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Poem	When the Christians were doomed to the lions of old By the priest and the praetor, combined to uphold An idolatrous cause, Forth they came while the vast Colosseum throughout Gathered thousands looked on, and they fell 'mid the shout Of "the People's" applause. On the eve of that day of their evenings the last! At the gates of their dungeon a gorgeous repast, Rich, unstinted, unpriced, That the doomed might (forsooth) gather strength ere they bled, With an ignorant pity the jailers would spread For the martyrs of Christ. Oh, 'twas strange for a pupil of Paul to recline On voluptuous couch, while Falernian wine Fill'd his cup to the brim! Dulcet music of Greece, Asiatic repose, Spicy fragrance of Araby, Italian rose, All united for him! Every luxury known through the earth's wide expanse, In profusion procured was put forth to enhance The repast that they gave; And no Sybarite, nursed in the lap of delight, Such a banquet ere tasted as welcomed that night The elect of the grave. And the lion, meantime, shook his ponderous chain, Loud and fierce howled the tiger, impatient to stain The bloodthirsty arena; Whilst the women of Rome, who applauded those deeds And who hailed the forthcoming enjoyment, must needs Shame the restless hyena. They who figured as guests on that ultimate eve, In their turn on the morrow were destined to give To the lions their food; For, behold, in the guise of a slave at that board, Where his victims enjoyed all that life can afford, Death administering stood. Such, O monarchs of earth! was your banquet of power, But the tocsin has burst on your festival hour— 'Tis your knell that it rings! To the popular tiger a prey is decreed, And the maw of Republican hunger will feed On a banquet of Kings! "FATHER PROUT" (FRANK MAHONY)
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