Let not Cæsar's servile minions

Mock the lion thus laid low; 'T was no foeman's arm that felled him, [blow: 'T was his own that struck the His, who pillowed on thy bosom, Turned aside from glory's ray, His who, drunk with thy caresses, Madly threw a world away.

Should the base plebeian rabble

Dare assail my name at Rome, Where my noble spouse, Octavia, Weeps within her widowed home, Seek her; say the gods bear witness Altars, augurs, circling wingsThat her blood, with mine commingled, [kings. Yet shall mount the throne of

As for thee, star-eyed Egyptian!
Glorious sorceress of the Nile!
Light the path to Stygian horrors
With the splendors of thy smile.
Give the Cæsar crowns and arches.
Let his brow the laurel twine:
I can scorn the Senate's triumphs,
Triumphing in love like thine.

I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Hark! the insulting foeman's
cry.

They are coming-quick, my fal chion!

Let me front them ere I die. Ah! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell; Isis and Osiris guard thee! Cleopatra - Rome - farewell!

LARS PORSENA of Clusium,
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,

And named a trysting-day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.

East and west and south and north

The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan

Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium

Is on the march for Rome!

The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain,
From many a lonely hamlet,

Which, hid by beech and pine,

crest

Of purple Apennine:

There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land,

Who always by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand.
Evening and morn the Thirty

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
The golden shields of Rome!"

And now hath every city

Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousands ten.

"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul; Lars Porsena is here."

On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.

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 trumpets' war-note proud,

The trampling and the hum. And plainly and more plainly Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right,

In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright, The long array of spears.

Fast by the royal standard,

O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,

That wrought the deed of shame.

But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the house-tops was no woman
But spat towards him and hissed,
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.

But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe:
"Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge
What hope to save the town ?"

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds

For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods?

66 And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens

Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand

May well be stopped by three: Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?"

But now no sound of laughter

Was heard among the foes: A wild and wrathful clamor

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 fourfold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield.

He smiled on those bold Romans,
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter
Stands savagely at bay;
But will ye dare to follow,

If Astur clears the way?"

Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,

And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet
too nigh;

It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh.

The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.

He reeled, 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, Lout The good sword stood a handbreadth Behind the Tuscan's head.

And the great lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Avernus A thunder-smitten oak.

Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.

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 looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury,

And thrice turned back in dread;
And, white with fear and hatred,
Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood
The bravest Tuscans lay.

But meanwhile axe and lever

Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide.

"Come back, come back, Horatius!"

Loud cried the Fathers all"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius -
Herminius darted back;

And, as they passed, beneath their feet

They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore

Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more;

But with a crash like thunder

Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream; And a long shout of triumph

Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam. And like a horse unbroken,

When first he feels the rein,