There be thirty chosen prophets, the wisest of the land,
Who alway by Lars Porsena both morn and evening stand:
Evening and morn the Thirty have turn'd the verses o'er,
Traced from the right on linen white by mighty seers of yore.
And with one voice the Thirty have their glad answer given:
"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; go forth, belov'd of heaven.
Go, and return in glory to Clusium's royal dome;
And hang round Nurscia's altars the golden shields of Rome."

And now hath every city sent up her tale of men:
The foot are fourscore thousand, the horse are thousands ten.
Before the gates of Sutrium is met the great array.
A proud man was Lars Porsena upon the trysting day.
For all the Etruscan armies were ranged beneath his eye,
And many a banish'd Roman, and many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following to join the muster came
The Tusculan Mamilius, prince of the Latian name.

But by the yellow Tiber was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign to Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city, the throng stopp'd up the ways;
A fearful sight it was to see through two long nights and days.
For aged folks on crutches, and women great with child,
And mothers sobbing over babes that clung to them and smiled,
And sick men borne in litters high on the necks of slaves,
And troops of sun-burn'd husbandmen with reaping-hooks and
staves,
And droves of mules and asses laden with skins of wine,
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, and endless herds of
kine,
And endless trains of wagons that creak'd beneath the weight
Of corn-sacks and of household goods, choked every roaring
gate.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian, could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages red in the midnight sky.
The Fathers of the City, they sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman came with tidings of dismay.
To eastward and to westward have spread the Tuscan bands;
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote in Crustumerium stands.
Verbenna down to Ostia hath wasted all the plain;
Astur hath storm'd Janiculum, and the stout guards are slain.
I wis, in all the Senate, there was no heart so bold,
But sore it ached, and fast it beat, when that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul, up rose the Fathers all;
In haste they girded up their gowns, and hied them to the wall.
They held a council standing, before the River-Gate;
Short time was there, ye well may guess, for musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go
down;
For, since Janiculum is lost, nought else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying, all wild with haste and fear:
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul: Lars Porsena is here."
On the low hills to westward the Consul fix'd his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust rise fast along the sky.
And nearer fast and nearer doth the red whirlwind come;
And louder still and still more loud, from underneath that rolling
cloud,
Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, the trampling, and the
hum.
And plainly and more plainly now through the gloom appears,
Far to left and far to right, in broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright, the long array of spears.
And plainly and more plainly above that glimmering line,
Now might ye see the banners of twelve fair cities shine;
But the banner of proud Clusium was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian, the terror of the Gaul.
And plainly and more plainly now might the burghers know,
By port and vest, by horse and crest, each warlike Lucumo.
There Cilnius of Arretium on his fleet roan was seen;
And Astur of the four-fold shield, girt with the brand none else
may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold, and dark Verbenna from the
hold
By reedy Thrasymene.

Fast by the royal standard, o'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus, that wrought the deed of shame.
But when the face of Sextus was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament from all the town arose.
On the house-tops was no woman but spat towards him and
hiss'd,
No child but scream'd out curses, and shook its little fist.
But the Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly look'd he at the wall, and darkly at the foe.
"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the
town?"

Then out spake brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate:
"To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods,
And for the tender mother who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses his baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus that wrought the deed of shame?
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopp'd by three.
Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with
me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius; a Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with
thee."
And out spake strong Herminius; of Titian blood was he:
"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee."

"Horatius," quoth the Consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be."
And straight against that great array forth went the dauntless
Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, in the brave days of old.
Then none was for a party; then all were for the state;
Then the great man help'd the poor, and the poor man lov'd
the great:
Then lands were fairly portion'd; then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers in the brave days of old.
Now Roman is to Roman more hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high, and the Fathers grind the
low.
As we wax hot in faction, in battle we wax cold:
Wherefore men fight not as they fought in the brave days of old.

Now while the Three were tightening their harness on their
backs,
The Consul was the foremost man to take in hand an axe:
And Fathers mix'd with Commons seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above, and loosed the props below.