CXL.

I see before me the Gladiator[511] lie: He leans upon his hand--his manly brow[os] Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low-- And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,[ot] Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now[ou] The arena swims around him--he is gone,[ov] Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.