THEMISTOCLES.
So! Ye drag me, men of Athens,
Hither to your council-hall,
Armed with judges and informers,
That your doom on me may fall,—
Doom that Athens oft hath levelled
On her noblest sons of yore,—
Doom that made her foes triumphant,
And each heart that loved her sore.
Oft, as I have seen her heroes
Brought to this ignoble end,
Have I pondered,—when should Fortune
To my lips the cup commend?
Read the foul indictment, falsehood
After falsehood rolling on;
Far away my thoughts shall wander,
Thinking of the moments gone,
When with tears and prayers ye dragged me
Hither to your council-hall,
Young and old, and wives and children,
Echoing one despairing call,—
"Speak some word of comfort, Archon,
Ere the Persian dig our grave!
Speak, Themistocles, and save us,—
Thou alone hast power to save!"
Is it over? Let me hear it,—
Let me hear once more the end,—
"For Themistocles betrays us,
And is sworn the Persian's friend—"
No, not that! Take back the falsehood!
Curse the hand that wrote the lie;
Charge what deadly crime it lists you,
'Tis no dreadful thing to die.
But shall all my free devotion,
All my care for Athens' weal,
Turn to treason and corruption,
Stamped with such a lying seal?
Was 't for Persia then I led you
Up to proud Athena's height,—
Bade you view this barren country,
And the sea to left and right,—
Bade you leave your plain and mountain,—
Save to dig their shining ore,—
Bade you grasp the ocean's sceptre,
Spoil the wealth of every shore,
Spread your white sails to the breezes,
Unrestrained like them and free,
Lords of no contracted city,
But the monarchs of the sea!
Persia's friend! Have ye forgotten
How the lord of Persia came,
Bridging seas, and cleaving mountains,
With the terrors of his name,—
How he burst through Tempe's portal,
Trod the dauntless Spartan down,
Dragged the vile Bœotian captive,
Dared e'en Delphi's sacred crown?
And the craven wail of terror
Rang through Athens' every street;
Then ye came and begged for counsel,
Kneeling, clinging to my feet.
Then I bade you leave your city,
Leave your temples and your halls,
Trusting, as the god gave answer,
To your country's wooden walls.
And the Persian, entering proudly,
Found a city of the dead;
Athens' corpse his only victim,
Her immortal soul had fled!
Was 't for Persia in the council
With your false allies I toiled,
Bade the Spartan, "Strike, but hear me,"
Ere my country should be spoiled?
Or that all that night their galleys
In the narrow strait I kept?
For we felt the Persian closing,
And no son of Athens slept.
But when broke the golden dawning
O'er Pentelicus afar,
Rose the glad Hellenic pæan,
Bursting with the morning star.
For we saw the Persian squadrons
Ship on ship in thousands pour,
And we knew the pass was narrow
'Twixt the island and the shore.
Calmly, as no foe were near us,
All our morning tasks we wrought,
Lying there in silent order,
As though fight we never fought.
But we grasped our oars all eager
Till the tough pine burned each hand,
Watching till the steersman's signal
For the onset gave command.
Then we smote the sea together,
And our galleys onward flew,
While from all the Hellenic navy,
As we dashed along the blue,
Pealed one loud, triumphant war-cry,—
"Now, ye sons of Hellas, come,
Conquer freedom for your country,
Freedom each one for his home,
Freedom for your wives and children,
For the altars where ye bow,
For your fathers' honored ashes,
For them all ye 're fighting now!"[1]
On the mountain height the tyrant
Bade them set his golden throne,
And in pitch of pride surveyed them,—
All the fleet he called his own,—
Heard the war-cry far resounding,
Heard the oars' responsive dash,
And the shock of squadrons smiting
Beak to beak with sudden clash,—
Saw them locked in wild confusion,
Prow on prow and keel on keel,—
Heard the thundering crash of timbers,
And the ring of clanging steel,—
Saw his ponderous ships entangled
In the close and narrow strait,
And our light-winged galleys darting
Boldly in the jaws of fate,—
Saw the mad disorder seize them,
As we grappled fast each prow,
Leaped like tigers on the bulwarks,
Hurled them to the depths below,—
Saw his bravest on the island
Slaughtered down in deadly fight,
Whom he fondly placed to crush us,
If perchance we turned to flight,—
Saw one last despairing struggle,—
Then the shout that all was lost,
And his matchless navy turning,
Fleeing from the hated coast,—
Saw them stranded on the island,
Rent and shattered on the main,—
Heard the shrieks of myriads wounded,
Saw the heaps of thousands slain,
While the sea was red with carnage,
And the air with shouts was wild,
"Woe to Persia's slaves and tyrant!
Hail to Athens, ocean's child!"
No, ye have not all forgotten,
All your hearts have not grown cold,
When of Athens' countless triumphs,
This, the noblest tale, is told.
Oft perchance my acts have wronged you,
But ye dare not charge me this,
That the Persian is my master,
When ye think of Salamis.
More I might; but it sufficeth,—
Here I wait the word of doom;
Strike! But think that I, the culprit,
Raised your city from the tomb.