Pharsalia [Civil War] | Page 8

glides onward to the sea. And where the river
broadens, neath the cape Her quiet harbour sleeps. No outstretched arm
Except in mimic war now hurls the lance. No skilful warrior of Seine
directs The scythed chariot 'gainst his country's foe. Now rest the
Belgians, and the Arvernian race That boasts our kinship by descent
from Troy; And those brave rebels whose undaunted hands Were
dipped in Cotta's blood, and those who wear Sarmatian garb. Batavia's
warriors fierce No longer listen for the bugle call, Nor those who dwell
where Rhone's swift eddies sweep Saone to the ocean; nor the
mountain tribes Who dwell about its source. Thou, too, oh Treves,
Rejoicest that the war has left thy bounds. Ligurian tribes, now shorn,
in ancient days First of the long-haired nations, on whose necks Once
flowed the auburn locks in pride supreme; And those who pacify with
blood accursed Savage Teutates, Hesus' horrid shrines, And Taranis'
altars cruel as were those Loved by Diana (18), goddess of the north;
All these now rest in peace. And you, ye Bards, Whose martial lays
send down to distant times The fame of valorous deeds in battle done,
Pour forth in safety more abundant song. While you, ye Druids (19),
when the war was done, To mysteries strange and hateful rites returned:
To you alone 'tis given the gods and stars To know or not to know;
secluded groves Your dwelling-place, and forests far remote. If what ye
sing be true, the shades of men Seek not the dismal homes of Erebus Or
death's pale kingdoms; but the breath of life Still rules these bodies in
another age -- Life on this hand and that, and death between. Happy the
peoples 'neath the Northern Star In this their false belief; for them no
fear Of that which frights all others: they with hands And hearts
undaunted rush upon the foe And scorn to spare the life that shall return.
Ye too depart who kept the banks of Rhine Safe from the foe, and leave
the Teuton tribes Free at their will to march upon the world.
Caesar, with strength increased and gathered troops New efforts daring,
spreads his bands afar Through Italy, and fills the neighbouring towns.

Then empty rumour to well-grounded fear Gave strength, and heralding
the coming war In hundred voices 'midst the people spread. One cries
in terror, "Swift the squadrons come Where Nar with Tiber joins: and
where, in meads By oxen loved, Mevania spreads her walls, Fierce
Caesar hurries his barbarian horse. Eagles and standards wave above
his head, And broad the march that sweeps across the land." Nor is he
pictured truly; greater far More fierce and pitiless -- from conquered
foes Advancing; in his rear the peoples march. Snatched from their
homes between the Rhine and Alps, To pillage Rome while Roman
chiefs look on. Thus each man's panic thought swells rumour's lie:
They fear the phantoms they themselves create. Nor does the terror
seize the crowd alone: But fled the Fathers, to the Consuls (20) first
Issuing their hated order, as for war; And doubting of their safety,
doubting too Where lay the peril, through the choking gates, Each
where he would, rushed all the people forth. Thou would'st believe that
blazing to the torch Were men's abodes, or nodding to their fall. So
streamed they onwards, frenzied with affright, As though in exile only
could they find Hope for their country. So, when southern blasts From
Libyan whirlpools drive the boundless main, And mast and sail crash
down upon a ship With ponderous weight, but still the frame is sound,
Her crew and captain leap into the sea, Each making shipwreck for
himself. 'Twas thus They passed the city gates and fled to war. No aged
parent now could stay his son; Nor wife her spouse, nor did they pray
the gods To grant the safety of their fatherland. None linger on the
threshold for a look Of their loved city, though perchance the last.
Ye gods, who lavish priceless gifts on men, Nor care to guard them, see
victorious Rome Teeming with life, chief city of the world, With ample
walls that all mankind might hold, To coming Caesar left an easy prey.
The Roman soldier, when in foreign lands Pressed by the enemy, in
narrow trench And hurried mound finds guard enough to make His
slumber safe; but thou, imperial Rome, Alone on rumour of advancing
foes Art left a desert, and thy battlements They trust not for one night.
Yet for their fear This one excuse was left; Pompeius fled. Nor found
they room for hope; for nature gave Unerring portents of worse ills to
come. The angry gods filled earth and air and sea With frequent
prodigies; in darkest nights Strange