Romanus carasque nurus praedamque tenebat. hoc magis exertum raperem succinctior agmen. “Heu, quibus insidiis, qua me circumdedit arte 300 fatalis semper Stilicho! dum parcere fingit, rettudit[33] hostiles animos bellumque remenso evaluit transferre Pado. pro foedera saevo deteriora iugo! tunc vis extincta Getarum; tunc mihi, tunc letum pepigi. violentior armis 305 omnibus expugnat nostram clementia gentem, Mars gravior sub pace latet, capiorque vicissim fraudibus ipse meis. quis iam solacia fesso consiliumve dabit? socius suspectior hoste. “Atque utinam cunctos licuisset perdere bello! 310 nam quisquis duro cecidit certamine, numquam desinit esse meus. melius mucrone perirent, auferretque mihi luctu leviore sodales victa manus quam laesa fides. nullusne clientum permanet? offensi comites, odere propinqui. 315 quid moror invisam lucem? qua sede recondam naufragii fragmenta mei? quaeve arva requiram, in quibus haud umquam Stilicho nimiumque potentis Italiae nomen nostras circumsonet aures?” Haec memorans instante fugam Stilichone tetendit expertas horrens aquilas; comitatur euntem 321 Pallor et atra Fames et saucia lividus ora Luctus et inferno stridentes agmine Morbi. lustralem tum rite facem, cui lumen odorum [33] _rettudit_ Isengr. mg.; Birt reads _rettulit_, following EVA. * * * * * Page 97 children captive, my wives, my wealth--yet, freed from such hindrances, my advance had been the more rapid. “With what cunning, with what skill, did Stilicho, that ever fatal enemy, ensnare me! His pretended mercy did but blunt my warlike spirit, and availed him to shift the war backwards across the Po. A curse on that armistice, more damaging than the yoke of slavery. ’Twas then the cause of the Getae was undone, then that I signed my own death-warrant. More rudely than any weapon did mercy destroy our people, beneath that semblance of peace lay the deadliest form of war, and I myself fell into the snare I had laid for others. I am weary of it all; where shall I find comfort or counsel? I fear my friends more than my foes. “Would God I had lost them all on that field. He is ever mine that has fallen in hard conflict. Better all had perished by the sword; less bitter had been my grief for losses inflicted by a victorious foe than for those brought upon me by treachery. Is there not left one faithful follower? My comrades have turned against me, my friends hate me. My life is a burden; why prolong it? Where hide the remnants of my shipwrecked fortunes? To what land shall I flee where the names of Stilicho and all too powerful Italy shall not sound for ever in mine ears?”