I've been offline a while, personal reasons, but I'm still here, and will pick up posting soon. It will be spotty a while - related reasons. In the meantime, one of my favorite poems, up there with Jabberwocky, Ozymandias, Kublah Khan, Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Tommy, MacDonough's Song, Cells, Sons of Martha, and so forth.
Horatius at the Bridge Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay (1800–1859) LARS PORSENA of Clusium, By the Nine Gods 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, 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 for 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 Volaterræ, Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old; From sea-girt Populonia, 30 Whose sentinels descry Sardinia’s snowy mountain-tops Fringing the southern sky; From the proud mart of Pisæ, Queen of the western waves, 35 Where ride Massilia’s triremes, Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis 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 rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill; 45 Beyond all streams, Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere. 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 water-fowl may dip In the Volsinian mere. The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro 60 Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls Whose sires have marched to Rome. 65 There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land, Who always by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand. Evening and morn the Thirty 70 Have turned the verses o’er, Traced from the right 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 altars 80 The golden shields of Rome!” And now hath every city Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousands ten. 85 Before the gates of Sutrium 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, Prince of the Latian 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 folk 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 sunburned 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, Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages Red in the midnight sky. 125 The Fathers 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 stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain; 135 Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. I wis, 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; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly: 150 “The bridge 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 trumpets’ 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 shine; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all,— The terror of the Umbrian, 180 The terror of the Gaul. And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest, Each warlike Lucumo: 185 There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen; And Astur of the fourfold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield; Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 190 And dark Verbenna from the hold By reedy Thrasymene. 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 who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens 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 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 Went forth 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. 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: 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 beard 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 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 toward 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, Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva’s 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 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 Falerii Rushed on the Roman three; 320 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 325 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; 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 hinds shall fly To woods and caverns, when they spy Thy thrice-accursèd 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’ length from the entrance, Halted that mighty mass, 345 And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow pass. But, hark! the cry is Astur: And lo! the ranks divide; And the great lord of Luna 350 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. 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 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 handbreadth out 380 Behind the Tuscan’s head. And the great lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Avernus 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 he 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 with 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 Strode 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 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river 490 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!” 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 blows; 515 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 520 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. 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, 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, 550 Plain for all folk to see,— Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee; And underneath is written, In letters all of gold, 555 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; 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. 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 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 goodwife’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.