But, like a graven image, Black Auster kept his place, And ever wistfully he looked Into his master's face. The raven-mane that daily, With pats and fond caresses, The young Herminia washed and combed, And twined in even tresses, And decked with colored ribbons From her own gay attire, Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse In carnage and in mire. Forth with a shout sprang Titus, And seized black Auster's rein. Then Aulus sware a fearful oath, And ran at him amain. ``The furies of thy brother With me and mine abide, If one of your accursed house Upon black Auster ride！''

    As on a Alpine watch-tower From heaven comes down the flame, Full on the neck of Titus The blade of Aulus came： And out the red blood spouted, In a wide arch and tall, As spouts a fountain in the court Of some rich Capuan's hall. The knees of all the Latines Were loosened with dismay, When dead, on dead Herminius, The bravest Tarquin lay.