Book 9
Piled up in insult to his mighty shade.
1
Happy the Crassi lying on the waste
Unburied. To the greater shame of heaven
' Pompeius has such funeral. And shall this
' For ever be my lot? her husbands slain
' Cornelia ne'er enclose within the tomb,
' Nor shed the tear beside the urn that holds
' The ashes of the loved? Yet for my grief
' What boots or monument or ordered pomp?
' Dost thou not, impious, upon thy heart
· Pompeius' image, and upon thy soul
' Bear ineffaceable? Dust closed in urns
' Is for the wife who would survive her lord,
' Not such as thee, Cornelia! And yet
'Yon scanty light that glimmers from afar
' Upon the Pharian shore, somewhat of thee
' Recalls, Pompeius! Now the flame sinks down
' And smoke drifts up across the eastern sky
' Bearing thine ashes, and the rising wind
' Sighs hateful in the sail. To me no more
' Dearer than this whatever land has given
' Pompeius victory, nor the frequent car
' That carried him in triumph to the hill;
' Gone is that happy husband from my thoughts;
' Here did I lose the hero whom I knew;
' Here let me stay; his presence shall endear
' The sands of Nile where fell the fatal blow.
' Thou, Sextus, brave the chances of the war
'And bear Pompeius' standard through the world.
' For thus thy father spake within mine ear:
' " When sounds my fatal hour let both my sons
' " Urge on the war; nor let some Caesar find
' " Room for an empire, while shall live on earth
' " Still one in whom Pompeius' blood shall run.
' " This your appointed task; all cities strong
' " In freedom of their own, all kingdoms urge
' " To join the combat; for Pompeius calls.
' " Nor shall a chieftain of that famous name
' ' Ride on the seas and fail to find a fleet.
' Urged by his sire's unconquerable will
