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 banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following,
To join the muster, came
The Tusculan Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian, Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages Red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City,

They sat all night and day,

For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay.

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 stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain.

I wis, in all the Senate

There was no heart so bold
But sore it ached, and fast it beat,
When that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul,
Up rose the Fathers all;

In haste they girded up their gowns,
And hied them to the wall.

They held a council, standing
Before the River-gate;

Short time was there, ye well may guess,

For musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly:

"The bridge must straight go
down;

For, since Janiculum is lost,
Naught else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying,

All wild with haste and fear;

"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?
"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, [out 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.