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1.

Now slain is King Amulius,
Of the great Sylvian line,
Who reigned in Alba Longa,

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:

On the dark rind of Alba's baks

To-day no axe is ringing:

The yoke hangs o'er the manger:

The scythe lies in the hay : Through all the Alban villages No work is done to-day.

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: For to-day the dead are living;

The lost are found to-day.

4.

They were doomed by a bloody king:
They were doomed by a lying priest:

They were cast on the raging flood:

They were tracked by the raging beast: Raging beast and raging flood

Alike have spared the prey;

And to-day the dead are living:

The lost are found to-day.

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, Right goodly youths and tall, Marching from Alba Longa

To their old grandsire's hall. Along their path fresh garlands Are hung from tree to tree: Before them stride the pipers, Piping a note of glee.

7.

On the right goes Romulus,
With arms to the elbows red,
And in his hand a broadsword,

And on the blade a head-
A head in an iron helmet,

With horse-hair hanging down, A shaggy head, a swarthy head, Fixed in a ghastly frownThe head of King Amulius Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine.

8.

On the left side goes Remus,
With wrists and fingers red,
And in his hand a boar-spear,

And on the point a head ---
A wrinkled head and aged,

With silver beard and hair,

And holy fillets round it,

Such as the pontiffs wear

Four and forty valiant men,

With club, and axe, and bow. On each side every hamlet

Pours forth its joyous crowd, Shouting lads and baying dogs,

And children laughing loud, And old men weeping fondly As Rhea's boys go by,

And maids who shriek to see the head Yet, shrieking, press more nigh.

10.

So they marched along the lake;
They marched by fold and stall,
By corn-field and by vineyard,

Unto the old man's hall.

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