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 180 MACAULAY

East and west and south and north

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, When Porsena of Clusium

Is on the march for Rome.

The horsemen and the footmen

Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place,

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;

From lordly Volaterra?,

Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants

For godlike kings of old; From sea-girt Populonia

Whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowy mountain- tops

Fringing the southern sky;

From the proud mart of Pisa?, Queen of the western waves,

Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves;

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