20

25

30

35

409

45

50

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;
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;

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;

From the proud mart of Pisa,
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.

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.

But now no stroke of woodman

Is heard by Auser's rill;

No hunter tracks the stag's green path
Up the Ciminian hill;

55

бо

65

70

75

20

85

[The augurs have foretold good luck, and the muster is complete]

There be thirty chosen prophets,

The wisest of the land,

Who alway by Lars Porsena

Both morn and evening stand:
Evening and morn the Thirty

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:
"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."

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.

90

95

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.

[At the tidings Rome is stricken with dread. The roads are thronged with country people, fleeing to it for safety. But safety depends on the destruction of the bridge over the Tiber before the enemy arrive.]

[The enemy are seen from the walls, and the sight of Tarquin among them raises a fury of indignation. The enemy are hasting on: they will gain the bridge!]

155

Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear:
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
Lars Porsena is here. ""