From her Tithonian couch Aurora mounts
The sky. In rev'rence now of Sparta's name,
Yet more of dead Leonidas, three days
To preparation for his burial rites
Themistocles decrees. To curious search
Innumerable herds and flocks supply
Selected victims. Of their hairy pines
To frame the stately pyre the hills are shorn.
Amid this labour Hyacinthus, rich
In Aleuadian spoil, his colleague brave
Nicanor, all the Potidæan bands,
Th' Olynthians, and Nearchus, who conducts
The youth of Chaleis, reinforce the camp
With their victorious ranks. Th' appointed day
Was then arriv'd. A broad constructed pyre
Tow'rs in the center of Trachiniæ's plain;
The diff'rent standards of the Grecian host
Are planted round. The Attic chief convenes
The fifty Spartans of his guard, and thus:
Themistocles, distinguish'd by your state,
By your assiduous courage long sustain'd,
Will now repay these benefits. Your king,
Leonidas, the brightest star of Greece,
No more shall wander in the gloom of Styx;
But that last passage to immortal seats
Through me obtain. Greek institutes require
The nearest kindred on the fun'ral stage
The dead to lay, the victims to dispose,
To pour libations, and the sacred dust
Inurn. Alone of these assembled Greeks
Are you the hero's countrymen; alone
Your hands the pious office shall discharge.
Th' obedient Spartans from Trachiniæ's gates
Produce to view the venerable bones
Herculean. Lifted up the structure high
Of pines and cedars, on the surface large
All, which of great Leonidas remains,
By sedulous devotion is compos'd.
The various captains follow, some in gaze
Of wonder, others weeping. Last appears
Melissa, trailing her pontific pall
(Calliopè in semblance) with her troop
Of snowy-vested nymphs from Oeta's hill,
With all her vassals, decently arrang'd
By Mycon's care. Two hecatombs are slain,
Of sheep five hundred, and libations pour'd
Of richest wine. A Spartan now applies
The ruddy firebrand. In his priestly robe
Phoebean Timon supplicates a breeze
From Æolus to raise the creeping flame.
Thrice round the crackling heaps the silent host,
With shields revers'd, and spears inclining low,
Their solemn movement wind. The shrinking pyre
Now glows in embers; fresh libations damp
The heat. A vase of silver high-emboss'd,
By Hyacinthus from Larissa brought,
Spoil of th' abode which treach'rous Thorax held,
Receives the sacred ashes, and is plac'd
Before Melissa. So the godlike son
Of Neocles directs. An awful sign
From her commands attention; thus she spake:
Thou art not dead, Leonidas; thy mind
In ev'ry Grecian lives. Thy mortal part,
Transform'd to ashes, shall on Oeta's hill
Among the celebrating Muses dwell
In glory; while through animated Greece
Thy virtue's inextinguishable fires
Propitious beam, and, like the flames of Jove,
Intimidate her foes. Not wine, nor oil,
Nor blood of hecatombs, profusely spilt,
Can to thy manes pay the tribute due;
The massacre of nations, all the spoil
Of humbled Asia, Destiny hath mark'd
For consecration of thy future tomb.
Two ministers my soul prophetic sees,
Themistocles and Aristides stand
Presiding o'er the sacrifice. The earth,
The sea, shall witness to the mighty rites.
Cease to regret the transitory doom
Of thy remains insulted, no disgrace
To thee, but Xerxes. Pass, exalted shade,
The bounds of Dis, nor longer wail thy term
Of wand'ring now elaps'd; all measur'd time
Is nothing to eternity. Assume
Among the bless'd thy everlasting seat.
Th' indignity, thy earthly frame endur'd,
Perhaps the gods permitted in their love
To fill the measure of celestial wrath
Against thy country's foes; then rest in peace,
Thou twice illustrious victim to her weal.
As, when Minerva in th' Olympian hall
Amid the synod of celestials pour'd
Her eloquence and wisdom, ev'ry god
In silence heard, and Jove himself approv'd;
Around Melissa thus were seen the chiefs
In admiration bound; o'er all supreme
Themistocles applauded. Mycon last,
With her injunction charg'd, to Oeta's shrine
Was now transporting in their polish'd urn
The treasur'd ashes, when along the plain
A sudden, new appearance strikes the sight,
A fun'ral car, attended by a troop
Of olive-bearing mourners. They approach
Melissa; suppliant in her view expose
Embalm'd Masistius. Sent from Asia's camp,
A passage these had recently obtain'd
From good Leonteus, by his brother plac'd
Thermopylæ's sure guard. Melissa knew
The page Statirus, foremost of the train,
Who at her feet in agony began:
Thy late protector, cold in death's embrace,
Survey, thou holy paragon; his fall
Asopus saw. Before the hero climb'd
His fatal steed, to me this charge he gave.
'If I return a conqueror this day,
'To that excelling dame who made thee mine,
'Who hath enlarg'd whate'er of wise and great,
'Of just and temp'rate I to nature owe,
'Refin'd my manners, and my purest thoughts
'Exalted, I my friendship will prolong
'In gratitude and rev'rence; blessing heav'n,
'Which thus prefers Masistius to extend
'Benevolence to virtue. If I fall,
'Resume with her the happiest lot my care
'Can recommend, Statirus. Though no Greek,
'Her pupil, say, in offices humane
'Hath not been tardy; by her light inspir'd,
'He went more perfect to a noble grave.'
Cast from his wounded courser, he, o'erpow'r'd
By numbers, died. The body was restor'd
By Aristides, of unrivall'd fame
Among the just and gen'rous. O'er the dead
Mardonius rent his vesture, and his hair,
Then thus ordain'd: 'This precious clay embalm'd
'To Artamanes bear, whose pious zeal
'A friend's remains to Sestus will convey,
'Thence o'er the narrow Hellespont to reach
'His native Asia, and his father's tomb.'
I then repeated what my virtuous lord,
Expiring, utter'd: 'Let Mardonius think
'How brief are life's enjoyments. Virtue lives
'Through all eternity. By virtue earn'd
'Praise too is long-Melissa, grant me thine'.
'Commend me to Melissa, starting, spake
'The son of Gobryas. From the shameful cross
'Bid Artamanes in her presence free
'Leonidas the Spartan.' All my charge
Is now accomplish'd faithfully to all.
Not far was Artamanes. From the train
Of Persians strode a giant stern in look,
Who thus address'd the satrap: Prince, behold
Briareus; hither by Mardonius sent,
Guard of this noble body, I appear
A witness too of thy disgrace; I see
These Greeks thy victors. Is th' Athenian chief
Among the band? Themistocles advanc'd;
To whom Briareus: Art thou he, who dar'd
My lord to battle on the plains of Thebes?
Where have thy fears confin'd thee till this hour
That I reproach thee with thy promise pledg'd?
But this inglorious enterprize on herds,
On flocks, and helpless peasants, was more safe,
Than to abide Mardonius in the field.
I now return. What tidings shall I bear
From thee, great conqueror of beeves and sheep?
Say, I am safe, Themistocles replies
In calm derision, and the fun'ral rites,
Thus at my leisure, to Laconia's king
Perform, while your Mardonius sleeps in Thebes.
The spirit of Leonidas, in me
Reviving, shall from Oeta's distant top
Shake your pavilions on Asopian banks.
Yet, in return for his recover'd bones,
I, undisputed master of the main,
Will waft Masistius to a Persian grave.
Thou mayst depart in safety, as thou cam'st.
The savage hears, and sullenly retreats;
While pious Medon thus accosts the dead:
Thou son of honour, to thy promise just,
Melissa's brother venerates the clay
Of her avow'd protector. Let my care
Preserve these reliques where no greedy worm,
Nor hand profane, may violate thy form;
Till friendly gales transport thee to repose
Among thy fathers. Through Trachinian gates
He leads the sable chariot, thence conveys
Th' illustrious burden to Melissa's roof;
Statirus aids. The priestess, there apart,
Bespake her brother thus: My tend'rest tears,
From public notice painfully conceal'd,
Shall in thy presence have a lib'ral flow.
Thou gav'st me this protector; honour, truth,
Humanity, and wisdom like thy own,
Were his appendage. Virtue is the same
In strangers, kindred, enemies and friends.
He won my friendship-might in earlier days
Have kindled passion-O! since fate decreed
Thee from Asopus never to return;
If by Melissa's precepts thou inspir'd
Didst go more perfect to a noble grave,
I bless the hours; and memory shall hold
Each moment dear, when, list'ning to my voice,
Thou sat'st delighted in the moral strain.
Leonidas and thou may pass the floods
Of Styx together; in your happy groves
Think of Melissa. Welcom'd were ye both
By her on earth; her tongue shall never cease,
Her lyre be never wanting to resound
Thee, pride of Asia, him, the first of Greeks,
In blended eulogy of grateful song.
She o'er the dead through half the solemn night
A copious web of eloquence unwinds,
Explaining how Masistius had consum'd
Nine lunar cycles in assiduous zeal
To guard her fane, her vassals to befriend;
How they ador'd his presence; how he won
Her from the temple to Sandaucè's cure
At Amarantha's suit; within his tent
How clemency and justice still abode
To awe Barbarians; how, departing sad,
His last farewell at Oeta's shrine he gave
In words like these: 'Unrivall'd dame, we march
'Against thy country-Thou should'st wish our fall.
'If we prevail, be confident in me
'Thy safeguard still-But heav'n, perhaps, ordains
That thou shalt never want Masistius more.
She pauses. Now her mental pow'rs sublime,
Collected all, this invocation frame.
O eleutherian sire! this virtuous light,
By thee extinguish'd, proves thy care of Greece.
Who of the tribes Barbarian now survives
To draw thy favour? Gratitude requires
This pure libation of my tears to lave
Him once my guardian; but a guardian new,
Thy gift in Medon, elevates at last
My gratitude to thee. Serene she clos'd,
Embrac'd her brother, and retir'd to rest.
From Oeta's heights fresh rose the morning breeze.
A well-apparell'd galley lay unmoor'd
In readiness to sail. Sandaucè drops
A parting tear on kind Melissa's breast,
By whom dismiss'd, Statirus on the corse
Of great Masistius waits. The Grecian chiefs
Lead Artamanes to the friendly deck,
In olive wreaths, pacific sign, attir'd,
Whence he the fervour of his bosom pours:
O may this gale with gentleness of breath
Replace me joyous in my seat of birth,
As I sincere on Horomazes call
To send the dove of peace, whose placid wing
The oriental and Hesperian world
May feel, composing enmity and thirst
Of mutual havoc! that my grateful roof
May then admit Themistocles, and all
Those noble Grecians, who sustain'd my head,
Their captive thrice. But ah! what founts of blood
Will fate still open to o'er flow the earth!
Yet may your homes inviolate remain,
Imparting long the fulness of those joys,
Which by your bounty I shall soon possess!
He ceas'd. The struggle of Sandauce's heart
Suppress'd her voice. And now the naval pipe
Collects the rowers. At the signal shrill
They cleave with equal strokes the Malian floods.
Meantime a vessel, underneath the lee
Of Locris coasting, plies the rapid oar
In sight. She veers, and, lodging in her sails
The wind transverse, across the haven skims;
Till on Sperchean sands she rests her keel.
Themistocles was musing on the turns
Of human fortune, and the jealous eye
Of stern republics, vigilantly bent
Against successful greatness; yet serene,
Prepar'd for ev'ry possible reverse
In his own fortune, he the present thought,
Of Persians chang'd from foes to friends, enjoy'd.
When lo! Sicinus landed. Swift his lord
In words like these the faithful man approach'd.
From Aristides hail! Asopus flows,
Still undisturb'd by war, between the hosts
Inactive. Each the other to assail
Inflexibly their augurs have forbid.
The camp, which Ceres shall the best supply,
Will gain the palm. Mardonius then must fight
To our advantage both of time and place,
Themistocles replies, and sudden calls
The diff'rent leaders round him. Thus he spake:
Euboeans, Delphians, Locrians, you, the chiefs
Of Potidæa and Olynthus, hear.
The ritual honours to a hero due,
Whom none e'er equall'd, incomplete are left;
Them shall the new Aurora see resum'd.
At leisure now three days to solemn games
I dedicate. Amid his num'rous tents
Mardonius on Asopus shall be told,
While he sits trembling o'er the hostile flood,
Of Grecian warriors on the Malian sands
Disporting. You in gymnic lists shall wing
The flying spear, and hurl the massy disk,
Brace on the cæstus, and impel the car
To celebrate Leonidas in sight
Of Oeta, witness to his glorious fate.
But fifty vessels deep with laden stores
I first detach, that gen'ral Greece may share
In our superfluous plenty. Want shall waste
Mardonian numbers, while profusion flows
Round Aristides. To protect, my friends,
Th' important freight, three thousand warlike spears
Must be embark'd. You, leaders, now decide,
Who shall with me Thermopylæ maintain,
Who join the Grecian camp. First Medon rose:
From thy successful banner to depart
Believe my feet reluctant. From his cross
When I deliver'd Lacedæmon's king,
My life, a boon his friendship once bestow'd,
I then devoted in the face of heav'n
To vindicate his manes. What my joy,
If I survive, if perish, what my praise
To imitate his virtue? Greece demands
In his behalf a sacrifice like this
From me, who, dying, only shall discharge
The debt I owe him; where so well discharge,
As at Asopus in the gen'ral shock
Of Greece and Asia? But the hundred spears,
Which have so long accompany'd my steps
Through all their wand'rings, are the only force
My wants require. The rest of Locrian arms
Shall with Leonteus thy controul obey.
Pois'd on his shield, and cas'd in Carian steel,
Whence issued lustre like Phoebean rays,
Thus Haliartus: Me, in peasant-weeds,
Leonidas respected. Though my heart
Then by unshaken gratitude was bound,
My humble state could only feel, not act.
A soldier now, my efforts I must join
With godlike Medon's, to avenge the wrongs
Of Sparta's king. But first the soldier's skill,
My recent acquisition, let my arm
Forever lose, if once my heart forget
The gen'rous chief, whose service try'd my arm,
Who made Acanthè mine. My present zeal
His manly justice will forbear to chide.
The priest of Delphi next: Athenian friend,
I have a daughter on Cadmean plains,
My Amarantha. From no other care,
Than to be nearer that excelling child,
Would I forsake this memorable spot,
Where died the first of Spartans, and a chief
Like thee triumphant celebrates that death.
Then Cleon proffer'd his Eretrian band,
Eight hundred breathing vengeance on a foe,
Who laid their tow'rs in ashes. Lampon next
Presents his Styrians. Brave Nearchus joins
Twelve hundred youths of Chalcis. Tideus last
Of Potidæa twice three hundred shields.
Enough, your number is complete, the son
Of Neocles reminds them. Swift embark;
The gale invites. Sicinus is your guide.
He said, and, moving tow'rds the beach, observes
The embarkation. Each progressive keel
His eye pursues. O'erswelling now in thought,
His own deservings, glory and success,
Rush on his soul like torrents, which disturb
A limpid fount. Of purity depriv'd,
The rill no more in music steals along,
But harsh and turbid through its channel foams.
What sea, what coast, what region have I pass'd
Without erecting trophies, cries the chief
In exultation to Sicinus staid?
Have I not spar'd the vanquish'd to resound
My clemency? Ev'n Persians are my friends.
These are my warriors. Prosp'rous be your sails,
Ye Greeks, enroll'd by me, by me inur'd
To arms and conquest. Under Fortune's wing
Speed, and assist my ancient rival's arm
To crush th' invader. Distant I uphold
The Grecian armies; distant I will snatch
My share of laurels on the plains of Thebes.
Then come, soft peace, of indolence the nurse,
Not to the son of Neocles. On gold
Let rigour look contemptuous; I, return'd
To desert Athens, I, enrich'd with spoils
Of potentates, and kings, will raise her head
From dust. Superb her structures shall proclaim
No less a marvel, than the matchless bird
The glory of Arabia, when, consum'd
In burning frankincense and myrrh, he shews
His presence new, and, op'ning to the sun
Regenerated gloss of plumage, tow'rs,
Himself a species. So shall Athens rise
Bright from her ashes, mistress sole of Greece.
From long Piræan walls her winged pow'r
Shall awe the Orient, and Hesperian worlds.
Me shall th' Olympic festival admit
Its spectacle most splendid…. Ah! suppress
Immod'rate thoughts, Sicinus interrupts,
Thou citizen of Athens! Who aspires,
Resides not there secure. Forbear to sting
Her ever-wakeful jealousy, nor tempt
The woes of exile. For excess of worth
Was Aristides banish'd. Be not driv'n
To early trial of thy Persian friends.
O! thou transcendent, thou stupendous man,
From thy Timothea moderation learn,
Which, like the stealing touch of gentle time
O'er canvass, pencil'd by excelling art,
Smooths glaring colours, and imparts a grace
To mightiest heroes. Thus their dazzling blaze
Of glory soft'ning, softens envy's eye.

End of the Twenty-Sixth Book