MESSALA


The Fatal Sisters did this day ordain,
Reeling threads no god can rend,
Foretelling to this man should bend
The tribes of Acquitaine;
And 'neath his legions' yoke
Th' impetuous torrent Atur glide subdued.
All was accomplished as the Fates bespoke;
His triumph then ensued:
The Roman youth, exulting from afar,
Acclaimed his mighty deeds,
And watched the fettered chieftains filing by,
While, drawn by snow-white steeds,
Messala followed on his ivory car,
Laurelled and lifted high!

Not without me this glory and renown!
Let Pyrenees my boast attest!
Tarbella, little mountain-town,
Cold Ocean rolling in the utmost West,
Arar, Garonne, and rushing Rhone,
Will bear me witness due;
And valleys broad the blond Carnutes own,
By Liger darkly blue.
I saw the Cydnus flow,
Winding on in ever-tranquil mood,
And from his awful peak, in cloud and snow,
Cold Taurus o'er his wild Cilicians' brood.