The policy of man! But, gen'rous chief, Whose valour, whose experience might assure A prosp'rous issue to a bold exploit, Say, should I open on some future day To thy discerning sight the clearest track, Where to success one glorious stride might reach, Wouldst thou be ready at my call?" He paus'd. From such a mouth, such captivating words Insinuate sweetness through the Locrian's ear, Who feels th' allurement; yet, by prudence rul'd, This answer frames: "Through such a glorious track
Whoever guides, may challenge Medon's aid; Thou prove that guide, my steps shall follow close, Unless by Aristides call'd, whose voice Commands my service." Cool th' Athenian hides The smart his wounded vanity endures, And manly thus, unchang'd in look, rejoins: "I ask no more; I rest my future claim On Medon's valour, only to support What Aristides shall approve. Farewell. Avail thee straight of these propitious winds; In Atalanté, known to me of old, What force thou can'st, assemble; dread no wants, I will be watchful to supply them all."
They part. Now Medon, under hoisted sails, Remarks unwonted transport on the cheek Of Haliartus. "O my peasant weeds," His joy exclaims, "how gratefully you rise In my remembrance now! From you my hopes Forebode some benefit to Greece. Dear lord, Forbear inquiry; by yon hero warn'd, In secresy my thoughts, till form'd complete, Lie deeply bury'd." Timon smil'd, and spake: "I know, full often enterprises bold Lie in the womb of mystery conceal'd; Thus far th' Athenian hero and thyself Raise expectation; but I further know, His faculties are matchless, thou art brave, Unerring Medon like my god is wise; Thence expectation soars on steady wings. O light of Greece, Themistocles, exert Thy boundless pow'rs! mature thy pregnant plan! Whene'er the glorious mystery unveils, Me and my Delphians thou shalt find prepar'd." The turbulent Euripus swift they plough In pleasing converse thus, and clasp, in hope, Their anxious friends on Atalanté's shore.
When ev'ry mast was hid by Sunium's cape, Thus to his faithful minister, the son Of Neocles: "Sicinus, hast thou seen My followers on board? The treasures brought From Xerxes, those my spoils of war supply, The arms, the stores, Sicinus, has thy care Deposited in safety?"-"Yes," replies Th' entrusted servant. "Now thyself embark," His lord enjoins, who, musing thrts, remains: "If my attempt to further I have won This gallant Locrian, frankly I confess My debt to Fortune; but this casual boon I can forego, if wantonly her hand Resumes; Themistocles alone can trace A path to glory." Tow'rds the land he turns, Proceeding thus: "Now, Attica, farewell, Awhile farewell. To thee, barbarian gold, Themistocles resorts; my bosom guest, Whom Aristides in disdain would spurn, By thee, O gift of Xerxes, I will raise The weal of Athens, and a fresh increase To my own laurels. Uncontroll'd, supreme
Is Aristides. He the Attic youth In phalanx bright to victory may lead ; Minerva's bird Xanthippus may display To Asia, trembling at their naval flag; A private man, Themistocles will reach Your summits, fellow citizens, preferr'd To his command. Ye chosen heroes, wait For breezy Spring to wanton in your sails, Then range your vig'rous files, and pamper'd steeds; Themistocles, amid septentrion snows, Shall rouse Despair and Anguish from their den Of lamentation; Poverty shall blaze In radiant steel; pale Misery shall grasp A standard. Athens, thy rejected son Extorted aid from tyranny shall draw On his own greatness to establish thine."
Swift he embarks, like Neptune when he mounts His rapid conch to call the tempests forth, Upturn the floods, and rule them when they rage. The third clear morning shows Eretria's port, Among Eubœan cities once superb, Eretria now in ashes. She had join'd Th' Athenians, bold invaders, who consum'd The capital of Lydia, to revenge Ionian Greeks enthrall'd. Eretria paid Severe atonement to Hystaspes' son, Incens'd Darius. To a Cissian plain, A central space of his unbounded realm, Far from their ancient seat, which flames devour'd, He her exterminated race confin'd,
Sad captives, never to revisit more
Their native isle. A silent wharf admits Themistocles on shore, a void extent, Where sons of Neptune heretofore had swarm'd. No mooring vessel in the haven rode,
No footstep mark'd the ways; sole inmates there, Calamity and Horrour, as enthron'd, Sat on o'erwhelming ruins, and forbade The hero passage, till a seeming track Presents, half bury'd in surrounding heaps Of desolation, what appears a dome Rais'd to some god. Themistocles observes A shatter'd porch, whose proud supporters lie In fragments, save one column, which upholds Part of a sculptur'd pediment, where, black By conflagration, an inscription maim'd Retains these words, "To ELEUTHERIAN JOVE."
Th' Athenian enters, follow'd by his train In arms complete. Excluded was the day By ruins pil'd externally around,
Unless what broken thinly-scatter'd rays Shot through th'encumber'd portal. Soon they stand Amidst obscuring dusk in silence all,
All motionless in wonder, while a voice, Distinct in tone, delivers through the void These solemn accents: "Eleutherian god! Since no redeemer to Eretria fall'n Thy will vouchsafes, why longer dost thou keep Thy aged servant on a stage of woe? Why not release him? why not close his eyes, So vainly melting o'er his country lost? Ten years are fled; the morning I have hail'd In sighs alone; have laid my head on thorns- Of anguish, nightly visited in dreams By images of horrour, which employ Each waking moment. To have seen destroy'd From their foundations my paternal streets, The holy structures burn, a people forc'd In climates new and barbarons to dwell, Was sure enough to suffer-it is time
To give my patience rest." The plaintive sound Draws on th' Athenian, who perceives a gleam, Pale quiv'ring o'er a solitary lamp; Perceives a rev'rend sire, resembling Time, Down to whose girdle hangs the snowy fleece Of wintry age. Unaw'd his lamp he rais'd; A dim reflection from the polish'd arms Reveal'd the warrior, whom he thus bespake: "Whate'er thou art, if hostile, or a friend, A god, a mortal, or a phantom vain,
Know, that my state no change can render worse, All change make better."-" Father," soft replied Th' advancing chief, "take confort, I am come Thy country's saviour; follow, in the day See who I am." Between the op'ning band He leads the senior through the dusky porch, Whom he accosts before th' unclouded Sun, Then vertical: "Rest, father, and behold Themistocles of Athens." While the priest, So by his fillet sacerdotal known, In wonder paus'd, th' artificer divine
Of wiles to catch the sudden turns of chance, Frames in a momentary cast of thought This bright device of fiction to allure A holy mind. "O worthy of the god! Thou servant pure of Jupiter! I mourn, Like thee, Eretria, not like thee despond. Attend, thou righteous votary to Heav'n! 1, from the day of Salamis o'ertoil'd, While courting slumber, in a vision saw The sapient issue of th' almighty sire, His best belov'd Minerva. Still the sound Of her gorgonian shield my ears retain, While earnest, striking on its rim her spear, The virgin warrior spake: Triumphant son Of Neocles, remember in thy joy The miseries of others. Go, redeem Eretria fall'n, whose noble remnant arm'd Sev'n ships, exhausting all their slender stores, To fight for Athens on this glorious day'." As from the sooty gate of direful Dis Deliver'd Theseus, when to cheering day He reascended, on Alcides look'd,
Who for his lov'd companion pierc'd the gloom Of Erebus; th' Eretrian's grateful eyes Thus on the son of Neocles were fix'd, In ecstasy of joy. These fervent words He utter'd: "Heav'n hath given thee to destroy Presumptuous foes, O favour'd by the gods! Who give thee now to save despairing friends; That, all-rejoicing in thy trophies new, Great as thou art, thy gen'rous soul may prove, How far beyond the transports conquest yields, Are those resulting from benignant deeds. More grateful, chief, is Charity's sweet voice, Than Fame's shrill trumpet, in the ear of Jove, Who will, on suck humanity as thine, Accumulate his blessings. If my name Thou ne'er hast heard, or, hearing, hast forgot, Know, that from lib'ral Cleobulus sprung, I am Tisander." Interrupting swift,
Th' Athenian here: "Thy own, thy father's name, To me, illustrious pontiff, well are known. My recent banner in the summer's gale Thou must remember on th' Eretrian coast, Eretrian warriors under Cleon's charge, In ships by me supply'd, undaunted fought At Artemisium, and an earnest gave
Of their late prowess. From their chief, from all Thy celebrating countrymen, I heard
Of thee, Tisander, and thy name retain ; Proceed." To him the priest: "Flow first my Of that brave band whatever now remains Have nought but prowess left. Alas! how few Escap'd thy fell, exterminating hand, When treachery surrender'd to thy pow'r, Darius! Sons of husbandry lay hid
In woods and caverns; of the nobler class Some on the main were absent. Priest of Jove I was releas'd; a pious, beardless prince, Nam'd Hyperanthus, on my rank and years Look'd with compassion; living, I extol, My dying breath shall bless him. I have dwelt Within my temple, mourning o'er this waste. Here, annually collected (lo! the day Of that severe solemnity is nigh)
Th' unhappy relics of Eretrian blood Accompany my tears. Thou knowst, they sail'd At thy appointment, on Athenian decks, They and the men of Styra from that port For Salamis. In glory they return'd
To want and horrour, desert found their land, Their crops, their future sustenance destroy'd, Their huts consum'd, their cattle swept away, Their progeny, their wives; flagitious act Of Demonax, in Oreus late replac'd, Her tyrant foul, a slave to Xerxes' throne, His scourge in rich Euboea, half-reduc'd To this dire monster's sway, by royal aid Of endless treasure, and barbarian bands. Such is our state. Too scanty are the means Of willing Styra to relieve such wants; Our wealthier neighbours of Carystus vend, Not give; in hoarded grain, in flocks and herds Abounding, them a sordid chief controls, Nicomachus. An oligarchy rules Gereæstus small, but opulent-O Jove! I see brave Cleon yonder; from his head He rends the hair-what gestures of distress! He beats his troubled bosom, wrings his hands! Not heeding great Themistocles, he points On me alone a wild distracted look! Say, Cleon."......Swift, with shiv'ring lips and pale, Th' Eretrian leader, interrupting, vents His tortur'd thoughts: "Tisander, can thy pray'rs Repel grim famine, rushing on the blast Of barren winter? Three disastrous days Will lay the combatants for Greece in dust, Behind them leaving nothing but a name For Salamis to publish. Lo! they come, A dying people, suppliant to repose Within thy fane their flesh-divested bones: Yet such a tomb, their fainting voices cry, May those Eretrians envy who are doom'd To lodge their captive limbs in Asia's mould."
He ends in sighs. Behold, a ghastly troop Slow through the ruins of their native streets In languid pace advance! So gath'ring shoals Of ghosts from hour to hour through endless time The unrelenting eye of Charon views, By sickness, plague, and famine, by the sword, Or heart-corroding sorrow, sent from light To pass the black irremeable floods Of Styx. Cecropia's hero cast a look Like Phoebus heav'nly-gentle, when, aton'd, Th' infectious air he clear'd, awak'ning gales To breathe salubrious o'er th' enfeebled host Of Agamemnon, as from death they rose Yet to assert their glory. Swift the chief Bespake Sicinus: "Haste, unlade the ships
Three talents bring; they, Cleon, shall be thine; Seek those in every part who vend, not give. The gifts of Ceres in profusion bear, The gifts of Pan, the grape's reviving juice, To these, my fellow warriors, who have seen My banner streaming, twice have lent their aid To my renown; meantime our naval food Shall be their portion; vesture now shall cheer Their limbs. My brave companions, I have brought The spear and buckler for your manly hands; Your strength restor'd shall feel the glorious weight Of crested helms. Tisander, let them rest Within thy shelt'ring temple, not to sink Beneath distress, but vig'rous soon renew Their practis'd race of honour. Pass, my friends, Be mute; expression of your joy I wave; Again to morrow you and I will meet."
Tisander, happy, entertains his guests, Twelve hundred countrymen, the last remains Of populous Eretria. Plenty's boon Alert the Attic mariners diffuse
To all, and cordial tend their wants; discreet Sicinus curbs excess. The tidings brought Of his performance from a short repast Dismiss'd his lord applauding; who serene, Stretch'd on his naval pillow, slept till dawn.
He rose. To him Sicinus: "Will my lord Permit his servant, with an active band Of sailors, these obstructions to remove, Or so dispose, that feeblest steps may find A passage free to good Tisander's fane: That through its wonted apertures, the round Of that huge pile, where Jupiter should dwell, Now dark as Pluto's palace, may admit
The light of Heav'n? Yet further, we must search For coverts dry, if such the greedy flames Have left among these ruins, to secure The various stores, which Cleon may transport." To him his lord: "Go, monitor expert, Accomplish what thou counsell'st." Tow'rds the fane Himself not slow proceeds. Before the front, On scatter'd fragments of their ancient homes, Th' Eretrians, pale with long-continu'd want, Are seated. Thick as winter-famish'd birds Perch on the boughs, which icicles encrust, Yet chirp and flutter in th' attemp'ring Sun, These, at the hero's presence, wave their hands, Unite their efforts in acclaim not loud, But cordial, rather in a gen'rat sigh Of gratitude. The charitable care Of his best warriors, some of noblest birth, Impart their help, like parents to a race Of tender infants. Once of might approv'd In battle, hardiest of the naval breed, Th' Eretrians, worn by hunger, scarce retain The slender pow'rs of childhood. One by one Themistocles consoles them, and devotes In condescension sedulous the day To kindness not impolitic. In these His piercing genius fit materials saw To build another structure of renown. Ere he retires, Tisander thus he greets:
"Wilt thou, O father! on my board bestow An evening hour?"-" My moments all belong To this yet helpless people," said the priest. "Such pious care through me shall Heav'n reward,"
Exclaims the chief, as round him he remarks The toiling sailors; " soon, thou guardian good Of wretched men committed to thy charge,
Soon shall thy temple reassume its state. Prepare an altar; hetacombs again Shall smoke ere long, Eretria cast aside Her widow'd garb, and lift her festive palms To eleutherian Jove." This utter'd, swift He seeks his vessel, while the Sun descends.
Calm, as in summer, through an ether clear Aurora leads the day. A cheerful sound Of oxen, lowing from the hollow dales Which tow'rds Carystus wind, of bleeting sheep, Yet nearer driven across the Eretrian plain, Awake Themistocles. His couch he leaves, Revisiting the temple; there enjoys The gen'ral transport. Plenty on the wing Is nigh, the comforts of her fruitful horn To pour on desolation. Cleon comes, Accosting thus Themistocles: "My task Is well accomplish'd through the lib'ral zeal Of Hyacinthus near a youth unlike His sire Nicomachus. That subtile chief Of our Carystian neighbours is behind, Escorting laden carriages of grain,
Thy purchase; nought his sordid hand bestows, He, curious more than friendly in our need, Or of thy name respectful, to explore, Not help or pity, hither bends his course."
"Conduct the father to my ship," reply'd Themistocles; "sure yonder is the son, Thou hast describ'd; ingenuous are his looks. Like him, whose name he bears, his beauteous forma Might charm the beaming god once more to court A mortal's friendship; but, dejection pale O'ercasts his hue; strange melancholy dims His youthful eye; too modest, or unmann'd By languor, child of grief, he stops and bows In distant, seeming awe, which wounds my soul, I must salute him. Noble youth, receive My hand; Themistocles of Greece expects No such obeisance from a fellow Greek. The majesty of Athens might exact That conquer'd tyrants, in my presence brought, Low as the dust should crouch beneath her chief." A start of anguish Hyacinthus gave At these last words, then silent bow'd again His decent brow; not awe, but latent ills Seem'd to control his tongue. Th' observant chief Defers inquiry to its season due,
To Cleon's charge consigns him, and retires To his own galley. Waiting for the sire, He meditates a moment on the son:
"I see advantage in this youth's distress- My plan is form'd." He hastens to unbar His copious treasure; thence in dazzling show He spreads four silver talents on his board, O'er them a mantle throws, and brief again Thus ruminates: "Now, Plutus, who canst sap The strong-bas'd tow'r, and soften rigid hearts, Smile on this juncture. Aristides scorns Thy deity, Themistocles invokes Thy precious succour. From profoundest woe Disconsolate Eretria thou hast rais'd; Now by a sordid instrument give life To dull Carystus." Sudden in his view, By Cleon brought, who instantly withdraws, Nicomachus appears, and thus begins:
"The Salaminian victor I salute, Charg'd by Carystus; happy is my lot To venerate the chief, and touch the hand Which humbled Asia. Doth Eubœa see Thee visitant illustrious to rebuild
Eretria? then instruct her to confine That pow'r and pride, her neighbours felt of old." "Th' Athenian here: "Euboea sees me come Both to upraise, Carystian, and depress; But to exalt thy state, my friend, I wish, Wish thy possessions equal to thy worth. Behold!" Uplifting to the greedy eye Of avarice the mantle, he pursues :
"Behold, four silver talents! Them accept, Which in this casket to thy trusted slaves I will deliver now; I only ask
Of thy deep-founded influence to warm Supine Carystus: for thyself and Greece Unite with mine thy standard. Further note, If at my summons thou produce in arms Thy citizens auxiliar, from this hand Expect four added talents; but the hopes Of no unpractis'd leader, who perceives His enterprise assur'd, dare promise nore, A share, Nicomachus, of spoil in war, To pass thy own belief." By present gain, By more in promise, not by glory fir'd, Nicomachus rejoins: "A thousand spears Shall wait thy earliest notice." While he spake, He snatch'd the casket, shut the treasure close, Then rush'd to seek his confidential slave, Who takes the precious charge. With placid looks The cool, the politic Athenian sat Like some experienc'd pilot, who serene, In skilful guidance of the steady helm, Enjoys the favour smooth of gale and tide, Combin'd to waft o'er Ocean's fickle breast His gliding keel, and lodge her costly freight Secure at length in harbour. Now he spake To his re-ent'ring guest: Carystian friend, Thou hast a son, well-disciplin'd to war, Brave, lib'ral, wise, I doubt not; wilt thou trust To my society awhile his youth?"
"He is the object of my vows to Heav'n," Nicomachus exclaims, in passion feign'd, "My soul's delight, the rapture of my eye! If he were absent, ev'ry hour my age Would feel a growing burden.”—“Come," Th' Athenian," him I only would detain My messenger of orders to thy walls; On him another talent would bestow." "The gymnic school and letters," cries the sire, "He follows, heeds not treasure; by his hand Send me the talent; never let him know The charge he bears." This said, he loudly calls To Hyacinthus, who had gain'd the deck, Him ent'ring thus addresses: "Son, the chief Of Athens, great Themistocles, demands Thee for companion." As a casual gleam Breaks through th'unrav'iling texture of black clouds, Which long on Winter's sullen face have hung; So darts a ray of gladness through the gloom Of Hyacinthus, by the Attic chief Not unobserv'd. Intent on swift return, Th' exulting father bids to both farewell. Remaining day Themistocles employs Among his sailors in th' Eretrian streets, Inspects the necessary toil pursu'd With unremitted vigour, then retires To due refection. Cleon is a guest With Hyacinthus, still by grief devour'd, Which all his efforts strive in vain to hide, Her heavy wing no sooner Night outspreads, Than to Sicinus they are giv'n in charge, While to his couch Themistocles repairs,
Now in the zodiac had the Sun o'erpass'd The tenth fair sign. The new succeeding month, Though not by Flora, nor Vertumnus deck'd, Nor green in hue, though first of Winter's train, Oft with unsully'd skies irradiate cheers The prone creation, and delights mankind. The birds yet warble on the leafless sprays, The placid surface, glaz'd by clearest light, In crystal rivers, and transparent lakes, Or Ocean's sinooth cerulean bosom, shows The finny tribes in play. The active son Of Neocles uprises, and descries
A dawn which promis'd purity of air, Of light and calmness, tempting Sloth herself To action. Thus he rous'd his native fire:
"Of this kind season not a moment lose, Themistocles." Sicinus, ever nigh, He call'd: "Provide two receptacles sure, Each to contain twelve talents; bring my arms, Produce a second suit, resembling mine; Send Hyacinthus; let my chosen band Of Attic friends, and Sparta's fifty youths, My followers, be ready for a march."
Soon Hyacinthus enters; still he shows The perturbation of a mind oppress'd By some conceal'd misfortune, while, beneath The shade of sorrow, on his front appear'd Excelling graces. Him the chief bespake, Gay in his look, and sprightly in his tone:
"Her eastern hill, behold, the Morning mounts In radiance, scatter'd from the liquid gems On her loose mantle; but the heart of youth In ev'ry season should rejoice, in clouds Not less than sunshine, whether Nature's voice Be hoarse in storms, or tune to whisp'ring gales Her vernal music. Sharp some inward grief, When youth is sad; yet Fortune oft deceives The inexperienc'd by imagin'd ills,
Or light, which counsel of the more mature Can lightly heal. Unlock thy lib'ral mind; To me, a guardian pregnant of relief Beyond thy father, countrymen, or friends, Impart thy cares." The sighing guest replied: To thy control my service I devote, O scourge of tyrants, but retain my grief! Which thou, O first of mortals, or the king Of high Olympus, never can redress."
Sicinus interrupts; his lord's commands Are all accomplish'd. "Now, Carystian friend, Resembling me in stature, size, and limbs," The son of Neocles proceeds, "accept That suit of armour; I have tried it well; Receive a shield familiar to my arm."
He next instructs Sicinus: "Thou receive Twelve talents; hasten to the neighb'ring walls Of stately Chalcis, populous and rich, Queen of Euboean cities, in whose port The twenty ships of Athens yet remain, Which Chalcis borrow'd, and equipp'd for war. Of her bold race four thousand we beheld Distinguish'd late in Artemisium's fight, At Salamis yet later. First approach The new-made archon in a rev'rent style, Timoxenus most potent in that state, A dubious, timid magistrate, unlike Nearchus. Cordial salutation bear To him, my brave associate; do not turn
Thy back on Chalcis, till thy prudence brings Intelligence of weight; th' Athenian keels With grain abundant and materials lade, That friendly roofs th' Eretrians may obtain, Before grim Winter harrow up these straits, Unnavigable soon." This said, he arms; Begirt by warriors, to the temple speeds, And greets the priest: "In gladsome thought I see The goddess Health, white-banded, crimson-cheek'd, As from a silver car in roseate clouds Look on thy people; dropping on their lips Restoring dew, she bids them taste and live. The convalescent piously employ
In labours, where my naval band shall join, To free th' encumber'd temple, to repair, To cover dwellings, lest the winter bring New hardships. Martial exercise I leave To Cleon's care, while ten revolving suns Of absence I must count. Now, father, take This hand, a hand which fortune and thy god Have ever favour'd, which shall soon convert The annual day of mourning in thy fane To festival solemnity of joy."
Bless'd by Tisander, rapid he departs. Young Hyacinthus follows, who in arms, Once by his patron worn, to ev'ry eye Presents a new Themistocles, but such, As when th' allurement of his early bloom He, not unconscious of the charm, display'd To Attic damsels. Cloudless on their march Apollo shoots a clear and tepid ray; A scatter'd village in Carystian bounds To rural hospitality admits
The wearied warriors. Hyacinthus guides His great protector to a shelt'ring fane Of Juno, styl'd connubial; stately round Of beech extends a venerable shade; Through ages time had witness'd to their growth, Whose ruddy texture, disarray'd of green, Glows in the purple of declining day.
They pass the marble threshold, when the youth, With visage pale, in accents broken spake:
"Unequall'd man, behold the only place For thy reception fit; for mine"-He paus'd; A gushing torrent of impetuous grief O'erwhelm'd his cheeks; now starting, on he rush'd, Before the sacred image wrung his hands; Then sinking down, along the pavement roll'd His body; in distraction would have dash'd His forehead there. Themistocles prevents, Uplifts, and binds him in a strong embrace; When this in eager agony the youth:
"Is not thy purpose, godlike man, to crush The tyrant Demonax, in torture cut The murd'rer short, that he may feel the pangs Of death unnatural?"-" Young man," replies Th' Athenian grave, "to know my hidden thoughts, Dost thou aspire, retaining still thy own? Still in my presence thy distemper drinks The cup of misery conceal'd, and seems, Rejecting friendship's salutary hand,
To court the draught which poisons. Canst thou hope, Mysterious youth, my confidence, yet none Wilt in Themistocles repose?" His look, His tone, in feign'd austerity he wrapp'd, So Esculapius bitter juice apply'd From helpful plants, his wisdom had explor'd, The vehicles of health. In humble tears, Which melted more than flow'd, the mourner thus: Forgive me, too regardless of thy grace;
Of all forgetful, save itself, my grief Deserves thy frown, yet less than giddy joy, Which, grown familiar, wantons in the smile Of condescension. Ah! that grief will change Reproof to more than pity; will excite A thirst for vengeance, when thy justice hears A tale"-" Unfold it," interpos'd the chief, "To one who knows the various ways of men, Hath study'd long their passions and their woes, Nor less the med'cines for a wounded mind."
Then Hyacinthus: "Mighty chief, recall Thy first successes, when Euboea's maids Saw from her shores barbarian pendants lower'd To thine, and grateful pluck'd the flow'rs of May To dress in chaplets thy victorious deck. Then, at thy gen'rous instigation fir'd, The men of Oreus from their walls expell'd Curst Demonax, their tyrant. On a day, Ah! source of short delight, of lasting pain! I from the labour of a tedious chase, O'erspent by thirst and heat, a forest gain'd. A rill, meandring to a green recess,
I track'd; my wonder saw a damsel there In sumptuous vesture, couch'd on fragrant tufts Of camomile, amid surrounding flow'rs Reposing. Tall, erect, a figure stern Was nigh; all sable on his head and brow, Above his lip, and shadowing his cheeks The hair was brisled; fierce, but frank, his eye A grim fidelity reveal'd; his belt Sustain'd a sabre; from a quiver full On sight of me an arrow keen he drew, A well-strung bow presented, my approach Forbidding loudly. She, upstarting, wak'd. My aspect, surely gentle when I first Beheld Cleora, more of hope than fear Inspir'd; she crav'd protection-What, ye Fates! Was my protection-O superior man, Can thy sublimity of soul endure
My tedious anguish !" Interposing mild Th' Athenian here: "Take time, give sorrow vent, My Hyacinthus, I forbid not tears."
He now pursues: "Her suppliant hands she rais'd, To me astonish'd, hearing from her lips, That Demonax was author of her days. Amid the tumult his expulsion caus'd, She, from a rural palace, where he stor'd Well known to her a treasure, with a slave In faith approv'd, with gold and gems of price Escap'd. All night on fleetest steeds they rode, Nor knew what hospitable roof to seek.
"My father's sister, Glaucé, close behind This fane of Juno dwelt, her priestess pure, My kindest parent. To her roof I brought- O, Glaucé, what-O dearest, most rever'd! To thee I brought Cleora!" Horrour pale Now blanch'd his visage, shook his loos'ning joints, Congeal'd his tongue, and rais'd his rigid hair. Th' Athenian, calm and silent, waits to hear The reassum'd narration. "O ye flow'rs, How were ye fragrant!" forth in transport wild Bursts Hyacinthus: "O embow'ring woods, How soft your shade's refreshment! Founts and rills How sweet your cadence, while I won the hand Of my Cleora to the nuptial tie,
By spotless vows before thy image bound, O goddess hymeneal! O what hours Of happiness untainted, dear espous'd,- Did we possess! kind Glaucé smil'd on both The earliest birds of morning to her voice
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