Page:The Pharsalia of Lucan; (IA cu31924026485809).pdf/81
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Book II
THE FLIGHT OF POMPEIUS
57
Foretell the rising Sun, when noiseless allThey cast the vessels loose; no song was heardTo greet the anchor wrenched from stubborn sand;No captain's order, when the lofty mastWas raised, or yards were bent; a silent crewDrew down the sails which hung upon the ropes, 790Nor shook the mighty cables, lest the windShould sound upon them. But the chief, in prayer,Thus spake to Fortune: 'Thou whose high decree'Has made us exiles from Italia's shores,'Grant us at least to leave them.' Yet the fatesHardly permitted, for a murmur vastCame from the ocean, as the countless keelsFurrowed the waters, and with ceaseless splashThe parted billows rose again and fell.Then were the gates thrown wide; for with the fates 800The city turned to Cæsar: and the foe,Seizing the town, rushed onward by the pierThat circled in the harbour; then they knewWith shame and sorrow that the fleet was goneAnd held the open: and Pompeius' flightGave a poor triumph.Yet was narrower farThe channel which gave access to the seaThan that Eubœan strait[1] whose waters laveThe shore by Chalcis. Here two ships stuck fastAlone, of all the fleet; the fatal hook 810Grappled their decks and drew them to the land,And the first bloodshed of the civil warHere left a blush upon the ocean wave.As when the famous ship[2] sought Phasis' streamThe rocky gates closed in and hardly gripped