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, to summon his array
East and West and South and North to summon his array
A mile around the city, the throng stopped up the ways
A fearful sight it was to see, through two long nights and days
Out spake the Consul roundly
“The bridge must straight go down
For, since Janiculum is lost, nought else can save the town”
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”
Standeth our tryptic of braved souls to hold fast the way
Approacheth the mighty Tuscan hoard
Led by Astur, to do battle this day
All appeareth lost on the bridge
And in a far off land a dwarf did weep
Lord of Luna with sword to the thigh
Cuts Horatius deep to the bone he might die
But Herminius retaliates
Swift of blow knife plunged deep in his face and he dies
But meanwhile axe and lever, have manfully been plied
And now the bridge hands tottering, above the boiling tide
But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more
And now with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud
He enters through the River-Gate, borne by the joyous crowd
With weeping and with laughter, still is the story told
How well Horatius kept the bridge, in the brave days of old
