ZAMA.
I looked, and on old Zama's arid plain
Two chieftains stood. At distance ranged their hosts,
While they with flashing eye, and gesture strong,
Held their high parley. One was sternly marked
With care and hardship. Still his warrior soul
Frowned in unbroken might, as when he sealed,
In ardent boyhood, the eternal vow
Of enmity to Rome. The other seemed
Of younger years, and on his noble brow
Beauty with magnanimity sat throned;
And yet, methought, his darkening eye-ball said
"Delendo est Carthago."
Brief they spake,
And parted as proud souls in anger part,
While the wild shriek of trumpets, and the rush
Of cohorts rent the air. I turned away.
The pomp of battle, and the din of arms
May round a period well, but to behold
The mortal struggle, and the riven shield—
To mark how Nature's holiest, tenderest ties
Are sundered—to recount the childless homes,
And sireless babes, and widows' early graves,
Made by one victor-shout, bids the blood creep
Cold through its channels.
Once again I looked
When the pure moon unveiled a silent scene,
Silent, save when from 'neath some weltering pile
