Part 13

"But thy father loves the clashing Of broadsword and of shield: He loves to drink the steam that reeks From the fresh battlefield: He smiles a smile more dreadful Than his own dreadful frown, When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke Go up from the conquered town.

"And such as is the War-god, The author of thy line, And such as she who suckled thee, Even such be thou and thine. Leave to the soft Campanian His baths and his perfumes; Leave to the sordid race of Tyre Their dyeing-vats and looms; Leave to the sons of Carthage The rudder and the oar; Leave to the Greek his marble Nymphs And scrolls of wordy lore.

XXI

"Thine, Roman, is the pilum: Roman, the sword is thine, The even trench, the bristling mound, The legion's ordered line; And thine the wheels of triumph, Which with their laurelled train Move slowly up the shouting streets To Jove's eternal flame.

XXII

"Beneath thy yoke the Volscian Shall vail his lofty brow; Soft Capua's curled revellers Before thy chairs shall bow: The Lucumoes of Arnus Shall quake thy rods to see; And the proud Samnite's heart of steel Shall yield to only thee.

XXIII

"The Gaul shall come against thee From the land of snow and night; Thou shalt give his fair-haired armies To the raven and the kite.

XXIV

"The Greek shall come against thee, The conqueror of the East. Beside him stalks to battle The huge earth-shaking beast, The beast on whom the castle With all its guards doth stand, The beast who hath between his eyes The serpent for a hand. First march the bold Epirotes, Wedged close with shield and spear And the ranks of false Tarentum Are glittering in the rear.

XXV

"The ranks of false Tarentum Like hunted sheep shall fly: In vain the bold Epirotes Shall round their standards die: And Apennine's gray vultures Shall have a noble feast On the fat and the eyes Of the the huge earth-shaking beast.

XXVI

"Hurrah! for the good weapons That keep the War-god's land. Hurrah! for Rome's stout pilum In a stout Roman hand. Hurrah! for Rome's short broadsword That through the thick array Of levelled spears and serried shields Hews deep its gory way.

XXVII

"Hurrah! for the great triumph That stretches many a mile. Hurrah! for the wan captives That pass in endless file. Ho! bold Epirotes, whither Hath the Red King taken flight? Ho! dogs of false Tarentum, Is not the gown washed white?

XXVIII

"Hurrah! for the great triumph That stretches many a mile. Hurrah! for the rich dye of Tyre, And the fine web of Nile, The helmets gay with plumage Torn from the pheasant's wings, The belts set thick with starry gem That shone on Indian kings, The urns of massy silver, The goblets rough with gold, The many-colored tablets bright With loves and wars of old, The stone that breathes and struggles, The brass that seems to speak;-- Such cunning they who dwell on high Have given unto the Greek.

XXIX

"Hurrah! for Manius Curius, The bravest son of Rome, Thrice in utmost need sent forth, Thrice drawn in triumph home. Weave, weave, for Manius Curius The third embroidered gown: Make ready the third lofty car, And twine the third green crown; And yoke the steeds of Rosea With necks like a bended bow, And deck the bull, Mevania's bull, The bull as white as snow.

XXX

"Blest and thrice blest the Roman Who sees Rome's brightest day, Who sees that long victorious pomp Wind down the Sacred Way, And through the bellowing Forum, And round the Suppliant's Grove, Up to the everlasting gates Of Capitolian Jove.

XXXI

"Then where, o'er two bright havens, The towers of Corinth frown; Where the gigantic King of Day On his own Rhodes looks down; Where oft Orontes murmurs Beneath the laurel shades; Where Nile reflects the endless length Of dark red colonnades; Where in the still deep water, Sheltered from waves and blasts, Bristles the dusky forest Of Byrsa's thousand masts; Where fur-clad hunters wander Amidst the northern ice; Where through the sand of morning-land The camel bears the spice; Where Atlas flings his shadow Far o'er the western foam, Shall be great fear on all who hear The might name of Rome."