Chapter 4

Many loves of many a mood and many a kind [_Str._ 1. Fill the life of man, and mould the secret mind; Many days bring many dooms, to loose and bind; Sweet is each in season, good the gift it brings, Sweet as change of night and day with altering wings, Night that lulls world-weary day, day that comforts night, 1140 Night that fills our eyes with sleep, day that fills with light. None of all is lovelier, loftier love is none, [_Ant._ 1. Less is bride's for bridegroom, mother's less for son, Child, than this that crowns and binds up all in one; Love of thy sweet light, thy fostering breast and hand, Mother Earth, and city chosen, and natural land; Hills that bring the strong streams forth, heights of heavenlier air, Fields aflower with winds and suns, woods with shadowing hair. But none of the nations of men shall they liken to thee, [_Str._ 2. Whose children true-born and the fruit of thy body are we. 1150 The rest are thy sons but in figure, in word are thy seed; We only the flower of thy travail, thy children indeed. Of thy soil hast thou fashioned our limbs, of thy waters their blood, And the life of thy springs everlasting is fount of our flood. No wind oversea blew us hither adrift on thy shore, None sowed us by land in thy womb that conceived us and bore. But the stroke of the shaft of the sunlight that brought us to birth Pierced only and quickened thy furrows to bear us, O Earth. With the beams of his love wast thou cloven as with iron or fire, And the life in thee yearned for his life, and grew great with desire. 1160 And the hunger and thirst to be wounded and healed with his dart Made fruitful the love in thy veins and the depth of thine heart. And the showers out of heaven overflowing and liquid with love Fulfilled thee with child of his godhead as rain from above. Such desire had ye twain of each other, till molten in one [_Ant._ 2. Ye might bear and beget of your bodies the fruits of the sun. And the trees in their season brought forth and were kindled anew By the warmth of the moisture of marriage, the child-bearing dew. And the firstlings were fair of the wedlock of heaven and of earth; All countries were bounteous with blossom and burgeon of birth, 1170 Green pastures of grass for all cattle, and life-giving corn; But here of thy bosom, here only, the man-child was born. All races but one are as aliens engrafted or sown, Strange children and changelings; but we, O our mother, thine own. Thy nurslings are others, and seedlings they know not of whom; For these hast thou fostered, but us thou hast borne in thy womb. Who is he of us all, O beloved, that owe thee for birth, Who would give not his blood for his birth's sake, O mother, O Earth? What landsman is he that was fostered and reared of thine hand Who may vaunt him as we may in death though he die for the land? 1180

Well doth she therefore who gives thee in guerdon The bloom of the life of thy giving; [_Epode._ And thy body was bowed by no fruitless burden, That bore such fruit of thee living. For her face was not darkened for fear, For her eyelids conceived not a tear, Nor a cry from her lips craved pity; But her mouth was a fountain of song, And her heart as a citadel strong That guards the heart of the city. 1190

MESSENGER.

High things of strong-souled men that loved their land On brass and stone are written, and their deeds On high days chanted; but none graven or sung That ever set men's eyes or spirits on fire, Athenians, has the sun's height seen, or earth Heard in her depth reverberate as from heaven, More worth men's praise and good report of Gods Than here I bring for record in your ears. For now being come to the altar, where as priest Death ministering should meet her, and his hand 1200 Seal her sweet eyes asleep, the maiden stood, With light in all her face as of a bride Smiling, or shine of festal flame by night Far flung from towers of triumph; and her lips Trembled with pride in pleasure, that no fear Blanched them nor death before his time drank dry The blood whose bloom fulfilled them; for her cheeks Lightened, and brighter than a bridal veil Her hair enrobed her bosom and enrolled From face to feet the body's whole soft length 1210 As with a cloud sun-saturate; then she spake With maiden tongue words manlike, but her eyes Lit mildly like a maiden's: _Countrymen, With more goodwill and height of happier heart I give me to you than my mother bare, And go more gladly this great way to death Than young men bound to battle._ Then with face Turned to the shadowiest part of all the shrine And eyes fast set upon the further shade, _Take me, dear Gods_; and as some form had shone 1220 From the deep hollow shadow, some God's tongue Answered, _I bless you that your guardian grace Gives me to guard this country, takes my blood, Your child's by name, to heal it_. Then the priest Set to the flower-sweet snow of her soft throat The sheer knife's edge that severed it, and loosed From the fair bondage of so spotless flesh So strong a spirit; and all that girt them round Gazing, with souls that hung on that sad stroke, Groaned, and kept silence after while a man 1230 Might count how far the fresh blood crept, and bathed How deep the dark robe and the bright shrine's base Red-rounded with a running ring that grew More large and duskier as the wells that fed Were drained of that pure effluence: but the queen Groaned not nor spake nor wept, but as a dream Floats out of eyes awakening so past forth Ghost-like, a shadow of sorrow, from all sight To the inner court and chamber where she sits Dumb, till word reach her of this whole day's end. 1240

CHORUS.

More hapless born by far [_Str._ Beneath some wintrier star, One sits in stone among high Lydian snows, The tomb of her own woes: Yet happiest was once of the daughters of Gods, and divine by her sire and her lord, Ere her tongue was a shaft for the hearts of her sons, for the heart of her husband a sword. For she, too great of mind, [_Ant._ Grown through her good things blind. With godless lips and fire of her own breath Spake all her house to death; 1250 But thou, no mother unmothered, nor kindled in spirit with pride of thy seed, Thou hast hallowed thy child for a blameless blood-offering, and ransomed thy race by thy deed.

MESSENGER.

As flower is graffed on flower, so grief on grief Engraffed brings forth new blossoms of strange tears, Fresh buds and green fruits of an alien pain; For now flies rumour on a dark wide wing, Murmuring of woes more than ye knew, most like Hers whom ye hailed most wretched; for the twain Last left of all this house that wore last night A threefold crown of maidens, and to-day 1260 Should let but one fall dead out of the wreath, If mad with grief we know not and sore love For this their sister, or with shame soul-stung To outlive her dead or doubt lest their lives too The Gods require to seal their country safe And bring the oracular doom to perfect end, Have slain themselves, and fallen at the altar-foot Lie by their own hands done to death; and fear Shakes all the city as winds a wintering tree, And as dead leaves are men's hearts blown about 1270 And shrunken with ill thoughts, and flowerless hopes Parched up with presage, lest the piteous blood Shed of these maidens guiltless fall and fix On this land's forehead like a curse that cleaves To the unclean soul's inexpiate hunted head Whom his own crime tracks hotlier than a hound To life's veiled end unsleeping; and this hour Now blackens toward the battle that must close All gates of hope and fear on all their hearts Who tremble toward its issue, knowing not yet 1280 If blood may buy them surety, cleanse or soil The helpless hands men raise and reach no stay.

CHORUS.

Ill thoughts breed fear, and fear ill words; but these The Gods turn from us that have kept their law. Let us lift up the strength of our hearts in song, [_Str._ 1. And our souls to the height of the darkling day. If the wind in our eyes blow blood for spray, Be the spirit that breathes in us life more strong, Though the prow reel round and the helm point wrong, And sharp reefs whiten the shoreward way. 1290 For the steersman time sits hidden astern, [_Ant._ 1. With dark hand plying the rudder of doom, And the surf-smoke under it flies like fume As the blast shears off and the oar-blades churn The foam of our lives that to death return, Blown back as they break to the gulfing gloom. What cloud upon heaven is arisen, what shadow, what sound, [_Str._ 2. From the world beyond earth, from the night underground, That scatters from wings unbeholden the weight of its darkness around? For the sense of my spirit is broken, and blinded its eye, [_Ant._ 2. 1300 As the soul of a sick man ready to die, With fear of the hour that is on me, with dread if an end be not nigh. O Earth, O Gods of the land, have ye heart now to see and to hear [_Str._ 3. What slays with terror mine eyesight and seals mine ear? O fountains of streams everlasting, are all ye not shrunk up and withered for fear? Lo, night is arisen on the noon, and her hounds are in quest by day, [_Ant._ 3. And the world is fulfilled of the noise of them crying for their prey, And the sun's self stricken in heaven, and cast out of his course as a blind man astray. From east to west of the south sea-line [_Str._ 4. Glitters the lightning of spears that shine; 1310 As a storm-cloud swoln that comes up from the skirts of the sea By the wind for helmsman to shoreward ferried, So black behind them the live storm serried Shakes earth with the tramp of its foot, and the terror to be. Shall the sea give death whom the land gave birth? [_Ant._ 4. O Earth, fair mother, O sweet live Earth, Hide us again in thy womb from the waves of it, help us or hide. As a sword is the heart of the God thy brother, But thine as the heart of a new-made mother, To deliver thy sons from his ravin, and rage of his tide. 1320 O strong north wind, the pilot of cloud and rain, [_Str._ 5. For the gift we gave thee what gift hast thou given us again? O God dark-winged, deep-throated, a terror to forth-faring ships by night, What bride-song is this that is blown on the blast of thy breath? A gift but of grief to thy kinsmen, a song but of death, For the bride's folk weeping, and woe for her father, who finds thee against him in fight. Turn back from us, turn thy battle, take heed of our cry; [_Ant._ 5. Let thy dread breath sound, and the waters of war be dry; Let thy strong wrath shatter the strength of our foemen, the sword of their strength and the shield; As vapours in heaven, or as waves or the wrecks of ships, 1330 So break thou the ranks of their spears with the breath of thy lips, Till their corpses have covered and clothed as with raiment the face of the sword-ploughed field. O son of the rose-red morning, O God twin-born with the day, [_Str._ 6. O wind with the young sun waking, and winged for the same wide way, Give up not the house of thy kin to the host thou hast marshalled from northward for prey. From the cold of thy cradle in Thrace, from the mists of the fountains of night, [_Ant._ 6. From the bride-bed of dawn whence day leaps laughing, on fire for his flight, Come down with their doom in thine hand on the ships thou hast brought up against us to fight. For now not in word but in deed is the harvest of spears begun, [_Str._ 7. And its clamour outbellows the thunder, its lightning outlightens the sun. 1340 From the springs of the morning it thunders and lightens across and afar To the wave where the moonset ends and the fall of the last low star. With a trampling of drenched red hoofs and an earthquake of men that meet, Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows take fire from his feet. Earth groans from her great rent heart, and the hollows of rocks are afraid, And the mountains are moved, and the valleys as waves in a storm-wind swayed. From the roots of the hills to the plain's dim verge and the dark loud shore, Air shudders with shrill spears crossing, and hurtling of wheels that roar. As the grinding of teeth in the jaws of a lion that foam as they gnash Is the shriek of the axles that loosen, the shock of the poles that crash. 1350 The dense manes darken and glitter, the mouths of the mad steeds champ, Their heads flash blind through the battle, and death's foot rings in their tramp. For a fourfold host upon earth and in heaven is arrayed for the fight, Clouds ruining in thunder and armies encountering as clouds in the night. Mine ears are amazed with the terror of trumpets, with darkness mine eyes, At the sound of the sea's host charging that deafens the roar of the sky's. White frontlet is dashed upon frontlet, and horse against horse reels hurled, And the gorge of the gulfs of the battle is wide for the spoil of the world. And the meadows are cumbered with shipwreck of chariots that founder on land, [_Ant._ 7. And the horsemen are broken with breach as of breakers, and scattered as sand. 1360 Through the roar and recoil of the charges that mingle their cries and confound, Like fire are the notes of the trumpets that flash through the darkness of sound. As the swing of the sea churned yellow that sways with the wind as it swells Is the lift and relapse of the wave of the chargers that clash with their bells; And the clang of the sharp shrill brass through the burst of the wave as it shocks Rings clean as the clear wind's cry through the roar of the surge on the rocks: And the heads of the steeds in their headgear of war, and their corsleted breasts, Gleam broad as the brows of the billows that brighten the storm with their crests, Gleam dread as their bosoms that heave to the shipwrecking wind as they rise, Filled full of the terror and thunder of water, that slays as it dies. 1370 So dire is the glare of their foreheads, so fearful the fire of their breath, And the light of their eyeballs enkindled so bright with the lightnings of death; And the foam of their mouths as the sea's when the jaws of its gulf are as graves, And the ridge of their necks as the wind-shaken mane on the ridges of waves: And their fetlocks afire as they rear drip thick with a dewfall of blood As the lips of the rearing breaker with froth of the manslaying flood. And the whole plain reels and resounds as the fields of the sea by night When the stroke of the wind falls darkling, and death is the seafarer's light.

But thou, fair beauty of heaven, dear face of the day nigh dead, [_Epode._ What horror hath hidden thy glory, what hand hath muffled thine head? 1380 O sun, with what song shall we call thee, or ward off thy wrath by what name, With what prayer shall we seek to thee, soothe with what incense, assuage with what gift, If thy light be such only as lightens to deathward the seaman adrift With the fire of his house for a beacon, that foemen have wasted with flame? Arise now, lift up thy light; give ear to us, put forth thine hand, Reach toward us thy torch of deliverance, a lamp for the night of the land. Thine eye is the light of the living, no lamp for the dead; O, lift up the light of thine eye on the dark of our dread. Who hath blinded thee? who hath prevailed on thee? who hath ensnared? Who hath broken thy bow, and the shafts for thy battle prepared? 1390 Have they found out a fetter to bind thee, a chain for thine arm that was bared? Be the name of thy conqueror set forth, and the might of thy master declared. O God, fair God of the morning, O glory of day, What ails thee to cast from thy forehead its garland away? To pluck from thy temples their chaplet enwreathed of the light, And bind on the brows of thy godhead a frontlet of night? Thou hast loosened the necks of thine horses, and goaded their flanks with affright, To the race of a course that we know not on ways that are hid from our sight. As a wind through the darkness the wheels of their chariot are whirled, And the light of its passage is night on the face of the world. 1400 And there falls from the wings of thy glory no help from on high, But a shadow that smites us with fear and desire of thine eye. For our hearts are as reeds that a wind on the water bows down and goes by, To behold not thy comfort in heaven that hath left us untimely to die. But what light is it now leaps forth on the land Enkindling the waters and ways of the air From thy forehead made bare, From the gleam of thy bow-bearing hand? Hast thou set not thy right hand again to the string, With the back-bowed horns bent sharp for a spring 1410 And the barbed shaft drawn, Till the shrill steel sing and the tense nerve ring That pierces the heart of the dark with dawn, O huntsman, O king, When the flame of thy face hath twilight in chase As a hound hath a blood-mottled fawn? He has glanced into golden the grey sea-strands, And the clouds are shot through with the fires of his hands, And the height of the hollow of heaven that he fills As the heart of a strong man is quickened and thrills; 1420 High over the folds of the low-lying lands, On the shadowless hills As a guard on his watchtower he stands. All earth and all ocean, all depth and all height, At the flash of an eyebeam are filled with his might: The sea roars backward, the storm drops dumb, And silence as dew on the fire of the fight Falls kind in our ears as his face in our sight With presage of peace to come. Fresh hope in my heart from the ashes of dread 1430 Leaps clear as a flame from the pyres of the dead, That joy out of woe May arise as the spring out of tempest and snow, With the flower-feasted month in her hands rose-red Borne soft as a babe from the bearing-bed. Yet it knows not indeed if a God be friend, If rescue may be from the rage of the sea, Or the wrath of its lord have end. For the season is full now of death or of birth, To bring forth life, or an end of all; 1440 And we know not if anything stand or fall That is girdled about with the round sea's girth As a town with its wall; But thou that art highest of the Gods most high, That art lord if we live, that art lord though we die, Have heed of the tongues of our terror that cry For a grace to the children of Earth.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Sons of Athens, heavy-laden with the holy weight of years, Be your hearts as young men's lightened of their loathlier load of fears; For the wave is sunk whose thunder shoreward shook the shuddering lands, 1450 And unbreached of warring waters Athens like a sea-rock stands.

CHORUS.

Well thy word has cheered us, well thy face and glittering eyes, that spake Ere thy tongue spake words of comfort: yet no pause, behoves it make Till the whole good hap find utterance that the Gods have given at length.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

All is this, that yet the city stands unforced by stranger strength.

CHORUS.

Sweeter sound might no mouth utter in man's ear than this thy word.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Feed thy soul then full of sweetness till some bitterer note be heard.

CHORUS.

None, if this ring sure, can mar the music fallen from heaven as rain.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

If no fire of sun or star untimely sear the tender grain.

CHORUS.

Fresh the dewfall of thy tidings on our hopes reflowering lies. 1460

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Till a joyless shower and fruitless blight them, raining from thine eyes.

CHORUS.

Bitter springs have barren issues; these bedew grief's arid sands.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Such thank-offerings ask such altars as expect thy suppliant hands.

CHORUS.

Tears for triumph, wail for welfare, what strange godhead's shrine requires?

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Death's or victory's be it, a funeral torch feeds all its festal fires.

CHORUS.

Like a star should burn the beacon flaming from our city's head.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Like a balefire should the flame go up that says the king is dead.

CHORUS.

Out of heaven, a wild-haired meteor, shoots this new sign, scattering fear.

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Yea, the word has wings of fire that hovered, loth to burn thine ear.

CHORUS.

From thy lips it leapt forth loosened on a shrill and shadowy wing. 1470

ATHENIAN HERALD.

Long they faltered, fain to hide it deep as death that hides the king.

CHORUS.