The knees of all the Latines
Were loosened with dismay
When dead, on dead Herminius,
The bravest Tarquin lay.

31.

And Aulus the Dictator

Stroked Auster's raven mane, With heed he looked unto the girths,

With heed unto the rein.

"Now bear me well, black Auster,

Into yon thick array;

And thou and I will have revenge
For thy good lord this day."

32.

So spake he; and was buckling

Tighter black Auster's band, When he was aware of a princely pair

That rode at his right hand.

So like they were, no mortal

Might one from other know:

White as snow their armour was:
Their steeds were white as snow.

Never on earthly anvil

Did such rare armour gleam; And never did such gallant steeds Drink of an earthly stream.

33.

And all who saw them trembled,

And pale grew every cheek;

Charge for the hearth of Vesta!
Charge for the Golden Shield!
Let no man stop to plunder,
But slay, and slay, and slay:
The Gods who live for ever
Are on our side to-day."

36.

Then the fierce trumpet-flourish

From earth to heaven arose,

The kites know well the long stern swell
That bids the Romans close.

Then the good sword of Aulus
Was lifted up to slay:

Then, like a crag down Apennine,
Rush'd Auster through the fray.
But under those strange horsemen
Still thicker lay the slain;
And after those strange horses
Black Auster toiled in vain.

Behind them Rome's long battle
Came rolling on the foe,
Ensigns dancing wild above,

Blades all in line below.

So comes the Po in flood-time

Upon the Celtic plain:

So comes the squall, blacker than night,

Upon the Adrian main.

Now, by our Sire Quirinus,

It was a goodly sight

To see the thirty standards

Swept down the tide of flight.

So flies the spray of Adria

When the black squall doth blow; So corn-sheaves in the flood-time Spin down the whirling Po. False Sextus to the mountains Turned first his horse's head: And fast fled Ferentinum,

And fast Circeium fled.
The horsemen of Nomentum
Spurred hard out of the fray;
The footmen of Velitræ

Threw shield and spear away.
And underfoot was trampled,
Amidst the mud and gore,
The banner of proud Tusculum,
That never stooped before:
And down went Flavius Faustus,
Who led his stately ranks

From where the apple blossoms wave

On Anio's echoing banks,

And Tullus of Arpinum,

Chief of the Volscian aids,

And Metius with the long fair curls,

The love of Anxur's maids,

And the white head of Vulso,
The great Arician seer,

And Nepos of Laurentum,
The hunter of the deer;
And in the back false Sextus

Felt the good Roman steel,
And wriggling in the dust he died,
Like a worm beneath the wheel:

Sate in the Eastern Gate.
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 renowned;

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 quivered,
And maids with faces pale.
Since the first gleam of day-light,
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.