From ‘The Taming Of Themistocles.’

Bayard Taylor.

‘He must be holpen; yet how help shall I,
Steeped to the lips in ancient misery,
And by the newer grief apparellèd?
If that I throw these ashes on mine head,
Do this thing for thee,— while about my way
A shadow gathers, and the piteous day,
So wan and bleak for very loneliness,
Turneth from sight of such untruthfulness?’
Therewith he caught an arrow from the sheaf,
And brake the shaft in witlessness of grief;
But Chiton’s vest, such dismal fear she had,
Shook from the heart that sorely was a-drad,
And she began, withouten any pause,
To say: ‘Why break the old Ætolian laws?
Send this man forth, that never harm hath done,
Between the risen and the setten sun.’

And next, they wandered to a steepy hill,
Whence all the land was lying grey and still,
And not a living creature there might be
From the cold mountains to the salt, cold sea;
Only, within a little cove, one sail
Shook, as it whimpered at the cruel gale,
And the mast moaned from chafing of the rope;
So all was pain: they saw not any hope.