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(From Pharsalia)
Translated by Nicholas Rowe
NOW Cæsar, marching swift, with winged haste | |
| The summits of the frozen Alps had past; | |
| The vast events and enterprises fraught, | |
| And future wars revolving in his thought, | |
| Now near the banks of Rubicon he stood; | 5 |
| When, lo! as he surveyed the narrow flood, | |
| Amidst the dusky horrors of the night, | |
| A wondrous vision stood confest to sight. | |
| Her awful head Rome’s reverend image reared, | |
| Trembling and sad the matron form appeared: | 10 |
| A towery crown her hoary temples bound, | |
| And her torn tresses rudely hung around: | |
| Her naked arms uplifted ere she spoke, | |
| Then groaning, thus the mournful silence broke: | |
| “Presumptuous men! O, whither do you run? | 15 |
| O, whither bear ye these mine ensigns on? | |
| If friends to right, if citizens of Rome, | |
| Here to your utmost barrier are you come.” | |
| She said; and sunk within the closing shade. | |
| Astonishment and dread the chief invade. | 20 |
| Stiff rose his starting hair; he stood dismayed, | |
| And on the bank his slackening steps were stayed. | |
| “O thou,” at length he cried, “whose hand controls | |
| The forky fire, and rattling thunder rolls; | |
| Who, from thy capitol’s exalted height, | 25 |
| Dost o’er the widespread city cast thy sight! | |
| Ye Phrygian gods, who guard the Julian line, | |
| Ye mysteries of Romulus divine! | |
| Thou Jove! to whom from young Ascanius came | |
| Thine Alban temple and thy Latial name; | 30 |
| And thou, immortal, sacred Vestal Flame! | |
| But chief, O, chiefly thou, majestic Rome, | |
| My first, my great divinity, to whom, | |
| Thy still successful Cæsar, am I come; | |
| Nor do thou fear the sword’s destructive rage, | 35 |
| With thee my arms no impious war shall wage; | |
| On him thy hate, on him thy curse, bestow | |
| Who would persuade thee Cæsar is thy foe; | |
| And since to thee I consecrate my toil, | |
| O, favor thou my cause, and on thy soldier smile!” | 40 |
| He said; and straight, impatient of delay, | |
| Across the swelling flood pursued his way. | |
| So when on sultry Libya’s desert sand | |
| The lion spies the hunter hard at hand, | |
| Couched on the earth the doubtful savage lies, | 45 |
| And waits awhile till all his fury rise; | |
| His lashing tail provokes his swelling sides, | |
| And high upon his neck his mane with horror rides. | |
| Then if at length the flying dart infest, | |
| Or the broad spear invade his ample breast, | 50 |
| Scorning the wound he yawns a dreadful roar, | |
| And flies like lightning on the hostile Moor. | |
| While with hot skies the fervent summer glows, | |
| The Rubicon an humble river flows; | |
| Through lowly vales he cuts his winding way, | 55 |
| And rolls his ruddy waters to the sea. | |
| His bank on either side a limit stands, | |
| Between the Gallic and Ausonian lands. | |
| But stronger now the winter torrent grows, | |
| For wetting winds had thawed the Alpine snows, | 60 |
| And Cynthia, rising with a blunted beam | |
| In the third circle, drove her watery team, | |
| A signal sure to raise the swelling stream. | |
| For this, to stem the rapid water’s course, | |
| First plunged amidst the flood the bolder horse; | 65 |
| With strength opposed against the stream they lead, | |
| While to the smoother ford the foot with ease succeed. | |
| The leader now had passed the torrent o’er, | |
| And reached fair Italy’s forbidden shore; | |
| Then rearing on the hostile bank his head, | 70 |
| “Here, farewell, peace and injured laws,” he said. | |
| “Since faith is broke and leagues are set aside, | |
| Henceforth thou, Goddess Fortune, art my guide; | |
| Let fate and war the great event decide.” | |
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