O shield our Caesar as he goesTo furthest Britain, and his band,Rome's harvest! Send on Eastern foesTheir fear, and on the Red Sea strand!O wounds that scarce have ceased to run!O brother's blood! O iron time!What horror have we left undone?Has conscience shrunk from aught of crime?What shrine has rapine held in awe?What altar spared? O haste and beatThe blunted steel we yet may drawOn Arab and on Massagete!Bid the lyre and cittern play;Enkindle incense, shed the victim's gore;Heaven has watch'd o'er Numida,And brings him safe from far Hispania's shore.Now, returning, he bestowsOn each dear comrade all the love he can;But to Lamia most he owes,By whose sweet side he grew from boy to man.