Let woman never enter, nor its worship ever see,

For fear the thirst of great Alcides should unpunished be."

Hail, holy Father! hostile Juno smiles on thee to-day;

O holy Father! deign to smile auspicious on my lay,

Thou who hast purged the world of ill by that strong arm of thine,

Whom Sabines hailed "The Holy One" and worshipped as divine.

X.

JUPITER FERETRIUS.

Nunc Jovis incipiam causas aperire Feretri.

Now of Feretrian Jove shall be my strain,
And trophies three from three brave chieftains ta'en.
Hard is the hill, but glory nerves my soul:

I'd cull my chaplet from no easy knoll.

The first wast thou, Quirinus, sire of Rome,
To slay the foe and bear his armour home.
When Caenine Acron through our gates would go,
Thy conquering spear laid horse and rider low.
Acron, of great Alcides' line, who sped
Forth from his keep and horror broadcast spread,
Dared hope to wrest the arms our hero wore,
But left his own deep-stained with crimson gore.

Before the hollow towers a javelin now

He poised; but Jove had sealed Quirinus' vow : "Thy victim, Jove, shall Acron fall this day." Such was the vow: Jove's victim prostrate lay.

Thus aye to conquest did Quirinus fare—
His camp the field, his tent the open air.
Well could he rein the steed or guide the plough,
A shaggy wolf-skin helmet decked his brow,
No gleaming shield was his with pinchbeck pied,
While slaughtered steers his baldrick tough supplied.

Then Cossus comes, with slain Tolumnius' spoil,
When Veii's conquest was a work of toil,
Ere war crossed Tiber's tide; our farthest raids
Nomentum's vales and Cora's parted glades.
O ancient Veii! once a kingdom great,
Her forum graced with golden chair of state;
Now there the lazy shepherds' horns are blown,
And harvests o'er her slaughtered warriors mown.
Upon the gate-tower Veii's chieftain stood,

And parleyed with the foe in haughty mood.

While brass-horned ram now shook the battered wallThe workmen 'neath the mantlet sheltered all

Cries Cossus "Hero better courts the plain."

Then quickly chose their ground those warriors twain.
The gods were with us: lo! Tolumnius bleeds,
And laves with gory neck the Roman steeds.

Next Claudius crushed the Rhine-men, and a-field

Bore from huge Britomart his Belgic shield,

Who claimed the Rhine as sire; renowned afar

For hurling javelins from his flying car.

While dealt the tartan'd chief his darts amain,
Dropt from his severed neck his golden chain.

Feretrius' shrine now holds these trophies three,
So called since chief strikes chief by Jove's decree;
Or, since on shoulder home their spoils they bare,
To "Jove the Bearer" rose yon altar fair.

XI.

CORNELIA.

Desine, Paulle, meum lacrimis urgere sepulcrum.

O PAULUS! vex my grave with tears no more;
No prayers unlock the portals of the tomb;
When once the dead have trod the infernal floor,
Barred stand the adamantine doors of doom.

Though the dark hall's dread king would hear thy prayer, 'Twere vain deaf shores will drink thy tears the while. Prayers move high heaven: but, pay the boatman's fare, The drear gate closes on the shadowy pile.

So sang the mournful trumpets when my head
Sank on the bier before the ruthless fires.
What then availed me Paulus' bridal bed,
And cars triumphal of my valiant sires?

What all the pledges of my fair renown?

Though flowed Rome's noblest blood in all my veins, Say, did it mitigate the Parcae's frown?

Lo! now five fingers lift my poor remains.

O darkness of the damned! O sullen mere !
And every wave that clogs my tangled feet!
Though all too young, yet blameless came I here:
My tender shade may Pluto mildly treat.

Or, if as judge an Aeacus preside,

With urn before him, in the realms below,
His jury let him draw, and then decide
My destiny for endless weal or woe.

The seat of judgment let his brothers share,
And the Eumenides with hearts of steel
Stand in the listening court by Minos' chair.
Rest, Sisyphus; be still, Ixion's wheel.

Drink, wave-mocked Tantalus; nor snap to-day

At shade, fell hound! hush bars and chains of gloom : I'll plead; if falsely, on my shoulders lay

The urn's eternal toil-the Sisters' doom.

If e'er ancestral trophies earned renown,

Numantia's realms my fathers' deeds proclaim ; Like bays my mother's line, the Libos, crown : Each house on well-won titles rests its fame.

I doffed the maiden's dress: I was a bride;
The matron's coif confined my braided hair;
Too soon, O Paulus! doomed to leave thy side:
I was but thine my tombstone shall declare.

Witness, our sires, whose ashes Rome reveres,

Beneath whose names shorn Afric wails her fall, Who with the splendour of your conquering spears * Smote Spain, Antiochus, proud Hannibal,

And Perses, boasting the vast soul that gushed
In his great sire Achilles and the might.
Of that still greater ancestor who crushed

Thy pride, Avernus, and thy realms of Night!

Ne'er censor bent the law to screen my shame ;
Your hearth was aye the shrine of honour fair;
No slur I brought upon your stainless name;
Your house was noble-I the pattern there.

Years changed me not; a blameless life I spent—
From wedlock to its close our fame secure :
Nature my blood with inborn virtue blent—
No fears could make my guileless heart more pure.

Though harsh the verdict of the urn, yet ne'er
My presence shall the purest virgin shame :
Not Claudia, crowned Cybebe's priestess rare,
Who with her girdle led the laggard Dame,

Or her, whose linen robe—when Vesta sought
The intrusted fires-bade living flames arise.
I ne'er to thee, sweet mother, sorrow brought :
What, save my fate, wouldst thou have otherwise?

* [Et qui contuderunt animos pugnacis Hiberi
Hannibalemque armis Antiochumque suis,]

Et Presen proavi simulantem pectus Achilli

Quique tuas proavus fregit, Averne, domos.—(Munro.)