Classic Poem

"Raise the buckler--poise the lance--
"Now here--now there--retreat--advance!"

Such were the sounds to which the warrior boy
Danced in those happy days when Greece was free;
When Sparta's youth, even in the hour of joy,
Thus trained their steps to war and victory.
"Raise the buckler--poise the lance--
"Now here--now there--retreat--advance!"
Such was the Spartan warriors' dance.
"Grasp the falchion--gird the shield--
"Attack--defend--do all but yield."

Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glorious night,
Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea
That morning dawned by whose immortal light
They nobly died for thee and liberty!
"Raise the buckler--poise the lance--
"Now here--now there--retreat--advance!"
Such was the Spartan heroes' dance.

* * * * *

Scarce had they closed this martial lay
When, flinging their light spears away,
The combatants, in broken ranks.
All breathless from the war-field fly;
And down upon the velvet banks
And flowery slopes exhausted lie,
Like rosy huntresses of Thrace,
Resting at sunset from the chase.

"Fond girls!" an aged Zean said--
One who himself had fought and bled,
And now with feelings half delight,
Half sadness, watched their mimic fight--
"Fond maids! who thus with War can jest--
"Like Love in Mar's helmet drest,
"When, in his childish innocence,
"Pleased with the shade that helmet flings,
"He thinks not of the blood that thence
"Is dropping o'er his snowy wings.
"Ay--true it is, young patriot maids,
"If Honor's arm still won the fray,
"If luck but shone on righteous blades,
"War were a game for gods to play!
"But, no, alas!--hear one, who well
"Hath tracked the fortunes of the brave--
"Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell
"What glory waits the patriot's grave."