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A glorious city thou shalt build,
And name it by thy name:
And there, unquenched through ages,
Like Vesta's sacred fire,
Shall live the spirit of thy nurse,
The spirit of thy sire.

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And Venus loves the whispers
Of plighted youth and maid,
In April's ivory moonlight
Beneath the chesnut shade.


"But thy father loves the clashing

Of broadsword and of shield:

He loves to drink the steam that reeks
From the fresh battle-field:

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.


"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 fane..


"Beneath thy yoke the Volscian
Shall veil his lofty brow:
Soft Capua's curled revellers

Before thy chair 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.


"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.


"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 glitering in the rear.


"The ranks of false Tarentum Like hunted sheep shall fly: In vain the bold Epirotes

Shall round their standards die:
And Apennine's grey vultures
Shall have a noble feast
On the fat and on the eyes
Of the huge earth-shaking beast.

26. "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.


"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 ta'en flight?
Ho! dogs of false Tarentum,
Is not the gown washed white?


"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 gems
That shone on Indian kings,
The urns of massy silver,

The goblets rough with gold,
The many-coloured 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.


"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.


"Blest and thrice blest the Roman

Who sees Rome's brightest day,
Who sees that long victorious pomp
Wind down the Sacred Way,
VOL. IV.-28

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