Journeys Through Bookland, Volume 6 | Page 8

slew the great wild boar,
The great wild boar that had his den

Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
And wasted fields, and slaughtered
men,
Along Albinia's shore.
Herminius smote down Aruns:
Lartius laid Ocnus low:
Right to the
heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.
"Lie there," he cried, "fell
pirate!
No more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia's walls the crowd
shall mark

The track of thy destroying bark.
No more
Campania's[12-19] hinds[12-20] shall fly
To woods and caverns
when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail."
But now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes.
A wild
and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears' lengths

from the entrance
Halted that deep array,
And for a space no man
came forth
To win the narrow way.
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.
[Illustration: "LIE THERE," HE CRIED, "FELL PIRATE!"]
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[14-21]
Stand 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,

The good sword stood a handbreadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on
Mount Alvernus
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,
Ere he wrenched out the steel.
"And
see," he cried, "the welcome,
Fair guests, that waits you here!
What
noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer?"

But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of
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 the woods 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
To lead such dire attack:
But
those behind cried "Forward!"
And those before cried "Back!"
And
backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array;
And on the
tossing sea of steel,
To and fro the standards reel;
And the
victorious trumpet-peal
Dies fitfully away.
Yet one man for one moment
Stood 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,
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
Those craven ranks to see;

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus naught spake he;
But
he saw on Palatinus[18-22]
The white porch of his home;
And he
spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.
"O Tiber! father Tiber![18-23]
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