While sunbeams fell on jewels rare, On gems of lustrous light, Which sparkled mid the thousands there As stars that stud the night, While flowers were wreathed all around The edges of the stalls, And coloured mats and mantles fair Adorned the lofty walls, When gladiators had just begun To act their fatal play, Then, darting forth, a man was seen To rush amid the fray, An old and aged-looking man, With hair and beard like snow, Of reverent, patriarchal mien, And eyes of winning glow. Shouts, oaths, and cries-a horrid din, Tumultuous, rent the air, Yet, undisturbed by all of this, He gave it not a care, But firmly set himself to stop The barbarous, deadly sport, Thus beard them in their den? Attempt to stay the combat now Of fierce, excited men? No! Louder, deeper grew the cries, As torrent in its fall, So fell the people's wordy rage On him who braved it all. From words and curses, blows soon came, And sticks and stones fell fast; It seemed, indeed, that everyone Some missile on him cast. Beneath that rain of deadly blows And not in vain his life he gave, His fellow-men to free From such insatiate lust for blood, Such savage slavery; For when their wrathful ire was gone, And peace again did reign, Their Christian teaching brought remorse, And racked their hearts with shame, Which deepened and increased more As wide the rumour flew, That he who fell beneath their ire Was of the holy few Who dwelt alone in barren wilds, Afar from towns and menA hermit known as serving God In desert, cave, and den. He from those wilds that morning came To see the city fair, And join them in the festival Which they were holding there. Within the Colosseum's walls No more was seen to flow. Such bravery and self-sacrifice But lives enshrined within the heart, And guides our thoughts on high. Ay, long as ages shall endure, On their swift-rolling tide, The record of that noble deed Shall ever fragrant glide— A triumph splendid for the Cross, Which speaketh forth in accents clear That all may understand. Live near to God; have faith in Christ; Deny thyself, and take Whatever work He giveth thee, And do it, for His sake; Link thou thyself in deed and thought, Thy weakness bribe to sin, Oh, from thy heart forgiveness pray, And pardon thou shalt win! Thy path shall then be that of light, Of peace and purest joy, With friendship from the God of peace That nothing can destroy. Thus musing, from that fatal ground To greet the advent of the sun, Now rising o'er the plain, Fast flooding with its rosy light The dewy earth again. And thus methought both life and death Will soon be overpassed, And then shall dawn the endless life When, safe at home at last, Who here have served the Lord Shall there for ever gain a bliss His presence, their reward. Composed at Brawby, November and December, 1888, after seeing a representation of the Colosseum and Roman games at Earl's Court, London, when the Italian Exhibition was held there. On the day I witnessed it I saw a man thrown out of a chariot and killed, and another severely injured. MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD. I. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. A WEATHER-stained old building Amid enclosed ground, With orchards, fields, and hedgerows, Encircling it around. In front red railings and a gate, Protecting plats of green, Through which a pathway to the school, From the village road was seen. |