So a storm drives a lightning-bolt through the clouds, its flare

shattering the daylight sky, with the sound of thunderous air,

with a crash of the heavens, filling the human mind with terror,

dazzling the eye with its slanting flame. Rushing to a given

quarter of the skies, nothing material prevents its course;

mighty in its descent and its retreat it spreads destruction

far and wide, before gathering its scattered energies again.

Such were the leaders’ motives; but there were those hidden causes

of the war, amongst the people, that will ever destroy powerful

nations. For, the world conquered, and fortune showering excessive

wealth on Rome, virtue yielded to riches, and those enemy spoils drew

men to luxury. They set no bounds to wealth or buildings; greed

disdained its former fare; men wore clothes scarcely decent on women;

austerity, the mother of virtue, fled; and whatever ruined other nations

was brought to Rome. Then estates were increased, until those fields

once tilled by Camillus’ iron ploughshare, or Curius’ spade, became

vast tracts tended by alien farmers. Such a people took no pleasure

in peace and tranquility, no delight in liberty free from the sword.

Thus they were quick to anger, and crime, prompted by need, was

treated lightly; it was a virtue to take up arms and hold more power

than the State, and might became the measure of right. Thence laws

and statutes of the people passed by force, thence the consuls

and tribunes alike confounding all justice; office snared by bribery,

popular support bought at auction, while corruption, year after year

perpetuating venal elections to the magistracy, destroyed the State;

thence voracious usury, interest greedily seeking payment,

trust readily broken, and multitudes profiting greatly from war.

Now, Caesar, swiftly surmounting the frozen Alps,

had set his mind on vast rebellion and future conflict.

On reaching the banks of the Rubicon’s narrow flow

that general saw a vision of his motherland in distress,

her sorrowful face showing clear in nocturnal darkness,

with the white hair streaming from her turreted head,

as with torn tresses and naked arms she stood before him

her speech broken by sobbing: ‘Where are you marching,

whither do you bear those standards, my warriors?

If you come as law-abiding citizens, here you must halt.’

Then the general’s limbs quaked, his hair stood on end,

faintness overcame him and he halted, his feet rooted

to the river-bank. But soon he spoke: ‘O, Jupiter, God

of Thunder, who gazes from the Tarpeian Rock over

the walls of the mighty city; O Trojan household gods

of the tribe of Iulus, and you, sacred relics of Quirinus;

O Jove of Latium, on Alba’s heights, and you, fires

of Vesta, and you, O Rome, equal in sanctity, favour

my enterprise; I bring no assault on you in wild warfare;

see me here, victorious by land and sea, always your

champion – now as ever, if that be possible. His