In very sooth, I am content to view
How Fortune's wishes tally with mine own;

For this free haughty nation I subdue

Without a struggle, by my wits alone.

The occasion comes, I seize it as my due,

For when it flits and runs, and once hath flown,

Full well I know in war we pay the cost,

Our credit vanishes, and life is lost.

It may be judged a foolish, monstrous thing,

To hold our enemies beleaguered there;

That shame on Roman chivalry we bring,

By using arts of conquest strange and rare.

If such be said, then to this hope I cling,

That shrewd and practised soldiers will declare

That victory to be of most repute,

Listen, my lord, there comes a trumpet's blast

From out Numantia's town, and sure am I

They mean to speak to thee from thence at last,

For this strong wall impedes their coming nigh.

See, Corabino to the tower hath passed,

And waves a peaceful banneret on high.

Let us advance a space.

Well, be it so.

This spot is good, we need no further go.

Ye Romans, say, from my position here

Is't possible my voice your ears can reach?

Be pleased to lower it, speak slow and clear,

And then right well we'll understand your speech.

Entreat the General that he come near

The entrance of the fosse; I do beseech

That he will hear my message.

Tell it now,

For I am Scipio.

Then listen thou.

Numantia asks thee, prudent general,

To ponder well how many years have flown

Since war hath raged, with its commanding thrall,

Between thy Roman people and our own;

And haply to prevent that worse befall,

When once this warfare to a plague hath grown,

She much desires, if thou shouldst deem it right,

To end it with a short and single fight.

Your words are jest and mirth and mockery;

None but a fool would think of such a deed!

Employ the means of meek and humble plea,

If ye are eager that your necks be freed,

Nor feel the rigour of the Roman knife,

And from our powerful grip escape with life.

If that brute beast, shut up within its cage,

For savage wildness and ferocious will,

Coward! Wilt hear no more? Wilt hide thy shame?

The just and equal combat dost thou fear?

Thy conduct stamps contempt upon thy name,

By no such means wilt thou sustain it here,

Thine answer is so cowardly and tame.

Ye Romans, cowards are ye, it is clear,

Your trust is only in your teeming host,

Ye fear to raise the doughty arms ye boast!

O cruel, treacherous, of little worth,

Conspirators and tyrants are ye all!

Our fate, dear friends, hath brought us to such stress,

Our woes hang o'er us with such deepening gloom,

That death would be supremest happiness.

Ye saw; prophetic of our coming doom,

The sacrifice with all its omens dread;

Ye saw Marquino swallowed in the tomb;

Our bold defiance hath to nothing led;

What more remains to do I cannot tell,

Except to speed our passage to the dead.

This night let each Numantian bosom swell

With ardour suited to our past renown,

And let our actions match our purpose well;

Let us with might the hostile wall break down,

And on the field die fighting with the foe,

And not like cowards in this straitened town.

This deed will only serve, full well I know,

To change the mode in which we have to die,

For Death will march with us where'er we go.

In this thy bold resolve agreed am I,

I fain would perish breaking down that wall,

And single-handed breach it manfully.

But one thing giveth me concern not small,

For if our wives should hear of our design,

Our present plan to every one is plain,

They all do know it, and in accents sad

They pour their wailings forth with bitter pain;

And cry: that be our fortunes good or bad,

They all will go with us in woe or weal,

Though of their company we be not glad.

See, how they come to make a fond appeal,

That ye will leave them not in this sad case,

And mean to soften down your hearts of steel.

Within their arms they bear, with tearful face,

Sweet lords of ours, if 'mid the woes increased

Which shower their sorrows on Numantia's head—

Of which the mortal sufferings are the least—

Or in those better days which now are fled,

We ever showed ourselves your spouses true,

And ye our husbands kind and honourÈd,

Why, at this mournful time, when we may view

The wrath of heaven poured out to our distress,

Are all your proofs of love so scant and few?

We long have known, what now your looks express,

That on the Roman spears ye mean to bound;

Because their cruelty affects you less

Than that fell hunger-plague which rages round;

From out whose lean and clutching hands, I say,

No refuge nor escape can now be found.

If so ye mean to die in open fray,

And leave us here forsaken in these lands,

To foul dishonour and to death a prey,

Then first within our bosoms sheathe your brands;

For this were better far in every wise,

Than see us outraged in the foemen's hands.

I am resolved, so far as in me lies,

And fixed in this resolve I mean to dwell:

To die at last where'er my husband dies.

Assuage your grief, and dry your tearful eyes,

Ye tender wives, and let it now be known

That we do feel your anguish in such wise,

That love within our hearts hath overflown.

For me, I hold myself as well content;

So let us put in action with due speed

This strange and just design with one consent.

When ye have done what I have now decreed,

I shall disclose the rest of my intent.

So let us forth to do what all desire,

And kindle up the rich consuming fire.

With right good will we shall begin this day

To gather up our jewels for the fire;

And yield our lives, to use them as ye may,

As ye have yielded to our joint desire.

Quick, let us hasten all! Away, away,

To burn our treasures, and our rich attire,

Which might the Romans' hands make rich indeed,

And fill to overflow their grasping greed.

Morandro, 'tis a fearful sacrifice

To make for her; and well dost thou declare

That lover's breast hath nought of cowardice.

Though from thy manliness and valour rare

Still more we hope to gain, yet much I fear

That Fate unkind will prove a miser there.

To Lyra's tale I gave a listening ear,

And know her dire extreme and dismal plight,

So foreign to the worth we all revere.

I heard thee pledge thine honour and thy might

To free her from her present strait, and brave

The cruel Roman spears in reckless fight.

In such an urgent case, dear friend, I crave

To be thy comrade, for it is my due,

And aid thee with the little strength I have.

Half of my heart! O Friendship leal and true,

Unsevered in the hardships of the fray,

If so, Morandro, thou art well aware

How my desires, in good or evil fate,

Go hand in hand with thine in equal share,

Then wilt thou feel, no fears however great,

Not Death itself, nor other power malign,

Can keep me from thy fortunes separate.

With thee have I to go, with thee in fine

Return, unless the will of Heaven ordain

That I must lose my life in shielding thine.

Remain, my friend, for pity's sake, remain!

For should I finish now my hapless life

In this emprise of peril and of pain,

Thou may'st, at ending of the fatal strife,

Console my weeping mother, sore distressed,

And her, so much beloved—my promised wife.

It is, my friend, a very sorry jest,

To think that I, if haply thou be slain,

Would have such calm and quiet in my breast,

As to console, in this their urgent pain,

Thy grieving mother, and thy tearful bride.

Thy death and mine are linked, and it is plain

That I must follow thee, whate'er betide;

Morandro, friend, it is, it must be so,

No word of thine will keep me from thy side.

If go thou must, let us together go,

And in the silence of the gloomy night

Make sudden fierce assault upon the foe.

Bear nothing with thee but thine armour light,

For lucky chance and daring will combined

Will serve us more than hardest mail in fight.

Bear also this fix'd purpose in thy mind,

To seize and carry off with daring hand

Whatever good provision thou canst find.

Then let us go; I am at thy command.

Dear brother, let our spirits through our eyes

Pour forth their wailings changed to bitter tears;

Let Death approach, and bear away as prize

Our hapless life of misery and fears.

A little space will end our griefs and sighs,

For Death stands ready armed, and now appears

To bear on speedy wings as welcome spoil

Whatever dwells upon Numantian soil.

I see most truly what the tokens are

That our dear land must sink in awful gloom;

Nor need these Roman ministers of war

Decree our ruin and adjudge our doom:

Our own, who reckon it more fearful far

That we should drag out life within a tomb,

Have given sentence that we end our days,

A stern decree, but worthy of all praise.

They now have raised within the public square

A monstrous, greedy, all-consuming fire,

Whose flames, replenished by our riches rare,

Assail the very heavens in their ire.

To this, with quickened speed, pricked on by care,

Turn thee to see a sight of misery!

See, how our swarming folk of every name

With quickened steps and eager faces fly

To feed the fury of the maddened flame!

And not with faggots green, or fodder dry,

Or any worthless fuel like the same,

But with their garnered wealth, and luckless treasure,

Which in its burning gives them greater pleasure.

If such a deed as this would end our woe,

We well might see and bear it patiently,