TYRTEUS.

WAR ELEGY.

Nor on the lips, nor yet in memory's trace
Should that man live, though rapid in the race,
And firm in wrestling: though Cyclopian might
Be his, and fleetness like a whirlwind's flight:
Though than Tithonus lovelier to behold;
Like Cynaras, or Midas, graced with gold;
Than Pelop's realm more kingly his domain;
More sweet his language than Adrastus' strain;
Not though he boast all else of mortal praise,
Yet want the glory of the warrior's bays.
He is not brave, who not endures the sight
Of blood; nor, man to man, in closest fight,
Still pants to press the foe: here bravery lies;
And here of human fame the chiefest prize.
This noblest badge the youth of honour bears,
And this the brightest ornament he wears.

This, as a common good, the state possess,
And a whole people, here, their safety bless.
Firm and unyielding, when the armed man
Still presses on, and combats in the van;
And casts the thought of shameful flight away;
And patient-daring, to the perilous fray
Presents his life and soul; and, with his eye,
And voice, exhorts his fellow men to die,
Here is the warrior found; this, this is bravery.
He breaks the bristling phalanx from afar:
His foresight rules the floating wave of war;
Fallen in the foremost ranks, he leaves a name,
His father's glory, and his country's fame.
All on the front, he bears full many a wound,
That rived his breast-plate and his buckler's
round;

Old men and youths let fall the sorrowing tear,
And a whole people mourns around his bier.
Fame decks his tomb, and shall his children grace,
And children's children, to their latest race.
For ne'er his name, his generous glory, dies:
Though tomb'd in earth, he shall immortal rise;

Who dared, persisting, in the field remain,
And act his deeds, till number'd with the slain:
While charging thousands rush'd, resisting stood,
And, for his sons and country, pour'd his blood.
But if, escaping the long sleep of death,

He wins the splendid battle's glorious wreath;
Him, with fond gaze, gray sires and youths behold,
And life is pleasant, till his days are old.
Conspicuous midst the citizens, he wears
The silver glory of his snowy hairs.

None 'gainst his peace conspire with shameless hate,
None seek to wrong the saviour of the state:
The younger, and his equals, reverent rise;
His elders quit their seats, with honouring eyes;
Then, to this height of generous deeds aspire;
And let the soul of war thy patriot bosom fire.