II

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 to Rome.


III

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


IV

From lordly Volaterrae,[5]
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants