"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul; Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward 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. For the ashes of his fathers "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; May well be stopped by three: Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?" Wherefore men fight not as they fought In the brave days of old. Now while the three were tightening But now no sound of laughter Was heard among the foes: A wild and wrathful clamor From all the vanguard rose. But, hark! the cry is Astur: Comes with his stately stride. 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, Then, whirling up his broadsword And smote with all his might. It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh. The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 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. Back darted Spurius Lartius - And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more; But with a crash like thunder When first he feels the rein, |