Book 9
And trusting to their swords, 'gainst tribes unknown
1
To lead his legions. And the storm which closed
The main to navies gave them hope of rain;
Nor biting frosts they feared, in Libyan clime;
Nor suns too scorching in the falling year.
Thus ere they trod the deserts, Cato spake:
' Ye men of Rome, who through mine arms alone
' Can find the death ye covet, and shall fall
' With pride unbroken should the fates command,
' Meet this your weighty task, your high emprise
' With hearts resolved to conquer. For we march
' On sterile wastes, burnt regions of the world;
' Scarce are the wells, and Titan from the height
' Burns pitiless, unclouded; and the slime
' Of poisonous serpents fouls the dusty earth.
' Yet shall men venture for the love of laws
' And country perishing, upon the sands
' Of trackless Libya; men who brave in soul
' Rely not on the end, and in attempt
' Will risk their all. 'Tis not in Cato's thoughts
' On this our enterprise to lead a band
' Blind to the truth, unwitting of the risk.
' Nay, give me comrades for the danger's sake,
' Whom I shall see for honour and for Rome
' Bear up against the worst. But whoso needs
' A pledge of safety, to whom life is sweet,
' Let him by fairer journey seek his lord.
' First be my foot upon the sand; on me
' First strike the burning sun; across my path
' The serpent void his venom; by my fate
' Know ye your perils. Let him only thirst
' Who sees me at the spring: who sees me seek
' The shade, alone sink fainting in the heat;
' Or whoso sees me ride before the ranks
' Plodding their weary march: such be the lot
' Of each, who, toiling, finds in me a chief
' And not a comrade. Snakes, thirst, burning sand
'The brave man welcomes, and the patient breast
' Finds happiness in labour. By its cost
' Courage is sweeter; and this Libyan land
