HORATIUS
Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ;
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh :
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow. 10
He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space ;
Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke, 20
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak.
Far o'er the crashing forest,
The giant arms lie spread ;
And the pale augurs, muttering low.
Gaze on the blasted head.
On Astur's throat Horatius
Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel. 30
" And see," he cried, " the welcome,
Fair guests, tfcat waits you here !
What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer ? "