Book 5 Part 1 of Farsalia Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Boutros. Farsalia Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars by Lucan, 39-65 B.C. Translation by J.D. Duff. Book 5, Part 1. The Oracle, The Mutiny, The Storm. Thus had the smiles of fortune and her frowns brought either chief to Macedonian shores still equal to his foe. From cooler skies sank Atlas' daughters down and Hamas' slopes were white with winter and the day drew nigh devoted to the God who leads the months and marking with new names the Book of Rome when came the fathers from their distant posts by both the consuls to Epirus called ere yet the year was dead. A foreign land obscure received the magistrates of Rome and heard their high debate. No warlike camp this, for the consuls and the Preacherous Acts proclaimed the Senate House and Magnus sat one among many, and the State was all. When all were silent from his lofty seat thus Lentulus began, while stern and sad the fathers listened.  Be this your first decree, whose truth all peoples and all kings confess, be this the Senate. Let the frozen wane demand your presence, or the torrid zone wherein the day and night with equal tread for ever march, still follows in your steps the central power of Imperial Rome. When flamed the capital with fires of gall, when V.I. held Camillus, there with him was Rome, nor ever though it changed its climb, your order lost its rights. In Caesar's hands are sorrowing houses and deserted homes, laws silent for a space, and forums closed in public fast. His Senate House beholds those fathers only whom from Rome it drove, while Rome was full.  See ye how the gods weigh down Italia's loss by all the world thrown in the other scale. Illyria's wave rolls deep upon our foes, and Libyan waste is fallen their curio. The weightier part of Caesar's Senate. Lift your standards then, spar on your fates and prove your hopes to heaven. Let fortune smiling give you courage now as when ye fled your cause. The consul's power fails with the dying year, not so does yours by your commandment for the common-wheel decree Pompeius leader. With applause they heard his words and placed their country's fates, nor less their own, within the chieftain's hands. Then did they shower on people and on King's honors well-earned. Rhodes, mistress of the seas, was decked with gifts. Athena, old in fame, received her praise. And the rude tribes who dwell on cold Tigatus. Massilia's sons, their own focaia's freedom. On the chiefs of Thracian tribes, fit honors were bestowed. They ordered Libya, by their high decree, to serve King Juba's scepter. And alas, on Ptolemaus of a faithless race, the faithless sovereign, scandal to the gods, and shame to fortune, placed the diadem of Pella. Boy, thy sword was only sharp against thy people. Ah, if that were all. The fatal gift gave to Pompeius's life. Vereft thy sister of her sire's bequest, half of the kingdom. Caesar of a crime, then all to arms. While soldier thus and chief, in doubtful sort, against their hidden fate devised their counsel. Apius alone feared for the chances of the war and sought through Phoebus' ancient oracle to break the silence of the gods and know the end. Between the western belt and that which bounds the farthest east, midway, Parnasus rears his double summit to the Bromian god and pay in consecrate, to whom conjoined the Theban band leads up the Delphic feast on each third year. This mountain, when the sea poured or the earth herbillows, rose alone by one high peak, scarce master of the waves, parting the crest of waters from the stars. There, to avenge his mother from her home, chased by the angered goddess while as yet she bore him quick within her. Pay in came when Themus ruled the tripods and the spot, and with unpracticed darts the python slew. But when he saw how the yawning cave, a god-like knowledge breathed, and all the air was full of voices murmured from the depths, he took the shrine and filled the deep recess, henceforth to prophecy. Which of the gods has left Heaven's light in this dark cave to hide? What spirit that knows the secrets of the world and things to come here condescends to dwell, divine, omnipotent, bear the touch of man and at his bidding danes to lift the veil, perchance he sings the fates, perchance his song once sung is fate. Happily some part of Job sent here to rule the earth with mystic power, balanced upon the void immense of air, sounds through the caves, and in its flight returns to that high home of thunder whence it came. Caught in a virgin's breast this deity strikes on the human spirit. Then a voice sounds from her breast as when the lofty peak of Etna boils, forced by compelling flames, or as Typhius on Campania's shore frets near the pile of huge inner rim. Though free to all that ask, denied to none, no human passion lurks within the voice that heralds forth the god. No whispered vow, no evil prayer prevails, none favor gain of things unchangeable the song divine, yet loves the just. When men have left their homes to seek another, it hath turned their steps aright, as with the Tyrians, and raised the hearts of nations to confront their foe. As proves the waves of Salamis, when earth hath been unfruitful or polluted air has plagued mankind, this utterance benign hath raised their hopes and pointed to the end. No gift from heaven's high gods so great as this our centuries have lost, since Delphi's shrine has silenced stood and kings forbade the gods to speak the future, fearing for their fates. Nor does the priestess sorrow that the voice is heard no longer, and the silent feign to her is happiness, for whatever breast contains the deity, its shattered frame surges with frenzy, and the soul divine shakes the frail breath that with the god receives as prize or punishment on timely death. These tripods apius seeks unmoved for years these soundless caverned rocks in quest to learn Hesperia's destinies, and his command to loose the sacred gateways and permit the prophetess to enter to the god the keeper calls Femini, whose steps round the castellan fount and in the grove were wandering careless. Her he bids to pass the portals, but the priestess feared to tread the awful threshold and with vain deceits sought to dissuade the chieftain from his zeal to learn the future. What this hope she cries, Roman that moves thy breast to know the fates, long has Parnassus and its silent cleft stifled the god. Perhaps the breath divine has left its ancient gorge and through the world wanders in devious paths, or else the feign consumed to ashes by barbarian fire closed up the deep recess and choked the path of Phoebus, or the ancient Sybil's books disclosed enough of fate and thus the gods decreed to close the oracle, or else since wicked steps are banished from the feign in this our impious age, the god finds none whom he may answer. But the maiden's guile was known for though she would deny the gods, her fears approved them. On her front she binds a twisted fillet while a shining wreath of focian laurels crowns the locks that flow upon her shoulders, hesitating yet the priest compelled her and she passed within. But horror filled her of the holiest depths from which the mystic oracle proceeds and resting near the doors in breast unmoved she dares invent the god in words confused, which proved no mind possessed with fire divine by such false chant less injuring the chief than faith in Phoebus and the sacred feign. No burst of words with tremor in their tones, no voice re-echoing through the spacious vault proclaimed the deity, no bristling locks shook off the laurel chaplet. But the grove unshaken and the summits of the shrine gave proof she shunned the god. The Roman knew the tripods yet were idle and in rage wretch he exclaimed to us and to the gods. Whose presence thou pretendest, thou shalt pay for this thy fraud the punishment unless thou enter the recess and speak no more of this world war this tumult of mankind thine own inventions. Then by fear compelled at length the priestess sought the furthest steps and stayed beside the tripods and there came into her unaccustomed breast the god breathed from the living rock for centuries untouched. Nor ever with a mightier power did Payne's inspiration seize the frame of Delphic Priestess. His pervading touch drove out her former mind, expelled the man, and made her holy his. In mad entrance she whirls throughout the cave, her locks erect with horror, and the fillets of the god dashed to the ground. Her steps unguided turned to this side and to that. The tripods fall or turned within her seeds the mighty fire of angry Phoebus. Nor with whip alone he urged her onwards but with curb restrained. Nor was it given her by the god to speak all that she knew, for into one vast mass all time was gathered and her panting chest groaned neat the centuries. In order long all things lay bare the future yet unveiled struggled for light each fate required a voice. The compass of the seas, creations birth, creations death, the number of the sands all these she knew. Thus on a former day the prophetess upon the cumin shore disdaining that her frenzy should be slaved to other nations from the boundless threads chose out with pride of hand the fates of Rome. In so, feminine, for a time oppressed with fates unnumbered labored ere she found beneath such mighty destinies concealed thine apias who alone had sought the god in land, Castalian. Then from foaming lips first rushed the madness forth and murmurs loud uttered with panting breath and blunt with groans till, through the spacious vault a voice at length broke from the virgin conquered by the god. From this great struggle thou, O Roman, free escapes the threats of war. Alive in peace thou shalt possess the hollow when the coast of vast Euboea. Thus she spake, no more. Ye mystic tripods, guardians of the fates, and peyn, thou from whom no day is hid by heaven's high rulers, master of the truth, why fierce thou to reveal the deaths of kings, Rome's murdered princes, and the latest doom of her great empire tottering to its fall and all the bloodshed of that western land were yet the stars in doubt on Magnus' fate, not yet decreed, and did the gods yet shrink from that the greatest crime, or were thou dumb that fortune's sword for civil strife might wreak just vengeance, and a brutus' arm once more strike down the tyrant? From the temple doors rushed forth the prophetess in frenzy driven, not all her knowledge uttered, and her eyes still troubled by the god who reigned within, or filled with wild affright, or fired with rage, gaze on the wide expanse, still works her face convulsive, on her cheeks a crimson blush with ghastly pallor blunt, though not a fear. Her weary heart throbs ever, and as seas boom swollen by northern winds, she finds in size all in articulate relief. But while she haste from that dread light in which she saw the fates, to common day, low on her path the darkness fell. Then, by a stygian draught of the forgetful river, Phoebus snatched back from her soul his secrets, and she fell yet hardly living. Nor did apious dread approaching death, but by dark oracles baffled, while yet the empire of the world hung in the balance, sought his promised realm in Chalcus of Euboea. Yet to escape all ills of earth, the crash of war, what god can give thee such a boon but death alone? Far on the solitary shore a grave awaits thee, where Caristo's marble crags draw in the passage of the sea, and where the fane of Rhamnus rises to the gods who hate the proud, and where the ocean straight boils in swift whirlpools, and Europus draws deceitful in his tides a bane to ships, calcidian vessels to bleak all of his shore. But Caesar carried from the conquered west his eagles to another world of war, when envying his victorious course, the gods almost turned back the prosperous tide of fate, not on the battlefield borne down by arms, but in his tents, within the rampart lines, the hoped-for prize of this unholy war seemed, for a moment gone, that faithful host his comrades trusted in a hundred fields, or that the falchion sheathed had lost its charm, or weary of the mournful bugle call scarce ever silent. Or replete with blood, well nigh betrayed their general, and sold for hope of gain their honor and their cause. No other perilous shock gave sureer proof how trembled beneath his feet the dizzy height from which great Caesar looked. A moment since his high behest drew nations to the field, now maimed of all, he sees that swords once drawn are weapons for the soldier, not the chief. From the stern ranks no doubtful murmur rose, not silent anger as when one conspires. His comrades, doubting, feared himself in turn, alone, he thinks, indignant at the wrongs wrought by the despot. In so great a host dread found no place, where thousands share the guilt crime goes unpunished. Thus, from dauntless throats they hurled their menace. Caesar, give us leave to quit thy crimes, thou seekest by land and sea the sword to slay us. Let the fields of Gaul and far Iberia and the world proclaim how for thy victories our comrades fell. What boots it us that by an army's blood, the Rhine and Rhon, and all the northern lands thou hast subdued? Thou givest us civil war for all these battles, such the prize. When flood the senate trembling, and when Rome was ours, what homes or temples did we spoil? Our hands reek with offence. Aye, but our poverty proclaims our innocence. What end shall be of arms and armies? What shall be enough if Rome suffice not? And what lays beyond? Behold these silvered locks, these nerveless hands and shrunken arms once stalwart. In thy wars gone is the strength of life, gone all its pride. Dismiss thine aged soldiers to their deaths. How shameless is our prayer, not on hard turf to stretch our dying limbs, nor seek in vain. When parts the soul, a hand to close our eyes, not with the helmet strike the stony clod, rather to feel the dear one's last embrace, and gain a humble but a separate tomb. Let nature end, old age, and dost thou think we only know not what degree of crime will fetch the highest price? What thou canst dare these years have proved or nothing? Law divine, nor human ordinance shall hold thine hand. Thou worked our leader on the banks of Rhine, henceforth our equal, for the stain of crime makes all men like to like. Add that we serve a thankless chief, as fortune's gift he takes the fruits of victory our arms have won. We are his fortunes, and his fates are ours, too fashion as we will, boast that the gods shall do thy bidding. Nay, thy soldier's will shall close the war, with threatening mane and speech, thus through the camp the troops demand their chief. When faith and loyalty are fled, and hope for ought but evil, thus may civil war in mutiny and discord find its end. What general had not feared at such revolt? But mighty Caesar trusting on the throw, as was his want, his fortune and overjoyed to front their anger, raging at its height unflinching comes. No temples of the rocks, not Job's high feign on the Tarpean rock, not Rome's high dames nor maidens had he grudged to their most savage lust, that they should ask the worst his wish, and love the spoils of war, nor feared he ought save order at the hands of that unconquered host. Art thou not shamed that strike should please the only, now condemned even by thy minions? Shall they shrink from blood, they from the sword recoil, and thou rush on heedless of guilt, through right and through unright, nor learn that men may lay their arms aside yet bear to live? This civil butchery escapes thy grasp, stay thou thy crimes at length, nor force thy will on those who will no more.  This mutiny, devoid of daring deed, betrays your coward souls, betrays the youth who tires of victories which guild the arms of an unconquered chief, and yearns for flight. Well, leave me then to battle and to fate, I cast you forth, for every weapon left, fortune shall find a man to wield it well. Shall Magnus in his flight, with such a fleet draw nations in his train, and not to me as my victories bring hosts, to whom shall fall the prize of war accomplished, who shall reap your laurels scorned and scatheless join the train that leaves my chariot to the sacred hill? While you, despised in age and worn in war, gaze on our triumph from the civic crowd. Think you, your dastard flight, shall give me pause if all the rivers that now seek the sea were to withdraw their waters, it would fail by not one inch, no more than by their flow it rises now. Have then your efforts given strength to my cause. Not so, the heavenly gods stoop not so low. Fate has no time to judge your lives and deaths. The fortunes of the world follow heroic souls, for the fit few the many live. And you, who terrified with me the northern and Iberian worlds would flee when led by Magnus, strong in arms for Caesar's cause was Labenius. Now that vile deserter, with his chief preferred, wanders or land and sea, nor were your faith one whit more firm to me if neither side espoused you seized from arms. Who leaves me once, though not to fight against me with the foe joins not my ranks again. Surely the gods smile on these arms who for so great a war grant me fresh soldiers. From what heavy load fortune relieves me, for the hands which aimed at all, to which the world did not suffice I now disarm. And for myself alone reserve the conflict.  Yet some who led this mad revolt I hold not as their captain now, but as their judge. Lie, traitors, prone on earth, stretch out the neck and take the avenging blow. And thou, whose strength shall now support me, young and yet untaught, behold the doom and learn to strike and die. Such were his words of ire, and all the host drew back and trembled at the voice of him they would depose, as though their very swords would from their scabbards leap at his command themselves unwilling. But he only feared lust hand and blade to satisfy the doom might be denied, till they, submitting pledge their lives and swords alike beyond his hope, to strike and suffer holds in surest thrall the heart inured to guilt, and Caesar kept by dreadful compact, ratified in blood, those whom he feared to lose. He bids them march upon Brundusium and recalls the ships from soft, colabrious inlets and the point of Lucas and the Salopinian marsh, where sheltered Cipus nestles at the feet of rich Garganus, jutting from the shore in huge escarpment that divides the waves of Hedria. On each hand his seaward slopes, buffeted by the winds or Oster born from sweet Apulia, or the stern or blast of Boreus rushing from Dalmatian strands. But Caesar entered trembling Rome unarmed, now taught to serve him in the garb of peace, dictator named to grant their prayers for sooth, consul in honor of the role of Rome, then first of all the names by which we now lie to our masters, men found out the use for to preserve his right to wield the sword, he mixed the civil axes with his brands, with eagles, fasses, with an empty word clothing his power and stamped upon the time a worthy designation for what name could better mark the dreadfarsalian year than Caesar consul. Now the famous field pretends its ancient ceremonies calls the tribes in order and divides the votes in vain solemnity of empty urns. Nor do they heed the portents of the sky, deaf were the augurs to the thunder roll, the owl flew on the left, yet were the birds propitious sworn. Then was the ancient name degraded first, and monthly consuls, shorn of their rank, are chosen to mark the years. And Trojan Alba's god, since Latium's fall, deserving not, beheld the wanted fire's blaze from his altars on the festal night. Then through Apulia's fallows, that her hinds left all untilled, to sluggish weeds a prey past Caesar onward, swifter than the fire of heaven, or Tigris Dam, until he reached Brandusium's winding ramparts, built of old bicretan colonists. There icy winds constrained the billows, and his trembling fleet feared for the winter storms, nor dared the main. But Caesar's soul burned at the moments lost for speedy battle, nor could brook delay within the port, indignant that the sea should give safe passage to his routed foe. And thus he stirred his troops in seas unskilled, with words of courage. When the winter wind has seized on sky and ocean, firm it's hold. But the inconstancy of cloudy spring permits no certain breezes to prevail upon the billows. Straight shall be our course, no winding nooks of coast, but open seas struck by the northern wind alone we plow. And may he bend the spars, and bear us swift to Grecian cities, else pompous is oars. Smiting the billows from Faetian coasts may catch our flagging sails.  End of Book 5, Part 1 Book 5, Part 2 Farsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Butros. Farsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars by Lucan, 39 to 65. Translation by J. D. Duff. Now sank the sun to rest, the evening star shone on the darkening heaven, and the moon reigned with her paler light, when all the fleet freed from retaining cables seized the main. With slack in cheat the canvas wooed the breeze, which rose and fell and fitful died away, till motionless the sails and all the waves were still as deep as pool, where never wind ripples the surface. Thus, in Scythian Climes, Cimmerian Bosphorus restrains the deep, bound fast in frosty fetters. Easter streams no more impel the main, and ships constrained stand fast in ice. And while in depths below the waves still murmur, loud the charger's hoof sounds on the surface, and the travelling wheel furrows a track upon the frozen marsh. Cruel as tempest was the calm that lay in stagnant pools upon the mournful deep. Against the course of nature lay outstretched a rigid ocean, twas as if the sea forgot its ancient ways and knew no more the ceaseless tides, nor any breeze of heaven, nor quivered at the image of the sun, mirrored upon its wave. For while the fleet hung in mid-passage motionless, the foe might hurry to attack, with sturdy stroke churning the deep, or famine's deadly grip might seize the ships be calmed, for dangers new, new vows they find. May mighty winds arise and rouse the ocean, and this sluggish plain cast off stagnation and be sea once more. Thus did they pray, but cloudless shone the sky, unrippled slept the surface of the main, until in misty clouds the moon arose and stirred the depths, and moved the fleet along towards the Seronian headland, and the waves and favouring breezes followed on the ships, now speeding faster till their goal attained, they cast their anchors on Palestine's shore. This land first saw the chiefs in neighbouring camps confronted, which the streams of Apsis bound, and swifter Genesis, a lengthy course is run by neither, but on Apsis waves scarce flowing from a marsh, the frequent boat finds room to swim, while on the foamy bed of Genesis, by sun or shower compelled, the melted snows pour seawards. Here were met, so fortune ordered it, the mighty pair, and in its woes the world yet vainly hoped that brought to nearer touch their crime itself might bleed abhorrence. For from either camp voices were clearly heard and features seen, nor error Pompeus, since that distant day when Caesar's daughter and thy spouse were reft by pitiless fate away, nor left a pledge, did thy lovid kinsmen save on sands of Nile, so nearly look upon thy face again. But Caesar's mind, though frenzied for the fight, was forced to pause until Antonius brought the rearward troops, Antonius even now rehearsing Lucas' fight. With prayers and threats Caesar exhorts him, why delay the fates thou cause of evil to the suffering world? My speed hath won the major part, from thee fortune demands the final stroke alone. Do Libyan whirlpools with deceitful tides uncertain separate us? Is the deep untried to which I call? Two unknown risks art thou commanded? Caesar bids thee come, thou sluggard, not to leave him. Long ago I ran my ships midway through sands and shoals to harbors held by foes. And dost thou fear my friendly camp? I mourn the waste of days which fate allotted us. Upon the waves and winds I call unceasing, hold not back thy willing troops, but let them dare to see. Here gladly shall they come to join my camp, though risking shipwreck. Not in equal shares the world has fallen between us. Thou alone dost hold Italia, but Eripus, I, and all the lords of Rome, twice called and thrice Antonius lingered still. But Caesar thought to reap in full the favour of the gods, not sit supine, and knowing danger yields to whom heaven favours, he upon the waves feared by Antonius' fleets, in shallow boat embarked, and daring sought the further shore. Now gentle night had brought repose from arms, and sleep, blessed guardian of the poor man's couch, restored the weary, and the camp was still. The hour was come that called the second watch, when mighty Caesar, in the silence vast, with cautious tread advanced to such a deed as slaves should dare not. Fortune for his guide, alone he passes on, and o'er the guard stretched in repose he leaps in secret wrath at such a sleep. Pacing the winding beach, fast to a sea-worn rock he finds a boat on oceans' marge afloat. Hard by on shore its master dwelt within his humble home. No solid front it reared, for sterile rush and marshy reed and woven form the walls, propped by a shallop with its bending sides turned upwards. Caesar's hand upon the door knocks twice and thrice until the fabric shook. Amiclas, from his couch of soft seaweed arising, calls, what shipwrecked sailor seeks my humble home? Who hopes for aid from me, by fate's adverse compelled? He stirs the heap upon the hearth until a tiny spark glows in the darkness and throws wide the door. Careless of war he knew that civil strife stoops not to cottages. Oh, happy life that poverty affords! Great gift of heaven too little understood. What mansion wall, what temple of the gods would feel no fear when Caesar called for entrance? Then the chief, enlarge thine hopes and look for better things, do but my bidding, and on yonder shore place me, and thou shalt cease from one poor boat to earn thy living, and in years to come look for a rich old age, and trust thy fates to those high gods whose want it is to bless the poor with sudden plenty. So he spake, in at such time in accents of command, for how could Caesar else? Amiclas said, toward dangerous to brave the deep to night, the sun descended not in ruddy clouds or peaceful rays to rest, part of his beams presaged a southern gale, the rest proclaimed a northern tempest, and his middle orb, shorn of its strength, permitted human eyes to gaze upon his grandeur. And the moon rose not with silver horns upon the night, nor pure in middle space, her slender points not drawn aright, but blushing with the track of raging tempest, till her lurid light was sadly veiled within the clouds. Again the forest sounds, the surf upon the shore, the dolphin's mood uncertain where to play, the sea mew on the land, the heron used to wade among the shallows, born aloft and soaring on his wings, all these alarm. The raven, too, who plunged his head in spray, as if to anticipate the coming rain, and trod the margin with unsteady gait, but if the cause demands, behold me thine, either we reach the bid and shore, or else storm and the deep forbid, we can no more. Thus said he loosed the boat and raised the sail, no sooner done than stars were seen to fall, in flaming furrows from the sky. Nay, more! The pole star trembled in its place on high, black horror marked the surging of the sea, the main was boiling in long tracts of foam, uncertain of the wind yet seized with storm, then spake the captain of the trembling bark, see what remorseless ocean has in store, whether from east or west the storm may come is still uncertain, for as yet confused the billows tumble, judged by clouds and sky, a western tempest by the murmuring deep, a wild southeastern gale shall sweep the sea, nor bark nor man shall reach hisperious shore in this wild rage of waters. To return back on our course, forbidden by the gods, is our one refuge, and with laboring boat to reach the shore, ere yet the nearest land way be too distant. But great Caesar's trust was in himself to make all dangers yield, and thus he answered, scorn the threatening sea, spread out thy canvas to the raging wind, if for thy pilot thou refusest heaven, me in its stead receive. Alone in thee, one cause of terror just, thou dost not know thy comrade, near deserted by the gods, whom fortune blesses, in without a prayer, break through the middle storm and trust in me. The burden of this fight fails not on us but on the sky and ocean, and our bark shall swim the billows safe in him it bears. Nor shall the wind rage long, the boat itself shall calm the waters, flee the nearest shore, steer for the ocean with unswerving hand, then in the deep, when to our ship and us, no other port is given, believe thou hast Calabrios harbors, and dost thou not know the purpose of such havoc, fortune seeks in all this tumult of the sea and sky a boon for Caesar. Then a hurricane swooped on the boat, and tore away the sheet, the fluttering sail fell on the fragile mast and groined the joints. From all the universe co-mingled perils rush, in atlas seas first chorus lifts his head, and stirs the depths to fury, and had forced upon the rocks whole seas and oceans, but the chilly north drove back the deep that doubted which was lord. But Scythian Aquillo prevailed, whose blast tossed up the main and showed as shallow pools each deep abyss, and yet was not the sea heaped on the crags, for chorus billows met the waves of Boreus. Such seas had clashed even where the winds withdrawn. Eurus enraged, burst from the cave, and noticed black with rain, and all the winds from every part of heaven strove for their own, and thus the ocean stayed within his boundaries. No petty seas wrapped in the storm are world. The tusk and deep invades the Aegean. In Ionian gulfs sounds wandering Hadria. How long the crags which that day fell, the oceans blows had braved. What lofty peaks did vanquished earth resign, and yet on yonder coast such mighty waves took not their rise. From distant regions came those monster billows driven on their course by that great current which surrounds the world. Thus did the king of heaven, when length of years wore out the forces of his thunder, call his brothers tried into his help, what time the earth and sea one second kingdom formed, and ocean knew no limit but the sky. Now too the sea had risen to the stars in mighty mass, had not Olympus chief pressed down its waves with clouds, came not from heaven that night as others, but the murky air was dim with pallor of the realms below. The sky lay on the deep, within the clouds the waves received the rain, the lightning flash clove through the parted air, a path obscured by mist and darkness, and the heavenly vaults re-echoed to the tumult, and the frame that holds the sky was shaken. Nature feared chaos returned, as though the elements had burst their bonds, and night had come to mix the infernal shades with heaven. In such turmoil not to have perished was their only hope. Far as from Lucas point the placid main spreads to the horizon. From the billows crest they view the dashing of the infuriate sea, thence sinking to the middle trough, their mast scarce top the watery height on either hand, their sails in clouds, their keel upon the ground, for all the sea was piled into the waves and drawn from depths between laid bare the sand. The master of the boat forgot his art for fear or came. He knew not where to yield or where to meet the wave, but safety came from ocean self at war. One billow forced the vessel under, but a huger wave repelled it upwards, and she rode the storm through every blast triumphant. Not the shore of Humble Cesson, nor Thessalius Coast indented, not Ambrochius scanty ports dismay the sailors, but the giddy tops of high Saronia's cliffs. But Caesar now, thinking the peril worthy of his fates, are such the labors of the gods exclaimed, bent on my downfall have they sought me thus, here in this puny skiff in such a sea, if to the deep the glory of my fall is due, and not to war, intrepid still whatever death they send shall strike me down. Let fate cut short the deeds that I would do and hasten on the end. The past is mine, the northern nations fell beneath my sword, my dreaded name compels the foe to flee. Pompeius yields me place, the people's voice gave at my order what the wars denied, and all the titles which denote the powers known to the Roman state my name shall bear. Let none know this, but thou who hears my prayers, fortune that Caesar summoned to the shades, dictator, consul, full of honors, died ere his last prize was won. I ask no pomp of pyre or funeral, let my body lie mangled beneath the waves. I leave a name that men shall dread in ages yet to come, and all the earth shall honor. Thus he spake when low a tenth gigantic billow raised the feeble keel and where between the rocks a cleft gave safety placed it on the shore. Thus in a moment fortune kingdoms, lands, once more were Caesar's. But on his return when daylight came, he entered not the camp silent as when he parted, for his friends soon pressed around him, and with weeping eyes in accents welcome to his ears began. Wither in reckless staring has thou gone, unpitying Caesar, were these humble lives left here unguarded while thy limbs were given, unsought for to be scattered by the storm, when on thy breath so many nations hang for life and safety, and so great a world calls thee its master, to have courted death proves want of heart. Was none of all thy friends deserving held to join his fate with thine? When thou wasst tossed upon the raging deep, we lay in slumber, shame upon such sleep. And why thyself did seek Italia's shores, to where cruel such thy thought to speak the word that bad another dare the furious sea? All men must bear what chance or fate may bring, the sudden peril and the stroke of death, but shall the ruler of the world attempt the raging ocean with incessant prayers, why weary heaven? Is it indeed enough to crown the war, that fortune and the deep have cast thee on our shores? And wouldst thou use the grace of favoring deities to gain not lordship, not the empire of the world, but lucky shipwreck? Night dispersed, and soon the sun beamed on them, and the weary deep, the winds permitting, lulled its waves to rest, and when Antonia saw a breeze arise fresh from a cloudless heaven to break the sea, he loosed his ships, which by the pilot's hands and by the wind in equal order held, swept as a marching host across the main. But night unfriendly from the seamen snatched all governess of sail, parting the ships in diverse paths asunder, like as cranes, deserting frozen strimen for the streams of Nile when winter falls in casual lines of wedge-like figures first ascend the sky. But when in loftier heaven the southern breeze strikes on their pinions tense, in loose array dispersed at large, in flight irregular they wing their journey onwards. Stronger winds with day returning blew the navy on, past Liss's shelter which they vainly sought till bare to northern blasts. Niphanium's port, but safe in southern, gave the fleet repose for favouring winds came on. When Magnus knew that Caesar's troops were gathered in their strength and that the war for a quick decision called before his camp, Cornelia he resolved to send to Lesbos shore from rage of fight safe and apart. So lifting from his soul the weight that burdened it, thus lawful love, thus art thou tyrant or the mightiest mind, his spouse was the one cause why Magnus stayed nor met his fortunes, though he staked the world and all the destinies of Rome. The word he speaks not though resolved, so sweet it seemed, went on the future pondering to gain a pause from fate. But at the close of night when drowsy sleep had fled, Cornelia sought to soothe the anxious bosom of her lord and win his kisses. Then amazed she saw his cheek was tearful and with boating soul she shrank instinctive from the hidden wound, nor dared to rouse his weeping. But he spake, dearer to me than life itself, when life is happy, not at moments such as these, the day of sorrow comes too long delayed nor long enough. With Caesar at our gates with all his forces a secure retreat shall lesbos give thee. Try me not with prayers. This fatal boon I have denied myself. Thou wilt not long be absent from thy lord. Disasters hasten and things highest fall with speediest rune. Tis enough for thee to hear of Magnus Peril and thy love deceives thee with the thought that thou canst gaze unmoved on civil strife. It shames my soul on the eve of war to slumber at thy side and rise from thy dear breast when trumpets call a woeful world to misery and arms. I fear in civil war to feel no loss to Magnus. Meantime safer than a king lie hid, nor let the fortune of thy lord wail thee with all its weight. If unkind heaven our armies rout, still let my choices part survive in thee. If faded is my flight, still leave me that where to I feign would flee. Hardly at first her senses grasp the words in their full misery, then her mind amazed could scarce find utterance for the grief that pressed. Not Magnus, now is left wherewith to abrade the gods and fates of marriage. Tis not death that parts our love, nor yet the funeral pyre, nor that dread torch which marks the end of all. I share the ignoble lot of vulgar lives. My spouse rejects me. Yes, the foe is come, break we are bonds, and Julius Sire appease. Is this thy concert, Magnus, this thy faith in her fond loving heart? Can danger fright her and not thee? Long since our mutual fates hang by one chain, and dost thou bid me now, the thunderbolts of ruin, without thee? Is it well that I should die even while you pray for fortune?  Am I to live till to that distant isle some tardy rumour of thy fall may come? Add that thou feign by use wouldst give me strength to bear such sorrow and my doom. Forgive thy wife, confessing that she fears the power, and if my prayers shall bring the victory, the joyful tale shall come to me the last in that lone isle of rocks. When all are glad, my heart shall throb with anguish, and the sail which brings the message I shall see with fear. Not safe in none, for Caesar in his flight might seize me there, abandoned and alone to be his hostage. If thou place me there, the spouse of Magnus shall not all the world well know the secret Mitalene holds. This, my last prayer, if all is lost but flight, and thou shalt seek the ocean, to my shores turn not thy keel, ill-fated one, for there, there will they seek thee. Thus she spoke distraught, leaped from the couch and rushed upon her fate, no stop nor stay, she clung not to his neck, nor through her arms about him. Both forego the last caress, the last fond pledge of love, and grief rushed in unchecked upon their souls, still gazing as they part no final words could either utter, and the sweet farewell remained unspoken. This, the saddest day of all their lives, for other woes that came more gently struck on hearts inured to grief, born to the shore with failing limbs she fell and grasped the sands embracing, till at last her maidens placed her senseless in the ship. Not in such grief she left her country's shores when Caesar's host drew near, for now she leaves, though faithful to her lord, his sight in flight, and flees her spouse. All that next night she waked, then, first what means a widowed couch she knew, it's cold, it's solitude. When slumber found her eyelids and forgetfulness her soul, seeking with outstretched arms the form beloved, she grasps but air. Though tossed by restless love she leaves a place beside her as for him returning. Yet she feared Pompeus lost to her forever, but the gods ordained worse than her fears, and in the hour of woe gave her to look upon his face again. End of Book 5, Part 2. Book 6, Part 1. Farsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Butros. Farsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars. By Lucan, 39-65. Translation by J.D. Duff. Book 6, Part 1. The fight near Durrachium gave us exploits, the witch of Thasalia. Now that the chiefs with mine's intent on fight had drawn their armies near upon the hills, and all the gods beheld their chosen pair, Caesar, the Grecian town's despising, scorned to reap the glory of successful war, save at his kinsman's cost. In all his prayers he seeks that moment, fatal to the world, when shall be cast the die to win or lose, and all his fortune hang upon the throw. Thrice he drew out his troops, his eagles Thrice, demanding battle, thus to increase the woe of Latium, prompt as ever, but his foes, proof against every art, refuse to leave the rampart of their camp. Then, marching swift by hidden path between the wooded fields he seeks, and hopes to seize Durrachium's fort, but Magnus, speeding by the ocean march, first camped on Petra's slopes, a rocky hill thus by the natives named, from thence he keeps watch o'er the fortress of Corinthian birth, which by its towers alone, without a guard, was safe against a siege. No hand of man in ancient days built up her lofty wall, no hammer rang upon her massive stones, not all the works of war, nor time himself shall undermine her. Nature's hand has raised her adamantine rocks, and hedged her in with bulwarks girded by the foamy mane. And, but for one short bridge of narrow earth, Durrachium were an island. Steep and fierce, dreaded of sailors, are the cliffs that bear her walls, and tempests howling from the west, toss up the raging mane upon the roofs, and homes and temples tremble at the shock. Thirsting for battle, and with hopes inflamed, here sees her haste, with distant rampart lines seeking unseen, to co-op his foe within. Though spread in spacious camp upon the hills, with eagle eye he measures out the land, meet to be compassed, nor content with turf fit for a hasty mound. He bids his troops tear from the quarries many a giant rock, and spoils the dwellings of the Greeks, and drags their walls asunder for his own. Thus rose a mighty barrier, which no ram could burst, nor any ponderous machine of war. Mountains are cleft, and level through the hills, the work of Caesar's strides, wide yawns the moat, forts show their towers rising on the heights, and in vast circle forests are enclosed, and grows and spacious lands, and beasts of prey, as in a line of tolls, Pompeius lacked nor field nor forage in the encircled span, nor room to move his camp. Nay, rivers rose within, and ran their course and reached the sea, and Caesar wearied ere he saw the whole, and daylight failed him. Let the ancient tale attribute to the labours of the gods the walls of Ilium. Yet the fragile bricks which compass in great Babylon amaze the fleeting Parthian. Here a larger space than those great cities which Orantes swift, and Tigris stream and close, or that which boasts in eastern climes the lordly palaces fit for a serious king's, is closed by walls amid the haste and tumult of a war forced to completion. Yet this labour huge was spent in vain. So many hands had joined, or cestos with abidos, or had tamed with mighty mole the hella-spontine wave, or Corinth from the realm of Pelops king, had rent asunder, or had spared each ship her voyage round the long Malian Cape, or had done anything most hard to change the world's created surface. Here the war was prisoned, blood predestinate to flow in all the parts of earth. The host for doomed to fall in Libya, or in Thessaly was here. In such small amphitheater the tide of civil passion rose and fell. At first Pompeus knew not, so the hind who peaceful tills the mid-Sicilian fields hears not pelorus sounding to the storm. So Billow's thunder on Ratupian shores unheard by distant Caledonia's tribes. But when he saw the mighty barrier stretch or hill and valley, and enclose the land, he bade his columns leave their rocky hold and seize on posts of vantage in the plain. Thus forcing Caesar to extend his troops on wider lines, and holding for his own such space encompassed as divides from Rome arichia, sacred to that goddess chase of old Mycenae, or as Tiber holds from Rome's high ramparts to the Tuscan Sea. Unless he deviate, no bill will call commands an onset, and the darts that fly though forbidden, but the arm that flings for proof the lands at random here and there deals in pious slaughter. Weedy care compelled each leader to withhold his troops from fight. For there the weary earth of produce failed, pressed by Pompeo's steeds, whose horny hoofs rang in their gallop on the grassy fields and killed the succulents. They, strengthless, lay upon the moan expanse, nor pile of straw, brought from full barns in place of living grass, relieved their craving, shook their panting flanks, and as they wheeled, death struck his victim down. Then foul contagion filled the murky air, whose poisonous weight pressed on them in a cloud-pestiferous, as in Nessus Isle, the breath of sticks rolls upwards from the mist-clad rocks, or that fell vapor which the caves exhale from typhoon, raging in the depths below. Then die the soldiers, for the streams they drank held yet more poison than the air. The skin was dark and rigid, and the fiery plague made hard their vitals, and with pitiless toothed naud at their wasted features, while their eyes started from out their sockets, and the head drooped for sheer weariness. So the disease grew swifter in its strides till scarce was room, twixt life and death for sickness, and the pest slew as it struck its victim, and the dead thrust from the tents, such all their burial, lay blunt with the living. Yet their camp was pitched hard by the breezy sea, by which might come all nations' harvest, and the northern wind not seldom rolled the murky air away. The foe, not vexed with pestilential air, nor stagnant waters, ample range enjoyed upon the spacious uplands. Yet as though in leaguer, famine seized them for its prey. Scarce were the crops half grown, when Caesar saw how prone they seized upon the food of beasts, and stripped of leaves, the bushes and the groves, and dragged from roots unknown the doubtful herb. Thus ate they, starving, all that teeth may bite, or fire might soften, or might pass their throats dry, parched, abraded, food unknown before, nor placed on tables, while the leagued foe was blessed with plenty. When Pompeis first was pleased to break his bonds and be at large, no sudden dash he makes on sleeping foe unarmed in shade of night, his mighty soul scorns such a path to victory, twist his aim to lay the turrets low, to mark his track, but ruin spread afar, and with the sword to hew a path between his slaughtered foes, minuquious turret was the chosen spot where groves of trees and thickets gave approach safe, unbetrayed by dust. Up from the fields flashed all at once his eagles into sight, and all his trumpets blared. But ere the sword could win the battle, on the hostile ranks dread panic fell, prone, as in death they lay, where else upright they should withstand the foe, nor more availed their valor and in vain the cloud of weapons flew, with none to slay. Then blazing torches rolling, pitchy flame are hurled, and shaken nod the lofty towers and threaten ruin, and the bastions groan struck by the frequent engine, and the troops of Magnus by triumphant eagles led stride or the rampart in their front the world. Yet now that passage which not sees herself, nor thousand valiant squadrons had availed to rescue from their grasp, one man in arms steadfast till death refused them. Sceva named this hero soldier. Long he served in fight, waged against the savage on the banks of Rhone, and now Centurion made through deeds of blood. He bore the staff before the marshaled line. Prone to all wickedness, he little wrecked how valorous deeds in civil war may be greatest of crimes. And when he saw how turned his comrades from the war and sought in flight a refuge, whence he cried this impious fear unknown to Caesar's armies. Do ye turn your backs on death, and are ye not ashamed not to be found where slaughtered heroes lie? Is loyalty too weak? Yet love of fight might bid you stand. We are the chosen few through whom the foe would break. Unbought by blood this day shall not be theirs. Neath Caesar's eye, true, death would be more happy, but this boon fortune denies. At least my fall shall be praised by Pompeus. Break ye with your breasts their weapons, blunt the edges of their swords with throats unyielding. In the distant lines the dust is seen already, and the sound of tumult and of ruin finds the ear of Caesar. Strike the victory is ours, for he shall come who, while his soldiers die, shall make the fortress his. His voice called forth the courage that the trumpets failed to rouse when first they rang. His comrades mustering come to watch his deeds, and wondering at the man to test if valor thus by foes oppressed in narrow space could hope for ought but death. But Sceva, standing on the tottering bank, heaves from the brimming turret on the foe the corpses of the fallen, the ruined mass furnishing weapons to his hands with beams and ponderous stones, nay, with his body threats his enemies, with poles and stakes he thrusts the breasts advancing. When they grasp the wall, he lops the arm, rocks crush the foeman's skull, and weave the scalpus under. Fiery bolts dashed at another, set his hair aflame. Till rolls the greedy blaze about his eyes with hideous crackle. As the pile of slain rose to the summit of the wall, he sprang, swift as across the nets a hunted part above the swords appraised. Till, in midthrong of foes he stood, hemmed in by densest ranks and ramparded by war, in front and rear, wherever he struck the victor. Now his sword blunted with gore congealed no more could wound, but break the stricken limb, while every hand flung every quivering dart at him alone, nor missed their aim, for rang against his shield dart after dart unerring, and his helm in broken fragments pressed upon his brow. His vital parts were safeguarded by spears that bristled in his body. Fortune saw thus waged a novel combat, for there ward against one man an army. Why with darts madmen assail him and with slender shafts gangst which his life is proof? Or ponderous stones this warrior chief shall overwhelm, or bolts flung by the twisted thongs of mighty slings. Let steel-shod ram or catapult remove this champion of the gate. No fragile wall stands here for Caesar, blocking with its bulk Pompeius' way to freedom. Now he trusts his shield no more, lest his sinister hand idle gives life by shame and on his breast bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil and worn with onset falls upon his foe and braves alone the wounds of all the war. Thus may an elephant in afric waste oppressed by frequent darts break those that fall rebounding from his horny hide and shake those that find lodgement, while his life within lies safe, protected nor doth spear avail to reach the fount of blood. Unnumbered wounds by arrow-delt or lance thus fail to slay this single warrior. But lo, from far a Cretan archer's shaft more sure of aim than vows could hope for, strikes on Sceva's brow to light within his eye. The hero tugs intrepid, bursts the nerves and tears the shaft forth with the eyeball and, with dauntless heel, treads them to dust. Not otherwise a bear, panonian, fiercer for the wound received, maddened by dart from Libyan thong, propelled, turns circling on her wound and still pursues the weapon fleeing as she whirls around. Thus, in his rage destroyed, his shapeless face stood foul with crimson flow. Caesar's shout, glad to the sky arose, no greater joy a little blood could give them had they seen that Caesar's self was wounded. Down he pressed, deep in his soul the anguish and, with main, no longer bent on fight, submissive cried, spare me ye citizens, remove the war far hence, no weapons now can haste my death. Draw from my breast the darts, I had no more, yet raise me up to place me in the camp of Magnus, living, this your gift to him. No brave man's death my title to renown, but Caesar's flag deserted. So he spake. Unhappy Aulus thought his words were true, nor saw within his hand the pointed sword and leaping forth in haste to make his own the prisoner and his arms in middle throat received the lightning blade. By this one death rose Sceva's valor again and thus he cried such be the punishment of all who thought great Sceva vanquished. If Pompey a seeks peace from this reeking sword, lo let him lay at Caesar's feet his standards. Me do you think such as yourselves and slow to meet the fates, your love for Magnus and the Senate's cause is less than mine for death? These were his words, and dust in columns proved that Caesar came. Thus was Pompey's glory spared the stain of flight compelled by Sceva. He, when ceased the battle, fell, no more by rage of fight, or sight of blood outpouring from his wounds roused to the combat. Fainting there he lay upon the shoulders of his comrades born, who him adoring as though deity dwelt in his bosom for his matchless deeds, plucked forth the gory shafts and took his arms to deck the gods and shield the breast of Mars. Thrice happy thou with such a name achieved had but the fierce Iberian from thy sword or heavy-shielded Tutan or had fled the light Cantabrian. With no spoils shalt thou adorn the thunderous temple, nor upraise the shout of triumph in the ways of Rome, for all thy prowess, all thy deeds of pride do but prepare her Lord. Nor on this hand repulsed Pompeyus idly ceased from war, content within his bars, but as the sea tireless, which tempest force upon the crag that breaks it, or which gnaws a mountainside some day to fall in ruin on itself, he sought the turrets nearest to the main on double-onset bent, nor closely kept his troops in hand, but on the spacious plain spread forth his camp. They joyful leave the tents and wander at their will. Thus Padus flows in brimming flood and foaming at his bounds, making whole districts quake, and should the bank fail neath his swollen waters, all his stream breaks forth in swirling eddies over fields, not his before. Some lands are lost, the rest gain from his bounty. Hardly from his tower had Caesar seen the fire or known the fight, and coming found the rampart overthrown. The dust no longer stirred, the rains cold as from a battle done. The peace that reigned there and on Magnus' side, as though men slept, their victory won, aroused his angry soul. Quick he prepares so that he end their joy careless of slaughter or defeat, to rush with threatening columns on Torquatus' post, but swift as sailor by his trembling mast, warned of Cercian tempest, furls his sails, so swift Torquatus saw, and prompt to wage the war more closely, he withdrew his men within a narrower wall. Now past the trench were Caesar's companies, when from the hills Pompeius hurled his host upon their ranks shut in and hampered. Not so much or whelmed as Caesar's soldiers is the hind who dwells on Etna's slopes, when blows the southern wind, and all the mountain pours its cauldrons forth upon the veil, and huge Enceladus, writhing beneath his load, spouts o'er the plains a blazing torrent. Blinded by the dust and circled, vanquished, ere the fight they fled in cloud of terror on their rearward foe, so rushing on their fates. Thus had the war shed its last drop of blood and peace ensued, but Magnus suffered not, and held his troops back from the battle. Thou, O Rome, hath been free, happy, mistress of thy laws and rights, were Sulla here. Now shalt thou ever grieve that in his crowning crime to have met in fight a pious kinsman, Caesar's vantage lay. O tragic destiny, nor Mondus' fight, Hispania had wept, nor Libya mourned, and crimson'd Eureka, nor Nylis' stream, with blood unspeakable polluted, born a nobler course than her Egyptian kings, nor Juba, lain unburied on the sands, nor Scipio, with his blood outpoured appeased the ghosts of Carthage, nor the blameless life of Cato ended, and for Sally's name had then been blotted from the Book of Fate. But Caesar left the region where his arms had found the deities averse, and marched his shattered columns to Thessalian lands. Then to Pompeius came, whose mind was bent to follow Caesar wheresoever he fled, striving to persuade their chief to seek Ossonia, his native land, now freed from foes. Nair will I pass, he said, my country's limit, nor revisit Rome like Caesar at the head of banded hosts. Hesperia, when the war began, was mine. Mine had I chosen in our country's shrines in midmost forum of her capital to join the battle, be war from Rome I'll cross the torrid zone or those for ever frozen Scythian shores. What shall my victory rob thee of the peace I gave thee by my flight? Rather than thou shouldst feel the evils of this impious war. Let Caesar deem thee his. Thus said, his course he turned towards the rising of the sun, and following devious paths wide, made for Amethia, the land by fate for doomed to see the issue. Thessalia on that side where Titan first raises the wintry day by Ossia's rocks is prisoned in, but in the advancing year when higher in the vault his chariot rides to his Pellion that meets the morning rays, and when beside the lion's flames he drives the middle course with woody top screens his chief ardour. On the hither side Pindus receives the breezes of the west and as the evening falls brings darkness in. There too Olympus at whose foot who dwells nor fears the north nor sees the shining bear. Between these mountains hemmed in ancient time the fields were marsh. For Tempe's pass not yet was cleft to give an exit to the streams that filled the plain. But when Alcides hand smote Ossia from Olympus at a blow and Nereus wandered at the sudden flood of waters to the main, then on the shore would it had slept for ever near the deep seaborn Achilles home far Salus rose and Phyllis went sailed that ship of old whose keel first touched upon the beach of Troy and Dorian mournful for the muses ire on Thamiris vanquished. Trachis meleib, strong in the shafts of Hercules the price of that most awful torch, Larissus hold potent of yore and Argos famous erst or which men pass the plowshare and the spot fabled as Econian Thebes of a boar in exile to the pyre grieving to us all she had the head and neck of Pentheus massacred the lake set free flowed forth in many rivers to the west Aeus a gentle stream nor stronger flows the sire of Isis ravaged from his arms and Achilles rival for the hand of Onius daughter rolls his earthly flood to silt or beside the neighboring aisles Aevanus purpled by the Centaur's blood wanders through Caledon in the Malian gulf thy rapids fall, Sparchius pure the wave with which Amphrisos irrigates the meads where once Apollo served and Norris flows breathing no vapor forth nor humid air ripples his face and whatever stream nameless itself to ocean gives its waves through thee Penius world in Eddie's foams Epidanus Anapius lingers on swift only when fresh streams his volumes swell and thus Asipus takes his ordered course Phenix and Melus but Eurotus keeps his stream aloft from that with which he flows Penius gliding on his top as though upon the channel Fable says that sprung from darkest pools of sticks with common floods he scorns to mingle mindful of his source so that the gods above may fear him still Soon as we're sped the rivers Bobaean plows dark with its riches broke the virgin soil then came Lelegians to press the share and Dolepes and sons of Eurus by whom the lead was furrowed steed-renowned magnitians dwelt there and the Minion race who smote the sounding billows with the oar there in the cavern from the pregnant cloud Ixian's sons found birth the Centaur brood half beast half human Monica's who broke the stubborn rocks of Folo Rotus fears hurling from Etta's top storms which northern storms could hardly overturn Folas, Alcides host Nesas who bore the queen across evenness waves to feel the deadly arrow for his shameful deed and Aegea Chiron who with wintry star against the huger scorpion draws his bow here sparkled on the land the warrior's seed here leaped the charger from Ion rocks struck by the trident of the ocean king omen of dreadful war here first he learned champing the bit and foaming at the curb yet to obey his lord from Yonder shore the keel of pine first floated and bore men to dare the perilous chance of seas unknown and here Ionus ruler of the land first from the furnace molten masses drew of iron and brass here first the hammer fell to weld them shapeless here in glowing stream ran silver forth and gold soon to receive the minting stamp twas thus that money came whereby men count their riches cause accursed of warfare hence came down that python huge on syrah hence the laurel wreath which crowns the pithy and victor here a lois sons gigantic rose against the gods what time pelion had almost touched the stars supreme and osse's loftier peak amid the sky opposing barred the constellation's way end of book six part one book six part two farsalia dramatic episodes of the civil wars by luken this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libravox.org recording by rita butros farsalia dramatic episodes of the civil wars by luken translation by jd duff book six part two the fight near diracium gave us exploits the witch of this alia when in this faded land the chiefs had placed their several camps foreboding of the end now fast approaching all men's thoughts were turned upon the final issue of the war and as the hour drew near the coward minds trembling beneath the shadow of the fate now hanging on them deemed disaster near while some took heart and shouted what might fall in hope and fear alternate mid the throng sextas unworthy son of worthy sire who soon upon the waves that sila guards sicilian pirate exiled from his home stained by his deeds of shame the fights he won could bear delay no more his feeble soul sick of uncertain fate by fear compelled forecast the future yet consulted not the shrine of delos nor the pithien caves nor was he satisfied to learn the sound of jove's brass cauldron mid dodona's oaks by her primeval fruits the nurse of men nor sought he sages who by flight of birds or watching with assyrian care the stars and fires of heaven or by victims slain may know the fates to come nor any source lawful though secret for to him was known that which excites the hate of gods above magician's lore the savage creed of dis and all the shades and sad with gloomy rites mysterious altars for his frenzied soul heaven knew too little and the spot itself kindled his madness for hard by there dwelt the brood of haymen the storied witch of fiction air transcended all their art in things most strange and most incredible there were the salian rocks with deadly herbs thick planted sensible to magic chants funerial secret and the land was full of violence to the gods the queenly guest from cultures gathered here the fatal roots that were not in her store hence vain to heaven arise impious incantations all unheard for death the ears divine save for one voice which penetrates the furthest depth of airs compelling the unwilling deities to harken to its accents not the care of the revolving sky or starry pole can call them from it ever once the sound of those dread tones unspeakable has reached the constellations then nor Babylon nor secret Memphis though they open wide the shrines of ancient magic and entreat the gods could draw them from the fires that smoke upon the altars of far Thessaly to hearts of Flint those incantations bring love strange unnatural the old man's breast burns with illicit fire nor lies the power in harmful cup nor in the juicy pledge eternal from the forehead drawn charmed forth by spells alone the mind decays by poisonous drugs unharmed with woven threads crossed in mysterious fashion do they bind those whom no passion born of beauteous form or loving couch unites all things on earth change at their bidding night usurps the day the heavens disobey their wanted laws and them the universe stands still and jove while urging the revolving wheels wonders they move not torrents are outpoured beneath a burning sun and thunder roars uncaused by Jupiter from their flowing locks vapors immense shall issue at their call when falls the tempest seas shall rise and foam moved by their spell though powerless the breeze ships against the wind with bellying sails move onward from the rock hangs motionless the torrent rivers run uphill the summer heat no longer swells nile in his course meander's stream is straight slow ron is quickened by the rush of seon hills dip their heads and topple to the plain Olympus sees his clouds drift overhead and the sythios sempitonal snows melt in midwinter the inflowing tides driven onward by the moon at that dread chant ebb from their course earth's axes else unmoved have trembled and the force centripetal has tottered and the earth's compacted frame struck by their voice has gaped till birds and savage fear them yet with deadly aid furnish the witches arts tigers a thirst for blood and noble lions on them fawn with bland caresses serpents at their word uncoil their circles and extended glide along the surface of the frosty field the vipers severed body joins anew and dies the snake by human venom slain whence comes this labor on the gods compelled to hearken to the magic chant and spells nor daring to despise them doth some bond control the deities is their pleasure so or must they listen and have silent threats prevailed or piety unseen received so great a girdon against all the gods is this their influence or on one alone who to his will constrains the universe himself constrained stars most in yonder climb shoot headlong from the zenith and the moon gliding serene upon her nightly course is shorn of luster by their poisonous chant dimmed by dark earthly fires as though our orb shadowed her brother's radiance and barred the light bestowed by heaven nor freshly shines until descending nearer to the earth she sheds her baneful drops upon the mead these sinful rites and these her sister's songs abhorred Eric though fiercest of the race spurned for their piety and yet vile art practiced in novel form to her no home beneath the sheltering roof her direful head thus to lay down were crime deserted tombs her dwelling place from which darling of hell she dragged the dead nor life nor gods for bad but that she knew the secret homes of sticks and learned to hear the whispered voice of ghosts at dread mysterious meetings never sun shed his pure light upon that haggard cheek pale with the pallor of the shades nor looked upon those locks unkempt that crowned her brow in starless nights of tempest crept the hag out from her tomb to seize the leaven bolt treading the harvest with a cursed foot she burned the fruitful growth and with her breath poisoned the air else pure no prayer she breathed nor supplication to the gods for help nor knew the pulse of entrails as do men who worship funeral pyres she loves too light and snatch the incense from the flaming tomb the gods at her first utterance grant her prayer for things unlawful lest they hear again its fearful accents men whose limbs were quick with vital power she thrust within the grave despite the fates who owned them years to come the funeral reversed brought from the tomb those who were dead no longer and the pyre yields to her shameless clutch still smoking dust and bones and kindled and the torch which held some grieving sire but now with fragments mixed in sable smoke and ceremonial cloths singed with the redolent fire that burned the dead but those who lie within a stony cell untouched by fire whose dried and mummified frames no longer no corruption limb by limb venting her rage she tears the bloodless eyes drags from their cavities and mauls the nail upon the withered hand she gnaws the noose by which some wretch has died and from the tree drags down a pendant corpse its members torn asunder to the winds fourth from the palms wrenches the iron and from the unbending bond hangs by her teeth and with her hands collects the slimy gore which drips upon the limbs where lay a corpse upon the naked earth on ravining birds and beasts of prey the hag kept watch nor marred by knife or hand her spoil till on his victim seized some nightly wolf then dragged the morsel from his thirsty fangs nor fears she murder if her rights demand blood from the living or some banquet fell requires the panting and trail pregnant wombs yield to her knife often to be placed on flaming altars and whenever she needs some fierce undaunted ghost he fails not her who has all deaths in use her hand has chased from smiling cheeks the rosy bloom of life and with sinister hand from dying youth has shorn the fatal lock and holding off in foul embraces some departed friend sever the head and through the ghastly lips held by her own apart some impious tale dark with mysterious horror hath conveyed down to the Stygian shades when rumor brought her name to Sextus in the depth of night while Titans chariot beneath our earth wheeled on his middle course he took his way through fields deserted while a faithful band his wanted ministers and deeds of guilt seeking the hag mid broken sepulchres beheld her seated on the crags afar where Hamas falls towards Pharsalia's plain there was she proving for her gods and priests words still unknown and framing numbered chance of dire and novel purpose for she feared lest Mars might stray into another world and spare Thessalian soil the blood air long to flow in torrents thus for bad Philippi's field polluted with her song thick with her poisonous distillment sown to let the war pass by such deaths she hopes soon shall be hers the blood of all the world shed for her use to her it shall be given to sever from their trunks the heads of kings plunder the ashes of the noble dead Italia's bravest triumph add the mightiest warriors to her host of shades and now what spoils from Magnus' tombless course her hand may snatch on which of Caesar's limbs she soon may pounce she makes her foul forecast and eager gloats to whom the coward son of Magnus thus thou greatest ornament of Hamas daughters in whose power it lies or to reveal the fates or from its course to turn the future be it mine to know by thy sure utterance to what final end fortune now guides the issue not the least of all the Roman host on yonder plain am I but Magnus most illustrious son lord of the world or heir to death and doom the unknown affrites me I can firmly face the certain terror bid my destiny yield to thy power the dark and hidden end and let me fall for knowing from the gods extort the truth or if thou spare the gods force it from hell itself fling back the gates that bar the Elysian fields let death confess whom from our ranks he seeks no humble task I bring but worthy of a rickthos skill of such a struggle fought for such a prize to search and tell the issue then the witch pleased that her impious fame was noise abroad thus made her answer if some lesser fates thy wish had been to change against their wish it had been easy to compel the gods to its accomplishment my art has power when of one man the constellations press the speedy death to compass a delay and mine it is though it is a ripe old age by mystic herbs to shear the life midway but should some purpose set from the beginning of the universe and all the laboring fortunes of mankind be brought in question then Thessalian art bows to the power supreme but if thou be content to know the issue preordained thou shall be swiftly thine for earth and air and sea and space and crags shall speak the future yet it easiest seems where death in these Thessalian fields abounds to raise a single corpse from dead men's lips scarce cold in fuller accents falls the voice not from some mummied flame in accents shrill uncertain to the ear thus spake the hag and through we doubled night a squalid veil swathing features stole among unburied carcasses fast fled the wolves the carrion birds with maw unsatisfied relaxed their talons as with creeping steps she sought her prophet firm must be the flesh as yet though cold in death and firm the lungs untouched by wound now in the balance hung the fates of slain unnumbered had she striven armies to raise to life whole ranks of warriors the laws had failed of arabus and summoned up from sticks its ghostly tenants had obeyed her call and rising fought once more at length the witch picks out her victim with pierce throat a gape fit for her purpose gripped by pitiless hook or rocks she drags him to the mountain cave accursed by her fel rights that shall store the dead man's life close to the hidden brink the land that guards the precipice of hell sinks towards the depths with ever falling leaves a wood or shadows and a spreading you cast shade impenetrable foul decay fills all the space and in the deep recess darkness unbroken save by chanted spells reigns ever not where gape the misty jaws caverns tanneris the gloomy bound of either world through which the nether kings permit the passage of the dead to earth so poisonous mephitic hangs the air nay though the witch had power to call the shades forth from the depths t'was doubtful if the cave were not a part of hell discordant hues flamed on her garb as by a fury warn bear was her visage upon her brow dread vipers hissed beneath her streaming locks in sable coils entwined but when she saw the youth's companions trembling and himself with eyes cast down with visage as of death thus spake the witch forbid your craven souls these fears to cherish soon returning life this frame shall quicken and in tones which reach even the flame if I have power the stygian lakes to show the bank that sounds with fire the fury band and giants lettered and the hound that shakes bristling with heads of snakes his triple head what fear is this that cringes at the sight of timid shivering shades then to her prayer first through his gaping bosom blood she pours still fervent washing from the moon's the gore then copious poisons from the moon distils mixed with all monstrous things which natures pangs bring to untimely birth the froth from dogs stricken with madness foaming at the stream a lynx's entrails and the knot that grows upon the fell hyena flesh of stags fed upon serpents and the sucking fish which hold the vessel back the eastern winds make bend the canvas dragons eyes and stones that sound beneath the brooding eagles wings nor arabes viper nor the ocean snake who in the red sea waters guards the shell are wanting nor the slaw on libyan sands by horned reptile cast nor ashes fell snatched from an altar where the phoenix died her self has made she adds where to no name is given pastiferous leaves pregnant with magic chants and blades of grass which in their primal growth her cursed mouth had slimed last came her voice more potent than all herbs to charm the gods who rule in lefay dissonant murmurs first and sounds discordant from the tongues of men she utters the scarce articulate the bay of wolves and barking as of dogs were mixed with that fell chant the screech of nightly owl raising her horse complaint the howl of beast and sibilant hiss of snake all these were there and more the waft of waters on the rock the sound of forests and the thunderpeel such was her voice but soon in clearer tones reaching to Tartarus raised her song the awful goddesses avenging power of hell upon the damned and chaos huge who strives to mix innumerable worlds and Pluto king of earth whose weary soul grieves at his godhead sticks and planes of bliss we may not enter and thou proserpin hating thy mother and the skies above my patron goddess last and lowest form peckate through whom the shades and I hold silent converse warder of the gate who cast this human awful to the dog ye sisters who shall spin the threads again and thou old boatman of the burning wave now wearied of the shades from hell to me returning hear me if with voice I cry abhorred polluted if the flesh of man hath near been absent from my proffered song flesh washed with brains still quivering if the child who severed head I placed upon the dish but for this hand had lived a listening ear lend to my supplication from the caves hid in the innermost recess of hell I claim no soul long banished from the light for one but now departed lingering still upon the brink of orcus is my prayer grant for ye may that listening to the spell ye seek his dust and let the shade of this our soldier perished if the war well at your hands has merited proclaim the destiny of Magnus to his son such prayers she uttered then her foaming lips and head uplifting present saw the ghost hard by he stood beside the hated corpse his ancient prison and loath to enter in there was the yawning chest his death and yet the gift supreme of death his right a wretch was reft away angered at death the witch and at the pause conceded by the fates with living snake scourges the moveless course and on the dead she barks through fissures gaping to her song breaking the silence of their gloomy home Tissiphone Megera he did not flies not this wretched soul before your whips the void of Erebus by your very names she dogs of hell I'll call you to the day not to return through sepulchres and death your gailer from funeral urns and tombs I'll chase you forth and thou to heckate who to the gods in comely shape and main not that of Erebus appears henceforth wasted and pallid as thou art in hell at my command shalt come I'll noise abroad the banquet that beneath the solid earth holds thee thou made of enna by what bond thou lovest night's king by what mysterious stain infected so that Ceres fears from hell to call her daughter and for thee base king titan shall pierce thy caverns with his rays and sudden day shall smite thee de here or shall I summon to mine aid that god at whose dread name earth trembles and look unflinching on the gorgon's head and drive the furies with his scourge who holds the depths ye cannot fathom and above whose haunts ye dwells supernal who by waves of sticks for swears himself unpunished then the blood grew warm and liquid and with softening touch cherished the stiffened wounds and filled the veins till throbbed once more the slow returning pulse and every fiber trembled as with death life was commingled then not limb by limb with toil and strain but rising at a bound leaped from the earth erect the living man fierce glared his eyes uncovered and the life was dim and still upon his face remained the pallid hues of hardly parted death amazement seized upon him to the earth brought back again but from his lips tight drawn no murmur issued he had power alone when questioned to reply speak quote the hag as I shall bid thee great shall be thy gain if but thou answer is truly freed for I from all hemonian art such burial place shall now be thine and on thy funeral pyre such fatal woods shall burn such chant shall sound that to thy ghost no more or magic song or spell shall reach and thy lethians sleep shall never more be broken in a death from me received anew for such reward think not this second life and forced in vain obscure may be the answers of the gods by priestess spoken at the holy shrine but whose braves the oracles of death in search of truth should gain a sure response then speak I pray thee let the hidden fates tell through thy voice the mysteries to come thus spake she and her words by mystic force gave him his answer but with gloomy main and tears swift flowing thus he made reply called from the margin of the silent stream I saw no fateful sisters spin the threads yet know I this that mid the roman shades reigns fiercest discord and this impious war destroys the peace that ruled the fields of death elisian meads and deep of tartarus in paths diverse the roman chieftains leave and thus disclose the fates the blissful ghost bear visages of sorrow sire and son the desii who gave themselves to death in expiation of their country's doom and great camillus wept and solace shade complained of fortune sipio bewailed the scion of his race about to fall in sands of libya cato greatest foe to carthage grieves for that indignant soul which shall disdain to serve brutus alone in all the happy ranks I smiling saw first console when the kings were thrust from Rome the chains were fallen from boastful cateleen him too I and the pair of mariai and sethages naked arm the drussey heroes of the people in laws immoderate and the famous pair of greatly daring brothers guilty bands by bars eternal shut within the doors that close the prison of hell applaud the fates claiming the plains elisian and the king throws wide his pallid halls makes hard rocks and forges iron chains the victor's punishment but take with thee this comfort youth that there a calm abode and peaceful waits thy father and his house nor let the glory of a little span disturb thy boating heart the hour shall come when all the chiefs shall meet shrink not from death but glowing in the greatness of your souls in from your humble sepulchres descend beneath your feet in pride of place the wandering phantoms of the gods of Rome which of the chiefs by tibers yellow stream and which by Nile shall rest the leaders fate this fight decides no more nor seek to know from me thy fortunes for the fates and time shall give thee all thy do and thy great sire a sureer prophet in Sicilian fields shall speak thy future to me even he what regions of the world thou shouldst avoid and what should seek oh miserable race Europe and Asia and Libya's planes which saw your conquests now shall hold alike your burial place nor has the earth for you a happier land than this his task performed he stands in mournful guise with silent look asking for death again yet could not die till the herb and magic chant prevailed for nature's law once used had power no more to slay the corpse and set the spirit free with plenty as would she builds the funeral pyre to which the dead man comes then as the flames seized on his form outstretched the youth and which together sought the camp and as the dawn now streak the heavens by the hags command the day was stayed till sex reached his tent and mist and darkness veiled his safe return end of book six part two


Badrachalam Ramadas Garo is a poet saint from seventeenth century, a devotee par excellence. He composed hundreds of songs which are sung even today. It actually accounts to the main body of compositions for karnataka music. When he sang, it was an outpouring of all his emotions. This is the dimension of devotion, where devotion is not just about sweetness of love, but everything. His anger, his fear, his anxiety, his struggles, his love, his passion, everything was devoted to Rama. Because this is what a devotee means. A devotee is using the objective devotion as a means to dissolve into it. This is a technology of obliterating yourself. Badrachalam Ramadas is doing this in a very passionate and fantastic way. And he's been an inspiration for generations and still is and will continue to be. On this Ram Navami Day, please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike, but profound. Please listen to some of his compositions, very sweet, childlike.