<4> 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. 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 gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers O’er the pale waves of Nar. 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. 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. 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-accursèd sail!” 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 mighty mass, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow pass. 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 shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield. 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?” Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, 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. 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 handbreadth out Behind the Tuscan’s head. And the great lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Avernus A thunder-smitten oak. Far o’er the crashing forest The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low Gaze on the blasted head. 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?” But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled with 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. 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. 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. Yet one man for one moment Strode out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the three, And they gave him greeting loud: “Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome.” 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. 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!” 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; 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. 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. 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!” Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome: “O 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.