BOOK III. 1770.

BOOK III. 1770.

  What tongue then may explain the various fate
  Which reigns o'er earth? or who to mortal eyes
  Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth
  Of joy and woe, through which the feet of man
  Are doom'd to wander? That Eternal Mind
  From passions, wants, and envy far estranged,
  Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd
  Each part so richly with whate'er pertains
  To life, to health, to pleasure, why bade he
  The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute 10
  The goodly scene, and with insidious rage,
  While the poor inmate looks around and smiles
  Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul?
  Hard is the question, and from ancient days
  Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought;
  Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre
  Too sad, too deeply plaintive; nor did e'er
  Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light
  Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands,
  Forget this dreadful secret when they told 20
  What wondrous things had to their favour'd eyes
  And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd,
  Or in deep cave by nymph or power divine,
  Portentous oft, and wild. Yet one I know.
  Could I the speech of lawgivers assume,
  One old and splendid tale I would record,
  With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains
  Adorn'd this theme profound, and render'd all
  Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon,
  Or gentle as the golden star of eve. 30
  Who knows not Solon,—last, and wisest far,
  Of those whom Greece, triumphant in the height
  Of glory, styled her fathers,—him whose voice
  Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath;
  Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join
  In friendship; and, with sweet compulsion, tamed
  Minerva's eager people to his laws,
  Which their own goddess in his breast inspired?

  'Twas now the time when his heroic task
  Seem'd but perform'd in vain; when, soothed by years 40
  Of flattering service, the fond multitude
  Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath
  Of great Pisistratus, that chief renown'd,
  Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd,
  Even from his birth, to every powerful art
  Of pleasing and persuading; from whose lips
  Flow'd eloquence which, like the vows of love,
  Could steal away suspicion from the hearts
  Of all who listen'd. Thus from day to day
  He won the general suffrage, and beheld 50
  Each rival overshadow'd and depress'd
  Beneath his ampler state; yet oft complain'd,
  As one less kindly treated, who had hoped
  To merit favour, but submits perforce
  To find another's services preferr'd,
  Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal.
  Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes,
  Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd
  Against his life. At last, with trembling limbs,
  His hair diffused and wild, his garments loose, 60
  And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds,
  He burst into the public place, as there,
  There only, were his refuge; and declared
  In broken words, with sighs of deep regret,
  The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd.
  Fired with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd,
  To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band,
  Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war,
  Decree. Oh! still too liberal of their trust,
  And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, 70
  The generous people! Now behold him fenced
  By mercenary weapons, like a king,
  Forth issuing from the city-gate at eve
  To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp
  Crowding the public road. The swain stops short,
  And sighs; the officious townsmen stand at gaze,
  And shrinking give the sullen pageant room.
  Yet not the less obsequious was his brow;
  Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue,
  Of gracious gifts his hand; the while by stealth, 80
  Like a small torrent fed with evening showers,
  His train increased; till, at that fatal time
  Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame
  Startled, began to question what it saw,
  Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice
  Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fill'd
  The rocky citadel with hostile arms,
  Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within
  Amid his hirelings, meditating death
  To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refused. 90
  Where then was Solon? After ten long years
  Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores,
  The sage, the lawgiver had now arrived:
  Arrived, alas! to see that Athens, that
  Fair temple raised by him and sacred call'd
  To Liberty and Concord, now profaned
  By savage hate, or sunk into a den
  Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge,
  And deprecate his wrath, and court his chains.
  Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 100
  His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclined
  One moment with such woman-like distress
  To view the transient storms of civil war,
  As thence to yield his country and her hopes
  To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm,
  Even while the traitor's impious act is told,
  He buckles on his hoary head; he girds
  With mail his stooping breast; the shield, the spear
  He snatcheth; and with swift indignant strides
  The assembled people seeks; proclaims aloud 110
  It was no time for counsel; in their spears
  Lay all their prudence now; the tyrant yet
  Was not so firmly seated on his throne,
  But that one shock of their united force
  Would dash him from the summit of his pride,
  Headlong and grovelling in the dust. 'What else
  Can reassert the lost Athenian name,
  So cheaply to the laughter of the world
  Betray'd; by guile beneath an infant's faith
  So mock'd and scorn'd? Away, then: Freedom now 120
  And Safety dwell not but with Fame in arms;
  Myself will shew you where their mansion lies,
  And through the walks of Danger or of Death
  Conduct you to them.'—While he spake, through all
  Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye
  He darted; where no cheerful voice was heard
  Of social daring; no stretch'd arm was seen
  Hastening their common task: but pale mistrust
  Wrinkled each brow; they shook their head, and down
  Their slack hands hung; cold sighs and whisper'd doubts 130
  From breath to breath stole round. The sage meantime
  Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heaved,
  Struggling with shame and sorrow, till at last
  A tear broke forth; and, 'O immortal shades,
  O Theseus,' he exclaim'd, 'O Codrus, where,
  Where are ye now behold for what ye toil'd
  Through life! behold for whom ye chose to die!'
  No more he added; but with lonely steps
  Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd,
  And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground, 140
  Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd.
  There o'er the gate, his armour, as a man
  Whom from the service of the war his chief
  Dismisseth after no inglorious toil,
  He fix'd in general view. One wishful look
  He sent, unconscious, toward the public place
  At parting; then beneath his quiet roof
  Without a word, without a sigh, retired.
  Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays
  From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes 150
  Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores,
  When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet
  Of four Athenians, by the same sad care
  Conducted all, than whom the state beheld
  None nobler. First came Megacles, the son
  Of great Alcmaeon, whom the Lydian king,
  The mild, unhappy Croesus, in his days
  Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd,
  Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctured webs
  And heaps of treasured gold, beyond the lot 160
  Of many sovereigns; thus requiting well
  That hospitable favour which erewhile
  Alcmaeon to his messengers had shown,
  Whom he, with offerings worthy of the god,
  Sent from his throne in Sardis, to revere
  Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles
  Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore,
  The virtuous child of Clistheues, whose hand
  Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far
  In Sicyon sway'd: but greater fame he drew 170
  From arms controll'd by justice, from the love
  Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath
  Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once
  His warlike steeds the hero led, and there
  Contended through the tumult of the course
  With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal,
  Amid the applauses of assembled Greece,
  High on his car he stood and waved his arm.
  Silence ensued: when straight the herald's voice
  Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, 180
  Whom Clisthenes content might call his son,
  To visit, ere twice thirty days were pass'd,
  The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed,
  Within the circuit of the following year,
  To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand
  With his fair daughter, him among the guests
  Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from all
  The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came:
  From rich Hesperia; from the Illyrian shore,
  Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge 190
  Looks on the setting sun; from those brave tribes
  Chaonian or Molossian, whom the race
  Of great Achilles governs, glorying still
  In Troy o'erthrown; from rough Aetolia, nurse
  Of men who first among the Greeks threw off
  The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms
  Devoted; from Thessalia's fertile meads,
  Where flows Penéus near the lofty walls
  Of Cranon old; from strong Eretria, queen
  Of all Euboean cities, who, sublime 200
  On the steep margin of Euripus, views
  Across the tide the Marathonian plain,
  Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too,
  Minerva's care, among her graceful sons
  Found equal lovers for the princely maid:
  Nor was proud Argos wanting; nor the domes
  Of sacred Elis; nor the Arcadian groves
  That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft
  Some shepherd's song. But through the illustrious band
  Was none who might with Megacles compare 210
  In all the honours of unblemish'd youth.
  His was the beauteous bride; and now their son,
  Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate
  Stood anxious; leaning forward on the arm
  Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd
  When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet,
  And cheeks now pale, now glowing; for his heart
  Throbb'd full of bursting passions, anger, grief
  With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy
  Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, 220
  Are destined for his country and himself
  In riper years to bring forth fruits divine
  Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd
  Two brave companions, whom one mother bore
  To different lords; but whom the better ties
  Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more
  Than brothers: first Miltiades, who drew
  From godlike Æacus his ancient line;
  That Æacus whose unimpeach'd renown
  For sanctity and justice won the lyre 230
  Of elder bards to celebrate him throned
  In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees
  The guilty soul within the burning gates
  Of Tartarus compel, or send the good
  To inhabit with eternal health and peace
  The valleys of Elysium. From a stem
  So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring
  Than this Miltiades; whose aid ere long
  The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways,
  Sent by the inspired foreknowing maid who sits 240
  Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore
  To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth
  Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect
  With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now
  Save for his injured country, here he stands
  In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd:
  Unconscious both what widely different lots
  Await them, taught by nature as they are
  To know one common good, one common ill.
  For Cimon, not his valour, not his birth 250
  Derived from Codrus, not a thousand gifts
  Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand;
  No, not the Olympic olive, by himself
  From his own brow transferr'd to soothe the mind
  Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve
  From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons,
  And their assassin dagger. But if death
  Obscure upon his gentle steps attend,
  Yet fate an ample recompense prepares
  In his victorious son, that other great 260
  Miltiades, who o'er the very throne
  Of Glory shall with Time's assiduous hand
  In adamantine characters engrave
  The name of Athens; and, by Freedom arm'd
  'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king,
  Shall all the achievements of the heroes old
  Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd
  From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought
  For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy.

  Such were the patriots who within the porch 270
  Of Solon had assembled. But the gate
  Now opens, and across the ample floor
  Straight they proceed into an open space
  Bright with the beams of morn: a verdant spot,
  Where stands a rural altar, piled with sods
  Cut from the grassy turf and girt with wreaths,
  Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found
  Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd
  With leaves of olive on his reverend brow.
  He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes 280
  Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd
  Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream;
  Calling meantime the Muses to accept
  His simple offering, by no victim tinged
  With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire,
  But such as for himself Apollo claims
  In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt
  Is thence the Altar of the Pious named.

  Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd
  That worship; till the hero-priest his eye 290
  Turn'd toward a seat on which prepared there lay
  A branch of laurel. Then his friends confess'd
  Before him stood. Backward his step he drew,
  As loath that care or tumult should approach
  Those early rites divine; but soon their looks,
  So anxious, and their hands, held forth with such
  Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce
  To speak to their affliction. 'Are ye come,'
  He cried, 'to mourn with me this common shame?
  Or ask ye some new effort which may break 300
  Our fetters? Know then, of the public cause
  Not for yon traitor's cunning or his might
  Do I despair; nor could I wish from Jove
  Aught dearer, than at this late hour of life,
  As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms,
  From impious violation to assert
  The rights our fathers left us. But, alas!
  What arms? or who shall wield them? Ye beheld
  The Athenian people. Many bitter days
  Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride 310
  Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room
  For just resentment, or their hands indure
  To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all
  Their hopes, so oft admired, so long beloved.
  That time will come, however. Be it yours
  To watch its fair approach, and urge it on
  With honest prudence; me it ill beseems
  Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd
  To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold
  That envied power, which once with eager zeal 320
  They offer'd to myself; nor can I plunge
  In counsels deep and various, nor prepare
  For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread
  On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades
  Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold
  What care employs me now. My vows I pay
  To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth
  And solace of my age. If right I deem
  Of the still voice that whispers at my heart,
  The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn 330
  Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues
  With sacred silence favour what I speak,
  And haply shall my faithful lips be taught
  To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm,
  As with impenetrable steel your breasts,
  For the long strife before you, and repel
  The darts of adverse fate.'—He said, and snatch'd
  The laurel bough, and sate in silence down,
  Fix'd, wrapp'd in solemn musing, full before
  The sun, who now from all his radiant orb 340
  Drove the gray clouds, and pour'd his genial light
  Upon the breast of Solon. Solon raised
  Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began:—

  'Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove
  And Memory divine, Pierian maids,
  Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life,
  When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled,
  To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps
  Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate
  My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains 350
  Of flowing harmony to soften war's
  Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm
  The public eye, to clothe the form austere
  Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age,
  Neglected, and supplanted of the hope
  On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you,
  To your mild wisdom flies, refuge beloved
  Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach
  The visions of my bed whate'er the gods
  In the rude ages of the world inspired, 360
  Or the first heroes acted; ye can make
  The morning light more gladsome to my sense
  Than ever it appear'd to active youth
  Pursuing careless pleasure; ye can give
  To this long leisure, these unheeded hours,
  A labour as sublime, as when the sons
  Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood,
  To hear pronounced for all their future deeds
  The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers!
  I feel that ye are near me: and behold, 370
  To meet your energy divine, I bring
  A high and sacred theme; not less than those
  Which to the eternal custody of Fame
  Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd
  With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent
  The groves of Hæmus or the Chian shore.

  'Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all
  My various life was e'er from you estranged?)
  Oft hath my solitary song to you
  Reveal'd that duteous pride which turn'd my steps 380
  To willing exile; earnest to withdraw
  From envy and the disappointed thirst
  Of lucre, lest the bold familiar strife,
  Which in the eye of Athens they upheld
  Against her legislator, should impair
  With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws.
  To Egypt therefore through the Ægean isles
  My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile
  Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes
  Of Sals, and the rites to Isis paid, 390
  I sought, and in her temple's silent courts,
  Through many changing moons, attentive heard
  The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue
  At morn or midnight the deep story told
  Of her who represents whate'er has been,
  Or is, or shall be; whose mysterious veil
  No mortal hand hath ever yet removed.
  By him exhorted, southward to the walls
  Of On I pass'd, the city of the sun,
  The ever-youthful god. Twas there, amid 400
  His priests and sages, who the livelong night
  Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere,
  Or who in wondrous fables half disclose
  The secrets of the elements, 'twas there
  That great Paenophis taught my raptured ears
  The fame of old Atlantis, of her chiefs,
  And her pure laws, the first which earth obey'd.
  Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale;
  And often, while I listen'd, did my mind
  Foretell with what delight her own free lyre 410
  Should sometime for an Attic audience raise
  Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs
  Call forth those ancient demigods, to speak
  Of Justice and the hidden Providence
  That walks among mankind. But yet meantime
  The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons
  Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed
  On that tame garb and those unvarying paths,
  To which the double yoke of king and priest
  Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last, with hymns 420
  Invoking our own Pallas and the gods
  Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave
  To Egypt, and before the southern wind
  Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey'd,
  What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm
  Of Croesus or upon the Cyprian shore,
  The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now
  Consent that I reveal. But when at length
  Ten times the sun returning from the south
  Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fill'd 430
  The groves with music, pleased I then beheld
  The term of those long errors drawing nigh.
  Nor yet, I said, will I sit down within
  The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod
  The Cretan soil, have pierced those reverend haunts
  Whence Law and Civil Concord issued forth
  As from their ancient home, and still to Greece
  Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.
  Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships,
  Appears beneath famed Cnossus and her towers, 440
  Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen,
  I check'd my prow, and thence with eager steps
  The city of Minos enter'd. O ye gods,
  Who taught the leaders of the simpler time
  By written words to curb the untoward will
  Of mortals, how within that generous isle
  Have ye the triumphs of your power display'd
  Munificent! Those splendid merchants, lords
  Of traffic and the sea, with what delight
  I saw them, at their public meal, like sons 450
  Of the same household, join the plainer sort
  Whose wealth was only freedom! whence to these
  Vile envy, and to those fantastic pride,
  Alike was strange; but noble concord still
  Cherish'd the strength untamed, the rustic faith,
  Of their first fathers. Then the growing race,
  How pleasing to behold them in their schools,
  Their sports, their labours, ever placed within,
  O shade of Minos! thy controlling eye.
  Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 460
  Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns
  Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve
  Their country's heroes from oblivious night,
  Resounding what the Muse inspired of old;
  There, on the verge of manhood, others met,
  In heavy armour through the heats of noon
  To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb
  With measured swiftness, from the hard-bent bow
  To send resistless arrows to their mark,
  Or for the fame of prowess to contend, 470
  Now wrestling, now with fists and staves opposed,
  Now with the biting falchion, and the fence
  Of brazen shields; while still the warbling flute
  Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains
  Grave, solemn, soft; and changing headlong spite
  To thoughtful resolution cool and clear.
  Such I beheld those islanders renown'd,
  So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war
  Each bold invader, and in peace to guard
  That living flame of reverence for their laws, 480
  Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood
  Of foreign wealth diffused o'er all the land,
  Could quench or slacken. First of human names
  In every Cretan's heart was Minos still;
  And holiest far, of what the sun surveys
  Through his whole course, were those primeval seats
  Which with religious footsteps he had taught
  Their sires to approach; the wild Dictaean cave
  Where Jove was born: the ever verdant meads
  Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where 490
  His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne
  Yet stands mysterious; whither Minos came
  Each ninth returning year, the king of gods
  And mortals there in secret to consult
  On justice, and the tables of his law
  To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal
  Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates
  Men visit; nor less oft the antique fane
  Built on that sacred spot, along the banks
  Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove 500
  And his majestic consort join'd their hands
  And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas, 'twas there
  That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds
  I first received; what time an annual feast
  Had summon'd all the genial country round,
  By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind
  That first great spousal; while the enamour'd youths
  And virgins, with the priest before the shrine,
  Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke
  The same glad omens. There, among the crowd 510
  Of strangers from those naval cities drawn
  Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore,
  A merchant of Ægina I descried,
  My ancient host; but, forward as I sprung
  To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow,
  Stopp'd half averse; and, "O Athenian guest,"
  He said, "art thou in Crete, these joyful rites
  Partaking? Know thy laws are blotted out:
  Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne."
  He added names of men, with hostile deeds 520
  Disastrous; which obscure and indistinct
  I heard: for, while he spake, my heart grew cold
  And my eyes dim; the altars and their train
  No more were present to me; how I fared,
  Or whither turn'd, I know not; nor recall
  Aught of those moments, other than the sense
  Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep,
  And, from the toils of some distressful dream
  To break away, with palpitating heart,
  Weak limbs, and temples bathed in death-like dew, 530
  Makes many a painful effort. When at last
  The sun and nature's face again appear'd,
  Not far I found me, where the public path,
  Winding through cypress groves and swelling meads,
  From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends.
  Heedless I follow'd on; till soon the skirts
  Of Ida rose before me, and the vault
  Wide opening pierced the mountain's rocky side.
  Entering within the threshold, on the ground
  I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil.' 540

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