What legendary, possibly historical, event, is retold in the poem of which this is an extract? Who wrote the poem? Anyone know?

Bob Dylan?

Horatius, by Lord Macaulay

Horatius bravely battled the Etruscans with the Romans.  This story is depicted in Renaissance art.


You've got to start doing your own homework.  :) This post was edited by Thriftymaid at January 28, 2018 12:13 AM MST

Narrative Poems: II. Rome Horatius at the Bridge Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay (1800–1859)   LARS PORSENA of Clusium,   By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin   Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it,         5   And named a trysting-day, And bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north,   To summon his array.   East and west and south and north         10   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,         15 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,         20   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:         25   From lordly Volaterræ,   Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants   For godlike kings of old; From sea-girt Populonia,         30   Whose sentinels descry Sardinia’s snowy mountain-tops   Fringing the southern sky;   From the proud mart of Pisæ,   Queen of the western waves,         35 Where ride Massilia’s triremes,   Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders   Through corn and vines and flowers, From where Cortona lifts to heaven         40   Her diadem of towers.   Tall are the oaks whose acorns   Drop in dark Auser’s rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs   Of the Ciminian hill;         45 Beyond all streams, Clitumnus   Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves   The great Volsinian mere.   But now no stroke of woodman         50   Is heard by Auser’s rill; No hunter tracks the stag’s green path   Up the Ciminian hill; Unwatched along Clitumnus   Grazes the milk-white steer;         55 Unharmed the water-fowl may dip   In the Volsinian mere.   The harvests of Arretium,   This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro         60   Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna,   This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls   Whose sires have marched to Rome.         65   There be thirty chosen prophets,   The wisest of the land, Who always by Lars Porsena   Both morn and evening stand. Evening and morn the Thirty         70   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:         75 “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         80   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.         85 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         90   Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman,   And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following,   To join the muster, came         95 The Tusculan Mamilius,   Prince of the Latian name.   But by the yellow Tiber   Was tumult and affright; From all the spacious champaign         100   To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city   The throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see   Through two long nights and days.         105   For aged folk on crutches,   And women great with child, And mothers, sobbing over babes   That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters         110   High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sunburned husbandmen   With reaping-hooks and staves,   And droves of mules and asses   Laden with skins of wine,         115 And endless flocks of goats and sheep,   And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons,   That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods,         120   Choked every roaring gate.   Now, from the rock Tarpeian,   Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages   Red in the midnight sky.         125 The Fathers of the City,   They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came   With tidings of dismay.   To eastward and to westward         130   Have spread the Tuscan bands, Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote   In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia   Hath wasted all the plain;         135 Astur hath stormed Janiculum,   And the stout guards are slain.   I wis, in all the Senate   There was no heart so bold But sore it ached, and fast it beat,         140   When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the Consul,   Up rose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns,   And hied them to the wall.         145   They held a council, standing   Before the River-gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess,   For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly:         150   “The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost,   Naught else can save the town.”   Just then a scout came flying,   All wild with haste and fear:         155 “To arms! to arms! Sir Consul,—   Lars Porsena is here.” On the low hills to westward   The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust         160   Rise fast along the sky.   And nearer fast and nearer   Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still, and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud,         165 Is heard the trumpets’ war-note proud,   The trampling and the hum. And plainly and more plainly   Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right,         170 In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright,   The long array of spears.   And plainly and more plainly,   Above that glimmering line,         175 Now might ye see the banners   Of twelve fair cities shine; But the banner of proud Clusium   Was highest of them all,— The terror of the Umbrian,         180   The terror of the Gaul.   And plainly and more plainly   Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest,   Each warlike Lucumo:         185 There Cilnius of Arretium   On his fleet roan was seen; And Astur of the fourfold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield; Tolumnius with the belt of gold,         190 And dark Verbenna from the hold   By reedy Thrasymene.   Fast by the royal standard,   O’erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium         195   Sat in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius,   Prince of the Latian name; And by the left false Sextus,   That wrought the deed of shame.         200   But when the face of Sextus   Was seen among the foes, A yell that rent the firmament   From all the town arose. On the house-tops was no woman         205   But spat towards him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses,   And shook its little fist.   But the Consul’s brow was sad,   And the Consul’s speech was low,         210 And darkly looked he at the wall,   And darkly at the foe; “Their van will be upon us   Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge,         215   What hope to save the town?”   Then out spake brave Horatius,   The Captain of the gate: “To every man upon this earth   Death cometh soon or late.         220 And how can man die better   Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers   And the temples of his gods,   “And for the tender mother         225   Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses   His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens   Who feed the eternal flame,—         230 To save them from false Sextus   That wrought the deed of shame?   “Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,   With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me,         235   Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand   May well be stopped by three: Now who will stand on either hand,   And keep the bridge with me?”         240   Then out spake Spurius Lartius,—   A Ramnian proud was he: “Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,   And keep the bridge with thee.” And out spake strong Herminius,—         245   Of Titian blood was he: “I will abide on thy left side,   And keep the bridge with thee.”   “Horatius,” quoth the Consul,   “As thou sayest so let it be,”         250 And straight against that great array   Went forth the dauntless three. For Romans in Rome’s quarrel   Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,         255   In the brave days of old.   Then none was for a party—   Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor,   And the poor man loved the great;         260 Then lands were fairly portioned!   Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers   In the brave days of old.   Now Roman is to Roman         265   More hateful than a foe, And the tribunes beard the high,   And the fathers grind the low. As we wax hot in faction,   In battle we wax cold;         270 Wherefore men fight not as they fought   In the brave days of old.   Now while the three were tightening   Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man         275   To take in hand an axe; And fathers, mixed with commons,   Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above,   And loosed the props below.         280   Meanwhile the Tuscan army,   Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright   Of a broad sea of gold.         285 Four hundred trumpets sounded   A peal of warlike glee, As that great host with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly toward the bridge’s head,         290   Where stood the dauntless three.   The three stood calm and silent,   And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter   From all the vanguard rose;         295 And forth three chiefs came spurring   Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew   To win the narrow way.         300   Aunus, from green Tifernum,   Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves   Sicken in Ilva’s mines; And Picus, long to Clusium         305   Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers   O’er the pale waves of Nar.         310   Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus   Into the stream beneath; Herminius struck at Seius,   And clove him to the teeth; At Picus brave Horatius         315   Darted one fiery thrust, And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms   Clashed in the bloody dust.   Then Ocnus of Falerii   Rushed on the Roman three;         320 And Lausulus of Urgo,   The rover of the sea; And Aruns of Volsinium,   Who slew the great wild boar,— The great wild boar that had his den         325 Amidst the reeds of Cosa’s fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,   Along Albinia’s shore.   Herminius smote down Aruns;   Lartius laid Ocnus low;         330 Right to the heart of Lausulus   Horatius sent a blow: “Lie there,” he cried, “fell pirate!   No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark         335 The track of thy destroying bark; No more Campania’s hinds shall fly To woods and caverns, when they spy   Thy thrice-accursèd sail!”   But now no sound of laughter         340   Was heard among the foes; A wild and wrathful clamor   From all the vanguard rose. Six spears’ length from the entrance,   Halted that mighty mass,         345 And for a space no man came forth   To win the narrow pass.   But, hark! the cry is Astur:   And lo! the ranks divide; And the great lord of Luna         350   Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders   Clangs loud the fourfold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand   Which none but he can wield.         355   He smiled on those bold Romans,   A smile serene and high; He eyed the flinching Tuscans,   And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, “The she-wolf’s litter         360   Stand savagely at bay; But will ye dare to follow,   If Astur clears the way?”   Then, whirling up his broadsword   With both hands to the height,         365 He rushed against Horatius,   And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius   Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;         370 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh. The Tuscans raised a joyful cry   To see the red blood flow.   He reeled, and on Herminius   He leaned one breathing-space,         375 Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,   Sprang right at Astur’s face. Through teeth and skull and helmet   So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a handbreadth out         380   Behind the Tuscan’s head.   And the great lord of Luna   Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Avernus   A thunder-smitten oak.         385 Far o’er the crashing forest   The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low   Gaze on the blasted head.   On Astur’s throat Horatius         390   Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain,   Ere he wrenched out the steel. And “See,” he cried, “the welcome,   Fair guests, that waits you here!         395 What noble Lucumo comes next   To taste our Roman cheer?”   But at his haughty challenge   A sullen murmur ran, Mingled with wrath and shame and dread,         400   Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess,   Nor men of lordly race, For all Etruria’s noblest   Were round the fatal place.         405   But all Etruria’s noblest   Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses,   In the path the dauntless three; And from the ghastly entrance,         410   Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank,—like boys who, unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear         415   Lies amidst bones and blood.   Was none who would be foremost   To lead such dire attack; But those behind cried “Forward!”   And those before cried “Back!”         420 And backward now and forward   Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel To and fro the standards reel, And the victorious trumpet-peal         425   Dies fitfully away.   Yet one man for one moment   Strode out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the three,   And they gave him greeting loud:         430 “Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!   Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away?   Here lies the road to Rome.”   Thrice looked he at the city;         435   Thrice looked he at the dead: And thrice came on in fury,   And thrice turned back in dread; And, white with fear and hatred,   Scowled at the narrow way         440 Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,   The bravest Tuscans lay.   But meanwhile axe and lever   Have manfully been plied: And now the bridge hangs tottering         445   Above the boiling tide. “Come back, come back, Horatius!”   Loud cried the Fathers all,— “Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!   Back, ere the ruin fall!”         450   Back darted Spurius Lartius,—   Herminius darted back; And, as they passed, beneath their feet   They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces,         455   And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone,   They would have crossed once more;   But with a crash like thunder   Fell every loosened beam,         460 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck   Lay right athwart the stream; And a long shout of triumph   Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops         465   Was splashed the yellow foam.   And like a horse unbroken,   When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard,   And tossed his tawny mane,         470 And burst the curb, and bounded,   Rejoicing to be free; And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement and plank and pier,   Rushed headlong to the sea.         475   Alone stood brave Horatius,   But constant still in mind,— Thrice thirty thousand foes before,   And the broad flood behind. “Down with him!” cried false Sextus,         480   With a smile on his pale face; “Now yield thee,” cried Lars Porsena,   “Now yield thee to our grace!”   Round turned he, as not deigning   Those craven ranks to see;         485 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,   To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus   The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river         490   That rolls by the towers of Rome:   “O Tiber! Father Tiber!   To whom the Romans pray, A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,   Take thou in charge this day!”         495 So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed   The good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back,   Plunged headlong in the tide.   No sound of joy or sorrow         500   Was heard from either bank, But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes,   Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges         505   They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany   Could scarce forbear to cheer.   But fiercely ran the current,         510   Swollen high by months of rain; And fast his blood was flowing,   And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor,   And spent with changing blows;         515 And oft they thought him sinking,   But still again he rose.   Never, I ween, did swimmer.   In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood         520   Safe to the landing-place; But his limbs were borne up bravely   By the brave heart within, And our good Father Tiber   Bare bravely up his chin.         525   “Curse on him!” quoth false Sextus,—   “Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day   We should have sacked the town!” “Heaven help him!” quoth Lars Porsena,         530   “And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms   Was never seen before.”   And now he feels the bottom;   Now on dry earth he stands;         535 Now round him throng the Fathers   To press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapping,   And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-gate,         540   Borne by the joyous crowd.   They gave him of the corn-land,   That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen   Could plough from morn till night;         545 And they made a molten image,   And set it up on high,— And there it stands unto this day   To witness if I lie.   It stands in the Comitium,         550   Plain for all folk to see,— Horatius in his harness,   Halting upon one knee; And underneath is written,   In letters all of gold,         555 How valiantly he kept the bridge   In the brave days of old.   And still his name sounds stirring   Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them         560   To charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno   For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well   In the brave days of old.         565   And in the nights of winter,   When the cold north-winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves   Is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage         570   Roars loud the tempest’s din, And the good logs of Algidus   Roar louder yet within;   When the oldest cask is opened,   And the largest lamp is lit;         575 When the chestnuts glow in the embers,   And the kid turns on the spit; When young and old in circle   Around the firebrands close; When the girls are weaving baskets,         580   And the lads are shaping bows;   When the goodman mends his armor,   And trims his helmet’s plume; When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily   Goes flashing through the loom;         585 With weeping and with laughter   Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge   In the brave days of old.     CONTENTS · BOOK CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD   PREVIOUS NEXT    
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The second and third commas in your question don't belong at all.

:(

not sure