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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 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,
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,
What hope to save the town?"

[Horatius, with two companions, volunteers to check the enemy while the bridge is being hewed down. The Singer takes occasion to eulogize the patriotism of men in the olden days, and deplores the present discord and faction.]

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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.

[The enemy advance with pomp. The Romans begin to demolish the bridge, while the Three tighten their armor and calmly await the onset.]

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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 mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.

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.

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 bridges' head,

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:

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;

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Aunus from green Tifernum,
Lord of the Hill of Vines;

And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines;

And Picus, long to Clusium

Vassal in peace and war,

Who led to fight his Umbrian powers

From that gray crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum lowers

O'er the pale waves of Nar.

[The fight.]

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath:

Herminius struck at Seius,

And clove him to the teeth:
At Picus brave Horatius

Darted one fiery thrust;

And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.

Then Ocnus of Falerii

Rushed on the Roman Three;

And Lausulus of Urgo,

The rover of the sea;

And Aruns of Volsinium,

Who slew the great wild boar,
The great wild boar that had his den
Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,

And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
Along Albinia's shore.

Herminius smote down Aruns:

Lartius laid Ocnus low:

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

The track of thy destroying bark.

No more Campania's hinds shall fly

To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail."

But now no sound of laughter
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,

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.
Upon his ample shoulders

Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.

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
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,
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;
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;