Up rose the golden morning Over the Porcian height, The proud Ides of Quintilis Marked evermore in white. Not without secret trouble Our bravest saw the foe¹； For girt by threescore thousand spears, The thirty standards rose. From every warlike city That boasts the Latian name, Fordoomed to dogs and vultures, That gallant² army came； From Setia's purple vineyards, From Norba's ancient wall, From the white streets of Tusculum, The proudust town of all； From where the Witch's Fortress³ O'er hangs the dark-blue seas； From the still glassy lake that sleeps Beneath Aricia's trees—— Those trees in whose dim shadow The ghastly priest doth reign⁴, The priest who slew⁵ the slayer⁶, And shall himself be slain⁷； From the drear banks of Ufens, Where flights of marsh-fowl play, And buffaloes⁹ lie wallowing Through the hot summer's day； From the gigantic watch-towers, No work of earthly men, Whence Cora's sentinels o'erlook The never-ending fen⁸；

    From the Laurentian jungle, The wild hog's reedy home； From the green steeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam¹⁰.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.teeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam.