Ay, upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that
boon, while all the Roman maids and matrons, and those holy virgins they
call vestal, and the rabble, shouted in mockery, deeming it rare sport,
forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale, and tremble like a
very child, before that piece of bleeding clay; but the Prator drew back as
if I were pollution, and sternly said, 'Let the carrion rot! There are no
noble men but Romans!' And he, deprived of funeral rites,--must wander, a
hapless ghost, beside the waters of that sluggish river, and look--and
look--and look in vain to the bright Elysian fields where dwell his
ancestors and noble kindred. And so must you, and so must I, die like dogs!

"O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me! Ay, thou hast given to
that poor, gentle, timid shepherd-lad, who never knew a harsher sound than
a flute-note, muscles of iron, and a heart of flint; taught him to drive
the sword through rugged brass and plaited mail, and warm it in the marrow
of his foe!--to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion,
even as a smooth-cheeked boy upon a laughing girl. And he shall pay thee
back till thy yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze
thy life-blood lies curdled!

"Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! the strength of brass in your
toughened sinews; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet odors
from his curly locks, shall come, and with his lily fingers pat your brawny
shoulders, and bet his sesterces upon your blood! Hark! Hear ye yon lion
roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he tasted meat; but tomorrow he
shall break his fast upon your flesh; and ye shall be a dainty meal for
him.

"If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen waiting for the butcher's
knife; if ye are men, follow me! strike down yon sentinel, and gain the