Gods of heaven! How do ye mark the great ones of the earth! The world gives tokens of their weal or woe; The sky records their fates: in distant climes To future races shall their tale be told, Or by the fame alone of mighty deeds Had in remembrance, or by this my care Borne through the centuries: and men shall read In hope and fear the story of the war And breathless pray, as though it were to come, For that long since accomplished; and for thee Thus far, Pompeius, shall that prayer be given.
Reflected from their arms, th' opposing sun Filled all the slope with radiance as they marched In ordered ranks to that ill-fated fight, And stood arranged for battle.

On the left Thou, Lentulus, had'st charge; two legions there, The fourth, and bravest of them all, the first: While on the right, Domitius, ever stanch, Though fates be adverse, stood: in middle line The hardy soldiers from Cilician lands, In Scipio's care; their chief in Libyan days, To-day their comrade.

By Enipeus' pools And by the rivulets, the mountain troops Of Cappadocia, and loose of rein Thy squadrons, Pontus: on the firmer ground Galatia's tetrarchs and the greater kings; And all the purple-robed, the slaves of Rome.
Numidian hordes were there from Afric shores, There Creta's host and Ituraeans found Full space to wing their arrows; there the tribes From brave Iberia clashed their shields, and there Gaul stood arrayed against her ancient foe.
Let all the nations be the victor's prize, None grace in future a triumphal car; This fight demands the slaughter of a world.
Caesar that day to send his troops for spoil Had left his tent, when on the further hill Behold! his foe descending to the plain.
The moment asked for by a thousand prayers Is come, which puts his fortune on the risk Of imminent war, to win or lose it all.
For burning with desire of kingly power His eager soul ill brooked the small delay This civil war compelled: each instant lost Robbed from his due! But when at length he knew The last great conflict come, the fight supreme, Whose prize the leadership of all the world: And felt the ruin nodding to its fall: Swiftest to strike, yet for a little space His rage for battle failed; the spirit bold To pledge itself the issue, wavered now: For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope, Though Caesar's none for fear.

Deep in his soul Such doubt was hidden, as with mien and speech That augured victory, thus the chief began: "Ye conquerors of a world, my hope in all, Prayed for so oft, the dawn of fight is come.
No more entreat the gods: with sword in hand Seize on our fates; and Caesar in your deeds This day is great or little.

This the day For which I hold since Rubicon was passed Your promise given: for this we flew to arms: (12) For this deferred the triumphs we had won, And which the foe refused: this gives you back Your homes and kindred, and the peaceful farm, Your prize for years of service in the field.
And by the fates' command this day shall prove Whose quarrel juster: for defeat is guilt To him on whom it falls.