They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,[81]
As much as two strong oxen
Could plough from morn till night; 545
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this, day,
To witness if I lie.
LXVI
It stands in the Comitium,[62] 545
Plain for all folk to see;
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee:
And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold, 550
How valiantly he kept the bridge,
In the brave days of old.
LXVII
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 560
To charge the Volscian home,[63]
And wives still pray to Juno[64]
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well,
In the brave days of old. 565
LXVIII
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage 570
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus[65]
Roar louder yet within;
LXIX
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit 575
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets, 580
And the lads are shaping bows;