wings
Whole herds of kine ye follow, and with coils
Encircling close, crush in the mighty bull.
Nor does the elephant in his giant bulk,
Nor aught, find safety; and ye need no fang
Nor poison, to compel the fatal end.
734
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.
Pour on his burning tongue the flood of
Nile
,
Yet were the fire unquenched. So fell the fang
Of Dipsas in the torrid Libyan lands;
In other climes less fatal. Next he seeks
Amid the sands, all barren to the depths,
For moisture: then returning to the shoals
Laps them with greed-in vain-the briny draught
Scarce quenched the thirst it made. Nor knowing yet
The poison in his frame, he steels himself
To rip his swollen veins and drink the gore.
Cato bids lift the standard, lest his troops
May find in thirst a pardon for the deed.
But on Sabellus' yet more piteous death
Their eyes were fastened. Clinging to his skin
A Seps with curving tooth, of little size,
He seized and tore away, and to the sands
Pierced with his javelin. Small the serpent's bulk;
None deals a death more horrible in form.
For swift the flesh dissolving round the wound
Bared the pale bone; swam all his limbs in blood;
Wasted the tissue of his calves and knees:
And all the muscles of his thighs were thawed
In black distilment, and the membrane sheath
Parted, that bound his vitals, which abroad
Flowed upon earth: yet seemed it not that all
His frame was loosed, for by the venomous drop
Were all the bands that held his muscles drawn
Down to a juice; the framework of his chest
Was bare, its cavity, and all the parts
Hid by the organs of life, that make the man.
So by unholy death there stood revealed
His inmost nature. Head and stalwart arms,
And neck and shoulders, from their solid mass
Melt in corruption. Not more swiftly flows
Wax at the sun's command, nor snow compelled
By southern breezes. Yet not all is said:
For so to noxious humours fire consumes
Our fleshly frame; but on the funeral pyre
What bones have perished? These dissolve no less
Than did the mouldered tissues, nor of death
Thus swift is left a trace. Of Afric pests
Thou bear'st the palm for hurtfulness: the life
They snatch away, thou only with the life
The clay that held it.
Lo! a different fate,
Not this by melting! for a Prester's fang
Nasidius struck, who erst in Marsian fields
Guided the plough. Upon his face there burns
A redness as of flame: swollen the skin,
His features hidden, swollen all his limbs
Till more than human: and his definite frame
One tumour huge conceals. A ghastly gore
Is puffed from inwards as the virulent juice
Courses through all his body; which, thus grown,
His corselet holds not. Not in caldron so
Boils up to mountainous height the steaming wave;
Nor in such bellying curves does canvas bend
To Eastern tempests. Now the ponderous bulk
Rejects the limbs, and as a shapeless trunk
Burdens the earth: and there, to beasts and birds
A fatal feast, his comrades leave the corse;
Nor dare to place, yet swelling, in the tomb.
But for their eyes the Libyan pests prepared
More dreadful sights. On Tullus great in heart,
And bound to Cato with admiring soul,
A fierce Haemorrhois fixed. From every limb,
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 drew his sword
And severed arm and shoulder at a blow:
Then gazed secure upon his severed hand
Which perished as he looked. So hadst thou died,
And such had been thy fate!
Whoe'er had thought
A scorpion had strength o'er death and fate?
Yet with his threatening coils and barb erect
He won the glory of Orion
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.
839
Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the night
With darkness gave them peace. The very earth
On which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor straw
They piled for couches, but upon the ground
Unshielded from the fates they laid their limbs,
Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of night
The frozen pests found shelter; in whose jaws
Harmless the while, the lurking venom slept.
Nor did they know the measure of their march
Accomplished, nor their path; the stars in heaven
Their only guide. ' Return, ye gods,' they cried,
In frequent wail, ' the arms from which we fled.
' Give back
Thessalia
. Sworn to meet the sword
' Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place
' The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake
' Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek
' That region by the horses of the sun
' Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall
'Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky
' Descend our fate! Not,
Africa
, of thee
' Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind
' Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests
' She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields
' Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men
'Should perish by their venom. To the realms
' Of serpents have we come. Hater of men,
' Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods
' Severed this region upon either hand,
' With death in middle space. Our march is set
'Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host
' Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world.
' Perchance some greater wonders on our path
' May still await us; in the waves be plunged
' Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole
'Stoop from its height. By further space removed
' No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice
' Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land
' There may we long, where yet some living thing
' Gives consolation. Not my native land
' Nor European fields I hope for now
' Lit by far other suns, nor
Asia
's plains.
' But in what land, what region of the sky,
' Where left we
Africa
? But now with frosts
'
Cyrene
stiffened: have we changed the laws
' Which rule the seasons, in this little space?
' Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies
' And stars we tread; behind our backs the home
' Of southern tempests:
Rome
herself perchance
' Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates
' This solace pray we, that on this our track
' Pursuing Caesar with his host may come.'
Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaints
Disburdened. But the bravery of their chief
Forced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand,
All bare, he lies and dares at every hour
Fortune to strike: he only at the fate
Of each was present, flew to every call;
And roused their hearts to fight the poison germ.
Not life he brings them, but the strength in death
To die without a groan-to groan were shame
When he was witness-over him what power
Had plague or venom? In a comrade's breast
They see him conquer anguish; and they learn,
Gazing on him, how weak the power of pain.
Some aid from Fortune, weary of their woes,
At length they gained. Of all who till the earth
The Psyllians only are by snakes unharmed.
Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood,
Nor gives admission to the poison germ
E'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itself
Placed in such venomous tract and serpent-thronged
Gained them this vantage, and a truce with death,
Else could they not have lived. Such is their trust
In purity of blood, that newly born
Each babe they prove by test of deadly asp
For foreign lineage. So the bird of Jove
Turns his new fledglings to the rising sun
And such as gaze upon the beams of day
With eyes unwavering, for the use of heaven
He rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' rays
Casts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descent
The babe who, dreading not the serpent touch,
Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake.
Nor with their own immunity from harm
Contented do they rest, but watch for guests
Who need their help against the noisome plague.
Now to the Roman standards are they come,
And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed,
First all the sandy space within the lines
With song they purify and magic words
From which all serpents flee: next round the camp
In widest circuit from a kindled fire
Rise aromatic odours: danewort burns,
And juice distils from Syrian galbanum;
Then mournful tamarisk, costum from the East,
Strong panacea mixed with centaury
From
Thrace
, and leaves of fennel feed the flames,
And thapsus brought from
Eryx
: and they burn
Larch, southern-wood and antlers of a deer
Which lived afar. From these in densest fumes,
Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose;
And thus in safety passed the night away.
But should some victim feel the fatal fang
Upon the march, then of this magic race
Were seen the wonders; with saliva first
They smear the limb, whose silent working keeps
30
The venom in the wound. From foaming mouth
Next with continuous cadence would they pour
Unceasing chants-nor breathing space nor pause-
Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permit
A moment's silence. Oft from the black flesh
Flies forth the pest beneath the magic song:
But should it linger nor obey the voice,
Repugnant to the summons, on the wound
Prostrate they lay their lips and from the depths
Now paling draw the venom. In their mouths,
Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death,
Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall know
The nature of the snake whose bite they cure.
938
Thus helped, the Roman host with lighter heart
Trod through the barren fields in lengthy march.
31
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.
32
When Caesar sated with
Emathia
's slain
Forsook the battlefield, all other cares
Neglected, he pursued his kinsman fled,
On him alone intent: by land his steps
He traced in vain; then, rumour for his guide,
He crossed the sea and reached the Thracian strait
For love renowned; where on the mournful shore
Rose Hero's tower, and Helle born of cloud
Took from the rolling waves their former name.
Nowhere with shorter space the sea divides
By scant division from
Byzantium
's hold
Chalcedon
oyster-rich: and small the strait
Through which Propontis pours the Euxine wave.
Then marvelling at their ancient fame, he seeks
Sigeum's sandy beach and Simois' stream,
Rhoeteum noble for its Grecian tomb,
And all the heroes' shades, the theme of song.
Next by the town of
Troy
burnt down of old
Now but a memorable name, he turns
His steps, and searches for the mighty stones
Relics of Phoebus' wall. But bare with age
Forests of trees and mouldering trunks oppressed
Assaracus' palace, and with wearied roots
Possessed the ancient temples of the gods.
All
Pergamus
with densest brake was veiled
And even her stones were perished. He beheld
Thy rock, Hesione; the hidden grove,
Anchises' nuptial chamber; and the cave
Where sat the arbiter; the spot from which
Was snatched the beauteous youth; the mountain lawn
Where mourned OEnone.
33
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,
34
of the inmost shrine,
Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat,
'Most famous offspring of Iulus' race,
'I call upon you and with pious hand
Burn frequent offerings. To my emprise
Give prosperous ending! Here shall I replace
'The Phrygian peoples, here in glad return
And from these stones shall rise a Roman Troy.'
He seeks his fleet, and eager to regain
Time spent at
Ilium
, to the favouring breeze
Spreads all his canvas. Past rich
Asia
borne,
Rhodes
soon he left while foamed the sparkling main
Beneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretch
His bending sails, till on the seventh night
The Pharian beam proclaimed Egyptian shores.
But day arose, and veiled the nightly lamp
Ere rode his barks on waters safe from storm.
Then Caesar saw that tumult held the shore,
And mingled voices of uncertain sound
Struck on his ear: and trusting not himself
To doubtful kingdoms, of uncertain troth,
He kept his ships from land. But from the king
Came his vile minion forth upon the wave,
Bearing his dreadful gift, Pompeius' head,
Wrapped in a covering of Pharian wool.
First took he speech and thus in shameless words
Commends the murder: ' Conqueror of the world,
First of the Roman race, and, what as yet
Thou dost not know, safe by thy kinsman slain;
This gift receive from the Pellaean king,
Sole trophy absent from the Thracian field,
'To crown thy toils on land and on the deep.
Here in thine absence have we placed for thee
'An end upon the war. Here Magnus came
To mend his fallen fortunes; on our swords
'Here met his death. With such a pledge of faith
Here have we bought thee, Caesar; with his blood
Seal we this treaty. Take the Pharian realm
Sought by no bloodshed, take the rule of
Nile
,
Take all that thou wouldst give for Magnus' life:
And hold him vassal worthy of thy camp
'To whom the fates against thy son-in-law
'Such power entrusted; nor hold thou the deed
'Lightly accomplished by the swordsman's stroke,
And so the merit. Guest ancestral he
Who was its victim; who, his sire expelled,
' Gave back to him the sceptre. For a deed
' So great, thou'lt find a name-or ask the world.
' If 'twas a crime, thou must confess the debt
'To us the greater, for that from thy hand
' We took the doing.'
Then he held and showed
Unveiled the head. Now had the hand of death
Passed with its changing touch upon the face:
Nor at first sight did Caesar on the gift
Pass condemnation; nor avert his gaze,
But dwelt upon the features till he knew
The crime accomplished. Then when truth was sure
The loving father rose, and tears he shed
Which flowed at his command, and glad in heart
Forced from his breast a groan : thus by the flow
Of feigned tears and grief he hoped to hide
His joy else manifest: and the ghastly boon
Sent by the king disparaging, professed
Rather to mourn his son's dissevered head,
Than count it for a debt. For thee alone,
Magnus, he durst not fail to find a tear:
He, Caesar, who with mien unaltered spurned
The Roman Senate, and with eyes undimmed
Looked on Pharsalia's field. O fate most hard!
Didst thou with impious war pursue the man
Whom 'twas thy lot to mourn? No kindred ties,
No memory of thy daughter and her son
Touch on thy heart? Didst think perchance that grief
Might help thy cause 'mid lovers of his name?
Or haply, moved by envy of the king,
Griev'st that to other hands than thine was given
To shed the captive's life-blood? and complain'st
Thy vengeance perished and the conquered chief
Snatched from thy haughty hand? Whate'er the cause
That urged thy grief, 'twas far removed from love.
Was this forsooth the object of thy toil
O'er lands and oceans, that without thy ken
He should not perish? Nay! but well was reft
From thine arbitrament his fate. What crime
Did cruel Fortune spare, what depth of shame
To Roman honour! since she suffered not,
Perfidious traitor, while yet Magnus lived,
That thou shouldst pity him!
Thus by words he dared
To gain their credence in his sembled grief:
Hence from my sight with his detested gift,
Thou minion, to thy king. Worse does your crime
Deserve from Caesar than from Magnus' hands.
The only prize that civil war affords
Thus have we lost-to bid the conquered live.
If but the sister of this Pharian king
Were not by him detested, by the head
Of Cleopatra had I paid this gift.
Such were the fit return. Why did he draw
His separate sword, and in the toil that's ours
Mingle his weapons? In Thessalia's field
Gave we such right to the Pellaean blade?
Such licence did your mutual kingdom gain?
Magnus as partner in the rule of
Rome
I had not brooked; and shall I tolerate
Thee, Ptolemaeus? In vain with civil wars
Thus have we roused the nations, if there be
Now any might but Caesar's, if any land
Yet owns you masters. From your shore I'd turn
The prows of
Latium
; but fame forbids,
Lest men should whisper that I did not damn
This deed of blood, but feared the Pharian land.
Nor think ye to deceive; victorious here
I stand: else had my welcome at your hands
Been that of Magnus; and that neck were mine
But for Pharsalia's chance. At greater risk
So seems it, than we dreamed of, took we arms;
Exile, and Magnus' threats, and
Rome
I knew,
Not Ptolemaeus. But we spare the boy:
Pass by the murder. Let the princeling know
We give no more than pardon for his crime.
And now in honour of the mighty dead,
Not merely that the earth may hide your guilt,
Lay ye the chieftain's head within the tomb;
' With proper sepulture appease his shade
'And place his scattered ashes in an urn.
Thus may he know my coming, and may hear
Affection's accents, and my fond complaints.
Me sought he not, but rather, for his life,
This Pharian vassal; snatching from mankind
The happy morning which had shown the world
A peace between us. But my prayers to heaven
No favouring answer found; that arms laid down
'In happy victory, Magnus, once again
I might embrace thee, begging thee to grant
'Thine ancient love to Caesar, and thy life.
'Thus for my labours with a worthy prize
'Content, thine equal, bound in faithful peace,
'I might have brought thee to forgive the gods
'For thy disaster; thou hadst gained for me
'From Rome forgiveness.'
Thus he spake, but found
No comrade in his tears; nor did the host
Give credit to his grief. Deep in their breasts
They hide their groans, and gaze with joyful front
(O famous Freedom! ) on the deed of blood:
And dare to laugh when mighty Caesar wept.
Civil War. Lucan. ed. Edward Ridley. London. 1905.
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