And all the host of all men driven afoam

By the red hand of Rome,

Round some fierce amphitheatre overthronged

With fair clear faces full of bloodier lust

Than swells and stings the tiger when his mood

Is fieriest after blood

And drunk with trampling of the murderous must

That soaks and stains the tortuous close-coiled wood

Made monstrous with its myriad-mustering brood,

Face by fair face panted and gleamed and pressed,

And breast by passionate breast

[Pg 306]

Heaved hot with ravenous rapture, as they quaffed

The red ripe full fume of the deep live draught,

The sharp quick reek of keen fresh bloodshed, blown

Through the dense deep drift up to the emperor's throne

From the under steaming sands

With clamour of all-applausive throats and hands,

Mingling in mirthful time

With shrill blithe mockeries of the lithe-limbed mime:

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