Lays of Ancient Rome

Name: Lays of Ancient Rome
Author: Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron

Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron

Rome -- History -- Poetry

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.

               XIV

     For aged folks on crutches,
          And women great with child,
     And mothers sobbing over babes
          That clung to them and smiled,
     And sick men borne in litters
          High on the necks of slaves,
     And troops of sun-burned husbandmen
          With reaping-hooks and staves,

               XV

     And droves of mules and asses
          Laden with skins of wine,
     And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
          And endless herds of kine,
     And endless trains of wagons
          That creaked beneath the weight
     Of corn-sacks and of household goods,
          Choked every roaring gate.

               XVI

     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 come
          With tidings of dismay.

               XVII

     To eastward and to westward
          Have spread the Tuscan bands;
     Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
          In Crustumerium stands.
     Verbenna down to Ostia
          Hath wasted all the plain;
     Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
          And the stout guards are slain.

               XVIII

     I wis, in all the Senate,
          There was no heart so bold,
     But sore it ached, and fast it beat,
          When that ill news was told.
     Forthwith up rose the Consul,
          Up rose the Fathers all;
     In haste they girded up their gowns,
          And hied them to the wall.

               XIX

     They held a council standing,
          Before the River-Gate;
     Short time was there, ye well may guess,
          For musing or debate.
     Out spake the Consul roundly:
          "The bridge must straight go down;
     For, since Janiculum is lost,
          Nought else can save the town."

               XX

     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 Consol fixed his eye,
     And saw the swarthy storm of dust
          Rise fast along the sky.

               XXI

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Lays of Ancient Rome

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