EUCLES ANNOUNCING THE VICTORY OF MARATHON.
e cometh from the purple hills,
Where the fight has been to-day;
He bears the standard in his hand—
Shout round the victor’s way.
The sun-set of a battle won,
Is round his steps from Marathon.
Gather the myrtles near,
And fling them on his path;
Take from her braided hair
The flowers the maiden hath,
A welcome to the welcome one,
Who hastens now from Marathon.
They crowd around his steps,
Rejoicing young and old;
The laurel branch he bears,
His glorious tale hath told,
The Persian’s hour of pride is done,
Victory is on Marathon.
She cometh with brightened cheek,
She who all day hath wept;
The wife and mother’s tears,
Where her youngest infant slept,
The heart is in her eyes alone,
What careth she for Marathon?
But down on his threshold, down!
Sinks the warrior’s failing breath,
The tale of that mighty field
Is left to be told by death.—
’Tis a common tale—the victor’s sun
Sets, in tears and blood, o’er Marathon.
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