Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MIDNIGHT ON MARATHON (A GREEK SUPERSTITION), by MARY ELIZABETH HEWITT


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MIDNIGHT ON MARATHON (A GREEK SUPERSTITION), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When midnight to the peasant yields
Last Line: "and ""christ"" thy battle-cry?"
Alternate Author Name(s): Moore, Mary Elizabeth
Subject(s): Superstition


WHEN midnight to the peasant yields
The meed from labour won,
'T is said the sleeping legions rise
On storied Marathon.

Their banner, with its sacred bird
Flung proudly to the sky,
Down sweeps again the Athenian host,
To conquer, or to die.

Again the air-forged falchion cleaves
The turban of the Mede,
And sinks beneath the shadowy spear
The Persian and his steed.

Amid the pale, contending hosts
The watcher may behold
The shade of THESEUS lead the fight,
As on that day of old.*

The rush of spectral war is heard,
And clearly on the breeze
Comes from the fiercely-charging band
The cry, "MILTIADES!"

Where'er that glorious shape appears,
Wherever sounds that cry,
Again the phantom cohorts reel.
Again they turn and fly.

They fly, as from that field of gore
The smitten Asian fled;
And Marathon lies calm once more,
Above her silent dead.

And thou, when darkness o'er thee lies,
And fears to being start;
And strong conflicting memories rise
From that deep grave, the heart --

Oh Soul! appall'd with doubt and dread,
How would all terrors fly,
Were FAITH thy leader in the flight,
And "CHRIST" thy battle-cry?





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