‘Were they mine at the plea, were they mine for the token, all told,
Now the citadel sleeps, now my father the keeper is old,
‘If I go by the way that I know, and thou followest hard,
If yet at the touch of Tarpeia the gates be unbarred?’
The chief trembled sharply for joy, then drew rein on his soul:
‘Of all this arm beareth I swear I will cede thee the whole.’
And up from the nooks of the camp, with hoarse plaudit outdealt,
The bearded Sabini glanced hotly, and vowed as they knelt,
Bare-stretching the wrists that bore also the glowing great boon:
‘Yea! surely as over us shineth the lurid low moon,
‘Not alone of our lord, but of each of us take what he hath!
Too poor is the guerdon, if thou wilt but show us the path.’
Her nostril upraised, like a fawn’s on the arrowy air,
She sped; in a serpentine gleam to the precipice stair,
They climbed in her traces, they closed on their evil swift star:
She bent to the latches, and swung the huge portal ajar.
Repulsed where they passed her, half-tearful for wounded belief,
‘The bracelets!’ she pleaded. Then faced her the leonine chief,
And answered her: ‘Even as I promised, maid-merchant, I do.’
Down from his dark shoulder the baubles he sullenly drew.
‘This left arm shall nothing begrudge thee. Accept. Find it sweet.
Give, too, O my brothers!’ The jewels he flung at her feet,