The Athenaid: Volume Ii: Book The Fifteenth Poem by Richard Glover

Now dimm'd by vapours, frequent in his track,
The twelfth division of his annual round
The sun is ent'ring. Long hath vernal bloom,
Hath summer's prime from thy descriptive lays,
O Muse! withdrawn; and now the aged year
Its last remains of beauty hath resign'd;
Transparent azure of autumnal skies
Is chang'd to mist, the air serene to storms.
But inspiration from th' imagin'd balm
Of spring, or summer's warmth, enrich'd by sweets
From flow'ry beds, and myrtles' fragrant bow'rs,
Thou dost not want; then bid thy numbers roll
In cadence deep to imitate the voice
Of boist'rous winter in his mantle hoar.


All night by rude Hippotades the air
Tormented round the foaming harbour wheel'd;
Each mast was pliant to the raging gust,
The mooring cable groan'd. Long slept the son
Of Neocles, unvisited by care,
Till, as the hours attendant on the morn
Had just unclos'd the orient gate of day,
He starts. Acanthè, who controuls her sire,
His active fancy pictures on his mind
Thus pond'ring: Dear Timothea, yet less dear
Than pow'r and fame acquir'd by saving Greece,
Without Chalcidic aid thy husband's hope
Is meer abortion. Chalcis must be gain'd
Best, Aristides, by the purest means,
But well by any. Swift his inner garb
Of softest wool thick-woven he assumes,
Of finer texture then a scarlet vest;
O'er these, in dye of violet's deep hue,
His Spartan mantle negligently waves.
A golden tissue with a crimson plume,
To fence his manly temples and adorn,
He wears. His car is ready; ready wait
Th' Eretrian people, his conducting guard
To Chalcis not remote. The sounding way
Is hard and hoar; crystalline dew congeal'd
Hath tipt the spiry grass; the waters, bound
In sluggish ice, transparency have lost;
No flock is bleating on the rigid lawn,
No rural pipe attunes th' inclement air;
No youths and damsels trip the choral round
Beneath bare oaks, whose frost-incrusted boughs
Drop chilling shadows; icicles invest
The banks of rills, which, grating harsh in strife
With winter's fetters, to their dreary sides
No passenger invite. The cautious chief
In sight of Chalcis to their homes dismiss'd
The whole Eretrian number, but retain'd
His hundred Attic and Laconian friends:
He pass'd the gate before expiring day.


Sicinus, staid forerunner, not unknown
By residence in Chalcis, publish'd loud
His lord's approach. The citizens in throngs
Salute the celebrated man. His gates
Timoxenus the archon throws abroad,
And, true to hospitality, prepares
For his distinguish'd, though unwelcome guest,
Her lib'ral rites. Themistocles he leads
To share a banquet in a sumptuous hall,
Where stands divine Acanthè. Is there wife,
Or maid, or widow'd matron, now in Greece,
Who would not all her ornaments assume
To welcome this known saviour of the Greeks
Where'er he passes? As the queen of heav'n
In dazzling dress to match her goddess form,
Grac'd by the zone of Cytherea, met
Th' Olympian king on Ida; brilliant thus
Acanthè greets Themistocles. Mature
In manhood he, nor bord'ring on decline,
The ornamental cov'ring from his head
Lifts in obeisance; careless curls releas'd,
Thick overshadowing his forehead high,
Present a rival to the Phidian front
Of Jupiter at Pisa. With a look,
Which summon'd all his talents, all his mind
To view, he blends a sweetness, nature's gift,
But heighten'd now by energy of wiles,
Alluring wiles, to melt the proudest fair.
In his approach he moves the genuine sire
Of all the Graces on Acanthè's hand
To print his lips. Invited by that hand,
Close to her lovely side of her alone
He sits observant, while the rich repast
Continu'd. Soon his vigilance perceiv'd,
That her unsated ear devour'd his words,
That from her lip an equal spell enthrall'd
Her doating father, who adoring view'd
Minerva in Acanthè. Now withdrawn
Was all attendance, when the daughter thus:


O first of men, sole grace of each abode
Where thou art present, fortunate are those
Who saw thy actions, fortunate who hear
The bare narration; happier still those ears,
Which from thy mouth can treasure in the mind
A full impression of the glorious tale!
Forgive a woman, whom thy manners tempt
To sue-if yet thy gentleness should deem
Too curious, too importunate her suit,
Thy host Timoxenus at least indulge,
That o'er his festive hall th' achievements high,
Which Salamis and Artemisium saw,
Though now but whisper'd from thy gracious lips,
May sound hereafter loud. The wily chief,
Ne'er disinclin'd to celebrate his deeds,
Now to this lovely auditress, whose aid
His further fame requir'd, a tale began,
Where elegance of thought, and paint of words,
Embellish'd truth beyond her native guise,
In various lengthen'd texture of discourse,
A web of pleasing wonders to ensnare
The hearer's heart. Till midnight he pursues
A strain like magic to the list'ning fair;
Nor yet his thread to Salamis had reach'd,
Extended fine for many sweet repasts
To her inflam'd desire of hearing more.


Timoxenus at length to due repose
Imparts the signal; they disperse. Her guest
Delights Acanthè's pillow; but her sire
In care lies anxious, lest the season rude
Detain that guest, and fatal umbrage give
To Demonax terrific. Morn and eve
Return. Acanthè drinks the pleasing stream
Of eloquence exhaustless in its flow,
Whose draughts repeated but augment her thirst.


Now in description's animating gloss
The various scenes at Salamis exalt
The fair one's mind. The Attic wives and maids
She emulates in wish, and sees in thought
Their beauteous ranks inspiring youth and age
To battle; now the tumult rude of Mars,
The crashing oars, the bloody-streaming decks
Chill her soft bosom; now that snowy seat
Of gen'rous pity heaves; her azure eyes
Melt o'er Sandauce, in her years of bloom
Disconsolately widow'd, and transpiere'd
By death-like horror at her children doom'd
To savage Bacchus. Here the artful man
Dwells on his own humanity, but hides
The stratagem, which policy, not dimm'd
By his compassion, on compassion built,
When to her freedom he restor'd the fair,
Who blameless help'd his artifice to drive
From Greece her royal brother. To the worth
Of Artamanes tribute just he pays.
His own reception by the Spartan state
He colours high, the public chariot giv'n,
The purple mantle, and the coursers proud,
Deriv'd from those, who won th' Olympian wreath
For Demaratus; but omits to speak,
How, while seducing vanity misled
His steps so far from Athens, she conferr'd
The naval guidance on Xanthippus brave,
And rule supreme on Aristides just.


Th' ensnaring story, to this period drawn,
While sev'n nocturnal rounds the planets ran,
Possesses all Acanthè, but disturbs
Her timid father, trembling at the pow'r
Of Demonax; yet fondness oft would smile
On her delight. The evening which succeeds
Themistocles, in fiction mix'd with truth,
Not to Acanthè, but his host, began:


Accompany'd from Sparta by the flow'r
Of her illustrious citizens I gain'd
Her borders, there indignant was appris'd,
That Demonax, whom heretofore I chac'd
From Oreus, now by Persian arms restor'd,
Was trampling on Euboea. Vengeance fir'd
My spirit; fifty of the Spartan troop
At once became associates of my zeal,
With fifty nobles more of Attic blood.
My full stor'd vessels at Eretria's port
From Sunium's cape arriv'd. He now unfolds
The wond'rous series of his recent deeds.
What divers passions, sweet Acanthè, rise
In thy attentive, gen'rous mind? What sighs
Do Hyacinthus and Cleora wake,
What horror black Nicomachus, what joy
Reviv'd Eretria, and Geræstus freed,
What admiration great Eudora's state,
What rev'rence good Tisander's sacred locks,
What detestation Demonax accurs'd?
Behold me here, Themistocles concludes,
Who lift in Athens' and Laconia's name,
A guardian shield o'er Chalcis. But thy sword,
Offensive drawn, shall utterly confound
The homicide thy neighbour. Ah! replies
Timoxenus, alarm'd, thou little know'st
The might of Oreus. Demonax can range
Twelve thousand warriors cull'd from Asia's host,
Of train'd Euboean youth and light-arm'd slaves
A multitude innum'rous on the plain.
His own exactions, and the Persian's boons,
O'erload his treasure. When the annual sun
In his new course three monthly terms hath fill'd,
Expect Mardonius from Thessalia's bounds
On Greece to pour invasion. Ah! what help,
Should we exchange tranquillity for war,
From her own wants could Attica supply,
What Lacedæmon?-Cool th' Athenian here:


Weigh well the grace your Polyphemus dy'd
In carnage grants, reserving for his last,
Most precious morsel, your Chalcidian wealth.
Shall this rich mansion, casket to a gem
Which none can value (earnest here he caught
Acanthè's earnest look) shall this abode
Feel pillage, insult, which my shudd'ring mind
Scarce dares to think, from that despoiler's hand,
Who, scourging half Euboea, in this hour
Dreads thee, great archon? Murderer, who cut
His own Cleora's thread in early bloom,
He trembles now, Timoxenus, at thee,
O bless'd of parents, blessing such a child
As thy Acanthè; he thy vengeance dreads,
O paragon of fathers, dreads thy sword
Unsheath'd with mine. Presumption I disclaim,
Or want of def'rence to the wise like thee.
Accept this roll; contemplate there the force
Of Amarynthus, of Carystus large,
Geræstus and Eretria; add the spears
Of Delphian Timon, of that hero fam'd,
Oïlean Medon, who my signal watch
From Atalantè's isle. Remote the time
For action; then deliberate. I wait
Without impatience thy resolves mature.


Retir'd, Acanthè, whose enlighten'd mind
Was bless'd with native talents, as her form
With beauty, strives a while in reason's scale
To weigh th' importance of this high attempt
Propos'd; when something whispers, canst thou doubt
Themistocles a moment? Can his sword
Do less, than conquer? Where the pow'rful arm,
The valour, where the policy to vie
With him, whose faculties no man can reach,
No god raise higher? These conceptions prove
A guide to fancy half the sleepless night
Through all th' enchanting scenery of thought,
Which recollection of his brilliant deeds,
His courage, might, humanity, and grace,
His gentle manners, and majestic frame,
Exhibits lovely, dazzling and sublime
To melt her softness, and her wisdom blind.
Envelop'd now by slumber, in a dream,
Which overleaps all measur'd time and space,
She sees the laurell'd hero, as return'd
From subjugated Oreus. On his spear
The gory head of Demonax he bears.
Her yet untainted purity of heart,
Which in sincerity of grief had mourn'd
Cleora's fate, applauds the just award
By Nemesis and Themis on the guilt
Of parricide. Her nobleness of soul
Enjoys the blessings which Euboea reaps
From such a conquest; but no vision kind
Would interpose a warning to allay
Excess of transport at the conqu'ror's sight.


From fair Acanthè's own retreat at night
A well-embellish'd gallery's long range
Bounds on the splendid chamber, which admits
Themistocles to rest. Acanthè here,
When magisterial duties from his home
Her father call'd, had entertain'd the guest
By morn, and feasted all and every morn
On rich profusion of his Attic words.
The sun was ris'n, and summon'd from her couch
To this accustom'd interview the fair.
Not meeting straight the object of her search,
As each preceding morn, she feels a pain,
That he is absent. With a voice though low
His chamber sounds; to listen she disdains,
Back to her own by delicacy led.


In cautious tones Sicinus with his lord
Was thus discoursing: In my wonted walk,
To watch events since thy arrival here,
I met Nearchus. Haste, he said, apprise
Themistocles that long ere op'ning day
His potent friends Timoxenus conven'd,
Heads of his faction. They refuse to arm.
Some, I suspect, are tainted by the gold
Of Demonax; the major part in all
Obey the timid archon. I have strength,
Which, when Themistocles commands, shall try
To force compliance from the coward's breast;
But would Acanthè, noble dame, espouse
The glorious cause, her prevalence could guide
His doating fondness, and controul his fears.


Enough, replies Themistocles. Again
The learned tutor, fervent and sincere:


If thy persuasive eloquence could win
Her noble spirit to direct her sire,
It would be well. But, O resistless man,
Let thy persuasion moderate its charm;
Let not a gen'rous lady's peace of mind
Become the victim of her winning guest;
The laws of hospitality revere.
Remember too the hymeneal vow,
Remember thy Timothea, fair and kind,
Who bore those children, pupils of my care;
She now in Athens at thy absence pines.


Misjudging friend, Timothea never pines,
When I am urging my career of fame,
Returns the chief. Euboeans must be freed.
She shall know all, and knowing will commend.
Go, charge Nearchus to suppress all thought
Of violence; his valour shall have scope,
Dy'd in Barbarian, not in civil blood.


Thus he, well-caution'd that in Chalcis pow'r
Aristocratic, both in wealth and strength,
Out-weigh'd the people. Then a splendid gem,
Of all his spoils the richest, he selects,
And from his chamber o'er the sounding plank,
Which floors the echoing gallery, proceeds.
Behold Acanthè; not the orient sky
Forth from its amber gates in summer's prime
The goddess-widow of Tithonus sends
More fragrant, nor in blushes more to charm.
A new emotion heaves her gentle breast
Of swelling snow. Th' Athenian distant, mute
Remains. To speak, her hesitating lips
Awhile, though prompted by her heart, delay;
When, shap'd by chance, this elegant request
Flows from her unpremeditated thoughts:


So much oblig'd already, courteous guest,
By thy narration, I have cause to blush
While I solicit a recital new
Of one exploit, distinguish'd from the rest,
When Ariabignes fell before thy sword
In sight of Greece. Themistocles requir'd
No repetition of the flatt'ring suit,
But in transcendent energy of style,
Impress'd the bright achievement on her mind
More deep, than ev'n by novelty before.


Thus he concluded: Doubly now I bless
Th' auspicious hour when my successful hand
Despoil'd the bravest chief in Asia's host
Of this, my humble off'ring to adorn
The fairest head in Greece. He said, the gem
Presenting graceful, which she turn'd aside,
Rejecting not the giver, but the gift;
And answer'd thus: To heaps of richest gems,
To all the tribute pour'd at Persia's throne,
Thy words alone, thy converse I prefer.


Her look perusing earnest, he proceeds:
Dost thou refuse a token of regard
From one, thy hospitable hand hath bless'd
Beyond th' expression of his grateful tongue?
When, at this hour departing, he again
Perhaps may ne'er behold thee-Ah! depart!
She in unguarded consternation sighs.


Th' Athenian here in seeming sadness thus:
Alas! thy father, I too surely know,
Will never join my arms; can I remain
Till this fair city, populous and rich,
This mansion, thy inestimable worth
Become the prey of Demonax-This heav'n
Will ne'er permit, she eagerly replies;
Thou wilt protect me-Guardian to distress,
Thou wilt not hurry to desert a friend,
Whose hospitable kindness thou hast prais'd.
Fill, fill with pow'rful argument the mouth
Of me thy suppliant for another week;
My words Timoxenus regards… The chief
By interruption sooths her troubled mind:


I came to save thee. If another week
Thou wilt employ… I will, I will, she said,
Do thou but stay; my father I will bind
To thee, whom victory can ne'er forsake.


They part; his chamber he regains; not long
He meditates. Acanthè grants her aid
Spontaneous. Now to elevate her soul
By dignity of thought, and gen'rous hope
Of glory, purchas'd by a noble deed,
He thus contrives: On tablets fair and large,
For her deportment tow'rds a doating sire,
His ready style instruction copious draws,
Clos'd in these words: 'Among the guardians heav'n
'To Greece hath destin'd, an exalted mind
'Enrolls Acanthè; let her constant feet
'Pursue her leading genius; grateful flow'rs
'Before her steps shall freed Euboea strew;
'The brightest laurels shall Minerva chuse
'Among the groves of Athens, to entwine
'The first of women with immortal wreaths;
'The Muses all shall triumph in their sex;
'A double rapture Æschylus shall feel,
'Who, fam'd in martial action, as in song,
'Shall celebrate Acanthè.' To her hand
This by discreet Sicinus is convey'd.


Day after day the fair-one, as inspir'd,
Now forcibly persuasive, now in tears
Of importuning tenderness, assails
A parent fond. She penetrates his heart;
His resolution melts; at length his fears
To her superior guidance yield the rein.


Meantime, instructed by their chief, the train
Of Spartans and Athenians, all dispers'd
Around the hospitable town, prociaim,
To list'ning ears, the well-advis'd design
Against the tyrant Demonax. Not long
Acanthè's purpose is unknown, divulg'd
By vigilant Sicinus; while each mind
Among th' applauding populace is warm'd,
Who venerate her name. Among the chiefs
The archon's weighty approbation known,
Hath banish'd doubt; in council they decide
To march with great Themistocles. Light fame
Mounts on her wings, and through Euboea sounds
The preparations ardent. Shields and spears,
Swords, corselets, helms new furbish'd, banners old
Produc'd, which gallant ancestry had wav'd,
Youth now commences, ripen'd age renews
The exercise of arms. Nearchus loud
Extols Themistocles. Like glorious Mars
From his first trophies on Phlegræan sields
Among encircling brethren of the sky,
Who from his sword perpetual conquest hop'd,
The Salaminian victor is rever'd
In Chalcis. Daily, hourly he surveys
The martial toil. Acanthè's presence aids;
His prudence leads her through these active scenes;
He talks on military themes alone,
And pictures freedom trampling on the necks
Of tyrants and Barbarians. This at length
Might have abated in a virtuous breast
The flame, his guilty policy had rais'd;
But fate and black conspiracy forbid.

End of the Fifteenth Book