He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space; 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 handbreadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak : Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.
On Astur's throat Horatius
Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel. 'And see,' he cried, 'the welcome,
Fair guests, that waits you here ! What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer? '
But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath and shame and dread,
Along that glittering van.
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