Pharsalia; Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars. Lucan

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       Let not a dart be thine; nor spent in vain

       Such virtue! All the fury of the war

       Shall launch itself on thee, for who, when faint

       And wounded, would not rush upon thy sword,

       Take thence his death, and make the murder thine?

       Do thou live on thy peaceful life apart

       As on their paths the stars unshaken roll.

       The lower air that verges on the earth

       Gives flame and fury to the levin bolt;

       The deeps below the world engulph the winds

       And tracts of flaming fire. By Jove's decree

       Olympus rears his summit o'er the clouds:

       In lowlier valleys storms and winds contend,

       But peace eternal reigns upon the heights.

       What joy for Caesar, if the tidings come

       That such a citizen has joined the war?

       Glad would he see thee e'en in Magnus' tents;

       For Cato's conduct shall approve his own.

       Pompeius, with the Consul in his ranks,

       And half the Senate and the other chiefs,

       Vexes my spirit; and should Cato too

       Bend to a master's yoke, in all the world

       The one man free is Caesar. But if thou

       For freedom and thy country's laws alone

       Be pleased to raise the sword, nor Magnus then

       Nor Caesar shall in Brutus find a foe.

       Not till the fight is fought shall Brutus strike,

       Then strike the victor."

      Brutus thus; but spake

       Cato from inmost breast these sacred words:

       "Chief in all wickedness is civil war,

       Yet virtue in the paths marked out by fate

       Treads on securely. Heaven's will be the crime

       To have made even Cato guilty. Who has strength

       To gaze unawed upon a toppling world?

       When stars and sky fall headlong, and when earth

       Slips from her base, who sits with folded hands?

       Shall unknown nations, touched by western strife,

       And monarchs born beneath another clime

       Brave the dividing seas to join the war?

       Shall Scythian tribes desert their distant north,

       And Getae haste to view the fall of Rome,

       And I look idly on? As some fond sire,

       Reft of his sons, compelled by grief, himself

       Marshals the long procession to the tomb,

       Thrusts his own hand within the funeral flames,

       Soothing his heart, and, as the lofty pyre

       Rises on high, applies the kindled torch:

       Nought, Rome, shall tear thee from me, till I hold

       Thy form in death embraced; and Freedom's name,

       Shade though it be, I'll follow to the grave.

       Yea! let the cruel gods exact in full

       Rome's expiation: of no drop of blood

       The war be robbed. I would that, to the gods

       Of heaven and hell devoted, this my life

       Might satisfy their vengeance. Decius fell,

       Crushed by the hostile ranks. When Cato falls

       Let Rhine's fierce barbarous hordes and both the hosts

       Thrust through my frame their darts! May I alone

       Receive in death the wounds of all the war!

       Thus may the people be redeemed, and thus

       Rome for her guilt pay the atonement due.

       Why should men die who wish to bear the yoke

       And shrink not from the tyranny to come?

       Strike me, and me alone, of laws and rights

       In vain the guardian: this vicarious life

       Shall give Hesperia peace and end her toils.

       Who then will reign shall find no need for war.

       You ask, 'Why follow Magnus? If he wins (13)

       He too will claim the Empire of the world.'

       Then let him, conquering with my service, learn

       Not for himself to conquer." Thus he spoke

       And stirred the blood that ran in Brutus' veins

       Moving the youth to action in the war.

      Soon as the sun dispelled the chilly night,

       The sounding doors flew wide, and from the tomb

       Of dead Hortensius grieving Marcia came (14).

       First joined in wedlock to a greater man

       Three children did she bear to grace his home:

       Then Cato to Hortensius gave the dame

       To be a fruitful mother of his sons

       And join their houses in a closer tie.

       And now the last sad offices were done

       She came with hair dishevelled, beaten breast,

       And ashes on her brow, and features worn

       With grief; thus only pleasing to the man.

       "When youth was in me and maternal power

       I did thy bidding, Cato, and received

       A second husband: now in years grown old

       Ne'er to be parted I return to thee.

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