CHAERONEA

The Sacred Band died there.

Where my feet, dusty from the trampled ground worn flat by their sandals

Beats back the war paeans pounding in my blood

That I hear still.

Inward from the sea

On the great plain of Chaeronea

They did battle there

The Three Hundred.

Alexander pressed them back into

the Kephissus

Where Tethys' daughters drew their

Dead down into a loving embrace.

He walked there too,

That golden child of fire

Who shook the heavens and

burnt the world with his eyes

And razed cities with

The frown of his brow.

Was there one amongst them

He wept at slaying

When he and Boukephalus

Rammed into their

Hearts and taught them to die?

But he, as their brother knew

The price the gods ask for

Such things.

There are no cries here now

From the wounded.

No shouts of joy from the victor

No pounding of the shields

To shake the birds from the

Trees and make the rabbits flee.

There is no battle song

To ease the breaking of the day

No laugh around the campfire

To strengthen the resolve of

The weary.

All is quiet and the countryside

Lies dormant as in winter

Of the great deeds I saw there.

Only the lion of Chaeronea

speaks with stone eyes,

Make an offering of your tears for

The Sacred Band lies here.