Book 8
And son, I pray you; from the shore afar
1
' Await my fortunes; mine shall be the life
' To test their honour.' But Cornelia still
Withstood his bidding, and with arms outspread
Frenzied she cried: ' And whither without me,
' Cruel, departest? Thou forbad'st me share
' Thy risks Thessalian; dost again command
' That I should part from thee? No happy star
' Breaks on our sorrow. If from every land
' Thou dost debar me, why didst turn aside
' In flight to Lesbos? On the waves alone
' Am I thy fit companion? ' Thus in vain,
Leaning upon the bulwark, dazed with dread;
Nor could she turn her straining gaze aside,
Nor see her parting husband. All the fleet
Stood silent, anxious, waiting for the end:
Not that they feared the murder which befell,
But lest their leader might with humble prayer
Kneel to the king he made.
A Roman soldier from the Pharian boat,
Septimius, salutes him. Gods of heaven!
There stood he, minion to a barbarous king,
Nor bearing still the javelin of Rome;
But vile in all his arms; giant in form
Fierce, brutal, thirsting as a beast may thirst
For carnage. Didst thou, Fortune, for the sake
Of nations, spare to dread Pharsalus field
This savage monster's blows? Or dost thou place
Throughout the world, for thy mysterious ends,
Some ministering swords for civil war?
Thus, to the shame of victors and of gods,
This story shall be told in days to come:
A Roman swordsman, once within thy ranks,
Slave to the orders of a puny prince,
Severed Pompeius' neck. And what shall be
Septimius' fame hereafter? By what name
This deed be called, if Brutus wrought a crime?
Now came the end, the latest hour of all:
Rapt to the boat was Magnus, of himself
