The Battle of Darkness and Light . Джон Мильтон

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      "He wished me to change him alternately from the right to the left."

      "Did he give a reason?"

      "He had observed that the men who are confined to one side become misshapen. He also said that some day of storm or battle there might be sudden need to change him, and he might then be unserviceable."

      "Perpol! The idea is new. What else hast thou observed of him?"

      "He is cleanly above his companions."

      "In that he is Roman," said Arrius, approvingly. "Have you nothing of his history?"

      "Not a word."

      The tribune reflected awhile, and turned to go to his own seat.

      "If I should be on deck when his time is up," he paused to say, "send him to me. Let him come alone."

      About two hours later Arrius stood under the aplustre of the galley; in the mood of one who, seeing himself carried swiftly towards an event of mighty import, has nothing to do but wait--the mood in which philosophy vests an even-minded man with the utmost calm, and is ever so serviceable. The pilot sat with a hand upon the rope by which the rudder paddles, one on each side of the vessel, were managed. In the shade of the sail some sailors lay asleep, and up on the yard there was a lookout. Lifting his eyes from the solarium set under the aplustre for reference in keeping the course, Arrius beheld the rower approaching.

      "The chief called thee the noble Arrius, and said it was thy will that I should seek thee here. I have come."

      Arrius surveyed the figure, tall, sinewy, glistening in the sun, and tinted by the rich red blood within--surveyed it admiringly, and with a thought of the arena; yet the manner was not without effect upon him: there was in the voice a suggestion of life at least partly spent under refining influences; the eyes were clear and open, and more curious than defiant. To the shrewd, demanding, masterful glance bent upon it, the face gave back nothing to mar its youthful comeliness--nothing of accusation or sullenness or menace, only the signs which a great sorrow long borne imprints, as time mellows the surface of pictures. In tacit acknowledgment of the effect, the Roman spoke as an older man to a younger, not as a master to a slave.

      "The hortator tells me thou art his best rower."

      "The hortator is very kind," the rower answered.

      "Hast thou seen much service?"

      "About three years."

      "At the oars?"

      "I cannot recall a day of rest from them."

      "The labor is hard; few men bear it a year without breaking, and thou--thou art but a boy."

      "The noble Arrius forgets that the spirit hath much to do with endurance. By its help the weak sometimes thrive, when the strong perish."

      "From thy speech, thou art a Jew."

      "My ancestors further back than the first Roman were Hebrews."

      "The stubborn pride of thy race is not lost in thee," said Arrius, observing a flush upon the rower's face.