Book 8
And borne in sloop, to shallows of a stream
1
Scarce equal, dared the deep: Liburnia's lord,
Lord of Cilicia, at whose countless oars
Yet Leucas' inlets and Corcyra shook,
Crept to the shelter of a tiny bark.
For thou didst beckon him to Lesbos' shores,
Thou, partner of the sorrows of thy lord,
Cornelia! Sadder far thy life apart
Than wert thou present in Thessalia's fields.
Racked is thy heart with presages of ill;
Pharsalia fills thy dreams and when the shades
Give place to dawn, with hasty step thou tread'st
Some cliff sea-beaten, and with gaze intent
To mark the sail of each approaching ship
Art first: yet dar'st not ask thy husband's fate.
Lo! the ship comes, her load of ills unknown,
Thy worst of fears some messenger of woe,
Some evil tidings of the battle day:
Nay! it is he, thy husband in defeat:
Fear then no more, but weep; nor waste the hour.
He leaps to land; she marks the cruel doom
Wrought by the gods upon him: pale and wan
His weary features, by the hoary locks
Shaded; the dust of travel on his garb.
Dark on her soul a night of anguish fell;
Her trembling limbs no longer bore her frame:
Scarce throbbed her heart, and prone on earth she lay
Deceived in hope of death. The boat made fast,
Pompeius treading the lone waste of sand
Drew near; whom when Cornelia's maidens saw,
They stayed their weeping, yet with sighs subdued,
Reproached the fates; and tried in vain to raise
Their mistress' form, till Magnus to his breast
Drew her with cherishing arms; and at the touch
Of soothing hands the life-blood to her veins
Returned once more, and she could bear to look
Upon his features. He forbad despair,
Chiding her grief. ' Not at the earliest blow
By Fortune dealt, inheritress of fame
Bequeathed by noble fathers, should thy strength
