From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers. Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill; Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves But now no stroke of woodman Is heard by Auser's rill; No hunter tracks the stag's green path Grazes the milk-white steer; The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls, Whose sires have march'd to Rome. There be thirty chosen prophets, Both morn and evening stand: Have turned the verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white By mighty seers of yore. And with one voice the Thirty Have their glad answer given: "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; Go forth, beloved of Heaven; Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome; And hang round Nurscia's altars And now hath every city Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array, A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting day. For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banish'd Roman, And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright: The throng stopp'd up the ways; For aged folk on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And droves of mules and asses That creak'd beneath their weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. Now, from the rock Tarpeian, They sat all night and day, To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote, In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath storm'd Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. I wis in all the senate, There was no heart so bold, In haste they girded up their gowns, On the low hills to westward The consul fix'd his eye, And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, The trampling, and the hum. And plainly and more plainly Now through the gloom appears, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, And plainly and more plainly, Of twelve fair cities shine; And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest, Each warlike Lucumo. There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen; Girt with the brand none else may wield, Fast by the royal standard, O'erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium Sate in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius, That wrought the deed of shame. But when the face of Sextus From all the town arose. But the consul's brow was sad, Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, Then out spake brave Horatius, "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. Than facing fearful odds, Who dandled him to rest, Who feed the eternal flame, And keep the bridge with thee." "I will abide on thy left side, "As thou sayest, so let it be." Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then spoils were fairly sold: Now Roman is to Roman In battle we wax cold; Now while the Three were tightening Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, The Three stood calm and silent From all the vanguard rose: And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that mighty mass; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow pass; Aunus from green Tifernum, Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Vassal in peace and war, From that gray crag where, girt with towers, O'er the pale waves of Nar. Stout Lartius hurl'd down Aunus Into the stream beneath : Herminius struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth: At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Then Ocnus of Falerii Rush'd on the Roman Three; And Lausulus of Urgo, The rover of the sea; And Aruns of Volsinium, Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Corsa's fen, And wasted fields, and slaughter'd men, Along Albinia's shore. Herminius smote down Aruns: Lartius laid Ocnus low: Right to the heart of Lausulus "Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark But now no sound of laughter A wild and wrathful clamour From all the vanguard rose. Six spears' length from the entrance Halted that mighty mass, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow pass. But hark! the cry is Astur: And lo! the ranks divide; And the great lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders Clangs loud the four-fold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield. He smiled on those bold Romans He eyed the flinching Tuscans, Then, whirling up his broadsword And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius Right deftly turn'd the blow. The blow, though turn'd, came yet too nigh; It miss'd his helm, but gash'd his thigh: The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow. He reel'd, and on Herminius He leaned one breathing-space; Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a hand-breadth out Behind the Tuscan's head. And the great lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, The giant arms lie spread; On Astur's throat Horatius Fair guests, that waits you here! But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, Along that glittering van. There lack'd not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race; For all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see Where those bold Romans stood, Was none who could be foremost Wavers the deep array; Yet one man for one moment Strode out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud. "Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome." Thrice look'd he on the city; Thrice look'd he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turn'd back in dread: And, white with fear and hatred, Scowl'd at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay. But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied, "Come back, come back, Horatius!" Back darted Spurius Lartius; And, as they pass'd, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But when they turn'd their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have cross'd once more. But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosen'd beam, And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Rome As to the highest turret-tops Was splash'd the yellow foam. And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein, And whirling down, in fierce career, Rush'd headlong to the sea. Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace." Round turn'd he, as not deigning The white porch of his home; To whom the Romans pray, No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank; They saw his crest appear, But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain : And spent with changing blows: Never, I ween, did swimmer, And our good father Tiber Bare bravely up his chin. "Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sack'd the town!" "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom; Now on dry earth he stands; It stands in the Comitium, And still his name sounds stirring As the trumpet blast that cries to them For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well And in the nights of winter, When the cold north winds blow, When the oldest cask is opened, When the chestnuts glow in the embers, Around the firebrands close; With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. THE BATTLE OF IVRY. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, Now let there be the merry sound Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, Again let rapture light the eyes Of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, Be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they Hath turn'd the chance of war, And King Henry of Navarre! And Egmont's Flemish spears. And dark Mayenne was in the midst, A truncheon in his hand; All dabbled with his blood; And Henry of Navarre. The king is come to marshal us, And he has bound a snow-white plume He look'd upon his people, And a tear was in his eye; He look'd upon the traitors, And his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, As roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the king." "And if my standard-bearer fall, As fall full well he mayFor never saw I promise yet Of such a bloody fray |