Narrative and Lyric Poems (first series) for use in the Lower School by O. J. Stevenson

Produced by Al Haines NARRATIVE AND LYRIC POEMS (FIRST SERIES) FOR USE IN THE LOWER SCHOOL WITH ANNOTATIONS BY O. J. STEVENSON, M.A., D.PAED., Professor of English, Ontario Agricultural College. TORONTO THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED Copyright, Canada, 1912, by THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED, Toronto, Ontario. PREFACE The Narrative and Lyric Poems contained in
This page contains affiliate links. As Amazon Associates we earn from qualifying purchases.
Buy it on Amazon FREE Audible 30 days

Produced by Al Haines






Professor of English, Ontario Agricultural College.



Copyright, Canada, 1912, by THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED,

Toronto, Ontario.


The Narrative and Lyric Poems contained in this volume are those prescribed by the Department of Education for examination for Junior and Senior Public School Diplomas, and for the Senior High School Entrance, and Entrance into the Model Schools. (Circular 58.)

In arranging the order of the poems, the Editor has taken into consideration the character of the selections with the object both of grading them in the order of increasing difficulty, and of securing variety in the subjects treated. The teacher may, however, follow his own judgment as to the order in which the poems should be taken up in class.

In the annotations the chief points of difficulty have been explained. In the case of a number of the poems, different editions of the poets’ works contain different readings. In such cases we have followed the readings that are best known and that have been recognized by the best authorities.


The Meeting of the Water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Moore

Jock o’ Hazeldean . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scott

Horatius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Macaulay

Alice Brand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scott

The Solitary Reaper . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wordsworth

The Island of the Scots . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aytoun

Dickens in Camp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harte

A Musical Instrument . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Browning

Gradatim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Holland

The Battle of the Lake Regillus . . . . . . . . Macaulay

The Vision of Sir Launfal . . . . . . . . . . . . Lowell

The Builders . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Longfellow

British Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wordsworth

The Courtship of Miles Standish . . . . . . . . Longfellow

Sohrab and Rustum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arnold



There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet! Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it _was_ not that nature had shed o’er the scene 5 Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; ‘Twas _not_ the soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh! no–it was something more exquisite still.

‘Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, 10 And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca![1] how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, 15 And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace!


[1] Avoca. A valley and river in the County of Wicklow, Ireland. The name signifies “The Meeting of the Waters.”


“Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I’ll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall[1] be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie, 5 Sae comely to be seen”–
But aye she loot[2] the tears down fa’ For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

“Now let this wilfu’ grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale; 10 Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha’, His sword in battle keen”–
But aye she loot the tears down fa’ 15 For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

“A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed[3] hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 20 And you, the foremost o’ them a’
Shall ride our forest-queen”–
But aye she loot the tears down fa’ For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck’d at morning-tide, 25 The tapers glimmer’d fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha’. The ladie was not seen! 30
She’s o’er the border, and awa’
Wi’ Jock o’ Hazeldean!


[1] sall. shall.

[2] loot. let.

[3] managed. trained.



According to legend, Tarquinius Superbus, or Tarquin the Proud, the last of the early kings of Rome, was driven out of the city, partly on account of his own tyranny, and partly because of the misdeeds of his son Sextus Tarquin. The immediate cause of the expulsion of the Tarquins was “the deed of shame,” committed by Sextus against Lucretia, the wife of one of the Roman governors. After two unsuccessful attempts to regain the throne, Tarquinius Superbus sought the aid of the Etruscans and Latins, and under the leadership of Lars Porsena, the head of the Etruscan League, the combined forces marched upon Rome. It was then that the incident recorded in the story of _Horatius_ is supposed to have taken place. After the defence of the bridge by Horatius, Lars Porsena laid siege to the city and at last reduced it to submission. He did not, however, insist upon the reinstatement of the Tarquins. A fourth and last attempt was made by Tarquin the Proud to regain the throne, by the aid of his Latin allies, under Mamilius of Tusculum. The story of this expedition forms the subject of _The Battle of Lake Regulus_.


Lars[1] Porsena of Clusium[2]
By the Nine Gods[3] he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it, 5 And named a trysting day,[4]
And bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.


East and west and south and north 10 The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet’s blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan,
Who lingers in his home, 15 When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march to Rome.


The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place, 20 From many a fruitful plain,
From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle’s nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine; 25


From lordly Volaterrae,[5]
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old;
From seagirt Populonia, 30 Whose sentinels descry
Sardinia’s snowy mountain-tops
Fringing the southern sky;


From the proud mart of Pisse,[6]
Queen of the western waves, 35 Where ride Massilia’s triremes[7]
Heavy with fair-haired slaves,
From where sweet Olanis[8] wanders Through corn and vines and flowers,
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 40 Her diadem of towers.


Tall are the oaks whose acorns
Drop in dark Auser’s[9] rill;
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill;[10] 45 Beyond all streams Clitumnus[11]
Is to the herdsman dear;
Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere.[12]


But now no stroke of woodman 50 Is heard by Auser’s rill;
No hunter tracks the stag’s green path Up the Ciminian hill;
Unwatched along Clitumnus
Grazes the milk-white steer; 55 Unharmed the waterfowl may dip
In the Volsinian mere.


The harvests of Arretium,[13]
This year, old men shall reap,
This year, young boys in Umbro[14] 60 Shall plunge the struggling sheep;
And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must[15] shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to Rome.


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 70 Have turned the verses o’er,
Traced from the right[16] on linen white By mighty seers of yore,


And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given: 75 “Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven:
Go, and return in glory
To Clusium’s royal dome;
And hang round Nurscia’s[17] altars 80 The golden shields[18] of Rome.”


And now hath every city
Sent up her tale[19] of men:
The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten. 85 Before the gates of Sutrium[20]
Is met the great array.
A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day.


For all the Etruscan armies 90 Were ranged beneath his eye
And many a banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following
To join the muster came 95 The Tusculan Mamilius,[21]
Prince of the Latian[22] name.


But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign 100 To Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city,
The throng stopped up the ways;
A fearful sight it was to see
Through two long nights and days. 105


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 110 High on the necks of slaves,
And troops of sunburnt husbandmen
With reaping-hooks and staves,


And droves of mules and asses
Laden with skins of wine, 115 And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
And endless herds of kine,
And endless trains of wagons
That creaked beneath the weight
Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 120 Choked every roaring gate.


Now, from the rock Tarpeian,[23]
Could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages
Red in the midnight sky. 125 The Fathers[24] of the City,
They sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman came
With tidings of dismay.


To eastward and to westward 130 Have spread the Tuscan bands;
Nor house nor fence nor dovecote
In Crustumerium[25] stands.
Verbenna down to Ostia[26]
Hath wasted all the plain; 135 Astur hath stormed Janiculum,[27]
And the stout guards are slain.


I wis,[28] in all the Senate,
There was no heart so bold,
But sore it ached, and fast it beat; 140 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. 145


They held a council standing
Before the River-Gate[30];
Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly: 150 “The bridge[31] must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost,
Naught else can save the town.”


Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear; 155 “To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
Lars Porsena is here.”
On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 160 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, 165 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, 170 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, 175 Now might ye see the banners
Of twelve fair cities[32] shine;
But the banner of proud Clusium
Was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian,[33] 180 The terror of the Gaul.[34]


And plainly and more plainly
Now might the burghers know,
By port and vest,[35] by horse and crest, Each warlike Lucumo.[36] 185 There Cilnius of Arretium
On his fleet roan[37] was seen;
And Astur of the fourfold shield,[38] Girt with the brand none else may wield; Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 190 And dark Verbenna from the hold
By reedy Thrasymene.[39]


Fast by the royal standard,
O’erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium 195 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. 200


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 205 But spat towards him and hissed,
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.


But the Consul’s brow was sad,
And the Consul’s speech was low. 210 And darkly looked 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, 215 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, 220 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 225 Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife that nurses
His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens[40]
Who feed the eternal flame, 230 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, 235 Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?” 240


Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
A Ramnian[41] proud was he:
“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee.”
And out spake strong Herminius; 245 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,” 250 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, 255 In the brave days of old.[42]


Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor. And the poor man loved the great, 260 Then lands were fairly portioned,
Then spoils were fairly sold:[43] The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.


Now Roman is to Roman 265 More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes[44] beard[45] the high, And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold: 270 Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.


Now while the Three were tightening
Their harness[46] on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man 275 To take in hand an axe:
And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below. 280


Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold. 285 Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head, 290 Where stood the dauntless Three.


The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose; 295 And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way; 300


Aunus from green Tifernum,[47]
Lord of the Hill of Vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva’s[48] mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium 305 Vassal in peace and war,
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum[49] lowers
O’er the pale waves of Nar. 310


Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath:
Herminius struck at Seius,
And clove him to the teeth:
At Picus brave Horatius 315 Darted one fiery thrust;
And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms Clashed in the bloody dust.


Then Ocnus of Palerii[50]
Rushed on the Roman Three; 320 And Lausulus of Urgo,[51]
The rover of the sea;[52]
And Aruns of Volsinium,
Who slew the great wild boar,
The great wild boar that had his den 325 Amidst the reeds of Cosa’s[53] fen
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, Along Albinia’s[54] shore.


Herminius smote down Aruns:
Lartius laid Ocnus low: 330 Right to the heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.
“Lie there,” he cried, “fell pirate! No more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark 335 The track of thy destroying bark.
No more Campania’s[55] hinds[56] shall fly To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail.”


But now no sound of laughter 340 Was heard among the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears’ lengths from the entrance Halted that deep array, 345
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.


But hark! the cry is Astur:
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride. 350 Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield. 355


He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, “The she-wolf’s litter[57] 360 Stand savagely at bay:
But will ye dare to follow,
If Astur clears the way?”


Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height, 365 He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius,
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh: 370 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.


He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space; 375 Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur’s face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet So fierce a thrust he sped
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 380 Behind the Tuscan’s head.


And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak. 385 Far o’er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head.


On Astur’s throat Horatius 390 Right firmly pressed his heel;
And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere be wrenched out the steel.
“And see,” he cried, “the welcome, Fair guests, that waits you here! 395 What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer?”


But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, 400 Along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess,
Nor men of lordly race,
For all Etruria’s noblest
Were round the fatal place. 405


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 410 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 415 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!” 420 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 425 Dies fitfully away.


Yet one man for one moment
Stood out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud. 430 “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; 435 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 440 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 445 Above the boiling tide.
“Come back, come back, Horatius!”
Loud cried the Fathers all.
“Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall!” 450


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, 455 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, 460 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 465 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, 470 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. 475


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, 480 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; 485 Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus nought spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus[58]
The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river 490 That rolls by the towers of Rome.


“Oh, Tiber! father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,
Take thou in charge this day.” 495 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 500 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 505 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, 510 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[59] blows: 515 And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.


Never, I ween,[80] did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood 520 Safe to the landing-place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber
Bore bravely up his chin. 525


“Curse 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, 530 “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; 535 Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands;
And now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-Gate, 540 Borne by the joyous crowd.


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.


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.


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


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;


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;


When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet’s plume;
When the good wife’s shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom: 585 With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.


[1] Lars. Lord or Chieftain.

[2] Clusium. The modern Chiusi.

[3] Nine Gods. The chief Gods of the Etruscans were nine in number.

[4] trysting day. A day appointed for meeting.

[5] Volaterrae. The modern Volterra. The walls of the ancient fortress were built of enormous blocks of stone fitted together without cement.

[6] Pisse. Pisa

[7] Massilia. The modern Marseilles, originally a Greek colony and a flourishing commercial centre. triremes. Vessels with three banks of oars on each side. fair-haired slaves. Slaves from Gaul.

[8] Clanis. The modern river Chiana.

[9] Auser. A tributary of the Anio.

[10] Ciminian hill. A lofty mountain in the northern Apennines.

[11] Clitumnus. The river Clitumno.

[12] Volsinian mere. A lake which took its name from the town of Volsinii (modern Bolsena) situated on its banks.

[13] Arretium. Arezzo.

[14] Umbro. A river in Etruria,–the modern Ombrone.

[15] must. new wine.

[16] Written from right to left.

[17] Nurscia. The Etruscan goddess of fortune.

[18] golden shields. Twelve golden shields kept in the temple of Vesta, and believed by the Romans to be bound up with the safety of their city. See notes on pp. 68 and 71.

[19] tale. (A. S. _talian_, “to reckon”.) number.

[20] Sutrium. Sutri, a city about thirty miles from Rome.

[21] Tusculan Mamilius. Tusculum is the modern Frascati, a city about twelve miles from Rome. Mamilius was the son-in-law of Tarquin.

[22] Latium was a province in central Italy, inhabited by the Latins. It was conquered by Rome in the fourth century B.C.

[23] Tarpeian. The Tarpeian Rock was a cliff on one side of the Capitoline Hill in Rome. Tarpeia, from whom the cliff took its name, was the daughter of Tarpeius, the governor of the citadel, on this hill. She betrayed the fortress to the Sabines, but as they entered, they threw their shields upon her and she was crushed to death.

[24] Fathers of the City. The senators.

[25] Crustumerium. A Latin city a few miles from Rome.

[26] Ostia. A city at the mouth of the Tiber, fifteen miles from Rome.

[27] Janiculum. A hill on the right bank of the Tiber.

[28] I wis. See H. S. Grammar, p. 176.

[29] Consul. After the expulsion of the Tarquin kings, Rome was governed by two chief magistrates, known as consuls.

[30] the River-Gate. The gate facing the Janiculum hill.

[31] bridge. The Sublician bridge, which connected Rome with Janiculum.

[32] twelve fair cities. The Etruscan confederacy was composed of twelve cities.

[33] Umbrian. Umbria was a division of Italy.

[34] the Gaul. The Gauls were beginning to invade Italy from the north.

[35] port and vest. Bearing and dress.

[36] Lucumo. Etruscan chief.

[37] roan. A roan horse is of a reddish colour, with white hairs thickly interspersed.

[38] fourfold. With four thicknesses of leather.

[39] Thrasymene. Lake Trasimenus (modern Lake of Perugia). It is only about twenty feet deep.

[40] holy maidens. The vestal virgins, whose duty it was to keep the fire burning on the altar in the temple of Vesta. Vesta was the goddess of the home, and the vestal virgins were bound by oath never to marry.

[41] Ramnian. The Ramnes were one of the three tribes of which the Roman people were mainly comprised; the Tities were a second of these tribes; Horatius himself belonged to the Luceres, the third tribe, so that in the defence of the bridge all three tribes were represented.

[42] The story is supposed to be told by one of the plebeians, or common people in Rome, about 120 years after the event took place.

[43] The speaker voices the grievances of the Plebeians against the Patricians.

[44] Tribunes. The officers appointed to defend the rights of the Plebeians against the encroachments of the Patricians.

[45] beard. openly defy.

[46] harness. armour.

[47] Tifernum. A town on the river Tiber.

[48] Ilva. Elba, an island in the Mediterranean, on the coast of Italy.

[49] Nequinum. Narni, on the Nar, which is a tributary of the Tiber.

[50] Falerii. One of the twelve Etruscan cities.

[51] Urgo. An island in the Mediterranean.

[52] rover of the sea. pirate.

[53] Cosa. A town on the sea-coast.

[54] Albinia. A river in Etruria.

[55] Campania. A district along the sea-coast.

[56] hinds. peasants.

[57] The she-wolf’s litter. A reference to the legend, of Romulus and Remus, the mythical founders of Rome, who were said to have been suckled by a she-wolf.

[58] Palatinus. The Palatine Hill, one of the seven hills of Rome.

[59] changing. exchanging.

[60] ween. think, fancy.

[61] of public right. Belonging to the state.

[62] Comitium. That part of the Roman forum, or public square, where the Patricians were accustomed to meet.

[63] To charge the Volscian home. The Volsciana lived in the southern part of Latium. They were constantly at war with the Romans. _Home_ is here an adverb strengthening the meaning of _charge_.

[64] Juno. Wife of Jupiter, and queen of heaven.

[65] Algidus. A hill about twelve miles from Rome.


Merry it is in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle[1] are singing, When the deer sweeps by and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter’s horn is ringing.

“O Alice Brand, my native land 5 Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,[2] As outlaws wont to do.

“O Alice, ’twas all for thy locks so bright, And ’twas all for thine eyes so blue, 10 That on the night of our luckless flight Thy brother bold I slew.

“Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,[3] For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 15 And stakes to fence our cave.

“And for vest of pall,[4] thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, To keep the cold away.” 20

“O Richard! if my brother died,
Twas but a fatal chance;
For darkling[5] was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance.

“If pall and vair[6] no more I wear, 25 Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we ‘ll say, is the russet gray, As gay the forest-green.

“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land, 30 Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand.”

‘T is merry, ‘t is merry, in good greenwood So blithe Lady Alice is singing;
On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side, 35 Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,[7]
Who woned[8] within the hill,–
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, His voice was ghostly shrill. 40

“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle’s[9] screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear 45 The fairies’ fatal green?[10]

“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened[11] man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.[12] 50

“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die.”

Tis merry, ’tis merry, in good greenwood 55 Though the birds have stilled their singing, The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, 60 And, as he crossed and blessed himself, “I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly[13] elf, “That is made with bloody hands.”

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear,– 65 “And if there’s blood upon his hand,
‘Tis but the blood of deer.”

“Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,[14] 70 The blood of Ethert Brand.”

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign,–
“And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand, A spotless hand is mine. 75

“And I conjure[15] thee, demon elf,
By Him whom demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here?”

“‘Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairy-land, 80 When fairy birds are singing,
When the court doth ride by their monarch’s side, With bit and bridle ringing:

“And gayly shines the Fairy-land–
But all is glistening show 85 Like the idle gleam that December’s beam Can dart on ice and snow.

“And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape,
“Who now like knight and lady seem, 90 And now like dwarf and ape.

“It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And ‘twixt life and death was snatched away 95 To the joyless Elfin bower.

“But wist[16] I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign,[17] I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.” 100

She crossed him once–she crossed him twice— That lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold, 105 He rose beneath her hand,
The fairest knight on Scottish mould, Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing, 110 But merrier were they in Dunfermline[18] gray, When all the bells were ringing.


[1] mavis and merle. thrush and blackbird.

[2] wold. hilly, open country.

[3] glaive. sword.

[4] pall. A rich cloth from which mantles of noblemen were made.

[5] darkling. In the dark.

[6] vair. The fur of the squirrel.

[7] Elfin King. King of the fairies.

[8] woned. dwelt.

[9] circle. dance.

[10] fairies’ fatal green. The dress of the fairies was green and they were angered when mortals dared to wear garments of that colour.

[11] christened. Those who had been baptized were, according to mediaeval belief, supposed to enjoy special advantages or privileges.

[12] ban. curse.

[13] grisly. horrible; hideous.

[14] kindly blood. The blood of your kindred.

[15] conjure. Call upon by oath. Distinguished from conjure, meaning “to influence by magic.”

[16] wist. See High School Grammar, p. 176.

[17] sign. Make the sign of the cross upon ray brow.

[18] Dunfermline. A town, about twenty miles from Edinburgh.


Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself,
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain 5 And sings a melancholy strain.
Oh, listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant
So sweetly to reposing bands 10 Of travellers in some shady haunt
Among Arabian sands:
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring time from the cuckoo-bird Breaking the silence of the seas 15 Among the farthest Hebrides.

“Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers now
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago. 20 Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?

“Whate’er the theme, the maiden sang 25 As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;–
I listen’d motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.



The Rhine is running deep and red, the island lies before,– “Now is there one of all the host will dare to venture o’er? For not alone the river’s sweep might make a brave man quail; The foe are on the further side, their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle we may not hope to win; 5 Now is there any of the host will dare to venture in?” “The ford is deep, the banks are steep, the island-shore lies wide; Nor man nor horse could stem its force, or reach the further side. See there! amidst the willow-boughs the serried[1] bayonets gleam, They’ve flung their bridge,–they’ve won the isle; the foe have cross’d the stream! 10 Their volley flashes sharp and strong,–by all the saints! I trow
There never yet was soldier born could force that passage now!”

So spoke the bold French Mareschal[2] with him who led the van, Whilst, rough and red before their view the turbid river ran. Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross the wild and swollen Rhine, 15 And thundering on the other bank far stretch’d the German line. Hard by there stood a swarthy man, was leaning on his sword, And a sadden’d smile lit up his face as he heard the Captain’s word. “I’ve seen a wilder stream ere now than that which rushes there; I’ve stemm’d a heavier torrent yet and never thought to dare. 20 If German steel be sharp and keen, is ours not strong and true? There may be danger in the deed, but there is honour too.”

The old lord in his saddle turn’d, and hastily he said, “Hath bold Duguesclin’s[3] fiery heart awaken’d from the dead? Thou art the leader of the Scots,–now well and sure I know, 25 That gentle blood in dangerous hour ne’er yet ran cold nor slow; And I have seen ye in the fight do all that mortal may: If honour is the boon ye seek, it may be won this day,– The prize is in the middle isle, there lies the adventurous way, And armies twain are on the plain, the daring deed to see,– 30 Now ask thy gallant company if they will follow thee!”

Right gladsome look’d the Captain then, and nothing did he say, But he turn’d him to his little band, O, few, I ween, were they! The relics of the bravest force that ever fought in fray. No one of all that company but bore a gentle name, 35 Not one whose fathers had not stood in Scotland’s fields of fame. All they had march’d with great Dundee[4] to where he fought and fell, And in the deadly battle-strife had venged their leader well;

And they had bent the knee to earth when every eye was dim, As o’er their hero’s buried corpse they sang the funeral hymn; 40 And they had trod the Pass[5] once more, and stoop’d on either side. To pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropp’d and died, And they had bound it next their hearts, and ta’en a last farewell Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, where Scotland’s glory fell. Then went they forth to foreign lands like bent and broken men, 45 Who leave their dearest hope behind, and may not turn again.

“The stream,” he said, “is broad and deep, and stubborn is the foe,– Yon island-strength is guarded well,–say, brothers, will ye go? From home and kin for many a year our steps have wander’d wide, And never may our bones be laid our fathers’ graves beside. 50 No children have we to lament, no wives to wail our fall; The traitor’s and the spoiler’s hand have reft our hearths of all. But we have hearts, and we have arms, as strong to will and dare As when our ancient banners flew within the northern air. Come, brothers! let me name a spell, shall rouse your souls again, 55 And send the old blood bounding free through pulse and heart and vein. Call back the days of bygone years,–be young and strong once more; Think yonder stream, so stark and red, is one we’ve cross’d before.

Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! rise up on either hand,– Again upon the Garry’s[6] banks, on Scottish soil we stand! 60 Again I see the tartans[7] wave, again the trumpets ring; Again I hear our leader’s call; ‘Upon them for the King!’ Stay’d we behind that glorious day for roaring flood or linn?[8] The soul of Graeme is with us still,–now, brothers, will ye in?” No stay,–no pause. With one accord, they grasp’d each other’s hand, 65 Then plunged into the angry flood, that bold and dauntless band. High flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore, Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, and shot, and cannon-roar,– “Now, by the Holy Cross! I swear, since earth and sea began, Was never such a daring deed essay’d by mortal man!” 70

Thick blew the smoke across the stream, and faster flash’d the flame: The water plash’d in hissing jets as ball and bullet came. Yet onward push’d the Cavaliers all stern and undismay’d, With thousand armed foes before, and none behind to aid. Once, as they near’d the middle stream, so strong the torrent swept, 75 That scarce that long and living wall their dangerous footing kept. Then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before: “The current’s strong,–the way is long,–they’ll never reach the shore!
See, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line! Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the Rhine!” 80

Have you seen the tall trees swaying when the blast is sounding shrill, And the whirlwind reels in fury down the gorges to the hill? How they toss their mighty branches, struggling with the temper’s shock;
How they keep their place of vantage, cleaving firmly to the rock? Even so the Scottish warriors held their own against the river. 85 Though the water flashed around them, not an eye was seen to quiver; Though the shot flew sharp and deadly, not a man relax’d his hold; For their hearts were big and thrilling with the mighty thoughts of old.
One word was spoken among them, and through the ranks it spread,– “Remember our dead Claverhouse!” was all the Captain said. 90 Then, sternly bending forward, they wrestled on a while, Until they clear’d the heavy stream, then rush’d toward the isle.

The German heart is stout and true, the German arm is strong; The German foot goes seldom back where armed foemen throng. But never bad they faced in field so stern a charge before, 95 And never had they felt the sweep of Scotland’s broad claymore.[9] Not fiercer pours the avalanche adown the steep incline, That rises o’er the parent springs of rough and rapid Rhine,– Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven, than came the Scottish band Right up against the guarded trench, and o’er it, sword in hand. 100 In vain their leaders forward press,–they meet the deadly brand!

O lonely island of the Rhine,–Where seed was never sown, What harvest lay upon thy sands, by those strong reapers thrown? What saw the winter moon that night, as, struggling through the rain, She pour’d a wan and fitful light on marsh, and stream, and plain? 105 A dreary spot with corpses strewn, and bayonets glistening round; A broken bridge, a stranded boat, a bare and batter’d mound; And one huge watch-fire’s kindled pile, that sent its quivering glare To tell the leaders of the host the conquering Scots were there.

And did they twine the laurel-wreath,[10] for those who fought so well 110 And did they honour those who liv’d, and weep for those who fell? What meed of thanks was given to them let aged annals tell. Why should they bring the laurel-wreath,–why crown the cup with wine? It was not Frenchmen’s blood that flow’d so freely on the Rhine,– A stranger band of beggar’d men had done the venturous deed; 115 The glory was to France alone, the danger was their meed, And what cared they for idle thanks from foreign prince and peer? What virtue had such honey’d words the exiled heart to cheer? What matter’d it that men should vaunt, and loud and fondly swear That higher feat of chivalry was never wrought elsewhere? 120 They bore within their breast the grief that fame can never heal,– The deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel. Their hearts were yearning for the land they ne’er might see again,– For Scotland’s high and heather’d hills, for mountains, loch and glen– For those who haply lay at rest beyond the distant sea, 125 Beneath the green and daisied turf where they would gladly be!

Long years went by. The lonely isle in Rhine’s tempestuous flood Has ta’en another name from those who bought it with their blood: And, though the legend does not live,–for legends lightly die– The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by, 130 And foaming o’er its channel-bed between him and the spot Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep and dangerous ford
The Passage of the Scot.


[1] serried. crowded.

[2] Mareschal. Marshal, an officer of the highest rank in the French army.

[3] Duguesclin. A noted French commander, famous for his campaigns against the English in the 14th century.

[4] Dundee. John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, a Scottish soldier. He raised a body of Highlanders in 1689 to fight for James II against William of Orange. At the battle of Killecrankie (1689) he was mortally wounded.

[5] The Pass. The Pass of Killecrankie.

[6] Garry. A river in Perthshire, Scotland.

[7] tartan. A Scotch plaid

[8] linn. A waterfall.

[9] claymore. The heavy broadsword used by the Highlanders.

[10] laurel-wreath. The laurel is an evergreen shrub found in parts of Europe. A wreath of laurel was a mark of distinction or honour.


Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below,
The dim Sierras,[1] far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow.

The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 5 The ruddy tints of health
On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth;

Till one arose, and from his pack’s scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, 10 And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure, To hear the tale anew;

And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell,
He read aloud the book wherein the Master[2] 15 Had writ of “Little Nell.”[3]

Perhaps ’twas boyish fancy,–for the reader Was youngest of them all,–
But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar A silence seemed to fall; 20

The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, Listened in every spray,
While the whole camp, with “Nell,” on English meadows Wandered and lost their way.

And so in mountain solitudes–o’ertaken 25 As by some spell divine–
Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine.

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire: And he who wrought that spell?– 30 Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire,[4] Ye have one tale[5] to tell!

Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story[6] Blend with the breath that thrills
With hop-vines’ incense[7] all the pensive glory 35 That fills the Kentish hills.

And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths intwine,[8]
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,– This spray of Western pine. 40


[1] Sierra. A Spanish term, meaning a mountain range. The name Sierra was applied, of course, to a great many different ranges.

[2] the Master. Dickens.

[3] Little Nell. The heroine of Dickens’ novel, _The Old Curiosity Shop_.

[4] Dickens died at Gadshill, Kent, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

[5] one tale. Both they who heard the story, and he who wrote it, are dead.

[6] Let the fragrance of the western pine blend with the incense of the hop-vines in memory of Dickens. In other words, let me add this story as another tribute to his memory.

[7] hop-vines’ incense. The smell of the hop-vines. Kent is the chief hop-growing county of England.

[8] The great writers of England have done honour to Dickens.



What was he doing, the great god Pan,[1] Down in the reeds by the river!
Spreading ruin, and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat 5 With the dragon-fly on the river.


He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep, cool bed of the river.
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 10 And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.


High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river,
And hacked and hewed as a great god can, 15 With his hard bleak steel, at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river.


He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) 20 Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor, dry, empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river.


“This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan, 25 (Laughed while he sat by the river,)
“The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.” Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river. 30


Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the lull forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 35 Came back to dream on the river.


Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods[2] sigh for the cost and pain,– 40 For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.

–Mrs. Browning.

[1] Pan. In Greek mythology, the god of pastures, forests and flocks. He was represented as half-man, half-goat, in appearance. He was the inventor of the shepherd’s flute.

[2] Pan was not one of the gods of Olympus, and was literally “half a beast.”


Heaven is not reached at a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to the summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true, 5 That a noble deed is a step toward God– Lifting the soul from the common sod[2] To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by things that are under our feet;[3] By what we have mastered of good and gain; 10 By the pride deposed and the passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calls us to life and light; But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night, 15 Our lives are trailing the sordid[4] dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 20

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men![5] We may borrow the wings to find the way– We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, arid pray. But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder[6] thrown 25 From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the Sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 30 And we mount to the summit round by round.


[1] Gradatim. A step at a time.

[2] the common sod. earthly things.

[3] See Longfellow, _The Ladder of Saint Augustine_.

[4] sordid. mean; base.

[5] Good resolves and aspirations (“wings”) are not sufficient. We can rise only step by step by overcoming the petty difficulties of everyday life.

[6] ladder. A reference to Jacob’s ladder (Genesis xxviii, 12).





[_This is the feast of Castor and Pollux, and the anniversary of the battle of Lake Regillus, which they did so much to win. Let us remember them, and sing their praises_.]


Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!
Ho, lictors,[4] clear the way!
The Knights[5] will ride, in all their pride, Along the streets to-day,
To-day the doors and windows 5 Are hung with garlands all,
From Castor[6] in the forum,[7]
To Mars without the wall.
Each Knight is robed in purple,
With olive each is crowned, 10 A gallant war-horse under each
Paws haughtily the ground.
While flows the Yellow River,[8]
While stands the Sacred Hill,[9]
The proud Ides of Quintilis, 15 Shall have such honour still.
Gay are the Martian Kalends:[10]
December’s Nones[11] are gay:
But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides, Shall be Rome’s whitest[12] day. 20


Unto the Great Twin Brethren
We keep this solemn feast.
Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren Came spurring from the east.
They came o’er wild Parthenius[13] 25 Tossing in waves of pine,
O’er Cirrha’s dome,[14] o’er Adria’s[15] foam, O’er purple Apennine,
From where with flutes and dances
Their ancient mansion rings, 30 In lordly Lacedaemon,[16]
The city of two kings,
To where, by Lake Regillus,
Under the Porcian[17] height,
All in the lands of Tusculum, 35 Was fought the glorious fight.


Now on the place of slaughter
Are cots and sheepfolds seen,
And rows of vines, and fields of wheat, And apple-orchards green; 40 And swine crush the big acorns
That fall from Corne’s[18] oaks.
Upon the turf by the Fair Fount[19] The reaper’s pottage smokes.
The fisher baits his angle; 45 The hunter twangs his bow;
Little they think on those strong limbs That moulder deep below.
Little they think how sternly
That day the trumpets pealed; 50 How in the slippery swamp of blood
Warrior and war-horse reeled;
How wolves came with fierce gallop, And crows on eager wings,
To tear the flesh of captains, 55 And peck the eyes of kings;
How thick the dead lay scattered
Under the Porcian height:
How through the gates of Tusculum
Raved the wild stream of night; 60 And how the Lake Regillus
Bubbled with crimson foam,
What time the Thirty Cities[20]
Came forth to war with Rome.


But, Roman, when thou standest 65 Upon that holy ground,
Look thou with heed on the dark rock. That girds the dark lake round,
So shall thou see a hoof-mark[21]
Stamped deep into the flint: 70 It was no hoof of mortal steed
That made so strange a dint;
There to the Great Twin Brethren
Vow thou thy vows, and pray
That they, in tempest and in fight, 75 Will keep thy head alway.

[_The Latins send a message calling on the Romans to restore the Tarquins. The consul proudly refuses, and a dictator is appointed. The Roman army encamps hard by Lake Regillus_.]

Since last the Great Twin Brethren
Of mortal eyes were seen,
Have years gone by an hundred
And fourscore and thirteen. 80