The Athenaid

Now dimm'd by vapours, frequent in his track, The twelfth division of his annual round The sun is ent'ring. Long hath vernal bloom, Hath summer's prime from thy descriptive lays, O Muse! withdrawn; and now the aged year Its last remains of beauty hath resign'd; Transparent azure of autumnal skies Is chang'd to mist, the air serene to storms. But inspiration from th' imagin'd balm Of spring, or summer's warmth, enrich'd by sweets From flow'ry beds, and myrtles' fragrant bow'rs, Thou dost not want; then bid thy numbers roll In cadence deep to imitate the voice Of boist'rous winter in his mantle hoar.

All night by rude Hippotades the air Tormented round the foaming harbour wheel'd; Each mast was pliant to the raging gust, The mooring cable groan'd. Long slept the son Of Neocles, unvisited by care, Till, as the hours attendant on the morn Had just unclos'd the orient gate of day, He starts. Acanthè, who controuls her sire, His active fancy pictures on his mind Thus pond'ring: Dear Timothea, yet less dear Than pow'r and fame acquir'd by saving Greece, Without Chalcidic aid thy husband's hope Is meer abortion. Chalcis must be gain'd Best, Aristides, by the purest means, But well by any. Swift his inner garb Of softest wool thick-woven he assumes, Of finer texture then a scarlet vest; O'er these, in dye of violet's deep hue, His Spartan mantle negligently waves. A golden tissue with a crimson plume, To fence his manly temples and adorn, He wears. His car is ready; ready wait Th' Eretrian people, his conducting guard To Chalcis not remote. The sounding way Is hard and hoar; crystalline dew congeal'd Hath tipt the spiry grass; the waters, bound In sluggish ice, transparency have lost; No flock is bleating on the rigid lawn, No rural pipe attunes th' inclement air; No youths and damsels trip the choral round Beneath bare oaks, whose frost-incrusted boughs Drop chilling shadows; icicles invest The banks of rills, which, grating harsh in strife With winter's fetters, to their dreary sides No passenger invite. The cautious chief In sight of Chalcis to their homes dismiss'd The whole Eretrian number, but retain'd His hundred Attic and Laconian friends: He pass'd the gate before expiring day.

Sicinus, staid forerunner, not unknown By residence in Chalcis, publish'd loud His lord's approach. The citizens in throngs Salute the celebrated man. His gates Timoxenus the archon throws abroad, And, true to hospitality, prepares For his distinguish'd, though unwelcome guest, Her lib'ral rites. Themistocles he leads To share a banquet in a sumptuous hall, Where stands divine Acanthè. Is there wife, Or maid, or widow'd matron, now in Greece, Who would not all her ornaments assume To welcome this known saviour of the Greeks Where'er he passes? As the queen of heav'n In dazzling dress to match her goddess form, Grac'd by the zone of Cytherea, met Th' Olympian king on Ida; brilliant thus Acanthè greets Themistocles. Mature In manhood he, nor bord'ring on decline, The ornamental cov'ring from his head Lifts in obeisance; careless curls releas'd, Thick overshadowing his forehead high, Present a rival to the Phidian front Of Jupiter at Pisa. With a look, Which summon'd all his talents, all his mind To view, he blends a sweetness, nature's gift, But heighten'd now by energy of wiles, Alluring wiles, to melt the proudest fair. In his approach he moves the genuine sire Of all the Graces on Acanthè's hand To print his lips. Invited by that hand, Close to her lovely side of her alone He sits observant, while the rich repast Continu'd. Soon his vigilance perceiv'd, That her unsated ear devour'd his words, That from her lip an equal spell enthrall'd Her doating father, who adoring view'd Minerva in Acanthè. Now withdrawn Was all attendance, when the daughter thus:

O first of men, sole grace of each abode Where thou art present, fortunate are those Who saw thy actions, fortunate who hear The bare narration; happier still those ears, Which from thy mouth can treasure in the mind A full impression of the glorious tale! Forgive a woman, whom thy manners tempt To sue—if yet thy gentleness should deem Too curious, too importunate her suit, Thy host Timoxenus at least indulge, That o'er his festive hall th' achievements high, Which Salamis and Artemisium saw, Though now but whisper'd from thy gracious lips, May sound hereafter loud. The wily chief, Ne'er disinclin'd to celebrate his deeds, Now to this lovely auditress, whose aid His further fame requir'd, a tale began, Where elegance of thought, and paint of words, Embellish'd truth beyond her native guise, In various lengthen'd texture of discourse, A web of pleasing wonders to ensnare The hearer's heart. Till midnight he pursues A strain like magic to the list'ning fair; Nor yet his thread to Salamis had reach'd, Extended fine for many sweet repasts To her inflam'd desire of hearing more.

Timoxenus at length to due repose Imparts the signal; they disperse. Her guest Delights Acanthè's pillow; but her sire In care lies anxious, lest the season rude Detain that guest, and fatal umbrage give To Demonax terrific. Morn and eve Return. Acanthè drinks the pleasing stream Of eloquence exhaustless in its flow, Whose draughts repeated but augment her thirst.

Now in description's animating gloss The various scenes at Salamis exalt The fair one's mind. The Attic wives and maids She emulates in wish, and sees in thought Their beauteous ranks inspiring youth and age To battle; now the tumult rude of Mars, The crashing oars, the bloody-streaming decks Chill her soft bosom; now that snowy seat Of gen'rous pity heaves; her azure eyes Melt o'er Sandauce, in her years of bloom Disconsolately widow'd, and transpierc'd By death-like horror at her children doom'd To savage Bacchus. Here the artful man Dwells on his own humanity, but hides The stratagem, which policy, not dimm'd By his compassion, on compassion built, When to her freedom he restor'd the fair, Who blameless help'd his artifice to drive From Greece her royal brother. To the worth Of Artamanes tribute just he pays. His own reception by the Spartan state He colours high, the public chariot giv'n, The purple mantle, and the coursers proud, Deriv'd from those, who won th' Olympian wreath For Demaratus; but omits to speak, How, while seducing vanity misled His steps so far from Athens, she conferr'd The naval guidance on Xanthippus brave, And rule supreme on Aristides just.

Th' ensnaring story, to this period drawn, While sev'n nocturnal rounds the planets ran, Possesses all Acanthè, but disturbs Her timid father, trembling at the pow'r Of Demonax; yet fondness oft would smile On her delight. The evening which succeeds Themistocles, in fiction mix'd with truth, Not to Acanthè, but his host, began:

Accompany'd from Sparta by the flow'r Of her illustrious citizens I gain'd Her borders, there indignant was appris'd, That Demonax, whom heretofore I chac'd From Oreus, now by Persian arms restor'd, Was trampling on Euboea. Vengeance fir'd My spirit; fifty of the Spartan troop At once became associates of my zeal, With fifty nobles more of Attic blood. My full stor'd vessels at Eretria's port From Sunium's cape arriv'd. He now unfolds The wond'rous series of his recent deeds. What divers passions, sweet Acanthè, rise In thy attentive, gen'rous mind? What sighs Do Hyacinthus and Cleora wake, What horror black Nicomachus, what joy Reviv'd Eretria, and Geraestus freed, What admiration great Eudora's state, What rev'rence good Tisander's sacred locks, What detestation Demonax accurs'd? Behold me here, Themistocles concludes, Who lift in Athens' and Laconia's name, A guardian shield o'er Chalcis. But thy sword, Offensive drawn, shall utterly confound The homicide thy neighbour. Ah! replies Timoxenus, alarm'd, thou little know'st The might of Oreus. Demonax can range Twelve thousand warriors cull'd from Asia's host, Of train'd Euboean youth and light-arm'd slaves A multitude innum'rous on the plain. His own exactions, and the Persian's boons, O'erload his treasure. When the annual sun In his new course three monthly terms hath fill'd, Expect Mardonius from Thessalia's bounds On Greece to pour invasion. Ah! what help, Should we exchange tranquillity for war, From her own wants could Attica supply, What Lacedaemon?—Cool th' Athenian here:

Weigh well the grace your Polyphemus dy'd In carnage grants, reserving for his last, Most precious morsel, your Chalcidian wealth. Shall this rich mansion, casket to a gem Which none can value (earnest here he caught Acanthè's earnest look) shall this abode Feel pillage, insult, which my shudd'ring mind Scarce dares to think, from that despoiler's hand, Who, scourging half Euboea, in this hour Dreads thee, great archon? Murderer, who cut His own Cleora's thread in early bloom, He trembles now, Timoxenus, at thee, O bless'd of parents, blessing such a child As thy Acanthè; he thy vengeance dreads, O paragon of fathers, dreads thy sword Unsheath'd with mine. Presumption I disclaim, Or want of def'rence to the wise like thee. Accept this roll; contemplate there the force Of Amarynthus, of Carystus large, Geraestus and Eretria; add the spears Of Delphian Timon, of that hero fam'd, Oilean Medon, who my signal watch From Atalantè's isle. Remote the time For action; then deliberate. I wait Without impatience thy resolves mature.

Retir'd, Acanthè, whose enlighten'd mind Was bless'd with native talents, as her form With beauty, strives a while in reason's scale To weigh th' importance of this high attempt Propos'd; when something whispers, canst thou doubt Themistocles a moment? Can his sword Do less, than conquer? Where the pow'rful arm, The valour, where the policy to vie With him, whose faculties no man can reach, No god raise higher? These conceptions prove A guide to fancy half the sleepless night Through all th' enchanting scenery of thought, Which recollection of his brilliant deeds, His courage, might, humanity, and grace, His gentle manners, and majestic frame, Exhibits lovely, dazzling and sublime To melt her softness, and her wisdom blind. Envelop'd now by slumber, in a dream, Which overleaps all measur'd time and space, She sees the laurell'd hero, as return'd From subjugated Oreus. On his spear The gory head of Demonax he bears. Her yet untainted purity of heart, Which in sincerity of grief had mourn'd Cleora's fate, applauds the just award By Nemesis and Themis on the guilt Of parricide. Her nobleness of soul Enjoys the blessings which Euboea reaps From such a conquest; but no vision kind Would interpose a warning to allay Excess of transport at the conqu'ror's sight.

From fair Acanthè's own retreat at night A well-embellish'd gallery's long range Bounds on the splendid chamber, which admits Themistocles to rest. Acanthè here, When magisterial duties from his home Her father call'd, had entertain'd the guest By morn, and feasted all and every morn On rich profusion of his Attic words. The sun was ris'n, and summon'd from her couch To this accustom'd interview the fair. Not meeting straight the object of her search, As each preceding morn, she feels a pain, That he is absent. With a voice though low His chamber sounds; to listen she disdains, Back to her own by delicacy led.

In cautious tones Sicinus with his lord Was thus discoursing: In my wonted walk, To watch events since thy arrival here, I met Nearchus. Haste, he said, apprise Themistocles that long ere op'ning day His potent friends Timoxenus conven'd, Heads of his faction. They refuse to arm. Some, I suspect, are tainted by the gold Of Demonax; the major part in all Obey the timid archon. I have strength, Which, when Themistocles commands, shall try To force compliance from the coward's breast; But would Acanthè, noble dame, espouse The glorious cause, her prevalence could guide His doating fondness, and controul his fears.

Enough, replies Themistocles. Again The learned tutor, fervent and sincere:

If thy persuasive eloquence could win Her noble spirit to direct her sire, It would be well. But, O resistless man, Let thy persuasion moderate its charm; Let not a gen'rous lady's peace of mind Become the victim of her winning guest; The laws of hospitality revere. Remember too the hymeneal vow, Remember thy Timothea, fair and kind, Who bore those children, pupils of my care; She now in Athens at thy absence pines.

Misjudging friend, Timothea never pines, When I am urging my career of fame, Returns the chief. Euboeans must be freed. She shall know all, and knowing will commend. Go, charge Nearchus to suppress all thought Of violence; his valour shall have scope, Dy'd in Barbarian, not in civil blood.

Thus he, well-caution'd that in Chalcis pow'r Aristocratic, both in wealth and strength, Out-weigh'd the people. Then a splendid gem, Of all his spoils the richest, he selects, And from his chamber o'er the sounding plank, Which floors the echoing gallery, proceeds. Behold Acanthè; not the orient sky Forth from its amber gates in summer's prime The goddess-widow of Tithonus sends More fragrant, nor in blushes more to charm. A new emotion heaves her gentle breast Of swelling snow. Th' Athenian distant, mute Remains. To speak, her hesitating lips A while, though prompted by her heart, delay; When, shap'd by chance, this elegant request Flows from her unpremeditated thoughts:

So much oblig'd already, courteous guest, By thy narration, I have cause to blush While I solicit a recital new Of one exploit, distinguish'd from the rest, When Ariabignes fell before thy sword In sight of Greece. Themistocles requir'd No repetition of the flatt'ring suit, But in transcendent energy of style, Impress'd the bright achievement on her mind More deep, than ev'n by novelty before.

Thus he concluded: Doubly now I bless Th' auspicious hour when my successful hand Despoil'd the bravest chief in Asia's host Of this, my humble off'ring to adorn The fairest head in Greece. He said, the gem Presenting graceful, which she turn'd aside, Rejecting not the giver, but the gift; And answer'd thus: To heaps of richest gems, To all the tribute pour'd at Persia's throne, Thy words alone, thy converse I prefer.

Her look perusing earnest, he proceeds: Dost thou refuse a token of regard From one, thy hospitable hand hath bless'd Beyond th' expression of his grateful tongue? When, at this hour departing, he again Perhaps may ne'er behold thee—Ah! depart! She in unguarded consternation sighs.

Th' Athenian here in seeming sadness thus: Alas! thy father, I too surely know, Will never join my arms; can I remain Till this fair city, populous and rich, This mansion, thy inestimable worth. Become the prey of Demonax—This heav'n Will ne'er permit, she eagerly replies; Thou wilt protect me—Guardian to distress, Thou wilt not hurry to desert a friend, Whose hospitable kindness thou hast prais'd. Fill, fill with pow'rful argument the mouth Of me thy suppliant for another week; My words Timoxenus regards. . . The chief By interruption sooths her troubled mind:

I came to save thee. If another week Thou wilt employ. . . I will, I will, she said, Do thou but stay; my father I will bind To thee, whom victory can ne'er forsake.

They part; his chamber he regains; not long He meditates. Acanthè grants her aid Spontaneous. Now to elevate her soul By dignity of thought, and gen'rous hope Of glory, purchas'd by a noble deed, He thus contrives: On tablets fair and large, For her deportment tow'rds a doating sire, His ready style instruction copious draws, Clos'd in these words: 'Among the guardians heav'n 'To Greece hath destin'd, an exalted mind 'Enrolls Acanthè; let her constant feet 'Pursue her leading genius; grateful flow'rs 'Before her steps shall freed Euboea strew; 'The brightest laurels shall Minerva chuse 'Among the groves of Athens, to entwine 'The first of women with immortal wreaths; 'The Muses all shall triumph in their sex; 'A double rapture Aeschylus shall feel, 'Who, fam'd in martial action, as in song, 'Shall celebrate Acanthè.' To her hand This by discreet Sicinus is convey'd.

Day after day the fair-one, as inspir'd, Now forcibly persuasive, now in tears Of importuning tenderness, assails A parent fond. She penetrates his heart; His resolution melts; at length his fears To her superior guidance yield the rein.

Meantime, instructed by their chief, the train Of Spartans and Athenians, all dispers'd Around the hospitable town, proclaim, To list'ning ears, the well-advis'd design Against the tyrant Demonax. Not long Acanthè's purpose is unknown, divulg'd By vigilant Sicinus; while each mind Among th' applauding populace is warm'd, Who venerate her name. Among the chiefs The archon's weighty approbation known, Hath banish'd doubt; in council they decide To march with great Themistocles. Light fame Mounts on her wings, and through Euboea sounds The preparations ardent. Shields and spears, Swords, corselets, helms new furbish'd, banners old Produc'd, which gallant ancestry had wav'd, Youth now commences, ripen'd age renews The exercise of arms. Nearchus loud Extols Themistocles. Like glorious Mars From his first trophies on Phlegraean fields Among encircling brethren of the sky, Who from his sword perpetual conquest hop'd, The Salaminian victor is rever'd In Chalcis. Daily, hourly he surveys The martial toil. Acanthè's presence aids; His prudence leads her through these active scenes; He talks on military themes alone, And pictures freedom trampling on the necks Of tyrants and Barbarians. This at length Might have abated in a virtuous breast The flame, his guilty policy had rais'd; But fate and black conspiracy forbid.