Book 8
No longer master, and the miscreant crew
1
Unsheathed their swords; which when the chieftain saw
He swathed his visage, for he scorned unveiled
To yield his life to fortune; closed his eyes
And held his breath within him, lest some word,
Or sob escaped, might mar the deathless fame
His deeds had won. And when within his side
Achillas plunged his blade, nor sound nor cry
He gave, but calm consented to the blow
And proved himself in dying; in his breast
These thoughts revolving: ' In the years to come
' Men shall make mention of our Roman toils,
' Gaze on this boat, ponder the Pharian faith;
' And think upon thy fame and all the years
' While Fortune smiled: but for the ills of life
' How thou couldst bear them, this men shall not know
' Save by thy death. Then weigh thou not the shame
' That waits on thine undoing. Whoso strikes,
' The blow is Caesar's. Men may tear this frame
'And cast it mangled to the winds of heaven;
'Yet have I prospered, nor can all the gods
' Call back my triumphs. Life may bring defeat,
'But death no misery. If my spouse and son
'Behold me murdered, silently the more
' I suffer: admiration at my death
'Shall prove their love.' So did Pompeius die,
And so kept guard upon his thoughts in death.
His spouse, less patient to behold the crime
Than to endure it, filled the airs with cries;
'0, husband, whom my wicked self hath slain!
'That lonely isle apart thy bane hath been
'And stayed thy coming. Caesar to the Nile
'Has won before us; for what other hand
'May do such work? But whosoe'er thou art
'Sent from the gods with power, for Caesar's ire,
'Or thine own sake, to slay, thou dost not know
'Where lies the heart of Magnus. Thou dost haste
To deal the blow as he would have it fall.
'Let me die first, and let him seeing bear
'An agony no less than death can bring.
