Thou rebel soul, seek now the home again

Thou leftest empty these few hours ago!

Restrain the fury of thy reckless pain;

Suffice it, O Marquino, man of woe,

What I do suffer in the realms obscure,

Nor give me pangs more fearful to endure.

Thou errest, if thou thinkest that I crave,

For greater pleasure and for less dismay,

This painful, pinched, and narrow life I have,

Which even now is ebbing fast away.

Nay, rather dost thou cause me dolour grave,

Since Death a second time, with bitter sway,

Will triumph over me in life and soul,

And gain a double palm, beyond control.

For he and others of the dismal band

Who do thy bidding, subject to thy spell,

Are raging round and round, and waiting stand,

Till I shall finish what I have to tell:

The woeful end, most terrible and grand,

Of our Numantia, since I know it well:

For she shall fall, and by the hands austere

Of those who are to her most near and dear.

The Romans ne'er shall victory obtain

O'er proud Numantia; still less shall she

A glorious triumph o'er her foemen gain;

Twixt friends and foes, both brave to a degree,

Think not that settled peace shall ever reign

Where rage meets rage in strife eternally.

The friendly hand, with homicidal knife,

Will slay Numantia, and will give her life.

I say no more, Marquino, time is fleet;

The Fates will grant to me no more delay,

And though my words may seem to thee deceit,

Thou'lt find at last the truth of what I say.

O fearful signs! O misery complete!

If such events, my friend, are on the way,

Before I gaze on this my people's doom

I'll end my wretched being in this tomb!