Complete works of willia.., p.529
Complete Works of William Morris, page 529
With stern face watching wrack within his home;
Unthought-of horrors must he look to find,
A fresh pain drifting nigher on each wind,
Fresh fear, if he could fear, in every breath
Made into words; no love but such as death
May make not pale, unto his lips shall stoop,
No hope but such as hopeth against hope:
Is it too great to bear? – Yet shame & scorn
Ye slay so bearing this – but yestermorn
I, who speak this as if the fire of Jove
The boys heart in my breast did verily move,
Knew nought whereat I aimed, why I did yearn,
And now within me such a light doth burn
As shall light up in Sparta faces pale
With listening to a still increasing tale –
– A flame to last till death comes – yea in sooth
Een this same morn was I a hot head youth
Who thought to do my deed and get away
Laughing an hour at all the disarray
Of Spartan grey-beards – now I know that I
Am driven on by some divinity
To free the land, and none shall stay me now!”
So Godlike did the visage of him grow
As thus he spake, that mens hearts in them swelled
And when he made an end from out them welled
A great cry glad and strong and terrible,
And on all folk a God like courage fell.
But the old man called mid the noise & stir
His five sons to him, and said;
“Lo ye hear
How the Gods have remembered us; haste now
And get to saddle, and these tidings show
Wide through the land to every trusty man,
And bid none loiter if so be he can
Set foot before foot, but be here ere noon
Tomorrow, for doubt not that over soon
Shall Sparta be upon us.”
There withal
To one or two more did his kinsmen call
And went their ways, and then the goodman said:
“Hearken fair friends; last night: upon my bed
I slept and dreamed, and lo a dead friend came
Unto me and said, ‘Damis, name the name
Most famous amid all Messenian folk.’
A sigh methought from out my heart there broke
As I named Euphaes: ‘Nay long agone,’
He said, ‘he went with many another one
Unto the dead; seest thou my face, how bright
It is now; shall a beaten ghost delight
This heart that loves Messenia mid the dead.’
Methought I fell a-trembling then, and said;
Nay, by the holy things that thou and I
Buried in Ira’s midmost secretly
Ere the last fight, tell me what thing is this!’
He said, ‘Een now an eagle flying is
From out Arcadia, let him not fly lone;’
And into the dimness straightway was he gone
Leaving the name unspoken; but I woke
Struggling with memories of the bygone folk,
The last hours of Ithome; and how he
The prophet bade that man and me
Bury the holy things of Jove deep down
Amid the dusk of Ira’s woods unsown:
‘Which things once hid,’ quoth he, ‘ye shall not stir,
Till of the living from the dead ye hear,
And from the eyrie of Arcadia fly
Joves bird to bring our people victory. – ‘
And now meseems I am not grown too old
To go to Ira: yea a fair stronghold
Meet for our purpose shall ye find the same,
A place where a great host need scare think shame
Een by a band like thine to be long stayd.
Moreover thither may we well have aid
From out Arcadia, lying close indeed
Unto its marches: good for every need
The country is around, nor may ye face
The hosts of Sparta save in such a place;
Until we gather force that may avail;
Yea and get arms too, for a weary tale
It is to tell of all the ransacking
In every stead for any warlike thing;
Yet is there left indeed a spear and sword
In this my house; because my well hid hoard
Has scaped the thieves of Sparta: now one cup
Unto our first fight, and then stand we up
And for departing all things here array;
Glad shall I be to see the winding way
Dimmed by the dust-cloud that our hoofs shall raise,
And though I see not one of all those days
When in this house unfeared my kin shall sit
Yet doubt I nought about the end of it.”
Amid the clatter and the joyous sound
That rose up as the cup of oaths went round
Sat Aristomenes, as though a dream
Had come on him unwares; all things did seem
Too little and too hopeless for a while
A wise man into striving to beguile;
But then, remembering what great toil there lay
Betwixt him and the coming of the day
When all attained should leave him nought to hope,
With what a world of troubles he must cope
Ere he could turn about to weigh the worth
Of all the deeds men do upon the earth,
He smiled and stretched his hand out for the cup
And as amid the clamour he stood up,
And drank in silence, to his eyes there came
A kind grave look as though he knew no shame
And mid the day’s work had no time to scoff;
All querulous curses and all all dreams fell off
From his fair soul, that great his name might grow.
So in the fair eve were they busy now
By wain and byre, nor slept they much that night,
And long ere the first breaking of the light
Men gan to gather to the stead, and when
The sun was fully up, on many men,
Full-flushed with hope, his rays fell: then a band
Of chosen youths pushed onward through the land
Toward Ira for the clearing of the way;
And ere the midmost of the troubled day
Old Damis the main body of them led
From out the cleared deserted ancient stead,
Nor once turned back his cheery face to gaze
Upon the ruin of the well-loved place,
For still behind stayed Aristomenes
Watching the dust-cloud float above the trees
As through the vale they wound; now a great train
Where wife and child and beast & laden wain
Made the spears seem but scanty: so when he
No more mid that moving cloud could see
The steel a glittering, round he turned and bade
His men to work, who, falling to there, made
Such wrack of the empty stead as might be done
Without fire-raising.
Low had fallen the sun
Before he cried to horse; then with grave face,
As one grown old untimely, from that place
He turned the last of all men, and his heart,
Brave as it was, scarce seemed to have a part
In all the eager hopes of yestermorn,
So sad a courage in his soul was born
As swiftly through the oerworn windless day
He and his folk toward Ira went their way.
How They Made A Stronghold On The Hill Of Ira.
In a great hollow of the mountain slopes,
Where toward the south the woodland country droops,
This hog-backed spur of Ira lies, that falls
On every side save toward the mountain walls
Whereto a ridge there runneth; thick thereon
The unsown pine-woods stand, & scarce had shone
The sun upon the soil there, till the sound
Of the shrill pipe pierced the dim dusk around
This morn, and midst its eager melody
Broad axe and glittering bill were swung on high.
A little way as you go lower down
With oak woods are the hillsides overgrown,
And then begins the tillage; fair enow
Among the orchards doth the barley grow
Now yellowing for the scythe; on terraces
The vine is trellised, and grey olive-trees
Spread cloudlike oer the slopes – A noble land,
A happy place, if still mans grasping hand
Itched not for more and more, and een when full
Of rest and life, found not the days grow dull
Without he made some story for the folk
Who, his days past, are writhing neath the yoke
Of sorrows that they may not understand.
Ah, a good place, a fair & hopeful land
For these new-comers! – fast now falls the axe
No blast of horn the swine-filled forest lacks,
And Aristomenes rides far and wide,
And gathers up from all the country side
Both men and goods; and from Arcadia come
Wild men, and run aways to make their home
On Ira; but the Arcadian common wealth
Will make nor meddle yett, although by stealth
Some great men send their arms & such-like gear.
Nor camplike dwelt these long, for you may hear
The hammers and the saws at work day-long,
And sill and strut and upright rising strong
E’en in the places where as trees they grew
A while agone. And still though the year drew
Round unto autumn & the fields were shorn,
Unto the place no tidings were there borne
Of Sparta stirring; yea though twice or thrice
In the Laconian fields did flame arise
From homesteads plundered. And yet no less grave
Or watchful were the leaders. “We shall have
The heavier storm,” quoth Damis, “when it breaks
For these folk play for nought but heavy stakes,
And care not for a plundered farm or twain
To risk an army beaten home again.”
So it befell on a fair autumn day,
While yet in hollows of the mountains lay
The white mist, and the apple fell adown
Through the still air, amidmost their new town
Folk gathered round about the fane new wrought,
And unto Jove the best they might do brought,
Fruit flowers and worthy beasts; but midst of these
By Damis led and Aristomenes
There came a company of maidens fair
Fresh-clad and flower-crowned, who aloft did bear
Shut in a brazen ark the holy things;
Few men were there who then felt less than kings,
As pressing after these, whom hope did move
Amid the flutter of their hearts to love,
Een though they knew it not, through the wide door
They went into their temple rude & poor,
And twixt bright heads and well wrought shoulders saw
The old man’s quivering eager thin hands draw
From out the ark Joves image silver-wrought,
Black with the damp of years but harmed in nought;
And other twain of Helen’s brothers bright
And thin gold plates figured with words of might
Few men could read now; and the empty car
Of the Mighty Mother wrought with gem & star.
Yea their hearts swelled, for these they knew indeed
Had heard the crying of their fathers’ need
While yet Ithome stood.
Back now a space
The maidens fell, and their young leaders face
Bright and yet solemn they beheld now turn
To Where the new-lit altar flame did burn;
Clad still he was in his rough peasant gear,
Yet a world’s weal his shoulders seemed to bear
So noble was he, as he cried;
“O Jove,
If anywise a mortal man may move
Thy heart that rules all, grant to us who bring
These holy things here, that so longed-for thing
They erst heard prayed for, victory & good peace
For this their land, new weal and fresh increase.
This second thing some folk of thee might pray,
And yet not I, because I know today,
It shall not fail us at the worst to die
Unshamed and striving still for victory:
Hearken the third thing then, and grant that soon
I and all these may learn with what a tune
The Spartan spears clash on the Spartan shields,
When their king’s tents rise fair above the fields!
Loudly the people shouted as he spake,
And through the press therewith the priests did break,
Leading the gilt-horned milk white wreathed bull;
But ere the echo of that shout grew dull,
Ere the priest’s axe fell, came another sound
Of horse-hoofs beating on the stony ground;
Then on all men, and wherefore they knew not,
Great awe and silence fell; and they forgot
Their very lives and what they came to do,
As the press fell asunder, and there drew
Up to the altar two men great of growth,
Fair with the fairness of the prime of youth,
Bright-haired, gold-clad, and wonderful, alike
As coins just minted one same die doth strike,
Who in one voice sent forth a mighty cry, –
Aweful but sweet with untold melody:
“What do ye here, Messenians, when your foes
Are treading down fair meadows and green close
About Andania, laughing as they tell
The woes that to their slaves of old befell,
Portioning out your women to the great
Of their great men? Be swift, and they shall wait
Your coming, for a lost and feeble folk
They deem you waiting tamely for the stroke!
Be swift, for surely on this autumn night
The waxing moon shall give enow of light
To guide your feet twixt dying men and dead!”
Some were there who heard not the words they said
Amidst their awe, but said the thunder crashed
Through the soft cloudless sky, and weapons clashed
A long way off; but Aristomenes
Stood with flushed cheeks, and bright eyes facing these
As one who hearkens, till they turned them round
And down the street again the hoofs did sound
Then he cried out;
“Heard ye their promise then,
Shall not this evening make us more than men?
Fair hope sweet life! whatever comes henceforth
Surely our lives shall seem now something worth!
Out, out and arm! Let us be swiftly gone,
For they do well on whom these twain have shone,
The Dioscuri – O, fellows, arm and out!”
All folk gave answer with a joyous shout
As their hearts came again, and, all being done
That they must needs do to the Highest One,
Men cast away their garlands & soft gear,
And from their loves hands took the shield & spear,
And soon with few words & in fair array
Were wending down the leaf-strewn woodland way,
A little band indeed, but well knit, strong
In hardy hearts and memories of all wrong.
Of Their First Battle
No long tale of that fight there is to tell;
Through byways led most secretly and well
Upon the Spartan camp unwares they came
Just as the sun set, and a night of shame
Was that for Sparta: scarcely here and there
A few brave men had heart to raise a spear
Gainst their old slaves, the dregs of the Great War.
A down the valley fled they fast & far
Long after all pursuit of them was stayed:
Short of Laconia might they have no aid,
For Stenyclerus shut her gates, when they
A drifting route drew thither in the grey
Of the autumn dawn, and ere their rearward passed
They heard upon the haze the old cry cast
From her high towers, and saw the just risen sun
Light the old banners from the temples won;
So on they slunk, to have rude greeting, when
They met the women and the ancient men
Of that proud Sparta.
Aristomenes
Abode that night among the cut-down trees,
And trampled fields wherein the gained camp lay,
But sent a messenger at break of day
To make all Ira joyful, and withal
Led his few folk within Andania’s wall,
Not knowing that the rout was all so great:
But ere the sun had come to his full heat
True tidings had he, and from many a place
Poured in the folk, flushed & in joyous case
To tell him of the freeing of the land,
And praying for some weapon to their hand.
Amidst the Council-hall he sat, & heard
Their wild joy, and within his heart there stirred
Strange pity for the blind delight of men,
And he bethought him of the old days, when
Een such-like hope, such joy in war filled hearts
That long ago played to an end their parts,
Nor ere the last rest failed to know despair.
Yet since the present day was e’en so fair
He was glad too, nor trembled at his gain
E’en as he feared no whit the utmost pain
His life might chance to bring.
Now soon was come
Glad message back from Ira, that the home
Of the old valour of their folk, the hill
Of dear Ithome, would be better still
As meeting-place for folk made free & glad
Than any stead the fair land had;
And men from Stenyclerus came to say
The selfsame words; whereon he sent that day
Wide through the land, and bade come thereinto
Whoso might deem that he had aught to do
With ruling of the land, upon a tide
He and his named; nor did he bide
