. Lays of ancient Rome, with Ivry, and The Armada;. and soft bed,To them who of mans seed are born, Whom womans milk have wast not made for lucre, For pleasure, nor for rest;Thou, that art sprung from the War-gods loins, And hast tugged at the she-wolfs breast THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. 163 XV. From sunrise unto sunset All earth shall hear thy fame:A glorious city thou shalt build, And name it by thy name :And there, unquenched through ages, Like Vestas sacred fire,Shall live the spirit of thy nurse. The spirit of thy sire. XVI. The ox toils through the furrow, Obedient to the goad ;The p
. Lays of ancient Rome, with Ivry, and The Armada;. and soft bed,To them who of mans seed are born, Whom womans milk have wast not made for lucre, For pleasure, nor for rest;Thou, that art sprung from the War-gods loins, And hast tugged at the she-wolfs breast THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. 163 XV. From sunrise unto sunset All earth shall hear thy fame:A glorious city thou shalt build, And name it by thy name :And there, unquenched through ages, Like Vestas sacred fire,Shall live the spirit of thy nurse. The spirit of thy sire. XVI. The ox toils through the furrow, Obedient to the goad ;The patient ass, up flinty paths, Plods with his weary load :With whine and bound the spaniel His masters whistle hears ;And the sheep yields her patiently To the loud clashing shears. XVII. But thy nurse will hear no master ; Thy nurse will bear no load ;And woe to them that shear her, And woe to them that goad! 164 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. When all the pack, loud baying,Her bloody lair surrounds, She dies in silence, biting hard,Amidst the dying XVIII. Pomona loves the orchard ; And Liber loves the vine ;And Pales loves the straw-built shed Warm with the breath of kine ; THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. 165 And Venus loves the whispers Of plighted youth and maid,In Aprils ivory moonlight Beneath the chestnut shade. XIX. But thy father loves the clashing Of broadsword and of shield ;He loves to drink the steam that reeks From the fresh battle-field :He smiles a smile more dreadful Than his own dreadful frown,When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke Go up from the conquered town. XX. 1 And such as is the War-god, The author of thy line,And such as she who suckled thee, Even such be thou and to the soft Campanian His baths and his perfumes ;Leave to the sordid race of Tyre Their dyeing-vats and looms : i66 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. Leave to the sons of Carthage The rudder and the oar :Leave to the Greek his marble Nymphs And scrolls of wordy lore. XXI. Thine, Roman, is the pil
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