They led a lion from his den,
The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain;
And there he stood, stern foe of men,
And shook his flowing mane.
There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten
That dare abide this game.
His bright eye nought of lightning lacked;
His voice was like the cataract.
They brought a dark-haired man along,
Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound; Youthful he seemed, and bold, and strong,
And yet unscathed of wound.
Blithely he stepped among the throng,
And careless threw around
A dark eye, such as courts the path
Of him, who braves a Dacian's wrath.
Then shouted the plebeian crowd-
Rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne there spake aloud
A voice, "Be the bold man unbound!
And, by Rome's sceptre yet unbowed,
By Rome, earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold-the unequal strife,
Though doomed to death, shall save his life.”
Joy was upon that dark man's face,
And thus, with laughing eye, spake he
"Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste,
And let my arms be free;
'He has a martial heart,' thou sayest,
But oh, who will not be
A hero, when he fights for life,
And home, and country,-babes, and wife.
And thus I for the strife prepare ;
The Thracian falchion to me bring;
But ask th' imperial leave to spare
The shield-a useless thing.
Were I a Samnite's rage to dare,
Then o'er me should I fling
The broad orb; but to lion's wrath
The shield were but a sword of lath."
And he has bared his shining blade,
And springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the strife, but briefly played-
The desert-king lies low,
His long and loud death-howl is made,
And there must end the show.
And when the multitude were calm,
The favourite freedman took the palm.
"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside :" He knelt, that dark man ;-o'er his brow Was thrown a wreath in crimson died,
And fair words gild it now : "Thou'rt the bravest youth that ever tried
And from our presence forth thou go'st
To lead the Dacians of our host."
Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride,
And grieved and gloomily spoke he:
"My cabin stands where blithely glide
Proud Danube's waters to the sea;
I have a young and blooming bride,
And I have children three;
No Roman wealth nor rank can give
Such joy, as in their arms to live.
My wife sits at the cabin door,
With throbbing heart and swollen eyes;
While tears her cheek are coursing o'er,
She speaks of sundered ties.
She bids my tender babes deplore
The death their father dies;
She tells these jewels of my home,
I bleed to please the rout of Rome.
I cannot let those cherubs stray
Without their sire's protecting care;
And I would chase the griefs away
Which cloud my wedded fair."
The monarch spoke, the guards obey,
And gates unclosed are;
He is gone-no golden bribes divide
The Dacian from his babes and bride.
There is a fire, that has its birth
Above the proudest hills of earth;
And higher than the eternal snows,
The fountain whence it rose.
It came to man in ancient days,
And fell upon his ardent gaze,
A god descending in his car,
The Spirit of a star.
And as the glorious vision broke
Full on his eye, at once he woke,
And with the rush of battling steeds
He sprang to generous deeds.
Then first he stood erect and free,
And in the might of destiny
A stern, unconquerable fate
Compelled him to be great.
He strove not for the wreath of fame;
From heaven, the power that moved him, came,
And welcome, as the mountain air,
The voice that bade him dare.
Onward he bore, and battled still
With a most firm, enduring will,
His only hope, to win and rise,
His only aim-the skies.
He saw their glories blaze afar;
A soul looked down from every star,
And from its eye of lightning flew
A glance; that thrilled him through.
Full in the front of war he stood;
His home, his country, claimed his blood :
Without one sigh that blood was given;
He only thought—of Heaven.
The stormy March is come at last,
With wind and cloud and changing skies,
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild stormy month! in praise of thee;
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