Th' unloosen'd anchors to the waves resign
The Delphian keels, while Auster's friendly breath,
Their burden light'ning, soon to Sunium shews
The spreading sails. Two vessels, riding there,
Receive embarking warriors. On the beach
Looks Medon stedfast: By almighty Jove,
He cries aloud, Themistocles I see!
O Haliartus, O my holy friend,
We must not leave unvisited a shore
Which holds that living trophy to our view,
The victor-chief at Salamis. The skiff
Is launch'd; they land. Themistocles begins
The salutation: Hail! Oïleus' son,
Thou rev'rend host of Athens, Timon, hail!
Your unexpected presence here excites
A pleasing wonder. Whither do ye steer
These well remember'd vessels, which convey'd
Thee, first of Locrians, with our Attic bard,
To Salamis from Delphi? In that course
Was Timon captive made, whom freed at last
My joyful arms embrace. The Locrian here:
To Atalanté, in Euboean streights,
We steer; another of Oïlean race,
Through bounteous Heav'n a refuge there obtains,
My brother, good Leonteus, with a band
Of gallant Locrians, ready at my call
To lift their bucklers in defence of Greece.
But why, remote from Athens, on the strand
Of naked Sunium, do I see the son
Of Neocles, so recently by me
At Sparta left? Themistocles replies:
Forbear enquiry now, O virtuous branch
Of that ennobled stock, th' Oïlean house!
If e'er my conduct merited thy praise,
If thou believ'st me studious of the fame
Which follows manly deeds, forbear to doubt
Th' unwearied further efforts of my limbs,
My heart, my talents: Secrecy matures,
Time brings the labour of the mind to birth.
Were those first steps reveal'd, which restless thought,
Constructing some vast enterprize, ascends,
How wild a wand'rer, Medon, would appear
The policy of man! But, gen'rous chief,
Whose valour, whose experience might assure
A prosp'rous issue to a bold exploit,
Say, should I open on some future day
To thy discerning sight the clearest track,
Where to success one glorious stride might reach,
Wouldst thou be ready at my call? He paus'd.
From such a mouth, such captivating words
Insinuate sweetness through the Locrian's ear,
Who feels th' allurement; yet, by prudence rul'd,
This answer frames: Through such a glorious track
Whoever guides, may challenge Medon's aid;
Thou prove that guide, my steps shall follow close,
Unless by Aristides call'd, whose voice
Commands my service. Cool th' Athenian hides
The smart his wounded vanity endures,
And manly thus, unchang'd in look, rejoins:
I ask no more; I rest my future claim
On Medon's valour, only to support
What Aristides shall approve, farewell.
Avail thee straight of these propitious winds;
In Atalanté, known to me of old,
What force thou can'st, assemble; dread no wants,
I will be watchful to supply them all.
They part. Now Medon, under hoisted sails,
Remarks unwonted transport on the cheek
Of Haliartus. O my peasant weeds,
His joy exclaims, how gratefully you rise
In my remembrance now! From you my hopes
Forebode some benefit to Greece. Dear lord,
Forbear enquiry; by yon hero warn'd,
In secrecy my thoughts, till form'd complete,
Lie deeply bury'd. Timon smil'd, and spake:
I know, full often enterprises bold
Lie in the womb of mystery conceal'd;
Thus far th' Athenian hero and thyself
Raise expectation; but I further know,
His faculties are matchless, thou art brave,
Unerring Medon like my god is wise;
Thence expectation soars on steady wings.
O light of Greece, Themistocles, exert
Thy boundless pow'rs! mature thy pregnant plan!
Whene'er the glorious mystery unveils,
Me and my Delphians thou shalt find prepar'd.
The turbulent Euripus swift they plough
In pleasing converse thus, and clasp, in hope,
Their anxious friends on Atalanté's shore.
When ev'ry mast was hid by Sunium's cape,
Thus to his faithful minister, the son
Of Neocles: Sicinus, hast thou seen
My followers on board? The treasures brought
From Xerxes, those my spoils of war supply,
The arms, the stores, Sicinus, has thy care
Deposited in safety? Yes, replies
Th' entrusted servant. Now thyself embark,
His lord enjoins, who, musing thus, remains:
If my attempt to further I have won
This gallant Locrian, frankly I confess
My debt to fortune; but this casual boon
I can forego, if wantonly her hand
Resumes; Themistocles alone can trace
A path to glory. Tow'rds the land he turns,
Proceeding thus: Now, Attica, farewell,
Awhile farewell. To thee, Barbarian gold,
Themistocles resorts; my bosom guest,
Whom Aristides in disdain would spurn,
By thee, O gift of Xerxes, I will raise
The weal of Athens, and a fresh increase
To my own laurels. Uncontroll'd, supreme
Is Aristides. He the Attic youth
In phalanx bright to victory may lead;
Minerva's bird Xanthippus may display
To Asia, trembling at their naval flag;
A private man, Themistocles will reach
Your summits, fellow citizens, preferr'd
To his command. Ye chosen heroes, wait
For breezy spring to wanton in your sails,
Then range your vig'rous files, and pamper'd steeds;
Themistocles, amid septentrion snows,
Shall rouse despair and anguish from their den
Of lamentation; poverty shall blaze
In radiant steel; pale misery shall grasp
A standard. Athens, thy rejected son
Extorted aid from tyranny shall draw
On his own greatness to establish thine.
Swift he embarks, like Neptune when he mounts
His rapid conch to call the tempests forth,
Upturn the floods, and rule them when they rage.
The third clear morning shews Eretria's port,
Among Euboean cities once superb,
Eretria now in ashes. She had join'd
Th' Athenians, bold invaders, who consum'd
The capital of Lydia, to revenge
Ionian Greeks enthrall'd. Eretria paid
Severe atonement to Hystaspes' son,
Incens'd Darius. To a Cissian plain,
A central space of his unbounded realm,
Far from their ancient seat, which flames devour'd,
He her exterminated race confin'd,
Sad captives, never to revisit more
Their native isle. A silent wharf admits
Themistocles on shore, a void extent,
Where sons of Neptune heretofore had swarm'd.
No mooring vessel in the haven rode,
No footstep mark'd the ways; sole inmates there,
Calamity and horror, as enthron'd,
Sat on o'erwhelming ruins, and forbade
The hero passage, till a seeming track
Presents, half bury'd in surrounding heaps
Of desolation, what appears a dome,
Rais'd to some god. Themistocles observes
A shatter'd porch, whose proud supporters lie
In fragments, save one column, which upholds
Part of a sculptur'd pediment, where, black
By conflagration, an inscription maim'd
Retains these words, 'To eleutherian Jove.'
Th' Athenian enters, follow'd by his train
In arms complete. Excluded was the day
By ruins pil'd externally around,
Unless what broken thinly-scatter'd rays
Shot through th' encumber'd portal. Soon they stand
Amidst obscuring dusk in silence all,
All motionless in wonder, while a voice,
Distinct in tone, delivers through the void
These solemn accents: Eleutherian god!
Since no redeemer to Eretria fall'n
Thy will vouchsafes, why longer dost thou keep
Thy aged servant on a stage of woe?
Why not release him? why not close his eyes,
So vainly melting o'er his country lost?
Ten years are fled; the morning I have hail'd
In sighs alone; have laid my head on thorns
Of anguish, nightly visited in dreams
By images of horror, which employ
Each waking moment. To have seen destroy'd
From their foundations my paternal streets,
The holy structures burn, a people forc'd
In climates new and barbarous to dwell,
Was sure enough to suffer-It is time
To give my patience rest. The plaintive sound
Draws on th' Athenian, who perceives a gleam,
Pale-quiv'ring o'er a solitary lamp;
Perceives a rev'rend sire, resembling Time,
Down to whose girdle hangs the snowy fleece
Of wintry age. Unaw'd his lamp he rais'd;
A dim reflection from the polish'd arms
Reveal'd the warrior, whom he thus bespake:
Whate'er thou art, if hostile, or a friend,
A god, a mortal, or a phantom vain,
Know, that my state no change can render worse,
All change make better. Father, soft replied
Th' advancing chief, take comfort, I am come
Thy country's saviour; follow, in the day
See who I am. Between the op'ning band
He leads the senior through the dusky porch,
Whom he accosts before th' unclouded sun,
Then vertical: Rest, father, and behold
Themistocles of Athens. While the priest,
So by his fillet sacerdotal known,
In wonder paus'd, th' artificer divine
Of wiles to catch the sudden turns of chance,
Frames in a momentary cast of thought
This bright device of fiction to allure
A holy mind. O worthy of the god!
Thou servant pure of Jupiter! I mourn,
Like thee, Eretria, not like thee despond.
Attend, thou righteous votary to heav'n!
I, from the day of Salamis o'ertoil'd,
While courting slumber, in a vision saw
The sapient issue of th' almighty sire,
His best belov'd Minerva. Still the sound
Of her gorgonian shield my ears retain,
While earnest, striking on its rim her spear,
The virgin warrior spake: Triumphant son
Of Neocles, remember in thy joy
The miseries of others. Go, redeem
Eretria fall'n, whose noble remnant arm'd
Sev'n ships, exhausting all their slender stores,
To fight for Athens on this glorious day.
As from the sooty gate of direful Dis
Deliver'd Theseus, when to cheering day
He reascended, on Alcides look'd,
Who for his lov'd companion piere'd the gloom
Of Erebus; th' Eretrian's grateful eyes
Thus on the son of Neocles were fix'd,
In ecstacy of joy. These fervent words
He utter'd: Heav'n hath giv'n thee to destroy
Presumptuous foes, O favour'd by the gods!
Who give thee now to save despairing friends;
That, all-rejoicing in thy trophies new,
Great as thou art, thy gen'rous soul may prove,
How far beyond the transports conquest yields,
Are those resulting from benignant deeds.
More grateful, chief, is charity's sweet voice,
Than Fame's shrill trumpet, in the ear of Jove,
Who will, on such humanity as thine,
Accumulate his blessings. If my name
Thou ne'er hast heard, or, hearing, hast forgot,
Know, that from lib'ral Cleobulus sprung,
I am Tisander. Interrupting swift
Th' Athenian here: Thy own, thy father's name,
To me, illustrious pontiff, well are known.
My recent banner in the summer's gale
Thou must remember on th' Eretrian coast.
Eretrian warriors under Cleon's charge,
In ships by me supply'd, undaunted fought
At Artemisium, and an earnest gave
Of their late prowess. From their chief, from all
Thy celebrating countrymen, I heard
Of thee Tisander, and thy name retain;
Proceed. To him the priest: Flow first my tears!
Of that brave band whatever now remains
Have nought but prowess left. Alas! how few
Escap'd thy fell, exterminating hand,
When treachery surrender'd to thy pow'r,
Darius! Sons of husbandry lay hid
In woods and caverns; of the nobler class
Some on the main were absent. Priest of Jove
I was releas'd; a pious, beardless prince,
Nam'd Hyperanthes, on my rank and years
Look'd with compassion; living, I extol,
My dying breath shall bless him. I have dwelt
Within my temple, mourning o'er this waste.
Here, annually collected (Lo! the day
Of that severe solemnity is nigh)
Th' unhappy reliques of Eretrian blood
Accompany my tears. Thou knowst, they sail'd
At thy appointment, on Athenian decks,
They and the men of Styra from that port
For Salamis. In glory they return'd
To want and horror, desert found their land,
Their crops, their future sustenance destroy'd,
Their huts consum'd, their cattle swept away,
Their progeny, their wives; flagitious act
Of Demonax, in Oreus late replac'd,
Her tyrant foul, a slave to Xerxes' throne,
His scourge in rich Euboea, half-reduc'd
To this dire monster's sway, by royal aid
Of endless treasure, and Barbarian bands.
Such is our state. Too scanty are the means
Of willing Styra to relieve such wants;
Our wealthier neighbours of Carystus vend,
Not give; in hoarded grain, in flocks and herds
Abounding, them a sordid chief controlls,
Nicomachus. An oligarchy rules
Geræstus small, but opulent--O Jove!
I see brave Cleon yonder; from his head
He rends the hair-what gestures of distress!
He beats his troubled bosom, wrings his hands!
Not heeding great Themistocles, he points
On me alone a wild distracted look!
Say Cleon . . . Swift, with shiv'ring lips and pale,
Th' Eretrian leader, interrupting, vents
His tortur'd thoughts: Tisander, can thy pray'rs
Repel grim famine, rushing on the blast
Of barren winter? Three disastrous days
Will lay the combatants for Greece in dust,
Behind them leaving nothing but a name
For Salamis to publish. Lo! they come,
A dying people, suppliant to repose
Within thy fane their flesh-divested bones.
Yet such a tomb, their fainting voices cry,
May those Eretrians envy who are doom'd
To lodge their captive limbs in Asia's mold.
He ends in sighs. Behold, a ghastly troop
Slow through the ruins of their native streets
In languid pace advance! So gath'ring shoals
Of ghosts from hour to hour through endless time,
The unrelenting eye of Charon views,
By sickness, plague and famine, by the sword,
Or heart-corroding sorrow, sent from light
To pass the black irremeable floods
Of Styx. Cecropia's hero cast a look
Like Phoebus heav'nly-gentle, when, aton'd,
Th' infectious air he clear'd, awak'ning gales
To breathe salubrious o'er th' enfeebled host
Of Agamemnon, as from death they rose
Yet to assert their glory. Swift the chief
Bespake Sicinus: Haste, unlaid the ships;
Three talents bring; they, Cleon, shall be thine;
Seek those in every part who vend, not give.
The gifts of Ceres in profusion bear,
The gifts of Pan, the grape's reviving juice,
To these, my fellow warriors, who have seen
My banner streaming, twice have lent their aid
To my renown; meantime our naval food
Shall be their portion; vesture now shall cheer
Their limbs. My brave companions, I have brought
The spear and buckler for your manly hands;
Your strength restor'd shall feel the glorious weight
Of crested helms. Tisander, let them rest
Within thy shelt'ring temple, not to sink
Beneath distress, but vig'rous soon renew
Their practis'd race of honour. Pass, my friends,
Be mute; expression of your joy I wave;
Again to-morrow you and I will meet.
Tisander, happy, entertains his guests,
Twelve hundred countrymen, the last remains
Of populous Eretria. Plenty's boon
Alert the Attic mariners diffuse
To all, and cordial tend their wants; discreet
Sicinus curbs excess. The tidings brought
Of his performance from a short repast
Dismiss'd his lord applauding; who serene,
Stretch'd on his naval pillow, slept till dawn.
He rose. To him Sicinus: Will my lord
Permit his servant, with an active band
Of sailors, these obstructions to remove,
Or so dispose, that feeblest steps may sind
A passage free to good Tisander's fane;
That through its wonted apertures, the round
Of that huge pile, where Jupiter should dwell,
Now dark as Pluto's palace, may admit
The light of heav'n? Yet further, we must search
For coverts dry, if such the greedy flames
Have left among these ruins, to secure
The various stores, which Cleon may transport.
To him his lord: Go, monitor expert,
Accomplish what thou counsel'st. Tow'rds the fane
Himself not slow proceeds. Before the front,
On scatter'd fragments of their ancient homes,
Th' Eretrians, pale with long-continu'd want,
Are seated. Thick as winter-famish'd birds
Perch on the boughs, which icicles encrust,
Yet chirp and flutter in th' attemp'ring sun,
These, at the hero's presence, wave their hands,
Unite their efforts in acclaim not loud,
But cordial, rather in a gen'ral sigh
Of gratitude. The charitable care
Of his best warriors, some of noblest birth,
Impart their help, like parents to a race
Of tender infants. Once of might approv'd
In battle, hardiest of the naval breed,
Th' Eretrians, worn by hunger, scarce retain
The slender pow'rs of childhood. One by one
Themistocles consoles them, and devotes
In condescension sedulous the day
To kindness not impolitic. In these
His piercing genius fit materials saw
To build another structure of renown.
Ere he retires, Tisander thus he greets:
Wilt thou, O father! on my board bestow
An evening hour? My moments all belong
To this yet helpless people, said the priest.
Such pious care through me shall heav'n reward,
Exclaims the chief, as round him he remarks
The toiling sailors; soon, thou guardian good
Of wretched men committed to thy charge,
Soon shall thy temple reassume its state.
Prepare an altar; Hecatombs again
Shall smoke ere long, Eretria cast aside
Her widow'd garb, and lift her festive palms
To eleutherian Jove. This utter'd, swift
He seeks his vessel, while the sun descends.
Calm, as in summer, through an ether clear
Aurora leads the day. A cheerful sound
Of Oxen, lowing from the hollow dales
Which tow'rds Carystus wind, of bleeting sheep,
Yet nearer driven across the Eretrian plain,
Awake Themistocles. His couch he leaves,
Revisiting the temple; there enjoys
The gen'ral transport. Plenty on the wing
Is nigh, the comforts of her fruitful horn
To pour on desolation. Cleon comes,
Accosting thus Themistocles: My task
Is well accomplish'd through the lib'ral zeal
Of Hyacinthus near a youth unlike
His sire Nicomachus. That subtile chief
Of our Carystian neighbours is behind,
Escorting laden carriages of grain,
Thy purchase; nought his sordid hand bestows.
He, curious more than friendly in our need,
Or of thy name respectful, to explore,
Not help or pity, hither bends his course.
Conduct the father to my ship, reply'd
Themistocles; sure yonder is the son,
Thou hast describ'd; ingenuous are his looks.
Like him, whose name he bears, his beauteous form
Might charm the beaming god once more to court
A mortal's friendship; but, dejection pale
O'ercasts his hue; strange melancholy dims
His youthful eye; too modest, or unmann'd
By languor, child of grief, he stops and bows
In distant, seeming awe, which wounds my soul.
I must salute him: Noble youth, receive
My hand; Themistocles of Greece expects
No such obeisance from a fellow Greek.
The majesty of Athens might exact
That conquer'd tyrants, in my presence brought,
Low as the dust should crouch beneath her chief.
A start of anguish Hyacinthus gave
At these last words, then silent bow'd again
His decent brow; not awe, but latent ills
Seem'd to control his tongue. Th' observant chief
Defers enquiry to its season due,
To Cleon's charge consigns him, and retires
To his own galley. Waiting for the sire,
He meditates a moment on the son:
I see advantage in this youth's distress-
My plan is form'd. He hastens to unbar
His copious treasure; thence in dazzling show
He spreads four silver talents on his board,
O'er them a mantle throws, and brief again
Thus ruminates: Now, Plutus, who canst sap
The strong-bas'd tow'r, and soften rigid hearts,
Smile on this juncture. Aristides scorns
Thy deity, Themistocles invokes
Thy precious succour. From profoundest woe
Disconsolate Eretria thou hast rais'd;
Now by a sordid instrument give life
To dull Carystus. Sudden in his view,
By Cleon brought, who instantly withdraws,
Nicomachus appears, and thus begins:
The Salaminian victor I salute,
Charg'd by Carystus; happy is my lot
To venerate the chief, and touch the hand
Which humbled Asia. Doth Euboea see
Thee visitant illustrious to rebuild
Eretria? then instruct her to confine
That pow'r and pride, her neighbours felt of old.
Th' Athenian here: Euboea sees me come
Both to upraise, Carystian, and depress;
But to exalt thy state, my friend, I wish,
Wish thy possessions equal to thy worth.
Behold! Uplifting to the greedy eye
Of avarice the mantle, he pursues;
Behold, four silver talents! Them accept,
Which in this casket to thy trusted slaves
I will deliver now; I only ask
Of thy deep-founded influence to warm
Supine Carystus: For thyself and Greece
Unite with mine thy standard. Further note,
If at my summons thou produce in arms
Thy citizens auxiliar, from this hand
Expect four added talents; but the hopes
Of no unpractis'd leader, who perceives
His enterprize assur'd, dare promise more,
A share, Nicomachus, of spoil in war,
To pass thy own belief. By present gain,
By more in promise, not by glory fir'd,
Nicomachus rejoins: A thousand spears
Shall wait thy earliest notice. While he spake,
He snatch'd the casket, shut the treasure close,
Then rush'd to seek his confidential slave,
Who takes the precious charge. With placid looks
The cool the politic Athenian sat
Like some experienc'd pilot, who serene,
In skilful guidance of the steady helm,
Enjoys the favour smooth of gale and tide,
Combin'd to waft o'er ocean's fickle breast
His gliding keel, and lodge her costly freight
Secure at length in harbour. Now he spake
To his re-ent'ring guest: Carystian friend,
Thou hast a son, well-disciplin'd to war,
Brave, lib'ral, wise, I doubt not; wilt thou trust
To my society a while his youth?
He is the object of my vows to heav'n,
Nicomachus exclaims, in passion feign'd,
My soul's delight, the rapture of my eye!
If he were absent, ev'ry hour my age
Would feel a growing burden. Come, rejoins
Th' Athenian, him I only would detain
My messenger of orders to thy walls;
On him another talent would bestow.
The gymnic school and letters, cries the sire,
He follows, heeds not treasure; by his hand
Send me the talent; never let him know
The charge he bears. This said, he loudly calls
To Hyacinthus, who had gain'd the deck,
Him ent'ring thus addresses: Son, the chief
Of Athens, great Themistocles, demands
Thee for companion. As a casual gleam
Breaks through th' unrav'lling texture of black clouds,
Which long on winter's sullen face have hung;
So darts a ray of gladness through the gloom
Of Hyacinthus, by the Attic chief
Not unobserv'd. Intent on swift return,
Th' exulting father bids to both farewel.
Remaining day Themistocles employs
Among his sailors in th' Eretrian streets,
Inspects the necessary toil pursu'd
With unremitted vigour, then retires
To due refection. Cleon is a guest
With Hyacinthus, still by grief devour'd
Which all his efforts strive in vain to hide.
Her heavy wing no sooner night outspreads,
Than to Sicinus they are giv'n in charge,
While to his couch Themistocles repairs.

End of the Eleventh Book