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Page 45
It had come down to the top of Cherry Clack Hill, and the light poured
in between the tree trunks so that you could see red and gold and black
deep into the heart of Far Wood; and Parnesius in his armour shone as
though he had been afire.
'Wait!' he said, lifting a hand, and the sunlight jinked on his glass
bracelet. 'Wait! I pray to Mithras!'
He rose and stretched his arms westward, with deep, splendid-sounding
words.
Then Puck began to sing too, in a voice like bells tolling, and as he
sang he slipped from Volaterrae to the ground, and beckoned the children
to follow. They obeyed; it seemed as though the voices were pushing them
along; and through the goldy-brown light on the beech leaves they
walked, while Puck between them chanted something like this:
'Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria
Cujus prosperitas est transitoria?
Tam cito labitur ejus potentia
Quam vasa figuli qu� sunt fragilia.'
They found themselves at the little locked gates of the wood.
'Quo C�sar abiit celsus imperio?
Vel Dives splendidus totus in prandio?
Dic ubi Tullius----'
Still singing, he took Dan's hand and wheeled him round to face Una as
she came out of the gate. It shut behind her, at the same time as Puck
threw the memory-magicking Oak, Ash and Thorn leaves over their heads.
'Well, you _are_ jolly late,' said Una. 'Couldn't you get away before?'
'I did,' said Dan. 'I got away in lots of time, but--but I didn't know
it was so late. Where've you been?'
'In Volaterrae--waiting for you.'
'Sorry,' said Dan. 'It was all that beastly Latin.'
A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG (A.D. 406)
My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come,
To look on that so-holy spot--
The very Rome--
Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height--
The Race began!
Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakeable, we pray, that clings,
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood--
In arduous things.
Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round--
In us thy Sons,
Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require
Thee,--thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills
The Imperial Fire!
ON THE GREAT WALL
'When I left Rome for Lalage's sake
By the Legions' Road to Rimini,
She vowed her heart was mine to take
With me and my shield to Rimini--
(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini!)
And I've tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul,
And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall
As white as the neck of Lalage--
(As cold as the heart of Lalage!)
And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul,'
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