Herminius smote down Aruns: 
    Lartius laid Ocnus low:  330
  Right to the heart of Lausulus
    Horatius sent a blow. 
  “Lie there,” he cried, “fell pirate! 
    No more, aghast and pale,
  From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark 335
  The track of thy destroying bark. 
  No more Campania’s[55] hinds[56] shall fly
  To woods and caverns when they spy
    Thy thrice accursed sail.”

  XLI

  But now no sound of laughter 340
    Was heard among the foes. 
  A wild and wrathful clamor
    From all the vanguard rose. 
  Six spears’ lengths from the entrance
    Halted that deep array, 345
  And for a space no man came forth
    To win the narrow way.

  XLII

  But hark! the cry is Astur: 
    And lo! the ranks divide;
  And the great Lord of Luna
    Comes with his stately stride. 350
  Upon his ample shoulders
    Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
  And in his hand he shakes the brand
    Which none but he can wield. 355

  XLIII

  He smiled on those bold Romans
    A smile serene and high;
  He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
    And scorn was in his eye. 
  Quoth he, “The she-wolf’s litter[57] 360
    Stand savagely at bay: 
  But will ye dare to follow,
    If Astur clears the way?”

  XLIV

  Then, whirling up his broadsword
    With both hands to the height, 365
  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:  370
  It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: 
  The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
    To see the red blood flow.

  XLV

  He reeled, and on Herminius
    He leaned one breathing-space; 375
  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 380
    Behind the Tuscan’s head.

  XLVI

  And the great Lord of Luna
    Fell at that deadly stroke,
  As falls on Mount Alvernus
    A thunder-smitten oak. 385
  Far o’er the crashing forest
    The giant arms lie spread;
  And the pale augurs, muttering low,
    Gaze on the blasted head.

  XLVII

  On Astur’s throat Horatius 390
    Right firmly pressed his heel;
  And thrice and four times tugged amain,
    Ere be wrenched out the steel. 
  “And see,” he cried, “the welcome,
    Fair guests, that waits you here! 395
  What noble Lucumo comes next
    To taste our Roman cheer?”