Epodes 7 (Martin): Quo, Quo Scelesti

Ah, whither would ye, dyed in guilt, thus headlong rush? Or why
Grasp your right hands the battle-brands so recently laid by?
Say, can it be, upon the sea, or yet upon the shore,
That we have pour'd too sparingly our dearest Latian gore?
Not that yon envious Carthage her haughty towers should see
To flames devouring yielded up by the sons of Italy;
Or that the Briton, who has ne'er confessed our prowess, may
Descend all gyved and manacled along the Sacred Way,
But that our Rome, in answer to Parthia's pray'r and moan,
Should by our hands, her children's hands, be crush'd and overthrown?
Alas! Alas! More fell is ours than wolves' or lions' rage,
For they at least upon their kind no war unholy wage!
"What power impels you? Fury blind, or demon that would wreak
Revenge for your blood-guiltiness and crimes? Make answer! Speak
They're dumb, and with an ashy hue their cheeks and lips are dyed,
And stricken through with conscious guilt their souls are stupefied!
'Tis even so; relentless fates the sons of Rome pursue,
And his dread crime, in brother's blood who did his hands imbrue;
For still for vengeance from the ground calls guiltless Remus' gore,
By his descendants' blood to be atoned for evermore!