But here of thy bosom, here only, the man-child was born.
All races but one are as aliens engrafted or sown,
Strange children and changelings; but we, O our mother, thine own.
Thy nurslings are others, and seedlings they know not of whom;
For these hast thou fostered, but us thou hast borne in thy womb.
Who is he of us all, O beloved, that owe thee for birth,
Who would give not his blood for his birth’s sake, O mother, O
Earth?
What landsman is he that was fostered and reared of thine hand
Who may vaunt him as we may in death though he die for the
land? 1180
Well doth she therefore who gives thee in guerdon
The bloom of the life of thy giving; [Epode.
And thy body was bowed by no fruitless burden,
That bore such fruit of thee living.
For her face was not darkened for fear,
For her eyelids conceived not a tear,
Nor a cry from her lips craved pity;
But her mouth was a fountain of song,
And her heart as a citadel strong
That guards the heart of the city. 1190
MESSENGER.
High things of strong-souled men that loved their land
On brass and stone are written, and their deeds
On high days chanted; but none graven or sung
That ever set men’s eyes or spirits on fire,
Athenians, has the sun’s height seen, or earth
Heard in her depth reverberate as from heaven,
More worth men’s praise and good report of Gods
Than here I bring for record in your ears.
For now being come to the altar, where as priest
Death ministering should meet her, and his hand 1200
Seal her sweet eyes asleep, the maiden stood,
With light in all her face as of a bride
Smiling, or shine of festal flame by night
Far flung from towers of triumph; and her lips
Trembled with pride in pleasure, that no fear
Blanched them nor death before his time drank dry
The blood whose bloom fulfilled them; for her cheeks
Lightened, and brighter than a bridal veil
Her hair enrobed her bosom and enrolled
From face to feet the body’s whole soft length 1210
As with a cloud sun-saturate; then she spake
With maiden tongue words manlike, but her eyes
Lit mildly like a maiden’s: Countrymen,
With more goodwill and height of happier heart
I give me to you than my mother bare,
And go more gladly this great way to death
Than young men bound to battle. Then with face
Turned to the shadowiest part of all the shrine
And eyes fast set upon the further shade,
Take me, dear Gods; and as some form had shone 1220
From the deep hollow shadow, some God’s tongue
Answered, I bless you that your guardian grace
Gives me to guard this country, takes my blood,
Your child’s by name, to heal it. Then the priest
Set to the flower-sweet snow of her soft throat
The sheer knife’s edge that severed it, and loosed
From the fair bondage of so spotless flesh
So strong a spirit; and all that girt them round
Gazing, with souls that hung on that sad stroke,
Groaned, and kept silence after while a man 1230
Might count how far the fresh blood crept, and bathed
How deep the dark robe and the bright shrine’s base
Red-rounded with a running ring that grew
More large and duskier as the wells that fed
Were drained of that pure effluence: but the queen
Groaned not nor spake nor wept, but as a dream
Floats out of eyes awakening so past forth
Ghost-like, a shadow of sorrow, from all sight
To the inner court and chamber where she sits
Dumb, till word reach her of this whole day’s end. 1240
CHORUS.
More hapless born by far [Str.
Beneath some wintrier star,
One sits in stone among high Lydian snows,
The tomb of her own woes:
Yet happiest was once of the daughters of Gods, and divine by
her sire and her lord,
Ere her tongue was a shaft for the hearts of her sons, for the
heart of her husband a sword.
For she, too great of mind, [Ant.
Grown through her good things blind.
With godless lips and fire of her own breath
Spake all her house to death; 1250
But thou, no mother unmothered, nor kindled in spirit with
pride of thy seed,
Thou hast hallowed thy child for a blameless blood-offering,
and ransomed thy race by thy deed.
MESSENGER.
As flower is graffed on flower, so grief on grief
Engraffed brings forth new blossoms of strange tears,
Fresh buds and green fruits of an alien pain;
For now flies rumour on a dark wide wing,
Murmuring of woes more than ye knew, most like
Hers whom ye hailed most wretched; for the twain
Last left of all this house that wore last night
A threefold crown of maidens, and to-day 1260
Should let but one fall dead out of the wreath,
If mad with grief we know not and sore love
For this their sister, or with shame soul-stung
To outlive her dead or doubt lest their lives too
The Gods require to seal their country safe
And bring the oracular doom to perfect end,
Have slain themselves, and fallen at the altar-foot
Lie by their own hands done to death; and fear
Shakes all the city as winds a wintering tree,
And as dead leaves are men’s hearts blown about 1270
And shrunken with ill thoughts, and flowerless hopes
Parched up with presage, lest the piteous blood
Shed of these maidens guiltless fall and fix
On this land’s forehead like a curse that cleaves
To the unclean soul’s inexpiate hunted head
Whom his own crime tracks hotlier than a hound
To life’s veiled end unsleeping; and this hour
Now blackens toward the battle that must close
All gates of hope and fear on all their hearts
Who tremble toward its issue, knowing not yet 1280
If blood may buy them surety, cleanse or soil
The helpless hands men raise and reach no stay.
CHORUS.
Ill thoughts breed fear, and fear ill words; but these
The Gods turn from us that have kept their law.
Let us lift up the strength of our hearts in song, [Str. 1.
And our souls to the height of the darkling day.
If the wind in our eyes blow blood for spray,
Be the spirit that breathes in us life more strong,
Though the prow reel round and the helm point wrong,
And sharp reefs whiten the shoreward way. 1290
For the steersman time sits hidden astern, [Ant. 1.
With dark hand plying the rudder of doom,
And the surf-smoke under it flies like fume
As the blast shears off and the oar-blades churn
The foam of our lives that to death return,
Blown back as they break to the gulfing gloom.
What cloud upon heaven is arisen, what shadow, what
sound, [Str. 2.
From the world beyond earth, from the night underground,
That scatters from wings unbeholden the weight of its darkness
aroun
d?
For the sense of my spirit is broken, and blinded
its eye, [Ant. 2. 1300
As the soul of a sick man ready to die,
With fear of the hour that is on me, with dread if an end be
not nigh.
O Earth, O Gods of the land, have ye heart now to see and
to hear [Str. 3.
What slays with terror mine eyesight and seals mine ear?
O fountains of streams everlasting, are all ye not shrunk up and
withered for fear?
Lo, night is arisen on the noon, and her hounds are in quest
by day, [Ant. 3.
And the world is fulfilled of the noise of them crying
for their prey,
And the sun’s self stricken in heaven, and cast out of his
course as a blind man astray.
From east to west of the south sea-line [Str. 4.
Glitters the lightning of spears that shine; 1310
As a storm-cloud swoln that comes up from the skirts of the sea
By the wind for helmsman to shoreward ferried,
So black behind them the live storm serried
Shakes earth with the tramp of its foot, and the terror to be.
Shall the sea give death whom the land gave birth? [Ant. 4.
O Earth, fair mother, O sweet live Earth,
Hide us again in thy womb from the waves of it, help us or hide.
As a sword is the heart of the God thy brother,
But thine as the heart of a new-made mother,
To deliver thy sons from his ravin, and rage of his tide. 1320
O strong north wind, the pilot of cloud and rain, [Str. 5.
For the gift we gave thee what gift hast thou given us again?
O God dark-winged, deep-throated, a terror to forth-faring ships
by night,
What bride-song is this that is blown on the blast of thy breath?
A gift but of grief to thy kinsmen, a song but of death,
For the bride’s folk weeping, and woe for her father, who finds
thee against him in fight.
Turn back from us, turn thy battle, take heed of our
cry; [Ant. 5.
Let thy dread breath sound, and the waters of war be dry;
Let thy strong wrath shatter the strength of our foemen, the
sword of their strength and the shield;
As vapours in heaven, or as waves or the wrecks of ships, 1330
So break thou the ranks of their spears with the breath of
thy lips,
Till their corpses have covered and clothed as with raiment the
face of the sword-ploughed field.
O son of the rose-red morning, O God twin-born with the
day, [Str. 6.
O wind with the young sun waking, and winged for the
same wide way,
Give up not the house of thy kin to the host thou hast marshalled
from northward for prey.
From the cold of thy cradle in Thrace, from the mists of the
fountains of night, [Ant. 6.
From the bride-bed of dawn whence day leaps laughing, on
fire for his flight,
Come down with their doom in thine hand on the ships thou hast
brought up against us to fight.
For now not in word but in deed is the harvest of spears
begun, [Str. 7.
And its clamour outbellows the thunder, its lightning outlightens
the sun. 1340
From the springs of the morning it thunders and lightens across
and afar
To the wave where the moonset ends and the fall of the last
low star.
With a trampling of drenched red hoofs and an earthquake of men
that meet,
Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows take fire
from his feet.
Earth groans from her great rent heart, and the hollows of rocks
are afraid,
And the mountains are moved, and the valleys as waves in a
storm-wind swayed.
From the roots of the hills to the plain’s dim verge and the dark
loud shore,
Air shudders with shrill spears crossing, and hurtling of wheels
that roar.
As the grinding of teeth in the jaws of a lion that foam as
they gnash
Is the shriek of the axles that loosen, the shock of the poles
that crash. 1350
The dense manes darken and glitter, the mouths of the mad
steeds champ,
Their heads flash blind through the battle, and death’s foot
rings in their tramp.
For a fourfold host upon earth and in heaven is arrayed for
the fight,
Clouds ruining in thunder and armies encountering as clouds in
the night.
Mine ears are amazed with the terror of trumpets, with darkness
mine eyes,
At the sound of the sea’s host charging that deafens the roar of
the sky’s.
White frontlet is dashed upon frontlet, and horse against horse
reels hurled,
And the gorge of the gulfs of the battle is wide for the spoil
of the world.
And the meadows are cumbered with shipwreck of chariots that
founder on land, [Ant. 7.
And the horsemen are broken with breach as of breakers, and
scattered as sand. 1360
Through the roar and recoil of the charges that mingle their
cries and confound,
Like fire are the notes of the trumpets that flash through the
darkness of sound.
As the swing of the sea churned yellow that sways with the wind
as it swells
Is the lift and relapse of the wave of the chargers that clash
with their bells;
And the clang of the sharp shrill brass through the burst of the
wave as it shocks
Rings clean as the clear wind’s cry through the roar of the surge
on the rocks:
And the heads of the steeds in their headgear of war, and their
corsleted breasts,
Gleam broad as the brows of the billows that brighten the storm
with their crests,
Gleam dread as their bosoms that heave to the shipwrecking wind
as they rise,
Filled full of the terror and thunder of water, that slays as
it dies. 1370
So dire is the glare of their foreheads, so fearful the fire of
their breath,
And the light of their eyeballs enkindled so bright with the
lightnings of death;
And the foam of their mouths as the sea’s when the jaws of its
gulf are as graves,
And the ridge of their necks as the wind-shaken mane on the
ridges of waves:
And their fetlocks afire as they rear drip thick with a dewfall
of blood
As the lips of the rearing breaker with froth of the manslaying
flood.
And the whole plain reels and resounds as the fields of the sea
by night
When the stroke of the wind falls darkling, and death is the
seafarer’s light.
But thou, fair beauty of heaven, dear face of the day nigh
dead, [Epode.
What horror hath hidden thy glory, what hand hath muffled thine
head? 1380
O sun, with what song shall we call thee, or ward off thy
wrath by what name,
With what prayer shall we seek to thee, soothe with what
incense, assuage with what gift,
If thy light be such only as lightens to deathward the seaman adrift
With the fire of his house for a beacon,
that foemen have
wasted with flame?
Arise now, lift up thy light; give ear to us, put forth thine hand,
Reach toward us thy torch of deliverance, a lamp for the night
of the land.
Thine eye is the light of the living, no lamp for the dead;
O, lift up the light of thine eye on the dark of our dread.
Who hath blinded thee? who hath prevailed on thee? who hath
ensnared?
Who hath broken thy bow, and the shafts for thy battle
prepared? 1390
Have they found out a fetter to bind thee, a chain for thine
arm that was bared?
Be the name of thy conqueror set forth, and the might of thy
master declared.
O God, fair God of the morning, O glory of day,
What ails thee to cast from thy forehead its garland away?
To pluck from thy temples their chaplet enwreathed of the light,
And bind on the brows of thy godhead a frontlet of night?
Thou hast loosened the necks of thine horses, and goaded their
flanks with affright,
To the race of a course that we know not on ways that are hid from
our sight.
As a wind through the darkness the wheels of their chariot
are whirled,
And the light of its passage is night on the face of the
world. 1400
And there falls from the wings of thy glory no help from on high,
But a shadow that smites us with fear and desire of thine eye.
For our hearts are as reeds that a wind on the water bows down
and goes by,
To behold not thy comfort in heaven that hath left us untimely
to die.
But what light is it now leaps forth on the land
Enkindling the waters and ways of the air
From thy forehead made bare,
From the gleam of thy bow-bearing hand?
Hast thou set not thy right hand again to the string,
With the back-bowed horns bent sharp for a spring 1410
And the barbed shaft drawn,
Till the shrill steel sing and the tense nerve ring
That pierces the heart of the dark with dawn,
O huntsman, O king,
When the flame of thy face hath twilight in chase
As a hound hath a blood-mottled fawn?
He has glanced into golden the grey sea-strands,
And the clouds are shot through with the fires of his hands,
And the height of the hollow of heaven that he fills
As the heart of a strong man is quickened and thrills; 1420
High over the folds of the low-lying lands,
On the shadowless hills
As a guard on his watchtower he stands.
All earth and all ocean, all depth and all height,
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 57
