Daughters of Kadmus!—Semele borne mid flame
To Olympus’ streets—White Goddess whose earth-name
Was Ino, who dost share the hyaline caves
Of Nereus’ daughters, maidens of the waves;
Come with the mother of that mighty son
Heracles: pace to Melia’s temple on.
Come to the treasure-house of tripods golden
Which Loxias hath in chiefest honour holden,
And named the Shrine Ismenian, the home
Of truthful oracles. Ye children come
Born of Harmonia! Lo, he doth command
The host of goddess-heroines of the land
To gather to his temple, that at fall
Of eventide ye may with one voice all
Of holy Themis sing, of Pytho’s visions,
And of Earth’s Heart that giveth just decisions.
Of seven-gated Thebes the glory sing,
And of the strife in Kirrha’s athlete-ring
Wherein hath Thrasydaius made renowned
His sire’s hearth, for the third time garland-crowned
In those rich fields where Pylades the loyal
Welcomed the heir to Sparta’s sceptre royal,
Orestes: him his nurse Arsinoe
Rescued from the fierce hands, the treachery
Most foul of Klytaemnestra, when she laid
The young child’s father dead with murderous blade,
And when with the pale-gleaming bronze she sped
To Acheron’s shadowy margent of the dead
Kassandra, Dardanid Priam’s prophet-daughter
With Agamemnon’s soul, in one red slaughter
Wrought by a ruthless woman. Was she stung
By heavy-handed wrath, to life that sprung
When on the altar Iphigeneia lay
Beside Euripus’ sea-gorge, far away
From her own land? Or was she adultery’s thrall
Passion-seduced to sin beneath night’s pall?—
For brides new-wedded hatefullest transgression,
Not to be hidden, made the world’s possession
By scandal-gloating neighbours’ tongues: for spite
Of jealousy clings cloudlike to the height
Of royal station. Of the common herd
The sins and follies pass unmarked, unheard.
So, after ten long years returned, to die on
His own hearthstone in Amyklae, Atreus’ scion,
And drew to death with him the prophetess-maid,
When he, avenging Helen’s rape, had laid
Low all Troy’s homes delectable in flame.
But that child-head, his son Orestes, came
Safe to old Strophius, his father’s guest,
Who in the vale dwelt ’neath Parnassus’ crest.
And the years watched that murderess, till they brought her
A son to join with hers her paramour’s slaughter.
Surely, O friends, where brancheth into twain
One track, in wilderment have I in vain
Sought the straight path I travelled hitherto!
Was it some wind that from the right course blew
Me, as a boat drifts chartless o’er the sea?
Nay, Muse, ’tis thine, if thou for silver fee
Didst covenant to uplift thy voice in singing,
To send it this way now, now that way ringing,
Now to the father’s wreath at Pytho won,
To Thrasydaius now, his victor son.
Gladness and glory ever shine on these:
Erewhile they won proud chariot-victories
When down Olympus’ world-famed course went dashing
Their horses’ splendour of swiftness sunlike-flashing.
Last, mid disvestured runners forth they came
In Pytho’s athlete-lists, and put to shame
A host of Hellene rivals by their speed.
God grant that I may crave such prowess-meed
As fits with honour, while life’s tree is green
May seek things possible. Still have I seen,
In all states, happiest is the middle station,
But despotism hath my condemnation.
The general good I seek with my whole might.
So baffled is infatuate envy’s spite,
When he who hath climbed high holds his spirit’s reins,
And the brute pride of arrogance restrains.
So, when his feet draw nigh the last long home,
More bright and fair to him shall dark death come,
Who to his nearest and his dearest leaveth
A good name—costlier treasure none receiveth.
’Tis this hath raised above the common throng
Iolaus Iphikles’ son renowned in song;
So Kastor’s might lives on in poesy’s strain,
And thine, King Polydeukes, god-born twain,
Who in the tomb lie through one day of sorrow,
On whom Heaven’s glory shineth on each morrow.