Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our grace." Round turn'd he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome. "O Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and speaking sheathed the good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing, and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows: And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place: But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. "Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sack'd the town!" "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "and bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom; now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. They gave him of the corn-land, that was of public right, As much as two strong oxen could plough from morn till night; And they made a molten image, and set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day to witness if I lie. It stands in the Comitium, plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness, halting upon one knee: And underneath is written, in letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge in the brave days of old.