Cee) 
[ Aug. 
ORLGINALS POETRY. 
OTHRYADES, 
A MONO-DRAMA. 
ARGUMENT. 
A difpute had arifen between Sparta and Ar- 
gos, for the poffeffion of Thyrea, a f{mall, 
but valuable territory, which lay contiguous 
tothe berders of both ftates, it was to be 
decided by three hundred combatants from 
each fide. Two Argives, Alcinor and Chro- 
mius, furvived and returned to Argos. Of 
the Spartans, all were flain, except Othry- 
ades; he palfed the might im collecting the 
fpoils, and ere&ting a trophy. 
willing to furviv 

Then, un- 
he wrote upon his fhield NIKHEA, “ FE have 
conquered,”’ and ftabbed himéelf. 
Scens—Tie Field of Battle— A Trofhy erected 
—The Sun rifing. 
wy done—-yon high-rear’d trophy hall 
record 
Thy conquett, Sparta: Argos now no more 
Shall}. ad her thoufands forth in proud array, 
Ger Thyrea’s plain difputed—Thyrea’s plain 
Sparta has won in fight. 
"Twas a ferce fight, 
Worth ay the caufe, and worthy Sparta’s fons. 
Biavely we fed the vulture. Not a man, 
Faife to his country, caft the backward look. 
Scart’d im the war of heroes, Sparta’s fons 
Fought worthy of their race, and Argos then 
Deferv’d the fee fhe met.—We broke the 
fhields, 
We carved the wolf’s repatt. 
man—- 
The foot Arm-planted mov’d not from the war. 
My wounds bleed faft—the cold damp dews 
~~ ef night 
Pervade the gafhes. 
Then man met 
Sparta will rejoice 
In her Othryades: the fong of praife 
Shall found his name, and virgins hymn the 
lay, 
The a of Valour :—round my brows fhall 
- bloom 
The never-fading wreath. My mother, too, 
Shali hear the praifes of her victor fon ; 
How will her fond heart beat, to find her fon 
Difhonours not his fire ! already Hope 
Views the glad fcene;—my wife—how will 
‘fhe fly 
To clafp her conquering hufband to her heart! 
Fairly yon opening morning gilds the fky— 
The faint mifts die away, and roll along 
The plain; on yonder olive fhines the dew, 
Nature’s befi gem. But not on this red plain, 
Shines the clear dew.—Here the red earth is 
drench’d 
e his friends, with his blood - 
With blood! The Sun, that: yefterday beheld 
This fcene fo terrible, in all the pomp 
_And dread magnificence of threat’ning war, 
Now beams on carcafles.. Six hundred chiefs, 
Here yefterday, uprear’d their might elate— 
Now cold in death! By flight alone fecure, 
Two coward Argives filed my fingle fword— 
They live to tell defeat. 
_ But Fate referves 
For me the tale of conqueft. From my lips 
Sparta fhall hear the found of viétory, : 
And deck my forehead with the laurel wreath, 
Immortal meed! 
- But what will Sparta deem 
Giehryades, alone furviv’d the fight? 
Three hundred warriors for their country fought, 
Othryades furviv’d! 
ie v terrible 
Lies yonder clay-cold heap !* each warrior bears 
Deep in his breaft the wound. Still yonder face 
Retains its wonted character—that hand 
Still grafps the ufelefs falchton. I have feen 
That rigid eye beam pleafure, when ee met 
At daily exercife—Away, fond tear 
Nor ftain a foldier’s cheek! he fell a fel} 
Victorious and avenged. 
‘But what remains 
For me ?——Shall I return to tell the tale 
Of dear-bought victory ? Shall 1 retun— 
Hear the lait praifes paid the migaty dead ; 
Hear how they died for Sparta, and beheld 
The bay-firewn bier ? Meantime the public eye 
With jealous glance, fhall view Othryades— 
There is the Spartan who furviv’d his friends ! 
My fame is full—to deck my laurell’d head, 
Time has fo wreath in ftore : and fhall I live 
To fee the laurel wither on my brow ? 
Live till my unnerv’d arm fhall Gnk beneath 
The falchion’s weight—tul drivelling age hangs 
down 
The moping head; and I fhall with in vainy 
That I had pe ithicd here with my dead friends 2 
Perifh the thougtt '—No, let my infant boy 
Hear grateful Spar:a pour my dirge of praife, 
And lifp his father’s fame. My wite !—again 
This womanith tear!—-Sure fhe would curfe 
the hour, : 
That gave her beauties to a recreant’s arms. 
~ Yes, Sparta fhall receive the glorious tale , 
From her Othryades: and when fhe reads 
Thus on my fhield, the tidings traced in blood . 
Victorious, “ I have conguered,” the thall 
rank 
Othbryades amid the hero train. 
Come then, good falchion! thou haftoften fed 
On wounds; now batter’d is thy gory edge 
On Argive bucklers, yet the point retains 
Strength for this laft beft deea. [Stabs “re 
uly 20. 
ADRIAN'S 
