Pharsalia [Civil War] | Page 6

miserable those to whom their home
Denies the peace that all men else enjoy! Placed as we are beside the
Northern bounds And scarce a footstep from the restless Gaul, We fall
the first; would that our lot had been Beneath the Eastern sky, or frozen
North, To lead a wandering life, rather than keep The gates of Latium.
Brennus sacked the town And Hannibal, and all the Teuton hosts. For
when the fate of Rome is in the scale By this path war advances." Thus
they moan Their fears but speak them not; no sound is heard Giving
their anguish utterance: as when In depth of winter all the fields are still,
The birds are voiceless and no sound is heard To break the silence of
the central sea. But when the day had broken through the shades Of
chilly darkness, lo! the torch of war! For by the hand of Fate is swift
dispersed All Caesar's shame of battle, and his mind Scarce doubted
more; and Fortune toiled to make His action just and give him cause for
arms. For while Rome doubted and the tongues of men Spoke of the

chiefs who won them rights of yore, The hostile Senate, in contempt of
right, Drove out the Tribunes. They to Caesar's camp With Curio
hasten, who of venal tongue, Bold, prompt, persuasive, had been wont
to preach Of Freedom to the people, and to call Upon the chiefs to lay
their weapons down (11). And when he saw how deeply Caesar mused,
"While from the rostrum I had power," he said, To call the populace to
aid thy cause, By this my voice against the Senate's will Was thy
command prolonged. But silenced now Are laws in war: we driven
from our homes; Yet is our exile willing; for thine arms Shall make us
citizens of Rome again. Strike; for no strength as yet the foe hath
gained. Occasion calls, delay shall mar it soon: Like risk, like labour,
thou hast known before, But never such reward. Could Gallia hold
Thine armies ten long years ere victory came, That little nook of earth?
One paltry fight Or twain, fought out by thy resistless hand, And Rome
for thee shall have subdued the world: 'Tis true no triumph now would
bring thee home; No captive tribes would grace thy chariot wheels
Winding in pomp around the ancient hill. Spite gnaws the factions; for
thy conquests won Scarce shalt thou be unpunished. Yet 'tis fate Thou
should'st subdue thy kinsman: share the world With him thou canst not;
rule thou canst, alone." As when at Elis' festival a horse In stable pent
gnaws at his prison bars Impatient, and should clamour from without
Strike on his ear, bounds furious at restraint, So then was Caesar, eager
for the fight, Stirred by the words of Curio. To the ranks He bids his
soldiers; with majestic mien And hand commanding silence as they
come. "Comrades," he cried, "victorious returned, Who by my side for
ten long years have faced, 'Mid Alpine winters and on Arctic shores,
The thousand dangers of the battle-field -- Is this our country's
welcome, this her prize For death and wounds and Roman blood
outpoured? Rome arms her choicest sons; the sturdy oaks Are felled to
make a fleet; -- what could she more If from the Alps fierce Hannibal
were come With all his Punic host? By land and sea Caesar shall fly!
Fly? Though in adverse war Our best had fallen, and the savage Gaul
Were hard upon our track, we would not fly. And now, when fortune
smiles and kindly gods Beckon us on to glory! -- Let him come Fresh
from his years of peace, with all his crowd Of conscript burgesses,
Marcellus' tongue (12) And Cato's empty name! We will not fly. Shall
Eastern hordes and greedy hirelings keep Their loved Pompeius ever at

the helm? Shall chariots of triumph be for him Though youth and law
forbad them? Shall he seize On Rome's chief honours ne'er to be
resigned? And what of harvests (13) blighted through the world And
ghastly famine made to serve his ends? Who hath forgotten how
Pompeius' bands Seized on the forum, and with glittering arms Made
outraged justice tremble, while their swords Hemmed in the
judgment-seat where Milo (14) stood? And now when worn and old
and ripe for rest (15), Greedy of power, the impious sword again He
draws. As tigers in Hyrcanian woods Wandering, or in the caves that
saw their birth, Once having lapped the blood of slaughtered kine, Shall
never cease from rage; e'en so this whelp Of cruel Sulla, nursed in civil
war, Outstrips his master; and the tongue which licked That reeking
weapon ever thirsts for more. Stain once the lips with