Authors note: I originally wrote this poem in the summer of 2013 where I was very inspired by Thomas Babbington Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome and thinking deeply about virtue and historiography. I recently rediscovered this while going through my old computer and wanted to put it up before LLMs totally take over all writing. I have also done some minor cleaning and edits to make it publishable. It is not as polished as I would like but it is better to see the light of day than gather dust on my hard-drive. I will also try and clean up and publish with some of my old other fiction and poetry.
Our tale begins at Marathon,
Only ten years before,
When Darius and all his host
Were routed on that shore.
Now his first son Xerxes
Sits on the Persian throne.
His mind adream with conquest,
Of lands beyond his own.
In Xerxes’ mighty palace,
In his bright and lavish court,
He dreams of power and grandeur,
And of battles to be fought.
Always aflame for glory,
And always bored with peace,
Drenched in the blood of Egypt,
He turns his gaze to Greece.
His advisors counsel prudence.
Let peace remain his way,
Egypt was just reconquered;
Let the country heal this day.
“Your armies stand unbeaten,
You are secure in your frontier,
Why risk all this for vengeance?
Why not attack next year?”
Xerxes’ fury was unceasing,
None dare answer back.
“No greatness comes by waiting,
To win, we must attack.”
“What is the point of power,
If we dare not use our might?
What is the point of armies,
If we dare not let them fight?”
“What worth is hoarded treasure?
What crown would win no fame?
What is war but a temple,
To sanctify my name?”
“You little men; your empty words,
You know the truth as I;
All earthly things are but dust,
Yet name shall never die.”
“The shepherd and the potter pass,
The ploughman and the slave;
They eat, they sleep, they love, they weep,
Then vanish in the grave.”
“But he who stamps upon the world,
The image of his flame,
Though all his mortal bones are dust,
Still walks this earth in name.”
“What worth has breath without renown?
What worth has peaceful age?
If no man yet unborn shall pause,
And see my shadow on the page.”
…
The palace was astonished,
But Xerxes’ word was law.
Although much doom was prophesied,
Out went the call for war.
His couriers ranged far and wide,
From dusty dune to shining shore,
And on their lips the fateful words,
“The Great King calls for war.”
From the deserts of Arabia,
Five thousand camels ride.
Through sparkling Grecian waters,
Twelve hundred warships glide.
From steamy Indian jungles,
War elephants in tow,
From the barren Scythian steppe,
Which moans under the snow,
From murky Lydian forests,
And from the Caspian shore,
Came hordes of steel-eyed soldiers,
Decked out and dressed for war.
Through all the lands of Persia,
A heavy silence falls.
In a hundred thriving cities,
Old men patrol the walls.
On the high mountain pastures,
Young boys now watch the sheep.
In ten thousand dusky hamlets,
Now only women sleep.
On the floodplain of the Tigris,
No scythe disturbs the grain,
For all the men of Persia
Have marched to Greece again.
…
Now several Grecian cities,
Sensing war hung in the air,
Sent spies to the Persian camp,
To learn what gathered there.
But Xerxes found them all out,
(so vigilant was he),
But instead of tortured death,
He showed a strange mercy.
He took them to his gilded tent,
Above the muster plain.
“I hear you Greeks are honest men,
So let me be the same.”
“You must be very curious,
To risk your lives and more,
So let me grant your wishes,
Let me give you a full tour.”
His host stood spread before them,
Glittering in full array.
He saw their courage waver,
And laughed at their dismay.
“Fifty thousand bowmen,
And ninety thousand spears.
Ten thousand Immortals,
Who never have known fear.”
“Forty thousand horsemen,
Drawn from the Persian plain,
Who spent their whole life riding,
In hot pursuit of game.”
“I have a thousand chariots,
Decked out in gold and jewels,
The world shall shake by the sound,
And thunder of their hooves.”
“So flee back to your masters,
And tell them what you see,
That I possess the greatest host
That there will ever be.”
…
Unceasing were his soldiers,
As waves upon the sand,
Unnumbered were their footsteps,
By day they shook the land.
The proud lords of Macedon,
Bowed low before his might.
The fierce chiefs of Thracia,
Just fled without a fight.
But three hundred gallant Spartans,
Heavy in their heart,
Though all Greece was struck with terror,
Set out to do their part.
Led by their king Leonidas,
Each man ready to die,
They marched forth to meet the foe,
At the pass of Thermopylae.
…
The Persian host is upon them,
A great and furious mass,
But unless their line is broken,
The Persians cannot pass.
Out rode the great king Xerxes,
Whose speech was lacquered lies,
“Throw down your arms and kneel,
And you shall keep your lives.”
“We do not wish to parley,”
The Spartan King so spoke,
“Our lives would be worth little,
Under the Persian yoke.”
“We know no hope awaits us,
And here our futures end,
Amid the shattered ruin,
Of the lands we hoped defend.”
“We do not fight for victory,
But only for delay,
Our allies must have vital time,
So they may carry the day.”
“Though every man may die with me,
The living have their time,
And unlike them, our deeds this day
eternally will shine.”
“When bards sing of the three hundred,
Who fought unto the grave,
When maidens sigh in their goodbyes,
‘Be like them; they were so brave.’”
“And for our broken bodies,
Heaped in the earthen womb,
We need no earthly splendour,
History shall be our tomb.”
“You say you want our weapons?”
Roared the king and all his men,
“Well if they are so precious,
Come and take them then!”
Xerxes roared with laughter,
“How foolish you must be,
To place your faith in History,
One as fickle as she.”
“History shall never know you,
Unknown your stand will be.
For the victor writes the histories,
And the victor shall be me.”
“The fates decree you die here,
Your gods have fled away,
History marches with my host;
She blesses us this day.”
“The ranks of all my spearmen,
Spread more than one day’s run.
The arrows of my archers,
Will blot out the mid-day sun.”
Leonidas saw the archers,
Fifty thousand arrayed,
“Good,” he replied, laughing,
“We shall fight in the shade.”
“Your words seem idle boastings,
But if all is as you say,
And fate has turned against us,
We still shall fight this day.”
“For how may one die better,
Than in the final strait,
Crushed by the wave of history,
Pierced by the spear of fate?”
Xerxes spurred about his charger,
His face was livid red,
“You have spurned all my offers,
By tonight you will be dead.”
“If death is all you wish for,
I shall gladly give you that.
For the glory of Persia,
Come, my soldiers, attack!”
So cried the great King Xerxes,
Seeing all his talk in vain,
His archers he commanded,
“Let loose an iron rain!”
The arrows buzzed like locusts,
Under the bright noon sun,
A blackened sky of iron,
The great battle had begun.
The feathered missiles clattered,
Upon their shield-locked wall,
The Persians gazed in wonder,
For no Greek was seen to fall.
“Now come my Median warriors!
It is time to serve your Lord.
Break their line! Bring me their heads,
Or die upon their sword.”
All fury-filled and reckless,
Medes rushed the Spartan spear,
They broke like surf on cliff-face,
The phalanx found no peer.
Cold to the dreadful carnage,
Xerxes scanned his line,
“Come forth my brave Immortals,
The flower of Persia’s prime.”
“Destroy the fell defenders,
Spill Spartan blood this day,
Crush them down beneath your strength,
And sweep their line away.”
The Immortal charge was frenzied,
But the Spartan line held firm,
Each stroke of Persian valour,
Was met by Greek return.
Though Greek and Persian blood did mix,
As the sun sank that night,
Yet the Spartan line still stood,
Against the Great King’s might.
With the first day now ended,
Neither side yet reigned,
But Thermopylae’s defenders,
Yet still their ground retained.
Another day of battle,
Another clash of bronze,
In that day more heroes made,
Than in all ancient song.
Xerxes threw off his gilded chair,
And raged and cursed his line,
With all his host and all his might,
He could not break their line.
…
Seeing easy hope extinguished,
Xerxes sought another way,
Around the stout line of Spartans,
And for this he could pay.
They found a willing shepherd,
(and unnamed shall he be,
for his deeds are so heinous,
he deserves no memory).
By the word of this traitor,
They found the hidden pass.
And quietly by night there marched,
most of the Persian mass.
Leonidas woke surrounded,
His scouts had seen the foe,
Slipping past the mountain posts,
Pooling on the plain below.
There was no time for counsel.
With a shout he roused his men,
If they stayed their death was sure,
The only question when.
“The Persians are upon us,
Closing in on both sides,
Each man who will should leave now,
Retreat and spare your lives.”
“The Persian horse outruns you,
Upon the open plain,
Unless we can hold them here,
By men sure to be slain.”
“Bright souls must hold the narrow pass.
Yet some must fight again,
For such a death as ours will be,
Must live on in living men.”
“Go now,” he told the others,
“Not all are called to die.
The deed that has no witness
Is lost beneath the sky.”
Thus many of the allies,
Chose to fight another day,
But all of the three hundred,
United, chose to stay.
And seven hundred Thespians
Refused the road away;
Beside the men of Sparta
They chose to die that day.
…
The Persian host advances,
With shouts of hope and cheers,
For all that stood of Spartan might
is an island ringed with spears.
Thus Xerxes rode out to parlay,
Hoping for a quick end,
After two days of hard fighting,
His army needed to mend.
“This time you shall surrender,
Surrounded on all sides,
You have fought long enough for glory,
Now think of your own lives.”
“I grant your skill and valour;
You have fought a hero’s fight,
Now listen to your reason,
And bow before my might.”
Leonidas saw the Persians,
That great mass of bronze and hate,
He lived to die a hero.
He wished no greater fate.
“We are men of old Laconia,
To bow is not our way,
We shall fight until our end here.
Our blood shall flow this day.”
“Far better die a Spartan,
Than live to be a slave.
A hero’s death is grander,
Than any gift you gave.”
“For life is not the breathing
Of lungs another day;
A grave that has no meaning,
Is but a common clay.”
“You think this field decides it,
Who holds these stones this night.
Our lives shall teach the nations;
History shall judge our might.”
“The hands that write the histories
Are not the hands that slay.
The eyes of eternity
Shall judge in their own way.”
“You offer us our bodies,
Our shields and spears laid down;
Yet by our final valour,
We buy a deathless crown.”
“However far you chase us,
Unto the furthest shore,
Greece shall never bow to you,
Your sole fruit shall be war.”
“Then fight till death, O Spartan!
But your death shall be in vain,
For all Greece shall be my conquest,
I shall see your home aflame.”
Xerxes spurred his golden charger,
And rode back to his men,
His voice a thunder of command,
“Begin the fight again!”
The Persians crashed upon them,
Like the storm upon the shore.
The Spartans, with their shields locked,
Fought as they had before.
Every man would come forward,
And every man would fall,
Each Spartan giving his life,
To hold the shield wall.
At last there stood Leonidas,
His breathing deep and slow,
Before him lay his brothers,
His friends from long ago.
The King of Sparta fell alone,
His heart held no despair,
For every Spartan was with him,
Their glory filled the air.
The final roars of battle,
Echoed around the plain,
Their bodies lay in silence,
Yet spirit would remain.
None of those Three Hundred
Lived to watch Athens burn,
Nor lived to see that bright day
When the tides of war did turn.
Nor cheered the day at Salamis,
Where in that narrow strait,
The Greek and allied navies
At last avenged their fate.
In that great clash of warships,
The blow that won the war,
Where they smote the Persian fleet,
Against the rocky shore.
Nor saw the sun at Plataea,
Glint golden on the shield,
As the allies rout Mardonius,
Upon that fatal field.
In all the gyms of Sparta,
Across the Messenian plain,
Wait many an anxious maiden,
For a love who never came.
Yet as they fell a tale was made,
That outlived the victor’s dawn,
And while men yet walk the pass,
They learn how names are born.
There stands a stone inscription,
“Here, obedient, we lie,”
That is all that now adorns,
The pass of Thermopylae.