He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter Stand savagely at bay; But will ye dare to follow, If Astur clears the way?" Then, whirling up his broadsword And smote with all his might. Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; 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, The good sword stood a hand breadth out 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. On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled with wrath and shame and dread, Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race, For all Etruria's noblest Were round the fatal place. But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, In the path the dauntless three ; And from the ghastly entrance, Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, - like boys who, unaware, Ranging a wood to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood. Was none who would be foremost 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 ax 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, And, as they passed, beneath their feet 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 And like a horse unbroken, When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free; And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement and plank and pier, Rushed 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 turned he, as not deigning The white porch of his home; "O Tiber! Father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed The good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back, Plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank, But friends and foes in dumb surprise, They saw his crest appear, But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain; -And fast his blood was flowing, And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, And spent with changing blows; And oft they thought him sinking, But still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, Struggle through such a raging flood But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within, 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 sacked 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; Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapping, They gave him of the corn-land, Could plow from morn till night; And in the nights of winter, When the cold north-winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within; When the oldest cask is opened, When the chestnuts glow in the embers, When the goodman mends his armor, How well Horatius kept the bridge THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. SEMPRONIUS'S SPEECH FOR WAR. My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death? No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And at the head of our remaining troops Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise! Fathers, rise! 't is Rome demands your help: Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Or share their fate! The corpse of half her senate Manures the fields of Thessaly, while we Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, JOSEPH ADDISON. |