Here from the veins Spouted the life-blood, till the foeman's arms Were crimsoned.

One his brother slew, nor dared To spoil the corse, till severed from the neck He flung the head afar.

Another dashed Full in his father's teeth the fatal sword, By murderous frenzy striving to disprove His kinship with the slain.

Yet for each death We find no separate dirge, nor weep for men When peoples fell.

Thus, Rome, thy doom was wrought At dread Pharsalus.