by Thomas B. Macaulay
V
The troubled river knew them,
And smoothed his yellow foam,
And gently rocked the cradle
That bore the fate of Rome.
The ravening she-wolf knew them,
And licked them o'er and o'er,
And gave them of her own fierce milk,
Rich with raw flesh and gore.
Twenty 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 grandsire's hall.
Along their path fresh garlands
Are hung from tree to tree:
Before them stride the pipers,
Piping a note of glee.
Continued next week. Tomorrow's installment from the great Arab book Thousand and One Nights.
A collection consisting exclusively of war-songs would give anScottish poet Macaulay published this in 1842.
imperfect, or rather an erroneous, notion of the spirit of the
old Latin ballads.
Photo, CC-BY-SA-3.0.
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