---
title: "Pharsalia · De Bello Civili"
author: "Lucan"
translator: "Sir Edward Ridley"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 13 of 21
url: https://scriptura.si/works/lucan-pharsalia/13/
cite: "Lucan, tr. Sir Edward Ridley, Pharsalia · De Bello Civili, section 13. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/lucan-pharsalia/13/"
---

# Pharsalia · De Bello Civili

*Lucan, tr. Sir Edward Ridley*

The civil war between Caesar and Pompey as dark epic, written under Nero by a poet he forced to die at twenty-five.

> Latin: ed. Karl Hermann Weise, from the Perseus Digital Library (canonical-latinLit, phi0917.phi001, CC BY-SA 4.0).

> English: Sir Edward Ridley, from the Perseus Digital Library (phi0917.phi001.perseus-eng2). Notes are not included.

> Rows follow the references the two texts share (line numbers), cut where both reach the end of a sentence.

## 13. Book VII · lines 1–459

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/lucan-pharsalia/13/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/lucan-pharsalia/13/#p-N

[¶0] NE'ER to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.
Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes whom swift Iberus girds,
And when Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
He sat triumphant for the west subdued,
In pure white gown, and heard the Senate cheer;
No less majestic as a Roman knight
Than had the purple robe adorned his car.
Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul,
Shunning the future, wooed the happy past;
Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed
That which was not to be, by doubtful forms
Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade
Return to Italy, this glimpse of Rome
Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,
Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call
Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night
Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war
Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou
The poor man's happiness of sleep regain?
Happy if thus, e'en thus, thy Rome could see
Once more her captain! Would the gods had given
To thee and to thy country one day yet
To reap the latest fruit of such a love:
Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on
As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;
She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee
Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed
Such evil destiny, that she should lose
The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.
Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,
And child unbidden; women torn their hair
And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead.
E'en now though trembling at the victor's sword,
Though cruel Caesar herald thy defeat,
Yet shall they grieve, while at the Thunderer's throne
They offer incense and the laurel wreath.
Ah, wretched fate! In silence must they groan;
Nor in that theatre which heard thy praise
Proclaim their sorrow for Pompeius dead.
The stars had fled before the growing morn,
When eager voices (as the fates drew on
The world to ruin) round Pompeius' tent
Ask for the signal. What! shall those condemned
To die ere fall of eve, provoke the hour
Of hastening death, demand the fatal doom
Their own, their country's? 'Magnus fears,' they cry,
He's patient of his kinsman, slow to strike,
'And fondly holds beneath his sway the world;
'So dreads a peace.' And kings from Orient lands,
And peoples, eager for their distant homes,
Already murmured at the lengthy war.
Thus has it pleased the gods, when woe impends
On guilty men, to make them seem its cause.
We court disaster, crave the fatal sword.
Of Magnus' camp Pharsalia was the prayer;
For Tullius, of all the sons of Rome
Chief orator, beneath whose civil rule
Fierce Catiline at the peace-compelling axe
Trembled and fled, arose, to Magnus' ear
Bearing the voice of all. To him was war
Grown hateful, and he longed once more to hear
The Senate's plaudits; and with eloquent lips
He lent persuasion to the weaker cause.
Fortune, Pompeius, for her gifts to thee
'Asks this one boon, that thou shouldst use her now.
Here at thy feet thy leading captains lie;
' And here thy monarchs, and a suppliant world
' Entreats thee prostrate for thy kinsman's fall.
' So long shall Caesar plunge the world in war?
' Swift was thy tread when these proud nations fell;
' How deep their shame, and justly, should delay
'Now mar thy conquests! Where thy trust in Fate,
Thy fervour where? Ingrate! Dost dread the gods,
' Or think they favour not the Senate's cause?
' Thy troops unbidden shall the standards seize
' And conquer; thou in shame be forced to win.
' If at the Senate's orders and for us
' The war is waged, then give to us the right
' To choose the battle-field. Why dost thou keep
' From Caesar's throat the swords of all the world?
' The weapon quivers in the eager hand:
' Scarce one awaits the signal. Strike at once,
' Or without thee the trumpets sound the frav.
' Art thou the Senate's comrade or her lord?
' We wait your answer.'
But Pompeius groaned;
His mind was adverse, but he felt the fates
Opposed his wish, and knew the hand divine.

> Latin: Segnior Oceano, quam lex aeterna vocabat,
Luctificus Titan numquam magis aethera contra
Egit equos, currumque, polo rapiente, retorsit:
Defectusque pati voluit, raptaeque labores
Lucis: et adtraxit nubes, non pabula flammis,
Sed ne Thessalico purus luceret in orbe.
At nox, felicis Magno pars ultima vitae,
Sollicitos vana decepit imagine somnos
Nam Pompeiani visus sibi sede theatri
Innumeram effigiem Romanae cernere plebis,
Adtollique suum laetis ad sidera nomen
Vocibus, et plausu cuneos certare sonantes.
Qualis erat populi facies clamorque faventis,
Olim cum iuvenis primique aetate triumphi
Post domitas gentes, quas torrens ambit Iberus,
Et quaecumque fugax Sertorius impulit arma,
Vespere pacato, pura venerabilis aeque
Quam currus ornante toga, plaudente senatu,
Sedit adhuc Romanus eques. Seu fine bonorum
Anxia venturis ad tempora laeta refugit,
Sive per ambages solitas contraria visis
Vaticinata quies, magni tulit omina planctus.
Seu vetito patrias ultra tibi cernere sedes,
Sic Romam Fortuna dedit. Ne rumpite somnos,
Castrorum vigiles; nullas tuba verberet aura
Crastina dira quies, et imagine moesta diurna
Undique funestas acies feret, undique bellum.
Unde pares somnos populi, noctemque beatam?
O felix, si te vel sic tua Roma videret.
Donassent utinam superi patriaeque tibique
Unum, Magne, diem, quo fati certus uterque
Extremum tanti fructum caperetis amoris.
Tu velut Ausonia vadis moriturus in urbe;
Illa, rati semper de te sibi conscia voti,
Hoc scelus haud umquam fatis haerere putavit,
Sic se dilecti tumulum quoque perdere Magni.
Te mixto flesset luctu iuvenisque senexque,
Iniussusque puer: lacerasset, crine soluto,
Pectora femineum, ceu Bruti funere, vulgus.
Nunc quoque, tela licet paveant victoris iniqui,
Nuntiet ipse licet Caesar tua funera, flebunt:
Sed dum tura ferunt, dum laurea serta Tonanti
O miseri, quorum gemitus edere dolorem,
Qui te non pleno pariter planxere theatro!
Vicerat astra iubar, cum mixto murmure turba
Castrorum fremuit, fatisque trahentibus orbem,
Signa petit pugnae. Miseri pars maxima vulgi,
Non totum visura diem, tentoria circum
Ipsa ducis queritur, magnoque accensa tumultu
Mortis vicinae properantes admovet horas.
Dira subit rabies: sua quisque ac publica fata
Praecipitare cupit: segnis pavidusque vocatur,
Ac nimium patiens soceri Pompeius, et orbis
Indulgens regno, qui tot simul undique gentes
Iuris habere sui vellet, pacemque timeret.
Nec non et reges populique queruntur Eoi
Bella trahi, patriaque procul tellure teneri
Hoc placet, o superi, cum vobis vertere cuncta
Propositum, nostris erroribus addere crimen?
Cladibus irruimus, nocituraque poscimus arma:
In Pompeianis votum est Pharsalia castris.
Cunctorum voces Romani maximus auctor
Tullius eloquii, cuius sub iure togaque
Pacificas saevus tremuit Catilina secures,
Pertulit, iratus bellis, cum rostra forumque
Optaret, passus tam longa silentia miles.
Addidit invalidae robur facundia caussae:
Hoc pro tot meritis solum te, Magne, precatur,
Uti se Fortuna velis: proceresque tuorum
Castrorum, regesque tui cum supplice mundo
Adfusi, vinci socerum patiare, rogamus.
Humano generi tam longo tempore bellum
Caesar erit? Merito, Pompeium vincere lente,
Gentibus indignum est a transcurrente subactis.
Quo tibi fervor abit? aut quo fiducia fati?
De superis, ingrate, times? caussamque senatus
Credere dis dubitas? Ipsae tua signa revellent,
Prosilientque acies. Pudeat vicisse coactum.
Si duce te iusso, si nobis bella geruntur,
Sit iuris, quocumque velint concurrere campo.
Quid mundi gladios a sanguine Caesaris arces?
Vibrant tela manus: vix signa morantia quisquam
Exspectat: propera, ne te tua classica linquant.
Scire senatus avet, miles te, Magne, sequatur,
An comes. Ingemuit rector, sensitque deorum
Esse dolos, et fata suae contraria menti.

[¶1] 'Since all desire it, and the fates prevail,
' So let it be; your leader now no more,
' I share the labours of the battle-field.
' Let Fortune roll the nations of the earth
' In one red ruin; myriads of mankind
' See their last sun to-day. Yet, Rome, I swear,
' This day of blood was forced upon thy son.
' Without a wound, the prizes of the war
' Might have been thine, and he who broke the peace
' In peace forgotten. Whence this lust for crime?
' Shall bloodless victories in civil war
' Be shunned, not sought? We've ravished from our foe
All boundless seas, and land; his starving troops
' Have snatched earth's crop half-grown, in vain attempt
' Their hunger to appease; they prayed for death,
' Sought for the sword-thrust, and within our ranks
' Were fain to mix their life-blood with your own.
' Much of the war is done: the conscript youth
' Whose heart beats high, who burns to join the fray
' (Though men fight hard in terror of defeat),
' The shock of onset need no longer fear.
' Bravest is he who promptly meets the ill
' When fate commands it and the moment comes,
Yet brooks delay, in prudence; and shall we,
' Our happy state enjoying, risk it all?
' Trust to the sword the fortunes of the world?
' Not victory, but battle, ye demand.
' Do thou, O Fortune, of the Roman state
' Who mad'st Pompeius guardian, from his hands
' Take back the charge grown weightier, and thyself
' Commit its safety to the chance of war.· Nor blame nor glory shall be mine to-day.
'Thy prayers unjustly, Caesar, have prevailed:
' We fight! What wickedness, what woes on men,
' Destruction on what realms this dawn shall bring!
' Crimson with Roman blood yon stream shall run.
' Would that (without the ruin of our cause)
' The first fell bolt hurled on this cursed day
' Might strike me lifeless! Victory to me
' Were not more joyful, for this battle brings
' A name of pity or a name of hate.
' The loser bears the burden of defeat;
' The victor wins, but conquest is a crime.'
Thus to the soldiers, burning for the fray,
He yields, forbidding, and throws down the reins.
So may a sailor give the winds control
Upon his barque, which, driven by the seas,
Bears him an idle burden. Now the camp
Hums with impatience, and the brave man's heart
With beats tumultuous throbs against his breast;
And all the host had standing in their looks
The paleness of the death that was to come.
On that day's fight 'twas manifest that Rome
And all the future destinies of man
Hung trembling; and by weightier dread possessed,
They knew not danger. Who would fear for self
Should ocean rise and whelm the mountain tops,
And sun and sky descend upon the earth
In universal chaos? Every mind
Is bent upon Pompeius, and on Rome.
They trust no sword until its deadly point
Glows on the sharpening stone; no lance will serve
Till straightened for the fray; each bow is strung
Anew, and arrows chosen for their work
Fill all the quivers; horsemen try the curb
And fit the bridle rein and whet the spur.
If toils divine with human may compare,
'Twas thus, when Phlegra bore the giant crew,
In Etna's furnace glowed the sword of Mars,
Neptunus' trident felt the flame once more;
And great Apollo after Python slain
Sharpened his darts afresh: on Pallas' shield
Was spread anew the dread Medusa's hair;
And for the battle in Pallene's fields
The Cyclops forged new thunderbolts for Jove.
Yet Fortune failed not, as they sought the field,
In various presage of the ills to come;
All heaven opposed their march: portentous fire
In columns filled the plain, and torches blazed:
And thirsty whirlwinds mixed with meteor bolts
Smote on them as they strode, whose sulphurous flames
Perplexed the vision. Crests were struck from helms;
The melted sword-blade flowed upon the hilt:
The spear ran liquid, and the hurtful steel
Smoked with a sulphur that had come from heaven.
Nay, more, the standards, hid by swarms of bees
Innumerable, weighed the bearer down,
Scarce lifted from the earth; bedewed with tears;
No more of Rome the standards, or her state.
And from the altar fled the frantic bull
To fields afar; nor was a victim found
To grace the sacrifice of coming doom.
But thou, O Caesar, to what gods of ill
Didst thou appeal? What furies didst thou call,
What powers of madness and what Stygian Kings
Whelmed in th' abyss of hell? Didst favour gain
By sacrifice in this thine impious war?
Strange sights were seen; or caused by hands divine
Or due to fearful fancy. Haemus' top
Plunged headlong in the valley, Pindus met
With high Olympus, while at Ossa's feet
Red ran Boebeis, and Pharsalia's field
Gave warlike voices as in depth of night.
Now darkness came upon their wondering gaze,
Now daylight pale and wan, their helmets wreathed
In pallid mist; the spirits of their sires
Hovered in air, and shades of kindred dead
Passed flitting through the gloom. Yet had the host,
Conscious of guilty prayers, and of the hope
To do to death their brothers and their sires,
One solace: that they found in hearts amazed
With horrors, and in earth and air distraught,
A happy omen of the crimes to come.
Was't strange that peoples whom their latest day
Of happy life awaited (if the mind
Of man foreknows) should tremble with affright?
Romans who dwelt by far Araxes' stream,
And Tyrian Gades, in whatever clime,
'Neath every sky, struck by mysterious dread
Were plunged in sorrow-yet rebuked the tear,
For yet they knew not of the fatal day.
Thus on Euganean hills where sulphurous fumes
Disclose the rise of Aponus from earth,
And where Timavus broadens in the meads,
An augur spake: 'The last great day is come;
' To-day in battle meet the impious arms
' Of Caesar and of Magnus.' Or he saw
The bolts of Jupiter, predicting ill;
Or else the sky discordant o'er the space
Of heaven, from pole to pole; or else perchance
The sun was sad and misty in the height
And told the battle by his wasted beams.
By Nature's fiat that Thessalian day
Passed not as others; if the gifted sense
Of reading portents had been given to all,
All men had known Pharsalia. Gods of heaven!
How do ye mark the great ones of the earth!
The world gives tokens of their weal or woe;
The sky records their fates: in distant climes
To future races shall their tale be told,
Or by the fame alone of mighty deeds
Had in remembrance, or by this my care
Borne through the centuries: and men shall read
In hope and fear the story of the war
And breathless pray, as though it were to come,
For that long since accomplished; and for thee
E'en then, Pompeius, shall that prayer be given.

> Latin: Si placet hoc, inquit, cunctis, si milite Magno,
Non duce, tempus eget, nil ultra fata morabor.
Involvat populos una Fortuna ruina,
Sitque hominum magnae lux ista novissima parti.
Testor, Roma, tamen: Magnum, quo cuncta perirent,
Accepisse diem. Potuit tibi vulnere nullo
Stare labor belli: potuit sine caede subactum,
Captivumque ducem violatae tradere paci.
Quis furor, o caeci, scelerum? Civilia bella
Gesturi metuunt, ne non cum sanguine vincant?
Abstulimus terras, exclusimus aequore toto,
Ad praematuras segetum ieiuna rapinas
Agmina compulimus, votumque effecimus hosti,
Ut mallet sterni gladiis, mortesque suorum
Permiscere meis. Belli pars magna peracta est
His, quibus effectum est, ne pugnam tiro paveret:
Si modo virtutis stimulis iraeque calore
Signa petunt. Multos in summa pericula misit
Venturi timor ipse mali. Fortissimus ille est,
Qui, promptus metuenda pati, si cominus instent,
Et differre potest. Placet haec tam prospera rerum
Tradere Fortunae? gladio permittere mundi
Discrimen? Pugnare ducem quam vincere, malunt.
Res mihi Romanas dederas, Fortuna, regendas:
Accipe maiores, et caeco in Marte tuere.
Pompeii nec crimen erit nec gloria bellum.
Vincis apud superos votis me, Caesar, iniquis:
Pugnatur. Quantum scelerum, quantumque malorum
In populos lux ista feret! quot regna iacebunt!
Sanguine Romano quam turbidus ibit Enipeus!
Prima velim caput hoc funesti lancea belli,
Si sine momento rerum partisque ruina
Casurum est, feriat: neque enim victoria Magno
Laetior. Aut populis invisum, hac clade peracta,
Aut hodie Pompeius erit miserabile nomen.
Omne malum victi, quod sors feret ultima rerum,
Omne nefas victoris erit. Sic fatur, et arma
Permittit populis, frenosque furentibus ira
Laxat: et ut victus violento navita Coro
Dat regimen ventis, ignavumque arte relicta
Puppis onus trahitur. Trepido confusa tumultu
Castra fremunt, animique truces sua pectora pulsant
Ictibus incertis. Multorum pallor in ore
Mortis venturae est, faciesque simillima fato.
Advenisse diem, qui fatum rebus in aevum
Conderet humanis, et quaeri, Roma quid esset,
Illo Marte, palam est. Sua quisque pericula nescit,
Adtonitus maiore metu. Quis litora ponto
Obruta, quis summis cernens in montibus aequor,
Aetheraque in terras, deiecto sole, cadentem,
Tot rerum finem, timeat sibi? Non vacat ullos
Pro se ferre metus: urbi Magnoque timetur.
Nec gladiis habuere fidem, nisi cautibus asper
Exarsit mucro. Tunc omnis lancea saxo
Erigitur: tendant nervis melioribus arcus:
Cura fuit lectis pharetras implere sagittis.
Auget eques stimulos, frenorumque aptat habenas.
Si liceat superis hominum conferre labores,
Non aliter, Phlegra rabidos tollente Gigantas,
Martius incaluit Siculis incudibus ensis:
Et rubuit flammis iterum Neptunia cuspis,
Spiculaque extenso Paean Pythone recoxit,
Pallas Gorgoneos diffudit in aegida crines,
Pallenaea Iovi mutavit fulmina Cyclops.
Non tamen abstinuit venturos prodere casus
Per varias Fortuna notas. Nam Thessala rura
Cum peterent, totus venientibus obstitit aether:
[Inque oculis hominum fregerunt fulmina nubes:]
Adversasque faces, immensoque igne columnas,
Et trabibus mixtis avidos Pythonas aquarum
Detulit, atque oculos, ingesto fulgure, clausit.
Excussit cristas galeis capulosque solutis
Perfudit gladiis, ereptaque pila liquavit,
Aethereoque nocens fumavit sulfure ferrum.
Nec non innumero cooperta examine signa,
Vixque revulsa solo, maiori pondere pressum
Signiferi mersere caput, rorantia fletu,
Usque ad Thessaliam Romana et publica, signa-
Admotus superis discussa fugit ab ara
Taurus, et Emathios praeceps se iecit in agros;
Nullaque funestis inventa est victima sacris.
At tu, quos scelerum superos, quas rite vocasti
Eumenidas, Caesar? Stygii quae numina regni,
Infernumque nefas, et mersos nocte furores?
Impia tam saeve gesturus bella litasti.
Iam (dubium, monstrisne deum, nimione pavori
Crediderint) multis concurrere visus Olympo
Pindus, et abruptis mergi convallibus Aemus,
Edere nocturnas belli Pharsalia voces,
Ire per Ossaeam rapidus Boebeida sanguis:
Inque vicem vultus tenebris mirantur opertos,
Et pallere diem, galeisque incumbere noctem,
Defunctosque patres et cunctas sanguinis umbras
Ante oculos volitare suos. Sed mentibus unum
Hoc solamen erat, quod voti turba nefandi
Conscia, quae patrum iugulos, quae pectora fratrum
Sperabat, gaudet monstris mentisque tumultu,
Atque omen scelerum subitos putat esse furores.
Quid mirum, populos, quos lux extrema manebat,
Lymphato trepidasse metu, praesaga malorum
Si data mens homini est? Tyriis qui Gadibus hospes
Adiacet, Armeniumque bibit Romanus Araxen:
Sub quocumque die, quocumque est sidere mundi,
Moeret, et ignorat caussas, animumque dolentem
Corripit; Emathiis quid perdat nescit in arvis.
Euganeo, si vera fides memorantibus, augur
Colle sedens, Aponus terris ubi fumifer exit,
Atque Antenorei dispergitur unda Timavi,
Venit summa dies, geritur res maxima, dixit:
Impia concurrunt Pompeii et Caesaris arma;
Seu tonitrus ac tela Iovis praesaga notavit,
Aethera seu totum discordi obsistere coelo
Prospexitque polos: seu lumen in aethere moestum
Solis in obscuro pugnam pallore notavit.
Dissimilem certe cunctis, quos explicat, egit
Thessalicum natura diem: si cuncta perito
Augure mens hominum coeli nova signa notasset,
Spectari e toto potuit Pharsalia mundo.
O summos hominum, quorum Fortuna per orbem
Signa dedit, quorum fatis coelum omne vacavit!
Haec et apud seras gentes populosque nepotum,
Sive sua tantum venient in saecula fama,
Sive aliquid magnis nostri quoque cura laboris
Nominibus prodesse potest, cum bella legentur,
Spesque metusque simul, perituraque vota movebunt:
Adtonitique omnes veluti venientia fata,
Non transmissa, legent, et adhuc tibi, Magne, favebunt.

[¶2] Reflected from their arms, th' opposing sun
Filled all the slope with radiance as they marched
In ordered ranks to that ill-fated fight,
And stood arranged for battle. On the left
Thou, Lentulus, hadst charge; two legions there,
The fourth, and bravest of them all, the first:
While on the right, Domitius, ever stanch,
Though fates be adverse, stood: in middle line
The hardy soldiers from Cilician lands,
In Scipio's care; their chief in Libyan days,
To-day their comrade. By Enipeus' pools
And by the rivulets, the mountain troops
Of Cappadocia, and loose of rein
Thy squadrons, Pontus: on the firmer ground
Galatia's tetrarchs and the greater kings;
And all the purple-robed, the slaves of Rome.
Numidian hordes were there from Afric shores,
There Creta's host and Ituraeans found
Full space to wing their arrows; there the tribes
From brave Iberia clashed their shields, and there
Gaul stood arrayed against her ancient foe.
Let all the nations be the victor's prize,
None grace in future a triumphal car;
This fight demands the slaughter of a world.
Caesar that day to send his troops for spoil
Had left his tent, when on the further hill
Behold! his foe descending to the plain.
The moment asked for by a thousand prayers
Is come, which puts his fortune on the risk
Of imminent war, to win or lose it all.
For burning with desire of kingly power
His eager soul ill brooked the small delay
This civil war compelled: each instant lost
Robbed from his due! But when at length he knew
The last great conflict come, the fight supreme,
Whose prize the leadership of all the world:
And felt the ruin nodding to its fall:
Swiftest to strike, yet for a little space
His rage for battle failed; the spirit bold
To pledge itself the issue, wavered now:
For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope,
Though Caesar's none for fear. Deep in his soul
Such doubt was hidden, as to rouse the throng
He spake of victory: ' Ye men of Rome
' Who made my fortunes, host that won the world!
'Prayed for so oft, the dawn of fight is come.
'No more entreat the gods: with sword in hand
'Seize on our fates; and Caesar in your deeds
This day is great or little. This the day
'For which I hold since Rubicon was passed
Your promise given: for this we flew to arms:
'For this deferred the triumphs which we won,
'And which the foe forbad: this gives you back
' Your homes and kindred, and the peaceful farm,
' Your prize for years of service in the field.
' And by the fates' command this day shall prove
' Whose quarrel juster: for defeat is guilt
' To him on whom it falls. If in my cause
' With fire and sword ye did your country wrong,
' Strike for acquittal! Should another judge
' This war, not Caesar, none were blameless found.
' Not for my sake this battle, but for you,
' To give you, soldiers, liberty and law
'Gainst all the world. Wishful myself for life
' Apart from public cares, and for the gown
' That robes the private citizen, I refuse
' To yield from office till the law allows
' Your right in all things. On my shoulders rest
' All blame; all power be yours. Nor deep the blood
' Between yourselves and conquest. Grecian schools
' Of exercise and wrestling send us here
' Their chosen darlings to await your swords;
' And scarcely armed for war, a dissonant crowd
' Barbaric, that will start to hear our trump,
' Nay, their own clamour. Not in civil strife
' Your blows shall fall-the battle of to-day
' Sweeps from the earth the enemies of Rome.
' Dash through these cowards and their vaunted kings:
' One stroke of sword and all the world is yours.
' Make plain to all men that the crowds who decked
'Pompeius' hundred pageants scarce were fit
'For one poor triumph. Shall Armenia care
'Who leads her masters, or barbarians shed
'One drop of blood to make Pompeius chief
'O'er our Italia? Rome, 'tis Rome they hate,
'Their lord and master: yet they hate the most
'Those whom they know. My fate is in the hands
'Of you, mine own true soldiers, proved in all
'The wars we fought in Gallia. When the sword
'Of each of you shall strike, I know the hand:
'The javelin's flight to me betrays the arm
'That launched it hurtling: and to-day once more
'I see the faces stern, the threatening eyes,
'Unfailing proofs of victory to come.
'E'en now the battle rushes on my sight;
'Kings trodden down and scattered senators
'Fill all th' ensanguined plain, and peoples float
'Unnumbered on the crimson tide of death.
'Enough of words-I but delay the fates;
'And you who burn to dash into the fray,
'Forgive the pause. I tremble with the hope
'Thus finding utterance. I ne'er have seen
'The mighty gods so near; this little field
'Alone dividing us; their hands are full
'Of my predestined honours: for 'tis I
'Who when this war is done shall have the power
'O'er all that peoples, all that kings enjoy
'To shower it where I will. But has the sky
'Swerved from its course, has some high star of heaven
'Turned backwards, that such mighty deeds should pass
'Here on Thessalian earth? To-day we reap
' Of all our wars the harvest or the doom.
' Think of the cross that threats us, and the chain,
' Limbs hacked asunder, Caesar's head displayed
' Upon the rostra; and that narrow field
' Piled up with slaughter: for this hostile chief
' Is savage Sulla's pupil. 'Tis for you,
' If conquered, that I grieve: my lot apart
' Is cast long since. This sword, should one of you
' Turn from the battle ere the foe be fled,
' Shall rob the life of Caesar. O ye gods,
' Drawn down from heaven by the throes of Rome,
' May he be conqueror who shall not draw
' Against the vanquished an inhuman sword,
' Nor count it as a crime if men of Rome
' Preferred another's standard to his own.
' Pompeius' sword drank deep Italian blood
'When cabined in yon space the brave man's arm
' No more found room to strike. But you, I pray,
' Touch not the foe who turns him from the fight,
' A fellow citizen, a foe no more.
' But while the gleaming weapons threaten still,
' Let no fond memories unnerve the arm,
' No pious thought of father or of kin;
' But full in face of brother or of sire,
' Drive home the blade: of victims e'en unknown
' Your foes account the slaughter as a crime.
' Spare not our camp, but lay the rampart low
' And fill the fosse with ruin; not a man
' But holds his post within the ranks to-day.
' And yonder tents, deserted by the foe,
' Shall give us shelter when the rout is done.'
Scarce had he paused; they snatch the hasty meal,
And seize their armour and with swift acclaim
Welcome the chief's predictions of the day,
Tread low their camp when rushing to the fight;
And take their post: nor word nor order given,
In fate they put their trust. Nor, hadst thou placed
All Caesars there, all striving for the throne
Of Rome their city, had their serried ranks
With speedier tread dashed down upon the foe.

> Latin: Miles ut adverso Phoebi radiatus ab ictu
Descendens totos perfudit lumine colles,
Non temere immissus campis; stetit ordine certo
Infelix acies. Cornus tibi cura sinistri,
Lentule, cum prima, quae tum fuit optima bello,
Et quarta legione datur: tibi, numine pugnax
Adverso Domiti, dextri frons tradita Martis.
At medii robur belli fortissima densant
Agmina, quae Cilicum terris deducta tenebat
Scipio, miles in hoc, Libyco dux primus in orbe.
At iuxta fluvios et stagna undantis Enipei
Cappadocum montana cohors, et largus habenae
Ponticus ibat eques. Sicci sed plurima campi
Tetrarchae regesque tenent magnique tyranni,
Atque omnis Latio quae servit purpura ferro.
Illuc et Libye Numidas, et Creta Cydonas
Misit: Ituraeis cursus fuit inde sagittis:
Inde, truces Galli, solitum prodistis in hostem:
Illic pugnaces commovit Iberia cetras.
Eripe victori gentes, et sanguine mundi
Fuso, Magne, semel, totos consume triumphos.
Illo forte die Caesar, statione relicta,
Ad segetum raptus moturus signa, repente
Conspicit in planos hostem descendere campos,
Oblatumque videt votis sibi mille petitum
Tempus, in extremos quo mitteret omnia casus.
Aeger quippe morae, flagransque cupidine regni
Coeperat exiguo tractu civilia bella
Ut lentum damnare nefas. Discrimina postquam
Adventare ducum, supremaque proelia vidit,
Casuram et fati sensit nutare ruinam,
Illa quoque in ferrum rabies promptissima paullum
Languit, et casus audax spondere secundos
Mens stetit in dubio, quam nec sua fata timere,
Nec Magni sperare sinunt. Formidine mersa,
Prosilit hortando melior fiducia vulgo:
O domitor mundi, rerum fortuna mearum,
Miles, adest toties optatae copia pugnae.
Nil opus est votis: iam fatum accersite ferro.
In manibus vestris, quantus sit Caesar, habetis.
Haec est illa dies, mihi quam Rubiconis ad undas
Promissam memini, cuius spe movimus arma,
In quam distulimus vetitos remeare triumphos.
[Haec eadem est, hodie quae pignora, quaeque penates]
[Reddat, et emerito faciat vos Marto colonos.]
Haec, fato quae teste probet, quis iustius arma
Sumserit: haec acies victum factura nocentem est.
Si pro me patriam ferro flammisque petistis,
Nunc pugnate truces, gladiosque exsolvite culpa.
Nulla manus, belli mutato iudice, pura est
Non mihi res agitur, sed vos ut libera sitis
Turba, precor, gentes ut ius habeatis in omnes.
Ipse ego, privatae cupidus me reddere vitae,
Plebeiaque toga modicum componere civem,
Omnia dum vobis liceant, nihil esse recuso.
Invidia regnate mea. Nec sanguine multo
Spem mundi petitis: Graiis delecta iuventus
Gymnasiis aderit, studioque ignava palaestrae,
Et vix arma ferens, et mixtae dissona turbae
Barbaries; non illa tubas, non agmine moto
Clamorem latura suam. Civilia paucae
Bella manus facient: pugnae pars magna levabit
His orbem populis, Romanumque obteret hostem.
Ite per ignavas gentes, famosaque regna,
Et primo ferri motu prosternite mundum:
Sitque palam, quas tot duxit Pompeius in urbem
Curribus, unius gentes non esse triumphi.
Armeniosne movet, Romana potentia cuius
Sit ducis? aut emptum minimo vult sanguine quisquam
Barbarus, Hesperiis Magnum praeponere rebus?
Romanos odere omnes, dominosque gravantur,
Quos novere, magis. Sed me Fortuna meorum
Commisit manibus, quorum me Gallia testem
Tot fecit bellis. Cuius non militis ensem
Agnoscam? coelumque tremens cum lancea transit,
Dicere non fallar, quo sit vibrata lacerto.
Quodsi signa ducem numquam fallentia vestrum
Conspicio, faciesque truces, oculosque minaces:
Vicistis. Videor fluvios spectare cruoris,
Calcatosque simul reges, sparsumque senatus
Corpus, et immensa populos in caede natantes
Sed mea fata moror, qui vos in tela ruentes
Vocibus his teneo. Veniam date bella trahenti:
Spe trepido: haud umquam vidi tam magna daturos,
Tam prope me superos: camporum limite parvo
Absumus a votis. Ego sum, cui Marte peracto,
Quae populi regesque tenent, donare licebit.
Quone poli motu, quo coeli sidere verso,
Thessalicae tantum, superi, permittitis orae?
Aut merces hodie bellorum, aut poena paratur.
Caesareas spectate cruces, spectate catenas,
Et caput hoc positum rostris, effusaque membra,
Septorumque nefas, et clausi proelia Campi.
Cum duce Sullano gerimus civilia bella.
Vestri cura movet. Nam me secura manebit
Sors quaesita manu: fodientem viscera cernet
Me mea, qui nondum victo respexerit hoste.
Di, quorum curas abduxit ab aethere tellus
Romanusque labor, vincat, quicumque necesse
Non putat in victos saevum destringere ferrum,
Quique suos cives, quod signa adversa tulerunt,
Non credit fecisse nefas. Pompeius in arcto
Agmina vestra loco, vetita virtute moveri,
Cum tenuit, quanto satiavit sanguine ferrum!
Vos tamen hoc oro, iuvenes, ne caedere quisquam
Hostis terga velit: civis, qui fugerit, esto.
Sed dum tela micant, non vos pietatis imago
Ulla, nec adversa conspecti fronte parentes
Commoveant: vultus gladio turbate verendos.
Sive quis infesto cognata in pectora ferro
Ibit, seu nullum violabit vulnere pignus,
Ignoti iugulum tamquam scelus impetat hostis.
Sternit iam vallum, fossasque implete ruina,
Exeat ut plenis acies non sparsa maniplis.
Parcite ne castris: vallo tendetis in illo,
Unde acies peritura venit. Vix cuncta locuto
Caesare, quemque suum munus trahit, armaque raptim
Sumpta viris. Celeres capiunt praesagia belli,
Calcatisque ruunt castris: stant ordine nullo,
Arte ducis nulla; permittunt omnia fatis.
Si totidem Magni soceros, totidemque petentes
Urbis regna suae funesto in Marte locasses,
Non tam praecipiti ruerent in proelia cursu.

[¶3] But when Pompeius saw the hostile troops
Move forth in order and demand the fight,
And knew the gods' approval of the day,
He stood astonied, while a deadly chill
Struck to his heart-omen itself of woe,
That such a chief should at the call to arms,
Thus dread the issue: but with fear repressed,
Borne on his noble steed along the line
Of all his forces, thus he spake: ' The day
'Your bravery demands, that final end
Of civil war ye asked for, is at hand.
Put forth your strength, your all; the sword to-day
Does its last work. One crowded hour is charged
With nations' destinies. Whoe'er of you
Longs for his land and home, his wife and child,
Seek them with sword. Here in mid battle-field,
The gods place all at stake. Our better right
Bids us expect their favour; they shall dip
Your brands in Caesar's blood, and thus shall give
Another sanction to the laws of Rome,
Our cause of battle. If for him were meant
An empire o'er the world, had they not put
An end to Magnus' life? That I am chief
Of all these mingled peoples and of Rome
Disproves an angry heaven. See here combined
'All means of victory. Noble men have sought
'Unasked the risks of war. Our soldiers boast
'Ancestral statues. If to us were given
'A Curius, if Camillus were returned,
Or patriot Decius to devote his life,
'Here would they take their stand. From furthest east
'All nations gathered, cities as the sand
'Unnumbered, give their aid: a world complete
'Serves 'neath our standards. North and south and all
'Who have their being 'neath the starry vault,
'Here meet in arms conjoined: and shall we not
Crush with our closing wings this paltry foe?
'Few shall find room to strike; the rest with voice
'Must be content to aid: for Caesar's ranks
'Suffice not for us. Think from Rome's high walls
' The matrons watch you with their hair unbound;
' Think that the Senate hoar, too old for arms,
' With snowy locks outspread; and Rome herself,
' The world's high mistress, fearing now, alas!
' A despot-all exhort you to the fight.
' Think that the people that is and that shall be
'Joins in the prayer-in freedom to be born,
' In freedom die, their wish. If 'mid these vows
' Be still found place for mine, with wife and child,
' So far as Imperator may, I bend
' Before you suppliant-unless this fight
' Be won, behold me exile, your disgrace,
' My kinsman's scorn. From this, 'tis yours to save.
' Then save! Nor in the latest stage of life,
' Let Magnus be a slave.'
Then burned their souls
At these his words, indignant at the thought,
And Rome rose up within them, and to die
Was welcome.
Thus alike with hearts aflame
Moved either host to battle, one in fear
And one in hope of empire. These hands shall do
Such work as not the rolling centuries,
Not all mankind, though free from sword and war,
Shall e'er make good. Nations that were to live
This fight shall crush, and peoples pre-ordained
To make the history of the coming world
Shall come not to the birth. The Latin names
Shall sound as fables in the ears of men,
And ruins loaded with the dust of years
Shall hardly mark her cities. Alba's hill,
Home of our gods, no human foot shall tread,
Save of some Senator at the nightly feast
By Numa's orders founded-he compelled
Serves his high office. Void and desolate
Are Veii, Cora and Laurentum's hold;
Yet not the tooth of envious time destroyed
These storied monuments-'twas civil war
That rased their citadels. Where now has fled
The teeming life that once Italia knew?
Not all the earth can furnish her with men:
Untenanted her dwellings and her fields:
Slaves till her soil: one city holds us all:
Crumbling to ruin, the ancestral roof
Finds none on whom to fall; and Rome herself,
Void of her citizens, draws within her gates
The dregs of all the world. That none might wage
A civil war again, thus deeply drank
Pharsalia's fight the life-blood of her sons.
Dark in the calendar of Rome for aye,
The days when Allia and Cannae fell:
And shall Pharsalus' morn, darkest of all,
Stand on the page unmarked? Alas, the fates!
Not plague nor pestilence nor famine's rage,
Not cities given to the flames, nor towns
Trembling at shock of earthquake shall weigh down
Such heroes lost, when Fortune's ruthless hand
Lops at one blow the gift of centuries,
Leaders and men embattled. How great art thou,
Rome, in thy fall! Stretched to the widest bounds
War upon war laid nations at thy feet
Till flaming Titan nigh to either pole
Beheld thine empire; and the furthest east
Was almost thine, till day and night and sky
For thee revolved, and all the stars could see
Throughout their course was Roman. But the fates
In one dread day of slaughter and despair
Turned back the centuries and spoke thy doom.
And now the Indian fears the axe no more
Once emblem of thy power, now no more
The girded Consul curbs the Getan horde,
Or in Sarmatian furrows guides the share:
Still Parthia boasts her triumphs unavenged:
Foul is the public life; and Freedom, fled
To furthest Earth beyond the Tigris stream,
And Rhine's broad river, wandering at her will
'Mid Teuton hordes and Scythian, though by sword
Sought, yet returns not. Would that from the day
When Romulus, aided by the vulture's flight,
Ill-omened, raised within that hateful grove
Rome's earliest walls, down to the crimsoned field
In dire Thessalia fought, she ne'er had known
Italia's peoples! Did the Bruti strike
In vain for liberty? Why laws and rights
Sanctioned by all the annals designate
With consular titles? Happier far the Medes
And blest Arabia, and the Eastern lands
Held by a kindlier fate in despot rule!
That nation serves the worst which serves with shame.
No guardian gods watch over us from heaven:
Jove is no king; let ages whirl along
In blind confusion: from his throne supreme
Shall he behold such carnage and restrain
His thunderbolts? On Mimas shall he hurl
His fires, on Rhodope and OEta's woods
Unmeriting such chastisement, and leave
This life to Cassius' hand? On Argos fell
At grim Thyestes' feast untimely night
By him thus hastened; shall Thessalia's land
Receive full daylight, wielding kindred swords
In fathers' hands and brothers'? Careless of men
Are all the gods. Yet for this day of doom
Such vengeance have we reaped as deities
May give to mortals; for these wars shall raise
Our parted Caesars to the gods; and Rome
Shall deck their effigies with thunderbolts,
And stars and rays, and in the very fanes
Swear by the shades of men.

> Latin: Vidit ut hostiles in rectum exire catervas
Pompeius, nullasque moras permittere bello,
Sed superis placuisse diem: stat corde gelato
Adtonitus: tantoque duci sic arma timere
Omen erat. Premit inde metus, totumque per agmen
Sublimi provectus equo: Quem flagitat, inquit,
Vestra diem virtus, finis civilibus armis,
Quem quaesistis, adest. Totas effundite vires;
Extremum ferri superest opus, unaque gentes
Hora trahit. Quisquis patriam carosque penates,
Qui sobolem ac thalamos desertaque pignora quaerit,
Ense petat: medio posuit deus omnia campo.
Caussa iubet medior superos sperare secundos:
Ipsi tela regent per viscera Caesaris, ipsi
Romanas sancire volent hoc sanguine leges.
Si socero dare regna meo mandumque pararent,
Praecipitare meam fatis potuere senectam.
Non iratorum populis urbique deorum est,
Pompeium servare ducem. Quae vincere possent,
Omnia contulimus. Subiere pericula clari
Sponte viri, sacraque antiquus imagine miles.
Si Curios his fata darent reducesque Camillos
Temporibus, Deciosque caput fatale voventes,
Hinc starent. Primo gentes Oriente coactae
Innumeraeque urbes, quantas in proelia numquam
Excivere manus. Toto simul utimur orbe.
Quidquid signferi comprensum limite coeli
Sub Noton et Borean hominum sumus, arma movemus.
Nonne superfusis collectum cornibus hostem
In medium dabimus? Paucas victoria dextras
Exigit: at plures tantum clamore catervae
Bella gerent. Caesar nostris non sufficit armis.
Credite pendentes e summis moenibus urbis
Crinibus effusis hortari in proelia matres.
Credite, grandaevum, vetitumque aetate senatum
Arma sequi, sacros pedibus prosternere canos:
Atque ipsam domini metuentem occurrere Romam.
Credite, qui nunc est populus, populumque futurum
Permixtas adferre preces. Haec libera nasci,
Haec vult turba mori. Si quis post pignora tanta
Pompeio locus est, cum prole et coniuge supplex.
Imperii salva si maiestate liceret,
Volverer ante pedes. Magnus, nisi vincitis, exsul,
Ludibrium soceri, vester pudor, ultima fata
Deprecor, ac turpes extremi cardinis annos,
Ne discam servire senex. Tam moesta locuti
Voce ducis flagrant animi, Romanaque virtus
Erigitur; placuitque mori, si vera timeret.
Ergo utrimque pari concurrunt agmina motu
Irarum: metus hos regni, spes excitat illos.
Hae facient dextrae, quidquid non expleat aetas
Ulla, nec humanum reparet genus omnibus annis,
Ut vacet a ferro. Gentes Mars iste futuras
Obruet, et populos aevi venientis in orbem
Erepto natale feret. Tunc omne Latinum
Fabula nomen erit: Gabios Veiosque Coramque
Pulvere vix tectae poterunt monstrare ruinae,
Albanosque lares Laurentinosque penates
Rus vacuum, quod non habitet, nisi nocte coacta,
Invitus, questusque Numam iussisse, senator.
Non aetas haec carpsit edax, monimentaque rerum
Putria destituit: crimen civile videmus,
Tot vacuas urbes Generis quo turba redacta est
Humani? Toto populi qui nascimur orbe,
Nec muros implore viris, nec possumus agros.
Urbs nos una capit: vincto fossore coluntur
Hesperiae segetes: stat tectis putris avitis
In nullos ruitura domus: nulloque frequentem
Cive suo Romam, sed mundi faece repletam,
Cladis eo dedimus, ne tanto in tempore bellum
Iam posset civile geri. Pharsalia tanti
Caussa mali. Cedant feralia nomina Cannae,
Et damnata diu Romanis Allia fastis.
Tempora signavit leviorum Roma malorum;
Hunc voluit nescire diem. Pro tristia fata!
Aera pestiferum tractu, morbosque fluentes,
Insanamque famem, permissasque ignibus urbes,
Moeniaque in praeceps laturos plena tremores
Hi possent explere viri, quos undique traxit
In miseram Fortuna necem, dum munera longi
Explicat eripiens aevi, populosque ducesque
Constituit campis: per quos tibi, Roma, ruenti
Ostendat, quam magna cadas. Quo latius orbem
Possedit, citius per prospera fata cucurrit.
Omne tibi bellum gentes dedit omnibus annis:
Te geminum Titan procedere vidit in axem.
Haud multum terrae spatium restabat Eoae,
Ut tibi nox, tibi tota dies, tibi curreret aether,
Omniaque errantes stellae Romana viderent.
Sed retro tua fata tulit, par omnibus annis,
Emathiae funesta dies. Hac luce cruenta
Effectum, ut Latios non horreat India fasces,
Nec vetitos errare Dahas in moenia ducat,
Sarmaticumque premat succinctus consul aratrum.
Quod semper saevas debet tibi Parthia poenas,
Quod, fugiens civile nefas redituraque numquam,
Libertas ultra Tigrim Rhenumque recessit,
Ac, toties nobis iugulo quaesita, vagatur,
Germanum Scythicumque bonum, nec respicit ultra
Ausoniam: vellem, populis incognita nostris,
Vulturis ut primum laevo fundata volatu
Romulus infami complevit moenia luco,
Usque ad Thessalicas servisses, Roma, ruinas.
De Brutis, Fortuna, queror. Quid tempora legum
Egimus, aut annos a consule nomen habentes?
Felices Arabes, Medique, Eoaque tellus,
Quam sub perpetuis tenuerunt fata tyrannis.
Ex populis, qui regna ferunt, sors ultima nostra est,
Quos servire pudet. Sunt nobis nulla profecto
Numina: cum caeco rapiantur secula casu,
Mentimur regnare Iovem. Spectabit ab alto
Aethere Thessalicas, teneat cum fulmina, caedes?
Scilicet ipse petet Pholoen, petet ignibus Oeten,
Immeritaeque nemus Rhodopes, pinusque Mimantis:
Cassius hoc potius feriet caput? Astra Thyestae
Impulit, et subitis damnavit noctibus Argos:
Tot similes fratrum gladios patrumque gerenti
Thessaliae dabit ille diem? Mortalia nulli
Sunt curata deo. Cladis tamen huius habemus
Vindictam, quantam terris dare numina fas est.
Bella pares superis facient civilia divos:
Fulminibus manes, radiisque ornabit, et astris,
Inque deum templis iurabit Roma per umbras.