Book IV: Caesar in Spain. War in the Adriatic Sea. Death of Curio

But in the distant regions of the earthFierce Caesar warring, though in fight he dealtNo baneful slaughter, hastened on the doomTo swift fulfillment. There on Magnus' sideAfranius and Petreius (1) held command,Who ruled alternate, and the rampart guardObeyed the standard of each chief in turn.There with the Romans in the camp were joinedAsturians (2) swift, and Vettons lightly armed,And Celts who, exiled from their ancient home,Had joined "Iberus" to their former name.Where the rich soil in gentle slope ascendsAnd forms a modest hill, Ilerda (3) stands,Founded in ancient days; beside her glidesNot least of western rivers, SicorisOf placid current, by a mighty archOf stone o'erspanned, which not the winter floodsShall overwhelm. Upon a rock hard byWas Magnus' camp; but Caesar's on a hill,Rivalling the first; and in the midst a stream.Here boundless plains are spread beyond the rangeOf human vision; Cinga girds them inWith greedy waves; forbidden to contendWith tides of ocean; for that larger floodWho names the land, Iberus, sweeps alongThe lesser stream commingled with his own.

Guiltless of war, the first day saw the hostsIn long array confronted; standard roseOpposing standard, numberless; yet noneEssayed attack, in shame of impious strife.One day they gave their country and her laws.But Caesar, when from heaven fell the night,Drew round a hasty trench; his foremost rankWith close array concealing those who wrought.Then with the morn he bids them seize the hillWhich parted from the camp Ilerda's walls,And gave them safety. But in fear and shameOn rushed the foe and seized the vantage ground,First in the onset. From the height they heldTheir hopes of conquest; but to Caesar's menTheir hearts by courage stirred, and their good swordsPromised the victory. Burdened up the ridgeThe soldier climbed, and from the opposing steepBut for his comrade's shield had fallen back;None had the space to hurl the quivering lanceUpon the foeman: spear and pike made sureThe failing foothold, and the falchion's edgeHewed out their upward path. But Caesar sawRuin impending, and he bade his horseBy circuit to the left, with shielded flank,Hold back the foe. Thus gained his troops retreat,For none pressed on them; and the victor chiefs,Forced to withdrawal, gained the day in vain.

Henceforth the fitful changes of the yearGoverned the fates and fashioned out the war.For stubborn frost still lay upon the land,And northern winds, controlling all the sky,Prisoned the rain in clouds; the hills were nippedWith snow unmelted, and the lower plainsBy frosts that fled before the rising sun;And all the lands that stretched towards the skyWhich whelms the sinking stars, 'neath wintry heavensWere parched and arid. But when Titan nearedThe Ram, who, backward gazing on the stars,Bore perished Helle, (4) and the hours were heldIn juster balance, and the day prevailed,The earliest faded moon which in the vaultHung with uncertain horn, from eastern windsReceived a fiery radiance; whose blastsForced Boreas back: and breaking on the mistsWithin his regions, to the OccidentDrave all that shroud Arabia and the landOf Ganges; all that or by Caurus (5) borneBedim the Orient sky, or rising sunsPermit to gather; pitiless flamed the dayBehind them, while in front the wide expanseWas driven; nor on mid earth sank the cloudsThough weighed with vapour. North and south alikeWere showerless, for on Calpe's rock aloneAll moisture gathered; here at last, forbiddenTo pass that sea by Zephyr's bounds contained,And by the furthest belt (6) of heaven, they pause,In masses huge convolved; the widest breadthOf murky air scarce holds them, which dividesEarth from the heavens; till pressed by weight of skyIn densest volume to the earth they pourTheir cataracts; no lightning could endureSuch storm unquenched: though oft athwart the gloomGleamed its pale fire. Meanwhile a watery archScarce touched with colour, in imperfect shapeEmbraced the sky and drank the ocean waves,So rendering to the clouds their flood outpoured.

And now were thawed the Pyrenaean snowsWhich Titan had not conquered; all the rocksWere wet with melting ice; accustomed springsFound not discharge; and from the very banksEach stream received a torrent. Caesar's armsAre shipwrecked on the field, his tottering campSwims on the rising flood; the trench is filledWith whirling waters; and the plain no moreYields corn or kine; for those who forage seek,Err from the hidden furrow. Famine knocks(First herald of o'erwhelming ills to come),Fierce at the door; and while no foe blockadesThe soldier hungers; fortunes buy not nowThe meanest measure; yet, alas! is foundThe fasting peasant, who, in gain of gold,Will sell his little all! And now the hillsAre seen no more; and rivers whelmed in one;Beasts with their homes sweep downwards; and the tideRepels the foaming torrent. Nor did nightAcknowledge Phoebus' rise, for all the skyFelt her dominion and obscured its face,And darkness joined with darkness. Thus doth lieThe lowest earth beneath the snowy zoneAnd never-ending winters, where the skyIs starless ever, and no growth of herbSprouts from the frozen earth; but standing iceTempers (7) the stars which in the middle zoneKindle their flames. Thus, Father of the world,And thou, trident-god who rul'st the seaSecond in place, Neptunus, load the airWith clouds continual; forbid the tide,Once risen, to return: forced by thy wavesLet rivers backward run in different course,Thy shores no longer reaching; and the earth,Shaken, make way for floods. Let Rhine o'erflowAnd Rhone their banks; let torrents spread afieldUnmeasured waters: melt Rhipaean snows:Spread lakes upon the land, and seas profound,And snatch the groaning world from civil war.

Thus for a little moment Fortune triedHer darling son; then smiling to his partReturned; and gained her pardon for the pastBy greater gifts to come. For now the airHad grown more clear, and Phoebus' warmer raysCoped with the flood and scattered all the cloudsIn fleecy masses; and the reddening eastProclaimed the coming day; the land resumedIts ancient marks; no more in middle airThe moisture hung, but from about the starsSank to the depths; the forest glad uprearedIts foliage; hills again emerged to viewAnd 'neath the warmth of day the plains grew firm.

When Sicoris kept his banks, the shallop lightOf hoary willow bark they build, which bentOn hides of oxen, bore the weight of manAnd swam the torrent. Thus on sluggish PoVenetians float; and on th' encircling seaAre borne Britannia's nations; and when NileFills all the land, are Memphis' thirsty reedsShaped into fragile boats that swim his waves.The further bank thus gained, they haste to curveThe fallen forest, and to form the archBy which imperious Sicoris shall be spanned.Yet fearing he might rise in wrath anew,Not on the nearest marge they placed the beams,But in mid-field. Thus the presumptuous streamThey tame with chastisement, parting his floodIn devious channels out; and curb his pride.

Petreius, when he saw that Caesar's fatesSwept all before them, left Ilerda's steep,His trust no longer in the Roman world;And sought for strength amid those distant tribes,Who, loving death, rush in upon the foe,And win their conquests at the point of sword.But in the dawn, when Caesar saw the campStand empty on the hill, "To arms!" he cried:"Seek not the bridge nor ford: plunge in the streamAnd breast the foaming torrent." Then did hopeOf coming battle find for them a wayWhich they had shunned in flight.

Their arms regained,Their streaming limbs they cherished till the bloodCoursed in their veins; until the shadows fellShort on the sward, and day was at the height.Then dashed the horsemen on, and held the foe'Twixt flight and battle. In the plain aroseTwo rocky heights: from each a loftier ridgeOf hills ranged onwards, sheltering in their midstA hollow vale, whose deep and winding pathsWere safe from warfare; which, when Caesar saw:That if Petreius held, the war must passTo lands remote by savage tribes possessed;"Speed on," he cried, "and meet their flight in front;Fierce be your frown and battle in your glance:No coward's death be theirs; but as they fleePlunge in their breasts the sword." They seize the passAnd place their camp. Short was the span betweenTh' opposing sentinels; with eager eyesUndimmed by space, they gazed on brothers, sons,Or friends and fathers; and within their soulsThey grasped the impious horror of the war.Yet for a little while no voice was heard,For fear restrained; by waving blade aloneOr gesture, spake they; but their passion grew,And broke all discipline; and soon they leapedThe hostile rampart; every hand outstretchedEmbraced the hand of foeman, palm in palm;One calls by name his neighhour, one his host,Another with his schoolmate talks againOf olden studies: he who in the campFound not a comrade, was no son of Rome.Wet are their arms with tears, and sobs break inUpon their kisses; each, unstained by blood,Dreads what he might have done. Why beat thy breast?Why, madman, weep? The guilt is thine aloneTo do or to abstain. Dost fear the manWho takes his title to be feared from thee?When Caesar's trumpets sound the call to armsHeed not the summons; when thou seest advanceHis standards, halt. The civil Fury thusShall fold her wings; and in a private robeCaesar shall love his kinsman.

Holy PeaceThat sway'st the world; thou whose eternal bandsSustain the order of material things,Come, gentle Concord! (11) these our times do nowFor good or evil destiny controlThe coming centuries! Ah, cruel fate!Now have the people lost their cloak for crime:Their hope of pardon. They have known their kin.Woe for the respite given by the godsMaking more black the hideous guilt to come!

Now all was peaceful, and in either campSweet converse held the soldiers; on the grassThey place the meal; on altars built of turfPour out libations from the mingled cup;On mutual couch with stories of their fights,They wile the sleepless hours in talk away;"Where stood the ranks arrayed, from whose right handThe quivering lance was sped:" and while they boastOr challenge, deeds of prowess in the war,Faith was renewed and trust. Thus made the fatesTheir doom complete, and all the crimes to be;Grew with their love.

For when Petreius knewThe treaties made; himself and all his campSold to the foe; he stirs his guard to workAn impious slaughter: the defenceless foeFlings headlong forth: and parts the fond embraceBy stroke of weapon and in streams of blood.And thus in words of wrath, to stir the war:"Of Rome forgetful, to your faith forsworn!And could ye not with victory gained return,Restorers of her liberty, to Rome?Lose then! but losing call not Caesar lord.While still your swords are yours, with blood to shedIn doubtful battle, while the fates are hid,Will you like cravens to your master bearDoomed eagles? Will you ask upon your kneesThat Caesar deign to treat his slaves alike,And spare, forsooth, like yours, your leaders' lives?Nay! never shall our safety be the priceOf base betrayal! Not for boon of lifeWe wage a civil war. This name of peaceDrags us to slavery. Ne'er from depths of earth,Fain to withdraw her wealth, should toiling menDraw store of iron; ne'er entrench a town;Ne'er should the war-horse dash into the frayNor fleet with turret bulwarks breast the main,If freedom for dishonourable peaceCould thus be bought. The foe are pledged to fightBy their own guilt. But you, who still might hopeFor pardon if defeated -- what can matchYour deep dishonour? Shame upon your peace.Thou callest, Magnus, ignorant of fate,From all the world thy powers, and dost entreatMonarchs of distant realms, while haply hereWe in our treaties bargain for thy life!"

Thus did he stir their minds and rouse anewThe love of impious battle. So when beastsGrown strange to forests, long confined in dens,Their fierceness lose, and learn to bear with man;Once should they taste of blood, their thirsty jawsSwell at the touch, and all the ancient rageComes back upon them till they hardly spareTheir keeper. Thus they rush on every crime:And blows which dealt at chance, and in the nightOf battle, had brought hatred on the gods,Though blindly struck, their recent vows of loveMade monstrous, horrid. Where they lately spreadThe mutual couch and banquet, and embracedSome new-found friend, now falls the fatal blowUpon the self-same breast; and though at firstGroaning at the fell chance, they drew the sword;Hate rises as they strike, the murderous armConfirms the doubtful will: with monstrous joyThrough the wild camp they smite their kinsmen down;And carnage raged unchecked; and each man strove,Proud of his crime, before his leader's faceTo prove his shamelessness of guilt.

But thou,Caesar, though losing of thy best, dost knowThe gods do favour thee. Thessalian fieldsGave thee no better fortune, nor the wavesThat lave Massilia; nor on Pharos' mainDidst thou so triumph. By this crime aloneThou from this moment of the better causeShalt be the Captain.

Since the troops were stainedWith foulest slaughter thus, their leaders shunnedAll camps with Caesar's joined, and sought againIlerda's lofty walls; but Caesar's horseSeized on the plain and forced them to the hillsReluctant. There by steepest trench shut in,He cuts them from the river, nor permitsTheir circling ramparts to enclose a spring.

By this dread path Death trapped his captive prey.Which when they knew, fierce anger filled their souls,And took the place of fear. They slew the steedsNow useless grown, and rushed upon their fate;Hopeless of life and flight. But Caesar cried:"Hold back your weapons, soldiers, from the foe,Strike not the breast advancing; let the warCost me no blood; he falls not without priceWho with his life-blood challenges the fray.Scorning their own base lives and hating light,To Caesar's loss they rush upon their death,Nor heed our blows. But let this frenzy pass,This madman onset; let the wish for deathDie in their souls." Thus to its embers shrankThe fire within when battle was denied,And fainter grew their rage until the nightDrew down her starry veil and sank the sun.Thus keener fights the gladiator whose woundIs recent, while the blood within the veinsStill gives the sinews motion, ere the skinShrinks on the bones: but as the victor standsHis fatal thrust achieved, and points the bladeUnfaltering, watching for the end, there creepsTorpor upon the limbs, the blood congealsAbout the gash, more faintly throbs the heart,And slowly fading, ebbs the life away.

Raving for water now they dig the plainsSeeking for hidden fountains, not with spadeAnd mattock only searching out the depths,But with the sword; they hack the stony heights,In shafts that reach the level of the plain.No further flees from light the pallid wretchWho tears the bowels of the earth for gold.Yet neither riven stones revealed a spring,Nor streamlet whispered from its hidden source;To water trickled on the gravel bed,Nor dripped within the cavern. Worn at lengthWith labour huge, they crawl to light again,After such toil to fall to thirst and heatThe readier victims: this was all they won.All food they loathe; and 'gainst their deadly thirstCall famine to their aid. Damp clods of earthThey squeeze upon their mouths with straining hands.Where'er on foulest mud some stagnant slimeOr moisture lies, though doomed to die they lapWith greedy tongues the draught their lips had loathedHad life been theirs to choose. Beast-like they drainThe swollen udder, and where milk was not,They sucked the life-blood forth. From herbs and boughsDripping with dew, from tender shoots they pressed,Say, from the pith of trees, the juice within.

Happy the host that onward marching findsIts savage enemy has fouled the wellsWith murderous venom; had'st thou, Caesar, castThe reeking filth of shambles in the stream,And henbane dire and all the poisonous herbsThat lurk on Cretan slopes, still had they drunkThe fatal waters, rather than endureSuch lingering agony. Their bowels rackedWith torments as of flame; the swollen tongueAnd jaws now parched and rigid, and the veins;Each laboured breath with anguish from the lungsEnfeebled, moistureless, was scarcely drawn,And scarce again returned; and yet agape,Their panting mouths sucked in the nightly dew;They watch for showers from heaven, and in despairGaze on the clouds, whence lately poured a flood.Nor were their tortures less that MeroëSaw not their sufferings, nor Cancer's zone,Nor where the Garamantian turns the soil;But Sicoris and Iberus at their feet,Two mighty floods, but far beyond their reach,Rolled down in measureless volume to the main.

But now their leaders yield; Afranius,Vanquished, throws down his arms, and leads his troops,Now hardly living, to the hostile campBefore the victor's feet, and sues for peace.Proud was his bearing, and despite of ills,His mien majestic, of his triumphs pastStill mindful in disaster -- thus he stood,Though suppliant for grace, a leader yet;From fearless heart thus speaking: "Had the fatesThrown me before some base ignoble foe,Not, Caesar, thee; still had this arm fought onAnd snatched my death. Now if I suppliant ask,'Tis that I value still the boon of lifeGiven by a worthy hand. No party tiesRoused us to arms against thee; when the war,This civil war, broke out, it found us chiefs;And with our former cause we kept the faith,So long as brave men should. The fates' decreeNo longer we withstand. Unto thy willWe yield the western tribes: the east is thineAnd all the world lies open to thy march.Be generous! blood nor sword nor wearied armThy conquests bought. Thou hast not to forgiveAught but thy victory won. Nor ask we much.Give us repose; to lead in peace the lifeThou shalt bestow; suppose these armed linesAre corpses prostrate on the field of warNe'er were it meet that thy victorious ranksShould mix with ours, the vanquished. DestinyHas run for us its course: one boon I beg;Bid not the conquered conquer in thy train."

Such were his words, and Caesar's gracious smileGranted his prayer, remitting rights that warGives to the victor. To th' unguarded streamThe soldiers speed: prone on the bank they lieAnd lap the flood or foul the crowded waves.In many a burning throat the sudden draughtPoured in too copious, filled the empty veinsAnd choked the breath within: yet left unquenchedThe burning pest which though their frames were fullCraved water for itself. Then, nerved once more,Their strength returned. Oh, lavish luxury,Contented never with the frugal meal!Oh greed that searchest over land and seaTo furnish forth the banquet! Pride that joy'stIn sumptuous tables! learn what life requires,How little nature needs! No ruddy juicePressed from the vintage in some famous year,Whose consuls are forgotten, served in cupsWith gold and jewels wrought restores the spark,The failing spark, of life; but water pureAnd simplest fruits of earth. The flood, the fieldSuffice for nature. Ah! the weary lotOf those who war! But these, their amour laidLow at the victor's feet, with lightened breast,Secure themselves, no longer dealing death,Beset by care no more, seek out their homes.What priceless gift in peace had they secured!How grieved it now their souls to have poised the dartWith arm outstretched; to have felt their raving thirst;And prayed the gods for victory in vain!Nay, hard they think the victor's lot, for whomA thousand risks and battles still remain;If fortune never is to leave his side,How often must he triumph! and how oftPour out his blood where'er great Caesar leads!Happy, thrice happy, he who, when the worldIs nodding to its ruin, knows the spotWhere he himself shall, though in ruin, lie!No trumpet call shall break his sleep again:But in his humble home with faithful spouseAnd sons unlettered Fortune leaves him freeFrom rage of party; for if life he owesTo Caesar, Magnus sometime was his lord.Thus happy they alone live on apart,Nor hope nor dread the event of civil war.

Not thus did Fortune upon Caesar smileIn all the parts of earth; (13) but 'gainst his armsDared somewhat, where Salona's lengthy wasteOpposes Hadria, and Iadar warmMeets with his waves the breezes of the west.There brave Curectae dwell, whose island homeIs girded by the main; on whom reliedAntonius; and beleaguered by the foe,Upon the furthest margin of the shore,(Safe from all ills but famine) placed his camp.But for his steeds the earth no forage gave,Nor golden Ceres harvest; but his troopsGnawed the dry herbage of the scanty turfWithin their rampart lines. But when they knewThat Basilus was on th' opposing shoreWith friendly force, by novel mode of flightThey aim to reach him. Not the accustomed keelThey lay, nor build the ship, but shapeless raftsOf timbers knit together, strong to bearAll ponderous weight; on empty casks beneathBy tightened chains made firm, in double rowsSupported; nor upon the deck were placedThe oarsmen, to the hostile dart exposed,But in a hidden space, by beams concealed.And thus the eye amazed beheld the massMove silent on its path across the sea,By neither sail nor stalwart arm propelled.

They watch the main until the refluent wavesEbb from the growing sands; then, on the tideReceding, launch their vessel; thus she floatsWith twin companions: over each uproseWith quivering battlements a lofty tower.Octavius, guardian of Illyrian seas,Restrained his swifter keels, and left the raftsFree from attack, in hope of larger spoilFrom fresh adventures; for the peaceful seaMay tempt them, and their goal in safety reached,To dare a second voyage. Round the stagThus will the cunning hunter draw a lineOf tainted feathers poisoning the air;Or spread the mesh, and muzzle in his graspThe straining jaws of the Molossian hound,And leash the Spartan pack; nor is the brakeTrusted to any dog but such as tracksThe scent with lowered nostrils, and refrainsFrom giving tongue the while; content to markBy shaking leash the covert of the prey.

Ere long they manned the rafts in eager wishTo quit the island, when the latest glowStill parted day from night. But Magnus' troops,Cilician once, taught by their ancient art,In fraudulent deceit had left the seaTo view unguarded; but with chains unseenFast to Illyrian shores, and hanging loose,They blocked the outlet in the waves beneath.The leading rafts passed safely, but the thirdHung in mid passage, and by ropes was hauledBelow o'ershadowing rocks. These hollowed outIn ponderous masses overhung the main,And nodding seemed to fall: shadowed by treesDark lay the waves beneath. Hither the tideBrings wreck and corpse, and, burying with the flow,Restores them with the ebb: and when the cavesBelch forth the ocean, swirling billows fallIn boisterous surges back, as boils the tideIn that famed whirlpool on Sicilian shores.

Here, with Venetian settlers for its load,Stood motionless the raft. Octavius' shipsGathered around, while foemen on the landFilled all the shore. But well the captain knew,Volteius, how the secret fraud was planned,And tried in vain with sword and steel to burstThe bands that held them; without hope he fights,Uncertain where to avoid or front the foe.Caught in this strait they strove as brave men shouldAgainst opposing hosts; nor long the fight,For fallen darkness brought a truce to arms.

Then to his men disheartened and in fearOf coming fate Volteius, great of soul,Thus spake in tones commanding: "Free no more,Save for this little night, consult ye nowIn this last moment, soldiers, how to faceYour final fortunes. No man's life is shortWho can take thought for death, nor is your fameLess than a conqueror's, if with breast advancedYe meet your destined doom. None know how longThe life that waits them. Summon your own fate,And equal is your praise, whether the handQuench the last flicker of departing light,Or shear the hope of years. But choice to dieIs thrust not on the mind -- we cannot flee;See at our throats, e'en now, our kinsmen's swords.Then choose for death; desire what fate decrees.At least in war's blind cloud we shall not fall;Nor when the flying weapons hide the day,And slaughtered heaps of foemen load the field,And death is common, and the brave man sinksUnknown, inglorious. Us within this ship,Seen of both friends and foes, the gods have placed;Both land and sea and island cliffs shall bear,From either shore, their witness to our death,In which some great and memorable fameThou, Fortune, dost prepare. What glorious deedsOf warlike heroism, of noble faith,Time's annals show! All these shall we surpass.True, Caesar, that to fall upon our swordsFor thee is little; yet beleaguered thus,With neither sons nor parents at our sides,Shorn of the glory that we might have earned,

We give thee here the only pledge we may.Yet let these hostile thousands fear the soulsThat rage for battle and that welcome death,And know us for invincible, and joyThat no more rafts were stayed. They'll offer termsAnd tempt us with a base unhonoured life.Would that, to give that death which shall be oursThe greater glory, they may bid us hopeFor pardon and for life! lest when our swordsAre reeking with our hearts'-blood, they may sayThis was despair of living. Great must beThe prowess of our end, if in the hostsThat fight his battles, Caesar is to mournThis little handful lost. For me, should fateGrant us retreat, -- myself would scorn to shunThe coming onset. Life I cast away,The frenzy of the death that comes apaceControls my being. Those alone whose endInspires them, know the happiness of death,Which the high gods, that men may bear to live,Keep hid from others." Thus his noble wordsWarmed his brave comrades' hearts; and who with fearAnd tearful eyes had looked upon the Wain,Turning his nightly course, now hoped for day,Such precepts deep within them. Nor delayedThe sky to dip the stars below the main;For Phoebus in the Twins his chariot draveAt noon near Cancer; and the hours of nightWere shortened by the Archer.

When day broke,Lo! on the rocks the Istrians; while the seaSwarmed with the galleys and their Grecian fleetAll armed for fight: but first the war was stayedAnd terms proposed: life to the foe they thoughtWould seem the sweeter, by delay of deathThus granted. But the band devoted stood,Proud of their promised end, and life forsworn,And careless of the battle: no debateCould shake their high resolve. (15) In numbers few'Gainst foemen numberless by land and sea,They wage the desperate fight; then satiateTurn from the foe. And first demanding deathVolteius bared his throat. "What youth," he cries,"Dares strike me down, and through his captain's woundsAttest his love for death?" Then through his sidePlunge blades uncounted on the moment drawn.He praises all: but him who struck the firstGrateful, with dying strength, he does to death.They rush together, and without a foeWork all the guilt of battle. Thus of yore,Rose up the glittering Dircaean bandFrom seed by Cadmus sown, and fought and died,Dire omen for the brother kings of Thebes.And so in Phasis' fields the sons of earth,Born of the sleepless dragon, all inflamedBy magic incantations, with their bloodDeluged the monstrous furrow, while the QueenFeared at the spells she wrought. Devoted thusTo death, they fall, yet in their death itselfLess valour show than in the fatal woundsThey take and give; for e'en the dying handMissed not a blow -- nor did the stroke aloneInflict the wound, but rushing on the swordTheir throat or breast received it to the hilt;And when by fatal chance or sire with son,Or brothers met, yet with unfaltering weightDown flashed the pitiless sword: this proved their love,To give no second blow. Half living nowThey dragged their mangled bodies to the side,Whence flowed into the sea a crimson streamOf slaughter. 'Twas their pleasure yet to seeThe light they scorned; with haughty looks to scanThe faces of their victors, and to feelThe death approaching. But the raft was nowPiled up with dead; which, when the foemen saw,Wondering at such a chief and such a deed,They gave them burial. Never through the worldOf any brave achievement was the fameMore widely blazed. Yet meaner men, untaughtBy such examples, see not that the handWhich frees from slavery needs no valiant mindTo guide the stroke. But tyranny is fearedAs dealing death; and Freedom's self is galledBy ruthless arms; and knows not that the swordWas given for this, that none need live a slave.Ah Death! would'st thou but let the coward liveAnd grant the brave alone the prize to die!

Nor less were Libyan fields ablaze with war.For Curio rash from Lilybaean (16) coastSailed with his fleet, and borne by gentle windsBetwixt half-ruined Carthage, mighty once,And Clupea's cliff, upon the well-known shoreHis anchors dropped. First from the hoary seaRemote, where Bagra slowly ploughs the sand,He placed his camp: then sought the further hillsAnd mazy passages of cavernous rocks,Antaeus' kingdom called. From ancient daysThis name was given; and thus a swain retoldThe story handed down from sire to son:"Not yet exhausted by the giant brood,Earth still another monster brought to birth,In Libya's caverns: huger far was he,More justly far her pride, than BriareusWith all his hundred hands, or Typhon fierce,Or Tityos: 'twas in mercy to the godsThat not in Phlegra's (17) fields Antaeus grew,But here in Libya; to her offspring's strength,Unmeasured, vast, she added yet this boon,That when in weariness and labour spentHe touched his parent, fresh from her embraceRenewed in rigour he should rise again.In yonder cave he dwelt, 'neath yonder rockHe made his feast on lions slain in chase:There slept he; not on skins of beasts, or leaves,But fed his strength upon the naked earth.Perished the Libyan hinds and those who came,Brought here in ships, until he scorned at lengthThe earth that gave him strength, and on his feetInvincible and with unaided mightMade all his victims. Last to Afric shores,Drawn by the rumour of such carnage, cameMagnanimous Alcides, he who freedBoth land and sea of monsters. Down on earthHe threw his mantle of the lion's skinSlain in Cleone; nor Antaeus lessCast down the hide he wore. With shining oil,As one who wrestles at Olympia's feast,The hero rubs his limbs: the giant fearedLest standing only on his parent earthHis strength might fail; and cast o'er all his bulkHot sand in handfuls. Thus with arms entwinedAnd grappling hands each seizes on his foe;With hardened muscles straining at the neckLong time in vain; for firm the sinewy throatStood column-like, nor yielded; so that eachWondered to find his peer. Nor at the firstDivine Alcides put forth all his strength,By lengthy struggle wearing out his foe,Till chilly drops stood on Antaeas' limbs,And toppled to its fall the stately throat,And smitten by the hero's blows, the legsBegan to totter. Breast to breast they striveTo gain the vantage, till the victor's armsGird in the giant's yielding back and sides,And squeeze his middle part: next 'twixt the thighsHe puts his feet, and forcing them apart,Lays low the mighty monster limb by limb.The dry earth drank his sweat, while in his veinsWarm ran the life-blood, and with strength refreshed,The muscle swelled and all the joints grew firm,And with his might restored, he breaks his bondsAnd rives the arms of Hercules away.Amazed the hero stood at such a strength.Not thus he feared, though then unused to war,That hydra fierce, which smitten in the marshOf Inachus, renewed its severed heads.Again they join in fight, one with the powersWhich earth bestowed, the other with his own:Nor did the hatred of his step-dame (18) findIn all his conflicts greater room for hope.She sees bedewed in sweat the neck and limbsWhich once had borne the mountain of the godsNor knew the toil: and when Antaeus feltHis foeman's arms close round him once again,He flung his wearying limbs upon the sandTo rise with strength renewed; all that the earth,Though labouring sore, could breathe into her sonShe gave his frame. But Hercules at lastSaw how his parent gave the giant strength.'Stand thou,' he cried; 'no more upon the groundThou liest at thy will -- here must thou stayWithin mine arms constrained; against this breast,Antaeus, shalt thou fall.' He lifted upAnd held by middle girth the giant form,Still struggling for the earth: but she no moreCould give her offspring rigour. Slowly cameThe chill of death upon him, and 'twas longBefore the hero, of his victory sure,Trusted the earth and laid the giant down.Hence hoar antiquity that loves to prateAnd wonders at herself (19), this region calledAntaeus' kingdom. But a greater nameIt gained from Scipio, when he recalledFrom Roman citadels the Punic chief.Here was his camp; here can'st thou see the traceOf that most famous rampart (20) whence at lengthIssued the Eagles of triumphant Rome."

But Curio rejoiced, as though for himThe fortunes of the spot must hold in storeThe fates of former chiefs: and on the placeOf happy augury placed his tents ill-starred,Took from the hills their omens; and with forceUnequal, challenged his barbarian foe.

All Africa that bore the Roman yokeThen lay 'neath Varus. He, though placing firstTrust in his Latian troops, from every sideAnd furthest regions, summons to his aidThe nations who confessed King Juba's rule.Not any monarch over wider tractsHeld the dominion. From the western beltNear Gades, Atlas parts their furthest bounds;But from the southern, Hammon girds them inHard by the whirlpools; and their burning plainsStretch forth unending 'neath the torrid zone,In breadth its equal, till they reach at lengthThe shore of ocean upon either hand.From all these regions tribes unnumbered flockTo Juba's standard: Moors of swarthy hueAs though from Ind; Numidian nomads thereAnd Nasamon's needy hordes; and those whose dartsEqual the flying arrows of the Mede:Dark Garamantians leave their fervid home;And those whose coursers unrestrained by bitOr saddle, yet obey the rider's handWhich wields the guiding switch: the hunter, too,Who wanders forth, his home a fragile hut,And blinds with flowing robe (if spear should fail)The angry lion, monarch of the steppe.

Not eagerness alone to save the stateStirred Juba's spirit: private hatred tooRoused him to war. For in the former year,When Curio all things human and the godsPolluted, he by tribune law essayedTo ravish Libya from the tyrant's sway,And drive the monarch from his father's throne,While giving Rome a king. To Juba thus,Still smarting at the insult, came the war,A welcome harvest for his crown retained.These rumours Curio feared: nor had his troops(Ta'en in Corfinium's hold) (23) in waves of RhineBeen tested, nor to Caesar in the warsHad learned devotion: wavering in their faith,Their second chief they doubt, their first betrayed.

Yet when the general saw the spirit of fearCreep through his camp, and discipline to fail,And sentinels desert their guard at night,Thus in his fear he spake: "By daring muchFear is disguised; let me be first in arms,And bid my soldiers to the plain descend,While still my soldiers. Idle days breed doubt.By fight forestall the plot (24). Soon as the thirstOf bloodshed fills the mind, and eager handsGrip firm the sword, and pressed upon the browThe helm brings valour to the failing heart --Who cares to measure leaders' merits then?Who weighs the cause? With whom the soldier stands,For him he fights; as at the fatal showNo ancient grudge the gladiator's armNerves for the combat, yet as he shall strikeHe hates his rival." Thinking thus he leadsHis troops in battle order to the plain.Then victory on his arms deceptive shoneHiding the ills to come: for from the fieldDriving the hostile host with sword and spear,He smote them till their camp opposed his way.But after Varus' rout, unseen till then,All eager for the glory to be his,By stealth came Juba: silent was his march;His only fear lest rumour should forestallHis coming victory. In pretended warHe sends Sabura forth with scanty forceTo tempt the enemy, while in hollow valeHe holds the armies of his realm unseen.Thus doth the sly ichneumon (25) with his tailWaving, allure the serpent of the NileDrawn to the moving shadow: he, with headTurned sideways, watches till the victim glidesWithin his reach, then seizes by the throatBehind the deadly fangs: forth from its seatBalked of its purpose, through the brimming jawsGushes a tide of poison. Fortune smiledOn Juba's stratagem; for Curio(The hidden forces of the foe unknown)Sent forth his horse by night without the campTo scour more distant regions. He himselfAt earliest peep of dawn bids carry forthHis standards; heeding not his captains' prayerUrged on his ears: "Beware of Punic fraud,The craft that taints a Carthaginian war."Hung over him the doom of coming deathAnd gave the youth to fate; and civil strifeDragged down its author.

On the lofty topsWhere broke the hills abruptly to their fallHe ranks his troops and sees the foe afar:Who still deceiving, simulated flight,Till from the height in loose unordered linesThe Roman forces streamed upon the plain,In thought that Juba fled. Then first was knownThe treacherous fraud: for swift Numidian horseOn every side surround them: leader, men --All see their fate in one dread moment come.No coward flees, no warrior bravely stridesTo meet the battle: nay, the trumpet callStirs not the charger with resounding hoofTo spurn the rock, nor galling bit compelsTo champ in eagerness; nor toss his maneAnd prick the ear, nor prancing with his feetTo claim his share of combat. Tired, the neckDroops downwards: smoking sweat bedews the limbs:Dry from the squalid mouth protrudes the tongue,Hoarse, raucous panting issues from their chests;Their flanks distend: and every curb is dryWith bloody foam; the ruthless sword aloneCould move them onward, powerless even thenTo charge; but giving to the hostile dartA nearer victim. But when the Afric horseFirst made their onset, loud beneath their hoofsRang the wide plain, and rose the dust in airAs by some Thracian whirlwind stirred; and veiledThe heavens in darkness. When on Curio's hostThe tempest burst, each footman in the rankStood there to meet his fate -- no doubtful endHung in the balance: destiny proclaimedDeath to them all. No conflict hand to handWas granted them, by lances thrown from farAnd sidelong sword-thrusts slain: nor wounds alone,But clouds of weapons falling from the airBy weight of iron o'erwhelmed them. Still drew inThe straightening circle, for the first pressed backOn those behind; did any shun the foe,Seeking the inner safety of the ring,He needs must perish by his comrades' swords.And as the front rank fell, still narrower grewThe close crushed phalanx, till to raise their swordsSpace was denied. Still close and closer forcedThe armed breasts against each other drivenPressed out the life. Thus not upon a sceneSuch as their fortune promised, gazed the foe.No tide of blood was there to glut their eyes,No members lopped asunder, though the earth soWas piled with corpses; for each Roman stoodIn death upright against his comrade dead.

Let cruel Carthage rouse her hated ghostsBy this fell offering; let the Punic shades,And bloody Hannibal, from this defeatReceive atonement: yet 'twas shame, ye gods,That Libya gained not for herself the day;And that our Romans on that field should dieTo save Pompeius and the Senate's cause.

Now was the dust laid low by streams of blood,And Curio, knowing that his host was slain.Chose not to live; and, as a brave man should.He rushed upon the heap, and fighting fell.

In vain with turbid speech hast thou profanedThe pulpit of the forum: waved in vainFrom that proud (26) citadel the tribune flag:And armed the people, and the Senate's rightsBetraying, hast compelled this impious warBetwixt the rival kinsmen. Low thou liestBefore Pharsalus' fight, and from thine eyesIs hid the war. 'Tis thus to suffering Rome,For arms seditious and for civil strifeYe mighty make atonement with your blood.Happy were Rome and all her sons indeed,Did but the gods as rigidly protectAs they avenge, her violated laws!There Curio lies; untombed his noble corpse,Torn by the vultures of the Libyan wastes.Yet shall we, since such merit, though unsung,Lives by its own imperishable fame,Give thee thy meed of praise. Rome never boreAnother son, who, had he right pursued,Had so adorned her laws; but soon the times,Their luxury, corruption, and the curseOf too abundant wealth, in transverse streamSwept o'er his wavering mind: and Curio changed,Turned with his change the scale of human things.True, mighty Sulla, cruel Marius,And bloody Cinna, and the long descentOf Caesar and of Caesar's house becameLords of our lives. But who had power like him?All others bought the state: he sold alone.