A Lay Sung at the Feast (39)

    Then burst from that great concourse A shout that shook the towers, And some ran north, and some ran south, Crying,``The day is ours！'' But on rode these strange horsemen, With slow and lordly pace； And none who saw their bearing Durst ask their name or race.

    On rode they to the Forum, While laurel-boughs and flowers, From house-tops and from windows, Fell on their crests in showers. When they drew nigh to Vesta, They vaulted down amain, And washed their horses in the well That springs by Vesta's fane. And straight again they mounted, And rode to Vesta's door； Then, like a

    blast, away they passed, And no man saw them more.