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So by unholy death there stood revealed

His inmost nature. Head and stalwart arms,
And neck and shoulders, from their solid mass

Melt in corruption. Not more swiftly flows
Wax at the sun's command, nor snow compelled

By southern breezes. Yet not all is said:
For so to noxious humours fire consumes

Our fleshly frame; but on the funeral pyre
What bones have perished? These dissolve no less

Than did the mouldered tissues, nor of death
Thus swift is left a trace. Of Afric pests

Thou bear'st the palm for hurtfulness: the life
They snatch away, thou only with the life

The clay that held it.
Lo! a different fate,

Not this by melting! for a Prester's fang
Nasidius struck, who erst in Marsian fields

Guided the ploughshare. Burned upon his face
A redness as of flame: swollen the skin,

His features hidden, swollen all his limbs
Till more than human: and his definite frame

One tumour huge concealed. A ghastly gore
Is puffed from inwards as the virulent juice

Courses through all his body; which, thus grown,
His corselet holds not. Not in caldron so

Boils up to mountainousheight the steaming wave;
Nor in such bellying curves does canvas bend

To Eastern tempests. Now the ponderous bulk
Rejects the limbs, and as a shapeless trunk

Burdens the earth: and there, to beasts and birds
A fatal feast, his comrades left the corse

Nor dared to place, yet swelling, in the tomb.
But for their eyes the Libyan pests prepared

More dreadful sights. On Tullus great in heart,
And bound to Cato with admiring soul,

A fierce Haemorrhois fixed. From every limb, (27)
(As from a statue saffron spray is showered

In every part) there spouted forth for blood
A sable poison: from the natural pores

Of moisture, gore profuse; his mouth was filled
And gaping nostrils, and his tears were blood.

Brimmed full his veins; his very sweat was red;
All was one wound.

Then piteous Levus next
In sleep was victim, for around his heart

Stood still the blood congealed: no pain he felt
Of venomous tooth, but swift upon him fell

Death, and he sought the shades; more swift to kill
No draught in poisonous cups from ripened plants

Of direst growth Sabaean wizards brew.
Lo! Upon branchless trunk a serpent, named

By Libyans Jaculus, rose in coils to dart
His venom from afar. Through Paullus' brain

It rushed, nor stayed; for in the wound itself
Was death. Then did they know how slowly flies,

Flung from a sling, the stone; how gently speed
Through air the shafts of Scythia.

What availed,
Murrus, the lance by which thou didst transfix

A Basilisk? Swift through the weapon ran
The poison to his hand: he draws his sword

And severs arm and shoulder at a blow:
Then gazed secure upon his severed hand

Which perished as he looked. So had'st thou died,
And such had been thy fate!

Whoe'er had thought
A scorpion had strength o'er death or fate?

Yet with his threatening coils and barb erect
He won the glory of Orion (28) slain;

So bear the stars their witness. And who would fear
Thy haunts, Salpuga? (29) Yet the Stygian Maids

Have given thee power to snap the fatal threads.
Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the night

With darkness gave them peace. The very earth
On which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor straw

They piled for couches, but upon the ground
Unshielded from the fates they laid their limbs,

Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of night
The frozen pests found shelter; in whose jaws

Harmless the while, the lurking venom slept.
Nor did they know the measure of their march

Accomplished, nor their path; the stars in heaven
Their only guide. "Return, ye gods," they cried,

In frequent wail, "the arms from which we fled.
Give back Thessalia. Sworn to meet the sword

Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place
The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake

Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek
That region by the horses of the sun

Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall
Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky

Descend our fate! Not, Africa, of thee
Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind

Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests
She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields

Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men
Should perish by their venom. To the realms

Of serpents have we come. Hater of men,
Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods

Severed this region upon either hand,
With death in middle space. Our march is set

Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host
Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world.

Perchance some greater wonders on our path
May still await us; in the waves be plunged

Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole
Stoop from its height. By further space removed

No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice
Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land

There may we long, where yet some living thing
Gives consolation. Not my native land

Nor European fields I hope for now
Lit by far other suns, nor Asia's plains.

But in what land, what region of the sky,
Where left we Africa? But now with frosts

Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws
Which rule the seasons, in this little space?

Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies
And stars we tread; behind our backs the home

Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance
Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates

This solace pray we, that on this our track
Pursuing Caesar with his host may come."

Thus was their stubbornpatience of its plaints
Disburdened. But the bravery of their chief

Forced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand,
All bare, he lies and dares at every hour

Fortune to strike: he only at the fate
Of each is present, flies to every call;

And greatest boon of all, greater than life,
Brought strength to die. To groan in death was shame

In such a presence. What power had all the ills
Possessed upon him? In another's breast

He conquers misery, teaching by his mien
That pain is powerless.

Hardly aid at length
Did Fortune, wearied of their perils, grant.

Alone unharmed of all who till the earth,
By deadlyserpents, dwells the Psyllian race.

Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood,
Nor gives admission to the poison germ

E'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itself
Placed in such venomous tract and serpent-thronged

Gained them this vantage, and a truce with death,
Else could they not have lived. Such is their trust

In purity of blood, that newly born
Each babe they prove by test of deadly asp

For foreign lineage. So the bird of Jove
Turns his new fledglings to the rising sun

And such as gaze upon the beams of day
With eves unwavering, for the use of heaven

He rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' rays
Casts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descent

The babe who, dreading not the serpent touch,
Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake.

Nor with their own immunity from harm
Contented do they rest, but watch for guests

Who need their help against the noisome plague.
Now to the Roman standards are they come,

And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed,
First all the sandy space within the lines

With song they purify and magic words
From which all serpents flee: next round the camp

In widest circuit from a kindled fire
Rise aromatic odours: danewort burns,

And juice distils from Syrian galbanum;
Then tamarisk and costum, Eastern herbs,

Strong panacea mixt with centaury
From Thrace, and leaves of fennel feed the flames,

And thapsus brought from Eryx: and they burn
Larch, southern-wood and antlers of a deer

Which lived afar. From these in densest fumes,
Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose;

And thus in safety passed the night away.
But should some victim feel the fatal fang

Upon the march, then of this magic race
Were seen the wonders, for a mighty strife

Rose 'twixt the Psyllian and the poison germ.
First with saliva they anoint the limbs

That held the venomous juice within the wound;
Nor suffer it to spread. From foaming mouth

Next with continuouscadence would they pour
Unceasing chants -- nor breathing space nor pause --

Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permit
A moment's silence. Oft from the black flesh

Flies forth the pest beneath the magic song:
But should it linger nor obey the voice,

Repugmant to the summons, on the wound
Prostrate they lay their lips and from the depths

Now paling draw the venom. In their mouths,
Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death,

Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall know
The snake they conquer.

Aided thus at length
Wanders the Roman host in better guise

Upon the barren fields in lengthy march. (30)
Twice veiled the moon her light and twice renewed;

Yet still, with waning or with growing orb
Saw Cato's steps upon the sandy waste.

But more and more beneath their feet the dust
Began to harden, till the Libyan tracts



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