A Lay Made About the Year Of The City (44)

    Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh； It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh： The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow.