 | Songs of the sea, with other poems |  |
THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA.
In the year of our Lord 404, a young Asiatic monk, named Telemachus, lost his life in a generous attempt to prevent the combat of the gladiators, in the amphitheatre at Rome. He had stepped into the arena to separate the combatants, when the spectators, surprised and exasperated at his interruption of the brutal exhibition, overwhelmed him with a shower of stones. But from that time forth the human sacrifices of the amphitheatre were abolished. In allusion to the fate of Telemachus, Gibbon, with more acrimony than truth, remarks, “Yet no church has been dedicated, no altar has been erected, to the only monk who died a martyr to the cause of humanity.” I have no especial partiality for monks, but history repeatedly gives the lie to Gibbon's assertion. It shows to what a discreditable extent of recklessness he could be carried by his prejudices, where his choice lay between an implied compliment to Christianity and a misrepresentation of facts.
In the year of our Lord 404, a young Asiatic monk, named Telemachus, lost his life in a generous attempt to prevent the combat of the gladiators, in the amphitheatre at Rome. He had stepped into the arena to separate the combatants, when the spectators, surprised and exasperated at his interruption of the brutal exhibition, overwhelmed him with a shower of stones. But from that time forth the human sacrifices of the amphitheatre were abolished. In allusion to the fate of Telemachus, Gibbon, with more acrimony than truth, remarks, “Yet no church has been dedicated, no altar has been erected, to the only monk who died a martyr to the cause of humanity.” I have no especial partiality for monks, but history repeatedly gives the lie to Gibbon's assertion. It shows to what a discreditable extent of recklessness he could be carried by his prejudices, where his choice lay between an implied compliment to Christianity and a misrepresentation of facts.
Who at Mercy's call has nobly died!
Echoed be his name from shore to shore,
With immortal chronicles allied!
Bright the sky above, and soft the air!
In the grove set up his marble bust,
And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair.
With the music of the rolling spheres,
Let the minstrel's inspiration give
His eulogium to the future years!
Not the chief who leaves a people free,
Not the framer of a nation's laws,
Shall deserve a greater fame than he.
How a youth, by Christian zeal impelled,
Swept the sanguinary games away
Which the Coliseum once beheld?
And the tiers their gazing thousands showed,
When two gladiators, armed for fight,
O'er the arena's sandy circle strode.
As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood:
Was there no one in that eager throng
To denounce the spectacle of blood?
Saw the inhuman sport renewed once more:
Few were gathered there could tell his name,
And a cross was all the badge he wore;
Stepped he forth upon the circling sand;
And, while all were wondering at the scene,
Checked the encounter with a daring hand.
Never more with human blood be stained!
Let no image of the living God
In unhallowed combat be profaned!
Failed to sink and hide your brutal shows:
Here I call upon assembled Rome
Now to swear, they shall forever close!”
'Mid the tumult found the means to fly;
In the arena stood the undaunted boy,
And, with looks adoring, gazed on high.
Every hand was forward to assail;
“Slay him! slay—” a thousand voices cried,
Wild with fury; but he did not quail.
Strains celestial, which the menace drown?
Sees he angels, with their eyes of love,
Beck'ning to him with a martyr's crown?
Launched against him flew the stones like rain;
Death and terror circled him about;
But he stood and perished—not in vain!
Then and there he crushed a bloody creed;
And his high example shall impel
Future heroes to as brave a deed.
Who would question and precede the time:
In their season, may they meet their foes,
Like Telemachus, with front sublime!
| Songs of the sea, with other poems | |