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

Bright morning sheds no gladness on the face
Of pale Carystus, who, in visions fram'd
By superstitious fear, all night had seen
Briareus lift his hundred hands to crush
His fane polluted, from the base to rend
Each pillar'd mass, and hurl the fragments huge
Against her tow'rs. Anon is terror chang'd
To wonder, which consoles her. Through her gates,
Amid the lustre of meridian day,
In slow procession, solemnly advance
A hundred youths in spotless tunics white,
Sustaining argent wands. A vig'rous band
Of sacerdotal servitors succeed,
Who draw by turns the silver-graven shape
Of Dian lofty on a wheeling stage
Of artificial verdure. Virgins tall
A guard surround her, each in flowing snow
Of raiment, gather'd in a rosy knot
Above one knee. They tread in sandals white,
O'erlac'd by roseate bands; behind their necks
Of lilly's hue depend their quivers full;
Hands, which can string their tough and pond'rous bows,
Eyes, darting beams severe, discover strength
Unbroke by wedlock, hearts by love untam'd;
Soft light the silver crescents on their heads
Diffuse. Eudora follows in her car;
Across her shoulders hangs a quiver large;
Full-fac'd, a crystal moon illumes her hair.
Penthesilea's Amazonian arm
Had scarce the nerves to bend Eudora's bow.
Her port, her aspect, fascinate the sight;
Before her, passing, tow'rs and temples seem
To sink below her level; she becomes
The single object eminent; her neck,
Her arms, the vestment shuts from view prophane;
Low as her feet descends the sacred stole.
Eight purple-harness'd steeds of milky hue,
Her axle draw. Before her footstool sits
The vanquisher of Xerxes; to the reins
Of argent lustre his obsequious hand
Themistocles applies. A hundred guards
In burnish'd steel, and plumes like ridges new
Of winter's fleeces, not unmartial rank'd
Behind her wheels; the city's widest space
They reach. To all the people, swarming round,
In awful state the priestess thus began:


Impiety and parricide, which spilt
In Juno's sight her servant Glaucè's blood,
Your god, by double homicide profan'd,
May well dismay Carystus. Lo! I come,
Afflicted city, in thy day of woe
Both to propitiate and conciliate heav'n.
Learn first, no off'ring of a hundred bulls,
Not clouds of incense, nor exhausted stores
Of richest wine can moderate his wrath,
Which visits children for the sire's offence,
And desolates whole nations for the crimes
Of kings and chiefs; unless by double zeal,
By violence of virtue man disarm
The jealous thunderer. Happy is your lot;
The capital offender still survives;
On him inflicted vengeance by your hands,
Men of Carystus, will from Jove regain,
And multiply his blessings on yourselves,
Your sons and daughters. Swear then, old and young,
Swear all before the fresh-polluted shrine;
Ere you remove the carnage from that fane,
Unite your valour by a gen'ral oath,
That you will strengthen this Athenian's arm,
Whom I from Dian, in the awful name
Of all the gods and goddesses, adjure
To quell the monster Demonax, by heav'n,
By earth detested, parricide and scourge
Tyrannic o'er Euboea. At these words
She fix'd an arrow in her mighty bow;
Then rising, said; against an impious head
Incens'd Diana thus her war declares.


A cloud, low-hanging, instant by the force
Of springing wind a boreal course began
Tow'rds Oreus; thither bent Eudora's eye.
Swift from her sounding string through folds obscure
Of that thick vapour, as it fleets away,
The arrow imperceptibly descends
To earth. Fortuitous a sulph'rous spark
Flash'd from the cloud. A prodigy! exclaim'd
Themistocles; the holy shaft is chang'd
To Jove's own bolt, and points the forked flame
On Demonax. Swear, swear, the people shout;
A gen'ral exhortation rends the cope
Ethereal. Prompted by the subtil voice
Of her prevailing counsellor, again
Eudora solemn: You for once, my friends,
Must supersede the strictness of your laws.
Though Hyacinthus has not reach'd the date,
Prescrib'd to those who wield the rule supreme,
Elect him archon. Gallant, injur'd youth,
Sage, pious, him Diana best approves,
Him her unerring counsels will inspire.
Me too, her priestess, in your need she lends;
I will promulge the sacred oath to all;
I from pollution will your town redeem.


Unanimous consent is heard. Her car
She leaves. Before Briareus, in her words,
Sons, fathers, youth and age, enlist their spears.


Meantime th' Athenian to Nicanor's home
Resorts. He passes to the chamber sad,
Whence Hyacinthus utters these complaints:


Dost thou, Nicanor, parallel with mine
The OEdipean horrors, or the pangs
Felt by the race of Pelops, and deserv'd?
Thus wouldst thou waken patience in a breast,
Which feels affliction, far surpassing theirs,
Feels undeserv'd affliction? Whom, O Jove!
By error, lust, or malice have I wrong'd?
Cut short my bloom-torment me here no more.
Let Rhadamanthus instantly decide,
If with Cleora I must taste of bliss,
Or with a father drink eternal woe.
Here for a murder'd wife my eyes to stream
Shall never cease; and-execrable sire!
Not grief, but all which furies can excite,
Rage, detestation, horror I must feel
For thee, my origin of life-what life!
Yet, O thou spirit damn'd, the wretch thy son,
The wretch, a father's cruelty hath made,
Perhaps might spare a tear-but Glaucè's ghost,
Thy righteous, hallow'd sister's ghost, forbids
One drop of pity on thy pains to fall-
She skrieks aloud, curse, curse thy father's dust.


Themistocles now enter'd. At his look,
Which carry'd strange ascendancy, a spell
Controlling nature, was the youth abash'd;
As if his just sensations were a shame,
Or his complaints to reach that hero's ear
Were criminal. He falt'ring spake: Thou god
Of Hyacinthus! passion thou dost awe;
Thy presence humbles frenzy and despair.


No, thy own manly fortitude alone
Shall chase despair and frenzy from thy breast,
Serene Themistocles reply'd: Arise,
Thou new-created archon; private cares
To interfere with public, neither men
Nor gods allow, nor justice, nor the sense
Of thy own wrongs. Young friend, the noble toil
Of mind and body in this righteous cause
Will give thee rank with heroes. Thou assist,
Nicanor; share the glory. By the hand
He led the passive youth. The people met
Their young, their honour'd magistrate in joy;
Eudora bless'd them; then in solemn zeal
The purifying rites perform'd, and left
Reviv'd Carystus. To her holy seat,
While on the way her goddess radiant shone,
Themistocles attended; then by dawn
Back to Eretria swiftly press'd his march.


Not Æolus, the king of winds, could still
Their gust, nor Neptune smooth his troubled waves,
Nor Jove the raging thunderbolt compose
More, than divine Themistocles had tam'd
Oppression, terror, anguish and despair.
This had Geræstus in her evil day,
The panic-aw'd Carystians this had prov'd,
Not less than sad Eretria. Her he finds
Rejoicing, like some widow late forlorn,
Who in the house of mourning with a train
Of pining orphans destitute had sat;
But by a hand beneficent uprais'd,
Ungirds the humble sackcloth from her loins,
Nor longer sprinkles ashes on her head,
Amid reviving plenty. Such the change
Among the Eretrians, through the copious aid
Sicinus lent, within Chalcidic walls
Still sedulous abiding. Ev'ry face
The gladd'ning touch of rosy-tinctur'd health
Illumines. Now from ruins clear'd, the streets
By stable feet of passengers are trod;
Th' impending season's turbulence to foil,
Works, under Cleon's and Tisander's eye
Begun, the vig'rous populace, inspir'd
By their protector's presence, now pursue
With industry to match the beaver breed
Laborious and sagacious, who construct
By native art their mansions, to repel
Congealing air, and hoary drifts of snow
In winter's harsh domains. From day to day
The toil continued. Early on a morn
A stranger came, in body all deform'd,
In look oblique, but keen; an eastern garb
Enwrapp'd his limbs distorted; from his tongue
Fell barb'rous accents. He address'd the chief
In Grecian phrase, which falter'd on his tongue:


I am a Tyrian trafficker in slaves;
Returning home from Libya, have been forc'd
By dang'rous winds to this Euboean coast
For shelter. Watching for a friendly gale,
I learn'd from fame, that, warrior, thou dost wield
A sword which prospers, and its captives dooms
To servitude. Themistocles commands
The sev'n Geræstian tyrants from his ship,
Where at the bottom they had gnash'd their teeth
In chains unslacken'd. To the merchant then:


Without a price these miscreants from our climes
Remove, the farthest hence will best repay
The obligation. For a master chuse
The most ferocious savage on the wilds
Of horrid Scythia, or the Caspian bound.


Secure conductors he appoints, a band
To chain them fast aboard. Each irksome step
They count in curses. O'er Euboea lost,
Not as their native region, but the seat
Of pow'r and crimes triumphantly enjoy'd,
They weep, still criminal in tears. But soon,
When from the harbour distance had obscur'd
The well-row'd bark, the fetters from their limbs
The merchant orders, who, another tone,
Another mien assuming, thus began:


Geræstian lords, redemption you derive
From Demonax of Oreus. Me the first
Among his council, Lamachus by name,
He sent to practice on the wily chief
Of Athens, wiles which undermine his own.


They land at Dium, thence to Oreus march;
Where Demonax admits them, as he sat
In secret council: 'Your disasters known
'Obtain'd our instant succour. What intends
'Themistocles?' This answer is return'd.


Not less, great prince, Themistocles intends
Than thy destruction. Of Eretrian blood
All who survive, Geræstus, Styra join
Against thy throne. Carystus from her walls
Will pour battalions, by Eudora fir'd.
The Amarynthian priestess hath declar'd
War in Diana's name. The lab'ring hind
Will quit the furrow; shepherds from their flocks,
Youths from their sport, the keeper from his herd
Will run to arms at her commanding voice,
So prevalent the sound. The tyrant turns
To Mindarus the Persian: Let us march
Swift to destroy the serpent in his egg.


To him the Persian: Demonax forgets,
That winter's rigour chills the soldier's blood.
Dost thou not hear the tempest, while it howls
Around us? Ev'n Mardonius active, bold,
Now rests in covert of Thessalian roofs,
Nor fights with nature. Shall my gen'ral hear
That I conduct the race of hottest climes
In freezing rain and whirlwinds to assail
A strong-wall'd town, protected by a chief
For valour, skill, and stratagem renown'd,
With all th' unsparing elements his guard?


Again the tyrant: Mindarus, confine
Thy Asiatics, till the roses bud;
While I, in howling storms, in damps, or frost
Will head my own Euboeans. Heav'n forbid!
The wary Lamachus subjoins: My lord,
Repose no trust without thy foreign bands
In these new subjects. Gods! th' alluring guile
Of that Athenian would dissolve thy ranks,
To his own hostile banner would seduce
Half thy battalions. Demonax again:


Then policy with policy shall war.
Among th' Eretrians publish, from their hands
This virulent Athenian I require
Bound and deliver'd to my will; their wives,
Their children else, late captives of my sword,
Shall from their state of servitude be dragg'd
To bleed th' immediate victims of my wrath.


Then Mindarus: Should great Mardonius hear,
That I such inhumanity permit,
He would exert his full monarchal pow'r,
My guilty limbs condemning to a cross.


In fury foaming, Demonax exclaims:
I am betray'd. Thee, Mindarus, the son
Of that stern prince, who laid Eretria waste,
Thee Xerxes, future sov'reign of the world,
Appointed my supporter; in this isle
That I, a branch from his imperial root,
Might grow a splendid vassal of his throne.
My cause, his service, now thy heart disowns,
Perverse thy sword abandons. Of my friends
Thou best requited, most ingrate! Preferr'd
Once to have been my son, of treasures vast
The destin'd heir, my successor in sway,
Dost thou desert me, and protect my foes?
But to Mardonius, to the mighty king,
I will accuse thee. By th' infernal pow'rs
Themistocles hath gain'd thee; or thou fear'st
To face that captain on the field of war.


His breast the Persian striking, thus in tears:
Dost thou recall thy parricide to wound
My inmost bosom? though another held
My dear Cleora by the holiest ties,
I would have struggled with despairing love;
But sink o'erwhelm'd by horror of that deed,
Which, blasting such perfection, calls on heav'n
For punishment unbounded. If thou fall'st,
It is the hand of Horomazes weighs
To earth a body overcharg'd with guilt.
Dost thou upbraid me, undeserving man,
Forgetting recent service? Who restor'd
Thy scepter lost? what captain hath reduc'd
Orobia, Dium, half Euboea's towns,
But Mindarus? He these atchievements past
Regrets, but while appointed by his prince
Will urge his duty to accomplish new.
Then come the season for a warrior's toil,
Themistocles shall see my banner guide
Twelve thousand spears; shall see my early sword
To gen'ral battle, or to single fight,
Defy th' experience of his pow'rful arm.


He said, and left the council. All withdrew
But Lamachus. The tiger, when escap'd,
Or fell hyæna from an eager chace
Of dogs and hunters, feels not more dismay,
Mix'd with a thirst insatiate of revenge,
Than shook the monster Demonax, who thus.
To Lamachus: Insulted and controul'd
By an audacious stranger, do I rule
In Oreus longer? By a poison'd draught,
Or midnight poniard Mindarus shall die.
Ariobarzanes, second in command,
Will serve me best. The counsellor subjoins:


If secret poison, or a midnight blow
Would remedy the grievance, I would try
Their instant operation; but reflect,
Twelve thousand warriors, masters of thy fate,
Who love their gen'ral living, on his death
Might prove too harsh inquisitors. At least
His courage use once more on open foes;
A valiant leader makes the soldier brave;
So have we found in Mindarus. Reserve
Assassination for a greater mark,
Themistocles. The tyrant quick: Proclaim
Five golden talents on his head the price.


Discreet, though wicked, Lamachus again:
Wouldst thou incense all Greece, whose navy rules
The main? Howe'er triumphant in the field,
No timely help Mardonius could extend.
The genius of Themistocles, the nymph
Of Salamis indignant by his side,
Would range from state to state. Their loud alarm
Would send the whole confederated fleet
Before the earliest breezes of the spring
To pour vindictive myriads on our coast.
Then what our doom? No, Demonax, my lord,
These sev'n Geræstians, while thy recent grace
Transports their minds, and blows the embers hot
Of rage at recent insult, let us league
Against this formidable man by oaths
Before the furies in their neighb'ring cave.
Thyself be present. Yes, the monster said,
I will be present, though Cleora's ghost
Be there, and that vile produce, which disgrac'd
Her virgin zone! Remembrance of his guilt,
He rous'd to strengthen fury and revenge.


There was a cavern in the bowels deep
Of naked rock by Oreus, where the stern
Eumenides possess'd a dusky shrine,
And frown'd in direful idols from the time
That Titan's offspring o'er Euboea reign'd
The enemies of Jove. Around it slept
A stagnant water, overarch'd by yews,
Growth immemorial, which forbade the winds
E'er to disturb the melancholy pool.
To this, the fabled residence abhorr'd
Of hell-sprung beings, Demonax, himself
Predominating dæmon of the place,
Conducts the sev'n assassins. There no priest
Officiates; single there, as Charon grim,
A boatman wafts them to the cavern's mouth.
They enter, fenc'd in armour; down the black
Descent, o'er moist and lubricated stone,
They tread unstable. Night's impurest birds
With noisome wings each loathing visage beat;
Of each the shudd'ring flesh through plated steel
By slimy efts, and clinging snakes is chill'd;
Cold, creeping toads beset th' infected way.
Now at the cave's extremity obscene
They reach the sisters three, tremendous forms,
Of huge, mishapen size. Alecto there,
Tisiphoné, Megæra, on their fronts
Display their scorpion curls; within their grasp
Their serpents writh'd. Before them sulph'rous fires
In vases broad, antiquity's rude toil,
To render horror visible, diffus'd
Such light, as hell affords. Beside a chasm,
Whose bottom blind credulity confin'd
By Tartarus alone, with trembling feet
Stood Lamachus, the wicked and deform'd.
An ewe, in dye like ebony, he gor'd;
The dark abyss receiv'd a purple stream.
Next to the dire conspirators he held
A vessel; o'er the brim their naked arms
They stretch'd; he pierc'd the veins; th' envenom'd blood,
A fit libation mix'd for hell, he pour'd
Down the deep cleft; then falt'ring, half dismay'd
At his own rites, began: Ye injur'd men,
Of wealth and honours violently spoil'd,
Implacably condemn'd to bonds and rods
By insolent Themistocles, before
These dreadful goddesses you swear; his death
You vow, by every means revenge can prompt,
In secret ambush, or in open fight,
By day, by night, with poison, sword, or fire;
Else on your heads you imprecate the wrath
Of these inexorable pow'rs. They swore.


Meantime the object of their impious oaths,
Whate'er his future destiny, enjoy'd
The comforts which Eretria now partook
Through him, so justly her preserver styl'd;
While thus reflection whisper'd to his heart:


This Aristides would delight to see,
For this commend his rival. Though my soul
Knows that in quest of glory for this port
I spread th' advent'rous sail, yet sweeter far
She feels that glory, since a gallant race,
Snatch'd from the gripe of misery and death
By her exalted faculties, become
Her means of pow'r and greatness. I confess,
An act like this my rival would achieve,
Nor other motive seek, than acting well.
Perhaps with more attention to myself,
More sudden, more complete is my success.


Lo! in his view Sicinus, just arriv'd
From Chalcis. Him his joyful lord thus hail'd:


We have been long asunder; welcome thrice,
Thou long expected; on thy brow I see
Intelligence. To whom the faithful man:


One moon I spent in Chalcis; I address'd
Nearchus first, of Chares, slain in fight
At Artemisium, successor approv'd
To lead his country's banners. He rejoic'd
In thy arrival; not so frank in joy
Timoxenus the archon. On the day
Of my return that hesitating chief,
While invitation to his roof he gave,
Was dreading thy acceptance. But supreme
O'er him, and all his house, a daughter sways,
In beauty's full meridian left to mourn
The loss of Chares on her widow'd bed.
Not thy Timothea, not Cleander's spouse
Træzene's wonder, not Sandauce young,
Not Medon's sister of th' Oetæan hill,
Though beauteous like the goddesses she serves,
Exceed Acanthè; she may almost vye
With Amarantha's celebrated form,
The pride of Delphian Timon! To behold
The conqueror of Xerxes is her wish.


The hero thought a moment; soon resolv'd,
He spake: The car, the mantle, Sparta's gifts,
The gems from Ariabignes won that day,
When at my feet his proud tiara bow'd,
Provide by dawn. Retire we now to rest.

End of the Fourteenth Book