The Athenaid

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 calls, 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 Pluto'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 forestall'd me; instant will I spare Thee to prevent such fears. Thou canst not stem The vex'd Euripus. From Geraestus 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 folds 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 majestie, 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; Geraestus 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 Attic 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' Orēan 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 Geraestians 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 Geraestus; 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 Aethiopia roll'd, The alligator vigilant maintains His fraudful ambush, that unwary steps May bring the prey to his voracious jaws.