WATCHMAN

 Zeus-if to The Unknown

        That name of many names seem good-

      Zeus, upon Thee I call.

        Thro' the mind's every road

      I passed, but vain are all,

      Save that which names thee Zeus, the Highest One,

        Were it but mine to cast away the load,

    The weary load, that weighs my spirit down.



                                                        antistrophe 2



      He that was Lord of old,

    In full-blown pride of place and valour bold,

      Hath fallen and is gone, even as an old tale told:

      And he that next held sway,

      By stronger grasp o'erthrown

      Hath pass'd away!

    And whoso now shall bid the triumph-chant arise

      To Zeus, and Zeus alone,

    He shall be found the truly wise.



                                                            strophe 3



    'Tis Zeus alone who shows the perfect way

      Of knowledge: He hath ruled,

    Men shall learn wisdom, by affliction schooled.



      In visions of the night, like dropping rain,

      Descend the many memories of pain

    Before the spirit's sight: through tears and dole

      Comes wisdom o'er the unwilling soul-

      A boon, I wot, of all Divinity,

    That holds its sacred throne in strength, above the sky!



                                                        antistrophe 3



    And then the elder chief, at whose command

      The fleet of Greece was manned,

        Cast on the seer no word of hate,

        But veered before the sudden breath of Fate-



      Ah, weary while! for, ere they put forth sail,

      Did every store, each minish'd vessel, fail,

        While all the Achaean host

        At Aulis anchored lay,

      Looking across to Chalcis and the coast

      Where refluent waters welter, rock, and sway;



                                                            strophe 4



        And rife with ill delay

      From northern Strymon blew the thwarting blast-

        Mother of famine fell,

        That holds men wand'ring still

      Far from the haven where they fain would be!-

        And pitiless did waste

      Each ship and cable, rotting on the sea,

          And, doubling with delay each weary hour,

      Withered with hope deferred th' Achaeans' warlike flower.



        But when, for bitter storm, a deadlier relief,

        And heavier with ill to either chief,

    Pleading the ire of Artemis, the seer avowed,

        The two Atreidae smote their sceptres on the plain,

        And, striving hard, could not their tears restrain!



                                                        antistrophe 4



        And then the elder monarch spake aloud-

          Ill lot were mine, to disobey!

        And ill, to smite my child, my household's love and pride!

        To stain with virgin blood a father's hands, and slay

          My daughter, by the altar's side!

          'Twixt woe and woe I dwell-

        I dare not like a recreant fly,

    And leave the league of ships, and fail each true ally;

        For rightfully they crave, with eager fiery mind,

        The virgin's blood, shed forth to lull the adverse wind-

          God send the deed be well!



                                                            strophe 5



          Thus on his neck he took

          Fate's hard compelling yoke;

    Then, in the counter-gale of will abhorr'd, accursed,

        To recklessness his shifting spirit veered-

        Alas! that Frenzy, first of ills and worst,

    With evil craft men's souls to sin hath ever stirred!



        And so he steeled his heart-ah, well-a-day-

          Aiding a war for one false woman's sake,

              His child to slay,

          And with her spilt blood make

    An offering, to speed the ships upon their way!



                                                        antistrophe 5



        Lusting for war, the bloody arbiters

    Closed heart and ears, and would nor hear nor heed

          The girl-voice plead,

        Pity me, Father! nor her prayers,

          Nor tender, virgin years.

        So, when the chant of sacrifice was done,

        Her father bade the youthful priestly train

    Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone,

        From where amid her robes she lay

          Sunk all in swoon away-

    Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed,

        Her fair lips' speech refrain,

    Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' home and seed,



                                                            strophe 6



        So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye,

      With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye.

        Those that should smite she smote

      Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain

      To plead, Is all forgot?

    How oft those halls of old,

    Wherein my sire high feast did hold,

      Rang to the virginal soft strain,

        When I, a stainless child,

      Sang from pure lips and undefiled,

        Sang of my sire, and all

    His honoured life, and how on him should fall

      Heaven's highest gift and gain!



                                                        antistrophe 6