Sons of Athens, heavy-laden with the holy weight of years, Be your hearts as young men's lightened of their loathlier load of fears; For the wave is sunk whose thunder shoreward shook the shuddering lands, 1450 And unbreached of warring waters Athens like a sea-rock stands.
Well thy word has cheered us, well thy face and glittering eyes, that spake Ere thy tongue spake words of comfort: yet no pause, behoves it make Till the whole good hap find utterance that the Gods have given at length.
All is this, that yet the city stands unforced by stranger strength.
Sweeter sound might no mouth utter in man's ear than this thy word.
Feed thy soul then full of sweetness till some bitterer note be heard.
None, if this ring sure, can mar the music fallen from heaven as rain.
If no fire of sun or star untimely sear the tender grain.
Fresh the dewfall of thy tidings on our hopes reflowering lies. 1460
Till a joyless shower and fruitless blight them, raining from thine eyes.
Bitter springs have barren issues; these bedew grief's arid sands.
Such thank-offerings ask such altars as expect thy suppliant hands.
Tears for triumph, wail for welfare, what strange godhead's shrine requires?
Death's or victory's be it, a funeral torch feeds all its festal fires.
Like a star should burn the beacon flaming from our city's head.
Like a balefire should the flame go up that says the king is dead.
Out of heaven, a wild-haired meteor, shoots this new sign, scattering fear.
Yea, the word has wings of fire that hovered, loth to burn thine ear.
From thy lips it leapt forth loosened on a shrill and shadowy wing. 1470
Long they faltered, fain to hide it deep as death that hides the king.
Dead with him blind hope lies blasted by the lightning of one sword.
On thy tongue truth wars with error; no man's edge hath touched thy lord.
False was thine then, jangling menace like a war-steed's brow-bound bell?
False it rang not joy nor sorrow; but by no man's hand he fell.
Vainly then good news and evil through so faint a trumpet spake.
All too long thy soul yet labours, as who sleeping fain would wake, Waking, fain would fall on sleep again; the woe thou knowest not yet, When thou knowest, shall make thy memory thirst and hunger to forget.