And now hath every city sent up her tale of men; 
The foot are fourscore thousand; the horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium is met the great array. 
A proud man was Lars Porsena upon the trysting day. 

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 might win the bridge, what hope to save the town?’ 

Then out spoke 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, 

Hew 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 was the foremost man to take in hand an axe: 
And Fathers mixed with Commons seized hatchet, bar and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above and loosed the props below.

 Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus into the stream beneath: 
Herminius struck at Seius, and clove him to the teeth: 
At Picus brave Horatius darted one fiery thrust; 
And the proud Umbrian’s golden arms clashed in the bloody dust. 

Romans (left) destroy the bridge while Horatius holds off the enemy

Noting the Left's complaints about violent entertainment, videogames, and so on: The source, Arttoday.com, gives the following reference:
Title: Picturesque Tale of Progress 4   Artist: Crane, Donne P. et al 
Publisher: Book House for Children 
(They also have illustrations of gladiators and rampaging Huns... Then there's always Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. Love those classics!)

But hark! The cry is Astur: And lo! The ranks divide; 
And the great Lord of Luna comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders clangs loud the four-fold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand which none but he can wield. 

He smiled on those bold Romans a smile serene and high; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, and scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, ‘The she-wolf’s litter stand savagely at bay:
But will ye dare to follow, if Astur clears the way?’ 

Then, whirling up his broadsword with both hands to the height, 
He rushed against Horatius and smote with all his might. 
With shield and blade Horatius right deftly turned the blow. 
The blow, yet turned, came yet too nigh; 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry to see the red blood flow. 

He reeled, and on Herminius he leaned one breathing-space; 
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, sprang right at Astur’s face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet so fierce a thrust he sped, 
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out behind the Tuscan’s head. 

On Astur’s throat Horatius right firmly pressed his heel, 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, ere he wrenched out the steel. 
‘And see,’ he cried, ‘the welcome, fair guests, that waits you here! 
What noble Lucumo comes next to taste our Roman cheer?’ 

But at his haughty challenge a sullen murmur ran, 
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess, nor men of lordly race; 
For all Etruria’s noblest were round the fatal place. 

But all Etruria’s noblest felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses; in their path the dauntless Three; 
And, from the ghastly entrance where those bold Romans stood, 
All shrank, like boys who unaware, ranging the woods to start a hare, 
Come to the mouth of a dark lair where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
Lies amidst bones and blood. 

Was none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack: 
But those behind cried ‘Forward!’, and those before cried ‘Back!’ 
And backward now and forward wavers the deep array; 
And on the tossing sea of steel, to and fro the standards reel; 
And the victorious trumpet-peal dies fitfully away. 

But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. 
‘Come back, come back, Horatius!’ loud cried the Fathers all. 
‘Back, Lartius! Back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall!’ 

Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; 
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; 
But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home; 
And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome. 

‘Oh Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, take thou in charge this day!’ 
So he spake and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, 
And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. 

No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes, 
Stood gazing where he sank; 
And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: 
And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, 
And heavy with his armour, and spent with changing blows: 
And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose. 

And now he feels the bottom: now on dry earth he stands; 
Now round him throng the Fathers, to press his gory hands; 
And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the River-Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. 

They gave him of the corn-land, that was of public right, 
As much as two strong oxen could plough from morn till night; 
And they made a molten image, and set it up on high, 
And there it stands unto this day to witness if I lie.