Whither, whither, reckless Romans, <br />Are you rushing, sword in hand? <br />Has not yet the blood of brothers, <br />Fully stained the sea and land? <br /> <br />Not that raging conflagration <br />Should o’er fallen Carthage play; <br />Not that the unconquered Briton <br />Should descend the sacred way. <br /> <br />"Rome," exclaims the joyful Parthian, <br />"Ruin for herself prepares; <br />Wolves with wolves are never savage, <br />Lion lion never tears." <br /> <br />Is this fury? is it madness? <br />Speedy answer I demand; <br />Foolish, blinded, guilty Romans, <br />Silent, stupefied you stand. [590] <br /> <br />Thus ’tis fated, blood of brothers <br />Must atone for brothers’ guilt, <br />Since the blood of injured Remus <br />Romulus in anger spilt.<br /><br />James Clerk Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-seventh-epode/
