But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, In the path the dauntless Three: And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood.
Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack; But those behind cried ‘Forward!’ And those before cried ‘Back!’ And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel; And the victorious trumpet-peal Dies fitfully away.
Yet one man for one moment Strode out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud. ‘Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome.’
Thrice looked he at the city; 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 Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay.
But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. ‘Come back, come back, Horatius!’ Loud cried the Fathers all. ‘Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall!’
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, 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.
FATHER TIBER
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.’