Narrative and Lyric Poems (first series) for use in the Lower School | Page 5

LI
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. 430


"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
Now welcome to thy home!

Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome."
LII
Thrice looked he at the city; 435
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 440
Where,
wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay.
LIII
But meanwhile axe and lever
Have manfully been plied;
And now
the bridge hangs tottering 445
Above the boiling tide.
"Come back,
come back, Horatius!"
Loud cried the Fathers all.
"Back, Lartius!
back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall!" 450
LIV
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, 455
And on the farther shore
Saw brave
Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.
LV
But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam, 460
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 465
Was splashed the yellow foam.
LVI
And like a horse unbroken
When first he feels the rein,
The furious
river struggled hard,
And tossed his tawny mane, 470
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. 475
LVII
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, 480
With a smile on his pale face.
"Now
yield thee," cried Lars Porsena,
"Now yield thee to our grace."
LVIII
Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see; 485

Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus nought spake he;
But
he saw on Palatinus[58]
The white porch of his home;
And he
spake to the noble river 490
That rolls by the towers of Rome.
LIX
"Oh, Tiber! father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's
life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day." 495
So he
spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And
with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
LX
No sound of joy or sorrow 500
Was heard from either bank;
But
friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,

Stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges 505

They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And
even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
LXI
But fiercely ran the current, 510
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[59] blows: 515

And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
LXII
Never, I ween,[80] did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Struggle
through such a raging flood 520
Safe to the landing-place:
But his
limbs were borne up bravely
By the brave heart within,
And our
good father Tiber
Bore bravely up his chin. 525
LXIII
"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, 530
"And bring him safe
to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before."
LXI
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands; 535

Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands;
And
now, with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He
enters through the River-Gate, 540
Borne by the joyous crowd.
LXV
They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,[81]
As
much as two strong oxen
Could plough from morn till night; 545

And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it
stands unto this, day,
To witness if I lie.
LXVI
It stands in the Comitium,[62] 545
Plain for all folk to see;
Horatius
in his harness,
Halting upon one knee:
And underneath is written,

In letters all of gold, 550
How valiantly he kept the bridge,
In the

brave days of old.
LXVII
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the
trumpet-blast that cries to them 560
To charge the Volscian home,[63]

And wives still pray to Juno[64]
For boys with hearts as bold
As
his who kept the bridge so well,
In the brave days of old. 565
LXVIII
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 570
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the
good logs of Algidus[65]
Roar louder yet within;
LXIX
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit 575

When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;

When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When
the girls are weaving baskets, 580
And the lads are shaping bows;
LXX
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;

When the good wife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the
loom: 585
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the