Book 8
' A camp, not take it: poisoned are their shafts;
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' Nor do they dare a combat hand to hand;
' But as the winds may suffer, from afar
' They draw their bows at venture. Brave men love
' The sword which, wielded by a stalwart arm,
' Drives home the blow and makes the battle sure.
' Not such their weapons; and the first assault
' Shall force the flying Mede with coward hand
'And empty quiver from the field. His faith
' In poisoned blades is placed; but trustest thou
' Those who without such aid refuse the war?
' For such alliance wilt thou risk a death,
' With all the world between thee and thy home?
' Shall some barbarian earth or lowly grave
' Enclose thee perishing? E'en that were shame
' While Crassus seeks a sepulchre in vain.
' Thy lot is happy; death, unfeared by men,
' Is thy worst doom, Pompeius; but no death
' Awaits Cornelia-such a fate for her
' This king shall not reserve; for know not we
' The hateful secrets of barbarian love,
' Blind as of savage beasts? That palace knows
' No laws of kin: the royal bed is foul
' With concubines. The tale of that one crime
' Of old by OEdipus unwitting wrought
' Made nations shudder at the name of Thebes:
' How many an offspring of such foul embrace
Has held the Parthian throne? Where incest's right
'What shall be wickedness? This gracious dame
'Born of Metellus, noblest blood of Rome,
'Shall share the couch of the barbarian king
' With thousand others: yet in savage joy,
'Proud of her former husbands, he may grant
'Some larger share of favour; and the fates
May seem to smile on Parthia; for the spouse
' Of Crassus, captive, shall to him be brought
' As spoil of former conquest. If the wound
' Dealt in that fell defeat in eastern lands
' Still stirs thy heart, then double is the shame
'First to have waged the war upon ourselves,
