Now seeking lonely tracks in the Haemonian woods,

Through Hercules’ ravine and Tempe’s forests, Magnus

Urged along a horse exhausted and indifferent

To the whip, disguising traces of uncertain

Of woods moved by the wind or of companions riding

Close behind; a fear of unprotected flanks

Consumed him. Fallen though he was from fortune’s peak,

He knew his blood was worth no little price, and mindful

What he himself would give for Caesar’s severed head.

The famous features of the man did not allow

Him to conceal his fate in close retreats. Those many

Seeking the Pharsalian camps still unaware

Him, amazed at the reversal of events,

And hardly thought him true reporter of his ruin.

Any witnessing these ills, that presence weighed

On Magnus. Rather he preferred to pass unknown

In the world. But fortune took a penance from this

Wretch for these her many favors, pressed the weight

Of his renown upon him, urged his prior fortune.

Now too forward seem his honors, and he hates

It pains him now recalling the Corycian ships,

His standards over Pontus, cast down as he is.

Thus length of time destroys the largest soul, and, life,

You glory over power. For unless the last day

All sorrows, fortune is the prologue to dishonor.

Does any dare to hand himself to fate unless

Prepared for death? He reached the shore where the Peneius,

Crimson with Emathian slaughter, empties to

And waves, unsafe for rivers, bore him anxiously

Upon the deep. And he whose oars but now Corcyra

Feared and the Leucadian bays, lord of Silesians

And Liburna, crept, pale passenger, into

On Lesbos’ shores concealed, it’s you commands the sails

Toward that land you hide in, sadder there than if

You stood amidst Emathian plains. Your premonitions

Rouse grim cares, sleep shaken with a fearful dread,

You run on crags of battered rock, the verge of shorelines,

Gazing on the flood that you might always be

The first to see those sea tossed sails of his approaching

Ship. Nor did you dare to ask a thing about

Heads toward your harbors. You know not what it

Might bear. And now your worst of fears, sad messenger

Of arms and evil news. Your conquered husband comes.

Why do you lose this time for grief? You fear when you might

Judgment of the gods − a general deformed

By pallor, face concealed in whitened hair, his clothes

Made squalid with black dust. A miserable night

Came over her, withdrawing sky and light in shadows,

Stagger, heart numbs, long she lies deceived by hope

Of death. Now, line made fast to shore, across the empty

Sand comes Pompey. When her faithful servants saw him

Near they let themselves assail the fates with only

Barely conscious, from the earth. But Magnus pressed

Her to his breast, with his embraces he re-warmed

Her stricken limbs. The blood recalled to body’s organs

She began to sense her Pompey’s hands, could bear

Her yield to fortune, chiding her too great affliction:

“Noble woman, set apart by titles of great

Ancestors, at fortune’s first wound how should you

Abandon bravery? You have admission to

Not in an act of law or arms but in the single

Fact of being wife to this unhappy man.

Raise up your mind and let your duty struggle with the

Fates, and love me for that I am conquered. Now am

And the senate and a throng of kings have all

Departed. Take up Magnus, yours alone to follow.

Grief misshapen and extreme should be disdained,

Your partner living. Mourning for a husband is

From wars I fought, and Magnus lives although his fortune

Perishes. You mourn the very thing you loved.”

Thus chastised, from the earth she barely raised weak limbs

And spoke this grievance: “Would that I had married hated

Joyful, twice I harmed the world; Erinnys was my

Bridesmaid and the ghosts of Crassi. Faithful to these

Shades I carried Parthian loss into the camps

Of civil war, gave route to nations, drove the gods

Not deserve my bed; did fortune fail to safeguard

Such a man? Why did I wed to make you wretched?

Lay the penalties that I would gladly pay.

That it might make a kinder sea, the oaths of kings

Your partner here into the ocean. Rather had I

Lent my life to the success of arms; now, Magnus,

Expiate defeat at last. From where you lie,

Cruel Julia - civil war your vengeance on our marriage -

Show mercy to your Magnus.” So she spoke, and sinking

Back into her husband’s arms she filled the eyes

Of all with tears. The heart of iron Magnus stirred,

And eyes that Thessaly left dry now Lesbos flooded.

Had words for Magnus: “Since our greatest glory shall

Forever be that we have served the pledge of such

A husband, now we pray that by this sacred pact

You grace devoted walls and our gods, your allies,

The ages visit, Magnus, that a Roman stranger

Coming would revere. No walls could beckon you

More in defeat, most seek the favor of a victor.

We already bear a crime. What if we be

Here many of your great ones will convene securely.

On this noted shore the war can be renewed,

Take up our temples, gold from our gods, take up

This youth if fit for land or ship; however much

Vanquished take these things. Dispel at least this crime

From us, a worthy land, that we would seem devoted

To the fortunate and damn the miserable.”

In adversity glad of such human virtue,

"On the earth,” he said, “no soil is dearer. No small

Trust was offered you. Remain beloved, our Lesbos,

That you kept her. Here was sacred hearth and homestead.

Here was Rome to me. Nor, Lesbos, did I send

That you already earned the wrath of Caesar, caring

For my wife; I did not fear to give you such

A means to pardon. Now, however, I have caused

Enough of harm. My fate is to be made in all

Glory whether you teach kings and nations to take

Magnus in or if alone you keep allegiance.

It is certain I shall find where virtue is

Throughout the world, and crime. Hear, god, if any yet is

Lesbos who will not bar entrance to their ports

Nor exit to a man defeated and beset

By Caesar." So he spoke and placed his grieving wife

On board. Then you would think they all left their paternal

Hands raised to the sky. The people groaned for Pompey

Less than seeing her depart whose fortune moved

Their sorrow, who through all that period of war

They saw as one of theirs. If she had sought her husband’s

Have sent her without tears. She bound them with a great

Affection − for her courage some, for some her goodness,

Others for the modest honor in her features.

Always humble, as a guest provoking none,

Had been conquered.

Now had Titan lowered half

His fire in the sea, not whole to those he shows

His orb nor those, if any be, from whom he hides it.

Bound to Rome by pact, inconstant minds of kings,

The world’s harsh lands that lie south under too much sun.

Sad burden of his care and fears about the future

Often make him shed the tumult of a doubtful,

Mass of stars. From which of them is landfall known;

How is the ocean measured by the sky; what star

Leads him to Syria, which fire in the Bear

To Libya. The learned watcher of a silent

Heaven speaks: “Whatever constellations in the

Stand, deceiving wretched sailors, we ignore;

Those bright and twinned that stand north, never plunging to

The seas, these rules our ships. These always will arise

For me upon the deep when Ursa Minor stands

Sea of Scythia and the Bosporous. Whenever

From the mast Bootes falls and Cynosur

Drops to the sea, that ship heads to the Syrian ports.

In southern heavens, Canopos comes next, a star

On past Pharos with that on your left mid ocean

And your boat will touch the Syrtes. But where shall

Our sails be set, how do you order canvas spread?”

With breast uncertain Magnus answered: “Only take

Emathia’s shore be ever farther from your ship.

Bestow Hesperia on sea and sky; the rest

On winds. I have regained my pledge, my partner left

Behind. Then certain of my shore, now fortune will

That hung alike with equal ends, steered left to cut

The stormy waves of Samia, those Chios roils.

He loosened forward rigging, tightened aft. The ocean

Sensed his movements and in different fashion now

Had changed its sound. So deftly never did a driver

Swing his chariot around with one wheel fixed

And turning post untouched. Now Titan overspread

The land and hid the stars. Whoever fled Emathia −

Arrives from Lesbos, soon a faithful band of nobles.

Fortune had not stripped from Magnus − though cast down

By fate, his armies beaten − kings that served him. Exiled,

But retaining rulers of the earth and eastern

Tracked the general’s varied path, he sent to byways

Of the world. He said: “Most loyal of monarchs, since

Emathian defeat has lost the Roman world,

It but remains to try the loyalty of the east,

So far safe from Caesar. Nor, on Magnus’ quest,

Be shy to enter distant houses of the Medes and

Scythian recesses, nor to change your clime

And bring my voice to the proud offspring of Arsaces.

By Latium’s great Thunderer and likewise bound

By your magicians, fill your quivers, stretch Armenian

Bows with Getic sinew. Parthians, when I sought you

In your Caspian enclaves, followed rough Alani

Through Persia’s plains and never forced you fearful

To safe Babylon. Beyond the fields of Cyrus,

Farthest of Chaldean realms, where rapid Ganges,

Where Hydaspes finds the sea in Nysa, I was

Persia. Yet in overcoming all I left you

Absent from my triumphs. From the number of all

Kings in eastern lands you only may approach

Me as an equal. Nor once only were the offspring

Rage for justice after wounds of the Assyrian

Slaughter? Obligated by so many of my

Favors, now with burst restraint let you go past

The banks forbidden for so long and Alexander’s

Zeugma. Parthians! Conquer now for Pompey, Rome

Stop the king from rising to this order. Putting

By his palace robes he goes dressed as a menial.

Kings, in doubtful matters, pass more safe as poor men.

How much more secure indeed a paupers's than a

Passed Icarian cliffs and Colophon of pleasant

Seas, grazed spuming rocks of little Samos − in his

Wake lay Ephesus − and flowing breezes wafted

From the shores of Cos. They sailed past Cnidos then

The ocean waves he circuits Telemessus’ bays.

Pamphylia’s land appears, but, not yet daring entrance

To walled cities, he seeks you, small Phaseli.

Your want of population calms concern, your empty

Backtracking now, his canvas heads for Taurus; there

He sees cascading Dipsus. How could Magnus then

Have known the peace that he forced on these waves would now

Give comfort: past the pirate shores but safe his little

The general as he fled.

At little Celendrae,

From which Selinus sends ships and receives them, Magnus

Sad in visage spoke at last, to an array

Of great ones lent his voice with this: “In war and flight

Although on naked shore and on Silesian land

Without an army gathered near, I would consult.

And I would seek a new beginning. Raise your highest

Spirits; in Emathian fields I did not perish

Lift my head again, shake off defeats received.

If Libya’s ruins could raise Marius to power

And return him to the consul’s lists, will fortune

With more careless hand hold me, now pressed? A thousand

Captains. Our forces has Pharsalia rather

Scattered than destroyed. My still unequaled fame

Endures, my deeds performed through all the earth, a name

The world adores. Weigh then the realms of Libya,

Rome. But, nobles, I confess my secret cares,

Where lie the burdens of my mind. The age of Nile’s

King worries me; for surely proper faith demands

Ripe years. The two faced, cunning Moor is also of

Threatens Italy, and in his fickle breast

Is much of Hannibal. He stains his rule with foreign

Bloodline, he pollutes Numidean ancestors;

And now, so proud that Varus begged, he looks on Rome as

To the eastern world. Euphrates with its stream

Divides a huge part of the earth, and Caspian forts

Guard an immense terrain. Upon another sky rolls

The Assyrian days and nights. Its strangely colored

To rule is all their wish. Steeds nobler on the plain,

Bows stronger. Neither lad nor man bears idle bowstring,

From no arrow is a death in doubt. With bows

They crushed the Macedonian pikes, the Persian seat

Homeland. Neither do the Parthians much fear

Our javelins but dare to send us war; they proved

Their Scythian arrows in the overthrow of Crassus.

Barbs dispatched rely not only on their iron,

Small wounds are dire, death lies in the blood from scratches.

Would I had no need for this Arsaces’ ruthless

Offspring! Parthian fate runs too much like our own,

And there is much of heaven’s care surrounding them.

Soils; the east will I commit, aroused from native

Places. If these eastern loyalties and barbarian

Pacts betray us then let fortune bear my wreckage

Past the commerce of this daily world. For I

But lying in some foreign sphere I will take on

Mortality’s great solace, and my father in law

Able to do nothing to my limbs − not violence,

Not respect. Revolving all the fated things

Revered: how great beyond Maeotis and Tanais!

How great in the east! Into which lands did our

Name go with more glorious deeds, return with greater

Triumph? Rome, approve this venture. What more joyful

With Parthian soldiers, to deplete their nation, mix

Our ills with theirs? When Caesar’s arms and Parthian

Collide, then fortune must avenge me or the Crassi.”

He spoke, and sensed in murmurs that the men had not

Of virtue and nobility in grief exceeded

All, and lately consul, raised his voice first: “Have these

Thessalian losses broken thus your spirit?

Does one day damn all the world? So great a cause end

One bloody wound? Has fortune left you, Magnus,

Only this: to kneel at Parthian feet? What, would

You wander through the world to find out every part

Of all its lands and, hating every sky, seek poles

Chaldaeon gods with their barbaric rites − and all

To be a servant to the Parthians? Why style

Our cause the love of liberty? And why do you

Deceive the earth if you would serve? He trembled hearing

Kings captive from Hyrcania and the shores and woods

Of Indus. Shall he view you now dejected, broken;

Shall he aim his raving thoughts at Latium

And, Pompei begging, think himself Rome’s equal? There is

He, unlettered in our Latin tongue, will make

You, Magnus, ask with tears. Shall we abide this wound

Of shame, that Parthia avenge Hesperian slaughter

And not Rome? She certainly chose you her leader

Wounds amongst the Scythians, a ruin hidden;

Why teach Parthians to go beyond their borders?

Rome would lose the only solace for her ills,

That, slave to her own citizen, she shunned at least

Such savage tribes to our Roman walls with standards

From Euphrates, those that with the Crassi fell?

He only of the kings, while fate still hid its choice,

Was absent from Emathia. And will he now

Will he wish to join his fate with you? This folk

Have no such faith. Each nation born in arctic frost

Is fierce in warfare and death’s suitor. Slide but to

The east, the tepid portion of the world, and folly

And flowing garments you see there. The Parthian

On his Medean lands or Saramatic plains,

On Tigris’ fields spread always flat, cannot be conquered

Since he has the space to flee. But when the land

No warfare will he wage in shade, disabled by

Uncertain bow. Nor cleave a river swimming in the

Roiling currents. Nor in battle, bloodied over

All his limbs, endure the summer sun beneath

They use no trenches. Any who withstand their arrows

Are a wall to the pursuing Parthian.

Their fight is skirmish, flight their war, formations loose,

And soldiers faster to retreat than to attack.

To fight hand to hand but pull their bow strings from

Afar and let the winds cause injuries at will.

The blade needs strength, and every race of men extant

Makes war with swords, but fight disarms the Medes; their empty

All is poison. Magnus, do you think a soldier

In the crisis of a battle, armed with steel

The same as these? And is this shameful aid so great

That you would die divided by the world from your

Tomb small and vile would cover you – perhaps that to be

Envied, Crassus wanting burial. That death

Is easier; the final stroke, is not a fear

For men. But death by vicious king’s command is never

Known to us, that in their blind and bestial rite

Pollutes the law and marriage vows with wives uncounted,

Secrets of their vile beds known. With feasts and wine

Among a thousand wives, mad royalty copulates

Does not fatigue one man with feminine embraces

In such number. Sisters lie in brothers’ beds,

The sacred bond of mothers too. That mournful tale

Damns Theban Oedipus among all people but

Lords are born thus from Arsaces’ mongrel blood?

And him who has a right to impregnate his parent,

What should I consider is forbidden him?

A daughter of the great Metelli as the thousandth

None more royal; his lust with savage goading will

Prefer her husbands’ titles. He will know she was

The wife of Crassus, all the more to aid his pleasure.

As if part of the Assyrian debt to fate,

Loss. If yet that deadly eastern carnage rankles

You will blush not only seeking aid of this

Most dismal king but that you first waged civil war.

For what crime in the world is worse than yours and Caesar's

Should be on the attack in Bactria. Although

The empire’s northern flank may be exposed, withdraw

The force from Dacia and the Rhine until, vile Susa

Fallen on the graves of our heros, we lay

Assyrian peace will end. And if Thessalia be

In fact an end to civil war, to Parthia let

The victor go; I could rejoice in Caesar’s triumph

Only there. And as you ford Araxis will not

Address you: “We unburied shades thought you avenger

Of our ashes; are you here for peace and pact?”

Then will so many sights of ruin rush upon you:

Walls beheaded generals saw, Euphrates where

Corpses onto land and then reclaimed them. Magnus,

If you can accept all this, can you not soothe

Your father in law, biding in Thessalia? Why not

Look upon the Roman world? And if the southern

Pharos and the fields of Lagus, Egypt. Safe

With Syrtes' shoals here; there the river roils the sea

With seven floods. Lands joyful in their bounty, needing

Neither wares nor heaven’s rain, so great its faith

His scepter, Magnus, given to your care. Who fears

This shadow of a name An innocent in years.

Expect no law or faith, respect for gods from an

Established ruler. Nothing shames him used to rule.

No more said, he compelled opinion. How much license

Desperation has! All Magnus’ reasons conquered.

Then they quit Silesia’s soil, directing eager

Ships to Cyprus where in memory of Papha

If we think gods born at all or have beginning.

When Pompey left these shores behind and passed

The Cyprian rocks extended to the south, a current

In the vast sea swept him sideways so he could not

Fire; barely with embattled sail he touched

The lower shores of Egypt where the largest, seventh

Part of the divided Nile attains Pellusia’s

Shoals. It was that time when Libra weighs the hours

Repaying winter nights as solace for their loss

In spring. Now learning that the king stayed at mount Casius,

He changed course − not Phoebus or his sails yet sunk.

Patrols on horse along the shore with rapid stride

Did the counselors have time, but all the creatures

Of the Alexandrian household, Achoreus

Being one, assembled − he with age now placid,

Gentler with enfeeblement of years. In Memphis

Filled with vain rites, he outlived more than one bull god

In that doctrine sacred to the moon. He voiced

First counsel, laying out the merit, faith and sacred

Debt of the dead father, owed to Pompey. But

Kings’ hearts, dared damn that man to death: “Both right and law

Have done much harm, O Ptolemy,” he said. “Faith,

Laudable perhaps, has consequences aiding

Those whom fortune fails. Those fortune and the gods bless

As the stars from earth or flames from sea are sundered,

So the needful from the just are wrenched apart.

All sceptered power dies when it begins to value

Right. Respect for honor wrecks foundations. Hated

Unchecked. All cruelty is forgiven if you only

Dare to act it. Let those saintly leave the palace,

Virtue and great power never co-exist, and

He will always fear whose cruelty shames him.

Or think you loath to keep those vanquished from our shore,

Or stop a stranger who might steal your scepter. There are

Nearer claimants if you tire to rule the Nile

And Pharos. Give them to your banished sister. Let us

Whatever Magnus did not own while waging war

His victor cannot take from him. Chased from the world,

No faith in things remaining, he seeks people he

Can fall with. Scourged by ghosts of his compatriots,

Face - of whom most feed the Thessalian birds -

And dreads those he deserted, blended in one carnage.

Kings he fears, all lost. And guilty of Thessalia,

Welcomed by no land, he asks for ours, a world

Given us against him: Magnus, why do you

Stain Pharos, quiet and remote, with crimes of war

And make our fields suspected of the victor? Why

Does only this land please you, dying, here to bring

Own crimes already that the sword might purge: with your voice

Rule came from the senate. Our prayers spurred on

Your arms. The Steel fate makes us raise now I prepared

For him , subdued. Not, Magnus, you. But I will pierce

Things lead we too are borne. While yet I can, do you

Dispute the need to do you violence? What hope in our

Realm conducts you here, unhappy man? Do you

Not see an unarmed people, just now digging softened

It’s well to take account and recognize your strengths.

Can you reverse the fall of Magnus under which Rome

Lies? And dare you stir the pyres of Thessalian

Ashes, summon war into your realm? We brought

Pompey’s camps that all the world deserts? Will you

Provoke the force and settled fortune of a victor?

Is it shameful to desert misfortune? Only

If prosperity was shared. No loyalty ever

This crime, the boy king pleased his servants had allowed

Him to involve himself − rare honor − with such things.

Achillas chosen for the crime. Where a deceitful

Land extends to Casius’ sands and the Egyptian

A little boat with men and swords for crime. Has Nile,

O gods, has savage Memphis such a spirit, has

Degenerate Pelusian Canopus ? Does civil

War so harm the world, Rome lie so low? What place

Preserve at least this faith, you civil wars, provide

Us native hands, send off all foreign devils. Magnus,

If his mighty name earned Caesar’s crime, do you

Not, Ptolemy, at all blanch at the ruin of

Your profane hands while still the heavens thunder? Never

Mind he ruled the world, or three times brought a triumph

To the capitol, or potent over kings

Was savior of the senate and the victor’s kin.

He was a Roman. Can you search our bosom with a

Sword? You do not even know, you wicked child,

You do not know where lies your interest; now you grasp

Nile’s scepter with no right. He fell in civil war

Sought those foul shores by oar; an evil hand rowed out

To him not far away and, feigning welcome to

The Pharian realm, invited him from his high deck

Onto the smaller boat because the adverse tides and

Except fate’s law, commanded by eternal order,

And the pressing nearness of a wretched death

Drew Magnus, doomed to ruin, still toward the shore,

Not any of his men would have mistaken signs

Who held the scepter was to yield his realm to Magnus,

Egypt’s king with all the navy would have come.

But he cedes all to fate, agrees to leave his ships,

Prefers to favor death before betraying fear.

And all unwilling to let go her husband as she

Feared disaster. “Stay, brave wife, and you, my child,

I pray,” he said. “Watch from the distant shore what shall

Befall. With this neck try the tyrant’s faith.” But she,

Cruelly go without me? Yet again am I

Removed from Thessalian harm? We miserable

Can never part with happy omen. Could you not

Have turned your ship in flight elsewhere and left me hiding

All land. Or am I fit companion only on

The sea?” Such things in vain poured forth, she hung upon

The deck in fear and with astonished dread could not

Avert her gaze nor fix it still on Magnus. Now the

Arms or evil but lest Pompey with a low

Entreaty would revere a scepter he had given.

As he crossed, from Pharian deck Septimius,

A Roman soldier, hailed him. He - O gods, for shame -

Rome’s javelin laid by. Immense and violent, savage,

No more tame than any beast in killing. Who would

Not suppose that you, fate, would save all men from

This hand that had no part in civil war, whose noxious

Arms so that no place at all be unprepared

To work your evil. Victors are dishonored, and

This tale will ever cast shame on the gods, for here

A Roman blade obeyed a king. O Magnus, with a

Your neck. What infamy will our descendants give

Septimius through all the ages, what name use

For this offense by those who would call Brutus vicious?

Now had come the end and extreme hour; borne

Himself. The royal monsters then unsheathed their iron.

Seeing blades around him he, disdaining to

Give fortune an uncovered face, enfolded all his

Features, closed his eyes, then stopped his breath that he

Fame. And when Achillas, deadly, forced the point

Into his side, he bore the thrust with not a groan,

Despised the crime but held his body still, and dying

He reflected, these things turning in his heart:

For all the world will watch this boat, these Roman deeds,

And this Egyptian faith. So now consider fame.

For you all lucky fortunes of long life poured forth;

The people will not know, unless in death you prove,

The author of your fate; however slain, believe

It is your kinsman’s hand. They well may tear and scatter

Me but I, O gods, still fortunate and no

Celestial power can take that away. My fortune

Sees the fall of this my Pompey. Thus much soften

Grief and moan, I pray, that son and wife admire

My end and truly love me in it.” Such the strength

Of mind, such force within a dying soul. But able

Cornelia filled the air with wretchedness: “O husband,

It is I who wickedly betrayed you, drew you

Off to Lesbos, caused delay, and to Nile’s banks

Came Caesar first. None else could claim such infamy.

This head and whether for your wrath or Caesar’s − cruel

Man but ignorant where Magnus’ heart is; you have

Rushed to strike a blow the conquered chose. No less

Than death be his reward, but let him see my head fall

The only matron, went a comrade through the seas and

Camps. Unfazed by destiny I took him up

When conquered while kings feared to. Have I earned this, husband,

To be left on deck and safe? Will you, unfaithful,

Merit only life? I will die. And not thanks

To any king. Allow me, sailors, a swift leap

Into the sea, or fix a twisted rope around

My neck, or let some comrade worthy of his Magnus

Should be charged. Cruel men, you keep me living who would

Rush on death; you live yet, husband, but Cornelia

Cannot rule herself. My death prevented, Magnus,

They preserve me for the conqueror.” She spoke and

A fleeing, fearful ship. On Magnus, though his back

And chest resounded from the sword, remained as yet

A noble, venerable, sacred form, his features

Angry at the gods; there was no change in habit

Who saw that head thus mangled. But Septimius

Invented, cruel, a baser crime. He took the cloth

From half dead Magnus’ sacred face; the fabric torn,

He placed that neck crosswise upon the rowers’ seat

Bone − the art of swift beheading not yet known.

With neck and trunk divided, Pharaoh’s agent claimed

The head. Degraded Roman soldier, do you play

The lesser part, that you cut off a sacred head but

That Magnus should be known to this indecent boy

By his long, ample hair, admired of kings. That those

His locks, his noble brow should be laid hands on while the

Features live and murmurs strive in gasps of spirit,

Stuck upon a Pharian spear the head of him

Who when he spoke for war there was no peace, who moved

The law, elections, and the senate; countenance

So pleasing to you, Roman fortune. Not enough

Iniquity to last. The head is drained by evil

Art and, brain removed, the skin dried; rotting fluid

Pours from deep within, the face solidifies,

Infused with poison. O, you last Lageaean, soon to

To an impure sister: while you guard in sacred

Cave the Macedonian, and while the dust

Of kings rests under heaped up masses, Ptolomies

With all their shameful line lie closed in pyramids

Are the breaking waves to throw him here and there?

Was it so troublesome that you should keep the corpse

Entire for his father in law? With such faith

Did fortune end the prosperous fate of Magnus, from that

Day bring all the carnage which for many years

She spared him. Pompey was a man who never saw

Joys mixed with evils, happy that no god disturbed

Him; nor need any spare him misery. Once fortune

By the sands, tossed in among the cliffs, wounds filled

And emptied by the flood, a plaything of the sea,

No shape remaining, Magnus recognizable

By absence of a head.

But Fortune suddenly,

A grave lest he might lie in none or better tomb.

From his concealment, frightened, Cordus ran down to

The water. Quaestor from the Idalian shore

Of Cyprus that Cinyras ruled, he had been Magnus’

His way with virtue conquering fear so that the body

Sought for midst the waves he might draw in to land,

Conducting Magnus to the shore. A sad moon shed

But little light through thickened clouds, still he perceived,

His general in a tight embrace against the straining

Tide. Now overcome with such a load he waits

For ocean waves to help propel the corpse. And when

He rests upon the dry shore, leaning over Magnus,