Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No

bridge Better!”-when-ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that


There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he—majestical Pan! 65 Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his

hoof; All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly—the

curl Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. “Halt, Pheidippides!”—halt I did, my brain of a whirl: “ Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?” he gracious

began: How is it,-Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof?


Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast! Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old?

74 Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, “The Goat

God saith: When Persia—so much as strews not the soil—is cast in the

sea, Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and

least, Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!'


Say Pan saith: ‘Let this, foreshowing the place, be the

pledge!'' (Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear

66. The ivy was consecrated to Pan. Wanton. Hanging loose. Cf. Para. dise Lost iv, 366.

80. Cf. Note on l. 8. Greaves were armor worn to protect the legs from knee to ankle.

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-Fennel,—I grasped it a-tremble with dew-whatever it

bode), · While, as for thee . ." But enough! He was gone. If

I ran hithertoBe sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew.

85 Parnes to Athens-earth no more, the air was my road; Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the

razor's edge! Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare!

Then spoke Miltiades. And thee, best runner of Greece, Whose limbs did duty indeed,—what gift is promised thyself? Tell it us straightway,-Athens the mother demands of her son!”

91 Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest

of his strength Into the utterance—“ Pan spoke thus: ‘For what thou hast

done Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee

release From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!'


I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my

mind! Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may

grow,Pound-Pan helping us—Persia to dust, and, under the deep, Whelm her away for ever; and then,—no Athens to save, Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave,- 101 Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall Close to my knees,-recount how the God was awful yet


83. Fennel (Gr. marathon). A common herb. The field of Marathon was so named because overgrown with this plant. What was the significance of Pan's gift?

89. Miltiades. The great Athenian general selected for supreme command at Marathon.

kind, Promised their sire reward to the full—rewarding him


Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day:
So, when Persia was dust, all cried “ To Akropolis! 106
Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due!
* Athens is saved, thank Pan, go shout! He flung down

his shield, Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel

field And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs

through, Till in he broke: “Rejoice, we conquer! Like wine thro'

clay, Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died—the bliss!


So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute Is still «

Rejoice!”—his word which brought rejoicing indeed.

114 So is Pheidippides happy for ever, the noble strong man Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a

god loved so well, He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suf

fered to tell Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, So to end gloriously-once to shout, thereafter be mute: Athens is saved!”—Pheidippides dies in the shout for his


I 20

106. Akropolis (Gr. akros, height + polis, city.) The citadel of Athens. 118. How did the fame of Miltiades and Themistocles decline?

A Grammarian's Funeral *


Let us begin and carry up this corpse,

Singing together.
Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes,

Each in its tether
Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain,

5 Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again

Rimming the rock-row!
That's the appropriate country; there man's thought,
Rarer, intenser,

IO Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought,

Chafes in the censer.
Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop;

Seek we sepulture
On a tall mountain, citied to the top,

15 Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels;

Clouds overcome it; * The Grammarian's Funeral was published in 1855 in the volume, Men and Women.

Grammarian is here used, not in its present narrow sense, but with the broader meaning of a scholar, a student whose life was devoted to letters. No particular person is indicated, but the spirit is that which animated many a scholar,-a Scaliger, a Casaubon, a Pierre de Maricourt-of the early Renaissance period, the Revival of Learning which, beginning in Italy, spread over all Europe, and marked the transition from mediaeval to modern history. The speaker is one of the dead Grammarian's disciples who are bearing him to the mountain top-a fit burial-place for him of lofty aspirations. The parentheses give the leader's directions to the corpse-bearers. Note t'.e effect and appropriateness of the meter, the long iambic followed by the short adonic.

3. Crofts (AS. croft). Fields or little farms. Thorpes (AS. thorp). Villages or hamlets. Common and vulgar refer to the ignorant and uneducated people of these crofts and thorpes.

4. Tether (AS. teodor, halter). Narrow bounds.
8. Rock-row. Mountain ridge.
18. Overcome. Pass over; overshadow. Cf. Macbeth iii. 4, 3.



No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's

Circling its summit.
Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights:

Wait ye the warning?
Our low life was the level's and the night's:

He's for the morning.
Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head,

25 'Ware the beholders! This is our master, famous, calm, and dead,

Borne on our shoulders.
Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft
Safe from the weather!

30 He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft,

Singing together,
He was a man born with thy face and throat,

Lyric Apollo!
Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note

Winter would follow?
Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone!

Cramped and diminished,
Moaned he, “New measures, other feet anon!
My dance is finished!

40 No, that's the world's way; (keep the mountain-side,

Make for the city!)
He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride

Over men's pity;
Left play for work, and grappled with the world

Bent on escaping: “ What's in the scroll,” quoth he, “thou keepest furled?

Show me their shaping,
Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,-
Give!”—So, he gowned him,

50 Straight got by heart that book to its last page:

Learned, we found him.
Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead,


Accents uncertain:

50. Gowned him. Took up the student life.

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