A Lay Sung at the Feast (10)

    Up rose the golden morning Over the Porcian height, The proud Ides of Quintilis Marked evermore in white. Not without secret trouble Our bravest saw the foe¹； For girt by threescore thousand spears, The thirty standards rose. From every warlike city That boasts the Latian name, Fordoomed to dogs and vultures, That gallant² army came； From Setia's purple vineyards, From Norba's ancient wall, From the white streets of Tusculum, The proudust town of all； From where the Witch's Fortress³ O'er hangs the dark-blue seas； From the still glassy lake that sleeps Beneath Aricia's trees—— Those trees in whose dim shadow The ghastly priest doth reign⁴, The priest who slew⁵ the slayer⁶, And shall himself be slain⁷； From the drear banks of Ufens, Where flights of marsh-fowl play, And buffaloes⁹ lie wallowing Through the hot summer's day； From the gigantic watch-towers, No work of earthly men, Whence Cora's sentinels o'erlook The never-ending fen⁸；

    From the Laurentian jungle, The wild hog's reedy home； From the green steeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam¹⁰.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.