Book V
The Oracle. The Mutiny. The Storm
Thus had the smiles of Fortune and her frownsBrought either chief to Macedonian shoresStill equal to his foe. From cooler skiesSank Atlas’ (1) daughters down, and Haemus’ slopesWere white with winter, and the day drew nighDevoted to the god who leads the months,And marking with new names the book of Rome,When came the Fathers from their distant postsBy both the Consuls to Epirus called (2)Ere yet the year was dead: a foreign landObscure received the magistrates of Rome,And heard their high debate. No warlike campThis; for the Consul’s and the Praetor’s axeProclaimed the Senate-house; and Magnus satOne among many, and the state was all.
When all were silent, from his lofty seatThus Lentulus began, while stern and sadThe Fathers listened: “If your hearts still beatWith Latian blood, and if within your breastsStill lives your fathers’ vigour, look not nowOn this strange land that holds us, nor enquireYour distance from the captured city: yoursThis proud assembly, yours the high commandIn all that comes. Be this your first decree,Whose truth all peoples and all kings confess;Be this the Senate. Let the frozen wainDemand your presence, or the torrid zoneWherein the day and night with equal treadFor ever march; still follows in your stepsThe central power of Imperial Rome.When flamed the Capitol with fires of GaulWhen Veii held Camillus, there with himWas Rome, nor ever though it changed its climeYour order lost its rights. In Caesar’s handsAre sorrowing houses and deserted homes,Laws silent for a space, and forums closedIn public fast. His Senate-house beholdsThose Fathers only whom from Rome it drove,While Rome was full. Of that high order allNot here, are exiles. (3) Ignorant of war,Its crimes and bloodshed, through long years of peace,Ye fled its outburst: now in session allAre here assembled. See ye how the godsWeigh down Italia’s loss by all the worldThrown in the other scale? Illyria’s waveRolls deep upon our foes: in Libyan wastesIs fallen their Curio, the weightier part (4)Of Caesar’s senate! Lift your standards, then,Spur on your fates and prove your hopes to heaven.Let Fortune, smiling, give you courage nowAs, when ye fled, your cause. The Consuls’ powerFails with the dying year: not so does yours;By your commandment for the common wealDecree Pompeius leader.” With applauseThey heard his words, and placed their country’s fates,Nor less their own, within the chieftain’s hands.
Then did they shower on people and on kingsHonours well earned—Rhodes, Mistress of the Seas,Was decked with gifts; Athena, old in fame,Received her praise, and the rude tribes who dwellOn cold Taygetus; Massilia’s sonsTheir own Phocaea’s freedom; on the chiefsOf Thracian tribes, fit honours were bestowed.They order Libya by their high decreeTo serve King Juba’s sceptre; and, alas!On Ptolemaeus, of a faithless raceThe faithless sovereign, scandal to the gods,And shame to Fortune, placed the diademOf Pella. Boy! thy sword was only sharpAgainst thy people. Ah if that were all!The fatal gift gave, too, Pompeius’ life;Bereft thy sister of her sire’s bequest, (5)Half of the kingdom; Caesar of a crime.Then all to arms.
While soldier thus and chief,In doubtful sort, against their hidden fateDevised their counsel, Appius (6) aloneFeared for the chances of the war, and soughtThrough Phoebus’ ancient oracle to breakThe silence of the gods and know the end.
Between the western belt and that which bounds (7)The furthest east, midway Parnassus rearsHis double summit: to the Bromian godAnd Paean consecrate, to whom conjoinedThe Theban band leads up the Delphic feastOn each third year. This mountain, when the seaPoured o’er the earth her billows, rose alone,By one high peak scarce master of the waves,Parting the crest of waters from the stars.There, to avenge his mother, from her homeChased by the angered goddess while as yetShe bore him quick within her, Paean came(When Themis ruled the tripods and the spot) (8)And with unpractised darts the Python slew.But when he saw how from the yawning caveA godlike knowledge breathed, and all the airWas full of voices murmured from the depths,He took the shrine and filled the deep recess;Henceforth to prophesy.
Which of the godsHas left heaven’s light in this dark cave to hide?What spirit that knows the secrets of the worldAnd things to come, here condescends to dwell,Divine, omnipotent? bear the touch of man,And at his bidding deigns to lift the veil?Perchance he sings the fates, perchance his song,Once sung, is fate. Haply some part of JoveSent here to rule the earth with mystic power,Balanced upon the void immense of air,Sounds through the caves, and in its flight returnsTo that high home of thunder whence it came.Caught in a virgin’s breast, this deityStrikes on the human spirit: then a voiceSounds from her breast, as when the lofty peakOf Etna boils, forced by compelling flames,Or as Typheus on Campania’s shoreFrets ’neath the pile of huge Inarime. (9)
Though free to all that ask, denied to none,No human passion lurks within the voiceThat heralds forth the god; no whispered vow,No evil prayer prevails; none favour gain:Of things unchangeable the song divine;Yet loves the just. When men have left their homesTo seek another, it hath turned their stepsAright, as with the Tyrians; (10) and raisedThe hearts of nations to confront their foe,As prove the waves of Salamis: (11) when earthHath been unfruitful, or polluted airHas plagued mankind, this utterance benignHath raised their hopes and pointed to the end.No gift from heaven’s high gods so great as thisOur centuries have lost, since Delphi’s shrineHas silent stood, and kings forbade the gods (12)To speak the future, fearing for their fates.Nor does the priestess sorrow that the voiceIs heard no longer; and the silent faneTo her is happiness; for whatever breastContains the deity, its shattered frameSurges with frenzy, and the soul divineShakes the frail breath that with the god receives,As prize or punishment, untimely death.
These tripods Appius seeks, unmoved for yearsThese soundless caverned rocks, in quest to learnHesperia’s destinies. At his commandTo loose the sacred gateways and permitThe prophetess to enter to the god,The keeper calls Phemonoe; (13) whose stepsRound the Castalian fount and in the groveWere wandering careless; her he bids to passThe portals. But the priestess feared to treadThe awful threshold, and with vain deceitsSought to dissuade the chieftain from his zealTo learn the future. “What this hope,” she cried,“Roman, that moves thy breast to know the fates?Long has Parnassus and its silent cleftStifled the god; perhaps the breath divineHas left its ancient gorge and thro’ the worldWanders in devious paths; or else the fane,Consumed to ashes by barbarian (14) fire,Closed up the deep recess and choked the pathOf Phoebus; or the ancient Sibyl’s booksDisclosed enough of fate, and thus the godsDecreed to close the oracle; or elseSince wicked steps are banished from the fane,In this our impious age the god finds noneWhom he may answer.” But the maiden’s guileWas known, for though she would deny the godsHer fears approved them. On her front she bindsA twisted fillet, while a shining wreathOf Phocian laurels crowns the locks that flowUpon her shoulders. Hesitating yetThe priest compelled her, and she passed within.But horror filled her of the holiest depthsFrom which the mystic oracle proceeds;And resting near the doors, in breast unmovedShe dares invent the god in words confused,Which proved no mind possessed with fire divine;By such false chant less injuring the chiefThan faith in Phoebus and the sacred fane.No burst of words with tremor in their tones,No voice re-echoing through the spacious vaultProclaimed the deity, no bristling locksShook off the laurel chaplet; but the groveUnshaken, and the summits of the shrine,Gave proof she shunned the god. The Roman knewThe tripods yet were idle, and in rage,“Wretch,” he exclaimed, “to us and to the gods,Whose presence thou pretendest, thou shalt payFor this thy fraud the punishment; unlessThou enter the recess, and speak no more,Of this world-war, this tumult of mankind,Thine own inventions.” Then by fear compelled,At length the priestess sought the furthest depths,And stayed beside the tripods; and there cameInto her unaccustomed breast the god,Breathed from the living rock for centuriesUntouched; nor ever with a mightier powerDid Paean’s inspiration seize the frameOf Delphic priestess; his pervading touchDrove out her former mind, expelled the man,And made her wholly his. In maddened tranceShe whirls throughout the cave, her locks erectWith horror, and the fillets of the godDashed to the ground; her steps unguided turnTo this side and to that; the tripods fallO’erturned; within her seethes the mighty fireOf angry Phoebus; nor with whip aloneHe urged her onwards, but with curb restrained;Nor was it given her by the god to speakAll that she knew; for into one vast mass (15)All time was gathered, and her panting chestGroaned ’neath the centuries. In order longAll things lay bare: the future yet unveiledStruggled for light; each fate required a voice;The compass of the seas, Creation’s birth,Creation’s death, the number of the sands,All these she knew. Thus on a former dayThe prophetess upon the Cuman shore, (16)Disdaining that her frenzy should be slaveTo other nations, from the boundless threadsChose out with pride of hand the fates of Rome.E’en so Phemonoe, for a time oppressedWith fates unnumbered, laboured ere she found,Beneath such mighty destinies concealed,Thine, Appius, who alone had’st sought the godIn land Castalian; then from foaming lipsFirst rushed the madness forth, and murmurs loudUttered with panting breath and blent with groans;Till through the spacious vault a voice at lengthBroke from the virgin conquered by the god:“From this great struggle thou, O Roman, freeEscap’st the threats of war: alive, in peace,Thou shalt possess the hollow in the coastOf vast Euboea.” Thus she spake, no more.
Ye mystic tripods, guardians of the fatesAnd Paean, thou, from whom no day is hidBy heaven’s high rulers, Master of the truth,Why fear’st thou to reveal the deaths of kings,Rome’s murdered princes, and the latest doomOf her great Empire tottering to its fall,And all the bloodshed of that western land?Were yet the stars in doubt on Magnus’ fateNot yet decreed, and did the gods yet shrinkFrom that, the greatest crime? Or wert thou dumbThat Fortune’s sword for civil strife might wreakJust vengeance, and a Brutus’ arm once moreStrike down the tyrant?
From the temple doorsRushed forth the prophetess in frenzy driven,Not all her knowledge uttered; and her eyes,Still troubled by the god who reigned within,Or filled with wild affright, or fired with rageGaze on the wide expanse: still works her faceConvulsive; on her cheeks a crimson blushWith ghastly pallor blent, though not of fear.Her weary heart throbs ever; and as seasBoom swollen by northern winds, she finds in sighs,All inarticulate, relief. But whileShe hastes from that dread light in which she sawThe fates, to common day, lo! on her pathThe darkness fell. Then by a Stygian draughtOf the forgetful river, Phoebus snatchedBack from her soul his secrets; and she fellYet hardly living.
Nor did Appius dreadApproaching death, but by dark oraclesBaffled, while yet the Empire of the worldHung in the balance, sought his promised realmIn Chalcis of Euboea. Yet to escapeAll ills of earth, the crash of war—what godCan give thee such a boon, but death alone?Far on the solitary shore a graveAwaits thee, where Carystos’ marble crags (17)Draw in the passage of the sea, and whereThe fane of Rhamnus rises to the godsWho hate the proud, and where the ocean straitBoils in swift whirlpools, and Euripus drawsDeceitful in his tides, a bane to ships,Chalcidian vessels to bleak Aulis’ shore.
But Caesar carried from the conquered westHis eagles to another world of war;When envying his victorious course the godsAlmost turned back the prosperous tide of fate.Not on the battle-field borne down by armsBut in his tents, within the rampart lines,The hoped-for prize of this unholy warSeemed for a moment gone. That faithful host,His comrades trusted in a hundred fields,Or that the falchion sheathed had lost its charm;Or weary of the mournful bugle callScarce ever silent; or replete with blood,Well nigh betrayed their general and soldFor hope of gain their honour and their cause.No other perilous shock gave surer proofHow trembled ’neath his feet the dizzy heightFrom which great Caesar looked. A moment sinceHis high behest drew nations to the field:Now, maimed of all, he sees that swords once drawnAre weapons for the soldier, not the chief.From the stern ranks no doubtful murmur rose;Not silent anger as when one conspires,His comrades doubting, feared himself in turn;Alone (he thinks) indignant at the wrongsWrought by the despot. In so great a hostDread found no place. Where thousands share the guiltCrime goes unpunished. Thus from dauntless throatsThey hurled their menace: “Caesar, give us leaveTo quit thy crimes; thou seek’st by land and seaThe sword to slay us; let the fields of GaulAnd far Iberia, and the world proclaimHow for thy victories our comrades fell.What boots it us that by an army’s bloodThe Rhine and Rhone and all the northern landsThou hast subdued? Thou giv’st us civil warFor all these battles; such the prize. When fledThe Senate trembling, and when Rome was oursWhat homes or temples did we spoil? Our handsReek with offence! Aye, but our povertyProclaims our innocence! What end shall beOf arms and armies? What shall be enoughIf Rome suffice not? and what lies beyond?Behold these silvered locks, these nerveless handsAnd shrunken arms, once stalwart! In thy warsGone is the strength of life, gone all its pride!Dismiss thine aged soldiers to their deaths.How shameless is our prayer! Not on hard turfTo stretch our dying limbs; nor seek in vain,When parts the soul, a hand to close our eyes;Not with the helmet strike the stony clod: (19)Rather to feel the dear one’s last embrace,And gain a humble but a separate tomb.Let nature end old age. And dost thou thinkWe only know not what degree of crimeWill fetch the highest price? What thou canst dareThese years have proved, or nothing; law divineNor human ordinance shall hold thine hand.Thou wert our leader on the banks of Rhine;Henceforth our equal; for the stain of crimeMakes all men like to like. Add that we serveA thankless chief: as fortune’s gift he takesThe fruits of victory our arms have won.We are his fortunes, and his fates are oursTo fashion as we will. Boast that the godsShall do thy bidding! Nay, thy soldiers’ willShall close the war.” With threatening mien and speechThus through the camp the troops demand their chief.
When faith and loyalty are fled, and hopeFor aught but evil, thus may civil warIn mutiny and discord find its end!What general had not feared at such revolt?But mighty Caesar trusting on the throw,As was his wont, his fortune, and o’erjoyedTo front their anger raging at its heightUnflinching comes. No temples of the gods,Not Jove’s high fane on the Tarpeian rock,Not Rome’s high dames nor maidens had he grudgedTo their most savage lust: that they should askThe worst, his wish, and love the spoils of war.Nor feared he aught save order at the handsOf that unconquered host. Art thou not shamedThat strife should please thee only, now condemnedEven by thy minions? Shall they shrink from blood,They from the sword recoil? and thou rush onHeedless of guilt, through right and through unright,Nor learn that men may lay their arms asideYet bear to live? This civil butcheryEscapes thy grasp. Stay thou thy crimes at length;Nor force thy will on those who will no more.
Upon a turfy mound unmoved he stoodAnd, since he feared not, worthy to be feared;And thus while anger stirred his soul began:“Thou that with voice and hand didst rage but nowAgainst thine absent chief, behold me here;Here strike thy sword into this naked breast,To stay the war; and flee, if such thy wish.This mutiny devoid of daring deedBetrays your coward souls, betrays the youthWho tires of victories which gild the armsOf an unconquered chief, and yearns for flight.Well, leave me then to battle and to fate!I cast you forth; for every weapon left,Fortune shall find a man, to wield it well.Shall Magnus in his flight with such a fleetDraw nations in his train; and not to meMy victories bring hosts, to whom shall fallThe prize of war accomplished, who shall reapYour laurels scorned, and scathless join the trainThat leads my chariot to the sacred hill?While you, despised in age and worn in war,Gaze on our triumph from the civic crowd.Think you your dastard flight shall give me pause?If all the rivers that now seek the seaWere to withdraw their waters, it would failBy not one inch, no more than by their flowIt rises now. Have then your efforts givenStrength to my cause? Not so: the heavenly godsStoop not so low; fate has no time to judgeYour lives and deaths. The fortunes of the worldFollow heroic souls: for the fit fewThe many live; and you who terrifiedWith me the northern and Iberian worlds,Would flee when led by Magnus. Strong in armsFor Caesar’s cause was Labienus; (20) nowThat vile deserter, with his chief preferred,Wanders o’er land and sea. Nor were your faithOne whit more firm to me if, neither sideEspoused, you ceased from arms. Who leaves me once,Though not to fight against me with the foe,Joins not my ranks again. Surely the godsSmile on these arms who for so great a warGrant me fresh soldiers. From what heavy loadFortune relieves me! for the hands which aimedAt all, to which the world did not suffice,I now disarm, and for myself aloneReserve the conflict. Quit ye, then, my camp,‘Quirites’, (21) Caesar’s soldiers now no more,And leave my standards to the grasp of men!Yet some who led this mad revolt I hold,Not as their captain now, but as their judge.Lie, traitors, prone on earth, stretch out the neckAnd take th’ avenging blow. And thou whose strengthShall now support me, young and yet untaught,Behold the doom and learn to strike and die.”
Such were his words of ire, and all the hostDrew back and trembled at the voice of himThey would depose, as though their very swordsWould from their scabbards leap at his commandThemselves unwilling; but he only fearedLest hand and blade to satisfy the doomMight be denied, till they submitting pledgedTheir lives and swords alike, beyond his hope.To strike and suffer (22) holds in surest thrallThe heart inured to guilt; and Caesar kept,By dreadful compact ratified in blood,Those whom he feared to lose.
He bids them marchUpon Brundusium, and recalls the shipsFrom soft Calabria’s inlets and the pointOf Leucas, and the Salapinian marsh,Where sheltered Sipus nestles at the feetOf rich Garganus, jutting from the shoreIn huge escarpment that divides the wavesOf Hadria; on each hand, his seaward slopesBuffeted by the winds; or Auster borneFrom sweet Apulia, or the sterner blastOf Boreas rushing from Dalmatian strands.
But Caesar entered trembling Rome unarmed,Now taught to serve him in the garb of peace.Dictator named, to grant their prayers, forsooth:Consul, in honour of the roll of Rome.Then first of all the names by which we nowLie to our masters, men found out the use:For to preserve his right to wield the swordHe mixed the civil axes with his brands;With eagles, fasces; with an empty wordClothing his power; and stamped upon the timeA worthy designation; for what nameCould better mark the dread Pharsalian yearThan “Caesar, Consul”? (23) Now the famous fieldPretends its ancient ceremonies: callsThe tribes in order and divides the votesIn vain solemnity of empty urns.Nor do they heed the portents of the sky:Deaf were the augurs to the thunder roll;The owl flew on the left; yet were the birdsPropitious sworn. Then was the ancient nameDegraded first; and monthly Consuls, (24)Shorn of their rank, are chosen to mark the years.And Trojan Alba’s (25) god (since Latium’s fallDeserving not) beheld the wonted firesBlaze from his altars on the festal night.
Then through Apulia’s fallows, that her hindsLeft all untilled, to sluggish weeds a preyPassed Caesar onward, swifter than the fireOf heaven, or tigress dam: until he reachedBrundusium’s winding ramparts, built of oldBy Cretan colonists. There icy windsConstrained the billows, and his trembling fleetFeared for the winter storms nor dared the main.But Caesar’s soul burned at the moments lostFor speedy battle, nor could brook delayWithin the port, indignant that the seaShould give safe passage to his routed foe:And thus he stirred his troops, in seas unskilled,With words of courage: “When the winter windHas seized on sky and ocean, firm its hold;But the inconstancy of cloudy springPermits no certain breezes to prevailUpon the billows. Straight shall be our course.No winding nooks of coast, but open seasStruck by the northern wind alone we plough,And may he bend the spars, and bear us swiftTo Grecian cities; else Pompeius’ oars,Smiting the billows from Phaeacian (26) coasts,May catch our flagging sails. Cast loose the ropesFrom our victorious prows. Too long we wasteTempests that blow to bear us to our goal.”
Now sank the sun to rest; the evening starShone on the darkening heaven, and the moonReigned with her paler light, when all the fleetFreed from retaining cables seized the main.With slackened sheet the canvas wooed the breeze,Which rose and fell and fitful died away,Till motionless the sails, and all the wavesWere still as deepest pool, where never windRipples the surface. Thus in Scythian climesCimmerian Bosphorus restrains the deepBound fast in frosty fetters; Ister’s streams (27)No more impel the main, and ships constrainedStand fast in ice; and while in depths belowThe waves still murmur, loud the charger’s hoofSounds on the surface, and the travelling wheelFurrows a track upon the frozen marsh.Cruel as tempest was the calm that layIn stagnant pools upon the mournful deep:Against the course of nature lay outstretchedA rigid ocean: ’twas as if the seaForgat its ancient ways and knew no moreThe ceaseless tides, nor any breeze of heaven,Nor quivered at the image of the sun,Mirrored upon its wave. For while the fleetHung in mid passage motionless, the foeMight hurry to attack, with sturdy strokeChurning the deep; or famine’s deadly gripMight seize the ships becalmed. For dangers newNew vows they find. “May mighty winds ariseAnd rouse the ocean, and this sluggish plainCast off stagnation and be sea once more.”Thus did they pray, but cloudless shone the sky,Unrippled slept the surface of the main;Until in misty clouds the moon aroseAnd stirred the depths, and moved the fleet alongTowards the Ceraunian headland; and the wavesAnd favouring breezes followed on the ships,Now speeding faster, till (their goal attained)They cast their anchors on Palaeste’s (28) shore.
This land first saw the chiefs in neighbouring campsConfronted, which the streams of Apsus boundAnd swifter Genusus; a lengthy courseIs run by neither, but on Apsus’ wavesScarce flowing from a marsh, the frequent boatFinds room to swim; while on the foamy bedOf Genusus by sun or shower compelledThe melted snows pour seawards. Here were met(So Fortune ordered it) the mighty pair;And in its woes the world yet vainly hopedThat brought to nearer touch their crime itselfMight bleed abhorrence: for from either campVoices were clearly heard and features seen.Nor e’er, Pompeius, since that distant dayWhen Caesar’s daughter and thy spouse was reftBy pitiless fate away, nor left a pledge,Did thy loved kinsman (save on sands of Nile)So nearly look upon thy face again.
But Caesar’s mind though frenzied for the fightWas forced to pause until Antonius broughtThe rearward troops; Antonius even nowRehearsing Leucas’ fight. With prayers and threatsCaesar exhorts him. “Why delay the fates,Thou cause of evil to the suffering world?My speed hath won the major part: from theeFortune demands the final stroke alone.Do Libyan whirlpools with deceitful tidesUncertain separate us? Is the deepUntried to which I call? To unknown risksArt thou commanded? Caesar bids thee come,Thou sluggard, not to leave him. Long agoI ran my ships midway through sands and shoalsTo harbours held by foes; and dost thou fearMy friendly camp? I mourn the waste of daysWhich fate allotted us. Upon the wavesAnd winds I call unceasing: hold not backThy willing troops, but let them dare the sea;Here gladly shall they come to join my camp,Though risking shipwreck. Not in equal sharesThe world has fallen between us: thou aloneDost hold Italia, but Epirus IAnd all the lords of Rome.” Twice called and thriceAntonius lingered still: but Caesar thoughtTo reap in full the favour of the gods,Not sit supine; and knowing danger yieldsTo whom heaven favours, he upon the wavesFeared by Antonius’ fleets, in shallow boatEmbarked, and daring sought the further shore.
Now gentle night had brought repose from arms;And sleep, blest guardian of the poor man’s couch,Restored the weary; and the camp was still.The hour was come that called the second watchWhen mighty Caesar, in the silence vastWith cautious tread advanced to such a deed (29)As slaves should dare not. Fortune for his guide,Alone he passes on, and o’er the guardStretched in repose he leaps, in secret wrathAt such a sleep. Pacing the winding beach,Fast to a sea-worn rock he finds a boatOn ocean’s marge afloat. Hard by on shoreIts master dwelt within his humble home.No solid front it reared, for sterile rushAnd marshy reed enwoven formed the walls,Propped by a shallop with its bending sidesTurned upwards. Caesar’s hand upon the doorKnocks twice and thrice until the fabric shook.Amyclas from his couch of soft seaweedArising, calls: “What shipwrecked sailor seeksMy humble home? Who hopes for aid from me,By fates adverse compelled?” He stirs the heapUpon the hearth, until a tiny sparkGlows in the darkness, and throws wide the door.Careless of war, he knew that civil strifeStoops not to cottages. Oh! happy lifeThat poverty affords! great gift of heavenToo little understood! what mansion wall,What temple of the gods, would feel no fearWhen Caesar called for entrance? Then the chief:“Enlarge thine hopes and look for better things.Do but my bidding, and on yonder shorePlace me, and thou shalt cease from one poor boatTo earn thy living; and in years to comeLook for a rich old age: and trust thy fatesTo those high gods whose wont it is to blessThe poor with sudden plenty.” So he spakeE’en at such time in accents of command,For how could Caesar else? Amyclas said,“‘Twere dangerous to brave the deep to-night.The sun descended not in ruddy cloudsOr peaceful rays to rest; part of his beamsPresaged a southern gale, the rest proclaimedA northern tempest; and his middle orb,Shorn of its strength, permitted human eyesTo gaze upon his grandeur; and the moonRose not with silver horns upon the nightNor pure in middle space; her slender pointsNot drawn aright, but blushing with the trackOf raging tempests, till her lurid lightWas sadly veiled within the clouds. AgainThe forest sounds; the surf upon the shore;The dolphin’s mood, uncertain where to play;The sea-mew on the land; the heron usedTo wade among the shallows, borne aloftAnd soaring on his wings—all these alarm;The raven, too, who plunged his head in spray,As if to anticipate the coming rain,And trod the margin with unsteady gait.But if the cause demands, behold me thine.Either we reach the bidden shore, or elseStorm and the deep forbid—we can no more.”
Thus said he loosed the boat and raised the sail.No sooner done than stars were seen to fallIn flaming furrows from the sky: nay, more;The pole star trembled in its place on high:Black horror marked the surging of the sea;The main was boiling in long tracts of foam,Uncertain of the wind, yet seized with storm.Then spake the captain of the trembling bark:“See what remorseless ocean has in store!Whether from east or west the storm may comeIs still uncertain, for as yet confusedThe billows tumble. Judged by clouds and skyA western tempest: by the murmuring deepA wild south-eastern gale shall sweep the sea.Nor bark nor man shall reach Hesperia’s shoreIn this wild rage of waters. To returnBack on our course forbidden by the gods,Is our one refuge, and with labouring boatTo reach the shore ere yet the nearest landMay be too distant.”
But great Caesar’s trustWas in himself, to make all dangers yield.And thus he answered: “Scorn the threatening sea,Spread out thy canvas to the raging wind;If for thy pilot thou refusest heaven,Me in its stead receive. Alone in theeOne cause of terror just—thou dost not knowThy comrade, ne’er deserted by the gods,Whom fortune blesses e’en without a prayer.Break through the middle storm and trust in me.The burden of this fight fails not on usBut on the sky and ocean; and our barkShall swim the billows safe in him it bears.Nor shall the wind rage long: the boat itselfShall calm the waters. Flee the nearest shore,Steer for the ocean with unswerving hand:Then in the deep, when to our ship and usNo other port is given, believe thou hastCalabria’s harbours. And dost thou not knowThe purpose of such havoc? Fortune seeksIn all this tumult of the sea and skyA boon for Caesar.” Then a hurricaneSwooped on the boat and tore away the sheet:The fluttering sail fell on the fragile mast:And groaned the joints. From all the universeCommingled perils rush. In Atlas’ seasFirst Corus (30) lifts his head, and stirs the depthsTo fury, and had forced upon the rocksWhole seas and oceans; but the chilly northDrove back the deep that doubted which was lord.But Scythian Aquilo prevailed, whose blastTossed up the main and showed as shallow poolsEach deep abyss; and yet was not the seaHeaped on the crags, for Corus’ billows metThe waves of Boreas: such seas had clashedEven were the winds withdrawn; Eurus enragedBurst from the cave, and Notus black with rain,And all the winds from every part of heavenStrove for their own; and thus the ocean stayedWithin his boundaries. No petty seasRapt in the storm are whirled. The Tuscan deepInvades th’ Aegean; in Ionian gulfsSounds wandering Hadria. How long the cragsWhich that day fell, the Ocean’s blows had braved!What lofty peaks did vanquished earth resign!And yet on yonder coast such mighty wavesTook not their rise; from distant regions cameThose monster billows, driven on their courseBy that great current which surrounds the world. (31)Thus did the King of Heaven, when length of yearsWore out the forces of his thunder, callHis brother’s trident to his help, what timeThe earth and sea one second kingdom formedAnd ocean knew no limit but the sky.Now, too, the sea had risen to the starsIn mighty mass, had not Olympus’ chiefPressed down its waves with clouds: came not from heavenThat night, as others; but the murky airWas dim with pallor of the realms below; (32)The sky lay on the deep; within the cloudsThe waves received the rain: the lightning flashClove through the parted air a path obscuredBy mist and darkness: and the heavenly vaultsRe-echoed to the tumult, and the frameThat holds the sky was shaken. Nature fearedChaos returned, as though the elementsHad burst their bonds, and night had come to mixTh’ infernal shades with heaven.
In such turmoilNot to have perished was their only hope.Far as from Leucas point the placid mainSpreads to the horizon, from the billow’s crestThey viewed the dashing of th’ infuriate sea;Thence sinking to the middle trough, their mastScarce topped the watery height on either hand,Their sails in clouds, their keel upon the ground.For all the sea was piled into the waves,And drawn from depths between laid bare the sand.The master of the boat forgot his art,For fear o’ercame; he knew not where to yieldOr where to meet the wave: but safety cameFrom ocean’s self at war: one billow forcedThe vessel under, but a huger waveRepelled it upwards, and she rode the stormThrough every blast triumphant. Not the shoreOf humble Sason (33), nor Thessalia’s coastIndented, not Ambracia’s scanty portsDismay the sailors, but the giddy topsOf high Ceraunia’s cliffs.
But Caesar now,Thinking the peril worthy of his fates:“Are such the labours of the gods?” exclaimed,“Bent on my downfall have they sought me thus,Here in this puny skiff in such a sea?If to the deep the glory of my fallIs due, and not to war, intrepid stillWhatever death they send shall strike me down.Let fate cut short the deeds that I would doAnd hasten on the end: the past is mine.The northern nations fell beneath my sword;My dreaded name compels the foe to flee.Pompeius yields me place; the people’s voiceGave at my order what the wars denied.And all the titles which denote the powersKnown to the Roman state my name shall bear.Let none know this but thou who hear’st my prayers,Fortune, that Caesar summoned to the shades,Dictator, Consul, full of honours, diedEre his last prize was won. I ask no pompOf pyre or funeral; let my body lieMangled beneath the waves: I leave a nameThat men shall dread in ages yet to comeAnd all the earth shall honour.” Thus he spake,When lo! a tenth gigantic billow raisedThe feeble keel, and where between the rocksA cleft gave safety, placed it on the shore.Thus in a moment fortune, kingdoms, lands,Once more were Caesar’s.
But on his returnWhen daylight came, he entered not the campSilent as when he parted; for his friendsSoon pressed around him, and with weeping eyesIn accents welcome to his ears began:“Whither in reckless daring hast thou gone,Unpitying Caesar? Were these humble livesLeft here unguarded while thy limbs were given,Unsought for, to be scattered by the storm?When on thy breath so many nations hangFor life and safety, and so great a worldCalls thee its master, to have courted deathProves want of heart. Was none of all thy friendsDeserving held to join his fate with thine?When thou wast tossed upon the raging deepWe lay in slumber! Shame upon such sleep!And why thyself didst seek Italia’s shores?‘Twere cruel (such thy thought) to speak the wordThat bade another dare the furious sea.All men must bear what chance or fate may bring,The sudden peril and the stroke of death;But shall the ruler of the world attemptThe raging ocean? With incessant prayersWhy weary heaven? is it indeed enoughTo crown the war, that Fortune and the deepHave cast thee on our shores? And would’st thou useThe grace of favouring deities, to gainNot lordship, not the empire of the world,But lucky shipwreck!” Night dispersed, and soonThe sun beamed on them, and the wearied deep,The winds permitting, lulled its waves to rest.And when Antonius saw a breeze ariseFresh from a cloudless heaven, to break the sea,He loosed his ships which, by the pilots’ handsAnd by the wind in equal order held,Swept as a marching host across the main.But night unfriendly from the seamen snatchedAll governance of sail, parting the shipsIn divers paths asunder. Like as cranesDeserting frozen Strymon for the streamsOf Nile, when winter falls, in casual linesOf wedge-like figures (34) first ascend the sky;But when in loftier heaven the southern breezeStrikes on their pinions tense, in loose arrayDispersed at large, in flight irregular,They wing their journey onwards. Stronger windsWith day returning blew the navy on,Past Lissus’ shelter which they vainly sought,Till bare to northern blasts, Nymphaeum’s port,But safe in southern, gave the fleet repose,For favouring winds came on.
When Magnus knewThat Caesar’s troops were gathered in their strengthAnd that the war for quick decision calledBefore his camp, Cornelia he resolvedTo send to Lesbos’ shore, from rage of fightSafe and apart: so lifting from his soulThe weight that burdened it. Thus, lawful Love.Thus art thou tyrant o’er the mightiest mind!His spouse was the one cause why Magnus stayedNor met his fortunes, though he staked the worldAnd all the destinies of Rome. The wordHe speaks not though resolved; so sweet it seemed,When on the future pondering, to gainA pause from Fate! But at the close of night,When drowsy sleep had fled, Cornelia soughtTo soothe the anxious bosom of her lordAnd win his kisses. Then amazed she sawHis cheek was tearful, and with boding soulShe shrank instinctive from the hidden wound,Nor dared to rouse him weeping. But he spake:“Dearer to me than life itself, when lifeIs happy (not at moments such as these);The day of sorrow comes, too long delayed,Nor long enough! With Caesar at our gatesWith all his forces, a secure retreatShall Lesbos give thee. Try me not with prayers.This fatal boon I have denied myself.Thou wilt not long be absent from thy lord.Disasters hasten, and things highest fallWith speediest ruin. ’Tis enough for theeTo hear of Magnus’ peril; and thy love (35)Deceives thee with the thought that thou canst gazeUnmoved on civil strife. It shames my soulOn the eve of war to slumber at thy side,And rise from thy dear breast when trumpets callA woeful world to misery and arms.I fear in civil war to feel no lossTo Magnus. Meantime safer than a kingLie hid, nor let the fortune of thy lordWhelm thee with all its weight. If unkind heavenOur armies rout, still let my choicest partSurvive in thee; if fated is my flight,Still leave me that whereto I fain would flee.”
Hardly at first her senses grasped the wordsIn their full misery; then her mind amazedCould scarce find utterance for the grief that pressed.“Nought, Magnus, now is left wherewith to upbraidThe gods and fates of marriage; ’tis not deathThat parts our love, nor yet the funeral pyre,Nor that dread torch which marks the end of all.I share the ignoble lot of vulgar lives:My spouse rejects me. Yes, the foe is come!Break we our bonds and Julia’s sire appease!—Is this thy consort, Magnus, this thy faithIn her fond loving heart? Can danger frightHer and not thee? Long since our mutual fatesHang by one chain; and dost thou bid me nowThe thunder-bolts of ruin to withstandWithout thee? Is it well that I should dieEven while you pray for fortune? And supposeI flee from evil and with death self-soughtFollow thy footsteps to the realms below—Am I to live till to that distant isleSome tardy rumour of thy fall may come?Add that thou fain by use would’st give me strengthTo bear such sorrow and my doom. ForgiveThy wife confessing that she fears the power.And if my prayers shall bring the victory,The joyful tale shall come to me the lastIn that lone isle of rocks. When all are glad,My heart shall throb with anguish, and the sailWhich brings the message I shall see with fear,Not safe e’en then: for Caesar in his flightMight seize me there, abandoned and aloneTo be his hostage. If thou place me there,The spouse of Magnus, shall not all the worldWell know the secret Mitylene holds?This my last prayer: if all is lost but flight,And thou shalt seek the ocean, to my shoresTurn not thy keel, ill-fated one: for there,There will they seek thee.” Thus she spoke distraught,Leaped from the couch and rushed upon her fate;No stop nor stay: she clung not to his neckNor threw her arms about him; both foregoThe last caress, the last fond pledge of love,And grief rushed in unchecked upon their souls;Still gazing as they part no final wordsCould either utter, and the sweet FarewellRemained unspoken. This the saddest dayOf all their lives: for other woes that cameMore gently struck on hearts inured to grief.Borne to the shore with failing limbs she fellAnd grasped the sands, embracing, till at lastHer maidens placed her senseless in the ship.
Not in such grief she left her country’s shoresWhen Caesar’s host drew near; for now she leaves,Though faithful to her lord, his side in flightAnd flees her spouse. All that next night she waked;Then first what means a widowed couch she knew,Its cold, its solitude. When slumber foundHer eyelids, and forgetfulness her soul,Seeking with outstretched arms the form beloved,She grasps but air. Though tossed by restless love,She leaves a place beside her as for himReturning. Yet she feared Pompeius lostTo her for ever. But the gods ordainedWorse than her fears, and in the hour of woeGave her to look upon his face again.
Endnotes:
(1) The Pleiades, said to be daughters of Atlas.(2) These were the Consuls for the expiring year, B.C. 49—Caius Marcellus and L. Lentulus Crus.(3) That is to say, Caesar’s Senate at Rome could boast of thoseSenators only whom it had, before Pompeius’ flight, declaredpublic enemies. But they were to be regarded as exiles,having lost their rights, rather than the Senators inEpirus, who were in full possession of theirs.(4) Dean Merivale says that probably Caesar’s Senate was notless numerous than his rival’s. Duruy says there weresenators in Pompeius’ camp, out of a total of between 500and 600. Mommsen says, “they were veritably emigrants.This Roman Coblentz presented a pitiful spectacle of thehigh pretensions and paltry performances of the grandees ofRome.” (Vol. iv., p. 397.) Almost all the Consulars werewith Pompeius.(5) By the will of Ptolemy Auletes, Cleopatra had been appointedjoint sovereign of Egypt with her young brother. Lucanmeans that Caesar would have killed Pompeius if youngPtolemy had not done so. She lost her share of the kingdom,and Caesar was clear of the crime.(6) Appius was Proconsul, and in command of Achaia, for theSenate.(7) See Book IV., 82.(8) Themis, the goddess of law, was in possession of the Delphicoracle, previous to Apollo. (Aesch., “Eumenides”, line 2.)(9) The modern isle of Ischia, off the Bay of Naples.(10) The Tyrians consulted the oracle in consequence of theearthquakes which vexed their country (Book III., line 225),and were told to found colonies.(11) See Herodotus, Book VII., 140–143. The reference is to theanswer given by the oracle to the Athenians that theirwooden walls would keep them safe; which Themistoclesinterpreted as meaning their fleet.(12) Cicero, on the contrary, suggests that the reason why theoracles ceased was this, that men became less credulous.(“De Div.”, ii., 57) Lecky, “History of European Moralsfrom Augustus to Charlemagne”, vol. i., p. 368.(13) This name is one of those given to the Cumaean Sibylmentioned at line 210. She was said to have been thedaughter of Apollo.(14) Probably by the Gauls under Brennus, B.C. 279.(15) These lines form the Latin motto prefixed to Shelley’s poem,“The Demon of the World”.(16) Referring to the visit of Aeneas to the Sibyl. (Virgil,“Aeneid”, vi., 70, &c.)(17) Appius was seized with fever as soon as he reached the spot;and there he died and was buried, thus fulfilling theoracle.(18) That is, Nemesis.(19) Reading “galeam”, with Francken; not “glebam”.(20) Labienus left Caesar’s ranks after the Rubicon was crossed,and joined his rival. In his mouth Lucan puts the speechmade at the oracle of Hammon in Book IX. He was slain atMunda, B.C. 45.(21) That is, civilians; no longer soldiers. This onecontemptuous expression is said to have shocked and abashedthe army. (Tacitus, “Annals”, I., 42.)(22) Reading “tenet”, with Hosius and Francken; not “timet”, asHaskins. The prospect of inflicting punishment attracted,while the suffering of it subdued, the mutineers.(23) Caesar was named Dictator while at Massilia. Entering Rome,he held the office for eleven days only, but was electedConsul for the incoming year, B.C. 48, along with ServiliusIsauricus. (Caesar, “De Bello Civili”, iii., 1; Merivale,chapter xvi.)(24) In the time of the Empire, the degraded Consulship,preserved only as a name, was frequently transferredmonthly, or even shorter, intervals from one favourite toanother.(25) Caesar performed the solemn rites of the great Latinfestival on the Alban Mount during his Dictatorship.(Compare Book VII., line 471.)(26) Dyrrhachium was founded by the Corcyreans, with whom theHomeric Phaeacians have been identified.(27) Apparently making the Danube discharge into the Sea of Azov.See Mr. Heitland’s Introduction, p. 53.(28) At the foot of the Acroceraunian range.(29) Caesar himself says nothing of this adventure. But it ismentioned by Dion, Appian and Plutarch (“Caesar”, 38). DeanMerivale thinks the story may have been invented tointroduce the apophthegm used by Caesar to the sailor, “Fearnothing: you carry Caesar and his fortunes” (lines 662–665).Mommsen accepts the story, as of an attempt which was onlyabandoned because no mariner could be induced to undertakeit. Lucan colours it with his wildest and most exaggeratedhyperbole.(30) See Book I., 463.(31) The ocean current, which, according to Hecataeus, surroundedthe world. But Herodotus of this theory says, “For my partI know of no river called Ocean, and I think that Homer orone of the earlier poets invented the name and introduced itinto his poetry.” (Book II., 23, and Book IV., 36.) In“Oceanus” Aeschylus seems to have intended to personify thegreat surrounding stream. (“Prom. Vinc.”, lines 291, 308.)(32) Comp. VI., 615.(33) Sason is a small island just off the Ceraunian rocks, thepoint of which is now called Cape Linguetta, and is nearlyopposite to Brindisi.(34) Compare “Paradise Lost”, VII., 425.(35) Reading “Teque tuus decepit amor”, as preferred by Hosius.