Yet say'st thou none shall make the good lot mine?
Of thy side none, nor moved for fear of thee.
Gods hast thou then to baffle Gods of ours?
Nor thine nor mine, but equal-souled are they.
Toward good and ill, then, equal-eyed of soul?
Nay, but swift-eyed to note where ill thoughts breed.
Thy shaft word-feathered flies yet far of me.
Pride knows not, wounded, till the heart be cleft. 680
No shaft wounds deep whose wing is plumed with words.
Lay that to heart, and bid thy tongue learn grace.
Grace shall thine own crave soon too late of mine.
Boast thou till then, but I wage words no more.
Man, what shrill wind of speech and wrangling air Blows in our ears a summons from thy lips Winged with what message, or what gift or grace Requiring? none but what his hand may take Here may the foe think hence to reap, nor this Except some doom from Godward yield it him. 690
King of this land-folk, by my mouth to thee Thus saith the son of him that shakes thine earth, Eumolpus; now the stakes of war are set, For land or sea to win by throw and wear; Choose therefore or to quit thy side and give The palm unfought for to his bloodless hand, Or by that father's sceptre, and the foot Whose tramp far off makes tremble for pure fear Thy soul-struck mother, piercing like a sword The immortal womb that bare thee; by the waves 700 That no man bridles and that bound thy world, And by the winds and storms of all the sea, He swears to raze from eyeshot of the sun This city named not of his father's name, And wash to deathward down one flood of doom This whole fresh brood of earth yeaned naturally, Green yet and faint in its first blade, unblown With yellow hope of harvest; so do thou, Seeing whom thy time is come to meet, for fear Yield, or gird up thy force to fight and die. 710
To fight then be it; for if to die or live, No man but only a God knows this much yet Seeing us fare forth, who bear but in our hands The weapons not the fortunes of our fight; For these now rest as lots that yet undrawn Lie in the lap of the unknown hour; but this I know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of storm Is but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breath That bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine Shall give to death or lordship of strange kings 720 The soul of this live city, nor their heel Bruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goad Wound her free mouth or stain her sanguine side Yet masterless of man; so bid thy lord Learn ere he weep to learn it, and too late Gnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh, And foam his life out in dark froth of blood Vain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed sea Torn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this; Though thrice his might were mustered for our scathe 730 And thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spears Than sands are whirled about the wintering beach When storms have swoln the rivers, and their blasts Have breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea, That waves of inland and the main make war As men that mix and grapple; though his ranks Were more to number than all wildwood leaves The wind waves on the hills of all the world, Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall, The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the Gods 740 From lips that have no more on earth to say Have told thee this the last good news or ill That I shall speak in sight of earth and sun Or he shall hear and see them: for the next That ear of his from tongue of mine may take Must be the first word spoken underground From dead to dead in darkness. Hence; make haste, Lest war's fleet foot be swifter than thy tongue And I that part not to return again On him that comes not to depart away 750 Be fallen before thee; for the time is full, And with such mortal hope as knows not fear I go this high last way to the end of all.