Page:The Pharsalia of Lucan; (IA cu31924026485809).pdf/82

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PHARSALIA
Book II
Her flying stern; then from the empty seaThe cliffs rebounding to their ancient seatWere fixed to move no more. But now the stepsOf morn approaching tinged the eastern skyWith roseate hues: the Pleiades were dim, 820The wagon of the Charioteer grew pale,The planets faded, and the silvery starWhich ushers in the day, was lost in light.Thou Magnus, hold'st the deep; yet not the sameNow are thy fates, as when from every seaThy fleet triumphant swept the pirate pest.Tired of thy conquests, Fortune now no moreShall smile upon thee. With thy spouse and sons,Thy household gods, and peoples in thy train,Still great in exile, in a distant land 830Thou seek'st thy fated fall; not that the gods,Wishing to rob thee of a Roman grave,Decreed the strands of Egypt for thy tomb:'Twas Italy they spared, that far awayFortune on shores remote might hide her crime,And Roman soil be pure of Magnus' blood.
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