8
CLEOBIS AND BITON.
Dead in their strength and beauty; dead on the temple-floor; . . .
Nay! living with the Deathless Ones by the meads of asphodel!
And agonized,—yet raptured to see the smile they wore,—
I cried, as close I clasped them, "O Hera! It is well! . . .
Nor wail nor dirge shall sound for them—the blest forevermore,—
But paeans sweet, triumphant, to all the Gods shall swell!" . . .
Nay! living with the Deathless Ones by the meads of asphodel!
And agonized,—yet raptured to see the smile they wore,—
I cried, as close I clasped them, "O Hera! It is well! . . .
Nor wail nor dirge shall sound for them—the blest forevermore,—
But paeans sweet, triumphant, to all the Gods shall swell!" . . .
Their tombs rise high on the hillside by Hera's guarding fane,
Strewn ever with brightest blossoms, bedewed with richest wine;
And their forms, at the door, in marble, fronting their native plain,
I set where the car was stayed that morn,—set for a sacred sign;
While the Argives, that their glory on earth might never wane,
In Delphi placed their statues, before Apollo's shrine.
And shall I mourn their parting? let my tears fall as rain?
Nay! pæans for the heroes borne to the life divine!
Strewn ever with brightest blossoms, bedewed with richest wine;
And their forms, at the door, in marble, fronting their native plain,
I set where the car was stayed that morn,—set for a sacred sign;
While the Argives, that their glory on earth might never wane,
In Delphi placed their statues, before Apollo's shrine.
And shall I mourn their parting? let my tears fall as rain?
Nay! pæans for the heroes borne to the life divine!
