| |
| GO stand within the Coliseum’s walls, | |
| And mid the sunny stillness call again | |
| The Roman multitudes of olden days | |
| Back to their cruel lives athirst for blood, | |
| And place them there in all their ancient state, | 5 |
| Row upon row of fierce expectant eyes, | |
| A palpitating mass of eager zest; | |
| Behold the Emperor in his purple robes, | |
| Who deemed himself a god, set in their midst; | |
| And in the wide arena, war-won men | 10 |
| Grouped, sword in hand, to fight unto the death; | |
| Then in that moment’s quiet, when the hush | |
| Of breathless listening quells the restless crowd, | |
| That moment’s calm, when those about to die | |
| Salute the Cæsar, think, if in such time | 15 |
| Once long ago there could have sudden flashed | |
| On that great audience a vision clear | |
| Of what their amphitheatre is now,— | |
| A silent ruin overgrown with weeds, | |
| One keen and instant sense of mortal fate, | 20 |
| The transientness of building, empire, man,— | |
| Would not an awful, solemn stillness then | |
| Have stolen o’er them, such as reigns within | |
| The shattered circus of their sports to-day? | |
| And moving slowly, softly, one by one, | 25 |
| Would they have gone out, fear-struck to their souls? | |
| Or would the whole assembly, smote at once | |
| With this same realizing, madly rise | |
| In all their lusty health, and with one shout | |
| Of terror-clinched conviction echo there | 30 |
| The gladiator’s words, “About to die, | |
| O Cæsar, we salute thee,—we—who die!” | |
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