180 MACAULAY
East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.
The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely hamlet
Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine;
From lordly Volaterra?,
Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old; From sea-girt Populonia
Whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowy mountain- tops
Fringing the southern sky;
From the proud mart of Pisa?, Queen of the western waves,
Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves;
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