"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, May well be stopped by three. Then out spake Spurius Lartius; "I will abide on thy left side, "Horatius," quoth the Consul, "As thou say'st, so let it be." Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 3 Romulus divided the Romans into three tribes, called Rhamnenses, Tatienses, and Lucerenses. Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, Now while the Three were tightening And Fathers mixed with Commons, Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Came flashing back the noonday light, Four hundred trumpets sounded As that great host, with measured tread, The Three stood calm and silent, And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array, To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way; Aunus, from green Tifernum, And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves And Picus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers O'er the pale waves of Nar. Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus And clove him to the teeth : At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms * But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see Where those bold Romans stood, Was none who would be foremost But meanwhile axe and lever And now the bridge hangs tottering "Come back, come back, Horatius !" 66 Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! 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 And, like a horse unbroken, And burst the curb, and bounded, And whirling down, in fierce career, 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; And he spake to the noble river 66 That rolls by the towers of Rome : Oh, Tiber! Father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; 4 Etruscan for "mighty chief." |