Chapter 3

Who shall put a bridle in the mourner's lips to chasten them, [_Str._ 1. Or seal up the fountains of his tears for shame? Song nor prayer nor prophecy shall slacken tears nor hasten them, Till grief be within him as a burnt-out flame; Till the passion be broken in his breast And the might thereof molten into rest, And the rain of eyes that weep be dry, 760 And the breath be stilled of lips that sigh. Death at last for all men is a harbour; yet they flee from it, [_Ant._ 1. Set sails to the storm-wind and again to sea; Yet for all their labour no whit further shall they be from it, Nor longer but wearier shall their life's work be. And with anguish of travail until night Shall they steer into shipwreck out of sight, And with oars that break and shrouds that strain Shall they drive whence no ship steers again. Bitter and strange is the word of the God most high, [_Str._ 2. 770 And steep the strait of his way. Through a pass rock-rimmed and narrow the light that gleams On the faces of men falls faint as the dawn of dreams, The dayspring of death as a star in an under sky Where night is the dead men's day. As darkness and storm is his will that on earth is done, [_Ant._ 2. As a cloud is the face of his strength. King of kings, holiest of holies, and mightiest of might, Lord of the lords of thine heaven that are humble in thy sight, Hast thou set not an end for the path of the fires of the sun, 780 To appoint him a rest at length? Hast thou told not by measure the waves of the waste wide sea, [_Str._ 3. And the ways of the wind their master and thrall to thee? Hast thou filled not the furrows with fruit for the world's increase? Has thine ear not heard from of old or thine eye not read The thought and the deed of us living, the doom of us dead? Hast thou made not war upon earth, and again made peace? Therefore, O father, that seest us whose lives are a breath, [_Ant._ 3. Take off us thy burden, and give us not wholly to death. For lovely is life, and the law wherein all things live, 790 And gracious the season of each, and the hour of its kind, And precious the seed of his life in a wise man's mind; But all save life for his life will a base man give. But a life that is given for the life of the whole live land, [_Str._ 4. From a heart unspotted a gift of a spotless hand, Of pure will perfect and free, for the land's life's sake, What man shall fear not to put forth his hand and take? For the fruit of a sweet life plucked in its pure green prime [_Ant._ 4. On his hand who plucks is as blood, on his soul as crime. With cursing ye buy not blessing, nor peace with strife, 800 And the hand is hateful that chaffers with death for life. Hast thou heard, O my heart, and endurest [_Str._ 5. The word that is said, What a garland by sentence found surest Is wrought for what head? With what blossomless flowerage of sea-foam and blood-coloured foliage inwound It shall crown as a heifer's for slaughter the forehead for marriage uncrowned? How the veils and the wreaths that should cover [_Ant._ 5. The brows of the bride Shall be shed by the breath of what lover 810 And scattered aside? With a blast of the mouth of what bridegroom the crowns shall be cast from her hair, And her head by what altar made humble be left of them naked and bare? At a shrine unbeloved of a God unbeholden a gift shall be given for the land, [_Str._ 6. That its ramparts though shaken with clamour and horror of manifold waters may stand; That the crests of its citadels crowned and its turrets that thrust up their heads to the sun May behold him unblinded with darkness of waves overmastering their bulwarks begun. As a bride shall they bring her, a prey for the bridegroom, a flower for the couch of her lord; [_Ant._ 6. They shall muffle her mouth that she cry not or curse them, and cover her eyes from the sword. They shall fasten her lips as with bit and with bridle, and darken the light of her face, 820 That the soul of the slayer may not falter, his heart be not molten, his hand give not grace. If she weep then, yet may none that hear take pity; [_Str._ 7. If she cry not, none should hearken though she cried. Shall a virgin shield thine head for love, O city, With a virgin's blood anointed as for pride? Yet we held thee dear and hallowed of her favour, [_Ant._ 7. Dear of all men held thy people to her heart; Nought she loves the breath of blood, the sanguine savour, Who hath built with us her throne and chosen her part. Bloodless are her works, and sweet [_Epode._ 830 All the ways that feel her feet; From the empire of her eyes Light takes life and darkness flies; From the harvest of her hands Wealth strikes root in prosperous lands; Wisdom of her word is made; At her strength is strength afraid; From the beam of her bright spear War's fleet foot goes back for fear; In her shrine she reared the birth 840 Fire-begotten on live earth; Glory from her helm was shed On his olive-shadowed head; By no hand but his shall she Scourge the storms back of the sea, To no fame but his shall give Grace, being dead, with hers to live, And in double name divine Half the godhead of their shrine. But now with what word, with what woe may we meet 850 The timeless passage of piteous feet, Hither that bend to the last way's end They shall walk upon earth? What song be rolled for a bride black-stoled And the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold? For anguish of heart is my soul's strength broken And the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken, To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birth That we counted so sweet, What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend, 860 What gift he must give that shall wed thee for token If the bridegroom be goodly to greet.

CHTHONIA.

People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head, I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the dead From the fruitful light turn silent to my dark unchilded bed.

CHORUS.

Wise of word was he too surely, but with deadlier wisdom wise, First who gave thee name from under earth, no breath from upper skies, When, foredoomed to this day's darkness, their first daylight filled thine eyes.

PRAXITHEA.

Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine, Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine, 870 Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine.

CHTHONIA.

Though for me the sword's edge thirst that sets no point against thy breast, Mother, O my mother, where I drank of life and fell on rest, Thine, not mine, is all the grief that marks this hour accurst and blest.

CHORUS.

Sweet thy sleep and sweet the bosom was that gave thee sleep and birth; Harder now the breast, and girded with no marriage-band for girth, Where thine head shall sleep, the namechild of the lords of under earth.

PRAXITHEA.

Dark the name and dark the gifts they gave thee, child, in childbirth were, Sprung from him that rent the womb of earth, a bitter seed to bear, Born with groanings of the ground that gave him way toward heaven's dear air. 880

CHTHONIA.

Day to day makes answer, first to last, and life to death; but I, Born for death's sake, die for life's sake, if indeed this be to die, This my doom that seals me deathless till the springs of time run dry.

CHORUS.

Children shalt thou bear to memory, that to man shalt bring forth none; Yea, the lordliest that lift eyes and hearts and songs to meet the sun, Names to fire men's ears like music till the round world's race be run.

PRAXITHEA.

I thy mother, named of Gods that wreak revenge and brand with blame, Now for thy love shall be loved as thou, and famous with thy fame, While this city's name on earth shall be for earth her mightiest name.

CHTHONIA.

That I may give this poor girl's blood of mine 890 Scarce yet sun-warmed with summer, this thin life Still green with flowerless growth of seedling days, To build again my city; that no drop Fallen of these innocent veins on the cold ground But shall help knit the joints of her firm walls To knead the stones together, and make sure The band about her maiden girdlestead Once fastened, and of all men's violent hands Inviolable for ever; these to me Were no such gifts as crave no thanksgiving, 900 If with one blow dividing the sheer life I might make end, and one pang wind up all And seal mine eyes from sorrow; for such end The Gods give none they love not; but my heart, That leaps up lightened of all sloth or fear To take the sword's point, yet with one thought's load Flags, and falls back, broken of wing, that halts Maimed in mid flight for thy sake and borne down, Mother, that in the places where I played An arm's length from thy bosom and no more 910 Shalt find me never, nor thine eye wax glad To mix with mine its eyesight and for love Laugh without word, filled with sweet light, and speak Divine dumb things of the inward spirit and heart, Moved silently; nor hand or lip again Touch hand or lip of either, but for mine Shall thine meet only shadows of swift night, Dreams and dead thoughts of dead things; and the bed Thou strewedst, a sterile place for all time, strewn For my sleep only, with its void sad sheets 920 Shall vex thee, and the unfruitful coverlid For empty days reproach me dead, that leave No profit of my body, but am gone As one not worth being born to bear no seed, A sapless stock and branchless; yet thy womb Shall want not honour of me, that brought forth For all this people freedom, and for earth From the unborn city born out of my blood To light the face of all men evermore Glory; but lay thou this to thy great heart 930 Whereunder in the dark of birth conceived Mine unlit life lay girdled with the zone That bound thy bridal bosom; set this thought Against all edge of evil as a sword To beat back sorrow, that for all the world Thou brought'st me forth a saviour, who shall save Athens; for none but I from none but thee Shall take this death for garland; and the men Mine unknown children of unsounded years, My sons unrisen shall rise up at thine hand, 940 Sown of thy seed to bring forth seed to thee, And call thee most of all most fruitful found Blessed; but me too for my barren womb More than my sisters for their children born Shall these give honour, yea in scorn's own place Shall men set love and bring for mockery praise And thanks for curses; for the dry wild vine Scoffed at and cursed of all men that was I Shall shed them wine to make the world's heart warm, That all eyes seeing may lighten, and all ears 950 Hear and be kindled; such a draught to drink Shall be the blood that bids this dust bring forth, The chaliced life here spilt on this mine earth, Mine, my great father's mother; whom I pray Take me now gently, tenderly take home, And softly lay in his my cold chaste hand Who is called of men by my name, being of Gods Charged only and chosen to bring men under earth, And now must lead and stay me with his staff A silent soul led of a silent God, 960 Toward sightless things led sightless; and on earth I see now but the shadow of mine end, And this last light of all for me in heaven.

PRAXITHEA.

Farewell I bid thee; so bid thou not me, Lest the Gods hear and mock us; yet on these I lay the weight not of this grief, nor cast Ill words for ill deeds back; for if one say They have done men wrong, what hurt have they to hear, Or he what help to have said it? surely, child, If one among men born might say it and live 970 Blameless, none more than I may, who being vexed Hold yet my peace; for now through tears enough Mine eyes have seen the sun that from this day Thine shall see never more; and in the night Enough has blown of evil, and mine ears With wail enough the winds have filled, and brought Too much of cloud from over the sharp sea To mar for me the morning; such a blast Rent from these wide void arms and helpless breast Long since one graft of me disbranched, and bore 980 Beyond the wild ways of the unwandered world And loud wastes of the thunder-throated sea, Springs of the night and openings of the heaven, The old garden of the Sun; whence never more From west or east shall winds bring back that blow From folds of opening heaven or founts of night The flower of mine once ravished, born my child To bear strange children; nor on wings of theirs Shall comfort come back to me, nor their sire Breathe help upon my peril, nor his strength 990 Raise up my weakness; but of Gods and men I drift unsteered on ruin, and the wave Darkens my head with imminent height, and hangs Dumb, filled too full with thunder that shall leave These ears death-deafened when the tide finds tongue And all its wrath bears on them; thee, O child, I help not, nor am holpen; fain, ah fain, More than was ever mother born of man, Were I to help thee; fain beyond all prayer, Beyond all thought fain to redeem thee, torn 1000 More timeless from me sorrowing than the dream That was thy sister; so shalt thou be too, Thou but a vision, shadow-shaped of sleep, By grief made out of nothing; now but once I touch, but once more hold thee, one more kiss This last time and none other ever more Leave on thy lips and leave them. Go; thou wast My heart, my heart's blood, life-blood of my life, My child, my nursling; now this breast once thine Shall rear again no children; never now 1010 Shall any mortal blossom born like thee Lie there, nor ever with small silent mouth Draw the sweet springs dry for an hour that feed The blind blithe life that knows not; never head Rest here to make these cold veins warm, nor eye Laugh itself open with the lips that reach Lovingly toward a fount more loving; these Death makes as all good lesser things now dead, And all the latter hopes that flowered from these And fall as these fell fruitless; no joy more 1020 Shall man take of thy maidenhood, no tongue Praise it; no good shall eyes get more of thee That lightened for thy love's sake. Now, take note, Give ear, O all ye people, that my word May pierce your hearts through, and the stroke that cleaves Be fruitful to them; so shall all that hear Grow great at heart with child of thought most high And bring forth seed in season; this my child, This flower of this my body, this sweet life, This fair live youth I give you, to be slain, 1030 Spent, shed, poured out, and perish; take my gift And give it death and the under Gods who crave So much for that they give; for this is more, Much more is this than all we; for they give Freedom, and for a blast, an air of breath, A little soul that is not, they give back Light for all eyes, cheer for all hearts, and life That fills the world's width full of fame and praise And mightier love than children's. This they give, The grace to make thy country great, and wrest 1040 From time and death power to take hold on her And strength to scathe for ever; and this gift, Is this no more than man's love is or mine, Mine and all mothers'? nay, where that seems more, Where one loves life of child, wife, father, friend, Son, husband, mother, more than this, even there Are all these lives worth nothing, all loves else With this love slain and buried, and their tomb A thing for shame to spit on; for what love Hath a slave left to love with? or the heart 1050 Base-born and bound in bondage fast to fear, What should it do to love thee? what hath he, The man that hath no country? Gods nor men Have such to friend, yoked beast-like to base life, Vile, fruitless, grovelling at the foot of death, Landless and kinless thralls of no man's blood, Unchilded and unmothered, abject limbs That breed things abject; but who loves on earth Not friend, wife, husband, father, mother, child, Nor loves his own life for his own land's sake, 1060 But only this thing most, more this than all, He loves all well and well of all is loved, And this love lives for ever. See now, friends, My countrymen, my brothers, with what heart I give you this that of your hands again The Gods require for Athens; as I give So give ye to them what their hearts would have Who shall give back things better; yea, and these I take for me to witness, all these Gods, Were their great will more grievous than it is, 1070 Not one but three, for this one thin-spun thread A threefold band of children would I give For this land's love's sake; for whose love to-day I bid thee, child, fare deathward and farewell.

CHORUS.

O wofullest of women, yet of all Happiest, thy word be hallowed; in all time Thy name shall blossom, and from strange new tongues High things be spoken of thee; for such grace The Gods have dealt to no man, that on none Have laid so heavy sorrow. From this day 1080 Live thou assured of godhead in thy blood, And in thy fate no lowlier than a God In all good things and evil; such a name Shall be thy child this city's, and thine own Next hers that called it Athens. Go now forth Blest, and grace with thee to the doors of death.

CHTHONIA.

O city, O glory of Athens, O crown of my father's land, farewell.

CHORUS.

For welfare is given her of thee.

CHTHONIA.

O Goddess, be good to thy people, that in them dominion and freedom may dwell.

CHORUS.

Turn from us the strengths of the sea. 1090

CHTHONIA.

Let glory's and theirs be one name in the mouths of all nations made glad with the sun.

CHORUS.

For the cloud is blown back with thy breath.

CHTHONIA.

With the long last love of mine eyes I salute thee, O land where my days now are done.

CHORUS.

But her life shall be born of thy death.

CHTHONIA.

I put on me the darkness thy shadow, my mother, and symbol, O Earth, of my name.

CHORUS.

For thine was her witness from birth.

CHTHONIA.

In thy likeness I come to thee darkling, a daughter whose dawn and her even are the same.

CHORUS.

Be thine heart to her gracious, O Earth.

CHTHONIA.

To thine own kind be kindly, for thy son's name's sake.

CHORUS.

That sons unborn may praise thee and thy first-born son. 1100

CHTHONIA.

Give me thy sleep, who give thee all my life awake.

CHORUS.

Too swift a sleep, ere half the web of day be spun.

CHTHONIA.

Death brings the shears or ever life wind up the weft.

CHORUS.

Their edge is ground and sharpened; who shall stay his hand?

CHTHONIA.

The woof is thin, a small short life, with no thread left.

CHORUS.

Yet hath it strength, stretched out, to shelter all the land.

CHTHONIA.

Too frail a tent for covering, and a screen too strait.

CHORUS.

Yet broad enough for buckler shall thy sweet life be.

CHTHONIA.

A little bolt to bar off battle from the gate.

CHORUS.

A wide sea-wall, that shatters the besieging sea. 1110

CHTHONIA.

I lift up mine eyes from the skirts of the shadow, [_Str._ From the border of death to the limits of light; O streams and rivers of mountain and meadow That hallow the last of my sight, O father that wast of my mother Cephisus, O thou too his brother From the bloom of whose banks as a prey Winds harried my sister away, O crown on the world's head lying Too high for its waters to drown, 1120 Take yet this one word of me dying, O city, O crown. Though land-wind and sea-wind with mouths that blow slaughter [_Ant._ Should gird them to battle against thee again, New-born of the blood of a maiden thy daughter, The rage of their breath shall be vain. For their strength shall be quenched and made idle, And the foam of their mouths find a bridle, And the height of their heads bow down At the foot of the towers of the town. 1130 Be blest and beloved as I love thee Of all that shall draw from thee breath; Be thy life as the sun's is above thee; I go to my death.

CHORUS.