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A book of Bristol sonnets

By H. D. Rawnsley

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“THE DYING GLADIATOR,”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


104

“THE DYING GLADIATOR,”

BY CTESILAUS.

A CAST IN THE VESTIBULE OF THE MUSEUM, BRISTOL.

So known to death, I cannot fear to die!
Mine arm, thus leaned upon, will ease my pain.
For this alone my forehead doth complain,—
Him by whose stroke in this disgrace I lie,
None other schooled to this shrewd thrust but I!
E'en now I make black Death upon me gain!
I urged my heart's pulse, swelled each ebbing vein!
Fool that I was, myself mine enemy!
Cheer on, ye careless galleries! I blame
None but myself! I only wish for life
To bid my boys choose out some gentler game,
And arm no friend's right hand with deadly knife!
So small a wound to sap such lusty strength!
Gods! grant I swoon before I fall my length!