There rolled a howl along the streets of Rome,
As if its ancient patron, to the skies,
From street, arcade and pillared colonnade,
Sent up her hungry cries.
And there were sounds of trampling feet of men
Moving in haste; and each one, as he passed,
Glanced in his neighbor’s eye; then onward dashed,
Swift as the wild sea-blast.
From every hovel-door—each portico
Of marble palaces, pale faces gazed
On the pedestrians, passing to and fro—
Mute, trembling and amazed.
And, ever and anon, that howl arose—
The she wolf’s legacy—long, loud, and hoarse;
The voice of men aroused from deep repose,
And surging on in force.
Rome’s alleys, lanes and streets were all alive;
All hurrying toward the Forum, from which came
Impulsive words, followed by moans, that told
The giver’s heart in flame;
And sparks from torches, lit at quiet homes,
Waving in answer to the speaker’s tones;
And the black crowd, with thunder which was Rome’s,
Replied with ominous groans.
Occasionally the name of Collatine,
In audible whispers, slowly crept about—
And ever, as the orator’s form was seen,
Went up a mighty shout—
Another! and another! as his hand
Upheld a bloody knife—his figure bent,
Regarding them; his aspect of command
Loftily eloquent—
A bale fire flashing from his eagle eye!
As pointing unto something laid below,
He saw a shudder, followed by a sigh,
Pass trembling to and fro
Among that crowd, with eager faces bent
Up on his own; and then came words of peace.
As though he painted home, and calm content,
And joy unto surcease.
Swayed, like the ocean by the hurricane,
That sea of men responded as the name
Broke on their ears—the pale polluter’s name,
Immortal in its shame!
And mingling in a yell that shook old Rome,
“Death to the Tarquins!” every voice arose.
Women and warriors—all men and all time—
Were Tarquin’s foes!
As autumn tempests gathering break, so broke
That crowd in frenzy, rushing to and fro
With blazing torches—Tyranny’s iron yoke
Dissolved like snow.
And there were louder cries, and other flames
Sprang to the heavens, till Rome was red with fire
From Tarquin’s palaces; and Freedom rose
From pale Lucretia’s pyre.
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