Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WAR-SONGS: 2, by TYRTAEUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WAR-SONGS: 2, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Yet are ye hercules' unconquered race
Last Line: (placed nigh your panoply,) to mar the foe.
Alternate Author Name(s): Tyrtaios
Subject(s): Hercules; Mythology - Classical


YET are ye Hercules' unconquered race—
Remand, heroic tribe, your spirit lost!
Not yet all-seeing Jove averts his face;
Then meet without a fear the thronging host.

Each to the foe his steady shield oppose,
Accoutred to resign his hateful breath:
The friendly sun a mild effulgence throws
On valour's grave, though dark the frown of death.

Yes! ye have known the ruthless work of war!
Yes! ye have known its tears—its heavy woe;
When, scattering in pale flight, ye rushed afar,
Or chased the routed squadrons of the foe.

Of those who dare, a strong compacted band,
Firm for the fight their warrior-spirits link,
And grapple with the foeman, hand to hand,
How few, through deadly wounds expiring, sink!

They, foremost in the ranks of battle, guard
The inglorious multitude that march behind;
While shrinking fears the coward's step retard,
And dies each virtue in the feeble mind.

But 'tis not in the force of words to paint
What varied ills attend the ignoble troop,
Who trembling on the scene of glory faint,
Or wound the fugitives that breathless droop.

Basely the soldier stabs, with hurried thrust,
The unresisting wretch, that shieldless flies!
At his last gasp dishonoured in the dust
(His back transfixed with spears) the dastard lies!

Thus, then, bold youth, the rules of valour learn:
Stand firm, and fix on earth thy rooted feet;
Bite with thy teeth thy eager lips; and stern
In conscious strength, the rushing onset meet:

And shelter with thy broad and bossy shield
Thy thighs and shins, thy shoulders and thy breast,
The long spear ponderous in thy right hand wield,
And on thy head high nod the dreadful crest.

Mark well the lessons of the warlike art,
That teach thee, if the shield with ample round
Protect thy bosom, to approach the dart,
Nor choose with timid care the distant ground.

But, for close combat with the fronting foe,
Elate in valorous attitude draw near;
And aiming, hand to hand, the fateful blow,
Brandish thy tempered blade or massy spear.

Yes! for the rage of stubborn grapple steeled,
Grasp the sword's hilt, and couch the long-beat lance;
Foot to the foeman's foot, and shield to shield,
Crest ev'n to crest, and helm to helm, advance.

But ye light-armed, who, trembling in the rear,
Bear smaller targets, at a distance, throw
The hissing stone, or hurl the polished spear,
(Placed nigh your panoply,) to mar the foe.





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