Her legions march in Asia, they tramp through Farthest Gaul, In Greece their horns blow up the dawn, in Spain they stand a wall. And still upon her Seven Hills Rome rules the seas and tides, The earth and all that in it is, while that stern strength abides. Hail for the last time, Mother! Your sons stand here at bay. Still you have sons for conquest. We fall the Roman way! Our cheers still ringing, our short swords drawn, We die here singing, but Rome, Rome goes on! Ah! Yes, Valerius, I will answer them. Comrades! I know these terms are but a trap: Yet I would rather die by Parthian swords Than Roman. After I am dead push on, Straight to the mountains; once the heights are won, You can defy at last these swarming hordes. Break camp at once to guard against mishap. Farewell! Valerius is your general now.... Up there, you say, upon that hillock’s brow They wait?... Yes, I can see the glint of steel.... AD ATTICUM AD ATTICUM [CICERO. 48 B. C.] How hot it is! Faint waves of heat steam up From the burnt sand without, like threads of glass, Blurring the vision. In the dark, cool rooms Within, all are asleep, and not a sound Breaks the tense stillness.... Why should I not sleep? This letter here, to Atticus, can wait.... No! I had better write it now, this court Is cool enough, the plashing fountain pleasant, Stylus and tablets on the table there.... Let me begin!... Where did I buy this style? Oh yes, at Patras, where we had to leave Poor Tiro sick--well, he is better now-- And, Jupiter be thanked! I have escaped Safely from that accursed province! Gods! Now, even now, the names ring in my brain, The petty lawsuits which I must adjudge, The protests from the people, stricken down Under a shameful load of usury, Oppressed by every Roman thief that crept Into some petty office. Gods, those trials! They made me old before my time. That case Between Valerius and Volusius! And Brutus, the immaculate, with his interest Of forty-eight per cent! What shall I say To Atticus? “Caesar and I are friends.” Or, “Next week I shall sail from Formia And seek out Pompey.” There they stand, gouged plain On the smooth wax. I rub them both out--so!