Hannibal: A Poem

With arm outstretched he stands bestride the alps
With hateful gaze and flame of one good eye
Down he marches to smash the Roman scalp
The demon lord with fury does he fly
Ancestral hate and death does he now slate
Destruction, war at mighty Rome in spate
Till down to earth from heights to meet his fate
Before the thirst for vengeance he can sate
The long haired Scipio will smash his spear
And make all Carthage down on knees to fear
And Roman glory shall to heights ascend
That never would they glimpse had it not been
That one-eyed Hannibal should come in stride
And kill the flower of the Roman pride
Fifteen thousand men went down in slaughter
Sinking in the blood and churning water
Seventy five thousand died in a day
Ferried into death by Hannibal’s hand
And perished all the youth of Roman land
Smearing with their blood Italian soil
Mark him now goblet raised as he does stand
No army round about with Roman spoil
For it must be he die by his own hand
Ripping asunder his own mortal coil
Invincible until the very last
Triumphing over every worldly strife
Save only for the failure of his life

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