Book 9

Apotheosis of Pompeius, lines Cato collects the defeated forces and retreats to Africa, and is joined by Cornelia, Meeting of Pompeius' sons, and lamentations of Cornelia and the army, Cato's panegyric of Pompeius, 223-263 The Cilicians wish to desert, but are recalled by Cato's words, Cato prepares to join Juba; the Syrtes described, The storm, The lake of Tritonis, Commencement of the march; Cato's address, Libya described, A storm of wind bursts on the army, The temple of Hammon; Labienus urges Pompeius to consult the oracle, and he refuses, The march, Origin of serpents in Libya; fable of Medusa, Catalogue of serpents, Deaths caused by their various bites, Complaints of the army, The Psylli come to their aid, They arrive at Leptis, He visits the Troad,, and proceeds to Egypt, 1185-1198 Pompeius' head is presented to him, Caesar's reception of the gift,, and his speech, 1267-1322

YET in those ashes on the Pharian shore,

In that small heap of dust, was not confined

So great a shade; but from th' ignoble pyre

And limbs half burnt sprang forth and sought the sky

Where dwells the Thunderer. Black the space of air

Upreaching to the poles that bear on high

The constellations in their nightly round;

There 'twixt the orbit of the moon and earth

Abide those lofty spirits, half divine,

Who by their blameless lives and fire of soul

Are fit to tolerate the pure expanse

That bounds the lower ether: there shall dwell,

Where nor the monument encased in gold,

Nor richest incense, shall suffice to bring

The buried dead, in union with the spheres,

Pompeius' spirit. When with heavenly light

His soul was filled, first on the wandering stars

And fixed orbs he bent his wondering gaze;

Then saw what darkness veils our earthly day

And scorned the insults heaped upon his corse.

Next o'er Emathian plains he winged his flight,

And ruthless Caesar's standards, and the fleet

Tossed on the deep: in Brutus' blameless breast

Tarried awhile, and roused his angered soul

To reap the vengeance; last possessed the mind

Of haughty Cato.

He while yet the scales

Were poised and balanced, nor the war had given

The world its master, hated both the chiefs,

But followed Magnus for the Senate's cause

And for his country: now in all his heart

Was bound to Magnus, since Pharsalia's field.

Shorn of her guardian his country found

In him her guide; the people's trembling limbs

He cherished with new hope, and weapons gave

Back to the craven hands that cast them forth.

Nor yet for empire did he wage the war

Nor fearing slavery: nor in arms achieved

Aught for himself: freedom, since Magnus fell,

The aim of all his host. And lest the foe

In rapid course triumphant should collect

His scattered bands, he sought Corcyra 's gulfs

Concealed, and bore in thousand ships away

The fragments of the ruin wrought in Thrace.

Who in such mighty navy had believed

A host defeated sailed upon the main

Thronging the sea with keels? Round Malea's cape

And Taenarus open to the shades below

And fair Cythera 's isle, th' advancing fleet

Sweeps o'er the yielding wave, by northern breeze

Borne past the Cretan shores. But Phycus dared

Refuse her harbour, and th' avenging hand

Left her in ruins. Thus with gentle airs

They glide along the main and reach the shore

From Palinurus named; for not alone

On seas Italian, Pilot of the deep,

Hast thou thy monument; and Libya too

Claims that her tranquil harbours pleased thy soul.

Then in the distance on the main arose

The shining canvas of a stranger fleet,

Or friend or foe they knew not. Yet they dread

In every keel the presence of that chief

Their fear-compelling conqueror. But in truth

That navy tears and sorrow bore, and woes

To make e'en Cato weep.

For when in vain

Cornelia prayed her stepson and the crew

To stay their flight, lest haply from the shore

Back to the sea might float the headless corse;

And when the flame arising marked the place

Of that unhallowed rite, ' Fortune, didst thou

Judge me unfit,' she cried, ' to light the pyre

'To cast myself upon the hero dead,

'The lock to sever, and compose the limbs

'Tossed by the cruel billows of the deep,

To shed a flood of tears upon his wounds,

To fill my robe with ashes from his urn,

And scatter in the temples of the gods

All that I could, his dust? That pyre bestows

No honour, haply by some Pharian hand

Piled up in insult to his mighty shade.

Happy the Crassi lying on the waste

Unburied. To the greater shame of heaven

' Pompeius has such funeral. And shall this

' For ever be my lot? her husbands slain

' Cornelia ne'er enclose within the tomb,

' Nor shed the tear beside the urn that holds

' The ashes of the loved? Yet for my grief

' What boots or monument or ordered pomp?

' Dost thou not, impious, upon thy heart

· Pompeius' image, and upon thy soul

' Bear ineffaceable? Dust closed in urns

' Is for the wife who would survive her lord,

' Not such as thee, Cornelia! And yet

'Yon scanty light that glimmers from afar

' Upon the Pharian shore, somewhat of thee

' Recalls, Pompeius! Now the flame sinks down

' And smoke drifts up across the eastern sky

' Bearing thine ashes, and the rising wind

' Sighs hateful in the sail. To me no more

' Dearer than this whatever land has given

' Pompeius victory, nor the frequent car

' That carried him in triumph to the hill;

' Gone is that happy husband from my thoughts;

' Here did I lose the hero whom I knew;

' Here let me stay; his presence shall endear

' The sands of Nile where fell the fatal blow.

' Thou, Sextus, brave the chances of the war

'And bear Pompeius' standard through the world.

' For thus thy father spake within mine ear:

' " When sounds my fatal hour let both my sons

' " Urge on the war; nor let some Caesar find

' " Room for an empire, while shall live on earth

' " Still one in whom Pompeius' blood shall run.

' " This your appointed task; all cities strong

' " In freedom of their own, all kingdoms urge

' " To join the combat; for Pompeius calls.

' " Nor shall a chieftain of that famous name

' ' Ride on the seas and fail to find a fleet.

' Urged by his sire's unconquerable will

' " And mindful of his rights, mine heir shall rouse

' " All nations to the conflict. One alone,

' " (Should he contend for freedom) may ye serve;

' " Cato, none else! " Thus have I kept the faith;

' Thy plot prevailed upon me, and I lived

'Thy mandate to discharge. Now through the void

· Of space, and shades of Hell, if such there be,

' I follow; yet how distant be my doom

' I know not: first my spirit must endure

' The punishment of life, which saw thine end

' And could survive it; sighs shall break my heart,

"Tears shall dissolve it: sword nor noose I need

Nor headlong plunge. 'Twere shameful since thy death,

' Were aught but grief required to cause my own.'

She seeks the cabin, veiled, in funeral garb,

In tears to find her solace, and to love

Grief in her husband's room; no tempest howl

Among the shrouds, no angered waves aroused

Her soul, nor cry of sailors in dismay:

For life their prayers; not hers: and prone she lies

Resigned to death and welcoming the storm.

First reached they Cyprus on the foamy brine;

Then as the eastern breeze more gently held

The favouring deep, they touched the Libyan shore

Where stood the camp of Cato. Sad as one

Who deep in fear presages ills to come,

Cnaeus beheld his brother and his band

Of patriot comrades. Swift into the wave

He leaped and cried, ' Where, brother, is our sire?

' Still stands our country mistress of the world,

' Or are we fallen, Rome with Magnus' death

' Rapt to the shades? ' Thus he: but Sextus said

' Oh happy thou who by report alone

' Hear'st of the deed that chanced on yonder shore!

'These eyes that saw, my brother, share the guilt.

' Not Caesar wrought his death, nor any chief

' Worthy to cause the ruin of our sire.

' He fell by order of that shameful king

' Who rules o'er Nilus; trusting to the gods

' Who shield the guest, and to his princely boon

' Of yore-a victim for the realm he gave.

' I saw them pierce our noble father's breast;

' Yet deeming not the petty Pharian prince

' So fell a deed would dare, on Egypt 's strand

' I thought great Caesar stood. But worse than all,

' Worse than the wounds which gaped upon his frame

' Struck me with horror to the inmost heart,

' Our murdered father's head, shorn from the trunk

' And borne aloft on javelin; this sight,

' As rumour said, the cruel victor asked

' To feast his eyes, and prove the bloody deed.

' For whether ravenous birds and Pharian dogs

' Have torn his corse asunder, or a fire

' Consumed it, which with stealthy flame arose,

' I know not. For the fates' unjust decree

'Which reft his limbs asunder, I forgive

' The gods: I weep the part preserved by men.'

Thus Sextus spake: but Cnaeus at the tale

Restrained the tear, and for his father's shame

Flamed into fury: ' Launch our navies forth,

' Ye sailors, from the shore, by stalwart arms

' Forced through the deep against opposing winds:

' Captains, lead on: for civil strife ne'er gave

' So great a prize; to lay in earth the limbs

'Of Magnus, and avenge him with the blood

'Of that unmanly tyrant. Shall I spare

Great Alexander's fort, nor sack the shrine

And plunge his body in the tideless marsh?

Nor drag Amasis from the Pyramids,

'And all their ancient kings, to swim the Nile?

'Torn from his tomb, that god of all mankind

'Isis, unburied, shall avenge thy shade;

And veiled Osiris shall I hurl abroad

'And sacred Apis; and with these their gods

'I'll light a furnace that shall burn the head

'They held in insult. Thus their land shall pay

'Atonement to the shade of Magnus dead.

No husbandman shall live to till the fields

Nor reap the benefit of brimming Nile.

'Thou only, Father, gods and men alike

'Fallen and perished, shalt possess the land.'

Such were the words he spake; and soon the fleet

Had dared the angry deep: but Cato 's voice

While praising, calmed the youthful chieftain's rage.

Meanwhile, when Magnus' fate was known, the air

Sounded with lamentations which the shore

Re-echoed; never through the ages past,

By history recorded, was it known

That thus a people mourned their ruler's death.

Yet more, when worn with tears, her pallid cheek

Veiled by her loosened tresses, from the ship

Cornelia came, they wept and beat the breast.

Soon as she stood upon the friendly land,

Ill-fated Magnus' spoils, his arms of price,

His gold-embroidered robe, three times of old

Displayed to Jove upon the hill, she placed

Upon the mournful fire. Such was for her

The dust of Magnus. And her love so touched

The hearts of all, that soon along the shore

Pyres blazed in memory of Pharsalia's dead.

'Tis thus in winter to depastured fields

By frequent fires th' Apulian herdsman seeks

To render verdant growth; and glow with flame

Garganus' slopes, and Vultur, and the meads

Of warm Matinum.

Yet Pompeius' shade

Nought else so gratified, not all the blame

The people dared to heap upon the gods,

For him their hero slain, as these few words

From Cato's noble breast instinct with truth:

'Gone is a citizen who though no peer

'Of those who disciplined the state of yore

In due submission to the bounds of right,

'Yet in this age irreverent of law

'Has played a noble part. Great was his power,

'But freedom safe: when all the plebs was prone

'To be his slaves, he chose the private gown;

'So that the Senate ruled the Roman state,

'Its chief was Cato: nought by right of arms

'He e'er demanded: willing took he gifts

'Yet from a willing giver: wealth was his

Vast, yet the coffers of the State he filled

'Beyond his own. He seized upon the sword,

'Knew when to sheath it; war did he prefer

'To arts of peace, yet armed loved peace the more.

'Pleased took he power, pleased he laid it down:

'Chaste was his home and simple, by his wealth

'Untarnished. Mid the peoples great his name

And venerated: to his native Rome

He wrought much good. True faith in liberty

Long since with Marius and Sulla fled:

Now when Pompeius has been reft away

'Its counterfeit has perished. Now unshamed

Shall seize the despot on Imperial power,

'Unshamed shall cringe the Senate. Happy he

Who with disaster found his latest breath

'And met the Pharian sword prepared to slay.

Life might have been his lot, in despot rule,

Prone at his kinsman's throne. Best gift of all

'The knowledge how to die; next, death compelled.

If cruel Fortune doth reserve for me

An alien conqueror, may Juba be

As Ptolemaeus. So he take my head

My body grace his triumph, if he will.'

More than had Rome resounded with his praise

Words such as these gave honour to the shade

Of that most noble dead. Meanwhile the crowd

Weary of warfare, since Pompeius' fall,

Broke into discord, as their ancient chief

Cilician called them to desert the camp.

They seize upon their ships and float the wave;

But Cato hailed them from the nearest shore;

' Untamed Cilician, is thy course now set

' For Ocean theft again; Pompeius gone,

' Pirate art thou once more? ' Then all the air

Hummed with the murmur of the throng; and one

Resolved on flight thus answered, ' Pardon, chief,

' Twas love of Magnus, not of civil war,

' That led us to the fight: his side was ours:

' With him whom all the world preferred to peace,

' Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes

' Long since unseen, our children and our wives.

If nor the rout on dread Pharsalia 's field

Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war,

Whence comes the end? Our span of life is fled:

Give death safe haven, give old age his pyre.

Scarce even to its captains civil strife

Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat

Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke

Of distant nations. In the garb of Rome

And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been

Second to Magnus living, he shall be

My first hereafter: to that sacred shade

Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints

My lord but not my leader. Thee alone

I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates.

'Nor have I right to hope for victory now,

Nor wish: our Thracian array is fled

'In Caesar's triumph, whose all-potent star

Of fortune rules the world; and none but he

Has power to keep or save. That civil war

Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty

Is impious now. Let country lead thee on,

' Cato, and public right; but let us seek

' The standards of the Consul.' Thus he spake

And with him leaped into the ship a throng

Of eager comrades.

Then was Rome undone,

For all the shore was stirring with a crowd

Athirst for slavery. But burst these words

From Cato 's blameless breast: ' Then with like vows

' As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek

' A lord and master! not for Rome the fight,

But for Pompeius! For that now no more

'Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves,

'Not for some despot chief, ye live and die;

' Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord

' Shall rob you, victors, of a world subdued-

' Ye flee the war, and on your abject necks

'Feel for the absent yoke; nor can endure

' Without a despot! Yet to men the prize

' Were worth the danger. Magnus might have used

' To evil ends your blood; refuse ye now,

' With liberty so near, your country's call?

' Now lives one tyrant only of the three;

' Thus far in favour of the laws have wrought

' The Pharian weapons and the Parthian bow;

' Not you, degenerate! Begone, and spurn

' This gift of Ptolemaeus. Who would think

' Your hands were stained with blood? The foe will deem

' That you upon that dread Thessalian day

' First turned your backs. Then flee in safety, flee!

' By neither battle nor blockade subdued

' Caesar shall give you life! 0 slaves most base,

' Your former master slain, ye seek his heir!

' Why doth it please you not yet more to earn

'Than life and pardon? Bear across the sea

' Metellus' daughter, Magnus' weeping spouse,

' And both his sons; outstrip the Pharian gift.

' Nor spare this head, which, laid before the feet

' Of that detested tyrant, shall deserve

'A full reward. Thus, cowards, shall ye learn

' In that ye followed me how great your gain.

' Quick to your task and purchase thus with blood

'Your claim on Caesar. 'Tis a dastard crime;

' Flight without slaughter!'

Cato thus recalled

The parting vessels. So when bees in swarm

Desert their empty comb, forget the hive,

Ceasing to cling together, and with wings

Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light

On thyme to taste its bitterness-then rings

The Phrygian gong-at once they pause aloft

Astonied; and with love of toil resumed

Through all the flowers for their honey store

In ceaseless wanderings search; the shepherd joys,

Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept

His cottage store, the riches of his home.

Now in the active conduct of the war

Were brought to discipline their minds, untaught

To bear repose; first on the sandy shore

Toiling they learned fatigue: then stormed thy walls,

Cyrene; prizeless, for to Cato 's mind

'Twas prize enough to conquer. Juba next

He bids approach, though Nature on the path

Had placed the Syrtes; which his sturdy heart

Aspired to conquer. Either at the first

When Nature gave the universe its form

She left this region neither land nor sea;

Not wholly shrunk, so that it should receive

The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand

Against its buffets-all the pathless coast

Lies in uncertain shape; earth by the deep

Is parted from the land; on sandy banks

The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal

The waves advance to sound upon the shore.

Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone,

Unfashioned to men's use-Or else of old

A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse,

But Titan feeding from the briny depths

His burning fires (near to the zone of heat)

Reduced the waters. Still the main contends;

But in long time the Sun's destructive rays

Shall make the Syrtes land, and shallow pools

E'en now proclaim the sea's defeat to come.

When first the billows to the fleet gave way,

Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale

Upon his realm, and from the watery plain

Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals

Compelled the waves, and in the middle sea

Raised up a bank. Forth flew the bellying sails

Beyond the prows, despite the ropes that dared

Resist the tempest's fury; and for those

Who prescient housed their canvas to the storm,

Bare-masted they were driven from their course.

Best was their lot who gained the open waves

Of ocean; others lightened of their masts

Shook off the tempest; but a sweeping tide

Hurried them southwards, victor of the gale.

Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced

Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast,

Part hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt.

Fierce rage the waves till hems them in the land;

Nor Auster's force in frequent buffets spent

Prevails upon the shore. High from the main,

By seas inviolate, one bank of sand

Far from the coast arose; there watched in vain

The storm-tossed mariners, their keel aground,

No shore descrying. Thus in sea were lost

Some portion, but the major part by helm

And rudder guided, and by pilots' hands

Who knew the devious channels, safe at length

Floated the marsh of Triton loved (as saith

The fable) by that god, whose sounding shell

All seas and shores re-echo; and by her,

Pallas, who springing from her father's head

First lit on Libya, nearest land to heaven,

(As by its heat is proved); here on the brink

She stood, reflected in the placid wave

And called herself Tritonis. Lethe's flood

Flows silent near, in fable from a source

Infernal sprung, oblivion in his stream;

Here, too, that garden of the Hesperids,

Its boughs all golden, where of old his watch

The sleepless dragon held. Shame be on him

Who calls upon the poet for the proof

Of that which in the ancient days befell;

But here were golden groves by yellow growth

Weighed down in richness, here a maiden band

Were guardians; and a serpent, on whose eyes

Sleep never fell, was coiled around the trees,

Whose branches bowed beneath their ruddy load.

But great Alcides stripped the goodly boughs

Of all their riches, left them poor and light,

And bore the shining fruit to Argos ' king.

Driven on the Libyan realms, more fruitful here,

Pompeius stayed the fleet, nor further dared

To Garamantian waves. But Cato's soul

Leaped in his breast, impatient of delay,

To pass the Syrtes by a landward march,

And trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown

To lead his legions. And the storm which closed

The main to navies gave them hope of rain;

Nor biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime;

Nor suns too scorching in the falling year.

Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake:

' Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone

' Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall

' With pride unbroken should the fates command,

' Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise

' With hearts resolved to conquer. For we march

' On sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world;

' Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height

' Burns pitiless, unclouded; and the slime

' Of poisonous serpents fouls the dusty earth.

' Yet shall men venture for the love of laws

' And country perishing, upon the sands

' Of trackless Libya; men who brave in soul

' Rely not on the end, and in attempt

' Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts

' On this our enterprise to lead a band

' Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk.

' Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake,

' Whom I shall see for honour and for Rome

' Bear up against the worst. But whoso needs

' A pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet,

' Let him by fairer journey seek his lord.

' First be my foot upon the sand; on me

' First strike the burning sun; across my path

' The serpent void his venom; by my fate

' Know ye your perils. Let him only thirst

' Who sees me at the spring: who sees me seek

' The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat;

' Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks

' Plodding their weary march: such be the lot

' Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief

' And not a comrade. Snakes, thirst, burning sand

'The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast

' Finds happiness in labour. By its cost

' Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land

' Such cloud of ills can furnish as might make

'Men flee unshamed.' 'Twas thus that Cato spake,

Kindling the torch of valour and the love

Of toil: then reckless of his fate he strode

The desert path from which was no return:

And Libya ruled his destinies, to shut

His sacred name within a narrow tomb.

One-third of all the world, if fame we trust,

Is Libya; yet by winds and sky she proves

Equal to Europe; for the shores of Nile

No more than Scythian Tanais are remote

From furthest Gades, where with bending coast,

Yielding a place to Ocean, Europe parts

From Afric shores. Yet falls the larger world

To Asia only. From the former two

Issues the Western wind; but Asia 's right

Touches the Southern limits and her left

The Northern tempest's home, and of the East

She's mistress to the rising of the Sun.

All that is fertile of the Afric lands

Lies to the west, but even here abound

No wells of water: though the Northern wind,

Infrequent, leaving us with skies serene,

Falls there in showers. Not gold nor wealth of brass

It yields the seeker; pure and unalloyed

Down to its lowest depths is Libyan soil.

Yet citron forests to Maurusian tribes

Were riches, had they known; but they, content,

Lived 'neath the shady foliage, till gleamed

The axe of Rome amid the virgin grove,

To bring from furthest limits of the world

Our banquet tables and the fruit they bear.

But suns excessive and a scorching clime

Burn all the glebe beside the shifting sands:

There die the harvests on the crumbling mould;

No root finds sustenance, nor kindly Jove

Makes rich the furrow nor matures the vine.

Sleep binds all nature and the tract of sand

Lies ever fruitless, save that by the coast

The hardy Nasamon plucks a scanty grass.

Unclothed their race, and living on the woes

Worked by the cruel Syrtes on the world.

He dwells a spoiler by the sandy waves,

And while no ships unlade upon his shore,

Grows rich by wrecks-his only trade with man.

By such a path at hardy Cato's word

His soldiers passed, in thought from winds secure

Nor dreading storms: but fearful was their lot

More than on ocean waves; for Auster's force

Here strikes with greater strength upon the sands,

And yet more fraught with mischief: neither crags

Repelled his strength, nor lofty mountains tamed

His furious onset, nor in sturdy woods

He found a bar; but free from curb he raged

O'er the defenceless earth. Nor merely dust

Swirled up in drifts of rain, but Earth herself,

In major part, was rapt into the air

On ceaseless whirlwinds borne, until amazed

The Nasamon saw his scanty field and home

Reft by the tempest, and the native huts

From roof to base were hurried on the blast.

Not higher, when some all-devouring flame

Has seized upon its prey, in volumes dense

Rolls up the smoke, and darkens all the air.

Then with fresh might he fell upon the host

Of marching Romans, snatching from their feet

The sand they trod. Had Auster been enclosed

In some vast cavernous vault with solid walls

And mighty barriers, he had moved the world

Upon its ancient base and made the lands

To tremble: but the facile Libyan soil

By not resisting stood, and blasts that whirled

The surface upwards left the depths unmoved.

Helmet and shield and spear were torn away

By his most violent breath, and borne aloft

Through all the regions of the boundless sky;

Perchance a wonder in some distant land,

Where men may fear the weapons from the heaven

There falling, as the armour of the gods,

Nor deem them ravished from a soldier's arm.

'Twas thus on Numa by the sacred fire

Those shields descended which our chosen priests

Bear on their shoulders; from some warlike race

By tempest rapt, to be the prize of Rome.

While thus the tempest whirled the earth aloft

Prone fell the host, and wound their garments tight,

And gripped the soil; but hardly thus prevailed.

Weight had not held them safe; the raging blast

Piles heaps upon them, their recumbent limbs

Are whelmed in sand. At length they struggling rose

Back to their feet, when lo! around them stood,

Forced by the storm, a growing bank of earth

Which held them motionless. And from afar

Where walls lay prostrate, mighty stones were hurled,

Thus piling ills on ills in wondrous form:

No dwellings had they seen, yet at their feet

Beheld the ruins. All the earth was hid

In vast envelopment, nor found they guide

Save from the stars, which as in middle deep

Flamed o'er them wandering: yet some were hid

Beneath the circle of the Libyan earth

Which tending downwards hid the Northern sky.

When warmth dispersed the tempest-driven air,

And rose upon the earth the flaming day,

Bathed were their limbs in sweat, but parched and dry

Their gaping lips; when to a scanty spring

Far off beheld they came, whose meagre drops

All gathered in the hollow of a helm

They offered to their chief. Caked were their throats

With dust, and panting; and one little drop

Had made him envied. 'Wretch, and dost thou deem

Me wanting in a brave man's heart? ' he cried,

' Me only in this throng? And have I seemed

'Tender, unfit to bear the morning heat?

He who would quench his thirst 'mid such a host,

'Doth most deserve its pangs.' Then in his wrath

Dashed down the helmet, and the scanty spring,

Thus by their leader spurned, sufficed for all.

Now had they reached that temple which possess,

Sole in all Libya, th' untutored tribes

Of Garamantians. Here holds his seat

(So saith the story) a prophetic Jove,

Wielding no thunderbolts, nor like to ours;

The Libyan Hammon of the curved horn.

No wealth adorns his fane by Afric tribes

Bestowed, nor glittering hoard of Eastern gems.

Though rich Arabians, Ind and Ethiop

Know him alone as Jove, still he is poor

Holding his shrine by riches undefiled

Through time; and pure as gods of olden days

He spurns the wealth of Rome. That here sone god

Dwells, witnesses the only grove

That buds in Libya-for that which grows

Upon the arid dust which Leptis parts

From Berenice, knows no leaves; alone

Hammon uprears a wood; a fount the cause

Which with its waters binds the crumbling soil.

Yet shall the Sun when poised upon the height

Strike through the foliage: hardly can the tree

Protect its trunk, and to a little space

His rays draw in the circle of the shade.

Here have men found the spot where that high band

Solstitial divides in middle sky

The zodiac stars: not here oblique their course,

Nor Scorpion rises straighter than the Bull,

Nor to the Scales does Ram give back his hours,

Nor does Astraea bid the Fishes sink

More slowly down: but watery Capricorn

Is equal with the Crab, and with the Twins

The Archer; neither does the Lion rise

Above Aquarius. But the race that dwells

Beyond the fervour of the Libyan fires

Sees to the South that shadow which with us

Falls to the North: slow Cynosura sinks

For them below the deep; and, dry with us,

The Wagon plunges; far from either pole,

No star they know that does not seek the nain,

But all the constellations in their course

Whirl to their vision through the middle sky.

Before the doors the Eastern peoples stood

Seeking from horned Jove to know their fates:

Yet to the Roman chief they yielded place,

Whose comrades prayed him to entreat the gods

Famed through the Libyan world, and judge the voice

Renowned from distant ages. First of these

Was Labienus: 'Chance,' he said, 'to us

'The voice and counsel of this mighty god

'Has offered as we march; from such a guide

'To know the issues of the war, and learn

'To track the Syrtes. For to whom on earth

'If not to blameless Cato, shall the gods

Entrust their secret truths? Thou at the least

'Their faithful follower through life hast been.

'Lo! thou hast liberty to speak with Jove.

Ask impious Caesar's fates, and learn the laws

'That wait our country in the future days:

'Whether the people shall be free to use

'Their rights and customs, or the civil war

'For us is wasted. To thy sacred breast,

'Lover of virtue, take the voice divine;

'Demand what virtue is and guide thy steps

'By heaven's high counsellor.'

But Cato, full

Of godlike thoughts borne in his quiet breast,

This answer uttered, worthy of the shrines:

'What, Labienus, dost thou bid me ask?

'Whether in arms and freedom I should wish

' To perish, rather than endure a king?

' Is longest life worth aught? And doth its term

' Make difference? Can violence to the good

Do injury? Do Fortune's threats avail

Outweighed by virtue? Doth it not suffice

To aim at deeds of bravery? Can fame

Grow by achievement? Nay! No Hammon's voice

Shall teach us this more surely than we know.

Bound are we to the gods; no voice we need;

They live in all our acts, although the shrine

Be silent: at our birth and once for all

What may be known the author of our being

Revealed; nor chose these thirsty sands to chaunt

'To few his truth, whelmed in the dusty waste.

God has his dwelling in all things that be,

In earth and air and sea and starry vault,

In virtuous deeds; in all that thou canst see,

In all thy thoughts contained. Why further, then,

Seek we our deities? Let those who doubt

And halting, tremble for their coming fates,

Go ask the oracles. No mystic words,

Make sure my heart, but surely coming Death.

" Coward alike and brave, we all must die.

Thus hath Jove spoken: seek to know no more.'

Thus Cato spoke, and faithful to his creed

He parted from the temple of the god

And left the oracle of Hammon dumb.

Bearing his javelin, as one of them

He strode afoot before the panting troops:

No bending neck, no litter bore his form.

He bade them not, but showed them how to toil.

Spare in his sleep, the last to sip the spring,

When at some rivulet to quench their thirst

The eager ranks pressed onward, he alone

Until the humblest follower might drink

Stood motionless. If for the truly good

Is fame, and virtue by the deed itself,

Not by successful issue, should be judged,

Yield, famous ancestors! Fortune, not worth

Gained you your glory. But such name as his

Who ever merited by successful war

Or slaughtered peoples? Rather would I lead

With him his triumphs through the pathless sands

And Libya 's bounds, than in Pompeius' car

Three times ascend the Capitol, or break

The proud Jugurtha. Rome! in him behold

His country's father, worthiest of thy vows;

A name by which men shall not blush to swear,

Whom, shouldst thou break the fetters from thy neck,

Thou mayst in distant days decree divine.

Now was the heat more dense, and through that clime

Than which no further on the Southern side

The gods permit, they trod; and scarcer still

The water, till in middle sands they found

One copious fountain; but its brimming wave

Was thronged with serpents which it hardly held,

And thirsty asps were pressing on the marge.

But when the chieftain saw that speedy fate

Was on the host, if they should leave the well

Untasted, ' Vain,' he cried, your fear of death.

' Drink, nor delay: 'tis from the threatening tooth

" Men draw their deaths, and fatal from the fang

' Issues the juice if mingled with the blood;

' The cup is harmless.' Then he sipped the fount,

Still doubting, and in all the Libyan waste

There only was he first to touch the stream.

Why fertile thus in death the pestilent air

Of Libya, what poison in her soil

Her several nature mixed, my care to know

Has not availed: but from the days of old

A fabled story has deceived the world.

Far on her limits, where the burning shore

Admits the ocean fervid from the sun

Plunged in its waters, lay Medusa's fields

Untilled; nor forests shaded, nor the plough

Furrowed the soil, which by its mistress' gaze

Was hardened into stone: Phorcus, her sire.

Malevolent nature from her body first

Drew forth these noisome pests; first from her jaws

Issued the sibilant rattle of serpent tongues;

Clustered around her head the poisonous brood

Like to a woman's hair, wreathed on her neck

Which gloried in their touch; their glittering heads

Advanced towards her; and her tresses kempt

Dripped down with viper's venom. This alone

Thou hast, accursed one, which men can see

Unharmed; for who upon that gaping mouth

Looked and could dread? Whom suffered she to die

Who saw her face? He rushed upon his fate

And ere he feared was stricken to the death.

Perished the limbs while living, and the soul

Grew stiff and stark ere yet it fled the frame.

Men have been frenzied by the Furies' locks,

Not killed; and Cerberus at Orpheus' song

Ceased from his hissing, and Alcides saw

The Hydra ere he slew. This monster born

Brought horror with her birth upon her sire

Phorcus, in second order God of Waves,

And upon Ceto and the Gorgon brood,

Her sisters. She could treat the sea and sky

With deadly calm unknown, and from the world

Bid cease the soil. Borne down by instant weight

Fowls fell from air, and beasts were fixed in stone.

Whole Ethiop tribes who tilled the neighbouring lands

Rigid in marble stood. The Gorgon sight

No creature bore and even her serpents turned

Back from her visage. Atlas in his place

Beside the Western columns, by her look

Was turned to granite; and when Phlegra's brood

Gigantic, serpent-tailed, were feared of heaven,

She made them mountains, and the Gorgon head

Borne on Athena's bosom closed the war.

Here born of Danae and the golden shower,

Floating on wings Parrhasian, by the god

Arcadian given, author of the lyre

And wrestling art, came Perseus, swooping down

From heaven. Cyllenian Harpe did he bear

Still crimson from another monster slain,

The guardian of the heifer loved by Jove.

This to her winged brother Pallas lent

Price of the monster's head: by her command

He sought the limits of the Libyan land,

Poised o'er Medusa's realm, with head averse

Towards the rising sun: a burnished shield

Of yellow brass upon his other arm,

Her gift, her bore: in which she bade him see

The fatal face unscathed. Nor yet in sleep

Lay all the monster, for such total rest

To her were death-so fated: serpent locks

In vigilant watch, some reaching forth defend

Her head, while others lay upon her face

And slumbering eyes. Then hero Perseus shook

Though turned averse; trembled his dexter hand:

But Pallas held, and the descending blade

Shore the broad neck whence sprang the viper brood.

What visage bore the Gorgon as the steel

Thus reft her life! what poison from her throat

Breathed! from her eyes what venom of death distilled!

The goddess dared not look, and Perseus' face

Had frozen, averse, had not Athena veiled

With coils of writhing snakes the features dead.

Then with the Gorgon head the hero flew

Uplifted on his wings and sought the sky.

Shorter had been his voyage through the midst

Of Europe 's cities; but Athena bade

To spare her peoples and their fruitful lands;

For who when such an airy courser passed

Had not looked up to heaven? Western winds

Now sped his pinions, and he took his course

O'er Libya 's regions, from the stars and suns

Veiled by no culture. Phoebus' nearer track

There burns the soil, and loftiest on the sky

There falls the night, to shade the wandering moon,

If e'er forgetful of her course oblique,

Straight through the stars, nor bending to the North

Nor to the South, she hastens. Yet that earth,

In nothing fertile, void of fruitful yield,

Drank in the poison of Medusa's blood,

Dripping in dreadful dews upon the soil,

And in the crumbling sands by heat matured.

Where first within the dust the venom germ

Took life, an asp was reared of turgid neck

And sleep compelling: thick the poison drop

That was his making, in no fang of snake

More closely pressed. Greedy of warmth it seeks

No frozen world itself, nor haunts the sands

Beyond the Nile; yet has our thirst of gain

No shame nor limit, and this Libyan death,

This fatal pest we purchase for our own.

Haemorrhois huge spreads out his scaly coils,

Who suffers not his hapless victims' blood

To stay within their veins. Chersydros sprang

To life, to dwell within the doubtful marsh

Where land nor sea prevails. A cloud of spray

Marked fell Chelyder's track: and Cenchris rose

Straight gliding to his prey, his belly tinged

With various spots unnumbered, more than those

Which paint the Theban marble; horned snakes

With spines contorted: like to torrid sand

Ammodytes, of hue invisible:

Sole of all serpents Scytale to shed

In vernal frosts his slough; and thirsty Dipsas;

Dread Amphisbaena with his double head

Tapering; and Natrix who in bubbling fount

Fuses his venom. Greedy Prester swells

His foaming jaws; Pareas, head erect

Furrows with tail alone his sandy path;

Swift Jaculus there, and Seps whose poisonous juice

Makes liquid bone and flesh: and there upreared

His regal head, and frighted from his track

With sibilant terror all the subject swarm,

Baneful ere darts his poison, Basilisk

In sands deserted king. Ye serpents too

Who in all other regions harmless glide

Adored as gods, and bright with golden scales,

Are deadly here: for Afric air inhaled

Bestows malignant gift, as poised on wings

Whole herds of kine ye follow, and with coils

Encircling close, crush in the mighty bull.

Nor does the elephant in his giant bulk,

Nor aught, find safety; and ye need no fang

Nor poison, to compel the fatal end.

Amid these pests undaunted Cato urged

His desert journey on. His hardy troops

Beneath his eyes, pricked by a scanty wound,

In strangest forms of death unnumbered fall.

Tyrrhenian Aulus, bearer of a flag,

Trod on a Dipsas; quick with head reversed

The serpent struck; no mark betrayed the tooth:

The aspect of the wound nor threatened death,

Nor any evil; but the poison germ

In silence working as consuming fire

Absorbed the moisture of his inward frame,

Draining the natural juices that were spread

Around his vitals; in his arid jaws

Set flame upon his tongue: his wearied limbs

No sweat bedewed; dried up, the fount of tears

Fled from his eyelids. Tortured by the fire

Nor Cato's sternness, nor of his sacred charge

The honour could withhold him; but he dared

To dash his standard down, and through the plains

Raging, to seek for water that might slake

The fatal venom thirsting at his heart.

Plunge him in Tanais, in Rhone and Po,

Pour on his burning tongue the flood of Nile,

Yet were the fire unquenched. So fell the fang

Of Dipsas in the torrid Libyan lands;

In other climes less fatal. Next he seeks

Amid the sands, all barren to the depths,

For moisture: then returning to the shoals

Laps them with greed-in vain-the briny draught

Scarce quenched the thirst it made. Nor knowing yet

The poison in his frame, he steels himself

To rip his swollen veins and drink the gore.

Cato bids lift the standard, lest his troops

May find in thirst a pardon for the deed.

But on Sabellus' yet more piteous death

Their eyes were fastened. Clinging to his skin

A Seps with curving tooth, of little size,

He seized and tore away, and to the sands

Pierced with his javelin. Small the serpent's bulk;

None deals a death more horrible in form.

For swift the flesh dissolving round the wound

Bared the pale bone; swam all his limbs in blood;

Wasted the tissue of his calves and knees:

And all the muscles of his thighs were thawed

In black distilment, and the membrane sheath

Parted, that bound his vitals, which abroad

Flowed upon earth: yet seemed it not that all

His frame was loosed, for by the venomous drop

Were all the bands that held his muscles drawn

Down to a juice; the framework of his chest

Was bare, its cavity, and all the parts

Hid by the organs of life, that make the man.

So by unholy death there stood revealed

His inmost nature. Head and stalwart arms,

And neck and shoulders, from their solid mass

Melt in corruption. Not more swiftly flows

Wax at the sun's command, nor snow compelled

By southern breezes. Yet not all is said:

For so to noxious humours fire consumes

Our fleshly frame; but on the funeral pyre

What bones have perished? These dissolve no less

Than did the mouldered tissues, nor of death

Thus swift is left a trace. Of Afric pests

Thou bear'st the palm for hurtfulness: the life

They snatch away, thou only with the life

The clay that held it.

Lo! a different fate,

Not this by melting! for a Prester's fang

Nasidius struck, who erst in Marsian fields

Guided the plough. Upon his face there burns

A redness as of flame: swollen the skin,

His features hidden, swollen all his limbs

Till more than human: and his definite frame

One tumour huge conceals. A ghastly gore

Is puffed from inwards as the virulent juice

Courses through all his body; which, thus grown,

His corselet holds not. Not in caldron so

Boils up to mountainous height the steaming wave;

Nor in such bellying curves does canvas bend

To Eastern tempests. Now the ponderous bulk

Rejects the limbs, and as a shapeless trunk

Burdens the earth: and there, to beasts and birds

A fatal feast, his comrades leave the corse;

Nor dare to place, yet swelling, in the tomb.

But for their eyes the Libyan pests prepared

More dreadful sights. On Tullus great in heart,

And bound to Cato with admiring soul,

A fierce Haemorrhois fixed. From every limb,

(As from a statue saffron spray is showered

In every part) there spouted forth for blood

A sable poison: from the natural pores

Of moisture, gore profuse; his mouth was filled

And gaping nostrils, and his tears were blood.

Brimmed full his veins; his very sweat was red;

All was one wound.

Then piteous Levus next

In sleep was victim, for around his heart

Stood still the blood congealed: no pain he felt

Of venomous tooth, but swift upon him fell

Death, and he sought the shades; more swift to kill

No draught in poisonous cups from ripened plants

Of direst growth Sabaean wizards brew.

Lo! Upon branchless trunk a serpent, named

By Libyans Jaculus, rose in coils to dart

His venom from afar. Through Paullus' brain

It rushed, nor stayed; for in the wound itself

Was death. Then did they know how slowly flies,

Flung from a sling, the stone; how gently speed

Through air the shafts of Scythia. What availed,

Murrus, the lance by which thou didst transfix

A Basilisk? Swift through the weapon ran

The poison to his hand: he drew his sword

And severed arm and shoulder at a blow:

Then gazed secure upon his severed hand

Which perished as he looked. So hadst thou died,

And such had been thy fate!

Whoe'er had thought

A scorpion had strength o'er death and fate?

Yet with his threatening coils and barb erect

He won the glory of Orion slain;

So bear the stars their witness. And who would fear

Thy haunts, Salpuga? Yet the Stygian Maids

Have given thee power to snap the fatal threads.

Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the night

With darkness gave them peace. The very earth

On which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor straw

They piled for couches, but upon the ground

Unshielded from the fates they laid their limbs,

Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of night

The frozen pests found shelter; in whose jaws

Harmless the while, the lurking venom slept.

Nor did they know the measure of their march

Accomplished, nor their path; the stars in heaven

Their only guide. ' Return, ye gods,' they cried,

In frequent wail, ' the arms from which we fled.

' Give back Thessalia. Sworn to meet the sword

' Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place

' The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake

' Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek

' That region by the horses of the sun

' Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall

'Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky

' Descend our fate! Not, Africa, of thee

' Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind

' Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests

' She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields

' Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men

'Should perish by their venom. To the realms

' Of serpents have we come. Hater of men,

' Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods

' Severed this region upon either hand,

' With death in middle space. Our march is set

'Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host

' Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world.

' Perchance some greater wonders on our path

' May still await us; in the waves be plunged

' Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole

'Stoop from its height. By further space removed

' No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice

' Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land

' There may we long, where yet some living thing

' Gives consolation. Not my native land

' Nor European fields I hope for now

' Lit by far other suns, nor Asia 's plains.

' But in what land, what region of the sky,

' Where left we Africa? But now with frosts

' Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws

' Which rule the seasons, in this little space?

' Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies

' And stars we tread; behind our backs the home

' Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance

' Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates

' This solace pray we, that on this our track

' Pursuing Caesar with his host may come.'

Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaints

Disburdened. But the bravery of their chief

Forced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand,

All bare, he lies and dares at every hour

Fortune to strike: he only at the fate

Of each was present, flew to every call;

And roused their hearts to fight the poison germ.

Not life he brings them, but the strength in death

To die without a groan-to groan were shame

When he was witness-over him what power

Had plague or venom? In a comrade's breast

They see him conquer anguish; and they learn,

Gazing on him, how weak the power of pain.

Some aid from Fortune, weary of their woes,

At length they gained. Of all who till the earth

The Psyllians only are by snakes unharmed.

Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood,

Nor gives admission to the poison germ

E'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itself

Placed in such venomous tract and serpent-thronged

Gained them this vantage, and a truce with death,

Else could they not have lived. Such is their trust

In purity of blood, that newly born

Each babe they prove by test of deadly asp

For foreign lineage. So the bird of Jove

Turns his new fledglings to the rising sun

And such as gaze upon the beams of day

With eyes unwavering, for the use of heaven

He rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' rays

Casts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descent

The babe who, dreading not the serpent touch,

Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake.

Nor with their own immunity from harm

Contented do they rest, but watch for guests

Who need their help against the noisome plague.

Now to the Roman standards are they come,

And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed,

First all the sandy space within the lines

With song they purify and magic words

From which all serpents flee: next round the camp

In widest circuit from a kindled fire

Rise aromatic odours: danewort burns,

And juice distils from Syrian galbanum;

Then mournful tamarisk, costum from the East,

Strong panacea mixed with centaury

From Thrace, and leaves of fennel feed the flames,

And thapsus brought from Eryx: and they burn

Larch, southern-wood and antlers of a deer

Which lived afar. From these in densest fumes,

Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose;

And thus in safety passed the night away.

But should some victim feel the fatal fang

Upon the march, then of this magic race

Were seen the wonders; with saliva first

They smear the limb, whose silent working keeps

The venom in the wound. From foaming mouth

Next with continuous cadence would they pour

Unceasing chants-nor breathing space nor pause-

Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permit

A moment's silence. Oft from the black flesh

Flies forth the pest beneath the magic song:

But should it linger nor obey the voice,

Repugnant to the summons, on the wound

Prostrate they lay their lips and from the depths

Now paling draw the venom. In their mouths,

Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death,

Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall know

The nature of the snake whose bite they cure.

Thus helped, the Roman host with lighter heart

Trod through the barren fields in lengthy march.

Twice veiled the moon her light and twice renewed;

Yet still, with waning or with growing orb

Saw Cato's steps upon the sandy waste.

But more and more beneath their feet the dust

Began to harden, till the Libyan tracts

Once more were earth, and in the distance rose

Some groves of scanty foliage, and huts

Of plastered straw unfashioned: and their hearts

Leaped at the prospect of a better land.

How fled their sorrow! how with growing joy

They met the savage lion in the path!

In tranquil Leptis first they found retreat:

And passed a winter free from heat and rain.

When Caesar sated with Emathia 's slain

Forsook the battlefield, all other cares

Neglected, he pursued his kinsman fled,

On him alone intent: by land his steps

He traced in vain; then, rumour for his guide,

He crossed the sea and reached the Thracian strait

For love renowned; where on the mournful shore

Rose Hero's tower, and Helle born of cloud

Took from the rolling waves their former name.

Nowhere with shorter space the sea divides

Europe from Asia; though Pontus parts

By scant division from Byzantium 's hold

Chalcedon oyster-rich: and small the strait

Through which Propontis pours the Euxine wave.

Then marvelling at their ancient fame, he seeks

Sigeum's sandy beach and Simois' stream,

Rhoeteum noble for its Grecian tomb,

And all the heroes' shades, the theme of song.

Next by the town of Troy burnt down of old

Now but a memorable name, he turns

His steps, and searches for the mighty stones

Relics of Phoebus' wall. But bare with age

Forests of trees and mouldering trunks oppressed

Assaracus' palace, and with wearied roots

Possessed the ancient temples of the gods.

All Pergamus with densest brake was veiled

And even her stones were perished. He beheld

Thy rock, Hesione; the hidden grove,

Anchises' nuptial chamber; and the cave

Where sat the arbiter; the spot from which

Was snatched the beauteous youth; the mountain lawn

Where mourned OEnone. Not a stone but told

The story of the past. A little stream

Scarce trickling through the arid plain he passed,

Nor knew 'twas Xanthus: deep in grass he placed,

Careless, his footstep; but the herdsman cried

Thou tread'st the dust of Hector.' Stones confused

Lay at his feet in sacred shape no more:

'Look on the altar of Jove,' thus spake the guide,

God of the household, guardian of the home.'

O sacred task of poets, toil supreme,

Which rescuing all things from allotted fate

Dost give eternity to mortal men!

Grudge not the glory, Caesar, of such fame.

For if the Latian Muse may promise aught,

Long as the heroes of the Trojan time

Shall live upon the page of Smyrna 's bard,

So long shall future races read of thee

In this my poem; and Pharsalia's song

Live unforgotten in the age to come.

When by the ancient grandeur of the place

The chieftain's sight was filled, of gathered turf

Altars he raised: and as the sacred flame

Cast forth its odours, these not idle vows

Gave to the gods, 'Ye deities of the dead,

' Who watch o'er Phrygian ruins: ye who now

Lavinia's homes inhabit, and Alba's height:

Gods of my sire AEneas, in whose fanes

The Trojan fire still burns: pledge of the past

'Mysterious Pallas, of the inmost shrine,

Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat,

'Most famous offspring of Iulus' race,

'I call upon you and with pious hand

Burn frequent offerings. To my emprise

Give prosperous ending! Here shall I replace

'The Phrygian peoples, here in glad return

' Italia 's sons shall build a Pergamus

And from these stones shall rise a Roman Troy.'

He seeks his fleet, and eager to regain

Time spent at Ilium, to the favouring breeze

Spreads all his canvas. Past rich Asia borne,

Rhodes soon he left while foamed the sparkling main

Beneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretch

His bending sails, till on the seventh night

The Pharian beam proclaimed Egyptian shores.

But day arose, and veiled the nightly lamp

Ere rode his barks on waters safe from storm.

Then Caesar saw that tumult held the shore,

And mingled voices of uncertain sound

Struck on his ear: and trusting not himself

To doubtful kingdoms, of uncertain troth,

He kept his ships from land. But from the king

Came his vile minion forth upon the wave,

Bearing his dreadful gift, Pompeius' head,

Wrapped in a covering of Pharian wool.

First took he speech and thus in shameless words

Commends the murder: ' Conqueror of the world,

First of the Roman race, and, what as yet

Thou dost not know, safe by thy kinsman slain;

This gift receive from the Pellaean king,

Sole trophy absent from the Thracian field,

'To crown thy toils on land and on the deep.

Here in thine absence have we placed for thee

'An end upon the war. Here Magnus came

To mend his fallen fortunes; on our swords

'Here met his death. With such a pledge of faith

Here have we bought thee, Caesar; with his blood

Seal we this treaty. Take the Pharian realm

Sought by no bloodshed, take the rule of Nile,

Take all that thou wouldst give for Magnus' life:

And hold him vassal worthy of thy camp

'To whom the fates against thy son-in-law

'Such power entrusted; nor hold thou the deed

'Lightly accomplished by the swordsman's stroke,

And so the merit. Guest ancestral he

Who was its victim; who, his sire expelled,

' Gave back to him the sceptre. For a deed

' So great, thou'lt find a name-or ask the world.

' If 'twas a crime, thou must confess the debt

'To us the greater, for that from thy hand

' We took the doing.'

Then he held and showed

Unveiled the head. Now had the hand of death

Passed with its changing touch upon the face:

Nor at first sight did Caesar on the gift

Pass condemnation; nor avert his gaze,

But dwelt upon the features till he knew

The crime accomplished. Then when truth was sure

The loving father rose, and tears he shed

Which flowed at his command, and glad in heart

Forced from his breast a groan: thus by the flow

Of feigned tears and grief he hoped to hide

His joy else manifest: and the ghastly boon

Sent by the king disparaging, professed

Rather to mourn his son's dissevered head,

Than count it for a debt. For thee alone,

Magnus, he durst not fail to find a tear:

He, Caesar, who with mien unaltered spurned

The Roman Senate, and with eyes undimmed

Looked on Pharsalia's field. O fate most hard!

Didst thou with impious war pursue the man

Whom 'twas thy lot to mourn? No kindred ties,

No memory of thy daughter and her son

Touch on thy heart? Didst think perchance that grief

Might help thy cause 'mid lovers of his name?

Or haply, moved by envy of the king,

Griev'st that to other hands than thine was given

To shed the captive's life-blood? and complain'st

Thy vengeance perished and the conquered chief

Snatched from thy haughty hand? Whate'er the cause

That urged thy grief, 'twas far removed from love.

Was this forsooth the object of thy toil

O'er lands and oceans, that without thy ken

He should not perish? Nay! but well was reft

From thine arbitrament his fate. What crime

Did cruel Fortune spare, what depth of shame

To Roman honour! since she suffered not,

Perfidious traitor, while yet Magnus lived,

That thou shouldst pity him!

Thus by words he dared

To gain their credence in his sembled grief:

Hence from my sight with his detested gift,

Thou minion, to thy king. Worse does your crime

Deserve from Caesar than from Magnus' hands.

The only prize that civil war affords

Thus have we lost-to bid the conquered live.

If but the sister of this Pharian king

Were not by him detested, by the head

Of Cleopatra had I paid this gift.

Such were the fit return. Why did he draw

His separate sword, and in the toil that's ours

Mingle his weapons? In Thessalia's field

Gave we such right to the Pellaean blade?

Such licence did your mutual kingdom gain?

Magnus as partner in the rule of Rome

I had not brooked; and shall I tolerate

Thee, Ptolemaeus? In vain with civil wars

Thus have we roused the nations, if there be

Now any might but Caesar's, if any land

Yet owns you masters. From your shore I'd turn

The prows of Latium; but fame forbids,

Lest men should whisper that I did not damn

This deed of blood, but feared the Pharian land.

Nor think ye to deceive; victorious here

I stand: else had my welcome at your hands

Been that of Magnus; and that neck were mine

But for Pharsalia's chance. At greater risk

So seems it, than we dreamed of, took we arms;

Exile, and Magnus' threats, and Rome I knew,

Not Ptolemaeus. But we spare the boy:

Pass by the murder. Let the princeling know

We give no more than pardon for his crime.

And now in honour of the mighty dead,

Not merely that the earth may hide your guilt,

Lay ye the chieftain's head within the tomb;

' With proper sepulture appease his shade

'And place his scattered ashes in an urn.

Thus may he know my coming, and may hear

Affection's accents, and my fond complaints.

Me sought he not, but rather, for his life,

This Pharian vassal; snatching from mankind

The happy morning which had shown the world

A peace between us. But my prayers to heaven

No favouring answer found; that arms laid down

'In happy victory, Magnus, once again

I might embrace thee, begging thee to grant

'Thine ancient love to Caesar, and thy life.

'Thus for my labours with a worthy prize

'Content, thine equal, bound in faithful peace,

'I might have brought thee to forgive the gods

'For thy disaster; thou hadst gained for me

'From Rome forgiveness.'

Thus he spake, but found

No comrade in his tears; nor did the host

Give credit to his grief. Deep in their breasts

They hide their groans, and gaze with joyful front

(O famous Freedom!) on the deed of blood:

And dare to laugh when mighty Caesar wept.