No longer we withstand. Unto thy will

We yield the western tribes: the east is thine
And all the world lies open to thy march.

Be generous! blood nor sword nor wearied arm
Thy conquests bought. Thou hast not to forgive

Aught but thy victory" target="_blank" title="n.胜利，战胜">victory won. Nor ask we much.
Give us repose; to lead in peace the life

Thou shalt bestow; suppose these armed lines
Are corpses prostrate on the field of war

Ne'er were it meet that thy victorious" target="_blank" title="a.得胜的，胜利的">victorious ranks
Should mix with ours, the vanquished. Destiny

Has 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 smile
Granted his prayer, remitting rights that war

Gives to the victor. To th' unguarded stream
The soldiers speed: prone on the bank they lie

And lap the flood or foul the crowded waves.
In many a burning throat the sudden draught

Poured in too copious, filled the empty veins
And choked the breath within: yet left unquenched

The burning pest which though their frames were full
Craved 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 sea
To furnish forth the banquet! Pride that joy'st

In sumptuous tables! learn what life requires,
How little nature needs! No ruddy juice

Pressed from the vintage in some famous year,
Whose consuls are forgotten, served in cups

With gold and jewels wrought restores the spark,
The failing spark, of life; but water pure

And simplest fruits of earth. The flood, the field
Suffice for nature. Ah! the weary lot

Of those who war! But these, their amour laid
Low 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 dart

With arm outstretched; to have felt their raving thirst;
And prayed the gods for victory" target="_blank" title="n.胜利，战胜">victory in vain!

Nay, hard they think the victor's lot, for whom
A thousand risks and battles still remain;

If fortune never is to leave his side,
How often must he triumph! and how oft

Pour out his blood where'er great Caesar leads!
Happy, thrice happy, he who, when the world

Is nodding to its ruin, knows the spot
Where he himself shall, though in ruin, lie!

No trumpet call shall break his sleep again:
But in his humble home with faithful spouse

And sons unlettered Fortune leaves him free
From rage of party; for if life he owes

To 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 smile

In all the parts of earth; (13) but 'gainst his arms
Dared somewhat, where Salona's lengthy waste

Opposes Hadria, and Iadar warm
Meets with his waves the breezes of the west.

There brave Curectae dwell, whose island home
Is girded by the main; on whom relied

Antonius; 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 troops
Gnawed the dry herbage of the scanty turf

Within their rampart lines. But when they knew
That Baslus was on th' opposing shore

With friendly force, by novel mode of flight
They aim to reach him. Not the accustomed keel

They lay, nor build the ship, but shapeless rafts
Of timbers knit together, strong to bear

All ponderous weight; on empty casks beneath
By tightened chains made firm, in double rows

Supported; nor upon the deck were placed
The oarsmen, to the hostile dart exposed,

But in a hidden space, by beams concealed.
And thus the eye amazed beheld the mass

Move silent on its path across the sea,
By neither sail nor stalwart arm propelled.

They watch the main until the refluent waves
Ebb from the growing sands; then, on the tide

Receding, launch their vessel; thus she floats
With twin companions: over each uprose

With quivering battlements a lofty tower.
Octavius, guardian of Illyrian seas,

Restrained his swifter keels, and left the rafts
Free from attack, in hope of larger spoil

From fresh adventures; for the peaceful sea
May tempt them, and their goal in safety reached,

To dare a second voyage. Round the stag
Thus will the cunninghunter draw a line

Of tainted feathers poisoning the air;
Or spread the mesh, and muzzle in his grasp

The straining jaws of the Molossian hound,
And leash the Spartan pack; nor is the brake

Trusted to any dog but such as tracks
The scent with lowered nostrils, and refrains

From giving tongue the while; content to mark
By shaking leash the covert of the prey.

Ere long they manned the rafts in eager wish
To quit the island, when the latest glow

Still parted day from night. But Magnus' troops,
Cilician once, taught by their ancient art,

In fraudulent deceit had left the sea
To view unguarded; but with chains unseen

Fast to Illyrian shores, and hanging loose,
They blocked the outlet in the waves beneath.

The leading rafts passed safely, but the third
Hung in mid passage, and by ropes was hauled

Below o'ershadowing rocks. These hollowed out
In ponderous masses overhung the main,

And nodding seemed to fall: shadowed by trees
Dark lay the waves beneath. Hither the tide

Brings wreck and corpse, and, burying with the flow,
Restores them with the ebb: and when the caves

Belch forth the ocean, swirling billows fall
In boisterous surges back, as boils the tide

In that famed whirlpool on Sicilian shores.
Here, with Venetian settlers for its load,

Stood motionless the raft. Octavius' ships
Gathered around, while foemen on the land

Filled all the shore. But well the captain knew,
Volteius, how the secret fraud was planned,