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 They gave him of the corn-land,

That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen

Could plough from morn till night; And they made a molten image,

And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day

To witness if I lie.

It stands in the Comitium

Plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness,

Halting upon one knee: And underneath is written,

In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge

In the brave days of old.

And still his name sounds stirring

Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them

To charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno

For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well

In the brave days of old.

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north winds blow,

And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow;

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