Spartan Poetry and Memorials Use inductive reasoning: compare and contrast samples and identify common concepts and rules/principles regarding Make generalizations about how the Spartans define, valued, guided themselves by

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Spartan Poetry and Memorials
Use inductive reasoning: compare and contrast samples and identify common concepts and rules/principles regarding….. Make generalizations about how the Spartans define, valued, guided themselves by………

The selections below are drawn from works by known or probable Laconian poets, or were written around Spartan themes. The translations come from various sources, particularly Barnstone and Lattimore (see the Book List).


Simonides of Creos

c. battle of Thermopylae

Epitaph for the Spartan Dead at Thermopylae

(There is a possibility of this being incorrectly attributed to Simonides.)
Go, stranger, and to the Spartans tell

That here, obedient to their word, we fell.

Epitaph for Megistias

The great Megistias' tomb,

you here may view,

Who slew the Medes, fresh

from Sperchius' fords.

Well the wise seer the coming

death foreknew,

Yet scorned he to forsake

his Spartan lords.
On those Who Died with Leonidas

Leonidas, king of the open fields of Sparta,

those slain with you lie famous in their graves,

For they attacked absorbing the head-long assault

of endless Persian men, arrows and swift horse.
Epitaph for the Tomb of Leonidas

(In Sparta, on which stood a stone lion.)

I am the most valiant of beasts,

and most valiant of men is he

Whom I guard standing on this stone tomb.
On those Who Died at Thermopylae

Of those who perished at the Hot Gates,

all glorious is the fortune, fair the doom;

Their grave's an altar, ceaseless memory's theirs

instead of lamentation, and their fate

Is chant of praise. Such winding sheet as this

no mould nor all-consuming time shall waste.

This sepulchre of valiant men has taken

the fair renown of Hellas for its inmate.

And witness is Leonidas, once king

of Sparta, who hath left behind a crown

Of valour mighty and undying fame.

On the Spartans Fallen at Plataea

These men left an altar of glory on their land,

shining in all weather,

When they were enveloped by the black mists of


But though they died

They are not dead, for their courage raises them

in glory

From the rooms of Hell.

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The Oracle of Delphi

c. battle of Thermopylae

The Pythoness' Reply to the Spartans

O ye men who dwell in the streets

of broad Lacedaemon!

Either your glorious city shall be sacked

by the children of Persia,

Or, in exchange, all Laconia must mourn for

the loss of a king,

A descendant of great Heracles.

For Xerxes, mighty as Zeus, cannot be withstood

by the courage of bulls nor of lions;

Strive as you may, there is naught that

can stay him,

Till he has got for his prey:

your king, or your city.

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Tyrtaeus of Sparta

c. 630 BC


For no man ever proves himself a good man in war

unless he can endure to face the blood and the slaughter,

go close against the enemy and fight with his hands.

Here is courage, mankind's finest possession, here is

the noblest prize that a young man can endeavor to win,

and it is a good thing his city and all the people share with him

when a man plants his feet and stands in the foremost spears

relentlessly, all thought of foul flight completely forgotten,

and has well trained his heart to be steadfast and to endure,

and with words encourages the man who is stationed beside him.
Here is a man who proves himself to be valiant in war.

With a sudden rush he turns to flight the rugged battalions

of the enemy, and sustains the beating waves of assault.

And he who so falls among the champions and loses his sweet life,

so blessing with honor his city, his father, and all his people,

with wounds in his chest, where the spear that he was facing has transfixed

that massive guard of his shield, and gone through his breastplate as well,

why, such a man is lamented alike by the young and the elders,

and all his city goes into mourning and grieves for his loss.

His tomb is pointed to with pride, and so are his children,

and his children's children, and afterward all the race that is his.
His shining glory is never forgotten, his name is remembered,

and he becomes an immortal, though he lies under the ground,

when one who was a brave man has been killed by the furious War God

standing his ground and fighting hard for his children and land.

But if he escapes the doom of death, the destroyer of bodies,

and wins his battle, and bright renown for the work of his spear,

all men give place to him like, the youth and the elders,

and much joy comes his way before he goes down to the dead.

Aging, he has reputation among his citizens. No one

tries to interfere with his honors or all he deserves;

all men withdraw before his presence, and yield their seats to him,

the youth, and the men his age, and even those older than he.

Thus a man should endeavor to reach this high place of courage

with all his heart, and, so trying, never be backward in war.

To the Soldiers; after a defeat

Now, since you are the seed of Heracles the invincible,

courage! Zeus has not yet turned away from us. Do not

fear the multitude of their men, nor run away from them.

Each man should bear his shield straight at the foremost ranks

and make his heart a thing full of hate, and hold the black flying

spirits of death as dear as he holds the flash of the sun.
You know what havoc is the work of the painful War God,

you have learned well how things go in exhausting war,

for you have been with those who ran and with the pursuers,

O young men, you have had as much of both as you want.

Those who, standing their ground and closing their ranks together,

endure the onset at close quarters and fight in the front,

they lose fewer men. They also protect the army behind them.

Once they flinch, the spirit of the whole army falls apart.

And no man could count over and tell all the number of evils,

all that can come to a man, once he gives way to disgrace.

For once a man reverses and runs in the terror of battle,

he offers his back, a tempting mark to spear from behind,

and it is a shameful sight when a dead man lies in the dust there,

driven through from behind by the stroke of an enemy spear.

No, no, let him take a wide stance and stand up strongly against them,

digging both heels in the ground, biting his lip with his teeth,

covering thighs and legs beneath, his chest and his shoulders

under the hollowed-out protection of his broad shield,

while in his right hand he brandishes the powerful war-spear,

and shakes terribly the crest high above his helm.

Our man should be disciplined in the work of the heavy fighter,

and not stand out from the missiles when he carries a shield,

but go right up and fight at close quarters and, with his long spear

or short sword, thrust home and strike his enemy down.

Let him fight toe to toe and shield against shield hard driven,

crest against crest and helmet on helmet, chest against chest;

let him close hard and fight it out with his opposite foeman,

holding tight to the hilt of his sword, or to his long spear.

And you, O light-armed fighters, from shield to shield of your fellows,

dodge for protection and keep steadily throwing great stones,

and keep on pelting the enemy with your javelins, only

remember always to stand near your own heavy-armed men.

Spartan Soldier

It is beautiful when a brave man of the front ranks,

falls and dies, battling for his homeland,

and ghastly when a man flees planted fields and city

and wanders begging with his dear mother,

aging father, little children and true wife.

He will be scorned in every new village,

reduced to want and loathsome poverty; and shame

will brand his family line, his noble

figure. Derision and disaster will hound him.

A turncoat gets no respect or pity;

so let us battle for our country and freely give

our lives to save our darling children.
Young men, fight shield to shield and never succumb

to panic or miserable flight,

but steel the heart in your chests with magnificence

and courage. Forget your own life

when you grapple with the enemy. Never run

and let an old soldier collapse

whose legs have lost their power. It is shocking when

an old man lies on the front line

before a youth: an old warrior whose head is white

and beard gray, exhaling his strong soul

into the dust, clutching his bloody genitals

into his hands: an abominable vision,

foul to see: his flesh naked. But in a young man

all is beautiful when he still

possesses the shining flower of lovely youth.

Alive he is adored by men,

desired by women, and finest to look upon

when he falls dead in the forward clash.

Let each man spread his legs, rooting them in the ground,

bite his teeth into his lips, and hold.

Terpander of Antissa

c. 650 B.C.


There flowers the battle-spear of young men,

there the Muse is eloquent,

there Justice in the wide ways lends force to

actions of honor.
Hymn to Zeus

Zeus, inceptor of all,

of all things the commander,

Zeus, I bring you this gift:

the beginning of song.
To Apollo and the Muses

Let us pour a libation

to the Muses, daughters

of Memory, and to Leto's

son, their lord Apollo.

Back to top

Alcaeus of Mytilene

c. 575 B.C.

Prayer for Safety at Sea

(Invocation to the Dioscuri.)

Be with me now, leaving the Isle of Pelops,

mighty sons of Zeus and of Leda, now in

kindliness of heart appear to me, Castor

and Polydeuces:

you who wander over the wide earth, over

all the sea's domain on your flying horses,

easily delivering mortal men from

death and terror:

swept in far descent to the strong-built vessel's

masthead, you ride shining upon the cables,

through the weariness of the dark night bringing

light to the black ship.

Things of War

The great house glitters with bronze. War has patterned

the roof with shining helmets,

their horsehair plumes waving in the wind, headdress

of fighting men. And pegs

are concealed under bright greaves of brass which

block the iron-tipped arrows. Many

fresh-linen corselets are hanging and hollow shields

are heaped about the floor,

and standing in rows are swords of Chalcidian steel,

belt-knives and warriors' kilts.

We cannot forget our arms and armor when soon

our dreadful duties begin.
Walls and the City

Not homes with beautiful roofs,

nor walls of permanent stone,

nor canals and piers for ships

make the city — but men of strength.
Not stone and timber, nor skill

of carpenter — but men brave

who will handle sword and spear.
With these you have: city and walls.

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Ibycus of Samos

c. 550 B.C.

On Feminine Nature and Public Decency

Spartan girls

are naked-thighed and man-crazy.

Alcman of Sparta

c. 625 B.C.

Man's Lessons

Experience and suffering

are the mother of wisdom.

On a Poetess

Aphrodite commands and love rains

upon my body and melts my heart

for Megalostrata, to whom the sweet Muse

gave the gift of poetry.

O happy girl of the goldenrod hair!

The Journey

Narrow is our way of life

and necessity is pitiless.


(Athenian dramatist,

c. 450BC-c.388BC.)

"Spartan Choral Dance" no.1

(from Lysistrata)


send me

your Muse,

who knows

our glory,

knows Athens’ --

Tell the story:

At Artemisium

like gods, they stampeded

the hulks of the Medes, and beat them.
And Leonidas

leading us --

the wild boars

whetting their tusks.

And the foam flowered,

flowered and flowed,

down our cheeks

to our knees below.

The Persians there

like the sands of the sea --

Hither, huntress,

virgin, goddess,

tracker, slayer,

to our truce!

Hold us ever

fast together;

bring our pledges

love and increase;

wean us from the fox’s wiles --
Hither, huntress!

Virgin, hither!

"Spartan Choral Dance" no.2

Leave darling Taygetus,

Spartan Muse! Come to us

once more, flying

and glorifying

Spartan themes:

the god at Amyclae,

bronze-house Athena,

Tyndarus’ twins,

the valiant ones,

playing still by Eurotas’ streams.
Up! Advance!

Leap to the dance!

Help us hymn Sparta,

lover of dancing,

lover of footfalls,

where girls go prancing

like fillies along Eurotas’ banks,

whirling the dust, twinkling their shanks,

shaking their hair

like Maenads playing

and juggling the thyrsis,

in frenzy obeying

Leda’s daughter, the fair, the pure

Helen, the mistress of the choir.

Here, Muse, here!

Bind up your hair!

Stamp like a deer! Pound your feet!

Clap your hands! Give us a beat!

Sing the greatest,

sing the mightiest,

sing the conqueror,

sing to honor her --

Athena of the Bronze House!

Sing Athena!

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