Shall rob you,
victors, of a world subdued --
Ye flee the war, and on your
abject necks
Feel for the
absent yoke; nor can endure
Without a despot! Yet to men the prize
Were worth the danger. Magnus might have used
To evil ends your blood; refuse ye now,
With liberty so near, your country's call?
Now lives one
tyrant only of the three;
Thus far in favour of the laws have wrought
The Pharian weapons and the Parthian bow;
Not you, degenerate! Begone, and spurn
This gift of Ptolemaeus. (8) Who would think
Your hands were stained with blood? The foe will deem
That you upon that dread Thessalian day
First turned your backs. Then flee in safety, flee!
By neither battle nor
blockade subdued
Caesar shall give you life! O slaves most base,
Your former master slain, ye seek his heir!
Why doth it please you not yet more to earn
Than life and
pardon? Bear across the sea
Metellus' daughter, Magnus'
weeping spouse,
And both his sons; outstrip the Pharian gift,
Nor spare this head, which, laid before the feet
Of that detested
tyrant, shall deserve
A full
reward. Thus, cowards, shall ye learn
In that ye followed me how great your gain.
Quick to your task and purchase thus with blood
Your claim on Caesar. Dastardly is flight
Which crime commends not."
Cato thus recalled
The
parting vessels. So when bees in swarm
Desert their waxen cells, forget the hive
Ceasing to cling together, and with wings
Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light
On thyme to taste its
bitterness -- then rings
The Phrygian gong -- at once they pause aloft
Astonied; and with love of toil resumed
Through all the flowers for their honey store
In
ceaseless wanderings search; the
shepherd joys,
Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept
His
cottage store, the
riches of his home.
Now in the active conduct of the war
Were brought to
discipline their minds, untaught
To bear
repose; first on the sandy shore
Toiling they
learnedfatigue: then stormed thy walls,
Cyrene; prizeless, for to Cato's mind
'Twas prize enough to
conquer. Juba next
He bids attack, though Nature on the path
Had placed the Syrtes; which his
sturdy heart
Aspired to
conquer. Either at the first
When Nature gave the
universe its form
She left this region neither land nor sea;
Not
wholly shrunk, so that it should receive
The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand
Against its buffets -- all the pathless coast
Lies in
uncertain shape; the land by earth
Is parted from the deep; on sandy banks
The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal
The waves advance to sound upon the shore.
Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone,
Unfashioned to men's use -- Or else of old
A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse,
But Titan feeding from the briny depths
His burning fires (near to the zone of heat)
Reduced the waters; and the sea still fights
With Phoebus' beams, which in the length of time
Drank deeper of its fountains.
When the main
Struck by the oars gave passage to the fleet,
Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale
Upon his realm, and from the
watery plain
Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals
Compelled the billows, and in middle sea
Raised up a bank. Forth flew the bellying sails
Beyond the prows,
despite the ropes that dared
Resist the
tempest's fury; and for those
Who prescient housed their
canvas to the storm,
Bare-masted they were
driven from their course.
Best was their lot who gained the open waves
Of ocean; others lightened of their masts
Shook off the
tempest; but a s
weeping tide
Hurried them southwards,
victor of the gale.
Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced
Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast,
Part
hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt.
Fierce rage the waves till hems (9) them in the land;
Nor Auster's force in
frequent buffets spent
Prevails upon the shore. High from the main
By seas inviolate one bank of sand,
Far from the coast arose; there watched in vain
The storm-tossed mariners, their keel aground,
No shore descrying. Thus in sea were lost
Some
portion, but the major part by helm
And
rudder guided, and by pilots' hands
Who knew the devious channels, safe at length
Floated the marsh of Triton loved (as saith
The fable) by that god, whose sounding shell (10)
All seas and shores re-echo; and by her,
Pallas, who springing from her father's head
First lit on Libya, nearest land to heaven,
(As by its heat is proved); here on the brink
She stood, reflected in the
placid wave
And called herself Tritonis. Lethe's flood
Flows silent near, in fable from a source
Infernal
sprung,
oblivion in his stream;
Here, too, that garden of the Hesperids
Where once the
sleeplessdragon held his watch,
Shorn of its leafy
wealth. Shame be on him
Who calls upon the poet for the proof
Of that which in the ancient days befell;
But here were golden groves by yellow growth
Weighed down in
richness, here a
maiden band
Were guardians; and a
serpent, on whose eyes
Sleep never fell, was coiled around the trees,
Whose branches bowed beneath their ruddy load.
But great Alcides stripped the bending boughs,
And bore their shining apples (thus his task
Accomplished) to the court of Argos' king.
Driven on the Libyan realms, more
fruitful here,
Pompeius (11) stayed the fleet, nor further dared
In Garamantian waves. But Cato's soul
Leaped in his breast,
impatient of delay,
To pass the Syrtes by a landward march,
And
trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown
To lead his legions. And the storm which closed
The main to navies gave them hope of rain;
Nor
biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime;
Nor suns too scorching in the falling year.
Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake:
"Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone
Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall
With pride
unbroken should the fates command,
Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise
With hearts
resolved to
conquer. For we march
On
sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world;
Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height
Burns
pitiless, unclouded; and the slime
Of
poisonousserpents fouls the dusty earth.
Yet shall men
venture for the love of laws
And country perishing, upon the sands
Of trackless Libya; men who brave in soul
Rely not on the end, and in attempt
Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts
On this our
enterprise to lead a band
Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk.
Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake,
Whom I shall see for honour and for Rome
Bear up against the worst. But whose needs
A
pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet,
Let him by fairer journey seek his lord.
First be my foot upon the sand; on me
First strike the burning sun; across my path
The
serpent void his venom; by my fate
Know ye your perils. Let him only
thirstWho sees me at the spring: who sees me seek
The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat;
Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks
Plodding their weary march: such be the lot
Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief
And not a comrade. Snakes,
thirst, burning sand
The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast
Finds happiness in labour. By its cost
Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land
Such cloud of ills can furnish as might make
Men flee unshamed." 'Twas thus that Cato spake,
Kindling the torch of
valour and the love
Of toil: then
reckless of his fate he strode
The desert path from which was no return:
And Libya ruled his destinies, to shut
His
sacred name within a narrow tomb.
One-third of all the world, (12) if fame we trust,
Is Libya; yet by winds and sky she yields
Some part to Europe; for the shores of Nile
No more than Scythian Tanais are remote
From furthest Gades, where with bending coast,
Yielding a place to Ocean, Europe parts
From Afric shores. Yet falls the larger world
To Asia only. From the former two
Issues the Western wind; but Asia's right
Touches the Southern limits and her left
The Northern
tempest's home; and of the East
She's
mistress to the rising of the Sun.
All that is
fertile of the Afric lands
Lies to the west, but even here abound
No wells of water: though the Northern wind,
In
frequent, leaving us with skies serene,
Falls there in showers. Not gold nor
wealth of brass
It yields the seeker: pure and unalloyed
Down to its lowest depths is Libyan soil.
Yet citron forests to Maurusian tribes
Were
riches, had they known; but they, content,
Lived 'neath the shady
foliage, till gleamed
The axe of Rome amid the
virgin grove,
To bring from furthest limits of the world
Our
banquet tables and the fruit they bear. (13)
But suns
excessive and a scorching air
Burn all the glebe beside the shifting sands:
There die the harvests on the crumbling mould;
No root finds sustenance, nor kindly Jove
Makes rich the
furrow nor matures the vine.
Sleep binds all nature and the tract of sand