University of Virginia Library

So rose the little cloud like a man's hand
Upon Laconia, spreading, till the land
Was wet with drenching of that evil shower.

Down sank the great sun now from hour to hour
As steadily they went unto the west,
Showing no force 'gainst any for the rest,
Nor seeming aught, if any drew anear,
But Spartans by their riding and their gear.
Good speed they made, for they had some who knew
How best to pierce the tangled valleys through,
And so before the ending of the day
They gat them through a certain narrow way
Betwixt the hills, and, coming out of it,
Beheld the kites sweep and the swallows flit
Against the grey cliffs with the sun still bright,
And down below a land of all delight
Green with June not yet weary: then the guide,
Who ever went by the young leader's side,
Turned to his smooth fresh face his careworn eyes,
And said:

“O godlike youth, the Gods are wise
To dull our memory, since they will that we
Should live on still: so has it fared with me
That mid my daily pain and daily fear,
I had forgotten what we gaze on there,
The sweet land of Messenia.”

Then that word,
Said low in the soft eve, their hearts so stirred
That sounds without a meaning and strange tears
Broke from them, amid thoughts of all the years
Wherein alternate hope and fear had played
With their dead fathers, and the deeds now made
Songs for the Spartan children: there a space
They lingered, gazing on the pleasant place
From the grey pass; till Aristomenes
Cast up his sword into the evening breeze,
And caught it falling, and cried:

“Praise to you,
O Gods that ye have given me deeds to do,
And days to do them in, and for an end
No dream of vain things whatso Fate may send!”

Then all cried out for joy, and down they went
Unto the lower land, till 'neath a bent
They saw where lay a homestead grey-roofed, long;
Thither they turned, and still the herdsman's song
Going to fold at day's end, or the voice
Of youths and maids who ever must rejoice
With the mere joy of living, sank and died
As, turning, they beheld these fellows ride
In Spartan wargear; close shrank child and maid
Unto the grey stone well-shaft as afraid,
When nigher still they drew; by the garth-gate
The unarmed door-wards scowled with helpless hate,
And as their spears the trim wall overtopped
The piper mid the light-limbed dancers stopped
His pipe as pleasant as the morning bees
Within the limes: but Aristomenes
Smiled as if glad, and much they wondered then
To see the rough lad leading steel-clad men
With such proud mien, and some folk murmured low,
“What mumming will the cursed thieves make now
To grind us lower yet?” But on he rode
And smote upon the door of that abode,
That opened almost even ere his blow,
And there an old man stood, with hair of snow,
Flushed face and wrathful eyes, who cried:

“Why then,
Come ye to shear the shorn, O Spartan men?
These are your own fields that we dwell upon,
When all is wasted then is your wealth gone
As well as our poor lives.”

The youth leapt down
Unto the earth, and 'neath the elder's frown
Smiled joyously, and scarce for joy could cry:
“Help for Messenia, father, ere thou die!
—Come now and tell me what young men are here
Who with stout heart may carry sword or spear
Nor faint when foes are many!”

The old man
Stood there with open mouth and cheeks grown wan
And stared at him a while, then stammering said:
“What is thy name then? Come ye from the dead
That ye must name Messenia as a thing
To help or fight for? As of a great king
Thy voice is and thine eyes, despite thy gear;
Mock not an old man in his last ill year!”

“Well, like a mock it seems that I should strive,
E'en with this handful, happy days to give
Unto the beat-down land,” he said; “yet sooth
So dying shall I crown a happy youth
With no ill end—Yea, but I will prevail:
Beseems it not a god-helped man to fail;
And such as ye behold me in this place,
I spring from Æpitus of ancient days.”

Then mid the ring of spears the old man cried:
“Ah is it so that my dream hath not lied?
Now may the rest come after—Come ye in,
And if your cheer tonight be poor and thin
Yet may we look to mend it on a tide
When 'neath us lies the Spartan country-side:
Since of your tidings somewhat do I guess.”

Then through the door in did the young men press,
The home-folk gathered round much wondering,
While still the old man cried for many a thing,
To spread the boards, to fold the new-come neat,
To bring the strangers water for their feet
And garlands for their heads, and so at last
Into the hall both guests and home-folk passed
And feasted as they might with plenteous glee,
Though small wealth there indeed there was to see
Of aught but roughest things; but maidens' eyes
Made the bright blood to many a cheek arise
Mid the new comers; sweet it seemed to give
New hope of life, new hope for love to live
To such as these; like very Gods they felt
As though to a great world weal and woe they dealt.

But now the goodman did for silence cry,
And Aristomenes spoke out on high
And told the hope and good hap of that morn,
Saying moreover,

“Lo, into the corn
The hook is thrust, but further than our eyes
May see, the unshorn field before us lies.
Surely I think that we shall one day rest
And look behind, those who have not been blest
With death before the victory; yet mean while
With no soft words will I your hearts beguile:
Hard are the years wherein we have to deal
With a proud folk, an unbowed commonweal;
Ye who draw swords now, for no holiday
I lead you forth, nor for a while to play
That ye may sleep the sounder, that your loves
May kiss you sweeter in the olive groves.
Nay, amid ruin a God must each become
With stern face watching wrack within his home;
Unthought-of horrors must he look to find,
A fresh pain drifting nigher on each wind,
Fresh fear, if he could fear, in every breath
Made into words; no love but such as death
May make not pale unto his lips shall stoop,
No hope but such as hopeth against hope:
Is it too great to bear?—Yet shame and scorn
Ye slay, so bearing this—But yestermorn
I, who speak this as if the fire of Jove
The boy's heart in my breast did verily move,
Knew nought whereat I aimed, why I did yearn,
And now within me such a light doth burn
As shall light up in Sparta faces pale
With listening to a still increasing tale—
—A flame to last till death comes—yea in sooth
E'en this same morn was I a hot-head youth
Who thought to do my deed and get away,
Laughing an hour at all the disarray
Of Spartan grey-beards—now I know that I
Am driven on by some divinity
To free the land, and none shall stay me now!”

So godlike did the visage of him grow
As thus he spake, that men's hearts in them swelled,
And when he made an end from out them welled
A great cry glad and strong and terrible,
And on all folk a godlike courage fell.
But the old man called mid the noise and stir
His five sons to him, and said:

“Lo ye hear
How the Gods have remembered us; haste now
And get to saddle, and these tidings show
Wide through the land to every trusty man,
And bid none loiter if so be he can
Set foot before foot, but be here ere noon
Tomorrow, for doubt not that over soon
Shall Sparta be upon us.”

Therewithal
To one or two more did his kinsmen call
And went their ways, and then the goodman said:

“Hearken fair friends: last night upon my bed
I slept and dreamed, and lo a dead friend came
Unto me and said, ‘Damis, name the name
Most famous amid all Messenian folk!’
A sigh methought from out my heart there broke
As I named Euphaes: ‘Nay long agone,’
He said, ‘he went with many another one
Unto the dead; seest thou my face, how bright
It is now; shall a beaten ghost delight
This heart that loves Messenia mid the dead?’
Methought I fell a-trembling then, and said:
‘Nay, by the holy things that thou and I
Buried in Ira's midmost secretly
Ere the last fight, tell me what thing is this!’
He said, ‘E'en now an eagle flying is
From out Arcadia, let him not fly lone—’
And into the dimness straightway was he gone
Leaving the name unspoken; but I woke
Struggling with memories of the bygone folk,
The last hours of Ithome; and how he
The prophet [Theoclus] bade that man and me
Bury the holy things of Jove deep down
Amid the dusk of Ira's woods unsown:
‘Which things once hid,’ quoth he, ‘ye shall not stir,
Till of the living from the dead ye hear,
And from the eyrie of Arcadia fly
Jove's bird to bring our people victory.’
—And now meseems I am not grown too old
To go to Ira: yea, a fair stronghold
Meet for our purpose shall ye find the same,
A place where a great host need scarce think shame
E'en by a band like thine to be long stay'd.
Moreover thither may we well have aid
From out Arcadia, lying close indeed
Unto its marches: good for every need
The country is around, nor may ye face
The hosts of Sparta save in such a place,
Until we gather force that may avail;
Yea, and get arms too, for a weary tale
It is to tell of all the ransacking
In every stead for any warlike thing.
Yet is there left indeed a spear and sword
In this my house, because my well-hid hoard
Has 'scaped the thieves of Sparta. Now one cup
Unto our first fight, and then stand we up
And for departing all things here array.
Glad shall I be to see the winding way
Dimmed by the dust-cloud that our hoofs shall raise;
And though I see not one of all those days
When in this house unfeared my kin shall sit,
Yet doubt I nought about the end of it.”

Amid the clatter and the joyous sound
That rose up as the cup of oaths went round
Sat Aristomenes, as though a dream
Had come on him unwares; all things did seem
Too little and too hopeless for a while
A wise man into striving to beguile;
But then, remembering what great toil there lay
Betwixt him and the coming of the day
When all attained should leave him nought to hope,
With what a world of troubles he must cope
Ere he could turn about to weigh the worth
Of all the deeds men do upon the earth,
He smiled and stretched his hand out for the cup
And as amid the clamour he stood up,
And drank in silence, to his eyes there came
A kind grave look, as though he knew no shame
And mid the day's work had no time to scoff;
All querulous curses and all dreams fell off
From his fair soul, that great his name might grow.

So in the fair eve were they busy now
By wain and byre, nor slept they much that night,
And long ere the first breaking of the light
Men 'gan to gather to the stead, and when
The sun was fully up, on many men
Full-flushed with hope his rays fell: then a band
Of chosen youths pushed onward through the land
Toward Ira for the clearing of the way;
And ere the midmost of the troubled day
Old Damis the main body of them led
From out the cleared deserted ancient stead,
Nor once turned back his cheery face to gaze
Upon the ruin of the well-loved place,
For still behind stayed Aristomenes
Watching the dust-cloud float above the trees
As through the vale they wound; now a great train
Where wife and child and beast and laden wain
Made the spears seem but scanty: so when he
No more mid that moving cloud could see
The steel a-glittering, round he turned and bade
His men to work, who, falling to there, made
Such wrack of the empty stead as might be done
Without fire-raising.

Low had fallen the sun
Before he cried to horse; then with grave face,
As one grown old untimely, from that place
He turned the last of all men, and his heart,
Brave as it was, scarce seemed to have a part
In all the eager hopes of yestermorn,
So sad a courage in his soul was born,
As swiftly through the o'erworn windless day
He and his folk toward Ira went their way.