Erechtheus | Page 8

grope and grovel on dry ground?That may join hands in battle-grip for death?With them whose seed and strength is of the sea.
CHORUS.
Know thou this much for all thy loud blast blown,?We lack not hands to speak with, swords to plead,?For proof of peril, not of boisterous breath,?Sea-wind and storm of barren mouths that foam?And rough rock's edge of menace; and short space?May lesson thy large ignorance and inform 660 This insolence with knowledge if there live?Men earth-begotten of no tenderer thews?Than knit the great joints of the grim sea's brood?With hasps of steel together; heaven to help,?One man shall break, even on their own flood's verge,?That iron bulk of battle; but thine eye?That sees it now swell higher than sand or shore?Haply shall see not when thine host shall shrink.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Not haply, nay, but surely, shall not thine.
CHORUS.
That lot shall no God give who fights for thee. 670
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Shall Gods bear bit and bridle, fool, of men?
CHORUS.
Nor them forbid we nor shalt thou constrain.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Yet say'st thou none shall make the good lot mine?
CHORUS.
Of thy side none, nor moved for fear of thee.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Gods hast thou then to baffle Gods of ours?
CHORUS.
Nor thine nor mine, but equal-souled are they.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Toward good and ill, then, equal-eyed of soul?
CHORUS.
Nay, but swift-eyed to note where ill thoughts breed.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Thy shaft word-feathered flies yet far of me.
CHORUS.
Pride knows not, wounded, till the heart be cleft. 680
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
No shaft wounds deep whose wing is plumed with words.
CHORUS.
Lay that to heart, and bid thy tongue learn grace.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
Grace shall thine own crave soon too late of mine.
CHORUS.
Boast thou till then, but I wage words no more.
ERECHTHEUS.
Man, what shrill wind of speech and wrangling air?Blows in our ears a summons from thy lips?Winged with what message, or what gift or grace?Requiring? none but what his hand may take?Here may the foe think hence to reap, nor this?Except some doom from Godward yield it him. 690
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
King of this land-folk, by my mouth to thee?Thus saith the son of him that shakes thine earth,?Eumolpus; now the stakes of war are set,?For land or sea to win by throw and wear;?Choose therefore or to quit thy side and give?The palm unfought for to his bloodless hand,?Or by that father's sceptre, and the foot?Whose tramp far off makes tremble for pure fear?Thy soul-struck mother, piercing like a sword?The immortal womb that bare thee; by the waves 700 That no man bridles and that bound thy world,?And by the winds and storms of all the sea,?He swears to raze from eyeshot of the sun?This city named not of his father's name,?And wash to deathward down one flood of doom?This whole fresh brood of earth yeaned naturally,?Green yet and faint in its first blade, unblown?With yellow hope of harvest; so do thou,?Seeing whom thy time is come to meet, for fear?Yield, or gird up thy force to fight and die. 710
ERECHTHEUS.
To fight then be it; for if to die or live,?No man but only a God knows this much yet?Seeing us fare forth, who bear but in our hands?The weapons not the fortunes of our fight;?For these now rest as lots that yet undrawn?Lie in the lap of the unknown hour; but this?I know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of storm?Is but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breath?That bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine?Shall give to death or lordship of strange kings 720 The soul of this live city, nor their heel?Bruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goad?Wound her free mouth or stain her sanguine side?Yet masterless of man; so bid thy lord?Learn ere he weep to learn it, and too late?Gnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh,?And foam his life out in dark froth of blood?Vain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed sea?Torn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this;?Though thrice his might were mustered for our scathe 730 And thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spears?Than sands are whirled about the wintering beach?When storms have swoln the rivers, and their blasts?Have breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea,?That waves of inland and the main make war?As men that mix and grapple; though his ranks?Were more to number than all wildwood leaves?The wind waves on the hills of all the world,?Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall,?The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the Gods 740 From lips that have no more on earth to say?Have told thee this the last good news or ill?That I shall speak in sight of earth and sun?Or he shall hear and see them: for the next?That ear of his from tongue of mine may take?Must be the first word spoken underground?From dead to dead in darkness. Hence; make haste,?Lest war's fleet