And sprang upon that column, by many a minstrel sung, Whereon three mouldering helmets, three rusting swords are hung, And beckoned to the people, and in bold voice and clear Poured thick and fast the burning words which tyrants quake to hear; "Now, by your children's cradles, now, by your fathers' graves, Be men to-day, Quirites, or be for ever slaves! we, For this did Servius give us laws? For this did Lucrece bleed? No crier to the polling summons the eager throng; No Tribune breathes the word of might that guards the weak from wrong. Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your will. Riches, and lands, and power, and state-ye have them:-keep them still. Still keep the holy fillets; still keep the purple gown, The axes, and the curule chair, the car, and laurel crown: Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won. Still, like a spreading ulcer, which leech-craft may not cure, Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor. No fire when Tiber freezes; no air in dog-star heat; And store of rods for free-born backs, and holes for free-born feet. Heap heavier still the fetters; bar closer still the grate; Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate. street, Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold, And breathe of Capuan odours, and shine with Spanish gold? The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife, The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures, That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame. And learn by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare." Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside, To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide, And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child! Farewell! Oh! how I loved my darling! Though stern I sometimes be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee? And how my darling loved me! How glad she was to hear And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown! Now, all those things are over-yes, all thy pretty ways, Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays; And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return, He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave; Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow Foul outrage which thou know'st not, which thou shalt never know. Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss; And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this." Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath; Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain; Some ran to call a leech; and some ran to lift the slain: Some felt her lips and little wrist, if life might there be found; And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to stanch the wound. In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched; for never truer blow That good right arm had dealt in fight against a Volscian foe. When Appius Claudius saw that deed, he shuddered and sank And hid his face some little space with the corner of his gown, So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his way; But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay, Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him; alive or dead! Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head." He look'd upon his clients; but none would work his will. He look'd upon his lictors; but they trembled, and stood still. And, as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft, Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. And he hath passed in safety unto his woeful home; And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome. By this the flood of people was swollen from every side, And streets and porches round were filled with that o'erflowing tide; And close around the body gathered a little train Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain. They brought a bier, and hung it with many a cypress crown, But a deep sullen murmur wandered among the crowd, Like the moaning noise that goes before the whirlwind on the deep, Or the growl of a fierce watch-dog but half aroused from sleep. Each with his axe and sheaf of twigs, went down into the throng, The wailing, hooting, cursing, the howls of grief and hate, Were heard beyond the Pincian hill, beyond the Latin gate. Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain, No cries were there, but teeth set fast, low whispers, and black frowns, And breaking up of benches, and girding up of gowns. "Twas well the lictors might not pierce to where the maiden lay, Else surely had they been all twelve torn limb from limb that day. Right glad they were to struggle back, blood streaming from their heads, With axes all in splinters, and raiment all in shreds. Then Appius Claudius gnawed his lip, and the blood left his cheek; And thrice he beckoned with his hand, and thrice he strove to speak; And thrice the tossing Forum set up a frightful yell. "See, see, thou dog! what thou hast done; and hide thy shame in hell! Thou that would'st make our maidens slaves must first make slaves of men. Tribunes! Hurrah for Tribunes! Down with the wicked Ten!" And straightway, thick as hailstones, came whizzing through the air Pebbles, and bricks, and potsherds, all round the curule chair: |