Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay

Horatius
I

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,
And named a trysting day,
And bade
his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and
north,
To summon his array.

II

East and west and south and north
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,
When Porsena of
Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.

III

The horsemen and the footmen
Are
pouring in amain
From many a stately
market-place;
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;

IV

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

V

From the proud mart of Pisæ,
Queen of
the western waves,
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
Her diadem of towers.

VI

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

VII

But now no stroke of woodman
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;
Unharmed the water fowl may
dip
In the Volsinian mere.

VIII

The harvests of Arretium,
This year,
old men shall reap;
This year, young boys in
Umbro
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.

IX

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
Have turned the verse
o’er,
Traced from the right on linen
white
By mighty seers of yore.

X

And with one voice the Thirty
Have
their glad answer given:
‘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
The golden shields of Rome.’

XI

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

XII

For all the Etruscan armies
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
The Tusculan Mamilius,
Prince of
the Latian name.

XIII

But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and
affright:
From all the spacious
champaign
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.

XIV

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

XV

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

XVI

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

XVII

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

XVIII

I wis, in all the Senate,
There was no
heart so bold,
But sore it ached, and fast it
beat,
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.

XIX

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:
‘The bridge must
straight go down;
For, since Janiculum is
lost,
Nought else can save the town.’

XX

Just then a scout came flying,
All
wild with haste and fear:
‘To arms! to arms! Sir
Consul:
Lars Porsena is here.’
On the
lows hills to westward
The Consul fixed
his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of
dust
Rise fast along the sky.

XXI

And nearer fast and nearer
Doth the
red whirlwind come;
And louder still and still more loud,
From
underneath that rolling cloud,
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,
In broken gleams
of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets
bright,
The long array of spears.

XXII

And plainly and more plainly,
Above
that glimmering line,
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,
The terror of the
Gaul.

XXIII

And plainly and more plainly
Now might
the burghers know,
By port and vest, by horse and
crest,
Each warlike Lucumo.
There
Cilnius of Arretium
On his fleet roan was
seen;
And Astur of the four-fold shield,
Girt with the brand
none else may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
And dark
Verbenna from the hold
By reedy
Thrasymene.

XXIV

Fast by the royal
standard,
O’erlooking all the
war,
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.

XXV

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.

XXVI

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?’

XXVII

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The
Captain of the gate:
‘To every man upon this
earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And
how can man die better
Than facing
fearful odds,
For the ashes of his
fathers,
And the temples of his Gods,

XXVIII

‘And for the tender mother
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,
To save them from false
Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?

XXIX

‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With
all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help
me,
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?’

XXX

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;
Of Titian blood was he:
‘I
will abide on thy left side,
And keep the
bridge with thee.’

XXXI

‘Horatius,’ quoth the Consul,
‘As thou
sayest, so let it be.’
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,
In the brave days of old.

XXXII

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:
Then lands were fairly
portioned;
Then spoils were fairly
sold:
The Romans were like brothers
In
the brave days of old.

XXXIII

Now Roman is to Roman
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:
Wherefore men fight not as they
fought
In the brave days of old.

XXXIV

Now while the Three were
tightening
Their harnesses 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.

XXXV

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right
glorious to behold,
Come 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 bridge’s
head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.

XXXVI

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;

XXXVII

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 grey crag where, girt
with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum
lowers
O’er the pale waves of Nar.

XXXVIII

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.

XXXIX

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.

XL

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.’

XLI

But now no sound of laughter
Was heard
among the foes.
A wild and wrathful
clamour
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.

XLII

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 four-fold
shield,
And in his hand he shakes the
brand
Which none but he can wield.

XLIII

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?’

XLIV

Then, whirling up his broadsword
With
both hands to the heights
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.

XLV

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 hand-breadth
out
Behind the Tuscan’s head.

XLVI

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

XLVII

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?’

XLVIII

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 noblest
Were round the
fatal place.

XLIX

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
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.

L

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.

LI

Yet one man for one moment
Strode out
before the croud;
Well known was he to all the
Three,
And they gave gim greeting
loud.
‘Now welcome, welcome,
Sextus!
Now welcome to thy home!
Why
dost thou stay, and turn away?
Here lies
the road to Rome.’

LII

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.

LIII

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!’

LIV

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,
And on the
farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand
alone,
They would have crossed once more.

LV

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.

LVI

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.

LVII

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,
With a smile on his pale
face.
‘Now yield thee,’ cried Lars
Porsena,
‘Now yield thee to our grace!’

LVIII

Round turned he, as not deigning
Those
craven ranks to see;
Nought spake he to Lars
Porsena,
To Sextus nought spake
he;
But he saw on Palatins
The white
porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble
river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.

LIX

‘Oh, 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.

LX

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.

LXI

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.

LXII

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.

LXIII

‘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,
‘And bring him safe to
shore;
For such a gallant feat of
arms
Was never seen before.’

LXIV

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.

LXV

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.

LXVI

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.

LXVII

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.

LXVIII

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;

LXIX

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;

LXX

When the goodman mends his armour,
And
trims his helmet’s plume;
When the goodwife’s shuttle
merrily
Goes flashing 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.

Sponsored link

Speak
Languages!
Learn a new language online

About the poet

Thomas
Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay

By the same poet

A
Jacobite's Epitaph

Related books

Lays
of Ancient Rome, Lord Macaulay, Josiah Bunting
(Introduction)

Thomas
Babington Macaulay at amazon.co.uk

Home  .  Poets  .  Poems  .  Books  .  Site
preferences  .  Contact

English  .  Français

© 2003-2006 Waverley Internet Design. All rights
reserved.