The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter/Chapter 122
CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND.
“But scarce had she finished, when trembled the clouds; and a gleamingBright flash of Jove’s lightning transfixed them with flame and was gone.The Lord of the Shades blanched with fear, at this bolt of his brother’s,Sank back, and drew closely together the gorge in Earth’s bosom.By auspices straightway the slaughter of men and the evilsImpending are shown by the gods. Here, the Titan unsightlyBlood red, veils his face with a twilight; on strife fratricidal Already he gazed, thou hadst thought! There, silvery CynthiaObscuring her face at the full, denied light to the outrage.The mountain crests riven by rock-slides roll thundering downwardAnd wandering rivers, to rivulets shrunk, writhed no longerFamiliar marges between. With the clangor of armorThe heavens resound; from the stars wafts the thrill of a trumpetSounding the call to arms. Ætna, now roused to eruptionUnwonted, darts flashes of flame to the clouds. Flitting phantomsAppear midst the tombs and unburied bones, gibbering menace!A comet, strange stars in its diadem, leads a processionAnd reddens the skies with its fire. Showers of blood fall from heaven:—These portents the Deity shortly fulfilled! For now CæsarForsook vacillation and, spurred by the love of revenge, sheathed The Gallic sword; brandished the brand that proclaimed civil warfare.There, high in the Alps, where the crags, by a Greek god once trodden,Slope down and permit of approach, is a spot ever sacredTo Hercules’ altar; the winter with frozen snow seals itAnd rears to the heavens a summit eternally hoary,As though the sky there had slipped down: no warmth from the sunbeams,No breath from the Springtime can soften the pile’s wintry rigorNor slacken the frost chains that bind; and its menacing shouldersThe weight of the world could sustain. With victorious legionsThese crests Cæsar trod and selected a camp. Gazing downwardsOn Italy’s plains rolling far, from the top of the mountain,He lifted both hands to the heavens, his voice rose in prayer:‘Omnipotent Jove, and thou, refuge of Saturn whose glory Was brightened by feats of my armies and crowned with my triumphs,Bear witness! Unwillingly summon I Mars to these armies,Unwillingly draw I the sword! But injustice compels me.While enemy blood dyes the Rhine and the Alps are held firmlyRepulsing a second assault of the Gauls on our city,She dubs me an outcast! And Victory makes me an exile!To triumphs three score, and defeats of the Germans, my treasonI trace! How can they fear my glory or see in my battlesA menace? But hirelings, and vile, to whom my Rome is but aStepmother! Methinks that no craven this sword arm shall hamperAnd take not a stroke in repost. On to victory, comrades,While anger seethes hot. With the sword we will seek a decision!The doom lowering down is a peril to all, and the treason. My gratitude owe I to you, not alone have I conquered!Since punishment waits by our trophies and victory meritsDisgrace, then let Chance cast the lots. Raise the standard of battle;Again take your swords. Well I know that my cause is accomplished!Amidst such armed warriors I know that I cannot be beaten.’While yet the words echoed, from heaven the bird of ApolloVouchsafed a good omen and beat with his pinions the ether.From out of the left of a gloomy grove strange voices soundedAnd flame flashed thereafter! The sun gleamed with brighter refulgenceUnwonted, his face in a halo of golden flame shining.