Not beneath thy chains and rods Dies man"s G.o.d-gift, Liberty!
LXXIV.
Bruteward lash thy Helots--hold Brain and soul and clay in gyves; Coin their blood and sweat in gold, Build thy cities on their lives.
LXXV.
Comes a day the spark divine Answers to the G.o.ds who gave; Fierce the hot flames pant and shine In the bruis"d breast of the slave!
LXXVI.
Changeless stand the G.o.ds!--nor he Knows he answers their behest; Feels the might of their decree In the blind rage of his breast.
LXXVII.
Tyrants! tremble when ye tread Down the servile Helot clods; Under despot heel is bred The white anger of the G.o.ds!
LXXVIII.
Thro" the shackle-canker"d dust, Thro" the gyv"d soul, foul and dark Force they, changeless G.o.ds and just!
Up the bright eternal spark.
LXXIX.
Till, like lightnings vast and fierce, On the land its terror smites; Till its flames the tyrants pierce, Till the dust the despot bites!
Lx.x.x.
Day was at its chief unrest, Stone from stone the Helot rose; Fix"d his eyes--his naked breast Iron-wall"d his inner throes.
Lx.x.xI.
Rose-white in the dusky leaves, Shone the frank-ey"d Spartan child; Low the pale doves on the eaves, Made their soft moan, sweet and wild.
Lx.x.xII.
Wand"ring winds, fire-throated, stole, Sybils whisp"ring from their books; With the rush of wine from bowl, Leap"d the tendril-darken"d brooks.
Lx.x.xIII.
As the leathern cestus binds Tense the boxer"s knotted hands; So the strong wine round him winds, Binds his thews to iron bands.
Lx.x.xIV.
Changeless are the G.o.ds--and bred All their wrath divine in him!
Bull-like fell his furious head, Swell"d vast cords on breast and limb.
Lx.x.xV.
As loud-flaming stones are hurl"d From foul craters--thus the G.o.ds Cast their just wrath on the world, From the mire of Helot clods.
Lx.x.xVI.
Still the furious Helot stood, Staring thro" the shafted s.p.a.ce; Dry-lipp"d for the Spartan blood, He of scourg"d Achea"s race.
Lx.x.xVII.
Sprang the Helot--roar"d the vine, Rent from grey, long-wedded stones-- From pale shaft and dusky pine, Beat the fury of his groans.
Lx.x.xVIII.
Thunders inarticulate: Wordless curses, deep and wild; Reach"d the long pois"d sword of Fate, To the Spartan thro" his child.
Lx.x.xIX.
On his knotted hands, upflung O"er his low"r"d front--all white, Fair young Hermos quiv"ring hung; As the discus flashes bright
XC.
In the player"s hand--the boy, Naked--blossom-pallid lay; Rous"d to l.u.s.t of b.l.o.o.d.y joy, Throbb"d the slave"s embruted clay.
XCI.
Loud he laugh"d--the father sprang From the Spartan"s iron mail!
Late--the bubbling death-cry rang On the hot pulse of the gale!
XCII.
As the shining discus flies, From the thrower"s strong hand whirl"d; Hermos cleft the air--his cries Lance-like to the Spartan hurl"d.