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.

66

Now, by your children's cradles, now by your fathers' graves, Be men to-day, Quirites, or be for ever slaves !

For this did Servius give us laws? For this did Lucrece bleed?
For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's evil seed?
For this did those false sons make red the axes of their sire?
For this did Scævola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire?
Shall the vile fox-earth awe the race that stormed the lion's den?
Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked
Ten?

Oh for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will!
Oh for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred Hill !
In those brave days our fathers stood firmly side by side;
They faced the Marcian fury; they tamed the Fabian pride :
They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Rome;
They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces home.1

'In the early days of the Republic the citizen soldiers of Rome, in a fit of popular discontent, retired in a body to the Mons Sacer, three miles from the city, and announced their intention of settling there permanently. Menenius Agrippa endeavoured to dissuade them from their purpose by relating to them the fable of the belly and the members, which Shakespeare has introduced into the tragedy of "Coriolanus." They eventually returned to their homes under a promise from the Senate that they should be allowed to be represented and protected by Tribunes.

The Marcian fury was faced in the person of Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whose story now belongs rather to English than to Latin literature. The deepest wound which the Fabian pride ever suffered was the refusal of the troops of Caso Fabius to storm the camp of a defeated enemy, and so to complete their general's victory, and entitle him to the honours of a triumph. Quinctius Cæso, the son of the celebrated Cincinnatus, rendered himself odious to the people by his insolence and ferocity. At length he was guilty of an outrage so serious that he was committed for trial on a capital offence, and ran for his life into Etruria. Just a century before the date at which this lay is supposed to have been chaunted the Appius Claudius of the period was hustled in the Forum, in a riot which had been brought on by his overbearing conduct.

But what their care bequeathed us our madness flung away :
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day.
Exult, ye proud Patricians! The hard-fought fight is o'er.
We strove for honours-'twas in vain for freedom-'tis no

more.

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.
Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore;
Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore ;
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.
But, by the Shades beneath us, and by the Gods above,
Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love!
Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs
From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings?
Ladies, who deign not on our paths to set their tender feet,
Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the wondering

street,

Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold, And breathe of Capuan odours, and shine with Spanish gold? Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to life—

The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife,

The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures,
The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours.
Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with pride;
Still let the bridegroom's arms infold an unpolluted bride.
Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame,

That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame,

Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, 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,

Close to yon low dark archway, where, in crimson flood,

Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of blood.
Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down:
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.
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!

Though stern I sometimes be,
Who could be so to thee?

Oh how I loved my darling!
To thee, thou know'st, I was not so.
And how my darling loved me! How glad she was to hear
My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year!
And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown,1
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,
Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn.
The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls,
The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls,

1 The civic crown, the Victoria Cross of old Rome, was bestowed upon the soldier who had saved the life of a compatriot.

Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom,
And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb.
The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way!
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey!
With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, betrayed, bereft,
Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left.

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 knowest 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."
With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side,
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died.

Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall.
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 ștanched; 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 down,

And hid his face some little space with the corner of his gown,
Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh,
And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high.
"Oh! dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain,
By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain ;
And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine,
Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!”

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, And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then, with steadfast feet,

Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street.

Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him; alive or dead! Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head."

He looked upon his clients; but none would work his will.
He looked 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,
And gently they uplifted her, and gently laid her down.
The face of Appius Claudius wore the Claudian scowl and sneer,
And in the Claudian note he cried, "What doth this rabble

here?

Have they no crafts to mind at home, that hitherward they stray?

Ho! lictors, clear the market-place, and fetch the corpse away!"
The voice of grief and fury till then had not been loud;
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.
But when the lictors at that word, tall yeomen all and strong,
Each with his axe and sheaf of twigs, went down into the throng,