Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CLEOBIS AND BITON; IN ARGOS, by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CLEOBIS AND BITON; IN ARGOS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Praise to the queen of heaven, hera celestial fair!
Last Line: Nay! Pæans for the heroes borne to the life divine!
Alternate Author Name(s): Dean
Subject(s): Goddesses & Gods; Mythology


PRAISE to the Queen of Heaven, Hera celestial fair!
I, her Argive priestess, above all women am blest!
Her glorious gaze meets mine when the sky is blue and bare;
I see the gleam of her robes as clouds float up from the west; —
List, while her viewless singer, the cuckoo, enchants the air,
And the flowers of her pomegranates flame on the thicket's crest.

Azure and gold was that morning, her festival morn;
Purple through silvery haze the peaks encompassed the plain;
Ocean rolled flashing to ether, and a wind with sunrise born
Blew from the Fields Elysian beyond the blight of pain;
Crocus and hyacinth blossomed; the nightingale sang on the thorn;
And with music like Hebe's laughter the hill-brooks leapt to the main.

Argos its gates had opened, and matrons and maids and men
Hastened to Hera's temple on the slope of the terraced hill;
But the strong white oxen were ploughing far over the reedy fen,
And I, her priestess and lover, tarried impatient still, —
For only the strong white oxen, by meadow and stream and glen
Could draw my chariot thither, secure from the lightest ill.

Chaplet and bough were fading; eager the maids for the race;
But the toiling oxen came not, and the sun went up the sky.
What should I answer the Goddess? How could I sue for grace
If her rites should fail, or the garlands and gifts unoffered lie?
And my heart was heavy within me, — when, straight to the chariot's place,
Cleobis tall, and Biton, sprang with a joyful cry!

Cleobis tall, and Biton, my sons, my pride, my life;
Beauty and strength and valor from heroes of old had they;
Both in the Games were victors — ay, both, in godlike strife,
Had borne the crown of olive from a thousand youths away!
While heralds proclaimed their triumph, and many a maid and wife
Sighed to Hera for husband and son like them, that day.

Swift in the car they placed me, and on their own necks laid
The yoke of the tardy oxen, lest the Goddess should suffer wrong! —
Then cheers went up around us; the flutes melodious played;
And the glad procession faneward moved to the swelling choral song;
While the flower of the Argive women, in stainless white arrayed,
Circled the car with mazy steps and led the wondering throng.

Full five and forty furlongs did they draw me to the door,
And the whole assembly shouted till the firm earth seemed to reel; —
The women extolled the mother these hero-sons who bore,
And the men the youths immortal who could such strength reveal;
And lo! as I descended I saw an eagle soar,
And knew great Zeus in heaven had marked their holy zeal.

O'erwhelmed by the loving service, uplifted to the sky,
I entered the temple, and standing before the image, prayed:
'O glorious Argive Hera! what deed with this can vie?
What other sons such homage to their mother and thee have paid? —
Grant them the rarest blessing that all the Gods on high
Can give to mortals; and never on earth let their memory fade!'

The sacrifice smoked on the altar; incense clouded the air;
And with hymns, and full libations poured from the golden bowls,
They took of the holy banquet, and knew — the princely pair —
Their names in light were written on the temple's proudest scrolls;
Then, weary with toil and worship, they sank to slumber there,
While the wind blew soft and the Sun-god turned to his western goals.

In the altar's shadow sitting I watched their tranquil sleep,
And thought of the fame and gladness the long years held in store;
When the fairest maids of Argos their bridal feasts should keep,
Maids they should bring all jewelled and blushing to their door;
While the Dorian land — nay, Hellas — should praise and honor heap
On the youths who put the Goddess their festal ease before.

But day was fast declining to sunset's golden gleam,
And, still with joy transported, I stooped, their rest to rouse; ...
Oh! direful, direful slumber! ... Oh! bliss beyond my dream! ...
The breath had left their parted lips, and pallid were their brows!
This was the rarest blessing; this was the gift supreme, —
The summons from the mighty Gods that doth the soul unhouse!

Dead in their strength and beauty; dead on the temple-floor; ...
Nay! living with the Deathless Ones by the meads of asphodel!
And agonized, — yet raptured to see the smile they wore, —
I cried, as close I clasped them, "O Hera! It is well! ...
Nor wail nor dirge shall sound for them — the blest forevermore, —
But pæans sweet, triumphant, to all the Gods shall swell!" ...

Their tombs rise high on the hillside by Hera's guarding fane,
Strewn ever with brightest blossoms, bedewed with richest wine;
And their forms, at the door, in marble, fronting their native plain,
I set where the car was stayed that morn, — set for a sacred sign;
While the Argives, that their glory on earth might never wane,
In Delphi placed their statues, before Apollo's shrine.
And shall I mourn their parting? let my tears fall as rain?
Nay! pæans for the heroes borne to the life divine!





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