CARTHAGINIAN SONG TO THE MOON .

Oh luminous Tanit! unto us thou sendest
The wandering winds, the dews and many rains,
And by thy wondrous rise and fall thou lendest
New mysteries to our green, abundant plains.

The eyes of cats grow narrow by thy changes,
The spots of panthers by thy rays expand,
And fearless beasts within the mountain ranges
Grow terrible or weak at thy command.

The shells that dot the tawny beach thou fillest,

And lo! the pale announcer of new moons,
High on the flowerful Temple of Eschm├┤n,
Cried to the winds and smote his palsied cheek,
For he was feverish by the midnight air
Of many decades, and his blood was thin
Attending to the motions of the orb
That turned his eyes to whiteness, but he knew
That, when fell blindness shrouded them at last,
He would be sacred held, and he was glad
Within his bosom, for the moon's thin slaves,
When ravaged by the splendor of her rays,
Were holy ever after, and could dwell
In Megara, the suburb of the town,

The secrets we divine
Of stars that o'er us shine,
And Tanit, bathed in splendors,
Her mystery surrenders
At our sign.

Each living thing on earth
Proclaims our holy worth;
We know all wonders mystic,
All symbols cabalistic,
From our birth.

We know the balm for stings,
We read the eyes of kings;
We live in contemplation,
And in deep meditation
Learn all things.

We warn when gentle rain
Will ripple on the plain.
Near Nebo's lofty altars
Our worship never falters,
Nor is vain.

We are the terror of the state,
And yet its joy;
Our blows are pitiless as fate
When we destroy.

We are the mighty army's heart;
Our glittering shields,
When seen, make haughty Romans start
On battle-fields.

Unhampered course our valiant steeds
On plain and shore,
Held by a wreath of twisted reeds
And nothing more.

Our ears are gemmed with ocean pearls;
We are revered,
And we have perfume in our curls
And on our beard.

Agile and fearless everywhere,
The foe we meet,

Every foe before us flies
With a terror in his eyes!
We are Hannibal's fierce warriors for all battle-carnage frantic,
And amid our brazen shields,
In the blood of many fields,
He, our leader, our great Captain, deigns to praise our deeds gigantic!

On the slopes of Eryx far
We did mutilate and mar
The mailed enemies who scorned us with mad folly and derision!
How Zeboub, the God of Rot,
Who his chosen ne'er forgot,
Hurled his lightning on their bodies as they vanished like a vision!

Oh mighty Moloch! Hail, terrific god, bull-headed!
And hail to thee, Râhab, omnipotent and dreaded!
Baal-Sâmin, unto thee, God of Celestial Spaces,
We come with precious gifts and pallor on our faces!
And, at thy shrine, Zeboub, great God of Rot and Carrion,
We offer piles of human flesh and praise thee with the clarion
God of the Holy Hills, strong Peor, we adore thee,
And in our pointed caps we humbly bow before thee!
Derceto, unto thee, sweet goddess finned and beauteous,
We come with gems and gifts, thy people grave and duteous!

In the scorching sun amid the bricks we languish,
And no golden ransom cometh o'er the foam;
We are slaves in utter misery and anguish,
Left unshielded by the generals of Rome.

We are doomed by mighty beasts to be down-trampled,
Or upon a hideous cross to shriek and rot,
If to save us for our valor unexampled
Our companions from the Forum hurry not.

We were captured in the fierce heart of the battle,
But no warrior brought a pallor to our cheeks;
We withstood the many darts that smite and rattle,

Oh sweet passer, pause, be wise!
We have flowers to charm thine eyes.
Enter, passer, stop, sweet stranger, enter in and taste our wares!
We have rosy auroch-flesh
From the green oases fresh,
We have melons from Egesta and the juicy Sulci pears.

In our baskets thou wilt find
Hottest spice of every kind,
With rich paste to rub the body when the sun is fierce by day.
They are delicate and sweet,
Made of myrrh, and wine, and wheat,
Ay! with sulphur, and pure galbanum, and the milk of bitches gray.

And lo! Adherbal, General-in-Chief,
The leader of the Slingers of the Isles,
Captain of Cohorts and Iberian slaves,
Captain of Libyan and Phaenician spears,
Captain of Greeks, Campanians and Gauls,
And many Volscians, famed for battle-cries,
Had lost a contest on Sicilian plains,
Leaving a thousand warriors dead or maimed,
And twenty elephants, the dread of Rome.
Yea, and his foolish plans had cost the State
A hundred tents of silk and many spears,
And bales of food and money for the troops
In two besieged towns, and camels, too,

We are monarchs of the sea,
And before us ever flee
The great vessels of the Romans, ay, like doves before the thunder!
We can terrify all Rome,
When we speed through blood and foam
To their harbors and their vineyards, there to revel and to plunder!

We can count ten thousand oars
Upon our and distant shores,
On our haughty prows e'er glitter the fierce eyes of sculptured horses;
We are dreaded as a pest
By our enemies oppressed,