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.

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

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

    And nearer, fast, and nearer
      Doth the red whirlwind come;
    And louder still, and still more loud,
    From underneath that rolling cloud,
    Is heard the trumpet’s war-note proud,
      The trampling and the hum. 
    And plainly and more plainly
      Now through the gloom appears,
    Far to left and far to right,
    In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
    The long array of helmets bright,
      The long array of spears.

    And plainly and more plainly,
      Above the glimmering line,
    Now might ye see the banners
      Of twelve fair cities shine;
    But the banner of proud Clusium
      Was the highest of them all,
    The terror of the Umbrian,
      The terror of the Gaul.

    Fast by the royal standard,
      O’erlooking all the war,
    Lars Porsena of Clusium
      Sat in his ivory car. 
    By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
      Prince of the Latian name,
    And by the left false Sextus,
      That wrought the deed of shame.

    But when the face of Sextus
      Was seen among the foes,
    A yell that rent the firmament
      From all the town arose. 
    On the house-tops was no woman
      But spat toward him and hissed,
    No child but screamed out curses,
      And shook its little fist.

    But the Consul’s brow was sad,
      And the Consul’s speech was low,
    And darkly looked he at the wall,
      And darkly at the foe. 
   “Their van will be upon us
      Before the bridge goes down;
    And if they once may win the bridge,
      What hope to save the town?”

    Then out spake brave Horatius,
      The Captain of the Gate: 
   “To every man upon this earth
      Death cometh soon or late;
    And how can man die better
      Than facing fearful odds,
    For the ashes of his fathers,
      And the temples of his gods.