University of Virginia Library

JUGURTHA INCARCERATUS, VITAM INGEMIT RELICTAM.

Well—is the rack prepared—the pincers heated?
Where is the scourge? How!—not employed in Rome?
We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome?
I'm sorry for it; I could enjoy it now;—
I might have felt them yesterday; but now,—
Now I have seen my funeral procession;
The chariot-wheels of Marius have rolled o'er me:
His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph,—
I have attained that terrible consummation
My soul could stand aloof, and from on high
Look down upon the ruins of my body,
Smiling in apathy; I feel no longer;
I challenge Rome to give another pang.—
Gods! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause
Before his car, and scowl upon the mob;
The curse of Rome was burning on my lips,
And I had gnawed my chain, and hurled it at them,
But that I knew he would have smiled again,—
A king! and led before the gaudy Marius,
Before those shouting masters of the world,
As if I had been conquered; while each street,
Each peopled wall, and each insulting window,
Pealed forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head.
Oh! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia!—
Or had I, in that moment of disgrace,
Enjoyed the freedom but of yonder slave,
I would have made my monument in Rome.
Yet am I not that fool, that Roman fool,
To think disgrace entombs the hero's soul,—
For ever damps his fires and dims his glories;
That no bright laurel can adorn the brow
That once has bowed; no victory's trumpetsound
Can drown in joy the rattling of his chains;
No;—could one glimpse of victory and vengeance
Dart preciously across me, I could kiss
Thy footstep's dust again; then all in flame,
With Massinissa's energies unquenched,
Start from beneath thy chariot-wheels, and grasp
The gory laurel reeking in my view,
And force a passage through disgrace to glory—
Victory! Vengeance! Glory!—Oh, these chains!
My soul's in fetters, too; for, from this moment,
Through all eternity I see but—death;
To me there's nothing future now, but death:
Then come and let me gloom upon the past.—
So then—Numidia's lost; thosedaring projects—
(Projects that ne'er were breathed to mortal man,
That would have startled Marius on his car,)
O'erthrown, defeated! What avails it now
That my proud views despised the narrow limits
Which minds that span and measure out ambition
Had fixed to mine; and, while I seemed intent
On savage subjects and Numidian forests,
My soul had passed the bounds of Africa!
Defeated, overthrown! yet to the last
Ambition taught me hope, and still my mind,
Through danger, flight, and carnage, grasped dominion;
And had not Bocchus—curses, curses on him!—
What Rome has done, she did it for ambition;
What Rome has done, I might—I would have done;
What thou hast done, thou wretch!—Oh had she proved
Nobly deceitful! had she seized the traitor,
And joined him with the fate of the betrayed,
I had forgiven her all; for he had been
The consolation of my prison hours;
I could forget my woes in stinging him;
And if, before this day, his little soul
Had not in bondage wept itself away,
Rome and Jugurtha should have triumphed o'er him.
Look here, thou caitiff, if thou canst, and see
The fragments of Jugurtha; view him wrapt
In the last shred he borrowed from Numidia;
'Tis covered with the dust of Rome; behold
His rooted gaze upon the chains he wears,
And on the channels they have wrought upon him;
Then look around upon his dungeon walls,
And view yon scanty mat, on which his frame
He flings, and rushes from his thoughts to sleep. Sleep!
I'll sleep no more, until I sleep for ever:
When I slept last, I heard Adherbal scream.
I'll sleep no more! I'll think until I die:
My eyes shall pore upon my miseries,
Until my miseries shall be no more.—
Yet wherefore did he scream? Why, I have heard
His living scream,—it was not half so frightful.
Whence comes the difference? When the man was living,
Why, I did gaze upon his couch of torments
With placid vengeance, and each anguished cry
Gave me stern satisfaction. Now he's dead,
And his lips move not; yet his voice's image
Flashed such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul,
I would not mount Numidia's throne again,
Did every night bring such a scream as that.
Oh, yes, 'twas I that caused that living one,
And therefore did its echo seem so frightful.
If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee;
Wilt thou not be contented?—But thou say'st,
“My father was to thee a father also;
He watched thy infant years, he gave thee all
That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came
Than came a kingdom also; yet didst thou”—
Oh, I am faint!—they have not brought me food—
How did I not perceive it until now?
Hold,—my Numidian cruse is still about me—
No drop within—Oh, faithful friend! companion
Of many a weary march and thirsty day,
'Tis the first time that thou hast failed my lips.—
Gods! I'm in tears!—I did not think of weeping.
Oh, Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this?—
Ha! I behold the ruins of a city;
And on a craggy fragment sits a form
That seems in ruins also; how unmoved,
How stern he looks! Amazement, it is Marius!
Ha! Marius, think'st thou now upon Jugurtha?
He turns! he's caught my eye! I see no more!