Book III, Elegy 4

Caesar our god plans war against rich Ind and would cleave with his fleet the waters of the pearl-bearing sea. Great is the prize, men of Rome: furthest earth prepares triumphs for thee, Tiber, and Euphrates shall flow beneath thy sway. Late shall that province come beneath Ausonia's rods, yet it shall surely come; Parthia's trophies shall become familiar with Latin Jupiter. Go now, ye prows well skilled in war, unfurl your sails; ye war-horses, ply the task ye know so well! I sing you prospering omens. Avenge Crassus and his slaughter! Go forth and make fair the pages of Rome's story!

O father Mars and ye fires of fate, that burn for holy Vesta, I implore you, may that day come ere I die, on which I shall see Caesar's chariots laden with spoils and his steeds halting at sound of the people's cheers; then as I lie reclined on the bosom of my beloved I will read the names of captured cities, and will turn mine eyes to gaze at the shafts that were hurled by flying horsemen, at the bows of trousered warriors and the chiefs that sit beneath their captured arms.

Venus, keep safe thine offspring; may that life, that before thine eyes still preserves Aeneas' line, live through all ages! Be the spoil theirs whose toil has won it! Enough for me to be able to cheer them on the Sacred Way.