THEMISTOCLES
Beneath the languid Eastern sun—
Where, from excess of perfumed heat
The sick air faints, and the hours run
From morn to night on fiery feet—
Exiled by impious decrees
I, far from Grecian lands and seas,
Move, who am called Themistocles.
Where, from excess of perfumed heat
The sick air faints, and the hours run
From morn to night on fiery feet—
Exiled by impious decrees
I, far from Grecian lands and seas,
Move, who am called Themistocles.
I, who have conquered, find it good
To crave from those I overcame
Shelter—behold my lips have sued
For Persian kindness—and my fame
Polluted sinks, soiled by the breath
Of those whose peace is worse than death—
Whose speech all good deeds gainsayeth.
To crave from those I overcame
Shelter—behold my lips have sued
For Persian kindness—and my fame
Polluted sinks, soiled by the breath
Of those whose peace is worse than death—
Whose speech all good deeds gainsayeth.
Prostrate lay Athens, cast aside
Her joy—as on a thing forlorn
Men gazed upon her failing pride,
Her visage pale—her raiment torn—
Yet, though the flowers drooped and shed
Their petals, still her sacred head
With violets was garlanded.
Her joy—as on a thing forlorn
Men gazed upon her failing pride,
Her visage pale—her raiment torn—
Yet, though the flowers drooped and shed
Their petals, still her sacred head
With violets was garlanded.
Yea, though the Persian from far lands,
With ships and armies manifold,
Came and his hosts and mighty bands
She saw—his horses and his gold—
His flaming jewels, his splendid state,
His swords and spears importunate
She seeing—left him desolate.
With ships and armies manifold,
Came and his hosts and mighty bands
She saw—his horses and his gold—
His flaming jewels, his splendid state,
His swords and spears importunate
She seeing—left him desolate.
Yet I for Greece performed this thing—
My will made strong her will—the fire
Of my own spirit triumphing
Kindled with resolute desire
Her mutable and supple thought,
And from men's fear strong victory wrought,
Bringing their cowardice to nought.
My will made strong her will—the fire
Of my own spirit triumphing
Kindled with resolute desire
Her mutable and supple thought,
And from men's fear strong victory wrought,
Bringing their cowardice to nought.
Within the Bay of Salamis,
Most insolent the foeman lay;
Now the cold sea waves curve and hiss
Over their heads, and alien spray
Gleams where their captains sleep—and where
Their cries triumphant stabbed the air
The shrill winds wail of their despair.
Most insolent the foeman lay;
Now the cold sea waves curve and hiss
Over their heads, and alien spray
Gleams where their captains sleep—and where
Their cries triumphant stabbed the air
The shrill winds wail of their despair.
Yet, Athens, though the gods have heard
Thy anguish, now thy plaints are dumb
And fruitless, and thy voice which stirred
Their wrath has grown most wearisome.
They hear no more thy prayers—to them
Thy love is but a fruitless stem—
Ingratitude thy diadem.
Thy anguish, now thy plaints are dumb
And fruitless, and thy voice which stirred
Their wrath has grown most wearisome.
They hear no more thy prayers—to them
Thy love is but a fruitless stem—
Ingratitude thy diadem.
I was their instrument and thus
I, who their will accomplishéd
In moments deep and dangerous—
When the short love of men is fled,
Shall not be utterly forthcast,
Nor seek in vain, but strong at last
Reap passionate vengeance for the past.
I, who their will accomplishéd
In moments deep and dangerous—
When the short love of men is fled,
Shall not be utterly forthcast,
Nor seek in vain, but strong at last
Reap passionate vengeance for the past.
Fear me, oh! Athens—you are full
Of beauty, and against the skies
Great columns, white and wonderful—
Fair shapes of men and gods arise.
These I have loved—these touched—these known,
Think, if my anger backward blown
Shall not for wasted love atone.
Of beauty, and against the skies
Great columns, white and wonderful—
Fair shapes of men and gods arise.
These I have loved—these touched—these known,
Think, if my anger backward blown
Shall not for wasted love atone.
Your strong blood leaps—loud is the cry
Of victory. A mighty flood—
Century on mighty century—
Pours round your feet—oh! calm your mood.
Fear—lest your fearless gaze shall scan
No longer stones Republican,
But strongholds of the Persian.
Of victory. A mighty flood—
Century on mighty century—
Pours round your feet—oh! calm your mood.
Fear—lest your fearless gaze shall scan
No longer stones Republican,
But strongholds of the Persian.
Think you your weapons cast aside
No hands shall gather, that the fire,
Hungry and still unsatisfied,
Fails and is quenched at your desire?
I tell you nay—by others lit
The flame yet burns, and other wit
Shall mend the weapon, claiming it.
No hands shall gather, that the fire,
Hungry and still unsatisfied,
Fails and is quenched at your desire?
I tell you nay—by others lit
The flame yet burns, and other wit
Shall mend the weapon, claiming it.
He who is wronged and bears his wrong
As though a crown were given him,
Within his soul is no life strong,
His lamp is quenched, his strength is dim—
Have the gods given for evil good,
Or unrevengefully pursued
Blasphemy with beatitude?
As though a crown were given him,
Within his soul is no life strong,
His lamp is quenched, his strength is dim—
Have the gods given for evil good,
Or unrevengefully pursued
Blasphemy with beatitude?
Oh! Greece, remember Marathon—
Behold again the mighty host
Dispelled—the immeasurable won—
The giant army crushed and lost—
Still wild, despairing on your ears
Falls their last cry—and lo! your spears
Shall speed your glory through all years!
Behold again the mighty host
Dispelled—the immeasurable won—
The giant army crushed and lost—
Still wild, despairing on your ears
Falls their last cry—and lo! your spears
Shall speed your glory through all years!
Yea, Greece, remember Marathon;
For now the Persian hosts advance.
Fallen you lie—disused, undone,
With none to work deliverance;
Now like a bleak wind from the North,
The gods' vast anger rageth forth!
Shall ye then stand against their wrath?
For now the Persian hosts advance.
Fallen you lie—disused, undone,
With none to work deliverance;
Now like a bleak wind from the North,
The gods' vast anger rageth forth!
Shall ye then stand against their wrath?
Ah, conquerors, muse a little while!
Your slaves, your soldiers, what are they
But blunted tools your hands beguile
To serve, to perish, or to slay?
How shall they serve you—ignorant, blind,
If some complete and mastering mind
Sways not their fickle ranks behind?
Your slaves, your soldiers, what are they
But blunted tools your hands beguile
To serve, to perish, or to slay?
How shall they serve you—ignorant, blind,
If some complete and mastering mind
Sways not their fickle ranks behind?
Cherish your leaders! What of them,
Your cherished leaders?—one there is
Who urged the waves' loud requiem
Over the foe in Salamis.
Now from the foemen's hands he takes
Bread—and his thirst their water slakes—
He sleeps among them and awakes.
Your cherished leaders?—one there is
Who urged the waves' loud requiem
Over the foe in Salamis.
Now from the foemen's hands he takes
Bread—and his thirst their water slakes—
He sleeps among them and awakes.
Deem ye my eloquence so weak?
Have I so passionless a voice
I fail to gather what I seek—
Nor will men tremble or rejoice
At my words' will? Nay, ye know well,
How mighty is the living spell
When the soul's speech rings audible.
Have I so passionless a voice
I fail to gather what I seek—
Nor will men tremble or rejoice
At my words' will? Nay, ye know well,
How mighty is the living spell
When the soul's speech rings audible.
I, exiled, at the Persian Court
Find refuge; shall my woes engage
Alone a friendship of such sort
Its strength may the great wrath assuage
Of those defeated and undone
When the Greek arms stern victory won
At Salamis and Marathon?
Find refuge; shall my woes engage
Alone a friendship of such sort
Its strength may the great wrath assuage
Of those defeated and undone
When the Greek arms stern victory won
At Salamis and Marathon?
Nay, that their ignorant feet may speed
Securely on those secret roads
Perverse and tortuous ways which lead
Towards the Greeks' desired abodes,
They work upon my exile, throw
Love on their hate till I shall show
Their eyes the hidden things I know.
Securely on those secret roads
Perverse and tortuous ways which lead
Towards the Greeks' desired abodes,
They work upon my exile, throw
Love on their hate till I shall show
Their eyes the hidden things I know.
I hold the keys of war and peace—
Think not, oh, Athens! scorn of me;
Lest on the unthinking fields of Greece
I set the wolves of slaughter free—
Lest the dread serpent in my soul
Its sleepy coils at length unroll
Anhungered, and devour you whole.
Think not, oh, Athens! scorn of me;
Lest on the unthinking fields of Greece
I set the wolves of slaughter free—
Lest the dread serpent in my soul
Its sleepy coils at length unroll
Anhungered, and devour you whole.
Yet still within my restless blood
The living blood of Marathon—
Of Salamis yet stirs—ah! good
It were to see the past undone
That freely I might strike—there lies
Such pain on me—hate's flames arise
To burn the sorrow from my eyes.
The living blood of Marathon—
Of Salamis yet stirs—ah! good
It were to see the past undone
That freely I might strike—there lies
Such pain on me—hate's flames arise
To burn the sorrow from my eyes.
My flickering life unfed with hate
Would surely perish—I must live—
Nor shall in any wise abate
My spirit. Shall not the gods give
In guerdon sight of Athens yet?
Till my feet on her stones are set
I dare not waver or forget.
Would surely perish—I must live—
Nor shall in any wise abate
My spirit. Shall not the gods give
In guerdon sight of Athens yet?
Till my feet on her stones are set
I dare not waver or forget.
Alien and silent where strange eyes
Gaze on me marvelling, I move,
Stern, obdurate—my keen replies
Earn me some fear, but little love.
I am as one who wakes and dares
Scarce sleep, lest caught in the night's snares
Death shall come on him unawares.
Gaze on me marvelling, I move,
Stern, obdurate—my keen replies
Earn me some fear, but little love.
I am as one who wakes and dares
Scarce sleep, lest caught in the night's snares
Death shall come on him unawares.
The king has stooped to call me friend—
We hold long converse, warily—
His balanced questions strive to rend
The veil that lies 'twixt him and me.
With half-distrustful confidence
He probes with hands nervous and tense
The inner workings of my sense.
We hold long converse, warily—
His balanced questions strive to rend
The veil that lies 'twixt him and me.
With half-distrustful confidence
He probes with hands nervous and tense
The inner workings of my sense.
I scheme; yet only is this thing
Clear to my understanding—strength
To live, that my death, conquering,
My exiled life may cure at length—
Ah, gods! entombed in Grecian seas,
Or Grecian lands, grant me Death's ease
Though men forget Themistocles.
Clear to my understanding—strength
To live, that my death, conquering,
My exiled life may cure at length—
Ah, gods! entombed in Grecian seas,
Or Grecian lands, grant me Death's ease
Though men forget Themistocles.