Part 17 (2/2)

”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 clamor From all the vanguard rose.

Six spears' length from the entrance Halted that deep array, And for a s.p.a.ce 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 fourfold s.h.i.+eld, 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 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.

XLV.

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 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 cras.h.i.+ng forest The giant 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 wait you here!

What n.o.ble Luc.u.mo 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 n.o.blest Were round the fatal place.

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