That month severe, unfolding to the sun
A frosty portal, whence his steeds renew
Their yearly round, was clos'd. O'ercome at night
By toil uncommon, lay th' Athenian chief
In early sleep profound, which early freed
His eyes again. In suffocating fumes
He wakes. Upstarting, round his limbs he wraps
Th' external garment, and Sicinus cails,
Who slept not distant. He unbars a door,
Which shews the gallery in flames. Down sinks
The crackling floor. A main sustaining beam
From end to end, transverse another, stands
Yet unconsum'd. Lo! trembling in his view
Acanthè; inextinguishable flames
Between them rage. A moment he devotes
To eye the gulph, which menaces with death
Him and his hopes, in him the Grecian weal.
Would Aristides hesitate thus long
To save the meanest? I before me see
On life's last verge a creature half divine.
Urg'd by that thought, along the burning beam
He rushes swift. He catches in his arms
The loose-rob'd fair-one, clinging round his neck.
Returning, not like Orpheus, who regain'd
Eurydicè and lost, with matchless strength
He holds his prize above the pointed spires
Of fiery volumes, which on either side
Assail his passing steps. The son of Jove
Not more undaunted through the livid blaze
Of Piuto's mansion bore the victim pure
Of conjugal affection back to life,
Alcestis. Lo! Sicinus stops his feet
In their mid course. Thy chamber flames, he cries;
Speed o'er this traverse beam; yon open door
Leads to a passage yet unscorch'd. He guides;
The hero follows; danger here augments.
As through a swelling tide he wades through fire,
Which scath'd his brows, his blazing beard and hair,
Nor spar'd the garments of his precious charge;
Yet her unhurt through that befriending door
His unrelax'd rapidity conveys.
Of pain regardless to the public street
He thence descends; no populace is here;
That front vulcanian fury had not reach'd;
The other draws the throng; confusion there
Prevails, uproar and terror. On he speeds
Through frozen air, and falling flakes of snow,
Unwearied still his lovely burden holds,
Acanthè fainting; her uncover'd breast,
Unless that ringlets of her locks unbound
Let fall at times their loose and silky threads,
Against his cheek with marble coldness press'd.
At last the dwelling of Nearchus nigh
Affords a refuge. On a friendly bed,
But not of rest, Themistocles in pain
Extends his limbs; Acanthè female slaves
Receive and cherish. Absent is their lord,
Who, at the head of military files
In haste collected, early, but in vain
Had issued forth. The palace is consum'd.
Timoxenus to shelter he conducts;
The archon, trembling for his daughter's fate,
Beholds her safe, and feels no other loss.
Now all salute Themistocles; but first
Sicinus spake: Infernal arts have laid
Thy palace waste, Timoxenus. I saw
Sulphureous, glutinous materials blaze
Close to the chamber of my lord's repose.
From lips nigh parch'd by torture of his pains
Themistocles began: My earthly term
If heav'n requir'd me now to close, enough
I have atchiev'd to fill the trump of fame.
To have preserv'd thy daughter, gen'rous host,
Would crown my glory! Medon is not far;
Well would that chief my vacant post supply,
Were I remov'd. But, friends, my hurts are light,
Which common succour of Machaon's art
Will soon repair; yet publish you my state
As dang'rous; words and looks observe; keen spies
To Oreus send. Thus caution'd, each retir'd
Except Sicinus, who address'd his lord:
Wilt thou trust rumour in her flight at large
To sound thy state as dang'rous? Shall a tale
To cozen foes, and try thy new allies,
Pass unrefuted to Cecropian shores,
Rive thy Timothea's bosom, grieve thy friends,
Dismay all Athens, and suspend that aid
Which she might lend thee in some adverse hour?
The hero then: O monitor expert!
Thou hast foreftall'd me; instant will I spare
Thee to prevent such fears. Thou canst not stem
The vex'd Euripus. From Geræstus sail;
To my Timothea fly. Thy looks enquire
How to relate my story: Tell her all;
I have been faithful to my nuptial vow,
Yet have succeeded. Let th' Athenians know
My force and destin'd enterprize; forbear
Of them to crave assistance; let them act
As humour sways. Cleander shouldst thou meet,
In kindest greetings tell him, I should prize
Troezenian succour-To its healing solds
I am solicited by sleep-Farewell.
Not so Acanthè's troubles are compos'd.
When lenient balm of Morpheus steep'd the cares
Of other bosoms, in the midnight damps
She quits a thorny pillow. Half array'd,
With naked feet she roams a spacious floor,
Whence she contemplates that retreat of rest,
Inclosing all her wishes, hapless fair,
Without one hope; there stifling sighs, she melts
In silent tears. The sullen groan of winds,
Which shake the roof, the beating rain she hears
Unmov'd, nor heeds stern winter, who benumbs
Her tender beauties in his harsh embrace.
O Love! to vernal sweets, to summer's air,
To bow'rs, which temper sult'ry suns at noon,
Art thou confin'd? To rills in lulling flow,
To flow'rs, which scent thy arbours of recess,
To birds, who sing of youth and soft desire?
All is thy empire, ev'ry season thine,
Thou universal origin of things,
Sole ruler, oft a tyrant. Stealing steps
Full frequent draw Acanthè to the door
Of her preserver. While he sleeps, and pain
Excites no groan to wound her list'ning ear,
Anxiety abates; but passion grows.
Then recollecting his intrepid strides
Through fiery surge, devouring, as he pass'd,
His hair majestic, wreathing round his limbs
In torment, which none else to save her life
Would face, or could endure, unguarded thought
In murm'ring transport issues from her lips.
To boundless obligation can I shew
Less, than unbounded gratitude-Base tongue,
Dar'st thou the name of gratitude profane,
Which is a virtue-Oh! thou impious flame
Within my breast, not gratitude hath blown
Thee from a spark to so intense a heat.
Deprav'd Acanthè, vagabond impure
Of night, from honour and its laws estrang'd,
A robber's criminal desire of spoil
Thou feel'st, a rage of sacrilege to force
The sanctuary of Hymen, and that fire,
Which law, religion, men and gods protect,
Quench on his altar by the hand of vice.
She could no more. A parting cloud reveal'd
The moon. Before the silver light she dropp'd
On her bare knee, enfeebled by the cold;
There fix'd and freezing, from that awful pow'r
Of chastity she seem'd invoking help;
When, newly-waken'd by her piercing moan,
With smarting limbs Themistocles had left
His pillow; keener his internal pang,
To see an image of despair, the work
Of his fallacious art. On his approach,
At once the worn remains of spirit fled
From her cold bosom, heaving now no more.
The twilight glimmers on the rear of night;
His painful arms uplift her from the floor,
And to her couch with decency of care
Commit her lifeless charms. To sense restor'd,
Just as the morn's exploring eye unclos'd,
Acanthè, faint and speechless, by a sign
Forbids his presence; cautious he retires.
Now she indulg'd her agonies of shame
And self-reproach. With horrid visions teem'd
Her agitated brain; black-rob'd despair
Stalk'd round her curtains, in his double grasp
A bloody poniard, and empoison'd bowl
To her sad choice upholding; but ere long
That thirsty, parching malady, which boils
The putrid blood, and ravages like fire,
Invades her frame. Whole days, whole nights she saw
A tender sire beside her pillow mourn,
Her beauties wasting hourly in his view.
To gentler forms delirium then would change;
The moon, so lately to her aid invok'd,
She saw, descending from her lucid sphere,
Assume her shape of goddess, who inspir'd
A soothing thought to seek for health and peace
At her propitious oracle, not rob
So kind a father of his only joy.
Meantime the tidings vague of Chalcis burn'd,
And great Themistocles destroy'd, had fame
Proclaim'd aloud through each Euboean town,
Save where Sicinus, passing to his port
Of embarkation, spreads a milder tale,
Alarming still. Eretria scarce confines
Tisander's falt'ring age; but Cleon thence,
From Styra Lampon hastes; Geræstus sends
Eudemus; Hyacinthus feels no more
His own distress, and rapid, as the bird
Of Jupiter through heav'n's aerial way,
Flies to his guardian friend. Eudora, skill'd
In healing juices, condescends to mount
Herself the sacred axle, and her state
Displays in Chalcis worshipping her wheels.
The archon waits respectful on her steps,
When she salutes th' Athenian, still recluse
From public view, though nigh restor'd. He bends
The knee before her. Him with stately grace
She raises, then addresses: Glad I see
Thy convalescence; to impart my help
Became a duty. So Diana will'd,
By me consulted in her solemn grove
Mysterious; where an impulse warn'd my soul,
That none, but thou, can set Euboea free,
Protect the temples, and her tyrant quell.
He kiss'd her sacred vestment, and replied:
I now perceive how pow'rful are thy pray'rs.
To them, so favour'd by the gods, I owe
My preservation, which, O learn'd and wise,
Forestalls thy skill! Ah! since thy face hath deign'd
To cheer this city, by a long abode
Complete the blessing. As to ancient Troy
Was that Palladian image sent from heav'n,
Be thou to Chalcis. At thy presence known
Pale Demonax will shrink. But first apply
Thy lenient succour to my friend's distress,
Whose daughter pines in sickness, and deserves
Thy full regard, most holy and benign.
To sad Acanthè's couch the archon leads
Eudora. Soon from Oreus tidings stern
Awake the native terrors in his heart;
In haste he greets Themistocles: O guest!
Fierce Demonax assembles all his force,
But first will try an embassy; expect
Within three days the tyrant's fell demands,
Which, not accepted, bring th' avenging waste
Of his redoubled fury on our heads.
Is he so poor in counsellors, began
Th' Athenian calm? Amid disabling storms
In this rough season will th' insensate brute
Drag to the field his Asiatic host?
He thinks me dead; remember thou, my friend,
Themistocles is living, nor conceive
The rash, disturb'd and self-tormenting breast
Of such a tyrant, whom the furies haunt,
Hath fortitude and conduct to withstand
Themistocles in arms. Not half-reviv'd
Subjoins the archon: Thou alas! may'st want
The brave auxiliars promis'd to thy arms;
To thee alike unfriendly are the storms
Which lock our harbours; not a bark can sail;
Illustrious Medon dares not plough the surge
From Atalantè; nor on Artic shores
Of our distress can Aristides hear.
True, answers firm Themistocles, though stung,
Nor shall we want him. Is not Cleon here,
Nearchus, Lampon, sharers of success
In my preceding conflicts? Of no price
Is staid Eudemus, Hyacinthus brave?
Is not Eudora present, sacred dame,
Who will her face majestical unveil
Among confederated ranks to bless
The Eleutherian banner, and inspire
Your populace with all religion's flame?
Yon despicable embassy prepare
To answer nobly, or let me be heard.
Now to this chamber summon all my friends.
Timoxenus conven'd them. Swift the chief
Dispatch'd them ardent to their native states,
Thence their collected citizens in arms,
The guardians of Chalcidic walls, to lead.
Three days elaps'd; the embassy arriv'd.
Amid the senate, on his chair of state,
The archon sat. Th' Athenian's sure support
Behind is planted. Fierce in tone and look
Th' Orean herald represents his lord:
Ye men of Chalcis, Demonax requires
That you acknowledge Xerxes; that your gates
A Persian garrison admit. Be wise;
Refusal draws perdition on your heads.
Timoxenus turns pale; his falt'ring lips
Make no reply. Th' indignant senate mourn
Their state dishonour'd by a timid chief,
When timely steps Themistocles in sight;
Whose name is murmur'd through th' applauding court.
As at the aspect of a single cloud,
Known by the trembling seaman to contain
Destructive blasts, the sail he swiftly furls
With anxious wish for shelter in the lee
Of some still shore; the herald thus relax'd
His alter'd features. Arrogance abash'd
Foreboded ruin from that mighty arm,
In vigour brac'd by unexpected health.
In act to speak, the hero stretch'd his hand.
To fear and impotent distress he seem'd
Extending refuge like a poplar tall,
Whose grateful branches cool the green descent
To some pellucid fountain, where his course
Th' o'erweary'd passenger suspends to slake
His eager thirst beneath such friendly shade.
Bent to provoke the tyrant, and mislead
His rashness, thus Themistocles-his look
Transpierc'd the humbled herald while he spake:
Begone, base Greek, from Chalcis. In her name
Defiance bear to Demonax, whose head
Shall on the gate of Oreus be affix'd;
Thine to some trafficker in slaves be sold.
To Oreus back th' astonish'd herald flies,
On whose report his impious lord incens'd
Blasphemes the gods. The Furies he invokes,
To them, a human sacrifice, devotes
His first Chalcidian captives. From his host
Two chosen myriads on the plain he pours.
Brave Mindarus, by duty to his king
Compell'd to service which his sword abhors,
Ariobarzanes, second in command,
Barbarian homicide, whose joy is blood,
The sev'n Geræstians sworn to deeds of hell,
With Lamachus, of foul mishapen frame,
Attend the tyrant, spreading to rude storms
His banner fell. So Satan from the north
Of heav'n, his region once, with Moloc grim,
Beëlzebub and Nisroc, led the host
Of impious angels, all the destin'd prey
Of Tartarus. Meanwhile th' Athenian sat
Serene in Chalcis; his auxiliar bands
Successively arriv'd. Eretria sent
Twelve hundred spears; Carystus doubled those;
Beneath her standard Amarynthus rang'd
Eudora's vassals; Styra cas'd in steel
Five hundred warriors tried; seven hundred more
Geræstus; Chalcis from her loins supplied
Four thousand youths, Nearchus was their chief.
Th' Athenian's care had trac'd the region round.
A level champaign tow'rds septentrion skies
Extends; its western border is the frith,
Whose shore is bold, and press'd by waters deep.
A line of anchor'd vessels, which o'erlook
The land, the chief disposes here; whose crews
Were menials, train'd to missile weapons light.
Full opposite, and cross the plain, he mark'd
A quarry, parent of the domes and tow'rs,
Exalting Chalcis o'er Euboean towns.
The subterranean passages by all
Inscrutable, but lab'ring hinds, who cleave
Earth's marble womb, he garrisons with bands
From that rough breed, supported by a force
Of heavy-mail'd Chalcideans, left in charge
To bold Nearchus. So the watchful bees
Within their hive lie dangerous on guard
Against invasion of their precious stores,
Their industry and state. By morn the care
Of active scouts proclaims the adverse host
Not far, though yet unseen. The trumpet sounds
To fight; Eudora mounts her car, and wields
The arms of Dian. Through the spacious streets,
Where under ensigns of their sev'ral states
The warriors blaze in steel, from band to band
She, by her prompter well-instructed, tow'rs
Like new-born Pallas from the head of Jove.
Her voice exhorts, her sentiments inspire,
Her majesty commands them; all are fir'd,
All, but Timoxenus. With armed files
In safe reserve, though destin'd to remain
Behind the walls, he dreads th' important day.
His gen'rous daughter, whose distemper'd mind
Eudora's converse had begun to calm,
Not so debas'd her thoughts; her country's cause
She felt; heroic talents she admir'd;
Him, who possess'd them all, her heart recall'd,
Though with abated passion. All his tale
Of Salamis, the stratagem deriv'd
From conjugal affection, from the sight
Of forms belov'd to animate the brave,
Recurr'd; she summon'd to her languid bed
The most distinguish'd matrons, them besought
To mount the walls, and overlook the fight,
In all its terrors. Imitate, she said,
The Attic dames, that Chalcis may partake
Of Attic glory. They approving went.
O mortals, born to err, when most you smart
With self-reproach on guilty passion's wound,
Attempt one act of virtue! then your breasts
Will, like Acanthè's now, enjoy a calm.
In supplication thus her wonder breaks:
Ye lights, who, shining on my darkness, deign
To lift the veil of error from my eyes,
Protecting pow'rs, accept Acanthè's pray'r
For this her native city, for a sire
Too kind, for great Themistocles, who draws
The sword of Justice-Now with purer lips
I sound his name-And, O illustrious dame!
Of all Athenian excellence the flow'r,
Bless'd in a hero's love, the precious gift
Of hymeneal Juno, couldst thou know
What I have suffer'd by an envious flame,
What still I suffer, while remorse awakes
A thought of thee, thy gen'rous soul would melt
In pity, ev'n forgiveness, when I vow
To ev'ry chaste divinity invok'd,
That I will see Themistocles no more.
This victory accomplish'd, renders back
Her virtue late a captive, which recalls
Affections pure, and sanctity of mind,
Still thoughts, and hope, restorative of peace.
But on a diff'rent victory intent
Themistocles within Chalcidic walls
Contains his ready host; nor means to throw
The portals open, nor display the face
Of battle, till the enemies in sight
Yield full advantage in his choice of time.
So in his deep concealment of green reeds
On Ganges' margin, or the flaggy strand
Of Niger's flood, from Æthiopia roll'd,
The alligator vigilant maintains
His fraudful ambush, that unwary steps
May bring the prey to his voracious jaws.

End of the Sixteenth Book