No loud acclaim received his words, nor shoutAsked for the promised battle: and the chiefDrew back the standards, for the soldier's fearsWere in his soul alike; nor dared he trustAn army, vanquished by the fame aloneOf Caesar's powers, to fight for such a prize.And as some bull, his early combat lost,Forth driven from the herd, in exile roamsThrough lonely plains or secret forest depths,Whets on opposing trunks his growing horn,And proves himself for battle, till his neckIs ribbed afresh with muscle: then returns,Defiant of the hind, and victor nowLeads wheresoe'er he will his lowing bands:Thus Magnus, yielding to a stronger foe,Gave up Italia, and sought in flightBrundusium's sheltering battlements.
Here of oldFled Cretan settlers when the dusky sail (33)Spread the false message of the hero dead;Here, where Hesperia, curving as a bow,Draws back her coast, a little tongue of landShuts in with bending horns the sounding main.Yet insecure the spot, unsafe in storm,Were it not sheltered by an isle on whichThe Adriatic billows dash and fall,And tempests lose their strength: on either handA craggy cliff opposing breaks the galeThat beats upon them, while the ships withinHeld by their trembling cables ride secure.Hence to the mariner the boundless deepLies open, whether for Corcyra's portHe shapes his sails, or for Illyria's shore,And Epidamnus facing to the mainIonian. Here, when raging in his mightFierce Adria whelms in foam Calabria's coast,When clouds tempestuous veil Ceraunus' height,The sailor finds a haven.
When the chiefCould find no hope in battle on the soilHe now was quitting, and the lofty AlpsForbad Iberia, to his son he spake,The eldest scion of that noble stock:"Search out the far recesses of the earth,Nile and Euphrates, wheresoe'er the fameOf Magnus lives, where, through thy father's deeds,The people tremble at the name of Rome.Lead to the sea again the pirate bands;Rouse Egypt's kings; Tigranes, wholly mine,And Pharnaces and all the vagrant tribesOf both Armenias; and the Pontic hordes,Warlike and fierce; the dwellers on the hillsRhipaean, and by that dead northern marshWhose frozen surface bears the loaded wain.Why further stay thee? Let the eastern worldSound with the war, all cities of the earthConquered by me, as vassals, to my campSend all their levied hosts. And you whose namesWithin the Latian book recorded stand,Strike for Epirus with the northern wind;And thence in Greece and Macedonian tracts,(While winter gives us peace) new strength acquireFor coming conflicts." They obey his wordsAnd loose their ships and launch upon the main.
But Caesar's might, intolerant of peaceOr lengthy armistice, lest now perchanceThe fates might change their edicts, swift pursuedThe footsteps of his foe. To other men,So many cities taken at a blow,So many strongholds captured, might suffice;And Rome herself, the mistress of the world,Lay at his feet, the greatest prize of all.Not so with Caesar: instant on the goalHe fiercely presses; thinking nothing doneWhile aught remained to do. Now in his graspLay all Italia; — but while Magnus stayedUpon the utmost shore, his grieving soulDeemed all was shared with him. Yet he essayedEscape to hinder, and with labour vainPiled in the greedy main gigantic rocks:Mountains of earth down to the sandy depthsWere swallowed by the vortex of the sea;Just as if Eryx and its lofty topWere cast into the deep, yet not a speckShould mark the watery plain; or Gaurus hugeSplit from his summit to his base, were plungedIn fathomless Avernus' stagnant pool.The billows thus unstemmed, 'twas Caesar's willTo hew the stately forests and with treesEnchained to form a rampart. Thus of old(If fame be true) the boastful Persian kingPrepared a way across the rapid strait'Twixt Sestos and Abydos, and made oneThe European and the Trojan shores;And marched upon the waters, wind and stormCounting as nought, but trusting his empriseTo one frail bridge, so that his ships might passThrough middle Athos. Thus a mighty moleOf fallen forests grew upon the waves,Free until then, and lofty turrets rose,And land usurped the entrance to the main.
This when Pompeius saw, with anxious careHis soul was filled; yet hoping to regainThe exit lost, and win a wider worldWherein to wage the war, on chosen shipsHe hoists the sails; these, driven by the windAnd drawn by cables fastened to their prows,Scattered the beams asunder; and at nightNot seldom engines, worked by stalwart arms,Flung flaming torches forth. But when the timeFor secret flight was come, no sailor shoutRang on the shore, no trumpet marked the hour,No bugle called the armament to sea.Already shone the Virgin in the skyLeading the Scorpion in her course, whose clawsForetell the rising Sun, when noiseless allThey cast the vessels loose; no song was heardTo greet the anchor wrenched from stubborn sand;No captain's order, when the lofty mastWas raised, or yards were bent; a silent crewDrew down the sails which hung upon the ropes,Nor shook the mighty cables, lest the windShould sound upon them. But the chief, in prayer,Thus spake to Fortune: "Thou whose high decreeHas made us exiles from Italia's shores,Grant us at least to leave them." Yet the fatesHardly permitted, for a murmur vastCame from the ocean, as the countless keelsFurrowed the waters, and with ceaseless splashThe parted billows rose again and fell.Then were the gates thrown wide; for with the fatesThe city turned to Caesar: and the foe,Seizing the town, rushed onward by the pierThat circled in the harbour; then they knewWith shame and sorrow that the fleet was goneAnd held the open: and Pompeius' flightGave a poor triumph.
Yet was narrower farThe channel which gave access to the seaThan that Euboean strait (34) whose waters laveThe shore by Chalcis. Here two ships stuck fastAlone, of all the fleet; the fatal hookGrappled their decks and drew them to the land,And the first bloodshed of the civil warHere left a blush upon the ocean wave.As when the famous ship (36) sought Phasis' streamThe rocky gates closed in and hardly grippedHer flying stern; then from the empty seaThe cliffs rebounding to their ancient seatWere fixed to move no more. But now the stepsOf morn approaching tinged the eastern skyWith roseate hues: the Pleiades were dim,The wagon of the Charioteer grew pale,The planets faded, and the silvery starWhich ushers in the day, was lost in light.
Then Magnus, hold'st the deep; yet not the sameNow are thy fates, as when from every seaThy fleet triumphant swept the pirate pest.Tired of thy conquests, Fortune now no moreShall smile upon thee. With thy spouse and sons,Thy household gods, and peoples in thy train,Still great in exile, in a distant landThou seek'st thy fated fall; not that the gods,Wishing to rob thee of a Roman grave,Decreed the strands of Egypt for thy tomb:'Twas Italy they spared, that far awayFortune on shores remote might hide her crime,And Roman soil be pure of Magnus' blood.
(1) When dragged from his hiding place in the marsh, Marius was sent by the magistrates of Minturnae to the house of a woman named Fannia, and there locked up in a dark apartment. It does not appear that he was there long. A Gallic soldier was sent to kill him; "and the eyes of Marius appeared to him to dart a strong flame, and a loud voice issued from the gloom, 'Man, do you dare to kill Caius Marius?'" He rushed out exclaiming, "I cannot kill Caius Marius." (Plutarch, "Marius", 38.) (2) The Governor of Libya sent an officer to Marius, who had landed in the neighbourhood of Carthage. The officer delivered his message, and Marius replied, "Tell the Governor you have seen Caius Marius, a fugitive sitting on the ruins of Carthage," a reply in which he not inaptly compared the fate of that city and his own changed fortune. (Plutarch, "Marius", 40.) (3) In the "gathering of fresh fury on Libyan soil", there appears to be an allusion to the story of Antruns, in Book IV. (4) See Ben Jonson's "Catiline", Act i., scene 1, speaking of the Sullan massacre. Cethegus: Not infants in the porch of life were free. …. Catiline: 'Twas crime enough that they had lives: to strike but only those that could do hurt was dull and poor: some fell to make the number as some the prey. (5) Whenever he did not salute a man, or return his salute, this was a signal for massacre. (Plutarch, "Marius", 49.) (6) The Marian massacre was in B.C. 87-86; the Sullan in 82-81. (7) The head of Antonius was struck off and brought to Marius at supper. He was the grandfather of the triumvir. (8) Scaevola, it would appear, was put to death after Marius the elder died, by the younger Marius. He was Pontifex Maximus, and slain by the altar of Vesta. (9) B.C. 86, Marius and Cinna were Consuls. Marius died seventeen days afterwards, in the seventieth year of his age. (10) The Battle of Sacriportus was fought between Marius the younger and the Sullan army in B.C. 82. Marius was defeated with great loss, and fled to Praeneste, a town which afterwards submitted to Sulla, who put all the inhabitants to death (line 216). At the Colline gate was fought the decisive battle between Sulla and the Saranires, who, after a furious contest, were defeated. (11) Diomedes was said to feed his horses on human flesh. (For Antaeus see Book IV., 660.) Enomaus was king of Pisa in Elis. Those who came to sue for his daughter's hand had to compete with him in a chariot race, and if defeated were put to death. (12) The brother of the Consul. (13) So Cicero: "Our Cnaeus is wonderfully anxious for such a royalty as Sulla's. I who tell you know it." ("Ep. ad Att.", ix. 7.) (14) Marcia was first married to Cato, and bore him three sons; he then yielded her to Hortensius. On his death she returned to Cato. (Plutarch, "Cato", 25, 52.) It was in reference to this that Caesar charged him with making a traffic of his marriage; but Plutarch says "to accuse Cato of filthy lucre is like upbraiding Hercules with cowardice." After the marriage Marcia remained at Rome while Cato hurried after Pompeius. (15) The bride was carried over the threshold of her new home, for to stumble on it would be of evil omen. Plutarch ("Romulus") refers this custom to the rape of the Sabine women, who were "so lift up and carried away by force." (North, volume i., p. 88, Edition by Windham.) I have read "vetuit" in this passage, though "vitat" appears to be a better variation according to the manuscripts. (16) The bride was dressed in a long white robe, bound round the waist with a girdle. She had a veil of bright yellow colour. ("Dict. Antiq.") (17) Capua, supposed to be founded by Capys, the Trojan hero. (Virgil, "Aeneid", x., 145.) (18) Phaethon's sisters, who yoked the horses of the Sun to the chariot for their brother, were turned into poplars. Phaethon was flung by Jupiter into the river Po. (19) See the note to Book I., 164. In reality Caesar found little resistance, and did not ravage the country. (20) Thermus. to whom Iguvium had been entrusted by the Senate, was compelled to quit it owing to the disaffection of the inhabitants. (Merivale, chapter xiv.) Auximon in a similar way rose against Varus. (21) After Caesar's campaign with the Nervii, Pompeius had lent him a legion. When the Parthian war broke out and the Senate required each of the two leaders to supply a legion for it, Pompeius demanded the return of the legion which he had sent to Gaul; and Caesar returned it, together with one of his own. They were, however, retained in Italy. (22) See Book VII., 695. (23) See Book I., 368. (24) That is to say, by the breaking of the bridge, the river would become a serious obstacle to Caesar. (25) See line 497. (26) This family is also alluded to by Horace ("Ars Poetica,") as having worn a garment of ancient fashion leaving their arms bare. (See also Book VI., 945.) (27) In B.C. 77, after the death of Sulla, Carbo had been defeated by Pompeius in 81 B.C., in which occasion Pompeius had, at the early age of twenty-five, demanded and obtained his first triumph. The war with Sertorius lasted till 71 B.C., when Pompeius and Metellus triumphed in respect of his overthrow. (28) See Book I., line 369. (29) In B.C. 67, Pompeius swept the pirates off the seas. The whole campaign did not last three months. (30) From B.C. 66 to B.C. 63, Pompeius conquered Mithridates, Syria and the East, except Parthia. (31) Being (as was supposed) exactly under the Equator. Syene (the modern Assouan) is the town mentioned by the priest of Sais, who told Herodotus that "between Syene and Elephantine are two hills with conical tops. The name of one of them is Crophi, and of the other, Mophi. Midway between them are the fountains of the Nile." (Herod., II., chapter 28.) And see "Paradise Regained," IV., 70: — "Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, "Meroe, Nilotick isle;…" (32) Baetis is the Guadalquivir. (33) Theseus, on returning from his successful exploit in Crete, hoisted by mistake black sails instead of white, thus spreading false intelligence of disaster. (34) It seems that the Euripus was bridged over. (Mr. Haskins' note.) (35) The "Argo".
With canvas yielding to the western windThe navy sailed the deep, and every eyeGazed on Ionian billows. But the chiefTurned not his vision from his native shoreNow left for ever, while the morning mistsDrew down upon the mountains, and the cliffsFaded in distance till his aching sightNo longer knew them. Then his wearied frameSank in the arms of sleep. But Julia's shape,In mournful guise, dread horror on her brow,Rose through the gaping earth, and from her tombErect (1), in form as of a Fury spake:"Driven from Elysian fields and from the plainsThe blest inhabit, when the war began,I dwell in Stygian darkness where abideThe souls of all the guilty. There I sawTh' Eumenides with torches in their handsPrepared against thy battles; and the fleets (2)Which by the ferryman of the flaming streamWere made to bear thy dead: while Hell itselfRelaxed its punishments; the sisters threeWith busy fingers all their needful taskCould scarce accomplish, and the threads of fateDropped from their weary hands. With me thy wife,Thou, Magnus, leddest happy triumphs home:New wedlock brings new luck. Thy concubine,Whose star brings all her mighty husbands ill,Cornelia, weds in thee a breathing tomb. (3)Through wars and oceans let her cling to theeSo long as I may break thy nightly rest:No moment left thee for her love, but allBy night to me, by day to Caesar given.Me not the oblivious banks of Lethe's streamHave made forgetful; and the kings of deathHave suffered me to join thee; in mid fightI will be with thee, and my haunting ghostRemind thee Caesar's daughter was thy spouse.Thy sword kills not our pledges; civil warShall make thee wholly mine." She spake and fled.But he, though heaven and hell thus bode defeat,More bent on war, with mind assured of ill,"Why dread vain phantoms of a dreaming brain?Or nought of sense and feeling to the soulIs left by death; or death itself is nought."
Now fiery Titan in declining pathDipped to the waves, his bright circumferenceSo much diminished as a growing moonNot yet full circled, or when past the full;When to the fleet a hospitable coastGave access, and the ropes in order laid,The sailors struck the masts and rowed ashore.
When Caesar saw the fleet escape his graspAnd hidden from his view by lengthening seas,Left without rival on Hesperian soil,He found no joy in triumph; rather grievedThat thus in safety Magnus' flight was sped.Not any gifts of Fortune now sufficedHis fiery spirit; and no victory won,Unless the war was finished with the stroke.Then arms he laid aside, in guise of peaceSeeking the people's favour; skilled to knowHow to arouse their ire, and how to gainThe popular love by corn in plenty given.For famine only makes a city free;By gifts of food the tyrant buys a crowdTo cringe before him: but a people starvedIs fearless ever.
Curio he bidsCross over to Sicilian cities, whereOr ocean by a sudden rise o'erwhelmedThe land, or split the isthmus right in twain,Leaving a path for seas. Unceasing tidesThere labour hugely lest again should meetThe mountains rent asunder. Nor were leftSardinian shores unvisited: each isleIs blest with noble harvests which have filledMore than all else the granaries of Rome,And poured their plenty on Hesperia's shores.Not even Libya, with its fertile soil,Their yield surpasses, when the southern windGives way to northern and permits the cloudsTo drop their moisture on the teeming earth.This ordered, Caesar leads his legions on,Not armed for war, but as in time of peaceReturning to his home. Ah! had he comeWith only Gallia conquered and the North (4),What long array of triumph had he brought!What pictured scenes of battle! how had RhineAnd Ocean borne his chains! How noble Gaul,And Britain's fair-haired chiefs his lofty carHad followed! Such a triumph had he lostBy further conquest. Now in silent fearThey watched his marching troops, nor joyful townsPoured out their crowds to welcome his return.Yet did the conqueror's proud soul rejoice,Far more than at their love, at such a fear.
Now Anxur's hold was passed, the oozy roadThat separates the marsh, the grove sublime (5)Where reigns the Scythian goddess, and the pathBy which men bear the fasces to the feastOn Alba's summit. From the height afar —Gazing in awe upon the walls of RomeHis native city, since the Northern warUnseen, unvisited — thus Caesar spake:"Who would not fight for such a god-like town?And have they left thee, Rome, without a blow?Thank the high gods no eastern hosts are hereTo wreak their fury; nor Sarmatian hordeWith northern tribes conjoined; by Fortune's giftThis war is civil: else this coward chiefHad been thy ruin."
Trembling at his feetHe found the city: deadly fire and flame,As from a conqueror, gods and fanes dispersed;Such was the measure of their fear, as thoughHis power and wish were one. No festal shoutGreeted his march, no feigned acclaim of joy.Scarce had they time for hate. In Phoebus' hallTheir hiding places left, a crowd appearedOf Senators, uncalled, for none could call.No Consul there the sacred shrine adornedNor Praetor next in rank, and every seatPlaced for the officers of state was void:Caesar was all; and to his private voice (6)All else were listeners. The fathers satReady to grant a temple or a throne,If such his wish; and for themselves to voteOr death or exile. Well it was for RomeThat Caesar blushed to order what they feared.Yet in one breast the spirit of freedom roseIndignant for the laws; for when the gatesOf Saturn's temple hot Metellus saw,Were yielding to the shock, he clove the ranksOf Caesar's troops, and stood before the doorsAs yet unopened. 'Tis the love of goldAlone that fears not death; no hand is raisedFor perished laws or violated rights:But for this dross, the vilest cause of all,Men fight and die. Thus did the Tribune barThe victor's road to rapine, and with voiceClear ringing spake: "Save o'er Metellus deadThis temple opens not; my sacred bloodShall flow, thou robber, ere the gold be thine.And surely shall the Tribune's power defiedFind an avenging god; this Crassus knew (7),Who, followed by our curses, sought the warAnd met disaster on the Parthian plains.Draw then thy sword, nor fear the crowd that gapesTo view thy crimes: the citizens are gone.Not from our treasury reward for guiltThy hosts shall ravish: other towns are left,And other nations; wage the war on them —Drain not Rome's peace for spoil." The victor then,Incensed to ire: "Vain is thy hope to fallIn noble death, as guardian of the right;With all thine honours, thou of Caesar's rageArt little worthy: never shall thy bloodDefile his hand. Time lowest things with highConfounds not yet so much that, if thy voiceCould save the laws, it were not better farThey fell by Caesar." Such his lofty words.
But as the Tribune yielded not, his rageRose yet the more, and at his soldiers' swordsOne look he cast, forgetting for the timeWhat robe he wore; but soon Metellus heardThese words from Cotta: "When men bow to powerFreedom of speech is only Freedom's bane (8),Whose shade at least survives, if with free willThou dost whate'er is bidden thee. For usSome pardon may be found: a host of illsCompelled submission, and the shame is lessThat to have done which could not be refused.Yield, then, this wealth, the seeds of direful war.A nation's anger is by losses stirred,When laws protect it; but the hungry slaveBrings danger to his master, not himself."
At this Metellus yielded from the path;And as the gates rolled backward, echoed loudThe rock Tarpeian, and the temple's depthsGave up the treasure which for centuriesNo hand had touched: all that the Punic foeAnd Perses and Philippus conquered gave,And all the gold which Pyrrhus panic-struckLeft when he fled: that gold (9), the price of Rome,Which yet Fabricius sold not, and the hoardLaid up by saving sires; the tribute sentBy Asia's richest nations; and the wealthWhich conquering Metellus brought from Crete,And Cato (10) bore from distant Cyprus home;And last, the riches torn from captive kingsAnd borne before Pompeius when he cameIn frequent triumph. Thus was robbed the shrine,And Caesar first brought poverty to Rome.
Meanwhile all nations of the earth were movedTo share in Magnus' fortunes and the war,And in his fated ruin. Graecia sent,Nearest of all, her succours to the host.From Cirrha and Parnassus' double peakAnd from Amphissa, Phocis sent her youth:Boeotian leaders muster in the meadsBy Dirce laved, and where Cephisus rollsGifted with fateful power his stream along:And where Alpheus, who beyond the sea (11)In fount Sicilian seeks the day again.Pisa deserted stands, and Oeta, lovedBy Hercules of old; Dodona's oaksAre left to silence by the sacred train,And all Epirus rushes to the war.And proud Athena, mistress of the seas,Sends three poor ships (alas! her all) to proveHer ancient victory o'er the Persian King.Next seek the battle Creta's hundred tribesBeloved of Jove and rivalling the eastIn skill to wing the arrow from the bow.The walls of Dardan Oricum, the woodsWhere Athamanians wander, and the banksOf swift Absyrtus foaming to the mainAre left forsaken. Enchelaean tribesWhose king was Cadmus, and whose name recordsHis transformation (12), join the host; and thoseWho till Penean fields and turn the shareAbove Iolcos in Thessalian lands."There first men steeled their hearts to dare the waves (13)And 'gainst the rage of ocean and the stormTo match their strength, when the rude Argo sailedUpon that distant quest, and spurned the shore,Joining remotest nations in her flight,And gave the fates another form of death.Left too was Pholoe; pretended homeWhere dwelt the fabled race of double form (14);Arcadian Maenalus; the Thracian mountNamed Haemus; Strymon whence, as autumn falls,Winged squadrons seek the banks of warmer Nile;And all the isles the mouths of Ister batheMixed with the tidal wave; the land through whichThe cooling eddies of Caicus flowIdalian; and Arisbe bare of glebe.The hinds of Pitane, and those who tillCelaenae's fields which mourned of yore the giftOf Pallas (15), and the vengeance of the god,All draw the sword; and those from Marsyas' floodFirst swift, then doubling backwards with the streamOf sinuous Meander: and from wherePactolus leaves his golden source and leapsFrom Earth permitting; and with rival wealthRich Hermus parts the meads. Nor stayed the bandsOf Troy, but (doomed as in old time) they joinedPompeius' fated camp: nor held them backThe fabled past, nor Caesar's claimed descentFrom their Iulus. Syrian peoples cameFrom palmy Idumea and the wallsOf Ninus great of yore; from windy plainsOf far Damascus and from Gaza's hold,From Sidon's courts enriched with purple dye,And Tyre oft trembling with the shaken earth.All these led on by Cynosura's light (16)Furrow their certain path to reach the war.
Phoenicians first (if story be believed)Dared to record in characters; for yetPapyrus was not fashioned, and the priestsOf Memphis, carving symbols upon wallsOf mystic sense (in shape of beast or fowl)Preserved the secrets of their magic art.
Next Persean Tarsus and high Taurus' grovesAre left deserted, and Corycium's cave;And all Cilicia's ports, pirate no more,Resound with preparation. Nor the EastRefused the call, where furthest Ganges dares,Alone of rivers, to discharge his streamAgainst the sun opposing; on this shore (17)The Macedonian conqueror stayed his footAnd found the world his victor; here too rollsIndus his torrent with Hydaspes joinedYet hardly feels it; here from luscious reedMen draw sweet liquor; here they dye their locksWith tints of saffron, and with coloured gemsBind down their flowing garments; here are they,Who satiate of life and proud to die,Ascend the blazing pyre, and conquering fate,Scorn to live longer; but triumphant giveThe remnant of their days in flame to heaven. (18)
Nor fails to join the host a hardy bandOf Cappadocians, tilling now the soil,Once pirates of the main: nor those who dwellWhere steep Niphates hurls the avalanche,And where on Median Coatra's sidesThe giant forest rises to the sky.And you, Arabians, from your distant homeCame to a world unknown, and wondering sawThe shadows fall no longer to the left. (19)Then fired with ardour for the Roman warOretas came, and far Carmania's chiefs,Whose clime lies southward, yet men thence descryLow down the Pole star, and Bootes runsHasting to set, part seen, his nightly course;And Ethiopians from that southern landWhich lies without the circuit of the stars,Did not the Bull with curving hoof advancedO'erstep the limit. From that mountain zoneThey come, where rising from a common fountEuphrates flows and Tigris, and did earthPermit, were joined with either name; but nowWhile like th' Egyptian flood Euphrates spreadsHis fertilising water, Tigris firstDrawn down by earth in covered depths is plungedAnd holds a secret course; then born againFlows on unhindered to the Persian sea.
But warlike Parthia wavered 'twixt the chiefs,Content to have made them two (20); while Scythia's hordesDipped fresh their darts in poison, whom the streamOf Bactros bounds and vast Hyrcanian woods.Hence springs that rugged nation swift and fierce,Descended from the Twins' great charioteer. (21)Nor failed Sarmatia, nor the tribes that dwellBy richest Phasis, and on Halys' banks,Which sealed the doom of Croesus' king; nor whereFrom far Rhipaean ranges Tanais flows,On either hand a quarter of the world,Asia and Europe, and in winding courseCarves out a continent; nor where the straitIn boiling surge pours to the Pontic deepMaeotis' waters, rivalling the prideOf those Herculean pillar-gates that guardThe entrance to an ocean. Thence with hairIn golden fillets, Arimaspians came,And fierce Massagetae, who quaff the bloodOf the brave steed on which they fight and flee.
Not when great Cyrus on Memnonian realmsHis warriors poured; nor when, their weapons piled, (22)The Persian told the number of his host;Nor when th' avenger (23) of a brother's shameLoaded the billows with his mighty fleet,Beneath one chief so many kings made war;Nor e'er met nations varied thus in garbAnd thus in language. To Pompeius' deathThus Fortune called them: and a world in armsWitnessed his ruin. From where Afric's god,Two-horned Ammon, rears his temple, cameAll Libya ceaseless, from the wastes that touchThe bounds of Egypt to the shore that meetsThe Western Ocean. Thus, to award the prizeOf Empire at one blow, Pharsalia brought'Neath Caesar's conquering hand the banded world.
Now Caesar left the walls of trembling RomeAnd swift across the cloudy Alpine topsHe winged his march; but while all others fledFar from his path, in terror of his name,Phocaea's (24) manhood with un-Grecian faithHeld to their pledged obedience, and daredTo follow right not fate; but first of allWith olive boughs of truce before them borneThe chieftain they approach, with peaceful wordsIn hope to alter his unbending willAnd tame his fury. "Search the ancient booksWhich chronicle the deeds of Latian fame;Thou'lt ever find, when foreign foes pressed hard,Massilia's prowess on the side of Rome.And now, if triumphs in an unknown worldThou seekest, Caesar, here our arms and swordsAccept in aid: but if, in impious strifeOf civil discord, with a Roman foeThou seek'st to join in battle, weeping thenWe hold aloof: no stranger hand may touchCelestial wounds. Should all Olympus' hostsHave rushed to war, or should the giant broodAssault the stars, yet men would not presumeOr by their prayers or arms to help the gods:And, ignorant of the fortunes of the sky,Taught by the thunderbolts alone, would knowThat Jupiter supreme still held the throne.Add that unnumbered nations join the fray:Nor shrinks the world so much from taint of crimeThat civil wars reluctant swords require.But grant that strangers shun thy destiniesAnd only Romans fight — shall not the sonShrink ere he strike his father? on both sidesBrothers forbid the weapon to be hurled?The world's end comes when other hands are armed (25)Than those which custom and the gods allow.For us, this is our prayer: Leave, Caesar, hereThy dreadful eagles, keep thy hostile signsBack from our gates, but enter thou in peaceMassilia's ramparts; let our city restWithdrawn from crime, to Magnus and to theeSafe: and should favouring fate preserve our wallsInviolate, when both shall wish for peaceHere meet unarmed. Why hither turn'st thou nowThy rapid march? Nor weight nor power have weTo sway the mighty conflicts of the world.We boast no victories since our fatherlandWe left in exile: when Phocaea's fortPerished in flames, we sought another here;And here on foreign shores, in narrow boundsConfined and safe, our boast is sturdy faith;Nought else. But if our city to blockadeIs now thy mind — to force the gates, and hurlJavelin and blazing torch upon our homes —Do what thou wilt: cut off the source that fillsOur foaming river, force us, prone in thirst,To dig the earth and lap the scanty pool;Seize on our corn and leave us food abhorred:Nor shall this people shun, for freedom's sake,The ills Saguntum bore in Punic siege; (26)Torn, vainly clinging, from the shrunken breastThe starving babe shall perish in the flames.Wives at their husbands' hands shall pray their fate,And brothers' weapons deal a mutual death.Such be our civil war; not, Caesar, thine."
But Caesar's visage stern betrayed his ireWhich thus broke forth in words: "Vain is the hopeYe rest upon my march: speed though I mayTowards my western goal, time still remainsTo blot Massilia out. Rejoice, my troops!Unsought the war ye longed for meets you now:The fates concede it. As the tempests loseTheir strength by sturdy forests unopposed,And as the fire that finds no fuel dies,Even so to find no foe is Caesar's ill.When those who may be conquered will not fightThat is defeat. Degenerate, disarmedTheir gates admit me! Not content, forsooth,With shutting Caesar out they shut him in!They shun the taint of war! Such prayer for peaceBrings with it chastisement. In Caesar's ageLearn that not peace, but war within his ranksAlone can make you safe."
Fearless he turnsHis march upon the city, and beholdsFast barred the gate-ways, while in arms the youthsStand on the battlements. Hard by the wallsA hillock rose, upon the further sideExpanding in a plain of gentle slope,Fit (as he deemed it) for a camp with ditchAnd mound encircling. To a lofty heightThe nearest portion of the city rose,While intervening valleys lay between.These summits with a mighty trench to bindThe chief resolves, gigantic though the toil.But first, from furthest boundaries of his camp,Enclosing streams and meadows, to the seaTo draw a rampart, upon either handHeaved up with earthy sod; with lofty towersCrowned; and to shut Massilia from the land.
Then did the Grecian city win renownEternal, deathless, for that uncompelledNor fearing for herself, but free to actShe made the conqueror pause: and he who seizedAll in resistless course found here delay:And Fortune, hastening to lay the worldLow at her favourite's feet, was forced to stayFor these few moments her impatient hand.
Now fell the forests far and wide, despoiledOf all their giant trunks: for as the moundOn earth and brushwood stood, a timber frameHeld firm the soil, lest pressed beneath its towersThe mass might topple down. There stood a groveWhich from the earliest time no hand of manHad dared to violate; hidden from the sun (27)Its chill recesses; matted boughs entwinedPrisoned the air within. No sylvan nymphsHere found a home, nor Pan, but savage ritesAnd barbarous worship, altars horribleOn massive stones upreared; sacred with bloodOf men was every tree. If faith be givenTo ancient myth, no fowl has ever daredTo rest upon those branches, and no beastHas made his lair beneath: no tempest falls,Nor lightnings flash upon it from the cloud.Stagnant the air, unmoving, yet the leavesFilled with mysterious trembling; dripped the streamsFrom coal-black fountains; effigies of godsRude, scarcely fashioned from some fallen trunkHeld the mid space: and, pallid with decay,Their rotting shapes struck terror. Thus do menDread most the god unknown. 'Twas said that cavesRumbled with earthquakes, that the prostrate yewRose up again; that fiery tongues of flameGleamed in the forest depths, yet were the treesUnkindled; and that snakes in frequent foldsWere coiled around the trunks. Men flee the spotNor dare to worship near: and e'en the priestOr when bright Phoebus holds the height, or whenDark night controls the heavens, in anxious dreadDraws near the grove and fears to find its lord.
Spared in the former war, still dense it roseWhere all the hills were bare, and Caesar nowIts fall commanded. But the brawny armsWhich swayed the axes trembled, and the men,Awed by the sacred grove's dark majesty,Held back the blow they thought would be returned.This Caesar saw, and swift within his graspUprose a ponderous axe, which downward fellCleaving a mighty oak that towered to heaven,While thus he spake: "Henceforth let no man dreadTo fell this forest: all the crime is mine.This be your creed." He spake, and all obeyed,For Caesar's ire weighed down the wrath of Heaven.Yet ceased they not to fear. Then first the oak,Dodona's ancient boast; the knotty holm;The cypress, witness of patrician grief,The buoyant alder, laid their foliage lowAdmitting day; though scarcely through the stemsTheir fall found passage. At the sight the GaulsGrieved; but the garrison within the wallsRejoiced: for thus shall men insult the godsAnd find no punishment? Yet fortune oftProtects the guilty; on the poor aloneThe gods can vent their ire. Enough hewn down,They seize the country wagons; and the hind,His oxen gone which else had drawn the plough,Mourns for his harvest.
But the eager chiefImpatient of the combat by the wallsCarries the warfare to the furthest west.
Meanwhile a giant mound, on star-shaped wheelsConcealed, they fashion, crowned with double towersHigh as the battlements, by cause unseenSlow creeping onwards; while amazed the foe,Beheld, and thought some subterranean gustHad burst the caverns of the earth and forcedThe nodding pile aloft, and wondered soreTheir walls should stand unshaken. From its heightHissed clown the weapons; but the Grecian boltsWith greater force were on the Romans hurled;Nor by the arm unaided, for the lanceUrged by the catapult resistless rushedThrough arms and shield and flesh, and left a deathBehind, nor stayed its course: and massive stonesCast by the beams of mighty engines fell;As from the mountain top some time-worn rockAt length by winds dislodged, in all its trackSpreads ruin vast: nor crushed the life aloneForth from the body, but dispersed the limbsIn fragments undistinguished and in blood.But as protected by the armour shieldThe might of Rome drew nigh beneath the wall(The front rank with their bucklers interlacedAnd held above their helms), the missiles fellBehind their backs, nor could the toiling GreeksDeflect their engines, throwing still the boltsFar into space; but from the rampart topFlung ponderous masses down. Long as the shieldsHeld firm together, like to hail that fallsHarmless upon a roof, so long the stonesCrushed down innocuous; but as the blowsRained fierce and ceaseless and the Romans tired,Some here and there sank fainting. Next the roofAdvanced with earth besprinkled: underneathThe ram conceals his head, which, poised and swung,They dash with mighty force upon the wall,Covered themselves with mantlets. Though the headLight on the lower stones, yet as the shockFalls and refalls, from battlement to baseThe rampart soon shall topple. But by balksAnd rocky fragments overwhelmed, and flames,The roof at length gave way; and worn with toilAll spent in vain, the wearied troops withdrewAnd sought the shelter of their tents again.
Thus far to hold their battlements was allThe Greeks had hoped; now, venturing attack,With glittering torches for their arms, by nightFearless they sallied forth: nor lance they bearNor deadly bow, nor shaft; for fire aloneIs now their weapon. Through the Roman worksDriven by the wind the conflagration spread:Nor did the newness of the wood make pauseThe fury of the flames, which, fed afreshBy living torches, 'neath a smoky pallLeaped on in fiery tongues. Not wood aloneBut stones gigantic crumbling into dustDissolved beneath the heat; the mighty moundLay prone, yet in its ruin larger seemed.
Next, conquered on the land, upon the mainThey try their fortunes. On their simple craftNo painted figure-head adorned the bowsNor claimed protection from the gods; but rude,Just as they fell upon their mountain homes,The trees were knit together, and the deckGave steady foot-hold for an ocean fight.
Meantime had Caesar's squadron kept the islesNamed Stoechades (28), and Brutus (29) turret shipMastered the Rhone. Nor less the Grecian host —Boys not yet grown to war, and aged men,Armed for the conflict, with their all at stake.Nor only did they marshal for the fightShips meet for service; but their ancient keelsBrought from the dockyards. When the morning raysBroke from the waters, and the sky was clear,And all the winds were still upon the deep,Smoothed for the battle, swift on either partThe fleets essay the open; and the shipsTremble beneath the oars that urge them on,By sinewy arms impelled. Upon the wingsThat bound the Roman fleet, the larger craftWith triple and quadruple banks of oarsGird in the lesser: so they front the sea;While in their rear, shaped as a crescent moon,Liburnian galleys follow. Over allTowers Brutus' deck praetorian. Oars on oarsPropel the bulky vessel through the main,Six ranks; the topmost strike the waves afar.When such a space remained between the fleetsAs could be covered by a single stroke,Innumerable voices rose in airDrowning with resonant din the beat of oarsAnd note of trumpet summoning: and allSat on the benches and with mighty strokeSwept o'er the sea and gained the space between.Then crashed the prows together, and the keelsRebounded backwards, and unnumbered dartsOr darkened all the sky or, in their fall,The vacant ocean. As the wings grew wide,Less densely packed the fleet, some Grecian shipsPressed in between; as when with west and eastThe tide contends, this way the waves are drivenAnd that the sea; so as they plough the deepIn various lines converging, what the prowThrows up advancing, from the foemen's oarsFalls back repelled. But soon the Grecian fleetWas handier found in battle, and in flightPretended, and in shorter curves could round;More deftly governed by the guiding helm:While on the Roman side their steadier keelsGave vantage, as to men who fight on land.Then Brutus to the pilot of his ship:"Dost suffer them to range the wider deep,Contending with the foe in naval skill?Draw close the war and drive us on the prowsOf these Phocaeans." Him the pilot heard;And turned his vessel slantwise to the foe.Then was the sea all covered with the war:Then Grecian ships attacking Brutus foundTheir ruin in the stroke, and vanquished layBeside his bulwarks; while with grappling hooksOthers laid fast the foe, themselves by oarsHeld back the while. And now no outstretched armHurls forth the javelin, but hand to handWith swords they wage the fight: each from his shipLeans forward to the stroke, and falls when slainUpon a foeman's deck. Deep flows the streamOf purple slaughter to the foamy main:By piles of floating corpses are the sides,Though grappled, kept asunder. Some, half dead,Plunge in the ocean, gulping down the brineEncrimsoned with their blood; some lingering stillDraw their last struggling breath amid the wreckOf broken navies: weapons which have missedFind yet their victims, and the falling steelFails not in middle deep to deal the wound.One vessel circled by Phocaean keelsDivides her strength, and on the right and leftOn either side with equal war contends;On whose high poop while Tagus fighting grippedThe stern Phocaean, pierced his back and breastTwo fatal weapons; in the midst the steelMeets, and the blood, uncertain whence to flow,Stands still, arrested, till with double courseForth by a sudden gush it drives each dart,And sends the life abroad through either wound.
Here fated Telon also steered his ship:No pilot's hand upon an angry seaMore deftly ruled a vessel. Well he knew,Or by the sun or crescent moon, how bestTo set his canvas fitted for the breezeTo-morrow's light would bring. His rushing stemShattered a Roman vessel: but a dartHurled at the moment quivers in his breast.He falls, and in the fall his dying handDiverts the prow. Then Gyareus, in actTo climb the friendly deck, by javelin pierced,Still as he hung, by the retaining steelFast to the side was nailed.Twin brethren standA fruitful mother's pride; with different fates,But ne'er distinguished till death's savage handStruck once, and ended error: he that lived,Cause of fresh anguish to their sorrowing souls,Called ever to the weeping parents backThe image of the lost: who, as the oarsGrecian and Roman mixed their teeth oblique,Grasped with his dexter hand the Roman ship;When fell a blow that shore his arm away.So died, upon the side it held, the hand,Nor loosed its grasp in death. Yet with the woundHis noble courage rose, and maimed he daredRenew the fray, and stretched across the seaTo grasp the lost — in vain! another blowLopped arm and hand alike. Nor shield nor swordHenceforth are his. Yet even now he seeksNo sheltering hold, but with his chest advancedBefore his brother armed, he claims the fight,And holding in his breast the darts which elseHad slain his comrades, pierced with countless spears,He fails in death well earned; yet ere his endCollects his parting life, and all his strengthStrains to the utmost and with failing limbsLeaps on the foeman's deck; by weight aloneInjurious; for streaming down with goreAnd piled on high with corpses, while her sidesSounded to ceaseless blows, the fated shipLet in the greedy brine until her waysWere level with the waters — then she plungedIn whirling eddies downwards — and the mainFirst parted, then closed in upon its prey.
Full many wondrous deaths, with fates diverse,Upon the sea in that day's fight befell.Caught by a grappling-hook that missed the side,Had Lysidas been whelmed in middle deep;But by his feet his comrades dragged him back,And rent in twain he hung; nor slowly flowedAs from a wound the blood; but all his veins (30)Were torn asunder and the stream of lifeGushed o'er his limbs till lost amid the deep.From no man dying has the vital breathRushed by so wide a path; the lower trunkSuccumbed to death, but with the lungs and heartLong strove the fates, and hardly won the whole.
While, bent upon the fight, an eager crewWere gathered to the margin of their deck(Leaving the upper side as bare of foes),Their ship was overset. Beneath the keelWhich floated upwards, prisoned in the sea,And powerless by spread of arms to floatThe main, they perished. One who haply swamAmid the battle, chanced upon a deathStrange and unheard of; for two meeting prowsTransfixed his body. At the double strokeWide yawned his chest; blood issued from his mouthWith flesh commingled; and the brazen beaksResounding clashed together, by the bonesUnhindered: now they part and through the gapSwift pours the sea and drags the corse below.Next, of a shipwrecked crew, the larger partStruggling with death upon the waters, reachedA comrade bark; but when with elbows raised doThey seized upon the bulwarks and the shipRolled, nor could bear their weight, the ruthless crewHacked off their straining arms; then maimed they sankBelow the seething waves, to rise no more.
Now every dart was hurled and every spear,The soldier weaponless; yet their rage found arms:One hurls an oar; another's brawny armTugs at the twisted stern; or from the seatsThe oarsmen driving, swings a bench in air.The ships are broken for the fight. They seizeThe fallen dead and snatch the sword that slew.Nay, many from their wounds, frenzied for arms,Pluck forth the deadly steel, and pressing stillUpon their yawning sides, hurl forth the spearBack to the hostile ranks from which it came;Then ebbs their life blood forth.
But deadlier yetWas that fell force most hostile to the sea;For, thrown in torches and in sulphurous boltsFire all-consuming ran among the ships,Whose oily timbers soaked in pitch and waxInflammable, gave welcome to the flames.Nor could the waves prevail against the blazeWhich claimed as for its own the fragments borneUpon the waters. Lo! on burning plankOne hardly 'scapes destruction; one to saveHis flaming ship, gives entrance to the main.Of all the forms of death each fears the oneThat brings immediate dying: yet quails notTheir heart in shipwreck: from the waves they pluckThe fallen darts and furnishing the shipEssay the feeble stroke; and should that hopeStill fail their hand, they call the sea to aidAnd seizing in their grasp some floating foeDrag him to mutual death.
But on that dayPhoceus above all others proved his skill.Well trained was he to dive beneath the mainAnd search the waters with unfailing eye;And should an anchor 'gainst the straining ropeToo firmly bite the sands, to wrench it free.Oft in his fatal grasp he seized a foeNor loosed his grip until the life was gone.Such was his frequent deed; but this his fate:For rising, victor (as he thought), to air,Full on a keel he struck and found his death.Some, drowning, seized a hostile oar and checkedThe flying vessel; not to die in vain,Their single care; some on their vessel's sideHanging, in death, with wounded frame essayedTo check the charging prow.
Tyrrhenus highUpon the bulwarks of his ship was struckBy leaden bolt from Balearic slingOf Lygdamus; straight through his temples passedThe fated missile; and in streams of bloodForced from their seats his trembling eyeballs fell.Plunged in a darkness as of night, he thoughtThat life had left him; yet ere long he knewThe living rigour of his limbs; and cried,"Place me, O friends, as some machine of warStraight facing towards the foe; then shall my dartsStrike as of old; and thou, Tyrrhenus, spendThy latest breath, still left, upon the fight:So shalt thou play, not wholly dead, the partThat fits a soldier, and the spear that strikesThy frame, shall miss the living." Thus he spake,And hurled his javelin, blind, but not in vain;For Argus, generous youth of noble blood,Below the middle waist received the spearAnd failing drave it home. His aged sireFrom furthest portion of the conquered shipBeheld; than whom in prime of manhood none,More brave in battle: now no more he fought,Yet did the memory of his prowess stirPhocaean youths to emulate his fame.Oft stumbling o'er the benches the old man hastesTo reach his boy, and finds him breathing still.No tear bedewed his cheek, nor on his breastOne blow he struck, but o'er his eyes there fellA dark impenetrable veil of mistThat blotted out the day; nor could he moreDiscern his luckless Argus. He, who sawHis parent, raising up his drooping headWith parted lips and silent features asksA father's latest kiss, a father's handTo close his dying eyes. But soon his sire,Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless griefPossessed his spirit, "This short space," he cried,"I lose not, which the cruel gods have given,But die before thee. Grant thy sorrowing sireForgiveness that he fled thy last embrace.Not yet has passed thy life blood from the woundNor yet is death upon thee — still thou may'st (31)Outlive thy parent." Thus he spake, and seizedThe reeking sword and drave it to the hilt,Then plunged into the deep, with headlong bound,To anticipate his son: for this he fearedA single form of death should not suffice.
Now gave the fates their judgment, and in doubtNo longer was the war: the Grecian fleetIn most part sunk; — some ships by Romans oaredConveyed the victors home: in headlong flightSome sought the yards for shelter. On the strandWhat tears of parents for their offspring slain,How wept the mothers! 'Mid the pile confusedOfttimes the wife sought madly for her spouseAnd chose for her last kiss some Roman slain;While wretched fathers by the blazing pyresFought for the dead. But Brutus thus at seaFirst gained a triumph for great Caesar's arms. (32)
(1) Reading adscenso, as Francken (Leyden, 1896). (2) So: "The rugged Charon fainted, And asked a navy, rather than a boat, To ferry over the sad world that came." (Ben Jonson, "Catiline", Act i., scene 1.) (3) I take "tepido busto" as the dative case; and, as referring to Pompeius, doomed, like Cornelia's former husband, to defeat and death. (4) It may be remarked that, in B.C. 46, Caesar, after the battle of Thapsus, celebrated four triumphs: for his victories over the Gauls, Ptolemaeus, Pharnaces, and Juba. (5) Near Aricia. (See Book VI., 92.) (6) He held no office at the time. (7) The tribune Ateius met Crassus as he was setting out from Rome and denounced him with mysterious and ancient curses. (Plutarch, "Crassus", 16.) (8) That is, the liberty remaining to the people is destroyed by speaking freely to the tyrant. (9) That is, the gold offered by Pyrrhus, and refused by Fabricius, which, after the final defeat of Pyrrhus, came into the possession of the victors. (10) See Plutarch, "Cato", 34, 39. (11) It was generally believed that the river Alpheus of the Peloponnesus passed under the sea and reappeared in the fountain of Arethusa at Syracuse. A goblet was said to have been thrown into the river in Greece, and to have reappeared in the Sicilian fountain. See the note in Grote's "History of Greece", Edition 1863, vol. ii., p. 8.) (12) As a serpent. XXXXX is the Greek word for serpent. (13) Conf. Book VI., 473. (14) The Centaurs. (15) Probably the flute thrown away by Pallas, which Marsyas picked up and then challenged Apollo to a musical contest. For his presumption the god had him flayed alive. (16) That is, the Little Bear, by which the Phoenicians steered, while the Greeks steered by the Great Bear. (See Sir G. Lewis's "Astronomy of the Ancients", p. 447.) In Book VI., line 193, the pilot declares that he steers by the pole star itself, which is much nearer to the Little than to the Great Bear, and is (I believe) reckoned as one of the stars forming the group known by that name. He may have been a Phoenician. (17) He did not in fact reach the Ganges, as is well known. (18) Perhaps in allusion to the embassy from India to Augustus in B.C. 19, when Zarmanochanus, an Indian sage, declaring that he had lived in happiness and would not risk the chance of a reverse, burnt himself publicly. (Merivale, chapter xxxiv.) (19) That is to say, looking towards the west; meaning that they came from the other side of the equator. (See Book IX., 630.) (20) See Book I., 117. (21) A race called Heniochi, said to be descended from the charioteer of Castor and Pollux. (22) "Effusis telis". I have so taken this difficult expression. Herodotus (7, 60) says the men were numbered in ten thousands by being packed close together and having a circle drawn round them. After the first ten thousand had been so measured a fence was put where the circle had been, and the subsequent ten thousands were driven into the enclosure. It is not unlikely that they piled their weapons before being so measured, and Lucan's account would then be made to agree with that of Herodotus. Francken, on the other hand, quotes a Scholiast, who says that each hundredth man shot off an arrow. (23) Agamemnon. (24) Massilia (Marseilles) was founded from Phocaea in Asia Minor about 600 B.C. Lucan (line 393) appears to think that the founders were fugitives from their city when it was stormed by the Persians sixty years later. See Thucydides I. 13; Grote, "History of Greece", chapter xxii. (25) A difficult passage, of which this seems to be the meaning least free from objection. (26) Murviedro of the present day. Its gallant defence against Hannibal has been compared to that of Saragossa against the French. (27) See note to Book I., 506. (28) Three islands off the coast near Toulon, now called the Isles d'Hyeres. (29) This was Decimus Brutus, an able and trusted lieutenant of Caesar, who made him one of his heirs in the second degree. He, however, joined the conspiracy, and it was he who on the day of the murder induced Caesar to go to the Senate House. Less than two years later, after the siege of Perasia, he was deserted by his army, taken and put to death. (30) According to some these were the lines which Lucan recited while bleeding to death; according to others, those at Book ix., line 952. (31) It was regarded as the greatest of misfortunes if a child died before his parent. (32) It was Brutus who gained the naval victory over the Veneti some seven years before; the first naval fight, that we know of, fought in the Atlantic Ocean.
But in the distant regions of the earthFierce Caesar warring, though in fight he dealtNo baneful slaughter, hastened on the doomTo swift fulfillment. There on Magnus' sideAfranius and Petreius (1) held command,Who ruled alternate, and the rampart guardObeyed the standard of each chief in turn.There with the Romans in the camp were joinedAsturians (2) swift, and Vettons lightly armed,And Celts who, exiled from their ancient home,Had joined "Iberus" to their former name.Where the rich soil in gentle slope ascendsAnd forms a modest hill, Ilerda (3) stands,Founded in ancient days; beside her glidesNot least of western rivers, SicorisOf placid current, by a mighty archOf stone o'erspanned, which not the winter floodsShall overwhelm. Upon a rock hard byWas Magnus' camp; but Caesar's on a hill,Rivalling the first; and in the midst a stream.Here boundless plains are spread beyond the rangeOf human vision; Cinga girds them inWith greedy waves; forbidden to contendWith tides of ocean; for that larger floodWho names the land, Iberus, sweeps alongThe lesser stream commingled with his own.
Guiltless of war, the first day saw the hostsIn long array confronted; standard roseOpposing standard, numberless; yet noneEssayed attack, in shame of impious strife.One day they gave their country and her laws.But Caesar, when from heaven fell the night,Drew round a hasty trench; his foremost rankWith close array concealing those who wrought.Then with the morn he bids them seize the hillWhich parted from the camp Ilerda's walls,And gave them safety. But in fear and shameOn rushed the foe and seized the vantage ground,First in the onset. From the height they heldTheir hopes of conquest; but to Caesar's menTheir hearts by courage stirred, and their good swordsPromised the victory. Burdened up the ridgeThe soldier climbed, and from the opposing steepBut for his comrade's shield had fallen back;None had the space to hurl the quivering lanceUpon the foeman: spear and pike made sureThe failing foothold, and the falchion's edgeHewed out their upward path. But Caesar sawRuin impending, and he bade his horseBy circuit to the left, with shielded flank,Hold back the foe. Thus gained his troops retreat,For none pressed on them; and the victor chiefs,Forced to withdrawal, gained the day in vain.
Henceforth the fitful changes of the yearGoverned the fates and fashioned out the war.For stubborn frost still lay upon the land,And northern winds, controlling all the sky,Prisoned the rain in clouds; the hills were nippedWith snow unmelted, and the lower plainsBy frosts that fled before the rising sun;And all the lands that stretched towards the skyWhich whelms the sinking stars, 'neath wintry heavensWere parched and arid. But when Titan nearedThe Ram, who, backward gazing on the stars,Bore perished Helle, (4) and the hours were heldIn juster balance, and the day prevailed,The earliest faded moon which in the vaultHung with uncertain horn, from eastern windsReceived a fiery radiance; whose blastsForced Boreas back: and breaking on the mistsWithin his regions, to the OccidentDrave all that shroud Arabia and the landOf Ganges; all that or by Caurus (5) borneBedim the Orient sky, or rising sunsPermit to gather; pitiless flamed the dayBehind them, while in front the wide expanseWas driven; nor on mid earth sank the cloudsThough weighed with vapour. North and south alikeWere showerless, for on Calpe's rock aloneAll moisture gathered; here at last, forbiddenTo pass that sea by Zephyr's bounds contained,And by the furthest belt (6) of heaven, they pause,In masses huge convolved; the widest breadthOf murky air scarce holds them, which dividesEarth from the heavens; till pressed by weight of skyIn densest volume to the earth they pourTheir cataracts; no lightning could endureSuch storm unquenched: though oft athwart the gloomGleamed its pale fire. Meanwhile a watery archScarce touched with colour, in imperfect shapeEmbraced the sky and drank the ocean waves,So rendering to the clouds their flood outpoured.
And now were thawed the Pyrenaean snowsWhich Titan had not conquered; all the rocksWere wet with melting ice; accustomed springsFound not discharge; and from the very banksEach stream received a torrent. Caesar's armsAre shipwrecked on the field, his tottering campSwims on the rising flood; the trench is filledWith whirling waters; and the plain no moreYields corn or kine; for those who forage seek,Err from the hidden furrow. Famine knocks(First herald of o'erwhelming ills to come),Fierce at the door; and while no foe blockadesThe soldier hungers; fortunes buy not nowThe meanest measure; yet, alas! is foundThe fasting peasant, who, in gain of gold,Will sell his little all! And now the hillsAre seen no more; and rivers whelmed in one;Beasts with their homes sweep downwards; and the tideRepels the foaming torrent. Nor did nightAcknowledge Phoebus' rise, for all the skyFelt her dominion and obscured its face,And darkness joined with darkness. Thus doth lieThe lowest earth beneath the snowy zoneAnd never-ending winters, where the skyIs starless ever, and no growth of herbSprouts from the frozen earth; but standing iceTempers (7) the stars which in the middle zoneKindle their flames. Thus, Father of the world,And thou, trident-god who rul'st the seaSecond in place, Neptunus, load the airWith clouds continual; forbid the tide,Once risen, to return: forced by thy wavesLet rivers backward run in different course,Thy shores no longer reaching; and the earth,Shaken, make way for floods. Let Rhine o'erflowAnd Rhone their banks; let torrents spread afieldUnmeasured waters: melt Rhipaean snows:Spread lakes upon the land, and seas profound,And snatch the groaning world from civil war.
Thus for a little moment Fortune triedHer darling son; then smiling to his partReturned; and gained her pardon for the pastBy greater gifts to come. For now the airHad grown more clear, and Phoebus' warmer raysCoped with the flood and scattered all the cloudsIn fleecy masses; and the reddening eastProclaimed the coming day; the land resumedIts ancient marks; no more in middle airThe moisture hung, but from about the starsSank to the depths; the forest glad uprearedIts foliage; hills again emerged to viewAnd 'neath the warmth of day the plains grew firm.
When Sicoris kept his banks, the shallop lightOf hoary willow bark they build, which bentOn hides of oxen, bore the weight of manAnd swam the torrent. Thus on sluggish PoVenetians float; and on th' encircling sea (8)Are borne Britannia's nations; and when NileFills all the land, are Memphis' thirsty reedsShaped into fragile boats that swim his waves.The further bank thus gained, they haste to curveThe fallen forest, and to form the archBy which imperious Sicoris shall be spanned.Yet fearing he might rise in wrath anew,Not on the nearest marge they placed the beams,But in mid-field. Thus the presumptuous streamThey tame with chastisement, parting his floodIn devious channels out; and curb his pride.
Petreius, when he saw that Caesar's fatesSwept all before them, left Ilerda's steep,His trust no longer in the Roman world;And sought for strength amid those distant tribes,Who, loving death, rush in upon the foe, (9)And win their conquests at the point of sword.But in the dawn, when Caesar saw the campStand empty on the hill, "To arms!" he cried:"Seek not the bridge nor ford: plunge in the streamAnd breast the foaming torrent." Then did hopeOf coming battle find for them a wayWhich they had shunned in flight.
Their arms regained,Their streaming limbs they cherished till the bloodCoursed in their veins; until the shadows fellShort on the sward, and day was at the height.Then dashed the horsemen on, and held the foe'Twixt flight and battle. In the plain aroseTwo rocky heights: from each a loftier ridgeOf hills ranged onwards, sheltering in their midstA hollow vale, whose deep and winding pathsWere safe from warfare; which, when Caesar saw:That if Petreius held, the war must passTo lands remote by savage tribes possessed;"Speed on," he cried, "and meet their flight in front;Fierce be your frown and battle in your glance:No coward's death be theirs; but as they fleePlunge in their breasts the sword." They seize the passAnd place their camp. Short was the span betweenTh' opposing sentinels; with eager eyesUndimmed by space, they gazed on brothers, sons,Or friends and fathers; and within their soulsThey grasped the impious horror of the war.Yet for a little while no voice was heard,For fear restrained; by waving blade aloneOr gesture, spake they; but their passion grew,And broke all discipline; and soon they leapedThe hostile rampart; every hand outstretched (10)Embraced the hand of foeman, palm in palm;One calls by name his neighhour, one his host,Another with his schoolmate talks againOf olden studies: he who in the campFound not a comrade, was no son of Rome.Wet are their arms with tears, and sobs break inUpon their kisses; each, unstained by blood,Dreads what he might have done. Why beat thy breast?Why, madman, weep? The guilt is thine aloneTo do or to abstain. Dost fear the manWho takes his title to be feared from thee?When Caesar's trumpets sound the call to armsHeed not the summons; when thou seest advanceHis standards, halt. The civil Fury thusShall fold her wings; and in a private robeCaesar shall love his kinsman.
Holy PeaceThat sway'st the world; thou whose eternal bandsSustain the order of material things,Come, gentle Concord! (11) these our times do nowFor good or evil destiny controlThe coming centuries! Ah, cruel fate!Now have the people lost their cloak for crime:Their hope of pardon. They have known their kin.Woe for the respite given by the godsMaking more black the hideous guilt to come!
Now all was peaceful, and in either campSweet converse held the soldiers; on the grassThey place the meal; on altars built of turfPour out libations from the mingled cup;On mutual couch with stories of their fights,They wile the sleepless hours in talk away;"Where stood the ranks arrayed, from whose right handThe quivering lance was sped:" and while they boastOr challenge, deeds of prowess in the war,Faith was renewed and trust. Thus made the fatesTheir doom complete, and all the crimes to be;Grew with their love.
For when Petreius knewThe treaties made; himself and all his campSold to the foe; he stirs his guard to workAn impious slaughter: the defenceless foeFlings headlong forth: and parts the fond embraceBy stroke of weapon and in streams of blood.And thus in words of wrath, to stir the war:"Of Rome forgetful, to your faith forsworn!And could ye not with victory gained return,Restorers of her liberty, to Rome?Lose then! but losing call not Caesar lord.While still your swords are yours, with blood to shedIn doubtful battle, while the fates are hid,Will you like cravens to your master bearDoomed eagles? Will you ask upon your kneesThat Caesar deign to treat his slaves alike,And spare, forsooth, like yours, your leaders' lives? (12)Nay! never shall our safety be the priceOf base betrayal! Not for boon of lifeWe wage a civil war. This name of peaceDrags us to slavery. Ne'er from depths of earth,Fain to withdraw her wealth, should toiling menDraw store of iron; ne'er entrench a town;Ne'er should the war-horse dash into the frayNor fleet with turret bulwarks breast the main,If freedom for dishonourable peaceCould thus be bought. The foe are pledged to fightBy their own guilt. But you, who still might hopeFor pardon if defeated — what can matchYour deep dishonour? Shame upon your peace.Thou callest, Magnus, ignorant of fate,From all the world thy powers, and dost entreatMonarchs of distant realms, while haply hereWe in our treaties bargain for thy life!"
Thus did he stir their minds and rouse anewThe love of impious battle. So when beastsGrown strange to forests, long confined in dens,Their fierceness lose, and learn to bear with man;Once should they taste of blood, their thirsty jawsSwell at the touch, and all the ancient rageComes back upon them till they hardly spareTheir keeper. Thus they rush on every crime:And blows which dealt at chance, and in the nightOf battle, had brought hatred on the gods,Though blindly struck, their recent vows of loveMade monstrous, horrid. Where they lately spreadThe mutual couch and banquet, and embracedSome new-found friend, now falls the fatal blowUpon the self-same breast; and though at firstGroaning at the fell chance, they drew the sword;Hate rises as they strike, the murderous armConfirms the doubtful will: with monstrous joyThrough the wild camp they smite their kinsmen down;And carnage raged unchecked; and each man strove,Proud of his crime, before his leader's faceTo prove his shamelessness of guilt.
But thou,Caesar, though losing of thy best, dost knowThe gods do favour thee. Thessalian fieldsGave thee no better fortune, nor the wavesThat lave Massilia; nor on Pharos' mainDidst thou so triumph. By this crime aloneThou from this moment of the better causeShalt be the Captain.
Since the troops were stainedWith foulest slaughter thus, their leaders shunnedAll camps with Caesar's joined, and sought againIlerda's lofty walls; but Caesar's horseSeized on the plain and forced them to the hillsReluctant. There by steepest trench shut in,He cuts them from the river, nor permitsTheir circling ramparts to enclose a spring.