Me do ye think Such as yourselves, and slow to meet the fates?
Your love for Magnus and the Senate's cause Is less than mine for death." These were his words; And dust in columns proved that Caesar came.
Thus was Pompeius' glory spared the stain Of flight compelled by Scaeva.

He, when ceased The battle, fell, no more by rage of fight, Or sight of blood out-pouring from his wounds, Roused to the combat.

Fainting there he lay Upon the shoulders of his comrades borne, Who him adoring (as though deity Dwelt in his bosom) for his matchless deeds, Plucked forth the gory shafts and took his arms To deck the gods and shield the breast of Mars.
Thrice happy thou with such a name achieved, Had but the fierce Iberian from thy sword, Or heavy shielded Teuton, or had fled The light Cantabrian: with no spoils shalt thou Adorn the Thunderer's temple, nor upraise The shout of triumph in the ways of Rome.
For all thy prowess, all thy deeds of pride Do but prepare her lord.
Nor on this hand Repulsed, Pompeius idly ceased from war, Content within his bars; but as the sea Tireless, which tempests force upon the crag That breaks it, or which gnaws a mountain side Some day to fall in ruin on itself; He sought the turrets nearest to the main, On double onset bent; nor closely kept His troops in hand, but on the spacious plain Spread forth his camp.

They joyful leave the tents And wander at their will.

Thus Padus flows In brimming flood, and foaming at his bounds, Making whole districts quake; and should the bank Fail 'neath his swollen waters, all his stream Breaks forth in swirling eddies over fields Not his before; some lands are lost, the rest Gain from his bounty.
Hardly from his tower Had Caesar seen the fire or known the fight: And coming found the rampart overthrown, The dust no longer stirred, the rains cold As from a battle done.