Twas when our galleys lay along the winding bay,
Where Evenus with ocean is blended,
To watch the Dorian host, that 'gainst Acarnania's coast
At the mandate of Sparta descended.
In long and threatening line, at the margin of the brine,
Stretched the squadrons of proud Lacedæmon;
Our prows were but a score, yet we cooped them to the shore,
Oh they shrank from the clash with our seamen!
Not in the good daylight, not in fair and open fight,
Came over the boasting invaders;
But like thieves they sought to glide, to their booty o'er the tide,
With darkness and silence for aiders.
All voiceless was the deep; the winds had sunk to sleep;
The veil of the night earth was wearing;
But the stars had pined away; and the streaks of eastern gray
Told the morn was her chariot preparing.
A plash of distant oars as from th' Achaian shores
On our sentinel's ear faintly sounded;
Our watch was keen, and true, we were Phormio's chosen crew;
To his oar at the signal each bounded.
The warning cry speeds fast, "the foe, they come at last;"
Oh little they deem what will meet them;
Right soon equipped are we, and we push at once to sea,
On the mid-wave to baffle and beat them.
Now through the glimmering haze we strain our eager gaze;--
A dark mass on the dark water rises;--
'Tis a galley;--'tis their fleet--how our joyous bosoms beat,
As the dawning revealed us our prizes!
Two score and seven prows were the squadrons of our foes,
There was sea-room and space for the meeting;
Yet they moved not to attack, but in troubled ring hung back
From the strife, whence was now no retreating.
Swift, swift, we glanced around them, and in closer circle bound them:
Still threat'ning the charge, still delaying:
For Phormio curbed our zeal, till the roughened main should feel
The breath of the east o'er it playing.
Blow, blow, thou Morning wind--why lingerest thou behind?
On high while the Day-god is soaring?
Come forth, and bid the Deep from the level slumber leap,
Its billows in majesty pouring.
Let the landsmen dread their swell--the mariner loves well
The laugh and the toss of the ocean;
Long time the gale and we have been comrades o'er the sea;
'Tis our helpmate in battle's commotion.
The shudder of the seas tells the coming of the breeze;
The ripples are glittering brightly;
Soon the purple billows grow, and their crests of foam they show,
As the freshening blast curls them lightly.
Swell higher, lusty gale--the Dorian crews are pale,
Their oars in the vexed surges drooping;
While our circling galleys halt, and veer round for the assault,
For the death-stroke each mariner stooping.
With heads bent forward low, with oars thrown back in row,
Trembling over the edge of the water,
With breathless gaze we watch from our captain's lip to catch
The word for the charge and the slaughter.
'Tis given--the oars dip--with a light half-stroke the ship
Glides off--the waves hiss in twain riven--
The trumpet clamours high; and our short sharp battle-cry,
As we strain every nerve, rings to heaven.
The oar tingles as we grasp it, like a limb of those who clasp it:
Lithe and light through the white froth it flashes;
And pulsating with life, savage, active for the strife,
At her quarry the war-galley dashes.
On, mariners, pull on--one glancing thought alone
Of the homes and the loves that we cherish;
For we know, from rush like this, as our prow may strike or miss,
Ourselves or the foemen must perish.
But our helmsman's skill is tried our armèd beak to guide,
Where their quarter lies helpless before us;
And the thrilling, jarring crash, and the music of the smash
Tell our rowers that fortune smiles o'er us.
Look round upon the wreck,--mark the haughty Dorians' deck,
How they reel in their armour along it:
While our bow-men ply each string; and each javelin's on the wing,
Wafting death mid the braggarts that throng it.
Look where our gallant prow struck deep the deadly blow,
Shattered oars, mangled oars-men are lying:
The rent and started side sucks in the swamping tide,
And the surge drowns the groans of the dying.
The reddening ocean-flood drinks deep their hated blood,--
It shall stream yet in richer libations:
We'll repeat the lesson stern--Lacedæmon well shall learn
That the sea mocks her rule o'er the nations.
"Steady, steady now, my men--back her gently off again--
Give your helmsman free scope and dominion"--
We recoil for fresh attack, as a hawk may hover back,
Ere it swoop in the pride of its pinion.
Another charge,--another blow,--another crippled foe,--
'Tis Athenè herself that is guiding.
As, huddled in a flock, deer shrink back from the shock
Of the hunters that round them are riding,
So, disordered and dismayed, with ranks all disarrayed,
Their fleet crowds together in ruin;
While our galleys dashing in, with a loud and joyous din,
Their mission of death are pursuing.
See, again their oars are out--again a feeble shout
Rises up from their admiral-galley;
They come forth--'tis not to fight--they only push for flight--
One has burst through our line in the sally.
She's their best--she must not 'scape--cut her off from Rhion's cape--
Let not Dorians for speed triumph o'er us--
Our nearest consort views her,--the [19]Paralus pursues her--
Pull on--none must strike her before us.
"Quick, quicker on the feather--come forward well together--
Carry Phormio first in his glory"--
Each nerved him as he spoke, and we dash with stouter stroke
Through the waves carcase-cumbered and gory.
Oh! swiftly goes the prize as ahead of both she flies;
Oh! blithe was the contest that tried us,
When we saw our comrades true, their country's favoured crew,
In rivalry rowing beside us.
Their Sacred Bark apace bounds forward in the race,
Like a proud steed let loose from the bridle;
And we knew by the red streak on her bent and battered beak,
In the fray that she had not been idle.
On the prey each galley gains, and more and more each strains
In the emulous chase to the leading;
As two hounds pursue the hare, and each strives for amplest share
Of the conquest to which they are speeding.
Vainly struggles the spent foe. At her stern we feel our prow--
'Gainst its point ill her helmsman is shielded:
And the Paralus's sway breaks her starboard oars away.
Clear her deck!--No--they crouch--they have yielded.
Tow her, then, along in triumph--haul her up on yonder shore--
There she long shall crown the headland, never stemming billow more:
To the gracious God of Ocean votive offering shall she stand,
Telling of the deeds of Phormio and his bold Athenian band.
Sagest of his country's seamen, bravest captain of the brave;--
Every coast shall hear his glory, far as Athens rules the wave.
Choral lay shall long record him. Long our battle-cry shall be,
Cheering on our charging squadrons, "PHORMIO AND VICTORY."
[19] The Paralus was the name of one of the two sacred galleys, which
the Athenians employed for the conveyance of despatches, and state
missions; and which were always equipped and manned with the greatest
care. It is not specified in Thucydides that the Paralus was one of
Phormio's galleys; but from the brilliant exploits of his squadron in
this and a subsequent battle, we may fairly suppose it to have been
composed of the _Elite_ of the Athenian navy.