"The Fates accept another life for his, And one of you may die." Smiling, she ceased. But silence answered her. "What! do ye thrust Your arrows in your hearts beneath your cloaks, Dying like Greeks, too proud to own the pang? This ask I not. In all the populous land But one need suffer for immortal praise. The generous Fates have sent no pestilence, Famine, nor war: it is as though they gave Freely, and only make the boon more rich By such slight payment. Now a people mourns, And ye may change the grief to jubilee, Filling the cities with a pleasant sound. But as for me, what faltering words can tell My joy, in extreme sharpness kin to pain? A monument you have within my heart, Wreathed with kind love and dear remembrances; And I will pray for you before I crave Pardon and pity for myself from God. Your name will be the highest in the land, Oftenest, fondest on my grateful lips, After the name of him you die to save. What! silent still? Since when has virtue grown Less beautiful than indolence and ease? Is death more terrible, more hateworthy, More bitter than dishonor? Will ye live On shame? Chew and find sweet its poisoned fruits? What sons will ye bring forth--mean-souled like you, Or, like your parents, brave--to blush like girls, And say,'Our fathers were afraid to die!' Ye will not dare to raise heroic eyes Unto the eyes of aliens. In the streets Will women and young children point at you Scornfully, and the sun will find you shamed, And night refuse to shield you. What a life Is this ye spin and fashion for yourselves! And what new tortures of suspense and doubt Will death invent for such as are afraid! Acastus, thou my brother, in the field Foremost, who greeted me with sanguine hands From ruddy battle with a conqueror's face,-- These honors wilt thou blot with infamy? Nay, thou hast won no honors: a mere girl Would do as much as thou at such a time, In clamorous battle,'midst tumultuous sounds, Neighing of war-steeds, shouts of sharp command, Snapping of shivered spears; for all are brave When all men look to them expectantly; But he is truly brave who faces death Within his chamber, at a sudden call, At night, when no man sees,--content to die When life can serve no longer those he loves." Then thus Acastus: "Sister, I fear not Death, nor the empty darkness of the grave, And hold my life but as a little thing, Subject unto my people's call, and Fate. But if 't is little, no greater is the king's; And though my heart bleeds sorely, I recall Astydamia, who thus would mourn for me. We are not cowards, we youth of Thessaly, And Thessaly--yea, all Greece--knoweth it; Nor will we brook the name from even you,