haud secus hiberno tumidus cum vertice torrens
saxa rotat volvitque nemus pontesque revellit, 270
frangitur obiectu scopuli quaerensque meatum
spumat et inlisa montem circumtonat unda.
Qua dignum te laude feram, qui paene ruenti
from their bodies; an aged man, once a consul, survived the murder of his son but to be driven into exile. Who can bring himself to tell of so many murders, who can adequately mourn such impious slaughter? Do men tell that cruel Sinis of Corinth e’er wrought such wickedness with his pine-tree, or Sciron with his precipitous rock, or Phalaris with his brazen bull, or Sulla with his prison? O gentle horses of Diomede! O pitiful altars of Busiris! Henceforth, compared with Rufinus thou, Cinna, shalt be loving, and thou, Spartacus, a sluggard.
All were a prey to terror, for men knew not where next his hidden hatred would break forth, they sob in silence for the tears they dare not shed and fear to show their indignation. Yet is not the spirit of great-hearted Stilicho broken by this same fear. Alone amid the general calamity he took arms against this monster of greed and his devouring maw, though not borne on the swift course of any wingèd steed nor aided by Pegasus’ reins. In him all found the quiet they longed for, he was their one defence in danger, their shield out-held against the fierce foe, the exile’s sanctuary, standard confronting the madness of Rufinus, fortress for the protection of the good.
Thus far Rufinus advanced his threats and stayed; then fell back in coward flight: even as a torrent swollen with winter rains rolls down great stones in its course, overwhelms woods, tears away bridges, yet is broken by a jutting rock, and, seeking a way through, foams and thunders about the cliff with shattered waves.
How can I praise thee worthily, thou who