Blithe it was to see the twins, Right goodly youths and tall, Marching from Alba Longa To their old grandsire's hall. Along their path fresh garlands Are hung from tree to tree: Before them stride the pipers, Piping a note of glee. VII On the right goes Romulus, With arms to the elbows red, And in his hand a broadsword, And on the blade a head-- A head in an iron helmet, With horse-hair hanging down, A shaggy head, a swarthy head, Fixed in a ghastly frown-- The head of King Amulius Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. VIII On the left side goes Remus, With wrists and fingers red, And in his hand a boar-spear, And on the point a head-- A wrinkled head and aged, With silver beard and hair, And holy fillets round it, Such as the pontiffs wear-- The head of ancient Camers, Who spake the words of doom: "The children to the Tiber; The mother to the tomb." IX Two and two behind the twins Their trusty comrades go, Four and forty valiant men, With club, and axe, and bow. On each side every hamlet Pours forth its joyous crowd, Shouting lads and baying dogs, And children laughing loud, And old men weeping fondly As Rhea's boys go by, And maids who shriek to see the heads, Yet, shrieking, press more nigh. X So marched they along the lake; They marched by fold and stall, By cornfield and by vineyard, Unto the old man's hall. XI In the hall-gate sat Capys, Capys, the sightless seer; From head to foot he trembled As Romulus drew near. And up stood stiff his thin white hair, And his blind eyes flashed fire: "Hail! foster child of the wondrous nurse! Hail! son of the wondrous sire!" XII "But thou--what dost thou here In the old man's peaceful hall? What doth the eagle in the coop, The bison in the stall? Our corn fills many a garner; Our vines clasp many a tree; Our flocks are white on many a hill: But these are not for thee. XIII "For thee no treasure ripens In the Tartessian mine; For thee no ship brings precious bales Across the Libyan brine; Thou shalt not drink from amber; Thou shalt not rest on down; Arabia shall not steep thy locks, Nor Sidon tinge thy gown. XIV