Then he looked full upon me. I had borne Much staunchly, but that look I could not bear! What man may front a god and live? I fell Prone, as if stricken by a thunderbolt;

And, though I died not, somewhat of me died That made me man. When my long stupor passed I was no longer Maximus—I was

A weakling with a piteous woman-soul,

All strength and pride, joy and ambition gone-— My Claudia, dare I tell thee what foul curse

Is mine because I looked upon a god?

I care no more for glory; all desire

For conquest and for strife is gone from me, All eagerness for war; I only care

To help and heal bruised beings, and to give Some comfort to the weak and suffering.

I cannot even hate those Jews; my lips

Speak harshly of them, but within my heart

I feel a strange compassion; and I love

All creatures, to the vilest of the slaves

Who seem to me as brothers! Claudia, Scorn me not for this weakness; it will pass— Surely ’twill pass in time and I shall be Maximus strong and valiant once again, Forgetting that slain god! and yet—and yet— He looked as one who could not be forgot!