Another letter! What ... from Calinus ... How our lives part ... and men part.... Why the last Time that I saw him was ... how long ago ... Ten ... twenty years ... on the white walls of Rhodes We talked that evening on the flat, wide roof Of the old merchant’s house where he was lodged. I was to leave tomorrow, and we lay Under the blazing stars. A brown slave girl Plucked at a lute whose drowsy murmur died Throbbingly into sweetness.... We were young And all our gorgeous dreams marched forth in state Past the great purple bales of Syrian rugs, Over the thin brown frails of dates, until The skies were full of color, great broad bands ... Crimson like pigeon’s blood, blue like the sea, Yellow like old, old ivory.... The stars waned. Next day we parted. Friend, friend of my youth, What have you now to say? Today I make The last decision, take one course of two, Be saved or lost ... friend ... friend ... friend of my youth.... “Caesar, the swords are ready, The swords you have tempered long, War and peace are held in your hand, You stand at length where you longed to stand; By civil war you would heal a land, And by wrong you would better a wrong. Power and Strength and Empire, These are full mighty words. One thing, men’s Freedom, is higher than all. And better a hut though it totter and fall, A broken temple, a ruined wall, Than a land subdued by your swords! We have walked for a time together. The roads fork and we part. I follow my Lady of beauty and grace, Drunk with the light of her glorious face, And you, you go to your own place: And a poison breeds in your heart. I go with the Republic. The Empire stands by your side. You love her now. In a time not far You will look in your heart where your dead hopes are, And curse her for a lamia, The serpent you called bride. We part. Our ways are far henceforth. Henceforth our speech is with spears, I curse you not. Strive on for your prize Till the last thick darkness covers your eyes And the voice of the dead Republic cries Forever in your ears. Follow your foe o’er land and sea, River and bush and stone! When the end has come to the weary race And the slain man lies in his fated place, You shall draw the veil from the white dead face, And shriek, knowing your own!” Calinus ... Calinus ... To be saved or lost.... What! Curio and Antony are without? Curio! Antony! Welcome!... What ... you say They drove you from the Senate?... I must make Decision now.... Comrades! The die is cast! We march tomorrow on Ariminum! AFTER PHARSALIA AFTER PHARSALIA [POMPEY. 48 B. C.]