Kitap 5
Not on the battle-field borne down by arms,
1
But in his tents, within the rampart lines,
The hoped-for prize of this unholy war
Seemed for a moment gone. That faithful host,
His comrades trusted in a hundred fields,
Almost forsook him. The sad trump perchance
Mute for a moment, and the blade in sheath
Grown cold, had tamed their frenzy for the war;
Or else in hope of greater gifts, their cause
And leader they betrayed, and sold the sword
Still soiled with murder. By no other risk
Caesar more surely learned how as he looked
O'er all things else, the height on which he stood
Trembled beneath him. But a moment since
His high behest drew nations to the war;
Now, maimed of all who smote, no weapon left
Saving his own, he knows that swords unsheathed
Are wielded by the soldier, not the chief.
No timorous voice was there; no silent wrath
Concealed; nor doubting mind, as though alone
Indignant at the wrong, and in distrust
Of those in turn distrusting. Fear in each
Had fled before the boldness of the host:
The crime is free where thousands bear the guilt.
They hurled their menace: 'Caesar, give us leave
'To quit thy crimes; thou seek'st by land and sea
'The sword to slay us; let the fields of Gaul
And far Iberia, and the world proclaim
'How for thy victories our comrades fell.
'What boots it us that by an army's blood
'The Rhine and Rhone and all the northern lands
'Thou hast subdued? Thou giv'st us civil war
'For all these battles; such the prize. When fled
'The Senate trembling, and when Rome was ours
'What homes or temples did we spoil? Our hands
'Reek with offence! Aye, but our poverty
'Proclaims our innocence! What end shall be
Of arms and armies? What shall be enough
'If Rome suffice not? and what lies beyond?
'Behold these silvered locks, these nerveless hands
