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fields of Gaul

       The cloudy heights of Apennine look down

       In further distance: on his nearer slopes

       The Sabine turns the ploughshare; Umbrian kine

       And Marsian fatten; with his pineclad rocks

       He girds the tribes of Latium, nor leaves

       Hesperia's soil until the waves that beat

       On Scylla's cave compel. His southern spurs

       Extend to Juno's temple, and of old

       Stretched further than Italia, till the main

       O'erstepped his limits and the lands repelled.

       But, when the seas were joined, Pelorus claimed

       His latest summits for Sicilia's isle.

      Caesar, in rage for war, rejoicing found

       Foes in Italia; no bloodless steps

       Nor vacant homes had pleased him (19); so his march

       Were wasted: now the coming war was joined

       Unbroken to the past; to force the gates

       Not find them open, fire and sword to bring

       Upon the harvests, not through fields unharmed

       To pass his legions — this was Caesar's joy;

       In peaceful guise to march, this was his shame.

       Italia's cities, doubtful in their choice,

       Though to the earliest onset of the war

       About to yield, strengthened their walls with mounds

       And deepest trench encircling: massive stones

       And bolts of war to hurl upon the foe

       They place upon the turrets. Magnus most

       The people's favour held, yet faith with fear

       Fought in their breasts. As when, with strident blast,

       A southern tempest has possessed the main

       And all the billows follow in its track:

       Then, by the Storm-king smitten, should the earth

       Set Eurus free upon the swollen deep,

       It shall not yield to him, though cloud and sky

       Confess his strength; but in the former wind

       Still find its master. But their fears prevailed,

       And Caesar's fortune, o'er their wavering faith.

       For Libo fled Etruria; Umbria lost

       Her freedom, driving Thermus (20) from her bounds;

       Great Sulla's son, unworthy of his sire,

       Feared at the name of Caesar: Varus sought

       The caves and woods, when smote the hostile horse

       The gates of Auximon; and Spinther driven

       From Asculum, the victor on his track,

       Fled with his standards, soldierless; and thou,

       Scipio, did'st leave Nuceria's citadel

       Deserted, though by bravest legions held

       Sent home by Caesar for the Parthian war (21);

       Whom Magnus earlier, to his kinsman gave

       A loan of Roman blood, to fight the Gaul.

      But brave Domitius held firm his post (22)

       Behind Corfinium's ramparts; his the troops

       Who newly levied kept the judgment hall

       At Milo's trial (23). When from far the plain

       Rolled up a dusty cloud, beneath whose veil

       The sheen of armour glistening in the sun,

       Revealed a marching host. "Dash down," he cried,

       Swift; as ye can, the bridge that spans the stream;

       And thou, O river, from thy mountain source

       With all thy torrents rushing, planks and beams

       Ruined and broken on thy foaming breast

       Bear onward to the sea. The war shall stop

       Here, to our triumph; for this headlong chief

       Here first at our firm bidding shall be stayed."

       He bade his squadrons, speeding from the walls,

       Charge on the bridge: in vain: for Caesar saw

       They sought to free the river from his chains (24)

       And bar his march; and roused to ire, he cried:

       "Were not the walls sufficient to protect

       Your coward souls? Seek ye by barricades

       And streams to keep me back? What though the flood

       Of swollen Ganges were across my path?

       Now Rubicon is passed, no stream on earth

       Shall hinder Caesar! Forward, horse and foot,

       And ere it totters rush upon the bridge."

       Urged in their swiftest gallop to the front

       Dashed the light horse across the sounding plain;

       And suddenly, as storm in summer, flew

       A cloud of javelins forth, by sinewy arms

       Hurled at the foe; the guard is put to flight,

       And conquering Caesar, seizing on the bridge,

       Compels the enemy to keep the walls.

       Now do the mighty engines, soon to hurl

       Gigantic stones, press forward, and the ram

       Creeps 'neath the ramparts; when the gates fly back,

       And lo! the traitor troops, foul crime in war,

       Yield up their leader. Him they place before

      His proud compatriot; yet with upright form,

       And scornful features and with noble mien,

       He asks his death. But Caesar knew his wish

       Was punishment, and pardon was his fear:

       "Live though thou would'st not," so the chieftain spake,

       "And by my gift, unwilling, see the day:

       Be to my conquered foes the cause of hope,

       Proof of my clemency — or if thou wilt

       Take arms again — and should'st thou conquer, count

       This pardon nothing." Thus he spake, and bade

       Let loose the bands and set the captive free.

       Ah! better had he died, and fortune spared

       The Roman's last dishonour, whose worse doom

       It is, that he who joined his country's camp

       And fought with Magnus for the Senate's cause

       Should gain for this — a pardon! Yet he curbed

       His anger, thinking, "Wilt thou then to Rome

       And peaceful scenes, degenerate? Rather war,

       The furious battle and the certain end!

       Break with life's ties: be Caesar's gift in vain."

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