Sparta

"Wanderer, if you come to Sparta, announce there that you have seen us lying here, as the law demanded."

Sit down by the fireside, Leonidas, my friend.

We have prayed here so many times before.

Outside the temple the daylight’s almost spent,

and the gods know: we’ll see it just once more.

Down in the agora the rising sound of horns

and the laughter of children still at play,

and somewhere a woman cries, as if there’s cause to mourn.

But there’s only law, and we will obey.

The darkness creeps closer, and silence in her wake,

and you sit with your head bowed so low.

There’s none of the youthfulness left in your face,

that has been there as long as I know.

But your beauty, Leonidas, did never come from youth,

but from courage, from constancy and care,

and you’re beautiful now as the image of a god

and I’m faithful, in glory and despair.

And finally you whisper: Must we really go this way,

must we perish as I have decreed?

Must I tread on the path that leads up and away,

and trust they will follow my lead?

I’ve seen the slaughter, I’ve seen the betrayal,

I’ve seen the bones slowly dry on the field.

But we’ve nothing left than our law and our prayers,

and an enemy to whom we can’t yield.

I’m restless and doubtful, I’m feeling like a fool

to tell you: all people must die,

that death can be glorious as much as it’s cruel

for we’ll rise up like gods to the sky.

For the last time, Leonidas, I take your hand,

the hand of a leader of men,

and I say: I’ll make sure we’ll be remembered in the end,

I’ll make sure as well as I can.

So, stranger, if ever you come to the state

of Sparta, where once we did live,

then tell there: we’re gone, far away we met our fate,

in battle like we prayed for on the eve.

Determined and fearless Leonidas, my friend,

made his sacrifice so others would be spared.

As it’s written in our law: the most glorious end

is the one of someone who cared.

Crystal 03.08.06