. Lays of ancient Rome, with Ivry, and The Armada;. Y CCCCLXXIX. I. Now slain is King Amulius, Of the great Sylvian line,Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. 154 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. Slain is the Pontiff Gamers, Who spake the words of doom 1 The children to the Tiber ;The mother to the tomb. II. In Albas lake no fisher His net to-day is flinging:On the dark rind of Albas oaks To-day no axe is ringing :The yoke hangs oer the manger The scythe lies in the hay :Through all the Alban villages No work is done to-day. III. And every Alban burghet Hath donned his whitest gown ;And e
. Lays of ancient Rome, with Ivry, and The Armada;. Y CCCCLXXIX. I. Now slain is King Amulius, Of the great Sylvian line,Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. 154 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. Slain is the Pontiff Gamers, Who spake the words of doom 1 The children to the Tiber ;The mother to the tomb. II. In Albas lake no fisher His net to-day is flinging:On the dark rind of Albas oaks To-day no axe is ringing :The yoke hangs oer the manger The scythe lies in the hay :Through all the Alban villages No work is done to-day. III. And every Alban burghet Hath donned his whitest gown ;And every head in Alba Weareth a poplar crown ;And every Alban door-post With boughs and flowers is gayFor to-day the dead are living ; The lost are found to-day. THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. 155 IV. They were doomed by a bloody king : They were doomed by a lying priest :They were cast on the raging flood : They were tracked by the raging beastRaging beast and raging flood Alike have spared the prey ;And to-day the dead are living: The lost are found V. The troubled river knew smoothed his yellow foam, 156 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. And gently rocked the cradle That bore the fate of ravening she-wolf knew them, And licked them oer and oer,And gave them of her own fierce milk Rich with raw flesh and winters, twenty springs, Since then have rolled away ;And to-day the dead are living : The lost are found to-day. VI. Blithe it was to see the twins, Right goodly youths and tall,Marching from Alba Longa To their old grandsires their path fresh garlands Are hung from tree to tree :Before them stride the pipers, Piping a note of glee. VII. On the right goes RomulusWith arms to the elbows red, And in his hand a on the blade a head—
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