 | Ionica |  |
12
The Daughter of Cleomenes.
The lord, who leads the Spartan host,Stands with a little maid,
To greet a stranger from the coast
Who comes to seek his aid.
What brings the guest? a disk of brass
With curious lines engraven:
What mean the lines? stream, road, and pass,
Forest and town and haven.
“Lo, here Choaspes' lilied field:
Lo, here the Hermian plain:
What need we save the Doric shield
To stop the Persian's reign?
13
Upon the slopes of Tmolus?
Or trowsered robbers spoil at will
The bounties of Pactolus?
Salt lakes, burnt uplands, lie between;
The distant king moves slow;
He starts, ere Smyrna's vines are green,
Comes, when their juices flow.
Waves bright with morning smooth thy course,
Swift row the Samian galleys;
Unconquered Colophon sounds to horse
Up the broad eastern valleys.
Is not Apollo's call enough,
The god of every Greek?
Then take our gold, and household stuff;
Claim what thou wilt, but speak.”
He falters; for the waves he fears,
The roads he cannot measure;
But rates full high the gleam of spears;
And dreams of yellow treasure.
14
Outspoke the fearless child:
“Oh, father, come away, lest thou
Be by this man beguiled.”
Her lowly judgment barred the plea,
So low, it could not reach her.
The man knows more of land and sea,
But she's the truer teacher.
| Ionica | |