Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting,The river sang below,The dim Sierras,[1] far beyond, upliftingTheir minarets of snow.
The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 5The ruddy tints of healthOn haggard face and form that drooped and faintedIn the fierce race for wealth;
Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasureA hoarded volume drew, 10And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure,To hear the tale anew;
And then, while round them shadows gathered faster,And as the firelight fell,He read aloud the book wherein the Master[2] 15Had writ of "Little Nell."[3]
Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy,—for the readerWas youngest of them all,—But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedarA silence seemed to fall; 20
The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows,Listened in every spray,While the whole camp, with "Nell," on English meadowsWandered and lost their way.
And so in mountain solitudes—o'ertaken 25As by some spell divine—Their cares dropped from them like the needles shakenFrom out the gusty pine.
Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire:And he who wrought that spell?— 30Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire,[4]Ye have one tale[5] to tell!
Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story[6]Blend with the breath that thrillsWith hop-vines' incense[7] all the pensive glory 35That fills the Kentish hills.
And on that grave where English oak and hollyAnd laurel wreaths intwine,[8]Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,—This spray of Western pine. 40
—Harte.
[1] Sierra. A Spanish term, meaning a mountain range. The name Sierra was applied, of course, to a great many different ranges.
[2] the Master. Dickens.
[3] Little Nell. The heroine of Dickens' novel,The Old Curiosity Shop.
[4] Dickens died at Gadshill, Kent, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
[5] one tale. Both they who heard the story, and he who wrote it, are dead.
[6] Let the fragrance of the western pine blend with the incense of the hop-vines in memory of Dickens. In other words, let me add this story as another tribute to his memory.
[7] hop-vines' incense. The smell of the hop-vines. Kent is the chief hop-growing county of England.
[8] The great writers of England have done honour to Dickens.
What was he doing, the great god Pan,[1]Down in the reeds by the river!Spreading ruin, and scattering ban,Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,And breaking the golden lilies afloat 5With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,From the deep, cool bed of the river.The limpid water turbidly ran,And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 10And the dragon-fly had fled away,Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan,While turbidly flowed the river,And hacked and hewed as a great god can, 15With his hard bleak steel, at the patient reed,Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeedTo prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,(How tall it stood in the river!) 20Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,Steadily from the outside ring,And notched the poor, dry, empty thingIn holes, as he sat by the river.
"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, 25(Laughed while he sat by the river,)"The only way, since gods beganTo make sweet music, they could succeed."Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,He blew in power by the river. 30
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!Piercing sweet by the river!Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!The sun on the lull forgot to die,And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 35Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,To laugh as he sits by the river,Making a poet out of a man:The true gods[2] sigh for the cost and pain,— 40For the reed which grows nevermore againAs a reed with the reeds in the river.
—Mrs. Browning.
[1] Pan. In Greek mythology, the god of pastures, forests and flocks. He was represented as half-man, half-goat, in appearance. He was the inventor of the shepherd's flute.
[2] Pan was not one of the gods of Olympus, and was literally "half a beast."
Heaven is not reached at a single bound;But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,And we mount to the summit round by round.
I count this thing to be grandly true, 5That a noble deed is a step toward God—Lifting the soul from the common sod[2]To a purer air and a broader view.
We rise by things that are under our feet;[3]By what we have mastered of good and gain; 10By the pride deposed and the passion slain,And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,When the morning calls us to life and light;But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night, 15Our lives are trailing the sordid[4] dust.
We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,And we think that we mount the air on wingsBeyond the recall of sensual things,While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 20
Wings for the angels, but feet for the men![5]We may borrow the wings to find the way—We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, arid pray.But our feet must rise, or we fall again.
Only in dreams is a ladder[6] thrown 25From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,And the Sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.
Heaven is not reached at a single bound;But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 30And we mount to the summit round by round.
—Holland.
[1] Gradatim. A step at a time.
[2] the common sod. earthly things.
[3] See Longfellow,The Ladder of Saint Augustine.
[4] sordid. mean; base.
[5] Good resolves and aspirations ("wings") are not sufficient. We can rise only step by step by overcoming the petty difficulties of everyday life.
[6] ladder. A reference to Jacob's ladder (Genesis xxviii, 12).
[This is the feast of Castor and Pollux, and the anniversary of the battle of Lake Regillus, which they did so much to win. Let us remember them, and sing their praises.]
Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!Ho, lictors,[4] clear the way!The Knights[5] will ride, in all their pride,Along the streets to-day,To-day the doors and windows 5Are hung with garlands all,From Castor[6] in the forum,[7]To Mars without the wall.Each Knight is robed in purple,With olive each is crowned, 10A gallant war-horse under eachPaws haughtily the ground.While flows the Yellow River,[8]While stands the Sacred Hill,[9]The proud Ides of Quintilis, 15Shall have such honour still.Gay are the Martian Kalends:[10]December's Nones[11] are gay:But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides,Shall be Rome's whitest[12] day. 20
Unto the Great Twin BrethrenWe keep this solemn feast.Swift, swift, the Great Twin BrethrenCame spurring from the east.They came o'er wild Parthenius[13] 25Tossing in waves of pine,O'er Cirrha's dome,[14] o'er Adria's[15] foam,O'er purple Apennine,From where with flutes and dancesTheir ancient mansion rings, 30In lordly Lacedaemon,[16]The city of two kings,To where, by Lake Regillus,Under the Porcian[17] height,All in the lands of Tusculum, 35Was fought the glorious fight.
Now on the place of slaughterAre cots and sheepfolds seen,And rows of vines, and fields of wheat,And apple-orchards green; 40And swine crush the big acornsThat fall from Corne's[18] oaks.Upon the turf by the Fair Fount[19]The reaper's pottage smokes.The fisher baits his angle; 45The hunter twangs his bow;Little they think on those strong limbsThat moulder deep below.Little they think how sternlyThat day the trumpets pealed; 50How in the slippery swamp of bloodWarrior and war-horse reeled;How wolves came with fierce gallop,And crows on eager wings,To tear the flesh of captains, 55And peck the eyes of kings;How thick the dead lay scatteredUnder the Porcian height:How through the gates of TusculumRaved the wild stream of night; 60And how the Lake RegillusBubbled with crimson foam,What time the Thirty Cities[20]Came forth to war with Rome.
But, Roman, when thou standest 65Upon that holy ground,Look thou with heed on the dark rock.That girds the dark lake round,So shall thou see a hoof-mark[21]Stamped deep into the flint: 70It was no hoof of mortal steedThat made so strange a dint;There to the Great Twin BrethrenVow thou thy vows, and prayThat they, in tempest and in fight, 75Will keep thy head alway.
[The Latins send a message calling on the Romans to restore the Tarquins. The consul proudly refuses, and a dictator is appointed. The Roman army encamps hard by Lake Regillus.]
Since last the Great Twin BrethrenOf mortal eyes were seen,Have years gone by an hundredAnd fourscore and thirteen. 80That summer a Virginius[22]Was Consul first in place;[23]The second was stout Aulus,Of the Posthumian race.The Herald of the Latines 85From Gabii[24] came in state:The Herald of the LatinesPassed through Rome's Eastern GateThe herald of the LatinesDid in our Forum stand; 90And there he did his office,A sceptre in his hand.
"Hear, Senators and peopleOf the good town of Rome,The Thirty Cities charge you 95To 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." 100
Then spake the Consul Aulus,He spake a bitter jest:"Once the jay sent a messageUnto the eagle's nest:—Now yield thou up thine eyrie 105Unto the carrion-kite,Or come forth valiantly, and faceThe jays in deadly fight.—Forth looked in wrath the eagle;And carrion-kite and jay, 110Soon as they saw his beak and claw,Fled screaming far away."
The Herald of the LatinesHath hied him back in state;The Fathers of the City 115Are met in high debate.Then spake the elder Consul,An ancient man and wise:"Now hearken, Conscript Fathers,[25]To that which I advise. 120In seasons of great perilTis good that one bear sway;Then choose we a Dictator,Whom all men shall obey.Camerium[26] knows how deeply 125The sword of Aulus bites,And all our city calls himThe man of seventy fights.Then let him be DictatorFor six months and no more, 130And have a Master of the Knights,[27]And axes twenty-four."[28]
So Aulus was Dictator,The man of seventy fightsHe made Aebutius Elva 135His Master of the Knights.On the third morn thereafter,At dawning of the day,Did Aulus and AebutiusSet forth with their array. 140Sempronius AtratinusWas left in charge at homeWith boys, and with grey-headed men,To keep the walls of Rome.Hard by the Lake Regillus 145Our camp was pitched at night:Eastward a mile the Latines lay,Under the Porcian height.Far over hill and valleyTheir mighty host was spread; 150And with their thousand watch-firesThe midnight sky was red.
[The names of the towns which contributed to the Latin army of threescore thousand men, and their order of battle. All Latium was there to fight with Rome.]
Up rose the golden morningOver the Porcian height,The proud Ides of Quintilis 155Marked evermore with white.Not without; secret troubleOur bravest saw the foes;For girt by threescore thousand spearsThe thirty standards rose. 160From every warlike cityThat boasts the Latian name,Foredoomed to dogs and vultures,That gallant army came;From Sofia's purple vineyards, 165From Norba's ancient wall,From the white streets of Tusculum,The proudest town of all;From where the Witch's Fortress[29]O'erhangs the dark-blue seas; 170From the still glassy lake that sleepsBeneath Aricia's trees—Those trees in whose dim shadowThe ghastly priest[30] doth reign,The priest who slew the slayer, 175And shall himself be slain;From the drear banks of Ufens,[31]Where nights of marsh-fowl play,And buffaloes lie wallowingThrough the hot summer's day, 180From the gigantic watch-towers,No work of earthly men,Whence Cora's sentinels o'erlookThe never-ending fen;From the Laurentian[32] jungle, 185The wild hog's reedy home;From the green steeps whence Anio leapsIn floods of snow-white foam.
Aricia, Cora, Norba,Velitrae, with the might; 190Of Setia and of Tusculum,Were marshalled on the right:The leader was Mamilius,Prince of the Latian name,Upon his head a helmet 195Of red gold shone like flame:High on a gallant chargerOf dark-grey hue he rode:Over his gilded armourA vest of purple flowed, 200Woven in the land of sunriseBy Syria's dark-browed daughters,And by the sails of Carthage[33] broughtFar o'er the southern waters.
Lavinium and Laurentum 205Had on the left their post,With all the banners of the marsh,And banners of the coast.Their leader was false Sextus,That wrought the deed of shame: 210With restless pace and haggard faceTo his last field he came.Men said he saw strange visionsWhich none beside might see,And that strange sounds were in his ears 215Which none might hear but he.A woman[34] fair and stately,But pale as are the dead,Oft through the watches of the nightSat spinning by his bed. 220And as she plied the distaff,In a sweet voice and low,She sang of great old houses,And fights fought long ago.So spun she, and so sang she, 225Until the east was grey,Then pointed to her bleeding breast,And shrieked, and fled away.
But in the centre thickestWere ranged the shields of foes, 230And from the centre loudestThe cry of battle rose.There Tibur[35] marched and PedumBeneath proud Tarquin's rule,And Ferentinum of the rock, 235And Gabii of the pool.There rode the Volscian succours:There, in a dark stern ring,The Roman exiles gathered close,Around the ancient king. 240Though white as Mount Soracte,[36]When winter nights are long,His beard flowed down o'er mail and belt,His heart and hand were strong:Under his hoary eyebrows 245Still flashed forth quenchless rage,And, if the lance shook in his gripe,'Twas more with hate than age.Close at his side was TitusOn an Apulian[37] steed, 250Titus, the youngest Tarquin,Too good for such a breed.
[The battle begins. False Sextus flees from Herminius, one of the defenders of the bridge. Aebutius slays Tubero, but is severely wounded by Mamilius of Tusculum, and retires from the fight.]
Now on each side the leadersGave signal for the charge;And on each side the footmen 255Strode on with lance and targe;[38]And on each side the horsemenStruck their spurs deep in gore;And front to front, the armiesMet with a mighty roar: 260And under that great battleThe earth with blood was red;And, like the Pomptine[39] fog at morn,The dust hung overhead;And louder still and louder 265Rose from the darkened fieldThe braying of the war-horns,The clang of sword and shield,The rush of squadrons sweepingLike whirlwinds o'er the plain,The shouting of the slayers, 270And screeching of the slain.
False Sextus rode out foremost:His look was high and bold;His corslet was of bison's hide, 275Plated with steel and gold.As glares the famished eagleFrom the Digentian rock[40]On a choice lamb that bounds aloneBefore Bandusia's[41] flock, 280Herminius glared on Sextus,And came with eagle speed,Herminius on black Auster,[42]Brave champion on brave steed;In his right hand the broadsword 285That kept the bridge so well,And on his helm the crown[43] he wonWhen proud Fidenae fell.Woe to the maid whose loverShall cross his path to-day! 290False Sextus saw, and trembled,And turned, and fled away.As turns, as flies, the woodmanIn the Calabrian[44] brake,When through the reeds gleams the round eye 295Of that fell speckled snake;So turned, so fled, false Sextus,And hid him in the rear,Behind the dark Lavinian ranks,Bristling with crest and spear. 300
But far to north Aebutius,The Master of the Knights,Gave Tubero of NorbaTo feed the Porcian kites.Next under those red horse-hoofs 305Flaccus of Setia lay;Better had he been pruningAmong his elms[45] that day.Mamilius saw the slaughter,And tossed his golden crest, 310And towards the Master of the KnightsThrough the thick battle pressed.Aebutias smote MamiliusSo fiercely, on the shieldThat the great lord of Tusculum 315Well nigh rolled on the field.Mamilius smote Aebutius,With a good aim and true,Just where the neck and shoulder join,And pierced him through and through; 320And brave Aebutius ElvaFell swooning to the ground:But a thick wall of bucklersEncompassed him around.His clients[46] from the battle 325Bare him some little space,And filled a helm from the dark lake,And bathed his brow and face;And when at last he openedHis swimming eyes to light, 330Men say, the earliest word he spakeWas, "Friends, how goes the fight?"
[The struggle in the centre, where the ancient Tarquin is struck down. The Latins fight over him as he lies, and Titus kills Valerius, round whose body the struggle waxes hot.]
But meanwhile in the centreGreat deeds of arms were wrought;There Aulus the Dictator 335And there Valerius fought.Aulus with his good broadswordA bloody passage clearedTo where, amidst the thickest foes,He saw the long white beard. 340Flat lighted that good broadswordUpon proud Tarquin's head.He dropped the lance: he dropped the reins:He fell as fall the dead.Down Aulus springs to slay him, 345With eyes like coals of fire;But faster Titus[47] hath sprung down,And hath bestrode his sire.Latian captains, Roman knights,Fast down to earth they spring, 350And hand to hand they fight on footAround the ancient king.First Titus gave tall CaesoA death wound in the face;Tall Caeso was the bravest man 355Of the brave Fabian[48] race:Aulus slew Rex of Gabii,The priest of Juno's shrine:Valerius smote down Julius,Of Rome's great Julian line;[49] 360Julius, who left his mansionHigh on the Velian hill,[50]And through all turns of weal and woeFollowed proud Tarquin still.Now right across proud Tarquin 365A corpse was Julius laid;And Titus groaned with rage and grief,And at Valerius made.Valerius struck at Titus,And lopped off half his crest; 370But Titus stabbed ValeriusA span deep in the breast.Like a mast snapped by the tempest,Valerius reeled and fell.Ah! woe is me for the good house 375That loves the people well!Then shouted loud the Latines;And with one rush they boreThe struggling Romans backwardThree lances' length and more: 380And up they took proud Tarquin,And laid him on a shield,And four strong yeoman bare him,Still senseless from the field.
But fiercer grew the fighting 385Around Valerius dead;For Titus dragged him by the foot,And Aulus by the head."On, Latines, on!" quoth Titus,"See how the rebels fly!" 390"Romans, stand firm!" quoth Aulus,"And win this fight or die!They must not give ValeriusTo raven and to kite;For aye Valerius loathed the wrong, 395And aye upheld the right:And for your wives and babiesIn the front rank he fell.Now play the men for the good houseThat loves the people well!" 400
Then tenfold round the bodyThe roar of battle rose,Like the roar of a burning forest,"When a strong north wind blows.Now backward, and now forward, 405Rocked furiously the fray,Till none could see Valerius,And none wist where he lay.For shivered arms and ensignsWere heaped there in a mound, 410And corpses stiff, and dying men,That writhed and gnawed the ground,And wounded horses kicking,And snorting purple foam:Right well did such a couch befit 415A Consular of Rome.
[Mamilius is seen coming to the aid of the Latins. Cossus gallops off to summon Herminus, who comes at once. Mamilius flings himself athwart his course, and both champions are slain.]
But north looked the Dictator;North looked he long and hard;And spake to Caius Cossus,The Captain of his Guard: 420"Caius, of all the RomansThou hast the keenest sight;Say, what through yonder storm of dustComes from the Latian right?"
Then answered Caius Cossus 425"I see an evil sight;The banner of proud TusculumComes from the Latian right:I see the plumed horsemen;And far before the rest 430I see the dark-grey charger,I see the purple vest,I see the golden helmetThat shines far off like flame;So ever rides Mamilius, 435Prince of the Latian name."
"Now hearken, Caius Cossus:Spring on thy horse's back;Ride as the wolves of ApennineWere all upon thy track; 440Haste to our southward battle:And never draw thy reinUntil thou find Herminius,And bid him come amain."
So Aulus spake, and turned him 445Again to that fierce strife,And Caius Cossus mounted,And rode for death and life.Loud clanged beneath his horse-hoofsThe helmets of the dead, 450And many a curdling pool of bloodSplashed him from heel to head.So came he far to southward,Where fought the Roman host,Against the banners of the marsh 455And banners of the coast.Like corn before the sickleThe stout Lavinians fell,Beneath the edge of the true swordThat kept the bridge so well. 460
"Herminius: Aulus greets thee;He bids thee come with speed,To help our central battle:For sore is there our need.There wars the youngest Tarquin, 465And there the Crest of Flame,[51]The Tusculan Mamilius,Prince of the Latian name.Valerius hath fallen fightingIn front of our array: 470And Aulus of the seventy fieldsAlone upholds the day."
Herminius beat his bosom:But never a word he spake.He clapped his hand on Auster's mane, 475He gave the reins a shake:Away, away went Auster,Like an arrow from the bow:Black Auster was the fleetest steedFrom Aufidus to Po.[52] 480
Right glad were all the RomansWho, in that hour of dread,Against great odds bare up the warAround Valerius dead,When from the south the cheering 485Rose with a mighty swell;"Herminius comes, Herminius,Who kept the bridge so well!"
Mamilius spied Herminius,And dashed across the way. 490"Herminius! I have sought theeThrough many a bloody day.One of us two, Herminius,Shall never more go home,I will lay on for Tusculum, 495And lay thou on for Rome!"
All round them paused the battle,While met in mortal frayThe Roman and the Tusculan,The horses black and grey. 500Herminius smote MamiliusThrough breast-plate and through breast,And fast flowed out the purple bloodOver the purple vest.Mamilius smote Herminius 505Through head-piece and through head;And side by side those chiefs of prideTogether fell down dead.Down fell they dead togetherIn a great lake of gore; 510And still stood all who saw them fallWhile men might count a score.
[Mamilius' charger dashes off to Tusculum, Black Auster remains by his master's body. Titus attempts to mount him, but is slain by Aulus the Dictator.]
Fast, fast, with heels wild spurning,The dark-grey charger fled:He burst through ranks of fighting men; 515He sprang o'er heaps of dead.His bridle far out-streaming,His flanks all blood and foam,He sought the southern mountains,The mountains of his home. 520The pass was steep and rugged,The wolves they howled and whined;But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass,And he left the wolves behind.Through many a startled hamlet 525Thundered his flying feet;He rushed through the gate of Tusculum,He rushed up the long white street;He rushed by tower and temple,And paused not from his race 530Till he stood before his master's doorIn the stately market-place.And straightway round him gatheredA pale and trembling crowd,And when they knew him, cries of rage 535Brake forth, and wailing loud:And women rent their tressesFor their great prince's fall;And old men girt on their old swords,And went to man the wall. 540
But, like a graven image,Black Auster kept his place,And ever wistfully he lookedInto his master's face.The raven-mane that daily, 545With pats and fond caresses,The young Herminia washed and combed,And twined in even tresses,And decked with coloured ribandsFrom her own gay attire, 550Hung sadly o'er her father's corpseIn carnage and in mire.Forth with a shout sprang Titus,And seized Black Auster's rein.Then Aulus sware a fearful oath, 555And ran at him amain."The furies of thy brother[53]With me and mine abide,If one of your accursed houseUpon black Auster ride!" 560As on an Alpine watch-towerFrom heaven comes down the flame,Full on the neck of TitusThe blade of Aulus came:And out the red blood spouted, 565In a wide arch and tall,As spouts a fountain in the courtOf some rich Capuan's[54] hall.The knees of all the LatinesWere loosened with dismay 570When dead, on dead Herminius,The bravest Tarquin lay.
[Aulus prepares to mount black Auster, when he spies two strange horsemen by his side. These are Castor and Pollux, who charge at the head of the Roman army.]
And Aulus the DictatorStroked Auster's raven mane,With heed he looked unto the girths, 575With heed unto the rein."Now bear me well, black Auster,Into yon thick array;And thou and I will have revengeFor thy good lord this day." 580
So spake he; and was bucklingTighter black Auster's band,When he was aware of a princely pairThat rode at his right hand.So like they were, no mortal 585Might one from other know:White as snow their armour was;Their steeds were white as snow.Never on earthly anvilDid such rare armour gleam; 590And never did such gallant steedsDrink of an earthly stream.
And all who saw them trembled,And pale grew every cheek,And Aulus the Dictator 595Scarce gathered voice to speak."Say by what name men call you?What city is your home?And wherefore ride ye in such guiseBefore the ranks of Rome?" 600
"By many names men call us;In many lands we dwell;Well Samothracia[55] knows us,Cyrene knows us well.Our house in gay Tarentum[56] 605Is hung each morn with flowers:High o'er the masts of Syracuse[57]Our marble portal towers;But by the proud Eurotas[58]Is our dear native home; 610And for the right we come to fightBefore the ranks of Rome."
So answered those strange horsemen,And each couched low his spear;And forthwith all the ranks of Rome 615Were bold, and of good cheer;And on the thirty armiesCame wonder and affright,And Ardea wavered on the left,And Cora on the right. 620"Rome to the charge!" cried Aulus;"The foe begins to yield!Charge for the hearth of Vesta![59]Charge for the Golden Shield![60]Let no man stop to plunder, 625But slay, and slay, and slay:The Gods who live foreverAre on our side to-day."
[The Latins turn and flee. Many of their chiefs are slain, and above all false Sextus, who dies a coward's death.]
Then the fierce trumpet-flourishFrom earth to heaven arose. 630The kites know well the long stern swellThat bids the Romans close.Then the good sword of AulusWas lifted up to slay:Then, like a crag down Apennine, 635Rushed Auster through the fray.But under those strange horsemenStill thicker lay the slain:And after those strange horsesBlack Auster toiled in vain. 640Behind them Rome's long battleCame rolling on the foe,Ensigns dancing wild above,Blades all in line below,So comes the Po in flood-time 645Upon the Celtic plain:[61]So comes the squall, blacker than night,Upon the Adrian main.How, by our Sire Quirinus,[62]It was a goodly sight 650To see the thirty standardsSwept down the tide of flight.So flies the spray of AdriaWhen the black squall doth blow,So corn-sheaves in the flood-time 655Spin down the whirling Po.False Sextus to the mountainsTurned first his horse's head;And fast fled Ferentinum,And fast Lanuvium fled. 660The horsemen of NomentumSpurred hard out of the fray,The footmen of VelitraeThrew shield and spear away.And underfoot was trampled, 665Amidst the mud and gore,The banner of proud Tusculum,That never stooped before:And down went Flavius Faustus,Who led his stately ranks 670From where the apple-blossoms waveOn Anio's echoing banks,And Tullus of Arpinum,Chief of the Volscian aids,And Metius with the long fair curls, 675The love of Anxur's maids,And the white head of Vulgo,The great Arician seer,And Nepos of Laurentum,The hunter of the deer; 680And in the back false SextusFelt the good Roman steel;And wriggling in the dust he died,Like a worm beneath the wheel:And fliers and pursuers 685Were mingled in a mass;And far away the battleWent roaring through the pass.
[The Dioscuri ride to Rome with news of victory. No one dares to ask who they are, and after washing their steeds in Vesta's fountain they vanish from mortal sight.]
Sempronius AtratinusSate in the Eastern Gate, 690Beside him were three Fathers,Each in his chair of state;Fabius, whose nine stout grandsonsThat day were in the field,And Manlius, eldest of the Twelve[63] 695Who kept the Golden Shield;And Sergius, the High Pontiff,[64]For wisdom far renowned,In all Etruria's collegesWas no such Pontiff found. 700And 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 705That might not bear the mail,Matrons with lips that quivered,And maids with faces pale.Since the first gleam of daylight,Sempronius had not ceased 710To listen for the rushingOf horse-hoofs from the east.The mist of eve was rising.The sun was hastening down,When he was aware of a princely pair 715Fast pricking towards the town,So like they were, man neverSaw twins so like before;Red with gore their armour was,Their steeds were red with gore. 720
"Hail to the great Asylum![65]Hail to the hill-tops seven!Hail to the fire[66] that burns for aye!And the shield that fell from heaven!This day, by Lake Regillus, 725Under the Porcian height,All in the lands of TusculumWas fought a glorious fight.To-morrow your DictatorShall bring in triumph home 730The spoils of thirty citiesTo deck the shrines of Rome!"
Then burst from that great concourseA shout that shook the towers,And some ran north, and some ran south, 735Crying, "The day is ours!"But on rode these strange horsemen,With slow and lordly pace;And none who saw their bearingDurst ask their name or race. 740On 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, 745They vaulted down amain,And washed their horses in the wellThat springs by Vesta's fane.And straight again they mounted,And rode to Vesta's door; 750Then, like a blast, away they passed,And no man saw them more.
[The Pontiff tells the Romans who their god-like visitors are, and bids the citizens build a temple to them and establish an annual procession in their honour.]
And all the people trembled,And pale grew every cheek;And Sergius the High Pontiff 755Alone found voice to speak:"The gods who live for everHave fought for Rome to-day!These be the Great Twin BrethrenTo whom the Dorians[67] pray. 760Back comes the Chief in triumph,Who, in the hour of fight,Hath seen the Great Twin BrethrenIn harness on his right.Safe comes the ship to haven, 765Through billows and through gales,If once the Great Twin BrethrenSit shining on the sails.[68]Wherefore they washed their horsesIn Vesta's holy well, 770Wherefore they rode to Vesta's door,I know, but may not tell.Here, hard by Vesta's Temple,Build we a stately domeUnto the Great Twin Brethren 775Who fought so well for Rome.And when the months returningBring back this day of fight,The proud Ides of Quintilis,Marked evermore with white, 780Unto the Great Twin BrethrenLet all the people throng,With chaplets and with offerings,With music and with song;And let the doors and windows 785Be hung with garlands all,And let the Knights be summonedTo Mars without the wall:Thence let them ride in purpleWith joyous trumpet-sound, 790Each mounted on his war-horse,And each with olive crowned;And pass in solemn orderBefore the sacred dome,Where dwell the Great Twin Brethren 795Who fought so well for Rome!"
—Macaulay.
[1] Ten years after the siege of Rome by Lars Porsena, the Latins, under Mamilius of Tusculum, made a last attempt to force the Romans to restore the Tarquin kings. A battle was fought at Lake Regillus (B.C. 498) between the Latins and the Romans, in which the Romans were successful. Lake Regillus has disappeared and its exact site is no longer known. It is supposed to have been situated at the foot of the Tusculan hills, about ten miles to the southeast of Rome.
[2] Castor and Pollux were twin deities, the sons of Zeus (or Jupiter). Their birthplace was Sparta, in Greece, and there they had their chief temple.
[3] Ides of Quintilis. The fifteenth of July.
[4] lictors. The body-guard of the magistrates, armed with rods and axes.
[5] The Knights. The cavalry.
[6] Castor, and Mars. The temples of Castor and of Mars.
[7] Forum. The market-place, or public square.
[8] Yellow River. The Tiber, so called from its yellow sands.
[9] Sacred Hill. A famous hill about three miles from Rome.
[10] Martian Kalends. The first of March, on which a feast to Juno was held.
[11] December's Nones. December the fifth, on which was held a feast to Faunus, a god of the flocks and herds.
[12] whitest. We should say "a red-letter day."
[13] Parthemus. A mountain range in Greece.
[14] Cirrha's dome. The dome of the temple of Apollo at Delphi, near Cirrha, in Greece.
[15] Adria. The Adriatic.
[16] Lacedaemon. Sparta, which was governed by two kings representing two great families.
[17] Porcian height. Monte Porzio, near the scene of the battle.
[18] Corne. A hill near Tusculum.
[19] Fair Fount. A spring in the vicinity.
[20] Thirty Cities. The Latin cities, banded together in aid of the Tarquins.
[21]"One spot on the margin of Lake Regillus was regarded during many ages with superstitious awe. A mark, resembling in shape a horse's hoof, was discernible in the volcanic rock; and this mark was believed to have been made by one of the celestial chargers."—Macaulay.
[22] a Virginius. One of the family of the Virginii.
[23] The consul who was elected first was usually held in greater honour than the other.
[24] Gabii. A Latin city about twelve miles from Rome.
[25] Conscript Fathers. The senate. The original expression ispatres conscripti(patres et conscripti),patresreferring to the patrician element, andconscriptito the plebeian element in the senate.
[26] Camerium. One of the Latin cities.
[27] Master of the Knights. Chief lieutenant.
[28] The Consuls usually had twelve lictors each; the Dictator twenty-four.
[29] Witch's Fortress. The town of Circeii, which Macaulay associates here with Circe, the enchantress.
[30] ghastly priest. The temple of Diana, in a grove near Aricia, had for its priest a runaway slave, who was to hold office until slain by another runaway slave stronger than he.
[31] Ufens. A river.
[32] Laurentian jungle. Marshy thickets near the town of Laurentum.
[33] Carthage. On the north coast of Africa. The Carthaginians were a commercial and sea-faring people.
[34] a woman. Lucretia. After she had been wronged by Sextus, she stabbed herself and died.
[35] Tibur. The modern city of Tivoli.
[36] Soracte. A snow-capped mountain about twenty-five miles from Rome.
[37] Apulian. Apulia was one of the divisions of Italy.
[38] targe. shield.
[39] Pomptine. The Pontine marshes in the southern part of Latium.
[40] Digentian rock. A crag near the river Digentia.
[41] Bandusia. A fountain.
[42] Auster. The word signifies "the stormy south wind."
[43] crown. The first Roman to scale the walls of a besieged town received a crown of gold.
[44] Calabrian. Calabria forms the "heel" of Italy.
[45] Pruning the vines entwined around the trunks of the elms.
[46] clients. Servants attached to the Patrician families.
[47] Titus. Son of Tarquin the Proud.
[48] Fabian. The Fabii were a famous Roman family.
[49] The Julian house claimed to be descended from Iulus, son of Aeneas.
[50] Velian hill. The Velian hill was not far from the Forum in Rome.
[51] Crest of Flame. The flaming crest on the helmet of Mamilius. See l. 434.
[52] From Aufidus to Po. In all Italy. Aufidus was a river in the south of Italy; Po, a river in the north.
[53] thy brother. False Sextus, supposed to be haunted by the furies (the Greek goddesses of Vengeance) for his crime.
[54] Capuan. Capua was a luxurious city in southern Italy.
[55] Samothracia. An island in the Aegean, where Castor and Pollux were worshipped.
[56] Tarentum. A Greek town in the south of Italy.
[57] Syracuse. An important city in Sicily.
[58] Eurotas. A river in Greece, flowing past the city of Sparta.
[59] Vesta. The goddess of the hearth.
[60] Golden Shield. The shield of Mars which had fallen from heaven during the reign of Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome.
[61] Celtic plain. The north of Italy, inhabited by Celtic tribes.
[62] Sire Quirinus. Romulus, the founder of Rome.
[63] The Twelve. In order to prevent the shield of Mars from being stolen, eleven others were made after the same pattern, and twelve priests were appointed to guard the twelve shields.
[64] High Pontiff. The chief priest.
[65] Asylum. Romulus was said to have promised a refuge to all fugitives, in the newly-founded city of Rome.
[66] the fire. In the temple of Vesta.
[67] Dorians. The Spartans belonged to the Dorian branch of the Greek people.
[68] Castor and Pollux were the special guardians of sailors at sea. When, during a thunderstorm, a light played around the masts and sails of the ship, Castor and Pollux were supposed to be present, watching over the fortunes of the vessel.
Over his keys the musing organist,Beginning doubtfully and far away,First lets his fingers wander as they list,And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay:Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 5Gives hopes and fervor, nearer draws his theme,First guessed by faint auroral flushes sentAlong the wavering vista of his dream.[1]
Not only around our infancyDoth heaven with all its splendors lie; 10Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,We Sinais[2] climb and know it not;Over our manhood bond the skies,Against our fallen and traitor livesThe great winds utter prophecies; 15With our faint hearts the mountain strives;Its arms outstretched, the druid[3] woodWaits with its benedicite:[4]And to our age's drowsy bloodStill shouts the inspiring sea.[5] 20Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us,The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,The priest hath his foe who comes and shrives[6] us,We bargain for the graves we lie in;At the Devil's booth are all things sold, 25Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;For a cap and bells our lives we pay,[7]Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking:'T is heaven alone that is given away,'T is only God may be had for the asking, 30There is no price set on the lavish summer,And June may be had by the poorest comer.
And what is so rare as a day in June?Then, if ever, come perfect days;Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 35And over it softly her warm ear lays:Whether we look, or whether we listen,We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;Every clod feels a stir of might,An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40And, grasping blindly above it for light,Climbs to a soul for grass and flowers;The flush of life may well be seenThrilling back over hills and valleys;The cowslip startles in meadows green, 45The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,And there's never a leaf or a blade too meanTo be some happy creature's palace,The little bird sits at his door in the sun,Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 50And lets his illumined being o'errunWith the deluge of summer it receives;His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,— 55In the nice[8] ear of nature which song is the best?
Now is the high-tide of the year,And whatever of life hath ebbed awayComes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 60Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,We are happy now because God so wills it;No matter how barren the past may have been,'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green.We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 65How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowingThat skies are clear and grass is growing;The breeze comes whispering in our ear,That dandelions are blossoming near, 70That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,That the river is bluer than the sky,That the robin is plastering his house hard by:And if the breeze kept the good news back,For other couriers we should not lack; 75We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,—And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,[9]Warmed with the new wine of the year,Tells all in his lusty crowing!Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 80Everything is happy now,Everything is upward striving;'T is as easy now for the heart to be trueAs for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—'T is the natural way of living, 85Who knows whither the clouds have fled?In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;The soul partakes the season's youth, 90And the sulphurous rifts[10] of passion and woeLie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.What wonder if Sir Launfal[11] nowRemembered the keeping of his vow? 95
"My golden spurs now bring to me,And bring to me my richest mail,For to-morrow I go over land and seaIn search of the Holy Grail;[12]Shall never a bed for me be spread. 100Nor shall a pillow be under my head,Till I begin my vow to keep,Here on the rushes[13] will I sleep,And perchance there may come a vision trueEre day create the world anew." 105Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim,Slumber fell like a cloud on him,And into his soul the vision flew.
The crows flapped over by twos and threes,In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 110The little birds sang as if it wereThe one day of summer in all the yearAnd the very leaves seemed to sing on the treesThe castle alone in the landscape layLike an outpost of winter, dull and gray; 115'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree,[14]And never its gates might opened be,Save to lord or lady of high degree;Summer besieged it on every side,But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 120She could not scale the chilly wall,Though round it for leagues her pavilions tall[16]Stretched left and right,Over the hills and out of sight;Green and broad was every tent, 125And out of each a murmur wentTill the breeze fell off at night.
The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,And through the dark arch a charger sprang,Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 130In his gilded mail, that flamed so brightIt seemed the dark castle had gathered allThose shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wallIn his siege of three hundred summers long,And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 135Had cast them forth; so, young and strong,And lightsome as a locust leaf,Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail,To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.
It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 140And morning in the young knight's heart;Only the castle moodilyRebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free,And gloomed by itself apart;The season brimmed all other things up 145Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.
As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,He was ware of a leper, crouched by the same,Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate;And a loathing over Sir Launfal came, 150The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,The flesh 'neath his armor did shrink and crawl.And midway its leap his heart stood stillLike a frozen waterfall;For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 155Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,—So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.
The leper raised not the gold from the dust:"Better to me the poor man's crust, 160Better the blessing of the poor,Though I turn me empty from his door;That is no true alms which the hand can hold;He gives nothing but worthless goldWho gives from a sense of duty; 165But he who gives a slender mite,[16]And gives to that which is out of sight,That thread of the all-sustaining BeautyWhich runs through all and doth all unite,—The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 170The heart outstretches its eager palms,For a god goes with it and makes it store[17]To the soul that was starving in darkness before."