For Cyprus thenThey shaped their course, whose altars more than allThe goddess loves who from the Paphian waveSprang, mindful of her birth, if such be truth,And gods have origin. Past the craggy islePompeius sailing, left at length asternIts southern cape, and struck across the mainWith winds transverse and tides; nor reached the mountGrateful to sailors for its nightly gleam:But to the bounds of Egypt hardly wonWith battling canvas, where divided NilePours through the shallows his Pelusian stream.Now was the season when the heavenly scaleMost nearly balances the varying hours,Once only equal; for the wintry dayRepays to night her losses of the spring;And Magnus learning that th' Egyptian kingLay by Mount Casius, ere the sun was setOr flagged his canvas, thither steered his ship.Already had a horseman from the shoreIn rapid gallop to the trembling courtBrought news their guest was come. Short was the timeFor counsel given; but in haste were metAll who advised the base Pellaean king,Monsters, inhuman; there Achoreus satLess harsh in failing years, in Memphis bornOf empty rites, and guardian of the riseOf fertilising Nile. While he was priestNot only once had Apis lived the spaceMarked by the crescent on his sacred brow.First was his voice, for Magnus raised and trothAnd for the pledges of the king deceased:But, skilled in counsel meet for shameless mindsAnd tyrant hearts, Pothinus, dared to claimJudgment of death on Magnus. ' Laws and right' Make many guilty, Ptolemaeus king.' And faith thus lauded brings its punishment' When it supports the fallen. To the fates' Yield thee, and to the gods; the wretched shun' But seek the happy. As the stars from earth' Differ, and fire from ocean, so from right'Expedience. The tyrant's shorn of strength'Who ponders justice; and regard for right'Brings ruin on a throne. The power to sin,'Swords drawn at will, the tyrant king protect;'And savage deeds find safety when they're done.'Who would be righteous, let him flee the throne,'For right's the bane of rule. He lives in dread'Who shrinks from cruelty. Nor let this chief'Unpunished scorn thy youth, who thinks that thou'Not even the conquered from our shore canst bar.'Nor to a stranger, if thou wouldst not reign,'Resign thy sceptre, for the ties of blood'Speak for thy banished sister. Let her rule'O'er Nile and Pharos: we shall at the least'Preserve our Egypt from the Latian arms.'What Magnus owned not ere the war was done,No more shall Caesar. Driven from all the world,'Trusting no more to Fortune, now he seeks'Some foreign nation which may share his fate.'Shades of the slaughtered in the civil war'Compel him: nor from Caesar's arms alone'But from the Senate also does he fly,'Whose blood outpoured has gorged Thessalian fowl;'Monarchs he fears whose all he has destroyed,'And nations piled in one ensanguined heap,'By him deserted. Victim of the blow'Thessalia dealt, refused in every land,' He asks for help from ours not yet betrayed.' But none than Egypt with this chief from Rome' Has juster quarrel; who has sought with arms' To stain our Pharos, distant from the strife'And peaceful ever, and to make our realm'Suspected by his victor. Why alone'Should this our country please thee in thy fall?' Why bring'st thou here the burden of thy fates,' Pharsalia's curse? In Caesar's eyes long since'We have offence which by the sword alone' Can find its condonation, in that we'By thy persuasion from the Senate gained'This our dominion. By our prayers we helped' If not by arms thy cause. This sword, which fate' Bids us make ready, not for thee I hold' Prepared, but for the vanquished; and thy heart'(I had preferred thy kinsman's) shall I pierce:' For to his side, as all things, are we borne.' And dost thou doubt, since thou art in my power,'Thou art my victim? By what trust in us'Cam'st thou, unhappy? Scarce our people tills' The fields, though softened by the refluent Nile:' Know well our strength, and know we can no more.'Rome 'neath the ruin of Pompeius lies:'Shalt thou, O king, uphold him? Shalt thou dare' To stir Pharsalia's ashes and to call' War to thy kingdom? Ere the fight was fought' We joined not either army-shall we now' Make Magnus friend whom all the world deserts?'And fling a challenge to the conquering chief'And all his proud successes? Fair is help'Lent in disaster, yet reserved for those'Whom fortune favours. Faith her friends selects'Not from the wretched.'
Tunc Cilicum liquere solum, Cyproque citatasImmisere rates, nullas cui praetulit arasUndae diva memor Paphiae, si numina nasciCredimus, aut quemquam fas est coepisse deorum.Haec ubi deseruit Pompeius litora, totosEmensus Cypri scopulos, quibus exit in Austrum,Inde maris vasti transverso vertitur aestu:Nec tenuit gratum nocturno lumine montem,Infimaque Aegypti pugnaci litora veloVix tetigit, qua dividui pars maxima NiliIn vada decurrit Pelusia septimus amnis.Tempus erat, quo Libra pares examinat horas,Non uno plus aequa die, noctique rependitLux minor hibernae verni solatia damni.Comperit ut regem Casio se monte tenere,Flectit iter: nec Phoebus adhuc, nec carbasa languent.Iam rapido speculator eques per litora cursuHospitis adventu pavidam compleverat aulam.Consilii vix tempus erat: tamen omnia monstraPellaeae colere domus: quos inter Achoreus,Iam placidus senio, fractisque modestior annis,(Hunc genuit, custos Nili crescentis in arva,Memphis vana sacrit; illo cultore deorumLustra suae Phoebes non unus vixerat Apis)Consilii vox prima fuit; meritumque, fidemque,Sacraque defuncti iactavit pignora patris.Sed, melior suadere malis, et nosse tyrannos,Ausus Pompeium leto damnasse Pothinus:Ius et fas multos faciunt, Ptolemaee, nocentes.Dat poenas laudata fides, cum sustinet, inquit,Quos Fortuna premit. Fatis accede deisque,Et cole felices; miseros fuge. Sidera terraUt distant, ut flamma mari, sic utile recto.Sceptrorum vis tota perit, si pendere iustaIncipit: evertitque arces respectus honesti.Libertas scelerum est, quae regna invisa tuetur,Sublatusque modus gladiis. Facere omnia saeveNon impune licet, nisi cum facis. Exeat aula,Qui vult esse pius. Virtus et summa potestasNon coeunt: semper metuet, quem saeva pudebunt.Non impune tuos Magnus contemserit annos;Qui te nec victos arcere a litore nostroPosse putat. Neu te sceptris privaverit hospes,Pignora sunt propiora tibi: Nilonque Pharonque,Si regnare piget, damnatae redde sorori.Aegyptum certe Latiis tueamur ab armis.Quidquid non fuerit Magni, dum bella geruntur,Nec victoris erit. Toto iam pulsus ab orbe,Postquam nulla manet rerum fiducia, quaerit,Cum qua gente cadat: rapitur civilibus umbris.Nec soceri tantum arma fugit: fugit ora senatus,Cuius Thessalicas saturat pars magna volucres:Et metuit gentes, quas uno in sanguine mixtasDeseruit: regesque timet, quorum omnia mersit:Thessaliaeque reus, nulla tellure receptus,Sollicitat nostrum, quem nondum prodidit, orbem.Iustior in Magnum nobis, Ptolemaee, querelaeCaussa data est. Quid sepositam semperque quietamCrimine bellorum maculas Pharon, arvaque nostraVictori suspecta facis? cur sola cadentiHaec placuit tellus, in quam Pharsalica fataConferres, poenasque tuas? Iam crimen habemus,Purgandum gladio, quod nobis sceptra senatusTe suadente dedit. Votis tua fovimus arma.Hoc ferrum, quod fata iubent proferre, paraviNon tibi, sed victo. Feriam tua viscera, Magne:Malueram soceri: rapimur, quo cuncta feruntur.Tene mihi dubitas an sit violare necesse,Cum liceat? Quae te nostri fiducia regniHuc agit, infelix? Populum non cernis inermem,Arvaque vix refluo fodientem mollia Nilo?Metiri sua regna decet viresque fateri.Tu, Ptolemaee, potes Magni fulcire ruinam,Sub qua Roma iacet? bustum cineresque movereThessalicos audes, bellumque in regna vocare?Ante aciem Emathiam nullis accessimus armis:Pompeii nunc castra placent, quae deserit orbis?Nunc, victoris opes et cognita fata lacessis?Adversis non deesse decet, sed laeta secutos.Nulla fides umquam miseros elegit amicos.
Then they all decreeThe crime's accomplishment. Proud is the boy kingOf such unwonted honour, that his slavesSo soon give power for so great a deed.They choose Achillas for the work of death;And where the treacherous shore in Casian sandsRuns out, and shallow waters of the seaAttest the Syrtes near, in little boatHe and his partners in the monstrous crimeWith swords embark. Ye gods! and shall the NileAnd barbarous Memphis and th' effeminate crewThat throngs Pelusian Canopus raiseIts thoughts to such an enterprise? Do thusOur fates press on the world? Is Rome thus fallenThat in our civil frays the Pharian swordFinds place, or Egypt? 0, may civil warBe thus far faithful that the hand which strikesBe of our kindred; and the foreign fiendHeld worlds apart! Pompeius, great in soul,Noble in spirit, had deserved a deathFrom Caesar's self. And, king, hast thou no fearAt such a ruin of so great a name?And dost thou dare when heaven's high thunder rolls,Thou, puny boy, to mingle with its tonesThine impure utterance? Had he not wonA world by arms, and thrice in triumph scaledThe sacred Capitol, and vanquished kings,And championed the Roman Senate's cause;He, kinsman of the victor? 'Twas enoughTo cause forbearance in a Pharian king,That he was Roman. Wherefore with thy swordDost stab our breasts? Thou know'st not, impious boy,How stand thy fortunes; now no more by rightHast thou the sceptre of the land of Nile;For prostrate, vanquished in the civil warsIs he who gave it.Furling now his sails,Magnus with oars approached th' accursed land,When in their little boat the murderous crewDrew nigh. and feigning from th' Egyptian courtA ready welcome, blamed the double tidesBroken by shallows, and their scanty beachUnfit for fleets; and bade him to their craftLeaving his loftier ship. Had not the fates'Eternal and unalterable lawsCalled for their victim and decreed his endNow near at hand, his comrades' warning voiceYet might have stayed his course: for if the courtTo Magnus, who bestowed the Pharian crown,In truth were open, should not king and fleetIn pomp have come to greet him? But he yields:The fates compel. Welcome to him was deathRather than fear. But, rushing to the side,His spouse would follow, for she dared not stay,Fearing the guile. Then he, ' Abide, my wife,And son, I pray you; from the shore afar' Await my fortunes; mine shall be the life' To test their honour.' But Cornelia stillWithstood his bidding, and with arms outspreadFrenzied she cried: ' And whither without me,' Cruel, departest? Thou forbad'st me share' Thy risks Thessalian; dost again command' That I should part from thee? No happy star' Breaks on our sorrow. If from every land' Thou dost debar me, why didst turn aside' In flight to Lesbos? On the waves alone' Am I thy fit companion? ' Thus in vain,Leaning upon the bulwark, dazed with dread;Nor could she turn her straining gaze aside,Nor see her parting husband. All the fleetStood silent, anxious, waiting for the end:Not that they feared the murder which befell,But lest their leader might with humble prayerKneel to the king he made.As Magnus passed,A Roman soldier from the Pharian boat,Septimius, salutes him. Gods of heaven!There stood he, minion to a barbarous king,Nor bearing still the javelin of Rome;But vile in all his arms; giant in formFierce, brutal, thirsting as a beast may thirstFor carnage. Didst thou, Fortune, for the sakeOf nations, spare to dread Pharsalus fieldThis savage monster's blows? Or dost thou placeThroughout the world, for thy mysterious ends,Some ministering swords for civil war?Thus, to the shame of victors and of gods,This story shall be told in days to come:A Roman swordsman, once within thy ranks,Slave to the orders of a puny prince,Severed Pompeius' neck. And what shall beSeptimius' fame hereafter? By what nameThis deed be called, if Brutus wrought a crime?Now came the end, the latest hour of all:Rapt to the boat was Magnus, of himselfNo longer master, and the miscreant crewUnsheathed their swords; which when the chieftain sawHe swathed his visage, for he scorned unveiledTo yield his life to fortune; closed his eyesAnd held his breath within him, lest some word,Or sob escaped, might mar the deathless fameHis deeds had won. And when within his sideAchillas plunged his blade, nor sound nor cryHe gave, but calm consented to the blowAnd proved himself in dying; in his breastThese thoughts revolving: ' In the years to come' Men shall make mention of our Roman toils,' Gaze on this boat, ponder the Pharian faith;' And think upon thy fame and all the years' While Fortune smiled: but for the ills of life' How thou couldst bear them, this men shall not know' Save by thy death. Then weigh thou not the shame' That waits on thine undoing. Whoso strikes,' The blow is Caesar's. Men may tear this frame'And cast it mangled to the winds of heaven;'Yet have I prospered, nor can all the gods' Call back my triumphs. Life may bring defeat,'But death no misery. If my spouse and son'Behold me murdered, silently the more' I suffer: admiration at my death'Shall prove their love.' So did Pompeius die,And so kept guard upon his thoughts in death.
Adsensere omnes sceleri. Laetatur honoreRex puer insueto, quod iam sibi tanta licerePermittant famuli. Sceleri delectus Achillas.Perfida qua tellus Casiis excurrit arenis,Et vada testantur iunctas Aegyptia Syrtes,Exiguam sociis monstri gladiisque carinamInstruit. O superi, Nilusne et barbara Memphis,Et Pelusiaci tam mollis turba CanopiHos animos? Sic fata premunt civilia mundum?Sic Romana iacent? Ullusue in cladibus istisEst locus Aegypto, Phariusque admittitur ensis?Hanc certe servate fidem, civilia bella:Cognatas praestate manus, externaque monstraPellite, si meruit tam claro nomine MagnusCaesaris esse nefas. Tanti; Ptolemaee, ruinamNominis haud metuis coeloque tonante, profanasInseruisse manus, impure ac semivir, audes?Non domitor mundi, nec ter Capitolia curruInvectus, regumque potens, vindexque senatus,Victorisque gener; Phario satis esse tyrannoQuod poterat, Romanus erat. Quid viscera nostraScrutaris gladio Nescis, puer improbe, nescis,Quo tua sit fortuna loco: iam iure sine ulloNili sceptra tenes: cecidit civilibus armis,Qui tibi regna dedit. Iam vento vela negaratMagnus, et auxilio remorum infanda petebatLitora: quem contra non longa vecta biremiAdpulerat scelerata manus: Magnoque patereFingens regna Phari, celsae de puppe carinaeIn parvam iubet ire ratem, litusque malignumIncusat, bimaremque vadis frangentibus aestum,Qui vetet externas terris advertere classes.Quodnisi fatorum leges intentaque iussuOrdinis aeterni miserae vicinia mortisDamnatum leto traherent ad litora Magnum,Non ulli comitum sceleris praesagia deerant:Quippe, fides si pura foret, si regia MagnoSceptrorum auctori vera pietate pateret,Venturum tota Pharium cum classe tyrannum.Sed cedit fatis, classemque relinquere iussusObsequitur, letumque iuvat praeferre timori.Ibat in hostilem praeceps Cornelia puppim,Hoc magis impatiens egresso deesse marito,Quod metuit clades. Remane, temeraria coniunx,Et tu, nate, precor, longeque e litore casusExspectate meos: et in hac cervice tyrannmExplorate fidem, dixit. Sed dura vetantiTendebat geminas amens Cornelia palmas:Quo sine me, crudelis, abis? Iterumne relinquor,Thessalicis submota malis? Numquam omine laetoDistrahimur miseri. Poteras non flectere puppim,Cum fugeres, alio, latebrisque relinquere Lesbi,Omnibus a terris si nos arcere parabas.An tantum in fluctus placeo comes? Haec ubi frustraEffudit, prima pendet tamen anxia puppe:Attonitoque metu nec quoquam avertere visus,Nec Magnum spectare potest. Stetit anxia classisAd ducis eventum, metuens non arma nefasque,Sed ne submissis precibus Pompeius adoretSceptra sua donata manu. Transire parantemRomanus Pharia miles de puppe salutatSeptimius: qui (pro superum pudor!) arma satellesRegia gestabat posito deformia pilo:Immanis, violentus, atrox, nullaque ferarumMitior in caedes. Quis non, Fortuna, putassetParcere te populis, quod bello haec dextra vacasset,Thessaliaque procul tam noxia tela fugasses?Disponis gladios, ne quo non fiat in orbe,Heu, facinus civile tibi. Victoribus ipsisDedecus, et numquam superum caritura pudoreFabula; Romanus regi sic paruit ensis,Pellaeusque puer gladio tibi colla recidit,Magne, tuo. Qua posteritas in saecula mittetSeptimium fama? scelus hoc quo nomine dicent,Qui Bruti dixere nefas? Iam venerat horaeTerminus extremae, Phariamque ablatus in alnumPerdiderat iam iura sui. Tunc stringere ferrumRegia monstra parant. Ut vidit cominus enses,Involvit vultus, atque, indignatus apertumFortunae praestare caput, tunc lumina pressit,Continuitque animam, ne quas effundere vocesPosset, et aeternam fletu corrumpere tamam.At postquam mucrone latus funestus AchillasPerfodit, nullo gemitu consensit ad ictum,Despexitque nefas, servatque immobile corpus,Seque probat moriens, atque haec in pectore volvit:Saecula Romanos numquam tacitura laboresAttendunt, aevumque sequens speculatur ab omniOrbe ratem, Phariamque fidem. Nunc consule famae.Fata tibi longae fluxerunt prospera vitae:Ignorant populi, si non in morte probaris,An scieris adversa pati. Ne cede pudori,Auctoremque dole fati. Quacumque feriris,Crede manum soceri. Spargant lacerentque licebit,Sum tamen, o superi, felix, nullique potestasHoc auferre deo. Mutantur prospera vitae:Non fit morte miser. Videt hanc Cornelia caedem,Pompeiusque meus. Tanto patientius, oro,Claude, dolor, gemitus: natus coniuxque, peremptumSi mirantur, amant. Talis custodia MagnoMentis erat: ius hoc animi morientis habebat.
His spouse, less patient to behold the crimeThan to endure it, filled the airs with cries;'0, husband, whom my wicked self hath slain!'That lonely isle apart thy bane hath been'And stayed thy coming. Caesar to the Nile'Has won before us; for what other hand'May do such work? But whosoe'er thou art'Sent from the gods with power, for Caesar's ire,'Or thine own sake, to slay, thou dost not know'Where lies the heart of Magnus. Thou dost hasteTo deal the blow as he would have it fall.'Let me die first, and let him seeing bear'An agony no less than death can bring.'No freedom mine from blame of war. AloneOf Roman wives, through oceans and through camps,Fearing no fates, I followed him afield;And in defeat when even monarchs fearedReceived my husband. Did I then deserveThus to be left of thee, and didst thou seekTo spare me? And when rushing on thine endWas I to live? Without the monarch's helpDeath shall be mine, either by headlong leapBeneath the waters; or some sailor's handShall bind around this neck the fatal cord;Or else some comrade, worthy of his chief,Drive to my heart his blade for Magnus' sake,And claim the service done to Caesar's arms.What! does your cruelty withhold my fate?Ah! still he lives, nor is it mine as yetTo win this freedom; they forbid me death,Kept for the victor's triumph.' Thus she spake,While friendly hands upheld her fainting form;And sped the trembling vessel from the shore.Men say that Magnus, when the deadly blowsFell thick upon him, lost nor form divine,Nor venerated mien; and as they gazedUpon his lacerated head they markedStill on his features anger with the gods.For fierce Septimius in the very blowMade yet more black his crime-unwound the foldsThat swathed the face, and seized the noble headAnd drooping neck ere yet was fled the life:Then placed upon the bench; and with his bladeSlow at its hideous task, and blows unskilledHacked through the flesh and brake the knotted bone;For yet man had not learned by swoop of swordDeftly to lop the neck. Achillas claimedThe gory head dissevered. What! shalt thouA Roman soldier, while thy blade yet reeksFrom Magnus' slaughter, play the second partTo this base varlet of the Pharian king?Nor bear thyself the bleeding trophy home?Then, that the impious boy (ah! shameful fate)Might know the features of the hero slain,Seized by the locks, the dread of kings, which wavedUpon his stately front, on Pharian pikeThe head was lifted; while almost the lifeGave to the tongue its accents, and the eyesWere yet scarce glazed: that head at whose commandWas peace or war, that tongue whose eloquent tonesWould move assemblies, and that noble browOn which were showered the rewards of Rome.Nor to the tyrant did the sight sufficeTo prove the murder done. The perishing flesh,The tissues, and the brain he bids removeBy art nefarious: the shrivelled skinDraws tight upon the bone; and poisonous juiceGives to the face its lineaments in death.Last of thy race, thou base degenerate boy,About to perish soon, and yield the throneTo thine incestuous sister; while the PrinceFrom Macedon here in consecrated vaultNow rests, and ashes of the kings are closedIn mighty pyramids, and lofty tombsOf thine unworthy fathers mark the graves;Shall Magnus' body hither and thither borneBe battered, headless, by the ocean wave?Too much it troubled thee to guard the corseUnmutilated, for his kinsman's eyeTo witness! Such the fate which Fortune keptWith prosperous Pompeius to the end.'Twas not for him in evil days some rayOf light to hope for. Shattered from the heightOf power in one short moment to his death!Years of unbroken victories balanced downBy one day's carnage! In his happy timeHeaven did not harass him, nor did she spareIn misery. Long Fortune held the handThat dashed him down. Now beaten by the sands,Torn upon rocks, the sport of ocean's wavesPoured through its wounds, his headless carcase lies,Save by the lacerated trunk unknown.
At non tam patiens Cornelia cernere saevumQuam perferre nefas, miserandis aethera completVocibus: o coniunx, ego te scelerata peremi:Letiferae tibi caussa morae fuit avia Lesbos,Et prior in Nili pervenit litora Caesar.Nam cui ius alii sceleris? Sed, quisquis in istudA superis immisse caput, vel Caesaris iraeVel tibi prospiciens, nescis, crudelis, ubi ipsaViscera sint Magni: properas, atque ingeris ictus,Qua votum est victo. Poenas non morte minoresPendat, et ante meum videat caput. Haud ego culpaLibera bellorum, quae matrum sola per undasEt per castra comes, nullis absterrita fatis,Victum, quod reges etiam timuere, recepi.Hoc merui, coniux, in tuta puppe relinqui?Perfide, parcebas? te fata extrema petente,Vita digna fui? Moriar, nec munere regis.Aut mihi praecipitem, nautae, permittite saltum,Aut laqueum collo tortosque aptare rudentes:Aut aliquis Magno dignus comes exigat ensem.Pompeio praestare potest, quod Caesaris armisImputet. O saevi, properantem in fata tenetisVivis adhuc, coniux, et iam Cornelia non estIuris, Magne, sui. Prohibent accersere mortem:Servor victori. Sic fata, interque suorumLapsa manus, rapitur, trepida fugiente carina.At Magni cum terga sonent et pectora ferro,Permansisse decus sacrae venerabile formae,Iratamque deis faciem, nil ultima mortisEx habitu vultuque viri mutasse, fatenturQui lacerum videre caput. Nam saevus in ipsoSeptimius sceleris maius scelus invenit actu:Ac retegit sacros, scisso velamine, vultusSemianimis Magni, spirantiaque occupat ora,Collaque in obliquo ponit languentia transtro.Tunc nervos venasque secat, nodosaque frangitOssa diu: nondum artis erat, caput ense rotare.At postquam trunco cervix abscisa recessit,Vindicat hoc Pharius dextra gestare satelles.Degener atque operae, miles Romane, secundae,Pompeii diro sacrum caput ense recidis,Ut non ipse feras? Pro summi fata pudoris!Impius ut Magnum nosset puer, illa verendaRegibus hirta coma, et generosa fronte decoraCaesaries comprensa manu est, Pharioque veruto,Dum vivunt vultus, atque os in murmura pulsantSingultus animae, dum lumina nuda rigescunt,Suffixum caput est, quo numquam bella iubentePax fuit: hoc leges, Campumque, et rostra movebat:Hac facie Fortuna tibi Romana placebas.Nec satis infando fuit hoc vidisse tyranno:Vult sceleri superesse fidem. Tunc arte nefandaSubmota est capiti tabes: raptoque cerebroExsiccata cutis, putrisque effluxit ab altoHumor, et infuso facies solidata veneno est.Ultima Lageae stirpis, perituraque proles,Degener, incestae sceptris cessure sororis,Cum tibi sacrato Macedon servetur in antro,Et regum cineres exstructo monte quiescant,Cum Ptolemaeorum manes seriemque pudendamPyramides claudant, indignaque Mausolea:Litora Pompeium feriunt, truncusque vadosisHuc illuc iactatur aquis? Adeone molestaTotum cura fuit socero servare cadaver?Hac Fortuna fide Magni tam prospera fataPertulit: hac illum summo de culmine rerumMorte petit, cladesque omnes exegit in unoSaeva die, quibus immunes tot praestitit annos:Pompeiusque fuit, qui numquam mixta videretLaeta malis: felix nullo turbante deorum,Et nullo parcente miser. Semel impulit illumDilata Fortuna manu. Pulsatur arenis,Carpitur in scopulis, hausto per vulnera fluctuLudibrium pelagi: nullaque manente figura,Una nota est Magno capitis factura revulsi.
Yet ere the victor touched the Pharian sandsSome scanty rites to Magnus Fortune gave,Lest he should want all burial. Pale with fearCame Cordus, hasting from his hiding place;Quaestor, he joined Pompeius on thy shore,Idalian Cyprus, bringing in his trainA cloud of evils. Through the darkening shadesLove for the dead compelled his trembling steps,Hard by the margin of the deep to searchAnd drag to land his master. Through the cloudsThe moon shone sadly, and her rays were dim;But by its hue upon the hoary mainHe knew the body. In a fast embraceHe holds it, wrestling with the greedy sea,And deftly watching for a refluent waveGains help to bring his burden to the land.Then clinging to the loved remains, the woundsWashed with his tears, thus to the gods he speaks,And misty stars obscure: 'Here, Fortune, liesPompeius, thine: no costly incense rareOr pomp of funeral he dares to ask;Nor that the smoke rise heavenward from his pyreWith eastern odours rich; nor that the necksOf pious Romans bear him to the tomb,Their parent; while the forums shall resound' With dirges; nor that triumphs won of yore'Be borne before him; nor for sorrowing hosts'To cast their weapons forth. Some little shellHe begs as for the meanest, laid in whichHis mutilated corse may reach the flame.Grudge not his misery the pile of wood' Lit by this menial hand. Is't not enough'That his Cornelia with dishevelled hair' Weeps not beside him at his obsequies,' Nor with a last embrace shall place the torch' Beneath her husband dead, but on the deep' Hard by still wanders? 'Burning from afarHe sees the pyre of some ignoble youthDeserted of his own, with none to guard:And quickly drawing from beneath the limbsSome glowing logs, ' Whoe'er thou art,' he said,Neglected shade, uncared for, dear to none,Yet happier than Pompeius in thy death,Pardon I ask that this my stranger hand' Should violate thy tomb. Yet if to shades'Be sense or memory, gladly shalt thou yield'This from thy pyre to Magnus. 'Twere thy shame,'Blessed with due burial, if his remainsWere homeless.' Speaking thus, the wood aflameBack to the headless trunk at speed he bore,Which hanging on the margin of the deep,Almost the sea had won. In sandy trenchThe gathered fragments of a broken boat,Trembling, he placed around the noble limbs.No pile above the corse nor under lay,Nor was the fire beneath. Then as he crouchedBeside the blaze, ' 0, greatest chief,' he cried,Majestic champion of Hesperia's name,'If to be tossed unburied on the deepRather than these poor rites thy shade prefer,'From these mine offices thy mighty soulWithdraw, Pompeius. Injuries dealt by fateCommand this duty, lest some bird or beast'Or ocean monster, or fierce Caesar's wrath'Should venture aught upon thee. Take the fire;All that thou canst; by Roman hand at least'Enkindled. And should Fortune grant return'To loved Hesperia's land, not here shall rest'Thy sacred ashes; but within an urnCornelia, from this humble hand received,Shall place them. Here upon a meagre stoneWe draw the characters to mark thy tomb.These letters reading may some kindly friend'Bring back thine head, dissevered, and may grant'Full funeral honours to thine earthly frame.'Then did he cherish the enfeebled fireTill Magnus' body mingled with its flames.But now the harbinger of coming dawnHad paled the constellations: he in fearSeeks for his hiding place. Whom dost thou dread,Madman, what punishment for such a crime,For which thy fame by rumour trumpet-tonguedHas been sent down to ages? Praise is thineFor this thy work, at impious Caesar's hands;Sure of a pardon, go; confess thy task,And beg the head dissevered. But his workWas still unfinished, and with pious hand(Fearing some foe) he seizes on the bonesNow half consumed, and sinews; and the wavePours in upon them, and in shallow trenchCommits them to the earth; and lest some breezeMight bear away the ashes, or by chanceSome sailor's anchor might disturb the tomb,A stone he places, and with stick half burnedTraces the sacred name: Here Magnus lies.And art thou, Fortune, pleased that such a spotShould be his tomb which even Caesar's selfHad chosen, rather than permit his corseTo rest unburied? Why, with thoughtless handConfine his shade within the narrow boundsOf this poor sepulchre? Where the furthest sandHangs on the margin of the baffled deepCabined he lies; yet where the Roman nameIs known, and Empire, such in truth shall beThe boundless measure of his resting-place.Blot out this stone, this proof against the gods!OEta finds room for Hercules alone,And Nysa's mountain for the Bromian god;Not all the lands of Egypt should sufficeFor Magnus dead: and shall one Pharian stoneMark his remains? Yet should no turf discloseHis title, peoples of the earth would fearTo spurn his ashes, and the sands of NileNo foot would tread. But if the stone deservesSo great a name, then add his mighty deeds:Write Lepidus conquered and the Alpine war,And fierce Sertorius by his aiding armO'erthrown; the chariots which as knight he drove;Cilician pirates driven from the main,And Commerce safe to nations; Eastern kingsDefeated and the barbarous Northern tribes;Write that from arms he ever sought the robe;Write that content upon the CapitolThrice only triumphed he, nor asked his due.What mausoleum were for such a chiefA fitting monument? This paltry stoneRecords no syllable of the lengthy taleOf honours: and the name which men have readUpon the sacred temples of the gods,And lofty arches built of hostile spoils,On desolate sands here marks his lowly graveWith characters obscure, such as erectNo traveller could read, and Roman guestWithout a hand to guide would pass unseen.
Ante tamen Pharias victor quam tangat arenas,Pompeio raptim tumulum Fortuna paravit,Ne iaceat nullo, vel ne meliore sepulchro.E latebris pavidus decurrit ad aequora Cordus.Quaestor ab Idalio Cinyraeae litore CypriInfaustus Magni fuerat comes. Ille per umbrasAusus ferre gradum, victum pietate timoremCompulit, ut mediis quaesitum corpus in undisDuceret ad terram, traheretque ad litora Magnum.Lucis moesta parum per densas Cynthia nubesPraebebat; cano sed discolor aequore truncusConspicitur. Tenet ille ducem complexibus arctis,Eripiente mari: nunc victus pondere tantoExspectat fluctus, pelagoque iuvante cadaverImpellit. Postquam sicco iam litore sedit,Incubuit Magno, lacrimasque effudit in omneVulnus, et ad superos obscuraque sidera fatur:Non pretiosa petit cumulato ture sepulchraPompeius, Fortuna, tuus; non pinguis ad astraUt ferat e membris Eoos fumus odores,Ut Romana suum gestent pia colla parentem,Praeferat ut veteres feralis pompa triumphos,Ut resonent cantu tristi fora, totus ut ignemProiectis moerens exercitus ambiat armis.Da vilem Magno plebeii funeris arcam,Quae lacerum corpus siccos effundat in ignes.Robora non desint misero, nec sordidus ustor.Sit satis, o superi, quod non Cornelia fusoCrine iacet, subicique facem complexa maritumImperat, extremo sed abest a munere bustiInfelix coniux, nec adhuc a litore longe est.Sic fatus, parvos iuvenis procul adspicit ignes,Corpus, vile suis, nullo custode cremantes.Inde rapit flammas, semiustaque robora membrisSubducens, Quaecumque es, sit, neglecta, nec ulliCara tuo, sed Pompeio felicior umbra,Quod iam compositum violat manus hospita bustum,Da veniam; si quid sensus post fata relictum est,Cedis et ipsa rogo, paterisque haec damna sepulchri,Teque pudet sparsis Pompeii manibus, uri.Sic fatur, plenusque sinus ardente favillaPervolat ad truncum; qui fluctu paene relatusLitore pendebat. Summas dimovit arenas,Et collecta procul lacerae fragmenta carinaeExigua trepidus posuit scrobe. Nobile corpusRobora nulla premunt, nulla strue membra recumbunt:Admotus Magnum, non subditus, accipit ignis.Ile sedens iuxta flammas: O maxime, dixit,Ductor, et Hesperii maiestas nominis una,Si tibi iactatu pelagi, si funere nulloTristior iste rogus; manes animamque potentemOfficiis averte meis: iniuria fatiHoc fas esse iubet; ne ponti belua quidquam,Ne fera, ne volucres, ne saevi Caesaris iraAudeat: exiguam, quantum potes, accipe flammam,Romana succense manu. Fortuna recursusSi det in Hesperiam, non hac in sede quiescentTam sacri cineres, sed te Cornelia, Magne,Accipiet, nostraque manu transfundet in urnam.Interea parvo signemus litora saxo,Ut nota sit busti; si quis placare peremptumForte volet, plenos et reddere mortis honores;Inveniat trunci cineres, et norit arenas,Ad quas, Magne, tuum referat caput. Haec ubi fatus,Excitat invalidas admoto fomite flammas.Carpitur, et lentum Magnus destillat in ignem,Tabe fovens bustum. Sed iam percusserat astraAurorae praemissa dies: ille, ordine ruptoFuneris, adtonitus latebras in litore quaerit.Quam metuis, demens, isto pro crimine poenam,Quo te fama loquax omnes accepit in annosCondita laudabit Magni socer impius ossa:I modo securus veniae, fassusque sepulchrumPosce caput. Cogit pietas imponere finemOfficio. Semiusta rapit resolutaque nondumOssa satis, nervis et inustis plena medullisAequorea restinguit aqua, congestaque in unumParva clausit humo. Tunc, ne levis aura retectosAuferret cineres, saxo compressit arenam:Nautaque ne bustum religato fune moveret,Inscripsit sacrum semiusto stipite nomen:HIC SITUS EST MAGNUS. Placet hoc, Fortuna, sepulchrumDicere Pompeii, quo condi maluit illum,Quam terra caruisse socer? Temeraria dextra,Cur obicis Magno tumulum, manesque vagantesIncludis? Situs est, qua terra extrema refusoPendet in Oceano. Romanum nomen et omneImperium Magno est tumuli modus. Obrue saxa,Crimine plena deum. Si tota est Herculis Oete,Et iuga tota vacant Bromio Nyseia, quareUnus in Aegypto Magno lapis Omnia LagiArva tenere potest, si nullo cespite nomenHaeserit. Erremus populi, cinerumque tuorum,Magne, metu nullas Nili calcemus arenas.Quodsi tam sacro dignaris nomine saxum,Adde actus tantos, monimentaque maxima rerum:Adde truces Lepidi motus, Alpinaque bella,Armaque Sertori, revocato consule, victa,Et currus, quos egit eques: commercia tutaGentibus, et pavidos Cilicas maris. Adde subactamBarbariem, gentesque vagas, et quidquid in EuroRegnorum Boreaque iacet. Dic semper ab armisCivilem repetisse togam: ter curribus actisContentum patriae multos donasse triumphos.Quis capit haec tumulus? Surgit miserabile bustumNon ullis plenum titulis, non ordine tantoFastorum: solitumque legi super alta deorumCulmina, et exstructos spoliis hostilibus arcus,Haud procul est ima Pompeii nomen arena,Depressum tumulo, quod non legat advena rectus,Quod, nisi monstratum, Romanus transeat hospes.
Thou land of Egypt, doomed to bear a partIn civil warfare, not unreasoning sangHigh Cumae's prophetess, when she forbadThe stream Pelusian to the Roman arms,And all the banks which in the summer-tideAre covered by his flood. What grievous curseShall I call down upon thee? May the NileTurn back his water to his source, thy fieldsWant for the winter rain, and all the landCrumble to desert wastes! We in our fanesHave known thine Isis and thy hideous gods,Half hounds, half human, and the drum that bidsTo sorrow, and Osiris, whom thy dirgeProclaims for man. Thou, Egypt, in thy sandOur dead containest. Nor, though her temples nowServe a proud master, has Rome yet requiredPompeius' ashes: in a foreign landStill lies her chief. But though men feared at firstThe victor's ire, now, Rome, at length receiveThy Magnus' bones, if still the restless waveHas not prevailed upon that hated shore.Shall men have fear of tombs and dread to moveThe dust of those who should be with the gods?0, may my country place the crime on me,If crime it be, to violate such a tombOf such a hero, and to bear his dustHome to Ausonia. Happy, happy heWho bears such holy office in his trust!Haply when famine rages in the landOr burning southern winds, or fires aboundAnd earthquake shocks, and Rome shall pray an endFrom angry heaven-by the gods' command,In council given, shalt thou be transferredTo thine own city, and the priest shall bearThy sacred ashes to their last abode.Who now may seek beneath the raging CrabOr hot Syene's waste, or Thebes athirstUnder the rainy Pleiades, to gazeOn Nile's broad stream; or whoso may exchangeOn the Red Sea or in Arabian portsSome Eastern merchandise, shall turn in aweTo view the venerable stone that marksThy grave, Pompeius; and shall worship moreThy dust commingled with the arid sand,Thy shade though exiled, than the fane uprearedOn Casius' mount to Jove! In temples shrinedAnd gold, thy memory were viler deemed:Fortune lies with thee in thy lowly tombAnd makes thee rival of Olympus' king.More awful is that stone by Libyan seasLashed, than are Conquerors' altars. There a godRests in dark earth to whom all men shall bowMore than to gods Tarpeian: and his nameShall shine the brighter in the days to comeFor that no marble tomb about him standsNor lofty monument. That little dustTime soon shall scatter and the tomb shall fallAnd all the proofs shall perish of his death.And happier days shall come when men shall gazeUpon the stone, nor yet believe the tale:And Egypt's fable, that she holds the graveOf great Pompeius, be believed no moreThan Crete's which boasts the sepulchre of Jove.
Noxia civili tellus Aegyptia fato,Haud equidem immerito Cumanae carmine vatisCautum, ne Nili Pelusia tangeret oraHesperius miles, ripasque aestate tumentes.Quid tibi saeva precer pro tanto crimine tellus?Vertat aquas Nilus, quo nascitur orbe, retentus,Et steriles egeant hibernis imbribus agri,Totaque in Aethiopum putres solvaris arenas.Nos in templa tuam Romana accepimus Isin,Semicanesque deos, et sistra iubentia luctus,Et quem tu plangens hominem testaris Osirin:Tu nostros, Aegypte, tenes in pulvere Manes.Tu quoque, cum saevo dederis iam templa tyranno,Nondum Pompeii cineres, o Roma, petisti:Exsul adhuc iacet umbra ducis. Si saecula primaVictoris timuere minas: nunc excipe saltemOssa tui Magni, si nondum subruta fluctuInvisa tellure sedent. Quis busta timebit?Quis sacris dignam movisse verebitur umbram?Imperet hoc nobis utinam scelus, et velit utiNostro Roma sinu: satis o nimiumque beatus,Si mihi contingat manes transferre revulsosAusoniam, si tale ducis violare sepulchrum.Forsitan, aut sulco sterili cum poscere finemA superis, aut Roma volet feralibus Austris,Ignibus aut nimiis, aut terrae tecta moventi,Consilio iussuque deum transibis in urbem,Magne, tuam, summusque feret tua busta sacerdos.Nunc quis ad exustam Cancro torrente SyenenIbit, et imbrifera siccas sub Pleiade Thebas,Spectator Nili: quis rubri stagna profundi,Aut Arabum portus mercis mutator Eoae,Magne, petet, quem non tumuli venerabile saxum,Et cinis in summis forsan turbatus arenisAdvertet, manesque tuos placare iuvabit,Et Casio praeferre Iovi? Nil ista nocebuntFamae busta tuae. Templis auroque sepultusVilior umbra fores: nunc est pro numine summo,Hoc tumulo Fortuna iacens. Augustius arisVictoris Libyco pulsatur in aequore saxum.Tarpeiis qui saepe deis sua tura negarunt,Inclusum fusco venerentur cespite numen.Proderit hoc olim, quod non mansura sepulcriArdua marmoreo surrexit pondere moles.Pulveris exigui sparget non longa vetustasCongeriem, bustumque cadet, mortisque peribuntArgumenta tuae. Veniet felicior aetas,Qua sit nulla fides saxum monstrantibus istud:Atque erit Aegyptus populis fortasse nepotumTam mendax Magni tumulo, quam Creta Tonantis.