(37) There was she proving for her gods and priests Words still unknown, and framing numbered chants Of dire and novel purpose: for she feared Lest Mars might stray into another world, And spare Thessalian soil the blood ere long To flow in torrents; and she thus forbade Philippi's field, polluted with her song, Thick with her poisonous distilments sown, To let the war pass by.

Such deaths, she hopes, Soon shall be hers! the blood of all the world Shed for her use! to her it shall be given To sever from their trunks the heads of kings, Plunder the ashes of the noble dead, Italia's bravest, and in triumph add The mightiest warriors to her host of shades.
And now what spoils from Magnus' tombless corse Her hand may snatch, on which of Caesar's limbs She soon may pounce, she makes her foul forecast And eager gloats.
To whom the coward son Of Magnus thus: "Thou greatest ornament Of Haemon's daughters, in whose power it lies Or to reveal the fates, or from its course To turn the future, be it mine to know By thy sure utterance to what final end Fortune now guides the issue.

Not the least Of all the Roman host on yonder plain Am I, but Magnus' most illustrious son, Lord of the world or heir to death and doom.
The unknown affrights me: I can firmly face The certain terror.

Bid my destiny Yield to thy power the dark and hidden end, And let me fall foreknowing.

From the gods Extort the truth, or, if thou spare the gods, Force it from hell itself.