Classic Poem

Why do you ask, bold Tydeus' son,
Why do you ask what race am I?
As forest leaves have come and gone,
So does the race of mankind hie:
The wind outblows and straightway strows
The scattered leaves upon the ground;
But soon the wood blooms green in bud
When again the spring-tide hours come round.

Such and no more the race of man;
One flowers and another fades apace.
But if you truly wish to scan
How runs the lineage of our race,
What many know I straight will show:
Within a nook of Argos land,
The land which breeds such gallant steeds
Doth Ephyra's ancient city stand.

And there dwelt Sisyphus, the son
Of oeolus, the tempest lord
And thro all the earth a wilier one
Could not the sons of men afford.
To Glaucus his heir, did his lady bear
The gallant youth Bellerophon,
To whom high heaven had fine form given
And strength in kindly valour shown.

But Praetus, in his evil soul,
Felt tow'rd him foul and felon thought
(And under King Praetus' stern control
Had Jove the men of Argos brought),
His queenly dame of lofty name
Had felt sharp passion's fiercest sting,
And to his breast, with love unblest,
Desired in stolen joy to cling.

But wise and all averse to wrong,
He would not with her wish comply.
Then spoke she with a traitorous tongue
Her husband in a ready lie:
" Do slaughter on Bellerophon,
Or let thyself, O Praetus! die,
Because he strove with shameless love
Within my arms by force to lie. "

She spoke: and when the king had heard,
All thro his soul fierce anger flew;
To slay his youthful guest he feared,
Much scrupling such a deed to do.
By his command to Lycian land
The unsuspecting youth was sent
But many a mark of import dark
He bore off with him as he went.

In tablets of the closest fold
Praetus' life-killing mandates lay —
There was his lady's father told
Bellerophon at once to slay.
But heavenly led to Lycia sped
My favoured grandsire on his way;
And when he came to Xanthus' stream,
Much honour did its monarch pay.

Nine days they held the constant feast,
Nine oxen for the board they slew;
When on the tenth day in the East,
Blusht forth the dawn of rosy hue,
The king addrest his honoured guest,
And spoke his wish that should be shown
With what intent there had been sent
To Lycian land Bellerophon.

Now when the message met his eye —
And Praetus' fell intent he knew —
He sent him and one doomed to die,
The dire Chimaera to subdue.
From heavenly seed, not human breed,
That yet unconquered monster came.
Dreadful I ween, her throat was seen
Fierce breathing forth the fiery flame.

In head a lion, in the tail
A dragon, and a goat in line;
Yet did his valour there prevail,
Upheld by portents all divine.
And next his glaive the Solymi brave
Did with their blood in battle wet:
Oft did he say such desperate fray
As theirs in fight he never met.

Thirdly, he smote with mortal scar
The Amazons who warred on man;
And back returning from that war
Against him a plot the Lycians plan.
Thro Lycia wide, the flower and pride
Of all her warriors have they ta'en,
And with them laid an ambuscade;
But not a man returned again.

They perisht by his hand subdued;
And then, as Lycia's king knew well
That he was born of godlike blood,
He kept him in the land to dwell.
His daughter as bride he gave, and, beside,
Shared with him half his reign;
And of land which is there most rich and rare
Was chosen as his domain.

Fit land the clustering vine to raise,
Fit land to ply the spade;
But even on him in latter days
The wrath of heaven was laid.
And all alone he wandered on
The Aleian plain apart;
From human path, in woe or wrath,
Devouring his own heart.

Two sons, one daughter, to his love
Were by his lady given;
Laodamia, lofty Jove,
Whose guidance rules o'er heaven,
Claspt in his arms, and of her charms
Is brave Sarpedon sprung;
But Artemis' bow soon laid her low,
By fiery anger stung.

Isander against the Solymi
In glorious battle stood;
And Ares doomed him there to die,
The sateless god of blood.
The second son as sire I own,
Hippolochus he hight;
And from Lycia far, to the field of war,
Hath he sent me here to fight.

And much was the counsel my father gave
At Troy to bear me well:
Ever to show myself bold and brave
And all others to excel;
And not to disgrace the ancient race,
Which still mid the best did shine
Or in Lycia wide, or by Ephra-side.
Such, Diomed, is my line.