 | Hannibal |  |
Scene II.
—The camp of Hasdrubal before Placentia. Carthalo, Abelux, and other officers assembled in the tent of Hasdrubal.Carth.
To-morrow morn, farewell then to Placentia!
Saguntum's self stood not more stubbornly—
But we chastised Saguntum, and, alas!
We leave Placentia free. Friend Abelux!
I think the spirit of your Spanish towns
Has flown before us into Italy.
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Our drowsy comrade looks far more inclined
To sleep away the summer in these plains,
Than fight his way to Rome.
Abel.
I were content
To tarry here, and also well content
To follow Hasdrubal where'er he goes.
But meanwhile I am sleepy, and you will not
Leave me to doze in peace.
Carth.
Thou lazy Spaniard!
How wilt thou bear to march with Hannibal,
Who flies from north to south, from east to west,
O'er hill, and plain, and river, like the wind—
Whirling his breathless army at his heels,
Till all geography doth stand amazed?
But, as for me, when shall I sleep again,
With Rome in view? Body and soul seem winged
Since we have crossed the Alps.
Off.
His tortoise-spirit
Is wrapped in sweetest dreams, and hears thee not.
Carth.
'Tis but a savage—though a gallant one—
Whose race has still a human soul to find,
Mere beasts of prey as yet, that gorge themselves
With slaughter and with plunder half the year,
And sleep the other half.
Enter Hasdrubal.
Hasd.
I have kept you waiting—
Oh, friends, my heart is at a festival!
To-morrow—yea, to-morrow—we shall march
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That ever led a brother to a brother.
Oh, friends, when we trod o'er the breach he hewed
Through the white adamant so long ago,
With labour to which ours was but a jest,
I could have kissed the very snow whereon
He left the footprints of his thousands, graven
In traces everlasting as the frost.
But I could wish that I had left behind
A garrison in this stubborn colony.
Carth.
A plague on all the Latin colonies!
It is the Latin Name has hitherto
Saved Rome from Hannibal. But for those nests
Of pestilent hornets, long ere now her Senate
Had humbled its stiff neck down to the dust.
Howe'er it be, I would you had lingered less
Before this insolent city. True it is,
You have come sooner down into the plains
Than you were looked for, but—
Hasd.
Oh, peace, Carthalo!
No “buts” this happy eve. Give me that map.
For our friend there, I guess his Spanish soul
Lies dreaming of his own betrothëd bride,
And the fine gold and gems he will snatch for her
From many a proud patrician's perfumed tresses—
Or haply dreams of nothing. Come here, comrades—
Is not this map, Carthalo, like a poem
That chants to us his tale of victory?
Where'er I set my finger is a triumph—
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Why, all the air we breathe, breathes of his deeds—
And Trebia still, methinks, seems red with them.
Oh, brother, hast thou left me any spot
To consecrate mine own—one field for me?
Unkind, didst thou forget, amidst thy glory,
Thy father left another son to share
Thy foreign heritage, and gather in,
With thee, the purple vintage of revenge?
Carth.
This very moment, be you sure, he counts
The hours that bring you to him—and Rome, too,
Counts them and trembles.
Hasd.
So I hope, Carthalo.
To us, to us, to our avenging house,
The Moloch of this land, must the doomed city
Offer the flower of all her children up,
For the burnt sacrifice our souls delight in.
Oh! Italy, whilst thus from north to south
Mine eye sweeps o'er thee, how my soul devotes
All that I look on to Hamilcar's sons!
And, oh! Carthalo, think how we shall meet
The maidens of our city dancing forth
With timbrel-chorus, and the noise of harps,
And voice of song, to celebrate our deeds!
How we, like lions, raged abroad to share
The spoil of Italy, and come back, laden
With all the wealth and fatness of the land!
My comrades, oh! but I must needs be mad,
Thus to exult before the deed is done!
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In youth's fierce bloom, to do his holy mission,
Uttered aloud the passion which flashed light
Heroic, from the sternness of his face.
Blest is that ardour which can find no words!
It finds a tenfold emphasis in deeds.
Ten years ago, ten crowded years, Carthalo!
And now it seems to me but yesterday
That we two parted.
Carth.
But to meet again!
I would I could have seen how Scipio looked,
When he discovered how much he had won
By his great victory of Bæcula,
And knew that you were plunging into Gaul,
Far o'er the northern hills, whilst he, alack!
Perched high amongst the chilly eastern skies,
Watched all the weary days to see you pass.
Oh! youth's presumption, that would bar the way
Against Hamilcar's son!
Hasd.
If I mistake not,
There are in that presumptuous youth, Carthalo,
The makings of a noble general.
He fought, they say, with desperate zeal, at Cannæ.
But let him be—I'll never grudge him Spain,
When Rome is ours. See here my destined way
Through Umbria—ay, how easily my finger
Travels the path so many thousand men
Shall hardly clear for me with the sword's edge!
And here—oh! here, I trace that other path
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Down to the lake, whose veil of morning mist
The war-cry of the Gaul so rudely shook,
E'er the broad sun blazed on his triumph. Thence
His road is mine, or I will perish.
Carth.
Ay,
And here's Spoletum, here's th'audacious town
That dared to close its gates upon the victor—
Another Latin colony, curse upon it!
Enter an Officer.
Off.
My lord, without are Gala and Gulussa
Waiting thine orders.
Hasd.
Bid them to come in.
Enter Gala and Gulussa.
My trusty soldiers, speed and luck be yours—
I need not to detain you. Here's the letter,
And look you bear it safe to Hannibal,
For in it lies the fate of Rome and Carthage.
Gul.
There is no man fights 'neath a Roman banner
Shall live to tear it from me.
Hasd.
Well said, friend.
I fear not but your courage and your cunning
Shall bear you safely to your mission's end.
Nor need I to remind you what advancement
I purpose to reward your skill with. Well,
Be gone, my brave Numidians! Do not fail
To greet my brother well, and bid him drain
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Beneath the walls of Rome. And doubt you not
You shall partake with him—a brimming cup
Of the best grape that's pressed in Italy
I dare be sworn awaits you at his board.
And what a story shall you have to tell
To him and his admiring generals,
Of all your dangers and escapes in coming!
And what a tale shall history tell of you!
So fare you well!
Gul.
It shall go hard, my lord,
But we will win the thanks of Hannibal.
[Exeunt Gala and Gulussa.
Hasd.
Now, friends, let's in to supper. Abelux,
I pray you waken.
Carth.
Wake, thou sluggard, wake!
Abel.
Why, what's the matter?
Carth.
Nothing worse than supper.
We shall not march to the world's end to-night.
Abel.
If I can sleep, I can fight too, Carthalo.
There's not a man here has not seen me stand
Oft and again in the hot battle's front,
With my brave tribe, to beat Rome's legions back,
Nor for the last time yet.
Hasd.
True, I'll be bound.
[They go into supper.
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