What the late dusk brings hither, whence the weather
Hurls the fair clouds, how dank the southwind's schemes...
These things the sun foreshadows. No man questions
The sun. For it foretells the tide of times,
Treasons unseen, star-chambered insurrection,
And the first groundswell of uncivil war.

When Caesar bled his last, the sun pitied Rome,
Veiled his bright head in iron-red air till godless
Times shook in terror of eternal nightfall.
Over his wounds the sky had prophesied.
Then in those days of wrath the earth and ocean,
The foul-mawed beasts, the gyres of heinous birds
Foreshadowed things. Mount Aetna quaked with magma
And ruptured, overflowing the Cyclops' fields
With molten stone and lava whirled through air.
Wild over Germany the nordic thunder
Of battle hammered the sky. The stiff Alps shifted.

And all the multitudes heard a mighty voice
Cry havoc through the silent groves, beheld
Unearthedly pale visions in the dead
Nightfall. Yea even the cattle cried in tongues.
Unnatural times! Streams sat still, the landscape fissured,
The temple bronze broke out in sweat and tears.

That overlord of rivers Eridanus
Flooding whole forests in his waking, rushed
Amok about the lowlands, making off
With herds and pens. And ever in that time
The viscera of beasts were thick with omens
Evil and awful, wellsprings were spurting blood
And every night the towns on high ground sounded
And resounded with the wolf-pack's trailing wail.
Never from such a fair sky had more firebolts
Fallen, nor heaven blazed forth more baleful comets,
As fury cumbered Italy. It was clear
Brutus against the western coalition
Would see the Roman legions once again
Battle each other, wielding the same blades.
For the Master Spirits saw fit that the soil
Of Macedonia and the broad Balkans
Be gorged a second time on blood of our own.

Surely in ages hence, states yet unborn,
The farmer turning earth in those same lands
Will find the javelins eaten red with rust
Or clank on empty helmets with his harrow,
Gaping at the those same skulls in excavated
Mass graves: the ancient ruin of our nobles.
O national home gods! Dear founding father
Romulus! Mother Vesta! All of you
Who guard the Tiber and the Palatine!
Now that age's revolutions are complete
Let not this young, august Octavian fail
In peace-keeping. Long enough have we suffered
The heavens' crimes against humanity.
And long enough beneath your reign, O Caesar,
Have jealous gods harassed us for your triumphs
Reversing right and wrong. Such world-wide warfare,
So many faces of wickedness. No honor
Paid to the plow, but farmland left to rot,
The farmers drafted for troops, their curved sickles
Hammered to straight stern swords upon the forge.
First Germany's wars...then wars in the Middle East!
Neighboring peoples violating treaties
For violence's own sake, with an unholy
Militant god berserking over the globe.

Just so a chariot bursting from the gates
Veers out of control. The four horses run wild
As though spur-struck by four invisible horsemen,
Towing the driver powerless at the reins,
The chariot heedless of the charioteer.