182 MACAULAY
There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand : Evening and morn the Thirty
Have turned the verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white
By mighty seers of yore.
And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given : 'Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven; Go, and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome, And hang round Nurscia's altars
The golden shields of Rome.'
And now hath every city
Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium
Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day !
For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye,
And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally;
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