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 hand-breadth out 380
Behind the Tuscan's head.


XLVI

And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
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.


XLVII

On Astur's throat Horatius 390
Right firmly pressed his heel;
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere be 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?"