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A Song of Heroes

by John Stuart Blackie

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SOCRATES.
  
  
  
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SOCRATES.

[_]

In the case of a name of such wide significance as Socrates, it were superfluous to encumber the page with any display of learned notes. Suffice it to say that everything in the ballad is strictly historical, and taken directly from the original authorities. The indifference shown by Socrates to the αναγκαι or necessary laws of physical science, as contrasted with the freedom of practical reason in which moral science delights, is distinctly emphasised by Xenophon in the opening chapters of the ‘Memorabilia’; and the argument with the atheist—a little perking, self-sufficing creature, as atheists are wont to be—will be found at full length in the same sensible and judicious writer. It is this argument, commonly called the argument from design, that, passing through the eloquent pages of Cicero in his book ‘De Naturâ Deorum,’ has formed the groundwork of all works on Natural Theology up to the present time; and it is an argument that, however misapplied here and there by shallow thinkers and presumptuous dogmatists, has its roots so deep in the instincts of all healthy humanity, and in the very essence of reason, that, though it may be illustrated indefinitely


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by example, it never can have anything either added to its certainty or abstracted from its significance. The early occupation of Socrates as a moulder of statues is mentioned by Pausanias; and the name of Critias is introduced to indicate the offence given by the free-mouthed talk of the great teacher to the leaders of the political parties of his time, which may have had as much to do with his martyrdom as the charge of irreligion that, according to Xenophon, was the main count of the indictment against him. His big round eye, and other features of his personal appearance, are minutely and humorously described by the same author in the ‘Banquet.’

I will sing a Greek, the wisest
Of the land where wisdom grew
Native to the soil, and beauty
Wisely wedded to the true.
Socrates, the general sire
Of that best lore which teaches man
In a reasoned world with reason
Forth to shape his human plan.
Not of fire he spake, or water,
Sun or moon, or any star,

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Wheeling their predestined courses,
From all human purpose far.
Booted not to ask what fuel
Feeds the Sun, or how much he
Than the lady Moon is bigger
When she sails up from the sea.
Fool is he whose lust of knowing
Plumbs the deep and metes the skies;
Only one great truth concerns thee,
What is nearest to thine eyes.
Know thyself and thine; cast from thee
Idle dream and barren guess;
This the text of thy wise preaching,
Reason's prophet, Socrates.
Him in school of honest labour
Nature reared with pious pains,
With no blood from boasted fathers
Flowing in his sober veins.

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As a workman works, he stoutly
Plied his task from day to day;
For scant silver pennies moulding
Tiny statues from the clay.
But, when thought was ripe, obedient
To the God-sent voice within,
Forth he walked on lofty mission,
Truth to preach and souls to win.
Not the lonely wisdom pleased him,
Brooding o'er some nice conceit;
But where the many-mingling strife
Of man with man made quick the street,
There was he both taught and teacher;
In the market where for gain
Eager salesmen tempt the buyer;
By Athena's pillared fane;
In the Pnyx, where wrangling faction
Thunders from a brazen throat,

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And the babbling Demos holds
The scales that tremble on a vote;
In the pleasant Ceramicus,
Where the dead most honoured sleep,
In Piræus, where the merchant
Stores the plunder of the deep.
There was he with big round eye
Looking blithely round; and ever
He was centre of the ring
Where the talk was swift and clever.
There, like bees around a hive
Buzzing in bright summer weather,
Flocked, to hear his glib discourse,
Sophist, sage, and fool together.
Statesmen came, and politicians,
Strong with suasive word to sway;
Alcibiades, bold and brilliant,
Dashing, confident, and gay.

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Critias came with tearless stoutness,
Sharp to wield the despot's power;
Aristippus, wise to pluck
The blossom from the fleeting hour.
Came a little man, an atheist,
Said in gods he could believe
If with eyes he might behold them;
What we see we must believe.
Said the son of Sophroniscus,
“Do you see yourself, or me?
You may see my hand, my fingers,
But myself you cannot see.
“When I spread my guests a banquet,
Delicate with dainty fish,
Though unseen, unnamed, unnoted,
'Twas a cook that sauced the dish.
“In the tragic scene, when mountain,
Rock, and river, well combined,

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Hold the sense, the show delights thee,
But the showman lurks behind.
“So in all the shifting wonder
Of the star-bespangled pole,
What we see is but the outward
Seeming of the unseen soul.
“Let not shows of sense confound thee,
Nothing works from reason free;
All within, without, around thee,
Holds a god that speaks to thee.”
So he talked and so he reasoned,
Casting seeds of truth abroad,
Seeds that grow with faithful tendance
Up to central truth in God.
But not all might thole his teaching;
Weak eyes shrink when light is nigh,
Many love the dear delusion
That lends glory to a lie.

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'Mid the throng of gaping listeners,
Idle danglers in the street,
When from front of vain pretender
Deft he plucked the crude conceit,
Many laughed; but with a sting
Rankling sore in bitter breast,
One departed, and another,
Like a bird with battered crest.
And they brewed strong hate together,
And with many a factious wile
Drugged the people's ear with slander,
Stirred their hearts with sacred bile.
And they gagged his free-mouthed preaching;
At Religion's fretful call
He must answer for his teaching
In the solemn judgment-hall.
And they hired a host of pleaders,
Subtle-tongued like any thong,

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To confound weak wits with phrases,
To convert most right to wrong.
And they mewed him in a prison,
And they doomed him there to die,
And he drank the deathful hemlock,
And he died, as wise men die,
With smooth brow, serene, unclouded,
With a bright, unweeping eye,
Marching with firm step to Hades,
When the word came from on high.