LITMIR.BIZ

      Published by Good Press, 2021

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      EAN 4057664647368

Table of Contents

       BOOK I

       BOOK II

       BOOK III

       BOOK IV

       BOOK V

       BOOK VI

       BOOK VII

       BOOK VIII

       BOOK IX

       BOOK X

BOOK I

       Table of Contents

      THE CROSSING OF THE RUBICON

      Wars worse than civil on Emathian (1) plains,

       And crime let loose we sing; how Rome's high race

       Plunged in her vitals her victorious sword;

       Armies akin embattled, with the force

       Of all the shaken earth bent on the fray;

       And burst asunder, to the common guilt,

       A kingdom's compact; eagle with eagle met,

       Standard to standard, spear opposed to spear.

      Whence, citizens, this rage, this boundless lust

       To sate barbarians with the blood of Rome?

       Did not the shade of Crassus, wandering still, (2)

       Cry for his vengeance? Could ye not have spoiled,

       To deck your trophies, haughty Babylon?

       Why wage campaigns that send no laurels home?

       What lands, what oceans might have been the prize

       Of all the blood thus shed in civil strife!

       Where Titan rises, where night hides the stars,

       'Neath southern noons all quivering with heat,

       Or where keen frost that never yields to spring

       In icy fetters binds the Scythian main:

       Long since barbarians by the Eastern sea

       And far Araxes' stream, and those who know

       (If any such there be) the birth of Nile

       Had felt our yoke. Then, Rome, upon thyself

       With all the world beneath thee, if thou must,

       Wage this nefarious war, but not till then.

      Now view the houses with half-ruined walls

       Throughout Italian cities; stone from stone

       Has slipped and lies at length; within the home

       No guard is found, and in the ancient streets so

       Scarce seen the passer by. The fields in vain,

       Rugged with brambles and unploughed for years,

       Ask for the hand of man; for man is not.

       Nor savage Pyrrhus nor the Punic horde

       E'er caused such havoc: to no foe was given

       To strike thus deep; but civil strife alone

       Dealt the fell wound and left the death behind.

       Yet if the fates could find no other way (3)

       For Nero coming, nor the gods with ease

       Gain thrones in heaven; and if the Thunderer

       Prevailed not till the giant's war was done,

       Complaint is silent. For this boon supreme

       Welcome, ye gods, be wickedness and crime;

       Thronged with our dead be dire Pharsalia's fields,

       Be Punic ghosts avenged by Roman blood;

       Add to these ills the toils of Mutina;

       Perusia's dearth; on Munda's final field

       The shock of battle joined; let Leucas' Cape

       Shatter the routed navies; servile hands

       Unsheath the sword on fiery Etna's slopes:

       Still Rome is gainer by the civil war.

       Thou, Caesar, art her prize. When thou shalt choose,

       Thy watch relieved, to seek divine abodes,

       All heaven rejoicing; and shalt hold a throne,

       Or else elect to govern Phoebus' car

       And light a subject world that shall not dread

       To owe her brightness to a different Sun;

       All shall concede thy right: do what thou wilt,

       Select thy Godhead, and the central clime

       Whence thou shalt rule the world with power divine.

       And yet the Northern or the Southern Pole

       We pray thee, choose not; but in rays direct

       Vouchsafe thy radiance to thy city Rome.

       Press thou on either side, the universe

       Should lose its equipoise: take thou the midst,

       And weight the scales, and let that part of heaven

       Where Caesar sits, be evermore serene

       And smile upon us with unclouded blue.

       Then may all men lay down their arms, and peace

       Through all the nations reign, and shut the gates

       That close the temple of the God of War.

       Be thou my help, to me e'en now divine!

       Let Delphi's steep her own Apollo guard,

       And Nysa keep her Bacchus, uninvoked.

       Rome is my subject and my muse art thou!

      First of such deeds I purpose to unfold

       The causes — task immense — what drove to arms

       A maddened nation, and from all the world

       Struck peace away.

      By envious fate's decrees

       Abide not long the mightiest lords of earth;

       Beneath too heavy a burden great the fall.

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