 | Sonnets and Other Poems Chiefly Religious |  |
77
HANNIBAL'S RETURN TO CARTHAGE.
My own, my native Carthage! which I serve,
Unseen, though loved, these three and thirty years,
Through triumph and misfortune, toil and blood.
Home of my fathers, and my childhood's home!
Once more mine eyes behold thee, still unchanged;—
The rock-built towers that look upon the sea,
The forest of the masts that crowd the port;
And there the stern old temple where I laid
My hand upon the sacrifice, and vowed
Eternal hatred to the Roman name.
Have I not well fulfilled my early vow?
Have I not written deep my quenchless hate
In fire and blood, when desolation tracked
My path, and many a plain that bloomed before
Turned to a smoking wilderness behind;
And when the earth was drenched and waters dyed
With Roman blood, upon the battle-days
Of Trebia, Thrasymene, and Cannæ?
Unseen, though loved, these three and thirty years,
Through triumph and misfortune, toil and blood.
Home of my fathers, and my childhood's home!
Once more mine eyes behold thee, still unchanged;—
The rock-built towers that look upon the sea,
The forest of the masts that crowd the port;
And there the stern old temple where I laid
My hand upon the sacrifice, and vowed
Eternal hatred to the Roman name.
Have I not well fulfilled my early vow?
Have I not written deep my quenchless hate
In fire and blood, when desolation tracked
My path, and many a plain that bloomed before
Turned to a smoking wilderness behind;
And when the earth was drenched and waters dyed
With Roman blood, upon the battle-days
Of Trebia, Thrasymene, and Cannæ?
Yes,
And have I not remembered thee, my own,
My native Carthage? When Italian lands
Confessed my sway, and many a goodly town
Knelt to my power, my conquests were for thee.
Of thee I thought when Rome's best blood was poured,
A rich libation to thy guardian gods,
Sweeter than oldest wine. Of thee I thought
When my Numidian bloodhounds tracked the wolf
Even to his den, to Rome; and I rode on
And flung my spear into the startled street;
For then I deemed that Rome was won for thee.
And have I not remembered thee, my own,
My native Carthage? When Italian lands
Confessed my sway, and many a goodly town
78
Of thee I thought when Rome's best blood was poured,
A rich libation to thy guardian gods,
Sweeter than oldest wine. Of thee I thought
When my Numidian bloodhounds tracked the wolf
Even to his den, to Rome; and I rode on
And flung my spear into the startled street;
For then I deemed that Rome was won for thee.
Vain was my hope. Inexorable fate
Dashed the full cup of triumph from my lips.
Oh, how unlike is this to that return
I hoped for! I would have come back to thee
With keys of hundred cities in my hands,
With many a high-born hostage in my train,
And all the treasures of the Capitol;
Rome should have been a suppliant in the dust
Before thy feet, and thou the queen of all
Between the Desert and the farthest Alps.
But these are dreams.
Dashed the full cup of triumph from my lips.
Oh, how unlike is this to that return
I hoped for! I would have come back to thee
With keys of hundred cities in my hands,
With many a high-born hostage in my train,
And all the treasures of the Capitol;
Rome should have been a suppliant in the dust
Before thy feet, and thou the queen of all
Between the Desert and the farthest Alps.
But these are dreams.
Carthage! I now return
Not as a conqueror, though unconquered yet;
I come to save thee, or to die with thee.
I fear thy doom is sealed. For this it was
Scipio was saved at Cannæ; and I saw
The sign of fate, and told the coming woe,
When I beheld my brother's severed head,
And knew his battle had been lost. Alas!
My valiant brothers! Mago! Hasdrubal!
Fate was more strong than you. We once were three,
Sons of Hamilcar, bred like lion's cubs
To prey upon the Romans; ye are dead,
And sleep on distant shores; while I remain
Alone to strive against my country's fate.
Happy are ye who live not to behold
Carthage a ruin!
Not as a conqueror, though unconquered yet;
I come to save thee, or to die with thee.
I fear thy doom is sealed. For this it was
Scipio was saved at Cannæ; and I saw
The sign of fate, and told the coming woe,
When I beheld my brother's severed head,
And knew his battle had been lost. Alas!
My valiant brothers! Mago! Hasdrubal!
Fate was more strong than you. We once were three,
Sons of Hamilcar, bred like lion's cubs
To prey upon the Romans; ye are dead,
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Alone to strive against my country's fate.
Happy are ye who live not to behold
Carthage a ruin!
But I mourn too long.
One battle still is left for me to fight,
And I will fight it like my father's son—
Yes, like my former self. Scipio and I,
Heroes of many a well-fought battle-field,
And undefeated both, are now to meet;
Our meeting shall be like that war of old,
When earth-born giants sought to scale the heavens.
Vain is the strife that mortals strive with fate,
One battle still is left for me to fight,
And I will fight it like my father's son—
Yes, like my former self. Scipio and I,
Heroes of many a well-fought battle-field,
And undefeated both, are now to meet;
Our meeting shall be like that war of old,
When earth-born giants sought to scale the heavens.
And yet it must be striven. I will not die
While they who rule the world will grant me power
To serve my country, or to injure Rome;
But if the Powers on high deny me both,
I have at least a refuge in the grave.
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