Decemvirs. Roman Laws. Gladiators

Rome's wars or treaties with each petty state Were dull to read, and tedious to relate; But as the wily fowler with his nets, Brood after brood, the feathery game besets, Or as th'encroaching gradual tide flows on, One region first, and then the next to drown, So, by her arts, or arms, at last obtain'd, The sovereign rule o'er every power she gain'd. Matchless in war, and by examples great, Laws still were wanting to confirm the state. By no establish'd, well-known rule confin'd, Decision varied with the judge's mind; Wisdom and weakness in their turns appear'd, And Themis was obey'd, but not rever'd. But now with ancient written science fraught, More certain codes from polish'd Greece were sought: On this pretence, the fierce Decemvir's hand, Three years supreme, oppress'd the groaning land, Till with a ravisher's polluting arms His lustful fury seiz'd Virginia's charms. To bid her name in spotless honour rest, See the sad sire transfix his daughter's breast. "Appius! (he cries) by the dear blood thus shed, "To sure destruction I devote thy head. "To thee and thy posterity remain "The crime and danger, though to me the pain: "Around her grave unfading wreaths shall bloom; "Thine be the father's curse, and murderer's doom! "Vein of my heart! with this unwilling wound, "I send thee, yet unspotted, to the ground." Wildly, aloft the reeking knife he bears, Hot vengeance burning up his furious tears. Oh, piteous spectacle! the sweetest maid Of all the virgin train, in death thus laid! No matron eye that saw her, but approv'd; No youthful, manly heart, but sigh'd, and lov'd. Pale her soft cheek, and clos'd her beamy eyes, On the cold ground a welt'ring corse she lies. A soul more form'd, all joys to share, and give, Earth cou'd not lose, nor opening heaven receive. Fir'd at the sight, the outrageous people rise, Till the crush'd tyrant for the virgin dies. Thus Rome again preserv'd, again might date Her second freedom from a woman's fate. Ingloriously the shameful period pass'd, While abject slavery the soul debas'd; No enterprize of gallant note begun, No ally succour'd, and no field was won: Like an ungenial frost, the tyrant's power Had blighted every virtue's opening flower. Though less unpolish'd than the nations round, What barbarous licence in her code is found? The sire, absolv'd from nature's tenderest tye, Might doom to death his helpless progeny; And rights more cruel o'er the prostrate slave To each hard master the prescription gave: Torture and stripes, for every slight offence, Or unprovok'd, the tyrant might dispense; And, if a deed of blacker die was done, They slaughter'd hundreds, for the crime of one. Yet mark how gravely Livy's page assents To the mild tenor of Rome's punishments: Reversing thus the purpose laws should seek, The strong they strengthen'd, and oppress'd the weak. Inhuman too their sports. Their eyes were fed With grim delight, when gladiators bled; The mangled wretches learn'd with grace to die, So to enhance the unnatural luxury. As gluttons praise the hospitable lord, When costly viands heap his plenteous board, Who then most multiply'd the dreadful sight, Was most esteem'd the people's favourite: So wolves and pards, endow'd with human sense, Might better shew their savage preference. And near five cent'ries was Rome's vigour grown Ere yet these sanguinary sights were known. Thus closely link'd the strange advance we see Of new refinement, and new cruelty: Some gaudy shew, a rustick daub'd with lees, And Thespis' cart, in earlier times could please; No more delight the unletter'd Roman sought Than wonder, or vacuity of thought: And better so, than with new sense to drain Preposterous pleasure from the source of pain. Conscious themselves how deep impressions lie, From shews repeated to the gazing eye, Nor willing to pervert the female mould, From soft to fierce, from innocent to bold, Augustus bade the women not appear At sights within the ghastly theatre.— Familiar thus with spectacles of blood, Their hearts were dauntless, but were seldom good; Proud, warlike, and inflexibly severe, No note of pity touch'd their callous ear; But still dispos'd new pleasure to receive From pains which nature prompts us to relieve, The clarion's martial sound their bosom warms, Responsive only to the din of arms. Rome, like Achilles as a maid disguis'd, All ornament, but shining steel, despis'd. In such a state we wonder not to find A Nero and Domitian waste mankind.