Thus on sluggish Po Venetians float; and on th' encircling sea (8) Are borne Britannia's nations; and when Nile Fills all the land, are Memphis' thirsty reeds Shaped into fragile boats that swim his waves.
The further bank thus gained, they haste to curve The fallen forest, and to form the arch By which imperious Sicoris shall be spanned.
Yet fearing he might rise in wrath anew, Not on the nearest marge they placed the beams, But in mid-field.

Thus the presumptuous stream They tame with chastisement, parting his flood In devious channels out; and curb his pride.
Petreius, when he saw that Caesar's fates Swept all before them, left Ilerda's steep, His trust no longer in the Roman world; And sought for strength amid those distant tribes, Who, loving death, rush in upon the foe, (9) And win their conquests at the point of sword.
But in the dawn, when Caesar saw the camp Stand empty on the hill, "To arms!" he cried: "Seek not the bridge nor ford: plunge in the stream And breast the foaming torrent." Then did hope Of coming battle find for them a way Which they had shunned in flight.
Their arms regained, Their streaming limbs they cherished till the blood Coursed in their veins; until the shadows fell Short on the sward, and day was at the height.
Then dashed the horsemen on, and held the foe 'Twixt flight and battle.

In the plain arose Two rocky heights: from each a loftier ridge Of hills ranged onwards, sheltering in their midst A hollow vale, whose deep and winding paths Were safe from warfare; which, when Caesar saw: That if Petreius held, the war must pass To lands remote by savage tribes possessed; "Speed on," he cried, "and meet their flight in front; Fierce be your frown and battle in your glance: No coward's death be theirs; but as they flee Plunge in their breasts the sword." They seize the pass And place their camp.

Short was the span between Th' opposing sentinels; with eager eyes Undimmed by space, they gazed on brothers, sons, Or friends and fathers; and within their souls They grasped the impious horror of the war.
Yet for a little while no voice was heard, For fear restrained; by waving blade alone Or gesture, spake they; but their passion grew, And broke all discipline; and soon they leaped The hostile rampart; every hand outstretched (10) Embraced the hand of foeman, palm in palm; One calls by name his neighhour, one his host, Another with his schoolmate talks again Of olden studies: he who in the camp Found not a comrade, was no son of Rome.
Wet are their arms with tears, and sobs break in Upon their kisses; each, unstained by blood, Dreads what he might have done.

Why beat thy breast?
Why, madman, weep?
The guilt is thine alone To do or to abstain.