qualis in Herculeo, quotiens infanda iubebat
Eurystheus, fuit ore dolor vel qualis in atram
sollicitus nubem maesto Iove cogitur aether.
“Tantane vos” inquit “Getici fiducia belli 380
erigit? hinc animo frustra tumuistis inani?
non ita Romanum fati violentia nomen
cloak, he urged on his half-frozen steed. No soft bed received his weary limbs. If the darkness forced him to halt in his advance he would either enter some dreadful beast’s den or sleep in some shepherd’s hut, his head pillowed upon his shield. The shepherd stands pale at the sight of his stately guest, and ignorant of his name the rustic mother points out to her squalid infant the glory of his face. It was those hard couches beneath the rough pines, those nights amid the snow, all that care and anxious toil, that won this peace for the world, this tranquillity it had despaired of for the empire. From out those Alpine huts, Rome, came thy salvation.
Now had the peoples broken their treaties and, encouraged by the news of Latium’s trouble, had seized upon the glades of Vindelicia and the fields of Noricum. Like slaves whom news of their master’s death lures into luxury with an idle tale, if mid the debauch and while wild licence riots with wine and dance some unexpected chance bring back their lord, then they stand panic-stricken and, abhorring liberty, servile terror shakes their guilty souls; so all the rebels were struck with terror at the sight of the general and in one man the Emperor, Latium and all Rome blazed before their eyes. Joy sat not upon his countenance nor excess of gloom nor yet dejection by reason of Rome’s reverses but nobility and indignation mixed, such as filled Hercules at Eurystheus’ inhuman orders, or such as dims the face of heaven when at Jove’s frown the troubled sky is gathered into a murky cloud.
“Put ye such faith,” he cried, “in Getic arms? Is it they that swell your hearts with empty pride? Fate has not brought Rome’s name so low that she