He felt within a power unfelt before,

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward

And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
The land was made resplendent with his train
Flashing along the towns of Italy

Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.

And when once more within Palermo's wall,
And seated on the throne in his great hall,
He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
As if a better world conversed with ours,
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
And with a gesture bade the rest retire;

And when they were alone, the Angel said,
"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
And in some cloister's school of penitence,

Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face
A holy light illumined all the place,

And through the open window, loud and clear,
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
Above the stir and tumult of the street:
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree!"
And through the chant a second melody
Rose like the throbbing of a single string:
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"

King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!
But all appareled as in days of old,

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;
And when his courtiers came, they found him there
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.

Lars Porsena of Clusium,

By the nine gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin

Should suffer wrong no more. By the nine gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north, To summon his array.

East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain

From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain.

And now hath every city

Sent up her tale of men;

The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten.
Before the gates of Sutrium
Is met the great array,

A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day.

But by the yellow Tiber

Was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign.
To Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city,

The throng stopped up the ways;

A fearful sight it was to see

Through two long nights and days.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian,
Could the wan burghers spy

The line of blazing villages

Red in the midnight sky.

The Fathers of the City,

They sat all night and day,

For every hour some horseman came
With tidings of dismay.

They held a council standing
Before the river-gate;

Short time was there, ye well may guess

For musing or debate. Outspake the Consul roundly:

"The bridge must straight go down; For since Janiculum is lost,

Naught else can save the town.'

Just then a scout came flying,

All wild with haste and fear:
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul;
Lars Porsena is here."
On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.

And nearer, fast and nearer,

Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud The trampling and the hum. And plainly and more plainly

Now through the gloom appears,
Far to left and far to right,

In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright,
The long array of spears.

But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe:

"Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town?"

Then outspake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate;
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers

And the temples of his gods?

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play,—
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?"

Then outspake Spurius Lartius,—
A Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee."
And outspake strong Herminius,—
Of Titian blood was he:

"I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee."

"Horatius," quoth the Consul,

"As thou sayest, so let it be."
And straight against that great array,
Forth went the dauntless Three.
Now, while the Three were tightening
Their harness on their backs,

The Consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe;

And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,

Came flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright

Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,

As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.

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 mighty mass;

To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew

To win the narrow pass.

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.

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.

But now no sound of laughter
Was heard amongst the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor

From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears' lengths from the entrance
Halted that mighty mass,

And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow pass.