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,
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 Avernus A thunder-smitten oak. 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
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 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, Along that glittering van.
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, Sextus ! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome."
Lo! Venice, gay with color, lights and song, Calls from St. Mark's with ancient voice and strange:
I am the Witch of Cities! glide along
My silver streets that never wear by change Of years: forget the years, and pain, and wrong, And every sorrow reigning men among.
Know I can soothe thee, please and marry thee To my illusions. Old and siren strong,
I smile immortal, while the mortals flee Who whiten on to death in wooing me.
End of desire to stray I feel would come Though Italy were all fair skies to me, Though France's fields went mad with flowery foam
And Blanc put on a special majesty,
Not all could match the growing thought of home Nor tempt to exile. Look I not on Rome- This ancient, modern, medieval queen- Yet still sigh westward over hill and dome, Imperial ruin and villa's princely scene
Lovely with pictured saints and marble gods
Rome, Florence. Venice-noble, fair and quaint, They reign in robes of magic round me here; But fading, blotted, dim, a picture faint, With spell more silent, only pleads a tear. Plead not! Thou hast my heart, O picture dim! I see the fields, I see the autumn hand
Of God upon the maples! Answer Him With weird, translucent glories, ye that stand Like spirits in scarlet and in amethyst! I see the sun break over you: the mist On hills that lift from iron bases grand Their heads superb!- the dream, it is my native land.
WILLIAM DOUW LIGHTHALL.
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