The following lay belongs to the latest age of Latin ballad-poetry. Nævis and Livius Andronicus were probably among the children whose mothers held them up to see the chariot of Curius go by. The minstrel who sang on that day might possibly have lived to read the first hexameters of Ennius, and to see the first comedies of Plautus. His poem, as might be expected, shows a much wider acquaintance with the geography, manners, and productions of remote nations, than would have been found in compositions of the age of Camillus. But he troubles himself little about dates, and having heard travellers talk with admiration of the Colossus of Rhodes, and of the structures and gardens with which the Macedonian king of Syria had embellished their residence on the banks of the Orontes, he has never thought of inquiring whether these things existed in the age of Romulus. The Prophecy of Capys A Lay Sung at the Banquet in the Capitol, on the Day Whereon Manius Curius Dentatus, a Second Time Consul, Triumphed Over King Pyrrhus and the Tarentines, in the Year of the City CCCCLXXIX. I Now slain is King Amulius, Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. Slain is the Ponfiff Camers, Who spake the words of doom: "The children to the Tiber, The mother to the tomb." II In Alba's lake no fisher His net to-day is flinging; On the dark rind of Alba's oaks To-day no axe is ringing; The yoke hangs o'er the manger; The scythe lies in the hay: Through all the Alban villages No work is done to-day. III And every Alban burgher Hath donned his whitest gown; And every head in Alba Weareth a poplar crown; And every Alban door-post With boughs and flowers is gay, For to-day the dead are living, The lost are found to-day. IV They were doomed by a bloody king, They were doomed by a lying priest, They were cast on the raging flood, They were tracked by the raging beast; Raging beast and raging flood Alike have spared the prey; And to-day the dead are living, The lost are found to-day. V The troubled river knew them, And smoothed his yellow foam, And gently rocked the cradle That bore the fate of Rome. The ravening she-wolf knew them, And licked them o'er and o'er, And gave them of her own fierce milk, Rich with raw flesh and gore. Twenty winters, twenty springs, Since then have rolled away; And to-day the dead are living: The lost are found to-day. VI