And the sheep yields her patiently

To the loud clashing shears.

"But thy nurse will hear no master;
Thy nurse will bear no load ;
And woe to them that shear her,
And woe to them that goad!
When all the pack, loud baying,
Her bloody lair surrounds,
She dies in silence, biting hard,
Amidst the dying hounds.

"Pomona loves the orchard;
And Liber loves the vine;
And Pales loves the straw-built shed
Warm with the breath of kine;
And Venus loves the whispers

Of plighted youth and maid,
In April's ivory moonlight

Beneath the chestnut shade.

"But thy father loves the clashing
Of broadsword and of shield;
He loves to drink the steam that reeks
From the fresh battlefield;

He smiles a smile more dreadful

Than his own dreadful frown,

When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke Go up from the conquered town.

"And such as is the War god,

The author of thy line,

And such as she who suckled thee,
Even such be thou and thine.
Leave to the soft Campanian

His baths and his perfumes;
Leave to the sordid race of Tyre

Their dyeing vats and looms: Leave to the sons of Carthage

The rudder and the oar;

Leave to the Greek his marble Nymphs And scrolls of wordy lore.

"Thine, Roman, is the pilum;
Roman, the sword is thine,

The even trench, the bristling mound,
The legion's ordered line;
And thine the wheels of triumph,

Which with their laureled train
Move slowly up the shouting streets
To Jove's eternal fane.

"Beneath thy yoke the Volscian
Shall veil his lofty brow:
Soft Capua's curled revelers
Before thy chairs shall bow;

The Lucumoes of Arnus

Shall quake thy rods to see;

And the proud Samnite's heart of steel

Shall yield to only thee.

"The Gaul shall come against thee

From the land of snow and night;

Thou shalt give his fair-haired armies To the raven and the kite.

“The Greek shall come against thee,
The conqueror of the East.
Beside him stalks to battle

The huge earth-shaking beast,
The beast on whom the castle
With all its guards doth stand,
The beast who hath between his eyes
The serpent for a hand.

First march the bold Epirotes,

Wedged close with shield and spear; And the ranks of false Tarentum Are glittering in the rear.

"The ranks of false Tarentum Like hunted sheep shall fly;

In vain the bold Epirotes

Shall round their standards die. And Apennine's gray vultures

Shall have a noble feast
On the fat and the eyes

Of the huge earth-shaking beast.
"Hurrah, for the good weapons
That keep the War god's land!
Hurrah, for Rome's stout pilum
In a stout Roman hand!

Hurrah, for Rome's short broadsword,
That through the thick array

Of leveled spears and serried shields Hews deep its gory way!

"Hurrah, for the great triumph
That stretches many a mile!
Hurrah, for the wan captives
That pass in endless file!
Ho, bold Epirotes, whither
Hath the Red King ta'en flight?
Ho, dogs of false Tarentum,

Is not the gown washed white ?

"Hurrah, for the great triumph
That stretches many a mile!
Hurrah, for the rich dye of Tyre,
And the fine web of Nile,
The helmets gay with plumage

Torn from the pheasant's wings,

The belts set thick with starry gems That shone on Indian kings,

The urns of massy silver,

The goblets rough with gold, The many-colored tablets bright With loves and wars of old;

The stone that breathes and struggles,
The brass that seems to speak, -
Such cunning they who dwell on high
Have given unto the Greek.

"Hurrah, for Manius Curius,
The bravest son of Rome,
Thrice in utmost need sent forth,
Thrice drawn in triumph home!
Weave, weave for Manius Curius
The third embroidered gown:

Make ready the third lofty car,

And twine the third green crown; And yoke the steeds of Rosea

With necks like bended bow,

And deck the bull, Mevania's bull,
The bull as white as snow.

"Blest and thrice blest the Roman
Who sees Rome's brightest day,
Who sees that long victorious pomp
Wind down the Sacred Way,
And through the bellowing Forum
And round the Suppliant's Grove,
Up to the everlasting gates

Of Capitolian Jove.

"Then where, o'er two bright heavens, The towers of Corinth frown; Where the gigantic King of Day

In his own Rhodes looks down ; Where soft Orontes murmurs Beneath the laurel shades; Where Nile reflects the endless length

Of dark red colonnades;

Where in the still deep water,

Sheltered from waves and blasts,

Bristles the dusky forests.

Of Byrsa's thousand masts;

"Where fur-clad hunters wander

Amidst the northern ice;