"If you can threaten now,

what would you do,

Had not the horn been rooted out, that grew
Full in thy front?" A gash, of deep disgrace,
Had stained the grisly honors of his face:
Then on his country's infamous disease,
And his own face, his ribaldry displays:
Begs him the one-eyed Cyclops's part to dance,
Since he nor mask nor tragic buskins wants.
Messius replied, in virulence of strain :
"Did you to Saturn consecrate your chain?
Though you were made a scrivener since your flight,
Yet that can never hurt your lady's right.
But, prithee, wherefore did you run away?
Methinks a single pound of bread a day
Might such a sleek, thin-gutted rogue content."
And thus the jovial length of night we spent.

At our next inn our host was almost burned,
While some lean thrushes at the fire he turned.
Through his old kitchen rolls the god of fire,
And to the roof the vagrant flames aspire.
But hunger all our terrors overcame,

We fly to save our meat and quench the flame.
Apulia now my native mountains shows,

Where the north-wind burns frore, and parching blows;
Nor could we well have climbed the steepy height,

Did we not at a neighboring village bait,

Where from green wood the smouldering flames arise, And with a smoky sorrow fill our eyes.

In chariots thence at a large rate we came Eight leagues, and baited at a town, whose name Cannot in verse and measures be exprest,

But may by marks and tokens well be guessed.
Its water, nature's cheapest element,

Is bought and sold; its bread most excellent;
Which wary travellers provide with care,
And on their shoulders to Canusium bear,
Whose bread is gritty, and its wealthiest stream
Poor as the town's of unpoetic name.

Here Varius leaves us, and with tears he goes:
With equal tenderness our sorrow flows.
Onward to Rubi wearily we toiled,

The journey long, the road with rain was spoiled
To Barium, famed for fish, we reached next day,
The weather fairer, but much worse the way.
Then water-cursed Egnatia gave us joke,

And laughter great to hear the moon-struck folk
Assert, if incense on their altars lay,
Without the help of fire it melts away.
The sons of circumcision may receive

The wondrous tale, which I shall ne'er believe,
For I have better learned, in blissful ease
That the good gods enjoy immortal days,
Nor anxiously their native skies forsake,
When miracles the laws of nature break.

From thence our travels to Brundusium bend,
Where our long journey and my paper end.

Horace. Tr. Philip Francis.

Rubicon, the River.

CESAR PASSING THE RUBICON.

NOW Caesar, marching swift, with winged haste

The summits of the frozen Alps had past; The vast events and enterprises fraught, And future wars revolving in his thought, Now near the banks of Rubicon he stood; When, lo! as he surveyed the narrow flood, Amidst the dusky horrors of the night, A wondrous vision stood confest to sight. Her awful head Rome's reverend image reared, Trembling and sad the matron form appeared: A towery crown her hoary temples bound, And her torn tresses rudely hung around: Her naked arms uplifted ere she spoke, Then groaning, thus the mournful silence broke : Presumptuous men! O, whither do you run? O, whither bear ye these mine ensigns on? If friends to right, if citizens of Rome, Here to your utmost barrier are you come.' She said; and sunk within the closing shade. Astonishment and dread the chief invade. Stiff rose his starting hair; he stood dismayed, And on the bank his slackening steps were stayed. "O thou," at length he cried, "whose hand controls The forky fire, and rattling thunder rolls;

Who, from thy capitol's exalted height,

Dost o'er the widespread city cast thy sight!
Ye Phrygian gods, who guard the Julian line,
Ye mysteries of Romulus divine!

Thou Jove! to whom from young Ascanius came
Thine Alban temple and thy Latial name;
And thou, immortal, sacred Vestal Flame!
But chief, O, chiefly thou, majestic Rome,
My first, my great divinity, to whom,
Thy still successful Cæsar, am I come;
Nor do thou fear the sword's destructive rage,
With thee my arms no impious war shall wage;
On him thy hate, on him thy curse, bestow
Who would persuade thee Cæsar is thy foe;
And since to thee I consecrate my toil,

O, favor thou my cause, and on thy soldier smile!"
He said; and straight, impatient of delay,
Across the swelling flood pursued his way.
So when on sultry Libya's desert sand
The lion spies the hunter hard at hand,
Couched on the earth the doubtful savage lies,
And waits awhile till all his fury rise;
His lashing tail provokes his swelling sides,
And high upon his neck his mane with horror rides.
Then if at length the flying dart infest,

Or the broad spear invade his ample breast,
Scorning the wound he yawns a dreadful roar,
And flies like lightning on the hostile Moor.
While with hot skies the fervent summer glows,
The Rubicon an humble river flows;
Through lowly vales he cuts his winding way,
And rolls his ruddy waters to the sea.

His bank on either side a limit stands,
Between the Gallic and Ausonian lands.

But stronger now the winter torrent grows,
For wetting winds had thawed the Alpine snows,
And Cynthia, rising with a blunted beam

In the third circle, drove her watery team,
A signal sure to raise the swelling stream.
For this, to stem the rapid water's course,

First plunged amidst the flood the bolder horse;
With strength opposed against the stream they lead,
While to the smoother ford the foot with ease succeed.
The leader now had passed the torrent o'er,
And reached fair Italy's forbidden shore;
Then rearing on the hostile bank his head,

“Here, farewell, peace and injured laws," he said.
"Since faith is broke and leagues are set aside,
Henceforth thou, Goddess Fortune, art my guide;
Let fate and war the great event decide."

Lucan. Tr. Nicholas Rowe.

ONWARD

THE RUBICON.

we pass: a vein-like rivulet

Glides gushingly along, whose azure threads Disparted scarce their emptied channel wet; Here swelling to a river such as heads

The steed slow wading through its pebbled beds: Its name hath passed a household word with men, Moral for him who late or early treads

Life's fortunate path: who grasps that moment when The good or ill are offered, ne'er to come again: