In the same mood, the highest reward, the fullest honor, that could be given to the rescuer of his country was to have his name inserted in the inscription that marked the scene of his victories.[A] In this spirit, no national event took place, no great battle was won, no instance of heroic self-devotion occurred, that the genius of the highest poets was not called upon to commemorate it in some noble or pathetic inscription, which, in after ages, calls forth as much admiration as the deed which originated it. The glorious death of the three-hundred takes place at Thermopylæ; the Athenians propose a contest for the honor of placing an inscription to mark the spot; and crowds are gathered to adjudge the prize; for, in those days, crowds were judges. Among the competitors are Æschylus and Simonides; and, amid the roar of that immense multitude, the victor-palm is awarded to Simonides, for two lines which will live to the end of time: Ω ξειν' αγγειλον Λακεδαιμονιοις ὁτι τηδε Κειμεθα, τοις κεινων ῥημασι πειθομενοι. [A] See Plutarch, Vit. Cimon. Their noble simplicity is almost untranslatable, yet we will attempt it: Ye who see this! to Lacedemon tell Here, honoring her sacred laws, we fell! Or, more literally: Stranger! tell Sparta that one common grave Here holds our dust, who kept the laws she gave! The few of these majestic inscriptions which yet remain to us, all bear the same imprint of lofty poetic feeling. Expressed with the utmost simplicity, they would seem bald, were it not for the skill of the poet, and the glorious associations that they call up around us. The subject of Thermopylæ appears to have been a favorite with Simonides. Here is another which breathes the same spirit: Ει το καλως θνησκειν αρετης μερος εστι μεγιστον, Ἡμιν εκ παντων τουτ' απενειμε Τυχη· Ἑλλαδι γαρ σπευδοντες ελευθεριαν περιθειναι Κειμεθ' αγηραντω χρωμενοι ευλογιη. We have endeavored to render it into the English as literally as possible: If to die well be Virtue's highest bliss, To us, o'er all, the Fates have given this, We fell that Greece might liberty obtain, And thus undying glory do we gain! And yet another, a glorious eulogy: Των εν Θερμοπυλαις θανοντων. κ. τ. λ. Oh! sacred be the memory of the brave, Who in Thermopylæ's deep bosom lie, Their country's honor! Let each hero's grave Become an altar for the gods on high. Their fittest praise is their unconquered death! Not even Time's rude hand and wasting breath, From those dear tombs, can snatch one wreath away Which Greece delights o'er heroes still to lay. And here, again, is another, from the same, beautiful in its simplicity, on the heroes who fell in one of Greece's glorious victories; which one is not known: