Rejoicing to be free; And whirling down, in fierce career, Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind, Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face; "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace!" Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome : "O Tiber! Father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed The good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back, Plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank, But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain, And spent with changing blows; Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing-place; But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within, And our good Father Tiber Bare bravely up his chin. When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close; When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows; When the goodman mends his armor, How well Horatius kept the bridge THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. SEMPRONIUS'S SPEECH FOR WAR. My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death? No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And at the head of our remaining troops Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise! Fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help: Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged among us. JOSEPH ADDISON. BOADICEA. WHEN the British warrior queen, Sage beneath the spreading oak Full of rage and full of grief. "Princess! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, HERMANN AND THUSNELDA. [Hermann, or, as the Roman historians call him, Arminius, was a chieftain of the Cheruscans, a tribe in Northern Germany. After serving in Illyria, and there learning the Roman arts of warfare, he came back to his native country, and fought successfully for its independence. He defeated beside a defile near Detmold, in Westphalia, the Roman legions under Varus, with a slaughter so mortifying that the Proconsul is said to have killed himself, and Augustus to have received the catastrophe with indecorous expressions of grief.] HA! there comes he, with sweat, with blood of Romans, And with dust of the fight all stained! O, never Saw I Hermann so lovely! Never such fire in his eyes! Come! I tremble for joy; hand me the Eagle, And the red, dripping sword! come, breathe, and rest thee; Rest thee here in my bosom ; Rest from the terrible fight! Was struck-struck like a dog -- by one who wore Rest thee, while from thy brow I wipe the big The stain away in blood? such shames are common. I have known deeper wrongs. I that speak to ye I had a brother once, a gracious boy, "Wherefore curl'st thou my hair? Lies not our To see them die! Have ye fair daughters ?— Look father Cold and silent in death? O, had Augustus Only headed his army, He should lie bloodier there!" Let me lift up thy hair; 't is sinking, Hermann; Proudly thy locks should curl above the crown now! Sigmar is with the immortals! Follow, and mourn him no more! KLOPSTOCK. Translation of To see them live, torn from your arms, disdained, MARY RUSSELL MITFORD RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. FRIENDS! I came not here to talk. Ye know too well MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY! [On the exploit of Arnold Winkelried at the battle of Sempach which the Swiss, fighting for their independence, totally defeated the Austrians, in the fourteenth century.] "MAKE way for Liberty!" he cried; Made way for Liberty, and died! In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, Till time to dust their frames should wear, So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, Whose polished points before them shine, Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land: Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords, And what insurgent rage had gained In many a mortal fray maintained; Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, They came to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquered, he who fell, Was deemed a dead, or living Tell! Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod. And now the work of life and death Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, That line 't were suicide to meet, Unmarked he stood amid the throng, But 't was no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won : "Make way for Liberty!" he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten spears he swept within his grasp. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; Their keen points met from side to side; He bowed amongst them like a tree, And thus made way for Liberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for Liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart; While, instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow. Thus Switzerland again was free; Thus death made way for Liberty! JAMES MONTGOMERY. SWITZERLAND. WILLIAM TELL. ONCE Switzerland was free! With what a pride In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake, Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of vain ! O, weep for the living, who linger to bear the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, One look, one last look, to the cots and the The General rode along us to form us for the fight; towers, To the rows of our vines and the beds of our flowers; To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. Where we fondly had deemed that our own should And hark! like the roar of the billows on the The cry of battle rises along their charging line : For God for the cause! for the Church! for the laws! Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home, Rhine ! his drums, Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades, The furious German comes, with his clarions and To the song of thy youths, the dance of thy maids; To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees, And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees! His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall; They are bursting on our flanks! Grasp your pikes! Close your ranks ! For Rupert never comes but to conquer, or to fall. they rush on, we are gone, we are broken, Farewell and forever! The priest and the slave THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. NASEBY. O, WHEREFORE come ye forth in triumph from the north, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread ? O, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, And crimson was the juice of the vintage that Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on |