They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen
Could plough 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.
It stands in the Comitium
Plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee: And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow;
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