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e purple-robed, the slaves of Rome. Numidian hordes were there from Afric shores, There Creta's host and Ituraeans found Full space to wing their arrows; there the tribes From brave Iberia clashed their shields, and there Gaul stood arrayed against her ancient foe. Let all the nations be the victor's prize, None grace in future a triumphal car; This fight demands the slaughter of a world. Caesar that day to send his troops for spoil Had left his tent, when on the further hill Behold! his foe descending to the plain. The moment asked for by a thousand prayers Is come, which puts his fortune on the risk Of imminent war, to win or lose it all. For burning with desire of kingly power His eager soul ill brooked the small delay This civil war compelled: each instant lost Robbed from his due! But when at length he knew The last great conflict come, the fight supreme, Whose prize the leadership of all the world: And felt the ruin nodding to its fall: Swiftest to strike, yet for a little space His rage for battle failed; the spirit bold To pledge itself the issue, wavered now: For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope, Though Caesar's none for fear. Deep in his soul Such doubt was hidden, as with mien and speech That augured victory, thus the chief began: "Ye conquerors of a world, my hope in all, Prayed for so oft, the dawn of fight is come. No more entreat the gods: with sword in hand Seize on our fates; and Caesar in your deeds This day is great or little. This the day For which I hold since Rubicon was passed Your promise given: for this we flew to arms: (12) For this deferred the triumphs we had won, And which the foe refused: this gives you back Your homes and kindred, and the peaceful farm, Your prize for years of service in the field. And by the fates' command this day shall prove Whose quarrel juster: for defeat is guilt To him on whom it falls. If in my cause With fire and sword ye did your country wrong, Strike for acquittal! Should another judge This war, not Caesar, none were blameless found. Not for my sake this battle, but for you, To give you, soldiers, liberty and law 'Gainst all the world. Wishful myself for life Apart from public cares, and for the gown That robes the private citizen, I refuse To yield from office till the law allows Your right in all things. On my shoulders rest All blame; all power be yours. Nor deep the blood Between yourselves and conquest. Grecian schools Of
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