When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honor is a private station! *
Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency,
Know, there are ships prepar'd by my command—
Their sails already op'ning to the winds,—
That shall convey you to the wish'd for port.
The conqueror draws near-once more, farewell!
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happier climes, and on a safer shore,
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more!
There, the brave youth with love of virtue fired,
Who greatly in his country's cause expired,
Shall know he conquer'd! The firm patriot there,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care,
Tho' still by faction, vice and fortune, cross'd,
Shall find the generous labor was not lost.