THIS from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death, When Crito brought promise of freedom: "Vainly thou spendest thy breath! Dost remember the wild Corybantes? feel they the knife or the rod? Heed they the fierce summer sun, the frost, or winterly flaws? -- If any entreat them, they answer, 'We hear but the flutes of the God!' "So even am I, O my Crito! Thou pleadest a losing cause! Thy words are but sound without import -- I hear but the Voice of the Laws; And, know thou! the Voice of the Laws is to me as the flutes of the God." Thus spake that soul incorrupt; and wherever, since hemlock was quaffed, A man has stood forth without fear -- has chosen the dark deep draught -- Has taken the lone one way, nor the path of dishonor has trod -- Behold! he, too, hears but the Voice of the Laws, the flutes of the God. |