Page:The Pharsalia of Lucan; (IA cu31924026485809).pdf/71

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Book II
THE FLIGHT OF POMPEIUS
47
By Luna lost in Ocean. On the AlpsWhose spurs strike plainwards, and on fields of GaulThe cloudy heights of Apennine look downIn further distance: on his nearer slopesThe Sabine turns the ploughshare; Umbrian kineAnd Marsian fatten; with his pineclad rocksHe girds the tribes of Latium, nor leavesHesperia's soil until the waves that beatOn Scylla's cave compel. His southern spurs 490Extend to Juno's temple, and of oldStretched further than Italia, till the mainO'erstepped his limits and the lands repelled.But, when the seas were joined, Pelorus claimedHis latest summits for Sicilia's isle.Cæsar, in rage for war, rejoicing foundFoes in Italia; no bloodless stepsNor vacant homes had pleased him;[1] so his marchWere wasted: now the coming war was joinedUnbroken to the past; to force the gates 500Not find them open, fire and sword to bringUpon the harvests, not through fields unharmedTo pass his legions—this was Cæsar's joy;In peaceful guise to march, this was his shame.Italia's cities, doubtful in their choice,Though to the earliest onset of the warAbout to yield, strengthened their walls with moundsAnd deepest trench encircling: massive stonesAnd bolts of war to hurl upon the foeThey place upon the turrets. Magnus most 510The people's favour held, yet faith with fearFought in their breasts. As when, with strident blast,A southern tempest has possessed the main
  1. ↑ See the note to Book I., 164. In reality Cæsar found little resistance, and did not ravage the country.
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