NE'ER to the summons of the Eternal lawsMore slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,With gloomier presage; wishing to endureThe pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,But lest his light upon Thessalian earthMight 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 heardInnumerable Romans shout his nameWithin his theatre; the benches viedTo raise his fame and place him with the gods;As once in youth, when victory was wonO'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 knightThan 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 showedThat which was not to be, by doubtful formsMisleading; or as envious Fate forbadeReturn to Italy, this glimpse of RomeKind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet callStrike on his ear: for on the morrow's nightShapes of the battle lost, of death and warShall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thouThe poor man's happiness of sleep regain?Happy if thus, e'en thus, thy Rome could seeOnce more her captain! Would the gods had givenTo thee and to thy country one day yetTo reap the latest fruit of such a love:Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest onAs though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;She, conscious ever of her prayers for theeHeard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreedSuch evil destiny, that she should loseThe last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,And child unbidden; women torn their hairAnd 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 throneThey offer incense and the laurel wreath.Ah, wretched fate! In silence must they groan;Nor in that theatre which heard thy praiseProclaim their sorrow for Pompeius dead.The stars had fled before the growing morn,When eager voices (as the fates drew onThe world to ruin) round Pompeius' tentAsk for the signal. What! shall those condemnedTo die ere fall of eve, provoke the hourOf hastening death, demand the fatal doomTheir 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 impendsOn 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 RomeChief orator, beneath whose civil ruleFierce Catiline at the peace-compelling axeTrembled and fled, arose, to Magnus' earBearing the voice of all. To him was warGrown hateful, and he longed once more to hearThe Senate's plaudits; and with eloquent lipsHe 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 fatesOpposed his wish, and knew the hand divine.
Segnior Oceano, quam lex aeterna vocabat,Luctificus Titan numquam magis aethera contraEgit equos, currumque, polo rapiente, retorsit:Defectusque pati voluit, raptaeque laboresLucis: et adtraxit nubes, non pabula flammis,Sed ne Thessalico purus luceret in orbe.At nox, felicis Magno pars ultima vitae,Sollicitos vana decepit imagine somnosNam Pompeiani visus sibi sede theatriInnumeram effigiem Romanae cernere plebis,Adtollique suum laetis ad sidera nomenVocibus, et plausu cuneos certare sonantes.Qualis erat populi facies clamorque faventis,Olim cum iuvenis primique aetate triumphiPost domitas gentes, quas torrens ambit Iberus,Et quaecumque fugax Sertorius impulit arma,Vespere pacato, pura venerabilis aequeQuam currus ornante toga, plaudente senatu,Sedit adhuc Romanus eques. Seu fine bonorumAnxia venturis ad tempora laeta refugit,Sive per ambages solitas contraria visisVaticinata quies, magni tulit omina planctus.Seu vetito patrias ultra tibi cernere sedes,Sic Romam Fortuna dedit. Ne rumpite somnos,Castrorum vigiles; nullas tuba verberet auraCrastina dira quies, et imagine moesta diurnaUndique funestas acies feret, undique bellum.Unde pares somnos populi, noctemque beatam?O felix, si te vel sic tua Roma videret.Donassent utinam superi patriaeque tibiqueUnum, Magne, diem, quo fati certus uterqueExtremum 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 TonantiO miseri, quorum gemitus edere dolorem,Qui te non pleno pariter planxere theatro!Vicerat astra iubar, cum mixto murmure turbaCastrorum fremuit, fatisque trahentibus orbem,Signa petit pugnae. Miseri pars maxima vulgi,Non totum visura diem, tentoria circumIpsa ducis queritur, magnoque accensa tumultuMortis vicinae properantes admovet horas.Dira subit rabies: sua quisque ac publica fataPraecipitare cupit: segnis pavidusque vocatur,Ac nimium patiens soceri Pompeius, et orbisIndulgens regno, qui tot simul undique gentesIuris habere sui vellet, pacemque timeret.Nec non et reges populique queruntur EoiBella trahi, patriaque procul tellure teneriHoc placet, o superi, cum vobis vertere cunctaPropositum, nostris erroribus addere crimen?Cladibus irruimus, nocituraque poscimus arma:In Pompeianis votum est Pharsalia castris.Cunctorum voces Romani maximus auctorTullius eloquii, cuius sub iure togaquePacificas saevus tremuit Catilina secures,Pertulit, iratus bellis, cum rostra forumqueOptaret, passus tam longa silentia miles.Addidit invalidae robur facundia caussae:Hoc pro tot meritis solum te, Magne, precatur,Uti se Fortuna velis: proceresque tuorumCastrorum, regesque tui cum supplice mundoAdfusi, vinci socerum patiare, rogamus.Humano generi tam longo tempore bellumCaesar erit? Merito, Pompeium vincere lente,Gentibus indignum est a transcurrente subactis.Quo tibi fervor abit? aut quo fiducia fati?De superis, ingrate, times? caussamque senatusCredere 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 quisquamExspectat: propera, ne te tua classica linquant.Scire senatus avet, miles te, Magne, sequatur,An comes. Ingemuit rector, sensitque deorumEsse dolos, et fata suae contraria menti.
'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 foeAll 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 controlUpon his barque, which, driven by the seas,Bears him an idle burden. Now the campHums with impatience, and the brave man's heartWith beats tumultuous throbs against his breast;And all the host had standing in their looksThe paleness of the death that was to come.On that day's fight 'twas manifest that RomeAnd all the future destinies of manHung trembling; and by weightier dread possessed,They knew not danger. Who would fear for selfShould ocean rise and whelm the mountain tops,And sun and sky descend upon the earthIn universal chaos? Every mindIs bent upon Pompeius, and on Rome.They trust no sword until its deadly pointGlows on the sharpening stone; no lance will serveTill straightened for the fray; each bow is strungAnew, and arrows chosen for their workFill all the quivers; horsemen try the curbAnd 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 slainSharpened his darts afresh: on Pallas' shieldWas spread anew the dread Medusa's hair;And for the battle in Pallene's fieldsThe 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 fireIn columns filled the plain, and torches blazed:And thirsty whirlwinds mixed with meteor boltsSmote on them as they strode, whose sulphurous flamesPerplexed the vision. Crests were struck from helms;The melted sword-blade flowed upon the hilt:The spear ran liquid, and the hurtful steelSmoked with a sulphur that had come from heaven.Nay, more, the standards, hid by swarms of beesInnumerable, 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 bullTo fields afar; nor was a victim foundTo grace the sacrifice of coming doom.But thou, O Caesar, to what gods of illDidst thou appeal? What furies didst thou call,What powers of madness and what Stygian KingsWhelmed in th' abyss of hell? Didst favour gainBy sacrifice in this thine impious war?Strange sights were seen; or caused by hands divineOr due to fearful fancy. Haemus' topPlunged headlong in the valley, Pindus metWith high Olympus, while at Ossa's feetRed ran Boebeis, and Pharsalia's fieldGave warlike voices as in depth of night.Now darkness came upon their wondering gaze,Now daylight pale and wan, their helmets wreathedIn pallid mist; the spirits of their siresHovered in air, and shades of kindred deadPassed flitting through the gloom. Yet had the host,Conscious of guilty prayers, and of the hopeTo do to death their brothers and their sires,One solace: that they found in hearts amazedWith horrors, and in earth and air distraught,A happy omen of the crimes to come.Was't strange that peoples whom their latest dayOf happy life awaited (if the mindOf 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 dreadWere plunged in sorrow-yet rebuked the tear,For yet they knew not of the fatal day.Thus on Euganean hills where sulphurous fumesDisclose 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 sawThe bolts of Jupiter, predicting ill;Or else the sky discordant o'er the spaceOf heaven, from pole to pole; or else perchanceThe sun was sad and misty in the heightAnd told the battle by his wasted beams.By Nature's fiat that Thessalian dayPassed not as others; if the gifted senseOf 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 climesTo future races shall their tale be told,Or by the fame alone of mighty deedsHad in remembrance, or by this my careBorne through the centuries: and men shall readIn hope and fear the story of the warAnd breathless pray, as though it were to come,For that long since accomplished; and for theeE'en then, Pompeius, shall that prayer be given.
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 nulloStare labor belli: potuit sine caede subactum,Captivumque ducem violatae tradere paci.Quis furor, o caeci, scelerum? Civilia bellaGesturi metuunt, ne non cum sanguine vincant?Abstulimus terras, exclusimus aequore toto,Ad praematuras segetum ieiuna rapinasAgmina compulimus, votumque effecimus hosti,Ut mallet sterni gladiis, mortesque suorumPermiscere meis. Belli pars magna peracta estHis, quibus effectum est, ne pugnam tiro paveret:Si modo virtutis stimulis iraeque caloreSigna petunt. Multos in summa pericula misitVenturi timor ipse mali. Fortissimus ille est,Qui, promptus metuenda pati, si cominus instent,Et differre potest. Placet haec tam prospera rerumTradere Fortunae? gladio permittere mundiDiscrimen? 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 malorumIn 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 ruinaCasurum est, feriat: neque enim victoria MagnoLaetior. 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 armaPermittit populis, frenosque furentibus iraLaxat: et ut victus violento navita CoroDat regimen ventis, ignavumque arte relictaPuppis onus trahitur. Trepido confusa tumultuCastra fremunt, animique truces sua pectora pulsantIctibus incertis. Multorum pallor in oreMortis venturae est, faciesque simillima fato.Advenisse diem, qui fatum rebus in aevumConderet humanis, et quaeri, Roma quid esset,Illo Marte, palam est. Sua quisque pericula nescit,Adtonitus maiore metu. Quis litora pontoObruta, quis summis cernens in montibus aequor,Aetheraque in terras, deiecto sole, cadentem,Tot rerum finem, timeat sibi? Non vacat ullosPro se ferre metus: urbi Magnoque timetur.Nec gladiis habuere fidem, nisi cautibus asperExarsit mucro. Tunc omnis lancea saxoErigitur: 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 casusPer varias Fortuna notas. Nam Thessala ruraCum peterent, totus venientibus obstitit aether:[Inque oculis hominum fregerunt fulmina nubes:]Adversasque faces, immensoque igne columnas,Et trabibus mixtis avidos Pythonas aquarumDetulit, atque oculos, ingesto fulgure, clausit.Excussit cristas galeis capulosque solutisPerfudit gladiis, ereptaque pila liquavit,Aethereoque nocens fumavit sulfure ferrum.Nec non innumero cooperta examine signa,Vixque revulsa solo, maiori pondere pressumSigniferi mersere caput, rorantia fletu,Usque ad Thessaliam Romana et publica, signa-Admotus superis discussa fugit ab araTaurus, et Emathios praeceps se iecit in agros;Nullaque funestis inventa est victima sacris.At tu, quos scelerum superos, quas rite vocastiEumenidas, Caesar? Stygii quae numina regni,Infernumque nefas, et mersos nocte furores?Impia tam saeve gesturus bella litasti.Iam (dubium, monstrisne deum, nimione pavoriCrediderint) multis concurrere visus OlympoPindus, 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 umbrasAnte oculos volitare suos. Sed mentibus unumHoc solamen erat, quod voti turba nefandiConscia, quae patrum iugulos, quae pectora fratrumSperabat, gaudet monstris mentisque tumultu,Atque omen scelerum subitos putat esse furores.Quid mirum, populos, quos lux extrema manebat,Lymphato trepidasse metu, praesaga malorumSi data mens homini est? Tyriis qui Gadibus hospesAdiacet, Armeniumque bibit Romanus Araxen:Sub quocumque die, quocumque est sidere mundi,Moeret, et ignorat caussas, animumque dolentemCorripit; Emathiis quid perdat nescit in arvis.Euganeo, si vera fides memorantibus, augurColle 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 coeloProspexitque polos: seu lumen in aethere moestumSolis in obscuro pugnam pallore notavit.Dissimilem certe cunctis, quos explicat, egitThessalicum natura diem: si cuncta peritoAugure mens hominum coeli nova signa notasset,Spectari e toto potuit Pharsalia mundo.O summos hominum, quorum Fortuna per orbemSigna 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 laborisNominibus prodesse potest, cum bella legentur,Spesque metusque simul, perituraque vota movebunt:Adtonitique omnes veluti venientia fata,Non transmissa, legent, et adhuc tibi, Magne, favebunt.
Reflected from their arms, th' opposing sunFilled all the slope with radiance as they marchedIn ordered ranks to that ill-fated fight,And stood arranged for battle. On the leftThou, 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 lineThe hardy soldiers from Cilician lands,In Scipio's care; their chief in Libyan days,To-day their comrade. By Enipeus' poolsAnd by the rivulets, the mountain troopsOf Cappadocia, and loose of reinThy squadrons, Pontus: on the firmer groundGalatia'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 foundFull space to wing their arrows; there the tribesFrom brave Iberia clashed their shields, and thereGaul 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 spoilHad left his tent, when on the further hillBehold! his foe descending to the plain.The moment asked for by a thousand prayersIs come, which puts his fortune on the riskOf imminent war, to win or lose it all.For burning with desire of kingly powerHis eager soul ill brooked the small delayThis civil war compelled: each instant lostRobbed from his due! But when at length he knewThe 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 spaceHis rage for battle failed; the spirit boldTo pledge itself the issue, wavered now:For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope,Though Caesar's none for fear. Deep in his soulSuch doubt was hidden, as to rouse the throngHe 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 deedsThis day is great or little. This the day'For which I hold since Rubicon was passedYour 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 acclaimWelcome 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 placedAll Caesars there, all striving for the throneOf Rome their city, had their serried ranksWith speedier tread dashed down upon the foe.
Miles ut adverso Phoebi radiatus ab ictuDescendens totos perfudit lumine colles,Non temere immissus campis; stetit ordine certoInfelix acies. Cornus tibi cura sinistri,Lentule, cum prima, quae tum fuit optima bello,Et quarta legione datur: tibi, numine pugnaxAdverso Domiti, dextri frons tradita Martis.At medii robur belli fortissima densantAgmina, quae Cilicum terris deducta tenebatScipio, miles in hoc, Libyco dux primus in orbe.At iuxta fluvios et stagna undantis EnipeiCappadocum montana cohors, et largus habenaePonticus ibat eques. Sicci sed plurima campiTetrarchae regesque tenent magnique tyranni,Atque omnis Latio quae servit purpura ferro.Illuc et Libye Numidas, et Creta CydonasMisit: Ituraeis cursus fuit inde sagittis:Inde, truces Galli, solitum prodistis in hostem:Illic pugnaces commovit Iberia cetras.Eripe victori gentes, et sanguine mundiFuso, Magne, semel, totos consume triumphos.Illo forte die Caesar, statione relicta,Ad segetum raptus moturus signa, repenteConspicit in planos hostem descendere campos,Oblatumque videt votis sibi mille petitumTempus, in extremos quo mitteret omnia casus.Aeger quippe morae, flagransque cupidine regniCoeperat exiguo tractu civilia bellaUt lentum damnare nefas. Discrimina postquamAdventare ducum, supremaque proelia vidit,Casuram et fati sensit nutare ruinam,Illa quoque in ferrum rabies promptissima paullumLanguit, et casus audax spondere secundosMens 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 undasPromissam 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 armaSumserit: 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 estNon mihi res agitur, sed vos ut libera sitisTurba, 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 multoSpem mundi petitis: Graiis delecta iuventusGymnasiis aderit, studioque ignava palaestrae,Et vix arma ferens, et mixtae dissona turbaeBarbaries; non illa tubas, non agmine motoClamorem latura suam. Civilia paucaeBella manus facient: pugnae pars magna levabitHis orbem populis, Romanumque obteret hostem.Ite per ignavas gentes, famosaque regna,Et primo ferri motu prosternite mundum:Sitque palam, quas tot duxit Pompeius in urbemCurribus, unius gentes non esse triumphi.Armeniosne movet, Romana potentia cuiusSit ducis? aut emptum minimo vult sanguine quisquamBarbarus, Hesperiis Magnum praeponere rebus?Romanos odere omnes, dominosque gravantur,Quos novere, magis. Sed me Fortuna meorumCommisit manibus, quorum me Gallia testemTot fecit bellis. Cuius non militis ensemAgnoscam? coelumque tremens cum lancea transit,Dicere non fallar, quo sit vibrata lacerto.Quodsi signa ducem numquam fallentia vestrumConspicio, faciesque truces, oculosque minaces:Vicistis. Videor fluvios spectare cruoris,Calcatosque simul reges, sparsumque senatusCorpus, et immensa populos in caede natantesSed mea fata moror, qui vos in tela ruentesVocibus his teneo. Veniam date bella trahenti:Spe trepido: haud umquam vidi tam magna daturos,Tam prope me superos: camporum limite parvoAbsumus 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 manebitSors quaesita manu: fodientem viscera cernetMe mea, qui nondum victo respexerit hoste.Di, quorum curas abduxit ab aethere tellusRomanusque labor, vincat, quicumque necesseNon putat in victos saevum destringere ferrum,Quique suos cives, quod signa adversa tulerunt,Non credit fecisse nefas. Pompeius in arctoAgmina vestra loco, vetita virtute moveri,Cum tenuit, quanto satiavit sanguine ferrum!Vos tamen hoc oro, iuvenes, ne caedere quisquamHostis terga velit: civis, qui fugerit, esto.Sed dum tela micant, non vos pietatis imagoUlla, nec adversa conspecti fronte parentesCommoveant: vultus gladio turbate verendos.Sive quis infesto cognata in pectora ferroIbit, 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 locutoCaesare, quemque suum munus trahit, armaque raptimSumpta viris. Celeres capiunt praesagia belli,Calcatisque ruunt castris: stant ordine nullo,Arte ducis nulla; permittunt omnia fatis.Si totidem Magni soceros, totidemque petentesUrbis regna suae funesto in Marte locasses,Non tam praecipiti ruerent in proelia cursu.
But when Pompeius saw the hostile troopsMove forth in order and demand the fight,And knew the gods' approval of the day,He stood astonied, while a deadly chillStruck 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 lineOf all his forces, thus he spake: ' The day'Your bravery demands, that final endOf civil war ye asked for, is at hand.Put forth your strength, your all; the sword to-dayDoes its last work. One crowded hour is chargedWith nations' destinies. Whoe'er of youLongs 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 rightBids us expect their favour; they shall dipYour brands in Caesar's blood, and thus shall giveAnother sanction to the laws of Rome,Our cause of battle. If for him were meantAn empire o'er the world, had they not putAn end to Magnus' life? That I am chiefOf all these mingled peoples and of RomeDisproves 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 notCrush 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 soulsAt these his words, indignant at the thought,And Rome rose up within them, and to dieWas welcome.Thus alike with hearts aflameMoved either host to battle, one in fearAnd one in hope of empire. These hands shall doSuch work as not the rolling centuries,Not all mankind, though free from sword and war,Shall e'er make good. Nations that were to liveThis fight shall crush, and peoples pre-ordainedTo make the history of the coming worldShall come not to the birth. The Latin namesShall sound as fables in the ears of men,And ruins loaded with the dust of yearsShall hardly mark her cities. Alba's hill,Home of our gods, no human foot shall tread,Save of some Senator at the nightly feastBy Numa's orders founded-he compelledServes his high office. Void and desolateAre Veii, Cora and Laurentum's hold;Yet not the tooth of envious time destroyedThese storied monuments-'twas civil warThat rased their citadels. Where now has fledThe 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 roofFinds none on whom to fall; and Rome herself,Void of her citizens, draws within her gatesThe dregs of all the world. That none might wageA civil war again, thus deeply drankPharsalia'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 townsTrembling at shock of earthquake shall weigh downSuch heroes lost, when Fortune's ruthless handLops at one blow the gift of centuries,Leaders and men embattled. How great art thou,Rome, in thy fall! Stretched to the widest boundsWar upon war laid nations at thy feetTill flaming Titan nigh to either poleBeheld thine empire; and the furthest eastWas almost thine, till day and night and skyFor thee revolved, and all the stars could seeThroughout their course was Roman. But the fatesIn one dread day of slaughter and despairTurned back the centuries and spoke thy doom.And now the Indian fears the axe no moreOnce emblem of thy power, now no moreThe 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, fledTo furthest Earth beyond the Tigris stream,And Rhine's broad river, wandering at her will'Mid Teuton hordes and Scythian, though by swordSought, yet returns not. Would that from the dayWhen Romulus, aided by the vulture's flight,Ill-omened, raised within that hateful groveRome's earliest walls, down to the crimsoned fieldIn dire Thessalia fought, she ne'er had knownItalia's peoples! Did the Bruti strikeIn vain for liberty? Why laws and rightsSanctioned by all the annals designateWith consular titles? Happier far the MedesAnd blest Arabia, and the Eastern landsHeld 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 alongIn blind confusion: from his throne supremeShall he behold such carnage and restrainHis thunderbolts? On Mimas shall he hurlHis fires, on Rhodope and OEta's woodsUnmeriting such chastisement, and leaveThis life to Cassius' hand? On Argos fellAt grim Thyestes' feast untimely nightBy him thus hastened; shall Thessalia's landReceive full daylight, wielding kindred swordsIn fathers' hands and brothers'? Careless of menAre all the gods. Yet for this day of doomSuch vengeance have we reaped as deitiesMay give to mortals; for these wars shall raiseOur parted Caesars to the gods; and RomeShall deck their effigies with thunderbolts,And stars and rays, and in the very fanesSwear by the shades of men.
Vidit ut hostiles in rectum exire catervasPompeius, nullasque moras permittere bello,Sed superis placuisse diem: stat corde gelatoAdtonitus: tantoque duci sic arma timereOmen erat. Premit inde metus, totumque per agmenSublimi provectus equo: Quem flagitat, inquit,Vestra diem virtus, finis civilibus armis,Quem quaesistis, adest. Totas effundite vires;Extremum ferri superest opus, unaque gentesHora 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, ipsiRomanas 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 clariSponte viri, sacraque antiquus imagine miles.Si Curios his fata darent reducesque CamillosTemporibus, Deciosque caput fatale voventes,Hinc starent. Primo gentes Oriente coactaeInnumeraeque urbes, quantas in proelia numquamExcivere manus. Toto simul utimur orbe.Quidquid signferi comprensum limite coeliSub Noton et Borean hominum sumus, arma movemus.Nonne superfusis collectum cornibus hostemIn medium dabimus? Paucas victoria dextrasExigit: at plures tantum clamore catervaeBella gerent. Caesar nostris non sufficit armis.Credite pendentes e summis moenibus urbisCrinibus effusis hortari in proelia matres.Credite, grandaevum, vetitumque aetate senatumArma sequi, sacros pedibus prosternere canos:Atque ipsam domini metuentem occurrere Romam.Credite, qui nunc est populus, populumque futurumPermixtas adferre preces. Haec libera nasci,Haec vult turba mori. Si quis post pignora tantaPompeio locus est, cum prole et coniuge supplex.Imperii salva si maiestate liceret,Volverer ante pedes. Magnus, nisi vincitis, exsul,Ludibrium soceri, vester pudor, ultima fataDeprecor, ac turpes extremi cardinis annos,Ne discam servire senex. Tam moesta locutiVoce ducis flagrant animi, Romanaque virtusErigitur; placuitque mori, si vera timeret.Ergo utrimque pari concurrunt agmina motuIrarum: metus hos regni, spes excitat illos.Hae facient dextrae, quidquid non expleat aetasUlla, nec humanum reparet genus omnibus annis,Ut vacet a ferro. Gentes Mars iste futurasObruet, et populos aevi venientis in orbemErepto natale feret. Tunc omne LatinumFabula nomen erit: Gabios Veiosque CoramquePulvere vix tectae poterunt monstrare ruinae,Albanosque lares Laurentinosque penatesRus vacuum, quod non habitet, nisi nocte coacta,Invitus, questusque Numam iussisse, senator.Non aetas haec carpsit edax, monimentaque rerumPutria destituit: crimen civile videmus,Tot vacuas urbes Generis quo turba redacta estHumani? Toto populi qui nascimur orbe,Nec muros implore viris, nec possumus agros.Urbs nos una capit: vincto fossore colunturHesperiae segetes: stat tectis putris avitisIn nullos ruitura domus: nulloque frequentemCive suo Romam, sed mundi faece repletam,Cladis eo dedimus, ne tanto in tempore bellumIam posset civile geri. Pharsalia tantiCaussa 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 tremoresHi possent explere viri, quos undique traxitIn miseram Fortuna necem, dum munera longiExplicat eripiens aevi, populosque ducesqueConstituit campis: per quos tibi, Roma, ruentiOstendat, quam magna cadas. Quo latius orbemPossedit, 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 cruentaEffectum, 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 ultraAusoniam: vellem, populis incognita nostris,Vulturis ut primum laevo fundata volatuRomulus infami complevit moenia luco,Usque ad Thessalicas servisses, Roma, ruinas.De Brutis, Fortuna, queror. Quid tempora legumEgimus, 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 profectoNumina: cum caeco rapiantur secula casu,Mentimur regnare Iovem. Spectabit ab altoAethere Thessalicas, teneat cum fulmina, caedes?Scilicet ipse petet Pholoen, petet ignibus Oeten,Immeritaeque nemus Rhodopes, pinusque Mimantis:Cassius hoc potius feriet caput? Astra ThyestaeImpulit, et subitis damnavit noctibus Argos:Tot similes fratrum gladios patrumque gerentiThessaliae dabit ille diem? Mortalia nulliSunt curata deo. Cladis tamen huius habemusVindictam, 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.