30 JULY 1904, Page 17

POETRY.

(HORACE, "CARS!." III. v. 41-56.) HE turned—a Roman doomed to die—

From wife's and children's pure embrace (So runs the tale), and, with set face, He downward bent a fearless eye, Until, with words unmatched to-day, Self-slain, he nerved the wavering peers, And, heeding not his kinsmen's tears, He took his lone immortal way.

Full well he knew what throes would rack A captive's limbs on alien ground ;

Yet strode through friends that hemmcd him round, And crowds that fondly held him back—

As, from the law's dull trammels free, Some king of courts might haste awhile To where Venafrian meadows smile Or old Tarentum weds the sea.