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Pleased took he power, pleased he laid it down:

Chaste was his home and simple, by his wealth



Untarnished. Mid the peoples great his name

And venerated: to his native Rome



He wrought much good. True faith in liberty

Long since with Marius and Sulla fled:



Now when Pompeius has been reft away

Its counterfeit has perished. Now unshamed



Shall seize the despot on Imperial power,

Unshamed shall cringe the Senate. Happy he



Who with disaster found his latest breath

And met the Pharian sword prepared to slay.



Life might have been his lot, in despot rule,

Prone at his kinsman's throne. Best gift of all



The knowledge how to die; next, death compelled.

If cruel Fortune doth reserve for me



An alien conqueror" target="_blank" title="n.征服者,胜利者">conqueror, may Juba be

As Ptolemaeus. So he take my head



My body grace his triumph, if he will."

More than had Rome resounded with his praise



Words such as these gave honour to the shade

Of that most noble dead.



Meanwhile the crowd

Weary of warfare, since Pompeius' fall,



Broke into discord, as their ancient chief

Cilician called them to desert the camp.



But Cato hailed them from the furthest beach:

"Untamed Cilician, is thy course now set



For Ocean theft again; Pompeius gone,

Once more a pirate?" Thus he spake, and gazed



At all the stirringthrong; but one whose mind

Was fixed on flight, thus answered, "Pardon, chief,



'Twas love of Magnus, not of civil war,

That led us to the fight: his side was ours:



With him whom all the world preferred to peace,

Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes



Long since unseen, our children and our wives.

If nor the rout nor dread Pharsalia's field



Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war,

Whence comes the end? The vigour of a life



For us is vanished: in our failing years

Give us at least some pious hand to speed



The parting soul, and light the funeral pyre.

Scarce even to its captains civil strife



Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat

Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke



Of distant nations. In the garb of Rome

And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been



Second to Magnus living, he shall be

My first hereafter: to that sacred shade



Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints

My lord but not my leader. Thee alone



I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates.

Nor hope we now for victory, nor wish;



For all our Thracian army is fled

In Caesar's victory, whose potent star



Of fortune rules the world, and none but he

Has power to keep or save. That civil war



Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty

Is impious now. If in the public right



Thou, patriot Cato, find'st thy guide, we seek

The standards of the Consul." Thus he spake



And with him leaped into the ship a throng

Of eager comrades.



Then was Rome undone,

For all the shore was stirring with a crowd



Athirst for slavery. But burst these words

From Cato's blameless breast: "Then with like vows



As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek

A lord and master! not for Rome the fight,



But for Pompeius! For that now no more

Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves,



Not for some despot chief, ye live and die;

Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord






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