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270

BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS.

From Gabii came in state;
The herald of the Latines

Pass'd through Rome's eastern gate;
The herald of the Latines

Did in our Forum stand;
And there he did his office,

A sceptre in his hand.

VI.

“ Hear, senators and people

Of the good town of Rome;
The Thirty cities charge you

To bring the Tarquins home;
And if ye still be stubborn

To work the Tarquins wrong,
The Thirty cities warn you,

Look that your walls be strong.

VII.

Then spake the Consul Aulus,

He spake a bitter jest:
“ Once the jays sent a message

Unto the eagle's nest :-
Now yield thou up thine eyrie

Unto the carrion-kite,
Or come forth valiantly, and face

The jays in deadly fight.
Forth look'd in wrath the eagle;

And carrion-kite and jay,
Soon as they saw his beak and claw,

Fled screaming far away."

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BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS.

271

Not without secret trouble

Our bravest saw the foes;
For girt by threescore thousand spears,

The thirty standards rose..
From every warlike city,

That boasts the Latian name, Foredoom'd to dogs and vultures,

That gallant army came;
From Setia's purple vineyards,

From Norba's ancient wall,
From the white streets of Tusculum,

The proudest town of all;
From where the Witch's Fortress

O’erhangs the dark blue seas;
From the still glassy lake that sleeps

Beneath Aricia's trees.-
Those trees in whose dim shadow

The ghastly priest doth reign,
The priest who slew the slayer,

And shall himself be slain ;From the drear banks of Ufens,

Where flights of marsh-fowl play, And buffaloes lie wallowing

Through the hot summer's day; From the gigantic watch-towers,

No work of earthly men, Whence Cora's sentinels o'erlook

The never-ending fen;
From the Laurentian jungle,

The wild hog's reedy home;
From the green steeps whence Anio leaps

In floods of snow-white foam.

XXXVII.

Sempronius Atratinus

Sate in the eastern gate,

272

BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS.

Beside him were three Fathers,

Each in his chair of state;
Fabius, whose nine stout grandsons

That day were in the field,
And Manlius, eldest of the Twelve

Who keep the Golden shield;
And Sergius, the High Pontiff,

For wisdom far renown'd;
In all Etruria's colleges

Was no such Pontiff found;
And all around the portal,

And high above the wall,
Stood a great throng of people,

But sad and silent all;
Young lads and stooping elders

That might not bear the mail :
Matrons with lips that quiver'd,

And maids with faces pale.
Since the first gleam of daylight,

Sempronius had not ceased
To listen for the rushing

Of horse-hoofs from the east.
The mist of eve was rising,

The sun was hastening down,
When he was aware of a princely pair

Fast pricking towards the town.
So like they were, men never

Saw twins so like before;
Red with gore their armour was,

Their steeds were red with gore.

XXXVIII.
4 Hail to the great asylum !

Hail to the hill-tops seven!
Hail to the fire that burns for aye,

And the shield that fell from heaven!
This day by Lake Regillus

Under the Porcian height,

THE END.

273

All in the lands of Tusculum,

Was fought a glorious fight.
To-morrow your Dictator

Shall bring in triumph home
The spoils of thirty cities,

To deck the shrines of Rome !"

XXXIX.

Then burst from that great concourse

A shout that shook the towers,
And some ran north, and some ran south,

Crying, “ The day is ours!”
But on rode these strange horsemen,

With slow and lordly pace;
And none who saw their bearing

Durst ask their name or race.
On rode they to the Forum,

While laurel-boughs and flowers,
From house-tops and from windows,

Fell on their crests in showers;
When they drew nigh to Vesta,

They vaulted down amain,
And wash'd their horses in the well

That springs by Vesta's fane.
And straight again they mounted,

And rode to Vesta's door;
Then, like a blast, away they pass’d,
And no man saw them more.

Macaulay.

THE END.

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd. Be cheerful, sir :
Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

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Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind! We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Shakspeare.

FINIS.

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