But see! the vast amphitheatre is all ablaze
With brilliant light, revealing the expectant gaze
Of a sea of eager faces packed and pent—
The fierce and gentle strangely in the weird light blent.
And tier on tier the immense radius circles round
The dread arena—fateful and most cruel ground,
Where many a brave life went out on thy red soil
Against sword and shield, or in the dread lion’s toil.
All Rome was there—the proud, the poor and great,
Her chivalry and beauty, the Emperor in state.
And the expectant throng await with bated breath
The tragedy’s beginning, the revelry of death!
Hark! hark! that blood-curdling, thund’rous, awful roar,
As opens wide the den’s concealing iron door!
A majestic lion leaps forth with one great bound
Into the arena, with roar that shakes the ground.
All proudly he sweeps with stern, undaunted eye
That glittering throng. But hushed is now his cry
That chills the very stoutest heart, and makes run cold
The blood of the most dauntless, and the strong and bold.
But opes another door, and like a flash of light
Another leaps within—and bursts upon the sight
A gallant gladiator, with bright spear and shield,
Of stern and lofty mien that will not bend nor yield.
And the dread beast attacks with hungry, savage roar,
And the gladiator falls lifeless to the floor.
But in sprang another of gigantic mould,
With visage all stern, unconquerable and cold;
And he couches his great spear, and with fearless stride
Attacks the forest king, and wounds his tawny side.
Aroused to furious anger by the pain,
He rushes like a deadly avalanche again.
The dauntless foeman feels his fierce and scorching breath,
And is hurled a bleeding mass to instant death!
Another and another in pride of manhood came,
But the most horrible result was still the same;
And a dreadful shudder moves that vast spellbound crowd,
And tender women sorrowfully are bowed.
But amid the horrors of that ensanguined scene
Another calmly enters with countenance serene:
A very Apollo, and of most kingly mien—
A more noble form grand old Rome hath never seen.
And, though young in years, he moves with stately grace,
And a soul devoid of fear looks from a perfect face.
His only weapons are his Roman sword and shield,
With which he hath made way on many a desp’rate field.
A murmur of admiration everywhere is heard,
And the coldest hearts to sympathy are stirred
As with a courtly wave that kings might imitate
The heroic gladiator advances to his fate.
The forest king awaits him with a fiery eye,
And again is repeated that most awful cry;
And with a malignant, prodigious leap and bound
He hurls his deadly charge, but the foe is not found:
For the brave gladiator springs lightly aside,
And on his speaking face beams confidence and pride;
And again he avoids the lion’s ruthless might,
And like streaming lightning flashes in the light
His Roman sword, that stills that savage roar,
And the dread forest king sinks lifeless to the floor;
And the gladiator bows ’mid thunders of applause.
But again is heard between the weird lull and pause
The gay heralds loud proclaiming Cæsar’s will,
That the lists should now be opened to the skill
Of the most famed gladiators, four and four—
A battle unto death, to death and nothing more.
CHAPTER VI.—THE GLADIATORS.
The attendants quickly remove the ghastly slain,
And cover up with sand the gruesome crimson stain.
Again the heralds with trumpets loud proclaim
Permission to begin in cruel Cæsar’s name.
And they came forth bedight in crimson and in gold,
And a tempest of applause round the arena rolled.
Oh, it was a sight! those grand men all arrayed
For the conflict, all so calm and undismayed.
And fiery youth was there, and veteran middle age
With stern front all scarred by battle’s ruthless rage;
But the most imposing and kingly of them all
Was the lion slayer, responsive to the call.