CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND.

CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND.

 “But scarce had she finished, when trembled the clouds; and a
 gleaming

 Bright 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 evils

 Impending are shown by the gods.   Here, the Titan unsightly

 Blood red, veils his face with a twilight; on strife fratricidal

 Already he gazed, thou hadst thought!  There, silvery Cynthia

 Obscuring her face at the full, denied light to the outrage.

 The mountain crests riven by rock-slides roll thundering downward

 And wandering rivers, to rivulets shrunk, writhed no longer

 Familiar marges between.  With the clangor of armor

 The heavens resound; from the stars wafts the thrill of a trumpet

 Sounding the call to arms.  AEtna, now roused to eruption

 Unwonted, darts flashes of flame to the clouds.  Flitting phantoms

 Appear midst the tombs and unburied bones, gibbering menace

 A comet, strange stars in its diadem, leads a procession

 And reddens the skies with its fire.  Showers of blood fall from
 heaven

 These portents the Deity shortly fulfilled!  For now Caesar

 Forsook 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 sacred

 To Hercules’ altar; the winter with frozen snow seals it

 And 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 rigor

 Nor slacken the frost chains that bind; and its menacing shoulders

 The weight of the world could sustain.  With victorious legions

 These crests Caesar trod and selected a camp.  Gazing downwards

 On 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 firmly

 Repulsing 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 treason

 I trace!  How can they fear my glory or see in my battles

 A menace?  But hirelings, and vile, to whom my Rome is but a

 Stepmother!  Methinks that no craven this sword arm shall hamper

 And 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 merits

 Disgrace, 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 Apollo

 Vouchsafed a good omen and beat with his pinions the ether.

 From out of the left of a gloomy grove strange voices sounded

 And flame flashed thereafter!  The sun gleamed with brighter
 refulgence

 Unwonted, his face in a halo of golden flame shining.”