Book 9
' Our cause is perished. Let us seek our homes
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' Long since unseen, our children and our wives.
If nor the rout on dread Pharsalia's field
Nor yet Pompeius' death shall close the war,
Whence comes the end? Our span of life is fled:
Give death safe haven, give old age his pyre.
Scarce even to its captains civil strife
Concedes due burial. Nor in our defeat
Does Fortune threaten us with the savage yoke
Of distant nations. In the garb of Rome
And with her rights, I leave thee. Who had been
Second to Magnus living, he shall be
My first hereafter: to that sacred shade
Be the prime honour. Chance of war appoints
My lord but not my leader. Thee alone
I followed, Magnus; after thee the fates.
'Nor have I right to hope for victory now,
Nor wish: our Thracian array is fled
'In Caesar's triumph, whose all-potent star
Of fortune rules the world; and none but he
Has power to keep or save. That civil war
Which while Pompeius lived was loyalty
Is impious now. Let country lead thee on,
'Cato, and public right; but let us seek
' The standards of the Consul.' Thus he spake
And with him leaped into the ship a throng
For all the shore was stirring with a crowd
Athirst for slavery. But burst these words
From Cato's blameless breast: ' Then with like vows
' As Caesar's rival host ye too did seek
' A lord and master! not for Rome the fight,
But for Pompeius! For that now no more
'Ye fight for tyranny, but for yourselves,
'Not for some despot chief, ye live and die;
' Since now 'tis safe to conquer and no lord
' Shall rob you, victors, of a world subdued-
' Ye flee the war, and on your abject necks
'Feel for the absent yoke; nor can endure
