Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.
"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown?
But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town!"
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena; "and bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."
And now he feels the bottom;--now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands.
And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd.
SEVENTH YEAR--SECOND HALF
ALFRED TENNYSON
ENGLAND, 1809-1892
EARLY SPRING
Once more the Heavenly Power
Makes all things new,
And domes the red-plow'd hills
With loving blue;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The throstles too.
Opens a door in Heaven;
From skies of glass
A Jacob's ladder falls
On greening grass,
And o'er the mountain-walls
Young angels pass.
Before them fleets the shower,
And bursts the buds,
And shine the level lands,
And flash the floods;
The stars are from their hands
Flung thro' the woods.
The woods with living airs
How softly fann'd,
Light airs from where the deep,
All down the sand,
Is breathing in his sleep,
Heard by the land.
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