Heaven saw the theft: the oxen lowed: with fury boiling o'er,
He sped amain, and dashed in twain the robber's ruthless door.
With sturdy bough his triple brow he smote, and laid him low,
And said,
Go, steers of Hercules, my club's last labour, go:
Go, steers, twice sought and twice my spoil, with lowings bless

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your home;

A noble Forum yet shall crown the pasture-lands ye roam.”

He spoke his tongue is parched; no streams gush from the teeming earth;

Afar he hears in bowery glade the ring of maiden-mirth.
'Tis Bona Dea's secret grove, where lustral fountains flow,
And maidens ply the awful rites that man may never know.
The gates were purple-wreathed, the shrine with fragrant flames

a-blaze,

The cell o'erarched with poplar-boughs, where song-birds piped their lays.

With shaggy beard all dust-besmeared, the hero hither sped,
And thus in words beneath a god before the threshold pled:
"I pray you, ye who sport within this hallowed grotto, deign
To open to a weary wight your hospitable fane.

Athirst I roam, and round your home are fountains murmuring;
Enough whate'er my hollow palm can lift from yonder spring.
Have ye
e'er heard of one whose back the mighty world once

bore,

By earth reclaimed Alcides named? He pleads before your

door.

Who knows not the brave deeds the club of Hercules hath

wrought,

And shafts at savage monsters dealt, and never dealt for

nought?

Who knows not him-the only man who pierced the Stygian gloom?

Receive him earth will hardly give the weary hero room.
Though here the sacred rites of crabbed Juno now ye plied,
Hard step-dame though she is, she ne'er her waters had denied.
But if my looks, this lion-hide all bristly, and my hair
Embrowned by sweltering Libyan sun, should any maiden scare,
I did a slave-girl's duties once in Tyrian palla drest,
And spun my daily task with Lydian distaff like the rest.
This shaggy breast of mine was then in cincture soft arrayed;
And though my hands were rough and hard, I was a clever

maid."

So spake Alcides, and the saintly priestess thus replied,

Her hoary hair with fillet rare of richest purple tied :

"O spare thine eyes! go, stranger, leave this awful grove,— away!

In safety fly this threshold while thou canst nor longer stay.
This altar 'mid the greenwood hid, and barred from foot of man,
Aye vindicates its sanctity, and fearful is the ban.

How dear the seer Tiresias paid as Pallas' form he spied,
What time she laved her stalwart limbs-her aegis laid aside !
Heaven give thee other founts than these: this streamlet
trickles on

Along a lonely secret course for maidens' use alone."

She finished with his shoulder then the gloomy posts he shook,

Nor could the bolted door his grievous thirst's wild fury brook. And after he had slaked his thirst and drained the river dry, With lips still moist he banned the sex to all eternity:

"Now on the path of destiny this corner of earth's soil

I reach, and scarce a shelter find when wearied out with toil.
This altar, which I dedicate for finding of my steers-
This mighty altar, raised by hands of mine—in after-years

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 wall— The 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?