If so our souls must from our bodies part,
Than thus to rush upon the Roman spears,
And dying, strike our foemen at the heart?
Let him who will display the coward's fears,
And stay within the city all apart;
For me, at least, my life I'd rather yield,
Within the ditch, or on the open field.
Third Numantine.
This cruel hunger, fearsome and malign,
Which tracks our path, and goads us bitterly,