Finds place, or Egypt? O, may civil war
Be thus far faithful that the hand which strikes

Be of our kindred; and the foreign fiend
Held worlds apart! Pompeius, great in soul,

Noble in spirit, had deserved a death
From Caesar's self. And, king, hast thou no fear

At such a ruin of so great a name?
And dost thou dare when heaven's high thunder rolls,

Thou, puny boy, to mingle with its tones
Thine impure utterance? Had he not won

A world by arms, and thrice in triumph scaled
The sacred Capitol, and vanquished kings,

And championed the Roman Senate's cause;
He, kinsman of the victor? 'Twas enough

To cause forbearance in a Pharian king,
That he was Roman. Wherefore with thy sword

Dost stab our breasts? Thou know'st not, impious boy,
How stand thy fortunes; now no more by right

Hast thou the sceptre of the land of Nile;
For prostrate, vanquished in the civil wars

Is he who gave it.
Furling now his sails,

Magnus with oars approached th' accursed land,
When in their little boat the murderous crew

Drew nigh, and feigning from th' Egyptian court
A ready welcome, blamed the double tides

Broken by shallows, and their scanty beach
Unfit for fleets; and bade him to their craft

Leaving his loftier ship. Had not the fates'
Eternal and unalterable laws

Called for their victim and decreed his end
Now near at hand, his comrades' warning voice

Yet might have stayed his course: for if the court
To Magnus, who bestowed the Pharian crown,

In truth were open, should not king and fleet
In pomp have come to greet him? But he yields:

The fates compel. Welcome to him was death
Rather than fear. But, rushing to the side,

His spouse would follow, for she dared not stay,
Fearing the guile. Then he, "Abide, my wife,

And son, I pray you; from the shore afar
Await my fortunes; mine shall be the life

To test their honour." But Cornelia still
Withstood his bidding, and with arms outspread

Frenzied she cried: "And whither without me,
Cruel, departest? Thou forbad'st me share

Thy risks Thessalian; dost again command
That I should part from thee? No happy star

Breaks on our sorrow. If from every land
Thou dost debar me, why didst turn aside

In flight to Lesbos? On the waves alone
Am I thy fit companion?" Thus in vain,

Leaning upon the bulwark, dazed with dread;
Nor could she turn her straining gaze aside,

Nor see her parting husband. All the fleet
Stood silent, anxious, waiting for the end:

Not that they feared the murder which befell,
But lest their leader might with humble prayer

Kneel to the king he made.
As Magnus passed,

A Roman soldier from the Pharian boat,
Septimius, salutes him. Gods of heaven!

There stood he, minion to a barbarous king,
Nor bearing still the javelin of Rome;

But vile in all his arms; giant in form
Fierce, brutal, thirsting as a beast may thirst

For carnage. Didst thou, Fortune, for the sake
Of nations, spare to dread Pharsalus field

This savage monster's blows? Or dost thou place
Throughout the world, for thy mysterious ends,

Some ministering swords for civil war?
Thus, to the shame of victors and of gods,

This story shall be told in days to come:
A Roman swordsman, once within thy ranks,

Slave to the orders of a puny prince,
Severed Pompeius' neck. And what shall be

Septimius' fame hereafter? By what name
This deed be called, if Brutus wrought a crime?

Now came the end, the latest hour of all:
Rapt to the boat was Magnus, of himself

No longer master, and the miscreant crew
Unsheathed their swords; which when the chieftain saw

He swathed his visage, for he scorned unveiled
To yield his life to fortune; closed his eyes

And held his breath within him, lest some word,
Or sob escaped, might mar the deathless fame

His deeds had won. And when within his side
Achillas plunged his blade, nor sound nor cry

He gave, but calm consented to the blow
And proved himself in dying; in his breast

These thoughts revolving: "In the years to come
Men shall make mention of our Roman toils,

Gaze on this boat, ponder the Pharian faith;
And think upon thy fame and all the years

While fortune smiled: but for the ills of life
How thou could'st bear them, this men shall not know

Save by thy death. Then weigh thou not the shame
That waits on thine undoing. Whose strikes,

The blow is Caesar's. Men may tear this frame
And cast it mangled to the winds of heaven;

Yet have I prospered, nor can all the gods
Call back my triumphs. Life may bring defeat,

But death no misery. If my spouse and son
Behold me murdered, silently the more

I suffer: admiration at my death
Shall prove their love." Thus did Pompeius die,

Guarding his thoughts.
But now Cornelia filled

The air with lamentations at the sight;
"O, husband, whom my wicked self hath slain!

That lonely isle apart thy bane hath been
And stayed thy coming. Caesar to the Nile

Has won before us; for what other hand
May do such work? But whosoe'er thou art

Sent from the gods with power, for Caesar's ire,
Or thine own sake, to slay, thou dost not know

Where lies the heart of Magnus. Haste and do!
Such were his prayer -- no other punishment

Befits the conquered. Yet let him ere his end
See mine, Cornelia's. On me the blame

Of all these wars, who sole of Roman wives
Followed my spouse afield nor feared the fates;

And in disaster, when the kings refused,
Received and cherished him. Did I deserve

Thus to be left of thee, and didst thou seek
To spare me? And when rushing on thine end

Was I to live? Without the monarch's help
Death shall be mine, either by headlong leap