The Martyr of the Arena

Honour'd be the hero evermore,
Who at mercy's call has nobly died!
Echoed be his name from shore to shore,
With immortal chronicles allied!
Verdant be the turf upon his dust,
Bright the sky above, and soft the air!
In the grove set up his marble bust,
And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair.
In melodious numbers, that shall live
With the music of the rolling spheres,
Let the minstrel's inspiration give
His eulogium to the future years!
Not the victor in his country's cause,
Not the chief who leaves a people free,
Not the framer of a nation's laws
Shall deserve a greater fame than he!
Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day,
How a youth, by Christian zeal impell'd,
Swept the sanguinary games away,
Which the Coliseum once beheld?
Fill'd with gazing thousands were the tiers,
With the city's chivalry and pride,
When two gladiators, with their spears,
Forward sprang from the arena's side.
Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long,
As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood —
Was there no one in that eager throng
To denounce the spectacle of blood?
Aye, Telemachus, with swelling frame,
Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more:
Few among the crowd could tell his name —
For a cross was all the badge he wore!
Yet, with brow elate and godlike mien,
Stepp'd he forth upon the circling sand;
And, while all were wondering at the scene,
Check'd the encounter with a daring hand.
"Romans!" cried he — "Let this reeking sod
Never more with human blood be stain'd!
Let no image of the living God
In unhallow'd combat be profaned!
Ah! too long has this colossal dome
Fail'd to sink and hide your brutal shows!
Here I call upon assembled Rome
Now to swear, they shall forever close!"
Parted thus, the combatants, with joy,
Mid the tumult, found the means to fly;
In the arena stood the undaunted boy,
And, with looks adoring, gazed on high.
Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side;
Every hand was eager to assail!
"Slay him! slay!" a hundred voices cried,
Wild with fury — but he did not quail!
Hears he, as entranced he looks above,
Strains celestial, that the menace drown?
Sees he angels, with their eyes of love,
Beckoning to him, with a martyr's crown?
Fiercer swell'd the people's frantic shout!
Launch'd against him flew the stones like rain!
Death and terror circled him about —
But he stood and perish'd — not in vain!
Not in vain the youthful martyr fell!
Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed!
And his high example shall impel
Future heroes to as great a deed!
Stony answers yet remain for those
Who would question and precede the time!
In their season, may they meet their foes,
Like Telemachus, with front sublime!