Book 3
No Consul there the sacred shrine adorned
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Nor Praetor next in rank, and every seat
Placed for the officers of state was void:
Caesar was all; his private voice was heard;He held no office at the time.
All else were dumb. They sat prepared to vote
For him a throne or temple; for themselves
Or death or exile. Thank the gods that he
Blushed more to order than did Rome to serve.
Yet in one breast the spirit of Freedom rose
Enraged lest force should override the laws;
For hot Metellus, when he saw the gates
Of Saturn's temple yielding to the shock,
With rapid step burst in between the ranks
Of Caesar's troops, and stood before the doors
As yet unopened. 'Tis the love of gold
Alone that fears not death; no hand is raised
For perished laws or violated rights:
But for this dross, the vilest cause of all,
Men fight and die. Thus did the Tribune bar
The victor's road to rapine, and with voice
Clear ringing spake: ' Save o'er Metellus dead
'This temple opens not; my sacred blood
' Shall flow, thou robber, ere the gold be thine.
'And surely shall the Tribune's power defied
'Find an avenging god; this Crassus knew,The tribune Ateius met Crassus as he was setting out from Rome and denounced him with mysterious and ancient curses. (Plut. 'Crassus,' 16.)
' Who, followed by our curses, sought the war
'And met disaster on the Parthian plains.
' All Rome is empty; draw thy falchion then,
'Nor fear a crowd to gaze upon the crime.
'Not from our treasury reward for guilt
'Thy hosts shall ravish : other towns are left,
'And other nations; seek thy gifts from them;
'Nor drain Rome's peace for spoil: war still is thine.'
Aroused to anger then the victor spake:
' Vain is thy hope to fall in noble death;
'Dost reckon Freedom safe with thee for guard?
' With all thine honours, thou of Caesar's rage
'Art little worthy: never shall thy blood
' Defile his hand. Time lowest things with high
' Confounds not yet so much that, if thy voice
