Haste and do! Such were his prayer -- no other punishment Befits the conquered.

Yet let him ere his end See mine, Cornelia's.

On me the blame Of all these wars, who sole of Roman wives Followed my spouse afield nor feared the fates; And in disaster, when the kings refused, Received and cherished him.

Did I deserve Thus to be left of thee, and didst thou seek To spare me?
And when rushing on thine end Was I to live?
Without the monarch's help Death shall be mine, either by headlong leap Beneath the waters; or some sailor's hand Shall bind around this neck the fatal cord; Or else some comrade, worthy of his chief, Drive to my heart his blade for Magnus' sake, And claim the service done to Ceasar's arms.
What! does your cruelty withhold my fate?
Ah! still he lives, nor is it mine as yet To win this freedom; they forbid me death, Kept for the victor's triumph." Thus she spake, While friendly hands upheld her fainting form; And sped the trembling vessel from the shore.
Men say that Magnus, when the deadly blows Fell thick upon him, lost nor form divine, Nor venerated mien; and as they gazed Upon his lacerated head they marked Still on his features anger with the gods.
Nor death could change his visage -- for in act Of striking, fierce Septimius' murderous hand (Thus making worse his crime) severed the folds That swathed the face, and seized the noble head And drooping neck ere yet was fled the life: Then placed upon the bench; and with his blade Slow at its hideous task, and blows unskilled Hacked through the flesh and brake the knotted bone: For yet man had not learned by swoop of sword Deftly to lop the neck.

Achillas claimed The gory head dissevered.