THE WOLF OF THE CAPITOL jj 



From sunrise unto sunset 



All earth shall hear thy fame 



A glorious city thou shalt build 



And name it by thy name. 



And there unquenched through ages 



Like Vesta's sacred fire 



Shall live the spirit of thy nurse 



The spirit of thy sire. 



Thy nurse will hear no master 

 Thy nurse will bear no load 

 And woe to them that shear her 

 And woe to them who goad. 

 When all the pack loud baying 

 Her bloody lair surrounds 

 She dies in silence biting hard 

 Amidst the dying hounds. 

 Thine, Roman, is the pilum 

 Roman, the sword is thine. 

 The even trench, the bristling mound, 

 The legions' ordered line. 



Hurrah ! for the good weapons 

 That keep the War god's land 

 Hurrah ! for Rome's stout pilum 

 In a stout Roman hand. 



Where fur-clad hunters wander 



Amidst the northern ice 



Where through the sand of morning land 



The camel bears the spice. 



Where Atlas flings his shadow 



Far o'er the western foam 



Shall be great fear on all who hear 



The mighty name of Rome ! 



— Macaulay, Layi of Ancient Rome. 



