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The Athenaid: Volume II: Book the Seventeenth

Sicinus, long by unpropitious winds
Lock'd in Geræstus, to their fickle breath,
Half-adverse still, impatient spread the sail.
Six revolutions of the sun he spent
To gain Phaleron. To his lord's abode
He swiftly pass'd, when chance his wond'ring eyes
On Aristides fix'd. An open space
Reveal'd the hero, issuing sage commands.
Th' omnipotent artificer of worlds
From chaos seem'd with delegated pow'r
To have entrusted that selected man.
From ashes, lo! a city new ascends,
One winter's indefatigable toil
Of citizens, whose spirit unsubdu'd
Subdues calamity. Each visage wears
A cheerful hue, yet solemn. Through the streets
Successive numbers from adjacent fields
Drive odorif'rous loads of plants and flow'rs,
Which please the manes. Amaranth and rose,
Fresh parsley, myrtle, and whate'er the sun,
Now not remote from Aries in his course,
Call'd from the quick and vegetating womb
Of nature green or florid, from their seats
Of growth are borne for pious hands to weave
In fun'ral chaplets. From the Grecian states,
To honour Athens, their deputed chiefs,
Cleander foremost, throng the public place;
Whence Aristides with advancing speed
Salutes Sicinus: Welcome is thy face,
Good man, thou know'st; from Athens long estrang'd,
Now doubly welcome. In thy looks I read
Important news. Retiring from the crowd,
Swift in discourse, but full, Sicinus ran
Through all the series of his lord's exploits,
Which drew this question: Has thy patron ought
To ask of Aristides? Silent bow'd
Sicinus. Smiling then, the chief pursu'd:

Do thou attend the ceremonial pomp
Of obsequies to morrow; when the slain
At Salamis receive their just reward
From us, survivors by their glorious fall.
I have detain'd thee from Timothea long,
The first entitled to thy grateful news.

Now to that matron, whom beyond himself
He priz'd, Sicinus hastens. At her loom
He finds her placid o'er a web, whose glow
Of colours rivall'd Iris, where intent
She wove th' atchievements of her lord. Her skill
Had just portray'd Sandauce in the arms
Of Artamanes, when her children's doom
Congeal'd her breast. Themistocles in look
Expresses all that subtlety humane,
Which cozen'd superstition of her prey;
His godlike figure dignifies the work.
Two boys, two lovely little maids, surround
Th' illustrious artist, while their eyes pursue
Their mother's flying fingers in delight
Attentive. But their tutor once in view,
From absence long regretted, light with joy
To him they bound. Sicinus melts in tears
Of soft affection. They around him lift
Their gratulating voices, on his neck
Cling, and contend for kisses from those lips
Approv'd in kindness; as a flutt'ring brood
With chirping fondness, nature's sweetest note,
Inclose their feather'd parent, who attunes
Her tender pipe, and spreads endearing plumes.

Sicinus, cries Timothea, thou dost bring
Auspicious tidings; from my hero I
Expect no less. Unaided by the state,
A private man, like Hercules he went,
In his own pow'rs confiding, and secure.
Sit down, thou witness of my husband's worth,
Thyself a proof of his discerning choice
In thee, good man, by me and mine rever'd,
Discreet and faithful. No, Sicinus spake,
Thou art that proof, most faithful, most discreet,
Most excellent of women. Come, she said,
Suppress my praises; let me hear of none,
But his; and copious let thy story flow.

Glad through his whole heroic theme the sage,
By time to Attic eloquence inur'd,
Expatiates large; where loftiness of plan
Sustain'd by counsel, with exhaustless art
Pursu'd, now brought to valour's final proof,
Must end in sure success. His lord's commands
Observing strict, Acanthè's precious worth,
In talents, form and manners, he describes;
How she the aid of Chalcis had procur'd,
Her favour how Themistocles had won.

If he pursue to victory his plan,
Timothea said, and borrow from her hand
The means of glory, and the gen'ral good,
Tell him, that I can imitate with joy
Andromachè, who foster'd on her breast
Her Hector's offspring by a stol'n embrace.

Not such thy lot, sole mistress of a form
Match'd by perfection of the mind alone,
Sicinus cheerful answer'd. I attest
To this my firm belief th' all-ruling sire,
Let Horomazes be his name, or Jove.

Thou giv'st me transport-Thou hast leave to smile,
My good Sicinus, she replies-But heav'n
I too attest, that transport I conceive
Less for my own, than fair Acanthè's sake.
So amiably endow'd, so clear in fame,
Her purity resigning, she, alas!
Had prov'd the only suff'rer. Woman fall'n,
The more illustrious once, the more disgrac'd,
Ne'er can refume her lustre. Laurels hide
A hero's wanton lapse. The Greeks would bless
The guile which serves them, but to endless shame
The gen'rous auth'ress of that service doom.
Thou said'st, my husband from Cleander's sword
Solicits help; Cleander is my guest
With Ariphilia; ready in this port
His squadron lies; he plough'd the seas in quest
Of earliest action for the common cause.
Come, they are waiting for the night's repast.

She rose; Sicinus follow'd, and renew'd
In Ariphilia's and Cleander's ear
The wondrous narrative, but cautious veils
Acanthè's love. Timothea's looks approv'd.
He then concluded: Thus, to battle rous'd,
The force of half Euboea cas'd in steel
Against the tyrant Demonax I left;
But in the chace of that devouring wolf
On thee relies Themistocles for help,
Undaunted chief of Troezen. He replies:

Should I withhold it, by th' immortal gods,
The titles both of soldier and of friend
Were mine no longer. Ariphilia then,
Sweet as a vernal flow'r in early prime,
A Grace in manner, Hebè in her form:

Say, gentle sage, of Delphi's rev'rend priest,
Of Haliartus, and Oïleus' son,
Kind guests of mine, no tidings dost thou bear?

He answers: Them in Atalantè's isle
The turbulent Euripus yet confines;
They soon, fair matron, to thy lord and mine
Will add their strength and level from its base
The tyrant's hold. Amid this converse sweet
The warrior-poet Æschylus appears,
A grateful visitant to all. He spake:

Fair dame, admit me, introducing men
Who saw thy gallant consort yester morn
Erecting trophies; men themselves renown'd,
Oïlean Medon, and Apollo's priest
Long lost, whom I, unknowing of their fate,
Have clasp'd in transport, as Laertes' son,
When he review'd his metamorphos'd friends
In Circe's island to their pristine forms
Uprising by her charms. Timothea glad
Salutes the ent'ring heroes, Medon known
Before, Leonteus, Delphi's holy seer
With Artemisia's brother, strangers all,
But of deportment to command regard.

Then spake the Locrian: First of matrons, hail!
On Salaminian sands we parted last.
I have been long in Atalantè's isle
Sequester'd; but, determin'd to attend
The fun'ral honours which the morning pays
To brave Athenians slain, an hour serene
To cross the strait Euripus I embrac'd
For Chalcis. There thy consort fresh I found
In gather'd palms from Demonax o'erthrown
That day in battle. Hear the glorious tale,
Which from Themistocles himself I learn'd.
He, well-inform'd, the chiefs in either host
Distinctly told, their history, their names,
Their birth and deeds, on Hyacinthus most,
As most esteem'd, enlarg'd. That hapless youth
Was husband to Cleora; daughter she
Of Demonax was poison'd by her sire.
Survey this tablet, which before my sight
Thy hero took, with readiness of skill
Delineating the fight. Shew this, he said,
To my Timothea, friendly thou explain.
This part is Chalcis, this a champaign wide;
Here flows the sea, there winds a quarry dark.

Conceive a river by impetuous floods
O'erswol'n, and spread irregular, and wild,
Beyond its bounds; tumultuous thus the foes
At first appear'd. Expecting to surprise,
Themselves surpris'd at unexpected bands,
Through open'd portals issuing to the plain,
Are forc'd, dishearten'd by a toilsome march,
To range their numbers for immediate fight.
The wary son of Neocles suspends
Th' attack, till bursting drifts of southern clouds
Beat on the faces of his harrass'd foes
A storm of blinding sleet; then rushes down
In three deep columns. Of th' Orean line
The right, which Mindarus conducting wheels
Along the sea's flat margin, sore is gall'd
By unremitted show'rs from bows and slings
On well-rang'd vessels. Lamachus commands
The left. Nearchus from the quarry pours
An ambush'd force, and breaks the hostile flank.
Compact of vet'rans, cull'd from ev'ry state,
That wedge of war, whose bristly front display'd
Athenian spears and Spartan mingling beams,
(Themistocles the leader) slow but sure
Bears down the center. At a second breach
The line gives way to Cleon, at a third
To swift Carystians. Not a life is spar'd
By wrong'd, incens'd Eretrians, not a life
By Hyacinthus, boiling with revenge
For his Cleora; while her cruel sire
Exerts a desp'rate valour to revive
Hope in an army spiritless by toil,
By sudden onset broken, at the name
And sight of thy Themistocles abash'd.
The rout is gen'ral. In the bloody chace
Five thousand slain the conquerors despoil.
Thy husband, prudent in success, preserves
Two thousand heads, all Persian, to redeem
Eretrian captives from the tyrant's bonds.
He, thus defeated, not subdu'd, retir'd
To Oreus. Pow'rful remnants of his host
He, draws within her circuit; furnish'd well
From boundless treasure, threatens there to hold
A firm defence, till, summon'd by the spring,
Mardonius quit Thessalia, and employ
The whole confederated pow'r of Greece.

That threat Themistocles will render vain,
Exults Timothea; he unfinish'd leaves
No toil begun. Again the Locrian chief:

Now my first duty is discharg'd; the next
To Ariphilia from her guest is due.
O soft in virtue, elegantly fair,
Cleander's favour'd paranymph retains
Thy hospitable kindness ever dear;
Thine too, my gallant host, by Neptune bless'd
In his own priestess, and with brightest fame
On his own floods adorn'd. The pleasing hours
All spend in mutual gratulation sweet,
Till for the morn's solemnity they part.

Below th' Ægalean mountain, where the king
Of humbled Asia on his golden throne
Was seated late, spectator of his shame
At Salamis, a level space extends
To Neptune's border. Green Psittalia there
Full opposite exhibits, high and large,
A new erected trophy. Twenty masts
Appear, the tallest of Phoenician pines,
In circular position. Round their base
Are massive anchors, rudders, yards, and oars,
Irregularly pil'd, with beaks of brass,
And naval sculpture from Barbarian sterns,
Stupendous by confusion. Crested helms
Above, bright mail, habergeons scal'd in gold,
And figur'd shields along the spiry wood
Up to th' aerial heads in order wind,
Tremendous emblems of gigantic Mars.
Spears, bristling through the intervals, uprear
Their points obliquely; gilded staves project
Embroider'd colours; darts and arrows hang
In glitt'ring clusters. On the topmost height
Th' imperial standard broad, from Asia won,
Blaz'd in the sun, and floated in the wind.
Of smooth Pentelic marble on the beach,
Where flow'd the brine of Salamis, a tomb
Insculptur'd rose. Achievements of that day
When Asia's navy fell, in swelling forms
Fill'd on three sides the monument. The fourth,
Unfinish'd, open'd to th' interior grave.

Now, through Minerva's populace, who kept
Religious silence, first white-vested maids,
Who from the strand of Salamis had seen
The patriots slain, their sepulchre approach
With wreaths and garlands; then of chosen youths
A troop, whose valour had the fight surviv'd.
The younger matrons, husbands ripe in age,
Nor less in fame, succeed. Of either sex
The elders follow. Kindred of the dead
Come next, their wives, their children. Urns, which hold
The sacred ashes, are in open cars
Discover'd. One close chariot is reserv'd
For them, whose bodies fate from search conceal'd.
Last Aristides, in his civil robe,
Attracts the gazing multitude; his wheels,
Myronides, Xanthippus, Cimon great,
Aminias, Æschylus, and ev'ry chief
For prowess known attend. Around the tomb
Are plac'd the children; roses in the bud
Entwine their brows; their little grasp upholds
Green sprigs of myrtle; well instructed, all
Refrain from weeping o'er paternal dust,
Deposited by glory in the grave.
A high tribunal Aristides mounts;
Near him, on ev'ry side, are seats assign'd
To strangers held in honour. Medon there,
Leonteus, Timon, and the brother known
Of Caria's queen, Cleander, numbers more
From states ennobled in their names are seen.
The godlike man uprises; on the tomb
His eyes he fixes first; their lustre mild
He then diffuses o'er th' assembly vast,
Where not a tongue is heard, nor gesture seen.
So through unclouded skies the argent lamp
Of Dian visits with her light benign
A surface broad of water, where no breeze
Excites a swell, nor sighs among the reeds.

Your fathers, wise and lib'ral, he began,
Appointed public obsequies to all
Who die in battle for the public good,
Ye men of Athens. Not a groan, or tear
Must violate their ashes. These have gain'd
What all should envy; these, by virtuous death,
The height of human excellence have reach'd,
Have found the surest path to endless joy
With demigods and heroes in those fields,
Which tyrants ne'er can enter to molest
The blissful region; but are far remov'd
To realms of horror, and from righteous Jove
Endure the pains they merit from mankind.
There, if retaining, as they surely must,
The memory of things belov'd on earth,
It will enhance their happiness to know
Their offspring cherish'd, and their wives rever'd
By grateful Athens, whom their glorious fall
Exalts, whose daughters they preserv'd from shame,
Whose sons from bonds. This bliss benignant Jove,
Who loves the patriot, never can withhold
From them, who little would deserve that name,
Unless those sweetest charities they feel,
Paternal cares, and conjugal esteem,
The props of public and domestic weal.
Them to defend, Athenians, to maintain
Inviolate your altars, tombs and laws,
Let contemplation of the present rites
Give principle new strength. Behold a foe,
Who hath profan'd your ancestors in dust.
Lo! on a cross Leonidas affix'd,
His patriot bones expos'd to bleaching winds
By that Barbarian, Xerxes. Kings alone,
Obtuse of mind, illiberal, the brutes
Of human nature, can devise and act
Barbarities like these. But such a foe
Leagues Heav'n against him. Nemesis will join
With Grecian Mars, and all her furies plant
His foot on Asia's boundaries, to shake
An impious tyrant on his native throne.
Then of the patriot dead, whose swords prepar'd
Your way to glory, and achiev'd their own,
This recent tomb, when dress'd in eastern spoils,
Will best delight their manes, and proclaim
To Gods and men your gratitude and arms.

He paus'd. Ægaleos echo'd to the found
Of acclamation; Salamis reply'd.
But as the sun, when casual clouds before
His intercepted light have pass'd away,
Renews his splendour, so the righteous man
In eloquence and counsel thus again
Breaks forth: Xanthippus, in the gales of spring,
To brave the coast Barbaric you decree;
While, on Boeotia's plains, your phalanx meets
Mardonian ranks. Now hear of wond'rous acts
To you unknown, unpromis'd, just perform'd
By an Athenian. Winter hath not slept
Inactive; your Themistocles hath rous'd
That sluggish season by the clang of war;
A force creating by his matchless art,
He hath o'erthrown fierce Demonax, and coop'd
Within his fort. Delib'rate swift, my friends,
How to assist your hero; Justice calls
On ev'ry tongue ingenuous so to style
Themistocles; who wants but slender help.
Your skill, Athenians, in surmounting walls
Excels in Greece. Select experienc'd bands;
An instantaneous effort may o'erwhelm
Beneath the ruins of his last retreat
Euboea's scourge, whose prevalence might shut
That granary of Athens, and transfer
To Asia's num'rous camp your needful stores.

All in applauding admiration hear
Disinterested virtue, which exalts
A rival's merit. But thy gen'rous breast,
To all superior in sensation high
Divine Timothea, entertains a warmth
Of grateful rapture in thy lord's behalf,
Which shines confess'd. Sicinus, at her side,
Condemns his lord, who nothing would request
Of Aristides; him, who grants unask'd,
His soul adores. Aminias, rising, spake;
A fearless warrior, brother to the bard,
Like him sincere, less polish'd, learn'd and wise,
By right intention more than conduct sway'd:

Who can for all deliberate so well,
As Aristides singly? Let us fight;
But with sole pow'r of counsel and command,
Throughout this war's duration, by a law
Invest him uncontrollable. Up starts
The interrupting patriot, nor permits
The people's confidence in him to grow
In wild excess: Ne'er yet th' almighty sire
Created man of purity to hold
A trust like this. Athenians, mark my words;
I am your legal military chief;
If your immediate safety should require
An use of pow'r, unwarranted by laws,
I will exert it, not accept as law;
The censure or acquittal of my act
With you shall rest. At present I advise,
That from Phaleron Æschylus transport
Two thousand skilful vet'rans. Him the seed
Of Neocles approves; not less in arms
Than arts excelling, him your warriors prize.
Them, ere two monthly periods of the sun,
You cannot want. Thick verdure must invest
The meadows, earth her foodful stores mature,
Before Mardonius can his numbers lead
From Thessaly remote. Ere then, my friends,
Themistocles will conquer, and erect
Cecropia's standard on Orean walls;
Your timely aid he timely will restore
To fill the army of united Greece.

The gen'ral voice assents, and all retire,
While to her home Timothea brings her guests.
To her Sicinus prudent: Not an hour,
Till I rejoin thy consort, should be lost.
She then: Most faithful, from my arm receive
This bracelet rich in gems, Barbaric spoil;
Bear this to Chalcis, to Acanthè give;
Say, how I prize her elevated mind,
Enabling my Themistocles to quell
The hateful breed of tyrants. Further say,
The man engaging her connubial hand
I should esteem the favourite of gods.
Stay; Haliartus shall the present bear.
Thou to my lord a messenger of love
Shalt go, Sicinus; words to thee I leave;
My heart thou know'st. One fervent wish impart,
That he in private, as in public ties,
With Aristides may at last unite.

So spake the first of women. Troezen's chief
Subjoin'd: Sicinus, wait till morn; embark
With these our friends of Atalantè's isle
Aboard my squadron; soon will southern gales
My succour waft, and jointly we proclaim
Brave Æschylus to follow. Let us greet
Him, who our valour into action calls
For ev'ry chief to envy; him to clasp
My bosom pants, a hero, who surmounts
The sloth of winter while so many brave
Hang up their weapons. Ariphilia heard,
Sat mute and sad. To her Timothea thus:

We, who are wives of soldiers, will remain
Together, cheerful watch for tidings dear
Of their achievements, and rejoice at home.

End of the Seventeenth Book

poem by Richard Glover
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