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��And sireless babes, and widows' early graves, Made by one victor-shout, bids the blood creep Cold through its channels.
Once again I looked
Wlien the pure moon unveiled a silent scene Silent, save when from 'neath some weltering pile A dying war-horse neighed, in whose gored breast Life lingered stubbornly, or some pale knight Half-raised his arm, awakened by the call Of his loved steed, even from the dream of death.
With stealthy step the prowling plunderer stalked, The dark-winged raven led her clamorous blood To their dread feast, and on the shadowy skirts Of that dire field, the fierce hyena rolled A keen malevolent eye.
Time sped its course. Fresh verdure mantled Zama's fatal plain, While Carthage, with a subjugated knee And crownless head, toiled 'mid the slaves of Rome.
Once more I sought Hamilcar's awful son And, lo ! an exiled, and despised old man , Guest of Bithynian perfidy, did grasp The poison-goblet in his withered hand, And drink and die !
Say ! is this he who rent The bloody laurel from Saguntum's walls ?
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