 | Leonidas |  |
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BOOK IX.
The argument.
Leonidas and the Grecians penetrate through the Persian camp to the very pavilion of Xerxes, who avoids destruction by flight. The Barbarians are slaughter'd in great multitudes, and their camp is set on fire. Leonidas conducts his men back to Thermopylæ, engages the Persians, who were descended from the hills, and after numberless proofs of superiour strength and valour sinks down cover'd with wounds, and expires the last of all the Grecian commanders.
The waining moon display'd her gleaming horns,
When o'er th' unguarded bound of Asia's camp
Now pass'd the Grecians. Through th' unnumber'd tents,
Where all was mute and tranquil, they pursue
Their silent march. The eastern world around
Lay stretch'd in slumber, motionless, and deaf,
Wrapt in the dead security of night,
Nor mark'd the steps of Fate. The wary Greeks
By Polydorus guided still proceed.
Ev'n to the center of th' extensive host
Unseen they pierc'd, when now th' imperial tent
Yet distant rose before them. Wide around
The proud pavilion stretch'd an ample space,
Where myriads might imbattle. Here a band
Of chosen Persians watchful round their king
Held their nocturnal station. As the hearts
Of anxious nations menac'd with the waste
Of meager famine, and the ruthless sword
Sink in their frozen bosoms, while despair
Sees fear-ingender'd fantoms in the sky,
Aërial hosts amid the clouds array'd,
Which seem to shake the firmament with war,
Portending woe and death; the Persians thus
Are smote with consternation, as the moon
By her faint beam discover'd from afar
The glimpse of Grecian arms. With sudden cries
They waken Horrour, which to Xerxes' couch,
And o'er th' astonish'd host, swift-winged flew
Dispelling sleep and silence. All the camp
Pours forth its numbers naked, pale, unarm'd,
Wild with amazement, blinded by dismay,
To ev'ry foe obnoxious; when at once
Plung'd in ten thousand breasts the Grecian steel
Reeks with destruction. Deluges of blood
Float o'er the field, and foam around the heaps
Of wretches slain unconscious of the hand,
Which mows them down by legions. From his couch
The lord of Asia, and of Lybia starts,
(Amaze, affright, distraction in his look)
And sees in thought united Greece advance.
Where then was fled the empty pride of kings,
The hope of glory, and the lust of pow'r?
What then avail'd th' innumerable range
Of thy huge camp save only to conceal
Thy trembling steps, O Xerxes, while thou fliest.
Leonidas before the Grecian van
Through bleeding thousands hews his dreadful way.
Before him Terrour strides. Gigantic Death,
And Desolation at his side attend,
With all the Furies of insatiate war.
To Xerxes' tent the hero speeds, nor finds
His victim. Ardent throngs of Grecians fill
The stately mansion; to the ground are hurl'd
The glitt'ring ensigns of imperial pow'r:
The diadem, the scepter, late ador'd
And fear'd by millions, underneath their feet
With mingled rage and scorn the Grecians crush,
A sacrifice to Freedom. Now return
The furious bands. Leonidas exalts
For new destruction his resistless spear,
When sudden night o'ershrouds the spangled heav'ns,
And clouds condensing intercept the moon.
Black o'er the furrow'd main the raging east
In whirlwinds sweeps the surge. Now roars the coast,
The crashing forests, and the cavern'd rocks.
Swift through the camp the hurricane impells
Its dire career, when Asia's numbers, veil'd
Amid the shelt'ring horrours of the storm,
Evade the Spartan lance. The Grecians halt,
By great Leonidas restrain'd, and wait
Near Xerxes' tent their mighty leader's will.
When o'er th' unguarded bound of Asia's camp
Now pass'd the Grecians. Through th' unnumber'd tents,
Where all was mute and tranquil, they pursue
293
Lay stretch'd in slumber, motionless, and deaf,
Wrapt in the dead security of night,
Nor mark'd the steps of Fate. The wary Greeks
By Polydorus guided still proceed.
Ev'n to the center of th' extensive host
Unseen they pierc'd, when now th' imperial tent
Yet distant rose before them. Wide around
The proud pavilion stretch'd an ample space,
Where myriads might imbattle. Here a band
Of chosen Persians watchful round their king
Held their nocturnal station. As the hearts
Of anxious nations menac'd with the waste
Of meager famine, and the ruthless sword
Sink in their frozen bosoms, while despair
Sees fear-ingender'd fantoms in the sky,
Aërial hosts amid the clouds array'd,
294
Portending woe and death; the Persians thus
Are smote with consternation, as the moon
By her faint beam discover'd from afar
The glimpse of Grecian arms. With sudden cries
They waken Horrour, which to Xerxes' couch,
And o'er th' astonish'd host, swift-winged flew
Dispelling sleep and silence. All the camp
Pours forth its numbers naked, pale, unarm'd,
Wild with amazement, blinded by dismay,
To ev'ry foe obnoxious; when at once
Plung'd in ten thousand breasts the Grecian steel
Reeks with destruction. Deluges of blood
Float o'er the field, and foam around the heaps
Of wretches slain unconscious of the hand,
Which mows them down by legions. From his couch
The lord of Asia, and of Lybia starts,
295
And sees in thought united Greece advance.
Where then was fled the empty pride of kings,
The hope of glory, and the lust of pow'r?
What then avail'd th' innumerable range
Of thy huge camp save only to conceal
Thy trembling steps, O Xerxes, while thou fliest.
Leonidas before the Grecian van
Through bleeding thousands hews his dreadful way.
Before him Terrour strides. Gigantic Death,
And Desolation at his side attend,
With all the Furies of insatiate war.
To Xerxes' tent the hero speeds, nor finds
His victim. Ardent throngs of Grecians fill
The stately mansion; to the ground are hurl'd
The glitt'ring ensigns of imperial pow'r:
The diadem, the scepter, late ador'd
296
With mingled rage and scorn the Grecians crush,
A sacrifice to Freedom. Now return
The furious bands. Leonidas exalts
For new destruction his resistless spear,
When sudden night o'ershrouds the spangled heav'ns,
And clouds condensing intercept the moon.
Black o'er the furrow'd main the raging east
In whirlwinds sweeps the surge. Now roars the coast,
The crashing forests, and the cavern'd rocks.
Swift through the camp the hurricane impells
Its dire career, when Asia's numbers, veil'd
Amid the shelt'ring horrours of the storm,
Evade the Spartan lance. The Grecians halt,
By great Leonidas restrain'd, and wait
Near Xerxes' tent their mighty leader's will.
297
Beside the high pavilion from the time,
That Xerxes near Thermopylæ had drawn
His num'rous bands, perpetual fire had shone;
Before whose sacred light the Persian lord
Was wont among his Magi to adore
The power of Oromasdes: piles of wood
Lay nigh, prepar'd to feed the constant flame.
These on the altar by the Greeks are strewn,
So wills Laconia's hero; while the winds
Excite the blaze, his phalanx he divides;
Four bands are form'd by Dithyrambus led,
By Alpheus, by Diomedon, the last
Himself commands. The word is giv'n; the Greeks
Press to the fire; soon shrink the burning heaps;
Destructive flames they brandish, and, injoin'd
To reassemble at the regal tent,
By various paths the hostile camp invade.
That Xerxes near Thermopylæ had drawn
His num'rous bands, perpetual fire had shone;
Before whose sacred light the Persian lord
Was wont among his Magi to adore
The power of Oromasdes: piles of wood
Lay nigh, prepar'd to feed the constant flame.
These on the altar by the Greeks are strewn,
So wills Laconia's hero; while the winds
Excite the blaze, his phalanx he divides;
Four bands are form'd by Dithyrambus led,
By Alpheus, by Diomedon, the last
Himself commands. The word is giv'n; the Greeks
Press to the fire; soon shrink the burning heaps;
Destructive flames they brandish, and, injoin'd
298
By various paths the hostile camp invade.
Resistless desolation now involves
The Malian fields, as o'er the eastern tents
From diff'rent stations flew ten thousand brands
Hurl'd by the Greeks unrespited. The winds
With violence redoubled breathing round
Tempestuous rage exasperate the blaze.
The conflagration, like a sea, expands;
Collected now from ev'ry part it forms
One waving surface of unbounded fire.
In ruddy volumes mount the curling flames
To heav'n's dark vault, and paint the midnight clouds.
So, when the north emits its purpled lights,
The undulating radiance streaming wide,
As with a burning canopy, invests
Th' ethereal concave. Oeta now disclos'd
Its forehead glitt'ring with eternal frost,
While down the rocks the foamy torrents shone.
Far o'er the main the pointed rays were thrown;
Night snatch'd her mantle from the ocean's breast;
The billows glimmer from the distant shores.
But where ascends a pillar huge of smoke
With wreathing flames incircled, Horrour there
And Death on great Leonidas attend.
He bade th' exulting Polydorus lead,
Where Asia's horse and chariots stood arrang'd;
There at his word devouring Vulcan feasts
On all the tribute, which Thessalia's meads
Yield to the scythe, and riots on the heaps
Of Ceres emptied of the ripen'd grain.
A flood of fire envelopes all the ground;
The cordage bursts of ev'ry blazing tent;
Down sink the roofs, and overwhelm the throng
Of wretches panting from the Spartan sword,
Close-wedg'd with fear; the Libyan chariot burns,
Th' Arabian camel, and the Persian steed
Bound through the fiery deluge; wild with pain
They shake their singed manes, with madding hoofs
Dash through the blood of thousands mix'd with flames,
That rage augmented by the whirlwind's blast.
The Malian fields, as o'er the eastern tents
From diff'rent stations flew ten thousand brands
Hurl'd by the Greeks unrespited. The winds
With violence redoubled breathing round
Tempestuous rage exasperate the blaze.
The conflagration, like a sea, expands;
Collected now from ev'ry part it forms
One waving surface of unbounded fire.
In ruddy volumes mount the curling flames
To heav'n's dark vault, and paint the midnight clouds.
So, when the north emits its purpled lights,
The undulating radiance streaming wide,
As with a burning canopy, invests
299
Its forehead glitt'ring with eternal frost,
While down the rocks the foamy torrents shone.
Far o'er the main the pointed rays were thrown;
Night snatch'd her mantle from the ocean's breast;
The billows glimmer from the distant shores.
But where ascends a pillar huge of smoke
With wreathing flames incircled, Horrour there
And Death on great Leonidas attend.
He bade th' exulting Polydorus lead,
Where Asia's horse and chariots stood arrang'd;
There at his word devouring Vulcan feasts
On all the tribute, which Thessalia's meads
Yield to the scythe, and riots on the heaps
Of Ceres emptied of the ripen'd grain.
A flood of fire envelopes all the ground;
The cordage bursts of ev'ry blazing tent;
300
Of wretches panting from the Spartan sword,
Close-wedg'd with fear; the Libyan chariot burns,
Th' Arabian camel, and the Persian steed
Bound through the fiery deluge; wild with pain
They shake their singed manes, with madding hoofs
Dash through the blood of thousands mix'd with flames,
That rage augmented by the whirlwind's blast.
Meantime the scepter'd lord of half the globe
Through the wide tumult, like a guilty slave,
From tent to tent precipitates his flight.
Dispers'd are all his satraps; Pride itself
Shuns his dejected brow; Despair alone
With pale Confusion, and with frantic Fear
Wait on th' imperial fugitive, and shew,
As round the camp his eye distracted roves,
No limits to destruction. Now was seen
Aurora mounting from the eastern hills
In rosy sandals, and with dewy locks:
The winds subside before her, darkness flies,
And streams of light proclaim the chearful day.
When now at Xerxes' tent the Grecian band
Was reunited. What could Fortune more
To aid the valiant, and to gorge revenge?
Lo! Desolation o'er the Persian host
Hath emptied all its horrours; ev'n the hand
Of languid slaughter drops its crimson steel;
Nor Nature longer can sustain the toil
Of ever-during conquest. Yet what pow'r
Among the Grecians once again reviv'd
Their drooping warmth; new-brac'd their nerves, and call'd
Their wearied swords to deeds of brighter fame?
What, but th' inspiring hope of glorious death
To crown their labour, and th' auspicious look
Of their heroic chief, which still unchang'd,
Still with superiour majesty declar'd
No toil had yet relax'd his matchless strength,
Nor worn the vigour of his godlike soul.
Down to the pass with gentle march he leads
Th' imbattled warriors. There behind the shrubs,
Which near the verdant feet of Oeta sprung,
Beside the entrance of the straits the Greeks
In ambush lay. The tempest now was calm'd;
Soft breezes only from the Malian wave
O'er each grim face besmear'd with smoke and gore
Their cool resreshment breath'd. The healing gale
Dispells the languor from their harass'd limbs,
Which swell with strength returning. After all
Th' incessant labours of the horrid night
Through flames and war continu'd, they prepare
In order'd battle to confront the pow'rs
Of Hyperanthes, that felected band
From Asia's numbers, destin'd with the morn
To pass the mountains in triumphant march
With strength unwasted, and with souls elate.
Not long the Greeks in expectation stood
Impatient. Sudden with tumultuous shouts,
Like Nile's swift current, where with deafning roar
Prone from the steep of Elephantis falls
Its sea of waters, Hyperanthes pours
His rapid legions o'er the Grecian camp
Down from the hills precipitant. No foe
Is found to stop the torrent; on they roll
With thund'ring footsteps o'er the sounding pass.
Through the wide tumult, like a guilty slave,
From tent to tent precipitates his flight.
Dispers'd are all his satraps; Pride itself
Shuns his dejected brow; Despair alone
With pale Confusion, and with frantic Fear
Wait on th' imperial fugitive, and shew,
As round the camp his eye distracted roves,
301
Aurora mounting from the eastern hills
In rosy sandals, and with dewy locks:
The winds subside before her, darkness flies,
And streams of light proclaim the chearful day.
When now at Xerxes' tent the Grecian band
Was reunited. What could Fortune more
To aid the valiant, and to gorge revenge?
Lo! Desolation o'er the Persian host
Hath emptied all its horrours; ev'n the hand
Of languid slaughter drops its crimson steel;
Nor Nature longer can sustain the toil
Of ever-during conquest. Yet what pow'r
Among the Grecians once again reviv'd
Their drooping warmth; new-brac'd their nerves, and call'd
Their wearied swords to deeds of brighter fame?
What, but th' inspiring hope of glorious death
302
Of their heroic chief, which still unchang'd,
Still with superiour majesty declar'd
No toil had yet relax'd his matchless strength,
Nor worn the vigour of his godlike soul.
Down to the pass with gentle march he leads
Th' imbattled warriors. There behind the shrubs,
Which near the verdant feet of Oeta sprung,
Beside the entrance of the straits the Greeks
In ambush lay. The tempest now was calm'd;
Soft breezes only from the Malian wave
O'er each grim face besmear'd with smoke and gore
Their cool resreshment breath'd. The healing gale
Dispells the languor from their harass'd limbs,
Which swell with strength returning. After all
Th' incessant labours of the horrid night
Through flames and war continu'd, they prepare
303
Of Hyperanthes, that felected band
From Asia's numbers, destin'd with the morn
To pass the mountains in triumphant march
With strength unwasted, and with souls elate.
Not long the Greeks in expectation stood
Impatient. Sudden with tumultuous shouts,
Like Nile's swift current, where with deafning roar
Prone from the steep of Elephantis falls
Its sea of waters, Hyperanthes pours
His rapid legions o'er the Grecian camp
Down from the hills precipitant. No foe
Is found to stop the torrent; on they roll
With thund'ring footsteps o'er the sounding pass.
That night no sooner had the Theban train
Thermopylæ forsaken, but their course
They bent along the mountains, till they met
The pow'rs of Xerxes. Dusky twilight still
Prevailing, Persia with misguided rage
Assail'd her friends unknown. Th' impetuous spear
Of Hyperanthes clove the faithless heart
Of Anaxander; on, the hero press'd,
And spread destruction through their bleeding ranks;
Nor check'd his ardent valour, till he heard
The name of Thebes in suppliant cries proclaim'd:
The Persians then receive them, in the front
As guides they place them, and, amaz'd to learn,
That daring Greece should Xerxes' camp invade,
Haste from the mountains, rush along the pass,
And now tumultuous issue from its mouth.
At once Laconia's leader gives the sign,
When, as th' impulsive ram with dreadful sway
O'erturns the nodding rampart from its base,
And strews a town with ruin, so the band
Of serried heroes down the Malian steep,
An hideous depth, the blended numbers swept
Of Thebes and Persia. There no waters flow,
But horrid rocks present their craggy sides;
There dash'd whole legions. From their mangled limbs
A tide of blood rolls foaming to the sea.
Again thy voice, Leonidas, is heard;
The Grecians turn; against the op'ning pass
They point their wheeling phalanx; on they rush.
Astonish'd Persia stops in full career,
Ev'n Hyperanthes starts with terrour back.
Confusion drives fresh numbers from the shore,
Whelm'd in the Malian slime. Th' undaunted king
Of Lacedæmon enter'd now the straits,
And rang'd for battle. Hyperanthes soon
Recall'd his chosen warriours from their fear.
Swift on the great Leonidas was bent
A grove of darts; th' incount'ring armies clos'd.
Thermopylæ forsaken, but their course
304
The pow'rs of Xerxes. Dusky twilight still
Prevailing, Persia with misguided rage
Assail'd her friends unknown. Th' impetuous spear
Of Hyperanthes clove the faithless heart
Of Anaxander; on, the hero press'd,
And spread destruction through their bleeding ranks;
Nor check'd his ardent valour, till he heard
The name of Thebes in suppliant cries proclaim'd:
The Persians then receive them, in the front
As guides they place them, and, amaz'd to learn,
That daring Greece should Xerxes' camp invade,
Haste from the mountains, rush along the pass,
And now tumultuous issue from its mouth.
At once Laconia's leader gives the sign,
When, as th' impulsive ram with dreadful sway
O'erturns the nodding rampart from its base,
305
Of serried heroes down the Malian steep,
An hideous depth, the blended numbers swept
Of Thebes and Persia. There no waters flow,
But horrid rocks present their craggy sides;
There dash'd whole legions. From their mangled limbs
A tide of blood rolls foaming to the sea.
Again thy voice, Leonidas, is heard;
The Grecians turn; against the op'ning pass
They point their wheeling phalanx; on they rush.
Astonish'd Persia stops in full career,
Ev'n Hyperanthes starts with terrour back.
Confusion drives fresh numbers from the shore,
Whelm'd in the Malian slime. Th' undaunted king
Of Lacedæmon enter'd now the straits,
And rang'd for battle. Hyperanthes soon
Recall'd his chosen warriours from their fear.
306
A grove of darts; th' incount'ring armies clos'd.
Whom first, whom last, great Spartan, didst thou foil?
What rivers heard along their echoing banks
Thy name in curses sounded from the lips
Of mothers wailing for their slaughter'd sons!
What towns with empty monuments were fill'd
For those, whom thy unconquerable sword
This day to vultures cast! First Bessus died,
A haughty satrap, whose tyrannic hand
Despoil'd Hyrcania of her golden sheaves,
And laid her forests waste. For him the bees
Among the branches interwove their sweets;
For him the fig was ripen'd, and the vine
With rich profusion o'er the goblet foam'd.
Then Dinis bled. On Hermus' side he reign'd,
And long had sought with unavailing love
Great Artemisia fam'd in Xerxes' fleet,
The martial queen of Caria. She disdain'd
The lover's soft complaint; her dauntless ear
Was taught to mark the tempest, while it rag'd;
Her sight was practic'd from the rolling deck
To brave the chafing billows; doom'd to meet
That day of horrour, when the weeping eye
Of Xerxes saw the blood of nations flow,
And to its bottom tinge the briny floods
Of Salamis, whence she with Asia fled,
She only not inglorious; low reclines
Her lover now, on Hermus' banks no more
To sound her name, nor tell the vocal groves
His fruitless sorrows. Then Madauces fell,
A Paphlagonian born amid the sound
Of dashing surges, and the roar of winds;
Who o'er th' unhospitable Euxine waves
Was wont from high Carambis' cliff to watch
Th'ill-fated bark, which cut the Pontic stream,
Then with his dire associates through the deep
For spoil and slaughter guide his hostile prow.
With these Tithraustes far from Medus fall'n,
His native tide, with blooming strength indu'd,
And manly grace, Lilæus, who had left
The balmy fragrance of Arabia's fields,
And Babylonian Tenagon expir'd.
His bravest friends on ev'ry side o'erthrown
With indignation Hyperanthes view'd,
And in fierce haste his dauntless arm oppos'd
To Sparta's hero. Each his lance protends,
But thousands rush with interposing shields,
Such sacred lives all anxious to defend;
Or thither Fortune urg'd the tide of war,
Their term protracting for augmented fame.
So, when two gallies lab'ring through the foam
Present for battle their destructive beaks,
The billows oft, by hurricanes impell'd,
With mountainous commotion dash between,
And either bark in black'ning tempests veil'd
Waft from its distant foe. But fiercer burn'd
Thy ardour, mighty Spartan, while in blood
Thy falchion rag'd unwearied. Now the steeds
Of day were climbing their meridian steep,
And o'er the Persian camp the shouts of war
Burst from Thermopylæ. Pharnuchus heard,
Who from his couch beyond the Malian plain,
Rous'd by the tumult in the neighb'ring tents
To aid his lord had left Thessalia's fields
With Syria, Cholchis, and Armenia's bands,
Th' Assyrians, and Chaldæans. Asia's camp
Was still the seat of terrour and despair.
As in some fruitful clime, which late hath known
The rage of winds and floods, when now the storm
Is heard no longer and the deluge fled,
Still o'er the wasted region Nature mourns
In melancholy silence, through the grove
With prostrate glories lie the stately oak
And elm uprooted, while the plains are spread
With fragments swept from villages o'erthrown,
And round the pastures flocks and herds are cast
In weltring heaps of death; so Persia's host
In horrour mute one boundless scene displays
Of desolation: half devour'd by fire
Its tall pavilions, and its warlike cars
Hide all the field with ruin; here in gore
Its princes lie, and nameless thousands there,
Here legions bleeding by the Grecian steel,
There Persians slain by Persians still declare
The wild confusion of the direful night,
When wanting fignals, and their leaders care
They rush'd to mutual slaughter. Xerxes' tent
On its exalted summit, when the dawn
First streaks the glowing sky, was wont to bear
The golden form of Mithra, clos'd between
Two lucid crystals, to the Barb'rous host
An awful signal all in arms to leave
Their crouded tents, and numberlefs to wait
Their monarch's presence; this Pharnuchus rears
High on the proud pavilion: at the sight
Their consternation is at length dispell'd,
And through th' assembling nations hope revives.
Pharnuchus then from all the number forms
A chosen train; Thermopylæ he seeks;
Their march in loudest clamours is proclaim'd.
His phalanx soon Leonidas commands
To circle backward from the Malian shore:
Their order changes; now half-orb'd they stand
By Oeta's mountains guarded from behind
With either flank united to the rock.
As, by th' excelling architect dispos'd
To shield some haven, a stupendous mole
Fram'd of the grove and quarry's mingled strength
In ocean's bosom penetrates afar;
There stands the pride of art against the weight
Of seas, unmov'd, and breaks the whelming surge:
So, when Pharnuchus with innum'rous pow'rs
Thermopylæ had fill'd, th' unyielding Greeks
Oppos'd the hostile deluge, and its rage,
Unshaken stem'd. Amid the foremost rank
Leonidas his dreadful station held.
Before him soon an horrid void is seen
Through Persia's legions, and the proud remains
Of noblest chiefs th' insanguin'd rock bestrew.
Pharnuchus glowing with revenge and wrath
Discharges full at Lacedæmon's chief
His iron-studded mace. Aside it glanc'd,
Turn'd by the massy shield, and prone to earth
The Persian fell. Alcander to the rock
Transfix'd the prostrate satrap through the reins,
Himself receiving in th' unguarded side
The lance of Hyperanthes. Low he lies,
The only Theban, who by Sparta's king
Abode intrepid, and to Greece preserv'd
His faith untainted; a physician sage,
Who from Cithæron each benignant herb
Was wont to gather, and expatiate o'er
The Heliconian pastures, where no plant
Of poison springs, but such, whose healing juice
Expells the venom from the viper's tooth
Fill'd with the sweetness of the soil divine:
Him all, who languish on the bed of pain,
Him most, the wretch, whom want, and sickness spreads
On earth's cold breast neglected, shall deplore.
On him the brave Artontes sinks in death,
Renown'd through wide Bithynia now no more
The clam'rous rites of Cybele to share,
While Echo murmurs through the hollow caves
Of Berecynthian Dindymus. The hand
Of Alpheus sent him to the shades of night.
E'er from the dead he disingag'd his spear,
Huge Abradates glorying in his strength,
Surpassing all of Cissian race, advanc'd
To grapple with the victor; near him now
His foremost step the Persian plants, his hand
Grasps at the Spartan's shoulder. Alpheus once
At Nemea's games the wrestlers crown obtain'd.
His art he summons, and his rapid foot
Obliquely strikes against the Persian's heel;
He falling seiz'd on Alpheus' neck, and drag'd
His foe upon him. Streight an hundred darts
Of thronging Persia cleave the Grecian's back.
To Abradates' breast the weapons pierce,
And rivet both in death. This Maron saw,
And Polydorus, who with victims fall'n
Before their vengeance hide their brother's corse.
At length the gen'rous blood of Maron warms
The lance of Hyperanthes. On the spear
Of Polydorus falls the pond'rous ax
Of Sacian Mardus; from the yielding wood
The steely point is sever'd. Undismay'd
The Spartan stoops to rear the knotted mace
Of slain Pharnuchus; but thy fatal sword,
Abrocomes, that dreadful instant marks
To rend his op'ning side: unconquer'd still,
Swift he discharges on the Sacian's front
An horrid wound, that reach'd the bursting brain.
Down his own limbs the while a torrent flows
Of vital crimson; smiling he surveys
His sorrows ending, and his Spartan name
Renew its lustre. Sudden to his side
Springs Dithyrambus; through th' uplifted arm
Of Mindus pointing his impetuous dart
Against the bleeding Spartan he impells
His steel resistless. Polydorus now
Stretch'd his cold hand to Thespia's friendly chief,
Then bow'd his head in everlasting peace;
And Mindus wasted by his flowing wound
Beside him faints and dies. In Ninus old
Had his exalted ancestors sustain'd
Th' Assyrian scepter. Now to Persia's throne
A tributary lord he rul'd the vales,
Where Tigris swift between the parted hills
Of tall Niphátes draws its foaming tide,
Impregnating the glebe. At once a croud
Of ardent Persians seize the conqu'ror's lance:
An hundred arms infold it. Thespia's youth
With one strong hand maintains the struggling spear,
The other bares his falchion. Through his foes
With lightning wing'd it scatters wounds and death.
Artáphrenes in torture feels his arm
Lopt from the shoulder. Zatis leaves his hand
Yet twining round the long-disputed lance.
On Pheron's neck descends the pond'rous blade;
Down drops the sever'd head; the vital stream
Spouts from its purple sluices. Mardon strides
Across the pointed ash. His weight o'ercomes
The wearied Grecian, who resigns his hold,
Yet cleaves th' exulting Persian to the brain.
But now the fierce Abrócomes approach'd,
And louring shakes his dart. The wary Greek
With his broad buckler intercepts the stroke,
And closes with the Persian. Then what aid
Of mortal force, or interposing heav'n
Preserv'd the eastern warrior? Lo! the friend
Of Teribazus eager to avenge
His lov'd companion, and at once to guard
A brother's life, beneath the sinewy arm
That instant rais'd for slaughter plung'd his lance
In Dithyrambus' side. The vital strings
At once relax; nor Fame, nor Greece demand
More from his valour, and supine he lies
In glories ripen'd on his blooming head.
Him shall the Thespian virgins in their songs
Record one loveliest of the youthful train,
The good, the gentle, generous, and brave;
Now fall'n his country's grace, and parent's pride:
So sinks the cedar, which in verdant bloom
High on the top of Libanus had stood
The mountain's boast, and glory of the grove;
Then to adorn the mansions of the great,
Or dignify some God's high-vaulted fane
Uprooted low'rs its heav'n-aspiring head.
Diomedon bursts forward. Round his friend
He heaps destruction. What a troop of ghosts
Attend thy shade, fall'n hero! Long unmatch'd
Prevail'd his vengeful arm, and Persia bled;
Till four Assyrians on his shelving lance,
E'er yet extracted from a prostrate corse,
Their pond'rous maces all discharge. It broke.
Yet with the truncheon of his shatter'd spear
The Greek sustains the contest. Through his eye
The shiver'd fragment penetrates the brain
Of one bold warriour; there the splintry wood
Infix'd remains: the hero then unsheaths
His falchion broad; a second views aghast
His entrails falling, while Platæa's chief
From the gash'd belly draws his reeking sword:
Prone sinks a third beneath the falchion's weight;
Though with the furious stroke the yielding blade
Flew from the hilt, and left the Greek disarm'd:
The fourth that instant lifts his knotted mace;
It falls resistless on the batter'd helm,
And low the great Diomedon extends
His mighty limbs. So weaken'd by the force
Of some tremendous engine, which the hand
Of Mars impells, a stately turret spreads
Its disuniting ramparts on the plain;
Joy fills th' assailants, while the battle's tide
Whelms o'er the widening breach. The Persians thus
O'er the late-fear'd Diomedon had rush'd,
And swept the Greeks before them; when behold
Leonidas! At once their ardour froze.
He had a while within the orb retir'd,
Oppress'd by labour. Now with strength restor'd
He pours fresh ruin from the Spartan front.
As, long retarded by th' unmoving calm,
Soon, as a rising gale fresh-breathing curls
The surging main, again the vessel bounds
With all her op'ning sails; the hero thus
His buckler huge, and formidable spear
Advancing, through the Asian files renews
His course of slaughter. Destiny compells
The bold Hydarnes to th' unequal fight,
Who proudly vaunting left his weeping bride
To mourn his absence on the distant verge
Of Bactrian Ochus. Victory in vain
He parting promis'd. Wanton hope no more
Round his cold heart delusive sports, nor paints
Th' imagin'd pomp of triumphs, gorgeous spoils,
And trains of shackled Greeks. The Spartan pierc'd
His shield, and bursting corselet. From the slain
The victor draws his iron-pointed spear
Bent, and infeebled with the forceful blow.
Meantime within his buckler's verge, unseen
Amphistreus stealing in th' unguarded flank
His poniard struck. With swift effusion gush'd
A crimson torrent, but the scaly mail
Immediate death repell'd. Th' indignant king
Gripes with resistless might the Persian's throat,
And drags him prostrate. None in Xerxes' court
Was more corrupt, with insolence more base,
With rancour more fallacious. Phrygia pin'd
Beneath th' oppression of his ruthless sway.
Was there a field once fruitful, or a town
Once populous and rich? The horrid change
To want and desolation there declar'd,
The curs'd Amphistreus govern'd. As the spear
Of Tyrian Cadmus riveted to earth
The pois'nous dragon, whose infectious breath
Had blasted half Bœotia; so the chief
Of Lacedæmon trampling on the neck
Of fall'n Amphistreus fixes to the rock
The gasping tyrant, and his broken lance
Leaves in the panting corse. Meanwhile thy wound
Incessant flows, great hero, and augments
The hopes of Persia. Thou unyielding still
Sustain'st the contest, while unnumber'd darts
Are shiver'd on thy buckler, and thy feet
With glitt'ring points bestrew; the Cholchian sword,
And Persian dagger leave their shatter'd hilts;
Bent is the Caspian scymetar; in vain
The Sacian wheels his falchion, and their mace
The strong Chaldæans and Assyrians raise:
Thou stand'st unshaken, like a Thracian hill,
Like Rhodopé, or Hæmus; where in vain
The thund'rer plants his livid bolt, in vain
The glancing lightning cleaves th'incrusted snow,
And Winter beating with eternal war
Shakes from his dreery wings discordant storms,
Chill sleet, and clatt'ring hail. But now advanc'd
Abrocomes, and aim'd his deadly spear
Against the forehead of Laconia's chief,
Not unperceiv'd; the Spartan's active hand
His sword opposing upward rears the blade
Against the threatning javelin; o'er his crest
Its fury wastes in air, while swift descends
The pond'rous falchion on the Persian's knee:
At once the bone is sever'd; prone he falls;
Crush'd on the ground beneath ten thousand feet
The gallant warriour breaths the last remains
Of tortur'd life. The Spartan thus maintain'd
Th' unequal combat with his single sword.
But Agis calls Diéneces, alarms
Demophilus, Megistias; they from heaps
Of Allarodian and Sasperian slain
Haste to their leader, and before him raise
The brazen bulwark of their massy shields.
The foremost line of Asia stands and bleeds;
The rest recoil: but Hyperanthes strides
From rank to rank throughout his various host,
Their dying hopes rekindles, in the brave
Excites new valour, and the freezing heart
Of Fear revives. Astaspes first obey'd
The hero's voice, a fierce Chaldæan lord
Vain of his birth from antient Belus drawn,
Proud of his wealthy stores, and stately domes;
But now more proud by conquest, since his might
Had foil'd the strong Diomedon. He seeks
The front of battle. His victorious mace
Against the brave Diéneces he bends;
The weighty blow bore down th' opposing shield,
And crush'd the Spartan's shoulder: idle hangs
The buckler now, and loads th' inactive arm
Depriv'd of all its functions. Agis bares
His vengeful blade, and severs from the foe
His hand exalted for a second stroke.
The dying fingers with convulsive grasp
The falling mace infold. A Sacian chief
Springs on the victor. Iäxartes' banks
To this brave savage gave his name and birth.
His looks erect, and fierce deportment spoke
A bold and gallant spirit, but untam'd,
With dreery wilds familiar, and a race
Of rude Barbarians horrid as their clime.
The hostile spear, against his forehead aim'd,
Glanc'd upward, and o'erturn'd his iron cone:
The blow renew'd his bursting chest divides.
Th' undaunted Sacian writhes along the lance,
Which griding passes through his breast and back,
A barbed arrow from his quiver draws,
Deep in the streaming pap of Agis hides
The deadly steel, then grimly smiles and dies.
From him Fate hastens to a nobler prey;
For lo! the brave Diéneces presents
His breast obnoxious to a thousand darts.
The shield deserts his unsustaining arm,
And slides to earth. A grove of javelins rose
On his broad bosom. Still for ev'ry wound
He hurl'd a Persian to th' infernal gloom;
But life at length forfook his riven heart,
And o'er the rock the gasping hero stretch'd
His dying limbs in gore. Who now can stand
The torrent of Barbarians? Agis bleeds,
His spear is irrecoverably plung'd
In Iäxartes' body. Low reclines
Diéneces in gore. The Spartan chief
Himself o'erlabour'd, of his lance disarm'd
The rage of Death can exercise no more.
One last and glorious effort age performs.
Demophilus, Megistias join their might,
And stem the floods of conquest; while the spear
Of slain Diéneces to Sparta's king
The fainting Agis bore. The blazing steel
In that dire hand again for battle rear'd
Blasts all the Persian valour. Back in heaps
They roll confounded, by their leader's voice
In vain exhorted longer to endure
The ceaseless waste of that unconquer'd arm.
So, when the giants from Olympus chas'd
Th' inferiour Gods, themselves in terrour shun'd
Th' incessant streams of lightning, when the hand
Of heav'n's great father with eternal might
Sustain'd the direful conflict. O'er the field
Awhile Bellona stills the rage of war;
When Thespia's leader, and Megistias drop
At either side of Lacedæmon's king.
Beneath the weight of years and labour bend
The hoary warriours. Not a groan molests
Their parting spirits, but in death's calm night,
All-silent, bows each venerable head:
Like aged oaks, whose deep-descending roots
Had pierc'd resistless through the mountain's side,
And there for three long centuries had brav'd
Each angry gust of Eurus, and the North;
Till, sapless now by Time's despoiling hand,
Without a blast their mossy trunks recline
Before their parent hill. By Sparta's chief
None now remains but Agis, who implores
The last kind office from his godlike friend,
The Sacian's arrow from his pap to draw.
This done, life issues with the sanguine tide.
Thy comely features, Agis, now are pale;
Cold are thy graceful limbs, and dim thy eyes,
Which now no more with placid beams reveal
The native virtues of thy gentle breast.
The noble corse Leonidas surveys.
Fate yields him one short interval of peace
To know how lovely are the patriot's wounds,
And see those honours grace the man, he lov'd.
But Hyperanthes with his single spear
Forth from the trembling ranks of Asia tow'rs
His country's glory to redeem, or fall.
The Spartan worn by toil his languid arm
Once more uplifting waits the dauntless prince.
The heroes now stood adverse. Each a while
Restrain'd his valour, and his godlike foe
Admiring view'd. Such majesty and strength
To fierce pelides all incircled round
With Trojan dead; and such to Priam's son
By struggling virtue, and by manly shame
From flight recall'd, great Homer's fancy gave.
O thou exalted o'er the laurel'd train
High, as the sweet Calliope is thron'd
Above each vigin of the tuneful hill;
Now let one beam of thy celestial light
Dart through my lab'ring mind; lest Freedom mourn
Her chosen son dishonour'd in these strains!
What rivers heard along their echoing banks
Thy name in curses sounded from the lips
Of mothers wailing for their slaughter'd sons!
What towns with empty monuments were fill'd
For those, whom thy unconquerable sword
This day to vultures cast! First Bessus died,
A haughty satrap, whose tyrannic hand
Despoil'd Hyrcania of her golden sheaves,
And laid her forests waste. For him the bees
Among the branches interwove their sweets;
For him the fig was ripen'd, and the vine
With rich profusion o'er the goblet foam'd.
Then Dinis bled. On Hermus' side he reign'd,
307
Great Artemisia fam'd in Xerxes' fleet,
The martial queen of Caria. She disdain'd
The lover's soft complaint; her dauntless ear
Was taught to mark the tempest, while it rag'd;
Her sight was practic'd from the rolling deck
To brave the chafing billows; doom'd to meet
That day of horrour, when the weeping eye
Of Xerxes saw the blood of nations flow,
And to its bottom tinge the briny floods
Of Salamis, whence she with Asia fled,
She only not inglorious; low reclines
Her lover now, on Hermus' banks no more
To sound her name, nor tell the vocal groves
His fruitless sorrows. Then Madauces fell,
A Paphlagonian born amid the sound
Of dashing surges, and the roar of winds;
308
Was wont from high Carambis' cliff to watch
Th'ill-fated bark, which cut the Pontic stream,
Then with his dire associates through the deep
For spoil and slaughter guide his hostile prow.
With these Tithraustes far from Medus fall'n,
His native tide, with blooming strength indu'd,
And manly grace, Lilæus, who had left
The balmy fragrance of Arabia's fields,
And Babylonian Tenagon expir'd.
His bravest friends on ev'ry side o'erthrown
With indignation Hyperanthes view'd,
And in fierce haste his dauntless arm oppos'd
To Sparta's hero. Each his lance protends,
But thousands rush with interposing shields,
Such sacred lives all anxious to defend;
Or thither Fortune urg'd the tide of war,
309
So, when two gallies lab'ring through the foam
Present for battle their destructive beaks,
The billows oft, by hurricanes impell'd,
With mountainous commotion dash between,
And either bark in black'ning tempests veil'd
Waft from its distant foe. But fiercer burn'd
Thy ardour, mighty Spartan, while in blood
Thy falchion rag'd unwearied. Now the steeds
Of day were climbing their meridian steep,
And o'er the Persian camp the shouts of war
Burst from Thermopylæ. Pharnuchus heard,
Who from his couch beyond the Malian plain,
Rous'd by the tumult in the neighb'ring tents
To aid his lord had left Thessalia's fields
With Syria, Cholchis, and Armenia's bands,
Th' Assyrians, and Chaldæans. Asia's camp
310
As in some fruitful clime, which late hath known
The rage of winds and floods, when now the storm
Is heard no longer and the deluge fled,
Still o'er the wasted region Nature mourns
In melancholy silence, through the grove
With prostrate glories lie the stately oak
And elm uprooted, while the plains are spread
With fragments swept from villages o'erthrown,
And round the pastures flocks and herds are cast
In weltring heaps of death; so Persia's host
In horrour mute one boundless scene displays
Of desolation: half devour'd by fire
Its tall pavilions, and its warlike cars
Hide all the field with ruin; here in gore
Its princes lie, and nameless thousands there,
Here legions bleeding by the Grecian steel,
311
The wild confusion of the direful night,
When wanting fignals, and their leaders care
They rush'd to mutual slaughter. Xerxes' tent
On its exalted summit, when the dawn
First streaks the glowing sky, was wont to bear
The golden form of Mithra, clos'd between
Two lucid crystals, to the Barb'rous host
An awful signal all in arms to leave
Their crouded tents, and numberlefs to wait
Their monarch's presence; this Pharnuchus rears
High on the proud pavilion: at the sight
Their consternation is at length dispell'd,
And through th' assembling nations hope revives.
Pharnuchus then from all the number forms
A chosen train; Thermopylæ he seeks;
Their march in loudest clamours is proclaim'd.
312
To circle backward from the Malian shore:
Their order changes; now half-orb'd they stand
By Oeta's mountains guarded from behind
With either flank united to the rock.
As, by th' excelling architect dispos'd
To shield some haven, a stupendous mole
Fram'd of the grove and quarry's mingled strength
In ocean's bosom penetrates afar;
There stands the pride of art against the weight
Of seas, unmov'd, and breaks the whelming surge:
So, when Pharnuchus with innum'rous pow'rs
Thermopylæ had fill'd, th' unyielding Greeks
Oppos'd the hostile deluge, and its rage,
Unshaken stem'd. Amid the foremost rank
Leonidas his dreadful station held.
Before him soon an horrid void is seen
313
Of noblest chiefs th' insanguin'd rock bestrew.
Pharnuchus glowing with revenge and wrath
Discharges full at Lacedæmon's chief
His iron-studded mace. Aside it glanc'd,
Turn'd by the massy shield, and prone to earth
The Persian fell. Alcander to the rock
Transfix'd the prostrate satrap through the reins,
Himself receiving in th' unguarded side
The lance of Hyperanthes. Low he lies,
The only Theban, who by Sparta's king
Abode intrepid, and to Greece preserv'd
His faith untainted; a physician sage,
Who from Cithæron each benignant herb
Was wont to gather, and expatiate o'er
The Heliconian pastures, where no plant
Of poison springs, but such, whose healing juice
314
Fill'd with the sweetness of the soil divine:
Him all, who languish on the bed of pain,
Him most, the wretch, whom want, and sickness spreads
On earth's cold breast neglected, shall deplore.
On him the brave Artontes sinks in death,
Renown'd through wide Bithynia now no more
The clam'rous rites of Cybele to share,
While Echo murmurs through the hollow caves
Of Berecynthian Dindymus. The hand
Of Alpheus sent him to the shades of night.
E'er from the dead he disingag'd his spear,
Huge Abradates glorying in his strength,
Surpassing all of Cissian race, advanc'd
To grapple with the victor; near him now
His foremost step the Persian plants, his hand
Grasps at the Spartan's shoulder. Alpheus once
315
His art he summons, and his rapid foot
Obliquely strikes against the Persian's heel;
He falling seiz'd on Alpheus' neck, and drag'd
His foe upon him. Streight an hundred darts
Of thronging Persia cleave the Grecian's back.
To Abradates' breast the weapons pierce,
And rivet both in death. This Maron saw,
And Polydorus, who with victims fall'n
Before their vengeance hide their brother's corse.
At length the gen'rous blood of Maron warms
The lance of Hyperanthes. On the spear
Of Polydorus falls the pond'rous ax
Of Sacian Mardus; from the yielding wood
The steely point is sever'd. Undismay'd
The Spartan stoops to rear the knotted mace
Of slain Pharnuchus; but thy fatal sword,
316
To rend his op'ning side: unconquer'd still,
Swift he discharges on the Sacian's front
An horrid wound, that reach'd the bursting brain.
Down his own limbs the while a torrent flows
Of vital crimson; smiling he surveys
His sorrows ending, and his Spartan name
Renew its lustre. Sudden to his side
Springs Dithyrambus; through th' uplifted arm
Of Mindus pointing his impetuous dart
Against the bleeding Spartan he impells
His steel resistless. Polydorus now
Stretch'd his cold hand to Thespia's friendly chief,
Then bow'd his head in everlasting peace;
And Mindus wasted by his flowing wound
Beside him faints and dies. In Ninus old
Had his exalted ancestors sustain'd
317
A tributary lord he rul'd the vales,
Where Tigris swift between the parted hills
Of tall Niphátes draws its foaming tide,
Impregnating the glebe. At once a croud
Of ardent Persians seize the conqu'ror's lance:
An hundred arms infold it. Thespia's youth
With one strong hand maintains the struggling spear,
The other bares his falchion. Through his foes
With lightning wing'd it scatters wounds and death.
Artáphrenes in torture feels his arm
Lopt from the shoulder. Zatis leaves his hand
Yet twining round the long-disputed lance.
On Pheron's neck descends the pond'rous blade;
Down drops the sever'd head; the vital stream
Spouts from its purple sluices. Mardon strides
Across the pointed ash. His weight o'ercomes
318
Yet cleaves th' exulting Persian to the brain.
But now the fierce Abrócomes approach'd,
And louring shakes his dart. The wary Greek
With his broad buckler intercepts the stroke,
And closes with the Persian. Then what aid
Of mortal force, or interposing heav'n
Preserv'd the eastern warrior? Lo! the friend
Of Teribazus eager to avenge
His lov'd companion, and at once to guard
A brother's life, beneath the sinewy arm
That instant rais'd for slaughter plung'd his lance
In Dithyrambus' side. The vital strings
At once relax; nor Fame, nor Greece demand
More from his valour, and supine he lies
In glories ripen'd on his blooming head.
Him shall the Thespian virgins in their songs
319
The good, the gentle, generous, and brave;
Now fall'n his country's grace, and parent's pride:
So sinks the cedar, which in verdant bloom
High on the top of Libanus had stood
The mountain's boast, and glory of the grove;
Then to adorn the mansions of the great,
Or dignify some God's high-vaulted fane
Uprooted low'rs its heav'n-aspiring head.
Diomedon bursts forward. Round his friend
He heaps destruction. What a troop of ghosts
Attend thy shade, fall'n hero! Long unmatch'd
Prevail'd his vengeful arm, and Persia bled;
Till four Assyrians on his shelving lance,
E'er yet extracted from a prostrate corse,
Their pond'rous maces all discharge. It broke.
Yet with the truncheon of his shatter'd spear
320
The shiver'd fragment penetrates the brain
Of one bold warriour; there the splintry wood
Infix'd remains: the hero then unsheaths
His falchion broad; a second views aghast
His entrails falling, while Platæa's chief
From the gash'd belly draws his reeking sword:
Prone sinks a third beneath the falchion's weight;
Though with the furious stroke the yielding blade
Flew from the hilt, and left the Greek disarm'd:
The fourth that instant lifts his knotted mace;
It falls resistless on the batter'd helm,
And low the great Diomedon extends
His mighty limbs. So weaken'd by the force
Of some tremendous engine, which the hand
Of Mars impells, a stately turret spreads
Its disuniting ramparts on the plain;
321
Whelms o'er the widening breach. The Persians thus
O'er the late-fear'd Diomedon had rush'd,
And swept the Greeks before them; when behold
Leonidas! At once their ardour froze.
He had a while within the orb retir'd,
Oppress'd by labour. Now with strength restor'd
He pours fresh ruin from the Spartan front.
As, long retarded by th' unmoving calm,
Soon, as a rising gale fresh-breathing curls
The surging main, again the vessel bounds
With all her op'ning sails; the hero thus
His buckler huge, and formidable spear
Advancing, through the Asian files renews
His course of slaughter. Destiny compells
The bold Hydarnes to th' unequal fight,
Who proudly vaunting left his weeping bride
322
Of Bactrian Ochus. Victory in vain
He parting promis'd. Wanton hope no more
Round his cold heart delusive sports, nor paints
Th' imagin'd pomp of triumphs, gorgeous spoils,
And trains of shackled Greeks. The Spartan pierc'd
His shield, and bursting corselet. From the slain
The victor draws his iron-pointed spear
Bent, and infeebled with the forceful blow.
Meantime within his buckler's verge, unseen
Amphistreus stealing in th' unguarded flank
His poniard struck. With swift effusion gush'd
A crimson torrent, but the scaly mail
Immediate death repell'd. Th' indignant king
Gripes with resistless might the Persian's throat,
And drags him prostrate. None in Xerxes' court
Was more corrupt, with insolence more base,
323
Beneath th' oppression of his ruthless sway.
Was there a field once fruitful, or a town
Once populous and rich? The horrid change
To want and desolation there declar'd,
The curs'd Amphistreus govern'd. As the spear
Of Tyrian Cadmus riveted to earth
The pois'nous dragon, whose infectious breath
Had blasted half Bœotia; so the chief
Of Lacedæmon trampling on the neck
Of fall'n Amphistreus fixes to the rock
The gasping tyrant, and his broken lance
Leaves in the panting corse. Meanwhile thy wound
Incessant flows, great hero, and augments
The hopes of Persia. Thou unyielding still
Sustain'st the contest, while unnumber'd darts
Are shiver'd on thy buckler, and thy feet
324
And Persian dagger leave their shatter'd hilts;
Bent is the Caspian scymetar; in vain
The Sacian wheels his falchion, and their mace
The strong Chaldæans and Assyrians raise:
Thou stand'st unshaken, like a Thracian hill,
Like Rhodopé, or Hæmus; where in vain
The thund'rer plants his livid bolt, in vain
The glancing lightning cleaves th'incrusted snow,
And Winter beating with eternal war
Shakes from his dreery wings discordant storms,
Chill sleet, and clatt'ring hail. But now advanc'd
Abrocomes, and aim'd his deadly spear
Against the forehead of Laconia's chief,
Not unperceiv'd; the Spartan's active hand
His sword opposing upward rears the blade
Against the threatning javelin; o'er his crest
325
The pond'rous falchion on the Persian's knee:
At once the bone is sever'd; prone he falls;
Crush'd on the ground beneath ten thousand feet
The gallant warriour breaths the last remains
Of tortur'd life. The Spartan thus maintain'd
Th' unequal combat with his single sword.
But Agis calls Diéneces, alarms
Demophilus, Megistias; they from heaps
Of Allarodian and Sasperian slain
Haste to their leader, and before him raise
The brazen bulwark of their massy shields.
The foremost line of Asia stands and bleeds;
The rest recoil: but Hyperanthes strides
From rank to rank throughout his various host,
Their dying hopes rekindles, in the brave
Excites new valour, and the freezing heart
326
The hero's voice, a fierce Chaldæan lord
Vain of his birth from antient Belus drawn,
Proud of his wealthy stores, and stately domes;
But now more proud by conquest, since his might
Had foil'd the strong Diomedon. He seeks
The front of battle. His victorious mace
Against the brave Diéneces he bends;
The weighty blow bore down th' opposing shield,
And crush'd the Spartan's shoulder: idle hangs
The buckler now, and loads th' inactive arm
Depriv'd of all its functions. Agis bares
His vengeful blade, and severs from the foe
His hand exalted for a second stroke.
The dying fingers with convulsive grasp
The falling mace infold. A Sacian chief
Springs on the victor. Iäxartes' banks
327
His looks erect, and fierce deportment spoke
A bold and gallant spirit, but untam'd,
With dreery wilds familiar, and a race
Of rude Barbarians horrid as their clime.
The hostile spear, against his forehead aim'd,
Glanc'd upward, and o'erturn'd his iron cone:
The blow renew'd his bursting chest divides.
Th' undaunted Sacian writhes along the lance,
Which griding passes through his breast and back,
A barbed arrow from his quiver draws,
Deep in the streaming pap of Agis hides
The deadly steel, then grimly smiles and dies.
From him Fate hastens to a nobler prey;
For lo! the brave Diéneces presents
His breast obnoxious to a thousand darts.
The shield deserts his unsustaining arm,
328
On his broad bosom. Still for ev'ry wound
He hurl'd a Persian to th' infernal gloom;
But life at length forfook his riven heart,
And o'er the rock the gasping hero stretch'd
His dying limbs in gore. Who now can stand
The torrent of Barbarians? Agis bleeds,
His spear is irrecoverably plung'd
In Iäxartes' body. Low reclines
Diéneces in gore. The Spartan chief
Himself o'erlabour'd, of his lance disarm'd
The rage of Death can exercise no more.
One last and glorious effort age performs.
Demophilus, Megistias join their might,
And stem the floods of conquest; while the spear
Of slain Diéneces to Sparta's king
The fainting Agis bore. The blazing steel
329
Blasts all the Persian valour. Back in heaps
They roll confounded, by their leader's voice
In vain exhorted longer to endure
The ceaseless waste of that unconquer'd arm.
So, when the giants from Olympus chas'd
Th' inferiour Gods, themselves in terrour shun'd
Th' incessant streams of lightning, when the hand
Of heav'n's great father with eternal might
Sustain'd the direful conflict. O'er the field
Awhile Bellona stills the rage of war;
When Thespia's leader, and Megistias drop
At either side of Lacedæmon's king.
Beneath the weight of years and labour bend
The hoary warriours. Not a groan molests
Their parting spirits, but in death's calm night,
All-silent, bows each venerable head:
330
Had pierc'd resistless through the mountain's side,
And there for three long centuries had brav'd
Each angry gust of Eurus, and the North;
Till, sapless now by Time's despoiling hand,
Without a blast their mossy trunks recline
Before their parent hill. By Sparta's chief
None now remains but Agis, who implores
The last kind office from his godlike friend,
The Sacian's arrow from his pap to draw.
This done, life issues with the sanguine tide.
Thy comely features, Agis, now are pale;
Cold are thy graceful limbs, and dim thy eyes,
Which now no more with placid beams reveal
The native virtues of thy gentle breast.
The noble corse Leonidas surveys.
Fate yields him one short interval of peace
331
And see those honours grace the man, he lov'd.
But Hyperanthes with his single spear
Forth from the trembling ranks of Asia tow'rs
His country's glory to redeem, or fall.
The Spartan worn by toil his languid arm
Once more uplifting waits the dauntless prince.
The heroes now stood adverse. Each a while
Restrain'd his valour, and his godlike foe
Admiring view'd. Such majesty and strength
To fierce pelides all incircled round
With Trojan dead; and such to Priam's son
By struggling virtue, and by manly shame
From flight recall'd, great Homer's fancy gave.
O thou exalted o'er the laurel'd train
High, as the sweet Calliope is thron'd
Above each vigin of the tuneful hill;
332
Dart through my lab'ring mind; lest Freedom mourn
Her chosen son dishonour'd in these strains!
Now Hyperanthes, and Laconia's king
With brandish'd points, and targets high uprear'd
Commence the fatal combat, which must close
The long-continu'd horrours of the day.
Fix'd with amaze and fear, the Asian files
Unmov'd and silent on their bucklers pause.
Thus o'er th' expanse of India's wilds contend
The elephant, and horn'd rhinoceros;
Earth groans beneath them, as with wrath untam'd
Each hideous bulk in dire encounter meets:
With distant terrour gaze the savage throng.
Prolong'd by varied art, the dubious fight
The great event suspended. On the foe
His well-aim'd spear at last the Spartan drove,
And pierc'd the shield. Inexorable fate
That moment hover'd o'er the eastern prince,
When with unmatch'd celerity aside
He swung his buckler; underneath his arm,
Unstain'd with blood the hostile javelin pass'd:
Meantime, with joy, and ardent hopes elate
Of fame and conquest, sudden he impell'd
His rapid lance against the Spartan's throat;
But he with wary skill his target rais'd,
And o'er his shoulder turn'd the glancing steel;
For one last effort then his scatter'd strength
Recall'd, and wheeling with resistless force
His massy buckler dash'd the brazen verge
Against the Persian's forehead: down he sunk
Without a groan expiring, as o'erwhelm'd
Beneath a marble fragment from its seat
Heav'd by a whirlwind sweeping o'er the ridge
Of some aspiring mansion. Gen'rous prince!
What could his valour more? His single might
He match'd with great Leonidas, and fell
Before his native bands. The Spartan chief
Now stands alone. In heaps his slaughter'd friends
All stretch'd around him lie. The distant foes
Show'r on his head innumerable darts.
From various sluices gush the vital floods,
And stain his fainting limbs. Nor yet with pain
His brow is clouded, but those beauteous wounds,
The sacred pledges of his own renown,
And Sparta's safety, with serenest joy
His closing eye contemplates. Fame can twine
No brighter laurels round his glorious head,
His virtue more to labour Fate forbids,
And lays him now in honourable rest
To seal his country's liberty in death.
With brandish'd points, and targets high uprear'd
Commence the fatal combat, which must close
The long-continu'd horrours of the day.
Fix'd with amaze and fear, the Asian files
Unmov'd and silent on their bucklers pause.
Thus o'er th' expanse of India's wilds contend
The elephant, and horn'd rhinoceros;
Earth groans beneath them, as with wrath untam'd
Each hideous bulk in dire encounter meets:
With distant terrour gaze the savage throng.
Prolong'd by varied art, the dubious fight
The great event suspended. On the foe
333
And pierc'd the shield. Inexorable fate
That moment hover'd o'er the eastern prince,
When with unmatch'd celerity aside
He swung his buckler; underneath his arm,
Unstain'd with blood the hostile javelin pass'd:
Meantime, with joy, and ardent hopes elate
Of fame and conquest, sudden he impell'd
His rapid lance against the Spartan's throat;
But he with wary skill his target rais'd,
And o'er his shoulder turn'd the glancing steel;
For one last effort then his scatter'd strength
Recall'd, and wheeling with resistless force
His massy buckler dash'd the brazen verge
Against the Persian's forehead: down he sunk
Without a groan expiring, as o'erwhelm'd
334
Heav'd by a whirlwind sweeping o'er the ridge
Of some aspiring mansion. Gen'rous prince!
What could his valour more? His single might
He match'd with great Leonidas, and fell
Before his native bands. The Spartan chief
Now stands alone. In heaps his slaughter'd friends
All stretch'd around him lie. The distant foes
Show'r on his head innumerable darts.
From various sluices gush the vital floods,
And stain his fainting limbs. Nor yet with pain
His brow is clouded, but those beauteous wounds,
The sacred pledges of his own renown,
And Sparta's safety, with serenest joy
His closing eye contemplates. Fame can twine
No brighter laurels round his glorious head,
335
And lays him now in honourable rest
To seal his country's liberty in death.
End of the Ninth and Last Book.
| Leonidas | |