University of Virginia Library

Throughout the countryside that day he rode
And stayed awhile at every fair abode
He passed, that he might know how the land fared,
And to give arms and counsel: still he heard
Of no foes nigh, and all the people seemed
As though the end now fully gained they deemed;
Feasting and joy he looked on everywhere;
For now the maiden might be slim and fair
Nor make her lover tremble and look round,
When in the wood they walked, at every sound
He did not know: the goodman now might praise
His sleek-skinned herd nor fear his voice to raise:
Folk drank from silver now, nor feared to dine
With their halls done about with hangings fine.
On all of whom would Aristomenes
Cast neither doubt nor fear to break their ease
But praised what arms they had and gave them more,
And bade them give good heed unto the lore
Their fathers had in such things, and to deem
That women loved the clatter and the gleam
Of sword and shield, and bade them still to strive
As free men ready for the fight to live:
And unto all he seemed a God indeed,
A man to help them at their utmost need.

About the ending of the second day
He stayed his band anigh the mountain-way
That threading rough Taygetus cometh down
Upon Eurotas and the lordly town
Where dwelt the Spartans; just in Spartan land
They pitched their tents, and there he gave command
That they till noon of the next day should bide
And do no hurt unto the countryside:
“But me,” he said, “the Gods call otherwhere;
And if so be that I should chance to fare
The longest and the latest road of all,
Think no great harm thereof; for that shall fall
That the Fates will: and verily I think
If all our folk 'neath fire and steel should sink,
Of these dry straws ye gather for a bed
The Fates would fashion warriors in their stead
To quell Laconia. Have no care for me,
But rest in peace, for good days shall ye see!”
Therewith from off him his fair helm he did,
And with a homespun coat his armour hid,
And took an ill-wrought and rough-shafted spear
Such as a shepherd 'gainst the wolf might bear
And pulled a hood over his face, then went
Unto the gear that lay before his tent
And took a bundle from it, that might be
Some wicked thing for all that folk could see,
Then backed a horse rough-groomed but strong & tall,
And as the shadows of the hills 'gan fall
Their longest, jogged on slowly up the pass
That led to Sparta. A soft eve it was,
But from the south the clouds were gathering now
'Neath a light wind, and as the dark did grow,
So grew they till a drizzling undersky
Hid moon and stars, and all the wind did die,
Though rather grey than black the night was still
As slowly onward, betwixt hill and hill,
Amid the noises of the night, he passed,
Meeting few folk at first, and none at last
For a long while: once on the silence broke
From somewhere nigh the noise of feasting folk,
And blurred lights gleaming wide could he espy.
Once heard he cows low from some shed, so nigh
That trampling of the horses too he heard;
And once a shepherd, mocking some night-bird
And answered by his dog; and on he rode
Through the dank drizzling night with little load
Upon his heart, thinking of matters great.

And now he deemed indeed the night grew late,
And once or twice he drew rein, for it seemed
That somewhat glimmered far off, that he deemed
The water whereof did his foemen drink,
The white Eurotas, till the dream would shrink
And all be grey and empty; till at last
When down-hill sleepily he long had passed,
Close by a sudden light broke on his eyes
And a black gable shadow-like did rise
In the grey night, and in the road near by
Were other shadows moving silently
Whence here and there steel glimmered: the long street
Dimly he saw beyond, as he did meet
The watch of Sparta: for belike ye know,
Their glory and their might the more to show,
Unwalled the town was of this haughty folk.

So from the watch the word of challenge broke
As they his horse-hoofs heard; with clownish shout
He answered them, and now with little doubt
They dealt with him when in their midst he came,
Making small question of his place or name,
But of the tidings from the west would know.
God wot he did not spare therewith to show
Strange things enough to them and portents dire,
Saying moreover he had seen the fire
Spread o'er Laconia, that a mighty band
Of the Messenians harried all the land,
That the Arcadian and the Elian kings
Were come to help, and many such-like things;
The which in surly wrath they took: then he
Asked them in turn where might the dwelling be
Of Jove's priest, for thereunto would he wend;
They bade him go unto the great street's end
Where he should see the temple, and near by
The priest dwelt in the marble house on high.

So forth he passed, and coming to the place
Its mighty pillars through the dusk could trace
And all was silent round: no stay at all
He made but gat him o'er the boundary wall
Struggling with hand and knee: then looking round
Slowly he passed the tree-set holy ground
Nor yet saw aught; so going on again
He passed the hushed porch of the mighty fane,
And came to the inner place, where burned aloft
A glimmering lamp: again with footsteps soft
He went about, but there was no one there.
Then to the feet of great Jove's image fair
He went, and gazed on His dim face awhile,
Then stooping down he undid with a smile
The bundle he had brought, and therefrom drew
A mail-coat, glittering and well-wrought and new
But stained with blood; a crested helm cleft down,
And a fair shield whereon a lion brown
Was wrought upon a ground of ruddy gold.
And therewithal a scroll did he unfold
Whereon was written:

Aristomenes,
O Dweller mid the Spartans, gives thee these;
Since little gifts henceforward shall they have
Of such to give thee, O Thou strong to save:
Take the first-fruits of the Messenian sword,
And spare thou not to be a gracious lord
To those who fear not aught and hate not thee!

So then the arms he bare up reverently
And laid them at Jove's feet, and thereupon
The scroll well writ; then turning gat him gone
And out into the street, and found his beast,
And went his ways again. Down in the east
The light spread now; day dawned, the rain was o'er
When to the warders' post he came once more,
Shifting his sword in such a wise that he
Might come unto the handle easily,
And smiling as a man that makes a jest
Unto himself: but now unto their rest
The more part of the guard was gone, but four
Were there on foot; who stood his path before
And bade him stand, wherewith the foremost said:
“Thy debts in the good town are swiftly paid;
Where goest thou, churl?”

“Spartan fool, stand off,”
Said he, “more business hast thou than to scoff
Good men and true!”

“What business,” said he, “then?”
Handling his spear.

“To stand and fight like men,”
Said Aristomenes, “not flee away,
As the tale goes ye fled the other day.”

Another drew nigh: “Speak thy name out, thou,
That we may tell whom we are slaying now.”

He laughed, but ugly eyes were in his head
And “pull him down” the other warders said.

Swiftly the hero with his left hand smote
The man before him, drawing from his coat
His naked sword that, whirled about him now,
Dread and strange in the dripping morn did show,
As his freed horse sprang forward; low he bent,
Laughing aloud, as o'er his head there went
The streak of the white spear; then he turned about
In his saddle crying midst their wrathful shout:

“Heed well the name of Aristomenes;
Because in vain ye pray the Gods for ease
Till he is but a name, though unforgot.”

Tumult there was and scattering arrow-shot
That harmed him nought; the echo of his name
Like an ill dream to folk just wakened came,
As in hot haste half-armed the Spartans ran
To horse; but saw no more the godlike man
Till they had fain not seen him.

On he sped
Through the fresh morn, and scarce knew more of dread
Than the light clouds above him, wondering still—
—As swiftly he pressed on 'twixt hill and hill,
Passing a homestead here, and there a bridge,
And here a turret-marked grey mountain-ridge—
What he was thinking of when yesternight
He passed these same things hidden from his sight.
Good will and heart he had to turn about
Fair word unto the staring hind to shout;
Good will to smile on the short-kirtled maid
Who shrank with shaded eyes and half afraid
Against the rock that hedged the narrow road;
Good will to snatch from off the waggon's load
A handful of the sweet close-lying hay;
Good heart to rise in stirrups when the way
Grew dark with the oak-boughs and to snatch adown
Acorn and deep-cut leaf a-growing brown;
Good heart to sing a snatch of some old song
Learned in the days before he thought of wrong.

And so at last his pace he needs must slack,
And, drawing rein high up, he looked aback
And saw none following him; then on he passed
At slower pace, and reached his folk at last,
Who with great joy made tremulous with fear
Received him, as he cried that all might hear:

“Ill-built is Sparta for a great abode;
Amid their chiefest street, God wot, the road
Is roughly paved: small houses are therein;
Eurotas' bridge is ugly, old and thin:
When we have won the place, mid days of ease
There will we build us nobler palaces
And fairer temples than this morn I saw.”

Then laughing, as about him they did draw
With wondering faces, did he tell them all,
And trembling triumph on their hearts did fall
And trust in such a man their hosts to lead.

In fair wise did his careful journey speed
Throughout the land now; to the sea he came
The second day, and there he heard the fame
Of his last deed: whereby the merchants said
The Spartan folk were smitten with strange dread
More than men might have looked for; wide about
He went thence through the land and met no doubt
Or hanging-back as yet: and on the day
Appointed reached Ithome; tents there lay
Before it on the plain, both rich and rude,
For there was come so great a multitude,
That the burg, dwindling for this many a year,
Fell short of house-room for their lodging there.

But when the rumour spread that he was come
Unto the entry of their Kings' old home,
How did folk run together in his way,
And there with tears that nought of shame would stay,
And cries like sobs, and words they never knew
That they could speak, worship the strong and true,
As up the steep his folk wound to the gate
Broke open in the days made desolate
Despite of such as he. He turned about
And 'twixt the spears gazed back upon that rout
When 'neath the shadow of the gate he was,
And far below he saw the light clouds pass
Over a quiet land, made ready now
For winter's rest: then to his broad high brow
There came a troubled look, and he grew pale,
Either with memory of the long-past tale,
Or wild forebodings of the tale to come—
—And therewithal Ithome had him home.