With me thy wife, Thou, Magnus, leddest happy triumphs home: New wedlock brings new luck.

Thy concubine, Whose star brings all her mighty husbands ill, Cornelia, weds in thee a breathing tomb.

(3) Through wars and oceans let her cling to thee So long as I may break thy nightly rest: No moment left thee for her love, but all By night to me, by day to Caesar given.
Me not the oblivious banks of Lethe's stream Have made forgetful; and the kings of death Have suffered me to join thee; in mid fight I will be with thee, and my haunting ghost Remind thee Caesar's daughter was thy spouse.
Thy sword kills not our pledges; civil war Shall make thee wholly mine." She spake and fled.
But he, though heaven and hell thus bode defeat, More bent on war, with mind assured of ill, "Why dread vain phantoms of a dreaming brain?
Or nought of sense and feeling to the soul Is left by death; or death itself is nought." Now fiery Titan in declining path Dipped to the waves, his bright circumference So much diminished as a growing moon Not yet full circled, or when past the full; When to the fleet a hospitable coast Gave access, and the ropes in order laid, The sailors struck the masts and rowed ashore.
When Caesar saw the fleet escape his grasp And hidden from his view by lengthening seas, Left without rival on Hesperian soil, He found no joy in triumph; rather grieved That thus in safety Magnus' flight was sped.
Not any gifts of Fortune now sufficed His fiery spirit; and no victory won, Unless the war was finished with the stroke.
Then arms he laid aside, in guise of peace Seeking the people's favour; skilled to know How to arouse their ire, and how to gain The popular love by corn in plenty given.
For famine only makes a city free; By gifts of food the tyrant buys a crowd To cringe before him: but a people starved Is fearless ever.
Curio he bids Cross over to Sicilian cities, where Or ocean by a sudden rise o'erwhelmed The land, or split the isthmus right in twain, Leaving a path for seas.

Unceasing tides There labour hugely lest again should meet The mountains rent asunder.

Nor were left Sardinian shores unvisited: each isle Is blest with noble harvests which have filled More than all else the granaries of Rome, And poured their plenty on Hesperia's shores.
Not even Libya, with its fertile soil, Their yield surpasses, when the southern wind Gives way to northern and permits the clouds To drop their moisture on the teeming earth.
This ordered, Caesar leads his legions on, Not armed for war, but as in time of peace Returning to his home.