Whom I have slain, and thou dost mourn, are they
To be forgotten? Hath oblivion then
Shrouded the stern destroyer’s ruthless work,
The famine of Numantia? Such a deed
As on our name the world’s deep curses drew!
Or the four hundred Lusian youths betray’d,
And with their bleeding, mutilated limbs
Back to their parents sent? Is this forgot?
Go, ask of Carthage!—bid her wasted shores
Of him, this reveller in blood, recount