Book 8
Some glowing logs, ' Whoe'er thou art,' he said,
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Neglected shade, uncared for, dear to none,
Yet happier than Pompeius in thy death,
Pardon I ask that this my stranger hand
' Should violate thy tomb. Yet if to shades
'Be sense or memory, gladly shalt thou yield
'This from thy pyre to Magnus. 'Twere thy shame,
'Blessed with due burial, if his remains
Were homeless.' Speaking thus, the wood aflame
Back to the headless trunk at speed he bore,
Which hanging on the margin of the deep,
Almost the sea had won. In sandy trench
The gathered fragments of a broken boat,
Trembling, he placed around the noble limbs.
No pile above the corse nor under lay,
Nor was the fire beneath. Then as he crouched
Beside the blaze, ' 0, greatest chief,' he cried,
Majestic champion of Hesperia's name,
'If to be tossed unburied on the deep
Rather than these poor rites thy shade prefer,
'From these mine offices thy mighty soul
Withdraw, Pompeius. Injuries dealt by fate
Command this duty, lest some bird or beast
'Or ocean monster, or fierce Caesar's wrath
'Should venture aught upon thee. Take the fire;
All that thou canst; by Roman hand at least
'Enkindled. And should Fortune grant return
'To loved Hesperia's land, not here shall rest
'Thy sacred ashes; but within an urn
Cornelia, from this humble hand received,
Shall place them. Here upon a meagre stone
We draw the characters to mark thy tomb.
These letters reading may some kindly friend
'Bring back thine head, dissevered, and may grant
'Full funeral honours to thine earthly frame.'
Then did he cherish the enfeebled fire
Till Magnus' body mingled with its flames.
But now the harbinger of coming dawn
Had paled the constellations: he in fear
Seeks for his hiding place. Whom dost thou dread,
