Page:The Pharsalia of Lucan; (IA cu31924026485809).pdf/111
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
Book III
MASSILIA
87
Phocæan youths to emulate his fame.Oft stumbling o'er the benches the old man hastesTo reach his boy, and finds him breathing still.No tear bedewed his cheek, nor on his breastOne blow he struck, but o'er his eyes there fellA dark impenetrable veil of mistThat blotted out the day; nor could he moreDiscern his luckless Argus. He, who saw 810His parent, raising up his drooping headWith parted lips and silent features asksA father's latest kiss, a father's handTo close his dying eyes. But soon his sire,Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless griefPossessed his spirit, "This short space," he cried,'I lose not, which the cruel gods have given,'But die before thee. Grant thy sorrowing sire'Forgiveness that he fled thy last embrace.'Not yet has passed thy life blood from the wound 820'Nor yet is death upon thee—still thou may'st[1]'Outlive thy parent.' Thus he spake, and seizedThe reeking sword and drave it to the hilt,Then plunged into the deep, with headlong bound,To anticipate his son: for this he fearedA single form of death should not suffice.Now gave the fates their judgment, and in doubtNo longer was the war: the Grecian fleetIn most part sunk;—some ships by Romans oaredConveyed the victors home: in headlong flight 830Some sought the yards for shelter. On the strandWhat tears of parents for their offspring slain,How wept the mothers! 'Mid the pile confusedOfttimes the wife sought madly for her spouse
- ↑ It was regarded as the greatest of misfortunes if a child died before his parent.