Haply for this serpent land There may we long, where yet some living thing Gives consolation.

Not my native land Nor European fields I hope for now Lit by far other suns, nor Asia's plains.
But in what land, what region of the sky, Where left we Africa?
But now with frosts Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws Which rule the seasons, in this little space?
Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies And stars we tread; behind our backs the home Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance Now lies beneath our feet.

Yet for our fates This solace pray we, that on this our track Pursuing Caesar with his host may come." Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaints Disburdened.

But the bravery of their chief Forced them to bear their toils.

Upon the sand, All bare, he lies and dares at every hour Fortune to strike: he only at the fate Of each is present, flies to every call; And greatest boon of all, greater than life, Brought strength to die.