M. Annaeus Lucanus, Pharsalia (ed. Sir Edward Ridley)
Editions and translations: Latin (ed. Carolus Hermannus Weise) | English (ed. Sir Edward Ridley)
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Between the western belt and that which bounds1 The furthest east, midway Parnassus rears His double summit:2 to the Bromian god And Paean consecrate, to whom conjoined The Theban band leads up the Delphic feast On each third year. This mountain, when the sea Poured o'er the earth her billows, rose alone, By loftiest peak scarce master of the waves, Parting the crest of waters from the stars. There, to avenge his mother, from her home Chased by the angered goddess while as yet She bore him quick within her, Paean came (When Themis ruled the tripods and the spot)3 And with unpractised darts the Python slew. But when he saw how from the yawning cave A godlike knowledge breathed, and all the air Was full of voices murmured from the depths, He took the shrine and filled the deep recess; Henceforth a prophet. Which of all the gods Has left heaven's light in this dark cave to hide? What spirit that knows the secrets of the world And things to come, here condescends to dwell, Divine, omnipotent? bear the touch of man, And at his bidding deigns to lift the veil? Perchance he sings the fates; perchance his song, Once sung, is fate. Haply some part of Jove Sent here to rule the earth with mystic power, Balanced upon the void immense of air, Sounds through the caves, and in its flight returns To that high home of thunder whence it came. Caught in a virgin's breast, this deity Strikes on the human spirit: then a voice Sounds from her breast, as when the lofty peak Of Etna boils, forced by compelling flames, Or as Typheus on Campania's shore Frets 'neath the pile of huge Inarime.4 Though free to all that ask, denied to none, No human passion lurks within the voice That heralds forth the god; no whispered vow, No evil prayer prevails; none favour gain: Of things unchangeable the song divine; Yet loves the just. When men have left their homes To seek another, it has turned their steps Aright, as with the Tyrians;5 and raised The hearts of men to war, as prove the waves Of Salamis:6 when earth refused her fruits Or plague has filled the air, this voice benign Has given fresh hope and pointed to the end. No gift from heaven's high gods so great as this Our centuries have lost, since Delphi's shrine Has silent stood, and kings forbade the gods7 To speak the future, fearing for their fates. Nor does the priestess sorrow that the voice Is heard no longer; and the silent fane To her is happiness; for whatever breast Contains the deity, its shattered frame Surges with frenzy, and the soul divine Shakes the frail breath that with the god receives, As prize or punishment, untimely death. These tripods Appius seeks, unmoved for years, These soundless caverned rocks, in quest to learn Hesperia's destinies. At his command To loose the sacred gateways and permit The prophetess to enter to the god, The keeper calls Phemonoe;8 whose steps Round the Castalian fount and in the grove Were wandering careless; her he bids to pass The portals. But the priestess feared to tread The awful threshold, and with vain deceits Sought to dissuade the chieftain from his zeal To learn the future. ' What this hope,' she cried, Roman, that moves thy breast to know the fates? 'Long has Parnassus and its silent cleft 'Stifled the god; perhaps the breath divine 'Has left its ancient gorge and through the world 'Wanders in devious paths; or else the fane, 'Consumed to ashes by barbarian 9 fire, 'Closed up the deep recess and choked the path 'Of Phoebus; or the ancient Sibyl's books 'Disclosed enough of fate, and thus the gods 'Decreed to close the oracle; or else 'Since wicked steps are banished from the fane, 'In this our impious age the god finds none 'Whom he may answer.' But the maiden's guile Was known, for though she would deny the gods Her fears approved them. On her front she binds A twisted fillet, while a shining wreath Of Phocian laurels crowns the locks that flow Upon her shoulders. Hesitating yet, The priest compelled her, and she passed within. But horror filled her of the holiest depths From which the mystic oracle proceeds; And resting near the doors, in breast unmoved She dares invent the god in words confused, Which proved no mind possessed with fire divine; By such false chant less injuring the chief Than faith in Phoebus and the sacred fane. No burst of words with tremor in their tones, No voice re-echoing through the spacious vault Proclaimed the deity, no bristling locks Shook off the laurel chaplet; but the grove Unshaken, and the summits of the shrine, Gave proof she shunned the god. The Roman knew The tripods yet were idle, and in rage, 'Wretch,' he exclaimed, 'to us and to the gods, 'Whose presence thou pretendest, thou shalt pay 'The punishment; unless thou enter the recess, 'And cease to speak in phrases of thine own Of this vast conflict, of a world by war 'Convulsed and shaken.' Then by fear compelled, At length the priestess sought the furthest depths, And stayed beside the tripods; and there came Into her unaccustomed breast the god, Breathed from the living rock for centuries Untouched; nor ever with a mightier power Did Paean's inspiration seize the frame Of Delphic priestess; his pervading touch Expelled the mortal, and her former mind, And made her wholly his. In maddened trance She whirled throughout the cave, her locks erect With horror, and the fillets of the god Dashed to the ground; her steps unguided turned To this side and to that; the tripods fell O'erturned; within her seethed the mighty fire Of angry Phoebus; nor with whip alone He urged her onwards, but with curb restrained; Nor was it given her by the god to speak All that she knew; for into one vast mass 10 All time was gathered, and her panting chest Groaned 'neath the centuries. In order long All things lay bare: the future yet unveiled Struggled for light; each fate required a voice; The compass of the seas, Creation's birth, Creation's death, the number of the sands, All these she knew. Thus on a former day The prophetess upon the Cuman shore,11 Disdaining that her frenzy should be slave To other nations, from the boundless threads Chose out with pride of hand the fates of Rome. E'en so Phemonoe, for a time oppressed With fates unnumbered, laboured ere she found, Beneath such mighty destinies concealed, Thine, Appius, who alone hadst sought the god In land Castalian; then from foaming lips First rushed the madness forth, and murmurs loud Uttered with panting breath and blent with groans; Till through the spacious vault a voice at length Broke from the virgin conquered by the god: 'From this great struggle thou, O Roman, free 'Escap'st the threats of war : alive, in peace, 'Thou shalt possess the hollow in the coast 'Of vast Euboea.' Thus she spake, no more. Ye mystic tripods, guardians of the fates And Paean, thou, from whom no day is hid By heaven's high rulers, Master of the truth, Why fear'st thou to reveal the deaths of kings, Rome's murdered princes, and the latest doom Of her great Empire tottering to its fall, And all the bloodshed of that western land? Were yet the stars in doubt on Magnus' fate Not yet decreed, and did the gods yet shrink From that, the greatest crime? Or wert thou dumb That Fortune's sword for civil strife might wreak Just vengeance, and a Brutus' arm once more Strike down the tyrant? From the temple doors Rushed forth the prophetess in frenzy driven, Not all her knowledge uttered; and her eyes, Still troubled by the god who reigned within, Or filled with wild affright, or fired with rage Gaze on the wide expanse: still works her face Convulsive; on her cheeks a crimson blush With ghastly pallor blent, though not of fear. Her weary heart throbs ever; and as seas Boom swollen by northern winds, she finds in sighs, All inarticulate, relief. But while She hastes from that dread light in which she saw The fates, to common day, lo! on her path The darkness fell. Then by a Stygian draught Of the forgetful river, Phoebus snatched Back from her soul his secrets; and she fell Yet hardly living. Nor did Appius dread Approaching death, but by dark oracles Baffled, while yet the Empire of the world Hung in the balance, sought his promised realm In Chalcis of Euboea. Yet to escape All ills of earth, the crash of war-what god Can give thee such a boon, but death alone? For on the solitary shore a grave Awaits thee, where Carystos' marble crags12 Draw in the passage of the sea, and where The fane of Rhamnus rises to the gods13 Who hate the proud, and where the ocean strait Boils in swift whirlpools, and Euripus draws Deceitful in his tides, a bane to ships, Chalcidian vessels to bleak Aulis' shore.
5 The Tyrians consulted the oracle in consequence of the earthquakes which vexed their country (Book III., line 255), and were told to found colonies.
6 See Herodotus, Book VII., 140-143. The reference is to the answer given by the oracle to the Athenians that their wooden walls would keep them safe; which Themistocles interpreted as meaning their fleet.
7Cicero, on the contrary, suggests that the reason why the oracles ceased was this, that men became less credulous. ('De Div.,' ii., 57.) Lecky, 'History of European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne,' vol. i., p. 368.
8 This name is one of those given to the Cumaean Sibyl mentioned at line 216. She was said to have been the daughter of Apollo.
Cross references from Reginald Walter Macan, Herodotus: The Seventh, Eighth, & Ninth Books with Introduction and Commentary: 8, 32: Parnassus gemino petit aethera colle
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