Page:The Pharsalia of Lucan; (IA cu31924026485809).pdf/46

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PHARSALIA
Book I
None linger on the threshold for a lookOf their loved city, though perchance the last.Ye gods, who lavish priceless gifts on men,Nor care to guard them, see victorious RomeTeeming with life, chief city of the world,With ample walls that all mankind might hold,To coming Cæsar left an easy prey.The Roman soldier, when in foreign lands 570Pressed by the enemy, in narrow trenchAnd hurried mound finds guard enough to makeHis slumber safe; but thou, imperial Rome,Alone on rumour of advancing foesArt left a desert, and thy battlementsThey trust not for one night. Yet for their fearThis one excuse was left; Pompeius fled.Nor found they room for hope; for nature gaveUnerring portents of worse ills to come.The angry gods filled earth and air and sea 580With frequent prodigies; in darkest nightsStrange constellations sparkled through the gloom:The pole was all afire, and torches flewAcross the depths of heaven; with horrid hairA blazing comet stretched from east to westAnd threatened change to kingdoms. From the bluePale lightning flashed, and in the murky airThe fire took divers shapes; a lance afarWould seem to quiver or a misty torch;A noiseless thunderbolt from cloudless sky 590Rushed down, and drawing fire in northern partsPlunged on the summit of the Alban mount.The stars that run their courses in the nightShone in full daylight; and the orbed moon,Hid by the shade of earth, grew pale and wan.The sun himself, when poised in mid career,
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