But with a crash like thunder And, like a dam, the mighty wreck And, like a horse unbroken And whirling down, in fierce career, 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 turned he, as not deigning The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. "Oh, 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. Was none who would be foremost And on the tossing sea of steel, Yet one man for one moment Well known was he to all the Three, Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome." Thrice looked he at the city; Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in dread: But meanwhile axe and lever And now the bridge hangs tottering "Come back, come back, Horatius!" Back darted Spurius Lartius; And, as they passed, beneath their feet But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. But with a crash like thunder And, like a dam, the mighty wreck And, like a horse unbroken And whirling down, in fierce career, 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 turned he, as not deigning The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. "Oh, 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, But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain: And spent with changing blows: Never, I ween, did swimmer, Struggle through such a raging flood And our good father Tiber Bore 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 sacked 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: And now, with shouts and clapping, He enters through the River-Gate, The Expedition of Nadir Shah into Hindostan. 105 THE EXPEDITION OF NADIR SHAH INTO HINDOSTAN. ALFRED TENNYSON. Nadir Shah was the adventurous leader of a gang of robbers who raised himself to the position of Shah of Persia. He conducted a brilliant expedition into Hindostan, where he defeated the Great Mogul and took Delhi. He was assassinated in 1747. As the hosts of the locusts in numbers, in might, As the flames of the forest that redden the night, They approach; but the eye may not dwell on the glare Of standard and sabre that sparkle in air. Like the fiends of destruction they rush on their way, Earth trembles beneath them, the dauntless, the bold; For thy glory is past, and thy splendor is dim, The "Monarch of Nations," the strength of his pride? Like a thousand dark streams from the mountain they throng, With the fife and the horn and the war-beating gong: But behind them a wilderness dreary and bare. The shrieks of the orphan, the lone widow's wail, |