The Athenaid: Volume Iii: Book The Twenty-Fourth Poem by Richard Glover

While thus Masistius for the field prepar'd,
At sacrifice amidst the diff'rent chiefs
Pausanias stood, the entrails to consult
For heav'n's direction. Like a god rever'd
Among the Spartans, was an augur fam'd,
Tisamenus. The Pythian had declar'd
Him first of prophets; he the rites performs;
The victim open'd he inspects, and thus
In solemn tone: Hear, Grecians, and obey
The will of Jove. To pass th' Asopian flood
Forbear. With Persian fetters in her hand
Ill fortune seated on that bank I see,
On this the laurel'd figure of success.


The augur ceas'd; when suddenly in view
Th' Asopian current, overswelling, foams
With eastern squadrons, wading through the fords.
Bounds in the van Masistius on a steed,
Whose glist'ning hue the brightest of the four
Which drew th' irradiate axle of the morn
Might scarce outshine. Erect the hero sat,
Firm as the son of Danaë by Jove,
When his strong pinion'd Pegasus he wheel'd
Through Æthiopian air from death to guard
Andromeda his love. In rapid haste
A herald greets Pausanias: From the men
Of Megara I come. A post advanc'd,
The most obnoxious in the Grecian line
To harassing assaults, their daily toil
With unabating firmness long has held.
Unwonted numbers of Barbarian horse
Now sweep the field; a reinforcement send,
Her standard else will Megara withdraw.


Pausanias then, alike to try the Greeks,
And save his Spartans, answer'd: Chiefs, you hear;
Who will be foremost to sustain our friends?


Through fear the dang'rous service is declin'd
By many. Indignation to behold
No Spartans offer'd, but the arduous task
Impos'd on others, held Cleander mute;
When Aristides: Herald, swift return,
Athenian aid might else prevent thy speed.


The patriot spake, and left the Greeks amaz'd,
Well knowing Athens with abhorrence look'd
On Megara, her envious, ranc'rous foe
Of ancient date, whom now she flies to aid.


Meantime that feeblest station of the camp
Th' impetuous Asian cavalry surround.
As clouds, impregnated with hail, discharge
Their stormy burden on a champaign rich
In ripen'd grain, and lay the crackling rows
Of Ceres prostrate; under sheets of darts,
With arrows barb'd and javelins, thus whole ranks
Of Megara, by wounds or death o'erthrown,
Gasp on the ground. Alcathöus expires,
The blood of Nisus, Megarensian prince
In times remote, and fabled to have held
His fate dependent on a purple hair
Amidst his hoary locks. That vital thread
His impious daughter sever'd, blind with love
For Minos, Cretan king, her father's foe.
Masistius pierc'd him; javelins from his arm
Incessant flew; on heaps of nameless dead
He laid Evenus, Lysicles, the youth
Of Cyparissus, and Cratander's age,
Distinguish'd each by office, wealth, or birth,
Or martial actions. Beasts of chace and prey,
The wolf and boar, the lion and the stag,
Within close toils imprison'd, thus become
The hunter's mark. The signal of retreat
Is now uplifted by the hopeless chiefs;
When, as a friendly gale with stiff'ning wings
Repels a vessel, driving by the force
Of boist'rous currents in a fatal track
To bulge on rocks, a voluntary band
Of men at arms, and bowmen, Attic all,
Restrain the flight of Megara. Expert
Their shaft? they level at the Persian steeds,
Not at the riders. Soon around the plain
Th' ungovern'd animals disperse, enrag'd
By galling wounds. Olympiodorus, chief
Among the light auxiliars, on the lists
Of Pisa just Hellanodics had crown'd,
The first of Greeks in archery. He stands
Like Telamonian Teucer on the mound
Of Atreus' son, where fate's unerring hand
Had strung the bow which heap'd with Phrygian dead
Th' empurpled fosse, while Ajax swung abroad
The sev'n-fold shield to guard a brother's skill.
Still in the field Masistius, who observ'd
The active archer, from his lofty seat
Against him whirls a javelin. Cimon near
Receives the blunted weapon on the boss
Of his huge buckler. His vindictive bow
Olympiodorus bends; the rapid shaft
Full in the forehead of the gen'rous steed
He lodges deep. The high Nisæan blood
Boils in its channels through tormenting pain;
Erect the courser paws in air, and hurls
In writhing agitation from his back
Th' illustrious rider on the plain supine.
Against him rush th' Athenians; on his feet
They find him brandishing his sabre keen,
With his firm shield a bulwark to his breast,
Like one of those earth-sprung in radiant arms,
Whom the Cadmean dragon's fruitful jaws
Or Colchian serpent's teeth produc'd. Assail'd
On ev'ry side, his fortitude augments
With danger. Down to Pluto's realm he sends
Iphicrates and Eurytus, who drank
Callirrhoe's fountain; Amynander born
On smooth Ilissus, and three gallant youths
Of Marathon. His cuirass strong withstands
Repeated blows; unwounded, but o'ercome
By unremitted labour, on his knees,
Like some proud structure half o'erthrown by time,
He sinks at last. Brave Cimon hastes to save
A foe so noble in his deeds, in port
Beyond a mortal; when a vulgar sword
That moment through the vizor of his helm
Transfix'd the brain, so exquisitely form'd,
The seat of purest sentiment and thought.
His frame, in ruin beauteous still and great,
The fatal stroke laid low. An earthquake thus
Shook from his base that wonder of the world,
The Colossean deity of Rhodes.


Of danger all unheeding, by his lord
Statirus kneel'd, and o'er his bosom spread
His palms in anguish. Timely to protect
The gentle youth ingenuous Cimon came,
While thus the gasping satrap breath'd his last:


Farewell, thou faithful-Bid Mardonius think
How brief are life's enjoyments-Virtue lives
Through all eternity-By virtue earn'd,
Praise too is long-Melissa-grant me thine.


In death, refembling sweetest sleep, his eyes
Serenely drop their curtains, and the soul
Flies to th' eternal manfions of the just.
Within the trenches Cimon straight commands
To lodge the corse; when lo! another cloud
Of Eastern squadrons, Mindarus their chief,
Who, o'er the stream detach'd with numbers new,
Not finding great Masistius, rous'd afresh
The storm of onset. Dreadful was the shock
Of these, attempting to redeem, of those,
Who held the body; but the Attic spears
Break in the chests of fiery steeds, which press
With violence unyielding, and the ranks
In front disarm. The archers have discharg'd
Their quivers. Now had Mindarus acquir'd
Undying glory, and the Greeks resign'd
The long-contested prize, when threat'ning shouts,
Of diff'rent Grecians, pouring from the camp,
Alarm the eastern chief. Cleander here
With all Troezenè, Arimnestus there,
Diomedon's bold successor in arms,
With his Platæans, and the Thespian brave,
Alcimedon, assail the Persian flanks.
So two hoarse torrents opposite descend
From hills, where recent thunder-storms have burst;
In the mid-vale the dashing waters meet
To overwhelm the peasant's hopes and toil.
Myronides and Æschylus in sight,
Each with his formidable phalanx moves;
Th' encampment whole is arming. From the fight
His mangled cavalry the Persian calls.
In eager quest of refuge in their lines
Beyond Asopus, through surrounding foes
The coursers vault like swimmers, who forsake
A found'ring vessel, and with buoyant strength
Bound through the surge for safety on the beach.


Triumphant in their camp the Greeks replace
Their standards; thither Cimon's gen'rous care
Transports Masistius. Eager to behold
A prize so noble, curious throngs on throngs
Press in disorder; each his station leaves;
Confusion reigns. The gen'ral host to arms
Pausanias sternly vigilant commands,
And next provides a chariot to display,
Throughout th' extensive lines, th' illustrious dead,
In magnitude and beauty late the pride
Of nature's study'd workmanship. His limbs
The hand of Cimon tenderly compos'd,
As would a brother to a brother's corse.
Masistius fill'd the chariot; on his knees
Statirus held, and water'd with his tears
The face majestic, not by death deform'd,
Pale, but with features mild, which still retain'd
Attractive sweetness to endear the sight.


First on the right through Lacedæmon's range
The spectacle is carried; silence there
Prevails; the Spartan citizen no sign
Of triumph shews, subordinate to law,
Which disciplin'd his passions. Tow'rds the left,
Through exultation loud of other Greeks,
The awful car at length to Attic ranks
Brings their own prize, by Aristides met;
There silence too, in rev'rence of their chief,
Is universal. He prepares to speak;
But first the mighty reliques he surveys.
He feels like Jove, contemplating the pure,
The gen'rous, brave Sarpedon, as he lay
In death's cold arms, when swift th' almighty sire
Decreed that Morpheus, gentlest of the gods,
Should waft to Lycia's realm the royal clay,
From pious friends and subjects to obtain
The rites of splendid sepulture. Complete
Was now the solemn pause; to list'ning ears
Thus Aristides vents his godlike soul:


Here close your triumph, Grecians, nor provoke
The jealous pow'rs who mark for chosen wrath
O'er-weening pride. Though auguring success
From this great satrap's fall, revere his clay;
Such rev'rence all of mortal mold will need,
All soon, or late. If comeliness and strength,
If gracious manners, and a mind humane,
If worth and wisdom could avoid the grave,
You had not seen this tow'r of Asia fall.
Yet there is left attainable by man,
What may survive the grave; it is the fame
Of gen'rous actions; this do you attain.
I in Psittalia's isle this Persian knew
Brave Medon's prize; his captive hands we freed;
To him our hospitable faith we pledg'd,
Through whom Phoebean Timon was redeem'd,
With Haliartus, on Euboea's fields
To signalize their swords. On Oeta's hill
In him the daughter of Oïleus found
A spotless guardian. Let his corse and arms,
Thy acquisition, Cimon, be resign'd
To piety; a herald shall attend
Thy steps; remove him to his native friends.
Let Xerxes hear, let fierce Mardonius see,
How much Barbarians differ from the Greeks.


Minerva's tribes, approving, hear the words
Of clemency and pity. Cimon mounts
The fun'ral car; attentive and compos'd
Like Maia's son, commission'd from the skies
By his eternal sire, the warrior hears
The full instructions of his patron chief.
Th' Asopian stream he fords to Asia's tents,
Whence issue wailing multitudes, who rend
The air with ejulation, while the wheels
Before Mardonius stop their solemn roll.
He rives his mantle, and defiles with dust
His splendid head. Not more the destin'd king
Of Judah mourn'd the virtuous heir of Saul,
Mow'd down in battle by Philistian strength
On Gilboa's heights; nor melted more in grief
O'er Absalom's fair locks, too much endear'd
To blind parental fondness. From the car
Descending, Cimon spake: Lo! Persian chief,
The just Athenian, Aristides, sends
These reliques, which he honours, to partake
Of sepulture, as eastern rites ordain.


Then art thou fall'n, too confident, exclaims
Mardonius, too unmindful of my love,
And anxious warnings! Mithra, veil thy face
In clouds! In tears of blood, thou sky, dissolve!
Earth groan, and gen'ral nature join in woe!
The tallest cedar of the orient groves
Lies prostrate-Destiny malign! I brave
Thy further malice-Blasted to the root
Is all my joy. Here sorrow clos'd his lips.
As frozen dead by wintry gusts he stood,
Devoid of motion; Mindarus was nigh,
Whose interposing prudence thus was heard:


O chief of nations numberless! who stand
Spectators round, and watch thy lightest look,
Confine thy anguish; in their sight revere
Thyself; regard this messenger benign
From Aristides, and thy native sense
Of obligation rouse. Mardonius then,
As from a trance: I hear thee, and approve,
My gentle kinsman. This returning car,
With purest gold, and costly vesture pil'd,
Shall bear the copious tribute of my thanks
To Aristides; whom extoll'd to heav'n
By excellent Masistius oft my soul
Hath heard, the righteous by the righteous prais'd.


Now Cimon interpos'd: That man extoll'd
Thou dost not, Persian, lib'ral as thou art,
Mean to offend; thy presents then with-hold.
In poverty more glorious, than in wealth
The wealthiest, Aristides frowns at gold.
No costly vestures decorate his frame,
Itself divine; the very arms he wears,
The sole possession of that spotless man,
All ornament reject; he only boasts
The sharpest sword, the weightiest spear and shield.


Ha! must I pass unthankful in the sight
Of one, Masistius lov'd, the chief reply'd?


No, answer'd quick th' Athenian; from his cross
Take down Leonidas. A stedfast look
Mardonius fix'd on Cimon: That request,
O Greek! is big with danger to my head,
Which I will hazard, since the only price
Set on the precious reliques thou restor'st.


This said, he orders to his tent the corse;
There on the clay-cold bosom of his friend
Thus plaintive hangs: Fall'n pillar of my hopes,
What is Mardonius, wanting thy support!
Thou arm of strength, for ever are unbrac'd
Thy nerves! Enlighten'd mind, where prudence dwelt,
Heart purify'd by honour, you have left
Mardonius helpless; left him to himself,
To his own passions, which thy counsel tam'd!
The dang'rous paths of error I shall tread
Without thy guidance! Shame, defeat and death,
Frown in thy wounds ill-boding-yet thy look
Not fate itself of gentleness deprives.
By heaven a world shall mourn thee-Loud he calls;
Which Mindarus obeys. To him the chief:


Thou too didst love Masistius-Fly, proclaim
A gen'ral lamentation through the camp;
Let all Boeotia sound Masistius lost.
O verify'd too clearly, boding dream
Of mine, by him so fatally despis'd!
See ev'ry head dismantled of its hair,
The soldiers, women, eunuchs; of his mane
See ev'ry steed, the mule and camel shorn.
O that the echo of our grief might pass
The Hellespont to Asia! that her loss
Through all her cities, through her vales, and streams,
Beyond the banks of Ganges might be told!


As Mindarus departs, the Theban chief
Approaches, Leontiades, who spake:


If there be one, O gen'ral, can replace
Masistius wise, that prodigy is found,
Elean Hegesistratus, of seers
The most renown'd. His penetrating mind
Can from the victim slain, or mystic flight
Of birds, foresee the dark events of time;
Invet'rate foe to Sparta, sore with wrongs,
He comes thy servant. Opportune he comes,
Replies Mardonius. In the rites of Greece
Ten hecatombs, before the sun descends,
Shall to Masistius bleed an off'ring high.
I will engage this augur at a price
Beyond his wishes; let his skill decide,
When to give battle, and avenge my friend.
Collect your Grecian artists; instant build
A cenotaph in your Dircæan grove,
Where that pure fountain trills a mournful note.
There shall Masistius in his name survive
Among the Greeks; his last remains, embalm'd,
Among his fathers shall in Susa rest.


The Theban goes. Statirus next appears;
Th' afflicted hero greets the weeping youth:


Ah! poor Statirus! thou hast lost thy lord,
I lost my friend, her bulwark Asia lost.
The sacred clay to Artamanes bear,
Left in Trachiniæ chief. His pious love
(Who did not love Masistius) will convey
To distant Sestos his embalm'd remains,
Thence o'er the narrow Hellespont, to reach
His native Asia, and his father's tomb.
How did he fall, Statirus? Did he send
To me no counsel from his dying lips?


These, in a sigh the faithful page began,
Were his last accents. 'Let Mardonius think
'How brief are life's enjoyments. Virtue lives
'Through all eternity. By virtue earn'd
'Praise too is long-Melissa, grant me thine'.


Commend me to Melissa, starting, spake
The son of Gobryas. From the shameful cross
Bid Artamanes in her presence free
Leonidas the Spartan. Now perform
Another act of duty to thy lord;
Despoil my head of all its curling pride;
Slight sacrifice to grief-but ev'ry limb,
Lopt from this body, and its mangled flesh
Shall in the dust be scatter'd, ere I quit
My chace of great revenge. Concluding here,
He strides impetuous like a stately ram,
Lord of the flock new-shorn. His giant guard
Inclose him round; th' innumerable host
Attend him, all divested of their hair,
In howling anguish to an altar huge,
By hasty hands constructed. Deep the earth
Around is hollow'd, deep is drench'd with blood.
Ten hundred sable victims heap the ground.


Now gen'ral silence reigns, as o'er the main
In winter, when Halcyonè laments
Her Ceyx lost, and Æolus, her sire;
By pity soften'd, all the air is calm,
While she sits brooding on her watry nest.
Amidst a cloud of frankincense the priest
Of Elis, Hegesistratus, performs
The rites of divination; awful thus
At length unfolds the mysteries of time:


Hear, all ye nations; great Mardonius, hear;
Th' Asopïan channel is the line of fate;
The host, which passes, falls; success will crown
Th' assail'd; th' assailant is to slaughter doom'd.


The multitude, discourag'd by the death
Of their belov'd Masistius, hear in joy;
Not so Mardonius at revenge delay'd.
Inaction aggravates his pain; his tent
Receives him. Solitary there, like night
Within her cavern, thus he feeds his grief:


'Ambition curb; let virtue be thy pride.'
So spake Masistius, when we parted last
To meet no more-I feel ambition cold,
Benumb'd by sorrow-'Let Mardonius think,
'How brief are life's enjoyments;' so thy fate,
Dear friend, evinces-Life itself is short;
Its joys are shorter; yet the scanty span
Adversity can lengthen, till we loathe.
If, on the brilliant throne of Xerxes plac'd,
I held the orient and Hesperian worlds
My vassals, could the millions in my host
Compel the adamantine gate of death
To render back my friend? O tortur'd heart!
Which burn'st with friendship, of thy gen'rous flame
Th' inestimable object is no more.
What then is greatness? What th' imperial robe,
The diadem and scepter? Could you fill
The void, his endless absence hath produc'd
In my sad bosom? Were ye mine how vain
The acquisition, which my grief would loathe,
And, wak'd by grief, let honour timely shun,
Lest from his grave Masistius should arise
To shake my pillow with his nightly curse.
Not hecatombs on hecatombs of bulls
Heap'd on his manes, not the votive hair,
Nor fun'ral moan of nations could avail
To moderate his ire; nor all the pow'r
Of empires join'd to empires guard my sleep.


At length he sinks in slumber, not compos'd,
But wanders restless through the wild of dreams.

End of the Twenty-fourth Book