Lyra Heroica Part 28

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 s.h.i.+eld, 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 Stands 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 s.h.i.+eld 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-s.p.a.ce; 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 handbreadth out 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: Far o'er the cras.h.i.+ng forest The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head.

On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel.

'And see,' he cried, 'the welcome, Fair guests, that waits you here!

What n.o.ble Luc.u.mo comes next To taste our Roman cheer?'

But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, Along that glittering van.

There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race; For all Etruria's n.o.blest Were round the fatal place.

But all Etruria's n.o.blest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the b.l.o.o.d.y 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, s.e.xtus!

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 pa.s.sed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack.

But, when they turned their faces, And on the farther sh.o.r.e 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 s.e.xtus, 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; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, To s.e.xtus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the n.o.ble river That rolls by the towers of Rome.

'O Tiber! father Tiber!

To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge this day!'

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 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 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, Swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing; And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armour, And spent with changing blows: And oft they thought him sinking, But still again he rose.

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

'Curse on him!' quoth false s.e.xtus; '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, 'And bring him safe to sh.o.r.e; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before.'

And now he feels the bottom; Now on dry earth he stands; 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, Borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen Could plough from morn till night; 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 Plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee: And underneath is written, In letters all of gold, 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 To charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well In the brave days of old.

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 Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within;

When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit; 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, And the lads are shaping bows;

When the goodman mends his armour And trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flas.h.i.+ng through the loom; With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old.

_Macaulay._

Lx.x.xV

THE ARMADA

Attend, all ye who list to hear our n.o.ble England's praise; I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-s.h.i.+p full sail to Plymouth Bay; Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.

At sunrise she escaped their van, by G.o.d's especial grace; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.