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

The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome:
"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, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges

They saw his crest appear,

All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.

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,

In such an evil case,

Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing place:

But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within,

And our good father Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.

"Curses 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
press his gory hands:

Το
And now with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,

He enters through the River Gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.

[Macaulay

A ROMAN BATTLE.

RIGHT glad were all the Romans
Who, in that hour of dread,
Against great odds bare up the war
Around Valerius dead,

When from the south, the cheering
Rose with a mighty swell,-
"Herminius comes! Herminius,
Who kept the bridge so well!"

Mamilius spied Herminius,
And dashed across the way,-
"Herminius! I have sought thee
Through many a bloody day.
One of us two, Herminius,
Shall never more go home:
I will lay on for Tusculum,
And lay thou on for Rome!"

All round them paused the battle,
While met in mortal fray

The Roman and the Tusculan,
The horses black and gray.
Herminius smote Mamilius

Through breastplate and through breast, And fast flowed out the purple blood Over the purple vest.

Mamilius smote Herminius

Through head-piece and through head; And side by side those chiefs of pride Together fell down dead.

Down fell they dead together

In a great lake of gore;

And still stood all who saw them fall
While men might count a score.

Fast, fast, with heels wild spurning,
The dark-gray charger fled:

He burst through ranks of fighting men,
He sprang o'er heaps of dead.
His bridle far out-streaming,

His flanks all blood and foam,
He sought the southern mountains,
The mountains of his home.

The pass was steep and rugged,

The wolves they howled and whined; But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass, And he left the wolves behind. Through many a startled hamlet Thundered his flying feet;

He rushed through the gate of Tusculum,
He rushed up the long white street;
He rushed by tower and temple,

And paused not from his race

Till he stood before his master's door
In the stately market-place.
And straightway round him gathered
A pale and trembling crowd,
And when they knew him, cries of rage
Brake forth, and wailing loud:

And women rent their tresses

For their great prince's fall;

And old men girt on their old swords,
And went to man the wall.

But like a graven image,

Black Auster kept his place,
And ever wistfully he looked
Into his master's face.
The raven mane that daily,

With pats and fond caresses,
The young Herminia washed and combed,
And twined in even tresses,
And decked with colored ribbons,

From her own gay attire,

Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse
In carnage and in mire.

Forth with a shout sprang Titus,

And seized black Auster's rein.