XXXV

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.

XXXVI

Round turned 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.

XXXVII

"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.

XXXVIII

No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank; But friend 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.

XXXIX

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.

XL

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

Bore bravely up his chin.

XLI

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands;

Now round him throng the Fathers Το 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.

XLII

They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen

Could plow 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.

XLIII

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within;

XLIV

When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;

When the chestnuts glow in the embers
And the kid turns on the spit;
When old and young in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;

XLV

When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;

With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,

How well Horatius kept the bridge

In the brave days of old.

Abridged.

WE VISIT THE FRENCH ARMY

BY HEYWOOD BROUN

"THE Germans haven't thrown a single shell in Rheims today," said our conducting officer apologetically. "Yesterday," he continued more cheerfully, "they sent more than five hundred big ones and they wounded two of my officers,"

We left the little inn at the fringe of the town and rode into the square in front of the cathedral. At the door the officer turned us over to the curator. The old man led us up the aisle to a point not far from the altar. Here he stopped, and pointing to a great shell hole in the floor, said: "On this spot in the year 496 Clovis, the King of the Franks, was baptized by the blessed St. Remi with oil which was brought from heaven in a holy flask by a dove."

Something flew over the cathedral just then, but we knew it was not a dove. It whistled like a strong wind, and presently the shop of a confectioner some ten blocks away folded up with a ripping, smashing sound. Clovis, with his fourteen centuries wrapped about him, was safe enough. He had quit the spot in time. But a younger man ducked. The old guide did not even look up.

"The first stone of the present cathedral was laid in May, 1212, by the Archbishop Alberic de Humbert, he said.

Another big shell tore the sky, and this time the smash was nearer. It seemed certainly no more than nine blocks away. The young man began to calculate. He figured that he was seven centuries down, while the Germans had nine blocks to go. That was something, but the guide failed to keep up his pace through the centuries. There were no more happy hiatuses.

"Scholars dispute," he continued, "as to who was the architect of the cathedral. Some say it was designed by Robert de Coucy; others name Bernard de Soissons, but certain authorities hold to Gauthier de Reims and