XXV.
Earth was full of mad unrest,
While red Bacchus held his state;
And her brown vine-girdl'd breast
Shook to his wild joy and hate.
XXVI.
Strife crouch'd red ey'd in the vine
In its tendrils Eros strayed;
Anger rode upon the wine;
Laughter on the cup-lip play'd.
XXVII.
Day was at her chief unrest--
Red the light on plain and wood
Slavish ey'd and still of breast,
Vast the Helot herdsman stood:
XXVIII.
Wide his hairy nostrils blew,
Maddning incense breathing up;
Oak to iron sinews grew,
Round the rich Caecuban cup.
XXIX.
"Drink, dull slave!" the Spartan said,
"Drink, until the Helot clod
"Feel within him subtly bred
"Kinship to the drunken God!
XXX.
"Drink, until the leaden blood
"Stirs and beats about thy brain:
"Till the hot Caecuban flood
"Drown the iron of thy chain.
XXXI.
"Drink, till even madness flies
"At the nimble wine's pursuit;
"Till the God within thee lies
"Trampled by the earth-born brute.
XXXII.
"Helot drink--nor spare the wine;
"Drain the deep, the madd'ning bowl,
"Flesh and sinews, slave, are mine,
"Now I claim thy Helot soul.
XXXIII.
"Gods! ye love our Sparta; ye
"Gave with vine that leaps and runs
"O'er her slopes, these slaves to be
"Mocks and warnings to her sons!
XXXIV.
"Thou, my Hermos, turn thy eyes,
"(God-touch'd still their frank, bold blue)
"On the Helot--mark the rise
"Of the Bacchic riot through
XXXV.
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