His father dead, his brothers slaves, his town burnt to the ground,
His tribe destroyed, his country lost, his mother chained and bound.
The horns and drums and shrieking flutes burst forth together now,
The giant swung his weapons round and wiped his crimson brow;
David when trampling on the bear looked like this Christian youth,
With such a halo round his face of holy love and truth.
The pagan gods frown on the Greek, his blows are fierce but wild,
Slowly his heart yields up its life unto this mere weak child;
He strikes with giant force, but lo! he bites the gory sand,
The unfleshed trident snaps and falls from the dead giant’s hand.
The people raise their thumbs erect, of mercy the glad sign,
Nero stands up and waves his wands that like the sun-beams shine,
“Curse Christ and live, boy!” he cried: the lad looked up,
Pushing fierce back with angry hand the flatterer’s proffered cup.
“Curse Christ and live!” ten thousand cried—and twenty thousand then,
The boy put one foot on the dead, and braved the howling men;
“Christ and his cross alone!” he shouted, pallid but stern and cool,
Then Nero rose, and screaming cried, “To the lions with this fool!”
A roar—a leap—a shaking snarl, an angry growl and tear,
A gnash of gory teeth, a wave of bloody, dripping hair,
A dreadful shriek that rose above the shouts of countless men,
As Moorish gladiators drove the beast back to his den.
Sudden the death, and yet the boy had time one glance to see
Of the golden gates of Paradise opening silently,
And beckoning hands, and snowy wings, and odours as of balm;
Then storm and dark that sudden changed to an eternal calm.
The mountain ant-hill’s on the move—the people rise to go,
Through all the arches, from each bench, the human rivers flow;
Nero, forgetting crime so small, drove to his golden home,—
But God did not forget it—no—go look ye now at Rome.
