Free The Art of Manliness - Manvotionals: Timeless Wisdom and Advice on Living the 7 Manly Virtues by Brett McKay Page B

quite right and justifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. But don’t say “No” because you fear a licking, and say or think it’s because you fear God, for that’s neither Christian nor honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don’t give in while you can stand and see.
    “Live as brave men and face adversity with stout hearts.” —Horace
     

Horatius
    F ROM
L AYS OF A NCIENT R OME
, 1842
By Thomas Babington Macaulay
     
    While serving the English government in India during the 1830s, politician, poet, and historian Thomas Babington Macaulay spun semi-mythical ancient Roman tales into memorable ballads or “lays.” His most famous lay was “Horatius,” a ballad that recounted the legendary courage of an ancient Roman army officer, Publius Horatius Cocles. In the fifth century B.C., Rome rebelled against Etruscan rule and ousted their last king, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, to form a republic. But the king refused to go quietly into the night; he enlisted the help of Lars Porsena of Clusium in an attempt to overthrow the new Roman government and re-establish his reign.
    In a battle against the approaching Etruscans, the Roman army faced defeat and began to retreat across the bridge which traversed the Tiber River. And this is where we’ll let the poem pick up the heroic tale.
    Manly factoid: “Horatius” was a favorite of Winston Churchill who is said to have memorized all seventy stanzas of the poem as a boy (we’ve included thirty-four of them here).
     
    And nearer fast and nearer
    Doth the red whirlwind come;
    And louder still and still more loud,
    From underneath that rolling cloud,
    Is heard the trumpet’s war-note proud,
    The trampling, and the hum.
    And plainly and more plainly
    Now through the gloom appears,
    Far to left and far to right,
    In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
    The long array of helmets bright,
    The long array of spears.
    Fast by the royal standard,
    O’erlooking all the war,
    Lars Porsena of Clusium
    Sat in his ivory car.
    By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
    Prince of the Latian name;
    And by the left false Sextus,
    That wrought the deed of shame.
    But when the face of Sextus
    Was seen among the foes,
    A yell that rent the firmament
    From all the town arose.
    On the house-tops was no woman
    But spat towards him and hissed;
    No child but screamed out curses,
    And shook its little fist.
    But the Consul’s brow was sad,
    And the Consul’s speech was low,
    And darkly looked he at the wall,
    And darkly at the foe.
    “Their van will be upon us
    Before the bridge goes down;
    And if they once may win the bridge,
    What hope to save the town?”
    Then out spake brave Horatius,
    The Captain of the Gate:
    “To every man upon this earth
    Death cometh soon or late.
    And how can man die better
    Than facing fearful odds,
    For the ashes of his fathers,
    And the temples of his gods,
    “And for the tender mother
    Who dandled him to rest,
    And for the wife who nurses
    His baby at her breast,
    And for the holy maidens
    Who feed the eternal flame,
    To save them from false Sextus
    That wrought the deed of shame?
    “Haul down the bridge, Sir Consul,
    With all the speed ye may;
    I, with two more to help me,
    Will hold the foe in play.
    In yon strait path a thousand
    May well be stopped by three.
    Now who will stand on either hand,
    And keep the bridge with me?”
    Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
    A Ramnian proud was he:
    “Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
    And keep the bridge with thee.”
    And out spake strong Herminius;
    Of Titian blood was he:
    “I will abide on thy left side,
    And keep the bridge with thee.”
    “Horatius,” quoth the Consul,
    “As thou sayest, so let it be.”
    And straight against that great array
    Forth went the dauntless Three.
    For Romans in Rome’s quarrel
    Spared neither land nor gold,
    Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
    In the brave days of old.
    Now while the Three were tightening
    Their harness on their backs,
    The Consul