Volume 4 — CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIRST.

“He spake ... and attempted to clasp the right hand of Fortuna, But ruptured the crust of the earth, deeply cloven, asunder. Then from her capricious heart Fortune made answer: ‘O father Whom Cocytus’ deepest abysses obey, if to forecast The future I may, without fear, thy petition shall prosper; For no less consuming the anger that wars in this bosom, The flame no less poignant, that burns to my marrow All favors I gave to the bulwarks of Rome, now, I hate them. My Gifts I repent! The same God who built up their dominion Shall bring down destruction upon it. In burning their manhood My heart shall delight and its blood-lust shall slake with their slaughter. Now Philippi’s field I can see strewn with dead of two battles And Thessaly’s funeral pyres and Iberia mourning. Already the clangor of arms thrills my ears, and rings loudly: Thou, Lybian Nile, I can see now thy barriers groaning And Actium’s gulf and Apollo’s darts quailing the warriors! Then, open thy thirsty dominions and summon fresh spirits; For scarce will the ferryman’s strength be sufficient to carry The souls of the dead in his skiff: ‘tis a fleet that is needed! Thou, Pallid Tisiphone, slake with wide ruin, thy thirsting And tear ghastly wounds: mangled earth sinks to hell and the spirits.’”