And  every  Alban  burgher

Hath  donned  his  whitest  gown ;
And  every  head  in  Alba

Weareth  a  poplar  crown  ;
And  every  Alban  door-post

With  boughs  and  flowers  is  gay :
For  to-day  the  dead  are  living :

The  lost  are  found  to-day.
IV.
They  were  doomed  by  a  bloody  king :
They  were  doomed  by  a  lying  priest


They  were  cast  on  the  raging  flood :

They  were  tracked  by  the  raging  beast :

Raging  beast  and  raging  flood
Alike  have  spared  the  prey ;

And  to-day  the  dead  are  living :
The  lost  are  found  to-day.
V.
The  troubled  river  knew  them.
And  smoothed  his  yellow  foam,
And  gently  rocked  the  cradle

That  bore  the  fate  of  Rome.
The  ravening  she-wolf  knew  them.
And  licked  them  o'er  and  o'er,
And  gave  them  of  her  own  fierce  milk.
Rich  with  raw  flesh  and  gore.
Twenty  winters,  twenty  springs.
Since  then  have  rolled  away  ;
And  to-day  the  dead  are  living :

The  lost  are  found  to-day.
VI.
Blithe  it  was  to  see  the  twins.
Right  goodly  youths  and  tall.
Marching  from  Alba  Longa

To  their  old  grandsire's  hall.
Along  their  path  fresh  garlands

Are  hung  from  tree  to  tree :
Before  them  stride  the  pipers.
Piping  a  note  of  glee.
VII.
On  the  right  goes  Romulus,
With  arms  to  the  elbows  red.
And  in  his  hand  a  broadsword,

And  on  the  blade  a  head —
A  head  in  an  iron  helmet.
With  horse-hair  hanging  down,
A  shaggy  head,  a  swarthy  head,

Fixed  in  a  ghastly  frown  —
The  head  of  King  Amulius

Of  the  great  Sylvian  line,
Who  reigned  in  Alba  Longa,

On  the  throne  of  Aventine.
VIII.
On  the  left  side  goes  Remus,

With  wrists  and  fingers  red.
And  in  his  hand  a  boar-spear.
