Georgien 2008

Georgien 2008
Visualizzazione post con etichetta Lucano. Mostra tutti i post
Visualizzazione post con etichetta Lucano. Mostra tutti i post

Farsalia, I, 1-128: i tempi son terribili, diciamolo




Guerre ben più che civili in mezzo alle piane d’Emazia,
dato diritto al delitto cantiamo e la stirpe potente
che nei suoi visceri volse il suo braccio avvezzo a vittoria,
le imparentate legioni e spezzato un patto di regno
e la contesa con tutte le forze d’un mondo sconvolto
per la comune empietà, contro ostili insegne le insegne
sorte, e le aquile opposte, le lance a minaccia di lance.
Quale follia, cittadini, che immane sfrenarsi di spade?
Piacque di porgere il sangue latino a nemiche nazioni
e scatenare conflitti votati a negare il trionfo,
mentre spogliare d’ausoni trofei Babilonia superba
già si doveva e aleggiava inulto il fantasma di Crasso?
Quanto di terra e di mare avrebbe saputo acquistarsi
con questo sangue di cui si imbevvero destre civili,
donde si leva il Titano, ove Notte occulta le stelle,
e dove poi il mezzogiorno nelle ore avvampanti ribolle,
e dove gelida bruma riottosa a piegarsi al disgelo
fa nella ghiaccia di Scizia aggelare il mare glaciale.
Già sotto il giogo anche i Seri cadrebbero e il barbaro Arasse,
e la nazione, se c’è, che sa delle fonti del Nilo.
Poi se in te, Roma, c’è tanto amore di guerra nefanda,
quando alle leggi latine avrai tutto il mondo piegato,
volgi il tuo braccio su te: né per ora manca il nemico.
Ora, se pendono i muri da semidistrutte dimore
per le città dell’Italia, o pietre per crolli di mura
giacciono enormi e nessun custode protegge le case
e fra le antiche città s’aggirano radi abitanti,
e se spinosa di rovi e incolta oramai da molti anni
resta l’Esperia e ai poderi in bisogno mancano braccia,
Pirro feroce, non tu, non avranno un punico autore
simili eccidi: a nessuno toccò tanto a fondo di spada
coglierci; stanno profonde le piaghe di mani civili.
Ma se non hanno trovato i fati al venturo Nerone
un differente cammino e a gran prezzo acquistano eterno
regno gli dèi, né poté l’universo al proprio Tonante
farsi soggetto che dopo le guerre con gli aspri Giganti,
non lamentiamo più nulla, celesti, e per tanto compenso
piacciono infamie, empietà. La Farsaglia ingombri i crudeli
campi, rimangano sazi di sangue anche i punici mani
e per la funebre Munda si ingaggino gli ultimi scontri,
la carestia di Perugia e i casi di Modena a tanto
fato s’aggiungano, Cesare, e quanti vascelli la truce
Leucade oppresse e le guerre servili a pie’ d’Etna infocato,
Roma però deve molto comunque alle guerre civili,
ché si è lottato per te. Te, quando compiuto il tuo corso,
tardo alle stelle verrai, la reggia del cielo prescelto
accoglierà fra la gioia del polo; o che tu preferisca
reggere scettro o levarti sul fiammeo carro di Febo
e perlustrare la terra che nulla al mutare del sole
paventerà per vagare di fuochi, a te spazio faranno
tutti gli dèi, la natura darà che sia tuo privilegio
essere il nume che vuoi, dove porre il regno del mondo.
E tuttavia non cercare dimora nel cerchio dell’Orsa,
né dove il polo dell’Austro opposto avvampando si volge,
donde con astro sbilenco tu contemplerai la tua Roma:
ove tu prema soltanto un lato dell’Etere immenso,
l’asse ne sentirà il peso. I piatti del cielo librato
reggi con orbita media; quell’area dell’Etere aperto
tutta sia sgombra e non osti a Cesare nuvola alcuna.
Pensi per sé il seme umano in quel tempo e le armi deponga,
si ami ogni gente a vicenda: mandata nel mondo la pace
vincoli i ferrei portali di Giano foriero di guerra.
Ma tu per me sei già un nume; e se da profeta nel petto
io ti ricevo, non voglio evocare il dio che governa
le iniziazioni cirree, né smuovere Bacco da Nisa:
tu basterai a ispirare vigore in un canto romano.
L’animo spinge a indagare le cause di tante vicende
e si spalanca un immenso perché, quale impulso alla guerra
spinse una stirpe furente, e scacciò dal mondo la pace.
L’invida serie dei fati e come si neghi alle cime
l’ergersi a lungo e tremendi i crolli a un eccesso di peso:
Roma non tiene sé stessa. Così, quando scioltosi il cosmo,
tante stagioni del mondo un’ora suprema concluda,
vòlta di nuovo nel caos primigenio, ogni astro con gli altri
astri si mescolerà cozzando e meteore nell’onda
ignee cadranno, né sponde vorrà conservare la terra,
respingerà da sé il mare, e opposta al fratello anche Febe
procederà, chiederà per sé con disdegno che il giorno
muova su corso sbilenco le bighe e l’intera discorde
macchina scompiglierà i patti del mondo convulso.
Crolla su sé la grandezza: al crescere delle fortune
simile limite posero i numi. A nessuna nazione
contro la stirpe potente per mare e per terra Fortuna
ha comandato la propria invidia. E sèi causa del male
tu divenuta comune a tre capi, o Roma, e i ferali
patti d’un regno che mai si trovò affidato a una folla.
Voi malamente concordi e ciechi di brama eccessiva,
a che servì mescolare le forze e poi reggere il mondo
accomunati? Finché sulla terra l’onda e la terra
sorga sull’aria e il Titano rivolgano lunghe fatiche,
e notte a giorno succeda per segni altrettanti nel cielo,
mai s’avrà fede in consorti di regno e qualsiasi potere
non soffrirà nessun altro compagno. A nessuna nazione
c’è da affidarsi, né altrove si cerchino esempi dei fati:
anche le mura primeve grondarono sangue fraterno.
Premio di tanto furore non erano il mare e la terra
in quell’età: mosse i capi allo scontro un misero asilo.
Per un fuggevole istante durò la concordia discorde,
né per volere dei capi fu pace; alla guerra futura
Crasso nel mezzo era l’unico ostacolo. Come sottile
taglia i marosi e divide così il flutto duplice l’Istmo,
e non permette ai due mari di unirsi, ove ceda la terra
dentro l’Egeo il mar Ionio cadrebbe; a quel modo, macchiando
Carre l’assira di sangue latino per misera morte
Crasso che aveva diviso le armate crudeli dei capi,
diedero sfogo ai furori romani i disastri dei Parti.
Ben più di quanto crediate, Arsàcidi, avete ottenuto
con quello scontro: infliggeste ai vinti la guerra civile.
Si ripartisce col ferro il regno, alla stirpe potente
quella fortuna che il mare le terre e il mondo per tutto
domina, non consentì due padroni. I patti del sangue
affratellato e le tede ferali di cupo presagio
Giulia fra i mani con sé li portò, poiché da un artiglio
truce di Parche fu presa. T’avessero dato i destini
più duraturo soggiorno in vita, tu sola il furente
sposo potevi frenare da un lato e dall’altro il parente,
e riallacciare le mani armate, e scacciarne la spada,
come interposte fra suoceri e generi già le Sabine.
Dalla tua morte fu infranta la fede e permesso ai due capi
muoversi guerra. Fornì l’impulso il valore rivale.
Magno, tu temi che nuove imprese agli antichi trionfi
facciano velo e l’alloro piratico ai Galli sconfitti
debba far luogo; te esalta invece una serie di gesta,
l’esservi usato e un destino che spregia il restare secondo;
Cesare non può soffire un altro che sia superiore,
né chi gli è pari Pompeo; chi le armi vestì più a ragione,
empio è conoscerlo: ognuno a un giudice sommo s’affida:
piacque la causa vincente agli dèi, quella vinta a Catone.


The defeat at Pharsalus: Every age that suffers slavery fell to those swords.

Bellum Cīvīle 7.617-46
Mārcus Annaeus Lūcānus

Another excerpt from that unhinged epic of grotesque splendor, Lucan's Civil War. This short passage from book 7 shows Lucan's poignancy and goriness. At the end of this section, he has one of his more lofty anti-authoritarian (I won't say "republican") moments, and we get a refraction of what reads, to me at least, like a growing resentment at Caesarism and Neronian absolutism. 

Translated by A.Z. Foreman



  When all a world is dying, it is shameful
to squander tears on countless deaths, to track
individual destinies and ask
whose guts each kill-stroke skivered, whose feet trampled
his own intestines spilled across the ground,
who looked his enemy in the face while forcing
the sword out of his throat with dying breath;
who crumpled at the first strike, who stood tall
as his hacked limbs fell round him, who allowed
the javelin to run him clean through, whom
the spear pinned wriggling to the plain, whose blood
exploded from his veins into the air
drenching an enemy combatant's armor,
who speared his brother's breast then kicked away
the severed head to pick the kin corpse clean,
who mutilated his own father's face
with such demented rage to convince watchers
the man he'd butchered wasn't his own parent.
  No single death deserves its own lament,
no time to mourn the individual.
Pharsalus was unlike all prior battles'
catastrophes. There Rome fell with men's fates,
here with entire peoples'. Soldiers died there
but here whole nations perished. Here blood streamed
from Greek, Assyrian and Pontic veins,
which might have congealed on the field in one
cross-ethnic scab, but for a huge deluge
of Roman gore.
        In that unholy battle
upon the stinking plains of Thessaly,
the peoples all sustained a deeper wound
than their own era could endure. Much more
than life and safety were lost there. We were
made prostrate for eternity. Every age
that suffers slavery fell to those swords.
  But what did grandsons and great-grandsons do
to deserve birth in an autocracy?
Were ours the blades that fell with fear? Did we
snivel behind our shields and hide our throats?
The penalty of others' cowardice
is hung around our necks today.
               O Fortune,
since then you've only given us more tyrants!
Why not at least give us a chance to fight?





Impendisse pudet lacrimās in fūnere mundī
mortibus innumerīs, ac singula fāta sequentem
quaerere lētiferum per cuius vīscera vulnus
exierit, quis fūsa solō vītālia calcet,              
ōre quis adversō dēmissum faucibus ēnsem
expulerit moriēns animā, quis corruat ictus,
quis steterit dum membra cadunt, quī pectore tēla
trānsmittant aut quōs campīs affixerit hasta,
quis cruor ēmissīs perrūperit āera vēnīs              
inque hostis cadat arma suī, quis pectora frātrīs
caedat et, ut nōtum possit spoliāre cadāver,
abscīsum longē mittat caput, ōra parentis
quis laceret nimiāque probet spectantibus īrā
quem iugulat nōn esse patrem. Mors nūlla querellā            
digna suā est, nūllōsque hominum lūgēre vacāmus.
Nōn istās habuit pugnae Pharsālia partēs
quās aliae clādēs: illic per fāta virōrum,
per populōs hīc Rōma perit; quod mīlitis illic,
mors hīc gentis erat: sanguīs ibi flūxit Achaeus,              
Ponticus, Assyrius; cūnctōs haerēre cruōrēs
Rōmānus campīsque vetat cōnsistere torrēns.
Maius ab hāc aciē quam quod sua saecula ferrent
vulnus habent populī; plūs est quam vīta salūsque
quod perit: in tōtum mundī prōsternimur aevum.              
Vīncitur hīs gladiīs omnis quae serviet aetās.
Proxima quid subolēs aut quid meruēre nepōtēs
in rēgnum nāscī? Pavidē num gessimus arma
tēximus aut iugulōs? Aliēnī poena timōris
in nostrā cervīce sedet. Post proelia nātīs              
sī dominum, Fōrtūna, dabās, et bella dedisses.


Bellum civile

 Epic on the Civil War (1.1-82) 
Translated by A.Z. Foreman



  I sing of war, far worse than civil war,
waged in the nasty fields of Thessaly,  
of crime gone legal, of a powerful state  
that disemboweled itself with victory's sword,  
of family front lines1; how when the pact  
of tyranny imploded, all the forces  
of a concussed world clashed in combat, leaving  
a nation guilty of abomination;  
the citizen who marched against the city,  
the Roman spear faced with the Roman spear.  

  Countrymen! What insanity was this?
This orgy of sick swords! Did you enjoy it,  
treating barbarian peoples that detest us  
to a spectacle of savage Roman bloodsport,  
when you by all rights should have been despoiling  
proud Parthia of her Italian trophies2  
in fit retaliation? Why so willing  
to wage entropic wars that stood no chance  
of triumph, while killed Crassus' grisly ghost3  
roamed unavenged abroad?   

              Can you conceive
how much land, how much sea might have been ours  
through the Roman blood that Roman blades have squandered -   
where Day's sun rises, where Night stows her stars,  
where southern midday seethes in scorching hours,  
where rigid Winter that no Spring can thaw  
fetters the Scythic sea4 in chains of ice,   
by now we'd have the wild Armenians  
and the Chinese beneath our potent yoke,  
as well as that race (if there even is one)  
that knows the secret of the Nile's true source5  
Then, if you still so lust for heinous warfare 
once you've wrenched all the world to Latin law, 
only then, Rome, may you take up the sword  
of suicide. Not while you have enemies. 

   Now in Italy's cities walls are crumbling,
the buildings teetering half-demolished, ramparts   
reduced to huge heaps of wrecked rock, the houses     
have no one to guard them. Only the odd squatter  
wanders the ancient emptied cities' streets.  
Now Italy's countryside is overrun     
with brambles, her soil unploughed for year on year, 
no hands left for the work the fields cry out for.  
It wasn't you, fierce Pyrrhus6, nor the savage  
Hannibal who achieved such devastation.    
No, foreign steel could not gore us like this.         
The deepest wounds are dealt by citizen swords.   

  But if the Fates could find no other way  
to gift us Nero7, if an everlasting  
kingdom cost the gods dear, if Jupiter  
the Thunderlord could hold no throne on high  
before a war with vicious worldborn Giants,  
then, gods, I'll not complain. The hideous crimes  
and rank abominations were all worth it.   
So heap Pharsalia's dread fields high with corpses,  
glut the brute Punic ghost with Latin blood,  
let the final combat clash at fateful Munda.  
Add to those massacres, O Caesar Nero,   
starvation at Perugia, Mutina's hardships,  
the armada overwhelmed at lethal Leucas  
and blood of slave-wars under Etna's slopes   
ablaze. Rome owes so much to civil war  
as all was done to bring us you, O Caesar.  
  And when your reign is done for, when you seek  
the stars at last, with reveling in the sky,  
you will be more than welcome in heaven's palace   
on any seat you choose. Whether you want  
to seize Jove's scepter, or Apollo's blazing  
chariot to circle earth with roving fire,  
the world won't fear the transference of suns.    
All gods will yield their place to you, and Nature  
will let you choose which god to be, and where  
in the cosmos to rule from. Only do not  
set your throne cold up in the Arctic North  
nor at the polar opposite where skies  
turn sweltering around the Southern vertex.  
Your star would look on Rome with sidelong light.  
If you put all your weight on either side   
of the unbounded ether, the sky's vault  
would buckle in your gravity's great moment.   
  
Stay rather at the midpoint of the heavens  
keeping the spheres in equilibrium.  
And let that stretch of sky stay clear and blue,  
let not one cloud ever stand in Caesar's way.  
That day, let humankind sheathe all its swords  
to take care of itself, and every nation  
love every other. Peace shall flutter proud  
over the earth, and shut forevermore  
the iron temple-gates of two-faced war.     
But you're a force of heaven to me already  
and if you breathe your genius through my breast
  
giving me visionary strength of verse,  
why would I trouble that old god who stirs   
the mysteries of Delphic seers, or call   
Bacchus from sacred Nysa? I need nothing  
but Nero to give life to Roman song.  

  And now my spirit moves me to set forth
the cause of great events. The mind has opened  
before me an enormous task, to tell  
what drove a people mad, drove them to arms  
of battle, and drove peace out of the world.    

  It was that jealous nemesis, the chain 
of fate, the law that nothing stays on top  
for long, the hard fall of the mighty: Rome  
had grown too great for her own self to bear.   

  It was as it will be when the final hour  
that ends the cycles of the universe,  
sunders the cosmic structure and all things  
are regressed to primeval chaos: burning  
stars will shoot straight into the ocean, earth  
refusing to lie flat fling all the waters  
up and away, the moon turn to her brother  
demanding rule of daylight, tired of driving  
her chariot in waxing, waning orbit.   
And the whole broken universe's machine   
in discord will overthrow the rule of nature.  
  Great things implode upon themselves. This limit  
of growth the gods ordain for all success.  

Notes:

1 - Pompey and Caesar were not merely fellow citizens, but kinsmen related by marriage. 

2 - The "Italian trophies" were the Roman standards lost to the Parthians by Crassus at the battle of Carrhae (in what is today southeastern Turkey) in 53 BC. 

3 - Crassus had been killed at Carrhae. 

4 - i.e. the Black Sea

5- the question of where the source of the Nile lay was a subject of speculation, and even exploration, for Romans. Seneca in book six of his Natural Questions informs us of an expedition that had been sent to Ethiopia to gather information on, among other things, the Nile's spring.  

6- Pyrrhus of Epirus, a Greek king and general who invaded Italy in 280 BC.  

7 - The question of whether the eulogy of Nero in this section is sincere or not is an old one, as it has proven hard for many readers, ancient and modern, to take at face value. My brief perusal of the staggeringly extensive scholarly literature on this passage suggests that the question remains far from settled.    
In my considered view, tempting though it may be to see it in retrospect (and in the context of the later books of the Bellum Civile) as a form of ironic or grossly satyrical double-talk, this seems unlikely. First of all, if it was actually understood as gross satire by its original audience, then how could Nero, who was assuredly part of that audience, fail to notice? Nero was many things, but he was no idiot. Nor was Lucan, which is why it strains credulity to imagine him satirizing an eccentric autocrat literally to his face. And readings of certain lines as satirizing Nero's corpulence, among other things, take the later vilifying depictions of Nero's physiognomy at face value for no good reason. The contrast between this eulogy and the condemnation of Caesars found in later parts of the Bellum Civile, may be more reasonably explained (if explanation is really needed) by the fact that Lucan's opinion of Nero changed over time, from being a favored poet, to having his works banned, to ultimately participating in a failed attempt on Nero's life.
While it may seem out of place in a poem like this, the eulogy itself isn't unusual for Roman poetry. Similar specimens of panegyric effusion may be found elsewhere in Roman literature, including Statius' praise for Domitian, and some of Virgil's most famous passages lauding Augustus. (Parts of Virgil here are strongly echoed, or subverted if you prefer, including this passage from the Georgics, and this passage from the Aeneid.) Indeed I suspect that part of why Virgil's praise for Augustus has seemed easier to take and appreciate for what it is, is posterity's high esteem for the latter, whereas Nero has become synonymous with imperial excess, cruelty and abuse of power and so the idea of someone like Lucan praising him didn't sit well with later readers. 
Moreover, leader-praise of this kind is also quite common in autocratic regimes more generally. One notes how frequently and how effusively court poets throughout the medieval world, whether in Valencia, Aachen, Aleppo, Shiraz, Delhi or Cháng'ān, directed their talents toward the praise of the local Rei Virtuós. (See this poem by Jordi de Sant Jordi for an excellent example.) More recent examples of the same phenomenon abound in poetry written in Francoist Spain, Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, Tsarist Russia, Stalin's Soviet Union, Niyazov's Turkmenistan, Baathist Iraq and a number of modern Arab monarchies.   
Some of the enduring appeal of this passage is that Lucan even as he praises Nero (as he may have been expected to do) retains his integrity as an artist. What modern readers of this poem may not fully appreciate is that the eulogy does not need to be insincere or ironic to have subtext. The horrors of civil war that made Nero, and the entire Julio-Claudian dynasty, possible are thrust in the listener's face. The responsibility that lies on Nero is immense, in view of what he cost. Behind the statement that Nero was worth it, may lurk the implication that Nero had better prove he was worth it or that he ought to appreciate at what cost his power comes. The fact that Nero is portrayed as the blessèd source of inspiration for a poem about bloodshed and civil war may also suggest a different subtext still. 
Indirect tactics like this are also not hard to come by in laudatory verse addressed to autocrats. Scholars of Arabic and Persian panegyric have long understood that not all extravagant flattery is hollow, servile or sycophantic. Sometimes the only way to tell a ruler what they don't like hearing is to say it in the form of a compliment.




Bellum Cīvīle I.1-82
Mārcus Annaeus Lūcānus

  Bella per Ēmathiōs plūs quam cīvīlia campōs
iūsque datum scelerī canimus, populumque potentem
in sua victrīcī conversum vīscera dextra,
cognātāsque aciēs, et ruptō foedere rēgnī
certātum tōtīs concussī vīribus orbis
in commūne nefās, īnfēstīsque obvia signīs
signa, parēs aquilās et pīla minantia pīlīs.
  Quis furor, Ō cīvēs, quae tanta licentia ferrī?
Gentibus invīsīs Latium praebēre cruōrem
cumque superba foret Babylōn spolianda trophaeīs                 
Ausoniīs umbrāque errāret Crassus inultā
bella gerī placuit nūllōs habitūra triumphōs?
  Heu, quantum terrae potuit pelagīque parārī
hōc quem cīvīlēs hausērunt sanguine dextrae,
unde venit Tītān et nox ubi sīdera condit                 
quāque diēs medius flagrantibus aestuat hōrīs
et quā brūma rigēns ac nescia vēre remittī
astringit Scythicō glaciālem frīgore pontum!
Sub iuga iam Sērēs, iam barbarus isset Araxēs
et gēns (sīqua iacet) nāscentī cōnscia Nīlō.                 
Tum, sī tantus amor bellī tibi, Rōma, nefandī,
tōtum sub Latiās lēgēs cum mīseris orbem,
in tē verte manūs: nōndum tibi dēfuit hostis.
  At nunc sēmirutīs pendent quod moenia tēctīs
urbibus Ītaliae lāpsīsque ingentia mūrīs                 
saxa iacent nūllōque domūs cūstōde tenentur
rārus et antīquīs habitātor in urbibus errat,
horrida quod dūmīs multōsque inarāta per annōs
Hesperia est dēsuntque manūs poscentibus arvīs,
nōn tū, Pyrrhe ferōx, nec tantīs clādibus auctor                 
Poenus erit: nūllī penitus dēscendere ferrō
contigit; alta sedent cīvīlis vulnera dextrae.
  Quod sī nōn aliam ventūrō fāta Nerōnī
invēnēre viam magnōque aeterna parantur
rēgna deīs caelumque suō servīre Tonantī                 
nōn nisi saevōrum potuit post bella gigantum,
iam nihil, Ō superī, querimur; scelera ipsa nefāsque
hāc mercēde placent. Dīrōs Pharsālia campōs
impleat et Poenī saturentur sanguine mānēs,
ultima fūnestā concurrant proelia Mundā,                 
hīs, Caesar, Perusīna famēs Mutinaeque labōrēs
accēdant fātīs et quās premit aspera classēs
Leucās et ardentī servīlia bella sub Aetnā,
multum Rōma tamen dēbet cīvīlibus armīs
quod tibi rēs ācta est.
          Tē, cum statiōne perācta               
astra petēs sērus, praelātī rēgia caelī
excipiet gaudente polō: seu scēptra tenēre
seu tē flammigerōs Phoebī cōnscendere currūs
tellūremque nihil mūtātō sōle timentem
igne vagō lūstrāre iuvet, tibi nūmine ab omnī                 
cēdētur, iūrisque tuī nātūra relinquet
quis deus esse velīs, ubi rēgnum pōnere mundī.
Sed neque in Arctōō sēdem tibi lēgeris orbe
nec polus āversī calidus quā vergitur Austrī,
unde tuam videās oblīquō sīdere Rōmam.                 
Aetheris immēnsī partem sī presseris ūnam,
sentiet axis onus. Lībrātī pondera caelī
orbe tenē mediō; pars aetheris illa serēnī
tōta vacet nūllaeque obstent ā Caesare nūbēs.
Tum genus hūmānum positīs sibi cōnsulat armīs                 
inque vicem gēns omnis amet; pāx missa per orbem
ferrea belligerī compēscat līmina Iānī.
Sed mihi iam nūmen; nec, sī tē pectore vātēs
accipiō, Cirrhaea velim sēcrēta moventem
sollicitāre deum Bacchumque āvertere Nȳsā:                 
tū satis ad vīrēs Rōmāna in carmina dandās.
      Fert animus causās tantārum exprōmere rērum,
immēnsumque aperītur opus, quid in arma furentem
impulerit populum, quid pācem excusserit orbī.
Invida fātōrum seriēs summīsque negātum                 
stāre diū nimiōque gravēs sub pondere lāpsus
nec sē Rōma ferēns.
           Sīc, cum compāge solūtā
saecula tot mundī suprēma coēgerit hōra
antīquum repetēns iterum chaos, ignea pontum                 
astra petent, tellūs extendere lītora nōlet
excutietque fretum, frātrī contrāria Phoebē
ībit et oblīquum bīgās agitāre per orbem
indignāta diem poscet sibi, tōtaque discors
māchina dīvolsī turbābit foedera mundī.                 
In sē magna ruunt: laetīs hunc nūmina rēbus
crēscendī posuēre modum.