University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

—The Plain of Zama. The armies of Hannibal and Scipio drawn out for battle.
Enter Hannibal, Maharbal, Adherbal, and Hanno, riding slowly along the lines.
Adher.
[To Maharbal.]
His battle-smile is there, and cheers the soldiers;
But that is not the young gay heart of Cannæ,
Which lightly jested, till the soldiers caught
The jest too, and laughed with us.

Mah.
Ay, since then,
We all are changed a little.

Adher.
And the times, too.
I feel more strange to-day in Africa
Than e'er I felt in vanquished Italy.
Ay, o'er those blooming plains of asphodel,
Once so familiar to my eyes, I think
The sight of yonder Romans in array
Brings more home-feeling to my soul, this hour,
Than aught I've looked on yet.

Mah.
I vow my heart—
Warms to it kindlier than to wife and children.—
Plague on this horse for stumbling! After battle
I'll choose me out the best of Masanissa's.—
'Tis time I should ride forward to my post.
By heavens, if I should live a century,
I still should take youth with me to the charge.

Hanno.
Ay, go! Put Masanissa to the rout.
I'll do my best by Lælius, and, mayhap,
We'll somewhere meet again in chase of Scipio.

Mah.
[To Hannibal.]
My charger waits the spur!

Han.
Give me thy hand, then.
Farewell! Send Masanissa to his love,
A little more crest-fallen than she saw him,
At their last meeting.

Mah.
Pray the fiends, I may!

[He rides to the left wing.]
Hanno.
Ay, there he goes! I feel, I know not why,
As if I never should behold him more.

Adher.
So would he love to die.—How these wild eyes
Flash up to Hannibal, from rank to rank,
Like the broad, sudden, simultaneous gleam
Of serried spears in sunlight. Oh, this man
Could train the very leopards of the desert
To fight 'gainst Rome for Carthage!

Hanno.
The gods bless him
I, too, must to my post, O Hannibal!

Han.
Greet Lælius well from me. Adieu! adieu!
[Hanno rides to the right wing.]
It is a glorious dawn. Last night the moon
Bathed all the plain with memories of Capua,
And from the thickets of rose-laurel drew
A warm Italian fragrance.

Adher.
We may yet
Breathe that again.

Han.
Perhaps so. Forward now.
[Rides slowly before the front line, pausing from time to time to address them.]
You slingers of the isles! take your best aim!
Let us of Afric see your boasted skill!—
You Moors, beware your tyrant, Masanissa,
Who comes on fire to claim you for his bondslaves!—
Ligurians, now's your time to snatch revenge
For all the thousands of your brethren, still
Cheapened in Roman markets. Let them see
These be the fields you best know how to till—
Gauls, be you faithful to your fathers' feud,
And, as your kindred in mad revel still
Drain from Postumius' skull their sweetest draughts,
So shall the heart, henceforth, of all your race
Feast high with triumph on the fall of Rome!
[All raise loud shouts as Hannibal passes on.]
Now for the men of Carthage! Well for me,
My trust is in those veterans in our rear,
And not upon those countrymen of mine,
Nor on these half-trained savages in front,
Whose shouts are sounding still from a full heart!
Yet they will fly like wild-cats at the foe,
And leave on Scipio's legions many a scratch,
Ere he can hew a pathway through their bodies.

[He pauses before the Carthaginian line.]
Adher.
These should be soldiers—it was in them once.
They are not cowards by inheritance—
A siege of Carthage might make men of them.

Han.
You men of Carthage! You, of all this host,
Have most to fight for—you, no hired allies,
But true-born sons and brothers of the cause!
Those veterans fight for glory, and for me—
You fight for home, for vengeance, and for glory!
For a long future of such blissful hours
As all your envied past was breathed away in—
For wives and children on the temple-floors
Praying for you, with the same hope and horror
As thrice, ere now, have knocked against the hearts
Of Rome's own maids and matrons, and again
Shall knock, be you this day but true to Carthage—
For the sky-rending uproar that shall greet you,
When you come conquerors in, heirs newly crowned,
Of the world's empire, come to struggle through
The praises of the rapture-drunken crowd,
To those that meet you with their dear embrace,
And tell them, We have saved you! we, your fathers,
Husbands, and sons—we conquered, and we saved you!
For this you fight—yes, for the hope of hopes,
Upon the hateful neck of Rome to stamp
With all your strength, and break it—on the winds
Scatter her ashes, and then drag her name
For ever on the broad high-road of Time,
Bound to the chariot-wheels of your renown!
[The Carthaginian line raises a loud and prolonged shout as Hannibal passes on.
Ay, they mean well—

Adh.
So do these elephants,
I doubt not, though they're new to battle too.
Majestic monsters! Fresh from their first schooling,
They understand not how our destinies
Hang on their aptness to perform their lesson.

Han.
I would harangue them too, if they knew Syrian.
Now for the rear.

Adh.
Where lies the hope of Carthage.