Only fragments remain of Tyrteaus´ works. Why did they enspire the Spartans to march and fight ? Can his war songs open up something of the Spartan mentality ? Extraxts from his work can be seen below:

' And Philochoros says that when the Spartans overpowered the Messenians through the generalship of Tyrtaios, they made it a custom of their military expeditions that after the evening meal when the paean had been sung each man would sing a poem by Tyrtaios, and the leader would judge the singing and give the winner a prize of meat.´
Athenaios, Scholars at Dinner

“Now of those, who dare, abiding one beside another, to advance to the  close fray, and the foremost champions, fewer die, and they save the people  in the rear; but in men that fear, all excellence is lost.  No one could ever in  words go through those several ills, which befall a man, if he has been actuated  by cowardice.  For ‘tis grievous to wound in the rear the back of a flying man in hostile war.  Shameful too is a corpse lying low in the dust, wounded behind  in the back by the point of a spear.”
(Tyrtaeus, The War Songs of Tyrataeus 2.5-9)

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Tyrtaeus referring to the state of the Messenian Helots after losing the first Messenian War

Like asses under great loads:
painful necessity to bring their masters
full half the fruits plowed land produced

Man and wife together lamented their masters when the dreadful destiny of death took them

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The bow and the Lyre

hold his shield fast
making his own life his enemy, and the black spirits
of Death as dear to him as the rays of the sun.

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Frontiers

You should reach the limits of virtue
before you cross the border of death.

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Code of the Citizen Soldier (625 B.C.)

I would not say anything for a man nor take account of him
For any speed of his feet or wrestling skill he  might have,
not if he had the size of a Cyclops and strength to go with it.
Not if he could outrun Boreas, the North Wind of Thrace,
not if he were more handsome and gracefully formed than Tithonos,
or had more riches than Midas had, or Kinyras too,
not if he were more a king than Tantalid Pelops,
or had the power of speech and persuasion Adrastos had,
not if he had all splendours except for a fighting spirit.
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 endeavour to win,
and it is a good thing his polis 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 trained his heart to be steadfast and to endure,
and with his 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 blesses with honour his polis, 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 though his breastplate as well,
Why……….such a man is lamented alike by the young and the elders,
and all his polis goes into mourning and grieves for his loss,
His tomb is pointed out with pride,
and so are his children,and his children’s children,
and afterwards all the race that is his.
His shining glory is never forgotten,
his name is remembered,and he becomes immortal,
though he lies under the ground,
when one who was a brave man has been killed by the furious War Godstanding 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,
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 honours or all he deserves;
All men withdraw before his presence,
and yield their seats to him,
the youth, and the men of age,
and even those older than he.
Thus a man should endeavour to reach this high place of courage with all his heart, and, so trying, never be backward in war.

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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
in 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.

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Martial Elegy

How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand,
In front of battle for their native land!But oh!
what ills await the wretch that yields,
A recreant outcast from his country's fields!
The mother whom he loves shall quit her home,
An aged father at his side shall roam;
His little ones shall weeping with him go,
And a young wife participate his woe;
While scorned and scowled upon by every face,
They pine for food, and beg from place to place.

Stain of his breed! dishonoring manhood's form,
All ills shall cleave to him: affliction's storm
Shall blind him wandering in the vale of years,
Till, lost to all but ignominous fears,
He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name,
And children, like himself, inured to shame.

But we will combat for our fathers' land,
And we will drain the lifeblood where we stand,
To save our children: -- fight ye side by side,
And serried close, ye men of youthful pride,
Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost
Of life itself in glorious battle lost.
Leave not our sires to stem the unequal fight,
Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might;
Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast
Permit the man of age (a sight unblest)
To welter in the combat's foremost thrust,
His hoary head disheveled in the dust,
And venerable bosom bleeding bare.
But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair,
And beautiful in death the boy appears,
The hero boy, that dies in blooming years:
In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears;
More sacred than in life, and lovelier far,
For having perished in the front of war.

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War Song III (650 B.C.)

This---this is virtue:
This---the noblest meed that can adorn our youth with fadeless rays; While all the perils of the adventurous deed, the new-strung vigor of the state repays. Amid the foremost of the embattled train, Lo, the young hero hails the glowing fight; and, though fall'n troops around him press the plain, still fronts the foe, nor brooks inglorious flight. His life---his fervid soul opposed to death, he dares the terrors of the field defy; kindles each spirit with his panting breath, and bids his comrade-warriors nobly die!
See, see, dismayed, the phalanx of the foe turns round, and hurries o'er the plain afar: while doubling, as afresh, the deadly blow, he rules, intrepid chief, the waves of war. Now fallen, the noblest of the van, he dies! His city by the beauteous death renowned; his low-bent father marking, where he lies, the shield, the breastplate, hacked by many a wound.

The young---the old, alike commingling tears, his country's heavy grief bedews the grave; and all his race in verdant luster wears, Fame's richest wreath, transmitted from the brave. Though mixed with earth the perishable clay, his name shall live, while glory loves to tell, "True to his country how he won the day, how firm the hero stood, how calm he fell! But if he escape the doom of death (the doom to long---long dreary slumbers), he returns, while trophies flash, and victor-laurels bloom, and all the splendor of the triumph burns. The old---the young---caress him, and adore; and with the city's love, through life, repaid, he sees each comfort, that endears, in store, till, the last hour, he sinks to Pluto's shade.

Old as he droops, the citizens, overawed (even veterans), to his mellow glories yield; nor would in thought dishonor or defraud the hoary soldiers of the well-fought field. Be yours to reach such eminence of fame; to gain such heights of virtue nobly dare, my youths! and, mid the fervor of acclaim, press, press to glory; nor remit the war!

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Sparta	Hoplites	Kings	Lycurgus	Return to Tyrtaeus part 1
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