And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.
And, like a horse unbroken

When first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard,
And tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded,
Rejoicing to be free,

And whirling down, in fierce career,
Battlement, and plank, and pier,
Rushed headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace.'

Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus naught spake he;

But he saw on Palatinus

The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river

That rolls by the towers of Rome. "Oh, Tiber! father Tiber!

To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day!"
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back
Plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank;

But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank:
And when above the surges

They saw his crest appear,

All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "Will not the villain drown?

But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sacked the town!" "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands;

And now, with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,

He enters through the River Gate

Borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn land,
That was the public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow 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.

From Lays of Ancient Rome.

THE STAR OF RELIGIOUS FREEDOM

The foundation of the colony of Maryland was peacefully and happily laid. Within six months it had advanced more than Virginia had done in as many years.

Under the mild institutions and munificence of Lord Baltimore, the dreary wilderness soon bloomed with the swarming life and activity of prosperous settlements; the Roman Catholics, who were oppressed by the laws of England, were sure to find a peaceful asylum in the quiet harbors of the Chesapeake; and there, too, Protestants were sheltered against Protestant intolerance. Such were the beautiful auspices under which the province of Maryland started into being. Its history is the history of benevolence, gratitude, and toleration.

In April, 1649, as if with a foresight of impending danger, and an earnest desire to stay its approach the Roman Catholics of Maryland with the earnest concurrence of their governor and of the proprietary, determined to place upon their statute book an act for the religious freedom which had ever been sacred on their soil.

"And whereas the enforcing of the conscience in matters of religion" - such was the sublime tenor of a part of the statute-"hath frequently fallen