[Str.1.Out of the north wind grief came forth,And the shining of a sword out of the sea.Yea, of old the first-blown blast blew the prelude of this last,The blast of his trumpet upon Rhodope.Out of the north skies full of his cloud,560With the clamour of his storms as of a crowdAt the wheels of a great king crying aloud,At the axle of a strong king's carThat has girded on the girdle of war—With hands that lightened the skies in sunderAnd feet whose fall was followed of thunder,A God, a great God strange of name,With horse-yoke fleeter-hoofed than flame,To the mountain bed of a maiden came,Oreithyia, the bride mismated,570Wofully wed in a snow-strewn bedWith a bridegroom that kisses the bride's mouth dead;Without garland, without glory, without song,As a fawn by night on the hills belated,Given over for a spoil unto the strong.[Ant.1.From lips how pale so keen a wailAt the grasp of a God's hand on her she gave,When his breath that darkens air made a havoc of her hair,It rang from the mountain even to the wave;Rang with a cry,Woe's me, woe is me!580From the darkness upon Hæmus to the sea:And with hands that clung to her new lord's knee,As a virgin overborne with shame,She besought him by her spouseless fame,By the blameless breasts of a maid unmarriedAnd locks unmaidenly rent and harried,And all her flower of body, bornTo match the maidenhood of morn,With the might of the wind's wrath wrenched and torn.Vain, all vain as a dead man's vision590Falling by night in his old friends' sight,To be scattered with slumber and slain ere light;Such a breath of such a bridegroom in that hourOf her prayers made mock, of her fears derision,And a ravage of her youth as of a flower.[Str.2.With a leap of his limbs as a lion's, a cry from his lips as of thunder,In a storm of amorous godhead filled with fire,From the height of the heaven that was rent with the roar of his coming in sunder,Sprang the strong God on the spoil of his desire.And the pines of the hills were as green reeds shattered,600And their branches as buds of the soft spring scattered,And the west wind and east, and the sound of the south,Fell dumb at the blast of the north wind's mouth,At the cry of his coming out of heaven.And the wild beasts quailed in the rifts and hollowsWhere hound nor clarion of huntsman follows,And the depths of the sea were aghast, and whitened,And the crowns of their waves were as flame that lightened,And the heart of the floods thereof was riven.[Ant.2.But she knew not him coming for terror, she felt not her wrong that he wrought her,610When her locks as leaves were shed before his breath,And she heard not for terror his prayer, though the cry was a God's that besought her,Blown from lips that strew the world-wide seas with death.For the heart was molten within her to hear,And her knees beneath her were loosened for fear,And her blood fast bound as a frost-bound water,And the soft new bloom of the green earth's daughterWind-wasted as blossom of a tree;As the wild God rapt her from earth's breast lifted,On the strength of the stream of his dark breath drifted,620From the bosom of earth as a bride from the mother,With storm for bridesman and wreck for brother,As a cloud that he sheds upon the sea.[Epode.Of this hoary-headed woeSong made memory long ago;Now a younger grief to mournNeeds a new song younger born.Who shall teach our tongues to reachWhat strange height of saddest speech,For the new bride's sake that is given to be630A stay to fetter the foot of the sea,Lest it quite spurn down and trample the town,Ere the violets be dead that were plucked for its crown,Or its olive-leaf whiten and wither?Who shall say of the wind's wayThat he journeyed yesterday,Or the track of the storm that shall sound to-morrow,If the new be more than the grey-grown sorrow?For the wind of the green first season was keen,And the blast shall be sharper than blew between640That the breath of the sea blows hither.
[Str.1.Out of the north wind grief came forth,And the shining of a sword out of the sea.Yea, of old the first-blown blast blew the prelude of this last,The blast of his trumpet upon Rhodope.Out of the north skies full of his cloud,560With the clamour of his storms as of a crowdAt the wheels of a great king crying aloud,At the axle of a strong king's carThat has girded on the girdle of war—With hands that lightened the skies in sunderAnd feet whose fall was followed of thunder,A God, a great God strange of name,With horse-yoke fleeter-hoofed than flame,To the mountain bed of a maiden came,Oreithyia, the bride mismated,570Wofully wed in a snow-strewn bedWith a bridegroom that kisses the bride's mouth dead;Without garland, without glory, without song,As a fawn by night on the hills belated,Given over for a spoil unto the strong.[Ant.1.From lips how pale so keen a wailAt the grasp of a God's hand on her she gave,When his breath that darkens air made a havoc of her hair,It rang from the mountain even to the wave;Rang with a cry,Woe's me, woe is me!580From the darkness upon Hæmus to the sea:And with hands that clung to her new lord's knee,As a virgin overborne with shame,She besought him by her spouseless fame,By the blameless breasts of a maid unmarriedAnd locks unmaidenly rent and harried,And all her flower of body, bornTo match the maidenhood of morn,With the might of the wind's wrath wrenched and torn.Vain, all vain as a dead man's vision590Falling by night in his old friends' sight,To be scattered with slumber and slain ere light;Such a breath of such a bridegroom in that hourOf her prayers made mock, of her fears derision,And a ravage of her youth as of a flower.[Str.2.With a leap of his limbs as a lion's, a cry from his lips as of thunder,In a storm of amorous godhead filled with fire,From the height of the heaven that was rent with the roar of his coming in sunder,Sprang the strong God on the spoil of his desire.And the pines of the hills were as green reeds shattered,600And their branches as buds of the soft spring scattered,And the west wind and east, and the sound of the south,Fell dumb at the blast of the north wind's mouth,At the cry of his coming out of heaven.And the wild beasts quailed in the rifts and hollowsWhere hound nor clarion of huntsman follows,And the depths of the sea were aghast, and whitened,And the crowns of their waves were as flame that lightened,And the heart of the floods thereof was riven.[Ant.2.But she knew not him coming for terror, she felt not her wrong that he wrought her,610When her locks as leaves were shed before his breath,And she heard not for terror his prayer, though the cry was a God's that besought her,Blown from lips that strew the world-wide seas with death.For the heart was molten within her to hear,And her knees beneath her were loosened for fear,And her blood fast bound as a frost-bound water,And the soft new bloom of the green earth's daughterWind-wasted as blossom of a tree;As the wild God rapt her from earth's breast lifted,On the strength of the stream of his dark breath drifted,620From the bosom of earth as a bride from the mother,With storm for bridesman and wreck for brother,As a cloud that he sheds upon the sea.
[Epode.Of this hoary-headed woeSong made memory long ago;Now a younger grief to mournNeeds a new song younger born.Who shall teach our tongues to reachWhat strange height of saddest speech,For the new bride's sake that is given to be630A stay to fetter the foot of the sea,Lest it quite spurn down and trample the town,Ere the violets be dead that were plucked for its crown,Or its olive-leaf whiten and wither?Who shall say of the wind's wayThat he journeyed yesterday,Or the track of the storm that shall sound to-morrow,If the new be more than the grey-grown sorrow?For the wind of the green first season was keen,And the blast shall be sharper than blew between640That the breath of the sea blows hither.
Old men, grey borderers on the march of death,Tongue-fighters, tough of talk and sinewy speech,Else nerveless, from no crew of such faint folkWhose tongues are stouter than their hands come ITo bid not you to battle; let them strikeWhose swords are sharper than your keen-tongued wail,And ye, sit fast and sorrow; but what manOf all this land-folk and earth-labouring herdFor heart or hand seems foremost, him I call650If heart be his to hearken, him bid forthTo try if one be in the sun's sight bornOf all that grope and grovel on dry groundThat may join hands in battle-grip for deathWith them whose seed and strength is of the sea.
Old men, grey borderers on the march of death,Tongue-fighters, tough of talk and sinewy speech,Else nerveless, from no crew of such faint folkWhose tongues are stouter than their hands come ITo bid not you to battle; let them strikeWhose swords are sharper than your keen-tongued wail,And ye, sit fast and sorrow; but what manOf all this land-folk and earth-labouring herdFor heart or hand seems foremost, him I call650If heart be his to hearken, him bid forthTo try if one be in the sun's sight bornOf all that grope and grovel on dry groundThat may join hands in battle-grip for deathWith them whose seed and strength is of the sea.
Know thou this much for all thy loud blast blown,We lack not hands to speak with, swords to plead,For proof of peril, not of boisterous breath,Sea-wind and storm of barren mouths that foamAnd rough rock's edge of menace; and short space660May lesson thy large ignorance and informThis insolence with knowledge if there liveMen earth-begotten of no tenderer thewsThan knit the great joints of the grim sea's broodWith hasps of steel together; heaven to help,One man shall break, even on their own flood's verge,That iron bulk of battle; but thine eyeThat sees it now swell higher than sand or shoreHaply shall see not when thine host shall shrink.
Know thou this much for all thy loud blast blown,We lack not hands to speak with, swords to plead,For proof of peril, not of boisterous breath,Sea-wind and storm of barren mouths that foamAnd rough rock's edge of menace; and short space660May lesson thy large ignorance and informThis insolence with knowledge if there liveMen earth-begotten of no tenderer thewsThan knit the great joints of the grim sea's broodWith hasps of steel together; heaven to help,One man shall break, even on their own flood's verge,That iron bulk of battle; but thine eyeThat sees it now swell higher than sand or shoreHaply shall see not when thine host shall shrink.
Not haply, nay, but surely, shall not thine.
Not haply, nay, but surely, shall not thine.
670That lot shall no God give who fights for thee.
670That lot shall no God give who fights for thee.
Shall Gods bear bit and bridle, fool, of men?
Shall Gods bear bit and bridle, fool, of men?
Nor them forbid we nor shalt thou constrain.
Nor them forbid we nor shalt thou constrain.
Yet say'st thou none shall make the good lot mine?
Yet say'st thou none shall make the good lot mine?
Of thy side none, nor moved for fear of thee.
Of thy side none, nor moved for fear of thee.
Gods hast thou then to baffle Gods of ours?
Gods hast thou then to baffle Gods of ours?
Nor thine nor mine, but equal-souled are they.
Nor thine nor mine, but equal-souled are they.
Toward good and ill, then, equal-eyed of soul?
Toward good and ill, then, equal-eyed of soul?
Nay, but swift-eyed to note where ill thoughts breed.
Nay, but swift-eyed to note where ill thoughts breed.
Thy shaft word-feathered flies yet far of me.
Thy shaft word-feathered flies yet far of me.
680Pride knows not, wounded, till the heart be cleft.
680Pride knows not, wounded, till the heart be cleft.
No shaft wounds deep whose wing is plumed with words.
No shaft wounds deep whose wing is plumed with words.
Lay that to heart, and bid thy tongue learn grace.
Lay that to heart, and bid thy tongue learn grace.
Grace shall thine own crave soon too late of mine.
Grace shall thine own crave soon too late of mine.
Boast thou till then, but I wage words no more.
Boast thou till then, but I wage words no more.
Man, what shrill wind of speech and wrangling airBlows in our ears a summons from thy lipsWinged with what message, or what gift or graceRequiring? none but what his hand may takeHere may the foe think hence to reap, nor this690Except some doom from Godward yield it him.
Man, what shrill wind of speech and wrangling airBlows in our ears a summons from thy lipsWinged with what message, or what gift or graceRequiring? none but what his hand may takeHere may the foe think hence to reap, nor this690Except some doom from Godward yield it him.
King of this land-folk, by my mouth to theeThus saith the son of him that shakes thine earth,Eumolpus; now the stakes of war are set,For land or sea to win by throw and wear;Choose therefore or to quit thy side and giveThe palm unfought for to his bloodless hand,Or by that father's sceptre, and the footWhose tramp far off makes tremble for pure fearThy soul-struck mother, piercing like a sword700The immortal womb that bare thee; by the wavesThat no man bridles and that bound thy world,And by the winds and storms of all the sea,He swears to raze from eyeshot of the sunThis city named not of his father's name,And wash to deathward down one flood of doomThis whole fresh brood of earth yeaned naturally,Green yet and faint in its first blade, unblownWith yellow hope of harvest; so do thou,Seeing whom thy time is come to meet, for fear710Yield, or gird up thy force to fight and die.
King of this land-folk, by my mouth to theeThus saith the son of him that shakes thine earth,Eumolpus; now the stakes of war are set,For land or sea to win by throw and wear;Choose therefore or to quit thy side and giveThe palm unfought for to his bloodless hand,Or by that father's sceptre, and the footWhose tramp far off makes tremble for pure fearThy soul-struck mother, piercing like a sword700The immortal womb that bare thee; by the wavesThat no man bridles and that bound thy world,And by the winds and storms of all the sea,He swears to raze from eyeshot of the sunThis city named not of his father's name,And wash to deathward down one flood of doomThis whole fresh brood of earth yeaned naturally,Green yet and faint in its first blade, unblownWith yellow hope of harvest; so do thou,Seeing whom thy time is come to meet, for fear710Yield, or gird up thy force to fight and die.
To fight then be it; for if to die or live,No man but only a God knows this much yetSeeing us fare forth, who bear but in our handsThe weapons not the fortunes of our fight;For these now rest as lots that yet undrawnLie in the lap of the unknown hour; but thisI know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of stormIs but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breathThat bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine720Shall give to death or lordship of strange kingsThe soul of this live city, nor their heelBruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goadWound her free mouth or stain her sanguine sideYet masterless of man; so bid thy lordLearn ere he weep to learn it, and too lateGnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh,And foam his life out in dark froth of bloodVain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed seaTorn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this;730Though thrice his might were mustered for our scatheAnd thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spearsThan sands are whirled about the wintering beachWhen storms have swoln the rivers, and their blastsHave breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea,That waves of inland and the main make warAs men that mix and grapple; though his ranksWere more to number than all wildwood leavesThe wind waves on the hills of all the world,Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall,740The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the GodsFrom lips that have no more on earth to sayHave told thee this the last good news or illThat I shall speak in sight of earth and sunOr he shall hear and see them: for the nextThat ear of his from tongue of mine may takeMust be the first word spoken undergroundFrom dead to dead in darkness. Hence; make haste,Lest war's fleet foot be swifter than thy tongueAnd I that part not to return again750On him that comes not to depart awayBe fallen before thee; for the time is full,And with such mortal hope as knows not fearI go this high last way to the end of all.
To fight then be it; for if to die or live,No man but only a God knows this much yetSeeing us fare forth, who bear but in our handsThe weapons not the fortunes of our fight;For these now rest as lots that yet undrawnLie in the lap of the unknown hour; but thisI know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of stormIs but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breathThat bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine720Shall give to death or lordship of strange kingsThe soul of this live city, nor their heelBruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goadWound her free mouth or stain her sanguine sideYet masterless of man; so bid thy lordLearn ere he weep to learn it, and too lateGnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh,And foam his life out in dark froth of bloodVain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed seaTorn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this;730Though thrice his might were mustered for our scatheAnd thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spearsThan sands are whirled about the wintering beachWhen storms have swoln the rivers, and their blastsHave breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea,That waves of inland and the main make warAs men that mix and grapple; though his ranksWere more to number than all wildwood leavesThe wind waves on the hills of all the world,Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall,740The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the GodsFrom lips that have no more on earth to sayHave told thee this the last good news or illThat I shall speak in sight of earth and sunOr he shall hear and see them: for the nextThat ear of his from tongue of mine may takeMust be the first word spoken undergroundFrom dead to dead in darkness. Hence; make haste,Lest war's fleet foot be swifter than thy tongueAnd I that part not to return again750On him that comes not to depart awayBe fallen before thee; for the time is full,And with such mortal hope as knows not fearI go this high last way to the end of all.
[Str.1.Who shall put a bridle in the mourner's lips to chasten them,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 breastAnd the might thereof molten into rest,760And the rain of eyes that weep be dry,And the breath be stilled of lips that sigh.[Ant.1.Death at last for all men is a harbour; yet they flee from it,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 nightShall they steer into shipwreck out of sight,And with oars that break and shrouds that strainShall they drive whence no ship steers again.[Str.2.770Bitter and strange is the word of the God most high,And steep the strait of his way.Through a pass rock-rimmed and narrow the light that gleamsOn the faces of men falls faint as the dawn of dreams,The dayspring of death as a star in an under skyWhere night is the dead men's day.[Ant.2.As darkness and storm is his will that on earth is done,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,780Hast thou set not an end for the path of the fires of the sun,To appoint him a rest at length?[Str.3.Hast thou told not by measure the waves of the waste wide sea,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 readThe thought and the deed of us living, the doom of us dead?Hast thou made not war upon earth, and again made peace?[Ant.3.Therefore, O father, that seest us whose lives are a breath,Take off us thy burden, and give us not wholly to death.790For lovely is life, and the law wherein all things live,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.[Str.4.But a life that is given for the life of the whole live land,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?[Ant.4.For the fruit of a sweet life plucked in its pure green primeOn his hand who plucks is as blood, on his soul as crime.800With cursing ye buy not blessing, nor peace with strife,And the hand is hateful that chaffers with death for life.[Str.5.Hast thou heard, O my heart, and endurestThe word that is said,What a garland by sentence found surestIs wrought for what head?With what blossomless flowerage of sea-foam and blood-coloured foliage inwoundIt shall crown as a heifer's for slaughter the forehead for marriage uncrowned?[Ant.5.How the veils and the wreaths that should coverThe brows of the bride810Shall be shed by the breath of what loverAnd 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?[Str.6.At a shrine unbeloved of a God unbeholden a gift shall be given for the land,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 sunMay behold him unblinded with darkness of waves overmastering their bulwarks begun.[Ant.6.As a bride shall they bring her, a prey for the bridegroom, a flower for the couch of her lord;They shall muffle her mouth that she cry not or curse them, and cover her eyes from the sword.820They shall fasten her lips as with bit and with bridle, and darken the light of her face,That the soul of the slayer may not falter, his heart be not molten, his hand give not grace.[Str.7.If she weep then, yet may none that hear take pity;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?[Ant.7.Yet we held thee dear and hallowed of her favour,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.[Epode.830Bloodless are her works, and sweetAll the ways that feel her feet;From the empire of her eyesLight takes life and darkness flies;From the harvest of her handsWealth strikes root in prosperous lands;Wisdom of her word is made;At her strength is strength afraid;From the beam of her bright spearWar's fleet foot goes back for fear;840In her shrine she reared the birthFire-begotten on live earth;Glory from her helm was shedOn his olive-shadowed head;By no hand but his shall sheScourge the storms back of the sea,To no fame but his shall giveGrace, being dead, with hers to live,And in double name divineHalf the godhead of their shrine.850But now with what word, with what woe may we meetThe timeless passage of piteous feet,Hither that bend to the last way's endThey shall walk upon earth?What song be rolled for a bride black-stoledAnd the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold?For anguish of heart is my soul's strength brokenAnd the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken,To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birthThat we counted so sweet,860What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend,What gift he must give that shall wed thee for tokenIf the bridegroom be goodly to greet.
[Str.1.Who shall put a bridle in the mourner's lips to chasten them,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 breastAnd the might thereof molten into rest,760And the rain of eyes that weep be dry,And the breath be stilled of lips that sigh.[Ant.1.Death at last for all men is a harbour; yet they flee from it,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 nightShall they steer into shipwreck out of sight,And with oars that break and shrouds that strainShall they drive whence no ship steers again.[Str.2.770Bitter and strange is the word of the God most high,And steep the strait of his way.Through a pass rock-rimmed and narrow the light that gleamsOn the faces of men falls faint as the dawn of dreams,The dayspring of death as a star in an under skyWhere night is the dead men's day.[Ant.2.As darkness and storm is his will that on earth is done,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,780Hast thou set not an end for the path of the fires of the sun,To appoint him a rest at length?[Str.3.Hast thou told not by measure the waves of the waste wide sea,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 readThe thought and the deed of us living, the doom of us dead?Hast thou made not war upon earth, and again made peace?[Ant.3.Therefore, O father, that seest us whose lives are a breath,Take off us thy burden, and give us not wholly to death.790For lovely is life, and the law wherein all things live,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.[Str.4.But a life that is given for the life of the whole live land,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?[Ant.4.For the fruit of a sweet life plucked in its pure green primeOn his hand who plucks is as blood, on his soul as crime.800With cursing ye buy not blessing, nor peace with strife,And the hand is hateful that chaffers with death for life.[Str.5.Hast thou heard, O my heart, and endurestThe word that is said,What a garland by sentence found surestIs wrought for what head?With what blossomless flowerage of sea-foam and blood-coloured foliage inwoundIt shall crown as a heifer's for slaughter the forehead for marriage uncrowned?[Ant.5.How the veils and the wreaths that should coverThe brows of the bride810Shall be shed by the breath of what loverAnd 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?[Str.6.At a shrine unbeloved of a God unbeholden a gift shall be given for the land,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 sunMay behold him unblinded with darkness of waves overmastering their bulwarks begun.[Ant.6.As a bride shall they bring her, a prey for the bridegroom, a flower for the couch of her lord;They shall muffle her mouth that she cry not or curse them, and cover her eyes from the sword.820They shall fasten her lips as with bit and with bridle, and darken the light of her face,That the soul of the slayer may not falter, his heart be not molten, his hand give not grace.[Str.7.If she weep then, yet may none that hear take pity;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?[Ant.7.Yet we held thee dear and hallowed of her favour,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.[Epode.830Bloodless are her works, and sweetAll the ways that feel her feet;From the empire of her eyesLight takes life and darkness flies;From the harvest of her handsWealth strikes root in prosperous lands;Wisdom of her word is made;At her strength is strength afraid;From the beam of her bright spearWar's fleet foot goes back for fear;840In her shrine she reared the birthFire-begotten on live earth;Glory from her helm was shedOn his olive-shadowed head;By no hand but his shall sheScourge the storms back of the sea,To no fame but his shall giveGrace, being dead, with hers to live,And in double name divineHalf the godhead of their shrine.850But now with what word, with what woe may we meetThe timeless passage of piteous feet,Hither that bend to the last way's endThey shall walk upon earth?What song be rolled for a bride black-stoledAnd the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold?For anguish of heart is my soul's strength brokenAnd the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken,To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birthThat we counted so sweet,860What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend,What gift he must give that shall wed thee for tokenIf the bridegroom be goodly to greet.
People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head,I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the deadFrom the fruitful light turn silent to my dark unchilded bed.
People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head,I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the deadFrom the fruitful light turn silent to my dark unchilded bed.
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.
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.
Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine,870Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine,Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine.
Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine,870Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine,Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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,880Born with groanings of the ground that gave him way toward heaven's dear air.
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,880Born with groanings of the ground that gave him way toward heaven's dear air.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
890That I may give this poor girl's blood of mineScarce yet sun-warmed with summer, this thin lifeStill green with flowerless growth of seedling days,To build again my city; that no dropFallen of these innocent veins on the cold groundBut shall help knit the joints of her firm wallsTo knead the stones together, and make sureThe band about her maiden girdlesteadOnce fastened, and of all men's violent handsInviolable for ever; these to me900Were no such gifts as crave no thanksgiving,If with one blow dividing the sheer lifeI might make end, and one pang wind up allAnd seal mine eyes from sorrow; for such endThe Gods give none they love not; but my heart,That leaps up lightened of all sloth or fearTo take the sword's point, yet with one thought's loadFlags, and falls back, broken of wing, that haltsMaimed in mid flight for thy sake and borne down,Mother, that in the places where I played910An arm's length from thy bosom and no moreShalt find me never, nor thine eye wax gladTo mix with mine its eyesight and for loveLaugh without word, filled with sweet light, and speakDivine dumb things of the inward spirit and heart,Moved silently; nor hand or lip againTouch hand or lip of either, but for mineShall thine meet only shadows of swift night,Dreams and dead thoughts of dead things; and the bedThou strewedst, a sterile place for all time, strewn920For my sleep only, with its void sad sheetsShall vex thee, and the unfruitful coverlidFor empty days reproach me dead, that leaveNo profit of my body, but am goneAs one not worth being born to bear no seed,A sapless stock and branchless; yet thy wombShall want not honour of me, that brought forthFor all this people freedom, and for earthFrom the unborn city born out of my bloodTo light the face of all men evermore930Glory; but lay thou this to thy great heartWhereunder in the dark of birth conceivedMine unlit life lay girdled with the zoneThat bound thy bridal bosom; set this thoughtAgainst all edge of evil as a swordTo beat back sorrow, that for all the worldThou brought'st me forth a saviour, who shall saveAthens; for none but I from none but theeShall take this death for garland; and the menMine unknown children of unsounded years,940My sons unrisen shall rise up at thine hand,Sown of thy seed to bring forth seed to thee,And call thee most of all most fruitful foundBlessed; but me too for my barren wombMore than my sisters for their children bornShall these give honour, yea in scorn's own placeShall men set love and bring for mockery praiseAnd thanks for curses; for the dry wild vineScoffed at and cursed of all men that was IShall shed them wine to make the world's heart warm,950That all eyes seeing may lighten, and all earsHear and be kindled; such a draught to drinkShall 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 prayTake me now gently, tenderly take home,And softly lay in his my cold chaste handWho is called of men by my name, being of GodsCharged only and chosen to bring men under earth,And now must lead and stay me with his staff960A silent soul led of a silent God,Toward sightless things led sightless; and on earthI see now but the shadow of mine end,And this last light of all for me in heaven.
890That I may give this poor girl's blood of mineScarce yet sun-warmed with summer, this thin lifeStill green with flowerless growth of seedling days,To build again my city; that no dropFallen of these innocent veins on the cold groundBut shall help knit the joints of her firm wallsTo knead the stones together, and make sureThe band about her maiden girdlesteadOnce fastened, and of all men's violent handsInviolable for ever; these to me900Were no such gifts as crave no thanksgiving,If with one blow dividing the sheer lifeI might make end, and one pang wind up allAnd seal mine eyes from sorrow; for such endThe Gods give none they love not; but my heart,That leaps up lightened of all sloth or fearTo take the sword's point, yet with one thought's loadFlags, and falls back, broken of wing, that haltsMaimed in mid flight for thy sake and borne down,Mother, that in the places where I played910An arm's length from thy bosom and no moreShalt find me never, nor thine eye wax gladTo mix with mine its eyesight and for loveLaugh without word, filled with sweet light, and speakDivine dumb things of the inward spirit and heart,Moved silently; nor hand or lip againTouch hand or lip of either, but for mineShall thine meet only shadows of swift night,Dreams and dead thoughts of dead things; and the bedThou strewedst, a sterile place for all time, strewn920For my sleep only, with its void sad sheetsShall vex thee, and the unfruitful coverlidFor empty days reproach me dead, that leaveNo profit of my body, but am goneAs one not worth being born to bear no seed,A sapless stock and branchless; yet thy wombShall want not honour of me, that brought forthFor all this people freedom, and for earthFrom the unborn city born out of my bloodTo light the face of all men evermore930Glory; but lay thou this to thy great heartWhereunder in the dark of birth conceivedMine unlit life lay girdled with the zoneThat bound thy bridal bosom; set this thoughtAgainst all edge of evil as a swordTo beat back sorrow, that for all the worldThou brought'st me forth a saviour, who shall saveAthens; for none but I from none but theeShall take this death for garland; and the menMine unknown children of unsounded years,940My sons unrisen shall rise up at thine hand,Sown of thy seed to bring forth seed to thee,And call thee most of all most fruitful foundBlessed; but me too for my barren wombMore than my sisters for their children bornShall these give honour, yea in scorn's own placeShall men set love and bring for mockery praiseAnd thanks for curses; for the dry wild vineScoffed at and cursed of all men that was IShall shed them wine to make the world's heart warm,950That all eyes seeing may lighten, and all earsHear and be kindled; such a draught to drinkShall 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 prayTake me now gently, tenderly take home,And softly lay in his my cold chaste handWho is called of men by my name, being of GodsCharged only and chosen to bring men under earth,And now must lead and stay me with his staff960A silent soul led of a silent God,Toward sightless things led sightless; and on earthI see now but the shadow of mine end,And this last light of all for me in heaven.
Farewell I bid thee; so bid thou not me,Lest the Gods hear and mock us; yet on theseI lay the weight not of this grief, nor castIll words for ill deeds back; for if one sayThey have done men wrong, what hurt have they to hear,Or he what help to have said it? surely, child,970If one among men born might say it and liveBlameless, none more than I may, who being vexedHold yet my peace; for now through tears enoughMine eyes have seen the sun that from this dayThine shall see never more; and in the nightEnough has blown of evil, and mine earsWith wail enough the winds have filled, and broughtToo much of cloud from over the sharp seaTo mar for me the morning; such a blastRent from these wide void arms and helpless breast980Long since one graft of me disbranched, and boreBeyond the wild ways of the unwandered worldAnd loud wastes of the thunder-throated sea,Springs of the night and openings of the heaven,The old garden of the Sun; whence never moreFrom west or east shall winds bring back that blowFrom folds of opening heaven or founts of nightThe flower of mine once ravished, born my childTo bear strange children; nor on wings of theirsShall comfort come back to me, nor their sire990Breathe help upon my peril, nor his strengthRaise up my weakness; but of Gods and menI drift unsteered on ruin, and the waveDarkens my head with imminent height, and hangsDumb, filled too full with thunder that shall leaveThese ears death-deafened when the tide finds tongueAnd 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,1000Beyond all thought fain to redeem thee, tornMore timeless from me sorrowing than the dreamThat was thy sister; so shalt thou be too,Thou but a vision, shadow-shaped of sleep,By grief made out of nothing; now but onceI touch, but once more hold thee, one more kissThis last time and none other ever moreLeave on thy lips and leave them. Go; thou wastMy heart, my heart's blood, life-blood of my life,My child, my nursling; now this breast once thine1010Shall rear again no children; never nowShall any mortal blossom born like theeLie there, nor ever with small silent mouthDraw the sweet springs dry for an hour that feedThe blind blithe life that knows not; never headRest here to make these cold veins warm, nor eyeLaugh itself open with the lips that reachLovingly toward a fount more loving; theseDeath makes as all good lesser things now dead,And all the latter hopes that flowered from these1020And fall as these fell fruitless; no joy moreShall man take of thy maidenhood, no tonguePraise it; no good shall eyes get more of theeThat lightened for thy love's sake. Now, take note,Give ear, O all ye people, that my wordMay pierce your hearts through, and the stroke that cleavesBe fruitful to them; so shall all that hearGrow great at heart with child of thought most highAnd bring forth seed in season; this my child,This flower of this my body, this sweet life,1030This fair live youth I give you, to be slain,Spent, shed, poured out, and perish; take my giftAnd give it death and the under Gods who craveSo much for that they give; for this is more,Much more is this than all we; for they giveFreedom, and for a blast, an air of breath,A little soul that is not, they give backLight for all eyes, cheer for all hearts, and lifeThat fills the world's width full of fame and praiseAnd mightier love than children's. This they give,1040The grace to make thy country great, and wrestFrom time and death power to take hold on herAnd 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 thereAre all these lives worth nothing, all loves elseWith this love slain and buried, and their tombA thing for shame to spit on; for what love1050Hath a slave left to love with? or the heartBase-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 menHave 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 limbsThat breed things abject; but who loves on earthNot friend, wife, husband, father, mother, child,1060Nor loves his own life for his own land's sake,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 heartI give you this that of your hands againThe Gods require for Athens; as I giveSo give ye to them what their hearts would haveWho shall give back things better; yea, and theseI take for me to witness, all these Gods,1070Were their great will more grievous than it is,Not one but three, for this one thin-spun threadA threefold band of children would I giveFor this land's love's sake; for whose love to-dayI bid thee, child, fare deathward and farewell.
Farewell I bid thee; so bid thou not me,Lest the Gods hear and mock us; yet on theseI lay the weight not of this grief, nor castIll words for ill deeds back; for if one sayThey have done men wrong, what hurt have they to hear,Or he what help to have said it? surely, child,970If one among men born might say it and liveBlameless, none more than I may, who being vexedHold yet my peace; for now through tears enoughMine eyes have seen the sun that from this dayThine shall see never more; and in the nightEnough has blown of evil, and mine earsWith wail enough the winds have filled, and broughtToo much of cloud from over the sharp seaTo mar for me the morning; such a blastRent from these wide void arms and helpless breast980Long since one graft of me disbranched, and boreBeyond the wild ways of the unwandered worldAnd loud wastes of the thunder-throated sea,Springs of the night and openings of the heaven,The old garden of the Sun; whence never moreFrom west or east shall winds bring back that blowFrom folds of opening heaven or founts of nightThe flower of mine once ravished, born my childTo bear strange children; nor on wings of theirsShall comfort come back to me, nor their sire990Breathe help upon my peril, nor his strengthRaise up my weakness; but of Gods and menI drift unsteered on ruin, and the waveDarkens my head with imminent height, and hangsDumb, filled too full with thunder that shall leaveThese ears death-deafened when the tide finds tongueAnd 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,1000Beyond all thought fain to redeem thee, tornMore timeless from me sorrowing than the dreamThat was thy sister; so shalt thou be too,Thou but a vision, shadow-shaped of sleep,By grief made out of nothing; now but onceI touch, but once more hold thee, one more kissThis last time and none other ever moreLeave on thy lips and leave them. Go; thou wastMy heart, my heart's blood, life-blood of my life,My child, my nursling; now this breast once thine1010Shall rear again no children; never nowShall any mortal blossom born like theeLie there, nor ever with small silent mouthDraw the sweet springs dry for an hour that feedThe blind blithe life that knows not; never headRest here to make these cold veins warm, nor eyeLaugh itself open with the lips that reachLovingly toward a fount more loving; theseDeath makes as all good lesser things now dead,And all the latter hopes that flowered from these1020And fall as these fell fruitless; no joy moreShall man take of thy maidenhood, no tonguePraise it; no good shall eyes get more of theeThat lightened for thy love's sake. Now, take note,Give ear, O all ye people, that my wordMay pierce your hearts through, and the stroke that cleavesBe fruitful to them; so shall all that hearGrow great at heart with child of thought most highAnd bring forth seed in season; this my child,This flower of this my body, this sweet life,1030This fair live youth I give you, to be slain,Spent, shed, poured out, and perish; take my giftAnd give it death and the under Gods who craveSo much for that they give; for this is more,Much more is this than all we; for they giveFreedom, and for a blast, an air of breath,A little soul that is not, they give backLight for all eyes, cheer for all hearts, and lifeThat fills the world's width full of fame and praiseAnd mightier love than children's. This they give,1040The grace to make thy country great, and wrestFrom time and death power to take hold on herAnd 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 thereAre all these lives worth nothing, all loves elseWith this love slain and buried, and their tombA thing for shame to spit on; for what love1050Hath a slave left to love with? or the heartBase-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 menHave 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 limbsThat breed things abject; but who loves on earthNot friend, wife, husband, father, mother, child,1060Nor loves his own life for his own land's sake,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 heartI give you this that of your hands againThe Gods require for Athens; as I giveSo give ye to them what their hearts would haveWho shall give back things better; yea, and theseI take for me to witness, all these Gods,1070Were their great will more grievous than it is,Not one but three, for this one thin-spun threadA threefold band of children would I giveFor this land's love's sake; for whose love to-dayI bid thee, child, fare deathward and farewell.