And all their fancies turn to crazy freak,
And this Numantia, this little spot,
Regain once more its free and happy lot!
But now, alas! the foe hath girt it round,
Not with confronting arms, foreboding ill
To its weak walls, but with a wit profound
And ready hands hath laboured with such skill,
That with a trench deep-hollowed in the ground
The town is circled, over plain and hill—
And only on the side where runs the river