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Brundisium
As you had thought, Augustus ruined the trip.
After acceding to his thoughtless wish
you caught this fever. Carried from the ship
to these rooms to recover, you despair
of any such recovery. The air
stinks most of rotten lumber and dead fish.
The manuscript that you had hoped to burn
must be preserved. You wrote, once, of a child
to be born, somehwere, in the vast empire---
sometime---and he would bring a golden age's
blessing to this world, and, foremost, to Rome.
For His sake, you must not destroy the poem
about Aeneas, much as you desire
to leave behind no uncorrected pages.
A young man, not yet born, will someday read,
in your lines, inspiration to discern
that Roman justice must be more than fair.
His future will bring mediocrity
as an administrator much reviled
by staff and subjects, all of whom have grim
thoughts of his brutal, managerial style
imposed upon them roughly, tactlessly.
But, one day, at a certain, hasty trial---
one that will bring this world its greatest shame---
one that will change all peoples' history---
your lines will lay on his thoughts one last claim,
to show some little fairness (of a sort)
to one accused unfairly in his court,
saying (to the accusers, a retort,
sharply pronounced): "I find no fault in Him."
Starward
[jlc]
