Aletheia To Phraortes
AFTER THE SACKAGE OF MILETOS
Phraortes! where art thou?
The flames were panting after us, their darts Had pierced to many hearts
Before the Gods, who heard nor prayer nor vow;
Temples had sunk to earth, and other smoke
O'er riven altars broke
Than curled from myrrh and nard,
When like a God among
Arm'd hosts and unarm'd throng
Thee I discern'd, implored, and caught one brief regard.
Thou passest: from thy side
Sudden two bowmen ride
And hurry me away.
Thou and. all hope were gone
They loost me . . and alone
In a closed tent 'mid gory arms I lay.
How did my tears then burn
When, dreading thy return,
Behold thee reappear!
Nor helm nor sword nor spear .
In violet gold-hemm'd vest
Thou camest forth; too soon!
Fallen at thy feet, claspt to thy breast,
I struggle, sob, and swoon.
'O send me to my mother! bid her come,
And take my last farewell!
One blow!. . enough for both. . one tomb. .
'Tis there our happy dwell.'
Thou orderest: call'd and gone
At once they are who breathe for thy command.
Thou stoodest nigh me, soothing every moan,
And pressing in both thine my hand,
Then, and then only, when it tore
My hair to hide my face;
And gently did thy own bend o'er
The abject head war-doomed to dire disgrace.
Ionian was thy tongue,
And when thou badest me to raise
That head, nor fear in aught thy gaze,
I dared look up . . but dared not long.
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poem by Walter Savage Landor
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