BOOK III
Massilia

 

 

     With canvas yielding to the western wind

     The navy sailed the deep, and every eye

     Gazed on Ionian billows.  But the chief

     Turned not his vision from his native shore

     Now left for ever, while the morning mists

     Drew down upon the mountains, and the cliffs

     Faded in distance till his aching sight

     No longer knew them.  Then his wearied frame

     Sank in the arms of sleep.  But Julia's shape,

10   In mournful guise, dread horror on her brow,

     Rose through the gaping earth, and from her tomb

     Erect 1, in form as of a Fury spake:

     "Driven from Elysian fields and from the plains

     The blest inhabit, when the war began,

     I dwell in Stygian darkness where abide

     The souls of all the guilty.  There I saw

     Th' Eumenides with torches in their hands

     Prepared against thy battles; and the fleets 2

     Which by the ferryman of the flaming stream

20   Were made to bear thy dead: while Hell itself

     Relaxed its punishments; the sisters three

     With busy fingers all their needful task

     Could scarce accomplish, and the threads of fate

     Dropped from their weary hands.  With me thy wife,

    Thou, Magnus, leddest happy triumphs home:

     New wedlock brings new luck.  Thy concubine,

     Whose star brings all her mighty husbands ill,

     Cornelia, weds in thee a breathing tomb. 3

     Through wars and oceans let her cling to thee

30   So long as I may break thy nightly rest:

     No moment left thee for her love, but all

     By night to me, by day to Caesar given.

     Me not the oblivious banks of Lethe's stream

     Have made forgetful; and the kings of death

     Have suffered me to join thee; in mid fight

     I will be with thee, and my haunting ghost

     Remind thee Caesar's daughter was thy spouse.

     Thy sword kills not our pledges; civil war

     Shall make thee wholly mine."  She spake and fled.

40   But he, though heaven and hell thus bode defeat,

    More bent on war, with mind assured of ill,

     "Why dread vain phantoms of a dreaming brain?

     Or nought of sense and feeling to the soul

     Is left by death; or death itself is nought."

 

    Now fiery Titan in declining path

     Dipped to the waves, his bright circumference

     So much diminished as a growing moon

     Not yet full circled, or when past the full;

     When to the fleet a hospitable coast

50   Gave access, and the ropes in order laid,

     The sailors struck the masts and rowed ashore.

 

     When Caesar saw the fleet escape his grasp

     And hidden from his view by lengthening seas,

     Left without rival on Hesperian soil,

     He found no joy in triumph; rather grieved

     That thus in safety Magnus' flight was sped.

     Not any gifts of Fortune now sufficed

     His fiery spirit; and no victory won,

     Unless the war was finished with the stroke.

60   Then arms he laid aside, in guise of peace

     Seeking the people's favour; skilled to know

     How to arouse their ire, and how to gain

     The popular love by corn in plenty given.

     For famine only makes a city free;

     By gifts of food the tyrant buys a crowd

     To cringe before him: but a people starved

     Is fearless ever.

 

                         Curio he bids

     Cross over to Sicilian cities, where

     Or ocean by a sudden rise o'erwhelmed

70   The land, or split the isthmus right in twain,

     Leaving a path for seas.  Unceasing tides

     There labour hugely lest again should meet

     The mountains rent asunder.  Nor were left

     Sardinian shores unvisited: each isle

     Is blest with noble harvests which have filled

     More than all else the granaries of Rome,

     And poured their plenty on Hesperia's shores.

     Not even Libya, with its fertile soil,

     Their yield surpasses, when the southern wind

80   Gives way to northern and permits the clouds

     To drop their moisture on the teeming earth.

     This ordered, Caesar leads his legions on,

     Not armed for war, but as in time of peace

     Returning to his home.  Ah!  had he come

     With only Gallia conquered and the North 4,

     What long array of triumph had he brought!

     What pictured scenes of battle!  how had Rhine

     And Ocean borne his chains!  How noble Gaul,

     And Britain's fair-haired chiefs his lofty car

90   Had followed!  Such a triumph had he lost

     By further conquest.  Now in silent fear

     They watched his marching troops, nor joyful towns

     Poured out their crowds to welcome his return.

     Yet did the conqueror's proud soul rejoice,

     Far more than at their love, at such a fear.

 

     Now Anxur's hold was passed, the oozy road

     That separates the marsh, the grove sublime 5

    Where reigns the Scythian goddess, and the path

     By which men bear the fasces to the feast

100  On Alba's summit.  From the height afar --

     Gazing in awe upon the walls of Rome

     His native city, since the Northern war

     Unseen, unvisited -- thus Caesar spake:

     "Who would not fight for such a god-like town?

     And have they left thee, Rome, without a blow?

     Thank the high gods no eastern hosts are here

     To wreak their fury; nor Sarmatian horde

     With northern tribes conjoined; by Fortune's gift

     This war is civil: else this coward chief

110  Had been thy ruin."

 

                         Trembling at his feet

     He found the city: deadly fire and flame,

     As from a conqueror, gods and fanes dispersed;

     Such was the measure of their fear, as though

     His power and wish were one.  No festal shout

     Greeted his march, no feigned acclaim of joy.

     Scarce had they time for hate.  In Phoebus' hall

     Their hiding places left, a crowd appeared

     Of Senators, uncalled, for none could call.

     No Consul there the sacred shrine adorned

120  Nor Praetor next in rank, and every seat

     Placed for the officers of state was void:

     Caesar was all; and to his private voice 6

     All else were listeners.  The fathers sat

     Ready to grant a temple or a throne,

     If such his wish; and for themselves to vote

     Or death or exile.  Well it was for Rome

     That Caesar blushed to order what they feared.

     Yet in one breast the spirit of freedom rose

     Indignant for the laws; for when the gates

130  Of Saturn's temple hot Metellus saw,

     Were yielding to the shock, he clove the ranks

     Of Caesar's troops, and stood before the doors

     As yet unopened.  'Tis the love of gold

     Alone that fears not death; no hand is raised

     For perished laws or violated rights:

     But for this dross, the vilest cause of all,

     Men fight and die.  Thus did the Tribune bar

    The victor's road to rapine, and with voice

     Clear ringing spake: "Save o'er Metellus dead

140  This temple opens not; my sacred blood

     Shall flow, thou robber, ere the gold be thine.

     And surely shall the Tribune's power defied

     Find an avenging god; this Crassus knew 7,

     Who, followed by our curses, sought the war

     And met disaster on the Parthian plains.

     Draw then thy sword, nor fear the crowd that gapes

     To view thy crimes: the citizens are gone.

     Not from our treasury reward for guilt

     Thy hosts shall ravish: other towns are left,

150  And other nations; wage the war on them --

     Drain not Rome's peace for spoil."  The victor then,

     Incensed to ire: "Vain is thy hope to fall

     In noble death, as guardian of the right;

     With all thine honours, thou of Caesar's rage

     Art little worthy: never shall thy blood

     Defile his hand.  Time lowest things with high

     Confounds not yet so much that, if thy voice

     Could save the laws, it were not better far

     They fell by Caesar."  Such his lofty words.

 

160  But as the Tribune yielded not, his rage

     Rose yet the more, and at his soldiers' swords

     One look he cast, forgetting for the time

     What robe he wore; but soon Metellus heard

     These words from Cotta: "When men bow to power

     Freedom of speech is only Freedom's bane 8,

    Whose shade at least survives, if with free will

     Thou dost whate'er is bidden thee.  For us

     Some pardon may be found: a host of ills

     Compelled submission, and the shame is less

170  That to have done which could not be refused.

     Yield, then, this wealth, the seeds of direful war.

     A nation's anger is by losses stirred,

     When laws protect it; but the hungry slave

     Brings danger to his master, not himself."

 

     At this Metellus yielded from the path;

     And as the gates rolled backward, echoed loud

     The rock Tarpeian, and the temple's depths

     Gave up the treasure which for centuries

     No hand had touched: all that the Punic foe

180  And Perses and Philippus conquered gave,

     And all the gold which Pyrrhus panic-struck

     Left when he fled: that gold 9, the price of Rome,

     Which yet Fabricius sold not, and the hoard

     Laid up by saving sires; the tribute sent

     By Asia's richest nations; and the wealth

     Which conquering Metellus brought from Crete,

     And Cato 10 bore from distant Cyprus home;

     And last, the riches torn from captive kings

     And borne before Pompeius when he came

190  In frequent triumph.  Thus was robbed the shrine,

     And Caesar first brought poverty to Rome.

 

     Meanwhile all nations of the earth were moved

     To share in Magnus' fortunes and the war,

     And in his fated ruin.  Graecia sent,

     Nearest of all, her succours to the host.

     From Cirrha and Parnassus' double peak

     And from Amphissa, Phocis sent her youth:

     Boeotian leaders muster in the meads

     By Dirce laved, and where Cephisus rolls

200  Gifted with fateful power his stream along:

     And where Alpheus, who beyond the sea 11

     In fount Sicilian seeks the day again.

     Pisa deserted stands, and Oeta, loved

     By Hercules of old; Dodona's oaks

     Are left to silence by the sacred train,

     And all Epirus rushes to the war.

     And proud Athena, mistress of the seas,

     Sends three poor ships (alas! her all) to prove

     Her ancient victory o'er the Persian King.

210  Next seek the battle Creta's hundred tribes

     Beloved of Jove and rivalling the east

     In skill to wing the arrow from the bow.

     The walls of Dardan Oricum, the woods

     Where Athamanians wander, and the banks

     Of swift Absyrtus foaming to the main

     Are left forsaken.  Enchelaean tribes

     Whose king was Cadmus, and whose name records

     His transformation 12, join the host; and those

     Who till Penean fields and turn the share

220  Above Iolcos in Thessalian lands."

     There first men steeled their hearts to dare the waves 13

     And 'gainst the rage of ocean and the storm

     To match their strength, when the rude Argo sailed

     Upon that distant quest, and spurned the shore,

     Joining remotest nations in her flight,

     And gave the fates another form of death.

     Left too was Pholoe; pretended home

     Where dwelt the fabled race of double form 14;

     Arcadian Maenalus; the Thracian mount

230  Named Haemus; Strymon whence, as autumn falls,

     Winged squadrons seek the banks of warmer Nile;

     And all the isles the mouths of Ister bathe

     Mixed with the tidal wave; the land through which

     The cooling eddies of Caicus flow

     Idalian; and Arisbe bare of glebe.

     The hinds of Pitane, and those who till

     Celaenae's fields which mourned of yore the gift

     Of Pallas 15, and the vengeance of the god,

     All draw the sword; and those from Marsyas' flood

240  First swift, then doubling backwards with the stream

     Of sinuous Meander: and from where

     Pactolus leaves his golden source and leaps

     From Earth permitting; and with rival wealth

     Rich Hermus parts the meads.  Nor stayed the bands

     Of Troy, but (doomed as in old time) they joined

     Pompeius' fated camp: nor held them back

     The fabled past, nor Caesar's claimed descent

     From their Iulus.  Syrian peoples came

     From palmy Idumea and the walls

250  Of Ninus great of yore; from windy plains

     Of far Damascus and from Gaza's hold,

     From Sidon's courts enriched with purple dye,

     And Tyre oft trembling with the shaken earth.

     All these led on by Cynosura's light 16

     Furrow their certain path to reach the war.

 

     Phoenicians first (if story be believed)

     Dared to record in characters; for yet

     Papyrus was not fashioned, and the priests

     Of Memphis, carving symbols upon walls

260  Of mystic sense (in shape of beast or fowl)

     Preserved the secrets of their magic art.

 

     Next Persean Tarsus and high Taurus' groves

     Are left deserted, and Corycium's cave;

     And all Cilicia's ports, pirate no more,

     Resound with preparation.  Nor the East

     Refused the call, where furthest Ganges dares,

     Alone of rivers, to discharge his stream

     Against the sun opposing; on this shore 17

     The Macedonian conqueror stayed his foot

270  And found the world his victor; here too rolls

     Indus his torrent with Hydaspes joined

     Yet hardly feels it; here from luscious reed

     Men draw sweet liquor; here they dye their locks

     With tints of saffron, and with coloured gems

     Bind down their flowing garments; here are they,

     Who satiate of life and proud to die,

     Ascend the blazing pyre, and conquering fate,

     Scorn to live longer; but triumphant give

     The remnant of their days in flame to heaven. 18

 

280  Nor fails to join the host a hardy band

     Of Cappadocians, tilling now the soil,

     Once pirates of the main: nor those who dwell

     Where steep Niphates hurls the avalanche,

     And where on Median Coatra's sides

     The giant forest rises to the sky.

     And you, Arabians, from your distant home

     Came to a world unknown, and wondering saw

     The shadows fall no longer to the left. 19

     Then fired with ardour for the Roman war

290  Oretas came, and far Carmania's chiefs,

     Whose clime lies southward, yet men thence descry

     Low down the Pole star, and Bootes runs

     Hasting to set, part seen, his nightly course;

     And Ethiopians from that southern land

     Which lies without the circuit of the stars,

     Did not the Bull with curving hoof advanced

     O'erstep the limit.  From that mountain zone

     They come, where rising from a common fount

     Euphrates flows and Tigris, and did earth

300  Permit, were joined with either name; but now

     While like th' Egyptian flood Euphrates spreads

     His fertilising water, Tigris first

     Drawn down by earth in covered depths is plunged

     And holds a secret course; then born again

     Flows on unhindered to the Persian sea.

 

     But warlike Parthia wavered 'twixt the chiefs,

     Content to have made them two 20; while Scythia's hordes

     Dipped fresh their darts in poison, whom the stream

     Of Bactros bounds and vast Hyrcanian woods.

310  Hence springs that rugged nation swift and fierce,

     Descended from the Twins' great charioteer. 21

     Nor failed Sarmatia, nor the tribes that dwell

     By richest Phasis, and on Halys' banks,

     Which sealed the doom of Croesus' king; nor where

     From far Rhipaean ranges Tanais flows,

     On either hand a quarter of the world,

     Asia and Europe, and in winding course

     Carves out a continent; nor where the strait

     In boiling surge pours to the Pontic deep

320  Maeotis' waters, rivalling the pride

     Of those Herculean pillar-gates that guard

     The entrance to an ocean.  Thence with hair

     In golden fillets, Arimaspians came,

     And fierce Massagetae, who quaff the blood

     Of the brave steed on which they fight and flee.

 

     Not when great Cyrus on Memnonian realms

     His warriors poured; nor when, their weapons piled, 22

     The Persian told the number of his host;

     Nor when th' avenger 23 of a brother's shame

330  Loaded the billows with his mighty fleet,

     Beneath one chief so many kings made war;

     Nor e'er met nations varied thus in garb

     And thus in language.  To Pompeius' death

     Thus Fortune called them: and a world in arms

     Witnessed his ruin.  From where Afric's god,

     Two-horned Ammon, rears his temple, came

     All Libya ceaseless, from the wastes that touch

     The bounds of Egypt to the shore that meets

     The Western Ocean.  Thus, to award the prize

340  Of Empire at one blow, Pharsalia brought

     'Neath Caesar's conquering hand the banded world.

 

     Now Caesar left the walls of trembling Rome

     And swift across the cloudy Alpine tops

     He winged his march; but while all others fled

     Far from his path, in terror of his name,

     Phocaea's 24 manhood with un-Grecian faith

     Held to their pledged obedience, and dared

     To follow right not fate; but first of all

     With olive boughs of truce before them borne

350  The chieftain they approach, with peaceful words

     In hope to alter his unbending will

     And tame his fury.  "Search the ancient books

     Which chronicle the deeds of Latian fame;

     Thou'lt ever find, when foreign foes pressed hard,

     Massilia's prowess on the side of Rome.

     And now, if triumphs in an unknown world

     Thou seekest, Caesar, here our arms and swords

     Accept in aid: but if, in impious strife

     Of civil discord, with a Roman foe

360  Thou seek'st to join in battle, weeping then

     We hold aloof: no stranger hand may touch

     Celestial wounds.  Should all Olympus' hosts

     Have rushed to war, or should the giant brood

     Assault the stars, yet men would not presume

     Or by their prayers or arms to help the gods:

     And, ignorant of the fortunes of the sky,

     Taught by the thunderbolts alone, would know

     That Jupiter supreme still held the throne.

     Add that unnumbered nations join the fray:

370  Nor shrinks the world so much from taint of crime

     That civil wars reluctant swords require.

     But grant that strangers shun thy destinies

     And only Romans fight -- shall not the son

     Shrink ere he strike his father?  on both sides

     Brothers forbid the weapon to be hurled?

     The world's end comes when other hands are armed 25

     Than those which custom and the gods allow.

     For us, this is our prayer: Leave, Caesar, here

     Thy dreadful eagles, keep thy hostile signs

380  Back from our gates, but enter thou in peace

     Massilia's ramparts; let our city rest

     Withdrawn from crime, to Magnus and to thee

     Safe: and should favouring fate preserve our walls

     Inviolate, when both shall wish for peace

     Here meet unarmed.  Why hither turn'st thou now

     Thy rapid march?  Nor weight nor power have we

     To sway the mighty conflicts of the world.

     We boast no victories since our fatherland

     We left in exile: when Phocaea's fort

390  Perished in flames, we sought another here;

     And here on foreign shores, in narrow bounds

     Confined and safe, our boast is sturdy faith;

     Nought else.  But if our city to blockade

     Is now thy mind -- to force the gates, and hurl

     Javelin and blazing torch upon our homes --

     Do what thou wilt: cut off the source that fills

     Our foaming river, force us, prone in thirst,

     To dig the earth and lap the scanty pool;

     Seize on our corn and leave us food abhorred:

400  Nor shall this people shun, for freedom's sake,

     The ills Saguntum bore in Punic siege; 26

     Torn, vainly clinging, from the shrunken breast

     The starving babe shall perish in the flames.

     Wives at their husbands' hands shall pray their fate,

     And brothers' weapons deal a mutual death.

     Such be our civil war; not, Caesar, thine."

 

     But Caesar's visage stern betrayed his ire

     Which thus broke forth in words: "Vain is the hope

     Ye rest upon my march: speed though I may

410  Towards my western goal, time still remains

     To blot Massilia out.  Rejoice, my troops!

     Unsought the war ye longed for meets you now:

     The fates concede it.  As the tempests lose

     Their strength by sturdy forests unopposed,

     And as the fire that finds no fuel dies,

     Even so to find no foe is Caesar's ill.

     When those who may be conquered will not fight

     That is defeat.  Degenerate, disarmed

     Their gates admit me!  Not content, forsooth,

420  With shutting Caesar out they shut him in!

     They shun the taint of war!  Such prayer for peace

     Brings with it chastisement.  In Caesar's age

     Learn that not peace, but war within his ranks

     Alone can make you safe."

 

                                   Fearless he turns

     His march upon the city, and beholds

     Fast barred the gate-ways, while in arms the youths

     Stand on the battlements.  Hard by the walls

     A hillock rose, upon the further side

     Expanding in a plain of gentle slope,

430  Fit (as he deemed it) for a camp with ditch

     And mound encircling.  To a lofty height

     The nearest portion of the city rose,

     While intervening valleys lay between.

     These summits with a mighty trench to bind

     The chief resolves, gigantic though the toil.

     But first, from furthest boundaries of his camp,

     Enclosing streams and meadows, to the sea

     To draw a rampart, upon either hand

     Heaved up with earthy sod; with lofty towers

440  Crowned; and to shut Massilia from the land.

 

     Then did the Grecian city win renown

     Eternal, deathless, for that uncompelled

     Nor fearing for herself, but free to act

    She made the conqueror pause: and he who seized

     All in resistless course found here delay:

     And Fortune, hastening to lay the world

     Low at her favourite's feet, was forced to stay

     For these few moments her impatient hand.

 

     Now fell the forests far and wide, despoiled

450  Of all their giant trunks: for as the mound

     On earth and brushwood stood, a timber frame

     Held firm the soil, lest pressed beneath its towers

     The mass might topple down.  There stood a grove

     Which from the earliest time no hand of man

     Had dared to violate; hidden from the sun 27

     Its chill recesses; matted boughs entwined

     Prisoned the air within.  No sylvan nymphs

     Here found a home, nor Pan, but savage rites

     And barbarous worship, altars horrible

460  On massive stones upreared; sacred with blood

     Of men was every tree.  If faith be given

     To ancient myth, no fowl has ever dared

     To rest upon those branches, and no beast

     Has made his lair beneath: no tempest falls,

     Nor lightnings flash upon it from the cloud.

     Stagnant the air, unmoving, yet the leaves

     Filled with mysterious trembling; dripped the streams

     From coal-black fountains; effigies of gods

     Rude, scarcely fashioned from some fallen trunk

470  Held the mid space: and, pallid with decay,

     Their rotting shapes struck terror.  Thus do men

     Dread most the god unknown.  'Twas said that caves

     Rumbled with earthquakes, that the prostrate yew

     Rose up again; that fiery tongues of flame

     Gleamed in the forest depths, yet were the trees

     Unkindled; and that snakes in frequent folds

     Were coiled around the trunks.  Men flee the spot

     Nor dare to worship near: and e'en the priest

     Or when bright Phoebus holds the height, or when

480  Dark night controls the heavens, in anxious dread

     Draws near the grove and fears to find its lord.

 

     Spared in the former war, still dense it rose

     Where all the hills were bare, and Caesar now

     Its fall commanded.  But the brawny arms

     Which swayed the axes trembled, and the men,

     Awed by the sacred grove's dark majesty,

     Held back the blow they thought would be returned.

     This Caesar saw, and swift within his grasp

     Uprose a ponderous axe, which downward fell

490  Cleaving a mighty oak that towered to heaven,

     While thus he spake: "Henceforth let no man dread

     To fell this forest: all the crime is mine.

     This be your creed."  He spake, and all obeyed,

     For Caesar's ire weighed down the wrath of Heaven.

     Yet ceased they not to fear.  Then first the oak,

     Dodona's ancient boast; the knotty holm;

     The cypress, witness of patrician grief,

     The buoyant alder, laid their foliage low

     Admitting day; though scarcely through the stems

500  Their fall found passage.  At the sight the Gauls

     Grieved; but the garrison within the walls

     Rejoiced: for thus shall men insult the gods

     And find no punishment?  Yet fortune oft

     Protects the guilty; on the poor alone

     The gods can vent their ire.  Enough hewn down,

     They seize the country wagons; and the hind,

     His oxen gone which else had drawn the plough,

     Mourns for his harvest.

 

                              But the eager chief

     Impatient of the combat by the walls

510  Carries the warfare to the furthest west.

 

     Meanwhile a giant mound, on star-shaped wheels

     Concealed, they fashion, crowned with double towers

     High as the battlements, by cause unseen

     Slow creeping onwards; while amazed the foe,

     Beheld, and thought some subterranean gust

     Had burst the caverns of the earth and forced

     The nodding pile aloft, and wondered sore

     Their walls should stand unshaken.  From its height

     Hissed clown the weapons; but the Grecian bolts

520  With greater force were on the Romans hurled;

     Nor by the arm unaided, for the lance

     Urged by the catapult resistless rushed

     Through arms and shield and flesh, and left a death

     Behind, nor stayed its course: and massive stones

     Cast by the beams of mighty engines fell;

     As from the mountain top some time-worn rock

     At length by winds dislodged, in all its track

     Spreads ruin vast: nor crushed the life alone

     Forth from the body, but dispersed the limbs

530  In fragments undistinguished and in blood.

     But as protected by the armour shield

     The might of Rome drew nigh beneath the wall

     (The front rank with their bucklers interlaced

     And held above their helms), the missiles fell

     Behind their backs, nor could the toiling Greeks

     Deflect their engines, throwing still the bolts

     Far into space; but from the rampart top

     Flung ponderous masses down.  Long as the shields

     Held firm together, like to hail that falls

540  Harmless upon a roof, so long the stones

     Crushed down innocuous; but as the blows

     Rained fierce and ceaseless and the Romans tired,

     Some here and there sank fainting.  Next the roof

     Advanced with earth besprinkled: underneath

     The ram conceals his head, which, poised and swung,

     They dash with mighty force upon the wall,

     Covered themselves with mantlets.  Though the head

     Light on the lower stones, yet as the shock

     Falls and refalls, from battlement to base

550  The rampart soon shall topple.  But by balks

     And rocky fragments overwhelmed, and flames,

     The roof at length gave way; and worn with toil

     All spent in vain, the wearied troops withdrew

     And sought the shelter of their tents again.

 

     Thus far to hold their battlements was all

     The Greeks had hoped; now, venturing attack,

     With glittering torches for their arms, by night

     Fearless they sallied forth: nor lance they bear

     Nor deadly bow, nor shaft; for fire alone

560  Is now their weapon.  Through the Roman works

     Driven by the wind the conflagration spread:

     Nor did the newness of the wood make pause

     The fury of the flames, which, fed afresh

     By living torches, 'neath a smoky pall

     Leaped on in fiery tongues.  Not wood alone

     But stones gigantic crumbling into dust

     Dissolved beneath the heat; the mighty mound

     Lay prone, yet in its ruin larger seemed.

 

     Next, conquered on the land, upon the main

570  They try their fortunes.  On their simple craft

     No painted figure-head adorned the bows

     Nor claimed protection from the gods; but rude,

     Just as they fell upon their mountain homes,

     The trees were knit together, and the deck

     Gave steady foot-hold for an ocean fight.

 

     Meantime had Caesar's squadron kept the isles

     Named Stoechades 28, and Brutus 29 turret ship

     Mastered the Rhone.  Nor less the Grecian host --

     Boys not yet grown to war, and aged men,

580  Armed for the conflict, with their all at stake.

     Nor only did they marshal for the fight

     Ships meet for service; but their ancient keels

     Brought from the dockyards.  When the morning rays

     Broke from the waters, and the sky was clear,

     And all the winds were still upon the deep,

     Smoothed for the battle, swift on either part

     The fleets essay the open; and the ships

     Tremble beneath the oars that urge them on,

     By sinewy arms impelled.  Upon the wings

590  That bound the Roman fleet, the larger craft

     With triple and quadruple banks of oars

     Gird in the lesser: so they front the sea;

     While in their rear, shaped as a crescent moon,

     Liburnian galleys follow.  Over all

     Towers Brutus' deck praetorian.  Oars on oars

     Propel the bulky vessel through the main,

     Six ranks; the topmost strike the waves afar.

     When such a space remained between the fleets

     As could be covered by a single stroke,

600  Innumerable voices rose in air

     Drowning with resonant din the beat of oars

     And note of trumpet summoning: and all

     Sat on the benches and with mighty stroke

     Swept o'er the sea and gained the space between.

     Then crashed the prows together, and the keels

     Rebounded backwards, and unnumbered darts

     Or darkened all the sky or, in their fall,

     The vacant ocean.  As the wings grew wide,

     Less densely packed the fleet, some Grecian ships

610  Pressed in between; as when with west and east

     The tide contends, this way the waves are driven

     And that the sea; so as they plough the deep

     In various lines converging, what the prow

     Throws up advancing, from the foemen's oars

     Falls back repelled.  But soon the Grecian fleet

     Was handier found in battle, and in flight

     Pretended, and in shorter curves could round;

     More deftly governed by the guiding helm:

     While on the Roman side their steadier keels

620  Gave vantage, as to men who fight on land.

     Then Brutus to the pilot of his ship:

     "Dost suffer them to range the wider deep,

     Contending with the foe in naval skill?

     Draw close the war and drive us on the prows

     Of these Phocaeans."  Him the pilot heard;

     And turned his vessel slantwise to the foe.

     Then was the sea all covered with the war:

     Then Grecian ships attacking Brutus found

     Their ruin in the stroke, and vanquished lay

630  Beside his bulwarks; while with grappling hooks

     Others laid fast the foe, themselves by oars

     Held back the while.  And now no outstretched arm

     Hurls forth the javelin, but hand to hand

     With swords they wage the fight: each from his ship

     Leans forward to the stroke, and falls when slain

     Upon a foeman's deck.  Deep flows the stream

     Of purple slaughter to the foamy main:

     By piles of floating corpses are the sides,

     Though grappled, kept asunder.  Some, half dead,

640  Plunge in the ocean, gulping down the brine

     Encrimsoned with their blood; some lingering still

     Draw their last struggling breath amid the wreck

     Of broken navies: weapons which have missed

     Find yet their victims, and the falling steel

     Fails not in middle deep to deal the wound.

     One vessel circled by Phocaean keels

     Divides her strength, and on the right and left

     On either side with equal war contends;

     On whose high poop while Tagus fighting gripped

650  The stern Phocaean, pierced his back and breast

     Two fatal weapons; in the midst the steel

     Meets, and the blood, uncertain whence to flow,

     Stands still, arrested, till with double course

     Forth by a sudden gush it drives each dart,

     And sends the life abroad through either wound.

 

     Here fated Telon also steered his ship:

     No pilot's hand upon an angry sea

     More deftly ruled a vessel.  Well he knew,

     Or by the sun or crescent moon, how best

660  To set his canvas fitted for the breeze

     To-morrow's light would bring.  His rushing stem

     Shattered a Roman vessel: but a dart

     Hurled at the moment quivers in his breast.

     He falls, and in the fall his dying hand

     Diverts the prow.  Then Gyareus, in act

     To climb the friendly deck, by javelin pierced,

     Still as he hung, by the retaining steel

     Fast to the side was nailed.

                                   Twin brethren stand

     A fruitful mother's pride; with different fates,

670  But ne'er distinguished till death's savage hand

     Struck once, and ended error: he that lived,

     Cause of fresh anguish to their sorrowing souls,

     Called ever to the weeping parents back

     The image of the lost: who, as the oars

     Grecian and Roman mixed their teeth oblique,

     Grasped with his dexter hand the Roman ship;

     When fell a blow that shore his arm away.

     So died, upon the side it held, the hand,

     Nor loosed its grasp in death.  Yet with the wound

680  His noble courage rose, and maimed he dared

     Renew the fray, and stretched across the sea

     To grasp the lost -- in vain!  another blow

     Lopped arm and hand alike.  Nor shield nor sword

     Henceforth are his.  Yet even now he seeks

     No sheltering hold, but with his chest advanced

     Before his brother armed, he claims the fight,

     And holding in his breast the darts which else

     Had slain his comrades, pierced with countless spears,

     He fails in death well earned; yet ere his end

690  Collects his parting life, and all his strength

     Strains to the utmost and with failing limbs

     Leaps on the foeman's deck; by weight alone

    Injurious; for streaming down with gore

     And piled on high with corpses, while her sides

     Sounded to ceaseless blows, the fated ship

     Let in the greedy brine until her ways

     Were level with the waters -- then she plunged

     In whirling eddies downwards -- and the main

     First parted, then closed in upon its prey.

 

700  Full many wondrous deaths, with fates diverse,

     Upon the sea in that day's fight befell.

     Caught by a grappling-hook that missed the side,

     Had Lysidas been whelmed in middle deep;

     But by his feet his comrades dragged him back,

     And rent in twain he hung; nor slowly flowed

     As from a wound the blood; but all his veins 30

     Were torn asunder and the stream of life

     Gushed o'er his limbs till lost amid the deep.

     From no man dying has the vital breath

710  Rushed by so wide a path; the lower trunk

     Succumbed to death, but with the lungs and heart

     Long strove the fates, and hardly won the whole.

 

     While, bent upon the fight, an eager crew

     Were gathered to the margin of their deck

     (Leaving the upper side as bare of foes),

     Their ship was overset.  Beneath the keel

     Which floated upwards, prisoned in the sea,

     And powerless by spread of arms to float

     The main, they perished.  One who haply swam

720  Amid the battle, chanced upon a death

     Strange and unheard of; for two meeting prows

     Transfixed his body.  At the double stroke

     Wide yawned his chest; blood issued from his mouth

     With flesh commingled; and the brazen beaks

     Resounding clashed together, by the bones

     Unhindered: now they part and through the gap

     Swift pours the sea and drags the corse below.

     Next, of a shipwrecked crew, the larger part

     Struggling with death upon the waters, reached

730  A comrade bark; but when with elbows raised do

     They seized upon the bulwarks and the ship

     Rolled, nor could bear their weight, the ruthless crew

    Hacked off their straining arms; then maimed they sank

     Below the seething waves, to rise no more.

 

     Now every dart was hurled and every spear,

     The soldier weaponless; yet their rage found arms:

     One hurls an oar; another's brawny arm

     Tugs at the twisted stern; or from the seats

     The oarsmen driving, swings a bench in air.

740  The ships are broken for the fight.  They seize

     The fallen dead and snatch the sword that slew.

     Nay, many from their wounds, frenzied for arms,

     Pluck forth the deadly steel, and pressing still

     Upon their yawning sides, hurl forth the spear

     Back to the hostile ranks from which it came;

     Then ebbs their life blood forth.

 

                                        But deadlier yet

     Was that fell force most hostile to the sea;

     For, thrown in torches and in sulphurous bolts

     Fire all-consuming ran among the ships,

750  Whose oily timbers soaked in pitch and wax

     Inflammable, gave welcome to the flames.

     Nor could the waves prevail against the blaze

     Which claimed as for its own the fragments borne

     Upon the waters.  Lo!  on burning plank

     One hardly 'scapes destruction; one to save

     His flaming ship, gives entrance to the main.

     Of all the forms of death each fears the one

     That brings immediate dying: yet quails not

     Their heart in shipwreck: from the waves they pluck

760  The fallen darts and furnishing the ship

     Essay the feeble stroke; and should that hope

     Still fail their hand, they call the sea to aid

     And seizing in their grasp some floating foe

     Drag him to mutual death.

 

                                   But on that day

     Phoceus above all others proved his skill.

     Well trained was he to dive beneath the main

     And search the waters with unfailing eye;

     And should an anchor 'gainst the straining rope

     Too firmly bite the sands, to wrench it free.

770  Oft in his fatal grasp he seized a foe

     Nor loosed his grip until the life was gone.

     Such was his frequent deed; but this his fate:

     For rising, victor (as he thought), to air,

     Full on a keel he struck and found his death.

     Some, drowning, seized a hostile oar and checked

     The flying vessel; not to die in vain,

     Their single care; some on their vessel's side

     Hanging, in death, with wounded frame essayed

     To check the charging prow.

 

                                   Tyrrhenus high

780  Upon the bulwarks of his ship was struck

     By leaden bolt from Balearic sling

     Of Lygdamus; straight through his temples passed

     The fated missile; and in streams of blood

     Forced from their seats his trembling eyeballs fell.

     Plunged in a darkness as of night, he thought

     That life had left him; yet ere long he knew

     The living rigour of his limbs; and cried,

     "Place me, O friends, as some machine of war

     Straight facing towards the foe; then shall my darts

790  Strike as of old; and thou, Tyrrhenus, spend

     Thy latest breath, still left, upon the fight:

     So shalt thou play, not wholly dead, the part

     That fits a soldier, and the spear that strikes

     Thy frame, shall miss the living."  Thus he spake,

     And hurled his javelin, blind, but not in vain;

     For Argus, generous youth of noble blood,

     Below the middle waist received the spear

     And failing drave it home.  His aged sire

     From furthest portion of the conquered ship

800  Beheld; than whom in prime of manhood none,

     More brave in battle: now no more he fought,

     Yet did the memory of his prowess stir

     Phocaean youths to emulate his fame.

     Oft stumbling o'er the benches the old man hastes

     To reach his boy, and finds him breathing still.

     No tear bedewed his cheek, nor on his breast

     One blow he struck, but o'er his eyes there fell

     A dark impenetrable veil of mist

     That blotted out the day; nor could he more

810  Discern his luckless Argus.  He, who saw

     His parent, raising up his drooping head

     With parted lips and silent features asks

     A father's latest kiss, a father's hand

     To close his dying eyes.  But soon his sire,

     Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless grief

     Possessed his spirit, "This short space," he cried,

     "I lose not, which the cruel gods have given,

     But die before thee.  Grant thy sorrowing sire

     Forgiveness that he fled thy last embrace.

820  Not yet has passed thy life blood from the wound

     Nor yet is death upon thee -- still thou may'st 31

     Outlive thy parent." Thus he spake, and seized

     The reeking sword and drave it to the hilt,

     Then plunged into the deep, with headlong bound,

     To anticipate his son: for this he feared

     A single form of death should not suffice.

 

     Now gave the fates their judgment, and in doubt

     No longer was the war: the Grecian fleet

     In most part sunk; -- some ships by Romans oared

830  Conveyed the victors home: in headlong flight

     Some sought the yards for shelter.  On the strand

     What tears of parents for their offspring slain,

     How wept the mothers!  'Mid the pile confused

     Ofttimes the wife sought madly for her spouse

     And chose for her last kiss some Roman slain;

     While wretched fathers by the blazing pyres

     Fought for the dead.  But Brutus thus at sea

     First gained a triumph for great Caesar's arms. 32