The Athenaid: Volume I: Book The Second Poem by Richard Glover

Th' inspiring measures close. To arms, to arms,
Innumerable mouths concurrent sound;
To arms, to arms, reply the pillar'd isles
Of Jove's Olympian temple: down his banks
To distant Neptune glad Alpheus wafts
The glorious clamour. Through th' assembly vast
Meantime an elevated form is seen,
With gracious gesture, animating look,
Approaching: now before th' Elean thrones
Of solemn judgment he majestic stands,
Known for the man by Themis plac'd in rank
Above his fellow mortals; archon once
Of Athens, now an exile: him the chief
Among the grave Hellanodics address'd:


Hail, Aristides! On th' Olympian games
Thy presence throws new dignity: what crown
Can they provide to equal thy desert?
While others court the prize of strength and skill,
Activity and valour; in the lists
Of virtue only Aristides strives.
With him on earth competitor is none;
Him Jove, sole perfect judge of gods and men,
Can recompense alone. He scornful views
Ambitious heroes, who assume the names
Of thunder-bearers, vanquishers of towns,
And ravagers of kingdoms: vain attempt
In feeble man to imitate in pow'r
Th' inimitable gods! On thee he casts
An eye delighted; thee, by ev'ry tongue
Proclaim'd the just; thee, emulating heav'n,
Where mortals may, in goodness. Yet our voice
Shall, what we can, decree dispraise to those
Whose envy wrong'd that sacred head of thine.


Forbear that censure, Aristides spake:
Though liberty may err through jealous care,
That jealous care far oft'ner saves a state
Than injures private worth. That I forgave
My condemnation, be my witness, Jove!
Whom I, departing from my native soil,
Implor'd that Athens ne'er might feel the loss
Of Aristides. To confirm that pray'r
I have employ'd my exile; not in quest
Of splendid refuge in the courts of kings,
But through each city with unwearied steps
Have pass'd, exhorting, stimulating Greece
To bold defence. I gladly am forestall'd
Here by a noble countryman, whose arm
At Marathon was fam'd, whose Attic lays
Immortalize the brave. I now invoke,
Not with less fervour, though in humbler phrase,
The patriots there triumphant e'en in death,
The manes of Leonidas, of all
Whose gen'rous blood new-spilt in freedom's cause,
Thermopylæ beholds, to spread abroad
Their glorious spirit, and exalt your minds
Above the sense of danger. Now the weal
Of gen'ral Greece a gen'ral effort claims.
March to the plain, ye Doric warriors! mount
Your decks; th' Athenians with united arms
Support, no longer in that isthmian fence
Your trust reposing. Were the wall of brass,
Were adamant the rampart, if the pow'r
Of Athens, once extinguish'd, leave your coasts
Defenceless, soon to Pelops' Isle the foe,
Like death, a thousand avenues will find.


He ceas'd: A second acclamation rends
The sky; again th' Olympian temple groans
In replication, and Alphean banks
Reverberate the sound. The Attic bard
Meantime, o'er-spent with labour of the mind
And voice loud straining, to the tranquil porch
Of Jove is lightly borne; nor knows the hands,
Benevolent and pious, which sustain
His languid burden; till these friendly words
In tones remember'd dissipate his trance.


Doth Æschylus forget me? O recal
Melissa's brother, and Oïleus' son,
Whose Locrian hinds at one auspicious hour
Assisted thy bold mariners to hurl
Th' Oetæan ruins on Barbarian heads.
See Meliboeus off'ring to thy lip
The stream's refreshing moisture.-Soon restor'd,
Th' Athenian thus: Illustrious Medon, hail!
How fares Melissa, how thy native land?


She rests, I hope, on Oeta still secure,
Returns the Locrian. When Laconia's king
Was slain, and I, commanded to retreat,
Charg'd with a solemn notice to her state,
That he expir'd obedient to the laws;
My life, devoted to avenge his blood,
I sav'd. O'erpow'ring Xerxes soon reduc'd
The Locrians, Dorians, ev'ry northern Greek.
In time my father's treasure I remov'd,
Which with a hundred followers I bore
To Lacedæmon. There indiff'rence cold
I found to all except of Pelops' Isle;
Attention sole to build an isthmian wall:
Pausanias, guardian to the minor king,
Son of divine Leonidas, disdains
Our just complaint: The Ephori confine
To this contracted region all their care,
Save Aëmnestus. Gen'rous oft he mourn'd;
In vain his torpid colleagues he reprov'd.
Disgusted there, I join'd these solemn games,
Where in contention of the warlike spear
I prov'd a victor. Olive-bound, my head
On future fields its freedom shall maintain;
Else, with my late preserver's fate in view,
Shall dying roll this chaplet in the dust.


Repair with me to Athens, cries the bard.
Sage is that counsel, Aristides near
Subjoins: time presses; Æschylus, embark:
Ægina's hospitable round supplies
My place of rest.-Now swift th' Athenian band,
With Medon's, seek their Delphian barks again;
While Aristides holds an inland course,
Still to his country meditating good,
Of his own wrongs forgetful. As he roam'd
From state to state, his eloquence instill'd
The love of freedom, horror at her loss,
Unchanging hatred to monarchal sway,
With concord, valour, fortitude, and zeal
For Greece in danger. From his wonted seat
In heav'n, so Phoebus, patient and resign'd,
An exile wander'd on the earth below;
Beneficent and helpful, there diffus'd
His light of science; with salubrious skill
Imparted health, and taught the varied use
Of lenient roots and plants. The Delphian keels
Meantime are loosen'd from Elean sands,
With sails outstretch'd for Athens. On his couch
Still Timon lies despairing; near him watch
The chiefs humane: in kind officious care
The Persian captive from his forehead wipes
The dews of anguish. With a sudden start
Him now the Delphian, erring, thus bespoke:
Oh Alexander! thou hast lost, my son,
Thy dear betroth'd, the land of Phocis lost
Her noblest virgin! Reach my arms-I see
The ravisher before me: though he frowns,
Begirt with savage multitudes, my sword
Shall reach his barb'rous heart. Here Medon turns
To Æschylus: The sight of Delphi's chief,
So nobly excellent, so honour'd, lov'd,
By all resorting to consult his god,
A sight once grateful, pierces now my soul
With agony. How oft hath music sooth'd
Distemper'd bosoms! Let thy tuneful chords,
Medicinally sweet, apply their aid.


To him the bard: My harmony his ear
But late rejected. Meliboeus, try
The softer sounds which Pan hath taught the swains.


A modulation by Melissa taught
I will essay, th' obedient swain replies,
He said, and lightly touch'd his warbling flute.
Like fountains rilling, or mellifluous notes
Of birds, a soft and lulling flow attun'd
The ambient air. At first th' afflicted man
Paus'd in attention, soon a trickling tear
Bedew'd his beard; the remedy was chang'd
To pain, and thus he recommenc'd his moan.


Thou, Amarantha, too couldst wake the soul
Of music, melting in thy parent's ear,
Refining joyful seasons, or the hours
Of care beguiling. In a foreign clime
Hang up thy harp, sad captive! Let thy hand
Forget her skill, nor charm Barbarian minds.
But hark! I hear the ruffian. Slave! he calls,
Resume thy harp: Some chosen hymn of Greece,
Such as delighted Phoebus, chaunt to me,
Me now thy god. O Alexander, fly,
Redeem thy love. Apollo, who couldst hurl
Parnassian summits on a host of foes,
Make me thy instrument of wrath! My nerves
Convert to pierceless adamant; my lance
Point with thy father's lightning! Me thy priest,
Sprung from an old, heroic, sacred line,
Thou shouldst avenge. But vengeance is too late;
My daughter yields: a minstrel to her lord,
To her deflow'rer, with obsequious art
The Grecian chords she prostitutes, and smiles
To see my suff'rings!-During this distress,
With canvas press'd, the squadron bounds along
By Coryphasium, by Messene's gulph
In Nestor's Pylian kingdom, by the peak
Of Tænarus, projecting o'er a cave,
Night's gloomy chamber, fabled to descend
Low as Plutonian regions. Thrice the morn
Serenely smil'd, ere Malea's top their sails
O'ershades, Laconian promontory bleak,
The residence of storms. Five distant masts
Are now descried; when Æschylus bespake
The Locrian chief: Not friendly are those decks;
Our navy, since Thermopylæ was forc'd,
To Salamis retiring, leaves the foes
At large to range the sea. Thy counsel give;
To some Laconian harbour shall we steer,
Or wait their coming? Here Oïleus' son:


Thou art my leader; thee propitious Mars
On land and main with equal pow'rs endues:
How can I counsel, stranger to the waves?
At thy commandment to retreat, or fight,
Behold me ready.-Then by Mars, replies
The warrior bard, as no resistless force
Bears down against us, yet insulting hoists
A threat'ning signal, Delphians, rest the oar;
Provide your arms; Athenians, Locrians, arm!


This said, his pinnace, launch'd in haste, convey'd
His orders round to form th' embattled line.
Six were the vessels; Lo! a stately bark
In regal pendants leads th' opponent van.
As when a vernal sun's precarious beam
Is intercepted by a sudden cloud,
Whose turgid folds are overcharg'd with hail;
Some palace, broad, impenetrably roof'd,
Defies the clatt'ring, ineffectual drift,
Which harmless melts away-so flew a show'r
Of missive arms, of arrows, javelins, darts,
With pebbles whirling from the forceful sling,
On Grecian helms and implicated shields;
But innocently fell. Now side to side
The chieftains grappled, and gigantic death
To either deck outstretch'd his purple feet.
Malignant art no engine hath devis'd
To man destructive like his own fell hand
In serried fight. But slaughter now began
To pause in wonder, while the Asian chief,
Whose blazon'd armour beam'd with gold, engag'd
Cecropia's hardy vet'ran foot to foot,
With falchion falchion, shield encount'ring shield.
So, in the season when lascivious heat
Burns in their veins, two branching-headed stags,
Of all the herd competitors for sway,
Long with entangled horns persist in strife,
Nor yield, nor vanquish: stand in gaze the rest,
Expecting which by conquest shall assume
The mastery of all. Now Timon, rous'd
With Meliboeus, and the captive youth,
Starts from his pillow: they attain the poop,
Which instant boarded from an eastern ship
By hostile arms is held. Brave Medon quits
His former station; Æschylus he leaves
A firm defender there: his falchion keen
Aloft he waves. As some tremendous shark,
Who with voracious jaws resistless foams
Along the main, and finny tribes devours,
Or drives before him on the sun-bright waves,
Where late secure they wanton'd-Medon's might,
Prevailing thus, the steerage heaps with dead;
Though not in time victorious to retain
Unhappy Timon, Meliboeus good,
And Artamanes, not unwilling borne
With them away to join his friends again.
Two Delphian vessels their auxiliar beaks
Present. More furious had the contest glow'd
In ev'ry quarter; when o'er Malean cliffs
The wind began to howl, the troubled sky
To flash sulphureous, menacing a storm,
Such as Saturnia on the Dardan fleet,
Or Neptune's rage for Polyphemus blind
Dash'd on Laërtes' much enduring son.
The squadrons separate; To the shelt'ring lee
Of Malea steer the Grecians; while their foes
Expatiate o'er the roomy sea, to shun
The local tumults of that stormy shore,
And hold a distant course. O'er Timon's fate
Th' Athenian now finds leisure to lament
With Medon, Medon with responsive grief
For Meliboeus. By return of dawn
The waters calm'd invite the vigorous oars
To recommence their progress. Coasting down
Laconia's sea-beat verge, they wear the day;
Then resting moor in Cynosura's port.
From Æschylus in sighs these accents broke:


Here Æsculapius by his pow'rful art,
Which dar'd revive departed breath in man,
Offending Pluto, thunder-pierc'd by Jove,
Lodg'd his own clay in Cynosura's mold.
O now to immortality preferr'd,
Kind god of med'cine! wouldst thou hear my suit,
Thou shouldst restore Leonidas, to warm
Unfeeling Sparta; then thy Delphian sire
The menac'd doom of Athens would revoke,
Nor I besprinkle with indignant tears
Laconia's shore. O Locrian guest, I call'd
Thy welcome feet to Athens: thou mayst view
(For so the oracle to me denounc'd)
Her tow'rs in dust.-Minerva's tow'rs to fall
Hath Phoebus doom'd? the Locrian chief exclaim'd;
I, who have lost my country, yet can find
A tear for Athens: I attest the gods,
As in one vessel, Æschylus, we steer
Together now, thy fortune I will share;
And down her stream, howe'er the tempest roar,
With thee embark'd, will never quit thy side.


The tragic bard unbends his mournful brow,
Thus answ'ring: Gen'rous Medon, I confess,
Approaching nearer to my seat of birth,
I dropp'd a tear of anguish; nature wept
At sad forebodings of destruction there.
But know, a true Athenian ne'er desponds:
Abandon'd by allies, condemn'd by heav'n
To see their city burnt, that gallant race
Will yet assert their liberty; will save
Ev'n faithless Sparta, and thy home redeem.


This said, they slept, till morning gives her sign
To weigh the anchors, and unfurl the sails.
Aurora's third appearance tips with light,
Of roseate tincture, spacious walls and tow'rs
Of no ignoble city, rising clear
From shading mists to view. The poet then:


Lo! Medon, fair Troezene; rich her soil,
Her people gen'rous, to Cecropia's state
Inviolably faithful. See that isle
Which fronts the port; redundant in delights
Of art and nature, though of circuit small,
Calauria shews her verdant round of wood.
Here disembarking, with devotion pure
We must invoke the trident-bearing god.
This isle from Phoebus Neptune in exchange
For Delphi took. Thrice holy is the soil,
Deserving rev'rence, by that pow'r belov'd,
Who shar'd a third of ancient Saturn's reign,
His son a brother to Olympian Jove.
Here shall we greet some wonder of her sex,
The sacerdotal maid. Troezene's laws
One of her noblest daughters in her bud
Establish here presiding, here confin'd
To priestly functions, till the genial god
Of marriage hence redeem her, grown mature
For care less rigid, and a tend'rer tie.


The heroes land, where opening to their sight
An elevation of the ground, attir'd
In flow'r-enamell'd turf, display'd the fane
Of structure vast in marble: brass the gates
Refulgence cast; a peristyle sustain'd
The massy roof; huge columns on their heads
The crisped foliage of acanthus bore,
And high o'erlook'd th' impenetrable shade
Which screen'd the island round. Perennial springs
Supplied melodious currents through the woods,
In artificial beds of pearly conchs
Along the sea-beat margin cull'd by nymphs,
The temple's chaste attendants. Unrestrain'd
Here flow'd the native waters; there confin'd
By marble fountains, win th' enchanted eye
To shady-skirted lawns, to op'ning glades,
Or canopies of verdure: all the founts
Were grac'd by guardian images of gods,
The train of Neptune.-Lo! the gate is thrown
Abroad; the priestess, lovely in her shape
As virgin Thetis to the nuptial arms
Of Peleus led, more blooming than the flow'rs
Beneath her decent step, descends the slope:
A matron staid behind her solemn treads;
Close to her side, in radiant arms, a youth
Who like a brother of the Graces moves.
His head, uncas'd, discovers auburn locks
Curl'd thick, not flowing: his sustaining hand
She, rosy-finger'd, to her own admits.
He seem'd Apollo, not with martial fires
Such as on Titan's race he darted keen,
But with th' enamour'd aspect which he wore
When Clymene he won, or Daphne woo'd:
She Cynthia, not a huntress, when the chace
Of rugged boars hath flush'd her eager cheek,
But gently stooping from an argent cloud,
Illumining mount Latmus, while she view'd
Her lov'd Endymion, by her magic pow'r
Entranc'd to slumber.-Æschylus approach'd,
To whom the youth: Great bard and warrior, hail!
Whose valiant deeds on Artemisium's flood,
In that first conflict with Barbarian fleets,
I strove to copy: there was all my praise.
Me Troezen's leader, from my post remote,
Thou see'st: forbear to wonder, and attend.
Thy Athens now is desolate-relax
That anxious brow-her constancy, her zeal
For gen'ral freedom, elevate her name
Beyond all triumphs. Her discerning chief,
Themistocles, interpreting the words
Of Pythian Phoebus, prov'd that ships alone,
The fleets of Athens, were the wooden walls
Of refuge. All persuaded, sires and sons,
With mothers, daughters, cheerfully forsook
Their native roofs. Lo! Salamis o'erflows
With your illustrious people; through her towns
Ægina swarms; to multitudes myself
Have been conductor; in Troezenian homes,
By cordial invitation, they reside.
To each a daily stipend by a law
They find allotted, schools with teachers fill'd,
That not unletter'd from Troezene's walls
The sons of learned Athens may depart,
When victory to come rebuilds her tow'rs.
With thee behold me ready to embark
For Salamis again, where anchor'd lies
The whole confederated fleet. I leave
My Ariphilia, this my dear betroth'd,
To fight my country's battles; but return,
I trust in Mars, more worthy of her love:
To her and Neptune I but now consign'd
The most ennobled of Athenian dames.
Ha! see on yonder beach the form divine
Of Aristides, newly wafted o'er
From Troezen: thither, not unbid, he came
From his late virtuous progress, in our bounds
Through willing minds sage counsel to diffuse,
His own exterminated friends console.


Cleander finish'd. Soon th' arrival known
Of Aristides from the temple call'd
The Attic dames, from ev'ry purlieu near,
Who with their children in assembly throng
Around him. Silent tears confess his loss
To them and Athens. His benignant mold
By sympathy had melted into grief;
If wisdom, ever present in his soul,
Had not his long-tried constancy upheld
To their behoof. Environ'd by the troop
Of lovely mourners, stood the godlike man
Like some tall cedar, in a garden plac'd
Where glowing tufts of flow'rs and florid plants
Once bloom'd around; now, sear'd by scorching blasts,
In faded colours pine. In look, in phrase
Humane he spake: Be comforted, and hear
My voice applaud Themistocles, my foe,
Whose counsels have preserv'd you. But what praise
Is yours, O glories of the tender sex!
Who brave the floods, without a murmur leave
Your native, dear abodes for public good!
Ye ornaments of Greece, the pride and boast
Of happy fathers, husbands, brothers, sons!
As yet unseen, Euphemia from the rest
Impatient stepp'd, his mother. At her sight,
The best, the greatest of mankind inclines
Before the authress of his being, low
As some celestial to the rev'rend form
Of Cybele, progenitrix of gods.
Her aged arms extending, she began:


Thy moderation aggravates the crime
Of Athens. Son, remember, when thou bad'st
Our household gods farewel, thy parting pray'r;
That Athens never might regret the loss
Of Aristides. Righteous man! then first
The righteous pow'rs denied a pray'r of thine;
Who with inflicted vengeance for thy wrong
Have sorely taught Athenians to lament
In thee their safety banish'd.-Mother, cease,
He quick replied; controul presumptuous thoughts;
Let such uncomfortable words no more
Be heard by these already plung'd in woe:
It is Laconia, who her aid withholds,
Cecropian tribes afflicts. But, noble dames,
In this asylum sojourning a while,
Trust your own merits, and a guardian god;
The sons of Athens on his own domain
He will exalt by conquest, soon transport
Her daughters back to liberty and peace:
From him that grace continue to deserve,
By resignation to his brother Jove,
Who loves the patient.-As on lands adust
By hot solstitial rays, when genial clouds,
In season due unbosoming their stores
Of kindly rain, new dress the pasture brown;
Again the flowrets on the meadows spring;
O'er meadows, fresh in verdure, youthful steeds,
Led by the parent females, joyous bound,
The heifers gambol, kids and lambkins dance,
The birds in dripping bow'rs their plumes repair,
And tune their choral, gratulating throats-
So consolation from his blameless mouth,
With looks benevolent, in soothing tones
Relieves dejection. Soft composure smooths
Each matron's forehead; virgins smile around;
With sprightly feet the children beat the turf,
Him as their father hail in shrill delight.
Not so his own two daughters: infants young,
A dying mother's pledge, Euphemia's charge,
His side they leave not, clinging to his knees
Like woodbines sweet about some stately tree:
He kiss'd, he bless'd them, but controul'd his tears.


Now tow'rds the bay with Æschylus he turns;
Cleander follows. Ariphilia mute
Stands fix'd in tears; as Niobe, congeal'd
By grief to marble, through its oozing pores
Distill'd sad moisture, trickling down unheard.
On Sipylus the nymphs, by pity call'd,
The weeping rock environ'd; so the train,
Who minister in Neptune's sacred dome,
Inclose their priestess, whom her matron sage
Leads from Cleander's oft reverted sight.

End of the Second Book