the march of spoiling Rome
Stirr'd the far German's forest-home;
And when he show'd his rods
Back to their marshy dens withdrew
The Titan-hearted Suevians blue,
That dared the immortal gods.

Him Britain from her extreme shores,
Where fierce the huge-heaved ocean roars,
Beholding, bent the knee.
Now, Pompey, now! from rushing Fate
Thy Rome redeem: but 'tis too late,
Nor lives that strength in thee.
In vain for thee State praises flow
From lofty-sounding Cicero;
Vainly Marcellus prates thy cause,
And Cato, true to parchment laws,
Protests with rigid hands:
The echo of a by-gone fame,
The shadow of a mighty name,
The far-praised Pompey stands.

Lift up thine eyes, and see! Sheer down,
From where the Alps tremendous frown,
Strides War, which Julius leads:
Eager to follow, to pursue--
Sleepless, to one high purpose true,
The prosperous soldier speeds.
He comes, all eye to scan, all hand
To do, the instinct of command;
With firm-set tread, and pointed will,
And harden'd courage, practised skill,
And anger-whetted sword:
A man to seize, and firmly hold--
To his own use a world to mould--
Rome's not unworthy lord!

The little Rubicon doth brim
Its purple tide--a check for him,
Hinted, how vainly![15] He
All bounds and marks, the world's dull wonder,
Calmly o'erleaps, and snaps asunder
All reverend ties that be!
The soldier carries in his sword
The primal right by bridge or ford
To pass. Shall kingly Caesar fall
And kiss the ground--the Senate's thrall
And boastful Pompey's drudge?
Forthwith, with one bold plunge, is pass'd
The fateful flood--"the DIE is CAST;
Let Fortune be the judge!"[16]

The day rose on Ariminum
With War's shrill cry--They come! they come!
Nor they unwelcomed came;
Pisauram, Fanum's shrine, and thou,
Ancon, with thy sea-fronting brow,
Own'd the great soldier's name.
And all Picenum's orchard-fields,
And the strong-forted Asculum yields:
And where, beyond high Apennine,
Clitumnus feeds the white, white kine;
And 'mid Pelignian hills--
Short time, with his Corfinian bands,
Stout Aenobarbus stiffly stands
Where urgent Caesar wills![17]

Flee, Pompey, flee! the ancient awe
Of magisterial rule and law,