THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. A LAY SUNG AT THE BANQUET IN THE CAPITOL, ON THE DAY WHEN MANIUS CURIUS DENTATUS, A SECOND TIME CONSUL, TRIUMPHED OVER KING PYRRHUS AND THE TARENTINES, IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCCLXXIX. 1. Now slain is King Amulius, On the throne of Aventine. Slain is the Pontiff Camers, Who spake the words of doom: "The children to the Tiber, The mother to the tomb." 2. In Alba's lake no fisher His net to-day is flinging: The yoke hangs o'er the manger: 3. And every Alban burgher Hath donned his whitest gown; And every head in Alba Weareth a poplar crown; And every Alban door-post With boughs and flowers is gay: 4. They were doomed by a bloody king: 5. The troubled river knew them, And smoothed his yellow foam, And gently rocked the cradle The ravening she-wolf knew them, And gave them of her own fierce milk, Rich with raw flesh and gore. Twenty winters, twenty springs, Since then have rolled away; And to-day the dead are living: The lost are found to-day. 6. Blithe it was to see the twins, To their old grandsire's hall. 7. On the right goes Romulus, With horse-hair hanging down, Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. 8. On the left side goes Remus, And on the point a head- With silver beard and hair, And holy fillets round it, Such as the pontiffs wear The head of ancient Camers, Who spake the words of doom: "The children to the Tiber: The mother to the tomb." 9. Two and two behind the twins With club, and axe, and bow. Pours forth its joyous crowd, Shouting lads, and baying dogs, And children laughing loud, And maids who shriek to see the heads, 10. So they marched along the lake; 11. In the hall-gate sate Capys, Capys, the sightless seer; From head to foot he trembled As Romulus drew near. And up stood stiff his thin white hair, And his blind eyes flashed fire: "Hail! foster child of the wond'rous nurse! Hail! son of the wond'rous sire! 12. "But thou-what dost thou here Our corn fills many a garner; Our vines clasp many a tree; But these are not for thee. 13. "For thee no treasure ripens In the Tartessian mine: For thee no ship brings precious bales Thou shalt not drink from amber; Thou shalt not rest on down; Arabia shall not steep thy locks, Nor Sidon tinge thy gown. 14. "Leave gold and myrrh and jewels, To them who of man's seed are born, Thou wast not made for lucre, For pleasure, nor for rest; Thou, that art sprung from the War-god's loins, And hast tugged at the she-wolf's breast. 15. "From sunrise until sunset All earth shall hear thy fame: |