Book 8

Pompeius flies to Lesbos, and consoles his wife, Her reply, He declines shelter at Lesbos, He sails to Asia Minor and sends Deiotarus to rouse the East, He addresses his captains at Phaselis, Reply of Lentulus, Pompeius proceeds to Egypt, The council of Ptolemaeus and speech of Pothinus, Apostrophe to Egypt, The murder of Pompeius and laments of Cornelia, The head of Pompeius is cut off and embalmed, Apostrophe to Ptolemaeus, Cordus buries the body, Apostrophe to Egypt,

Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe 's groves

Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens

And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed

Scarce heeding now the spur; by devious tracks

Seeking to veil the footsteps of his flight:

The rustle of the foliage, and the noise

Of following comrades filled his anxious soul

With terrors, as he fancied at his side

Some ambushed enemy. Fallen from the height

Of former fortunes, still the chieftain knew

His life not worthless; mindful of the fates:

And 'gainst the price he set on Caesar's head,

He measures Caesar's value of his own.

Yet, as he rode, the features of the chief

Made known his ruin. Many as they sought

The camp Pharsalian, ere yet was spread

News of the battle, met the chief, amazed,

And wondered at the whirl of human things:

Nor held disaster sure, though Magnus' self

Told of his ruin. Every witness seen

Brought peril on his flight: 'twere better far

Safe in a name obscure, through all the world

To wander; but his ancient fame forbad.

Too long had great Pompeius from the height

Of human glory, envied of mankind,

Looked on all others; nor for him henceforth

Could life be lowly. The honours of his youth

Too early thrust upon him, and the deeds

Which brought him triumph in the Sullan days,

His conquering navy and the Pontic war,

Made heavier now the burden of defeat,

And crushed his pondering soul. So length of days

Drags down the haughty spirit, and life prolonged

When power has fled. Unless when honour fails

Comes end of life, and timely death forestalls

Ensuing woe, the glory of past years

Is present shame. Who'd venture on the sea

Of favouring fortune but for death at need?

Hard by Peneus' flood he reached the main

Now with Pharsalus ' slaughter blushing red:

And borne in sloop, to shallows of a stream

Scarce equal, dared the deep: Liburnia's lord,

Lord of Cilicia, at whose countless oars

Yet Leucas ' inlets and Corcyra shook,

Crept to the shelter of a tiny bark.

For thou didst beckon him to Lesbos ' shores,

Thou, partner of the sorrows of thy lord,

Cornelia! Sadder far thy life apart

Than wert thou present in Thessalia 's fields.

Racked is thy heart with presages of ill;

Pharsalia fills thy dreams and when the shades

Give place to dawn, with hasty step thou tread'st

Some cliff sea-beaten, and with gaze intent

To mark the sail of each approaching ship

Art first: yet dar'st not ask thy husband's fate.

Lo! the ship comes, her load of ills unknown,

Thy worst of fears some messenger of woe,

Some evil tidings of the battle day:

Nay! it is he, thy husband in defeat:

Fear then no more, but weep; nor waste the hour.

He leaps to land; she marks the cruel doom

Wrought by the gods upon him: pale and wan

His weary features, by the hoary locks

Shaded; the dust of travel on his garb.

Dark on her soul a night of anguish fell;

Her trembling limbs no longer bore her frame:

Scarce throbbed her heart, and prone on earth she lay

Deceived in hope of death. The boat made fast,

Pompeius treading the lone waste of sand

Drew near; whom when Cornelia's maidens saw,

They stayed their weeping, yet with sighs subdued,

Reproached the fates; and tried in vain to raise

Their mistress' form, till Magnus to his breast

Drew her with cherishing arms; and at the touch

Of soothing hands the life-blood to her veins

Returned once more, and she could bear to look

Upon his features. He forbad despair,

Chiding her grief. ' Not at the earliest blow

By Fortune dealt, inheritress of fame

Bequeathed by noble fathers, should thy strength

Thus fail and yield: renown shall yet be thine,

To last through ages; not of laws decreed

Nor conquests won; a gentler path to thee

As to thy sex, is given; thy husband's woe.

Let thine affection struggle with the fates,

And in his misery love thy lord the more.

I bring thee greater glory, for that gone

Is all the pomp of lictors, gone the crowd

Of faithful senators, and the band of kings;

Now first Pompeius for himself alone

'Tis thine to love. Curb this unbounded grief,

' While yet I breathe, unseemly. O'er my tomb

' Weep out thy full, the final pledge of faith.

' Thou hast no loss, nor has the war destroyed

' Aught save my fortune. If for that thy grief,

' That was thy love.'

Roused by her husband's words,

Yet scarcely could she raise her trembling limbs,

Thus speaking through her sobs: ' Would I had sought

' Detested Caesar's couch, ill-omened wife

' Of spouse unhappy; at my nuptials twice

' A Fury has been bridesmaid; and the ghosts

' Of slaughtered Crassi, with avenging shades

' Brought by my wedlock to thy doomed camp

' A Parthian massacre. Twice my star has cursed

' The world, and peoples have been hurled to death

' In one red moment; and the gods through me

' Have left the better cause. 0, hero mine,

' O mightiest husband, wedded to a wife

' Unworthy! 'Twas through her that Fortune gained

'The right to strike thee. Wherefore did I wed

' To bring thee misery? Mine, mine the guilt,

' Mine be the penalty. And that the wave

' May bear thee gently onwards, and the kings

'May keep their faith to thee, and all the earth

' Be ready to thy rule, me from thy side

' Cast to the billows. Rather had I died

' To bring thee victory; thy disasters thus,

Thus expiate. And, cruel Julia, thee,

' Who by this war hast vengeance on our vows,

' From thine abode I call: atonement find

' In this thy rival's death, and spare at least

' Thy Magnus.' Then upon his breast she fell,

While all the concourse wept-e'en Magnus' self,

Who saw Thessalia 's field without a tear.

But now upon the shore a numerous band

From Mitylene thus approached the chief:

'If 'tis our greatest glory to have kept

' The pledge with us by such a husband placed,

' Do thou one night within these friendly walls

' We pray thee, stay; thus honouring the homes

' Long since devoted, Magnus, to thy cause.

This spot in days to come the guest from Rome

' For thee shall honour. Nowhere shalt thou find

' A surer refuge in defeat. All else

' May court the victor's favour; we long since

' Have earned his chastisement. And though our isle

' Rides on the deep, girt by the ocean wave,

' No ships has Caesar: and to us shall come,

' Be sure, thy captains, to our trusted shore,

' The war renewing. Take, for all is thine,

' The treasures of our temples and the gold,

' Take all our youth by land or on the sea

' To do thy bidding: Lesbos only asks

' This from the chief who sought her in his pride,

' Not in his fall to leave her.' Pleased in soul

At such a love, and joyed that in the world

Some faith still lingered, thus Pompeius said:

Earth has for me no dearer land than this.

' Did I not trust it with so sweet a pledge

' And find it faithful? Here was Rome for me,

' Country and household gods. This shore I sought

' Home of my wife, this Lesbos, which for her

' Had merited remorseless Caesar's ire:

' Nor was afraid to trust you with the means

' To gain his mercy. But enough-through me

'Your guilt was caused-I part, throughout the world

'To prove my fate. Farewell thou happiest land!

'Famous for ever, whether taught by thee

' Some other kings and peoples may be pleased

' To give me shelter; or shouldst thou alone

Be faithful. And now seek I in what lands

' Right may be found or wrong. My latest prayer

'Receive, 0 deity, if still with me

'Thou bidest, thus. May it be mine again,

Conquered, with hostile Caesar on my track,

'To find a Lesbos where to enter in

'And whence to part, unhindered.'

In the boat

He placed his spouse: while from the shore arose

Such lamentation, and such hands were raised

In ire against the gods, that thou hadst deemed

All left their kin for exile, and their homes.

And though for Magnus grieving in his fall

Yet for Cornelia chiefly did they mourn

Long since their gentle guest. For her had wept

The Lesbian matrons had she left to join

A victor husband: for she won their love,

By kindly modesty and gracious mien,

Ere yet her lord was conquered, while as yet

Their fortunes stood. Now slowly to the deep

Sank fiery Titan; but not yet to those

He sought (if such there be) was shown his orb,

Though veiled from those he quitted. Magnus' mind,

Anxious with waking cares, sought through the kings

His subjects, and the cities leagued with Rome

In faith, and through the pathless tracts that lie

Beyond the scorching suns of southern climes:

Till trouble of his cares and hateful thought

Of that which might be, made him cast afar

His wavering doubts, and from the captain seek

Some counsel on the heavens; how by the sky

He marked his track upon the deep; what star

Guided the path to Syria, and what points

Found in the Wain would pilot him aright

To shores of Libya. But thus replied

The well-skilled watcher of the silent skies:

'Not by the constellations moving ever

'Across the heavens do we guide our barks;

'For that were perilous; but by that star

'Which never sinks nor dips below the wave,

'Girt by the glittering groups men call the Bears.

'When stands the pole-star clear before the mast,

'Then to the Bosphorus look we, and the main

'Which carves the coast of Scythia. But the more

'Bootes dips, and nearer to the sea

'Is Cynosura seen, so much the ship

' Towards Syria tends, till bright Canopus shines,

'In southern skies content to hold his course;

' With him upon the left past Pharos borne

'Straight for the Syrtes shalt thou plough the deep.

' But whither now dost bid me shape the yards

'And set the canvas? '

Magnus, doubting still;

'This only be thy care: from Thracia steer

' The vessel onward; shun with all thy skill

' Italia 's distant shore: and for the rest

'Trust to the winds for guidance. When I sought,

' Pledged with the Lesbians, my spouse beloved,

'My course was sure: now, Fortune, where thou wilt

Give me a refuge.' These his answering words.

The pilot, as they hung from level yards

Shifted the sails; and hauling to the stern

One sheet, he slacked the other, to the left

Steering, where Samian rocks and Chian marred

The stillness of the waters; while the sea

Sent up in answer to the changing keel

A different murmur. Not so deftly turns

Curbing his steeds, his wain the Charioteer,

While glows his dexter wheel, and with the left

He almost touches, yet avoids the goal.

Now Titan veiled the stars and showed the shore;

When, following Magnus, came a scattered band

Saved from the Thracian storm. From Lesbos ' port

His son; next, captains who preserved their faith;

. For at his side, though vanquished in the field,

Cast down by fate, in exile, still there stood,

Lords of the earth and all her Orient realms,

The Kings, his ministers. To the furthest lands

He bids Deiotarus: ' O faithful friend,

'Since in Emathia 's battle-field was lost

'The world, so far as Roman, it remains

' To test the faith of peoples of the East

' Who drink of Tigris and Euphrates ' stream,

'Secure as yet from Caesar. Be it thine

'Far as the rising of the sun to trace

' The fates that favour Magnus: to the courts

' Of Median palaces, to Scythian steppes;

'And to the son of haughty Arsaces,

'To bear my message, "Hold ye to the faith,

'" Pledged by your priests and by the Thunderer's name

' "Of Latium sworn? Then fill your quivers full,

' "Draw to its fullest span th' Armenian bow;

'" And, Getan archers, wing the fatal shaft.

'" And you, ye Parthians, if when I sought

'"The Caspian gates, and on th' Alaunian tribes

" Fierce, ever-warring, pressed, I suffered you

" In Persian tracts to wander, nor compelled

" To seek for shelter Babylonian walls;

" If beyond Cyrus' kingdom and the bounds

" Of wide Chaldaea, where from Nysa 's top

'"Pours down Hydaspes, and the Ganges stream

' Foams to the ocean, nearer far I stood

'" Than Persia's bounds to Phoebus' rising fires;

'" If by my sufferance, Parthians, you alone

'" Decked not my triumphs, but in equal state

" Sole of all Eastern princes, face to face

" Met Magnus in his pride, nor only once

' Through me were saved; (for after that dread day

" Who but Pompeius soothed the kindling fires

" Of Latium's anger?) - by my service paid

'"Come forth to victory: burst the ancient bounds

' By Macedon's hero set: in Magnus' cause

" March, Parthians, to Rome 's conquest. Rome herself

' Prays to be conquered."'

Hard the task imposed;

Yet doffed his robe, and swift obeyed, the king

Wrapped in a servant's mantle. If a Prince

For safety play the boor, then happier, sure,

The peasant's lot than lordship of the world.

The king thus parted, past Icaria 's rocks

Pompeius' vessel skirts the foamy crags

Of little Samos: Colophon 's tranquil sea

And Ephesus lay behind him, and the air

Breathed freely on him from the Coan shore.

Cnidos he shunned, and, famous for its sun,

Rhodos, and steering for the middle deep

Escaped the windings of Telmessus' bay;

Till rose Pamphylian coasts before the bark,

And first the fallen chieftain dared to find

In small Phaselis shelter; for therein

Scarce was the husbandman, and empty homes

Forbad to fear. Next Taurus' heights he saw

And Dipsus falling from his lofty sides:

So sailed he onward.

Did Pompeius dream,

When giving safety to the seas, he made

Flight for himself secure? His little boat

Flies unmolested past Cilician shores;

But to their exiled lord in chiefest part

The senate of Rome was drawn. Celendrae there

Received their fleet, where fair Selinus ' stream

In spacious bay gives refuge from the main;

And to the gathered chiefs in mournful words

At length Pompeius thus resolved his thoughts:

O faithful comrades mine in war and flight!

To me, my country! Though this barren shore

Our place of meeting, and no gathered host

'Surrounds us, yet upon our changed estate

I seek your counsel. Rouse ye as of yore

With hearts of courage! Magnus on the field

'Not all is perished, nor do fates forbid

But that I rise afresh with living hope

Of future victories, and spurn defeat.

'From Libyan ruins did not Marius rise

'Again recorded Consul on the page

Full of his honours? shall a lighter blow

'Keep Magnus down, whose thousand chiefs and ships

'Still plough the billows; by defeat his strength

'Not whelmed but scattered? And the fame alone

' Of our great deeds of glory in the past

' Shall now protect us, and the world unchanged

'Still love its hero. Weigh upon the scales

Ye chiefs, which best may help the needs of Rome,

'In faith and armies; or the Parthian realm

' Egypt or Libya. For myself, I keep

'No secret thoughts apart, but thus advise.

'Place no reliance on the Pharian king:

'Faith, to be constant, needs a riper age;

'Nor on th' unstable cunning of the Moor,

Who vain of Punic blood, and of descent

'Supposed from Hannibal, is swollen with pride

'At Varus' prayer for aid, and sees in thought

Rome 's fates beneath his own. Then, comrades, seek

'At speed, the Eastern world. Those mighty realms

' Euphrates severs from us, and the gates

'Called Caspian; on another sky than ours

' There day and night revolve; another sea

' Of different hue is parted from our own.

' Rule is their wish, nought else: and in their plains

' Taller the war-horse, stronger twangs the bow;

' There fails nor youth nor age to wing the shaft

' Fatal in flight. Their archers first subdued

' The lance of Macedon and Bactra 's walls,

' Home of the Mede; and haughty Babylon

' With all her storied towers: nor shall they dread

' The Roman onset; trusting to the shafts

' By which the host of fated Crassus fell.

' Nor trust they only to the javelin blade

' Untipped with poison: from the rancorous edge

'The slightest wound deals death. Would that my lot

' Forced me not thus to trust that savage race

' Of Arsaces! Yet now their emulous fate

' Contends with Roman destinies: the gods

' Smile favouring on their nation. Thence I'll pour

' On Caesar peoples from another earth

' And all the Orient ravished from its home.

' But should the East and barbarous treaties fail,

' Fate, bear our shipwrecked fortunes past the bounds

' Of earth, as known to men. The kings I made

' I supplicate not, but in death shall take

' To other spheres this solace, chief of all;

' His hands, my kinsman's, never shed my blood

' Nor soothed me dying. Yet as my mind in turn

' The varying fortunes of my life recalls,

' How was I glorious in that Eastern world!

' How great my name by far Maeotis marsh

' And where swift Tanais flows! No other land

'Has so resounded with my conquests won,

' So sent me home triumphant. Rome, do thou

' Approve my enterprise! What happier chance

' Could favouring gods afford thee? Parthian hosts

' Shall fight the civil wars of Rome, and share

' Her ills, and fall enfeebled. When the arms

' Of Caesar meet with Parthian in the fray,

' Then must kind Fortune vindicate my lot

'Or Crassus be avenged.' But murmurs rose,

And Magnus speaking knew his words condemned.

Then Lentulus answered, with indignant soul,

Foremost to rouse their valour, thus in words

Worthy a Consul:

'Have Thessalian woes

' Broken thy spirit so? One day's defeat

' Condemned the world to ruin? Is the cause

' Lost in one battle and beyond recall?

' Find we no cure for wounds? Does Fortune drive

' Thee, Magnus, to the Parthians' feet alone?

' And dost thou, fugitive, spurn the lands and skies

' Known heretofore, and seek for other poles

' And constellations, and Chaldean gods,

' And rites barbarian, servant of the realm

' Of Parthia? But why then took we arms

' For love of liberty? If thou canst slave

' Thou hast deceived the world! Shall Parthia see

' Thee at whose name, ruler of mighty Rome,

' She trembled, at whose feet she captive saw

' Hyrcanian kings and Indian princes kneel,

' Now humbly suppliant, victim of the fates;

' And at thy prayer her puny strength extol

' In mad contention with the Western world?

' Nor think, Pompeius, thou shalt plead thy cause

' In that proud tongue unknown to Parthian ears

' Of which thy fame is worthy; sobs and tears

' He shall demand of thee. And has our shame

' Brought us to this, that some barbarian foe

' Shall venge Hesperia's wrongs ere Rome her own?

' Thou wert our leader for the civil war:

' Mid Scythia's peoples dost thou bruit abroad

' Wounds and disasters which are ours alone?

' Rome until now, though subject to the yoke

' Of civic despots, yet within her walls

' Has brooked no foreign lord. And art thou pleased

' From all the world to summon to her gates

' These savage peoples, while the standards lost

' By far Euphrates when the Crassi fell

' Shall lead thy columns? Shall the only king

' Who failed Emathia, while the fates yet hid

'Their favouring voices, brave the victor's power,

' And join with thine his fortune? Nay, not so

'This nation trusts itself. Each race that claims

' A northern birth, unconquered in the fray

' Claims but the warrior's death; but as the sky

' Slopes towards the eastern tracts and gentler climes

' So are the nations. There in flowing robes

' And garments delicate are men arrayed.

'True that the Parthian in Sarmatia 's plains,

' Where Tigris spreads across the level meads,

' Contends invincible; for flight is his

' Unbounded; but should uplands bar his path

' He scales them not; nor through the night of war

' Shall his weak bow uncertain in its aim

' Repel the foeman; nor his strength of arm

' The torrent stem; nor all a summer's day

' In dust and blood bear up against the foe.

' They fill no hostile trench, nor in their hands

' Shall battering engine or machine of war

' Dash down the rampart; and whate'er avails

' To stop their arrows, battles like a wall.

' Wide sweep their horsemen, fleeting in attack

' And light in onset, and their troops shall yield

' A camp, not take it: poisoned are their shafts;

' Nor do they dare a combat hand to hand;

' But as the winds may suffer, from afar

' They draw their bows at venture. Brave men love

' The sword which, wielded by a stalwart arm,

' Drives home the blow and makes the battle sure.

' Not such their weapons; and the first assault

' Shall force the flying Mede with coward hand

'And empty quiver from the field. His faith

' In poisoned blades is placed; but trustest thou

' Those who without such aid refuse the war?

' For such alliance wilt thou risk a death,

' With all the world between thee and thy home?

' Shall some barbarian earth or lowly grave

' Enclose thee perishing? E'en that were shame

' While Crassus seeks a sepulchre in vain.

' Thy lot is happy; death, unfeared by men,

' Is thy worst doom, Pompeius; but no death

' Awaits Cornelia-such a fate for her

' This king shall not reserve; for know not we

' The hateful secrets of barbarian love,

' Blind as of savage beasts? That palace knows

' No laws of kin: the royal bed is foul

' With concubines. The tale of that one crime

' Of old by OEdipus unwitting wrought

' Made nations shudder at the name of Thebes:

' How many an offspring of such foul embrace

Has held the Parthian throne? Where incest's right

'What shall be wickedness? This gracious dame

'Born of Metellus, noblest blood of Rome,

'Shall share the couch of the barbarian king

' With thousand others: yet in savage joy,

'Proud of her former husbands, he may grant

'Some larger share of favour; and the fates

May seem to smile on Parthia; for the spouse

' Of Crassus, captive, shall to him be brought

' As spoil of former conquest. If the wound

' Dealt in that fell defeat in eastern lands

' Still stirs thy heart, then double is the shame

'First to have waged the war upon ourselves,

' Then ask the foe for succour. For what blame

' Can rest on thee or Caesar worse than this,

'That in the clash of conflict ye forgot

' For Crassus' slaughtered troops the vengeance due?

'First should united Rome upon the Mede

'Have poured her captains, and the troops who guard

'The northern frontier from the Dacian hordes;

'And all her legions should have left the Rhine

'Free to the Teuton, till the Parthian dead

' Were piled in heaps upon the sands that hide

' Our heroes slain; and haughty Babylon

'Lay at her victor's feet. To this foul peace

'We pray an end; and if Thessalia 's day

'Has closed our warfare, let the conqueror march

'Straight on our Parthian foe. Then should this heart,

'Then only, leap at Caesar's triumph won.

'Go thou and pass Araxes' chilly stream

'On this thine errand; and the mournful ghost

'Pierced by the Scythian shaft shall greet thee thus:

' "Dost thou, to whom our wandering shades have looked

'" For vengeance and for war, seek from the foe

'"A treaty and a peace? " And there profuse

Shall meet thee sad memorials of the rout:

'Red is yon wall where passed their headless trunks;

' Euphrates here engulfed them, Tigris there

' Cast up to perish. Gaze on such array,

'And thou canst supplicate at Caesar's feet

' In mid Thessalia seated. Nay, thy glance

' Turn on the Roman world, and if thou fear'st

King Juba faithless and the southern realms,

Then seek we Pharos. Egypt on the west

Girt by the trackless Syrtes forces back

By sevenfold stream the ocean; rich in glebe

And gold and merchandise; and proud of Nile

Asks for no rain from heaven. Now holds this boy

Her sceptre, owed to thee; his guardian thou:

And who shall fear this shadow of a name?

Hope not from monarchs old, whose shame is fled,

Or laws or troth or honour of the gods:

New kings bring mildest sway.' His words prevailed

Upon his hearers. With what freedom speaks,

When states are trembling, patriot despair!

Pompeius' voice was quelled.

For Cyprus then

They shaped their course, whose altars more than all

The goddess loves who from the Paphian wave

Sprang, mindful of her birth, if such be truth,

And gods have origin. Past the craggy isle

Pompeius sailing, left at length astern

Its southern cape, and struck across the main

With winds transverse and tides; nor reached the mount

Grateful to sailors for its nightly gleam:

But to the bounds of Egypt hardly won

With battling canvas, where divided Nile

Pours through the shallows his Pelusian stream.

Now was the season when the heavenly scale

Most nearly balances the varying hours,

Once only equal; for the wintry day

Repays to night her losses of the spring;

And Magnus learning that th' Egyptian king

Lay by Mount Casius, ere the sun was set

Or flagged his canvas, thither steered his ship.

Already had a horseman from the shore

In rapid gallop to the trembling court

Brought news their guest was come. Short was the time

For counsel given; but in haste were met

All who advised the base Pellaean king,

Monsters, inhuman; there Achoreus sat

Less harsh in failing years, in Memphis born

Of empty rites, and guardian of the rise

Of fertilising Nile. While he was priest

Not only once had Apis lived the space

Marked by the crescent on his sacred brow.

First was his voice, for Magnus raised and troth

And for the pledges of the king deceased:

But, skilled in counsel meet for shameless minds

And tyrant hearts, Pothinus, dared to claim

Judgment of death on Magnus. ' Laws and right

' Make many guilty, Ptolemaeus king.

' And faith thus lauded brings its punishment

' When it supports the fallen. To the fates

' Yield thee, and to the gods; the wretched shun

' But seek the happy. As the stars from earth

' Differ, and fire from ocean, so from right

'Expedience. The tyrant's shorn of strength

'Who ponders justice; and regard for right

'Brings ruin on a throne. The power to sin,

'Swords drawn at will, the tyrant king protect;

'And savage deeds find safety when they're done.

'Who would be righteous, let him flee the throne,

'For right's the bane of rule. He lives in dread

'Who shrinks from cruelty. Nor let this chief

'Unpunished scorn thy youth, who thinks that thou

'Not even the conquered from our shore canst bar.

'Nor to a stranger, if thou wouldst not reign,

'Resign thy sceptre, for the ties of blood

'Speak for thy banished sister. Let her rule

'O'er Nile and Pharos: we shall at the least

'Preserve our Egypt from the Latian arms.

'What Magnus owned not ere the war was done,

No more shall Caesar. Driven from all the world,

'Trusting no more to Fortune, now he seeks

'Some foreign nation which may share his fate.

'Shades of the slaughtered in the civil war

'Compel him: nor from Caesar's arms alone

'But from the Senate also does he fly,

'Whose blood outpoured has gorged Thessalian fowl;

'Monarchs he fears whose all he has destroyed,

'And nations piled in one ensanguined heap,

'By him deserted. Victim of the blow

' Thessalia dealt, refused in every land,

' He asks for help from ours not yet betrayed.

' But none than Egypt with this chief from Rome

' Has juster quarrel; who has sought with arms

' To stain our Pharos, distant from the strife

'And peaceful ever, and to make our realm

'Suspected by his victor. Why alone

'Should this our country please thee in thy fall?

' Why bring'st thou here the burden of thy fates,

' Pharsalia's curse? In Caesar's eyes long since

'We have offence which by the sword alone

' Can find its condonation, in that we

'By thy persuasion from the Senate gained

'This our dominion. By our prayers we helped

' If not by arms thy cause. This sword, which fate

' Bids us make ready, not for thee I hold

' Prepared, but for the vanquished; and thy heart

'(I had preferred thy kinsman's) shall I pierce:

' For to his side, as all things, are we borne.

' And dost thou doubt, since thou art in my power,

'Thou art my victim? By what trust in us

'Cam'st thou, unhappy? Scarce our people tills

' The fields, though softened by the refluent Nile:

' Know well our strength, and know we can no more.

' Rome 'neath the ruin of Pompeius lies:

'Shalt thou, O king, uphold him? Shalt thou dare

' To stir Pharsalia's ashes and to call

' War to thy kingdom? Ere the fight was fought

' We joined not either army-shall we now

' Make Magnus friend whom all the world deserts?

'And fling a challenge to the conquering chief

'And all his proud successes? Fair is help

'Lent in disaster, yet reserved for those

'Whom fortune favours. Faith her friends selects

'Not from the wretched.'

Then they all decree

The crime's accomplishment. Proud is the boy king

Of such unwonted honour, that his slaves

So soon give power for so great a deed.

They choose Achillas for the work of death;

And where the treacherous shore in Casian sands

Runs out, and shallow waters of the sea

Attest the Syrtes near, in little boat

He and his partners in the monstrous crime

With swords embark. Ye gods! and shall the Nile

And barbarous Memphis and th' effeminate crew

That throngs Pelusian Canopus raise

Its thoughts to such an enterprise? Do thus

Our fates press on the world? Is Rome thus fallen

That in our civil frays the Pharian sword

Finds place, or Egypt? 0, may civil war

Be thus far faithful that the hand which strikes

Be of our kindred; and the foreign fiend

Held worlds apart! Pompeius, great in soul,

Noble in spirit, had deserved a death

From Caesar's self. And, king, hast thou no fear

At such a ruin of so great a name?

And dost thou dare when heaven's high thunder rolls,

Thou, puny boy, to mingle with its tones

Thine impure utterance? Had he not won

A world by arms, and thrice in triumph scaled

The sacred Capitol, and vanquished kings,

And championed the Roman Senate's cause;

He, kinsman of the victor? 'Twas enough

To cause forbearance in a Pharian king,

That he was Roman. Wherefore with thy sword

Dost stab our breasts? Thou know'st not, impious boy,

How stand thy fortunes; now no more by right

Hast thou the sceptre of the land of Nile;

For prostrate, vanquished in the civil wars

Is he who gave it.

Furling now his sails,

Magnus with oars approached th' accursed land,

When in their little boat the murderous crew

Drew nigh. and feigning from th' Egyptian court

A ready welcome, blamed the double tides

Broken by shallows, and their scanty beach

Unfit for fleets; and bade him to their craft

Leaving his loftier ship. Had not the fates'

Eternal and unalterable laws

Called for their victim and decreed his end

Now near at hand, his comrades' warning voice

Yet might have stayed his course: for if the court

To Magnus, who bestowed the Pharian crown,

In truth were open, should not king and fleet

In pomp have come to greet him? But he yields:

The fates compel. Welcome to him was death

Rather than fear. But, rushing to the side,

His spouse would follow, for she dared not stay,

Fearing the guile. Then he, ' Abide, my wife,

And son, I pray you; from the shore afar

' Await my fortunes; mine shall be the life

' To test their honour.' But Cornelia still

Withstood his bidding, and with arms outspread

Frenzied she cried: ' And whither without me,

' Cruel, departest? Thou forbad'st me share

' Thy risks Thessalian; dost again command

' That I should part from thee? No happy star

' Breaks on our sorrow. If from every land

' Thou dost debar me, why didst turn aside

' In flight to Lesbos? On the waves alone

' Am I thy fit companion? ' Thus in vain,

Leaning upon the bulwark, dazed with dread;

Nor could she turn her straining gaze aside,

Nor see her parting husband. All the fleet

Stood silent, anxious, waiting for the end:

Not that they feared the murder which befell,

But lest their leader might with humble prayer

Kneel to the king he made.

As Magnus passed,

A Roman soldier from the Pharian boat,

Septimius, salutes him. Gods of heaven!

There stood he, minion to a barbarous king,

Nor bearing still the javelin of Rome;

But vile in all his arms; giant in form

Fierce, brutal, thirsting as a beast may thirst

For carnage. Didst thou, Fortune, for the sake

Of nations, spare to dread Pharsalus field

This savage monster's blows? Or dost thou place

Throughout the world, for thy mysterious ends,

Some ministering swords for civil war?

Thus, to the shame of victors and of gods,

This story shall be told in days to come:

A Roman swordsman, once within thy ranks,

Slave to the orders of a puny prince,

Severed Pompeius' neck. And what shall be

Septimius' fame hereafter? By what name

This deed be called, if Brutus wrought a crime?

Now came the end, the latest hour of all:

Rapt to the boat was Magnus, of himself

No longer master, and the miscreant crew

Unsheathed their swords; which when the chieftain saw

He swathed his visage, for he scorned unveiled

To yield his life to fortune; closed his eyes

And held his breath within him, lest some word,

Or sob escaped, might mar the deathless fame

His deeds had won. And when within his side

Achillas plunged his blade, nor sound nor cry

He gave, but calm consented to the blow

And proved himself in dying; in his breast

These thoughts revolving: ' In the years to come

' Men shall make mention of our Roman toils,

' Gaze on this boat, ponder the Pharian faith;

' And think upon thy fame and all the years

' While Fortune smiled: but for the ills of life

' How thou couldst bear them, this men shall not know

' Save by thy death. Then weigh thou not the shame

' That waits on thine undoing. Whoso strikes,

' The blow is Caesar's. Men may tear this frame

'And cast it mangled to the winds of heaven;

'Yet have I prospered, nor can all the gods

' Call back my triumphs. Life may bring defeat,

'But death no misery. If my spouse and son

'Behold me murdered, silently the more

' I suffer: admiration at my death

'Shall prove their love.' So did Pompeius die,

And so kept guard upon his thoughts in death.

His spouse, less patient to behold the crime

Than to endure it, filled the airs with cries;

'0, husband, whom my wicked self hath slain!

'That lonely isle apart thy bane hath been

'And stayed thy coming. Caesar to the Nile

'Has won before us; for what other hand

'May do such work? But whosoe'er thou art

'Sent from the gods with power, for Caesar's ire,

'Or thine own sake, to slay, thou dost not know

'Where lies the heart of Magnus. Thou dost haste

To deal the blow as he would have it fall.

'Let me die first, and let him seeing bear

'An agony no less than death can bring.

'No freedom mine from blame of war. Alone

Of Roman wives, through oceans and through camps,

Fearing no fates, I followed him afield;

And in defeat when even monarchs feared

Received my husband. Did I then deserve

Thus to be left of thee, and didst thou seek

To spare me? And when rushing on thine end

Was I to live? Without the monarch's help

Death shall be mine, either by headlong leap

Beneath the waters; or some sailor's hand

Shall bind around this neck the fatal cord;

Or else some comrade, worthy of his chief,

Drive to my heart his blade for Magnus' sake,

And claim the service done to Caesar's arms.

What! does your cruelty withhold my fate?

Ah! still he lives, nor is it mine as yet

To win this freedom; they forbid me death,

Kept for the victor's triumph.' Thus she spake,

While friendly hands upheld her fainting form;

And sped the trembling vessel from the shore.

Men say that Magnus, when the deadly blows

Fell thick upon him, lost nor form divine,

Nor venerated mien; and as they gazed

Upon his lacerated head they marked

Still on his features anger with the gods.

For fierce Septimius in the very blow

Made yet more black his crime-unwound the folds

That swathed the face, and seized the noble head

And drooping neck ere yet was fled the life:

Then placed upon the bench; and with his blade

Slow at its hideous task, and blows unskilled

Hacked through the flesh and brake the knotted bone;

For yet man had not learned by swoop of sword

Deftly to lop the neck. Achillas claimed

The gory head dissevered. What! shalt thou

A Roman soldier, while thy blade yet reeks

From Magnus' slaughter, play the second part

To this base varlet of the Pharian king?

Nor bear thyself the bleeding trophy home?

Then, that the impious boy (ah! shameful fate)

Might know the features of the hero slain,

Seized by the locks, the dread of kings, which waved

Upon his stately front, on Pharian pike

The head was lifted; while almost the life

Gave to the tongue its accents, and the eyes

Were yet scarce glazed: that head at whose command

Was peace or war, that tongue whose eloquent tones

Would move assemblies, and that noble brow

On which were showered the rewards of Rome.

Nor to the tyrant did the sight suffice

To prove the murder done. The perishing flesh,

The tissues, and the brain he bids remove

By art nefarious: the shrivelled skin

Draws tight upon the bone; and poisonous juice

Gives to the face its lineaments in death.

Last of thy race, thou base degenerate boy,

About to perish soon, and yield the throne

To thine incestuous sister; while the Prince

From Macedon here in consecrated vault

Now rests, and ashes of the kings are closed

In mighty pyramids, and lofty tombs

Of thine unworthy fathers mark the graves;

Shall Magnus' body hither and thither borne

Be battered, headless, by the ocean wave?

Too much it troubled thee to guard the corse

Unmutilated, for his kinsman's eye

To witness! Such the fate which Fortune kept

With prosperous Pompeius to the end.

'Twas not for him in evil days some ray

Of light to hope for. Shattered from the height

Of power in one short moment to his death!

Years of unbroken victories balanced down

By one day's carnage! In his happy time

Heaven did not harass him, nor did she spare

In misery. Long Fortune held the hand

That dashed him down. Now beaten by the sands,

Torn upon rocks, the sport of ocean's waves

Poured through its wounds, his headless carcase lies,

Save by the lacerated trunk unknown.

Yet ere the victor touched the Pharian sands

Some scanty rites to Magnus Fortune gave,

Lest he should want all burial. Pale with fear

Came Cordus, hasting from his hiding place;

Quaestor, he joined Pompeius on thy shore,

Idalian Cyprus, bringing in his train

A cloud of evils. Through the darkening shades

Love for the dead compelled his trembling steps,

Hard by the margin of the deep to search

And drag to land his master. Through the clouds

The moon shone sadly, and her rays were dim;

But by its hue upon the hoary main

He knew the body. In a fast embrace

He holds it, wrestling with the greedy sea,

And deftly watching for a refluent wave

Gains help to bring his burden to the land.

Then clinging to the loved remains, the wounds

Washed with his tears, thus to the gods he speaks,

And misty stars obscure: 'Here, Fortune, lies

Pompeius, thine: no costly incense rare

Or pomp of funeral he dares to ask;

Nor that the smoke rise heavenward from his pyre

With eastern odours rich; nor that the necks

Of pious Romans bear him to the tomb,

Their parent; while the forums shall resound

' With dirges; nor that triumphs won of yore

'Be borne before him; nor for sorrowing hosts

'To cast their weapons forth. Some little shell

He begs as for the meanest, laid in which

His mutilated corse may reach the flame.

Grudge not his misery the pile of wood

' Lit by this menial hand. Is't not enough

'That his Cornelia with dishevelled hair

' Weeps not beside him at his obsequies,

' Nor with a last embrace shall place the torch

' Beneath her husband dead, but on the deep

' Hard by still wanders? '

Burning from afar

He sees the pyre of some ignoble youth

Deserted of his own, with none to guard:

And quickly drawing from beneath the limbs

Some glowing logs, ' Whoe'er thou art,' he said,

Neglected shade, uncared for, dear to none,

Yet happier than Pompeius in thy death,

Pardon I ask that this my stranger hand

' Should violate thy tomb. Yet if to shades

'Be sense or memory, gladly shalt thou yield

'This from thy pyre to Magnus. 'Twere thy shame,

'Blessed with due burial, if his remains

Were homeless.' Speaking thus, the wood aflame

Back to the headless trunk at speed he bore,

Which hanging on the margin of the deep,

Almost the sea had won. In sandy trench

The gathered fragments of a broken boat,

Trembling, he placed around the noble limbs.

No pile above the corse nor under lay,

Nor was the fire beneath. Then as he crouched

Beside the blaze, ' 0, greatest chief,' he cried,

Majestic champion of Hesperia's name,

'If to be tossed unburied on the deep

Rather than these poor rites thy shade prefer,

'From these mine offices thy mighty soul

Withdraw, Pompeius. Injuries dealt by fate

Command this duty, lest some bird or beast

'Or ocean monster, or fierce Caesar's wrath

'Should venture aught upon thee. Take the fire;

All that thou canst; by Roman hand at least

'Enkindled. And should Fortune grant return

'To loved Hesperia's land, not here shall rest

'Thy sacred ashes; but within an urn

Cornelia, from this humble hand received,

Shall place them. Here upon a meagre stone

We draw the characters to mark thy tomb.

These letters reading may some kindly friend

'Bring back thine head, dissevered, and may grant

'Full funeral honours to thine earthly frame.'

Then did he cherish the enfeebled fire

Till Magnus' body mingled with its flames.

But now the harbinger of coming dawn

Had paled the constellations: he in fear

Seeks for his hiding place. Whom dost thou dread,

Madman, what punishment for such a crime,

For which thy fame by rumour trumpet-tongued

Has been sent down to ages? Praise is thine

For this thy work, at impious Caesar's hands;

Sure of a pardon, go; confess thy task,

And beg the head dissevered. But his work

Was still unfinished, and with pious hand

(Fearing some foe) he seizes on the bones

Now half consumed, and sinews; and the wave

Pours in upon them, and in shallow trench

Commits them to the earth; and lest some breeze

Might bear away the ashes, or by chance

Some sailor's anchor might disturb the tomb,

A stone he places, and with stick half burned

Traces the sacred name: Here Magnus lies.

And art thou, Fortune, pleased that such a spot

Should be his tomb which even Caesar's self

Had chosen, rather than permit his corse

To rest unburied? Why, with thoughtless hand

Confine his shade within the narrow bounds

Of this poor sepulchre? Where the furthest sand

Hangs on the margin of the baffled deep

Cabined he lies; yet where the Roman name

Is known, and Empire, such in truth shall be

The boundless measure of his resting-place.

Blot out this stone, this proof against the gods!

OEta finds room for Hercules alone,

And Nysa 's mountain for the Bromian god;

Not all the lands of Egypt should suffice

For Magnus dead: and shall one Pharian stone

Mark his remains? Yet should no turf disclose

His title, peoples of the earth would fear

To spurn his ashes, and the sands of Nile

No foot would tread. But if the stone deserves

So great a name, then add his mighty deeds:

Write Lepidus conquered and the Alpine war,

And fierce Sertorius by his aiding arm

O'erthrown; the chariots which as knight he drove;

Cilician pirates driven from the main,

And Commerce safe to nations; Eastern kings

Defeated and the barbarous Northern tribes;

Write that from arms he ever sought the robe;

Write that content upon the Capitol

Thrice only triumphed he, nor asked his due.

What mausoleum were for such a chief

A fitting monument? This paltry stone

Records no syllable of the lengthy tale

Of honours: and the name which men have read

Upon the sacred temples of the gods,

And lofty arches built of hostile spoils,

On desolate sands here marks his lowly grave

With characters obscure, such as erect

No traveller could read, and Roman guest

Without a hand to guide would pass unseen.

Thou land of Egypt, doomed to bear a part

In civil warfare, not unreasoning sang

High Cumae 's prophetess, when she forbad

The stream Pelusian to the Roman arms,

And all the banks which in the summer-tide

Are covered by his flood. What grievous curse

Shall I call down upon thee? May the Nile

Turn back his water to his source, thy fields

Want for the winter rain, and all the land

Crumble to desert wastes! We in our fanes

Have known thine Isis and thy hideous gods,

Half hounds, half human, and the drum that bids

To sorrow, and Osiris, whom thy dirge

Proclaims for man. Thou, Egypt, in thy sand

Our dead containest. Nor, though her temples now

Serve a proud master, has Rome yet required

Pompeius' ashes: in a foreign land

Still lies her chief. But though men feared at first

The victor's ire, now, Rome, at length receive

Thy Magnus' bones, if still the restless wave

Has not prevailed upon that hated shore.

Shall men have fear of tombs and dread to move

The dust of those who should be with the gods?

0, may my country place the crime on me,

If crime it be, to violate such a tomb

Of such a hero, and to bear his dust

Home to Ausonia. Happy, happy he

Who bears such holy office in his trust!

Haply when famine rages in the land

Or burning southern winds, or fires abound

And earthquake shocks, and Rome shall pray an end

From angry heaven-by the gods' command,

In council given, shalt thou be transferred

To thine own city, and the priest shall bear

Thy sacred ashes to their last abode.

Who now may seek beneath the raging Crab

Or hot Syene 's waste, or Thebes athirst

Under the rainy Pleiades, to gaze

On Nile 's broad stream; or whoso may exchange

On the Red Sea or in Arabian ports

Some Eastern merchandise, shall turn in awe

To view the venerable stone that marks

Thy grave, Pompeius; and shall worship more

Thy dust commingled with the arid sand,

Thy shade though exiled, than the fane upreared

On Casius' mount to Jove! In temples shrined

And gold, thy memory were viler deemed:

Fortune lies with thee in thy lowly tomb

And makes thee rival of Olympus ' king.

More awful is that stone by Libyan seas

Lashed, than are Conquerors' altars. There a god

Rests in dark earth to whom all men shall bow

More than to gods Tarpeian: and his name

Shall shine the brighter in the days to come

For that no marble tomb about him stands

Nor lofty monument. That little dust

Time soon shall scatter and the tomb shall fall

And all the proofs shall perish of his death.

And happier days shall come when men shall gaze

Upon the stone, nor yet believe the tale:

And Egypt 's fable, that she holds the grave

Of great Pompeius, be believed no more

Than Crete 's which boasts the sepulchre of Jove.