Showers of blood fall from heaven These portents the Deity shortly fulfilled! For now Caesar Forsook vacillation and, spurred by the love of revenge, sheathed The Gallic sword; brandished the brand that proclaimed civil warfare.
There, high in the Alps, where the crags, by a Greek god once trodden, Slope down and permit of approach, is a spot ever sacred To Hercules' altar; the winter with frozen snow seals it And rears to the heavens a summit eternally hoary, As though the sky there had slipped down: no warmth from the sunbeams, No breath from the Springtime can soften the pile's wintry rigor Nor slacken the frost chains that bind; and its menacing shoulders The weight of the world could sustain.

With victorious legions These crests Caesar trod and selected a camp.

Gazing downwards On Italy's plains rolling far, from the top of the mountain, He lifted both hands to the heavens, his voice rose in prayer: 'Omnipotent Jove, and thou, refuge of Saturn whose glory Was brightened by feats of my armies and crowned with my triumphs, Bear witness! Unwillingly summon I Mars to these armies, Unwillingly draw I the sword! But injustice compels me.
While enemy blood dyes the Rhine and the Alps are held firmly Repulsing a second assault of the Gauls on our city, She dubs me an outcast! And Victory makes me an exile! To triumphs three score, and defeats of the Germans, my treason I trace! How can they fear my glory or see in my battles A menace?
But hirelings, and vile, to whom my Rome is but a Stepmother! Methinks that no craven this sword arm shall hamper And take not a stroke in repost.

On to victory, comrades, While anger seethes hot.

With the sword we will seek a decision The doom lowering down is a peril to all, and the treason.
My gratitude owe I to you, not alone have I conquered! Since punishment waits by our trophies and victory merits Disgrace, then let Chance cast the lots.