Tyrtaeus of Sparta and Solon of Athens, Poems (Seventh–Sixth Centuries B.C.E.)

Among the most remarkable products of Greece’s recovery from its Dark Age was the creation of a new social and political entity, the city-state. These poems elucidate the values shaping two of these communities, Sparta and Athens. The author of the first, Tyrtaeus of Sparta (originally from Athens, according to some ancient sources), was active when Sparta launched the Second Messenian War in the mid-sixth century B.C.E. His poem reveals the preeminent importance of military glory to the Spartans’ communal identity. The author of the second work, the Athenian statesman Solon, emphasizes shared justice as the ideal basis of society. Democratic reforms instituted in the late sixth century B.C.E. transformed his vision into reality. Both poems are written in the elegiac meter, a style often used at the time to instruct the public.

From Early Greek Lyric Poetry, trans. David Mulroy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992), 48–49, 68–69.

Tyrtaeus

It is a beautiful thing when a good man falls

and dies fighting for his country.

The worst pain is leaving one’s city and fertile

fields for the life of a beggar,

wandering with mother, old father, little

children, and wedded wife.

The man beaten by need and odious poverty

is detested everywhere he goes,

a disgrace to his family and noble appearance, trailed

by every dishonor and evil.

If no one takes care of the wanderer or gives him

honor, respect, or pity,

we must fight to the death for our land and children, giving

no thought to lengthening life.

Fight in a stubborn, close array, my boys!

Never waver or retreat!

Feel your anger swell. There is no place

in combat for love of life.

Older soldiers, whose knees are not so light,

need you to stand and protect them.

An aging warrior cut down in the vanguard of battle

disgraces the young. His head

is white, his beard is grey, and now he is spilling

his powerful spirit in dust,

naked, clutching his bloody groin: a sight

for shame and anger. But youthful

warriors always look good, until the blossom

withers. Men gape

at them in life and women sigh, and dying

in combat they are handsome still.

Now is the time for a man to stand, planting

his feet and biting his lip.

Solon

Our city will never perish by decree of Zeus

or whim of the immortals; such

is the great-hearted protector, child of thunder, who holds

her hands over us: Athena.

But by thoughtless devotion to money, the citizens are willing

to destroy our great city.

Our leaders’ minds are unjust; soon they will suffer

The pangs of great arrogance.

They cannot control their greed and enjoy the cheerful

feast at hand in peace . . .¹

Their wealth depends on crime. . . .

They seize and steal at random

without regard for the holy, the public good,

or the sacred foundations of Justice,

who is silent but knows present and past, and comes

for full retribution in time.

The deadly infection spreads throughout the city,

rushing it into slavery,

which wakens internal strife and war that kills

so many beautiful youths.

Malicious conspiracies easily ruin a city,

though the people love it dearly.

These are the evils stalking the people: many

impoverished leave for foreign

soil, bound and sold in chains of disgrace. . . .

The public evil visits every home;

undeterred by courtyard gates,

it leaps the high hedge and finds its man,

though he runs to his bedroom to hide.

My heart bids me to teach the Athenians that lawless

behavior is the bane of a city,

but respect for law spreads order and beauty;

it shackles the legs of the unjust,

smooths and moderates, diminishes arrogance and withers

delusion’s burgeoning blossoms;

it straightens crooked judgments, humbles pride,

halts partisanship and the anger

born of faction. Everything righteous and wise

depends on respect for the law.

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