No conflict hand to hand Was granted them, by lances thrown from far And sidelong sword-thrusts slain: nor wounds alone, But clouds of weapons falling from the air By weight of iron o'erwhelmed them.

Still drew in The straightening circle, for the first pressed back On those behind; did any shun the foe, Seeking the inner safety of the ring, He needs must perish by his comrades' swords.
And as the front rank fell, still narrower grew The close crushed phalanx, till to raise their swords Space was denied.

Still close and closer forced The armed breasts against each other driven Pressed out the life.

Thus not upon a scene Such as their fortune promised, gazed the foe.
No tide of blood was there to glut their eyes, No members lopped asunder, though the earth so Was piled with corpses; for each Roman stood In death upright against his comrade dead.
Let cruel Carthage rouse her hated ghosts By this fell offering; let the Punic shades, And bloody Hannibal, from this defeat Receive atonement: yet 'twas shame, ye gods, That Libya gained not for herself the day; And that our Romans on that field should die To save Pompeius and the Senate's cause.
Now was the dust laid low by streams of blood, And Curio, knowing that his host was slain.
Chose not to live; and, as a brave man should.
He rushed upon the heap, and fighting fell.
In vain with turbid speech hast thou profaned The pulpit of the forum: waved in vain From that proud (26) citadel the tribune flag: And armed the people, and the Senate's rights Betraying, hast compelled this impious war Betwixt the rival kinsmen.

Low thou liest Before Pharsalus' fight, and from thine eyes Is hid the war.