nd ere he reached Mount Palatine, he swooned with pain and fear.
His cursed head, that he was wont to hold so high with pride,
Now, like a drunken man's, hung down, and swayed from side to
side;
And when his stout retainers had brought him to his door,
His face and neck were all one cake of filth and clotted gore.
As Appius Claudius was that day, so may his grandson be!
God send Rome one such other sight, and send me there to see!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Prophecy of Capys

It can hardly be necessary to remind any reader that according to
the popular tradition, Romulus, after he had slain his granduncle
Amulius, and restored his grandfather Numitor, determined to quit
Alba, the hereditary domain of the Sylvian princes, and to found
a new city. The gods, it was added, vouchsafed the clearest signs
of the favor with which they regarded the enterprise, and of the
high destinies reserved for the young colony.

This event was likely to be a favorite theme of the old Latin
minstrels. They would naturally attribute the project of Romulus
to some divine intimation of the power and prosperity which it
was decreed that his city should attain. They would probably
introduce seers foretelling the victories of unborn Consuls and
Dictators, and the last great victory would generally occupy the
most conspicuous place in the prediction. There is nothing
strange in the supposition that the poet who was employed to
celebrate the first great triumph of the Romans over the Greeks
might throw his song of exultation into this form.

The occasion was one likely to excite the strongest feelings of
national pride. A great outrage had been followed by a great
retribution. Seven years before this time, Lucius Posthumius
Megellus, who sprang from one of the noblest houses of Rome, and
had been thrice Consul, was sent ambassador to Tarentum, with
charge to demand reparation for grievous injuries. The Tarentines
gave him audience in their theatre, where he addressed them in
such Greek as he could command, which, we may well believe, was
not exactly such as Cineas would have spoken. An exquisite sense
of the ridiculous belonged to the Greek character; and closely
connected with this faculty was a strong propensity to flippancy
and impertinence. When Posthumius placed an accent wrong, his
hearers burst into a laugh. When he remonstrated, they hooted
him