So did fortune guide two matched, opposing generals,

Having each endured the wounds of war, toward

The lands of Macedon to mix adversity

With luck. Now short days sprinkled snow on Haemus and on

Arrived renaming a new year, which honors first

Lord Janus. And the last days of their term remaining,

Both the consuls called those wandering fathers to Epirus

To address the war. It was a squalid and

As strangers under distant roof the curia held

Its secret session. Who indeed would call so many

Gathered axes, bundled twigs a camp? Such grand

Authority made clear that this was never Magnus’

Held this dismal conference, then Lentulus

Spoke from the consul’s seat: “If our Latin kin

Has worth, if our ancient blood has strength of will,

Consider not from what land forced or that we meet

You are the image of your race, here to command.

And, fathers, state this first, so it be clear to peoples

And to earthly kingdoms: that we are the senate.

Even if fate takes us under arctic bear,

In vapors, suffers never night or day be longer,

Even then the greatest things will follow us,

Attendant on imperium. When the Tarpean

Seat was burned by Gallic torches and Camillo

Losing right of law by change in place. Now Caesar

Has his wretched dwellings, vacant households, silenced

Laws, courts sadly closed to justice. Senators

Expelled when Rome was full are Caesar’s Curia.

He is here. The rage of war first scattered those

Were guilty of no crimes and long at peace, but all these

Members now return. See how the gods weigh our

Western land against the might of all the world.

Curio fell, so great a part of Caesar’s senate.

Raise your banners, leaders, now bring on your fate;

Present your hopes up to the gods and pray that fortune

Give us so much vigor as our foes a cause

You, whose powers find no end, consult the general

Good. Let Magnus be your leader.” With a happy

Shout the senate raised that name and placed on Magnus

Both his fate and that of all the nation. Then

The Apollonian Rhodes, almighty on the sea,

Adorned with presents; cold Taygetus’ austere youth;

Ancient Athens praised; Phoenicia freed of tribute

For the sake of its Massilia. Then Sadalis

Rhasipolis, the lord of frigid lands; all these

Were praised. And by the senate’s will was Libya made

To bow to sceptered Iuba. But how sad is fate!

See Ptolomey, most worthy of a faithless people’s

The gods, allowed to circle with the diadem

Of Alexander his curled hair. A savage sword

You bring your people, boy; if only it were only them!

His father’s palace forfeit, Magnus’ life also.

Assembly adjourned, they took up arms, although

The people and their chiefs seemed doubtful of the outcome,

Blinded to their fortune. But alone in fear

To undertake ambiguous war is Appius.

And would unlock the oracle of truth-relating

Phoebus, covered many years. From east and western

Poles Parnasus lifts twin peaks to heaven, sacred

Both to Phoebus and to Bacchus, who together

When the land was drowned in flood this peak stood forth

As a division between sea and stars. But you,

Parnassus, barely from the sea raised up your

topmost crag, and as a single mount you hid.

Womb, Apollo. Arms not tried, yet he uncoiled

The python. Themis ruled the tripod where Apollo

Saw a looming chasm in the earth that breathed

Divine truths, and the land exhaled expressive winds.

Shrine, and there Apollo was made seer. Which god

Is hidden here, or what divinity from heaven

Worthy to inhabit these blind caves? What power

Opens earth to heaven, holding all the secrets

Futurity and willing to expound it to

The world? That god, allowing human touch, is hugely

Potent, whether singing what is fated, or else

Making fate of what is sung. Perhaps there is

Fabric of the earth; it holds in empty air

Our globe suspended, exits through Cirrhaean caves,

And all in concert with the Thunderer in heaven.

That power − when imbued in virgin breast,

From the seer’s mouth, as with its seething flame

The top of Aetna quakes or when Typhoeus roars,

Concealed beneath Inarmes’ everlasting pile,

And steams Campanian rocks. This power, lent to all,

Rage, for here are whispered evils never granted.

Singing what is fixed and changed by none, it bars

All human prayer, yet - often friendly to the just -

Has given home to displaced cities, as to Tyrians.

The sea of Salaminiacum well recalls

Relieved the wrath of sterile land, its end foreseen,

And cleared the air of plague. Our age grieves nothing so much

As the silence of that Delphic seat − and all

Cirrhaean seers did not mourn this loss of voice,

They gained by the adjournment. When indeed the god

Intrudes upon a breast, it is on pain or prize

Of sudden death. With such torrential pangs of fury

Concuss the fragile spirit. Appius thus solicits

Caverns long unmoved and in the deepest silence

Searches for Hesperia’s final fate. The priest

Was made to open that revered abode and send

The Pythia, wandering through Delphic springs and secret

Corners of the forest, blithely straying; made her

Break those temple doors apart. The priestess feared

To stand upon that dreaded portal, and by blatant

For a knowledge of the future, saying: “Roman,

What base hope of truth ensnares you? Speechless are

These caves. Parnassus has gone mute and quelled its god.

Perhaps the spirit left this throat to follow different,

Burned by foreign torch left ashes in the path

Of Phoebus; or perhaps the gods’ will silenced Cirrha,

Leaving only secrets of the future that old

Sybyl gave to you in song. Perhaps Apollo

No mouth in our age to open future things.”

The maiden’s tricks were plain, her very fear confirmed

Refuted gods. A band enclosed her locks before;

Behind, a shining circlet with Phocacian laurel

Into the temple by the grasping priest, she pales

Before the inmost oracle, remote and sacred,

Halting at the temple’s entrance. Now, as if a god,

Of jumbled voices show a mind that testifies,

Imbued with sacred rage; abusing not so much

The general in her sham as violating Phoebus’

Tripod and her vows. No tremble broke her voice,

Or laurel band sent flying; roof unmoved; the wood

In stillness − all revealed she had not loaned herself

In reverence to Phoebus. Appius perceived

The quiet tripod. Raging he said: “ So. Unless

Mimic you will take the pain you earned, blasphemer.

Asked about a world in so much tumult do not

Dare to answer as yourself.” The virgin, panicked,

Flees at last toward the tripod. Led into

Takes the power, inexhaustible through many

Ages; from the cliff that spirit now pours in

Upon the seer, finally possessing the

Cirrhaean breast; not ever did the Phoeban Paean

Mind, commands complete surrender. Bachic, raving,

Mastered, thrusted by her neck across the cave,

Both headband of the god and Phoebus’ weavings thrown

From bristled hair, she in the temple’s void head shaking

With flame intense, conveying you, Apollo, in your

Rage. Not scourge alone, you use the goad, plunge flames

Into her viscera as she assumes the bridle. It is

Given to the seer more to know than say.

So many lifetimes of despair weigh on her chest,

So great a chain of things now opens; all the future

Gleams in light, and vying fates contend for voice.

Not first nor last days of the world, nor ocean’s measure,

As the Cuman seer in Euboean depths,

Displeased her trances should serve many peoples, from

The mass of fated carnage drew with proud hand Rome’s.

So Phemenoe now, filled with Apollo, labored,

Between the larger fates − inquiring on Castalian soil.

Now foaming madness flows unbridled through her mouth,

With groans and loud growls from that breathless passageway;

Grim keening in a giant cave; and now, the maiden

“Roman, far away from threats of war you will

Have peace, alone in a large valley in Euboia.”

The rest Apollo stifles and obstructs her throat.

You who guard the tripod of the fates, the secrets

From you the gods keep no day hidden. Why then fear

To open to us power ruined, generals killed,

The funerals of kings, so many peoples felled

Together in Hesperian blood? Or have the gods

The stars yet doubtful, any future that requires

Pompei’s death? Or are you silent so that fate may

Be fulfilled – that penalty for civic rage,

That act the vengeful Bruti with their swords

The seer’s chest now struck the doorway, broke it open,

And she sprang, ejected from the temple. But her

Madness clung, the god remained, not all things yet were

Spoke. The same ferocity still rolls her eyes;

Menacing, her features never constant; fire

Infused her mouth, cheeks livid − not as those in fear

But fearful in the pallor. Heart not wearily

At rest but as an ocean howling, swollen after raucous

The seer. Even as from sacred light, by which she saw

Fate, she returns to ordinary brilliance, there come

Interposing shades. The Paean sends from Styx

Forgetfulness into her flesh that it might steal

The future is recalled to Phoebus. Unrestored

She falls. Now Appius, lulled by oracle deceptive,

Has no fear of death's approach. Despite this world's

Uncertain law you vainly sought a kingdom in

Apart - can promise that you will not feel the blast

Of war, will waive away the world’s so many ills.

You shall keep the secrets of Euboean shores, your tomb

Remembered, where with rocks Carystos hugs the straits.

As a menace to the proud. And there, with sea compressed

In whirlpools and with changing tides, Euripus, scourge

Of navies, forces ships to Aulis, Calchis bound.

Meanwhile, Caesar, Spain subdued, was on the way

But these so prosperous campaigns the gods of fate

Would nearly turn around. Engaged in war, amidst

His tents, this leader never feared to lose the happy

Outcome of his crimes. But faithful hands through wars

Their general. Whether by degrees the sober trump

Became neglected and a cold, sheathed sword had drained

Away war’s fury, or that soldiers wanted greater

Prizes, they condemned their leader and his cause −

A greater crisis Caesar hardly had encountered;

Looking on them all from ground infirm, unstable

Height, and trembling vantage: trunks so many and the

Hands not his, left almost to his blade alone.

A sword, once drawn, is not the leader’s but the soldier’s.

Fear was absent from their murmur now, the anger

In their breasts not hidden. For what used to bind

Those doubtful minds − that each feared each and thought himself

Clearly that brash crowd had lost all terror on its

Own. Where many sin it goes unchecked; they poured out menace:

“Caesar, we would leave this plague of crime. By land

And ocean you seek iron for our throats; you would

For you a part of us in Gallic wars, a part

In dire Spain was torn away; in Italy

Some lie. An army perished over all the globe

That you might conquer. What use was it to have shed

And now instead of wars you gave me civil war.

What from men or what from gods was it allowed

Us take as prizes when the senate banished us

And we took over all our country’s homes? In evil

Poverty. What end to arms? When is enough

If Rome too little? See our graying hair and used up

Hands, our futile sinews. Use of life will pass,

Our time consumed in war. Now send us old to die.

Limbs on rugged turf, let us not fall on clods

As our souls flee, but seek in death a hand to close

Our eyes, and, bathed in spouse’s tears, to know a pyre

Made for each of us. Let illness end old age,

Do we not know the monstrous things that we are trained for,

Or what hopes you carry leading us? As if we

Cannot grasp which crime will fetch us highest price

In civil war? These wars were vain if it is not

Restraint of law or right wont stop us daring it!

Upon the Rhine was Caesar general, here a fellow

Soldier; deeds make equal those they stain. And more:

Our courage dies when not appreciated. Things that

His fate is us. Wish all you like for heaven’s help

In battle, Caesar; your vexed soldiers will bring peace.”

These things were said, and all throughout the camps they ran

With angry faces seeking out the general. O, you

Are gone, when use of evil is the hope to let

Strife put an end to civil war. What leader would

Not fear such tumult? But, long used to dare the fates,

Delighting to command his fortune even in the

Until the rage dies down but seeking out the fury.

Never would he have denied them cities, shrines

To loot or the Tarpeian seat of Jove, the senate’s

Wives and mothers to endure his army’s lust.

From him; he wished them war’s rewards, feared rather that

This vicious army might grow sane. Alas, are you not,

Caesar, shamed that war still pleases only you?

These instruments of war condemn it. And shall they

Burden them while you strike good and bad alike?

Be tired, learn to live disarmed, and end this crime.

Cruel man, why prod, why urge on those unwilling? See,

This civil war flees from you.

Stark of feature, standing

Fear. Now, anger fueling speech: “You, soldier, who just

Now with face and arms raged in my absence; here

You have me, naked breast and fit for wounding. Seek

An end to war? Go. Run. And leave your sword in me.

Spirit; these lads think of nothing but desertion

From a general yet unconquered. Tired of service?

Go! Leave me to war and fate; these weapons will find

Hands, and fortune will give men as many as the

Follow Magnus’ rout with such a fleet of ships,

Will not our victory recruit a crowd to carry

Off that wealth? Unscarred by war to stand by my

Wreathed chariot? Snatch the reward from your exertions?

You will as plebs but peer at our Roman triumphs.

Do you think your flight will doom the course of Caesar?

It is as if the rivers held their streams from mixing

With the sea: not any lower would the deep

My impetus was you? The gods' concern would never

Let fates ponder any death or life of yours.

They follow only motions of the great; the human

Race lives only in a few. While under my name,

World and of the North. With Pompei you had fled.

Labenius was strong in Caesar’s arms, a vile

Deserter now. On land and sea he roams with his

New general. And your loyalty is no improvement.

In war, and even without giving arms to Pompei

He who quits my standards wishes never to be

One of mine. Yet surely is this camp divinely

Favored: I am sent to these great wars with fresh

From off these tired shoulders! Now I see disarmed

Those hands that wanted everything, earth insufficient.

Now shall I wage war myself. Disperse, you mere

Civilians, from my camps and hand our flag to men.

At whose direction this plague seethes. Fall on the ground,

Stretch out the neck that bears this faithless head. And you,

Recruit new fledged, on whom alone the vigor of

A camp depends, observe this punishment and learn

Cowed by such a wild and threatening voice; one single

Individual had come to make so many

Young men fear, as if he ruled the swords themselves,

Made steel to move despite the soldier. Caesar feared

Him. Yet their meekness passes all his hopes; not only

Swords but throats appeared. He dreaded nothing more

Than losing minds attuned to crime, that they should vanish.

But he struck both blow and pact, and peace was born;

He sent the army in a march of ten encampments

To Brudusium to gather ships in distant

Hydras, ancient Taras , also secret Leucan,

Shores that drain the swamps of Salapina, and to

Winds through rich Ausonian borderlands and exits

to the Adriatic, meeting north winds from

Dalmatia and Calabrian southerlies. Unguarded

Safe, he reached a trembling Rome, well tutored how

He, now as dictator, accepts the highest honor,

Making joyful all the calendar as consul.

This age devises first those terms with which our lords

Have long been flattered. Lest he lack a legal basis

To his eagles. Vainly seizing power's name,

He marks this age as worth sad notice. And indeed,

What consul better to inscribe Pharsalia’s year.

The solemn Campus feigns, the votes of unadmitted

Spun. The sky was not observed - it thunders but the

Augur deaf. All birds are judged auspicious though

An owl is on the left. In every way here perished

A once venerated power, feeble thence

Monthly, consuls name the age for calendars.

Ilian Alba’s god sees solemn rites – unearned

While Latium is suborned – by Latins instituted

With nocturnal flames.

In haste he takes his course

Keener than the flames of heaven, tigress with a cub.

Arriving to Brundusium's curved shore and roofs

Minoian, winter winds, he finds, have closed the port,

And navy timid under freezing stars. The general

Retiring in such weak delay, holed up in port

While oceans beckon, safe for even the unlucky.

Thus he stiffens those who do not know the sea:

“The stronger winds of winter in the sky and straits

Caprice of cloudy spring forbids such certainty.

We have no need to bend the waves and hug the coast,

We cut the sea straight on with only the north wind.

Now let the masthead curve upon the topmost spar,

Cliffs. Do not let Pompei’s troops from Corfu seize

Upon our languid sails with their extended oars.

Break up these chains restraining our victorious bows.

Too long we’ve spurned the help of clouds and angry waves.”

The moon made shadows, then the ships were loosed together.

All their coiled up hawsers played out, now the sailor

Turns his sail to port with bending mast, the topmost

Sheet unfurled to catch what breezes else were lost.

Their bellies, but they fell back to the mast amidships;

Having left the land the boats could not continue where

The breezes first had drawn them. Gentle lay an ocean

Bound in torpor. Waves inert more than a static

Scythian waves, and so the Ister drives no current,

Bound in ice. Then too its sea immense is veiled

In icy cold; a squeezing wave grasps every ship

As horses strike the waters now impervious

Wagons of the wandering Bessi carve out furrows.

Harsh, this quiet of the sea; and dismal on the

Deep this listless, stagnant pool. As if, deserted

By a nature growing rigid, waves go still.

Do not rise in ferment, quake and bristle, shimmer

In the sun’s reflection. Fixed, these hulls lay open

To uncounted dangers. Hostile fleets might move

With oars on quiet seas; and, too, confined on

For new found fears: they pray for winds excessive and for

Floods if only that the waves be freed from stagnant

Torpor and the sea return. But nowhere clouds

Or cresting waves; still languishing the sky and strait;

The day brought radiance struck with cloud; from far below

The sea increasingly there came a tremor, and the

Sailors saw Ceraunia move. Their ships now start

To be aroused. The navy, borne upon a yielding

Onto Palaestina’s sands and fixed their anchors.

This the first land where two leaders pitch adjoining

Camps, surrounded by the banks of fleet Genusus

And the softer Apsus where a pool allows for

Snow melt from the sun or rains now drive Genusus;

Neither tires in its lengthy stream, yet running

Close to shore they pass by little land. Here fortune

Placed two names of such renown. But vain the yearning

Close ranged, might yet be moved to give up evil;

For it was possible to see the faces, hear

The voices. But your father in law, Magnus − who

Delighted you for many years, united by

He will not see you until you reach Nile’s sands.

Forces left behind made Caesar’s thundering quest

For war and crime endure delay. The leader of those

Gathered armies was brave Antony, in civil

Him often Caesar summoned from delay with threats

And prayers: “O, cause of so much trouble in the world,

Why do you hold back gods and fates? The rest is done

By me and quickly. Fortune begs your final touch

Libya with its raging waves, where Syrtis’ shoals

Erupt, does not divide us. Surely not on untried

Depths do we suppose your arms, or that you enter

Threats unknown. You lazy man, to come is Caesar’s

A sand possessed by them. Does my camp frighten you?

I weep that fateful hours pass away. I pray

For winds and strait. Do not hold back those keen to go

Across a doubtful sea. If I am any judge,

Armies. Tone resentful now is best. For we have

Not divided the world equally since Caesar

And all of the senate has Epirus. You

Keep Italy alone.” With such, and after three

Was less true to the gods than they to him, he dared

Of his own will what others, ordered, shunned: to try

The straits amid the reckless night. Having found

That rashness was preferred by gods who so incline,

The gentle night had loosened weary care of arms.

Peace came upon the wretched, in whose humble breast

With sleep the fates grant strength. The camp is silent now,

And now the hour had brought on a second watch.

Where hardly slaves would. All else left behind, his only

Comrade fortune. Passing from the tents, the guards’

Limbs lost to sleep, he chafed in silence that their queries

Were so easy to elude. He traced the curving

To weathered rocks. Its owner’s house not far away,

No wood supporting it but rush and woven cane

From barren fens, a skiff upended shields the seaward

Wall. Here Caesar twice or three times beat upon

Made soft Amyclas rose. “What shipwrecked sailor seeks

My roof,” he said, “ or who hopes for the comfort of my

Hut, by fortune pressed?” He spoke and took a piece of

Rope out from a pile of smoldering ash to nurse

War, he knows that hovels are not plunder. O how

Safe a pauper’s life and slender hearth! O present

Of the gods not yet perceived! When Caesar’s hand

Goes knocking, in what temples, on what walls can that

Door the general said: “Expect more than your modest

Wishes and enlarge your hopes, young man. If you

Conduct me safely into Italy, no longer

Will you need your boat to live, nor pass a poor

Decline to lend your fate to the divinity

Who wishes to fill up your meager home with wealth

Upon an instant.” So he spoke. Although he dressed

In workman’s clothes he could not speak as one untutored.

No trust in this night’s sea. The sun has not drawn those red

Clouds into the ocean, all its rays the same;

Dividing light, one part of Phoebus summoned south

The other the north wind. And too, its orb sets dimmed

The eye. This moon rose shining not with slender horn

Or in its midst devoured with a perfect hollow;

Nor with straightened horn produces slender points;

It reddens with the mark of wind. A lurid face

And I am not content − not with the heaving wood,

This beating on the shore, nor that a wandering dolphin

Stirs the sea, nor that the diving bird seeks land

Or heron, confident of soaring wing, dares fly

As he would welcome rainstorms, tracks the shore with wavering

Path. Yet if a crisis asks great things, I am

Not backward in the least to lend my hand. For either

I will reach the shore required or the wind

Sails delivered to the winds. Their spreading draws

Not only shooting stars, dispersed in tracks throughout

The air, but even stars which farthest heaven holds

Unmoved are seen to shake. A dusky trembling spreads

Long swathes of ocean towering waves rampage, and growing

Bellows on a roiled, uncertain deep declare

The massing winds. Now speaks the helmsman of that vessel:

“See what savageries the ocean would prepare.

A doubtful ocean carries our boat at will.

A southern gale now has the clouds and sky; if we

Look to the roaring ocean, northerlies abrade the sea.

In such a maelstrom neither boat nor shipwrecked man

A course denied; it is our sole salvation. Let this

Troubled craft find shore or else the land may prove

Too far.” But Caesar, trusting that all risk gives way

To him, said: “Scorn the ocean’s threats and give your sail

Abandon Italy, then seek it yet on mine.

This only is just cause for fear: that you know not

Your passenger, whom never have the gods forsaken,

Who may well be thought ill treated if his prayer

In my safety, breach this tempest through. Here is

The business of the sea and sky, but not our boat’s.

Let Caesar’s weight defeat the flood. The furor of these

Winds wont last, this craft will best the waves. Don’t turn

Calabrian port attained since other lands can give

No aid to our boat. Do you not see how great

The coming spectacle? In sky and ocean fortune

Seeks to favor me.” Denying further word,

Stricken boat and hurls a flapping sail upon

The feeble mast; assailed, the planking of the aldor

Boat resounded. Dangers piled on, drawn from all

The region. You, northwestern wind from the Atlantic,

Raging and flings all its waves up to the crags.

A freezing northerly runs in to block the sea,

Now is it doubtful which wind rules the deep. But madness

Of the Scythian north won out and heaved the waves

Cannot attain the rocks but breaks the sea on meeting

Western blasts, and shifting waters run together

As the winds withdraw. I would have thought the eastern

Wind had never ceased its threats nor yet the south,

Aeolus’ stones. But all together, rushing from

Their corners they defend with violent turbine their

Domains. And so the sea entire kept its place.

These waves raised up and carried no small watery

In Ionian sea the wandering Adriatic

Sounded. Ah, how many mountains did this day

Submerge in oceans that but broke on them before.

How sunk were lofty peaks that conquered land gave up.

They came as from another world. Rolled round by

Ample seas, these world-surrounding waves make monstrous

Hollows. Thus Olympus’ ruler helped his tired

Bolts with brother’s trident while the second kingdom's

And while Tethys, glad to hold the sky, would suffer

Now no shore. Now too had this expanse of sea

Drowned stars but that the ruler of all gods suppressed those

Waves with cloud. No night of heaven, this. The air lurks −

Take the rain from clouds. Yet even that grim light

Dies. Bolts not vivid, they divide the cloudy air

Obscurely. Arches of the gods resound and lofty

Heaven echoes. Substance shaken, all the sky

Concordant seem to burst their resting state and night

Return to mingle shades and gods. One only hope,

That gods have not yet perished in so great a ruin

Of the world. As from Leucadian peak a placid

From swollen crest precipitously down to trembling

Depth. And when the swirling waves gape open hardly

Does their mast rise from the sea. Clouds touched by sail

And land by keel , for ocean, raised in swells, reveals

Defeats the power of skill; the pilot cannot choose

Which swell to breast or dodge. Yet too, the sea’s discord

Assists these wretches: wave cannot upend the boat

For wave. A billow opposite, repelling, lifts

Arises. Not Sasona’s modest shoals or rocky

Shores of curved Thessalia fearing, nor the dangerous

Entrance to Ambracia’s port; these sailors dread

Ceraunia’s cliffs. Now Caesar deems the danger worthy

The gods,” he said “that such a giant sea should serve

To overturn my tiny boat? If I am given

Glorious death by sea and not by war, then I

Accept whatever death the gods bestow, then let

Immense. The great things done already are enough:

I tamed the north, by fear subdued all arms opposing.

Rome saw Magnus as my second. I, commanding

Plebs in war, took up the fasces kept from me.

None will know this except fortune, you who are

Aware of all my prayers: that though replete with honors –

Dictator and consul − I find stygian shades

And die as a civilian. Needs no funeral

No mound, no pyre so long as I am always feared

And watched for in all lands.” This said, a tenth wave lifted

Up − incredible to tell − the weakened boat.

Nor was it cast back to the sea from that high swell,

Rocks and set upon the earth. At once so many

Kingdoms and so many cities and his fate

He touches, touching land. But Caesar in returning

With the light did not deceive his comrades as

A crowd poured round the general weeping; they assailed

Him with their cries and not unthankful plaints: “To what

Ordeal did this your courage rashly lead you, Caesar?

To what fate did you abandon our mean souls?

When our people’s life and health depend upon

One spirit that would make itself the head of all

The world, then it is vicious to have wished to die.

Did none of your companions earn the right not to

Lay in idle sleep. Alas, we are ashamed!

Was this the cause for which you sought Hesperia,

That it seemed cruel to send another to a sea

So brutal? Desperation sends men headlong to such

Of the earth surrender to the sea? Why thus

Exhaust the patience of the gods? Are you content

That fortune’s labor, partial to this crisis of

The war, has thrust you here upon our sands? Did these

The ruler of the world or lord of all but lucky

As a shipwrecked sailor?” Suchlike things were urged.

The night dispelled, now bright with beating sun comes day.

A swelling sea, fatigued, composed its waves, the winds

This languor on the waters, how a cleansing northern

Wind rose in the sky and cleared the sea. They loosed

Their keels, long bottled up, now led by winds and skill of

Hands across a spacious sea. Their decks in consort

Sailors heartless night withdrew the even tenor

Of both wind and sail, broke up their ordered ranks.

So cranes who hope to drink from you, Nile, fleeing from the

Dead of winter and the frozen Strymon, in their

Soon higher south winds strike extended wings,

Which mingle randomly in mixed up forms;

And as the birds disperse, the letters shapeless fade.

When day returns, by Phoebus rising stirred, an air

Of Lissus, tried before in vain, and reach Nymphaeum.

South winds made the harbor safe when northern gusts

Had driven them inside.

Now Magnus, seeing that

From everywhere in strength came Caesar’s gathered force,

Near his camps, he felt the need to move his wife

To safety − from the savage din of war to hide

You distantly, Cornelia, on Lesbos. O, how

Venus justly rules the gentle mind! Love made you

Let your wife not stand beneath the stroke of fate