Pharsalia, [Civil War]
by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
BOOK I
THE CROSSING OF THE RUBICON
Wars worse than civil on Emathian (1) plains,
And crime let loose we sing; how Rome's high race
Plunged in her vitals her
victorious" target="_blank" title="a.得胜的,胜利的">
victorious sword;
Armies akin embattled, with the force
Of all the
shaken earth bent on the fray;
And burst
asunder, to the common guilt,
A kingdom's
compact; eagle with eagle met,
Standard to standard, spear opposed to spear.
Whence, citizens, this rage, this
boundless lust
To sate barbarians with the blood of Rome?
Did not the shade of Crassus, wandering still, (2)
Cry for his
vengeance? Could ye not have spoiled,
To deck your trophies,
haughty Babylon?
Why wage campaigns that send no laurels home?
What lands, what oceans might have been the prize
Of all the blood thus shed in civil
strife!
Where Titan rises, where night hides the stars,
'Neath southern noons all quivering with heat,
Or where keen frost that never yields to spring
In icy fetters binds the Scythian main:
Long since barbarians by the Eastern sea
And far Araxes'
stream, and those who know
(If any such there be) the birth of Nile
Had felt our yoke. Then, Rome, upon thyself
With all the world beneath thee, if thou must,
Wage this nefarious war, but not till then.
Now view the houses with half-ruined walls
Throughout Italian cities; stone from stone
Has slipped and lies at length; within the home
No guard is found, and in the ancient streets so
Scarce seen the passer by. The fields in vain,
Rugged with brambles and unploughed for years,
Ask for the hand of man; for man is not.
Nor
savage Pyrrhus nor the Punic horde
E'er caused such havoc: to no foe was given
To strike thus deep; but civil
strife alone
Dealt the fell wound and left the death behind.
Yet if the fates could find no other way (3)
For Nero coming, nor the gods with ease
Gain thrones in heaven; and if the Thunderer
Prevailed not till the giant's war was done,
Complaint is silent. For this boon supreme
Welcome, ye gods, be wickedness and crime;
Thronged with our dead be dire Pharsalia's fields,
Be Punic ghosts avenged by Roman blood;
Add to these ills the toils of Mutina;
Perusia's
dearth; on Munda's final field
The shock of battle joined; let Leucas' Cape
Shatter the routed navies; servile hands
Unsheath the sword on fiery Etna's slopes:
Still Rome is gainer by the civil war.
Thou, Caesar, art her prize. When thou shalt choose,
Thy watch relieved, to seek
divine abodes,
All heaven
rejoicing; and shalt hold a throne,
Or else elect to
govern Phoebus' car
And light a subject world that shall not dread
To owe her
brightness to a different Sun;
All shall
concede thy right: do what thou wilt,
Select thy Godhead, and the central clime
Whence thou shalt rule the world with power
divine.
And yet the Northern or the Southern Pole
We pray thee, choose not; but in rays direct
Vouchsafe thy
radiance to thy city Rome.
Press thou on either side, the universe
Should lose its equipoise: take thou the midst,
And weight the scales, and let that part of heaven
Where Caesar sits, be
evermore serene
And smile upon us with unclouded blue.
Then may all men lay down their arms, and peace
Through all the nations reign, and shut the gates
That close the
temple of the God of War.
Be thou my help, to me e'en now
divine!
Let Delphi's steep her own Apollo guard,
And Nysa keep her Bacchus, uninvoked.
Rome is my subject and my muse art thou!
First of such deeds I purpose to unfold
The causes -- task
immense -- what drove to arms
A maddened nation, and from all the world
Struck peace away.
By
envious fate's decrees
Abide not long the mightiest lords of earth;
Beneath too heavy a burden great the fall.
Thus Rome o'ergrew her strength. So when that hour,
The last in all the centuries, shall sound
The world's disruption, all things shall revert
To that primaeval chaos, stars on stars
Shall crash; and fiery meteors from the sky
Plunge in the ocean. Earth shall then no more
Front with her
bulwark the encroaching sea:
The moon,
indignant at her path oblique,
Shall drive her
chariot 'gainst her brother Sun
And claim the day for hers; and
discord huge
Shall rend the spheres
asunder.
On themselves
Great powers are dashed: such bounds the gods have placed
Upon the
prosperous; nor doth Fortune lend
To any nations, so that they may strike
The
sovereign power that rules the earth and sea,
The weapons of her envy. Triple reign
And baleful
compact for divided power --
Ne'er without peril separate before --
Made Rome their
victim. Oh! Ambition blind,
That stirred the leaders so to join their strength
In peace that ended ill, their prize the world!
For while the Sea on Earth and Earth on Air
Lean for support: while Titan runs his course,
And night with day divides an equal sphere,
No king shall brook his fellow, nor shall power
Endure a rival. Search no foreign lands:
These walls are proof that in their
infant days
A
hamlet, not the world, was prize enough
To cause the shedding of a brother's blood.
Concord, on
discord based, brief time endured,
Unwelcome to the rivals; and alone
Crassus delayed the
advent of the war.
Like to the
slender neck that separates
The seas of Graecia: should it be engulfed
Then would th' Ionian and Aegean mains (4)
Break each on other: thus when Crassus fell,
Who held apart the chiefs, in piteous death,
And stained Assyria's plains with Latian blood,
Defeat in Parthia loosed the war in Rome.
More in that
victory" target="_blank" title="n.胜利,战胜">
victory than ye thought was won,
Ye sons of Arsaces; your conquered foes
Took at your hands the rage of civil
strife.
The
mighty realm that earth and sea contained,
To which all peoples bowed, split by the sword,
Could not find space for two (5). For Julia bore,
Cut off by fate unpitying(6), the bond
Of that ill-omened marriage, and the pledge
Of blood united, to the shades below.
Had'st thou but longer stayed, it had been thine
To keep the husband and the sire apart,
And, as the Sabine women did of old,
Dash down the threatening swords and join the hands.
With thee all trust was buried, and the chiefs
Could give their courage vent, and rushed to war.
Lest newer glories triumphs past obscure,
Late conquered Gaul the bays from pirates won,
This, Magnus, was thy fear; thy roll of fame,
Of
glorious deeds
accomplished for the state
Allows no equal; nor will Caesar's pride
A prior rival in his triumphs brook;
Which had the right 'twere
impious to enquire;
Each for his cause can vouch a judge supreme;
The
victor, heaven: the vanquished, Cato, thee. (7)
Nor were they like to like: the one in years
Now verging towards decay, in times of peace
Had unlearned war; but thirsting for applause
Had given the people much, and proud of fame
His former glory cared not to renew,
But joyed in plaudits of the theatre, (8)
His gift to Rome: his triumphs in the past,
Himself the shadow of a
mighty name.
As when some oak, in
fruitful field sublime,
Adorned with
venerable spoils, and gifts
Of bygone leaders, by its weight to earth
With
feeble roots still clings; its naked arms
And hollow trunk, though leafless, give a shade;
And though condemned beneath the tempest's shock
To
speedy fall, amid the sturdier trees
In
sacredgrandeur rules the forest still.
No such
repute had Ceesar won, nor fame;
But
energy was his that could not rest --
The only shame he knew was not to win.
Keen and unvanquished (9), where
revenge or hope
Might call, resistless would he strike the blow
With sword unpitying: every
victory" target="_blank" title="n.胜利,战胜">
victory won
Reaped to the full; the favour of the gods
Pressed to the
utmost; all that stayed his course
Aimed at the
summit of power, was
thrust aside:
Triumph his joy, though ruin marked his track.
As parts the clouds a bolt by winds compelled,
With crack of riven air and crash of worlds,
And veils the light of day, and on mankind,
Blasting their
vision with its flames oblique,
Sheds
deadlyfright; then turning to its home, '
Nought but the air opposing, through its path
Spreads havoc, and collects its scattered fires.
Such were the
hidden motives of the chiefs;
But in the public life the seeds of war
Their hold had taken, such as are the doom
Of
potent nations: and when fortune poured
Through Roman gates the booty of a world,
The curse of
luxury, chief bane of states,
Fell on her sons. Farewell the ancient ways!
Behold the pomp profuse, the houses decked
With
ornament; their
hunger loathed the food
Of former days; men wore
attire for dames
Scarce fitly fashioned;
poverty was scorned,
Fruitful of warriors; and from all the world
Came that which ruins nations; while the fields
Furrowed of yore by great Camillus' plough,
Or by the mattock which a Curius held,
Lost their once narrow bounds, and widening tracts
By hinds unknown were tilled. No nation this
To sheathe the sword, with
tranquil peace content