 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
“By Hercules, the earth-cleaver! thy bold speech,
Decurion once, but now demoniac Jew!
Forebodes disaster to my king of beasts!”
Said Diomede, beneath a mocking scorn
Veiling the wrath he could not quell nor speak.
“Am I the patron of thy sole renown?
And doth thine evil creed teach thanklessness?
I do immortalize thy robber skill,
Learned in meet skirmishes with vulture flocks
And hordes of wolves to win the dead man's gold,
And, with barbaric rivals, to the knights
Of Latium and Apulia thee present.
Thou art a lion-darer, and needst not
The famed Lanista's discipline to lift
The woodking's heart upon thy sabre point,
For thou hast learned the sleight of fence, no fear,
From Galilean trainers, and hast wrought,
In thy maraudings, miracles of skill!
Rejoice in thine ovation, Nazarene!
Thou art the Sylla of the games today;
The Samnite mockfight and the chariot race,
Myrmillo and the Gaul, the net and mail—
All shall give place to thee and Nubia's beast.
And while thy glory soars, sweet Venus wraps
Her arms around thy love, and sunset melts
On the pavilion of her soft delight,
Where she doth wanton in Love's revelries,
And kisses from her roselight lips reward
My service in the honour of thy name—
Be grateful, renegade! thy bride is so!”
Decurion once, but now demoniac Jew!
Forebodes disaster to my king of beasts!”
Said Diomede, beneath a mocking scorn
Veiling the wrath he could not quell nor speak.
“Am I the patron of thy sole renown?
And doth thine evil creed teach thanklessness?
I do immortalize thy robber skill,
Learned in meet skirmishes with vulture flocks
And hordes of wolves to win the dead man's gold,
And, with barbaric rivals, to the knights
Of Latium and Apulia thee present.
Thou art a lion-darer, and needst not
The famed Lanista's discipline to lift
The woodking's heart upon thy sabre point,
For thou hast learned the sleight of fence, no fear,
From Galilean trainers, and hast wrought,
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Rejoice in thine ovation, Nazarene!
Thou art the Sylla of the games today;
The Samnite mockfight and the chariot race,
Myrmillo and the Gaul, the net and mail—
All shall give place to thee and Nubia's beast.
And while thy glory soars, sweet Venus wraps
Her arms around thy love, and sunset melts
On the pavilion of her soft delight,
Where she doth wanton in Love's revelries,
And kisses from her roselight lips reward
My service in the honour of thy name—
Be grateful, renegade! thy bride is so!”
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |