{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14484/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14484","id":"gutenberg_14484","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14484","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Mythology, Greek -- Drama","Sophocles -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Ted Garvin, Fred Robinson and the PG Online Distributed\nProofreading Team\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              SOPHOCLES\n\n                                 THE\n                     SEVEN PLAYS IN ENGLISH VERSE\n\n                                  BY\n                         LEWIS CAMPBELL, M.A.\n\n                       HON. LL.D., HON. D.LITT.\n     EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ST. ANDREWS\n                HON. FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD\n\n                 [Illustration: THE WORLD'S CLASSICS]\n\n                         NEW EDITION, REVISED\n\n                             HENRY FROWDE\n                       OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS\n                     LONDON, NEW YORK AND TORONTO\n\n\n\n\n                              SOPHOCLES\n\n              Born at Colonos         probably 495 B.C.\n              Died                    406 B.C.\n\n_The present translation was first published in 'The World's Classics'\n                              in 1906._\n\n\n\n\n                Sie hoeren nicht die folgenden Gesaenge,\n                Die Seelen, denen ich die ersten sang.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS\n\n                PREFACE\n                PREFATORY NOTE TO THE EDITION OF 1883\n\n                ANTIGONE\n                AIAS\n                KING OEDIPUS\n                ELECTRA\n                THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS\n                PHILOCTETES\n                OEDIPUS AT COLONOS\n                NOTES\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                               PREFACE\n\n\nIn 1869, having read the Antigone with a pupil who at the time had a\npassion for the stage, I was led to attempt a metrical version of the\n_Antigone_, and, by and by, of the Electra and Trachiniae.[1] I had\nthe satisfaction of seeing this last very beautifully produced by an\namateur company in Scotland in 1877; when Mrs. Fleeming Jenkin may be\nsaid to have 'created' the part of Deanira. Thus encouraged, I\ncompleted the translation of the seven plays, which was published by\nKegan Paul in 1883 and again by Murray in 1896. I have now to thank\nMr. Murray for consenting to this cheaper issue.\n\nThe seven extant plays of Sophocles have been variously arranged. In\nthe order most frequently adopted by English editors, the three plays\nof the Theban cycle, Oedipus Tyrannus, Oedipus Coloneus, and Antigone,\nhave been placed foremost.\n\nIn one respect this is obviously convenient, as appearing to present\ncontinuously a connected story. But on a closer view, it is in two\nways illusory.\n\n1. The Antigone is generally admitted to be, comparatively speaking,\nan early play, while the Oedipus Coloneus belongs to the dramatist's\nlatest manner; the first Oedipus coming in somewhere between the two.\nThe effect is therefore analogous to that produced on readers of\nShakespeare by the habit of placing Henry VI after Henry IV and V. But\ntragedies and 'histories' or chronicle plays are not _in pari\nmateria_.\n\n2. The error has been aggravated by a loose way of speaking of 'the\nTheban Trilogy', a term which could only be properly applicable if the\nthree dramas had been produced in the same year. I have therefore now\narranged the seven plays in an order corresponding to the most\nprobable dates of their production, viz. Antigone, Aias, King Oedipus,\nElectra, Trachiniae, Philoctetes, and Oedipus at Colonos. A credible\ntradition refers the Antigone to 445 B.C. The Aias appears to be not\nmuch later--it may even be earlier--than the Antigone. The Philoctetes\nwas produced in 408 B.C., when the poet was considerably over eighty.\nThe Oedipus at Colonos has always been believed to be a composition of\nSophocles' old age. It is said to have been produced after his death,\nthough it may have been composed some years earlier. The tragedy of\nKing Oedipus, in which the poet's art attained its maturity, is\nplausibly assigned to an early year of the Peloponnesian war (say 427\nB.C.), the Trachiniae to about 420 B.C. The time of the Electra is\ndoubtful; but Professor Jebb has shown that, on metrical grounds, it\nshould be placed after, rather than before, King Oedipus. Even the\nEnglish reader, taking the plays as they are grouped in this volume,\nmay be aware of a gradual change of manner, not unlike what is\nperceptible in passing from Richard II to Macbeth, and from Macbeth to\nThe Winter's Tale or Cymbeline. For although the supposed date of the\nAntigone was long subsequent to the poet's first tragic victory, the\nforty years over which the seven plays are spread saw many changes of\ntaste in art and literature.\n\nFootnote:\n  1 _Three Plays of Sophocles:_ Blackwood, 1873.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        PREFATORY NOTE TO THE\n                           EDITION OF 1883\n\n\nI. The Hellenic spirit has been repeatedly characterized as simple\nNature-worship. Even the Higher Paganism has been described as 'in\nother words the purified worship of natural forms.'[1] One might\nsuppose, in reading some modern writers, that the Nymphs and Fauns,\nthe River-Gods and Pan, were at least as prominent in all Greek poetry\nas Zeus, Apollo, and Athena, or that Apollo was only the sweet singer\nand not also the prophet of retribution.\n\nThe fresh and unimpaired enjoyment of the Beautiful is certainly the\naspect of ancient life and literature which most attracted the\nhumanists of the sixteenth century, and still most impresses those\namongst ourselves who for various reasons desire to point the contrast\nbetween Paganism and Judaism. The two great groups of forces vaguely\nknown as the Renaissance and the Revolution have both contributed to\nthis result. Men who were weary of conventionality and of the weight\nof custom 'heavy as frost and deep almost as life,' have longed for\nthe vision of 'Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade,' or to 'hear\nold Triton blow his wreathed horn.' Meanwhile, that in which the\nGreeks most resembled us, 'the human heart by which we live,' for the\nvery reason that it lies so near to us, is too apt to be lost from our\nconception of them. Another cause of this one-sided view is the\nillusion produced by the contemplation of statuary, together with the\nunapproachable perfection of form which every relic of Greek antiquity\nindisputably possesses.\n\nBut on turning from the forms of Greek art to the substance of Greek\nliterature, we find that Beauty, although everywhere an important\nelement, is by no means the sole or even the chief attribute of the\ngreatest writings, nor is the Hellenic consciousness confined within\nthe life of Nature, unless this term is allowed to comprehend man with\nall his thoughts and aspirations. It was in this latter sense that\nHegel recognized the union of depth with brightness in Greek culture:\n'If the first paradise was the paradise of nature, this is the second,\nthe higher paradise of the human spirit, which in its fair\nnaturalness, freedom, depth and brightness here comes forth like a\nbride out of her chamber. The first wild majesty of the rise of\nspiritual life in the East is here circumscribed by the dignity of\nform, and softened into beauty. Its depth shows itself no longer in\nconfusion, obscurity, and inflation, but lies open before us in simple\nclearness. Its brightness (Heiterkeit) is not a childish play, but\ncovers a sadness which knows the baldness of fate but is not by that\nknowledge driven out of freedom and measure.' Hegel's Werke, vol. XVI.\np. 139 (translated by Prof. Caird). The simplicity of Herodotus, for\nexample, does not exclude far reaching thoughts on the political\nadvantages of liberty, nor such reflections on experience as are\nimplied in the saying of Artabanus, that the transitoriness of human\nlife is the least of its evils. And in what modern writing is more of\nthe wisdom of life condensed than in the History of Thucydides? It is\nsurely more true to say of Greek literature that it contains types of\nall things human, stamped with the freshness, simplicity, and\ndirectness which belong to first impressions, and to the first\nimpressions of genius.\n\nNow the 'thoughts and aspirations,' which are nowhere absent from\nGreek literature, and make a centre of growing warmth and light in its\nPericlean period--when the conception of human nature for the first\ntime takes definite shape--have no less of Religion in them than\nunderlay the 'creed outworn'. To think otherwise would be an error of\nthe same kind as that 'abuse of the word Atheism' against which the\nauthor of the work above alluded to protests so forcibly.\n\nReligion, in the sense here indicated, is the mainspring and vital\nprinciple of Tragedy. The efforts of Aeschylus and Sophocles were\nsustained by it, and its inevitable decay through the scepticism which\npreceded Socrates was the chief hindrance to the tragic genius of\nEuripides. Yet the inequality of which we have consequently to\ncomplain in him is redeemed by pregnant hints of something yet 'more\ndeeply interfused,' which in him, as in his two great predecessors, is\nsometimes felt as 'modern,' because it is not of an age but for all\ntime. The most valuable part of every literature is something which\ntranscends the period and nation out of which it springs.\n\nOn the other hand, much that at first sight seems primitive in Greek\ntragedy belongs more to the subject than to the mode of handling. The\nage of Pericles was in advance of that in which the legends were first\nHellenized and humanized, just as this must have been already far\nremoved from the earliest stages of mythopoeic imagination. The reader\nof Aeschylus or Sophocles should therefore be warned against\nattributing to the poet's invention that which is given in the fable.\n\nAn educated student of Italian painting knows how to discriminate--say\nin an Assumption by Botticelli--between the traditional conventions,\nthe contemporary ideas, and the refinements of the artist's own fancy.\nThe same indulgence must be extended to dramatic art. The tragedy of\nKing Lear is not rude or primitive, although the subject belongs to\nprehistoric times in Britain. Nor is Goethe's Faust mediaeval in\nspirit as in theme. So neither is the Oedipus Rex the product of\n'lawless and uncertain thoughts,' notwithstanding the unspeakable\nhorror of the story, but is penetrated by the most profound estimate\nof all in human life that is saddest, and all that is most precious.\n\nFar from being naive naturalists after the Keats fashion, the Greek\ntragic poets had succeeded to a pessimistic reaction from simple Pagan\nenjoyment; they were surrounded with gloomy questionings about human\ndestiny and Divine Justice, and they replied by looking steadily at\nthe facts of life and asserting the supreme worth of innocence,\nequity, and mercy.\n\nThey were not philosophers, for they spoke the language of feeling;\nbut the civilization of which they were the strongest outcome was\nalready tinged with influences derived from early philosophy--\nespecially from the gnomic wisdom of the sixth century and from the\nspirit of theosophic speculation, which in Aeschylus goes far even to\nrecast mythology. The latter influence was probably reinforced,\nthrough channels no longer traceable, by the Eleusinian worship, in\nwhich the mystery of life and death and of human sorrow had replaced\nthe primitive wonder at the phenomena of the year.\n\nAnd whatever elements of philosophic theory or mystic exaltation the\ndrama may have reflected, it was still more emphatically the\nrepository of some of the most precious traditions of civilized\nhumanity--traditions which philosophy has sometimes tended to\nextenuate, if not to destroy.\n\nPlato's Gorgias contains one of the most eloquent vindications of the\ntranscendent value of righteousness and faithfulness as such. But when\nwe ask, 'Righteousness in what relation?'--'Faithfulness to whom?'--\nthe Gorgias is silent; and when the vacant outline is filled up in the\nRepublic, we are presented with an ideal of man's social relations,\nwhich, although it may be regarded as the ultimate development of\nexisting tendencies, yet has no immediate bearing on any actual\ncondition of the world.\n\nThe ideal of the tragic poet may be less perfect; or rather he does\nnot attempt to set before us abstractedly any single ideal. But the\ngrand types of character which he presents to the world are not merely\nimaginary. They are creatures of flesh and blood, men and women, to\nwhom the unsullied purity of their homes, the freedom and power of\ntheir country, the respect and love of their fellow-citizens, are\ninestimably dear. From a Platonic, and still more from a Christian\npoint of view, the best morality of the age of Pericles is no doubt\ndefective. Such counsels of perfection as 'Love your enemies', or 'A\ngood man can harm no one, not even an enemy',--are beyond the horizon\nof tragedy, unless dimly seen in the person of Antigone. The\ncoexistence of savage vindictiveness with the most affectionate\ntenderness is characteristic of heroes and heroines alike, and\nproduces some of the most moving contrasts. But the tenderness is no\nless deep and real for this, and while the chief persons are thus\npassionate, the Greek lesson of moderation and reasonableness is\ntaught by the event, whether expressed or not by the mouth of sage or\nprophet or of the 'ideal bystander'.\n\nGreek tragedy, then, is a religious art, not merely because associated\nwith the festival of Dionysus, nor because the life which it\nrepresented was that of men who believed, with all the Hellenes, in\nZeus, Apollo, and Athena, or in the power of Moira and the Erinyes,--\nnot merely because it represented\n\n           'the dread strife\n     Of poor humanity's afflicted will\n     Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny,'\n\nbut much more because it awakened in the Athenian spectator emotions\nof wonder concerning human life, and of admiration for nobleness in\nthe unfortunate--a sense of the infinite value of personal uprightness\nand of domestic purity--which in the most universal sense of the word\nwere truly religious,--because it expressed a consciousness of depths\nwhich Plato never fathomed, and an ideal of character which, if less\ncomplete than Shakespeare's, is not less noble. It is indeed a 'rough'\ngeneralization that ranks the Agamemnon with the Adoniazusae as a\nreligious composition.\n\nII. This spiritual side of tragic poetry deserves to be emphasized\nboth as the most essential aspect of it, and as giving it the most\npermanent claim to lasting recognition. And yet, apart from this,\nmerely as dramas, the works of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides\nwill never cease to be admired. These poets are teachers, but they\nteach through art. To ask simply, as Carlyle once did, 'What did they\nthink?' is not the way to understand or learn from them.\n\nConsidered simply as works of art, the plays of Sophocles stand alone\namongst dramatic writings in their degree of concentration and complex\nunity.\n\n1. The interest of a Sophoclean drama is always intensely personal,\nand is almost always centred in an individual destiny. In other words,\nit is not historical or mythical, but ethical. Single persons stand\nout magnificently in Aeschylus. But the action is always larger than\nany single life. Each tragedy or trilogy resembles the fragment of a\nsublime Epic poem. Mighty issues revolve about the scene, whether this\nis laid on Earth or amongst the Gods, issues far transcending the fate\nof Orestes or even of Prometheus. In the perspective painting of\nSophocles, these vast surroundings fall into the background, and the\nfeelings of the spectator are absorbed in sympathy with the chief\nfigure on the stage, round whom the other characters--the members of\nthe chorus being included--are grouped with the minutest care.\n\n2. In this grouping of the persons, as well as in the conduct of the\naction, Sophocles is masterly in his use of pathetic contrast. This\nmotive must of course enter into all tragedy--nothing can be finer\nthan the contrast of Cassandra to Clytemnestra in the Agamemnon,--but\nin Sophocles it is all-pervading, and some of the minor effects of it\nare so subtle that although inevitably felt by the spectator they are\noften lost upon the mere reader or student. And every touch, however\ntransient, is made to contribute to the main effect.\n\nTo recur once more to the much-abused analogy of statuary:--the work\nof Aeschylus may be compared to a colossal frieze, while that of\nSophocles resembles the pediment of a smaller temple. Or if, as in\nconsidering the Orestean trilogy, the arrangement of the pediment\naffords the more fitting parallel even for Aeschylus, yet the forms\nare so gigantic that minute touches of characterization and of\ncontrast are omitted as superfluous. Whereas in Sophocles, it is at\nonce the finish of the chief figure and the studied harmony of the\nwhole, which have led his work to be compared with that of his\ncontemporary Phidias. Such comparison, however, is useful by way of\nillustration merely. It must never be forgotten that, as Lessing\npointed out to some who thought the Philoctetes too sensational,\nanalogies between the arts are limited by essential differences of\nmaterial and of scope. All poetry represents successive moments. Its\nfigures are never in repose. And although the action of Tragedy is\nconcentrated and revolves around a single point, yet it is a dull\nvision that confounds rapidity of motion with rest.\n\n3. Sophocles found the subjects of his dramas already embodied not\nonly in previous tragedies but in Epic and Lyric poetry. And there\nwere some fables, such as that of the death of Oedipus at Colonos,\nwhich seem to have been known to him only through oral tradition. For\nsome reason which is not clearly apparent, both he and Aeschylus drew\nmore largely from the Cyclic poets than from 'our Homer'. The inferior\nand more recent Epics, which are now lost, were probably more\nepisodical, and thus presented a more inviting repertory of legends\nthan the Iliad and Odyssey.\n\nArctinus of Lesbos had treated at great length the story of the House\nof Thebes. The legend of Orestes, to which there are several\nallusions, not always consistent with each other, in the Homeric\npoems, had been a favourite and fruitful subject of tradition and of\npoetical treatment in the intervening period. Passages of the Tale of\nTroy, in which other heroes than Achilles had the pre-eminence, had\nbeen elaborated by Lesches and other Epic writers of the Post-Homeric\ntime. The voyage of the Argonauts, another favourite heroic theme,\nsupplied the subjects of many dramas which have disappeared. Lastly,\nthe taking of Oechalia by Heracles, and the events which followed it,\nhad been narrated in a long poem, in which one version of that hero's\nmultiform legend was fully set forth.\n\nThe subjects of the King Oedipus, Oedipus at Colonos, and Antigone,\nare taken from the Tale of Thebes, the Aias and the Philoctetes are\nfounded on incidents between the end of the Iliad and the taking of\nTroy, the Electra represents the vengeance of Orestes, the crowning\nevent in the tale of 'Pelops' line', the Trachiniae recounts the last\ncrisis in the life of Heracles.\n\n4. Of the three Theban plays, the Antigone was first composed,\nalthough its subject is the latest. Aeschylus in the Seven against\nThebes had already represented the young heroine as defying the\nvictorious citizens who forbade the burial of her brother, the rebel\nPolynices. He allowed her to be supported in her action by a band of\nsympathizing friends. But in the play of Sophocles she stands alone,\nand the power which she defies is not that of the citizens generally,\nbut of Creon, whose will is absolute in the State. Thus the struggle\nis intensified, and both her strength and her desolation become more\nimpressive, while the opposing claims of civic authority and domestic\npiety are more vividly realized, because either is separately embodied\nin an individual will. By the same means the situation is humanized to\nthe last degree, and the heart of the spectator, although strained to\nthe uttermost with pity for the heroic maiden whose life when full of\nbrightest hopes was sacrificed to affection and piety, has still some\nfeeling left for the living desolation of the man, whose patriotic\nzeal, degenerating into tyranny, brought his city to the brink of\nruin, and cost him the lives of his two sons and of his wife, whose\ndying curse, as well as that of Haemon, is denounced upon him.\n\nIn the Oedipus Tyrannus, Sophocles goes back to the central crisis of\nthe Theban story. And again he fixes our attention, not so much on the\nfortunes of the city, or of the reigning house, as on the man Oedipus,\nhis glory and his fall.--\n\n     'O mirror of our fickle state\n     Since man on earth unparalleled!\n     The rarer thy example stands,\n     By how much from the top of wondrous glory,\n     Strongest of mortal men,\n     To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen[2].\n\nThe horror and the pity of it are both enhanced by the character of\nOedipus--his essential innocence, his affectionateness, his\nuncalculating benevolence and public spirit;--while his impetuosity\nand passionateness make the sequel less incredible.\n\nThe essential innocence of Oedipus, which survives the ruin of his\nhopes in this world, supplies the chief motive of the Oedipus at\nColonos. This drama, which Sophocles is said to have written late in\nlife, is in many ways contrasted with the former Oedipus. It begins\nwith pity and horror, and ends with peace. It is only in part founded\non Epic tradition, the main incident belonging apparently to the local\nmythology of the poet's birthplace. It also implies a later stage of\nethical reflection, and in this respect resembles the Philoctetes; it\ndepends more on lyrical and melodramatic effects, and allows more room\nfor collateral and subsidiary motives than any other of the seven. Yet\nin its principal theme, the vindication or redemption of an\nessentially noble spirit from the consequences of error, it repeats a\nnote which had been struck much earlier in the Aias with great force,\nalthough with some crudities of treatment which are absent from the\nlater drama.\n\n5. In one of the Epic poems which narrated the fall of Troy, the\nfigure of Aias was more prominent than in the Iliad. He alone and\nunassisted was there said to have repulsed Hector from the ships, and\nhe had the chief share, although in this he was aided by Odysseus, in\nrescuing the dead body of Achilles. Yet Achilles' arms were awarded by\nthe votes of the chieftains, as the prize of valour, not to Aias, but\nto Odysseus. This, no doubt, meant that wisdom is better than\nstrength. But the wisdom of Odysseus in these later Epics was often\nless nobly esteemed than in the Iliad and Odyssey, and was represented\nas alloyed with cunning.\n\nAias has withdrawn with his Salaminians, in a rage, from the fight,\nand after long brooding by the ships his wrath has broken forth into a\nblaze which would have endangered the lives of Odysseus and the\nAtridae, had not Athena in her care for them changed his anger into\nmadness. Hence, instead of slaying the generals, he makes havoc\namongst the flocks and herds, which as the result of various forays\nwere the common property of the whole army. The truth is discovered by\nOdysseus with the help of Athena, and from being next to Achilles in\nrenown, Aias becomes the object of universal scorn and hatred. The\nsequel of this hour of his downfall is the subject of the Aias of\nSophocles. After lamenting his fate, the hero eludes the vigilance of\nhis captive bride Tecmessa, and of his Salaminian mariners, and, in\ncomplete solitude, falls upon his sword. He is found by Tecmessa and\nby his half-brother Teucer, who has returned too late from a raid in\nthe Mysian highlands. The Atridae would prohibit Aias' funeral; but\nOdysseus, who has been specially enlightened by Athena, advises\ngenerous forbearance, and his counsel prevails. The part representing\nthe disgrace and death of Aias is more affecting to modern readers\nthan the remainder of the drama. But we should bear in mind that the\nvindication of Aias after death, and his burial with undiminished\nhonours, had an absorbing interest for the Athenian and Salaminian\nspectator.\n\nPhiloctetes also is rejected by man and accepted by Destiny. The\nArgives in his case, as the Thebans in the case of Oedipus, are blind\nto the real intentions of the Gods.\n\nThe Philoctetes, like the Oedipus at Colonos, was a work of Sophocles'\nold age; and while it can hardly be said that the fire of tragic\nfeeling is abated in either of these plays, dramatic effect is\nmodified in both of them by the influence of the poet's contemplative\nmood. The interest of the action in the Philoctetes is more inward and\npsychological than in any other ancient drama. The change of mind in\nNeoptolemus, the stubborn fixity of will in Philoctetes, contrasted\nwith the confiding tenderness of his nature, form the elements of a\ndramatic movement at once extremely simple and wonderfully sustained.\nNo purer ideal of virtuous youth has been imagined than the son of\nAchilles, who in this play, though sorely tempted, sets faithfulness\nbefore ambition.\n\n6. In the Electra, which, though much earlier than the Philoctetes, is\nstill a work of his mature genius, our poet appears at first sight to\nbe in unequal competition with Aeschylus. If the Theban trilogy of the\nelder poet had remained entire, a similar impression might have been\nproduced by the Oedipus Tyrannus. It is best to lay such comparisons\naside, and to consider the work of Sophocles simply on its own merits.\nThe subject, as he has chosen to treat it, is the heroic endurance of\na woman who devotes her life to the vindication of intolerable wrongs\ndone to her father, and the restoration of her young brother to his\nhereditary rights. Hers is the human agency which for this purpose\nworks together with Apollo. But the divine intention is concealed from\nher. She suffers countless indignities from her father's enemies, of\nwhom her own mother is the chief. And, at length, all her hopes are\nshattered by the false tidings that Orestes is no more. Even then she\ndoes not relinquish her resolve. And the revulsion from her deep\nsorrow to extremity of joy, when she finds Orestes at her side and\nready to perform the act of vengeance in his own person, is\nirresistably affecting, even when the play is only read.\n\nSophocles is especially great in the delineation of ideal female\ncharacters. The heroic ardour of Antigone, and the no less heroic\npersistence and endurance of Electra, are both founded on the strength\nof their affection. And the affection in both cases is what some\nmoderns too have called the purest of human feelings, the love of a\nsister for a brother. Another aspect of that world-old marvel, 'the\nlove of women,' was presented in Aias' captive bride, Tecmessa. This\nsofter type also attains to heroic grandeur in Deanira, the wronged\nwife of Heracles, whose fatal error is caused by the innocent working\nof her wounded love.\n\nIt is strange that so acute a critic as A.W. Schlegel should have\ndoubted the Sophoclean authorship of the Trachiniae. If its religious\nand moral lessons are even less obtrusive than those of either Oedipus\nand of the Antigone, there is no play which more directly pierces to\nthe very heart of humanity. And it is a superficial judgement which\ncomplains that here at all events our sympathies are distracted\nbetween the two chief persons, Deanira and Heracles. To one passion of\nhis, to one fond mistake of hers, the ruin of them both is due. Her\nlove has made their fates inseparable. And the spectator, in sharing\nHyllus' grief, is afflicted for them both at once. We may well\nrecognize in this treatment of the death of Heracles the hand of him\nwho wrote--\n\n[Greek:\n     su kai dikaion adikous\n     phrenas paraspas epi loba,\n     ..., ...\n     amachos gar empaizei theos Aphrodita[3].]\n\n7. It is unnecessary to expatiate here on the merits of construction\nin which these seven plays are generally acknowledged to be\nunrivalled; the natural way in which the main situation is explained,\nthe suddenness and inevitableness of the complications, the steadily\nsustained climax of emotion until the action culminates, the\npreservation of the fitting mood until the end, the subtlety and\neffectiveness of the minor contrasts of situation and character[4].\n\nBut it may not be irrelevant to observe that the 'acting qualities' of\nSophocles, as of Shakespeare, are best known to those who have seen\nhim acted, whether in Greek, as by the students at Harvard[5] and\nToronto[6], and more recently at Cambridge[7], or in English long ago\nby Miss Helen Faucit (since Lady Martin[8]), or still earlier and\nrepeatedly in Germany, or in the French version of the Antigone by MM.\nMaurice and Vacquerie (1845) or of King Oedipus by M. Lacroix, in\nwhich the part of OEdipe Roi was finely sustained by M. Geoffroy in\n1861, and by M. Mounet Sully in 1881[9]. With reference to the latter\nperformance, which was continued throughout the autumn season, M.\nFrancisque Sarcey wrote an article for the _Temps_ newspaper of August\n15, 1881, which is full of just and vivid appreciation. At the risk of\nseeming absurdly 'modern', I will quote from this article some of the\nmore striking passages.\n\n     'Ce troisieme et ce quatrieme actes, les plus emouvants qui se\n     soient jamais produits sur aucune scene, se composent d'une suite\n     de narrations, qui viennent l'une apres l'autre frapper au coeur\n     d'OEdipe, et qui ont leur contrecoup dans l'ame des spectateurs.\n     Je ne sais qu'une piece au monde qui soit construite de la sorte,\n     c'est l'_Ecole des Femmes_. Ce rapprochement vous paraitra\n     singulier, sans doute.... Mais ... c'est dans le vieux drame grec\n     comme dans la comedie du maitre francais une trouvaille de\n     genie....\n\n     'Sophocle a voulu, apres des emotions si terribles, apres des\n     angoisses si seches, ouvrir la source des larmes: il a ecrit un\n     cinquieme acte....\n\n     'Les yeux creves d'OEdipe ne sont qu'un accident, ou, si vous\n     aimez mieux, un accessoire, Le poete, sans s'arreter a ce detail,\n     a mis sur les levres de son heros toute la gamme des sentiments\n     douloureux qu'excite une si prodigieuse infortune....\n\n     'A la lecture, elle est un pen longue cette scene de\n     lamentations. Au theatre, on n'a pas le temps de la trouver\n     telle: on pleure de toute son ame et de tous ses yeux. C'est\n     qu'apres avoir eu le coeur si longtemps serre comme dans un etau,\n     on epreuve comme un soulagement a sentir en soi jaillir la source\n     des larmes. Sophocle, qui semble avoir ete le plus malin des\n     dramaturges, comme il est le plus parfait des ecrivains\n     dramatiques, a cherche la un effet de contraste dont l'effet est\n     immanquant sur le public.'\n\nThese and other like remarks of one of the best-known critics of the\nParisian stage show that the dramatic art of Sophocles is still a\nliving power.\n\nI am well aware how feeble and inadequate the present attempted\nreproduction must appear to any reader who knows the Greek original.\nThere is much to be said for the view of an eminent scholar who once\ndeclared that he would never think of translating a Greek poet. But\nthe end of translating is not to satisfy fastidious scholars, but to\nmake the classics partially accessible to those whose acquaintance\nwith them would otherwise be still more defective. Part of this\nversion of Sophocles was printed several years ago in an imperfect\nform. The present volume contains the seven extant plays entire. As\nthe object has been to give the effect of each drama as a whole,\nrather than to dwell on particular 'beauties' (which only a poet can\nrender), the fragments have not been included. But the reader should\nbear in mind that the seven plays are less than a tithe of the work\nproduced by the poet in his lifetime.\n\nIt may very possibly be asked why verse has been employed at all. Why\nnot have listened to Carlyle's rough demand, 'Tell us what they\nthought; none of your silly poetry'? The present translator can only\nreply that he began with prose, but soon found that, for tragic\ndialogue in English, blank verse appeared a more natural and effective\nvehicle than any prose style which he could hope to frame. And with\nthe dialogue in verse, it was impossible to have the lyric parts in\nany sort of prose, simply because the reader would then have felt an\nintolerable incongruity. These parts have therefore been turned into\nsuch familiar lyric measures as seemed at once possible and not\nunsuitable. And where this method was found impracticable, as\nsometimes in the _Commoi_, blank metres have again been used,--with\nsuch liberties as seemed appropriate to the special purpose. The\nwriter's hope throughout has been, not indeed fully to transfuse the\npoetry of Sophocles into another tongue, but to make the poet's\ndramatic intention to be understood and felt by English readers. One\nmore such endeavour may possibly find acceptance at a time when many\ncauses have combined to awaken a fresh interest at once in dramatic\nliterature and in Hellenic studies.\n\nThe reader who is hitherto unacquainted with the Greek drama, should\nbe warned that the parts assigned to the 'Chorus' were often\ndistributed among its several members, who spoke or chanted, singly or\nin groups, alternately or in succession. In some cases, but not in\nall, _Ch. 1_, _Ch. 2_, &c., have been prefixed, to indicate such an\narrangement.\n\nFootnotes:\n  1 [Sir John Seeley's] _Natural Religion_, p. 79.\n\n  2 Milton, _Samson Agonistes_, 164-169.\n\n  3        'Thou drawest awry\n    Just minds to wrong and ruin ...\n                 ... With resistless charm\n    Great Aphrodite mocks the might of men.'\n                                             _Antigone._\n\n  4 Cf. _Sophocles_ in Green's 'Classical Writers.' Macmillan & Co.\n\n  5 Oed. Tyr., 1881.\n\n  6 Antigone, 1882.\n\n  7 Ajax, Nov. 1882.\n\n  8 Antigone, 1845.\n\n  9 The performance of Greek plays (as of the Agamemnon at Oxford in\n    1880) is not altogether a new thing in England. The author of Ion,\n    Mr. Serjeant Talfourd, in his Notice prefixed to that drama in\n    1836, mentions, amongst other reasons for having intended to\n    dedicate it to Dr. Valpy, 'the exquisite representations of Greek\n    Tragedy, which he superintended,' and which 'made his images\n    vital.' At a still earlier time, 'the great Dr. Parr' had\n    encouraged his pupils at Stanmore to recite the dialogue of Greek\n    tragedies before an audience and in costume. It would be\n    ungrateful to omit all reference here to some performances of the\n    Trachiniae in English in Edinburgh and St. Andrews in 1877, which,\n    though not of a public nature, are still remembered with delight\n    by those who were present at them, and were really the first of a\n    series.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                               ANTIGONE\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nANTIGONE,} _Daughters of Oedipus and Sisters of Polynices_\nISMENE,  }                 _and Eteocles._\nCHORUS _of Theban Elders._\nCREON, _King of Thebes._\n_A Watchman._\nHAEMON, _Son of Creon, betrothed to Antigone._\nTIRESIAS, _the blind Prophet._\n_A Messenger._\nEURYDICE, _the Wife of Creon._\n_Another Messenger._\n\n\nSCENE. Before the Cadmean Palace at Thebes.\n\n_Note._ The town of Thebes is often personified as Thebe.\n\n\n\n\nPolynices, son and heir to the unfortunate Oedipus, having been\nsupplanted by his younger brother Eteocles, brought an army of Argives\nagainst his native city, Thebes. The army was defeated, and the two\nbrothers slew each other in single combat. On this Creon, the brother-\nin-law of Oedipus, succeeding to the chief power, forbade the burial\nof Polynices. But Antigone, sister of the dead, placing the dues of\naffection and piety before her obligation to the magistrate, disobeyed\nthe edict at the sacrifice of her life. Creon carried out his will,\nbut lost his son Haemon and his wife Eurydice, and received their\ncurses on his head. His other son, Megareus, had previously been\ndevoted as a victim to the good of the state.\n\n\n\n\n                               ANTIGONE\n\n\nANTIGONE. ISMENE.\n\nANTIGONE. Own sister of my blood, one life with me,\nIsmene, have the tidings caught thine ear?\nSay, hath not Heaven decreed to execute\nOn thee and me, while yet we are alive,\nAll the evil Oedipus bequeathed? All horror,\nAll pain, all outrage, falls on us! And now\nThe General's proclamation of to-day--\nHast thou not heard?--Art thou so slow to hear\nWhen harm from foes threatens the souls we love?\n\nISMENE. No word of those we love, Antigone,\nPainful or glad, hath reached me, since we two\nWere utterly deprived of our two brothers,\nCut off with mutual stroke, both in one day.\nAnd since the Argive host this now-past night\nIs vanished, I know nought beside to make me\nNearer to happiness or more in woe.\n\nANT. I knew it well, and therefore led thee forth\nThe palace gate, that thou alone mightst hear.\n\nISM. Speak on! Thy troubled look bodes some dark news.\n\nANT. Why, hath not Creon, in the burial-rite,\nOf our two brethren honoured one, and wrought\nOn one foul wrong? Eteocles, they tell,\nWith lawful consecration he lays out,\nAnd after covers him in earth, adorned\nWith amplest honours in the world below.\nBut Polynices, miserably slain,\nThey say 'tis publicly proclaimed that none\nMust cover in a grave, nor mourn for him;\nBut leave him tombless and unwept, a store\nOf sweet provision for the carrion fowl\nThat eye him greedily. Such righteous law\nGood Creon hath pronounced for thy behoof--\nAy, and for mine! I am not left out!--And now\nHe moves this way to promulgate his will\nTo such as have not heard, nor lightly holds\nThe thing he bids, but, whoso disobeys,\nThe citizens shall stone him to the death.\nThis is the matter, and thou wilt quickly show\nIf thou art noble, or fallen below thy birth.\n\nISM. Unhappy one! But what can I herein\nAvail to do or undo?\n\nANT.                 Wilt thou share\nThe danger and the labour? Make thy choice.\n\nISM. Of what wild enterprise? What canst thou mean?\n\nANT. Wilt thou join hand with mine to lift the dead?\n\nISM. To bury him, when all have been forbidden?\nIs that thy thought?\n\nANT.                 To bury my own brother\nAnd thine, even though thou wilt not do thy part.\nI will not be a traitress to my kin.\n\nISM. Fool-hardy girl! against the word of Creon?\n\nANT. He hath no right to bar me from mine own.\n\nISM. Ah, sister, think but how our father fell,\nHated of all and lost to fair renown,\nThrough self-detected crimes--with his own hand,\nSelf-wreaking, how he dashed out both his eyes:\nThen how the mother-wife, sad two-fold name!\nWith twisted halter bruised her life away,\nLast, how in one dire moment our two brothers\nWith internecine conflict at a blow\nWrought out by fratricide their mutual doom.\nNow, left alone, O think how beyond all\nMost piteously we twain shall be destroyed,\nIf in defiance of authority\nWe traverse the commandment of the King!\nWe needs must bear in mind we are but women,\nNever created to contend with men;\nNay more, made victims of resistless power,\nTo obey behests more harsh than this to-day.\nI, then, imploring those beneath to grant\nIndulgence, seeing I am enforced in this,\nWill yield submission to the powers that rule,\nSmall wisdom were it to overpass the bound.\n\nANT. I will not urge you! no! nor if now you list\nTo help me, will your help afford me joy.\nBe what you choose to be! This single hand\nShall bury our lost brother. Glorious\nFor me to take this labour and to die!\nDear to him will my soul be as we rest\nIn death, when I have dared this holy crime.\nMy time for pleasing men will soon be over;\nNot so my duty toward the Dead! My home\nYonder will have no end. You, if you will,\nMay pour contempt on laws revered on High.\n\nISM. Not from irreverence. But I have no strength\nTo strive against the citizens' resolve.\n\nANT. Thou, make excuses! I will go my way\nTo raise a burial-mound to my dear brother.\n\nISM. Oh, hapless maiden, how I fear for thee!\n\nANT. Waste not your fears on me! Guide your own fortune.\n\nISM. Ah! yet divulge thine enterprise to none,\nBut keep the secret close, and so will I.\n\nANT. O Heavens! Nay, tell! I hate your silence worse;\nI had rather you proclaimed it to the world.\n\nISM. You are ardent in a chilling enterprise.\n\nANT. I know that I please those whom I would please.\n\nISM. Yes, if you thrive; but your desire is bootless.\n\nANT. Well, when I fail I shall be stopt, I trow!\n\nISM. One should not start upon a hopeless quest.\n\nANT. Speak in that vein if you would earn my hate\nAnd aye be hated of our lost one. Peace!\nLeave my unwisdom to endure this peril;\nFate cannot rob me of a noble death.\n\nISM. Go, if you must--Not to be checked in folly,\nBut sure unparalleled in faithful love!                      [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\n    Beam of the mounting Sun!                                      I 1\n  O brightest, fairest ray\n  Seven-gated Thebe yet hath seen!\n  Over the vale where Dirce's fountains run\n  At length thou appearedst, eye of golden Day,\n  And with incitement of thy radiance keen\n        Spurredst to faster flight\n  The man of Argos hurrying from the fight.\n  Armed at all points the warrior came,\n  But driven before thy rising flame\n  He rode, reverting his pale shield,\n  Headlong from yonder battlefield.\n\n  In snow-white panoply, on eagle wing,                 [_Half-Chorus_\n  He rose, dire ruin on our land to bring,\n        Roused by the fierce debate\n        Of Polynices' hate,\n  Shrilling sharp menace from his breast,\n  Sheathed all in steel from crown to heel,\n  With many a plumed crest.\n\n  Then stooped above the domes,                                    I 2\n  With lust of carnage fired,\n  And opening teeth of serried spears\n  Yawned wide around the gates that guard our homes;\n  But went, or e'er his hungry jaws had tired\n  On Theban flesh,--or e'er the Fire-god fierce\n        Seizing our sacred town\n  Besmirched and rent her battlemented crown.\n  Such noise of battle as he fled\n  About his back the War-god spread;\n  So writhed to hard-fought victory\n  The serpent[1] struggling to be free.\n\n  High Zeus beheld their stream that proudly rolled     [_Half-Chorus_\n  Idly caparisoned[2] with clanking gold:\n        Zeus hates the boastful tongue:\n        He with hurled fire down flung\n  One who in haste had mounted high,\n  And that same hour from topmost tower\n        Upraised the exulting cry.\n\n  Swung rudely to the hard repellent earth                        II 1\n  Amidst his furious mirth\n  He fell, who then with flaring brand\n        Held in his fiery hand\n  Came breathing madness at the gate\n        In eager blasts of hate.\n  And doubtful swayed the varying fight\n  Through the turmoil of the night,\n  As turning now on these and now on those\n  Ares hurtled 'midst our foes,\n  Self-harnessed helper[3] on our right.\n\n  Seven matched with seven, at each gate one,           [_Half-Chorus_\n  Their captains, when the day was done,\n  Left for our Zeus who turned the scale,\n  The brazen tribute in full tale:--\n  All save the horror-burdened pair,\n        Dire children of despair,\n  Who from one sire, one mother, drawing breath,\n  Each with conquering lance in rest\n  Against a true born brother's breast,\n        Found equal lots in death.\n\n  But with blithe greeting to glad Thebe came                     II 2\n  She of the glorious name,\n  Victory,--smiling on our chariot throng\n        With eyes that waken song\n  Then let those battle memories cease,\n        Silenced by thoughts of peace.\n  With holy dances of delight\n  Lasting through the livelong night\n  Visit we every shrine, in solemn round,\n  Led by him who shakes the ground,\n  Our Bacchus, Thebe's child of light.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\n  But look! where Creon in his new-made power,\n  Moved by the fortune of the recent hour,\n  Comes with fresh counsel. What intelligence\n  Intends he for our private conference,\n  That he hath sent his herald to us all,\n  Gathering the elders with a general call?\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCREON. My friends, the noble vessel of our State,\nAfter sore shaking her, the Gods have sped\nOn a smooth course once more. I have called you hither,\nBy special messengers selecting you\nFrom all the city, first, because I knew you\nAye loyal to the throne of Laius;\nThen, both while Oedipus gave prosperous days,\nAnd since his fall, I still beheld you firm\nIn sound allegiance to the royal issue.\nNow since the pair have perished in an hour,\nTwinned in misfortune, by a mutual stroke\nStaining our land with fratricidal blood,\nAll rule and potency of sovereign sway,\nIn virtue of next kin to the deceased,\nDevolves on me. But hard it is to learn\nThe mind of any mortal or the heart,\nTill he be tried in chief authority.\nPower shows the man. For he who when supreme\nWithholds his hand or voice from the best cause,\nBeing thwarted by some fear, that man to me\nAppears, and ever hath appeared, most vile.\nHe too hath no high place in mine esteem,\nWho sets his friend before his fatherland.\nLet Zeus whose eye sees all eternally\nBe here my witness. I will ne'er keep silence\nWhen danger lours upon my citizens\nWho looked for safety, nor make him my friend\nWho doth not love my country. For I know\nOur country carries us, and whilst her helm\nIs held aright we gain good friends and true.\n  Following such courses 'tis my steadfast will\nTo foster Thebe's greatness, and therewith\nIn brotherly accord is my decree\nTouching the sons of Oedipus. The man--\nEteocles I mean--who died for Thebes\nFighting with eminent prowess on her side,\nShall be entombed with every sacred rite\nThat follows to the grave the lordliest dead.\nBut for his brother, who, a banished man,\nReturned to devastate and burn with fire\nThe land of his nativity, the shrines\nOf his ancestral gods, to feed him fat\nWith Theban carnage, and make captive all\nThat should escape the sword--for Polynices,\nThis law hath been proclaimed concerning him:\nHe shall have no lament, no funeral,\nBut he unburied, for the carrion fowl\nAnd dogs to eat his corse, a sight of shame.\n  Such are the motions of this mind and will.\nNever from me shall villains reap renown\nBefore the just. But whoso loves the State,\nI will exalt him both in life and death.\n\nCH. Son of Menoeceus, we have heard thy mind\nToward him who loves, and him who hates our city.\nAnd sure, 'tis thine to enforce what law thou wilt\nBoth on the dead and all of us who live.\n\nCR. Then be ye watchful to maintain my word.\n\nCH. Young strength for such a burden were more meet.\n\nCR. Already there be watchers of the dead.\n\nCH. What charge then wouldst thou further lay on us?\n\nCR. Not to give place to those that disobey.\n\nCH. Who is so fond, to be in love with death?\n\nCR. Such, truly, is the meed. But hope of gain\nFull oft ere now hath been the ruin of men.\n\nWATCHMAN (_entering_).\n  My lord, I am out of breath, but not with speed.\nI will not say my foot was fleet. My thoughts\nCried halt unto me ever as I came\nAnd wheeled me to return. My mind discoursed\nMost volubly within my breast, and said--\nFond wretch! why go where thou wilt find thy bane?\nUnhappy wight! say, wilt thou bide aloof?\nThen if the king shall hear this from another,\nHow shalt thou 'scape for 't? Winding thus about\nI hasted, but I could not speed, and so\nMade a long journey of a little way.\nAt last 'yes' carried it, that I should come\nTo thee; and tell thee I must needs; and shall,\nThough it be nothing that I have to tell.\nFor I came hither, holding fast by this--\nNought that is not my fate can happen to me.\n\nCR. Speak forth thy cause of fear. What is the matter?\n\nWATCH. First of mine own part in the business. For\nI did it not, nor saw the man who did,\nAnd 'twere not right that I should come to harm.\n\nCR. You fence your ground, and keep well out of danger;\nI see you have some strange thing to declare.\n\nWATCH. A man will shrink who carries words of fear.\n\nCB. Let us have done with you. Tell your tale, and go.\n\nWATCH. Well, here it is. The corse hath burial\nFrom some one who is stolen away and gone,\nBut first hath strown dry dust upon the skin,\nAnd added what religious rites require.\n\nCR. Ha!\nWhat man hath been so daring in revolt?\n\nWATCH. I cannot tell. There was no mark to show--\nNo dint of spade, or mattock-loosened sod,--\nOnly the hard bare ground, untilled and trackless.\nWhoe'er he was, the doer left no trace.\nAnd, when the scout of our first daylight watch\nShowed us the thing, we marvelled in dismay.\nThe Prince was out of sight; not in a grave,\nBut a thin dust was o'er him, as if thrown\nBy one who shunned the dead man's curse. No sign\nAppeared of any hound or beast o' the field\nHaving come near, or pulled at the dead body.\nThen rose high words among us sentinels\nWith bickering noise accusing each his mate,\nAnd it seemed like to come to blows, with none\nTo hinder. For the hand that thus had wrought\nWas any of ours, and none; the guilty man\nEscaped all knowledge. And we were prepared\nTo lift hot iron with our bare palms; to walk\nThrough fire, and swear by all the Gods at once\nThat we were guiltless, ay, and ignorant\nOf who had plotted or performed this thing.\n  When further search seemed bootless, at the last\nOne spake, whose words bowed all our heads to the earth\nWith fear. We knew not what to answer him,\nNor how to do it and prosper. He advised\nSo grave a matter must not be concealed,\nBut instantly reported to the King.\n  Well, this prevailed, and the lot fell on me,\nUnlucky man! to be the ministrant\nOf this fair service. So I am present here,\nAgainst my will and yours, I am sure of that.\nNone love the bringer of unwelcome news.\n\nCH. My lord, a thought keeps whispering in my breast,\nSome Power divine hath interposed in this.\n\nCR. Cease, ere thou quite enrage me, and appear\nFoolish as thou art old. Talk not to me\nOf Gods who have taken thought for this dead man!\nSay, was it for his benefits to them\nThey hid his corse, and honoured him so highly,\nWho came to set on fire their pillared shrines,\nWith all the riches of their offerings,\nAnd to make nothing of their land and laws?\nOr, hast thou seen them honouring villany?\nThat cannot be. Long time the cause of this\nHath come to me in secret murmurings\nFrom malcontents of Thebes, who under yoke\nTurned restive, and would not accept my sway.\nWell know I, these have bribed the watchmen here\nTo do this for some fee. For nought hath grown\nCurrent among mankind so mischievous\nAs money. This brings cities to their fall:\nThis drives men homeless, and moves honest minds\nTo base contrivings. This hath taught mankind\nThe use of wickedness, and how to give\nAn impious turn to every kind of act.\nBut whosoe'er hath done this for reward\nHath found his way at length to punishment.\nIf Zeus have still my worship, be assured\nOf that which here on oath I say to thee--\nUnless ye find the man who made this grave\nAnd bring him bodily before mine eye,\nDeath shall not be enough, till ye have hung\nAlive for an example of your guilt,\nThat henceforth in your rapine ye may know\nWhence gain is to be gotten, and may learn\nPelf from all quarters is not to be loved.\nFor in base getting, 'tis a common proof,\nMore find disaster than deliverance.\n\nWATCH. Am I to speak? or must I turn and go?\n\nCR. What? know you not your speech offends even now?\n\nWATCH. Doth the mind smart withal, or only the ear?\n\nCR. Art thou to probe the seat of mine annoy?\n\nWATCH. If I offend, 'tis in your ear alone,\nThe malefactor wounds ye to the soul.\n\nCR. Out on thee! thou art nothing but a tongue.\n\nWATCH. Then was I ne'er the doer of this deed.\n\nCR. Yea, verily: self-hired to crime for gold.\n\nWATCH. Pity so clear a mind should clearly err!\n\nCR. Gloze now on clearness! But unless ye bring\nThe burier, without glozing ye shall tell,\nCraven advantage clearly worketh bane.\n\nWATCH. By all means let the man be found; one thing\nI know right well:--caught or not caught, howe'er\nFate rules his fortune, me you ne'er will see\nStanding in presence here. Even now I owe\nDeep thanks to Heaven for mine escape, so far\nBeyond my hope and highest expectancy.             [_Exeunt severally_\n\nCHORUS.\nMany a wonder lives and moves, but the wonder of all is man,       I 1\nThat courseth over the grey ocean, carried of Southern gale,\nFaring amidst high-swelling seas that rudely surge around,\nAnd Earth, supreme of mighty Gods, eldest, imperishable,\nEternal, he with patient furrow wears and wears away\n      As year by year the plough-shares turn and turn,--\nSubduing her unwearied strength with children of the steed[4].\n\nAnd wound in woven coils of nets he seizeth for his prey           I 2\nThe aery tribe of birds and wilding armies of the chase,\nAnd sea-born millions of the deep--man is so crafty-wise.\nAnd now with engine of his wit he tameth to his will\nThe mountain-ranging beast whose lair is in the country wild;\n      And now his yoke hath passed upon the mane\nOf horse with proudly crested neck and tireless mountain bull.\n\nWise utterance and wind-swift thought, and city-moulding mind,    II 1\nAnd shelter from the clear-eyed power of biting frost,\nHe hath taught him, and to shun the sharp, roof-penetrating rain,--\nFull of resource, without device he meets no coming time;\n      From Death alone he shall not find reprieve;\nNo league may gain him that relief; but even for fell disease,\nThat long hath baffled wisest leech, he hath contrived a cure.\n\nInventive beyond wildest hope, endowed with boundless skill,      II 2\nOne while he moves toward evil, and one while toward good,\nAccording as he loves his land and fears the Gods above.\nWeaving the laws into his life and steadfast oath of Heaven,\n      High in the State he moves but outcast he,\nWho hugs dishonour to his heart and follows paths of crime\nNe'er may he come beneath my roof, nor think like thoughts with me.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS\n    What portent from the Gods is here?\n    My mind is mazed with doubt and fear.\n    How can I gainsay what I see?\n    I know the girl Antigone,\n    O hapless child of hapless sire!\n    Didst thou, then, recklessly aspire\n    To brave kings' laws, and now art brought\n    In madness of transgression caught?\n\n_Enter_ Watchman, _bringing in_ ANTIGONE\n\nWATCH. Here is the doer of the deed--this maid\nWe found her burying him. Where is the King?\n\nCH. Look, he comes forth again to meet thy call.\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCR. What call so nearly times with mine approach?\n\nWATCH. My lord, no mortal should deny on oath,\nJudgement is still belied by after thought\nWhen quailing 'neath the tempest of your threats,\nMethought no force would drive me to this place\nBut joy unlook'd for and surpassing hope\nIs out of bound the best of all delight,\nAnd so I am here again,--though I had sworn\nI ne'er would come,--and in my charge this maid,\nCaught in the act of caring for the dead\nHere was no lot throwing, this hap was mine\nWithout dispute. And now, my sovereign lord,\nAccording to thy pleasure, thine own self\nExamine and convict her. For my part\nI have good right to be away and free\nFrom the bad business I am come upon.\n\nCR. This maiden!\nHow came she in thy charge? Where didst thou find her?\n\nWATCH. Burying the prince. One word hath told thee all.\n\nCR. Hast thou thy wits, and knowest thou what thou sayest?\n\nWATCH. I saw her burying him whom you forbade\nTo bury. Is that, now, clearly spoken, or no?\n\nCR. And how was she detected, caught, and taken?\n\nWATCH. It fell in this wise. We were come to the spot,\nBearing the dreadful burden of thy threats;\nAnd first with care we swept the dust away\nFrom round the corse, and laid the dank limbs bare:\nThen sate below the hill-top, out o' the wind,\nWhere no bad odour from the dead might strike us,\nStirring each other on with interchange\nOf loud revilings on the negligent\nIn 'tendance on this duty. So we stayed\nTill in mid heaven the sun's resplendent orb\nStood high, and the heat strengthened. Suddenly,\nThe Storm-god raised a whirlwind from the ground,\nVexing heaven's concave, and filled all the plain,\nRending the locks of all the orchard groves,\nTill the great sky was choked withal. We closed\nOur lips and eyes, and bore the God-sent evil.\nWhen after a long while this ceased, the maid\nWas seen, and wailed in high and bitter key,\nLike some despairing bird that hath espied\nHer nest all desolate, the nestlings gone.\nSo, when she saw the body bare, she mourned\nLoudly, and cursed the authors of this deed.\nThen nimbly with her hands she brought dry dust,\nAnd holding high a shapely brazen cruse,\nPoured three libations, honouring the dead.\nWe, when we saw, ran in, and straightway seized\nOur quarry, nought dismayed, and charged her with\nThe former crime and this. And she denied\nNothing;--to my delight, and to my grief.\nOne's self to escape disaster is great joy;\nYet to have drawn a friend into distress\nIs painful. But mine own security\nTo me is of more value than aught else.\n\nCR. Thou, with thine eyes down-fastened to the earth!\nDost thou confess to have done this, or deny it?\n\nANT. I deny nothing. I avow the deed.\n\nCR. (_to_ Watchman).\nThou may'st betake thyself whither thou wilt,\nAcquitted of the grievous charge, and free.\n(_to_ ANTIGONE)\nAnd thou,--no prating talk, but briefly tell,\nKnew'st thou our edict that forbade this thing?\n\nANT. I could not fail to know. You made it plain.\n\nCR. How durst thou then transgress the published law?\n\nANT. I heard it not from Heaven, nor came it forth\nFrom Justice, where she reigns with Gods below.\nThey too have published to mankind a law.\nNor thought I thy commandment of such might\nThat one who is mortal thus could overbear\nThe infallible, unwritten laws of Heaven.\nNot now or yesterday they have their being,\nBut everlastingly, and none can tell\nThe hour that saw their birth. I would not, I,\nFor any terror of a man's resolve,\nIncur the God-inflicted penalty\nOf doing them wrong. That death would come, I knew\nWithout thine edict;--if before the time,\nI count it gain. Who does not gain by death,\nThat lives, as I do, amid boundless woe?\nSlight is the sorrow of such doom to me.\nBut had I suffered my own mother's child,\nFallen in blood, to be without a grave,\nThat were indeed a sorrow. This is none.\nAnd if thou deem'st me foolish for my deed,\nI am foolish in the judgement of a fool.\n\nCH. Fierce shows the maiden's vein from her fierce sire;\nCalamity doth not subdue her will.\n\nCR. Ay, but the stubborn spirit first doth fall.\nOft ye shall see the strongest bar of steel,\nThat fire hath hardened to extremity,\nShattered to pieces. A small bit controls\nThe fiery steed. Pride may not be endured\nIn one whose life is subject to command.\nThis maiden hath been conversant with crime\nSince first she trampled on the public law;\nAnd now she adds to crime this insolence,\nTo laugh at her offence, and glory in it.\nTruly, if she that hath usurped this power\nShall rest unpunished, she then is a man,\nAnd I am none. Be she my sister's child,\nOr of yet nearer blood to me than all\nThat take protection from my hearth, the pair\nShall not escape the worst of deaths. For know,\nI count the younger of the twain no less\nCopartner in this plotted funeral:\nAnd now I bid you call her. Late I saw her\nWithin the house, beyond herself, and frantic.\n--Full oft when one is darkly scheming wrong,\nThe disturbed spirit hath betrayed itself\nBefore the act it hides.--But not less hateful\nSeems it to me, when one that hath been caught\nIn wickedness would give it a brave show.\n\nANT. Wouldst thou aught more of me than merely death?\n\nCR. No more. 'Tis all I claim. Death closes all.\n\nANT. Why then delay? No talk of thine can charm me,\nForbid it Heaven! And my discourse no less\nMust evermore sound noisome to thine ear.\nYet where could I have found a fairer fame\nThan giving burial to my own true brother?\nAll here would tell thee they approve my deed,\nWere they not tongue-tied to authority.\nBut kingship hath much profit; this in chief,\nThat it may do and say whate'er it will.\n\nCR. No Theban sees the matter with thine eye.\n\nANT. They see, but curb their voices to thy sway\n\nCR. And art thou not ashamed, acting alone?\n\nANT. A sister's piety hath no touch of shame.\n\nCR. Was not Eteocles thy brother too?\n\nANT. My own true brother from both parents' blood.\n\nCR. This duty was impiety to him.\n\nANT. He that is dead will not confirm that word.\n\nCR. If you impart his honours to the vile.\n\nANT. It was his brother, not a slave, who fell.\n\nCR. But laying waste the land for which he fought.\n\nANT. Death knows no difference, but demands his due.\n\nCR. Yet not equality 'twixt good and bad.\n\nANT. Both may be equal yonder; who can tell?\n\nCR. An enemy is hated even in death.\n\nANT. Love, and not hatred, is the part for me.\n\nCR. Down then to death! and, if you must, there love\nThe dead. No woman rules me while I live.\n\nCH. Now comes Ismene forth. Ah, see,\nFrom clouds above her brow\nThe sister-loving tear\nIs falling wet on her fair cheek,\nDistaining all her passion-crimson'd face!\n\n_Enter_ ISMENE.\n\nCR. And thou, that like a serpent coiled i' the house\nHast secretly been draining my life-blood,--\nLittle aware that I was cherishing\nTwo curses and subverters of my throne,--\nTell us, wilt thou avouch thy share in this\nEntombment, or forswear all knowledge of it?\n\nISM. If her voice go therewith, I did the deed,\nAnd bear my part and burden of the blame.\n\nANT. Nay, justice will not suffer that. You would not,\nAnd I refused to make you mine ally.\n\nISM. But now in thy misfortune I would fain\nEmbark with thee in thy calamity.\n\nANT. Who did the deed, the powers beneath can tell.\nI care not for lip-kindness from my kin.\n\nISM. Ah! scorn me not so far as to forbid me\nTo die with thee, and honour our lost brother.\n\nANT. Die not with me, nor make your own a deed\nyou never touched! My dying is enough.\n\nISM. What joy have I in life when thou art gone?\n\nANT. Ask Creon there. He hath your care and duty.\n\nISM. What can it profit thee to vex me so?\n\nANT. My heart is pained, though my lip laughs at thee.\n\nISM. What can I do for thee now, even now?\n\nANT. Save your own life. I grudge not your escape.\n\nISM. Alas! and must I be debarred thy fate?\n\nANT. Life was the choice you made. Mine was to die.\n\nISM. I warned thee----\n\nANT.                   Yes, your prudence is admired\nOn earth. My wisdom is approved below.\n\nISM. Yet truly we are both alike in fault.\n\nANT. Fear not; you live. My life hath long been given\nTo death, to be of service to the dead.\n\nCR. Of these two girls, the one hath lost her wits:\nThe other hath had none since she was born.\n\nISM. My lord, in misery, the mind one hath\nIs wont to be dislodged, and will not stay.\n\nCR. You have ta'en leave of yours at any rate,\nWhen you cast in your portion with the vile.\n\nISM. What can life profit me without my sister?\n\nCR. Say not 'my sister'; she is nothing now.\n\nISM. What? wilt thou kill thy son's espousal too?\n\nCR. He may find other fields to plough upon.\n\nISM. Not so as love was plighted 'twixt them twain.\n\nCR. I hate a wicked consort for my son.\n\nANT. O dearest Haemon! how thy father wrongs thee!\n\nCR. Thou and thy marriage are a torment to me.\n\nCH. And wilt thou sever her from thine own son?\n\nCR. 'Tis death must come between him and his joy,\n\nCH. All doubt is then resolved: the maid must die,\n\nCR. I am resolved; and so, 'twould seem, are you.\nIn with her, slaves! No more delay! Henceforth\nThese maids must have but woman's liberty\nAnd be mewed up; for even the bold will fly\nWhen they see Death nearing the house of life.\n                     [ANTIGONE _and_ ISMENE _are led into the palace._\n\nCHORUS.\nBlest is the life that never tasted woe.                           I 1\n      When once the blow\nHath fallen upon a house with Heaven-sent doom,\nTrouble descends in ever-widening gloom\nThrough all the number of the tribe to flow;\n      As when the briny surge\n      That Thrace-born tempests urge\n(The big wave ever gathering more and more)\nRuns o'er the darkness of the deep,\n      And with far-searching sweep\nUprolls the storm-heap'd tangle on the shore,\nWhile cliff to beaten cliff resounds with sullen roar.\n\nThe stock of Cadmus from old time, I know,                         I 2\n      Hath woe on woe,\nAge following age, the living on the dead,\nFresh sorrow falling on each new-ris'n head,\nNone freed by God from ruthless overthrow.\n      E'en now a smiling light\n      Was spreading to our sight\nO'er one last fibre of a blasted tree,--\nWhen, lo! the dust of cruel death,\n      Tribute of Gods beneath,\nAnd wildering thoughts, and fate-born ecstasy,\nQuench the brief gleam in dark Nonentity.\n\nWhat froward will of man, O Zeus! can check thy might?            II 1\nNot all-enfeebling sleep, nor tireless months divine,\nCan touch thee, who through ageless time\nRulest mightily Olympus' dazzling height.\nThis was in the beginning, and shall be\n      Now and eternally,\nNot here or there, but everywhere,\nA law of misery that shall not spare.\n\nFor Hope, that wandereth wide, comforting many a head,            II 2\nEntangleth many more with glamour of desire:\nUnknowing they have trode the fire.\nWise was the famous word of one who said,\n'Evil oft seemeth goodness to the mind\n      An angry God doth blind.'\nFew are the days that such as he\nMay live untroubled of calamity.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\nLo, Haemon, thy last offspring, now is come,\nLamenting haply for the maiden's doom,\nSay, is he mourning o'er her young life lost,\nFiercely indignant for his bridal crossed?\n\n_Enter_ HAEMON.\n\nCR. We shall know soon, better than seers could teach us.\nCan it be so, my son, that thou art brought\nBy mad distemperature against thy sire,\nOn hearing of the irrevocable doom\nPassed on thy promised bride? Or is thy love\nThy father's, be his actions what they may?\n\nHAEMON. I am thine, father, and will follow still\nThy good directions; nor would I prefer\nThe fairest bride to thy wise government.\n\nCR. That, O my son! should be thy constant mind,\nIn all to bend thee to thy father's will.\nTherefore men pray to have around their hearths\nObedient offspring, to requite their foes\nWith harm, and honour whom their father loves;\nBut he whose issue proves unprofitable,\nBegets what else but sorrow to himself\nAnd store of laughter to his enemies?\nMake not, my son, a shipwreck of thy wit\nFor a woman. Thine own heart may teach thee this;--\nThere's but cold comfort in a wicked wife\nYoked to the home inseparably. What wound\nCan be more deadly than a harmful friend?\nThen spurn her like an enemy, and send her\nTo wed some shadow in the world below!\nFor since of all the city I have found\nHer only recusant, caught in the act,\nI will not break my word before the State.\nI will take her life. At this let her invoke\nThe god of kindred blood! For if at home\nI foster rebels, how much more abroad?\nWhoso is just in ruling his own house,\nLives rightly in the commonwealth no less:\nBut he that wantonly defies the law,\nOr thinks to dictate to authority,\nShall have no praise from me. What power soe'er\nThe city hath ordained, must be obeyed\nIn little things and great things, right or wrong.\nThe man who so obeys, I have good hope\nWill govern and be governed as he ought,\nAnd in the storm of battle at my side\nWill stand a faithful and a trusty comrade.\nBut what more fatal than the lapse of rule?\nThis ruins cities, this lays houses waste,\nThis joins with the assault of war to break\nFull numbered armies into hopeless rout;\nAnd in the unbroken host 'tis nought but rule\nThat keeps those many bodies from defeat,\nI must be zealous to defend the law,\nAnd not go down before a woman's will.\nElse, if I fall, 'twere best a man should strike me;\nLest one should say, 'a woman worsted him.'\n\nCH. Unless our sense is weakened by long time,\nThou speakest not unwisely.\n\nHAEM.                       O my sire,\nSound wisdom is a God implanted seed,\nOf all possessions highest in regard.\nI cannot, and I would not learn to say\nThat thou art wrong in this; though in another,\nIt may be such a word were not unmeet.\nBut as thy son, 'tis surely mine to scan\nMen's deeds, and words, and muttered thoughts toward thee.\nFear of thy frown restrains the citizen\nIn talk that would fall harshly on thine ear.\nI under shadow may o'erhear, how all\nThy people mourn this maiden, and complain\nThat of all women least deservedly\nShe perishes for a most glorious deed.\n'Who, when her own true brother on the earth\nLay weltering after combat in his gore,\nLeft him not graveless, for the carrion few\nAnd raw devouring field dogs to consume--\nHath she not merited a golden praise?'\nSuch the dark rumour spreading silently.\nNow, in my valuing, with thy prosperous life,\nMy father, no possession can compare.\nWhere can be found a richer ornament\nFor children, than their father's high renown?\nOr where for fathers, than their children's fame?\nNurse not one changeless humour in thy breast,\nThat nothing can be right but as thou sayest.\nWhoe'er presumes that he alone hath sense,\nOr peerless eloquence, or reach of soul,\nUnwrap him, and you'll find but emptiness.\n'Tis no disgrace even to the wise to learn\nAnd lend an ear to reason. You may see\nThe plant that yields where torrent waters flow\nSaves every little twig, when the stout tree\nIs torn away and dies. The mariner\nWho will not ever slack the sheet that sways\nThe vessel, but still tightens, oversets,\nAnd so, keel upward, ends his voyaging.\nRelent, I pray thee, and give place to change.\nIf any judgement hath informed my youth,\nI grant it noblest to be always wise,\nBut,--for omniscience is denied to man--\nTis good to hearken to admonishment.\n\nCH. My lord, 'twere wise, if thou wouldst learn of him\nIn reason; and thou, Haemon, from thy sire!\nTruth lies between you.\n\nCR.                     Shall our age, forsooth,\nBe taught discretion by a peevish boy?\n\nHAEM. Only in what is right. Respects of time\nMust be outbalanced by the actual need.\n\nCR. To cringe to rebels cannot be a need.\n\nHAEM. I do not claim observance for the vile.\n\nCR. Why, is not she so tainted? Is 't not proved?\n\nHAEM. All Thebes denies it.\n\nCR.                         Am I ruled by Thebes?\n\nHAEM. If youth be folly, that is youngly said.\n\nCR. Shall other men prescribe my government?\n\nHAEM. One only makes not up a city, father.\n\nCR. Is not the city in the sovereign's hand?\n\nHAEM. Nobly you'd govern as the desert's king.\n\nCR. This youngster is the woman's champion.\n\nHAEM. You are the woman, then--for you I care.\n\nCR. Villain, to bandy reasons with your sire!\n\nHAEM. I plead against the unreason of your fault.\n\nCR. What fault is there in reverencing my power?\n\nHAEM. There is no reverence when you spurn the Gods.\n\nCR. Abominable spirit, woman-led!\n\nHAEM. You will not find me following a base guide.\n\nCR. Why, all your speech this day is spent for her.\n\nHAEM. For you and me too, and the Gods below.\n\nCR. She will not live to be your wife on earth.\n\nHAEM. I know, then, whom she will ruin by her death.\n\nCR. What, wilt thou threaten, too, thou audacious boy?\n\nHAEM. It is no threat to answer empty words.\n\nCR. Witless admonisher, thou shalt pay for this!\n\nHAEM. Thou art my sire, else would I call thee senseless.\n\nCR. Thou woman's minion! mince not terms with me,\n\nHAEM. Wouldst thou have all the speaking on thy side?\n\nCR. Is 't possible? By yon heaven! thou'lt not escape,\nFor adding contumely to words of blame.\nBring out the hated thing, that she may die\nImmediately, before her lover's face!\n\nHAEM. Nay, dream not she shall suffer in my sight\nNor shalt thou ever see my face again\nLet those stay with you that can brook your rage!              [_Exit_\n\nCH. My lord, he is parted swiftly in deep wrath!\nThe youthful spirit offended makes wild work.\n\nCR. Ay, let him do his worst. Let him give scope\nTo pride beyond the compass of a man!\nHe shall not free these maidens from their doom.\n\nCH. Is death thy destination for them both?\n\nCR. Only for her who acted. Thou art right.\n\nCH. And what hast thou determined for her death?\n\nCH. Where human footstep shuns the desert ground,\nI'll hide her living in a cave like vault,\nWith so much provender as may prevent\nPollution from o'ertaking the whole city\nAnd there, perchance, she may obtain of Death,\nHer only deity, to spare her soul,\nOr else in that last moment she will learn\n'Tis labour lost to worship powers unseen.               [_Exit_ CREON\n\nCHORUS\nLove, never foiled in fight!                                         1\nWarrior Love, that on Wealth workest havoc!\nLove, who in ambush of young maid's soft cheek\nAll night keep'st watch!--Thou roamest over seas.\nIn lonely forest homes thou harbourest.\nWho may avoid thee? None!\nMortal, Immortal,\nAll are o'erthrown by thee, all feel thy frenzy.\n\nLightly thou draw'st awry                                            2\nRighteous minds into wrong to their ruin\nThou this unkindly quarrel hast inflamed\n'Tween kindred men--Triumphantly prevails\nThe heart-compelling eye of winsome bride,\nCompeer of mighty Law\nThroned, commanding.\nMadly thou mockest men, dread Aphrodite.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\nAh! now myself am carried past the bound\nOf law, nor can I check the rising tear,\nWhen I behold Antigone even here\nTouching the quiet bourne where all must rest.\n\n_Enter_ ANTIGONE _guarded._\n\nANT. Ye see me on my way,                                          I 1\nO burghers of my father's land!\nWith one last look on Helios' ray,\nLed my last path toward the silent strand.\nAlive to the wide house of rest I go;\n      No dawn for me may shine,\nNo marriage-blessing e'er be mine,\nNo hymeneal with my praises flow!\nThe Lord of Acheron's unlovely shore\nShall be mine only husband evermore.\n\nCH. Yea, but with glory and fame,--\n    Not by award of the sword,\n    Not with blighting disease,\n    But by a law of thine own,--\n    Thou, of mortals alone,\n    Goest alive to the deep\n    Tranquil home of the dead.\n\nANT. Erewhile I heard men say,                                     I 2\nHow, in far Phrygia, Thebe's friend,\nTantalus' child, had dreariest end\nOn heights of Sipylus consumed away:\nO'er whom the rock like clinging ivy grows,\n      And while with moistening dew\nHer cheek runs down, the eternal snows\nWeigh o'er her, and the tearful stream renew\nThat from sad brows her stone-cold breast doth steep.\nLike unto her the God lulls me to sleep.\n\nCH. But she was a goddess born,\n    We but of mortal line;\n    And sure to rival the fate\n    Of a daughter of sires Divine\n    Were no light glory in death.\n\nANT. O mockery of my woe!                                         II 1\nI pray you by our fathers' holy Fear,\n    Why must I hear\nYour insults, while in life on earth I stand,\n    O ye that flow\nIn wealth, rich burghers of my bounteous land?\nO fount of Dirce, and thou spacious grove,\nWhere Thebe's chariots move!\nYe are my witness, though none else be nigh,\nBy what enormity of lawless doom,\n    Without one friendly sigh,\nI go to the strong mound of yon strange tomb,--\nAll hapless, having neither part nor room\nWith those who live or those who die!\n\nCH. Thy boldness mounted high,\nAnd thou, my child, 'gainst the great pedestal\nOf Justice with unmeasured force didst fall.\nThy father's lot still presseth hard on thee.\n\nANT. That pains me more than all.                                 II 2\nAh! thou hast touched my father's misery\n    Still mourned anew,\nWith all the world-famed sorrows on us rolled\n    Since Cadmus old.\nO cursed marriage that my mother knew!\nO wretched fortune of my sire, who lay\n    Where first he saw the day!\nSuch were the authors of my burdened life;\nTo whom, with curses dowered, never a wife,\n    I go to dwell beneath.\nO brother mine, thy princely marriage-tie\nHath been thy downfall, and in this thy death\nThou hast destroyed me ere I die.\n\nCH. 'Twas pious, we confess,\nThy fervent deed. But he, who power would show,\nMust let no soul of all he rules transgress.\nA self-willed passion was thine overthrow.\n\nANT. Friendless, uncomforted of bridal lay,                        III\nUnmourned, they lead me on my destined way.\nWoe for my life forlorn! I may not see\nThe sacred round of yon great light\nRising again to greet me from the night;\nNo friend bemoans my fate, no tear hath fallen for me!\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCR. If criminals were suffered to complain\nIn dirges before death, they ne'er would end.\nAway with her at once, and closing her,\nAs I commanded, in the vaulty tomb,\nLeave her all desolate, whether to die,\nOr to live on in that sepulchral cell.\nWe are guiltless in the matter of this maid;\nOnly she shall not share the light of day.\n\nANT. O grave! my bridal chamber, prison-house\nEterne, deep-hollowed, whither I am led\nTo find mine own,--of whom Persephone\nHath now a mighty number housed in death:--\nI last of all, and far most miserably,\nAm going, ere my days have reached their term!\nYet lives the hope that, when I go, most surely\nDear will my coming be, father, to thee,\nAnd dear to thee, my mother, and to thee,\nBrother! since with these very hands I decked\nAnd bathed you after death, and ministered\nThe last libations. And I reap this doom\nFor tending, Polynices, on thy corse.\nIndeed I honoured thee, the wise will say.\nFor neither, had I children, nor if one\nI had married were laid bleeding on the earth,\nWould I have braved the city's will, or taken\nThis burden on me. Wherefore? I will tell.\nA husband lost might be replaced; a son,\nIf son were lost to me, might yet be born;\nBut, with both parents hidden in the tomb,\nNo brother may arise to comfort me.\nTherefore above all else I honoured thee,\nAnd therefore Creon thought me criminal,\nAnd bold in wickedness, O brother mine!\nAnd now by servile hands, for all to see,\nHe hastens me away, unhusbanded,\nBefore my nuptial, having never known\nOr married joy or tender motherhood.\nBut desolate and friendless I go down\nAlive, O horror! to the vaults of the dead.\nFor what transgression of Heaven's ordinance?\nAlas! how can I look to Heaven? on whom\nCall to befriend me? seeing that I have earned,\nBy piety, the meed of impious?--\nOh! if this act be what the Gods approve,\nIn death I may repent me of my deed;\nBut if they sin who judge me, be their doom\nNo heavier than they wrongly wreak on me!\n\nCH. With unchanged fury beats the storm of soul\nThat shakes this maiden.\n\nCR.                      Then for that, be sure\nHer warders shall lament their tardiness.\n\nANT. Alas! I hear Death's footfall in that sound.\n\nCR. I may not reassure thee.--'Tis most true.\n\nANT. O land of Thebe, city of my sires,\nYe too, ancestral Gods! I go--I go!\nEven now they lead me to mine end. Behold!\nFounders of Thebes, the only scion left\nOf Cadmus' issue, how unworthily,\nBy what mean instruments I am oppressed,\nFor reverencing the dues of piety.                     [_Exit guarded_\n\nCHORUS.\nEven Danae's beauty left the lightsome day.                        I 1\nClosed in her strong and brass-bound tower she lay\n      In tomb-like deep confine.\nYet she was gendered, O my child!\n      From sires of noblest line,\nAnd treasured for the Highest the golden rain.\nFated misfortune hath a power so fell:\n      Not wealth, nor warfare wild,\nNor dark spray-dashing coursers of the main\nAgainst great Destiny may once rebel.\n\nHe too in darksome durance was compressed,                         I 2\nKing of Edonians, Dryas' hasty son[5],\n      In eyeless vault of stone\nImmured by Dionysus' hest,\n      All for a wrathful jest.\nFierce madness issueth in such fatal flower.\nHe found 'twas mad to taunt the Heavenly Power,\n      Chilling the Maenad breast\nKindled with Bacchic fire, and with annoy\nAngering the Muse that in the flute hath joy.\n\nAnd near twin rocks that guard the Colchian sea,                  II 1\nBosporian cliffs 'fore Salmydessus rise,\nWhere neighbouring Ares from his shrine beheld\nPhineus' two sons[6] by female fury quelled.\nWith cursed wounding of their sight-reft eyes,\nThat cried to Heaven to 'venge the iniquity.\nThe shuttle's sharpness in a cruel hand\nDealt the dire blow, not struck with martial brand.\n\nBut chiefly for her piteous lot they pined,                       II 2\nWho was the source of their rejected birth.\nShe touched the lineage of Erechtheus old;\nWhence in far caves her life did erst unfold,\nCradled 'mid storms, daughter of Northern wind,\nSteed-swift o'er all steep places of the earth.\nYet even on her, though reared of heavenly kind,\nThe long-enduring Fates at last took hold.\n\n_Enter_ TIRESIAS, _led by a boy._\n\nTIRESIAS. We are come, my lords of Thebes, joint wayfarers,\nOne having eyes for both. The blind must still\nThus move in frail dependence on a guide.\n\nCR. And what hath brought thee, old Tiresias, now?\n\nTI. I will instruct thee, if thou wilt hear my voice.\n\nCR. I have not heretofore rejected thee.\n\nTI. Therefore thy pilotage hath saved this city.\n\nCR. Grateful experience owns the benefit.\n\nTI. Take heed. Again thou art on an edge of peril.\n\nCR. What is it? How I shudder at thy word!\n\nTI. The tokens of mine art shall make thee know.\nAs I was sitting on that ancient seat\nOf divination, where I might command\nSure cognisance of every bird of the air,\nI heard strange clamouring of fowl, that screeched\nIn furious dissonance; and, I could tell,\nTalons were bloodily engaged--the whirr\nOf wings told a clear tale. At once, in fear,\nI tried burnt sacrifice at the high altar:\nWhere from the offering the fire god refused\nTo gleam; but a dank humour from the bones\nDripped on the embers with a sputtering fume.\nThe gall was spirited high in air, the thighs\nLay wasting, bared of their enclosing fat.\nSuch failing tokens of blurred augury\nThis youth reported, who is guide to me,\nAs I to others. And this evil state\nIs come upon the city from thy will:\nBecause our altars--yea, our sacred hearths--\nAre everywhere infected from the mouths\nOf dogs or beak of vulture that hath fed\nOn Oedipus' unhappy slaughtered son.\nAnd then at sacrifice the Gods refuse\nOur prayers and savour of the thigh-bone fat--\nAnd of ill presage is the thickening cry\nOf bird that battens upon human gore\nNow, then, my son, take thought. A man may err;\nBut he is not insensate or foredoomed\nTo ruin, who, when he hath lapsed to evil,\nStands not inflexible, but heals the harm.\nThe obstinate man still earns the name of fool.\nUrge not contention with the dead, nor stab\nThe fallen. What valour is 't to slay the slain?\nI have thought well of this, and say it with care;\nAnd careful counsel, that brings gain withal,\nIs precious to the understanding soul.\n\nCR. I am your mark, and ye with one consent\nAll shoot your shafts at me. Nought left untried,\nNot even the craft of prophets, by whose crew\nI am bought and merchandised long since. Go on!\nTraffic, get gain, electrum from the mine\nOf Lydia, and the gold of Ind! Yet know,\nGrey-beard! ye ne'er shall hide him in a tomb.\nNo, not if heaven's own eagle chose to snatch\nAnd bear him to the throne supreme for food,\nEven that pollution should not daunt my heart\nTo yield permission for his funeral.\nFor well know I defilement ne'er can rise\nFrom man to God. But, old Tiresias, hear!\nEven wisest spirits have a shameful fall\nThat fairly speak base words for love of gain.\n\nTI. Ah! where is wisdom? who considereth?\n\nCR. Wherefore? what means this universal doubt?\n\nTI. How far the best of riches is good counsel!\n\nCR. As far as folly is the mightiest bane.\n\nTI. Yet thou art sick of that same pestilence.\n\nCR. I would not give the prophet blow for blow.\n\nTI. What blow is harder than to call me false?\n\nCR. Desire of money is the prophet's plague.\n\nTI. And ill-sought lucre is the curse of kings.\n\nCR. Know'st thou 'tis of thy sovereign thou speak'st this?\n\nTI. Yea, for my aid gives thee to sway this city.\n\nCR. Far seeing art thou, but dishonest too.\n\nTI. Thou wilt provoke the utterance of my tongue\nTo that even thought refused to dwell upon.\n\nCR. Say on, so thou speak sooth, and not for gain.\n\nTI. You think me likely to seek gain from you?\n\nCR. You shall not make your merchandise on me!\n\nTI. Not many courses of the racing sun\nShalt thou fulfil, ere of thine own true blood\nThou shalt have given a corpse in recompense\nFor one on earth whom thou hast cast beneath,\nEntombing shamefully a living soul,\nAnd one whom thou hast kept above the ground\nAnd disappointed of all obsequies,\nUnsanctified and godlessly forlorn.\nSuch violence the powers beneath will bear\nNot even from the Olympian gods. For thee\nThe avengers wait. Hidden but near at hand,\nLagging but sure, the Furies of the grave\nAre watching for thee to thy ruinous harm,\nWith thine own evil to entangle thee.\nLook well to it now whether I speak for gold!\nA little while, and thine own palace-halls\nShall flash the truth upon thee with loud noise\nOf men and women, shrieking o'er the dead.\nAnd all the cities whose unburied sons,\nMangled and torn, have found a sepulchre\nIn dogs or jackals or some ravenous bird\nThat stains their incense with polluted breath,\nAre forming leagues in troublous enmity.\nSuch shafts, since thou hast stung me to the quick,\nI like an archer at thee in my wrath\nHave loosed unerringly--carrying their pang,\nInevitable, to thy very heart.\nNow, sirrah! lead me home, that his hot mood\nBe spent on younger objects, till he learn\nTo keep a safer mind and calmer tongue.                        [_Exit_\n\nCH. Sire, there is terror in that prophecy.\nHe who is gone, since ever these my locks,\nOnce black, now white with age, waved o'er my brow,\nHath never spoken falsely to the state.\n\nCR. I know it, and it shakes me to the core.\nTo yield is dreadful: but resistingly\nTo face the blow of fate, is full of dread.\n\nCH. The time calls loud on wisdom, good my lord.\n\nCR. What must I do? Advise me. I will obey.\n\nCH. Go and release the maiden from the vault,\nAnd make a grave for the unburied dead.\n\nCR. Is that your counsel? Think you I will yield?\n\nCH. With all the speed thou mayest: swift harms from heaven\nWith instant doom o'erwhelm the froward man.\n\nCR. Oh! it is hard. But I am forced to this\nAgainst myself. I cannot fight with Destiny.\n\nCH. Go now to do it. Trust no second hand.\n\nCR. Even as I am, I go. Come, come, my people.\nHere or not here, with mattocks in your hands\nSet forth immediately to yonder hill!\nAnd, since I have ta'en this sudden turn, myself,\nWho tied the knot, will hasten to unloose it.\nFor now the fear comes over me, 'tis best\nTo pass one's life in the accustomed round.                  [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS.\nO God of many a name!                                              I 1\nFilling the heart of that Cadmeian bride\n      With deep delicious pride,\nOffspring of him who wields the withering flame!\n      Thou for Italia's good\nDost care, and 'midst the all-gathering bosom wide[7]\n      Of Deo dost preside;\nThou, Bacchus, by Ismenus' winding waters\n      'Mongst Thebe's frenzied daughters,\nKeep'st haunt, commanding the fierce dragon's brood.\n\nThee o'er the forked hill                                          I 2\nThe pinewood flame beholds, where Bacchai rove,\n      Nymphs of Corycian grove,\nHard by the flowing of Castalia's rill.\n      To visit Theban ways,\nBy bloomy wine-cliffs flushing tender bright\n      'Neath far Nyseian height\nThou movest o'er the ivy-mantled mound,\n      While myriad voices sound\nLoud strains of 'Evoe!' to thy deathless praise.\n\nFor Thebe thou dost still uphold,                                 II 1\nFirst of cities manifold,\nThou and the nymph whom lightning made\nMother of thy radiant head.\nCome then with healing for the violent woe\nThat o'er our peopled land doth largely flow,\nPassing the high Parnassian steep\nOr moaning narrows of the deep!\n\nCome, leader of the starry quire                                  II 2\nQuick-panting with their breath of fire!\nLord of high voices of the night,\nChild born to him who dwells in light,\nAppear with those who, joying in their madness,\nHonour the sole dispenser of their gladness,\nThyiads of the Aegean main\nNight-long trooping in thy train.\n\n_Enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESS. Neighbours of Cadmus and Amphion's halls,\nNo life of mortal, howsoe'er it stand,\nShall once have praise or censure from my mouth;\nSince human happiness and human woe\nCome even as fickle Fortune smiles or lours;\nAnd none can augur aught from what we see.\nCreon erewhile to me was enviable,\nWho saved our Thebe from her enemies;\nThen, vested with supreme authority,\nRuled her aright; and flourish'd in his home\nWith noblest progeny. What hath he now?\nNothing. For when a man is lost to joy,\nI count him not to live, but reckon him\nA living corse. Riches belike are his,\nGreat riches and the appearance of a King;\nBut if no gladness come to him, all else\nIs shadow of a vapour, weighed with joy.\n\nCH. What new affliction heaped on sovereignty\nCom'st thou to tell?\n\nMESS.                They are dead; and they that live\nAre guilty of the death.\n\nCH.                      The slayer, who?\nAnd who the slain? Declare.\n\nMESS.                       Haemon is dead,\nAnd by a desperate hand.\n\nCH.                      His own, or Creon's?\n\nMESS. By his own hand, impelled with violent wrath\nAt Creon for the murder of the maid.\n\nCH. Ah, Seer! how surely didst thou aim thy word!\n\nMESS. So stands the matter. Make of it what ye list.\n\nCH. See, from the palace cometh close to us\nCreon's unhappy wife, Eurydice.\nIs it by chance, or heard she of her son?\n\n_Enter_ EURYDICE.\n\nEURYDICE. Ye men of Thebes, the tidings met mine ear\nAs I was coming forth to visit Pallas\nWith prayerful salutation. I was loosening\nThe bar of the closed gate, when the sharp sound\nOf mine own sorrow smote against my heart,\nAnd I fell back astonied on my maids\nAnd fainted. But the tale? tell me once more;\nI am no novice in adversity.\n\nMESS. Dear lady, I will tell thee what I saw,\nAnd hide no grain of truth: why should I soothe\nThy spirit with soft tales, when the harsh fact\nMust prove me a liar? Truth is always best.\nI duly led the footsteps of thy lord\nTo the highest point of the plain, where still was lying,\nForlorn and mangled by the dogs, the corse\nOf Polynices. We besought Persephone\nAnd Pluto gently to restrain their wrath,\nAnd wash'd him pure and clean, and then we burned\nThe poor remains with brushwood freshly pulled,\nAnd heaped a lofty mound of his own earth\nAbove him. Then we turned us to the vault,\nThe maiden's stony bride-chamber of death.\nAnd from afar, round the unhallowed cell,\nOne heard a voice of wailing loud and long,\nAnd went and told his lord: who coming near\nWas haunted by the dim and bitter cry,\nAnd suddenly exclaiming on his fate\nSaid lamentably, 'My prophetic heart\nDivined aright. I am going, of all ways\nThat e'er I went, the unhappiest to-day.\nMy son's voice smites me. Go, my men, approach\nWith speed, and, where the stones are torn away,\nPress through the passage to that door of death,\nLook hard, and tell me, if I hear aright\nThe voice of Haemon, or the gods deceive me.'\nThus urged by our despairing lord, we made\nTh' espial. And in the farthest nook of the vault\nWe saw the maiden hanging by the neck\nWith noose of finest tissue firmly tied,\nAnd clinging to her on his knees the boy,\nLamenting o'er his ruined nuptial-rite,\nConsummated in death, his father's crime\nAnd his lost love. And when the father saw him,\nWith loud and dreadful clamour bursting in\nHe went to him and called him piteously:\n'What deed is this, unhappy youth? What thought\nO'ermaster'd thee? Where did the force of woe\nO'erturn thy reason? O come forth, my son,\nI beg thee!' But with savage eyes the youth\nGlared scowling at him, and without a word\nPlucked forth his two-edged blade. The father then\nFled and escaped: but the unhappy boy,\nWroth with himself, even where he stood, leant heavily\nUpon his sword and plunged it in his side.--\nAnd while the sense remained, his slackening arm\nEnfolded still the maiden, and his breath,\nGaspingly drawn and panted forth with pain,\nCast ruddy drops upon her pallid face;\nThen lay in death upon the dead, at last\nJoined to his bride in Hades' dismal hall:--\nA monument unto mankind, that rashness\nIs the worst evil of this mortal state.               [_Exit_ EURYDICE\n\nCH. What augur ye from this? The queen is gone\nWithout word spoken either good or bad.\n\nMESS. I, too, am struck with dread. But hope consoles me,\nThat having heard the affliction of her son,\nHer pride forbids to publish her lament\nBefore the town, but to her maids within\nShe will prescribe to mourn the loss of the house.\nShe is too tried in judgement to do ill.\n\nCH. I cannot tell. The extreme of silence, too,\nIs dangerous, no less than much vain noise.\n\nMESS. Well, we may learn, if there be aught unseen\nSuppressed within her grief-distempered soul,\nBy going within the palace. Ye say well:\nThere is a danger, even in too much silence.\n\nCH. Ah! look where sadly comes our lord the King,\nBearing upon his arm a monument--\nIf we may speak it--of no foreign woe,\nBut of his own infirmity the fruit.\n\n_Enter_ CREON _with the body of_ HAEMON.\n\nCR. O error of my insensate soul,                                  I 1\nStubborn, and deadly in the fateful end!\nO ye who now behold\nSlayer and slain of the same kindred blood!\nO bitter consequence of seeming-wise decree!\nAlas, my son!\nStrange to the world wert thou, and strange the fate\nThat took thee off, that slew thee; woe is me!\nNot for thy rashness, but my folly. Ah me!\n\nCH. Alas for him who sees the right too late!\n\nCR. Alas!\nI have learnt it now. But then upon my head\nSome God had smitten with dire weight of doom;\nAnd plunged me in a furious course, woe is me!\nDiscomforting and trampling on my joy.\nWoe! for the bitterness of mortal pain!\n\n_Enter_ 2nd Messenger.\n\n2ND MESS. My lord and master. Thou art master here\nOf nought but sorrows. One within thine arms\nThou bear'st with thee, and in thy palace hall\nThou hast possession of another grief,\nWhich soon thou shalt behold.\n\nCR.                           What more of woe,\nOr what more woeful, sounds anew from thee?\n\n2ND MESS. The honoured mother of that corse, thy queen,\nIs dead, and bleeding with a new-given wound.\n\nCR. O horrible! O charnel gulf                                     I 2\nOf death on death, not to be done away,\nWhy harrowest thou my soul?\nIll boding harbinger of woe, what word\nHave thy lips uttered? Oh, thou hast killed me again,\nBefore undone!\nWhat say'st? What were thy tidings? Woe is me!\nSaidst thou a slaughtered queen in yonder hall\nLay in her blood, crowning the pile of ruin?\n\nCH. No longer hidden in the house. Behold!\n                              [_The Corpse of_ EURYDICE _is disclosed_\n\nCR. Alas!\nAgain I see a new, a second woe.\nWhat more calamitous stroke of Destiny\nAwaits me still? But now mine arms enfold\nMy child, and lo! yon corse before my face!\nAh! hapless, hapless mother, hapless son!\n\n2ND MESS. She with keen knife before the altar place[8]\nClosed her dark orbs; but first lamented loud\nThe glorious bed of buried Megareus[9],\nAnd then of Haemon; lastly clamoured forth\nThe curse of murdered offspring upon thee.\n\nCR. Ay me! Ay me!                                                 II 1\nI am rapt with terror. Is there none to strike me\nWith doubly sharpened blade a mortal blow?\nAh! I am plunged in fathomless distress.\n\n2ND MESS. The guilt of this and of the former grief\nBy this dead lady was denounced on thee.\n\nCR. Tell us, how ended she her life in blood?\n\n2ND MESS. Wounding herself to the heart, when she had heard\nThe loud lamented death of Haemon here.\n\nCR. O me! This crime can come\nOn no man else, exempting me.\nI slew thee--I, O misery!\nI say the truth, 'twas I! My followers,\nTake me with speed--take me away, away!\nMe, who am nothing now.\n\nCH. Thou sayest the best, if there be best in woe.\nBriefest is happiest in calamity.\n\nCR. Ah! let it come,                                              II 2\nThe day, most welcome of all days to me,\nThat brings the consummation of my doom.\nCome! Come! I would not see another sun.\n\nCH. Time will determine that. We must attend\nTo present needs. Fate works her own dread work.\n\nCR. All my desire was gathered in my prayer.\n\nCH. But prayer is bootless. For to mortal men\nThere is no saviour from appointed woe.\n\nCR. Take me away, the vain-proud man that slew\nThee, O my son! unwittingly,--and thee!\nMe miserable, which way shall I turn,\nWhich look upon? Since all that I can touch\nIs falling,--falling,--round me, and o'erhead\nIntolerable destiny descends.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\nWise conduct hath command of happiness\nBefore all else, and piety to Heaven\nMust be preserved. High boastings of the proud\nBring sorrow to the height to punish pride:--\nA lesson men shall learn when they are old.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                                 AIAS\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nATHENA.\nODYSSEUS.\nAIAS, _the son of Telamon._\nCHORUS _of Salaminian Mariners._\nTECMESSA.\n_A Messenger._\nTEUCER, _half brother of Aias._\nMENELAUS.\nAGAMEMNON.\n\nEURYSAKES, _the child of Aias and Tecmessa, appears, but does not\nspeak._\n\n\nSCENE. Before the encampment of Aias on the shore of the Troad.\nAfterwards a lonely place beyond Rhoeteum.\n\nTime, towards the end of the Trojan War.\n\n\n\n\n                  _'A wounded spirit who can bear?'_\n\nAfter the death of Achilles, the armour made for him by Hephaestus was\nto be given to the worthiest of the surviving Greeks. Although Aias\nwas the most valiant, the judges made the award to Odysseus, because\nhe was the wisest.\n\nAias in his rage attempts to kill the generals; but Athena sends\nmadness upon him, and he makes a raid upon the flocks and herds of the\narmy, imagining the bulls and rams to be the Argive chiefs. On\nawakening from his delusion, he finds that he has fallen irrecoverably\nfrom honour and from the favour of the Greeks. He also imagines that\nthe anger of Athena is unappeasable. Under this impression he eludes\nthe loving eyes of his captive-bride Tecmessa, and of his Salaminian\ncomrades, and falls on his sword. ('The soul and body rive not more in\nparting Than greatness going off.')\n\nBut it is revealed through the prophet Calchas, that the wrath of\nAthena will last only for a day; and on the return of Teucer, Aias\nreceives an honoured funeral, the tyrannical reclamations of the two\nsons of Atreus being overcome by the firm fidelity of Teucer and the\nmagnanimity of Odysseus, who has been inspired for this purpose by\nAthena.\n\n\n\n\n                                 AIAS\n\n\nATHENA (_above_). ODYSSEUS.\n\nATHENA. Oft have I seen thee, Laertiades,\nIntent on some surprisal of thy foes;\nAs now I find thee by the seaward camp,\nWhere Aias holds the last place in your line,\nLingering in quest, and scanning the fresh print\nOf his late footsteps, to be certified\nIf he keep house or no. Right well thy sense\nHath led thee forth, like some keen hound of Sparta!\nThe man is even but now come home, his head\nAnd slaughterous hands reeking with ardent toil.\nThou, then, no longer strain thy gaze within\nYon gateway, but declare what eager chase\nThou followest, that a god may give thee light.\n\nODYSSEUS. Athena, 'tis thy voice! Dearest in heaven,\nHow well discerned and welcome to my soul\nFrom that dim distance doth thine utterance fly\nIn tones as of Tyrrhenian trumpet clang!\nRightly hast thou divined mine errand here,\nBeating this ground for Aias of the shield,\nThe lion-quarry whom I track to day.\nFor he hath wrought on us to night a deed\nPast thought--if he be doer of this thing;\nWe drift in ignorant doubt, unsatisfied--\nAnd I unbidden have bound me to this toil.\n\n  Brief time hath flown since suddenly we knew\nThat all our gathered spoil was reaved and slaughtered,\nFlocks, herds, and herdmen, by some human hand,\nAll tongues, then, lay this deed at Aias' door.\nAnd one, a scout who had marked him, all alone,\nWith new-fleshed weapon bounding o'er the plain,\nGave me to know it, when immediately\nI darted on the trail, and here in part\nI find some trace to guide me, but in part\nI halt, amazed, and know not where to look.\nThou com'st full timely. For my venturous course,\nPast or to come, is governed by thy will.\n\nATH. I knew thy doubts, Odysseus, and came forth\nZealous to guard thy perilous hunting-path.\n\nOD. Dear Queen! and am I labouring to an end?\n\nATH. Thou schem'st not idly. This is Aias' deed.\n\nOD. What can have roused him to a work so wild?\n\nATH. His grievous anger for Achilles' arms.\n\nOD. But wherefore on the flock this violent raid?\n\nATH. He thought to imbrue his hands with your heart's blood.\n\nOD. What? Was this planned against the Argives, then?\n\nATH. Planned, and performed, had I kept careless guard.\n\nOD. What daring spirit, what hardihood, was here!\n\nATH. Alone by night in craft he sought your tents.\n\nOD. How? Came he near them? Won he to his goal?\n\nATH. He stood in darkness at the generals' gates.\n\nOD. What then restrained his eager hand from murder?\n\nATH. I turned him backward from his baleful joy,\nAnd overswayed him with blind phantasies,\nTo swerve against the flocks and well-watched herd\nNot yet divided from the public booty.\nThere plunging in he hewed the horned throng,\nAnd with him Havoc ranged: while now he thought\nTo kill the Atreidae with hot hand, now this\nNow that commander, as the fancy grew.\nI, joining with the tumult of his mind,\nFlung the wild victim on the fatal net.\nAnon, this toil being overpast, he draws\nThe living oxen and the panting sheep\nWith cords to his home, not as a horned prey,\nBut as in triumph marshalling his foes:\nWhom now he tortures in their bonds within.\n  Come, thou shalt see this madness in clear day,\nAnd tell to the Argives all I show thee here\nOnly stand firm and shrink not, I will turn\nHis eyes askance, not to distinguish thee,\nFear nought--Ho! thou that bindest to thy will\nThe limbs of those thy captives, come thou forth!\nAias! advance before thy palace gate!\n\nOD. My Queen! what dost thou? Never call him forth.\n\nATH. Hush, hush! Be not so timorous, but endure.\n\nOD. Nay, nay! Enough. He is there, and let him bide.\n\nATH. What fear you? Dates his valour from to day?\n\nOD. He was and is my valiant enemy.\n\nATH. Then is not laughter sweetest o'er a foe?\n\nOD. No more! I care not he should pass abroad.\n\nATH. You flinch from seeing the madman in full view.\n\nOD. When sane, I ne'er had flinched before his face.\n\nATH. Well, but even now he shall not know thee near.\n\nOD. How, if his eyes be not transformed or lost?\n\nATH. I will confound his sense although he see.\n\nOD. Well, nothing is too hard for Deity.\n\nATH. Stand still and keep thy place without a word.\n\nOD. I must. Would I were far away from here!\n\nATH. Aias! Again I summon thee. Why pay\nSo scanty heed to her who fights for thee?\n\n_Enter_ AIAS _with a bloody scourge._\n\nAIAS. Hail, offspring of the Highest! Pallas, hail!\nWell hast thou stood by me. Triumphal gold\nShall crown thy temple for this lordly prey.\n\nATH. A fair intention! But resolve me this:\nHast dyed thy falchion deep in Argive blood?\n\nAI. There is my boast; that charge I'll ne'er deny.\n\nATH. Have Atreus' sons felt thy victorious might?\n\nAI. They have. No more they'll make a scorn of me!\n\nATH. I take it, then, they are dead.\n\nAI.                                  Ay, now they are dead,\nLet them arise and rob me of mine arms!\n\nATH. Good. Next inform us of Laertes' son;\nHow stands his fortune? Hast thou let him go?\n\nAI. The accursed fox! Dost thou inquire of him?\n\nATH. Ay, of Odysseus, thy late adversary.\n\nAI. He sits within, dear lady, to my joy,\nBound; for I mean him not just yet to die.\n\nATH. What fine advantage wouldst thou first achieve?\n\nAI. First, tie him to a pillar of my hall--\n\nATH. Poor wretch! What torment wilt thou wreak on him?\n\nAI. Then stain his back with scourging till he die.\n\nATH. Nay, 'tis too much. Poor caitiff! Not the scourge!\n\nAI. Pallas, in all things else have thou thy will,\nBut none shall wrest Odysseus from this doom.\n\nATH. Well, since thou art determined on the deed,\nSpare nought of thine intent: indulge thy hand!\n\nAI. (_waving the bloody scourge_).\nI go! But thou, I charge thee, let thine aid\nBe evermore like valiant as to-day.                            [_Exit_\n\nATH. The gods are strong, Odysseus. Dost thou see?\nWhat man than Aias was more provident,\nOr who for timeliest action more approved?\n\nOD. I know of none. But, though he hates me sore,\nI pity him, poor mortal, thus chained fast\nTo a wild and cruel fate,--weighing not so much\nHis fortune as mine own. For now I feel\nAll we who live are but an empty show\nAnd idle pageant of a shadowy dream.\n\nATH. Then, warned by what thou seest, be thou not rash\nTo vaunt high words toward Heaven, nor swell thy port\nToo proudly, if in puissance of thy hand\nThou passest others, or in mines of wealth.\nSince Time abases and uplifts again\nAll that is human, and the modest heart\nIs loved by Heaven, who hates the intemperate will.          [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\n      Telamonian child, whose hand\n      Guards our wave-encircled land,\n      Salamis that breasts the sea,\n      Good of thine is joy to me;\n      But if One who reigns above\n      Smite thee, or if murmurs move\n      From fierce Danaaens in their hate\n      Full of threatening to thy state,\n      All my heart for fear doth sigh,\n      Shrinking like a dove's soft eye.\n\n      Hardly had the darkness waned,                 [_Half-Chorus I._\n      When our ears were filled and pained\n      With huge scandal on thy fame.\n      Telling, thine the arm that came\n      To the cattle-browsed mead,\n      Wild with prancing of the steed,\n      And that ravaged there and slew\n      With a sword of fiery hue\n      All the spoils that yet remain,\n      By the sweat of spearmen ta'en.\n\n      Such report against thy life,                 [_Half-Chorus II._\n      Whispered words with falsehood rife,\n      Wise Odysseus bringing near\n      Shrewdly gaineth many an ear:\n      Since invention against thee\n      Findeth hearing speedily,\n      Tallying with the moment's birth;\n      And with loudly waxing mirth\n      Heaping insult on thy grief,\n      Each who hears it glories more\n      Than the tongue that told before.\n      Every slander wins belief\n      Aimed at souls whose worth is chief:\n      Shot at me, or one so small,\n      Such a bolt might harmless fall.\n      Ever toward the great and high\n      Creepeth climbing jealousy\n      Yet the low without the tall\n      Make at need a tottering wall\n      Let the strong the feeble save\n      And the mean support the brave.\n\nCHORUS\n      Ah! 'twere vain to tune such song\n      'Mid the nought discerning throng\n      Who are clamouring now 'gainst thee\n      Long and loud, and strengthless we,\n      Mighty chieftain, thou away,\n      To withstand the gathering fray\n      Flocking fowl with carping cry\n      Seem they, lurking from thine eye,\n      Till the royal eagle's poise\n      Overawe the paltry noise\n      Till before thy presence hushed\n      Sudden sink they, mute and crushed.\n\nDid bull slaying Artemis, Zeus' cruel daughter                     I 1\n  (Ah, fearful rumour, fountain of my shame!)\nPrompt thy fond heart to this disastrous slaughter\n  Of the full herd stored in our army's name!\nSay, had her blood stained temple[1] missed the kindness\n  Of some vow promised fruit of victory,\nFoiled of some glorious armour through thy blindness,\n  Or fell some stag ungraced by gift from thee?\nOr did stern Ares venge his thankless spear\nThrough this night foray that hath cost thee dear!\n\nFor never, if thy heart were not distracted                        I 2\n  By stings from Heaven, O child of Telamon,\nWouldst thou have bounded leftward, to have acted\n  Thus wildly, spoiling all our host hath won!\nMadness might fall some heavenly power forfend it\n  But if Odysseus and the tyrant lords\nSuggest a forged tale, O rise to end it,\n  Nor fan the fierce flame of their withering words!\nForth from thy tent, and let thine eye confound\nThe brood of Sisyphus[2] that would thee wound!\n\nToo long hast thou been fixed in grim repose,                      III\n  Heightening the haughty malice of thy foes,\nThat, while thou porest by the sullen sea,\n  Through breezy glades advanceth fearlessly,\nA mounting blaze with crackling laughter fed\nFrom myriad throats; whence pain and sorrow bred\nWithin my bosom are established.\n\n_Enter_ TECMESSA.\n\nTECMESSA. Helpers of Aias' vessel's speed,\nErechtheus' earth-derived seed,\nSorrows are ours who truly care\nFor the house of Telamon afar.\nThe dread, the grand, the rugged form\n      Of him we know,\nIs stricken with a troublous storm;\n    Our Aias' glory droopeth low.\n\nCHORUS. What burden through the darkness fell\nWhere still at eventide 'twas well?\nPhrygian Teleutas' daughter, say;\nSince Aias, foremost in the fray,\nDisdaining not the spear-won bride,\nStill holds thee nearest at his side,\nAnd thou may'st solve our doubts aright.\n\nTEC. How shall I speak the dreadful word?\nHow shall ye live when ye have heard?\nMadness hath seized our lord by night\nAnd blasted him with hopeless blight.\nSuch horrid victims mightst thou see\nHuddled beneath yon canopy,\nTorn by red hands and dyed in blood,\nDread offerings to his direful mood.\n\nCH. What news of our fierce lord thy story showeth,                  1\n    Sharp to endure, impossible to fly!\nNews that on tongues of Danaaens hourly groweth,\n    Which Rumour's myriad voices multiply!\nAlas! the approaching doom awakes my terror.\n    The man will die, disgraced in open day,\nWhose dark dyed steel hath dared through mad brained error\n    The mounted herdmen with their herds to slay.\n\nTEC. O horror! Then 'twas there he found\n      The flock he brought as captives tied,\n    And some he slew upon the ground,\n      And some, side smiting, sundered wide\n    Two white foot rams he backward drew,\n    And bound. Of one he shore and threw\n    The tipmost tongue and head away,\n    The other to an upright stay\n    He tied, and with a harness thong\n      Doubled in hand, gave whizzing blows,\n    Echoing his lashes with a song\n      More dire than mortal fury knows.\n\nCH. Ah! then 'tis time, our heads in mantles hiding,                 2\n    Our feet on some stol'n pathway now to ply,\nOr with swift oarage o'er the billows gliding,\n    With ordered stroke to make the good ship fly\nSuch threats the Atridae, armed with two fold power,\n    Launch to assail us. Oh, I sadly fear\nStones from fierce hands on us and him will shower,\n    Whose heavy plight no comfort may come near.\n\nTEC. 'Tis changed, his rage, like sudden blast,\n    Without the lightning gleam is past\n    And now that Reason's light returns,\n    New sorrow in his spirit burns.\n    For when we look on self made woe,\n      In which no hand but ours had part,\n    Thought of such griefs and whence they flow\n      Brings aching misery to the heart.\n\nCH. If he hath ceased to rave, he should do well\nThe account of evil lessens when 'tis past.\n\nTEC. If choice were given you, would you rather choose\nHurting your friends, yourself to feel delight,\nOr share with them in one commingled pain?\n\nCH. The two fold trouble is more terrible.\n\nTEC. Then comes our torment now the fit is o'er.\n\nCH. How mean'st thou by that word? I fail to see.\n\nTEC. He in his rage had rapture of delight\nAnd knew not how he grieved us who stood near\nAnd saw the madding tempest ruining him.\nBut now 'tis over and he breathes anew,\nThe counterblast of sorrow shakes his soul,\nWhilst our affliction vexeth as before,\nHave we not double for our single woe?\n\nCH. I feel thy reasoning move me, and I fear\nSome heavenly stroke hath fallen. How else, when the end\nOf stormy sickness brings no cheering ray?\n\nTEC. Our state is certain. Dream not but 'tis so.\n\nCH. How first began the assault of misery?\nTell us the trouble, for we share the pain.\n\nTEC. It toucheth you indeed, and ye shall hear\nAll from the first. 'Twas midnight, and the lamp\nOf eve had died, when, seizing his sharp blade,\nHe sought on some vain errand to creep forth.\nI broke in with my word: 'Aias, what now?\nWhy thus uncalled for salliest thou? No voice\nOf herald summoned thee. No trumpet blew.\nWhat wouldst thou when the camp is hushed in sleep?'\nHe with few words well known to women's ears\nChecked me: 'The silent partner is the best.'\nI saw how 'twas and ceased. Forth then he fared\nAlone--What horror passed upon the plain\nThis night, I know not. But he drags within,\nTied in a throng, bulls, shepherd dogs, and spoil\nOf cattle and sheep. Anon he butchers them,\nFelling or piercing, hacking or tearing wide,\nRibs from breast, limb from limb. Others in rage\nHe seized and bound and tortured, brutes for men.\nLast, out he rushed before the doors, and there\nWhirled forth wild language to some shadowy form,\nFlouting the generals and Laertes' son\nWith torrent laughter and loud triumphing\nWhat in his raid he had wreaked to their despite.\nThen diving back within--the fitful storm\nSlowly assuaging left his spirit clear.\nAnd when his eye had lightened through the room\nCumbered with ruin, smiting on his brow\nHe roared; and, tumbling down amid the wreck\nOf woolly carnage he himself had made,\nSate with clenched hand tight twisted in his hair.\nLong stayed he so in silence. Then flashed forth\nThose frightful words of threatening vehemence,\nThat bade me show him all the night's mishap,\nAnd whither he was fallen I, dear my friends,\nPrevailed on through my fear, told all I knew.\nAnd all at once he raised a bitter cry,\nWhich heretofore I ne'er had heard, for still\nHe made us think such doleful utterance\nBetokened the dull craven spirit, and still\nDumb to shrill wailings, he would only moan\nWith half heard muttering, like an angry bull.\nBut now, by such dark fortune overpowered,\nFoodless and dry, amid the quivering heap\nHis steel hath quelled, all quietly he broods;\nAnd out of doubt his mind intends some harm:\nSuch words, such groans, burst from him. O my friends.--\nTherefore I hastened,--enter and give aid\nIf aught ye can! Men thus forgone will oft\nGrow milder through the counsel of a friend.\n\nCH. Teleutas' child! we shudder at thy tale\nThat fatal frenzy wastes our hero's soul.\n\nAIAS (_within_). Woe's me, me, me!\n\nTEC. More cause anon! Hear ye not Aias there,\nHow sharp the cry that shrills from him?\n\nAI.                                      Woe! Woe!\n\nCH. Madly it sounds--Or springs it of deep grief\nFor proofs of madness harrowing to his eye?\n\nAI. Boy, boy!\n\nTEC.          What means he? Oh, Eurysakes!\nHe cries on thee. Where art thou? O my heart!\n\nAI. Teucer I call! Where 's Teucer? Will he ne'er\nCome from the chase, but leave me to my doom?\n\nCH. Not madness now. Disclose him. Let us look.\nHaply the sight of us may calm his soul.\n\nTEC. There, then; I open to your view the form\nOf Aias, and his fortunes as they are.           [AIAS _is discovered_\n\nAI. Dear comrades of the deep, whose truth and love                I 1\n    Stand forth alone unbroken in my woe,\n        Behold what gory sea\n        Of storm-lashed agony\n    Doth round and round me flow!\n\nCH. (_to_ TEC.) Too true thy witness: for the fact cries out\nWild thoughts were here and Reason's lamp extinct.\n\nAI. Strong helpers of sea-speed, whose nimble hand                 I 2\n    Plied hither the salt oar with circling stroke,\n        No shepherd there was found\n        To give the avenging wound.\n    Come, lay me with the flock!\n\nCH. Speak no rash word! nor curing ill with ill\nAugment the plague of this calamity.\n\nAI.     Mark ye the brave and bold,                               II 1\n        Whom none could turn of old,\n    When once he set his face to the fierce fight?\n        Now beasts that thought no harm\n        Have felt this puissant arm.\n    O laughter of my foes! O mockery of my might!\n\nTEC. Aias, my lord! I entreat thee, speak not so!\n\nAI. Thou here! Away! begone, and trouble me not!\nO! O!\n\nCH.   Be softened! bear a steadier mind!\n\nAI. O heaven-accursed hand\n      That let the ruffians go,\n    But falling 'midst the horn'd and bleating band,\n      Made darkling blood-streams flow!\n\nCH. Why vex thy heart with what is over and done?\nDo what we may, this ne'er will alter now.\n\nAI.     Child of Laertes old,                                     II 2\n        Thou that dost still behold\n    And still contrive all shapes of monstrous ill,\n        Winding in foulest ways\n        Through the army's sinful maze,--\n    Now even for pleasure thou may'st laugh thy fill.\n\nCH. Laughter and tears are in the gift of God.\n\nAI. Ay, might I see him, though thus broken,--ay me!\nEven yet--\n\nCH. Nay, vaunt not. Look where thou art fallen.\n\nAI.   Source where my life-blood springs,\n        O Zeus, might I but slay\n    That crafty plague, with those twin-sceptred kings,\n      Then breathe my life away!\n\nTEC. Pray thus, and pray that I too be no more!\nIf thou wert gone, what were my life to me?\n\nAI. Darkness! my only light!                                     III 1\n    O nether gloom, to me\n    Brighter than morning to the wakeful eye!\n    Take me to dwell with thee.\n    Take me! What help? Zeus' daughter with fell might\n    Torments me sore. I may not look on high,\n    Nor to the tribe of momentary men.--\n    Oh, whither, then,\n    Should it avail to fly?\n    Ah! whither should I go and stay?\n    All here is ruin. This mad prey\n    Shames me for evermore:\n    Vengeance is at the door;\n    Yea, all the Achaean host, with armed hand,\n    Is ready at command\n    To slay me o'er and o'er.\n\nTEC. Woe 's me! to hear from one so good and true\nWords he had scorned to utter in past days.\n\nAI. Grey firths of foaming brine,                                III 2\nAnd ye, deep groves, that crown\nThe sea-caves and long cliffs upon the shore,\nToo long did ye confine\nMy life about the walls of Troia's town:\nBut no more now! a breathing man, no more!\nThe wise in heart may duly learn that lore.\nLet Xanthus know,\nWhose waters neighbouring flow,\nAnd minister to Argive men:\nOne man he ne'er shall see again;\nOne, I will vaunt it forth!\nHighest in warlike worth\nOf all Greek forms that Troia's towers have eyed:\nNow, shorn of all that pride,\nI lie thus low.\n\nCH. I know not how to let thee speak, nor how\nTo silence thee. Such evils close thee round.\n\nAI. Ay me!\n           Could human thought have prophesied\nMy name would thus give echo to mine ill?\n'Ai' now for Aias, doubly, trebly said,\nSorts all too well to mark my misery;\nWhose father from this land of Troy, as noblest\nOf all the host, carrying the fairest prize,\nCame girt about with glory to his home.\nBut I his son, not less of might than he,\nNor poorer in the achievements of my hand,\nTo this same region following in my prime,\nAm scouted by the Achaeans and destroyed.\nYet know I one thing well. Had Peleus' child,\nLiving, adjudged his armour as a meed\nOf well-tried bravery, no grasp save mine\nHad clutched it. But the Atridae with mean craft\nConveyed his heirloom to a wit-proud knave,\nWhilst Aias' peerless prowess was despised.\nAnd had not this mine eye and mind distraught\nGlanced from my purpose, ne'er again had they\nPerverted judgement. But the invincible\nStern daughter of the Highest, with baneful eye,\nEven as mine arm descended, baffled me,\nAnd hurled upon my soul a frenzied plague,\nTo stain my hand with these dumb victims' blood.\nAnd those mine enemies exult in safety,--\nNot with my will; but where a God misguides,\nStrong arms are thwarted and the weakling lives.\n  Now, what remains? Heaven hates me, 'tis too clear:\nThe Grecian host abhor me: Troy, with all\nThis country round our camp, is my sworn foe.\nShall I, across the Aegean sailing home,\nLeave these Atridae and their fleet forlorn?\nHow shall I dare to front my father's eye?\nHow will he once endure to look on me,\nDenuded of the prize of high renown,\nWhose coronal stood sparkling on his brow?\nNo! 'twere too dreadful. Then shall I advance\nBefore the Trojan battlements, and there\nIn single conflict doing valiantly\nLast die upon their spears? Nay, for by this\nI might perchance make Atreus' offspring glad.\nThat may not be imagined. I must find\nSome act to let my grey-haired father feel\nNo heartless recreant once called him sire.\nShame on the wight who when beset with ill\nCares to live on in misery unrelieved.\nCan hour outlasting hour make less or more\nOf death? Whereby then can it furnish joy?\nThat mortal weighs for nothing-worth with me,\nWhom Hope can comfort with her fruitless fire.\nHonour in life or honour in the grave\nBefits the noble heart. You hear my will.\n\nCH. From thine own spirit, Aias, all may tell,\nThat utterance came, and none have prompted thee.\nYet stay thy hurrying thought, and by thy friends\nBe ruled to loose this burden from thy mind.\n\nTEC. O my great master! heaviest of all woe\nIs theirs whose life is crushed beyond recall.\nI, born of one the mightiest of the free\nAnd wealthiest in the Phrygian land, am now\nA captive. So Heaven willed, and thy strong arm\nDetermined. Therefore, since the hour that made\nMy being one with thine, I breathe for thee;\nAnd I beseech thee by the sacred fire\nOf home, and by the sweetness of the night\nWhen from thy captive I became thy bride,\nLeave me not guardless to the unworthy touch\nAnd cruel taunting of thine enemies'\nFor, shouldst thou die and leave us, then shall I\nBorne off by Argive violence with thy boy\nEat from that day the bread of slavery.\nAnd some one of our lords shall smite me there\nWith galling speech: Behold the concubine\nOf Aias, first of all the Greeks for might,\nHow envied once, worn with what service now!\nSo will they speak; and while my quailing heart\nShall sink beneath its burden, clouds of shame\nWill dim thy glory and degrade thy race.\nOh! think but of thy father, left to pine\nIn doleful age, and let thy mother's grief--\nWho, long bowed down with many a careful year,\nPrays oftentimes thou may'st return alive--\nO'er awe thee. Yea, and pity thine own son,\nUnsheltered in his boyhood, lorn of thee,\nWith bitter foes to tend his orphanhood,\nThink, O my lord, what sorrow in thy death\nThou send'st on him and me. For I have nought\nTo lean to but thy life. My fatherland\nThy spear hath ruined. Fate--not thou--hath sent\nMy sire and mother to the home of death\nWhat wealth have I to comfort me for thee?\nWhat land of refuge? Thou art all my stay\nOh, of me too take thought! Shall men have joy,\nAnd not remember? Or shall kindness fade?\nSay, can the mind be noble, where the stream\nOf gratitude is withered from the spring?\n\nCH. Aias, I would thy heart were touched like mine\nWith pity; then her words would win thy praise.\n\nAI. My praise she shall not miss, if she perform\nMy bidding with firm heart, and fail not here.\n\nTEC. Dear Aias, I will fail in nought thou bidst me.\n\nAI. Bring me my boy, that I may see his face.\n\nTEC. Oh, in my terror I conveyed him hence!\n\nAI. Clear of this mischief, mean'st thou? or for what?\n\nTEC. Lest he might run to thee, poor child, and die.\n\nAI. That issue had been worthy of my fate!\n\nTEC. But I kept watch to fence his life from harm.\n\nAI. 'Twas wisely done. I praise thy foresight there.\n\nTEC. Well, since 'tis so, how can I help thee now?\n\nAI. Give me to speak to him and see him near.\n\nTEC. He stands close by with servants tending him.\n\nAI. Then why doth he not come, but still delay?\n\nTEC. Thy father calls thee, child. Come, lead him hither,\nWhichever of you holds him by the hand.\n\nAI. Moves he? or do thine accents idly fall?\n\nTEC. See, where thy people bring him to thine eye.\n\nAI. Lift him to me: lift him! He will not fear\nAt sight of this fresh havoc of the sword,\nIf rightly he be fathered of my blood.\nLike some young colt he must be trained and taught\nTo run fierce courses with his warrior sire.\nBe luckier than thy father, boy! but else\nBe like him, and thy life will not be low.\nOne thing even now I envy thee, that none\nOf all this misery pierces to thy mind.\nFor life is sweetest in the void of sense,\nEre thou know joy or sorrow. But when this\nHath found thee, make thy father's enemies\nFeel the great parent in the valiant child.\nMeantime grow on in tender youthfulness,\nNursed by light breezes, gladdening this thy mother.\nNo Greek shall trample thee with brutal harm,\nThat I know well, though I shall not be near--\nSo stout a warder to protect thy life\nI leave in Teucer. He'll not fail, though now\nHe follow far the chase upon his foes.\nMy trusty warriors, people of the sea,\nBe this your charge, no less,--and bear to him\nMy clear commandment, that he take this boy\nHome to my fatherland, and make him known\nTo Telamon, and Eriboea too,\nMy mother. Let him tend them in their age.\nAnd, for mine armour, let not that be made\nThe award of Grecian umpires or of him\nWho ruined me. But thou, named of the shield[3],\nEurysakes, hold mine, the unpierceable\nSeven-hided buckler, and by the well stitched thong\nGrasp firm and wield it mightily.--The rest\nShall lie where I am buried.--Take him now,\nQuickly, and close the door. No tears! What! weep\nBefore the tent? How women crave for pity!\nMake fast, I say. No wise physician dreams\nWith droning charms to salve a desperate sore.\n\nCH. There sounds a vehement ardour in thy words\nThat likes me not. I fear thy sharpened tongue.\n\nTEC. Aias, my lord, what act is in thy mind?\n\nAI. Inquire not, question not; be wise, thou'rt best.\n\nTEC. How my heart sinks! Oh, by thy child, by Heaven,\nI pray thee on my knees, forsake us not!\n\nAI. Thou troublest me. What! know'st thou not that Heaven\nHath ceased to be my debtor from to-day?\n\nTEC. Hush! Speak not so.\n\nAI.                      Speak thou to those that hear.\n\nTEC. Will you not hear me?\n\nAI.                        Canst thou not be still?\n\nTEC. My fears, my fears!\n\nAI. (_to the_ Attendants). Come, shut me in, I say.\n\nTEC. Oh, yet be softened!\n\nAI.                       'Tis a foolish hope,\nIf thou deem'st now to mould me to thy will.\n                                   [Aias _is withdrawn. Exit_ Tecmessa\n\nCHORUS.\nIsland of glory! whom the glowing eyes                             I 1\nOf all the wondering world immortalize,\nThou, Salamis, art planted evermore,\nHappy amid the wandering billows' roar;\nWhile I--ah, woe the while!--this weary time,\n  By the green wold where flocks from Ida stray,\nLie worn with fruitless hours of wasted prime,\n  Hoping--ah, cheerless hope!--to win my way\nWhere Hades' horrid gloom shall hide me from the day.\n\nAias is with me, yea, but crouching low,                           I 2\nWhere Heaven-sent madness haunts his overthrow,\nBeyond my cure or tendance: woful plight!\nWhom thou, erewhile, to head the impetuous fight,\nSent'st forth, thy conquering champion. Now he feeds\n  His spirit on lone paths, and on us brings\nDeep sorrow; and all his former peerless deeds\nOf prowess fall like unremembered things\nFrom Atreus' loveless brood, this caitiff brace of kings.\n\nAh! when his mother, full of days and bowed                       II 1\nWith hoary eld, shall hear his ruined mind,\n      How will she mourn aloud!\nNot like the warbler of the dale,\n      The bird of piteous wail,\nBut in shrill strains far borne upon the wind,\nWhile on the withered breast and thin white hair\nFalls the resounding blow, the rending of despair.\n\nBest hid in death were he whom madness drives                     II 2\nRemediless; if, through his father's race\n      Born to the noblest place\nAmong the war-worn Greeks, he lives\n      By his own light no more,\nSelf-aliened from the self he knew before.\nOh, hapless sire, what woe thine ear shall wound!\nOne that of all thy line no life save this hath found.\n\n_Enter_ Aias _with a bright sword, and_ Tecmessa, _severally._\n\nAI. What change will never-terminable Time\nNot heave to light, what hide not from the day?\nWhat chance shall win men's marvel? Mightiest oaths\nFall frustrate, and the steely-tempered will.\nAy, and even mine, that stood so diamond-keen\nLike iron lately dipped, droops now dis-edged\nAnd weakened by this woman, whom to leave\nA widow with her orphan to my foes,\nDulls me with pity. I will go to the baths\nAnd meadows near the cliff, and purging there\nMy dark pollution, I will screen my soul\nFrom reach of Pallas' grievous wrath. I will find\nSame place untrodden, and digging of the soil\nWhere none shall see, will bury this my sword,\nWeapon of hate! for Death and Night to hold\nEvermore underground. For, since my hand\nHad this from Hector mine arch-enemy,\nNo kindness have I known from Argive men.\nSo true that saying of the bygone world,\n'A foe's gift is no gift, and brings no good.'\n  Well, we will learn of Time. Henceforth I'll bow\nTo heavenly ordinance and give homage due\nTo Atreus' sons. Who rules, must be obeyed.\nSince nought so fierce and terrible but yields\nPlace to Authority. Wild Winter's snows\nMake way for bounteous Summer's flowery tread,\nAnd Night's sad orb retires for lightsome Day\nWith his white steeds to illumine the glad sky.\nThe furious storm-blast leaves the groaning sea\nGently to rest. Yea, the all-subduer Sleep\nFrees whom he binds, nor holds enchained for aye.\nAnd shall not men be taught the temperate will?\nYea, for I now know surely that my foe\nMust be so hated, as being like enough\nTo prove a friend hereafter, and my friend\nSo far shall have mine aid, as one whose love\nWill not continue ever. Men have found\nBut treacherous harbour in companionship.\n  Our ending, then, is peaceful. Thou, my girl,\nGo in and pray the Gods my heart's desire\nBe all fulfilled. My comrades, join her here,\nHonouring my wishes; and if Teucer come,\nBid him toward us be mindful, kind toward you.\nI must go--whither I must go. Do ye\nBut keep my word, and ye may learn, though now\nBe my dark hour, that all with me is well.\n                       [_Exit towards the country._ Tecmessa _retires_\n\nCHORUS.\nA shudder of love thrills through me. Joy! I soar                    1\n      O Pan, wild Pan!                                   [_They dance_\n      Come from Cyllene hoar--\nCome from the snow drift, the rock-ridge, the glen!\n      Leaving the mountain bare\n      Fleet through the salt sea-air,\nMover of dances to Gods and to men.\nWhirl me in Cnossian ways--thrid me the Nysian maze!\nCome, while the joy of the dance is my care!\n      Thou too, Apollo, come\n      Bright from thy Delian home,\n          Bringer of day,\n      Fly o'er the southward main\n      Here in our hearts to reign,\nLoved to repose there and kindly to stay.\n\nHorror is past. Our eyes have rest from pain.                        2\n        O Lord of Heaven!                                [_They dance_\n        Now blithesome day again\nPurely may smile on our swift-sailing fleet,\n        Since, all his woe forgot,\n        Aias now faileth not\nAught that of prayer and Heaven-worship is meet.\nTime bringeth mighty aid--nought but in time doth fade:\nNothing shall move me as strange to my thought.\n        Aias our lord hath now\n        Cleared his wrath-burdened brow\n          Long our despair,\n        Ceased from his angry feud\n        And with mild heart renewed\nPeace and goodwill to the high-sceptred pair.\n\n_Enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESSENGER. Friends, my first news is Teucer's presence here,\nFresh from the Mysian heights; who, as he came\nRight toward the generals' quarter, was assailed\nWith outcry from the Argives in a throng:\nFor when they knew his motion from afar\nThey swarmed around him, and with shouts of blame\nFrom each side one and all assaulted him\nAs brother to the man who had gone mad\nAnd plotted 'gainst the host,--threatening aloud,\nSpite of his strength, he should be stoned, and die.\n--So far strife ran, that swords unscabbarded\nCrossed blades, till as it mounted to the height\nAge interposed with counsel, and it fell.\n  But where is Aias to receive my word?\nTidings are best told to the rightful ear.\n\nCH. Not in the hut, but just gone forth, preparing\nNew plans to suit his newly altered mind.\n\nMESS. Alas!\nToo tardy then was he who sped me hither;\nOr I have proved too slow a messenger.\n\nCH. What point is lacking for thine errand's speed?\n\nMESS. Teucer was resolute the man should bide\nClose held within-doors till himself should come.\n\nCH. Why, sure his going took the happiest turn\nAnd wisest, to propitiate Heaven's high wrath.\n\nMESS. The height of folly lives in such discourse,\nIf Calchas have the wisdom of a seer.\n\nCH. What knowest thou of our state? What saith he? Tell.\n\nMESS. I can tell only what I heard and saw.\nWhilst all the chieftains and the Atridae twain\nWere seated in a ring, Calchas alone\nRose up and left them, and in Teucer's palm\nLaid his right hand full friendly; then out-spake\nWith strict injunction by all means i' the world\nTo keep beneath yon covert this one day\nYour hero, and not suffer him to rove,\nIf he would see him any more alive.\nFor through this present light--and ne'er again---\nHoly Athena, so he said, will drive him\nBefore her anger. Such calamitous woe\nStrikes down the unprofitable growth that mounts\nBeyond his measure and provokes the sky.\n'Thus ever,' said the prophet, 'must he fall\nWho in man's mould hath thoughts beyond a man.\nAnd Aias, ere he left his father's door,\nMade foolish answer to his prudent sire.\n  'My son,' said Telamon, 'choose victory\nAlways, but victory with an aid from Heaven.'\nHow loftily, how madly, he replied!\n'Father, with heavenly help men nothing worth\nMay win success. But I am confident\nWithout the Gods to pluck this glory down.'\nSo huge the boast he vaunted! And again\nWhen holy Pallas urged him with her voice\nTo hurl his deadly spear against the foe,\nHe turned on her with speech of awful sound:\n  'Goddess, by other Greeks take thou thy stand;\nWhere I keep rank, the battle ne'er shall break.'\nSuch words of pride beyond the mortal scope\nHave won him Pallas' wrath, unlovely meed.\nBut yet, perchance, so be it he live to-day,\nWe, with Heaven's succour, may restore his peace.'--\nThus far the prophet, when immediately\nTeucer dispatched me, ere the assembly rose,\nBearing to thee this missive to be kept\nWith all thy care. But if my speed be lost,\nAnd Calchas' word have power, the man is dead.\n\nCH. O trouble-tost Tecmessa, born to woe,\nCome forth and see what messenger is here!\nThis news bites near the bone, a death to joy.\n\n_Enter_ TECMESSA.\n\nTEC. Wherefore again, when sorrow's cruel storm\nWas just abating, break ye my repose?\n\nCH. (_pointing to the_ Messenger).\nHear what he saith, and how he comes to bring\nNews of our Aias that hath torn my heart.\n\nTEC. Oh me! what is it, man? Am I undone?\n\nMESS. Thy case I know not; but of Aias this,\nThat if he roam abroad, 'tis dangerous.\n\nTEC. He is, indeed, abroad. Oh! tell me quickly!\n\nMESS. 'Tis Teucer's strong command to keep him close\nBeneath this roof, nor let him range alone.\n\nTEC. But where is Teucer? and what means his word?\n\nMESS. Even now at hand, and eager to make known\nThat Aias, if he thus go forth, must fall.\n\nTEC. Alas! my misery! Whence learned he this?\n\nMESS. From Thestor's prophet-offspring, who to-day\nHolds forth to Aias choice of life or death.\n\nTEC. Woe's me! O friends, this desolating blow\nIs falling! Oh, stand forward to prevent!\nAnd some bring Teucer with more haste, while some\nExplore the western bays and others search\nEastward to find your hero's fatal path!\nFor well I see I am cheated and cast forth\nFrom the old favour. Child, what shall I do?   [_Looking at_ EURYSAKES\nWe must not stay. I too will fare along,\ngo far as I have power. Come, let us go.\nBestir ye! 'Tis no moment to sit still,\nIf we would save him who now speeds to die.\n\nCH. I am ready. Come! Fidelity of foot,\nAnd swift performance, shall approve me true.          [_Exeunt omnes_\n\n_The scene changes to a lonely wooded spot._\n\nAIAS (_discovered alone_).\nThe sacrificer stands prepared,--and when\nMore keen? Let me take time for thinking, too!\nThis gift of Hector, whom of stranger men\nI hated most with heart and eyes, is set\nIn hostile Trojan soil, with grinding hone\nFresh-pointed, and here planted by my care\nThus firm, to give me swift and friendly death.\nFine instrument, so much for thee! Then, first,\nThou, for 'tis meet, great Father, lend thine aid.\nFor no great gift I sue thee. Let some voice\nBear Teucer the ill news, that none but he\nMay lift my body, newly fallen in death\nAbout my bleeding sword, ere I be spied\nBy some of those who hate me, and be flung\nTo dogs and vultures for an outcast prey.\nSo far I entreat thee, Lord of Heaven. And thou,\nHermes, conductor of the shadowy dead,\nSpeed me to rest, and when with this sharp steel\nI have cleft a sudden passage to my heart,\nAt one swift bound waft me to painless slumber!\nBut most be ye my helpers, awful Powers,\nWho know no blandishments, but still perceive\nAll wicked deeds i' the world--strong, swift, and sure,\nAvenging Furies, understand my wrong,\nSee how my life is ruined, and by whom.\nCome, ravin on Achaean flesh--spare none;\nRage through the camp!--Last, thou that driv'st thy course\nUp yon steep Heaven, thou Sun, when thou behold'st\nMy fatherland, checking thy golden rein,\nReport my fall, and this my fatal end,\nTo my old sire, and the poor soul who tends him.\nAh, hapless one! when she shall hear this word,\nHow she will make the city ring with woe!\n  'Twere from the business idly to condole.\nTo work, then, and dispatch. O Death! O Death!\nNow come, and welcome! Yet with thee, hereafter,\nI shall find close communion where I go.\nBut unto thee, fresh beam of shining Day,\nAnd thee, thou travelling Sun-god, I may speak\nNow, and no more for ever. O fair light!\nO sacred fields of Salamis my home!\nThou, firm set natal hearth: Athens renowned,\nAnd ye her people whom I love; O rivers,\nBrooks, fountains here--yea, even the Trojan plain\nI now invoke!--kind fosterers, farewell!\nThis one last word from Aias peals to you:\nHenceforth my speech will be with souls unseen.  [_Falls on his sword_\n\nCHORUS (_re-entering severally_).\n\nCH. A.  Toil upon toil brings toil,\n        And what save trouble have I?\n        Which path have I not tried?\n        And never a place arrests me with its tale.\n        Hark! lo, again a sound!\n\nCH. B.  'Tis we, the comrades of your good ship's crew.\n\nCH. A.  Well, sirs?\n\nCH. B.  We have trodden all the westward arm o' the bay.\n\nCH. A.  Well, have ye found?\n\nCH. B.  Troubles enow, but nought to inform our sight.\n\nCH. A.  Nor yet along the road that fronts the dawn\n        Is any sign of Aias to be seen.\n\nCH. Who then will tell me, who? What hard sea-liver,                 1\n        What toiling fisher in his sleepless quest,\n    What Mysian nymph, what oozy Thracian river,\n        Hath seen our wanderer of the tameless breast?\n            Where? tell me where!\n    'Tis hard that I, far-toiling voyager,\n          Crossed by some evil wind,\n          Cannot the haven find,\n    Nor catch his form that flies me, where? ah! where?\n\nTEC. (_behind_). Oh, woe is me! woe, woe!\n\nCH. A. Who cries there from the covert of the grove?\n\nTEC. O boundless misery!\n\nCH. B. Steeped in this audible sorrow I behold\nTecmessa, poor fate-burdened bride of war.\n\nTEC. Friends, I am spoiled, lost, ruined, overthrown!\n\nCH. A. What ails thee now?\n\nTEC. See where our Aias lies, but newly slain,\nFallen on his sword concealed within the ground,\n\nCH.   Woe for my hopes of home!\n        Aias, my lord, thou hast slain\n      Thy ship-companion on the salt sea foam.\n        Alas for us, and thee,\n        Child of calamity!\n\nTEC. So lies our fortune. Well may'st thou complain.\n\nCH. A. Whose hand employed he for the deed of blood?\n\nTEC. His own, 'tis manifest. This planted steel,\nFixed by his hand, gives verdict from his breast.\n\nCH.   Woe for my fault, my loss!\n        Thou hast fallen in blood alone,\n      And not a friend to cross\n        Or guard thee. I, deaf, senseless as a stone,\nLeft all undone. Oh, where, then, lies the stern\nAias, of saddest name, whose purpose none might turn?\n\nTEC. No eye shall see him. I will veil him round\nWith this all covering mantle; since no heart\nThat loved him could endure to view him there,\nWith ghastly expiration spouting forth\nFrom mouth and nostrils, and the deadly wound,\nThe gore of his self slaughter. Ah, my lord!\nWhat shall I do? What friend will carry thee?\nOh, where is Teucer! Timely were his hand,\nMight he come now to smooth his brother's corse.\nO thou most noble, here ignobly laid,\nEven enemies methinks must mourn thy fate!\n\nCH.   Ah! 'twas too clear thy firm knit thoughts would fashion,        2\n        Early or late, an end of boundless woe!\n      Such heaving groans, such bursts of heart-bruised passion,\n        Midnight and morn, bewrayed the fire below.\n            'The Atridae might beware!'\n    A plenteous fount of pain was opened there,\n            What time the strife was set,\n            Wherein the noblest met,\n    Grappling the golden prize that kindled thy despair!\n\nTEC. Woe, woe is me!\n\nCH. Deep sorrow wrings thy soul, I know it well.\n\nTEC. O woe, woe, woe!\n\nCH. Thou may'st prolong thy moan, and be believed,\nThou that hast lately lost so true a friend.\n\nTEC. Thou may'st imagine; 'tis for me to know.\n\nCH. Ay, ay, 'tis true.\n\nTEC. Alas, my child! what slavish tasks and hard\nWe are drifting to! What eyes control our will!\n\nCH.   Ay me! Through thy complaint\n          I hear the wordless blow\n      Of two high-throned, who rule without restraint\n          Of Pity. Heaven forfend\n          What evil they intend!\n\nTEC. The work of Heaven hath brought our life thus low.\n\nCH. 'Tis a sore burden to be laid on men.\n\nTEC. Yet such the mischief Zeus' resistless maid,\nPallas, hath planned to make Odysseus glad.\n\nCH.   O'er that dark-featured soul\n      What waves of pride shall roll,\n      What floods of laughter flow,\n      Rudely to greet this madness-prompted woe,\nAlas! from him who all things dares endure,\nAnd from that lordly pair, who hear, and seat them sure!\n\nTEC. Ay, let them laugh and revel o'er his fall!\nPerchance, albeit in life they missed him not,\nDead, they will cry for him in straits of war.\nFor dullards know not goodness in their hand,\nNor prize the jewel till 'tis cast away.\nTo me more bitter than to them 'twas sweet,\nHis death to him was gladsome, for he found\nThe lot he longed for, his self-chosen doom.\nWhat cause have they to laugh? Heaven, not their crew,\nHath glory by his death. Then let Odysseus\nInsult with empty pride. To him and his\nAias is nothing; but to me, to me,\nHe leaves distress and sorrow in his room!\n\nTEUCER (_within_). Alas, undone!\n\nLEADER OF CH. Hush! that was Teucer's cry. Methought I heard\nHis voice salute this object of dire woe.\n\n_Enter_ TEUCER.\n\nTEU. Aias, dear brother, comfort of mine eye,\nHast thou then done even as the rumour holds?\n\nCH. Be sure of that, Teucer. He lives no more.\n\nTEU. Oh, then how heavy is the lot I bear!\n\nCH. Yes, thou hast cause--\n\nTEU.                       O rash assault of woe!--\n\nCH. To mourn full loud.\n\nTEU.                    Ay me! and where, oh where\nOn Trojan earth, tell me, is this man's child?\n\nCH. Beside the huts, untended.\n\nTEU. (_to_ TEC).          Oh, with haste\nGo bring him hither, lest some enemy's hand\nSnatch him, as from the lion's widowed mate\nThe lion-whelp is taken. Spare not speed.\nAll soon combine in mockery o'er the dead.            [_Exit_ TECMESSA\n\nCH. Even such commands he left thee ere he died.\nAs thou fulfillest by this timely care.\n\nTEU. O sorest spectacle mine eyes e'er saw!\nWoe for my journey hither, of all ways\nMost grievous to my heart, since I was ware,\nDear Aias, of thy doom, and sadly tracked\nThy footsteps. For there darted through the host,\nAs from some God, a swift report of thee\nThat thou wert lost in death. I, hapless, heard,\nAnd mourned even then for that whose presence kills me.\nAy me! But come,\nUnveil. Let me behold my misery.  [_The corpse of_ AIAS _is uncovered_\nO sight unbearable! Cruelly brave!\nDying, what store of griefs thou sow'st for me!\nWhere, amongst whom of mortals, can I go,\nThat stood not near thee in thy troublous hour?\nWill Telamon, my sire and thine, receive me\nWith radiant countenance and favouring brow\nReturning without thee? Most like! being one\nWho smiles no more[4], yield Fortune what she may.\nWill he hide aught or soften any word,\nRating the bastard of his spear-won thrall,\nWhose cowardice and dastardy betrayed\nThy life, dear Aias,--or my murderous guile,\nTo rob thee of thy lordship and thy home?\nSuch greeting waits me from the man of wrath,\nWhose testy age even without cause would storm.\nLast, I shall leave my land a castaway,\nThrust forth an exile, and proclaimed a slave;\nSo should I fare at home. And here in Troy\nMy foes are many and my comforts few.\nAll these things are my portion through thy death.\nWoe's me, my heart! how shall I bear to draw thee,\nO thou ill-starr'd! from this discoloured blade,\nThy self-shown slayer? Didst thou then perceive\nDead Hector was at length to be thine end?--\nI pray you all, consider these two men.\nHector, whose gift from Aias was a girdle,\nTight-braced therewith to the car's rim, was dragged\nAnd scarified till he breathed forth his life.\nAnd Aias with this present from his foe\nFinds through such means his death-fall and his doom.\nSay then what cruel workman forged the gifts,\nBut Fury this sharp sword, Hell that bright band?\nIn this, and all things human, I maintain,\nGods are the artificers. My thought is said.\nAnd if there be who cares not for my thought,\nLet him hold fast his faith and leave me mine.\n\nCH. Spare longer speech, and think how to secure\nThy brother's burial, and what plea will serve;\nSince one comes here hath no good will to us\nAnd like a villain haply comes in scorn.\n\nTEU. What man of all the host hath caught thine eye?\n\nCH. The cause for whom we sailed, the Spartan King.\n\nTEU. Yes; I discern him, now he moves more near.\n\n_Enter_ MENELAUS.\n\nMENELAUS. Fellow, give o'er. Cease tending yon dead man!\nObey my voice, and leave him where he lies.\n\nTEU. Thy potent cause for spending so much breath?\n\nMEN. My will, and his whose word is sovereign here.\n\nTEU. May we not know the reasons of your will?\n\nMEN. Because he, whom we trusted to have brought\nTo lend us loyal help with heart and hand,\nProved in the trial a worse than Phrygian foe;\nWho lay in wait for all the host by night,\nAnd sallied forth in arms to shed our blood;\nThat, had not one in Heaven foiled this attempt,\nOur lot had been to lie as he doth here\nDead and undone for ever, while he lived\nAnd flourished. Heaven hath turned this turbulence\nTo fall instead upon the harmless flock.\nWherefore no strength of man shall once avail\nTo encase his body with a seemly tomb,\nBut outcast on the wide and watery sand,\nHe'll feed the birds that batten on the shore.\nNor let thy towering spirit therefore rise\nIn threatening wrath. Wilt thou or not, our hand\nShall rule him dead, howe'er he braved us living,\nAnd that by force; for never would he yield,\nEven while he lived, to words from me. And yet\nIt shows base metal when the subject-wight\nDeigns not to hearken to the chief in power.\nSince without settled awe, neither in states\nCan laws have rightful sway, nor can a host\nBe governed with due wisdom, if no fear\nOr wholesome shame be there to shield its safety.\nAnd though a man wax great in thews and bulk,\nLet him be warned: a trifling harm may ruin him.\nWhoever knows respect and honour both\nStands free from risk of dark vicissitude.\nBut whereso pride and licence have their fling,\nBe sure that state will one day lose her course\nAnd founder in the abysm. Let fear have place\nStill where it ought, say I, nor let men think\nTo do their pleasure and not bide the pain.\nThat wheel comes surely round. Once Aias flamed\nWith insolent fierceness. Now I mount in pride,\nAnd loudly bid thee bury him not, lest burying\nThy brother thou be burrowing thine own grave.\n\nCH. Menelaues, make not thy philosophy\nA platform whence to insult the valiant dead.\n\nTEU. I nevermore will marvel, sirs, when one\nOf humblest parentage is prone to sin,\nSince those reputed men of noble strain\nStoop to such phrase of prating frowardness.\nCome, tell it o'er again,--said you ye brought\nMy brother bound to aid you with his power?\nSailed he not forth of his own sovereign will?\nWhere is thy voucher of command o'er him?\nWhere of thy right o'er those that followed him?\nSparta, not we, shall buckle to thy sway.\n'Twas written nowhere in the bond of rule\nThat thou shouldst check him rather than he thee.\nThou sailedst under orders, not in charge\nOf all, much less of Aias. Then pursue\nThy limited direction, and chastise,\nIn haughty phrase, the men who fear thy nod.\nBut I will bury Aias, whether thou\nOr the other general give consent or no.\n'Tis not for me to tremble at your word.\nNot to reclaim thy wife, like those poor souls\nThou flll'st with labour, issued this man forth,\nBut caring for his oath, and not for thee,\nOr any other nobody. Then come\nWith heralds all arow, and bring the man\nCalled king of men with thee! For thy sole noise\nI budge not, wert thou twenty times thy name.\n\nCH. The sufferer should not bear a bitter tongue.\nHard words, how just soe'er, will leave their sting.\n\nMEN. Our bowman carries no small pride, I see.\n\nTEU. No mere mechanic's menial craft is mine.\n\nMEN. How wouldst thou vaunt it hadst thou but a shield!\n\nTEU. Unarmed I fear not thee in panoply.\n\nMEN. Redoubted is the wrath lives on thy tongue.\n\nTEU. Whose cause is just hath licence to be proud.\n\nMEN. Just, that my murderer have a peaceful end?\n\nTEU. Thy murderer? Strange, to have been slain and live!\n\nMEN. Yea, through Heaven's mercy. By his will, I am dead.\n\nTEU. If Heaven have saved thee, give the Gods their due.\n\nMEN. Am I the man to spurn at Heaven's command?\n\nTEU. Thou dost, to come and frustrate burial.\n\nMEN. Honour forbids to yield my foe a tomb.\n\nTEU. And Aias was thy foeman? Where and when?\n\nMEN. Hate lived between us; that thou know'st full well.\n\nTEU. For thy proved knavery, coining votes i' the court\n\nMEN. The judges voted. He ne'er lost through me.\n\nTEU. Guilt hiding guile wears often fairest front.\n\nMEN. I know whom pain shall harass for that word.\n\nTEU. Not without giving equal pain, 'tis clear.\n\nMEN. No more, but this. No burial for this man!\n\nTEU. Yea, this much more. He shall have instant burial.\n\nMEN. I have seen ere now a man of doughty tongue\nUrge sailors in foul weather to unmoor,\nWho, caught in the sea-misery by and by,\nLay voiceless, muffled in his cloak, and suffered\nWho would of the sailors over trample him\nEven so methinks thy truculent mouth ere long\nShall quench its outcry, when this little cloud\nBreaks forth on thee with the full tempest's might.\n\nTEU. I too have seen a man whose windy pride\nPoured forth loud insults o'er a neighbour's fall,\nTill one whose cause and temper showed like mine\nSpake to him in my hearing this plain word:\n'Man, do the dead no wrong; but, if thou dost,\nBe sure thou shalt have sorrow.' Thus he warned\nThe infatuate one: ay, one whom I behold,\nFor all may read my riddle--thou art he.\n\nMEN. I will be gone. 'Twere shame to me, if known,\nTo chide when I have power to crush by force.\n\nTEU. Off with you, then! 'Twere triple shame in me\nTo list the vain talk of a blustering fool.           [_Exit_ MENELAUS\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\n      High the quarrel rears his head!\n        Haste thee, Teucer, trebly haste,\n      Grave-room for the valiant dead\n        Furnish with what speed thou mayst,\n      Hollowed deep within the ground,\n      Where beneath his mouldering mound\n      Aias aye shall be renowned.\n\n_Re-enter_ TECMESSA _with_ EURYSAKES.\n\nTEU. Lo! where the hero's housemate and his child,\nHitting the moment's need, appear at hand,\nTo tend the burial of the ill fated dead.\nCome, child, take thou thy station close beside:\nKneel and embrace the author of thy life,\nIn solemn suppliant fashion holding forth\nThis lock of thine own hair, and hers, and mine\nWith threefold consecration, that if one\nOf the army force thee from thy father's corse,\nMy curse may banish him from holy ground,\nFar from his home, unburied, and cut off\nFrom all his race, even as I cut this curl.\nThere, hold him, child, and guard him; let no hand\nStir thee, but lean to the calm breast and cling.\n(_To_ CHORUS) And ye, be not like women in this scene,\nNor let your manhoods falter; stand true men\nTo this defence, till I return prepared,\nThough all cry No, to give him burial.                         [_Exit_\n\nCHORUS.\nWhen shall the tale of wandering years be done?                    I 1\nWhen shall arise our exile's latest sun?\nOh, where shall end the incessant woe\nOf troublous spear-encounter with the foe,\n    Through this vast Trojan plain,\nOf Grecian arms the lamentable stain?\n\nWould he had gone to inhabit the wide sky,                         I 2\nOr that dark home of death where millions lie,\nWho taught our Grecian world the way\nTo use vile swords and knit the dense array!\n    His toil gave birth to toil\nIn endless line. He made mankind his spoil.\n\nHis tyrant will hath forced me to forgo                           II 1\nThe garland, and the goblet's bounteous flow:\n    Yea, and the flute's dear noise,\n    And night's more tranquil joys;\n    Ay me! nor only these,\n    The fruits of golden ease,\nBut Love, but Love--O crowning sorrow!--\nHath ceased for me. I may not borrow\n  Sweet thoughts from him to smooth my dreary bed,\n  Where dank night-dews fall ever on my head,\nLest once I might forget the sadness of the morrow.\n\nEven here in Troy, Aias was erst my rock,                         II 2\nFrom darkling fears and 'mid the battle-shock\n    To screen me with huge might:\n    Now he is lost in night\n    And horror. Where again\n    Shall gladness heal my pain?\nO were I where the waters hoary,\nRound Sunium's pine-clad promontory,\n  Plash underneath the flowery upland height.\n  Then holiest Athens soon would come in sight,\nAnd to Athena's self I might declare my story.\n\n_Enter_ TEUCER.\n\nTEU. My steps were hastened, brethren, when I saw\nGreat Agamemnon hitherward afoot.\nHe means to talk perversely, I can tell.\n\n_Enter_ AGAMEMNON.\n\nAG. And so I hear thou'lt stretch thy mouth agape\nWith big bold words against us undismayed--\nThou, the she-captive's offspring! High would scale\nThy voice, and pert would be thy strutting gait,\nWere but thy mother noble; since, being naught,\nSo stiff thou stand'st for him who is nothing now,\nAnd swear'st we came not as commanders here\nOf all the Achaean navy, nor of thee;\nBut Aias sailed, thou say'st, with absolute right.\nMust we endure detraction from a slave?\nWhat was the man thou noisest here so proudly?\nHave I not set my foot as firm and far?\nOr stood his valour unaccompanied\nIn all this host? High cause have we to rue\nThat prize-encounter for Pelides' arms,\nSeeing Teucer's sentence stamps our knavery\nFor all to know it; and nought will serve but ye,\nBeing vanquished, kick at the award that passed\nBy voice of the majority in the court,\nAnd either pelt us with rude calumnies,\nOr stab at us, ye laggards! with base guile.\nHowbeit, these ways will never help to build\nThe wholesome order of established law,\nIf men shall hustle victors from their right,\nAnd mix the hindmost rabble with the van.\nThat craves repression. Not by bulky size,\nOr shoulders' breadth, the perfect man is known;\nBut wisdom gives chief power in all the world.\nThe ox hath a huge broadside, yet is held\nRight in the furrow by a slender goad;\nWhich remedy, I perceive, will pass ere long\nTo visit thee, unless thy wisdom grow;\nWho hast uttered forth such daring insolence\nFor the pale shadow of a vanished man.\nLearn modestly to know thy place and birth,\nAnd bring with thee some freeborn advocate\nTo plead thy cause before us in thy room.\nI understand not in the barbarous tongue,\nAnd all thy talk sounds nonsense to mine ear.\n\nCH. Would ye might both have sense to curb your ire!\nNo better hope for either can I frame.\n\nTEU. Fie! How doth gratitude when men are dead\nProve renegade and swiftly pass away!\nThis Agamemnon hath no slightest word\nOf kind remembrance any more for thee,\nAias, who oftentimes for his behoof\nHast jeoparded thy life in labour of war.\nNow all is clean forgotten and out of mind.\nThou who hast multiplied words void of sense,\nHast thou no faintest memory of the time\nWhen who but Aias came and rescued you\nAlready locked within the toils,--all lost,\nThe rout began: when close abaft the ships\nThe torches flared, and o'er the bootless trench\nHector was bounding high to board our fleet?\nWho stayed that onset? Was not Aias he?\nWhom thou deny'st to have once set foot by thine.\nFind ye no merit there? And once again\nWhen he met Hector singly, man to man,\nNot by your bidding, but the lottery's choice,\nHis lot, that skulked not low adown i' the heap,\nA moist earth-clod, but sure to spring in air,\nAnd first to clear the plumy helmet's brim.\nYes, Aias was the man, and I too there\nKept rank, the 'barbarous mother's servile son.'\nI pity thee the blindness of that word.\nWho was thy father's father? A barbarian,\nPelops, the Phrygian, if you trace him far!\nAnd what was Atreus, thine own father? One\nWho served his brother with the abominable\nDire feast of his own flesh. And thou thyself\nCam'st from a Cretan mother, whom her sire\nCaught with a man who had no right in her\nAnd gave dumb fishes the polluted prey.\nSuch was thy race. What is the race thou spurnest?\nMy father, Telamon, of all the host\nBeing foremost proved in valour, took as prize\nMy mother for his mate: a princess she,\nBorn of Laomedon; Alcmena's son\nGave her to grace him--a triumphant meed.\nThus royally descended and thus brave,\nShall I renounce the brother of my blood,\nOr suffer thee to thrust him in his woes\nFar from all burial, shameless that thou art?\nBe sure that, if ye cast him forth, ye'll cast\nThree bodies more beside him in one spot;\nFor nobler should I find it here to die\nIn open quarrel for my kinsman's weal,\nThan for thy wife--or Menelaues', was 't?\nConsider then, not my case, but your own.\nFor if you harm me you will wish some day\nTo have been a coward rather than dare me.\n\nCH. Hail, Lord Odysseus! thou art come in time\nNot to begin, but help to end, a fray.\n\n_Enter_ ODYSSEUS.\n\nOD. What quarrel, sirs? I well perceived from far\nThe kings high-voicing o'er the valiant dead.\n\nAG. Yea, Lord Odysseus, for our ears are full\nOf this man's violent heart-offending talk.\n\nOD. What words have passed? I cannot blame the man\nWho meets foul speech with bitterness of tongue.\n\nAG. My speech was bitter, for his deeds were foul.\n\nOD. What deed of his could harm thy sovereign head?\n\nAG. He boldly says this corse shall not be left\nUnburied, but he'll bury it in our spite.\n\nOD. May I then speak true counsel to my friend,\nAnd pull with thee in policy as of yore?\n\nAG. Speak. I were else a madman; for no friend\nOf all the Argeians do I count thy peer.\n\nOD. Then hear me in Heaven's name! Be not so hard\nThus without ruth tombless to cast him forth;\nNor be so vanquished by a vehement will,\nThat to thy hate even Justice' self must bow.\nI, too, had him for my worst enemy,\nSince I gained mastery o'er Pelides' arms.\nBut though he used me so, I ne'er will grudge\nFor his proud scorn to yield him thus much honour,\nThat, save Achilles' self, I have not seen\nSo noble an Argive on the fields of Troy.\nThen 'twere not just in thee to slight him now;\nNor would thy treatment wound him, but confound\nThe laws of Heaven. No hatred should have scope\nTo offend the noble spirits of the dead.\n\nAG. Wilt thou thus fight against me on his side?\n\nOD. Yea, though I hated him, while hate was comely.\n\nAG. Why, thou shouldst trample him the more, being dead.\n\nOD. Rejoice not, King, in feats that soil thy fame!\n\nAG. 'Tis hard for power to observe each pious rule.\n\nOD. Not hard to grace the good words of a friend.\n\nAG. The 'noble spirit' should hearken to command.\n\nOD. No more! 'Tis conquest to be ruled by love.\n\nAG. Remember what he was thou gracest so.\n\nOD. A noisome enemy; but his life was great.\n\nAG. And wilt thou honour such a pestilent corse?\n\nOD. Hatred gives way to magnanimity.\n\nAG. With addle-pated fools.\n\nOD.                         Full many are found\nFriends for an hour, yet bitter in the end.\n\nAG. And wouldst thou have us gentle to such friends?\n\nOD. I would not praise ungentleness in aught.\n\nAG. We shall be known for weaklings through thy counsel.\n\nOD. Not so, but righteous in all Grecian eyes.\n\nAG. Thou bidst me then let bury this dead man?\n\nOD. I urge thee to the course myself shall follow.\n\nAG. Ay, every man for his own line! That holds.\n\nOD. Why not for my own line? What else were natural?\n\nAG. 'Twill be thy doing then, ne'er owned by me.\n\nOD. Own it or not, the kindness is the same.\n\nAG. Well, for thy sake I'd grant a greater boon;\nThen why not this? However, rest assured\nThat in the grave or out of it, Aias still\nShall have my hatred. Do thou what thou wilt.                  [_Exit_\n\nCH. Whoso would sneer at thy philosophy,\nWhile such thy ways, Odysseus, were a fool.\n\nOD. And now let Teucer know that from this hour\nI am more his friend than I was once his foe,\nAnd fain would help him in this burial-rite\nAnd service to his brother, nor would fail\nIn aught that mortals owe their noblest dead.\n\nTEU. Odysseus, best of men, thine every word\nHath my heart's praise, and my worst thought of thee\nIs foiled by thy staunch kindness to the man\nWho was thy rancorous foe. Thou wast not keen\nTo insult in present of his corse, like these,\nThe insensate general and his brother-king,\nWho came with proud intent to cast him forth\nFoully debarred from lawful obsequy.\nWherefore may he who rules in yon wide heaven,\nAnd the unforgetting Fury-spirit, and she,\nJustice, who crowns the right, so ruin them\nWith cruellest destruction, even as they\nThought ruthlessly to rob him of his tomb!\nFor thee, revered Laertes' lineal seed,\nI fear to admit thy hand unto this rite,\nLest we offend the spirit that is gone.\nBut for the rest, I hail thy proffered aid;\nAnd bring whom else thou wilt, I'll ne'er resent it.\nThis work shall be my single care; but thou,\nBe sure I love thee for thy generous heart.\n\nOD. I had gladly done it; but, since thou declinest,\nI bow to thy decision, and depart.                             [_Exit_\n\nTEU.  Speed we, for the hour grows late:\n        Some to scoop his earthy cell,\n      Others by the cauldron wait,\n        Plenished from the purest well.\n      Hoist it, comrades, here at hand,\n      High upon the three-foot stand!\n      Let the cleansing waters flow;\n      Brightly flame the fire below!\n      Others in a stalwart throng\n      From his chamber bear along\n      All the arms he wont to wield\n      Save alone the mantling shield.\n      Thou with me thy strength employ,\n      Lifting this thy father, boy;\n      Hold his frame with tender heed--\n      Still the gashed veins darkly bleed.\n      Who professes here to love him?\n      Ply your busy cares above him,\n      Come and labour for the man,\n      Nobler none since time began,\n      Aias, while his life-blood ran.\n\nLEADER OF CH. Oft we know not till we see.\n      Weak is human prophecy.\n      Judge not, till the hour have taught thee\n      What the destinies have brought thee.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                             KING OEDIPUS\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nOEDIPUS, _King of Thebes._\n_Priest of Zeus._\nCREON, _brother of Jocasta._\nCHORUS _of Theban Elders._\nTIRESIAS, _the Blind Prophet._\nJOCASTA, _the Queen, sister to Creon._\n_A Corinthian Shepherd._\n_A Theban Shepherd._\n_Messenger_\n\nThe following also appear, but do not speak:\n\n_A Train of Suppliants._\n_The children_ ANTIGONE _and_ ISMENE.\n\n\nSCENE. Before the Royal Palace in the Cadmean citadel of Thebes.\n\n\n\n\nLaius, the descendant of Cadmus, and king of Thebes (or Thebe), had\nbeen told by an oracle that if a son were born to him by his wife\nJocasta the boy would be his father's death.\n\nUnder such auspices, Oedipus was born, and to elude the prophecy was\nexposed by his parents on Mount Cithaeron. But he was saved by a\ncompassionate shepherd, and became the adopted son of Polybus, king of\nCorinth. When he grew up he was troubled by a rumour that he was not\nhis father's son. He went to consult the oracle of Apollo at Delphi,\nand was told--not of his origin but of his destiny--that he should be\nguilty of parricide and incest.\n\nHe was too horror-stricken to return to Corinth, and as he travelled\nthe other way, he met Laius going from Thebes to Delphi. The\ntravellers quarrelled and the son killed his father, but knew not whom\nhe had slain. He went onward till he came near Thebes, where the\nSphinx was making havoc of the noblest citizens, devouring all who\nfailed to solve her riddle. But Oedipus succeeded and overcame her,\nand, as Laius did not return, was rewarded with the regal sceptre,--\nand with the hand of the queen.\n\nHe reigned nobly and prosperously, and lived happily with Jocasta, by\nwhom he had four children.\n\nBut after some years a plague descended on the people, and Apollo, on\nbeing inquired of, answered that it was for Laius' death. The act of\nregicide must be avenged. Oedipus undertakes the task of discovering\nthe murderer,--and in the same act discovers his own birth, and the\nfulfilment of both the former prophecies.\n\nJocasta hangs herself, and Oedipus in his despair puts out his eyes.\n\n\n\n\n                             KING OEDIPUS\n\n\nOEDIPUS--Priest of Zeus\n(_with the_ Train of Suppliants _grouped before an altar_).\n\nOEDIPUS. Nurslings of Cadmus, children of my care,\nWhy press ye now to kneel before my gate\nWith sacred branches in those suppliant hands,\nWhile o'er your city clouds of incense rise\nAnd sounds of praise, mingling with sounds of woe?\n  I would not learn of your estate, my sons,\nThrough others, wherefore I myself am come,\nYour Oedipus,--a name well known to men.\nSpeak, aged friend, whose look proclaims thee meet\nTo be their spokesman--What desire, what fear\nHath brought you? Doubt not of my earnest will\nTo lend all succour. Hard would be the heart\nThat looked unmoved on such a kneeling throng.\n\nPRIEST. Great ruler of my country, thou beholdest\nThe different ages of our flock who here\nAre gathered round thine altar,--some, whose wing\nHath not yet ventured far from home, and some\nBurdened with many years, priests of the Gods,\nMyself the arch priest of Zeus, and these fresh youths,\nA chosen few. Others there are who crowd\nThe holy agora and the temples twain\nOf Pallas, and Ismenus' hallowed fires,\nA suppliant host. For, as thyself perceivest,\nOur city is tempest tost, and all too weak\nTo lift above the waves her weary prow\nThat plunges in a rude and ravenous sea.\nEarth's buds are nipped, withering the germs within,\nOur cattle lose their increase, and our wives\nHave fruitless travail; and that scourge from Heaven,\nThe fiery Pestilence abhorred of men,\nDescending on our people with dire stroke\nLays waste the Home of Cadmus, while dark Death\nWins ample tribute of laments and groans.\n  We kneel, then, at thy hearth; not likening thee\nUnto the gods, I nor these children here,\nBut of men counting thee the first in might\nWhether to cope with earthly casualty\nOr visiting of more than earthly Power.\nThou, in thy coming to this Theban land,\nDidst take away the hateful tax we paid\nTo that stern songstress[1],--aided not by us\nWith hint nor counsel, but, as all believe,\nGifted from heaven with life-restoring thought.\nNow too, great Oedipus of matchless fame,\nWe all uplift our suppliant looks to thee,\nTo find some help for us, whether from man,\nOr through the prompting of a voice Divine.\nExperienced counsel, we have seen and know,\nHath ever prosperous issue. Thou, then, come,\nNoblest of mortals, give our city rest\nFrom sorrow! come, take heed! seeing this our land\nNow calls thee Saviour for thy former zeal;\nAnd 'twere not well to leave this memory\nOf thy great reign among Cadmean men,\n'He raised us up, only again to fall.'\nLet the salvation thou hast wrought for us\nBe flawless and assured! As once erewhile\nThy lucky star gave us prosperity,\nBe the same man to-day. Wouldst thou be king\nIn power, as in command, 'tis greater far\nTo rule a people than a wilderness.\nSince nought avails or city or buttressed wall\nOr gallant vessel, if unmanned and void.\n\nOED. Ye touch me to the core. Full well I know\nYour trouble and your desire. Think not, my sons,\nI have no feeling of your misery!\nYet none of you hath heaviness like mine.\nYour grief is held within the single breast\nOf each man severally. My burdened heart\nMourns for myself, for Thebe, and for you.\nYour coming hath not roused me from repose:\nI have watched, and bitterly have wept; my mind\nHath travelled many a labyrinth of thought.\nAnd now I have tried in act the only plan\nLong meditation showed me. I have sent\nThe brother of my queen, Menoeceus' son,\nCreon, to learn, in Phoebus' Delphian Hall,\nWhat word or deed of mine may save this city.\nAnd when I count the time, I am full of pain\nTo guess his speed; for he is absent long,\nBeyond the limit of expectancy.\nBut when he shall appear, base then were I\nIn aught to disobey the voice of Heaven.\n\nPR. Lo, in good time, crowning thy gracious word,\n'Tis told me by these youths, Creon draws near.\n\nOED. Apollo! may his coming be as blest\nWith saving fortune, as his looks are bright.\n\nPR. Sure he brings joyful news; else had he ne'er\nWorn that full wreath of thickly-berried bay.\n\nOED. We have not long to doubt. He can hear now.\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nSon of Menoeceus, brother of my queen,\nWhat answer from Apollo dost thou bring?\n\nCREON. Good; for my message is that even our woes,\nWhen brought to their right issue, shall be well.\n\nOED. What saith the oracle? Thy words so far\nNeither embolden nor dishearten me.\n\nCR. Say, must I tell it with these standing by,\nOr go within? I am ready either way.\n\nOED. Speak forth to all. The burden of their grief\nWeighs more on me than my particular fear.\n\nCE. My lips shall utter what the God hath said.\nSovereign Apollo clearly bids us drive\nForth from this region an accursed thing\n(For such is fostered in the land and stains\nOur sacred clime), nor cherish it past cure.\n\nOED. What is the fault, and how to be redressed?\n\nCR. By exile, or by purging blood with blood.\nSince blood it is that shakes us with this storm.\n\nOED. Whose murder doth Apollo thus reveal?\n\nCR. My gracious lord, before thy prosperous reign\nKing Laius was the leader of our land.\n\nOED. Though I ne'er saw him, I have heard, and know.\n\nCR. Phoebus commands us now to punish home,\nWhoe'er they are, the authors of his death.\n\nOED. But they, where are they? Where shall now be read\nThe fading record of this ancient guilt?\n\nCR He saith, 'tis in this land. And what is sought\nIs found, while things uncared for glide away.\n\nOED. But where did Laius meet this violent end?\nAt home, afield, or on some foreign soil?\n\nCR. He had left us, as he said, to visit Delphi;\nBut nevermore returned since he set forth.\n\nOED. And was there none, no fellow traveller,\nTo see, and tell the tale, and help our search?\n\nCR. No, they were slain; save one, who, flying in fear,\nHad nought to tell us but one only thing.\n\nOED. What was that thing? A little door of hope,\nOnce opened, may discover much to view.\n\nCR. A random troop of robbers, meeting him,\nOutnumbered and o'erpowered him. So 'twas told.\n\nOED. What robber would have ventured such a deed,\nIf unsolicited with bribes from hence?\n\nCR. We thought of that. But Laius being dead,\nWe found no helper in our miseries.\n\nOED. When majesty was fallen, what misery\nCould hinder you from searching out the truth?\n\nCR. A present trouble had engrossed our care.\nThe riddling Sphinx compelled us to observe\nThe moment's grief, neglecting things unknown.\n\nOED. But I will track this evil to the spring\nAnd clear it to the day. Most worthily\nDoth great Apollo, worthily dost thou\nPrompt this new care for the unthought of dead.\nAnd me too ye shall find a just ally,\nSuccouring the cause of Phoebus and the land.\nSince, in dispelling this dark cloud, I serve\nNo indirect or distant claim on me,\nBut mine own life, for he that slew the king\nMay one day turn his guilty hand 'gainst me\nWith equal rage. In righting Laius, then,\nI forward mine own cause.--Now, children, rise\nFrom the altar-steps, and lift your suppliant boughs,\nAnd let some other summon to this place\nAll Cadmus' people, and assure them, I\nWill answer every need. This day shall see us\nBlest with glad fortune through God's help, or fallen.\n\nPR. Rise then, my children. Even for this we came\nWhich our good lord hath promised of himself.\nOnly may Phoebus, who hath sent this word,\nWith healing power descend, and stay the plague.   [_Exeunt severally_\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\nKind voice of Heaven, soft-breathing from the height               I 1\nOf Pytho's opulent home to Thebe bright,\n        What wilt thou bring to day?\n        Ah, Delian Healer, say!\nMy heart hangs on thy word with trembling awe:\n        What new giv'n law,\nOr what returning in Time's circling round\nWilt thou unfold? Tell us, immortal sound,\nDaughter of golden Hope, tell us, we pray, we pray!\n\nFirst, child of Zeus, Pallas, to thee appealing,                   I 2\nThen to sweet Artemis, thy sister, kneeling,\n        Who with benignant hand\n        Still guards our sacred land,\nThroned o'er the circling mart that hears her praise,\n        And thou, whose rays\nPierce evil from afar, ho! come and save,\nYe mighty three! if e'er before ye drave\nThe threatening fire of woe from Thebe, come to day!\n\n  For ah! the griefs that on me weigh                             II 1\n  Are numberless; weak are my helpers all,\n  And thought finds not a sword to fray\n  This hated pestilence from hearth or hall.\n        Earth's blossoms blasted fall:\n        Nor can our women rise\n        From childbed after pangs and cries;\n        But flocking more and more\n        Toward the western shore,\nSoul after soul is known to wing her flight,\nSwifter than quenchless flame, to the far realm of Night.\n\n      So deaths innumerable abound.                               II 2\n  My city's sons unpitied lie around\n  Over the plague-encumbered ground\n  And wives and matrons old on every hand\n        Along the altar-strand\n        Groaning in saddest grief\n        Pour supplication for relief.\n        Loud hymns are sounding clear\n        With wailing voices near.\nThen, golden daughter of the heavenly sire,\nSend bright-eyed Succour forth to drive away this fire.\n\n            And swiftly speed afar,                              III 1\n            Windborne on backward car,\n      The viewless fiend who scares me with wild cries,\n            To oarless Thracian tide,\n            Of ocean-chambers wide,\n      About the bed where Amphitrite lies.\nDay blights what night hath spared. O thou whose hand\nWields lightning, blast him with thy thundrous brand.\n\n            Shower from the golden string                        III 2\n            Thine arrows Lycian King!\n      O Phoebus, let thy fiery lances fly\n            Resistless, as they rove\n            Through Xanthus' mountain-grove!\n      O Thoeban Bacchus of the lustrous eye,\nWith torch and trooping Maenads and bright crown\nBlaze on thee god whom all in Heaven disown.\n                         [OEDIPUS _has entered during the Choral song_\n\nOED. Your prayers are answered. Succour and relief\nAre yours, if ye will heed my voice and yield\nWhat help the plague requires. Hear it from me,\nWho am hitherto a stranger to the tale,\nAs to the crime. Being nought concerned therewith,\nI could not of myself divine the truth.\nBut now, as one adopted to your state,\nTo all of you Cadmeans I speak this:\nWhoe'er among you knoweth the murderer\nOf Laius, son of royal Labdacus,\nLet him declare the deed in full to me.\nFirst, if the man himself be touched with fear,\nLet him depart, carrying the guilt away;\nNo harm shall follow him:--he shall go free.\nOr if there be who knows another here,\nCome from some other country, to have wrought\nThis murder, let him speak. Reward from me\nAnd store of kind remembrance shall be his.\nBut if ye are silent, and one present here\nWho might have uttered this, shall hold his peace,\nAs fearing for himself, or for his friend,\nWhat then shall be performed, hear me proclaim.\nI here prohibit all within this realm\nWhereof I wield the sceptre and sole sway,\nTo admit the murderer, whosoe'er he be,\nWithin their houses, or to speak with him,\nOr share with him in vow or sacrifice\nOr lustral rite. All men shall thrust him forth,\nOur dark pollution, so to me revealed\nBy this day's oracle from Pytho's cell.\n  So firm is mine allegiance to the God\nAnd your dead sovereign in this holy war.\nNow on the man of blood, whether he lurk\nIn lonely guilt, or with a numerous band,\nI here pronounce this curse:--Let his crushed life\nWither forlorn in hopeless misery.\nNext, I pray Heaven, should he or they be housed\nWith mine own knowledge in my home, that I\nMay suffer all I imprecate on them.\nLast, I enjoin each here to lend his aid\nFor my sake, and the God's, and for your land\nReft of her increase and renounced by Heaven.\nIt was not right, when your good king had fallen,\nAlthough the oracle were silent still,\nTo leave this inquisition unperformed.\nLong since ye should have purged the crime. But now\nI, to whom fortune hath transferred his crown,\nAnd given his queen in marriage,--yea, moreover,\nHis seed and mine had been one family\nHad not misfortune trampled on his head\nCutting him off from fair posterity,--\nAll this being so, I will maintain his cause\nAs if my father's, racking means and might\nTo apprehend the author of the death\nOf Laius, son to Labdacus, and heir\nTo Polydorus and to Cadmus old,\nAnd proud Agenor of the eldest time.\n  Once more, to all who disobey in this\nMay Heaven deny the produce of the ground\nAnd offspring from their wives, and may they pine\nWith plagues more horrible than this to-day.\nBut for the rest of you Cadmean men,\nWho now embrace my word, may Righteousness,\nStrong to defend, and all the Gods for aye\nWatch over you for blessing in your land.\n\nLEADER OF CH. Under the shadow of thy curse, my lord,\nI will speak. I slew him not, nor can I show\nThe man who slew. Phoebus, who gave the word,\nShould name the guilty one.\n\nOED.                        Thy thought is just,\nBut man may not compel the Gods.\n\nCH.                              Again,\nThat failing, I perceive a second way.\n\nOED. Were there a third, spare not to speak it forth.\n\nCH. I know of one alone whose kingly mind\nSees all King Phoebus sees--Tiresias,--he\nInfallibly could guide us in this quest.\n\nOED. That doth not count among my deeds undone.\nBy Creon's counsel I have sent twice o'er\nTo fetch him, and I muse at his delay.\n\nCH. The rumour that remains is old and dim.\n\nOED. What rumour? Let no tale be left untried.\n\nCH. 'Twas said he perished by some wandering band.\n\nOED. But the one witness is removed from ken.\n\nCH. Well, if the man be capable of fear,\nHe'll not remain when he hath heard thy curse.\n\nOED. Words have no terror for the soul that dares\nSuch doings.\n\nCH.          Yet lives one who shall convict him.\nFor look where now they lead the holy seer,\nWhom sacred Truth inspires alone of men.\n\n_Enter_ TIRESIAS.\n\nOED. O thou whose universal thought commands\nAll knowledge and all mysteries, in Heaven\nAnd on the earth beneath, thy mind perceives,\nTiresias, though thine outward eye be dark,\nWhat plague is wasting Thebe, who in thee,\nGreat Sir, finds her one saviour, her sole guide.\nPhoebus (albeit the messengers perchance\nHave told thee this) upon our sending sent\nThis answer back, that no release might come\nFrom this disaster, till we sought and found\nAnd slew the murderers of king Laius,\nOr drave them exiles from our land. Thou, then,\nWithhold not any word of augury\nOr other divination which thou knowest,\nBut rescue Thebe, and thyself, and me,\nAnd purge the stain that issues from the dead.\nOn thee we lean: and 'tis a noble thing\nTo use what power one hath in doing good.\n\nTIRESIAS. Ah! terrible is knowledge to the man\nWhom knowledge profits not. This well I knew,\nBut had forgotten. Else I ne'er had come.\n\nOED. Why dost thou bring a mind so full of gloom?\n\nTI. Let me go home. Thy part and mine to-day\nWill best be borne, if thou obey me in that.\n\nOED. Disloyal and ungrateful! to deprive\nThe state that reared thee of thine utterance now.\n\nTI. Thy speech, I see, is foiling thine intent;\nAnd I would shield me from the like mishap. (_Going._)\n\nOED. Nay, if thou knowest, turn thee not away:\nAll here with suppliant hands importune thee.\n\nTI. Yea, for ye all are blind. Never will I\nReveal my woe;--mine, that I say not, thine.\n\nOED. So, then, thou hast the knowledge of the crime\nAnd wilt not tell, but rather wouldst betray\nThis people, and destroy thy fatherland!\n\nTI. You press me to no purpose. I'll not pain\nThee, nor myself. Thou wilt hear nought from me.\n\nOED. How? Miscreant! Thy stubbornness would rouse\nWrath in a breast of stone. Wilt thou yet hold\nThat silent, hard, impenetrable mien?\n\nTI. You censure me for my harsh mood. Your own\nDwells unsuspected with you. Me you blame!\n\nOED. Who can be mild and gentle, when thou speakest\nSuch words to mock this people?\n\nTI.                             It will come:\nAlthough I bury it in silence here.\n\nOED. Must not the King be told of what will come?\n\nTI. No word from me. At this, an if thou wilt,\nRage to the height of passionate vehemence.\n\nOED. Ay, and my passion shall declare my thought.\n'Tis clear to me as daylight, thou hast been\nThe arch-plotter of this deed; yea, thou hast done\nAll but the actual blow. Hadst thou thy sight,\nI had proclaimed thee the sole murderer.\n\nTI. Ay, say'st thou so?--I charge thee to abide\nBy thine own ordinance; and from this hour\nSpeak not to any Theban nor to me.\nThou art the vile polluter of the land.\n\nOED. O void of shame! What wickedness is this?\nWhat power will give thee refuge for such guilt?\n\nTI. The might of truth is scatheless. I am free.\n\nOED. Whence came the truth to thee? Not from thine art.\n\nTI. From thee, whose rage impelled my backward tongue.\n\nOED. Speak it once more, that I may know the drift.\n\nTI. Was it so dark? Or wouldst thou tempt me further?\n\nOED. I cannot say 'twas clear. Speak it again.\n\nTI. I say thou art the murderer whom thou seekest.\n\nOED. Again that baleful word! But thou shalt rue.\n\nTI. Shall I add more, to aggravate thy wrath?\n\nOED. All is but idleness. Say what thou wilt.\n\nTI. I tell thee thou art living unawares\nIn shameful commerce with thy near'st of blood,\nIgnorant of the abyss wherein thou liest.\n\nOED. Think you to triumph in offending still?\n\nTI. If Truth have power.\n\nOED.                     She hath, but not for thee.\nBlind as thou art in eyes and ears and mind.\n\nTI. O miserable reproach, which all who now\nBehold thee, soon shall thunder forth on thee!\n\nOED. Nursed in unbroken night, thou canst not harm\nOr me, or any man who seeth the day.\n\nTI. No, not from me proceeds thy fall; the God,\nWho cares for this, is able to perform it.\n\nOED. Came this device from Creon or thyself?\n\nTI. Not Creon: thou art thy sole enemy.\n\nOED. O wealth and sovereign power and high success\nAttained through wisdom and admired of men,\nWhat boundless jealousies environ you!\nWhen for this rule, which to my hand the State\nCommitted unsolicited and free,\nCreon, my first of friends, trusted and sure,\nWould undermine and hurl me from my throne,\nMeanly suborning such a mendicant\nBotcher of lies, this crafty wizard rogue,\nBlind in his art, and seeing but for gain.\nWhere are the proofs of thy prophetic power?\nHow came it, when the minstrel-hound was here,\nThis folk had no deliverance through thy word?\nHer snare could not be loosed by common wit,\nBut needed divination and deep skill;\nNo sign whereof proceeded forth from thee\nProcured through birds or given by God, till I,\nThe unknowing traveller, overmastered her,\nThe stranger Oedipus, not led by birds,\nBut ravelling out the secret by my thought:\nWhom now you study to supplant, and trust\nTo stand as a supporter of the throne\nOf lordly Creon,--To your bitter pain\nThou and the man who plotted this will hunt\nPollution forth[2].--But for thy reverend look\nThou hadst atoned thy trespass on the spot.\n\nCH. Your friends would humbly deprecate the wrath\nThat sounds both in your speech, my lord, and his.\nThat is not what we need, but to discern\nHow best to solve the heavenly oracle.\n\nTI. Though thou art king and lord, I claim no less\nLordly prerogative to answer thee.\nSpeech is my realm; Apollo rules my life,\nNot thou. Nor need I Creon to protect me.\nNow, then: my blindness moves thy scorn:--thou hast\nThy sight, and seest not where thou art sunk in evil,\nWhat halls thou dost inhabit, or with whom:\nKnow'st not from whence thou art--nay, to thy kin,\nBuried in death and here above the ground,\nUnwittingly art a most grievous foe.\nAnd when thy father's and thy mother's curse\nWith fearful tread shall drive thee from the land,\nOn both sides lashing thee,--thine eye so clear\nBeholding darkness in that day,--oh, then,\nWhat region will not shudder at thy cry?\nWhat echo in all Cithaeron will be mute,\nWhen thou perceiv'st, what bride-song in thy hall\nWafted thy gallant bark with nattering gale\nTo anchor,--where? And other store of ill\nThou seest not, that shall show thee as thou art,\nMerged with thy children in one horror of birth.\nThen rail at noble Creon, and contemn\nMy sacred utterance! No life on earth\nMore vilely shall be rooted out, than thine.\n\nOED. Must I endure such words from him? Begone!\nOff to thy ruin, and with speed! Away,\nAnd take thy presence from our palace-hall!\n\nTI. Had you not sent for me, I ne'er had come.\n\nOED. I knew not thou wouldst utter folly here,\nElse never had I brought thee to my door.\n\nTI. To thee I am foolish, then; but to the pair\nWho gave thee life, I was wise.\n\nOED.                            Hold, go not! who?\nWho gave me being?\n\nTI.               To-day shall bring to light\nThy birth and thy destruction.\n\nOED.                           Wilt thou still\nSpeak all in riddles and dark sentences?\n\nTI. Methought thou wert the man to find them out.\n\nOED. Ay! Taunt me with the gift that makes me great.\n\nTI. And yet this luck hath been thy overthrow.\n\nOED. I care not, since I rescued this fair town.\n\nTI. Then I will go. Come, sirrah, guide me forth!\n\nOED. Be it so! For standing here you vex our eye,\nBut, you being gone, our trouble goes with you.\n\nTI. I go, but I will speak. Why should I fear\nThy frown? Thou ne'er canst ruin me. The word\nWherefore I came, is this: The man you seek\nWith threatening proclamation of the guilt\nOf Laius' blood, that man is here to-day,\nAn alien sojourner supposed from far,\nBut by-and-by he shall be certified\nA true-born Theban: nor will such event\nBring him great joy; for, blind from having sight\nAnd beggared from high fortune, with a staff\nIn stranger lands he shall feel forth his way;\nShown living with the children of his loins,\nTheir brother and their sire, and to the womb\nThat bare him, husband-son, and, to his father,\nParricide and corrival. Now go in,\nPonder my words; and if thou find them false,\nthen say my power is naught in prophecy.           [_Exeunt severally_\n\nCHORUS.\nWhom hath the voice from Delphi's rocky throne                     I 1\n      Loudly declared to have done\nHorror unnameable with murdering hand?\n      With speed of storm-swift car\n      'Tis time he fled afar\nWith mighty footstep hurrying from the land.\n      For, armed with lightning brand,\nThe son of Zeus assails him with fierce bounds,\nHunting with Death's inevitable hounds.\n\nLate from divine Parnassus' snow-capped height                     I 2\n      This utterance sprang to light,\nTo track by every path the man unknown.\n      Through woodland caverns deep\n      And o'er the rocky steep\nHarbouring in caves he roams the wild alone,\n      With none to share his moan.\nShunning that prophet-voice's central sound,\nWhich ever lives, and haunts him, hovering round.\n\nThe reverend Seer hath stirred me with strange awe.               II 1\nGainsay I cannot, nor yet think him true.\nI know not how to speak. My fluttering heart\nIn wild expectancy sees nothing clear.\nThings past and future with the present doubt\nAre shrouded in one mist. What quarrel lay\n'Twixt Cadmus' issue and Corinthus' heir\nWas never shown me, from old times till now,\nBy one on whose sure word I might rely\nIn running counter to the King's fair fame,\nTo wreak for Laius that mysterious death.\n\nZeus and Apollo scan the ways of men                              II 2\nWith perfect vision. But of mortals here\nThat soothsayers are more inspired than I\nWhat certain proof is given? A man through wit\nMay pass another's wisdom in the race.\nBut never, till I see the word fulfilled,\nWill I confirm their clamour 'gainst the King.\nIn open day the female monster came:\nThen perfect witness made his wisdom clear.\nThebe hath tried him and delights in him.\nWherefore my heart shall still believe him good.\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCR. Citizens, hearing of dire calumny\nDenounced on me by Oedipus the King,\nI am here to make loud protest. If he think,\nIn this embroilment of events, one word\nOr deed of mine hath wrought him injury,\nI am not careful to prolong my life\nBeneath such imputation. For it means\nNo trifling danger, but disastrous harm,\nMaking my life dishonoured in the state,\nAnd meanly thought of by my friends and you.\n\nCH. Perchance 'twas but the sudden flash of wrath,\nNot the deliberate judgement of the soul.\n\nCR. Who durst declare it[3], that Tiresias spake\nFalse prophecies, set on to this by me?\n\nCH. Such things were said, I know not how advised.\n\nCR. And were the eyes and spirit not distraught,\nWhen the tongue uttered this to ruin me?\n\nCH. I cannot say. To what my betters do\nI am blind. But see, the King comes forth again.\n\n_Enter_ OEDIPUS.\n\nOED. Insolent, art thou here? Hadst thou the face\nTo bring thy boldness near my palace-roof,\nProved as thou art to have contrived my death\nAnd laid thy robber hands upon my state?\nTell me, by heaven, had you seen in me\nA coward or a fool, when you planned this?--\nDeemed you I should be blind to your attempt\nCraftily creeping on, or, when perceived,\nNot ward it off? Is't not a silly scheme,\nTo think to compass without troops of friends\nPower, that is only won by wealth and men?\n\nCR. Wilt them be counselled? Hear as much in turn\nAs thou hast spoken, and then thyself be judge.\n\nOED. I know thy tongue, but I am slow to learn\nFrom thee, whom I have found my grievous foe.\n\nCR. First on this very point, hear me declare--\n\nOED. I will not hear that thou art not a villain.\n\nCR. Thine is a shallow judgement, if thou thinkest\nSelf-will without true thought can bring thee gain.\n\nOED. Thine is a shallow judgement, if thou thinkest\nThou canst abuse thy kinsman and be free.\n\nCR. A rightful sentence. But I fain would learn\nWhat wrong is that you speak of?\n\nOED.                             Tell me this;\nDidst thou, or not, urge me to send and bring\nThe reverend-seeming prophet?\n\nCR.                           Yea, and still\nI hold that counsel firm.\n\nOED.                      How long is 't now\nSince Laius--\n\nCR.           What? I do not catch your drift.\n\nOED. Vanished in ruin by a dire defeat?\n\nCR. 'Twere long to count the years that come between.\n\nOED. And did this prophet then profess his art?\n\nCR. Wise then as now, nor less in reverence.\n\nOED. Then at that season did he mention me?\n\nCR. Not in my hearing.\n\nOED.                   But, I may presume,\nYe held an inquisition for the dead?\n\nCR. Yes, we inquired, of course: and could not hear.\n\nOED. Why was he dumb, your prophet, in that day?\n\nCR. I cannot answer, for I do not know.\n\nOED. This you can answer, for you know it well.\n\nCR. Say what? I will not gainsay, if I know.\n\nOED. That, but for your advice, he had not dared\nTo talk of Laius' death as done by me.\n\nCR. You know, that heard him, what he spake. But I\nWould ask thee too a question in my turn.\n\nOED. No questioning will fasten blood on me.\n\nCR. Hast thou my sister for thine honoured queen?\n\nOED. The fact is patent, and denial vain.\n\nCR. And shar'st with her dominion of this realm?\n\nOED. All she desires is given her by my will.\n\nCR. Then, am not I third-partner with you twain?\n\nOED. There is your villany in breaking fealty.\n\nCR. Not so, if thou wouldst reason with thyself\nAs I do. First consider one thing well:\nWho would choose rule accompanied with fear\nBefore safe slumbers with an equal sway?\n'Tis not my nature, no, nor any man's,\nWho follows wholesome thoughts, to love the place\nOf domination rather than the power.\nNow, without fear, I have my will from thee;\nBut were I king, I should do much unwillingly.\nHow then can I desire to be a king,\nWhen masterdom is mine without annoy?\nDelusion hath not gone so far with me\nAs to crave more than honour joined with gain.\nNow all men hail me happy, all embrace me;\nAll who have need of thee, call in my aid;\nFor thereupon their fortunes wholly turn.\nHow should I leave this substance for that show?\nNo man of sense can harbour thoughts of crime.\nSuch vain ambition hath no charm for me,\nNor could I bear to lend it countenance.\nIf you would try me, go and ask again\nIf I brought Phoebus' answer truly back.\nNay more, should I be found to have devised\nAught in collusion with the seer, destroy me,\nNot by one vote, but two, mine own with thine.\nBut do not on a dim suspicion blame me\nOf thy mere will. To darken a good name\nWithout clear cause is heinous wickedness;\nAnd to cast off a worthy friend I call\nNo less a folly than to fling away\nWhat most we love, the life within our breast.\nThe certainty of this will come with time;\nFor time alone can clear the righteous man.\nAn hour suffices to make known the villain.\n\nCH. Prudence bids hearken to such words, my lord,\nFor fear one fall. Swift is not sure in counsel.\n\nOED. When he who hath designs on me is swift\nIn his advance, I must bethink me swiftly.\nShould I wait leisurely, his work hath gained\nAchievement, while my plans have missed success.\n\nCR. What would you then? To thrust me from the land?\n\nOED. Nay, death, not exile, is my wish for thee,\nWhen all have seen what envy brings on men.\n\n[CR. You'll ne'er relent nor listen to my plea.][4]\n\nOED. You'll ne'er be governed or repent your guilt.\n\nCR. Because I see thou art blind.\n\nOED.                              Not to my need.\n\nCR. Mine must be thought of too.\n\nOED.                             You are a villain.\n\nCR. How if thy thought be vain?\n\nOED.                            Authority\nMust be maintained.\n\nCR.                Not when authority\nDeclines to evil.\n\nOED.              O my citizens!\n\nCR. I have a part in them no less than you.\n\nLEADER OF CH. Cease, princes. Opportunely I behold\nJocasta coming toward you from the palace.\nHer presence may attune your jarring minds.\n\n_Enter_ JOCASTA.\n\nJOCASTA. Unhappy that ye are, why have ye reared\nYour wordy rancour 'mid the city's harms?\nHave you no shame, to stir up private broils\nIn such a time as this? Get thee within!  (_To_ OED)\nAnd thou too, Creon! nor enlarge your griefs\nTo make a mountain out of nothingness.\n\nCR. Sister, thy husband Oedipus declares\nOne of two horrors he will wreak on me,\nBanishment from my native land, or death.\n\nOED. Yea, for I caught him practising, my queen,\nAgainst our person with malignant guile.\n\nCR. May comfort fail me, and a withering curse\nDestroy me, if I e'er planned aught of this.\n\nJO. I pray thee, husband, listen to his plea;\nChiefly respecting his appeal to Heaven,\nBut also me, and these who stand by thee.\n\nCH. 1. Incline to our request                                      I 1\nThy mind and heart, O King!\n\nOED. What would you I should yield unto your prayer?\n\nCH. 2. Respect one ever wise,\nWhose oath protects him now.\n\nOED. Know ye what thing ye ask?\n\nCH. 3. I know.\n\nOED.           Then plainly tell.\n\nCH. 4. Thy friend, who is rendered sacred by his oath,\nRob not of honour through obscure surmise.\n\nOED. In asking that, you labour for my death\nOr banishment. Of this be well assured.\n\nCH. 5. No, by the Sun I swear,                                    II 1\nVaunt-courier of the host of heaven.\nFor may I die the last of deaths,\nUnblest of God or friend,\nIf e'er such thought were mine.\nBut oh! this pining land\nAfflicts my sorrow-burdened soul,\nTo think that to her past and present woe\nShe must add this, which springs to her from you.\n\nOED. Then let him range, though I must die outright,\nOr be thrust forth with violence from the land!\n--Not for his voice, but thine, which wrings my heart:\nHe, wheresoe'er he live, shall have my hate.\n\nCR. You show yourself as sullen when you yield,\nAs unendurable in your fury's height.\nSuch natures justly give themselves most pain.\n\nOED. Let me alone, then, and begone!\n\nCR.                                  I go,\nUntainted in their sight, though thou art blind.               [_Exit_\n\nCH. 1. Lady, why tarriest thou                                     I 2\nTo lead thy husband in?\n\nJO. Not till I learn what mischief is befallen.\n\nCH. 2. A dim, unproved debate.\nReproach, though unfounded, stings.\n\nJO. From both?\n\nCH. 3.         From both alike.\n\nJO. How caused?\n\nCH. 4.          Enough for me,\nAmply enough it seems, when our poor land\nIs vexed already, not to wake what sleeps.\n\nOED. (_to_ LEADER OF CH.).\nSee where thine honest zeal hath landed thee,\nBating my wrath, and blunting my desire!\n\nCH. 5. My prince, I say it again:                                 II 2\nAssure thee, I were lost to sense,\nInfatuate, void of wholesome thought,\nCould I be tempted now\nTo loose my faith from thee,\nWho, when the land I love\nLaboured beneath a wildering load,\nDidst speed her forth anew with favouring gale.\nNow, too, if but thou may'st, be her good guide.\n\nJO. Let not thy queen be left in ignorance\nWhat cause thou hadst to lift thy wrath so high.\n\nOED. I'll tell thee, lady, for I honour thee\nMore than these citizens. 'Twas Creon there,\nAnd his inveterate treason against me.\n\nJO. Accuse him, so you make the quarrel plain.\n\nOED. He saith I am the murderer of the King.\n\nJO. Speaks he from hearsay, or as one who knows?\n\nOED. He keeps his own lips free: but hath suborned\nA rascal soothsayer to this villany.\n\nJO. Hearken to me, and set your heart at rest\nOn that you speak of, while I make you learn\nNo mortal thing is touched by soothsaying.\nOf that I'll give thee warrant brief and plain.\nWord came to Laius once, I will not say\nFrom Phoebus' self, but from his ministers,\nThe King should be destroyed by his own son,\nIf son were born to him from me. What followed?\nLaius was slain, by robbers from abroad,\nSaith Rumour, in a cross-way! But the child\nLived not three days, ere by my husband's hand\nHis feet were locked, and he was cast and left\nBy messengers on the waste mountain wold.\nSo Phoebus neither brought upon the boy\nHis father's murder, nor on Laius\nThe thing he greatly feared, death by his son.\nSuch issue came of prophesying words.\nTherefore regard them not. God can himself\nWith ease bring forth what for his ends he needs.\n\nOED. What strange emotions overcloud my soul,\nStirred to her depths on hearing this thy tale!\n\nJO. What sudden change is this? What cares oppress thee?\n\nOED. Methought I heard thee say, King Laius\nWas at a cross-road overpowered and slain?\n\nJO. So ran the talk that yet is current here.\n\nOED. Where was the scene of this unhappy blow?\n\nJO. Phocis the land is named. The parted ways\nMeet in one point from Dauha and from Delphi.\n\nOED. And since the event how much of time hath flown?\n\nJO. 'Twas just ere you appeared with prospering speed\nAnd took the kingdom, that the tidings came.\n\nOED. What are thy purposes against me, Zeus?\n\nJO. Why broods thy mind upon such thoughts, my king?\n\nOED. Nay, ask me not! But tell me first what height\nHad Laius, and what grace of manly prime?\n\nJO. Tall, with dark locks just sprinkled o'er with grey:\nIn shape and bearing much resembling thee.\n\nOED. O heavy fate! How all unknowingly\nI laid that dreadful curse on my own head!\n\nJO. How?\nI tremble as I gaze on thee, my king!\n\nOED. The fear appals me that the seer can see.\nTell one thing more, to make it doubly clear!\n\nJO. I am lothe to speak, but, when you ask, I will.\n\nOED. Had he scant following, or, as princes use,\nFull numbers of a well-appointed train?\n\nJO. There were but five in all: a herald one;\nAnd Laius travelled in the only car.\n\nOED. Woe! woe! 'Tis clear as daylight. Who was he\nThat brought you this dire message, O my queen?\n\nJO. A home-slave, who alone returned alive.\n\nOED. And is he now at hand within the house?\n\nJO. No, truly. When he came from yonder scene\nAnd found thee king in room of Laius murdered,\nHe touched my hand, and made his instant prayer\nThat I would send him to o'erlook the flocks\nAnd rural pastures, so to live as far\nAs might be from the very thought of Thebes.\nI granted his desire. No servant ever\nMore richly merited such boon than he.\n\nOED. Can he be brought again immediately?\n\nJO. Indeed he can. But why desire it so?\n\nOED. Words have by me been uttered, O my queen,\nThat give me too much cause to wish him here.\n\nJO. Then come he shall. But I may surely claim\nTo hear what in thy state goes heavily.\n\nOED. Thou shalt not lose thy rights in such an hour,\nWhen I am harrowed thus with doubt and fear.\nTo whom more worthy should I tell my grief?\n--My father was Corinthian Polybus,\nMy mother, Dorian Merope.--I lived\nA prince among that people, till a chance\nEncountered me, worth wonder, but, though strange,\nNot worth the anxious thought it waked in me.\nFor at a feasting once over the wine\nOne deep in liquor called aloud to me,\n'Hail, thou false foundling of a foster-sire!'\nThat day with pain I held my passion down;\nBut early on the morrow I came near\nAnd questioned both my parents, who were fierce\nIn anger at the man who broached this word.\nFor their part I was satisfied, but still\nIt galled me, for the rumour would not die.\n  Eluding then my parents I made way\nTo Delphi, where, as touching my desire,\nPhoebus denied me; but brake forth instead\nWith other oracles of misery\nAnd horrible misfortune, how that I\nMust know my mother's shame, and cause to appear\nA birth intolerable in human view,\nAnd do to death the author of my life.\nI fled forth at the word, conjecturing now\nCorinthia's region by the stars of heaven,\nAnd wandered, where I never might behold\nThose dreadful prophecies fulfilled on me.\nSo travelling on, I came even to the place\nWhere, as thou tell'st, the King of Thebe fell.\nAnd, O my wife, I will hide nought from thee.\nWhen I drew near the cross-road of your tale,\nA herald, and a man upon a car,\nLike your description, there encountered me.\nAnd he who led the car, and he himself\nThe greybeard, sought to thrust me from the path.\nThen in mine angry mood I sharply struck\nThe driver-man who turned me from the way;\nWhich when the elder saw, he watched for me\nAs I passed by, and from the chariot-seat\nSmote full upon my head with the fork'd goad;\nBut got more than he gave; for, by a blow\nFrom this right hand, smit with my staff, he fell\nInstantly rolled out of the car supine.\nI slew them every one. Now if that stranger\nHad aught in common with king Laius,\nWhat wretch on earth was e'er so lost as I?\nWhom have the Heavens so followed with their hate?\nNo house of Theban or of foreigner\nMust any more receive me, none henceforth\nMust speak to me, but drive me from the door!\nI, I have laid this curse on mine own head!\nYea, and this arm that slew him now enfolds\nHis queen. O cruel stain! Am I not vile?\nPolluted utterly! Yes, I must flee,\nAnd, lost to Thebe, nevermore behold\nMy home, nor tread my country, lest I meet\nIn marriage mine own mother, and bring low\nHis head that gave me life and reared my youth,\nMy father, Polybus. Ah! right were he\nWho should declare some god of cruel mood\nHad sent this trouble upon my soul! Ye Powers,\nWorshipped in holiness, ne'er may I see\nThat day, but perish from the sight of men,\nEre sins like these be branded on my name!\n\nCH. Thy fear is ours, O king: yet lose not hope,\nTill thou hast heard the witness of the deed.\n\nOED. Ay, that is all I still have left of hope,\nTo bide the coming of the shepherd man.\n\nJO. What eager thought attends his presence here?\n\nOED. I'll tell thee. Should his speech accord with thine,\nMy life stands clear from this calamity.\n\nJO. What word of mine agreed not with the scene?\n\nOED. You said he spake of robbers in a band\nAs having slain him. Now if he shall still\nPersist in the same number, I am free.\nOne man and many cannot be the same.\nBut should he tell of one lone traveller,\nThen, unavoidably, this falls on me.\n\nJO. So 'twas given out by him, be sure of that.\nHe cannot take it back. Not I alone\nBut all the people heard him speak it so.\nAnd should he swerve in aught from his first tale,\nHe ne'er can show the murder of the king\nRightly accordant with the oracle.\nFor Phoebus said expressly he should fall\nThrough him whom I brought forth. But that poor babe\nNe'er slew his sire, but perished long before.\nWherefore henceforth I will pursue my way\nRegardless of all words of prophecy.\n\nOED. Wisely resolved. But still send one to bring\nThe labourer swain, and be not slack in this.\n\nJO. I will, and promptly. Go we now within!\nMy whole desire is but to work thy will.                     [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS\nO may my life be evermore                                          I 1\n  Pure in each holy word and deed\n  By those eternal laws decreed\nThat pace the sapphire-paven floor!\nChildren of Heaven, of Ether born,\nNo mortal knew their natal morn,\nNor may Oblivion's waters deep\nE'er lull their wakeful spirit asleep,\nNor creeping Age o'erpower the mighty God\nWho far within them holds his unprofaned abode.\n\nPride breeds the tyrant: monstrous birth!                          I 2\n  Insolent Pride, if idly nursed\n  On timeless surfeit, plenty accursed,\nSpurning the lowlier tract of Earth\nMounts to her pinnacle,--then falls,\nDashed headlong down sheer mountain walls\nTo dark Necessity's deep ground,\nWhere never foothold can be found.\nLet wrestlers for my country's glory speed,\nGod, I thee pray! Be God my helper in all need!\n\nBut if one be, whose bold disdain                                  I 2\nWalks in a round of vapourings vain\nAnd violent acts, regarding not\nThe Rule of Right, but with proud thought\nScorning the place where Gods have set their seat,\n--Made captive by an Evil Doom,\nShorn of that inauspicious bloom,\nLet him be shown the path of lawful gain\nAnd taught in holier ways to guide his feet,\nNor with mad folly strain\nHis passionate arms to clasp things impious to retain.\nWho in such courses shall defend his soul\nFrom storms of thundrous wrath that o'er him roll?\nIf honour to such lives be given,\nWhat needs our choir to hymn the power of Heaven?\n\nNo more to Delphi, central shrine                                 II 2\nOf Earth, I'll seek, for light divine,\nNor visit Abae's mystic fane\nNor travel o'er the well-trod plain\nWhere thousands throng to famed Olympia's town,\nUnless, with manifest accord,\nThe event fulfil the oracular word.\nZeus, Lord of all! if to eternity\nThou would'st confirm thy kingdom's large renown,\nLet not their vauntings high\nEvade the sovereign look of the everlasting eye!\nThey make as though the ancient warning slept\nBy Laius erst with fear and trembling kept;\nApollo's glory groweth pale,\nAnd holiest rites are prone to faint and fail.\n\n_Enter_ JOCASTA.\n\nJO. Princes of Thebes, it came into my thought\nTo stand before some holy altar-place\nWith frankincense and garlands. For the king,\nTransported by the tempest of his fear,\nRuns wild in grief, nor like a man of sense\nReasons of present things from what hath been.\nEach tongue o'ermasters him that tells of woe.\nThen since my counsels are of no avail,\nTo thee, for thou art nearest, Lykian God,\nI bring my supplication with full hand.\nO grant us absolution and relief!\nFor seeing him, our pilot, so distraught,\nLike mariners, we are all amazed with dread.\n\n_Enter the_ CORINTHIAN SHEPHERD.\n\nCOR. SH. Are ye the men to tell me where to find\nThe mansion of the sovereign Oedipus?\nOr better, where he may himself be found?\n\nCH. Here is the roof you seek, and he, our lord,\nIs there within: and, stranger, thou behold'st\nThe queenly mother of his royal race.\n\nCOR. SH. May she and hers be alway fortunate!\nStill may she crown him with the joys of home!\n\nJO. Be thou, too, blest, kind sir! Thy gracious tongue\nDeserves no less. But tell me what request\nOr what intelligence thou bring'st with thee?\n\nCOR. SH. Good tidings for thy house and husband, queen.\n\nJO. What are they? Who hath sent thee to our hall?\n\nCOR. SH. From Corinth come I, and will quickly tell\nWhat sure will please you; though perchance 'twill grieve.\n\nJO. What news can move us thus two ways at once?\n\nCOR. SH. 'Twas rumoured that the people of the land\nOf Corinth would make Oedipus their king.\n\nJO. Is ancient Polybus not still in power?\n\nCOR. SH. No. Death confines him in a kingly grave.\n\nJO. Hold there! How say you? Polybus in his grave?\n\nCOR. SH. May I die for him if I speak not true!\n\nJO. (_To an attendant_).\nRun thou, and tell this quickly to my lord!\nVoices of prophecy, where are ye now?\nLong time hath Oedipus, a homeless man,\nTrembled with fear of slaying Polybus.\nWho now lies slain by Fortune, not by him.\n\n_Enter_ OEDIPUS.\n\nOED. Jocasta, my dear queen, why didst thou send\nTo bring me hither from our palace-hall?\n\nJO. Hear that man's tale, and then consider well\nThe end of yonder dreadful prophecy.\n\nOED. Who is the man, and what his errand here?\n\nJO. He comes from Corinth, to make known to thee\nThat Polybus, thy father, is no more.\n\nOED. How, stranger? Let me learn it from thy mouth.\n\nCOR. SH. If my first duty be to make this clear,\nKnow beyond doubt that he is dead and gone.\n\nOED. By illness coming o'er him, or by guile?\n\nCOR. SH. Light pressure lays to rest the timeworn frame.\n\nOED. He was subdued by sickness then, poor soul!\n\nCOR. SH. By sickness and the burden of his years.\n\nOED. Ah! my Jocasta, who again will heed\nThe Pythian hearth oracular, and birds\nScreaming in air, blind guides! that would have made\nMy father's death my deed; but he is gone,\nHidden underneath the ground, while I stand hero\nHarmless and weaponless:--unless, perchance,\nMy absence killed him,--so he may have died\nThrough me. But be that as it may, the grave\nThat covers Polybus, hath silenced, too,\nOne voice of prophecy, worth nothing now.\n\nJO. Did I not tell thee so, long since?\n\nOED.                                    Thou didst.\nBut I was drawn to error by my fear.\n\nJO. Now cast it altogether out of mind.\n\nOED. Must I not fear my mother's marriage-bed?\n\nJO. Why should man fear, seeing his course is ruled\nBy fortune, and he nothing can foreknow?\n'Tis best to live at ease as best one may.\nThen fear not thou thy mother's nuptial hour.\nMany a man ere now in dreams hath lain\nWith her who bare him. He hath least annoy\nWho with such omens troubleth not his mind.\n\nOED. That word would be well spoken, were not she\nAlive that gave me birth. But since she lives,\nThough you speak well, yet have I cause for fear.\n\nJO. Your father's burial might enlighten you.\n\nOED. It doth. But I am darkened by a life.\n\nCOR. SH. Whose being overshadows thee with fear?\n\nOED. Queen Merope, the consort of your king.\n\nCOR. SH. What in her life should make your heart afraid?\n\nOED. A heaven-sent oracle of dreadful sound.\n\nCOR. SH. May it be told, or must no stranger know?\n\nOED. Indeed it may. Word came from Phoebus once\nThat I must know my mother's shame, and shed\nWith these my hands my own true father's blood.\nWherefore long since my home hath been removed\nFar from Corinthos:--not unhappily;\nBut still 'tis sweet to see a parent's face.\n\nCOR. SH. Did fear of this make thee so long an exile?\n\nOED. Of this and parricide, my aged friend.\n\nCOR. SH. I came with kind intent--and, dear my lord,\nI fain would rid thee from this haunting dread.\n\nOED. Our gratitude should well reward thy love.\n\nCOR. SH. Hope of reward from thee in thy return\nWas one chief motive of my journey hither.\n\nOED. Return? Not to my parents' dwelling-place!\n\nCOR. SH. Son, 'tis too clear, you know not what you do.\n\nOED. Wherefore, kind sir? For Heaven's sake teach me this.\n\nCOR. SH. If for these reasons you avoid your home.\n\nOED. The fear torments me, Phoebus may prove true.\n\nCOR. SH. Lest from your parents you receive a stain?\n\nOED. That is the life-long torment of my soul.\n\nCOR. SH. Will you be certified your fears are groundless?\n\nOED. How groundless, if I am my parents' child?\n\nCOR. SH. Because with Polybus thou hast no kin.\n\nOED. Why? Was not he the author of my life?\n\nCOR. SH. As much as I am, and no more than I.\n\nOED. How can my father be no more to me\nThan who is nothing?\n\nCOR. SH.             In begetting thee\nNor I nor he had any part at all.\n\nOED. Why then did he declare me for his son?\n\nCOR. SH. Because he took thee once a gift from me.\n\nOED. Was all that love unto a foundling shown?\n\nCOR. SH. Heirless affection so inclined his heart.\n\nOED. A gift from you! Your purchase, or your child?[5]\n\nCOR. SH. Found in Cithaeron's hollowy wilderness.\n\nOED. What led your travelling footstep to that ground?\n\nCOR. SH. The flocks I tended grazed the mountain there.\n\nOED. A shepherd wast thou, and a wandering hind?\n\nCOR. SH. Whatever else, my son, thy saviour then.\n\nOED. From what didst thou release me or relieve?\n\nCOR. SH. Thine instep bears memorial of the pain.\n\nOED. Ah! what old evil will thy words disclose?\n\nCOR. SH. Thy feet were pierced. 'Twas I unfastened them.\n\nOED. So cruel to my tender infancy!\n\nCOR. SH. From this thou hast received thy name.\n\nOED.                                By heaven\nI pray thee, did my father do this thing,\nOr was't my mother?\n\nCOR. SH.            That I dare not say.\nHe should know best who gave thee to my hand.\n\nOED. Another gave me, then? You did not find me?\n\nCOR. SH. Another herdsman passed thee on to me.\n\nOED. Can you describe him? Tell us what you know.\n\nCOR. SH. Methinks they called him one of Laius' people.\n\nOED. Of Laius once the sovereign of this land?\n\nCOR. SH. E'en so. He was a shepherd of his flock.\n\nOED. And is he still alive for me to see?\n\nCOR. SH. You Thebans are most likely to know that.\n\nOED. Speak, any one of you in presence here,\nCan you make known the swain he tells us of,\nIn town or country having met with him?\nThe hour for this discovery is full come.\n\nCH. Methinks it is no other than the peasant\nWhom thou didst seek before to see: but this\nCould best be told by queen Jocasta there.\n\nOED. We lately sought that one should come, my queen.\nKnow'st thou, is this of whom he speaks the same?\n\nJO. What matter who? Regard not, nor desire\nEven vainly to remember aught he saith.\n\nOED. When I have found such tokens of my birth,\nI must disclose it.\n\nJO.                 As you love your life,\nBy heaven I beg you, search no further here!\nThe sickness in my bosom is enough.\n\nOED. Nay, never fear! Were I proved thrice a slave\nAnd waif of bondwomen, you still are noble.\n\nJO. Yet hearken, I implore you: do not so.\n\nOED. I cannot hear you. I must know this through.\n\nJO. With clear perception I advise the best.\n\nOED. Thy 'best' is still my torment.\n\nJO.                                  Wretched one,\nNever may'st thou discover who thou art!\n\nOED. Will some one go and bring the herdman hither?\nLeave her to revel in her lordly line!\n\nJO. O horrible! O lost one! This alone\nI speak to thee, and no word more for ever.                    [_Exit_\n\nCH. Oedipus, wherefore is Jocasta gone,\nDriven madly by wild grief? I needs must fear\nLest from this silence she make sorrow spring.\n\nOED. Leave her to raise what storm she will. But I\nWill persevere to know mine origin,\nThough from an humble seed. Her woman's pride\nIs shamed, it may be, by my lowliness.\nBut I, whilst I account myself the son\nOf prospering Fortune, ne'er will be disgraced.\nFor she is my true mother: and the months,\nCoheirs with me of the same father, Time,\nHave marked my lowness and mine exaltation.\nSo born, so nurtured, I can fear no change,\nThat I need shrink to probe this to the root.\n                     [OEDIPUS _remains, and gazes towards the country,\n                                              while the_ CHORUS _sing_\n\nCHORUS.\n      If I wield a prophet's might,                                  1\n      Or have sense to search aright,\n  Cithaeron, when all night the moon rides high,\n      Loud thy praise shall be confessed,\n      How upon thy rugged breast,\n  Thou, mighty mother, nursed'st tenderly\n  Great Oedipus, and gav'st his being room\n      Within thy spacious home.\n      Yea, we will dance and sing\n  Thy glory for thy kindness to our king.\n      Phoebus, unto thee we cry,\n      Be this pleasing in thine eye!\n\n      Who, dear sovereign, gave thee birth,                          2\n      Of the long lived nymphs of earth?\n  Say, was she clasped by mountain roving Pan?\n      Or beguiled she one sweet hour\n      With Apollo in her bower,\n  Who loves to trace the field untrod by man?\n  Or was the ruler of Cyllene's height\n      The author of thy light?\n      Or did the Bacchic god,\n  Who makes the top of Helicon to nod,\n      Take thee for a foundling care\n      From his playmates that are there?\n\n_The_ THEBAN SHEPHERD _is seen approaching, guarded._\n\nOED. If haply I, who never saw his face,\nThebans, may guess, methinks I see the hind\nWhose coming we have longed for. Both his age,\nAgreeing with this other's wintry locks,\nAccords with my conjecture, and the garb\nOf his conductors is well known to me\nAs that of mine own people. But methinks       [_to_ LEADER of CHORUS]\nThou hast more perfect knowledge in this case,\nHaving beheld the herdman in the past.\n\nCH. I know him well, believe me. Laius\nHad no more faithful shepherd than this man.\n\nOED. Corinthian friend, I first appeal to you:\nWas't he you spake of?\n\nCOR. SH.               'Twas the man you see.\n\nOED. Turn thine eyes hither, aged friend, and tell\nWhat I shall ask thee. Wast thou Laius' slave?\n\nTHEB. SH. I was, not bought, but bred within the house.\n\nOED. What charge or occupation was thy care?\n\nTHEB. SH. Most of my time was spent in shepherding.\n\nOED. And where didst thou inhabit with thy flock?\n\nTHEB. SH. 'Twas now Cithaeron, now the neighbouring tract.\n\nOED. And hadst thou there acquaintance of this man?\n\nTHEB. SH. Following what service? What is he you mean?\n\nOED. The man you see. Hast thou had dealings with him?\n\nTHEB. SH. I cannot bring him all at once to mind.\n\nCOR. SH. No marvel, good my lord. But I will soon\nWake to clear knowledge his oblivious sense.\nFor sure I am he can recall the time,\nWhen he with his two flocks, and I with one\nBeside him, grazed Cithaeron's pasture wide\nGood six months' space of three successive years,\nFrom spring to rising of Arcturus; then\nFor the bleak winter season, I drove mine\nTo their own folds, he his to Laius' stalls.\nDo I talk idly, or is this the truth?\n\nTHEB. SH. The time is far remote. But all is true.\n\nCOR. SH. Well, dost remember having given me then\nA child, that I might nurture him for mine?\n\nTHEB. SH. What means thy question? Let me know thy drift.\n\nCOR. SH. Friend, yonder stands the infant whom we knew.\n\nTHEB. SH. Confusion seize thee, and thy evil tongue!\n\nOED. Check not his speech, I pray thee, for thy words\nCall more than his for chastisement, old sir.\n\nTHEB. SH. O my dread lord, therein do I offend?\n\nOED. Thou wilt not answer him about the child?\n\nTHEB. SH. He knows not what he speaks. His end is vain.\n\nOED. So! Thou'lt not tell to please us, but the lash\nWill make thee tell.\n\nTHEB. SH.            By all that's merciful,\nScourge not this aged frame!\n\nOED.                         Pinion him straight!\n\nTHEB. SH. Unhappy! wherefore? what is't you would know?\n\nOED. Gave you this man the child of whom he asks you?\n\nTHEB. SH. I gave it him. Would I had died that hour!\n\nOED. Speak rightly, or your wish will soon come true.\n\nTHEB. SH. My ruin comes the sooner, if I speak.\n\nOED. This man will balk us with his baffling prate.\n\nTHEB. SH. Not so. I said long since, 'I gave the child.'\n\nOED. Whence? Was't your own, or from another's hand?\n\nTHEB. SH. 'Twas not mine own; another gave it me.\n\nOED. What Theban gave it, from what home in Thebes?\n\nTHEB. SH. O, I implore thee, master, ask no more!\n\nOED. You perish, if I have to ask again.\n\nTHEB. SH. The child was of the stock of Laius.\n\nOED. Slave-born, or rightly of the royal line?\n\nTHEB. SH. Ah me! Now comes the horror to my tongue!\n\nOED. And to mine ear. But thou shalt tell it me!\n\nTHEB. SH. He was given out for Laius' son: but she,\nThy queen, within the palace, best can tell.\n\nOED. How? Did she give it thee?\n\nTHEB. SH.                       My lord, she did.\n\nOED. With what commission?\n\nTHEB. SH.                  I was to destroy him.\n\nOED. And could a mother's heart be steeled to this?\n\nTHEB. SH. With fear of evil prophecies.\n\nOED.                                    What were they?\n\nTHEB. SH. 'Twas said the child should be his father's death.\n\nOED. What then possessed thee to give up the child\nTo this old man?\n\nTHEB. SH.        Pity, my sovereign lord!\nSupposing he would take him far away\nUnto the land whence he was come. But he\nPreserved him to great sorrow. For if thou\nArt he this man hath said, be well assured\nThou bear'st a heavy doom.\n\nOED.                       O horrible!\nHorrible! All fulfilled, as sunlight clear!\nOh may I nevermore behold the day,\nSince proved accursed in my parentage,\nIn those I live with, and in him I slew!                     [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS.\n      O mortal tribes of men,                                      I 1\n      How near to nothingness\nI count you while your lives remain!\nWhat man that lives hath more of happiness\nThan to seem blest, and, seeming, fade in night?\nO Oedipus, in this thine hour of gloom,\nMusing on thee and thy relentless doom,\nI call none happy who beholds the light.\n\n      Thou through surpassing skill                                I 2\n      Didst rise to wealth and power,\nWhen thou the monstrous riddling maid didst kill,\nAnd stoodst forth to my country as a tower\nTo guard from myriad deaths this glorious town;\nWhence thou wert called my king, of faultless fame,\nIn all the world a far-resounded name,\nUnparagoned in honour and renown.\n\nBut now to hear of thee, who more distressed?                     II 1\n    Who more acquainted with fierce misery,\nAssaulted by disasters manifest,\n    Than thou in this thy day of agony?\nMost noble, most renowned!--Yet one same room\n    Heard thy first cry, and in thy prime of power,\nReceived thee, harbouring both bride and groom,\n    And bore it silently till this dread hour.\nHow could that furrowing of thy father's field\nYear after year continue unrevealed?\n\nTime hath detected thine unwitting deed,                          II 2\n    Time, who discovers all with eyes of fire,\nAccusing thee of living without heed\n    In hideous wedlock husband, son, and sire.\nAh would that we, thou child of Laius born,\n    Ah would that we had never seen thee nigh!\nE'er since we knew thee who thou art, we mourn\n    Exceedingly with cries that rend the sky.\nFor, to tell truth, thou didst restore our life\nAnd gavest our soul sweet respite after strife.\n\n_Enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESS. O ye who in this land have ever held\nChief honour, what an object of dire woe\nAwaits your eyes, your ears! What piercing grief\nYour hearts must suffer, if as kinsmen should\nYe still regard the house of Laius!\nNot Phasis, nor the Danube's rolling flood,\nCan ever wash away the stain and purge\nThis mansion of the horror that it hides.\n--And more it soon shall give to light, not now\nUnconsciously enacted. Of all ill,\nSelf-chosen sorrows are the worst to bear.\n\nCH. What hast thou new to add? the weight of grief\nFrom that we know burdens the heart enough.\n\nMESS. Soon spoken and soon heard is the chief sum.\nJocasta's royal head is sunk in death.\n\nCH. The hapless queen! What was the fatal cause?\n\nMESS. Her own determination. You are spared\nThe worst affliction, not being there to see.\nYet to the height of my poor memory's power\nThe wretched lady's passion you shall hear.\nWhen she had passed in her hot mood within\nThe vestibule, straight to the bridal room\nShe rushes, tearing with both hands her hair.\nThen having entered, shutting fast the door,\nShe called aloud on Laius, long dead,\nWith anguished memory of that birth of old\nWhereby the father fell, leaving his queen\nTo breed a dreadful brood for his own son.\nAnd loudly o'er the bed she wailed, where she,\nIn twofold wedlock, hapless, had brought forth\nHusband from husband, children from a child.\nWe could not know the moment of her death,\nWhich followed soon, for Oedipus with cries\nBroke in, and would not let us see her end,\nBut held our eyes as he careered the hall,\nDemanding arms, and where to find his wife,--\nNo, not his wife, but fatal mother-croft,\nCropped doubly with himself and his own seed.\nAnd in his rage some god directed him\nTo find her:--'twas no man of us at hand.\nThen with a fearful shout, as following\nHis leader, he assailed the folding-doors;\nAnd battering inward from the mortised bolts\nThe bending boards, he burst into the room:\nWhere high suspended we beheld the queen,\nIn twisted cordage resolutely swung.\nHe all at once on seeing her, wretched king!\nUndid the pendent noose, and on the ground\nLay the ill-starred queen. Oh, then 'twas terrible\nTo see what followed--for he tore away\nThe tiring-pins wherewith she was arrayed,\nAnd, lifting, smote his eyeballs to the root,\nSaying, Nevermore should they behold the evil\nHis life inherited from that past time,\nBut all in dark henceforth should look upon\nFeatures far better not beheld, and fail\nTo recognize the souls he had longed to know.\nThus crying aloud, not once but oftentimes\nHe drave the points into his eyes; and soon\nThe bleeding pupils moistened all his beard,\nNor stinted the dark flood, but all at once\nThe ruddy hail poured down in plenteous shower.\nThus from two springs, from man and wife together,\nRose the joint evil that is now o'erflowing.\nAnd the old happiness in that past day\nWas truly happy, but the present hour\nHath pain, crime, ruin:--whatsoe'er of ill\nMankind have named, not one is absent here.\n\nCH. And finds the sufferer now some pause of woe?\n\nMESS. He bids make wide the portal and display\nTo all the men of Thebes the man who slew\nHis father, who unto his mother did\nWhat I dare not repeat, and fain would fling\nHis body from the land, nor calmly bide\nThe shock of his own curse on his own hall.\nMeanwhile he needs some comfort and some guide,\nFor such a load of misery who can bear?\nThyself shalt judge: for, lo, the palace-gates\nUnfold, and presently thine eyes will see\nA hateful sight, yet one thou needs must pity.\n\n_Enter_ OEDIPUS, _blind and unattended._\n\nLEADER OF CH. O horror of the world!\nToo great for mortal eye!\nMore terrible than all I have known of ill!\nWhat fury of wild thought\nCame o'er thee? Who in heaven\nHath leapt against thy hapless life\nWith boundings out of measure fierce and huge?\nAh! wretched one, I cannot look on thee:\nNo, though I long to search, to ask, to learn.\nThine aspect is too horrible.--I cannot!\n\nOED. Me miserable! Whither am I borne?\nInto what region are these wavering sounds\nWafted on aimless wings? O ruthless Fate!\nTo what a height thy fury hath soared!\n\nCH.                                    Too far\nFor human sense to follow, or human thought\nTo endure the horror.\n\nOED.                  O dark cloud, descending                     I 1\nUnutterably on me! invincible,\nAbhorred, borne onward by too sure a wind.\nWoe, woe!\nWoe! Yet again I voice it, with such pangs\nBoth from these piercing wounds I am assailed\nAnd from within through memory of my grief.\n\nCH. Nay, 'tis no marvel if thy matchless woe\nRedouble thine affliction and thy moan!\n\nOED. Ah! Friend, thou art still constant! Thou remainest           I 2\nTo tend me and to care for the blind man.\nAlas!\nI know thee well, nor fail I to perceive,\nDark though I be, thy kind familiar voice.\n\nCH. How dreadful is thy deed! How couldst thou bear\nThus to put out thine eyes? What Power impelled thee?\n\nOED. Apollo, dear my friends, Apollo brought to pass              II 1\nIn dreadful wise, this my calamitous woe.\nBut I,--no being else,--I with this hand destroyed them.\n                                               [_Pointing to his eyes_\nFor why should I have sight,\nTo whom nought now gave pleasure through the eye?\n\nCH. There speak'st thou truly.\n\nOED.                           What could I see, whom hear\nWith gladness, whom delight in any more?\nLead me away out of the land with speed!\nBe rid of the destroyer, the accursed,\nWhom most of all the world the Gods abhor.\n\nCH. O miserable in thy calamity\nAnd not less miserable in thy despair,\nWould thou wert still in ignorance of thy birth!\n\nOED. My curse on him who from the cruel bond                      II 2\nThat held my feet in that high pasture-land\nFreed me, and rescued me from murder there,\nAnd saved my life! Vain kindness! Then to have died\nHad spared this agony to me and mine.\n\nCH. Ay, would it had been so!\n\nOED. Then had I ne'er\nBeen proved a parricide, ne'er borne the shame\nOf marriage bonds incestuous! But now\nI am God abandoned, Son of the unholy,\nRival of him who gave me being. Ah woe!\nWhat sorrow beyond sorrows hath chief place?\nThat sorrow Oedipus must bear!\n\nLEADER OF CH. I know not how to call thee wise in this:\nThou wert better dead than to be blind and live.\n\nOED. That this last act hath not been for the best\nInstruct me not, nor counsel me again.\nHow, if I kept my sight, could I have looked\nIn Hades on my father's countenance,\nOr mine all hapless mother, when, toward both,\nI have done deeds no death can e'er atone?\nAh! but my children were a sight of joy,--\nOffspring of such a marriage! were they so?\nNever, to eyes of mine! nor town, nor tower,\nNor holy shrines o' the gods, which I myself,\nDowered with the fairest life of Theban men,\nHave forfeited, alas, by mine own law,\nDeclaring men should drive from every door\nOne marked by Heaven as impious and impure,\nNay worse, of Laius born! And was I then,\nBy mine own edict branded thus, to look\nOn Theban faces with unaltered eye?\nNay verily, but had there been a way\nTo stop the hearing fountain through the ear,\nI had not faltered, but had closed and barred\nEach gate of this poor body, deaf and blind!\nSo thought might sweetly dwell at rest from ill\nCithaeron! Why didst thou receive me? Why\nNot slay me then and there? So had I not\nTold to the world the horror of my birth.\nO foster home of Corinth and her king,\nHow bright the life ye cherished, filming o'er\nWhat foulness far beneath! For I am vile,\nAnd vile were both my parents. So 'tis proved\nO cross road in the covert of the glen,\nO thicket in the gorge where three ways met,\nBedewed by these my hands with mine own blood\nFrom whence I sprang--have ye forgotten me?\nOr doth some memory haunt you of the deeds\nI did before you, and went on to do\nWorse horrors here? O marriage twice accurst!\nThat gave me being, and then again sent forth\nFresh saplings springing from the selfsame seed,\nTo amaze men's eyes and minds with dire confusion\nOf father, brother, son, bride, mother, wife,\nMurder of parents, and all shames that are!\nSilence alone befits such deeds. Then, pray you,\nHide me immediately away from men!\nKill me outright, or fling me far to sea,\nWhere never ye may look upon me more.\nCome, lend your hand unto my misery!\nComply, and fear not, for my load of woe\nIs incommunicable to all but me.\n\nCH. With timely presence to fulfil thy need\nWith act and counsel, Creon comes, who now\nIs regent o'er this people in thy room.\n\nOED. Alas, what shall I say to him? What plea\nFor my defence will hold? My evil part\nToward him in all the past is clearly proved.\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCR. I come not, Oedipus, to mock thy woes,\nNor to reproach thee for thine evils past.\nBut ye, (_to_ Chorus) if all respect of mortal eye\nBe dead, let awe of the universal flame\nOf life's great nourisher, our lord the Sun,\nForbid your holding thus unveiled to view\nThis huge abomination, which nor Earth\nNor sacred Element, nor light of Heaven\nCan once endure. Convey him in with speed.\nReligion bids that kindred eyes and ears\nAlone should witness kindred crime and woe.\n\nOED. By Heaven, since thou hast reft away my fear,\nSo nobly meeting my unworthiness,\nI pray thee, hear me for thine own behoof.\n\nCR. What boon dost thou desire so earnestly?\n\nOED. Fling me with speediest swiftness from the land,\nWhere nevermore I may converse with men.\n\nCR. Doubt not I would have done it, but the God\nMust be inquired of, ere we act herein.\n\nOED. His sacred utterance was express and clear,\nThe parricide, the unholy, should be slain.\n\nCR. Ay, so 'twas spoken: but, in such a time,\nWe needs must be advised more perfectly.\n\nOED. Will ye then ask him for a wretch like me?\n\nCR. Yea. For even thou methinks wilt now believe.\n\nOED. Not only so. But I will charge thee too,\nWith urgent exhortation, to perform\nThe funeral rite for her who lies within--\nShe is thy kinswoman--howe'er thou wilt.\nBut never let this city of my sires\nClaim me for living habitant! There, there\nLeave me to range the mountain, where my nurse,\nCithaeron, echoeth with my name,--Cithaeron,\nWhich both my parents destined for my tomb.\nSo my true murderers will be my death.\nYet one thing I can tell. Mine end will come\nNot by disease nor ordinary chance\nI had not lived when at the point to die,\nBut for some terrible doom. Then let my fate\nRun out its full career. But for my children\nThou, Creon, shalt provide. As for my sons,\nI pray thee burden not thyself with them.\nThey ne'er will lack subsistence--they are men.\nBut my poor maidens, hapless and forlorn,\nWho never had a meal apart from mine,\nBut ever shared my table, yea, for them\nTake heedful care, and grant me, though but once.\nYea, I beseech thee, with these hands to feel,\nThou noble heart! the forms I love so well,\nAnd weep with them our common misery.\nOh, if my arms were round them, I might seem\nTo have them as of old when I could see--\nWhat! Am I fooled once more, or do I hear\nMy dear ones weeping! And hath Creon sent,\nPitying my sorrows, mine own children to me\nWhom most I love? Can this be truth I utter?\n\nCR. Yea, I have done it. For I knew the joy\nThou ever hadst in this, thy comfort now.\n\nOED. Fair be thy fortune, and, for this last deed,\nHeaven guide thee on a better course than mine.\nWhere are ye, O my children? Come, draw near\nTo these my hands of brother blood with you,\nHands that have made so piteous to your sight\nThe darkened gaze of his once brilliant eyes,\nWho all in blindness, with no thought of ill,\nBecame your father at that fount of life,\nWhere he himself took being! Oh! for you\nI weep, not seeing you, when I but think\nOf all the bitter passages of fate\nThat must attend you amongst men. For where\nCan ye find fellowship, what civic throng\nShall ye resort unto, what festival,\nFrom whence, instead of sight or sound enjoyed,\nYe will not come in tears unto your home?\nAnd when ye reach the marriageable bloom,\nMy daughters, who will be the man to cast\nHis lot with yours, receiving for his own\nAll those reproaches which have marred the name\nOf both my parents and your name no less?\nWhat evil is not here? Your father slew\nHis father, and then eared the mother field\nWhere he himself was sown, and got you from\nThe source of his own birth. Such taunts will fly.\nAnd who will marry you? No man, my daughters;\nBut ye must wither childless and unwed.\nSon of Menoeceus, who alone art left\nAs father to these maidens, for the pair\nThat gave them birth are utterly undone,\nSuffer them not, being your kinswomen,\nTo wander desolate and poor, nor make\nTheir lot perforce the counterpart of mine.\nBut look on them with pity, left in youth\nForlorn of all protection save from thee.\nNoble one, seal this promise with thy hand!\n--For you, my children, were ye of an age\nTo ponder speech, I would have counselled you\nFull carefully. Now I would have you pray\nTo dwell where 'tis convenient, that your life\nMay find more blessing than your father knew.\n\nCR. Thou hast had enough of weeping. Close thee in thy chamber walls.\n\nOED. I must yield, though sore against me.\n\nCR.                                    Yea, for strong occasion calls.\n\nOED. Know'st thou on what terms I yield it?\n\nCR.                                     Tell me, let us hear and know.\n\nOED. That ye send from the country.\n\nCR.                                 God alone can let thee go.\n\nOED. But the Gods long since abhor me.\n\nCR.                                   Thou wilt sooner gain that boon.\n\nOED. Then consent.\n\nCR.                'Tis not my wont to venture promises too soon.\n\nOED. Lead me now within the palace.\n\nCR.                                 Come, but leave thy children.\n\nOED.                                                              Nay!\nTear not these from my embraces!\n\nCR.                              Hope not for perpetual sway:\nSince the power thou once obtainedst ruling with unquestioned might\nEbbing from thy life hath vanished ere the falling of the night.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.\nDwellers in our native Thebe, fix on Oedipus your eyes.\nWho resolved the dark enigma, noblest champion and most wise.\nLike a star his envied fortune mounted beaming[6] far and wide:\nNow he sinks in seas of anguish, whelmed beneath a raging tide.\nTherefore, with the old-world sages, waiting for that final day,\nI will call no mortal happy, while he holds his house of clay,\nTill without one pang of sorrow, all his hours have passed away.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                               ELECTRA\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nAn Old Man, _formerly one of the retainers of Agamemnon._\nORESTES, _son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra_.\nELECTRA, _sister of Orestes_.\nCHORUS _of Argive Women_.\nCHRYSOTHEMIS, _sister of Orestes and Electra_.\nCLYTEMNESTRA.\nAEGISTHUS.\n\nPYLADES _appears with_ ORESTES, _but does not speak_.\n\n\nSCENE. Mycenae: before the palace of the Pelopidae.\n\n\n\n\nAgamemnon on his return from Troy, had been murdered by his wife\nClytemnestra and her paramour Aegisthus, who had usurped the Mycenean\nthrone. Orestes, then a child, had been rescued by his sister Electra,\nand sent into Phocis with the one servant who remained faithful to his\nold master. The son of Agamemnon now returns, being of a full age,\naccompanied by this same attendant and his friend Pylades, with whom\nhe has already concerted a plan for taking vengeance on his father's\nmurderers, in obedience to the command of Apollo.\n\nOrestes had been received in Phocis by Strophius, his father's friend.\nAnother Phocian prince, named Phanoteus, was a friend of Aegisthus.\n\n\n\n\n                               ELECTRA\n\n\nORESTES _and the_ Old Man--PYLADES _is present._\n\nOLD MAN. Son of the king who led the Achaean host\nErewhile beleaguering Troy, 'tis thine to day\nTo see around thee what through many a year\nThy forward spirit hath sighed for. Argolis\nLies here before us, hallowed as the scene\nOf Io's wildering pain: yonder, the mart\nNamed from the wolf slaying God[1], and there, to our left,\nHera's famed temple. For we reach the bourn\nOf far renowned Mycenae, rich in gold\nAnd Pelops' fatal roofs before us rise,\nHaunted with many horrors, whence my hand,\nThy murdered sire then lying in his gore,\nReceived thee from thy sister, and removed\nWhere I have kept thee safe and nourished thee\nTo this bright manhood thou dost bear, to be\nThe avenger of thy father's bloody death.\nWherefore, Orestes, and thou, Pylades,\nDearest of friends, though from a foreign soil,\nPrepare your enterprise with speed. Dark night\nIs vanished with her stars, and day's bright orb\nHath waked the birds of morn into full song.\nNow, then, ere foot of man go forth, ye two\nKnit counsels. 'Tis no time for shy delay:\nThe very moment for your act is come.\n\nOR. Kind faithful friend, how well thou mak'st appear\nThy constancy in service to our house!\nAs some good steed, aged, but nobly bred,\nSlacks not his spirit in the day of war,\nBut points his ears to the fray, even so dost thou\nPress on and urge thy master in the van.\nHear, then, our purpose, and if aught thy mind,\nKeenly attent, discerns of weak or crude\nIn this I now set forth, admonish me.\n  I, when I visited the Pythian shrine\nOracular, that I might learn whereby\nTo punish home the murderers of my sire,\nHad word from Phoebus which you straight shall hear:\n'No shielded host, but thine own craft, O King!\nThe righteous death-blow to thine arm shall bring.'\nThen, since the will of Heaven is so revealed,\nGo thou within, when Opportunity\nShall marshal thee the way, and gathering all\nTheir business, bring us certain cognizance.\nAge and long absence are a safe disguise;\nThey never will suspect thee who thou art.\nAnd let thy tale be that another land,\nPhocis, hath sent thee forth, and Phanoteus,\nThan whom they have no mightier help in war.\nThen, prefaced with an oath, declare thy news,\nOrestes' death by dire mischance, down-rolled\nFrom wheel-borne chariot in the Pythian course.\nSo let the fable be devised; while we,\nAs Phoebus ordered, with luxuriant locks\nShorn from our brows, and fair libations, crown\nMy father's sepulchre, and thence return\nBearing aloft the shapely vase of bronze\nThat's hidden hard by in brushwood, as thou knowest,\nAnd bring them welcome tidings, that my form\nIs fallen ere now to ashes in the fire.\nHow should this pain me, in pretence being dead,\nReally to save myself and win renown?\nNo saying bodes men ill, that brings them gain.\nOft have I known the wise, dying in word,\nReturn with glorious salutation home.\nSo lightened by this rumour shall mine eye\nBlaze yet like bale-star on mine enemies.\nO native earth! and Gods that hold the land,\nAccept me here, and prosper this my way!\nThou, too, paternal hearth! To thee I come,\nJustly to cleanse thee by behest from heaven.\nSend me not bootless, Gods, but let me found\nA wealthy line of fair posterity!\nI have spoken. To thy charge! and with good heed\nPerform it. We go forth. The Occasion calls,\nGreat taskmaster of enterprise to men.\n\nELECTRA (_within_). Woe for my hapless lot!\n\nOLD M. Hark! from the doors, my son, methought there came\nA moaning cry, as of some maid within.\n\nOR. Can it be poor Electra? Shall we stay,\nAnd list again the lamentable sound?\n\nOLD M. Not so. Before all else begin the attempt\nTo execute Apollo's sovereign will,\nPouring libation to thy sire: this makes\nVictory ours, and our success assured.                       [_Exeunt_\n\n_Enter_ ELECTRA.\n\nMONODY.\n\nEL. O purest light!\nAnd air by earth alone\nMeasured and limitable, how oft have ye\nHeard many a piercing moan,\nMany a blow full on my bleeding breast,\nWhen gloomy night\nHath slackened pace and yielded to the day!\nAnd through the hours of rest,\nAh! well 'tis known\nTo my sad pillow in yon house of woe,\nWhat vigil of scant joyance keeping,\nWhiles all within are sleeping,\nFor my dear father without stint I groan,\nWhom not in bloody fray\nThe War-god in the stranger-land\nReceived with hospitable hand,\nBut she that is my mother, and her groom,\nAs woodmen fell the oak,\nCleft through the skull with murdering stroke.\nAnd o'er this gloom\nNo ray of pity, save from only me,\nGoes forth on thee,\nMy father, who didst die\nA cruel death of piteous agony.\nBut ne'er will I\nCease from my crying and sad mourning lay,\nWhile I behold the sky,\nGlancing with myriad fires, or this fair day.\nBut, like some brood-bereaved nightingale,\nWith far-heard wail,\nHere at my father's door my voice shall sound.\nO home beneath the ground!\nHades unseen, and dread Persephone,\nAnd darkling Hermes, and the Curse revered,\nAnd ye, Erinyes, of mortals feared,\nDaughters of Heaven, that ever see\nWho die unjustly, who are wronged i' the bed\nOf those they wed,\nAvenge our father's murder on his foe!\nAid us, and send my brother to my side;\nAlone I cannot longer bide\nThe oppressive strain of strength-o'ermastering woe.\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\n      O sad Electra, child                                         I 1\nOf a lost mother, why still flow\nUnceasingly with lamentation wild\nFor him who through her treachery beguiled,\nInveigled by a wife's deceit,\nFallen at the foul adulterer's feet,\nMost impiously was quelled long years ago?\nPerish the cause! if I may lawfully pray so.\n\nEL. O daughters of a noble line,\nYe come to soothe me from my troublous woe.\n        I see, I know:\nYour love is not unrecognized of mine.\nBut yet I will not seem as I forgot,\nOr cease to mourn my hapless father's lot.\n        Oh, of all love\nThat ever may you move,\nThis only boon I crave--\nLeave me to rave!\n\nCH. Lament, nor praying breath                                     I 2\nWill raise thy sire, our honoured chief,\nFrom that dim multitudinous gulf of death.\nBeyond the mark, due grief that measureth,\nStill pining with excess of pain\nThou urgest lamentation vain,\nThat from thy woes can bring thee no relief.\nWhy hast thou set thy heart on unavailing grief?\n\nEL. Senseless were he who lost from thought\nA noble father, lamentably slain!\n        I love thy strain,\nBewildered mourner, bird divinely taught,\nFor 'Itys,' 'Itys,' ever heard to pine.\nO Niobe, I hold thee all divine,\n        Of sorrows queen,\nWho with all tearful mien\nInsepulchred in stone\nAye makest moan.\n\nCH. Not unto thee alone hath sorrow come,                         II 1\nDaughter, that thou shouldst carry grief so far\nBeyond those dwellers in the palace-home\n        Who of thy kindred are\nAnd own one source with thee.\n        What life hath she,\nChrysothemis, and Iphianassa bright,\n        And he whose light\nIs hidden afar from taste of horrid doom,\nYouthful Orestes, who shall come\nTo fair Mycenae's glorious town,\nWelcomed as worthy of his sire's renown,\nSped by great Zeus with kindly thought,\nAnd to this land with happiest omen brought?\n\nEL. Awaiting him I endlessly endure;\nUnwed and childless still I go,\n        With tears in constant flow,\nGirt round with misery that finds no cure.\nBut he forgets his wrong and all my teaching.\nWhat message have I sent beseeching,\nBut baffled flies back idly home?\nEver he longs, he saith, but, longing, will not come.\n\nCH. Take heart, dear child! still mighty in the sky               II 2\nIs Zeus who ruleth all things and surveys.\nCommit to him thy grief that surgeth high,\n        And walk in safer ways,\nLet not hate vex thee sore,\n        Nor yet ignore\nThe cause of hate and sorrow in thy breast.\n        Time bringeth rest:\nAll is made easy through his power divine.\nThe heir of Agamemnon's line\nWho dwells by Crisa's pastoral strand\nShall yet return unto his native land;\nAnd he shall yet regard his own\nWho reigns beneath upon his Stygian throne.\n\nEL. Meanwhile my life falls from me in despair\nYears pass and patience nought avails:\n        My heart within me fails:\nOrphaned I pine without protecting care;\nAnd like a sojourner all unregarded\nAt slave-like labour unrewarded\nI toil within my father's hall\nThus meanly attired, and starved, a table-serving thrall.\n\nCH. Sad was thy greeting when he reached the strand,             III 1\nPiteous thy crying where thy father lay\n        On that fell day\nWhen the bronze edge with dire effect was driven.\n        By craft 'twas planned,\nBy frenzied lust the blow was given:\nMother and father of a monstrous birth,\nWhether a God there wrought or mortal of the Earth.\n\nEL. O day beyond all days that yet have rolled\nMost hateful in thy course of light!\n        O horror of that night!\nO hideous feast, abhorr'd, not to be told!\nHow could I bear it, when my father's eye\nSaw death advancing from the ruthless pair,\nConjoint in cruel villany,\nBy whom my life was plunged in black despair?\nOh, to the workers of such deeds as these\n        May great Olympus' Lord\nReturn of evil still afford,\nNor let them wear the gloss of sovran ease!\n\nCH. Take thought to keep thy crying within bound.                III 2\nDoth not thy sense enlighten thee to see\n        How recklessly\nEven now thou winnest undeserved woe?\n        Still art thou found\nTo make thy misery overflow\nThrough self-bred gloomy strife. But not for long\nShall one alone prevail who strives against the strong.\n\nEL. 'Twas dire oppression taught me my complaint\nI know my rage a quenchless fire:\n        But nought, however dire,\nShall visit this my frenzy with restraint,\nOr check my lamentation while I live.\nDear friends, kind women of true Argive breed,\nSay, who can timely counsel give\nOr word of comfort suited to my need?\nBeyond all cure shall this my cause be known.\n        No counsels more! Ah leave,\nVain comforters, and let me grieve\nWith ceaseless pain, unmeasured in my moan.\n\nCH. With kind intent                                                IV\nFull tenderly my words are meant;\nLike a true mother pressing heart to heart,\nI pray thee, do not aggravate thy smart.\n\nEL. But have my miseries a measure? Tell.\n        Can it be well\nTo pour forgetfulness upon the dead?\n        Hath mortal head\nConceived a wickedness so bold?\nO never may such brightness shine for me,\n        Nor let me peaceful be\nWith aught of good my life may still enfold,\nIf from wide echoing of my father's name\nThe wings of keen lament I must withhold.\n        Sure holy shame\nAnd pious care would vanish among men,\nIf he, mere earth and nothingness, must lie\nIn darkness, and his foes shall not again\nRender him blood for blood in amplest penalty.\n\nLEADER OF CH. Less from our own desires, my child, we came,\nThan for thy sake. But, if we speak amiss,\nTake thine own course. We still will side with thee.\n\nEL. Full well I feel that too impatiently\nI seem to multiply the sounds of woe.\nYet suffer me, dear women! Mighty force\nCompels me. Who that had a noble heart\nAnd saw her father's cause, as I have done,\nBy day and night more outraged, could refrain?\nAre my woes lessening? Are they not in bloom?--\nMy mother full of hate and hateful proved,\nWhilst I in my own home must dwell with these,\nMy father's murderers, and by them be ruled,\nDependent on their bounty even for bread.\nAnd then what days suppose you I must pass,\nWhen I behold Aegisthus on the throne\nThat was my father's; when I see him wear\nSuch robes, and pour libations by the hearth\nWhere he destroyed him; lastly, when I see\nTheir crowning insolence,--our regicide\nLaid in my father's chamber beside her,\nMy mother--if she still must bear the name\nWhen resting in those arms? Her shame is dead.\nShe harbours with blood-guiltiness, and fears\nNo vengeance, but, as laughing at the wrong,\nShe watches for the hour wherein with guile\nShe killed our sire, and orders dance and mirth\nThat day o' the month, and joyful sacrifice\nOf thanksgiving. But I within the house\nBeholding, weep and pine, and mourn that feast\nOf infamy, called by my father's name,\nAll to myself; for not even grief may flow\nAs largely as my spirit would desire.\nThat so-called princess of a noble race\nO'ercrows my wailing with loud obloquy:\n'Hilding! are you alone in grief? Are none\nMourning for loss of fathers but yourself?\n'Fore the blest Gods! ill may you thrive, and ne'er\nFind cure of sorrow from the powers below!'\nSo she insults: unless she hear one say\n'Orestes will arrive': then standing close,\nShe shouts like one possessed into mine ear,\n'These are your doings, this your work, I trow.\nYou stole Orestes from my gripe, and placed\nHis life with fosterers; but you shall pay\nFull penalty.' So harsh is her exclaim.\nAnd he at hand, the husband she extols,\nHounds on the cry, that prince of cowardice,\nFrom head to foot one mass of pestilent harm.\nTongue-doughty champion of this women's-war.\nI, for Orestes ever languishing\nTo end this, am undone. For evermore\nIntending, still delaying, he wears out\nAll hope, both here and yonder. How, then, friends,\nCan I be moderate, or feel the touch\nOf holy resignation? Evil fruit\nCannot but follow on a life of ill.\n\nCH. Say, is Aegisthus near while thus you speak?\nOr hath he left the palace? We would know.\n\nEL. Most surely. Never think, if he were by,\nI could stray out of door. He is abroad.\n\nCH. Then with less fear I may converse with thee.\n\nEL. Ask what you will, for he is nowhere near.\n\nCH. First of thy brother I beseech thee tell,\nHow deem'st thou? Will he come, or still delay?\n\nEL. His promise comes, but still performance sleeps.\n\nCH. Well may he pause who plans a dreadful deed.\n\nEL. I paused not in his rescue from the sword.\n\nCH. Fear not. He will bestead you. He is true.\n\nEL. But for that faith my life had soon gone by.\n\nCH. No more! I see approaching from the house\nThy sister by both parents of thy blood,\nChrysothemis; in her hand an offering,\nSuch as old custom yields to those below.\n\n_Enter_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.\n\nCHRYSOTHEMIS. What converse keeps thee now beyond the gates,\nDear sister? why this talk in the open day?\nWilt thou not learn after so long to cease\nFrom vain indulgence of a bootless rage?\nI know in my own breast that I am pained\nBy what thou griev'st at, and if I had power,\nMy censure of their deeds would soon be known.\nBut in misfortune I have chosen to sail\nWith lowered canvas, rather than provoke\nWith puny strokes invulnerable foes.\nI would thou didst the like: though I must own\nThe right is on thy side, and not on mine.\nBut if I mean to dwell at liberty,\nI must obey in all the stronger will.\n\nEL. 'Tis strange and pitiful, thy father's child\nCan leave him in oblivion and subserve\nThe mother. All thy schooling of me springs\nFrom her suggestion, not of thine own wit.\nSure, either thou art senseless, or thy sense\nDeserts thy friends. Treason or dulness then?\nChoose!--You declared but now, if you had strength,\nYou would display your hatred of this pair.\nYet, when I plan full vengeance for my sire,\nYou aid me not, but turn me from the attempt.\nWhat's this but adding cowardice to evil?\nFor tell me, or be patient till I show,\nWhat should I gain by ceasing this my moan?\nI live to vex them:--though my life be poor,\nYet that suffices, for I honour him,\nMy father,--if affection touch the dead.\nYou say you hate them, but belie your word,\nConsorting with our father's murderers.\nI then, were all the gifts in which you glory\nLaid at my feet, will never more obey\nThis tyrant power. I leave you your rich board\nAnd life of luxury. Ne'er be it mine[2] to feed\nOn dainties that would poison my heart's peace!\nI care not for such honour as thou hast.\nNor wouldst thou care if thou wert wise. But now,\nHaving the noblest of all men for sire,\nBe called thy mother's offspring; so shall most\nDiscern thine infamy and traitorous mind\nTo thy dead father and thy dearest kin.\n\nCH. No anger, we entreat. Both have said well,\nIf each would learn of other, and so do.\n\nCHR. For my part, women, use hath seasoned me\nTo her discourse. Nor had I spoken of this,\nHad I not heard a horror coming on\nThat will restrain her from her endless moan.\n\nEL. Come speak it forth, this terror! I will yield,\nIf thou canst tell me worse than I endure.\n\nCHR. I'll tell thee all I know. If thou persist\nIn these thy wailings, they will send thee far\nFrom thine own land, and close thee from the day,\nWhere in a rock-hewn chamber thou may'st chant\nThine evil orisons in darkness drear.\nThink of it, while there 's leisure to reflect;\nOr if thou suffer, henceforth blame me not.\n\nEL. And have they so determined on my life?\n\nCHR. 'Tis certain; when Aegisthus comes again.\n\nEL. If that be all, let him return with speed!\n\nCHR. Unhappy! why this curse upon thyself?\n\nEL. If this be their intent, why, let him come!\n\nCHR. To work such harm on thee! What thought is this!\n\nEL. Far from mine eye to banish all your brood.\n\nCHR. Art not more tender of the life thou hast?\n\nEL. Fair, to a marvel, is my life, I trow!\n\nCHR. It would be, couldst thou be advised for good.\n\nEL. Never advise me to forsake my kin.\n\nCHR. I do not: only to give place to power.\n\nEL. Thine be such flattery. 'Tis not my way.\n\nCHR. Sure, to be wrecked by rashness is not well.\n\nEL. Let me be wrecked in 'venging my own sire.\n\nCHR. I trust his pardon for my helplessness.\n\nEL. Such talk hath commendation from the vile.\n\nCHR. Wilt thou not listen? Wilt thou ne'er be ruled?\n\nEL. No; not by thee! Let me not sink so low.\n\nCHR. Then I will hie me on mine errand straight.\n\nEL. Stay; whither art bound? For whom to spend those gifts?\n\nCHR. Sent by my mother to my father's tomb\nTo pour libations to him.\n\nEL.                       How? To him?\nMost hostile to her of all souls that are?\n\nCHR. Who perished by her hand--so thou wouldst say.\n\nEL. What friend hath moved her? Who hath cared for this?\n\nCHR. Methinks 'twas some dread vision, seen by night.\n\nEL. Gods of my father, O be with me now!\n\nCHR. What? art thou hopeful from the fear I spake of?\n\nEL. Tell me the dream, and I will answer thee.\n\nCHR. I know but little of it.\n\nEL.                           Speak but that.\nA little word hath ofttimes been the cause\nOf ruin or salvation unto men.\n\nCHR. 'Tis said she saw our father's spirit come\nOnce more to visit the abodes of light;\nThen take and firmly plant upon the hearth\nThe sceptre which he bore of old, and now\nAegisthus bears: and out of this upsprang\nA burgeoned shoot, that shadowed all the ground\nOf loved Mycenae. So I heard the tale\nTold by a maid who listened when the Queen\nMade known her vision to the God of Day.\nBut more than this I know not, save that I\nAm sent by her through terror of the dream.\nAnd I beseech thee by the Gods we serve\nTo take my counsel and not rashly fall.\nIf thou repel me now, the time may come\nWhen suffering shall have brought thee to my side.\n\nEL. Now, dear Chrysothemis, of what thou bearest\nLet nothing touch his tomb. 'Tis impious\nAnd criminal to offer to thy sire\nRites and libations from a hateful wife.\nThen cast them to the winds, or deep in dust\nConceal them, where no particle may reach\nHis resting-place: but lie in store for her\nWhen she goes underground. Sure, were she not\nMost hardened of all women that have been,\nShe ne'er had sent those loveless offerings\nTo grace the sepulchre of him she slew.\nFor think how likely is the buried king\nTo take such present kindly from her hand,\nWho slew him like an alien enemy,\nDishonoured even in death, and mangled him,\nAnd wiped the death-stain with his flowing locks--\nSinful purgation! Think you that you bear\nIn those cold gifts atonement for her guilt?\nIt is not possible. Wherefore let be.\nBut take a ringlet from thy comely head,\nAnd this from mine, that lingers on my brow[3]\nLonging to shade his tomb. Ah, give it to him,\nAll I can give, and this my maiden-zone,\nNot daintily adorned, as once erewhile.\nThen, humbly kneeling, pray that from the ground\nHe would arise to help us 'gainst his foes,\nAnd grant his son Orestes with high hand\nStrongly to trample on his enemies;\nThat in our time to come from ampler stores\nWe may endow him, than are ours to-day.\nI cannot but imagine that his will\nHath part in visiting her sleep with fears.\nBut howsoe'er, I pray thee, sister mine,\nDo me this service, and thyself, and him,\nDearest of all the world to me and thee,\nThe father of us both, who rests below.\n\nCH. She counsels piously; and thou, dear maid,\nIf thou art wise, wilt do her bidding here.\n\nCHR. Yea, when a thing is right, it is not well\nIdly to wrangle, but to act with speed.\nOnly, dear friends, in this mine enterprise,\nLet me have silence from your lips, I pray;\nFor should my mother know of it, sharp pain\nWill follow yet my bold adventurous feat.         [_Exit_ CHRYSOTHEMIS\n\nCHORUS.\n    An erring seer am I,                                           I 1\n    Of sense and wisdom lorn,\n    If this prophetic Power of right,\n    O'ertaking the offender, come not nigh\n          Ere many an hour be born.\n          Yon vision of the night,\n    That lately breathed into my listening ear,\n    Hath freed me, O my daughter, from all fear.\n    Sweet was that bodement. He doth not forget,\n    The Achaean lord that gave thee being, nor yet\n    The bronzen-griding axe, edged like a spear,\n    Hungry and keen, though dark with stains of time,\n    That in the hour of hideous crime\n    Quelled him with cruel butchery:\n    That, too, remembers, and shall testify.\n\n    From ambush deep and dread                                     I 2\n    With power of many a hand\n    And many hastening feet shall spring\n    The Fury of the adamantine tread,\n          Visiting Argive land\n          Swift recompense to bring\n    For eager dalliance of a blood-stained pair\n    Unhallowed, foul, forbidden. No omen fair,--\n    Their impious course hath fixed this in my soul,--\n    Nought but black portents full of blame shall roll\n    Before their eyes that wrought or aided there.\n    Small force of divination would there seem\n    In prophecy or solemn dream,\n    Should not this vision of the night\n    Reach harbour in reality aright.\n\n    O chariot-course of Pelops, full of toil[4]!                    II\n          How wearisome and sore\n    Hath been thine issue to our native soil!--\n    Since, from the golden oar\n    Hurled to the deep afar,\n          Myrtilus sank and slept,\n    Cruelly plucked from that fell chariot-floor,\n    This house unceasingly hath kept\n    Crime and misfortune mounting evermore.\n\n_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA.\n\nCLYTEMNESTRA. Again you are let loose and range at will.\nAy, for Aegisthus is not here, who barred\nYour rashness from defaming your own kin\nBeyond the gates. But now he's gone from home,\nYou heed not me: though you have noised abroad\nThat I am bold in crime, and domineer\nOutrageously, oppressing thee and thine.\nI am no oppressor, but I speak thee ill,\nFor thou art ever speaking ill of me--\nStill holding forth thy father's death, that I\nHave done it. So I did: I know it well:\nThat I deny not; for not I alone\nBut Justice slew him; and if you had sense,\nTo side with Justice ought to be your part.\nFor who but he of all the Greeks, your sire,\nFor whom you whine and cry, who else but he\nTook heart to sacrifice unto the Gods\nThy sister?--having less of pain, I trow,\nIn getting her, than I, that bore her, knew!\nCome, let me question thee! On whose behalf\nSlew he my child? Was 't for the Argive host?\nWhat right had they to traffic in my flesh?--\nMenelaues was his brother. Wilt thou say\nHe slew my daughter for his brother's sake?\nHow then should he escape me? Had not he,\nMenelaues, children twain, begotten of her\nWhom to reclaim that army sailed to Troy?\nWas Death then so enamoured of my seed,\nThat he must feast thereon and let theirs live?\nOr was the God-abandoned father's heart\nTender toward them and cruel to my child?\nDoth this not argue an insensate sire?\nI think so, though your wisdom may demur.\nAnd could my lost one speak, she would confirm it.\nFor my part, I can dwell on what I have done\nWithout regret. You, if you think me wrong,\nBring reasons forth and blame me to my face!\n\nEL. Thou canst not say this time that I began\nAnd brought this on me by some taunting word.\nBut, so you'd suffer me, I would declare\nThe right both for my sister and my sire.\n\nCLY. Thou hast my sufferance. Nor would hearing vex,\nIf ever thus you tuned your speech to me.\n\nEL. Then I will speak. You say you slew him. Where\nCould there be found confession more depraved,\nEven though the cause were righteous? But I'll prove\nNo rightful vengeance drew thee to the deed,\nBut the vile bands of him you dwell with now.\nOr ask the huntress Artemis, what sin\nShe punished, when she tied up all the winds\nRound Aulis.--I will tell thee, for her voice\nThou ne'er may'st hear! 'Tis rumoured that my sire,\nSporting within the goddess' holy ground,\nHis foot disturbed a dappled hart, whose death\nDrew from his lips some rash and boastful word.\nWherefore Latona's daughter in fell wrath\nStayed the army, that in quittance for the deer\nMy sire should slay at the altar his own child.\nSo came her sacrifice. The Achaean fleet\nHad else no hope of being launched to Troy\nNor to their homes. Wherefore, with much constraint\nAnd painful urging of his backward will,\nHardly he yielded;--not for his brother's sake.\nBut grant thy speech were sooth, and all were done\nIn aid of Menelaues; for this cause\nHadst thou the right to slay him? What high law\nOrdaining? Look to it, in establishing\nSuch precedent thou dost not lay in store\nRepentance for thyself. For if by right\nOne die for one, thou first wilt be destroyed\nIf Justice find thee.--But again observe\nThe hollowness of thy pretended plea.\nTell me, I pray, what cause thou dost uphold\nIn doing now the basest deed of all,\nChambered with the blood-guilty, with whose aid\nThou slewest our father in that day. For him\nYou now bear children--ousting from their right\nThe stainless offspring of a holy sire.\nHow should this plead for pardon? Wilt thou say\nThus thou dost 'venge thy daughter's injury?\nO shameful plea? Where is the thought of honour,\nIf foes are married for a daughter's sake?--\nEnough. No words can move thee. Thy rash tongue\nWith checkless clamour cries that we revile\nOur mother. Nay, no mother, but the chief\nOf tyrants to us! For my life is full\nOf weariness and misery from thee\nAnd from thy paramour. While he abroad,\nOrestes, our one brother, who escaped\nHardly from thy attempt, unhappy boy!\nWears out his life, victim of cross mischance.\nOft hast thou taunted me with fostering him\nTo be thy punisher. And this, be sure,\nHad I but strength, I had done. Now for this word,\nProclaim me what thou wilt,--evil in soul,\nOr loud in cursing, or devoid of shame:\nFor if I am infected with such guilt,\nMethinks my nature is not fallen from thine.\n\nCH. (_looking at_ CLYTEMNESTRA).\nI see her fuming with fresh wrath: the thought\nOf justice enters not her bosom now.\n\nCLY. What thought of justice should be mine for her,\nWho at her age can so insult a mother?\nWill shame withhold her from the wildest deed?\n\nEL. Not unashamed, assure thee, I stand here,\nLittle as thou mayest deem it. Well I feel\nMy acts untimely and my words unmeet.\nBut your hostility and treatment force me\nAgainst my disposition to this course.\nHarsh ways are taught by harshness.\n\nCLY.                                Brazen thing!\nToo true it is that words and deeds of mine\nAre evermore informing thy harsh tongue.\n\nEL. The shame is yours, because the deeds are yours.\nMy words are but their issue and effect.\n\nCLY. By sovereign Artemis, whom still I serve,\nYou'll rue this boldness when Aegisthus comes.\n\nEL. See now, your anger bears you off, and ne'er\nWill let you listen, though you gave me leave.\n\nCLY. Must I not even sacrifice in peace\nFrom your harsh clamour, when you've had your say?\n\nEL. I have done. I check thee not. Go, sacrifice!\nAccuse not me of hindering piety.\n\nCLY. (_to an attendant_).\nThen lift for me those fruitful offerings,\nWhile to Apollo, before whom we stand,\nI raise my supplication for release\nFrom doubts and fears that shake my bosom now.\nAnd, O defender of our house! attend\nMy secret utterance. No friendly ear\nIs that which hearkens for my voice. My thought\nMust not be blazoned with her standing by,\nLest through her envious and wide-babbling tongue\nShe fill the city full of wild surmise.\nList, then, as I shall speak: and grant the dreams\nWhose two-fold apparition I to-night\nHave seen, if good their bodement, be fulfilled:\nIf hostile, turn their influence on my foes.\nAnd yield not them their wish that would by guile\nThrust me from this high fortune, but vouchsafe\nThat ever thus exempt from harms I rule\nThe Atridae's home and kingdom, in full life,\nPartaking with the friends I live with now\nAll fair prosperity, and with my children,\nSave those who hate and vex me bitterly.\nLykeian Phoebus, favourably hear\nMy prayer, and grant to all of us our need!\nMore is there, which, though I be silent here,\nA God should understand. No secret thing\nIs hidden from the all-seeing sons of Heaven.\n\n_Enter the_ Old Man.\n\nOLD M. Kind dames and damsels, may I clearly know\nIf these be King Aegisthus' palace-halls?\n\nCH. They are, sir; you yourself have guessed aright.\n\nOLD M. May I guess further that in yonder dame\nI see his queen? She looks right royally.\n\nCH. 'Tis she,--no other,--whom your eyes behold.\n\nOLD M. Princess, all hail! To thee and to thy spouse\nI come with words of gladness from a friend.\n\nCLY. That auspice I accept. But I would first\nLearn from thee who of men hath sent thee forth?\n\nOLD M. Phanoteus the Phocian, with a charge of weight.\n\nCLY. Declare it, stranger. Coming from a friend,\nThou bring'st us friendly tidings, I feel sure.\n\nOLD M. Orestes' death. Ye have the sum in brief.\n\nEL. Ah me! undone! This day hath ruined me.\n\nCLY. What? Let me hear again. Regard her not.\n\nOLD M. Again I say it, Orestes is no more.\n\nEL. Undone! undone! Farewell to life and hope!\n\nCLY. (_to_ ELECTRA).\nSee thou to thine own case! (_To_ Old Man) Now, stranger, tell me\nIn true discourse the manner of his death.\n\nOLD M. For that I am here, and I will tell the whole.\nHe, entering on the great arena famed\nAs Hellas' pride, to win a Delphian prize,\nOn hearing the loud summons of the man\nCalling the foot-race, which hath trial first,\nCame forward, a bright form, admired by all.\nAnd when his prowess in the course fulfilled\nThe promise of his form, he issued forth\nDowered with the splendid meed of victory.--\nTo tell a few out of the many feats\nOf such a hero were beyond my power.\nKnow then, in brief, that of the prizes set\nFor every customary course proclaimed\nBy order of the judges, the whole sum\nVictoriously he gathered, happy deemed\nBy all; declared an Argive, and his name\nOrestes, son of him who levied once\nThe mighty armament of Greeks for Troy.\nSo fared he then: but when a God inclines\nTo hinder happiness, not even the strong\nAre scatheless. So, another day, when came\nAt sunrise the swift race of charioteers,\nHe entered there with many a rival car:--\nOne from Achaia, one from Sparta, two\nLibyan commanders of the chariot-yoke;\nAnd he among them fifth, with steeds of price\nFrom Thessaly;--the sixth Aetolia sent\nWith chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man;\nThe eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta's vale;\nThe ninth from god-built Athens; and the tenth\nBoeotia gave to make the number full.\nThen stood they where the judges of the course\nHad posted them by lot, each with his team;\nAnd sprang forth at the brazen trumpet's blare.\nShouting together to their steeds, they shook\nThe reins, and all the course was filled with noise\nOf rattling chariots, and the dust arose\nTo heaven. Now all in a confused throng\nSpared not the goad, each eager to outgo\nThe crowded axles and the snorting steeds;\nFor close about his nimbly circling wheels\nAnd stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam.\nOrestes, ever nearest at the turn,\nWith whirling axle seemed to graze the stone,\nAnd loosing with free rein the right-hand steed\nThat pulled the side-rope[5], held the near one in.\n  So for a time all chariots upright moved,\nBut soon the Oetaean's hard-mouthed horses broke\nFrom all control, and wheeling as they passed\nFrom the sixth circuit to begin the seventh,\nSmote front to front against the Barcan car.\nAnd when that one disaster had befallen,\nEach dashed against his neighbour and was thrown,\nTill the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck.\nThen the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein,\nDrew on one side, and heaving to, let pass\nThe rider-crested surge that rolled i' the midst.\nMeanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end,\nWas driving hindmost with tight rein; but now,\nSeeing him left the sole competitor,\nHurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued:\nSo drave they yoke by yoke--now this, now that\nPulling ahead with car and team. Orestes,\nIll-fated one, each previous course had driven\nSafely without a check, but after this,\nIn letting loose again the left-hand rein[6],\nHe struck the edge of the stone before he knew,\nShattering the axle's end, and tumbled prone,\nCaught in the reins[7], that dragged him with sharp thongs.\nThen as he fell to the earth the horses swerved,\nAnd roamed the field. The people when they saw\nHim fallen from out the car, lamented loud\nFor the fair youth, who had achieved before them\nSuch glorious feats, and now had found such woe,--\nDashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft\nAgainst the sky,--until the charioteers,\nHardly restraining the impetuous team,\nReleased him, covered so with blood that none,--\nNo friend who saw--had known his hapless form.\nWhich then we duly burned upon the pyre.\nAnd straightway men appointed to the task\nFrom all the Phocians bear his mighty frame--\nPoor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn,--\nThat he may find in his own fatherland\nHis share of sepulture.--Such our report,\nPainful to hear, but unto us, who saw,\nThe mightiest horror that e'er met mine eye.\n\nCH. Alas! the stock of our old masters, then,\nIs utterly uprooted and destroyed.\n\nCLY. O heavens! what shall I say? That this is well?\nOr terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot,\nTo save my life through my calamity!\n\nOLD M. Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?\n\nCLY. To be a mother hath a marvellous power:\nNo injury can make one hate one's child.\n\nOLD M. Then it should seem our coming was in vain.\n\nCLY. In vain? Nay, verily; thou, that hast brought\nClear evidences of his fate, who, sprung\nProm my life's essence, severed from my breast\nAnd nurture, was estranged in banishment,\nAnd never saw me from the day he went\nOut from this land, but for his father's blood\nThreatened me still with accusation dire;\nThat sleep nor soothed at night nor sweetly stole\nMy senses from the day, but, all my time,\nEach instant led me on the way to death!--\nBut this day's chance hath freed me from all fear\nOf him, and of this maid: who being at home\nTroubled me more, and with unmeasured thirst\nKept draining my life-blood; but now her threats\nWill leave us quiet days, methinks, and peace\nUnbroken.--How then shouldst thou come in vain?\n\nEL. O misery! 'Tis time to wail thy fate,\nOrestes, when, in thy calamity,\nThy mother thus insults thee. Is it well?\n\nCLY. 'Tis well that he is gone, not that you live.\n\nEL. Hear, 'venging spirits of the lately dead!\n\nCLY. The avenging spirits have heard and answered well.\n\nEL. Insult us now, for thou art fortunate!\n\nCLY. You and Orestes are to quench my pride.\n\nEL. Our pride is quenched. No hope of quenching thee!\n\nCLY. A world of good is in thy coming, stranger,\nSince thou hast silenced this all-clamorous tongue.\n\nOLD M. Then I may go my way, seeing all is well.\n\nCLY. Nay, go not yet! That would disgrace alike\nMe and the friend who sent you to our land.\nBut come thou in, and leave her out of door\nTo wail her own and loved ones' overthrow.\n                                  [_Exeunt_ CLYTEMNESTRA _and_ Old Man\n\nEL. Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony\nWeeps inconsolably her perished son?\nShe left us with a laugh! O misery!\nHow thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine,\nBy dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart\nThe only hope I cherished yet, that thou\nLiving wouldst come hereafter to avenge\nThy father's woes and mine. Where must I go?\nSince I am left of thee and of my sire\nBereaved and lonely, and once more must be\nThe drudge and menial of my bitterest foes,\nMy father's murderers. Say, is it well?\nNay, nevermore will I consort with these,\nBut sinking here before the palace gate,\nThus, friendless, I will wither out my life.\nHereat if any in the house be vexed,\nLet them destroy me; for to take my life\nWere kindness, and to live is only pain:\nLife hath not kindled my desires with joy.\n\nCH. 1. O ever-blazing sun!                                         I 1\n      O lightning of the eternal Sire!\n      Can ye behold this done\n      And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?\n\nEL.   Ah me!\n\nCH. 2.       My daughter, why these tears?\n\nEL.   Woe!\n\nCH. 3.     Weep not, calm thy fears.\n\nEL.   You kill me.\n\nCH. 4.             How?\n\nEL.                     To breathe\n      A hope for one beneath\n      So clearly sunk in death,\n      'Tis to afflict me more\n      Already pining sore.\n\nCH. 5. One in a woman's toils                                      I 2\nWas tangled[8], buried by her glittering coils,\nWho now beneath--\n\nEL.              Ah woe!\n\nCH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.\n\nEL. O dreadful!\n\nCH. 7.          Dreadful was the wrong.\n\nEL. But she was quelled.\n\nCH. 8.                   Ay.\n\nEL.                          True!\nThat faithful mourner knew\nA brother's aid. But I\nHave no man now. The one\nI had, is gone, is gone.\nRapt into nothingness.\n\nCH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress.                         II 1\n\nEL. I know it. Too well I know,\nTaught by a life of woe,\nWhere horror dwells without relief.\n\nCH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.\n\nEL. Then comfort not again--\n\nCH. 11. Whither now turns thy strain?\n\nEL. One utterly bereft,\nSeeing no hope is left,\nOf help from hands owning the same great sire.\n\nCH. 12. 'Tis nature's debt.                                       II 2\n\nEL.                         To expire\n    On sharp-cut dragging thongs,\n    'Midst wildly trampling throngs\n    Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him,\n    Poor hapless one?\n\nCH. 13.               Vast, dim,\n    And boundless was the harm.\n\nEL. Yea, severed from mine arm,\n    By strangers kept--\n\nCH. 14.                O pain!\n\nEL. Hidden he must remain,\n    Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.\n\n_Enter_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.\n\nCHR. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come,\nReckless of dignity, with headlong speed.\nFor news I bear of joy and sweet relief\nFrom ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.\n\nEL. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes,\nThat close in darkness without hope of dawn?\n\nCHR. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth,\nAs certainly as you now look on me.\n\nEL. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh\nOver thine own calamity and mine?\n\nCHR. No, by our father's hearth, I say not this\nIn mockery. I tell you he is come.\n\nEL. Me miserable! Who hath given thine ear\nThe word that so hath wrought on thy belief?\n\nCHR. Myself am the eyewitness, no one else\nGained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.\n\nEL. What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl?\nWhat sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?\n\nCHR. But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth\nThou mayest account me clear eyed, or a fool!\n\nEL. By all means, if it pleasure thee, say on.\n\nCHR. Well, I will tell thee all I saw:--I came\nUnto the ancient tomb that holds our sire;\nAnd from the topmost mound I marked a stream\nOf milk fresh-flowing, and his resting place\nRinged round with garlands of all flowers that blow.\nI marvelled at the sight, and peered about,\nLest some one might be nearer than we knew.\nBut finding all was quiet in the spot,\nI ventured closer to the tomb, and there,\nHard by the limit, I beheld a curl\nOf hair new shorn, with all the gloss of youth\nAnd straight it struck my heart, as with a sense\nOf something seen, ah me! long, long ago,\nAnd told me that my sight encountered here\nThe token of Orestes, dearest soul\nThen, clasping it, I did not cry aloud,\nBut straight mine eyes were filled with tears of joy.\nAnd now as much as then I feel assured\nHe and none else bestowed this ornament.\nTo whom beyond thyself and me belongs\nSuch consecration? And I know this well,\nI did it not,--nor thou. Impossible!\nThou canst not worship even the blessed Gods\nForth of this roof, unpunished. And, most sure,\nOur mother is not minded so to act,\nNor, had she done it, could we fail to know.\nThis offering comes then of Orestes' hand.\nTake courage, dear one. Not one fate pursues\nOne house perpetually, but changeth still.\nOurs was a sullen Genius, but perchance\nThis day begins the assurance of much good.\n\nEL. Oh how I pity thine infatuate mind!\n\nCHR. Why? Dost thou find no comfort in my news?\n\nEL. You know not where you roam. Far wide! far wide!\n\nCHR. Not know? when I have seen it with mine eyes?\n\nEL. Dear, he is dead. Look not to him, poor girl!\nSalvation comes to thee no more from him.\n\nCHR. Oh me, unfortunate! Who told thee this?\n\nEL. He who stood by and saw his life destroyed.\n\nCHR. Amazement seizes me. Where is that man?\n\nEL. Right welcome to the mother there within.\n\nCHR. Me miserable! Who then can have decked\nWith all those ceremonies our father's tomb?\n\nEL. I cannot but suppose some hand hath brought\nThese gifts in memory of Orestes dead.\n\nCHR. O cruel fate! While I in ecstasy\nSped with such news, all ignorant, it seems,\nOf our dire fortune; and, arriving, find\nFresh sorrows added to the former woe.\n\nEL. It is so, sister; yet if thou wilt list\nTo me, thou mayest disperse this heaviness.\n\nCHR. What? Shall I raise the dead again to life?\n\nEL. I did not mean so. I am not so fond.\n\nCHR. What bid you then that I have power to do?\n\nEL. To endure courageously what I enjoin.\n\nCHR. So it make profit, I will not refuse.\n\nEL. Remember, without toil no plan may thrive!\n\nCHR. I know it, and will aid thee to my power.\n\nEL. Then hearken my resolve. Thou seest now,\nWe have no friendly succour in the world;\nBut death has taken all, and we are left\nTwo only. I, so long as I could hear\nMy brother lived and flourished, still had hope\nHe would arise to wreak his father's blood.\nBut now that he is gone, to thee I turn,\nTo help thy sister boldly to destroy\nThe guilty author of our father's death,\nAegisthus.--Wherefore hide it from thee now?\n--Yea, sister! Till what term wilt thou remain\nInactive? To what end? What hope is yet\nLeft standing? Surely thou hast cause to grieve,\nBobbed of thy father's opulent heritage,\nAnd feeling bitterly the creeping years\nThat find thee still a virgin and unwed.\nNay, nor imagine thou shalt ever know\nThat blessing. Not so careless of his life\nIs King Aegisthus, as to risk the birth\nOf sons from us, to his most certain fall.\nBut if thou wilt but follow my resolve,\nFirst thou shalt win renown of piety\nFrom our dead father, and our brother too,\nWho rest beneath the ground, and shalt be free\nFor evermore in station as in birth,\nAnd nobly matched in marriage, for the good\nDraw gazers to them still. Then seest thou not\nWhat meed of honour, if thou dost my will,\nThou shalt apportion to thyself and me?\nFor who, beholding us, what citizen,\nWhat foreigner, will not extend the hand\nOf admiration, and exclaim, 'See, friends,\nThese scions of one stock, these noble twain,\nThese that have saved their father's house from woe,\nWho once when foes were mighty, set their life\nUpon a cast, and stood forth to avenge\nThe stain of blood! Who will not love the pair\nAnd do them reverence? Who will not give\nHonour at festivals, and in the throng\nOf popular resort, to these in chief,\nFor their high courage and their bold emprise?'\nSuch fame will follow us in all the world.\nLiving or dying, still to be renowned.\nAh, then, comply, dear sister; give thy sire\nThis toil--this labour to thy brother give;\nEnd these my sufferings, end thine own regret:\nThe well-born cannot bear to live in shame.\n\nCH. In such affairs, for those who speak and hear\nWise thoughtfulness is still the best ally.\n\nCHR. True, noble women, and before she spake\nSound thought should have prevented the rash talk\nThat now hath proved her reckless. What wild aim\nBeckons thee forth in arming this design\nWhereto thou wouldst demand my ministry?\nDost not perceive, thou art not man but woman,\nOf strength inferior to thine enemies,--\nTheir Genius daily prospering more and more,\nWhilst ours is dwindling into nothingness?\nWho then that plots against a life so strong\nShall quit him of the danger without harm?\nTake heed we do not add to our distress\nShould some one hear of this our colloquy.\nSmall help and poor advantage 'twere for us\nTo win brief praise and then inglorious die.\nNay, death is not so hateful as when one\nDesiring death is balked of that desire.\nAnd I beseech thee, ere in utter ruin\nWe perish and make desolate our race,\nRefrain thy rage. And I will guard for thee\nIn silence these thy words unrealized;\nIf thou wilt learn this wisdom from long time,\nHaving no strength, to bend before the strong.\n\nCH. Comply. Than prudence and a heedful mind,\nNo fairer treasure can be found for men.\n\nEL. Thy words have not surprised me. Well I knew\nThe good I offered would come back with scorn.\nI, all alone and with a single hand,\nMust do this. For it shall not rest undone.\n\nCHR. Would thou hadst been thus minded when our sire\nLay dying! In one act thou hadst compassed all.\n\nEL. My spirit was the same: my mind was less.\n\nCHR. Be such the life-long temper of thy mind!\n\nEL. Thine admonition augurs little aid.\n\nCHR. Yea. For the attempt would bring me certain bane.\n\nEL. I envy thee thy prudence, hate thy fear.\n\nCHR. Even when thou speak'st me fair, I will endure it.\n\nEL. Take heart. That never will be thine from me.\n\nCHR. Long time remains to settle that account.\n\nEL. I find no profit in thee. Go thy way.\n\nCHR. Profit there is, hadst thou a mind to learn.\n\nEL. Go to thy mother and declare all this!\n\nCHR. I am not so in hatred of thy life.\n\nEL. Yet know the shame thou wouldst prepare for me.\n\nCHR. No, no! Not shame, but care for thine estate.\n\nEL. Must I still follow as thou thinkest good?\n\nCHR. When thou hast wisdom, thou shalt be the guide.\n\nEL. 'Tis hard when error wears the garb of sense.\n\nCHR. Right. That is the misfortune of your case.\n\nEL. Why? Feel you not the justice of my speech?\n\nCHR. Justice may chance to bring me injury.\n\nEL. I care not, I, to live by such a rule.\n\nCHR. Well, if you do it, you will find me wise.\n\nEL. Well, I will do it, nought dismayed by thee.\n\nCHR. Speak you plain sooth? and will you not be counselled?\n\nEL. No, for bad counsel is of all most hateful.\n\nCHR. You take the sense of nothing that I say.\n\nEL. Long since, not newly, my resolve is firm.\n\nCHR. Then I will go. Thy heart will ne'er be brought\nTo praise my words, nor I thine action here.\n\nEL. Then go within! I will not follow thee,\nThough thou desire it vehemently. None\nWould be so fond to hunt on a cold trail.\n\nCHR. If this seem wisdom to thee, then be wise\nThy way: but in the hour of misery,\nWhen it hath caught thee, thou wilt praise my words.\n                                                  [_Exit_ CHRYSOTHEMIS\n\nCHORUS.\n          Wise are the birds of air                                I 1\n          That with true filial care\n    For those provide convenient food\n    Who gave them birth, who wrought their good.\n    Why will not men the like perfection prove?\n          Else, by the fires above,\n          And heavenly Rectitude,\n    Fierce recompense they shall not long elude.\n    O darkling rumour, world-o'er-wandering voice\n    That piercest to the shades beneath the ground,\n    To dead Atrides waft a sound\n    Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.\n\n          Stained is the ancestral hall,                           I 2\n          Broken the battle-call,\n    That heretofore his children twain\n    In loving concord did sustain.\n    Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails,\n          Storm-tossed with rugged gales,\n          Lamenting evermore\n    Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore\n    For her lost father;--might she but bring down\n    That two-fold Fury, caring not for death,\n    But ready to resign her breath,\n    What maid so worthy of a sire's renown?\n\n    None who inherit from a noble race,                           II 1\n          Complying with things base\n    Will let their ancient glory be defiled.\n          So 'twas thy choice, dear child,\n    Through homeless misery[9] to win a two-fold prize,\n          Purging the sin and shame[10]\n          That cloud the Argive name,\n    So to be called most noble and most wise.\n\n    May'st thou surpass thy foes in wealth and power              II 2\n          As o'er thee now they tower!\n    Since I have found thee, not in bright estate,\n          Nor blessed by wayward fate,\n    But through thy loyalty to Heaven's eternal cause\n          Wearing the stainless crown\n          Of perfectest renown,\n    And richly dowered by the mightiest laws.\n\n_Enter_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES, _with the urn_.\n\nOR. Say, dames and damsels, have we heard aright,\nAnd speed we to the goal of our desire?\n\nCH. And what desire or quest hath brought thee hither?\n\nOR. I seek Aegisthus' dwelling all this while.\n\nCH. Welcome. The tongue that told thee hath no blame.\n\nOR. Which of you all will signify within\nOur joint arrival,--not unwelcome here.\n\nCH. This maiden, if the nearest should report.\n\nOR. Mistress, wilt thou go yonder and make known,\nThat certain Phocians on Aegisthus wait?\n\nEL. Oh! can it be that you are come to bring\nClear proofs of the sad rumour we have heard?\n\nOR. I know not what ye have heard. Old Strophius\nCharged me with tidings of Orestes' fate.\n\nEL. What, stranger? How this terror steals on me!\n\nOR. Bearing scant remnants of his body dead\nIn this small vase thou seest, we bring them home.\n\nEL. O sorrow! thou art here: I see full well\nThat burden of my heart in present view.\n\nOR. If thou hast tears for aught Orestes suffered,\nKnow that he lies within this vessel's room.\n\nEL. Ah, sir! by all in Heaven, if yonder urn\nHide him, ah! give it once into my hand,\nThat o'er that dust I may lament and mourn\nMyself and mine own house and all our woe!\n\nOR. Bring it and give her, whosoe'er she be.\nFor not an enemy--this petition shows it--\nBut of his friends or kindred, is this maid.\n                            [_The urn is given into_ ELECTRA'S _hands_\n\nEL. O monument of him whom o'er all else\nI loved! sole relic of Orestes' life,\nHow cold in this thy welcome is the hope\nWherein I decked thee as I sent thee forth!\nThen bright was thy departure, whom I now\nBear lightly, a mere nothing, in my hands.\nWould I had gone from life, ere I dispatched\nThee from my arms that saved thee to a land\nOf strangers, stealing thee from death! For then\nThou hadst been quiet on that far off day,\nAnd had thy portion in our father's tomb\nNow thou hast perished in the stranger land\nFar from thy sister, lorn and comfortless\nAnd I, O wretchedness! neither have bathed\nAnd laid thee forth, nor from the blazing fire\nCollected the sad burden, as was meet\nBut thou, when foreign hands have tended thee\nCom'st a small handful in a narrow shell\nWoe for the constant care I spent on thee\nOf old all vainly, with sweet toil! For never\nWast thou thy mother's darling, nay, but mine,\nAnd I of all the household most thy nurse,\nWhile 'sister, sister,' was thy voice to me\nBut now all this is vanished in one day,\nDying in thy death. Thou hast carried all away\nAs with a whirlwind, and art gone. No more\nMy father lives, thyself art lost in death,\nI am dead, who lived in thee. Our enemies\nLaugh loudly, and she maddens in her joy,\nOur mother most unmotherly, of whom\nThy secret missives ofttimes told me, thou\nWouldst be the punisher. But that fair hope\nThe hapless Genius of thy lot and mine\nHath reft away, and gives thee thus to me,--\nFor thy loved form thy dust and fruitless shade\nO bitterness! O piteous sight! Woe! woe!\nOh! sent on thy dire journey, dearest one,\nHow thou hast ruined me! Thou hast indeed,\nDear brother! Then receive me to thyself,\nHide me in this thy covering, there to dwell,\nMe who am nothing, with thy nothingness,\nFor ever! Yea, when thou wert here above,\nI ever shared with thee in all, and now\nI would not have thee shut me from thy tomb.\nOh! let me die and follow thee! the dead,\nMy mind assures me now, have no more pain.\n\nCH. Electra, think! Thou hadst a mortal sire,\nAnd mortal was thy brother. Grieve not far.\n\nOR. O me! What shall I speak, or which way turn\nThe desperate word? I cannot hold my tongue.\n\nEL. What pain o'ercomes thee? Wherefore speak'st thou so?\n\nOR. Can this be famed Electra I behold?\n\nEL. No other. In sad case, as you may see\n\nOR. Ah! deep indeed was this calamity!\n\nEL. Is't possible that thou shouldst grieve for me?\n\nOR. O ruined form! abandoned to disgrace!\n\nEL. 'Tis me you mean, stranger, I feel it now.\n\nOR. Woe 's me! Untrimmed for bridal, hapless maid!\n\nEL. Why this fixed gaze, O stranger! that deep groan?\n\nOR. How all unknowing was I of mine ill!\n\nEL. What thing hath passed to make it known to thee?\n\nOR. The sight of thee attired with boundless woe.\n\nEL. And yet thine eye sees little of my pain.\n\nOR. Can aught be still more hateful to be seen?\n\nEL. I have my dwelling with the murderers--\n\nOR. Of whom? What evil would thy words disclose?\n\nEL. Of him who gave me birth. I am their slave.\n\nOR. Whose power compels thee to this sufferance?\n\nEL. One called my mother, most unmotherly.\n\nOR. How? by main force, or by degrading shames?\n\nEL. By force and shames, and every kind of evil.\n\nOR. And is there none to succour or prevent?\n\nEL. None. Him I had, you give me here in dust.\n\nOR. How mine eye pities thee this while, poor maid!\n\nEL. Know now, none ever pitied me but you.\n\nOR. None ever came whose heart like sorrow wrung.\n\nEL. Is't possible we have some kinsman here?\n\nOR. I will tell it, if these women here be friendly.\n\nEL. They are. They may be trusted. Only speak.\n\nOR. Let go yon vase, that thou may'st learn the whole.\n\nEL. Nay, by the Gods! be not so cruel, sir!\n\nOR. Obey me and thou shalt not come to harm.\n\nEL. Ah, never rob me of what most I love!\n\nOR. You must not hold it.\n\nEL.                       O me miserable\nFor thee, Orestes, if I lose thy tomb!\n\nOR. Speak no rash word. Thou hast no right to mourn.\n\nEL. No right to mourn my brother who is gone?\n\nOR. Such utterance belongs not to thy tongue,\n\nEL. Oh, am I thus dishonoured of the dead?\n\nOR. Far from dishonour. But this ne'er was thine.\n\nEL. Is't not Orestes' body that I bear?\n\nOR. Nay, but the idle dressing of a tale.\n\nEL. And where is his poor body's resting-place?\n\nOR. Nowhere. Seek not the living with the dead,\n\nEL. My son, what saidst thou?\n\nOR.                           Nought but what is true.\n\nEL. Doth he yet live?\n\nOR.                   If I have life in me.\n\nEL. Art thou Orestes?\n\nOR.                   Let my signet here,\nThat was our father's, tell thine eyes, I am.\n\nEL. O day of days!\n\nOR.                Time hath no happier hour.\n\nEL. Is it thy voice?\n\nOR.                  Hearken not otherwhere.\n\nEL. Have my arms caught thee?\n\nOR.                           Hold me so for aye!\n\nEL. O dearest women, Argives of my home!\nYe see Orestes, dead in craft, but now\nBy that same craft delivered and preserved.\n\nCH. We see, dear daughter, and the gladsome tear\nSteals from our eye to greet the bright event.\n\nEL. Offspring of him I loved beyond all telling!                   I 1\nAh! thou art come,--hast found me, eye to eye\nBehold'st the face thou didst desire to see.\n\nOR. True, I am here; but bide in silence still.\n\nEL. Wherefore?\n\nOR. Hush! speak not loud, lest one within should hearken.\n\nEL. By ever-virgin Artemis, ne'er will I\nThink worthy of my fear\nThis useless mass of woman-cowardice\nBurdening the house within,\nNot peering out of door.\n\nOR. Yet know that women too have might in war.\nOf that methinks thou hast feeling evidence.\n\nEL. Ah me! thou hast unveiled\nAnd thrust before my gaze\nThat burning load of my distress\nNo time will soothe, no remedy will heal.\n\nOR. I know that too. But when we are face to face\nWith the evildoers,--then let remembrance work.\n\nEL. All times alike are fit with instant pain                      I 2\nJustly to mind me of that dreadful day;\nEven now but hardly hath my tongue been free.\n\nOR. Yes, that is it. Therefore preserve this boon.\n\nEL. Whereby?\n\nOR. Put limits to unseasonable talk.\n\nEL. Ah! brother, who, when thou art come,\nCould find it meet to exchange\nLanguage for silence, as thou bidst me do?\nSince beyond hope or thought\nWas this thy sight to me.\n\nOR. God gave me to your sight when so he willed.\n\nEL. O heaven of grace beyond\nThe joy I knew but now!\nIf God hath brought thee to our roof,\nA miracle of bounty then is here.\n\nOR. I hate to curb the gladness of thy spirit,\nBut yet I fear this ecstasy of joy.\n\nEL. Oh! after all these years,                                      II\nNow thou at length hast sped\nThy dearest advent on the wished-for way,\nDo not, in all this woe\nThou seest surrounding me--\n\nOR. What means this prayer?\n\nEL.                         Forbid me not my joy,\nNor make me lose the brightness of thy face!\n\nOR. Deep were my wrath at him who should attempt it.\n\nEL. Is my prayer heard?\n\nOR.                     Why doubt it?\n\nEL.                                   Friends, I learned\nA tale beyond my thought; and hearing I restrained\nMy passion, voiceless in my misery,\nUttering no cry. But now\nI have thee safe; now, dearest, thou art come,\nWith thy blest countenance, which I\nCan ne'er forget, even at the worst of woe.\n\nOR. A truce now to unnecessary words.\nMy mother's vileness and Aegisthus' waste,\nDraining and squandering with spendthrift hand\nOur patrimony, tell me not anew.\nSuch talk might stifle opportunity.\nBut teach me, as befits the present need,\nWhat place may serve by lurking vigilance\nOr sudden apparition to o'erwhelm\nOur foes in the adventure of to-day.\nAnd, when we pass within, take heedful care\nBright looks betray thee not unto our mother.\nBut groan as for the dire calamity\nVainly reported:--Let's achieve success,\nThen with free hearts we may rejoice and laugh.\n\nEL. Dear brother, wheresoe'er thy pleasure leads,\nMy will shall follow, since the joys I know,\nNot from myself I took them, but from thee.\nAnd ne'er would I consent thy slightest grief\nShould win for me great gain. Ill should I then\nServe the divinity of this high hour!\nThou knowest how matters in the palace stand.\nThou hast surely heard, Aegisthus is from home,\nAnd she, our mother, is within. Nor fear\nShe should behold me with a smiling face.\nMine ancient hate of her hath sunk too deep.\nAnd from the time I saw thee, tears of joy\nWill cease not. Wherefore should I stint their flow?\nI, who in this thy coming have beheld\nThee dead and living? Strangely hast thou wrought\nOn me;--that should my father come alive,\nI would not think the sight were miracle,\nBut sober truth. Since such thy presence, then,\nLead as thy spirit prompts. For I alone\nOf two things surely had achieved one,\nNoble deliverance or a noble death.\n\nOR. Be silent; for I hear within the house\nA footstep coming forth.\n\nEL. (_loudly_).\n                         Strangers, go in!\nFor none within the palace will reject\nYour burden, nor be gladdened by the event.\n\n_Enter the_ Old Man.\n\nOLD M. O lost in folly and bereft of soul!\nIs't that your care for life hath ebbed away,\nOr were you born without intelligence,\nWhen fallen, not near, but in the midst of ill,\nAnd that the greatest, ye perceive it not?\nHad I not watched the doors this while, your deeds\nHad gone within the palace ere yourselves.\nBut, as things are, my care hath fenced you round.\nNow, then, have done with long-protracted talk,\nAnd this insatiable outburst of joy,\nAnd enter, for in such attempts as these\nDelay is harmful: and 'tis more than time.\n\nOR. But how shall I find matters there within?\n\nOLD M. Well. You are shielded by their ignorance.\n\nOR. That means you have delivered me as dead.\n\nOLD M. Alone of dead men thou art here above.\n\nOR. Doth this delight them, or how went the talk?\n\nOLD M. I will report, when all is done. Meanwhile,\nKnow, all is well with them, even what is evil.\n\nEL. Who is this, brother? I beseech thee, tell.\n\nOR. Dost not perceive?\n\nEL.                    I cannot even imagine.\n\nOR. Know'st not into whose hands thou gav'st me once?\n\nEL. Whose hands? How say you?\n\nOR.                           His, who through thy care\nConveyed me secretly to Phocis' plain.\n\nEL. What! is this he, whom I, of all the band,\nFound singly faithful in our father's death?\n\nOR. He is that man. No more!\n\nEL.                          O gladsome day!\nDear only saviour of our father's house,\nHow earnest thou hither? Art thou he indeed,\nThat didst preserve Orestes and myself\nFrom many sorrows? O dear hands, kind feet,\nSwift in our service,--how couldst thou so long\nBe near, nor show one gleam, but didst destroy\nMy heart with words, hiding the loveliest deeds?\nFather!--in thee methinks I see my father.\nO welcome! thou of all the world to me\nMost hated and most loved in one short hour.\n\nOLD M. Enough, dear maiden! Many nights and days\nAre circling hitherward, that shall reveal\nIn clear recountment all that came between.\n  But to you two that stand beside I tell,\nNow is your moment, with the Queen alone,\nAnd none of men within; but if you pause,\nKnow that with others of profounder skill\nYou'll have to strive, more than your present foes.\n\nOR. Then, Pylades, we need no more to dwell\nOn words, but enter on this act with speed,\nFirst worshipping the holy shrines o' the Gods\nThat were my father's, harboured at the gate.\n                              [_They pass within_. ELECTRA _remains in\n                                                an attitude of prayer_\n\nEL. O King Apollo! hear them graciously,\nAnd hear me too, that with incessant hand\nHonoured thee richly from my former store!\nAnd now, fierce slayer, I importune thee,\nAnd woo thee with such gifts as I can give,\nBe kindly aidant to this enterprise,\nAnd make the world take note, what meed of bane\nHeaven still bestows on man's iniquity.         [ELECTRA _goes within_\n\nCH. Lo, where the War-god moves                                      1\n    With soft, sure footstep, on to his design,\n    Breathing hot slaughter of an evil feud!\n    Even now the inevitable hounds that track\n    Dark deeds of hideous crime\n    Are gone beneath the covert of the domes.\n    Not long in wavering suspense shall hang\n    The dreaming presage of my wistful soul.\n\n    For lo! within is led                                            2\n    With crafty tread the avenger of the shades,\n    Even to his father's throne of ancient power,\n    And in his hand the bright new-sharpened death!\n    And Hermes, Maia's son,\n    Is leading him, and hath concealed the guile\n    Even to the fatal end in clouds of night.\n    His time of weary waiting all is o'er.\n\n_Re-enter_ ELECTRA.\n\nEL. O dearest women! they are even now\nAbout it. Only bide in silence still.\n\nCH. What is the present scene?\n\nEL.                            She decks the vase\nFor burial, and they both are standing by.\n\nCH. And wherefore hast thou darted forth?\n\nEL.                                       To watch\nAegisthus' coming, that he enter not\nAt unawares.\n\nCLY. (_within_).\n             Ah! ah! Woe for the house,\nDesert of friends, and filled with hands of death!\n\nEL. A cry within! Did ye not hear it, friends?\n\nCH. Would I had not! I heard, and shivered through.\n\nCLY. (_within_). Oh me! Alas, Aegisthus! where art thou?\n\nEL. Hark! yet again that sound!\n\nCLY. (_within_).           O son, have pity!\nPity the womb that bare thee.\n\nEL.                           Thou hadst none\nFor him, nor for his father, in that day.\n\nHALF-CH. Poor city! hapless race!                                    1\nThy destiny to-day\nWears thee away, away.\nWhat morn shall see thy face?\n\nCLY. (_within_).\nOh, I am smitten!\n\nEL.                Give a second stroke,\nIf thou hast power.\n\nCLY. (_within_).\n                    Oh me! again, again!\n\nEL. Would thou wert shrieking for Aegisthus too!\n\nCH. The curse hath found, and they in earth who lie\nAre living powers to-day.\nLong dead, they drain away\nThe streaming blood of those who made them die.\n\n_Enter_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.\n\nBehold, they come, they come!\nHis red hand dripping as he moves\nWith drops of sacrifice the War-god loves.\nMy 'wildered heart is dumb.\n\nEL. How is it with you, brother?\n\nOR.                              If Apollo\nSpake rightfully, the state within is well.\n\nEL. Wretched one, is she dead?\n\nOR.                            No more have fear\nThou shalt be slighted by thy mother's will.\n\nCH. Cease, for I see Aegisthus near in view.\n\nEL. In, in again, boys!\n\nOR.                     Where do ye behold\nThe tyrant?\n\nEL.         To our hand from yonder gate\nHe comes with beaming look.\n\nHALF-CH. Haste, with what speed ye may,                              2\nStand on the doorway stone,\nThat, having thus much done,\nYe may do all to-day.\n\nOR. Fear not: we will perform it.\n\nEL.                               Speed ye now:\nFollow your thought.\n\nOR.                  We are already there.\n\nEL. Leave matters here to me. All shall go well.\n                                        [_Exit_ ORESTES _with_ PYLADES\n\nCH. Few words, as if in gentleness, 'twere good\nTo utter in his ear,\nThat, eager and unware,\nOne step may launch him on the field of blood.\n\n_Enter_ AEGISTHUS.\n\nAEGISTHUS. Which of you know where are the Phocian men\nWho brought the news I hear, Orestes' life\nHath suffered shipwreck in a chariot-race?\nYou, you I question, you in former time\nSo fearless! You methinks most feelingly\nCan tell us, for it touches you most near.\n\nEL. I know: assure thee. Else had I not heard\nThe dearest of all fortunes to my heart.\n\nAEG. Where are the strangers then? Enlighten me.\n\nEL. Yonder. Their hostess entertained them well.\n\nAEG. And did they certainly report him dead?\n\nEL. Not only so. They showed him to our sight.\n\nAEG. May this clear evidence be mine to see?\n\nEL. I envy not the sight that waits you there.\n\nAEG. Against their wont thy words have given me joy.\n\nEL. Much joy be thine, if this be joy to thee!\n\nAEG. Silence, I say! Wide let the gates be flung!\nFor all the Myceneans to behold\nAnd all in Argolis, that if but one\nHath heretofore been buoyed on empty hopes\nFixed in Orestes, seeing him now dead,\nHe may accept my manage, and not wait\nFor our stern chastisement to teach him sense.\n\nEL. My lesson is already learnt: at length\nI am schooled to labour with the stronger will.\n                             [_The body of_ CLYTEMNESTRA _is disclosed\n                                  under a veil:_ ORESTES _standing by_\n\nAEG. Zeus! Divine envy surely hath laid low\nThe form I here behold. But if the truth\nProvoke Heaven's wrath, be it unexpressed.--Unveil!\nOff with all hindrance, that mine eye may see,\nAnd I may mourn my kinsman as I should.\n\nOR. Thyself put forth thy hand. Not mine but thine\nTo look and speak with kindness to this corse.\n\nAEG. I will, for thou advisest well; but thou,\nCall Clytemnestra, if she be within.     [AEGISTHUS _lifts the shroud_\n\nOR. She is beside thee, gaze not otherwhere.\n\nAEG. What do I see! oh!\n\nOR.                     Why so strange? Whom fear you?\n\nAEG. Who are the men into whose midmost toils\nAll hapless I am fallen?\n\nOR.                      Ha! knowest thou not\nThou hast been taking living men for dead?[11]\n\nAEG. I understand that saying. Woe is me!\nI know, Orestes' voice addresseth me.\n\nOR. A prophet! How wert thou so long deceived?\n\nAEG. Undone, undone! Yet let me speak one word.\n\nEL. Brother, by Heaven, no more! Let him not speak.\nWhen death is certain, what do men in woe\nGain from a little time? Kill him at once!\nAnd, killed, expose him to such burial\nFrom dogs and vultures, as beseemeth such,\nFar from our view. Nought less will solace me\nFor the remembrance of a life of pain.\n\nOR. Go in and tarry not. No contest this\nOf verbal question, but of life or death.\n\nAEG. Why drive you me within? If this you do\nBe noble, why must darkness hide the deed?\nWhy not destroy me out of hand?\n\nOR.                             Command not!\nEnter, and in the place where ye cut down\nMy father, thou shalt yield thy life to me.\n\nAEG. Is there no help but this abode must see\nThe past and future ills of Pelops' race?\n\nOR. Thine anyhow. That I can prophesy\nWith perfect inspiration to thine ear.\n\nAEG. The skill you boast belonged not to your sire.\n\nOR. You question and delay. Go in!\n\nAEG.                               Lead on.\n\nOR. Nay, go thou first.\n\nAEG.                    That I may not escape thee?\n\nOR. No, that thou may'st not have thy wish in death.\nI may not stint one drop of bitterness.\nAnd would this doom were given without reprieve,\nIf any try to act beyond the law,\nTo kill them. Then the wicked would be few.\n\nLEADER OF CH. O seed of Atreus! how triumphantly\nThrough grief and hardness thou hast freedom found,\nWith full achievement in this onset crowned!\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nDEANIRA, _wife of Heracles._\n_An_ Attendant.\nHYLLUS, _son of Heracles and Deanira_.\nCHORUS _of Trachinian Maidens_.\n_A_ Messenger.\nLICHAS, _the Herald_.\n_A_ Nurse.\n_An_ Old Man.\nHERACLES.\nIOLE, _who does not speak_.\n\n\nSCENE. Before the temporary abode of Heracles in Trachis.\n\n\n\n\nThis tragedy is named from the Chorus. From the subject it might have\nbeen called 'Deanira or the Death of Heracles'.\n\nThe Centaur Nessus, in dying by the arrow of Heracles, which had been\ndipped in the venom of the Hydra, persuaded the bride Deanira, whose\nbeauty was the cause of his death, to keep some of the blood from the\nwound as a love-charm for her husband. Many years afterwards, when\nHeracles was returning from his last exploit of sacking Oechalia, in\nEuboea, he sent before him, by his herald Lichas, Iole, the king's\ndaughter, whom he had espoused. Deanira, when she had discovered this,\ncommissioned Lichas when he returned to present his master with a\nrobe, which she had anointed with the charm,--hoping by this means to\nregain her lord's affection. But the poison of the Hydra did its work,\nand Heracles died in agony, Deanira having already killed herself on\nascertaining what she had done. The action takes place in Trachis,\nnear the Mahae Gulf, where Heracles and Deanira, by permission of\nCeyx, the king of the country, have been living in exile. At the close\nof the drama, Heracles, while yet alive, is carried towards his pyre\non Mount Oeta.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS\n\n\nDEANIRA. Men say,--'twas old experience gave the word,\n--'No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once\nBe known for good or evil.' But I know,\nBefore I come to the dark dwelling-place,\nMine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore.\nWho yet at Pleuron, in my father's home,\nOf all Aetolian women had most cause\nTo fear my bridal. For a river-god,\nSwift Acheloues, was my suitor there\nAnd sought me from my father in three forms;\nNow in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent\nOf coiling sheen, and now with manlike build\nBut bovine front, while from the shadowy beard\nSprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray.\nLooking for such a husband, I, poor girl!\nStill prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew\nThat nuptial.--Later, to my glad relief,\nZeus' and Alcmena's glorious offspring came,\nAnd closed with him in conflict, and released\nMy heart from torment. How the fight was won\nI could not tell. If any were who saw\nUnshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak.\nBut I sate quailing with an anguished fear,\nLest beauty might procure me nought but pain,\nTill He that rules the issue of all strife,\nGave fortunate end--if fortunate! For since,\nAssigned by that day's conquest, I have known\nThe couch of Heracles, my life is spent\nIn one continual terror for his fate.\nNight brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil\nDrives him afar. And I have borne him seed;\nWhich he, like some strange husbandman that farms\nA distant field, finds but at sowing time\nAnd once in harvest. Such a weary life\nStill tossed him to and fro,--no sooner home\nBut forth again, serving I know not whom.\n  And when his glorious head had risen beyond\nThese labours, came the strongest of my fear.\nFor since he quelled the might of Iphitus,\nWe here in Trachis dwell, far from our home,\nDependent on a stranger, but where he\nIs gone, none knoweth. Only this I know,\nHis going pierced my heart with pangs for him,\nAnd now I am all but sure he bears some woe.\nThese fifteen months he hath sent me not one word.\nAnd I have cause for fear. Ere he set forth\nHe left a scroll with me, whose dark intent\nI oft pray Heaven may bring no sorrow down.\n\nATTENDANT. Queen Deanira, many a time ere now\nHave I beheld thee with all tearful moan\nBewailing the departure of thy lord.\nBut, if it be permitted that a slave\nShould tender counsel to the free, my voice\nMay venture this:--Of thy strong band of sons\nWhy is not one commissioned to explore\nFor Heracles? and why not Hyllus first,\nWhom most it would beseem to show regard\nFor tidings of his father's happiness?\nAh! here I see him bounding home, with feet\nApt for employment! If you count me wise,\nHe and my words attend upon your will.\n\n_Enter_ HYLLUS.\n\nDE. Dear child, dear boy! even from the lowliest head\nWise counsel may come forth. This woman here,\nThough a bond-maiden, hath a free-born tongue.\n\nHYL. What word is spoken, mother? May I know?\n\nDE. That, with thy father lost to us so long,\n'Tis shame thou dost not learn his dwelling-place.\n\nHYL. Yea, I have learnt, if one may trust report.\n\nDE. Where art thou told his seat is fixed, my son?\n\nHYL. 'Tis said that through the length of this past year\nHe wrought as bondman to a Lydian girl.\n\nDE. Hath he borne that? Then nothing can be strange!\n\nHYL. Well, that is over, I am told. He is free.\n\nDE. Where is he rumoured, then, alive or dead?\n\nHYL. In rich Euboea, besieging, as they tell,\nThe town of Eurytus, or offering siege.\n\nDE. Child, hast thou heard what holy oracles\nHe left with me, touching that very land?\n\nHYL. What were they, mother, for I never knew?\n\nDE. That either he must end his being there,\nOr, this one feat performed, his following time\nShould grace his life with fair prosperity.\nWilt thou not then, my child, when he is held\nIn such a crisis of uncertain peril,\nRun to his aid?--since we must perish with him,\nOr owe our lasting safety to his life.\n\nHYL. I will go, mother. Had I heard this voice\nOf prophecy, long since I had been there.\nFear is unwonted for our father's lot.\nBut now I know, my strength shall all be spent\nTo learn the course of these affairs in full.\n\nDE. Go then, my son. Though late, to learn and do\nWhat wisdom bids, hath certainty of gain.\n                                   [_Exit_ HYLLUS. DEANIRA _withdraws_\n\nCHORUS (_entering and turning towards the East_).\n    Born of the starry night in her undoing,                       I 1\n    Lulled in her bosom at thy parting glow,\n        O Sun! I bid thee show,\n    What journey is Alcmena's child pursuing?\n        What region holds him now,\n    'Mong winding channels of the deep,\n    Or Asian plains, or rugged Western steep?\n        Declare it, thou\n    Peerless in vision of thy flashing ray\n    That lightens on the world with each new day.\n    Sad Deanira, bride of battle-wooing[1],                        I 2\n    Ne'er lets her tearful eyelids close in rest,\n        But in love-longing breast,\n    Like some lorn bird its desolation rueing,\n        Of her great husband's way\n    Still mindful, worn with harrowing fear\n    Lest some new danger for him should be near,\n        By night and day\n    Pines on her widowed couch of ceaseless thought,\n    With dread of evil destiny distraught:           [_Enter_ DEANIRA.\n\n    For many as are billows of the South                          II 1\n    Blowing unweariedly, or Northern gale,\n    One going and another coming on\n    Incessantly, baffling the gazer's eye,\n    Such Cretan ocean of unending toil\n    Cradles our Cadmus-born, and swells his fame.\n      But still some power doth his foot recall\n      From stumbling down to Hades' darkling hall.\n\n    Wherefore, in censure of thy mood, I bring                    II 2\n    Glad, though opposing, counsel. Let not hope\n    Grow weary. Never hath a painless life\n    Been cast on mortals by the power supreme\n    Of the All-disposer, Cronos' son. But joy\n    And sorrow visit in perpetual round\n      All mortals, even as circleth still on high\n      The constellation of the Northern sky.\n\n    What lasteth in the world? Not starry night,                   III\n    Nor wealth, nor tribulation; but is gone\n    All suddenly, while to another soul\n    The joy or the privation passeth on.\n    These hopes I bid thee also, O my Queen!\n    Hold fast continually, for who hath seen\n    Zeus so forgetful of his own?\n    How can his providence forsake his son?\n\nDE. I see you have been told of my distress,\nAnd that hath brought you. But my inward woe,\nBe it evermore unknown to you, as now!\nSuch the fair garden of untrammeled ease\nWhere the young life grows safely. No fierce heat,\nNo rain, no wind disturbs it, but unharmed\nIt rises amid airs of peace and joy,\nTill maiden turn to matron, and the night\nInherit her dark share of anxious thought,\nHaunted with fears for husband or for child.\nThen, imaged through her own calamity,\nSome one may guess the burden of my life.\n  Full many have been the sorrows I have wept,\nBut one above the rest I tell to-day.\nWhen my great husband parted last from home,\nHe left within the house an ancient scroll\nInscribed with characters of mystic note,\nWhich Heracles had never heretofore,\nIn former labours, cared to let me see,--\nAs bound for bright achievement, not for death.\nBut now, as though his life had end, he told\nWhat marriage-portion I must keep, what shares\nHe left his sons out of their father's ground:\nAnd set a time, when fifteen moons were spent,\nCounted from his departure, that even then\nOr he must die, or if that date were out\nAnd he had run beyond it, he should live\nThenceforth a painless and untroubled life.\nSuch by Heaven's fiat was the promised end\nOf Heracles' long labours, as he said;\nSo once the ancient oak-tree had proclaimed\nIn high Dodona through the sacred Doves.\nOf which prediction on this present hour\nIn destined order of accomplishment\nThe veritable issue doth depend.\nAnd I, dear friends, while taking rest, will oft\nStart from sweet slumbers with a sudden fear,\nScared by the thought, my life may be bereft\nOf the best husband in the world of men.\n\nCH. Hush! For I see approaching one in haste,\nGarlanded, as if laden with good news.\n\n_Enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESSENGER. Queen Deanira, mine shall be the tongue\nTo free thee first from fear. Alcmena's child\nIs living, be assured, and triumphing,\nAnd bringing to our Gods the fruits of war.\n\nDE. What mean'st thou, aged sir, by what thou sayest?\n\nMESS. That soon thy husband, envied all around,\nWill come, distinguished with victorious might.\n\nDE. What citizen or stranger told thee this?\n\nMESS. Your herald Lichas, where the oxen graze\nThe summer meadow, cries this to a crowd.\nI, hearing, flew off hither, that being first\nTo bring thee word thereof, I might be sure\nTo win reward and gratitude from thee.\n\nDE. And how is he not here, if all be well?\n\nMESS. Crossed by no light impediment, my Queen.\nFor all the Maliac people, gathering round,\nThrong him with question, that he cannot move.\nBut he must still the travail of each soul,\nAnd none will be dismissed unsatisfied.\nSuch willing audience he unwillingly\nHarangues, but soon himself will come in sight.\n\nDE. O Zeus! who rulest Oeta's virgin wold,\nAt last, though late, thou hast vouchsafed us joy.\nLift up your voices, O my women! ye\nWithin the halls, and ye beyond the gate!\nFor now we reap the gladness of a ray,\nThat dawns unhoped for in this rumour's sound.\n\nCHORUS\nWith a shout by the hearth let the palace roof ring\n  From those that are dreaming of bridal, and ye,\nYoung men, let your voices in harmony sing\n  To the God of the quiver, the Lord of the free!\nAnd the Paean withal from the maiden band\nTo Artemis, huntress of many a land,\n    Let it rise o'er the glad roof tree,\nTo Phoebus' own sister, with fire in each hand,\n    And the Nymphs that her co-mates be!\nMy spirit soars. O sovereign of my soul!\nI will accept the thrilling flute's control.             [_They dance_\n    The ivy-crowned thyrsus, see!\n    With Bacchic fire is kindling me,\n    And turns my emulous tread\n    Where'er the mazy dance may lead.\nEuoi! Euoi!\nO Paean! send us joy.\nSee, dearest Queen, behold!\nBefore thy gaze the event will now unfold.\n\nDE. Think not mine eye hath kept such careless guard,\nDear maids, that I could miss this moving train.\nHerald, I bid thee hail, although so late\nAppearing, if thou bringest health with thee!\n\n_Enter_ LICHAS, _with_ Captive Women.\n\nLICHAS. A happy welcome on a happy way,\nAs prosperous our achievement. Meet it is\nGood words should greet bright actions, mistress mine!\n\nDE. Kind friend, first tell me what I first would know--\nShall I receive my Heracles alive?\n\nLICH. I left him certainly alive and strong:\nBlooming in health, not with disease oppressed.\n\nDE. In Greece, or in some barbarous country? Tell!\n\nLICH. Euboea's island hath a promontory,\nWhere to Cenaean Zeus he consecrates\nRich altars and the tribute of the ground.\n\nDE. Moved by an oracle, or from some vow?\n\nLICH. So vowed he when he conquered with the spear\nThe country of these women whom you see.\n\nDE. And who, by Heaven, are they? Who was their sire?\nTheir case is piteous, or eludes my thought.\n\nLICH. He took them for the service of the Gods\nAnd his own house, when high Oechalia fell.\n\nDE. Was't then before that city he was kept\nThose endless ages of uncounted time?\n\nLICH. Not so. The greater while he was detained\nAmong the Lydians, sold, as he declares,\nTo bondage. Nor be jealous of the word,\nSince Heaven, my Queen, was author of the deed.\nEnthralled so to Asian Omphale,\nHe, as himself avers, fulfilled his year.\nThe felt reproach whereof so chafed his soul,\nHe bound fierce curses on himself and sware\nThat,--children, wife and all,--he yet would bring\nIn captive chains the mover of this harm.\nNor did this perish like an idle word,\nBut, when the stain was off him, straight he drew\nAllied battalions to assault the town\nOf Eurytus, whom, sole of earthly powers,\nHe had noted as the source of his annoy,\nBecause, having received him in his hall\nA guest of ancient days, he burst on him\nWith outrage of loud voice and villanous mind,\nSaying, 'with his hand upon the unerring bow,\nOechalia's princes could o'ershoot his skill;\nAnd born to bondage, he must quail beneath\nHis overlord'; lastly, to crown this cry,\nWhen at a banquet he was filled with wine,\nHe flung him out of door. Whereat being wroth,\nWhen Iphitus to the Tirynthian height\nFollowed the track where his brood-mares had strayed,\nHe, while the thought and eye of the man by chance\nWere sundered, threw him from the tower-crowned cliff.\nIn anger for which deed the Olympian King,\nFather of Gods and men, delivered him\nTo be a bond-slave, nor could brook the offence,\nThat of all lives he vanquished, this alone\nShould have been ta'en by guile. For had he wrought\nIn open quittance of outrageous wrong,\nEven Zeus had granted that his cause was just.\nThe braggart hath no favour even in Heaven.\nWhence they, o'erweening with their evil tongue,\nAre now all dwellers in the house of death,\nTheir ancient city a captive;--but these women\nWhom thou beholdest, from their blest estate\nBrought suddenly to taste of piteous woe,\nCome to thy care. This task thy wedded lord\nOrdained, and I, his faithful minister,\nSeek to perform. But, for his noble self,\nWhen with pure hands he hath done sacrifice\nTo his Great Father for the victory given,\nLook for his coming, lady. This last word\nOf all my happy speech is far most sweet.\n\nCH. Now surety of delight is thine, my Queen,\nPart by report and part before thine eye.\n\nDE. Yea, now I learn this triumph of my lord,\nJoy reigns without a rival in my breast.\nThis needs must run with that in fellowship.\nYet wise consideration even of good\nIs flecked with fear of what reverse may come.\nAnd I, dear friends, when I behold these maids,\nAm visited with sadness deep and strange.\nPoor friendless beings, in a foreign land\nWandering forlorn in homeless orphanhood!\nErewhile, free daughters of a freeborn race,\nNow, snared in strong captivity for life.\nO Zeus of battles, breaker of the war,\nNe'er may I see thee[2] turn against my seed\nSo cruelly; or, if thou meanest so,\nLet me be spared that sorrow by my death!\nSuch fear in me the sight of these hath wrought.\nWho art thou, of all damsels most distressed?\nSingle or child-bearing? Thy looks would say,\nA maid, of no mean lineage. Lichas, tell,\nWho is the stranger-nymph? Who gave her birth?\nWho was her sire? Mine eye hath pitied her\nO'er all, as she o'er all hath sense of woe.\n\nLICH. What know I? Why should'st thou demand? Perchance\nNot lowest in the list of souls there born.\n\nDE. How if a princess, offspring of their King?\n\nLICH. I cannot tell. I did not question far.\n\nDE. Have none of her companions breathed her name?\n\nLICH. I brought them silently. I did not hear.\n\nDE. Yet speak it to us of thyself, poor maid!\n'Tis sorrow not to know thee who thou art.\n\nLICH. She'll ne'er untie her tongue, if she maintain\nAn even tenor, since nor more nor less\nWould she disclose; but, poor unfortunate!\nWith agonizing sobs and tears she mourns\nThis crushing sorrow, from the day she left\nHer wind-swept home. Her case is cruel, sure,--\nAnd claims a privilege from all who feel.\n\nDE. Well, let her go, and pass beneath the roof\nIn peace, as she desires; nor let fresh pain\nFrom me be added to her previous woe.\nShe hath enough already. Come, away!\nLet's all within at once, that thou mayest speed\nThy journey, and I may order all things here.\n                    [_Exit_ LICHAS, _with_ Captives, _into the house_.\n                                     DEANIRA _is about to follow them_\n\n_Re-enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESS. Pause first there on the threshold, till you learn\n(Apart from those) who 'tis you take within,\nAnd more besides that you yet know not of,\nWhich deeply imports your knowing. Of all this\nI throughly am informed.\n\nDE.                      What cause hast thou\nThus to arrest my going?\n\nMESS.                    Stand, and hear.\nNot idle was my former speech, nor this.\n\nDE. Say, must we call them back in presence here,\nOr would'st thou tell thy news to these and me?\n\nMESS. To thee and these I may, but let those be.\n\nDE. Well, they are gone. Let words declare thy drift.\n\nMESS. That man, in all that he hath lately said,\nHath sinned against the truth: or now he's false,\nOr else unfaithful in his first report.\n\nDE. What? Tell me thy full meaning clearly forth.\nThat thou hast uttered is all mystery.\n\nMESS. I heard this herald say, while many thronged\nTo hearken, that this maiden was the cause,\nWhy lofty-towered Oechalia and her lord\nFell before Heracles, whom Love alone\nOf heavenly powers had warmed to this emprise,\nAnd not the Lydian thraldom or the tasks\nOf rigorous Omphale, nor that wild fate\nOf rock-thrown Iphitus. Now he thrusts aside\nThe Love-god, contradicting his first tale.\n  When he that was her sire could not be brought\nTo yield the maid for Heracles to hold\nIn love unrecognized, he framed erelong\nA feud about some trifle, and set forth\nIn arms against this damsel's fatherland\n(Where Eurytus, the herald said, was king)\nAnd slew the chief her father; yea, and sacked\nTheir city. Now returning, as you see,\nHe sends her hither to his halls, no slave,\nNor unregarded, lady,--dream not so!\nSince all his heart is kindled with desire.\nI, O my Queen! thought meet to show thee all\nThe tale I chanced to gather from his mouth,\nWhich many heard as well as I, i' the midst\nOf Trachis' market-place, and can confirm\nMy witness. I am pained if my plain speech\nSound harshly, but the honest truth I tell.\n\nDE. Ah me! Where am I? Whither am I fallen?\nWhat hidden woe have I unwarily\nTaken beneath my roof? O misery!\nWas she unknown, as he that brought her sware?\n\nMESS. Nay, most distinguished both in birth and mien;\nCalled in her day of freedom Iole,\nEurytus' daughter,--of whose parentage,\nForsooth as ignorant, he ne'er would speak.\n\nCH. I curse not all the wicked, but the man\nWhose secret practices deform his life.\n\nDE. Say, maidens, how must I proceed? The words\nNow spoken have bewildered all my mind.\n\nCH. Go in and question Lichas, who perchance\nWill tell the truth if you but tax him home.\n\nDE. I will; you counsel reasonably.\n\nMESS.                               And I,\nShall I bide here till thou com'st forth? Or how?\n\nDE. Remain. For see, without my sending for him,\nHe issueth from the palace of himself.\n\n_Enter_ LICHAS.\n\nLICH. What message must I carry to my lord?\nTell me, my Queen. I am going, as thou seest.\n\nDE. So slow in coming, and so quickly flown,\nEre one have time to talk with thee anew!\n\nLICH. What wouldst thou ask me? I am bent to hear.\n\nDE. And art thou bent on truth in the reply?\n\nLICH. By Heaven! in all that I have knowledge of.\n\nDE. Then tell me, who is she thou brought'st with thee?\n\nLICH. An islander. I cannot trace her stock.\n\nMESS. Look hither, man. Who is't to whom thou speakest?\n\nLICH. Why such a question? What is thine intent?\n\nMESS. Nay, start not, but make answer if thou knowest.\n\nLICH. To Deanira, Oeneus' queenly child,\nHeracles' wife,--if these mine eyes be true,--\nMy mistress.\n\nMESS.        Ay, that is the very word\nI longed to hear thee speak. Thy mistress, sayest?\n\nLICH. To whom I am bound.\n\nMESS.                     Hold there! What punishment\nWilt thou accept, if thou art found to be\nFaithless to her?\n\nLICH.             I faithless! What dark speech\nHast thou contrived?\n\nMESS.                Not I at all. 'Tis thou\nDost wrap thy thoughts i' the dark.\n\nLICH.                               Well, I will go.\n'Tis folly to have heard thee for so long.\n\nMESS. You go not till you answer one word more.\n\nLICH. One, or a thousand! You'll not stint, I see.\n\nMESS. Thou knowest the captive maid thou leddest home?\n\nLICH. I do. But wherefore ask?\n\nMESS.                          Did you not say\nThat she, on whom you look with ignorant eye,\nWas Iole, the daughter of the King,\nCommitted to your charge?\n\nLICH.                     Where? Among whom?\nWhat witness of such words will bear thee out?\n\nMESS. Many and sound. A goodly company\nIn Trachis' market-place heard thee speak this.\n\nLICH. Ay.\nI said 'twas rumoured. But I could not give\nMy vague impression for advised report.\n\nMESS. Impression, quotha! Did you not on oath\nProclaim your captive for your master's bride?\n\nLICH. My master's bride! Dear lady, by the Gods,\nWho is the stranger? for I know him not.\n\nMESS. One who was present where he heard thee tell,\nHow that whole city was subdued and taken,\nNot for the bondage to the Lydian girl,\nBut through the longing passion for this maid.\n\nLICH. Dear lady, let the fellow be removed.\nTo prate with madmen is mere foolishness.\n\nDE. Nay, I entreat thee by His name, whose fire\nLightens down Oeta's topmost glen, be not\nA niggard of the truth. Thou tell'st thy tale\nTo no weak woman, but to one who knows\nMankind are never constant to one joy.\nWhoso would buffet Love, aspires in vain.\nFor Love leads even Immortals at his will,\nAnd me. Then how not others, like to me?\n'Twere madness, sure, in me to blame my lord\nWhen this hath caught him, or the woman there,\nHis innocent accomplice in a thing,\nNo shame to either, and no harm to me.\nIt is not so. But if from him thou learnest\nThe lore of falsehood, it were best unlearnt;\nOr if the instruction comes of thine own thought,\nSuch would-be kindness doth not prove thee kind.\nThen tell me all the truth. To one free-born\nThe name of liar is a hateful lot.\nAnd thou canst not be hid. Thy news was heard\nBy many, who will tell me. If thou fearest,\nThou hast no cause--for doubtfulness is pain,\nBut to know all, what harm? His loves ere now\nWere they not manifold? And none hath borne\nReproach or evil word from me. She shall not,\nThough his new passion were as strong as death;\nSince most mine eye hath pitied her, because\nHer beauty was the ruin of her life,\nAnd all unweeting, she her own bright land,\nPoor hapless one! hath ravaged and enslaved.--\nLet that be as it must. But for thy part,\nThough false to others, be still true to me.\n\nCH. 'Tis fairly said. Comply. Thou ne'er wilt blame\nHer faithfulness, and thou wilt earn our loves.\n\nLICH. Yea, dear my Queen, now I have seen thee hold\nThy mortal wishes within mortal bound\nSo meekly, I will freely tell thee all.\nIt is as he avers. This maiden's love,\nPiercing through Heracles, was the sole cause,\nWhy her Oechalia, land of plenteous woe,\nWas made the conquest of his spear. And he--\nFor I dare so far clear him--never bade\nConcealment or denial. But myself,\nFearing the word might wound thy queenly heart,\nSinned, if thou count such tenderness a sin.\nBut now that all is known, for both your sakes,\nHis, and thine own no less, look favouringly\nUpon the woman, and confirm the word\nThou here hast spoken in regard to her:--\nFor he, whose might is in all else supreme,\nIs wholly overmastered by her love.\n\nDE. Yea, so my mind is bent. I will do so.\nI will not, in a bootless strife 'gainst Heaven,\nAugment my misery with self-sought ill.\nCome, go we in, that thou may'st bear from me\nSuch message as is meet, and also carry\nGifts, such as are befitting to return\nFor gifts new-given. Thou ought'st not to depart\nUnladen, having brought so much with thee.                   [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS.\n        Victorious in her might,                                   I 1\n        The Queen of soft delight\n    Still ranges onward with triumphant sway.\n        What she from Kronos' son\n        And strong Poseidon won,\n    And Pluto, King of Night, I durst not say.\n        But who, to earn this bride,\n        Came forth in sinewy pride\n    To strive, or e'er the nuptial might be known\n        With fearless heart I tell\n        What heroes wrestled well,\n    With showering blows, and dust in clouds upthrown.\n\n        One was a river bold,                                      I 2\n        Horn-crowned, with tramp fourfold,\n    Bull Acheloues, Acarnania's Fear;\n        And one from Bacchus' town,\n        Own son of Zeus, came down,\n    With brandished mace, bent bow, and barbed spear.\n        Who then in battle brunt,\n        Together, front to front,\n    Hurled, eager both to win the beauteous prize;\n        And Cypris 'mid the fray\n        Alone, that dreadful day,\n    Sate umpire, holding promise in her eyes.\n\n    Then clashed the fist, then clanged the bow;                    II\n    Then horns gave crashing blow for blow,\n        Whilst, as they clung,\n    The twining hip throw both essay\n    And hurtling foreheads' fearful play,\n        And groans from each were wrung.\n\n    But the tender fair one far away\n        Sate watching with an eye of piteous cheer\n    (A mother's heart will heed the thing I say,)\n      Till won by him who freed her from her fear.\n    Sudden she leaves her mother's gentle side,\n    Borne through the waste, our hero's tender bride.\n\n_Enter_ DEANIRA.\n\nDE. Dear friends, while yonder herald in the house\nHolds converse with the captives ere he go,\nI have stol'n forth to you, partly to tell\nThe craft my hand hath compassed, and in part,\nTo crave your pity for my wretchedness.\nFor I have taken to my hearth a maid,--\nAnd yet, methinks, no maiden any more,\nLike some fond shipmaster, taking on board\nA cargo fraught with treason to my heart.\nAnd now we two are closed in one embrace\nBeneath one coverlet. Such generous meed\nFor faith in guarding home this dreary while\nHath the kind Heracles our trusty spouse,\nSent in return! Yet, oft as he hath caught\nThis same distemperature, I know not how\nTo harbour indignation against him.\nBut who that is a woman could endure\nTo dwell with her, both married to one man?\nOne bloom is still advancing, one doth fade.\nThe budding flower is cropped, the full-blown head\nIs left to wither, while love passeth by\nUnheeding. Wherefore I am sore afraid\nHe will be called my husband, but her mate,\nFor she is younger. Yet no prudent wife\nWould take this angerly, as I have said.\nBut, dear ones, I will tell you of a way,\nWhereof I have bethought me, to prevent\nThis heart-break. I had hidden of long time\nIn a bronze urn the ancient Centaur's gift,\nWhich I, when a mere girl, culled from the wound\nOf hairy-breasted Nessus in his death.\nHe o'er Evenus' rolling depths, for hire,\nFerried wayfarers on his arm, not plying\nOr rowing-boat, or canvas-winged bark.\nWho, when with Heracles, a new-made bride,\nI followed by my father's sending forth,\nShouldering me too, in the mid-stream, annoyed\nWith wanton touch. And I cried out; and he,\nZeus' son, turned suddenly, and from his bow\nSent a wing'd shaft, that whizzed into his chest\nTo the lungs. Then the weird Thing, with dying voice\nSpake to me:--'Child of aged Oeneues,\nSince thou wert my last burden, thou shalt win\nSome profit from mine act, if thou wilt do\nWhat now I bid thee. With a careful hand\nCollect and bear away the clotted gore\nThat clogs my wound, e'en where the monster snake\nHad dyed the arrow with dark tinct of gall;\nAnd thou shalt have this as a charm of soul\nFor Heracles, that never through the eye\nShall he receive another love than thine.'\nWhereof bethinking me, for since his death\nI kept it in a closet locked with care,\nI have applied it to this robe, with such\nAddition as his living voice ordained.--\nThe thing is done. No criminal attempts\nCould e'er be mine. Far be they from my thought,\nAs I abhor the woman who conceives them!\nBut if by any means through gentle spells\nAnd bonds on Heracles' affection, we\nMay triumph o'er this maiden in his heart,\nMy scheme is perfected. Unless you deem\nMine action wild. If so, I will desist.\n\nCH. If any ground of confidence approve\nThine act, we cannot check thy counsel here.\n\nDE. My confidence is grounded on belief,\nThough unconfirmed as yet by actual proof.\n\nCH. Well, do it and try. Assurance cannot come\nTill action bring experience after it.\n\nDE. The truth will soon be known. The man e'en now\nIs coming forth, and quickly will be there.\nScreen ye but well my counsel. Doubtful deeds,\nWrapt close, will not deliver us to shame.\n\n_Enter_ LICHAS.\n\nLICH. Daughter of Oeneus, tell me thy commands.\nAlready time rebukes our tardiness.\n\nDE. Even that hath been my care, Lichas, while thou\nWert talking to the stranger-maids within,\nThat thou shouldst take for me this finewoven web,\nA present from these fingers to my lord.\nAnd when thou giv'st it, say that none of men\nMust wear it on his shoulders before him;\nAnd neither light of sun may look upon it,\nNor holy temple-court, nor household flame,\nTill he in open station 'fore the Gods\nDisplay it on a day when bulls are slaughtered.\nSo once I vowed, that should I ever see\nOr hear his safe return, I would enfold\nHis glorious person in this robe, and show\nTo all the Gods in doing sacrifice\nHim a fresh worshipper in fresh array.--\nThe truth hereof he will with ease descry\nBetokened on this treasure-guarding seal.--\nNow go, and be advised, of this in chief,\nTo act within thine office; then of this,\nTo bear thee so, that from his thanks and mine\nMeeting in one, a twofold grace may spring.\n\nLICH. If this my Hermes-craft be firm and sure,\nThen never will I fail thee, O my Queen!\nBut I will show the casket as it is\nTo whom I bear it, and in faithfulness\nAdd all the words thou sendest in fit place.\n\nDE. Go, then, at once. Thou hast full cognizance\nHow things within the palace are preserved?\n\nLICH. I know, and will declare. There is no flaw.\n\nDE. Methinks thou knowest too, for thou hast seen,\nMy kind reception of the stranger-maid?\n\nLICH. I saw, and was amazed with heart-struck joy.\n\nDE. What more is there to tell?--Too rash, I fear,\nWere thy report of longing on my part,\nTill we can learn if we be longed for there.       [_Exeunt severally_\n\nCHORUS.\n        O ye that haunt the strand                                 I 1\n        Where ships in quiet land\nNear Oeta's height and the warm rock-drawn well,\nAnd ye round Melis' inland gulf who dwell,\nWorshipping her who wields the golden wand,--\n(There Hellas' wisest meet in council strong):\n        Soon shall the flute arise\n        With sound of glad surprise,\nThrilling your sense with no unwelcome song,\nBut tones that to the harp of Heavenly Muse belong.\n\n        Zeus' and Alcmena's son,--                                 I 2\n        All deeds of glory done,--\nSpeeds now triumphant to his home, whom we\nTwelve weary months of blind expectancy\nLost in vast distance, from our country gone.\nWhile, sadly languishing, his loving wife,\n        Still flowing down with tears,\n        Pined with unnumbered fears.\nBut Ares, lately stung to furious strife,\nFrees him for ever[3] from the toilsome life.\n\n        O let him come to-day!                                      II\n        Ne'er may his vessel stay,\nBut glide with feathery sweep of many an oar,\nTill from his altar by yon island shore\nEven to our town he wind his prosperous way,\n        In mien returning mild,\n        And inly reconciled,\nWith that anointing in his heart ingrained,\nWhich the dark Centaur's wizard lips ordained.\n\n_Enter_ DEANIRA.\n\nDE. O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far\nI have ventured in my action of to-day!\n\nCH. What ails thee, Deanira, Oeneus' child?\n\nDE. I know not, but am haunted by a dread,\nLest quickly I be found to have performed\nA mighty mischief, through bright hopes betrayed.\n\nCH. Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles?\n\nDE. Indeed I do. Now I perceive how fond\nIs eagerness, where actions are obscure.\n\nCH. Tell, if it may be told, thy cause of fear.\n\nDE. A thing is come to pass, which should I tell,\nWill strike you with strange wonder when you learn.\nFor, O my friends, the stuff wherewith I dressed\nThat robe, a flock of soft and milkwhite wool,\nIs shrivelled out of sight, not gnawn by tooth\nOf any creature here, but, self-consumed,\nFrittered and wasting on the courtyard-stones.\n  To let you know the circumstance at full,\nI will speak on. Of all the Centaur-Thing,\nWhen labouring in his side with the fell point\nO' the shaft, enjoined me, I had nothing lost,\nBut his vaticination in my heart\nRemained indelible, as though engraved\nWith pen of iron upon brass. 'Twas thus:--\nI was to keep this unguent closely hid\nIn dark recesses, where no heat of fire\nOr warming ray might reach it, till with fresh\nAnointing I addressed it to an end.\nSo I had done. And now this was to do,\nWithin my chamber covertly I spread\nThe ointment with piece of wool, a tuft\nPulled from a home-bred sheep; and, as ye saw,\nI folded up my gift and packed it close\nIn hollow casket from the glaring sun.\nBut, entering in, a fact encounters me\nPast human wit to fathom with surmise.\nFor, as it happened, I had tossed aside\nThe bit of wool I worked with, carelessly,\nInto the open daylight, 'mid the blaze\nOf Helios' beam. And, as it kindled warm,\nIt fell away to nothing, crumbled small,\nLike dust in severing wood by sawyers strewn.\nSo, on the point of vanishing, it lay.\nBut, from the place where it had lain, brake forth\nA frothy scum in clots of seething foam,\nLike the rich draught in purple vintage poured\nFrom Bacchus' vine upon the thirsty ground.\nAnd I, unhappy, know not toward what thought\nTo turn me, but I see mine act is dire.\nFor wherefore should the Centaur, for what end,\nShow kindness to the cause for whom he died?\nThat cannot be. But seeking to destroy\nHis slayer, he cajoled me. This I learn\nToo late, by sad experience, for no good.\nAnd, if I err not now, my hapless fate\nIs all alone to be his murderess.\nFor, well I know, the shaft that made the wound\nGave pain to Cheiron, who was more than man;\nAnd wheresoe'er it falls, it ravageth\nAll the wild creatures of the world. And now\nThis gory venom blackly spreading bane\nFrom Nessus' angry wound, must it not cause\nThe death of Heracles? I think it must.\n  Yet my resolve is firm, if aught harm him,\nMy death shall follow in the self-same hour.\nShe cannot bear to live in evil fame,\nWho cares to have a nature pure from ill.\n\nCH. Horrid mischance must needs occasion fear.\nBut Hope is not condemned before the event.\n\nDE. In ill-advised proceeding not even Hope\nRemains to minister a cheerful mind.\n\nCH. Yet to have erred unwittingly abates\nThe fire of wrath; and thou art in this case.\n\nDE. So speaks not he who hath a share of sin,\nBut who is clear of all offence at home.\n\nCH. 'Twere well to say no more, unless thou hast aught\nTo impart to thine own son: for he is here,\nWho went erewhile to find his father forth.\n\nHYLLUS _(re-entering)_.\nO mother, mother!\nI would to heaven one of three things were true:\nEither that thou wert dead, or, living, wert\nNo mother to me, or hadst gained a mind\nFurnished with better thoughts than thou hast now!\n\nDE. My son! what canst thou so mislike in me?\n\nHYL. I tell thee thou this day hast been the death\nOf him that was thy husband and my sire.\n\nDE. What word hath passed thy lips? my child, my child!\n\nHYL. A word that must be verified. For who\nCan make the accomplished fact as things undone?\n\nDE. Alas, my son! what saidst thou? Who hath told\nThat I have wrought a deed so full of woe?\n\nHYL. 'Twas I myself that saw with these mine eyes\nMy father's heavy state:--no hearsay word.\n\nDE. And where didst thou come near him and stand by?\n\nHYL. Art thou to hear it? On, then, with my tale!\nWhen after sacking Eurytus' great city\nHe marched in triumph with first-fruits of war,--\nThere is a headland, last of long Euboea,\nSurf-beat Cenaeum,--where to his father Zeus\nHe dedicates high altars and a grove.\nThere first I saw him, gladdened from desire.\nAnd when he now addressed him to the work\nOf various sacrifice, the herald Lichas\nArrived from home, bearing thy fatal gift,\nThe deadly robe: wherewith invested straight,\nAs thou hadst given charge, he sacrificed\nThe firstlings of the spoil, twelve bulls entire,\nEach after each. But the full count he brought\nWas a clear hundred of all kinds of head.\n  Then the all-hapless one commenced his prayer\nIn solemn gladness for the bright array.\nBut presently, when from the holy things,\nAnd from the richness of the oak-tree core,\nThere issued flame mingled with blood, a sweat\nRose on his flesh, and close to every limb\nClung, like stone-drapery from the craftsman's hand,\nThe garment, glued unto his side. Then came\nThe tearing pangs within his bones, and then\nThe poison feasted like the venomed tooth\nOf murderous basilisk.--When this began,\nHe shouted on poor Lichas, none to blame\nFor thy sole crime, 'What guile is here, thou knave?\nWhat was thy fraud in fetching me this robe?'\nHe, all-unknowing, in an evil hour\nDeclared his message, that the gift was thine.\nWhereat the hero, while the shooting spasm\nHad fastened on the lungs, seized him by the foot\nWhere the ankle turns i' the socket, and, with a thought,\nHurl'd on a surf-vex'd reef that showed i' the sea:\nAnd rained the grey pulp from the hair, the brain\nBeing scattered with the blood. Then the great throng\nSaddened their festival with piteous wail\nFor one in death and one in agony.\nAnd none had courage to approach my sire,--\nConvulsed upon the ground, then tossed i' the air\nWith horrid yells and crying, till the cliffs\nEchoed round, the mountain-promontories\nOf Locris, and Euboea's rugged shore.\nWearied at length with flinging on the earth,\nAnd shrieking oft with lamentable cry,\nCursing the fatal marriage with thyself\nThe all-wretched, and the bond to Oeneus' house,\nThat prize that was the poisoner of his peace,\nHe lifted a wild glance above the smoke\nThat hung around, and 'midst the crowd of men\nSaw me in tears, and looked on me and said,\n'O son, come near; fly not from my distress,\nThough thou shouldst be consumed in my death,\nBut lift and bear me forth; and, if thou mayest,\nSet me where no one of mankind shall see me.\nBut if thy heart withhold thee, yet convey me\nOut of this land as quickly as ye may.\nLet me not die where I am now.' We then,\nThus urgently commanded, laid him down\nWithin our bark, and hardly to this shore\nRowed him convulsed and roaring.--Presently,\nHe will appear, alive or lately dead.\n  Such, mother, is the crime thou hast devised\nAnd done against our sire, wherefore let Right\nAnd Vengeance punish thee!--May I pray so?\nI may: for thou absolv'st me by thy deed,\nThou that hast slain the noblest of the Earth,\nThy spouse, whose like thou ne'er wilt see again.     [_Exit_ DEANIRA.\n\nCH. Why steal'st thou forth in silence? Know'st thou not\nThy silence argues thine accuser's plea?\n\nHYL. Let her go off. Would that a sudden flood\nMight sweep her far and swiftly from mine eye!\nWhy fondle vainly the fair-sounding name\nOf mother, when her acts are all unmotherly?\nLet her begone for me: and may she find\nSuch joy as she hath rendered to my sire!               [_Exit_ HYLLUS\n\nCHORUS.\n        See where falls the doom, of old                           I 1\n        By the unerring Voice foretold,--\n        'When twelve troublous years have rolled,\n        Then shall end your long desire:\n        Toil on toil no more shall tire\n        The offspring of the Eternal Sire.'\n        Lo! the destined Hour is come!\n        Lo! it hath brought its burden home.\n    For when the eyes have looked their last\n    How should sore labour vex again?\n    How, when the powers of will and thought are past,\n    Should life be any more enthralled to pain?\n\n        And if Nessus' withering shroud,                           I 2\n        Wrought by destiny and craft,\n        Steep him in a poisonous cloud.\n        Steaming from the venomed shaft,\n        Which to Death in hideous lair\n        The many-wreathed Hydra bare,\n        How shall he another day\n        Feel the glad warmth of Helios' ray?--\n    Enfolded by the Monster-Thing\n    Of Lerna, while the cruel sting\n    Of the shagg'd Centaur's murderous-guileful tongue\n    Breaks forth withal to do him painful wrong.\n\n        And she, poor innocent, who saw                           II 1\n          Checkless advancing to the gate\n          A mighty harm unto her state,--\n    This rash young bridal without fear of law,--\n    Gave not her will to aught that caused this woe,\n      But since it came through that strange mind's conceiving,--\n      That ruined her in meeting,--deeply grieving,\n    She mourns with dewy tears in tenderest flow.\n    The approaching hour appeareth great with woe:\n    Some guile-born misery doth Fate foreshow.\n\n        The springs of sorrow are unbound,                        II 2\n          And such an agony disclose,\n          As never from the hands of foes\n    To afflict the life of Heracles was found.\n    O dark with battle-stains, world-champion spear,\n      That from Oechalia's highland leddest then\n      This bride that followed swiftly in thy train,\n    How fatally overshadowing was thy fear!\n    But these wild sorrows all too clearly come\n    From Love's dread minister[4], disguised and dumb.\n\nCH. 1.\n    Am I a fool, or do I truly hear\n    Lament new-rising from our master's home?\n    Tell!\n\nCH. 2.\n    Clearly from within a wailing voice\n    Peals piteously. The house hath some fresh woe.\n\nCH. 3.\n    Mark!\n    How strangely, with what cloud upon her brow,\n    Yon aged matron with her tidings moves!\n\n_Enter_ Nurse.\n\nNURSE. Ah! mighty, O my daughters! was the grief\nSprung from the gift to Heracles conveyed!\n\nLEADER OF CH. What new thing is befallen? Why speak'st thou so?\n\nNUR. Our Queen hath found her latest journey's end.\nEven now she is gone, without the help of feet.\n\nCH. Not dead?\n\nNUR.          You know the whole.\n\nCH.                               Dead! hapless Queen!\n\nNUR. The truth hath twice been told.\n\nCH.                                  O tell us how!\nWhat was her death, poor victim of dire woe?\n\nNUR. Most ruthless was the deed.\n\nCH.                              Say, woman, say!\nWhat was the sudden end?\n\nNUR.                     Herself she slew.\n\nCH. What rage, what madness, clutched\nThe mischief-working brand?\nHow could her single thought\nContrive the accomplishment of death on death?\n\nNUR. Chill iron stopped the sources of her breath.\n\nCH. And thou, poor helpless crone, didst see this done?\n\nNUR. Yea, I stood near and saw.\n\nCH.                             How was it? Tell!\n\nNUR. With her own hand this violence was given.\n\nCH. What do I hear?\n\nNUR.                The certainty of truth.\n\nCH. A child is come,\nFrom this new bridal that hath rushed within,\nA fresh-born Fury of woe!\n\nNUR. Too true. But hadst thou been at hand to see\nHer action, pity would have wrung thy soul.\n\nCH. Could this be ventured by a woman's hand?\n\nNUR. Ay, and in dreadful wise, as thou shalt hear.\nWhen all alone she had gone within the gate,\nAnd passing through the court beheld her boy\nSpreading the couch that should receive his sire,\nEre he returned to meet him,--out of sight\nShe hid herself, and fell at the altar's foot,\nAnd loudly cried that she was left forlorn;\nAnd, taking in her touch each household thing\nThat formerly she used, poor lady, wept\nO'er all; and then went ranging through the rooms,\nWhere, if there caught her eye the well-loved form\nOf any of her household, she would gaze\nAnd weep aloud, accusing her own fate\nAnd her abandoned lot, childless henceforth!\nWhen this was ended, suddenly I see her\nFly to the hero's room of genial rest.\nWith unsuspected gaze o'ershadowed near,\nI watched, and saw her casting on the bed\nThe finest sheets of all. When that was done,\nShe leapt upon the couch where they had lain\nAnd sat there in the midst. And the hot flood\nBurst from her eyes before she spake:--'Farewell,\nMy bridal bed, for never more shalt thou\nGive me the comfort I have known thee give.'\nThen with tight fingers she undid her robe,\nWhere the brooch lay before the breast, and bared\nAll her left arm and side. I, with what speed\nStrength ministered, ran forth to tell her son\nThe act she was preparing. But meanwhile,\nEre we could come again, the fatal blow\nFell, and we saw the wound. And he, her boy,\nSeeing, wept aloud. For now the hapless youth\nKnew that himself had done this in his wrath,\nTold all too late i' the house, how she had wrought\nMost innocently, from the Centaur's wit.\nSo now the unhappy one, with passionate words\nAnd cries and wild embracings of the dead,\nGroaned forth that he had slain her with false breath\nOf evil accusation, and was left\nOrphaned of both, his mother and his sire.\n  Such is the state within. What fool is he\nThat counts one day, or two, or more to come?\nTo-morrow is not, till the present day\nIn fair prosperity have passed away.                           [_Exit_\n\nCHORUS.\n      Which shall come first in my wail,                           I 1\n      Which shall be last to prevail,\n    Is a doubt that will never be done.\n\n      Trouble at home may be seen,                                 I 2\n      Trouble is looked for with teen;\n    And to have and to look for are one.\n\n      Would some fair wind                                        II 1\n    But waft me forth to roam\n  Far from the native region of my home,\n  Ere death me find, oppressed with wild affright\n  Even at the sudden sight\n  Of him, the valiant son of Zeus most High!\n  Before the house, they tell, he fareth nigh,\n  A wonder beyond thought,\n  With torment unapproachable distraught.\n\n  Hark! ...                                                       II 2\n  The cause then of my cry\n  Was coming all too nigh:\n  (Doth the clear nightingale lament for nought?)\n  Some step of stranger folk is this way brought.\n  As for a friend they love\n  Heavy and slow with noiseless feet they move.\n  Which way? which way? Ah me! behold him come.\n  His pallid lips are dumb.\n  Dead, or at rest in sleep? What shall I say?\n                     [HERACLES _is brought in on a litter, accompanied\n                                           by_ HYLLUS _and an_ Old Man\n\nHYL. Oh, woe is me!\n  My father, piteous woe for thee!\n  Oh, whither shall I turn my thought! Ah me!\n\nOLD M. Hush! speak not, O my child,\n  Lest torment fierce and wild\n  Rekindle in thy father's rugged breast,\n  And break this rest\n  Where now his life is held at point to fall.\n  With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all.\n\nHYL. Yet tell me, doth he live,\n  Old sir?\n\nOLD M. Wake not the slumberer,\n  Nor kindle and revive\n  The terrible recurrent power of pain,\n  My son!\n\nHYL. My foolish words are done,\n  But my full heart sinks 'neath the heavy strain.\n\nHERACLES. O Father, who are these?\n  What countrymen? Where am I? What far land\n  Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me!\n  Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain!\n\nOLD M. Now thou may'st know\n  'Twas better to have lurked in silent shade\n  And not thus widely throw\n  The slumber from his eyelids and his head.\n\nHYL. I could not brook\n  All speechless on his misery to look.\n\nMONODY.\n\nHER. O altar on the Euboean strand,\n  High-heaped with offerings from my hand,\n  What meed for lavish gifts bestowed\n  From thy new sanctuary hath flowed!\n  Father of Gods! thy cruel power\n  Hath foiled me with an evil blight.\n  Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night\n  Ere madness in a fatal hour\n  Had burst upon them with a blaze,\n  No help or soothing once allays!\n\n  What hand to heal, what voice to charm,\n  Can e'er dispel this hideous harm?\n  Whose skill save thine,\n  Monarch Divine?\n  Mine eyes, if such I saw,\n  Would hail him from afar with trembling awe.\n  Ah! ah!\n  O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest,\n  To sleep my last sleep on Earth's gentle breast.\n  You touch me, you press me, you turn me again,\n  You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain!\n  You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still.\n  It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will!\n\n  Where are ye, men, whom over Hellas wide\n  This arm hath freed, and o'er the ocean-tide,\n  And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing?\n  Yet now in mine affliction none will bring\n  A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire,\n  O most unrighteous! nor to my desire\n  Will come and quench the hateful life I hold\n  With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold?\n\nOLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past\n  My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou!\n  Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast\n  Than mine to save him.\n\nHYL.                     I support him now\n  Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest\n  Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest\n  From torture. None may dream\n  To wield this power, save he, the King supreme.\n\nHER. Son!\n  Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright?\n  It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might,\n  This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain\n  Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again!\n  O Fate! O Athena!--O son, at my word\n  Have pity and slay me with merciful sword!\n\n  Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief\n  Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief\n  Wherewith thy mother, God-abandoned wife,\n  Hath wrought this ruin on her husband's life.\n  O may I see her falling, even so\n  As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe!\n  Sweet Hades, with swift death,\n  Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath!\n\nCH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe,\nRacking our mighty one with mightier pain.\n\nHER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report,\nWith sturdy thews and sinews I have borne,\nBut no such labour hath the Thunderer's wife\nOr sour Eurystheus ever given, as this,\nWhich Oeneus' daughter of the treacherous eye\nHath fastened on my back, this amply-woven\nNet of the Furies, that is breaking me.\nFor, glued unto my side, it hath devoured\nMy flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs\nIt drains the vital channels, and hath drunk\nThe fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame,\nFoiled in the tangle of a viewless bond.\nYet me nor War-host, nor Earth's giant brood,\nNor Centaur's monstrous violence could subdue,\nNor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands\nWhere I have gone, cleansing the world from harms.\nBut a soft woman without manhood's strain\nAlone and weaponless hath conquered me.\nSon, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate\nThy mother's claim beyond thy sire's, but bring\nThyself from out the chambers to my hand\nHer body that hath borne thee, that my heart\nMay be assured, if lesser than my pain\nIt will distress thee to behold her limbs\nWith righteous torment agonized and torn.\nNay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all\nMay pity--me, who, like a tender girl,\nAm heard to weep aloud! This none could say\nHe knew in me of old; for, murmuring not,\nI went with evil fortune, silent still.\nNow, such a foe hath found the woman in me!\n  Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold\nWhat cause I have for crying. Look but here!\nHere is the mystery unveiled. O see!\nYe people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh,\nLook with compassion on my misery!\nAh me!\nAh! ah! Again!\nEven now the hot convulsion of disease\nShoots through my side, and will not let me rest\nFrom this fierce exercise of wearing woe.\nTake me, O King of Night!\nO sudden thunderstroke.\nSmite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart\nOf thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang\nIs tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew,\nIt soars up to the height!\n\n                           O breast and back,\nO shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same\nThat crushed the dweller of the Nemean wild,\nThe lion unapproachable and rude,\nThe oxherd's plague, and Hydra of the lake\nOf Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng\nOf Centaurs,--insolent, unsociable,\nLawless, ungovernable:--the tusked pest\nOf Erymanthine glades; then underground\nPluto's three-headed cur--a perilous fear,\nBorn from the monster-worm; and, on the verge\nOf Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold.\nThese toils and others countless I have tried,\nAnd none hath triumphed o'er me. But to-day,\nJointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked\nThus utterly by imperceptible woe;\nI, proudly named Alcmena's child, and His\nWho reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme!\n  Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here,\nWhere I am nothingness and cannot move,\nShe who hath done this deed shall feel my power.\nLet her come near, that, mastered by my might,\nShe may have this to tell the world, that, dying,\nAs living, I gave punishment to wrong.\n\nCH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress!\nHow thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!\n\nHYL. My father, since thy silence gives me leave,\nStill hear me patiently, though in thy pain!\nFor my request is just. Lend me thy mind\nLess wrathfully distempered than 'tis now;\nElse thou canst never know, where thou art keen\nWith vain resentment and with vain desire\n\nHER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain\nCatch not the sense of thy mysterious talk\n\nHYL. I come to tell thee of my mother's case,\nAnd her involuntary unconscious fault.\n\nHER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother's name,\nThy father's murderess, in my hearing too!\n\nHYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech.\n\nHER. Her faults in former time might well be told.\n\nHYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know.\n\nHER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not.\n\nHYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound.\n\nHER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe.\n\nHYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke.\n\nHER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands.\n\nHYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew.\n\nHER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought!\n\nHYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said.\n\nHER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire!\n\nHYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home,\nShe erred, supposing to enchain thy love.\n\nHER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might?\n\nHYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind\nTo work this charm for heightening thy desire.\n\nHER. O horror, thou art here! I am no more.\nMy day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone!\nI see our plight too plainly. woe is me!\nCome, O my son! --thou hast no more a father,--\nCall to me all the brethren of thy blood,\nAnd poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain\nUnto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell\nWith my last breath what prophecies I know.\n\nHYL. Thy mother is not here, but by the shore\nOf Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place;\nAnd of thy sons, some she hath with her there,\nAnd some inhabit Thebe's citadel.\nBut we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught\nThat may by us be done, will hear, and do.\n\nHER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show\nIf worthily thou art reputed mine.\nNow is time to prove thee. My great father\nForewarned me long ago that I should die\nBy none who lived and breathed, but from the will\nOf one now dwelling in the house of death.\nAnd so this Centaur, as the voice Divine\nThen prophesied, in death hath slain me living.\nAnd in agreement with that ancient word\nI now interpret newer oracles\nWhich I wrote down on going within the grove\nOf the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli,--\nDictated to me by the mystic tongue\nInnumerous, of my Father's sacred tree;\nDeclaring that my ever instant toils\nShould in the time that new hath being and life\nEnd and release me. And I look'd for joy.\nBut the true meaning plainly was my death.--\nNo labour is appointed for the dead.--\nThen, since all argues one event, my son,\nOnce more thou must befriend me, and not wait\nFor my voice goading thee, but of thyself\nSubmit and second my resolve, and know\nFilial obedience for thy noblest rule.\n\nHYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart\nSinks heavily in approaching such a theme.\n\nHER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine.\n\nHYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire?\n\nHER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy.\n\nHYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought.\n\nHER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life.\n\nHYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it.\n\nHER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do.\n\nHYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth.\n\nHER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come.\n\nHYL. It will not come for swerving:--but I pray.\n\nHER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta's topmost height\nThe crag of Zeus?\n\nHYL.              I know it, and full oft\nHave stood there sacrificing.\n\nHER.                          Then even there,\nWith thine own hand uplifting this my body,\nTaking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped\nMuch wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough\nWild olive, lay me on the gathered pile,\nAnd burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame.\nLet not a tear of mourning dim thine eye;\nBut silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine,\nPerform it. Else my curse awaits thee still\nTo weigh thee down when I am lost in night.\n\nHYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue!\n\nHER. 'Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse,\nBe called another's and be no more mine.\n\nHYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this,\nTo be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!\n\nHER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain,\nAnd sole preserver from a life of woe.\n\nHYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre?\n\nHER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest.\n\nHYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee.\n\nHER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood?\n\nHYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this,\nNot scanting labour, I will do my part.\n\nHER. Enough. 'Tis well. And having thus much given\nAdd one small kindness to a list so full.\n\nHYL. How great soe'er it were, it should be done.\n\nHER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.\n\nHYL. Of Iole thou speak'st, or I mistake.\n\nHER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son.\nWhen I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty,\nThink of thine oath to me, and, on my word,\nMake her thy wife: nor let another man\nTake her, but only thou; since she hath lain\nSo near this heart. Obey me, O my boy!\nAnd be thyself the maker of this bond.\nTo spurn at trifles after great things given,\nWere to confound the meed already won.\n\nHYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill!\nBut who could bear to see thee in this mind?\n\nHER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.\n\nHYL. How can I do it, when my mother's death\nAnd thy sad state sprang solely from this girl?\nWho, not possessed with furies, could choose this?\nFar better, father, for me too to die,\nThan to live still with my worst enemy.\n\nHER. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death.\nBut, if thou yield'st not to thy father's best,\nThe curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still.\n\nHYL. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come.\n\nHER. Yea, for thou wak'st the torment that had slept.\n\nHYL. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way!\n\nHER. Because you will reject your father's word.\n\nHYL. Must I be taught impiety from thee?\n\nHER. It is not impious to content my heart.\n\nHYL. Then you require this with an absolute will?\n\nHER. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command.\n\nHYL. Then I will do it, for the act is thine.\nI will not cast it off. Obeying thee,\nMy sire, the Gods will ne'er reprove my deed.\n\nHER. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son,\nAdd the performance swiftly, that, before\nSome spasm or furious onset of my pain\nHave seized me, ye may place me on the pyre.\nCome, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end\nIs near, the last cessation of my woe.\n\nHYL. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire!\nWe tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre.\n\nHER. Stubborn heart, ere yet again\n    Wakes the fierce rebound of pain,\n    While the evil holds aloof,\n    Thou, with bit of diamond proof,\n    Curb thy cry, with forced will\n    Seeming to do gladly still!\n\nHYL. Lift him, men, and hate not me\n    For the evil deeds ye see,\n    Since the Heavens' relentless sway\n    Recks not of the righteous way.\n    He who gave life and doth claim\n    From his seed a Father's name\n    Can behold this hour of blame.\n    Though the future none can tell,\n    Yet the present is not well:\n    Sore for him who bears the blow,\n    Sad for us who feel his woe,\n    Shameful to the Gods, we trow.\n\nCH. Maidens from the palace-hall,\n    Come ye forth, too, at our call!\n    Mighty deaths beyond belief,\n    Many an unknown form of grief,\n    Ye have seen to-day; and nought\n    But the power of Zeus hath wrought.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                             PHILOCTETES\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nODYSSEUS.\nNEOPTOLEMUS.\nCHORUS _of Mariners_.\nPHILOCTETES.\nMessenger, _disguised as a Merchantman_.\nHERACLES, _appearing from the sky_.\n\n\nSCENE. A desert shore of the Island of Lemnos.\n\n\n\n\nIt was fated that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus, the son of\nAchilles, assisted by the bow of Heracles in the hands of Philoctetes.\n\nNow Philoctetes had been rejected by the army because of a trouble in\nhis foot, which made his presence with them insufferable; and had been\ncast away by Odysseus on the island of Lemnos.\n\nBut when the decree of fate was revealed by prophecy, Odysseus\nundertook to bring Philoctetes back, and took with him Neoptolemus,\nwhose ambition could only be gratified through the return of\nPhiloctetes with the bow.\n\nPhiloctetes was resolutely set against returning, and at the opening\nof the drama Neoptolemus is persuaded by Odysseus to take him with\nguile.\n\nBut when Philoctetes appears, the youth's ingenuous nature is so\nwrought upon through pity and remorse, that his sympathy and native\ntruthfulness at length overcome his ambition.\n\nWhen the inward sacrifice is complete, Heracles appears from heaven,\nand by a few words changes the mind of Philoctetes, so that all ends\nwell.\n\n\n\n\n                             PHILOCTETES\n\n\nODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS.\n\nODYSSEUS. This coast of sea-girt Lemnos, where we stand,\nIs uninhabited, untrodden of men.\nAnd here, O noble son of noblest sire,\nAchilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,--\nOrdered by those who had command,--cast forth\nTrachinian Philoctetes, Poeas' son,\nHis foot dark-dripping with a rankling wound;\nWhen with wild cries, that frighted holy rest,\nFilling the camp, he troubled every rite,\nThat none might handle sacrifice, or pour\nWine-offering, but his noise disturbed our peace.\n  But why these words? No moment this for talk,\nLest he discern my coming, and I lose\nThe scheme, wherewith I think to catch him soon.\nNow most behoves thy service, to explore\nThis headland for a cave with double mouth,\nWhose twofold aperture, on wintry days,\nGives choice of sunshine, and in summer noons\nThe breeze wafts slumber through the airy cell.\nThen, something lower down, upon the left,\nUnless 'tis dried, thine eye may note a spring.\nGo near now silently, and make me know\nIf still he persevere, and hold this spot,\nOr have roamed elsewhere, that informed of this\nI may proceed with what remains to say,\nAnd we may act in concert.\n\nNEOPTOLEMUS.               Lord Odysseus,\nThy foremost errand will not task me far.\nMethinks I see the cave whereof thou speakest.\n\nOD. Where? let me see it. Above there, or below?\n\nNEO. Yonder, above. And yet I hear no tread.\n                                  [NEOPTOLEMUS _climbs up to the cave_\n\nOD. Look if he be not lodged in slumber there.\n\nNEO. I find no inmate, but an empty room.\n\nOD. What? no provision for a dwelling-place?\n\nNEO. A bed of leaves for some one harbouring here.\n\nOD. Nought else beneath the roof? Is all forlorn?\n\nNEO. A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman's skill,\nAnd, close at hand, these embers of a fire.\n\nOD. That store is his. I read the token clear.\n\nNEO. Oh! and these festering rags give evidence,\nSteeped as with dressing some malignant sore.\n\nOD. The man inhabits here: I know it now.\nAnd sure he's not far off. How can he range,\nWhose limb drags heavy with an ancient harm?\nBut he's gone, either to bring forage home,\nOr where he hath found some plant of healing power.\nSend therefore thine attendant to look forth,\nLest unawares he find me. All our host\nWere not so fair a prize for him as I.\n\nNEO. My man is going, and shall watch the path.\nWhat more dost thou require of me? Speak on.\n\nOD. Son of Achilles, know that thou art come\nTo serve us nobly, not with strength alone,\nBut, faithful to thy mission, if so be,\nTo do things strange, unwonted to thine ear.\n\nNEO. What dost thou bid me?\n\nOD.                         'Tis thy duty now\nTo entrap the mind of Poeas' son with words.\nWhen he shall ask thee, who and whence thou art,\nDeclare thy name and father. 'Tis not that\nI charge thee to conceal. But for thy voyage,\n'Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean host,\nWith perfect hatred hating them, because\nThey who had drawn thee with strong prayers from home,\nTheir hope for taking Troy, allowed thee not\nThy just demand to have thy father's arms,\nBut, e'er thy coming, wrongly gave them o'er\nUnto Odysseus: and thereon launch forth\nWith boundless execration against me.\nThat will not pain me, but if thou reject\nThis counsel, thou wilt trouble all our host,\nSince, if his bow shall not be ta'en, thy life\nWill ne'er be crowned through Troy's discomfiture.\n  Now let me show, why thine approach to him\nIs safe and trustful as mine cannot be\nThou didst sail forth, not to redeem thine oath,\nNor by constraint, nor with the foremost band.\nAll which reproaches I must bear: and he,\nBut seeing me, while master of his bow,\nWill slay me, and my ruin will be thine.\nThis point then craves our cunning, to acquire\nBy subtle means the irresistible bow--\nThy nature was not framed, I know it well,\nFor speaking falsehood, or contriving harm.\nYet, since the prize of victory is so dear,\nEndure it--We'll be just another day\nBut now, for one brief hour, devote thyself\nTo serve me without shame, and then for aye\nHereafter be the pearl of righteousness.\n\nNEO. The thing that, being named, revolts mine ear,\nSon of Laertes, I abhor to do\n'Tis not my nature, no, nor, as they tell,\nMy father's, to work aught by craft and guile.\nI'll undertake to bring him in by force,\nNot by deceit. For, sure, with his one foot,\nHe cannot be a match for all our crew\nBeing sent, my lord, to serve thee, I am loth\nTo seem rebellious. But I rather choose\nTo offend with honour, than to win by wrong.\n\nOD. Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in youth,\nHad once a slow tongue and an active hand.\nBut since I have proved the world, I clearly see\nWords and not deeds give mastery over men.\n\nNEO. What then is thy command? To lie? No more?\n\nOD. To entangle Philoctetes with deceit.\n\nNEO. Why through deceit? May not persuasion fetch him?\n\nOD. Never. And force as certainly will fail.\n\nNEO. What lends him such assurance of defence?\n\nOD. Arrows, the unerring harbingers of Death.\n\nNEO. Then to go near him is a perilous thing.\n\nOD. Unless with subtlety, as I have said.\n\nNEO. And is not lying shameful to thy soul?\n\nOD. Not if by lying I can save my soul.\n\nNEO. How must one look in speaking such a word?\n\nOD. Where gain invites, this shrinking is not good.\n\nNEO. What gain I through his coming back to Troy?\n\nOD. His arms alone have power to take Troy-town.\n\nNEO. Then am not I the spoiler, as ye said?\n\nOD. Thou without them, they without thee, are powerless.\n\nNEO. If it be so, they must be sought and won.\n\nOD. Yea, for in this two prizes will be thine.\n\nNEO. What? When I learn them, I will not refuse.\n\nOD. Wisdom and valour joined in one good name.\n\nNEO. Shame, to the winds! Come, I will do this thing.\n\nOD. Say, dost thou bear my bidding full in mind?\n\nNEO. Doubt not, since once for all I have embraced it.\n\nOD. Thou, then, await him here. I will retire,\nFor fear my hated presence should be known,\nAnd take back our attendant to the ship.\nAnd then once more, should ye appear to waste\nThe time unduly, I will send again\nThis same man hither in disguise, transformed\nTo the strange semblance of a merchantman;\nFrom dark suggestion of whose crafty tongue,\nThou, O my son, shalt gather timely counsel.\n  Now to my ship. This charge I leave to thee.\nMay secret Hermes guide us to our end,\nAnd civic Pallas, named of victory,\nThe sure protectress of my devious way.\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\n      Strange in the stranger land,                                I 1\n      What shall I speak? What hide\n      From a heart suspicious of ill?\n      Tell me, O master mine!\n      Wise above all is the man,\n      Peerless in searching thought,\n      Who with the Zeus-given wand\n      Wieldeth a Heaven-sent power.\n      This unto thee, dear son,\n      Fraught with ancestral might,\n      This to thy life hath come.\n      Wherefore I bid thee declare,\n      What must I do for thy need?\n\nNEO. Even now methinks thou longest to espy\nNear ocean's marge the place where he doth lie.\nGaze without fear. But when the traveller stern,\nWho from this roof is parted, shall return,\nAdvancing still as I the signal give,\nTo serve each moment's mission thou shalt strive.\n\nCH.   That, O my son, from of old                                  I 2\n      Hath been my care, to take note\n      What by thy beck'ning is told;\n      Still thy success to promote.\n      But for our errand to-day\n      Behoves thee, master, to say\n      Where is the hearth of his home;\n      Or where even now doth he roam?\n      O tell me, lest all unaware\n      He spring like a wolf from his lair\n      And I by surprise should be ta'en,\n      Where doth he move or remain,\n      Here lodging, or wandering away?\n\nNEO. Thou seest yon double doorway of his cell,\nPoor habitation of the rock.\n\nCH. 2.                       But tell\nWhere is the pain-worn wight himself abroad?\n\nNEO. To me 'tis clear, that, in his quest for food,\nHere, not far off, he trails yon furrowed path.\nFor, so 'tis told, this mode the sufferer hath\nOf sustenance, oh hardness! bringing low\nWild creatures with wing'd arrows from his bow;\nNor findeth healer for his troublous woe.\n\nCH.     I feel his misery.                                        II 1\n        With no companion eye,\n        Far from all human care,\n        He pines with fell disease;\n        Each want he hourly sees\n        Awakening new despair.\n        How can he bear it still?\n        O cruel Heavens! O pain\n        Of that afflicted mortal train\n        Whose life sharp sorrows fill!\n\n        Born in a princely hall,                                  II 2\n        Highest, perchance, of all,\n        Now lies he comfortless\n        Alone in deep distress,\n        'Mongst rough and dappled brutes,\n        With pangs and hunger worn;\n        While from far distance shoots,\n        On airy pinion borne,\n        The unbridled Echo, still replying\n        To his most bitter crying.\n\nNEO. At nought of this I marvel--for if I\nJudge rightly, there assailed him from on high\nThat former plague through Chrysa's cruel sting[1]:\nAnd if to-day he suffer anything\nWith none to soothe, it must be from the will\nOf some great God, so caring to fulfil\nThe word of prophecy, lest he should bend\nOn Troy the shaft no mortal may forfend,\nBefore the arrival of Troy's destined hour,\nWhen she must fall, o'er-mastered by their power.\n\nCH. 1. Hush, my son!                                             III 1\n\nNEO.                 Why so?\n\nCH. 1.                       A sound\nGendered of some mortal woe,\nStarted from the neighbouring ground.\nHere, or there? Ah! now I know.\nHark! 'tis the voice of one in pain,\nTravelling hardly, the deep strain\nOf human anguish, all too clear,\nThat smites my heart, that wounds mine ear.\n\nCH. 2. From far it peals. But thou, my son!                      III 2\n\nNEO. What?\n\nCH. 2.     Think again. He moveth nigh:\nHe holds the region: not with tone\nOf piping shepherd's rural minstrelsy,\nBut belloweth his far cry,\nStumbling perchance with mortal pain,\n  Or else in wild amaze,\n  As he our ship surveys\nUnwonted on the inhospitable main.\n\n_Enter_ PHILOCTETES.\n\nPHILOCTETES. Ho!\nWhat men are ye that to this desert shore,\nHarbourless, uninhabited, are come\nOn shipboard? Of what country or what race\nShall I pronounce ye? For your outward garb\nIs Grecian, ever dearest to this heart\nThat hungers now to hear your voices' tune.\nAh! do not fear me, do not shrink away\nFrom my wild looks: but, pitying one so poor,\nForlorn and desolate in nameless woe,\nSpeak, if with friendly purpose ye are come.\nOh answer! 'Tis not meet that I should lose\nThis kindness from your lips, or ye from mine.\n\nNEO. Then know this first, O stranger, as thou wouldest,\nThat we are Greeks.\n\nPHI.                O dear, dear name! Ah me!\nIn all these years, once, only once, I hear it!\nMy son, what fairest gale hath wafted thee?\nWhat need hath brought thee to the shore? What mission?\nDeclare all this, that I may know thee well.\n\nNEO. The sea-girt Scyros is my native home.\nThitherward I make voyage:--Achilles' son,\nNamed Neoptolemus.--I have told thee all.\n\nPHI. Dear is that shore to me, dear is thy father\nO ancient Lycomedes' foster-child,\nWhence cam'st thou hither? How didst thou set forth?\n\nNEO. From Troy we made our course in sailing hither.\n\nPHI. How? Sure thou wast not with us, when at first\nWe launched our vessels on the Troyward way?\n\nNEO. Hadst thou a share in that adventurous toil?\n\nPHI. And know'st thou not whom thou behold'st in me,\nYoung boy?\n\nNEO.       How should I know him whom I ne'er\nSet eye on?\n\nPHI.        Hast not even heard my name,\nNor echoing rumour of my ruinous woe?\n\nNEO. Nay, I know nought of all thy questioning.\n\nPHI. How full of griefs am I, how Heaven-abhorred,\nWhen of my piteous state no faintest sound\nHath reached my home, or any Grecian land!\nBut they, who pitilessly cast me forth,\nKeep silence and are glad, while this my plague\nBlooms ever, and is strengthened more and more.\nBoy, great Achilles' offspring, in this form\nThou seest the man, of whom, methinks, erewhile\nThou hast been told, to whom the Herculean bow\nDescended, Philoctetes, Poeas' son;\nWhom the two generals and the Ithacan king\nCast out thus shamefully forlorn, afflicted\nWith the fierce malady and desperate wound\nMade by the cruel basilisk's murderous tooth.\nWith this for company they left me, child!\nExposed upon this shore, deserted, lone.\n  From seaward Chrysa came they with their fleet\nAnd touched at Lemnos. I had fallen to rest\nFrom the long tossing, in a shadowy cave\nOn yonder cliff by the shore. Gladly they saw,\nAnd left me, having set forth for my need,\nPoor man, some scanty rags, and a thin store\nOf provender. Such food be theirs, I pray!\nImagine, O my son, when they were gone,\nWhat wakening, what arising, then was mine;\nWhat weeping, what lamenting of my woe!\nWhen I beheld the ships, wherewith I sailed,\nGone, one and all! and no man in the place,\nNone to bestead me, none to comfort me\nIn my sore sickness. And where'er I looked,\nNought but distress was present with me still.\nNo lack of that, for one thing!--Ah! my son,\nTime passed, and there I found myself alone\nWithin my narrow lodging, forced to serve\nEach pressing need. For body's sustenance\nThis bow supplied me with sufficient store,\nWounding the feathered doves, and when the shaft,\nFrom the tight string, had struck, myself, ay me!\nDragging this foot, would crawl to my swift prey.\nThen water must be fetched, and in sharp frost\nWood must be found and broken,--all by me.\nNor would fire come unbidden, but with flint\nFrom flints striking dim sparks, I hammered forth\nThe struggling flame that keeps the life in me.\nFor houseroom with the single help of fire\nGives all I need, save healing for my sore.\n  Now learn, my son, the nature of this isle.\nNo mariner puts in here willingly.\nFor it hath neither moorage, nor sea-port,\nFor traffic or kind shelter or good cheer.\nNot hitherward do prudent men make voyage.\nPerchance one may have touched against his will.\nMany strange things may happen in long time.\nThese, when they come, in words have pitied me,\nAnd given me food, or raiment, in compassion.\nBut none is willing, when I speak thereof,\nTo take me safely home. Wherefore I pine\nNow this tenth year, in famine and distress,\nFeeding the hunger of my ravenous plague.\n  Such deeds, my son, the Atridae, and the might\nOf sage Odysseus, have performed on me.\nWherefore may all the Olympian gods, one day,\nPlague them with stern requital for my wrong!\n\nCH. Methinks my feeling for thee, Poeas' child,\nIs like that of thy former visitants.\n\nNEO. I, too, a witness to confirm his words,\nKnow them for verities, since I have found\nThe Atridae and Odysseus evil men.\n\nPHI. Art thou, too, wroth with the all-pestilent sons\nOf Atreus? Have they given thee cause to grieve?\n\nNEO. Would that my hand might ease the wrath I feel!\nThen Sparta and Mycenae should be ware\nThat Scyros too breeds valiant sons for war.\n\nPHI. Brave youth! I love thee. Tell me the great cause\nWhy thou inveighest against them with such heat?\n\nNEO. O son of Poeas, hardly shall I tell\nWhat outrage I endured when I had come;\nYet I will speak it. When the fate of death\nO'ertook Achilles--\n\nPHI.                Out, alas! no more!\nHold, till thou first hast made me clearly know,\nIs Peleus' offspring dead?\n\nNEO.                       Alas! he is,\nSlain by no mortal, felled by Phoebus' shaft:\nSo men reported--\n\nPHI.              Well, right princely was he!\nAnd princely is he who slew him. Shall I mourn\nHim first, or wait till I have heard thy tale?\n\nNEO. Methinks thou hast thyself enough to mourn,\nWithout the burden of another's woe.\n\nPHI. Well spoken. Then renew thine own complaint,\nAnd tell once more wherein they insulted thee.\n\nNEO. There came to fetch me, in a gallant ship,\nOdysseus and the fosterer of my sire[2],\nSaying, whether soothly, or in idle show,\nThat, since my father perished, it was known\nNone else but I should take Troy's citadel.\nSuch words from them, my friend, thou may'st believe,\nHeld me not long from making voyage with speed,\nChiefly through longing for my father's corse,\nTo see him yet unburied,--for I ne'er\nHad seen him[3]. Then, besides, 'twas a fair cause,\nIf, by my going, I should vanquish Troy.\nOne day I had sailed, and on the second came\nTo sad Sigeum with wind-favoured speed,\nWhen straightway all the host, surrounding me\nAs I set foot on shore, saluted me,\nAnd swore the dead Achilles was in life,\nTheir eyes being witness, when they looked on me.\nHe lay there in his shroud: but I, unhappy,\nSoon ending lamentation for the dead,\nWent near to those Atridae, as to friends,\nTo obtain my father's armour and all else\nThat had been his. And then,--alas the while,\nThat men should be so hard!--they spake this word:\n'Seed of Achilles, thou may'st freely take\nAll else thy father owned, but for those arms,\nAnother wields them now, Laertes' son.'\nTears rushed into mine eyes, and in hot wrath\nI straightway rose, and bitterly outspake:\n'O miscreant! What? And have ye dared to give\nMine arms to some man else, unknown to me?'\nThen said Odysseus, for he chanced to be near,\n'Yea, child, and justly have they given me these.\nI saved them and their master in the field.'\nThen in fierce anger all at once I launched\nAll terms of execration at his head,\nBating no word, being maddened by the thought\nThat I should lose this heirloom,--and to him!\nHe, at this pass, though not of wrathful mood,\nStung by such utterance, made rejoinder thus:\n'Thou wast not with us here, but wrongfully\nDidst bide afar. And, since thou mak'st so bold,\nI tell thee, never shalt thou, as thou sayest,\nSail with these arms to Scyros.'--Thus reviled,\nWith such an evil echo in mine ear,\nI voyage homeward, robbed of mine own right\nBy that vile offset of an evil tree[4].\nYet less I blame him than the men in power.\nFor every multitude, be it army or state,\nTakes tone from those who rule it, and all taint\nOf disobedience from bad counsel springs.\nI have spoken. May the Atridae's enemy\nBe dear to Heaven, as he is loved by me!\n\nCH.   Mother of mightiest Zeus,                                      1\n            Feeder of all that live,\n            Who from thy mountainous breast\n            Rivers of gold dost give!\n      To thee, O Earth, I cried that shameful day,\n      When insolence from Atreus' sons went forth\n      Full on our lord: when they bestowed away\n      His father's arms to crown Odysseus' worth;\n      Thou, whom bull-slaughtering lions yoked bear,\n            O mighty mother, hear!\n\nPHI. Your coming is commended by a grief\nThat makes you kindly welcome. For I feel\nA chord that vibrates to your voice, and tells,\nThus have Odysseus and the Atridae wrought.\nFull well I know, Odysseus' poisoned tongue\nShrinks from no mischief nor no guileful word\nThat leads to bad achievement in the end.\nThis moves not my main marvel, but if one\nSaw this and bore it,--Aias of the shield.\n\nNEO. Ah, friend, he was no more. Had he but lived,\nThis robbery had ne'er been wrought on me.\n\nPHI. What? Is he too departed?\n\nNEO.                           He is dead.\nThe light no more beholds him.\n\nPHI.                           Oh! alas!\nBut Tydeus' offspring, and the rascal birth\nLaertes bought of Sisyphus, they live:\nI know it. For their death were to be wished.\n\nNEO. Yea, be assured, they live and flourish high\nExalted in the host of Argive men.\n\nPHI. And Nestor, my old friend, good aged man,\nIs he yet living? Oft he would prevent\nTheir evils, by the wisdom of his thought.\n\nNEO. He too is now in trouble, having lost\nAntilochus, the comfort of his age.\n\nPHI. There, there! In one brief word thou hast revealed\nThe mournful case of twain, whom I would last\nHave chosen to hear of as undone. Ah me!\nWhere must one look? when these are dead, and he,\nOdysseus, lives,--and in a time like this,\nThat craves their presence, and his death for theirs.\n\nNEO. He wrestles cleverly; but, O my friend,\nEven ablest wits are ofttimes snared at last.\n\nPHI. Tell me, I pray, what was become of him,\nPatroclus, whom thy father loved so well?\n\nNEO. He, too, was gone. I'll teach thee in a word\nOne truth for all. War doth not willingly\nSnatch off the wicked, but still takes the good.\n\nPHI. True! and to prove thy saying, I will inquire\nThe fate of a poor dastard, of mean worth,\nBut ever shrewd and nimble with his tongue.\n\nNEO. Whom but Odysseus canst thou mean by this?\n\nPHI. I meant not him. But there was one Thersites,\nWho ne'er made conscience to stint speech, where all\nCried 'Silence!' Is he living, dost thou know?\n\nNEO. I saw him not, but knew he was alive.\n\nPHI. He must be: for no evil yet was crushed.\nThe Heavens will ever shield it. 'Tis their sport\nTo turn back all things rancorous and malign\nFrom going down to the grave, and send instead\nThe good and true. Oh, how shall we commend\nSuch dealings, how defend them? When I praise\nThings god-like, I find evil in the Gods.\n\nNEO. I, O thou child of a Trachinian sire,\nHenceforth will take good care, from far away\nTo look on Troy and Atreus' children twain.\nYea, where the trickster lords it o'er the just,\nAnd goodness languishes and rascals rule,\n--Such courses I will nevermore endure.\nBut rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall suffice\nTo yield me full contentment in my home.\nNow, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas' child,\nFarewell, right heartily farewell! May Heaven\nGrant thy desire, and rid thee of thy plague!\nLet us be going, that when God shall give\nFair voyage, that moment we may launch away.\n\nPHI. My son, are ye now setting forth?\n\nNEO.                                   Our time\nBids us go near and look to sail erelong.\n\nPHI. Now, by thy father, by thy mother,--nay,\nBy all thy love e'er cherished in thy home,\nSuppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone,\nForlorn in all my misery which thou seest,\nIn all thou hast heard of here surrounding me!\nStow me with other freightage. Full of care,\nI know, and burdensome the charge may prove.\nYet venture! Surely to the noble mind\nAll shame is hateful and all kindness blest.\nAnd shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here\nBut, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame,\nWhen I return alive to Oeta's vale.\nCome, 'tis the labour not of one whole day.\nSo thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt\nO' the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe'er\nI least may trouble those on board with me.\nAh! by great Zeus, the suppliant's friend, comply,\nMy son, be softened! See, where I am fall'n\nThus on my knees before thee, though so weak,\nCrippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not\nThus far from human footstep. Take me, take me!\nIf only to thy home, or to the town\nOf old Chalcodon[5] in Euboea.--From thence\nI have not far to Oeta, and the ridge\nOf Trachis, and Spercheius' lordly flood.\nSo thou shalt bless my father with my sight.\nAnd yet long since I fear he may be gone.\nFor oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men\nWho touched this isle, entreating him to fetch\nAnd bear me safely home with his own crew.\nBut either he is dead, or else, methinks,\nIt well may be, my messengers made light\nOf my concerns, and hastened onward home.\nBut now in thee I find both messenger\nAnd convoy, thou wilt pity me and save.\nFor, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps,\nAnd fear of dark reverse is always nigh.\nMortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks,\nAnd in their happiest hour consider well\nTheir life, lest ruin unsuspected come.\n\nCH. Pity him, O my king!                                             2\n          Many a crushing woe\n          He telleth, such as I pray\n          None of my friends may know.\n    And if, dear master, thou mislikest sore\n    Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,\n    Turning their plan of evil to his good,\n    On swift ship bear him to his native shore,\n    Meeting his heart's desire; and free thy path\n          From fear of heavenly wrath.\n\nNEO. Thou mak'st small scruple here; but be advised:\nLest, when this plague on board shall weary thee,\nThy voice should alter from this liberal tone.\n\nCH. No, truly! Fear not thou shalt ever have\nJust cause to utter such reproach on me.\n\nNEO. Then sure 'twere shame, should I more backward prove\nThan thou, to labour for the stranger's need.\nCome, if thou wilt, let us make voyage, and he,\nLet him set forth with speed. Our ship shall take him.\nHe shall not be refused. Only may Heaven\nLead safely hence and to our destined port!\n\nPHI. O morning full of brightness! Kindest friend,\nSweet mariners, how can I make you feel,\nIn act, how dearly from my heart I love you!\nYe have won my soul. Let us be gone, my son,--\nFirst having said farewell to this poor cave,\nMy homeless dwelling-place, that thou may'st know,\nHow barely I have lived, how firm my heart!\nMethinks another could not have endured\nThe very sight of what I bore. But I\nThrough strong necessity have conquered pain.\n\nCH. Stay: let us understand. There come two men\nA stranger, with a shipmate of thy crew.\nWhen ye have heard them, ye may then go in.\n\n_Enter_ Messenger, _disguised as a merchantman_.\n\nMERCHANTMAN. Son of Achilles, my companion here,\nWho with two more remained to guard thy ship,\nAgreed to help me find thee where thou wert,\nSince unexpectedly, through fortune's will,\nI meet thee, mooring by the self-same shore.\nFor like a merchantman, with no great sail,\nMaking my course from Ilion to my home,\nGrape-clustered Peparethos, when I heard\nThe mariners declare that one and all\nWere of thy crew, I would not launch again,\nWithout a word, till we had told our news.--\nMethinks thou knowest nought of thine own case,\nWhat new devices of the Argive chiefs\nSurround thee; nor devices only now,\nBut active deeds, no longer unperformed.\n\nNEO. Well, stranger, for the kindness thou hast shown,--\nElse were I base,--my heart must thank thee still.\nBut tell me what thou meanest, that I may learn\nWhat new-laid plot thou bring'st me from the camp.\n\nMER. Old Phoenix, Acamas and Demophon\nAre gone in thy pursuit with ships and men.\n\nNEO. To bring me back with reasons or perforce?\n\nMER. I know not. What I heard, I am here to tell.\n\nNEO. How? And is this in act? Are they set forth\nTo please the Atridae, Phoenix and the rest?\n\nMER. The thing is not to do, but doing now.\n\nNEO. What kept Odysseus back, if this be so,\nFrom going himself? Had he some cause for fear?\n\nMER. He and the son of Tydeus, when our ship\nHoist sail, were gone to fetch another man.\n\nNEO. For whom could he himself be sailing forth?\n\nMER. For some one,--but first tell me, whispering low\nWhate'er thou speakest,--who is this I see?\n\nNEO. (_speaking aloud_).\nThis, sir, is Philoctetes the renowned.\n\nMER. (_aside to_ NEOPTOLEMUS).\nWithout more question, snatch thyself away\nAnd sail forth from this land.\n\nPHI.                           What saith he, boy?\nThrough what dark traffic is the mariner\nBetraying me with whispering in thine ear?\n\nNEO. I have not caught it, but whate'er he speaks\nHe must speak openly to us and thee.\n\nMER. Seed of Achilles, let me not offend\nThe army by my words! Full many a boon,\nBeing poor, I reap from them for service done.\n\nNEO. The Atridae are my foes; the man you see\nIs my fast friend, because he hates them sore.\nThen, if you come in kindness, you must hide\nNothing from him or me of all thou hast heard.\n\nMER. Look what thou doest, my son!\n\nNEO.                               I mark it well.\n\nMER. Thou shalt be answerable.\n\nNEO.                           Content: but speak.\n\nMER. Then hear me. These two men whom I have named,\nDiomedes and Odysseus, are set forth\nEngaged on oath to bring this man by force\nIf reasons fail. The Achaeans every one\nHave heard this plainly from Odysseus' mouth.\nHe was the louder and more confident.\n\nNEO. Say, for what cause, after so long a time,\nCan Atreus' sons have turned their thoughts on him,\nWhom long they had cast forth? What passing touch\nOf conscience moved them, or what stroke from Heaven,\nWhose wrath requites all wicked deeds of men?\n\nMER. Methinks thou hast not heard what I will now\nUnfold to thee. There was a princely seer,\nA son of Priam, Helenus by name,\nWhom he for whom no word is bad enough,\nCrafty Odysseus, sallying forth alone\nOne night, had taken, and in bonds displayed\n'Fore all the Achaeans, a right noble prey.\nHe, 'mid his other prophecies, foretold\nNo Grecian force should sack Troy's citadel,\nTill with fair reasons they had brought this man\nFrom Lemnos isle, his lonely dwelling-place.\n  When thus the prophet spake, Laertes' son\nStraight undertook to fetch this man, and show him\nTo all the camp:--he hoped, with fair consent:\nBut else, perforce.--And, if he failed in this,\nWhoever would might smite him on the head.\n  My tale is told, dear youth. I counsel speed\nTo thee and to the friend for whom thou carest.\n\nPHI. Ah me, unhappy! has that rascal knave\nSworn to fetch me with reasons to their camp?\nAs likely might his reasons bring me back,\nLike his begetter, from the house of death.\n\nMER. You talk of what I know not. I will go\nShipward. May God be with you for all good.                    [_Exit_\n\nPHI. Is not this terrible, Laertes' son\nShould ever think to bring me with soft words\nAnd show me from his deck to all their host?\nNo! Sooner will I listen to the tongue\nOf the curs'd basilisk that thus hath maim'd me.\n  Ay, but he'll venture anything in word\nOr deed. And now I know he will be here.\nCome, O my son, let us be gone, while seas\nAnd winds divide us from Odysseus' ship.\nLet us depart. Sure timely haste brings rest\nAnd quiet slumber when the toil is done.\n\nNEO. Shall we not sail when this south-western wind\nHath fallen, that now is adverse to our course?\n\nPHI. All winds are fair to him who flies from woe.\n\nNEO. Nay, but this head-wind hinders them no less.\n\nPHI. No head-wind hinders pirates on their way,\nWhen violence and rapine lead them on.\n\nNEO. Well, then, let us be going, if you will;\nWhen you have taken from within the cave\nWhat most you need and value.\n\nPHI.                          Though my all\nBe little, there is that I may not lose.\n\nNEO. What can there be that we have not on board?\n\nPHI. A leaf I have found, wherewith I still the rage\nOf my sore plague, and lull it quite to rest.\n\nNEO. Well, bring it forth.--What? Is there something more?\n\nPHI. If any of these arrows here are fallen,\nI would not leave them for a casual prey.\n\nNEO. How? Do I see thee with the marvellous bow?\n\nPHI. Here in my hand. The world hath only one.\n\nNEO. And may one touch and handle it, and gaze\nWith reverence, as on a thing from Heaven?\n\nPHI. Thou mayest, my son. This and whate'er of mine\nMay stead thee, 'tis thy privilege to enjoy.\n\nNEO. In very truth I long for it, but so,\nThat longing waits on leave. Am I permitted?\n\nPHI. Thou art, my son,--and well thou speakest,--thou art.\nThou, that hast given me light and life, the joy\nOf seeing Mount Oeta and my father's home,\nWith all I love there, and his aged head,--\nThou that hast raised me far above my foes\nWho triumphed! Thou may'st take it in thine hand,\nAnd,--when thou hast given it back to me,--may'st vaunt\nAlone of mortals for thine excellence\nTo have held this in thy touch. I, too, at first,\nReceived it as a boon for kindness done.\n\nNEO. Well, go within.\n\nPHI.                  Nay, I must take thee too.\nMy sickness craves thee for its comforter.\n                               [PHILOCTETES _and_ NEOPTOLEMUS _go into\n                                                             the cave_\n\nCHORUS.\n    In fable I have heard,                                         I 1\n    Though sight hath ne'er confirmed the word,\n    How he who attempted once the couch supreme,\n    To a whirling wheel by Zeus the all-ruler bound,\n    Tied head and heel, careering ever round,\n    Atones his impious unsubstantial dream.\n    Of no man else, through eye or ear,\n    Have I discerned a fate more full of fear\n    Than yonder sufferer's of the cureless wound:\n    Who did no violence, defrauded none:--\n    A just man, had he dwelt among the just\n    Unworthily behold him thrust\n    Alone to hear the billows roar\n    That break around a rugged shore!\nHow could he live, whose life was thus consumed with moan?\n\n    Where neighbour there was none:                                I 2\n    No arm to stay him wandering lone,\n    Unevenly, with stumbling steps and sore;\n    No friend in need, no kind inhabitant,\n    To minister to his importunate want,\n    No heart whereto his pangs he might deplore.\n    None who, whene'er the gory flow\n    Was rushing hot, might healing herbs bestow,\n    Or cull from teeming Earth some genial plant\n    To allay the anguish of malignant pain\n    And soothe the sharpness of his poignant woe.\n    Like infant whom the nurse lets go,\n    With tottering movement here and there,\n    He crawled for comfort, whensoe'er\nHis soul-devouring plague relaxed its cruel strain.\n\n  Not fed with foison of all-teeming Earth                        II 1\n  Whence we sustain us, ever-toiling men,\n  But only now and then\nWith winged things, by his wing'd shafts brought low,\n  He stayed his hunger from his bow.\n  Poor soul, that never through ten years of dearth\n  Had pleasure from the fruitage of the vine,\n  But seeking to some standing pool,\n            Nor clear nor cool,\nFoul water heaved to head for lack of heartening wine.\n\n  But now, consorted with the hero's child,                       II 2\n  He winneth greatness and a joyful change;\n  Over the water wild\nBorne by a friendly bark beneath the range\n  Of Oeta, where Spercheius fills\n  Wide channels winding among lovely hills\n  Haunted of Melian nymphs, till he espies\n  The roof-tree of his father's hall,\n            And high o'er all\nShines the bronze shield of him, whose home is in the skies[6].\n                         [NEOPTOLEMUS _comes out of the cave, followed\n                                             by_ PHILOCTETES _in pain_\n\nNEO. Prithee, come on! Why dost thou stand aghast,\nVoiceless, and thus astonied in thine air?\n\nPHI. Oh! oh!\n\nNEO.         What?\n\nPHI.               Nothing. Come my son, fear nought.\n\nNEO. Is pain upon thee? Hath thy trouble come?\n\nPHI. No pain, no pain! 'Tis past; I am easy now.\nYe heavenly powers!\n\nNEO.                Why dost thou groan aloud,\nAnd cry to Heaven?\n\nPHI.               To come and save. Kind Heaven!\nOh, oh!\n\nNEO.    What is 't? Why silent? Wilt not speak?\nI see thy misery.\n\nPHI.              Oh! I am lost, my son!\nI cannot hide it from you. Oh! it shoots,\nIt pierces. Oh unhappy! Oh! my woe!\nI am lost, my son, I am devoured. Oh me!\nOh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Pain! pain! Oh pain! oh pain!\nChild, if a sword be to thine hand, smite hard,\nShear off my foot! heed not my life! Quick, come!\n\nNEO. What hath so suddenly arisen, that thus\nThou mak'st ado and groanest o'er thyself?\n\nPHI. Thou knowest.\n\nNEO.               What know I?\n\nPHI.                            O! thou knowest, my son!\n\nNEO. I know not.\n\nPHI.             How? Not know? Ah me! Pain, pain!\n\nNEO. Thy plague is a sore burden, heavy and sore.\n\nPHI. Sore? 'Tis unutterable. Have pity on me!\n\nNEO. What shall I do?\n\nPHI.                  Do not in fear forsake me.\nThis wandering evil comes in force again,\nHungry as ere it fed.\n\nNEO.                  O hapless one!\nThrice hapless in thy manifold distress!\nWhat wilt thou? Shall I raise thee on mine arm?\n\nPHI. Nay, but receiving from my hand the bow,\nAs late thou didst desire me, keep it safe\nAnd guard it, till the fury of my pain\nPass over me and cease. For when 'tis spent,\nSlumber will seize me, else it ne'er would end.\nI must sleep undisturbed. But if meanwhile\nThey come,--by Heaven I charge thee, in no wise,\nWillingly nor perforce, let them have this!\nElse thou wilt be the slayer of us both;\nOf me thy suppliant, and of thyself.\n\nNEO. Fear not my care. No hand shall hold these arms\nBut thine and mine. Give, and Heaven bless the deed!\n\nPHI. I give them; there, my son! But look to Heaven\nAnd pray no envy smite thee, nor such bane\nIn having them, as fell on me and him\nWho bore them formerly.\n\nNEO.                    O grant it, Gods!\nAnd grant us fair and happy voyage, where'er\nOur course is shaped and righteous Heaven shall guide.\n\nPHI. Ah! but I fear, my son, thy prayer is vain:\nFor welling yet again from depths within,\nThis gory ooze is dripping. It will come!\nI know it will. O, foot, torn helpless thing,\nWhat wilt thou do to me? Ah! ah! It comes,\nIt is at hand. 'Tis here! Woe's me, undone!\nI have shown you all. Stay near me. Go not far:\nAh! ah!\nO island king, I would this agony\nMight cleave thy bosom through and through! Woe, woe!\nWoe! Ah! ye two commanders of the host,\nAgamemnon, Menelaues, O that ye,\nAnother ten years' durance in my room\nMight nurse this malady! O Death, Death, Death!\nI call thee daily--wilt thou never come?\nWill it not be?--My son, thou noble boy,\nIf thou art noble, take and burn me there\nAloft in yon all-worshipped Lemnian fire!\nYea, when the bow thou keep'st was my reward,\nI did like service for the child of Heaven.\nHow now, my son?\nWhat say'st? Art silent? Where--where art thou, boy?\n\nNEO. My heart is full, and groaning o'er thy woes.\n\nPHI. Nay, yet have comfort. This affliction oft\nGoes no less swiftly than it came. I pray thee,\nStand fast and leave me not alone!\n\nNEO.                               Fear nought.\nWe will not stir.\n\nPHI.              Wilt thou remain?\n\nNEO.                                Be sure of it.\n\nPHI. I'll not degrade thee with an oath, my son.\n\nNEO. Rest satisfied. I may not go without thee.\n\nPHI. Thy hand, to pledge me that!\n\nNEO.                              There, I will stay.\n\nPHI. Now, now, aloft!\n\nNEO.                  Where mean'st thou?\n\nPHI.                                      Yonder aloft!\n\nNEO. Whither? Thou rav'st. Why starest thou at the sky?\n\nPHI. Now, let me go.\n\nNEO.                 Where?\n\nPHI.                        Let me go, I say!\n\nNEO. I will not.\n\nPHI.             You will kill me. Let me go!\n\nNEO. Well, thou know'st best I hold thee not.\n\nPHI.                                          O Earth,\nI die. receive me to thy breast! This pain\nSubdues me utterly, I cannot stand.\n\nNEO. Methinks he will be fast in slumber soon\nThat head sinks backward, and a clammy sweat\nBathes all his limbs, while from his foot hath burst\nA vein, dark bleeding. Let us leave him, friends,\nIn quietness, till he hath fallen to sleep.\n\nCHORUS\n    Lord of the happiest life,                                       I\n    Sleep, thou that know'st not strife,\n        That know'st not grief,\n    Still wafting sure relief,\n        Come, saviour now!\n    Thy healing balm is spread\n    Over this pain worn head,\nQuench not the beam that gives calm to his brow.\n\n    Look, O my lord, to thy path,\n    Either to go or to stay\n    How is my thought to proceed?\n    What is our cause for delay?\n    Look! Opportunity's power,\n    Fitting the task to the hour,\n    Giveth the race to the swift.\n\nNEO. He hears not. But I see that to have ta'en\nHis bow without him were a bootless gain\nHe must sail with us. So the god hath said\nHeaven hath decreed this garland for his head:\nAnd to have failed with falsehood were a meed\nOf shameful soilure for a shameless deed.\n\nCH. God shall determine the end--                                   II\n    But for thine answer, friend,\n        Waft soft words low!\n    All sick men's sleep, we know,\n        Hath open eye;\n    Their quickly ruffling mind\n    Quivers in lightest wind,\nSleepless in slumber new danger to spy.\n\n    Think, O my lord, of thy path,\n    Secretly look forth afar,\n    What wilt thou do for thy need?\n    How with the wise wilt thou care?\n    If toward the nameless thy heart\n    Chooseth this merciful part,\n    Huge are the dangers that drift.\n\nThe wind is fair, my son, the wind is fair,\nThe man is dark and helpless, stretched in night.\n(O kind, warm sleep that calmest human care!)\nPowerless of hand and foot and ear and sight,\nBlind, as one lying in the house of death.\n(Think well if here thou utterest timely breath.)\nThis, O my son, is all my thought can find,\nBest are the toils that without frightening bind.\n\nNEO. Hush! One word more were madness. He revives.\nHis eye hath motion. He uplifts his head.\n\nPHI. Fair daylight following sleep, and ye, dear friends,\nFaithful beyond all hope in tending me!\nI never could have dreamed that thou, dear youth,\nCouldst thus have borne my sufferings and stood near\nSo full of pity to relieve my pain.\nNot so the worthy generals of the host;--\nThis princely patience was not theirs to show.\nOnly thy noble nature, nobly sprung,\nMade light of all the trouble, though oppressed\nWith fetid odours and unceasing cries.\nAnd now, since this my plague would seem to yield\nSome pause and brief forgetfulness of pain,\nWith thine own hand, my son, upraise me here,\nAnd set me on my feet, that, when my strength\nAfter exhaustion shall return again,\nWe may move shoreward and launch forth with speed.\n\nNEO. I feel unhoped-for gladness when I see\nThy painless gaze, and hear thy living breath,\nFor thine appearance and surroundings both\nWere deathlike. But arise! Or, if thou wilt,\nThese men shall raise thee. For they will not shrink\nFrom toil which thou and I at once enjoin.\n\nPHI. Right, right, my son! But lift me thine own self,\nAs I am sure thou meanest. Let these be,\nLest they be burdened with the noisome smell\nBefore the time. Enough for them to bear\nThe trouble on board.\n\nNEO.                  I will; stand up, endure!\n\nPHI. Fear not. Old habit will enable me.\n\nNEO. O me!\nWhat shall I do? Now 'tis my turn to exclaim!\n\nPHI. What canst thou mean? What change is here, my son?\n\nNEO. I know not how to shift the troublous word.\n'Tis hopeless.\n\nPHI.           What is hopeless? Speak not so,\nDear child!\n\nNEO.        But so my wretched lot hath fallen.\n\nPHI. Ah! Can it be, the offence of my disease\nHath moved thee not to take me now on board?\n\nNEO. All is offence to one who hath forced himself\nFrom the true bent to an unbecoming deed.\n\nPHI. Nought misbecoming to thyself or sire\nDoest thou or speak'st, befriending a good man.\n\nNEO. My baseness will appear. That wrings my soul.\n\nPHI. Not in thy deeds. But for thy words, I fear me!\n\nNEO. O Heaven! Must double vileness then be mine\nBoth shameful silence and most shameful speech?\n\nPHI. Or my discernment is at fault, or thou\nMean'st to betray me and make voyage without me.\n\nNEO. Nay, not without thee, there is my distress!\nLest I convey thee to thy bitter grief.\n\nPHI. How? How, dear youth? I do not understand.\n\nNEO. Here I unveil it. Thou art to sail to Troy,\nTo join the chieftains and the Achaean host.\n\nPHI. What do I hear? Ah!\n\nNEO.                     Grieve not till you learn.\n\nPHI. Learn what? What wilt thou make of me? What mean'st thou?\n\nNEO. First to release thee from this plague, and then\nWith thee to go and take the realm of Troy.\n\nPHI. And is this thine intent?\n\nNEO.                           'Tis so ordained\nUnchangeably. Be not dismayed! 'Tis so.\n\nPHI. Me miserable! I am betrayed, undone!\nWhat guile is here? My bow! give back my bow!\n\nNEO. I may not. Interest, and duty too,\nForce me to obey commandment.\n\nPHI.                          O thou fire,\nThou terror of the world! Dark instrument\nOf ever-hateful guile!--What hast thou done?\nHow thou hast cheated me! Art not ashamed\nTo look on him that sued to thee for shelter?\nO heart of stone, thou hast stolen my life away\nWith yonder bow!--Ah, yet I beg of thee,\nGive it me back, my son, I entreat thee, give!\nBy all thy father worshipped, rob me not\nOf life!--Ah me! Now he will speak no more,\nBut turns away, obdurate to retain it.\nO ye, my comrades in this wilderness,\nRude creatures of the rocks, O promontories,\nCreeks, precipices of the hills, to you\nAnd your familiar presence I complain\nOf this foul trespass of Achilles' son.\nSworn to convey me home, to Troy he bears me.\nAnd under pledge of his right hand hath ta'en\nAnd holds from me perforce my wondrous bow,\nThe sacred gift of Zeus-born Heracles,\nThinking to wave it midst the Achaean host\nTriumphantly for his. In conquering me\nHe vaunts as of some valorous feat, and knows not\nHe is spoiling a mere corse, an empty dream,\nThe shadow of a vapour. In my strength\nHe ne'er had vanquished me. Even as I am,\nHe could not, but by guile. Now, all forlorn,\nI am abused, deceived. What must I do?\nNay, give it me. Nay, yet be thy true self!\nThou art silent. I am lost. O misery!\nRude face of rock, back I return to thee\nAnd thy twin gateway, robbed of arms and food,\nTo wither in thy cave companionless:--\nNo more with these mine arrows to destroy\nOr flying bird or mountain-roving beast.\nBut, all unhappy! I myself must be\nThe feast of those on whom I fed, the chase\nOf that I hunted, and shall dearly pay\nIn bloody quittance for their death, through one\nWho seemed all ignorant of sinful guile.\nPerish,--not till I am certain if thy heart\nWill change once more,--if not, my curse on thee!\n\nCH. What shall we do, my lord? We wait thy word\nOr to sail now, or yield to his desire.\n\nNEO. My heart is pressed with a strange pity for him,\nNot now beginning, but long since begun.\n\nPHI. Ay, pity me, my son! by all above,\nMake not thy name a scorn by wronging me!\n\nNEO. O! I am troubled sore. What must I do?\nWould I had never left mine island home!\n\nPHI. Thou art not base, but seemest to have learnt\nSome baseness from base men. Now, as 'tis meet,\nBe better guided--leave me mine arms, and go.\n\nNEO. (_to Chorus_).\nWhat shall we do?\n\n_Enter_ ODYSSEUS.\n\nODYSSEUS.         What art thou doing, knave?\nGive me that bow, and haste thee back again.\n\nPHI. Alas! What do I hear? Odysseus' voice?\n\nOD. Be sure of that, Odysseus, whom thou seest.\n\nPHI. Oh, I am bought and sold, undone! 'Twas he\nThat kidnapped me, and robbed me of my bow.\n\nOD. Yea. I deny it not. Be sure, 'twas I.\n\nPHI. Give back, my son, the bow; release it!\n\nOD.                                          That,\nThough he desire it, he shall never do.\nThou too shalt march along, or these shall force thee.\n\nPHI. They force me! O thou boldest of bad men!\nThey force me?\n\nOD.            If thou com'st not willingly.\n\nPHI. O Lemnian earth and thou almighty flame,\nHephaestos' workmanship, shall this be borne,\nThat he by force must drag me from your care?\n\nOD. 'Tis Zeus, I tell thee, monarch of this isle,\nWho thus hath willed. I am his minister.\n\nPHI. Wretch, what vile words thy wit hath power to say!\nThe gods are liars when invoked by thee.\n\nOD. Nay, 'tis their truth compels thee to this voyage.\n\nPHI. I will not have it so.\n\nOD.                         I will. Thou shalt.\n\nPHI. Woe for my wretchedness! My father, then,\nBegat no freeman, but a slave in me.\n\nOD. Nay, but the peer of noblest men, with whom\nThou art to take and ravage Troy with might.\n\nPHI. Never,--though I must suffer direst woe,--\nWhile this steep Lemnian ground is mine to tread!\n\nOD. What now is thine intent?\n\nPHI.                          Down from the crag\nThis head shall plunge and stain the crag beneath.\n\nOD. (_to the Attendants_.)\nAy, seize and bind him. Baffle him in this.\n\nPHI. Poor hands, for lack of your beloved string,\nCaught by this craven! O corrupted soul!\nHow thou hast undermined me, having taken\nTo screen thy quest this youth to me unknown,\nFar worthier of my friendship than of thine,\nWho knew no better than to obey command.\nEven now 'tis manifest he burns within\nWith pain for his own error and my wrong.\nBut, though unwilling and mapt for ill,\nThy crafty, mean, and cranny spying soul\nToo well hath lessoned him in sinful lore.\nNow thou hast bound me, O thou wretch, and thinkest\nTo take me from this coast, where thou didst cast me\nOutlawed and desolate, a corpse 'mongst men.\n  Oh!\nI curse thee now, as ofttimes in the past:\nBut since Heaven yields me nought but bitterness,\nThou livest and art blithe, while 'tis my pain\nTo live on in my misery, laughed to scorn\nBy thee and Atreus' sons, those generals twain\nWhom thou art serving in this chase. But thou\nWith strong compulsion and deceit was driven\nTroyward, whilst I, poor victim, of free will\nTook my seven ships and sailed there, yet was thrown\nFar from all honour,--as thou sayest, by them,\nBut, as they turn the tale, by thee.--And now\nWhy fetch me hence and take me? To what end?\nI am nothing, dead to you this many a year.\nHow, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not now\nLame and of evil smell? how shall ye vaunt\nBefore the gods drink-offering or the fat\nOf victims, if I sail among your crew?\nFor this, as ye professed, was the chief cause\nWhy ye disowned me. Perish!--So ye shall,\nFor the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just.\nAnd that they are, I know. Else had ye ne'er\nSailed on this errand for an outcast wretch,\nHad they not pricked your heart with thoughts of me.\nOh, if ye pity me, chastising powers,\nAnd thou, the Genius of my land, revenge,\nRevenge this crime on all their heads at once!\nMy life is pitiable; but if I saw\nTheir ruin, I would think me well and strong.\n\nCH. How full of bitterness is his resolve,\nWrathfully spoken with unbending will!\n\nOD. I might speak long in answer, did the time\nGive scope, but now one thing is mine to say.\nI am known to vary with the varying need;\nAnd when 'tis tried, who can be just and good,\nMy peer will not be found for piety.\nBut though on all occasions covetous\nOf victory, this once I yield to thee,\nAnd willingly. Unhand him there. Let go!\nLeave him to stay. What further use of thee,\nWhen we have ta'en these arms? Have we not Teucer,\nSkilled in this mystery? Yea, I may boast\nMyself thine equal both in strength and aim\nTo wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou art free\nTo roam thy barren isle. We need thee not.\nLet us be going! And perchance thy gift\nMay bring thy destined glory to my brow.\n\nPHI. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou be seen\nGraced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?\n\nOD. No more! I am going.\n\nPHI.                     O Achilles' child!\nWilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose thy voice?\n\nOD. Come on, and look not, noble though thou be,\nLest thou undo our fortune.\n\nPHI.                        Mariners,\nMust ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate?\nWill ye not pity me?\n\nCH.                  Our captain's here.\nWhate'er he saith to thee, that we too speak.\n\nNEO. My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart;\nBut go not yet, since our friend bids you stay.\nTill we have prayed, and all be ready on board.\nMeanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought\nThat favours our design. We two will start;\nAnd ye, be swift to speed forth at our call.                   [_Exit_\n\nMONODY.\n\nPHI. O cavern of the hollow rock,                                  I 1\nFrosty and stifling in the seasons' change!\nHow I seem fated never more to range\nFrom thy sad covert, that hath felt the shock\nOf pain on pain, steeped with my wretchedness.\nNow thou wilt be my comforter in death!\nGrief haunted harbour, choked with my distress!\nTell me, what hope is mine of daily food,\nWho will be careful for my good?\nI fail. Ye cowering creatures of the sky,\n          Oh, as ye fly,\nSnatch me, borne upward on the blast's sharp breath!\n\nCH. 1. Thou child of misery!\n        No mightier power hath this decreed,\n        But thine own will and deed\n        Hath bound thee thus in grief,\nSince, when kind Heaven had sent relief\nAnd shown the path of wisdom firm and sure,\nThou still hast chosen this evil to endure.\n\nPHI. O hapless life, sore bruised with pain!                       I 2\nNo more with living mortal may I dwell,\nBut ever pining in this desert cell\nWith lonely grief, all famished must remain\nAnd perish; for what food is mine to share,\nWhen this strong arm no longer wields my bow,\nWhose fleet shafts flew to smite the birds of air\nI was o'erthrown by words, words dark and blind,\nLow-creeping from a traitorous mind!\nO might I see him, whose unrighteous thought\n          This ruin wrought,\nPlagued for no less a period with like woe!\n\nCH. 2. Not by our craft thou art caught,\nBut Destiny divine hath wrought\n        The net that holds thee bound.\n        Aim not at us the sound\nOf thy dread curse with dire disaster fraught.\nOn others let that light! 'Tis our true care\nThou should'st not scorn our love in thy despair.\n\nPHI. Now, seated by the shore                                     II 1\n    Of heaving ocean hoar,\n    He mocks me, waving high\n    The sole support of my precarious being,\n    The bow which none e'er held but I.\nO treasure of my heart, torn from this hand,\nThat loved thy touch,--if thou canst understand,\nHow sad must be thy look in seeing\nThy master destined now no more,\nLike Heracles of yore,\nTo wield thee with an archer's might!\nBut in the grasp of an all-scheming wight,\nO bitter change! thou art plied;\nAnd swaying ever by his side,\nShalt view his life of dark malignity,\nTeeming with guileful shames, like those he wrought on me.\n\nCH. 3. Nobly to speak for the right\n    Is manly and strong;\n    But not with an envious blight\n    To envenom the tongue;\n    He to serve all his friends of the fleet,\n    One obeying a many-voiced word,\n    Through the minist'ring craft of our lord\n    Hath but done what was meet.\n\nPHI. Come, legions of the wild,                                   II 2\n    Of aspect fierce or mild,\n    Fowl from the fields of air,\n    And beasts that roam with bright untroubled gaze,\n    No longer bounding from my lair\n    Fly mine approach! Now freely without fear\n    Ye may surround my covert and come near,\n    Treading the savage rock-strewn ways.\n    The might I had is no more mine,\n    Stolen with those arms divine.\n    This fort hath no man to defend.\n    Come satisfy your vengeful jaws, and rend\n    These quivering tainted limbs!\n    Already hovering death bedims\n    My fainting sense. Who thus can live on air,\n    Tasting no gift of earth that breathing mortals share?\n\nCH. 4.  Ah! do not shrink from thy friend,\n        If love thou reverest,\n        But know 'tis for thee to forfend\n        The fate which thou fearest.\n        The lot thou hast here to deplore,\n        Is sad evermore to maintain,\n        And hardship in sickness is sore,\n        But sorest in pain.\n\nPHI. Kindest of all that e'er before                               III\nHave trod this shore,\nAgain thou mind'st me of mine ancient woe!\nWhy wilt thou ruin me? What wouldst thou do?\n\nCH. 5. How mean'st thou?\n\nPHI.                     If to Troy, of me abhorred\nThou e'er hast hoped to lead me with thy lord.\n\nCH. 6. So I judge best.\n\nPHI.                    Begone at once, begone!\n\nCH. 7. Sweet is that word, and swiftly shall be done!\nLet us be gone, each to his place on board.\n                              [The Chorus _make as if they were going_\n\nPHI. Nay, by dear Zeus, to whom all suppliants moan\nLeave me not yet!\n\nCH. 8.            Keep measure in thy word.\n\nPHI. Stay, by Heaven, stay!\n\nCH. 9. What wilt thou say?\n\nPHI. O misery! O cruel power\nThat rul'st this hour!\nI am destroyed. Ah me!\nO poor torn limb, what shall I do with thee\nThrough all my days to be?\nAh, strangers, come, return, return!\n\nCH. 10. What new command are we to learn\nCrossing thy former mind?\n\nPHI. Ah! yet be kind.\nReprove not him, whose tongue, with grief distraught,\nObeys not, in dark storms, the helm of thought!\n\nCH. 11. Come, poor friend, the way we call.\n\nPHI. Never, learn it once for all!\nNot though he, whom Heaven obeys,\nBlast me with fierce lightning's blaze!\nPerish Troy, and all your host,\nThat have chosen, to their cost,\nTo despise and cast me forth,\nSince my wound obscured my worth!\nAh, but, strangers, if your sense\nHath o'er-mastered this offence,\nYield but one thing to my prayer!\n\nCH. 12. What wouldst thou have?\n\nPHI.                            Some weapon bare,\nAxe or sword or sharpened dart,\nBring it to content my heart.\n\nCH. 13. What is thy new intent?\n\nPHI. To sever point by point\nThis body, joint from joint.\nOn bloody death my mind is bent.\n\nCH. 14. Wherefore?\n\nPHI.               To see my father's face.\n\nCH. 15. Where upon earth?\n\nPHI.                      He hath no place\nWhere sun doth shine, but in the halls of night.\nO native country, land of my delight,\nWould I were blest one moment with thy sight!\nWhy did I leave thy sacred dew\nAnd loose my vessels from thy shore,\nTo join the hateful Danaaen crew\nAnd lend them succour? Oh, I am no more!\n\nLEADER OF CH.\nLong since thou hadst seen me nearing yonder ship,\nHad I not spied Odysseus and the son\nOf great Achilles hastening to our side.\n\nOD. Wilt thou not tell me why thou art hurrying\nThis backward journey with reverted speed?\n\nNEO. To undo what I have wrongly done to-day.\n\nOD. Thy words appal me. What is wrongly done?\n\nNEO. When in obeying thee and all the host--\n\nOD. Thou didst what deed that misbecame thy life?\n\nNEO. I conquered with base stratagem and fraud--\n\nOD. Whom? What new plan is rising in thy mind?\n\nNEO. Not new. But to the child of Poeas here--\n\nOD. What wilt thou do? I quake with strange alarm.\n\nNEO. From whom I took these weapons, back again----\n\nOD. O Heaven! thou wilt not give them! Mean'st thou this?\n\nNEO. Yea, for I have them through base sinful means.\n\nOD. I pray thee, speak'st thou thus to anger me?\n\nNEO. If the truth anger thee, the truth is said.\n\nOD. Achilles' son! What word is fallen from thee?\n\nNEO. Must the same syllables be thrice thrown forth?\n\nOD. Once was too much. Would they had ne'er been said!\n\nNEO. Enough. Thou hast heard my purpose clearly told.\n\nOD. I know what power shall thwart thee in the deed.\n\nNEO. Whose will shall hinder me?\n\nOD.                              The Achaean host\nAnd I among them.\n\nNEO.              Thou'rt sharp-witted, sure!\nBut little wit or wisdom show'st thou here.\n\nOD. Neither thy words nor thy design is wise.\n\nNEO. But if 'tis righteous, that is better far.\n\nOD. How righteous, to release what thou hast ta'en\nBy my device?\n\nNEO.          I sinned a shameful sin,\nAnd I will do mine utmost to retrieve it.\n\nOD. How? Fear'st thou not the Achaeans in this act?\n\nNEO. In doing right I fear not them nor thee.\n\nOD. I call thy power in question.\n\nNEO.                              Then I'll fight,\nNot with Troy's legions, but with thee.\n\nOD.                                     Come on!\nLet fortune arbitrate.\n\nNEO.                   Thou seest my hand\nFeeling the hilt.\n\nOD.               And me thou soon shalt see\nDoing the like and dallying not!--And yet\nI will not touch thee, but will go and tell\nThe army, that shall wreak this on thy head.                   [_Exit_\n\nNEO. Thou show'st discretion: which if thou preserve,\nThou may'st maintain a path exempt from pain.\nHo! son of Poeas, Philoctetes, come\nAnd leave thy habitation in the rock.\n\nPHI. What noise again is troubling my poor cave?\nWhy do ye summon me? What crave ye, sirs?\nHa! 'tis some knavery. Are ye come to add\nSome monster evil to my mountainous woe?\n\nNEO. Fear not, but hearken to what now I speak.\n\nPHI. I needs must fear thee, whose fair words erewhile\nBrought me to bitter fortune.\n\nNEO.                          May not men\nRepent and change?\n\nPHI.               Such wast thou in thy talk,\nWhen thou didst rob me of my bow,--so bright\nWithout, so black within.\n\nNEO.                      Ah, but not now,\nAssure thee! Only let me hear thy will,\nIs 't constant to remain here and endure,\nOr to make voyage with us?\n\nPHI.                       Stop, speak no more!\nIdle and vain will all thine utterance be.\n\nNEO. Thou art so resolved?\n\nPHI.                       More firmly than I say.\n\nNEO. I would I might have brought thee to my mind,\nBut since my words are out of tune, I have done.\n\nPHI. Thou wert best. No word of thine can touch my soul\nOr win me to thy love, who by deceit\nHast reft my life away. And then thou com'st\nTo school me,--of noblest father, basest son!\nPerish, the Atridae first of all, and then\nLaertes' child, and thou!\n\nNEO.                      Curse me no more,\nBut take this hallowed weapon from my hand.\n\nPHI. What words are these? Am I again deceived?\n\nNEO. No, by the holiest name of Zeus on high!\n\nPHI. O voice of gladness, if thy speech be true!\n\nNEO. The deed shall prove it. Only reach thy hand,\nAnd be again sole master of thy bow.               [ODYSSEUS _appears_\n\nOD. But I make protest, in the sight of Heaven,\nFor Atreus' sons, and all the Achaean host.\n\nPHI. Dear son, whose voice disturbs us? Do I hear\nOdysseus?\n\nOD.       Ay, and thou behold'st him nigh,\nAnd he shall force thee to the Trojan plain,\nHowe'er Achilles' offspring make or mar.\n\nPHI. This shaft shall bear thee sorrow for that boast.\n\nNEO. Let it not fly, by Heaven!\n\nPHI.                            Dear child, let go\nMine arm!\n\nNEO.      I will not.                                 [_Exit_ ODYSSEUS\n\nPHI.                  Ah! Why hast thou robbed\nMy bow of bringing down mine enemy?\n\nNEO. This were ignoble both for thee and me.\n\nPHI. One thing is manifest, the first o' the host\nLying forerunners of the Achaean band,\nAre brave with words, but cowards with the steel.\n\nNEO. Well, now the bow is thine. Thou hast no cause\nFor blame or anger any more 'gainst me.\n\nPHI. None. Thou hast proved thy birthright, dearest boy.\nNot from the loins of Sisyphus thou earnest,\nBut from Achilles, who in life was held\nNoblest of men alive, and now o' the dead.\n\nNEO. It gladdens me that thou shouldst speak in praise\nBoth of my sire and me. But hear me tell\nThe boon for which I sue thee.--Mortal men\nMust bear such evils as high Heaven ordains;\nBut those afflicted by self-chosen ills,\nLike thine to-day, receive not from just men\nOr kind indulgence or compassionate thought.\nAnd thou art restive grown, and wilt not hearken,\nBut though one counsel thee with kind'st intent,\nWilt take him for a dark malignant foe.\nYet, calling Zeus to witness for my soul,\nOnce more I will speak. Know this, and mark it well:\nThou bear'st this sickness by a heavenly doom,\nThrough coming near to Chrysa's sentinel,\nThe lurking snake, that guards the sky-roofed fold[7].\nAnd from this plague thou ne'er shall find reprieve\nWhile the same Sun god rears him from the east\nAnd droops to west again, till thou be come\nOf thine own willing mind to Troia's plain,\nWhere our physicians, sons of Phoebus' child[8],\nShall soothe thee from thy sore, and thou with me\nAnd with this bow shalt take Troy's citadel.\nHow do I know this? I will tell thee straight\nWe have a Trojan captive, Helenus,\nBoth prince and prophet, who hath clearly told\nThis must be so, yea, and ere harvest time\nThis year, great Troy must fall, else if his words\nBe falsified, who will may slay the seer.\nNow, since thou know'st of this, yield thy consent;\nFor glorious is the gain, being singled forth\nFrom all the Greeks as noblest, first to come\nTo healing hands, and then to win renown\nUnrivalled, vanquishing all tearful Troy.\n\nPHI. Oh how I hate my life! Why must it keep\nThis breathing form from sinking to the shades?\nHow can I prove a rebel to his mind\nWho thus exhorts me with affectionate heart?\nAnd yet, oh misery! must I give way?\nThen how could I endure the light of heaven?\nWith whom could I exchange a word? Ay me!\nEyes that have seen each act of my sad life,\nHow could ye bear it, to behold the sons\nOf Atreus, my destroyers, comrades now\nAnd friends! Laertes' wicked son, my friend!\nAnd less I feel the grief of former wrong\nThan shudder with expectance of fresh harm\nThey yet may work on me. For when the mind\nHath once been mother of an evil brood,\nIt nurses nought but evils. Yea, at thee\nI marvel. Thou should'st ne'er return to Troy,\nNor suffer me to go, when thou remember'st\nWhat insult they have done thee, ravishing\nThy father's rights from thee. And wilt thou then\nSail to befriend them, pressing me in aid?\nNay, do not, son; but, even as thou hast sworn,\nConvey me home, and thou, in Scyros dwelling,\nLeave to their evil doom those evil men.\nSo thou shalt win a twofold gratitude\nFrom me and from my father, and not seem,\nHelping vile men, to be as vile as they.\n\nNEO. 'Tis fairly spoken. Yet I would that thou\nRelying on my word and on Heaven's aid,\nWould'st voyage forth from Lemnos with thy friend.\n\nPHI. Mean'st thou to Troy, and to the hateful sons\nOf Atreus, me, with this distressful limb?\n\nNEO. Nay, but to those that will relieve the pain\nOf thy torn foot and heal thee of thy plague.\n\nPHI. Thy words are horrible. What mean'st thou, boy?\n\nNEO. The act I deem the noblest for us both.\n\nPHI. Wilt thou speak so? Where is thy fear of Heaven?\n\nNEO. Why should I fear, when I see certain gain?\n\nPHI. Gain for the sons of Atreus, or for me?\n\nNEO. Methinks a friend should give thee friendly counsel.\n\nPHI. Friendly, to hand me over to my foes?\n\nNEO. Ah, be not hardened in thy misery!\n\nPHI. I know thou wilt ruin me by what thou speakest.\n\nNEO. Not I. The case is dark to thee, I see.\n\nPHI. I know the Atreidae cast me on this rock.\n\nNEO. But how, if they should save thee afterward?\n\nPHI. They ne'er shall make me see Troy with my will.\n\nNEO. Hard is my fortune, then, if by no sleight\nOf reasoning I can draw thee to my mind.\nFor me, 'twere easiest to end speech, that thou\nMight'st live on as thou livest in hopeless pain.\n\nPHI. Then leave me to my fate!--But thou hast touched\nMy right hand with thine own, and given consent\nTo bear me to my home. Do this, dear son!\nAnd do not linger to take thought of Troy.\nEnough that name hath echoed in my groans.\n\nNEO. If thou wilt, let us be going.\n\nPHI.                                Nobly hast thou said the word.\n\nNEO. Lean thy steps on mine.\n\nPHI.                        As firmly as my foot will strength afford.\n\nNEO. Ah! but how shall I escape Achaean anger?\n\nPHI.                                           Do not care!\n\nNEO. Ah! but should they spoil my country!\n\nPHI.                                   I to shield thee will be there.\n\nNEO. How to shield me, how to aid me?\n\nPHI.                                  With the shafts of Heracles\nI will scare them.\n\nNEO.                Give thy blessing to this isle, and come in peace.\n\nHERACLES _appears from above._\n\nHERACLES. First, son of Poeas, wait till thou hast heard\nThe voice of Heracles, and weighed his word.\nHim thou beholdest from the Heavenly seat\nCome down, for thee leaving the blest retreat,\nTo tell thee all high Zeus intends, and stay\nThy purpose in the journey of to-day.\n  Then hear me, first how after my long toils\nBy strange adventure I have found and won\nImmortal glory, which thine eyes perceive;\nAnd the like lot, I tell thee, shall be thine,\nAfter these pains to rise to glorious fame.\nSailing with this thy comrade to Troy-town,\nFirst thou shalt heal thee from thy grievous sore,\nAnd then, being singled forth from all the host\nAs noblest, thou shalt conquer with that bow\nParis, prime author of these years of harm,\nAnd capture Troy, and bear back to thy hall\nThe choicest guerdon, for thy valour's meed,\nTo Oeta's vale and thine own father's home.\nBut every prize thou tak'st be sure thou bear\nUnto my pyre, in memory of my bow.\n  This word, Achilles' offspring, is for thee\nNo less. For, as thou could'st not without him,\nSo, without thee, he cannot conquer Troy.\nThen, like twin lions hunting the same hill,\nGuard thou him, and he thee! and I will send\nAsclepius Troyward to relieve thy pain.\nFor Ilion now a second time must fall\nBefore the Herculean bow. But, take good heed,\nMidst all your spoil to hold the gods in awe.\nFor our great Father counteth piety\nFar above all. This follows men in death,\nAnd fails them not when they resign their breath.\n\nPHI. Thou whom I have longed to see,\n    Thy dear voice is law to me.\n\nNEO. I obey with gladdened heart.\n\nHER. Lose no time: at once depart!\n    Bright occasion and fair wind\n    Urge your vessel from behind.\n\nPHI. Come, let me bless the region ere I go.\n    Poor house, sad comrade of my watch, farewell!\n    Ye nymphs of meadows where soft waters flow\n    Thou ocean headland, pealing thy deep knell,\n    Where oft within my cavern as I lay\n    My hair was moist with dashing south-wind's spray,\n    And ofttimes came from Hermes' foreland high\n    Sad replication of my storm-vext cry;\n    Ye fountains and thou Lycian water sweet,--\n    I never thought to leave you, yet my feet\n    Are turning from your paths,--we part for aye.\n    Farewell! and waft me kindly on my way,\n    O Lemnian earth enclosed by circling seas,\n    To sail, where mighty Fate my course decrees,\n    And friendly voices point me, and the will\n    Of that heroic power, who doth this act fulfil.\n\nCH. Come now all in one strong band;\n    Then, ere loosing from the land,\n    Pray we to the nymphs of sea\n    Kind protectresses to be,\n    Till we touch the Trojan strand.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                          OEDIPUS AT COLONOS\n\n\n                             THE PERSONS\n\nOEDIPUS, _old and blind._\nANTIGONE, _his daughter, a young girl._\nISMENE, _his daughter, a young girl._\nCHORUS _of Village Guardians._\n_An Athenian._\nTHESEUS, _King of Athens._\nCREON, _Envoy from Thebes._\nPOLYNICES, _the elder son of Oedipus._\n_Messenger._\n\n\nSCENE. Colonos.\n\n\n\n\nOedipus had remained at Thebes for some time after his fall. But he\nwas afterwards banished by the command of Creon, with the consent of\nhis own sons. Their intention at first was to lay no claim to the\nthrone. But by-and-by ambition prevailed with Eteocles, the younger-\nborn, and he persuaded Creon and the citizens to banish his elder\nbrother. Polynices took refuge at Argos, where he married the daughter\nof Adrastus, and levied an army of auxiliaries to support his\npretensions to the throne of Thebes. Before going into exile Oedipus\nhad cursed his sons.\n\nAntigone after a while fled forth to join her father and support him\nin his wanderings. Ismene also once brought him secret intelligence.\n\nYears have now elapsed, and the Delphian oracle proclaims that if\nOedipus dies in a foreign land the enemies of Thebes shall overcome\nher.\n\nIn ignorance of this fact, Oedipus, now aged as well as blind, and led\nby his daughter Antigone, appears before the grove of the Eumenides,\nat Colonos, in the neighbourhood of Athens. He has felt an inward\nintimation, which is strengthened by some words of the oracle received\nby him long since at Delphi, that his involuntary crimes have been\natoned for, and that the Avenging Deities will now receive him kindly\nand make his cause their own.\n\nAfter some natural hesitation on the part of the village-councillors\nof Colonos, Oedipus is received with princely magnanimity by Theseus,\nwho takes him under the protection of Athens, and defends him against\nthe machinations of Creon.\n\nThus the blessing of the Gods, which Oedipus carried with him, is\nsecured to Athens, and denied to Thebes. The craft of Creon and the\nprayers of Polynices alike prove unavailing. Then the man of many\nsorrows, whose essential nobleness has survived them all, passes away\nmysteriously from the sight of men.\n\nThe scene is laid at Colonos, a suburb of Athens much frequented by\nthe upper classes, especially the Knights (see Thuc. viii. 67); and\nbefore the sacred grove of the Eumenides, or Gentle Goddesses, a\neuphemistic title for the Erinyes, or Goddesses of Vengeance.\n\n\n\n\n                          OEDIPUS AT COLONOS\n\n\nOEDIPUS. ANTIGONE.\n\nOEDIPUS. Antigone, child of the old blind sire,\nWhat land is here, what people? Who to-day\nShall dole to Oedipus, the wandering exile,\nTheir meagre gifts? Little I ask, and less\nReceive with full contentment; for my woes,\nAnd the long years ripening the noble mind,\nHave schooled me to endure.--But, O my child,\nIf thou espiest where we may sit, though near\nSome holy precinct, stay me and set me there,\nTill we may learn where we are come. 'Tis ours\nTo hear the will of strangers and to obey.\n\nANTIGONE. Woe-wearied father, yonder city's wall\nThat shields her, looks far distant; but this ground\nIs surely sacred, thickly planted over\nWith olive, bay and vine, within whose bowers\nThick-fluttering song-birds make sweet melody.\nHere then repose thee on this unhewn stone.\nThou hast travelled far to-day for one so old.\n\nOED. Seat me, my child, and be the blind man's guard.\n\nANT. Long time hath well instructed me in that.\n\nOED. Now, canst thou tell me where we have set our feet?\n\nANT. Athens I know, but not the nearer ground.\n\nOED. Ay, every man that met us in the way\nNamed Athens.\n\nANT.          Shall I go, then, and find out\nThe name of the spot?\n\nOED.                  Yes, if 'tis habitable.\n\nANT. It is inhabited. Yet I need not go.\nI see a man even now approaching here.\n\nOED. How? Makes he towards us? Is he drawing nigh?\n\nANT. He is close beside us. Whatsoe'er thou findest\nGood to be spoken, say it. The man is here.\n\n_Enter an_ Athenian.\n\nOED. O stranger, learning from this maid, who sees\nBoth for herself and me, that thou art come\nWith timely light to clear our troubled thought--\n\nATHENIAN. Ere thou ask more, come forth from where thou sittest!\nYe trench on soil forbidden human tread.\n\nOED. What soil? And to what Power thus consecrate?\n\nATH. None may go near, nor dwell there. 'Tis possessed\nBy the dread sisters, children of Earth and Night.\n\nOED. What holy name will please them, if I pray?\n\nATH. 'All seeing Gentle Powers' the dwellers here\nWould call them. But each land hath its own rule.\n\nOED. And gently may they look on him who now\nImplores them, and will never leave this grove!\n\nATH. What saying is this?\n\nOED.                      The watchword of my doom.\n\nATH. Yet dare I not remove thee, till the town\nHave heard my purpose and confirm the deed.\n\nOED. By Heaven, I pray thee, stranger, scorn me not,\nPoor wanderer that I am, but answer me.\n\nATH. Make clear thy drift. Thou'lt get no scorn from me.\n\nOED. Then, pray thee, tell me how ye name the place\nWhere now I sit.\n\nATH.             The region all around\nIs sacred. For 'tis guarded and possessed\nBy dread Poseidon, and the Titan mind\nThat brought us fire--Prometheus. But that floor\nWhereon thy feet are resting, hath been called\nThe brazen threshold of our land, the stay\nOf glorious Athens, and the neighbouring fields\nAre fain to honour for their patron-god\nThee, O Colonos, first of Knights, whose name  [_Pointing to a statue_\nThey bear in brotherhood and own for theirs.\nSuch, friend, believe me, is this place, not praised\nIn story, but of many a heart beloved.\n\nOED. Then is the land inhabited of men?\n\nATH. By men, who name them from Colonos there.\n\nOED. Have they a lord, or sways the people's voice?\n\nATH. Lord Theseus, child of Aegeus, our late king.\n\nOED. Will some one of your people bring him hither?\n\nATH. Wherefore? What urgent cause requires his presence?\n\nOED. He shall gain mightily by granting little.\n\nATH. Who can gain profit from the blind?\n\nOED.                                     The words\nThese lips shall utter, shall be full of sight.\n\nATH. Well, thou look'st nobly, but for thy hard fate.\nThis course is safe. Thus do. Stay where I found thee,\nTill I go tell the neighbour townsmen here\nNot of the city, but Colonos. They\nShall judge for thee to abide or to depart.                    [_Exit_\n\nOED. Tell me, my daughter, is the man away?\n\nANT. He is gone, father. I alone am near.\nSpeak what thou wilt in peace and quietness.\n\nOED. Dread Forms of holy Fear, since in this land\nYour sanctuary first gave my limbs repose,\nBe not obdurate to my prayer, nor spurn\nThe voice of Phoebus, who that fateful day,\nWhen he proclaimed my host of ills to come,\nTold me of rest after a weary time,\nWhere else but here? 'When I should reach my bourne,\nAnd find repose and refuge with the Powers\nOf reverend name, my troubled life should end\nWith blessing to the men who sheltered me,\nAnd curses on their race who banished me\nand sent me wandering forth.' Whereof he vouched me\nSure token, or by earthquake, or by fire\nFrom heaven, or thundrous voices. And I know\nSome aery message from your shrine hath drawn me\nWith winged whisper to this grove. Not else\nHad ye first met me coming, nor had I\nSate on your dread unchiselled seat of stone,\nWith dry cold lips greeting your sober shrine.\nThen give Apollo's word due course, and give\nCompletion to my life, if in your sight\nThese toils and sorrows past the human bound\nSeem not too little. Kindly, gentle powers,\nOffspring of primal darkness, hear my prayer!\nHear it, Athenai, of all cities queen,\nGreat Pallas' foster-city! Look with ruth\nOn this poor shadow of great Oedipus,\nThis fading semblance of his kingly form.\n\nANT. Be silent now. There comes an aged band\nWith jealous looks to know thine errand here.\n\nOED. I will be silent, and thine arm shall guide\nMy footstep under covert of the grove\nOut of the path, till I make sure what words\nThese men will utter. Warily to observe\nIs the prime secret of the prudent mind.                     [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS (_entering_).\n    Keep watch! Who is it? Look!                                     1\nWhere is he? Vanished! Gone! Oh where?\n    Most uncontrolled of men!\n    Look well, inquire him out,\n    Search keenly in every nook!\n    --Some wanderer is the aged wight,\n    A wanderer surely, not a native here.\n    Else never had he gone within\n    The untrodden grove\nOf these--unmarried, unapproachable in might,\n    --Whose name we dare not breathe,\n    But pass their shrine\n    Without a look, without a word,\nUttering the unheard voice of reverential thought.\n    But now, one comes, they tell, devoid of awe,\n    Whom, peering all around this grove\n    I find not, where he abideth.\n\nOED. (_behind_).\nBehold me! For I 'see by sound,'\nAs mortals say.\n\nCH. Oh, Oh!\nWith horror I see him, with horror hear him speak.\n\nOED. Pray you, regard me not as a transgressor!\n\nCH. Defend us, Zeus! Who is that aged wight?\n\nOED. Not one of happiest fate,\nOr enviable, O guardians of this land!\n'Tis manifest; else had I not come hither\nLed by another's eyes, not moored my bark\nOn such a slender stay.\n\nCH. Alas! And are thine eyes                                         2\nSightless? O full of misery,\n    As thou look'st full of years!\n    But not, if I prevail,\n    Shalt thou bring down this curse.\n    Thou art trespassing. Yet keep thy foot\n    From stumbling in that verdant, voiceless dell,\n    Where running water as it fills\n    The hallowed bowl,\nMingles with draughts[1] of honey. Stranger, hapless one!\n    Avoid that with all care.\n    Away! Remove!\n    Distance impedes the sound. Dost hear,\nWoe-burdened wanderer? If aught thou carest to bring\n    Before our council, leave forbidden ground,\n    And there, where all have liberty,\n    Speak,--but till then, avaunt thee!\n\nOED. Daughter, what must I think, or do?\n\nANT.                                     My sire!\nWe must conform us to the people's will,\nYielding ere they compel.\n\nOED.                      Give me thy hand.\n\nANT. Thou hast it.\n\nOED.              --Strangers, let me not\nBe wronged, when I have trusted you\nAnd come from where I stood!\n\nCH. Assure thee, from this seat\nNo man shall drag thee off against thy will.\n\nOED. Farther?\n\nCH.           Advance thy foot.\n\nOED.                            Yet more?\n\nCH.                                       Assist him onward\nMaiden, thou hast thy sight.\n\nANT. Come, follow, this way follow with thy darkened steps,\nFather, the way I am leading thee.\n\nCH. Content thee, sojourning in a strange land,\nO man of woe!\nTo eschew whate'er the city holds in hate,\nAnd honour what she loves!\n\nOED.                       Then do thou lead me, child,\nWhere with our feet secure from sin\nWe may be suffered both to speak and hear.\nLet us not war against necessity.\n\nCH. There! From that bench of rock\nGo not again astray.\n\nOED. Even here?\n\nCH.             Enough, I tell thee.\n\nOED.                                 May I sit?\n\nCH. Ay, crouch thee low adown\nCrooking thy limbs, upon the stone.\n\nANT. Father, this task is mine--\nSink gently down into thy resting-place,\n\nOED. Woe is me!\n\nANT. Supporting on this loving hand\nThy reverend aged form.\n\nOED. Woe, for my cruel fate!                      [OEDIPUS _is seated_\n\nCH. Now thou unbendest from thy stubborn ways,\nO man of woe!\nDeclare, what mortal wight thou art,\nThat, marked by troublous fortune, here art led.\nWhat native country, shall we learn, is thine?\n\nOED. O strangers, I have none!\nBut do not--\n\nCH.         What dost thou forbid, old sir?\n\nOED. Do not, oh, do not ask me who I am,\nNor probe me with more question.\n\nCH.                              What dost thou mean?\n\nOED. My birth is dreadful.\n\nCH.                        Tell it forth.\n\nOED. What should I utter, O my child? Woe is me!\n\nCH. Thy seed, thy father's name, stranger, pronounce!\n\nOED. Alas! What must I do? My child!\n\nANT. Since no resource avails thee, speak!\n\nOED. I will. I cannot hide it further.\n\nCH. Ye are long about it. Haste thee!\n\nOED.                                  Know ye of one\nBegotten of Laius?\n\nCH.                Horror! Horror! Oh!\n\nOED. Derived from Labdacus?\n\nCH.                         O Heaven!\n\nOED. Fate-wearied Oedipus?\n\nCH.                        Art thou he?\n\nOED. Fear not my words.\n\nCH.                     Oh! Oh!\n\nOED. Unhappy me!\n\nCH.              Oh!\n\nOED.                 Daughter, what is coming?\n\nCH. Away! Go forth. Leave ye the land. Begone!\n\nOED. And where, then, is the promise thou hast given?\n\nCH. No doom retributive attends the deed\nThat wreaks prevenient wrong.\nDeceit, matched with deceit, makes recompense\nOf evil, not of kindness. Get thee forth!\nDesert that seat again, and from this land\nUnmooring speed thee away, lest on our state\nThou bring some further bale!\n\nMONODY.\n\nANT. O strangers, full of reverent care!\nSince ye cannot endure my father here,\nAged and blind,\nBecause ye have heard a rumour of the deeds\nHe did unknowingly,--yet, we entreat you.\nStrangers, have pity on me, the hapless girl,\nWho pray for mine own sire and for none else,\n--Pray, looking in your eyes with eyes not blind.\nAs if a daughter had appeared to you.\nPleading for mercy to the unfortunate.\nWe are in your hands as in the hand of God,\nHelpless. O then accord the unhoped for boon!\nBy what is dear to thee, thy veriest own,\nI pray thee,--chattel or child, or holier name!\nSearch through the world, thou wilt not find the man\nWho could resist the leading of a God.\n\nCH. Daughter of Oedipus, be well assured\nWe view with pity both thy case and his,\nBut fear of Heavenly wrath confines our speech\nTo that we have already said to you.\n\nOED. What profit lives in fame and fair renown\nBy unsubstantial rumour idly spread?\nWhen Athens is extolled with peerless praise\nFor reverence, and for mercy!--She alone\nThe sufferer's shield, the exile's comforter!\nWhat have I reaped hereof? Ye have raised me up\nFrom yonder seat, and now would drive me forth\nFearing a name! For there is nought in me\nOr deeds of mine to make you fear. My life\nHath more of wrong endured than of wrong done,\nWere it but lawful to disclose to you\nWherefore ye dread me,--not my sin but theirs,\nMy mother's and my sire's. I know your thought.\nYet never can ye fasten guilt on me,\nWho, though I had acted with the clear'st intent,\nWere guiltless, for my deed requited wrong.\nBut as it was, all blindly I went forth\nOn that dire road, while they who planned my death\nPlanned it with perfect knowledge. Therefore, sirs,\nBy Heaven I pray you, as ye have bid me rise,\nProtect your suppliant without fail; and do not\nIn jealous reverence for the blessed Gods\nRob them of truest reverence, but know this:--\nGod looks upon the righteousness of men\nAnd their unrighteousness, nor ever yet\nHath one escaped who wrought iniquity.\nTake part, then, with the Gods, nor overcloud\nThe golden fame of Athens with dark deeds;\nBut as ye have pledged your faith to shelter me,\nDefend me and rescue, not rejecting me\nThrough mere abhorrence of my ruined face.\nFor on a holy mission am I come,\nSent with rich blessings for your neighbours here.\nAnd when the head and sovereign of your folk\nIs present, ye shall learn the truth at full.\nTill then, be gracious to me, and not perverse.\n\nCH. Thy meaning needs must strike our hearts with awe,\nOld wanderer! so weighty are the words\nThat body it forth. Therefore we are content\nThe Lord of Athens shall decide this case.\n\nOED. And where is he who rules this country, sirs?\n\nCH. He keeps his father's citadel. But one\nIs gone to fetch him, he who brought us hither.\n\nOED. Think you he will consider the blind man,\nAnd come in person here to visit him?\n\nCH. Be sure he will,--when he hath heard thy name.\n\nOED. And who will carry that?\n\nCH.                           'Tis a long road;\nBut rumour from the lips of wayfarers\nFlies far and wide, so that he needs must hear;\nAnd hearing, never doubt but he will come.\nSo noised in every land hath been thy name,\nOld sovereign,--were he sunk in drowsiness,\nThat sound would bring him swiftly to thy side.\n\nOED. Well, may he come to bless his city and me!\nWhen hath not goodness blessed the giver of good?\n\nANT. O Heavens! What shall I say, what think, my father?\n\nOED. Daughter Antigone, what is it?\n\nANT.                                I see\nA woman coming toward us, mounted well\nOn a fair Sicilian palfrey, and her face\nWith brow-defending hood of Thessaly\nIs shadowed from the sun. What must I think?\nIs it she or no? Can the eye so far deceive?\nIt is. 'Tis not. Unhappy that I am,\nI know not.--Yes, 'tis she. For drawing near\nShe greets me with bright glances, and declares\nBeyond a doubt, Ismene's self is here.\n\nOED. What say'st thou, daughter?\n\nANT.                             That I see thy child,\nMy sister. Soon her voice will make thee sure.\n\n_Enter_ ISMENE.\n\nISMENE. Father and sister!--names for ever dear!\nHard hath it been to find you, yea, and hard\nI feel it now to look on you for grief.\n\nOED. Child, art thou here?\n\nISM.                       Father! O sight of pain!\n\nOED. Offspring and sister!\n\nISM.                       Woe for thy dark fate!\n\nOED. Hast thou come, daughter?\n\nISM.                           On a troublous way.\n\nOED. Touch me, my child!\n\nISM.                     I give a hand to both.\n\nOED. To her and me?\n\nISM.                Three linked in one sad knot.\n\nOED. Child, wherefore art thou come?\n\nISM.                                 In care for thee.\n\nOED. Because you missed me?\n\nISM.                        Ay, and to bring thee tidings,\nWith the only slave whom I could trust.\n\nOED.                                    And they,\nThy brethren, what of them? Were they not there\nTo take this journey for their father's good?\n\nISM. Ask not of them. Dire deeds are theirs to day.\n\nOED. How in all points their life obeys the law\nOf Egypt, where the men keep house and weave\nSitting within doors, while the wives abroad\nProvide with ceaseless toil the means of life.\nSo in your case, my daughters, they who should\nHave ta'en this burden on them, bide at home\nLike maidens, while ye take their place, and lighten\nMy miseries by your toil. Antigone,\nE'er since her childhood ended, and her frame\nWas firmly knit, with ceaseless ministry\nStill tends upon the old man's wandering,\nOft in the forest ranging up and down\nFasting and barefoot through the burning heat\nOr pelting rain, nor thinks, unhappy maid,\nOf home or comfort, so her father's need\nBe satisfied. And thou, that camest before,\nEluding the Cadmeans, and didst tell me\nWhat words Apollo had pronounced on me.\nAnd when they banished me, stood'st firm to shield me,\nWhat news, Ismene, bring'st thou to thy sire\nTo day? What mission sped thee forth? I know\nThou com'st not idly, but with fears for me.\n\nISM. Father, I will not say what I endured\nIn searching out the place that sheltered thee.\nTo tell it o'er would but renew the pain.\nBut of the danger now encompassing\nThine ill starred sons,--of that I came to speak.\nAt first they strove with Creon and declared\nThe throne should be left vacant and the town\nFreed from pollution,--paying deep regard\nIn their debate to the dark heritage\nOf ruin that o'ershadowed all thy race.\nFar different is the strife which holds them now,\nSince some great Power, joined to their sinful mind,\nIncites them both to seize on sovereign sway.\nEteocles, in pride of younger years,\nRobbed elder Polynices of his right,\nDethroned and banished him. To Argos then\nGoes exiled Polynices, and obtains\nThrough intermarriage a strong favouring league,\nWhose word is, 'Either Argos vanquishes\nThe seed of Cadmus or exalts their fame'\nThis, father, is no tissue of empty talk,\nBut dreadful truth, nor can I tell where Heaven\nIs to reveal his mercy to thy woe.\n\nOED. And hadst thou ever hoped the Gods would care\nFor mine affliction, and restore my life?\n\nISM. I hope it now since this last oracle.\n\nOED. What oracle hath been declared, my child?\n\nISM. That they shall seek thee forth, alive or dead,\nTo bring salvation to the Theban race.\n\nOED. Who can win safety through such help as mine?\n\nISM. 'Tis said their victory depends on thee.\n\nOED. When shrunk to nothing, am I indeed a man?\n\nISM. Yea, for the Gods uphold thee, who then destroyed.\n\nOED. Poor work, to uphold in age who falls when young!\n\nISM. Know howsoe'er that Creon will be here\nFor this same end, ere many an hour be spent.\n\nOED. For what end, daughter? Tell me in plain speech.\n\nISM. To set thee near their land, that thou may'st be\nBeyond their borders, but within their power.\n\nOED. What good am I, thus lying at their gate?\n\nISM. Thine inauspicious burial brings them woe.\n\nOED. There needs no oracle to tell one that.\n\nISM. And therefore they would place thee near their land,\nWhere thou may'st have no power upon thyself.\n\nOED. Say then, shall Theban dust o'ershadow me?\n\nISM. The blood of kindred cleaving to thy hand,\nFather, forbids thee.\n\nOED.                  Never, then, henceforth,\nShall they lay hold on me!\n\nISM.                       If that be true,\nThe brood of Cadmus shall have bale.\n\nOED.                                 What cause\nHaving appeared, will bring this doom to pass?\n\nISM. Thy wrath, when they are marshalled at thy tomb.\n\nOED. From whom hast thou heard this?\n\nISM.                                 Sworn messengers\nBrought such report from Delphi's holy shrine.\n\nOED. Hath Phoebus so pronounced my destiny?\n\nISM. So they declare who brought the answer back.\n\nOED. Did my sons hear?\n\nISM.                   They know it, both of them.\n\nOED. Villains, who, being informed of such a word,\nTurned not their thoughts toward me, but rather chose\nAmbition and a throne!\n\nISM.                   It wounds mine ear\nTo hear it spoken, but the news I bring\nIs to that stern effect.\n\nOED.                     Then I pray Heaven\nThe fury of their fate-appointed strife\nMay ne'er be quenched, but that the end may come\nAccording to my wish upon them twain\nTo this contention and arbitrament\nOf battle which they now assay and lift\nThe threatening spear! So neither he who wields\nThe sceptred power should keep possession still,\nNor should his brother out of banishment\nEver return:--who, when their sire--when I\nWas shamefully thrust from my native land,\nChecked not my fall nor saved me, but, for them,\nI was driven homeless and proclaimed an exile.\nYe will tell me 'twas in reason that the State\nGranted this boon to my express desire.\nNay; for in those first hours of agony,\nWhen my heart raged, and it seemed sweetest to me\nTo die the death, and to be stoned with stones,\nNo help appeared to yield me that relief.\nBut after lapse of days, when all my pain\nWas softened, and I felt that my hot spirit\nHad run to fierce excess of bitterness\nIn wreaking mine offence--then, then the State\nDrove me for ever from the land, and they,\nTheir father's sons, who might have saved their father,\nCared not to help him, but betrayed by them,\nFor lack of one light word, I wandered forth\nTo homeless banishment and beggary.\nBut these weak maidens to their nature's power\nHave striven to furnish me with means to live\nAnd dwell securely, girded round with love.\nMy sons have chosen before their father's life\nA lordly throne and sceptred sovereignty.\nBut never shall they win me to their aid,\nNor shall the Theban throne for which they strive\nBring them desired content. That well I know,\nComparing with my daughter's prophecies\nThose ancient oracles which Phoebus once\nSpake in mine ear. Then let them send to seek me\nCreon, or who is strongest in their State.\nFor if ye, strangers, will but add your might\nTo the protection of these awful Powers,\nThe guardians of your soil, to shelter me,\nYe shall acquire for this your State a saviour\nMighty to save, and ye shall vex my foes.\n\nCH. Thou art worthy of all compassion, Oedipus,\nThyself and these thy daughters. Now, moreover\nSince thou proclaim'st thyself our country's saviour\nI would advise thee for the best.\n\nOED.                              Kind sir,\nBe my good guide. I will do all thou biddest.\n\nCH. Propitiate then these holy powers, whose grove\nReceived thee when first treading this their ground.\n\nOED. What are the appointed forms? Advise me, sirs.\n\nCH. First see to it that from some perennial fount\nClean hands provide a pure drink-offering.\n\nOED. And when I have gotten this unpolluted draught?\n\nCH. You will find bowls, formed by a skilful hand,\nWhose brims and handles you must duly wreathe.\n\nOED. With leaves or flocks of wool, or in what way?\n\nCH. With tender wool ta'en from a young ewe-lamb.\n\nOED. Well, and what follows to complete the rite?\n\nCH. Next, make libation toward the earliest dawn.\n\nOED. Mean'st thou from those same urns whereof thou speakest?\n\nCH. From those three vessels pour three several streams,\nFilling the last to the brim.\n\nOED.                          With what contents\nMust this be filled? Instruct me.\n\nCH.                               Not with wine,\nBut water and the treasure of the bee.\n\nOED. And when leaf-shadowed Earth has drunk of this,\nWhat follows?\n\nCH.           Thou shalt lay upon her then\nFrom both thy hands a row of olive-twigs--\nCounting thrice nine in all--and add this prayer--\n\nOED. That is the chief thing,--that I long to hear.\n\nCH. As we have named them Gentle, so may they\nFrom gentle hearts accord their suppliant aid;--\nBe this thy prayer, or whoso prays for thee,\nSpoken not aloud, but so that none may hear;\nAnd in departing, turn not. This being done,\nI can stand by thee without dread. But else,\nI needs must fear concerning thee.\n\nOED.                               My daughters,\nHave ye both heard our friends who inhabit here?\n\nANT. Yea, father; and we wait for thy command.\n\nOED. I cannot go. Two losses hinder me,\nTwo evils, want of strength and want of sight.\nLet one of you go and perform this service.\nOne soul, methinks, in paying such a debt\nMay quit a million, if the heart be pure.\nHaste, then, to do it. Only leave me not\nUntended. For I cannot move alone\nNor without some one to support me and guide.\n\nISM. I will be ministrant. But let me know\nWhere I must find the place of offering.\n\nCH. Beyond this grove. And, stranger maid, if aught\nSeem wanting, there is one at hand to show it.\n\nISM. Then to my task. Meantime, Antigone,\nWatch by our sire. We must not make account\nOf labour that supplies a parent's need.                       [_Exit_\n\nCH. Thy long since slumbering woe I would not wake again,          I 1\nBut yet I long to learn.\n\nOED.                     What hidden lore?\n\nCH.                                        The pain\nThat sprang against thy life with spirit-mastering force.\n\nOED. Ah, sirs, as ye are kind, re-open not that source\nOf unavoided shame.\n\nCH.                 Friend, we would hear the tale\nTold truly, whose wide voice doth hourly more prevail.\n\nOED. Misery!\n\nCH.          Be not loth!\n\nOED.                      O bitterness!\n\nCH.                                     Consent.\nFor all thou didst require we gave to thy content.\n\nOED. Oh, strangers, I have borne an all-too-willing brand,         I 2\nYet not of mine own choice.\n\nCH.                         Whence? We would understand.\n\nOED. Nought knowing of the curse she fastened on my head\nThebe in evil bands bound me.\n\nCH.                           Thy mother's bed,\nSay, didst thou fill? mine ear still echoes to the noise.\n\nOED. 'Tis death to me to hear, but, these, mine only joys,\nFriends, are my curse.\n\nCH.                    O Heaven!\n\nOED.                             The travail of one womb\nHath gendered all you see, one mother, one dark doom.\n\nCH. How? Are they both thy race, and--                            II 1\n\nOED.                                  Sister branches too,\nNursed at the self-same place with him from whom they grew.\n\nCH. O horror!\n\nOED.          Ay, not one, ten thousand charged me then!\n\nCH. O sorrow!\n\nOED.          Never done, an ever-sounding strain.\n\nCH. O crime!\n\nOED.         By me ne'er wrought.\n\nCH.                               But how?\n\nOED.                                       The guerdon fell.\nWould I had earned it not from those I served too well.\n\nCH. But, hapless, didst thou slay--                               II 2\n\nOED.                               What seek ye more to know?\n\nCH. Thy father?\n\nOED.            O dismay! Ye wound me, blow on blow.\n\nCH. Thy hand destroyed him.\n\nOED.                        Yes. Yet lacks there not herein\nA plea for my redress.\n\nCH.                    How canst thou clear that sin?\n\nOED. I'll tell thee. For the deed, 'twas proved mine,--Oh 'tis true!\nYet by Heaven's law I am freed:--I wist not whom I slew.\n\nCH. Enough. For lo! where Aegeus' princely son,\nTheseus, comes hither, summoned at thy word.\n\n_Enter_ THESEUS.\n\nTHESEUS. From many voices in the former time\nTelling thy cruel tale of sight destroyed\nI have known thee, son of Laius, and to-day\nI know thee anew, in learning thou art here.\nThy raiment, and the sad change in thy face,\nProclaim thee who thou art, and pitying thee,\nDark-fated Oedipus, I fain would hear\nWhat prayer or supplication thou preferrest\nTo me and to my city, thou and this\nPoor maid who moves beside thee. Full of dread\nMust be that fortune thou canst name, which I\nWould shrink from, since I know of mine own youth,\nHow in strange lands a stranger as thou art\nI bore the brunt of perilous circumstance\nBeyond all others; nor shall any man,\nLike thee an alien from his native home,\nFind me to turn my face from succouring him.\nI am a man and know it. To-morrow's good\nIs no more mine than thine or any man's.\n\nOED. Thy noble spirit, Theseus, in few words\nHath made my task of utterance brief indeed.\nThou hast told aright my name and parentage\nAnd native city. Nought remains for me\nBut to make known mine errand, and our talk\nIs ended.\n\nTHE.      Tell me plainly thy desire.\n\nOED. I come to offer thee this woe-worn frame,\nAs a free boon,--not goodly in outward view.\nA better gift than beauty is that I bring.\n\nTHE. What boon dost thou profess to have brought with thee?\n\nOED. Thou shalt know by and by,--not yet awhile.\n\nTHE. When comes the revelation of thine aid?\n\nOED. When I am dead, and thou hast buried me.\n\nTHE. Thou cravest the last kindness. What's between\nThou dost forget or else neglect.\n\nOED.                              Herein\nOne word conveys the assurance of the whole.\n\nTHE. You sum up your petition in brief form.\n\nOED. Look to it. Great issues hang upon this hour.\n\nTHE. Mean'st thou in this the fortune of thy sons\nOr mine?\n\nOED.     I mean the force of their behest\nCompelling my removal hence to Thebes.\n\nTHE. So thy consent were sought, 'twere fair to yield.\n\nOED. Once I was ready enough. They would not then.\n\nTHE. Wrath is not wisdom in misfortune, man!\n\nOED. Nay, chide not till thou knowest.\n\nTHE.                                   Inform me, then!\nI must not speak without just grounds.\n\nOED.                                   O Theseus,\nI am cruelly harassed with wrong heaped on wrong.\n\nTHE. Mean'st thou that prime misfortune of thy birth?\n\nOED. No. That hath long been rumoured through the world.\n\nTHE. What, then, can be thy grief? If more than that,\n'Tis more than human.\n\nOED.                  Here is my distress:--\nI am made an outcast from my native land\nBy mine own offspring. And return is barred\nFor ever to the man who slew his sire.\n\nTHE. How then should they require thee to go near,\nAnd yet dwell separate?\n\nOED.                    The voice of Heaven\nWill drive them to it.\n\nTHE.                   As fearing what reverse\nProphetically told?\n\nOED.                Destined defeat\nBy Athens in the Athenian land.\n\nTHE.                            What source\nOf bitterness 'twixt us and Thebes can rise?\n\nOED. Dear son of Aegeus, to the Gods alone\nComes never Age nor Death. All else i' the world\nTime, the all subduer, merges in oblivion.\nEarth and men's bodies weaken, fail, and perish.\nFaith withers, breach of faith springs up and glows\nAnd neither men nor cities that are friends\nBreathe the same spirit with continuing breath.\nLove shall be turned to hate, and hate to love\nWith many hereafter, as with some to-day.\nAnd though, this hour, between great Thebes and thee\nNo cloud be in the heaven, yet moving Time\nEnfolds a countless brood of days to come,\nWherein for a light cause they shall destroy\nYour now harmonious league with severing war,\nEven where my slumbering form, buried in death,\nColdly shall drink the life blood of my foes,\nIf Zeus be Zeus, and his son Phoebus true.\nI would not speak aloud of mysteries.\nThen let me leave where I began. Preserve\nThine own good faith, and thou shalt never say,\nUnless Heaven's promise fail me, that for nought\nAthens took Oedipus to dwell with her.\n\nCH. My lord, long since the stranger hath professed\nLike augury of blessings to our land.\n\nTHE. And who would dare reject his proffered good?\nWhose bond with us of warrior amity\nHath ne'er been sundered,--and to day he comes\nA God-sent suppliant, whose sacred hand\nIs rich with gifts for Athens and for me.\nIn reverent heed whereof I ne'er will scorn\nThe boon he brings, but plant him in our land.\nAnd if it please our friend to linger here,\nYe shall protect him:--if to go with me\nBest likes thee, Oedipus,--ponder, and use\nThy preference. For my course shall join with thine.\n\nOED. Ye Heavens, reward such excellence!\n\nTHE.                                     How, then?\nIs it thy choice now to go home with me?\n\nOED. Yea, were it lawful. But in this same spot--\n\nTHE. What wouldst thou do? I'll not withstand thy will.\n\nOED. I must have victory o'er my banishers.\n\nTHE. Thy dwelling with us, then, is our great gain?\n\nOED. Yes, if thou fail me not, but keep thy word.\n\nTHE. Nay, fear not me! I will aye be true to thee.\n\nOED. I will not bind thee, like a knave, with oaths.\n\nTHE. Oaths were no stronger than my simple word.\n\nOED. What will ye do, then?\n\nTHE.                        What is that thou fearest?\n\nOED. They will come hither.\n\nTHE.                        Thy guards will see to that.\n\nOED. Beware, lest, if you leave me--\n\nTHE.                                Tell not me,\nI know my part.\n\nOED.            Terror will have me speak.\n\nTHE. Terror and I are strangers.\n\nOED.                             But their threats!\nThou canst not know--\n\nTHE.                 I know that none shall force\nThee from this ground against thy will. Full oft\nHave threatening words in wrath been voluble,\nYet, when the mind regained her place again,\nThe threatened evil vanished. So to-day\nBold words of boastful meaning have proclaimed\nThy forcible abduction by thy kin.\nYet shall they find (I know it) the voyage from Thebes,\nOn such a quest, long and scarce navigable.\nWhate'er my thought, if Phoebus sent thee forth,\nI would bid thee have no fear. And howsoe'er,\nMy name will shield thee from all injury.\n\nCHORUS.\nFriend! in our land of conquering steeds thou art come             I 1\nTo this Heaven-fostered haunt, Earth's fairest home,\nGleaming Colonos, where the nightingale\nIn cool green covert warbleth ever clear,\nTrue to the clustering ivy and the dear\n    Divine, impenetrable shade,\nFrom wildered boughs and myriad fruitage made,\nSunless at noon, stormless in every gale.\nWood-roving Bacchus there, with mazy round,\nAnd his nymph nurses range the unoffended ground.\n\nAnd nourished day by day with heavenly dew                         I 2\nBright flowers their never-failing bloom renew,\nFrom eldest time Deo and Cora's crown\nFull-flowered narcissus, and the golden beam\nOf crocus, while Cephisus' gentle stream\n    In runnels fed by sleepless springs\nOver the land's broad bosom daily brings\nHis pregnant waters, never dwindling down.\nThe quiring Muses love to seek the spot\nAnd Aphrodite's golden car forsakes it not.\n\nHere too a plant, nobler than e'er was known                      II 1\nOn Asian soil, grander than yet hath grown\nIn Pelops' mighty Dorian isle, unsown,\n  Free, self-create, the conquering foeman's fear,\nThe kind oil-olive, silvery-green,\nChief nourisher of childish life, is seen\nTo burgeon best in this our mother-land.\nNo warrior, young, nor aged in command,\n  Shall ravage this, or scathe it with the spear;\n  For guardian Zeus' unslumbering eye\n  Beholds it everlastingly,\nAnd Athens' grey-eyed Queen, dwelling for ever near.\n\nYet one more praise mightier than all I tell                      II 2\nO'er this my home, that Ocean loves her well,\n  And coursers love her, children of the wave\nTo grace these roadways Prince Poseidon first\nFramed for the horse, that else had burst\nFrom man's control, the spirit taming bit\nAnd the trim bark, rowed by strong arms, doth flit\n  O'er briny seas with glancing motion brave\n  Lord of the deep! by that thy glorious gift\nThou hast established our fair town\nFor ever in supreme renown--\nThe Sea nymphs' plashing throng glide not more smoothly swift.\n\nANT. O land exalted thus in blessing and praise,\nNow is thy time to prove these brave words true.\n\nOED. What hath befallen, my daughter?\n\nANT.                                  Here at hand,\nNot unaccompanied, is Creon, father.\n\nOED. Dear aged friends, be it yours now to provide\nMy safety and the goal of my desire!\n\nCH. It shall be so. Fear nought. I am old and weak,\nBut Athens in her might is ever young.\n\n_Enter_ CREON.\n\nCREON. Noble inhabiters of Attic ground\nI see as 'twere conceived within your eyes\nAt mine approach some new engendered fear\nNay, shrink not, nor let fall one fretful word.\nI bring no menace with me, for mine age\nIs feeble, and the state whereto I come\nIs mighty,--none in Hellas mightier,--\nThat know I well. But I am sent to bring\nBy fair persuasion to our Theban plain\nThe reverend form of him now present here.\nNor came this mission from one single will,\nBut the commands of all my citizens\nAre on me, seeing that it becomes my birth\nTo mourn his sorrows most of all the state\nThou, then, poor sufferer, lend thine ear to me\nAnd come. All Cadmus' people rightfully\nInvite thee with one voice unto thy home,\nI before all,--since I were worst of men,\nWere I not pained at thy misfortunes, sir,\n--To see thee wandering in the stranger's land\nAged and miserable, unhoused, unfed,\nSingly attended by this girl, whose fall\nTo such a depth of undeserved woe\nI could not have imagined! Hapless maid!\nEvermore caring for thy poor blind head,\nRoving in beggary, so young, with no man\nTo marry her,--a mark for all mischance.\nO misery, what deep reproach I have laid\nOn thee and me and our whole ill-starred race!\nBut who can hide evil that courts the day?\nThou, therefore, Oedipus, without constraint,\n(By all the Gods of Cadmus' race I pray thee)\nRemove this horror from the sight of men\nBy coming to the ancestral city and home\nOf thy great sires,--bidding a kind farewell\nTo worthiest Athens, as is meet. But Thebes,\nThy native land, yet more deserves thy love.\n\nOED. Thou unabashed in knavery, who canst frame\nFor every cause the semblance of a plea\nPranked up with righteous seeming, why again\nWould'st thou contrive my ruin, and attempt\nTo catch me where I most were grieved being caught?\nBeforetime, when my self-procured woes\nWere plaguing me, and I would fain have rushed\nTo instant banishment, thou wouldst not then\nGrant this indulgence to my keen desire.\nBut when I had fed my passion to the full,\nAnd all my pleasure was to live at home,\nThen 'twas thy cue to expel and banish me,\nNor was this name of kindred then so dear.\nNow once again, when thou behold'st this city\nAnd people joined in friendly bands with me,\nThou wouldst drag me from my promised resting-place,\nHiding hard policy with courtly show.\nStrange kindness, to love men against their will!\nSuppose, when thou wert eager in some suit,\nNo grace were granted thee, but all denied,\nAnd when thy soul was sated, then the boon\nWere offered, when such grace were graceless now;\n--Poor satisfaction then were thine, I ween!\nEven such a gift thou profferest me to-day,\nKind in pretence, but really full of evil.\nThese men shall hear me tell thy wickedness.\nThou comest to take me, not unto my home,\nBut to dwell outlawed at your gate, that so\nYour Thebe may come off untouched of harm\nFrom her encounter with Athenian men.\nYe shall not have me thus. But you shall have\nMy vengeful spirit ever in your land\nAbiding for destruction,--and my sons\nShall have this portion in their father's ground,\nTo die thereon. Know I not things in Thebes\nBetter than thou? Yea, for 'tis mine to hear\nSafer intelligencers,--Zeus himself,\nAnd Phoebus, high interpreter of Heaven.\nThou bring'st a tongue suborned with false pretence,\nSharpened with insolence;--but in shrewd speech\nThou shalt find less of profit than of bane.\nThis thou wilt ne'er believe. Therefore begone!\nLet me live here. For even such life as mine\nWere not amiss, might I but have my will.\n\nCR. Which of us twain, believ'st thou, in this talk\nHath more profoundly sinned against thy peace?\n\nOED. If thou prevail'st with these men present here\nEven as with me, I shall be well content.\n\nCR. Unhappy man, will not even Time bring forth\nOne spark of wisdom to redeem thine age?\n\nOED. Thou art a clever talker. But I know\nNo just man who in every cause abounds\nWith eloquent speech.\n\nCR.                   'Tis not to abound in speech,\nWhen one speaks fitting words in season.\n\nOED.                                     Oh!\nAs if thy words were few and seasonable!\n\nCR. Not in the dotard's judgement.\n\nOED.                               Get thee gone!\nI speak their mind as well--and dog not me\nBeleaguering mine appointed dwelling-place!\n\nCR. These men shall witness--for thy word is naught;\nAnd for thy spiteful answer to thy friends,\nIf once I seize thee--\n\nOED.                  Who shall seize on me\nWithout the will of my protectors here?\n\nCR. Well, short of that, thou shalt have pain, I trow.\n\nOED. What hast thou done, that thou canst threaten thus?\n\nCR. One of thy daughters I have sent in charge.\nThis other, I myself will quickly take.\n\nOED. Oh, cruel!\n\nCR.             Soon thou'lt have more cause to cry.\n\nOED. Hast thou my child?\n\nCR.                      I will have both ere long.\n\nOED. Dear friends, what will ye do? Will ye forsake me?\nWill you not drive the offender from your land?\n\nCH. Stranger, depart at once! Thou hast done wrong,\nAnd wrong art doing.\n\nCR. (_to attendants_).\n                     Now then, lead her away\nBy force, if she refuse to go with you.\n\nANT. Ah me! unhappy! Whither shall I flee?\nWhat aid of God or mortal can I find?\n\nCH. What dost thou, stranger?\n\nCR.                           I will lay no hand\nOn him, but on my kinswoman.\n\nOED.                         Alas!\nLords of Colonos, will ye suffer it?\n\nCH. Thou art transgressing, stranger.\n\nCR.                                   Nay, I stand\nWithin my right.\n\nCH.              How so?\n\nCR.                      I take mine own.\n\nOED. Athens to aid!\n\nCH.                 Stranger, forbear! What dost thou?\nLet go, or thou shalt try thy strength with us.\n\nCR. Unhand me!\n\nCH.            Not while this intent is thine.\n\nCR. If you harm me, you will have war with Thebes.\n\nOED. Did I not tell you this would come?\n\nCH.                                      Release\nThe maid with speed.\n\nCR.                  Command where you have power.\n\nCH. Leave hold, I say!\n\nCR.                    Away with her, say I!\n\nCH. Come hither, neighbours, come!\nMy city suffers violence. Wrongful men\nAre hurting her with force. Come hither to me!\n\nANT. Unhappy, I am dragged away,--O strangers!\n\nOED. Where art thou, O my child?\n\nANT.                             I go away\nAgainst my will.\n\nOED.             Reach forth thy hands, my daughter!\n\nANT. I cannot.\n\nCR.            Off with her!\n\nOED.                         Alas, undone! [_Exit_ ANTIGONE, _guarded_\n\nCR. Thou shalt not have these staves henceforth to prop\nThy roaming to and fro. Take thine own way!\nSince thou hast chosen to thwart thy nearest kin,--\nBeneath whose orders, though a royal man,\nI act herein,--and thine own native land.\nThe time will surely come when thou shalt find\nThat in this deed and all that thou hast done\nIn opposition to their friendly will,\nThou hast counselled foolishly against thy peace,\nYielding to anger, thy perpetual bane.                        [_Going_\n\nCH. Stranger, stand where thou art!\n\nCR.                                 Hands off, I say!\n\nCH. Thou shalt not go, till thou restore the maids.\n\nCR. Soon, then, my city shall retain from you\nA weightier cause of war. I will lay hands\nNot on the maidens only.\n\nCH.                      What wilt thou do?\n\nCR. Oedipus I will seize and bear away.\n\nCH. Great Heaven forfend!\n\nCR.                       It shall be done forthwith,\nUnless the ruler of this land prevent me.\n\nOED. O shameless utterance! Wilt thou lay thy hold\nOn me?\n\nCR.    Be silent! Speak no more!\n\nOED.                             No more?\nMay these dread Goddesses not close my lips\nTo this one prayer of evil against thee,\nThou villain, who, when I have lost mine eyes,\nBereavest me of all that I had left\nTo make my darkness light! Therefore I pray,\nFor this thy wrongful act, may He in heaven\nWhose eye sees all things, Helios, give to thee\nSlowly to wither in an age like mine!\n\nCR. Men of this land, bear witness to his rage!\n\nOED. They see us both, and are aware that I\nRepay thee but with words for deeds of wrong.\n\nCR. No longer will I curb my wrath. Though lonely\nAnd cumbered by mine age, I will bear off\nThis man!\n\nOED.      Me miserable!\n\nCH.                     How bold thou art,\nIf standing here thou think'st to do this thing!\n\nCR. I do.\n\nCH.       Then Athens is to me no city.\n\nCR. Slight men prevail o'er strength in a just cause.\n\nOED. Hear ye his words?\n\nCH.                     He shall not make them good.\nBe witness, Zeus!\n\nCR.               Zeus knows more things than thou.\n\nOED. Is not this violence?\n\nCR.                        Violence you must bear.\n\nCH. Come, chieftain of our land!\nCome hither with all speed. They pass the bound.\n\n_Enter_ THESEUS.\n\nTHE. Wherefore that shouting? Daunted by what fear\nStayed ye me sacrificing to the God[2]\nWho guards this deme Colonos? Let me know\nWhat cause so hastened my reluctant foot.\n\nOED. Dear friend (I know thy voice addressing us),\nOne here hath lately done me cruel wrong.\n\nTHE. Who is the wrong-doer, say, and what the deed?\n\nOED. This Creon, whom thou seest, hath torn away\nTwo children that were all in all to me.\n\nTHE. Can this be possible?\n\nOED.                       Thou hear'st the truth.\n\nTHE. Then one of you run to the altar-foot\nHard by, and haste the people from the rite,\nHorsemen and footmen at the height of speed\nTo race unto the parting of the roads\nWhere travellers from both gorges wont to meet.\nLest there the maidens pass beyond our reach\nAnd I be worsted by this stranger's might\nAnd let him laugh at me. Be swift! Away!\n--For him, were I as wroth as he deserves,\nHe should not go unpunished from my hand.\nBut now he shall be ruled by the same law\nHe thought to enforce. Thou goest not from this ground\nTill thou hast set these maids in presence here;\nSince by thine act thou hast disgraced both me\nAnd thine own lineage and thy native land,\nWho with unlicensed inroad hast assailed\nAn ancient city, that hath still observed\nJustice and equity, and apart from law\nRatifies nothing; and, being here, hast cast\nAuthority to the winds, and made thine own\nWhate'er thou wouldst, bearing it off perforce,--\nDeeming of me forsooth as nothing worth,\nAnd of my city as one enslaved to foes\nOr void of manhood. Not of Thebe's will\nCome such wild courses. It is not her way\nTo foster men in sin, nor would she praise\nThy doing, if she knew that thou hast robbed\nMe and the gods, dragging poor suppliant wights\nFrom their last refuge at thy will--I would not,\nHad I perchance set foot within thy land,\nEven were my cause most righteous, have presumed,\nWithout consent of him who bore chief sway,\nTo seize on any man, but would have known\nHow men should act who tread on foreign soil.\nThou bring'st disgrace on thine own mother state\nAll undeservedly, and the lapse of years\nHath left thee aged, but not wise--Again\nI bid those maids now to be brought with speed,\nUnless thou would'st be made a sojourner\nIn Athens by compulsion. This I speak\nNot with my lips alone, but from my will.\n\nCH. Stranger, dost thou perceive? Thy parentage\nIs owned as noble, but thine evil deeds\nAre blazoned visibly.\n\nCR.                   Great Aegeus' son!\nNot as misprising this thy city's strength\nIn arms, or wisdom in debate, I dared\nThis capture, but in simple confidence\nThy citizens would not so envy me\nMy blood relations, as to harbour them\nAgainst my will,--nor welcome to their hearths\nA man incestuous and a parricide,\nThe proved defiler of his mother's bed\nSuch was the mount of Ares that I knew,\nSeat of high wisdom, planted in their soil,\nThat suffers no such lawless runaways\nTo haunt within the borders of your realm.\nRelying on that I laid my hands upon\nThis quarry, nor had done so, were it not\nThat bitterly he cursed myself and mine.\nThat moved me to requital, since even Age\nStill bears resentment, till the power of death\nFrees men from anger, as from all annoy.\nBeing sovereign here thou wilt do thy pleasure. I,\nThough I have justice on my side, am weak\nThrough being alone. Yet if you meddle with me,\nOld as I am, you'll find me dangerous.\n\nOED. O boldness void of shame! Whom dost thou think\nThy obloquy most harms, this aged head\nOr thine, who hast thus let pass thy lips the crimes\nI have borne unwittingly. So Heaven was pleased\nTo wreak some old offence upon our race.\nSince in myself you will find no stain of sin\nFor which such ruinous error 'gainst myself\nAnd mine own house might be the recompense.\nTell me, I pray thee, if a word from Heaven\nCame to my father through the oracle\nThat he should die by his son's hand,--what right\nHast thou to fasten that reproach on me,\nThe child not yet begotten of my sire,\nAn unborn nothing, unconceived? Or if,\nBorn as I was to misery, I encountered\nAnd killed my father in an angry fray,\nNought knowing of what I did or whom I slew,\nWhat reason is't to blame the unwitting deed?\nAnd, oh, thou wretch! art not ashamed to force me\nTo speak that of my mother, thine own sister,\nWhich I will speak, for I will not keep silence,\nSince thou hast been thus impious with thy tongue.\nShe was my mother, oh, the bitter word!\nThough neither knew it, and having borne me, she\nBecame the mother of children to her son,\nAn infamous birth! Yet this I know, thy crime\nOf speech against us both is voluntary.\nBut all involuntary was my deed\nIn marriage and is this mine utterance now.\nNo,--that shall not be called a bosom-sin,\nNor shall my name be sullied with the deed,\nThy tongue would brand on me, against my sire.\nFor answer me one question. If to-day,\nHere, now, one struck at thee a murderous stroke,--\nAt thee, the righteous person,--wouldst thou ask\nIf such assailant were thy sire, or strike\nForthwith? Methinks, as one who cares to live,\nYou would strike before you questioned of the right,\nOr reasoned of his kindred whom you slew.\nSuch was the net that snared me: such the woes\nHeaven drew me to fulfil. My father's spirit,\nCame he to life, would not gainsay my word.\nBut thou, to whom, beneath the garb of right,\nNo matter is too dreadful or too deep\nFor words, so rail'st on me, in such a presence.\nWell thou dost flatter the great name of Theseus,\nAnd Athens in her glory stablished here,\nBut midst thy fulsome praises thou forgettest\nHow of all lands that yield the immortal Gods\nJust homage of true piety, this land\nIs foremost. Yet from hence thou would'st beguile\nMe, the aged suppliant. Nay, from hence thou would'st drag\nMyself with violence, and hast reft away\nMy children. Wherefore I conjure these powers,\nWith solemn invocation and appeal,\nTo come and take my part, that thou may'st know\nWhat men they are who guard this hallowed realm.\n\nCH. My lord, the stranger deserves well. His fate\nIs grievous, but the more demands our aid.\n\nTHE. Enough of words. The captors and their prey\nAre hasting;--we, they have wronged, are standing still.\n\nCR. I am powerless here. What dost thou bid me do?\n\nTHE. Lead us the way they are gone. I too must be\nThine escort, that if hereabout thou hast\nOur maidens, thou mayest show them to my sight.\nBut if men flee and bear them, we may spare\nSuperfluous labour. Others hotly urge\nThat business, whom those robbers shall not boast\nBefore their Gods to have 'scaped out of this land.\nCome, be our guide! Thou hast and hast not. Fortune\nHath seized thee seizing on thy prey. So quickly\nPasses the gain that's got by wrongful guile.\nNay, thou shalt have no helper. Well I wot\nThou flew'st not to this pitch of truculent pride\nAlone, or unsupported by intrigue;\nBut thy bold act hath some confederate here.\nThis I must look into, nor let great Athens\nProve herself weaker than one single man.\nHast caught my drift? Or is my voice as vain\nNow, as you thought it when you planned this thing?\n\nCR. I will gainsay nought of what thou utterest here.\nBut once in Thebes, I too shall know my course.\n\nTHE. Threaten, but go! Thou, Oedipus, remain\nIn quietness and perfect trust that I,\nIf death do not prevent me, will not rest\nTill I restore thy children to thy hand.\n\nCHORUS.\n  Soon shall the wheeling foes                                     I 1\nClash with the din of brazen-throated War.\n  Would I were there to see them close,\nBe the onset near or far!\nWhether at Daphne's gorge to Phoebus dear,\n  Or by the torch-lit shore\nWhere kind maternal powers for evermore\nGuard golden mysteries of holy fear\n  To nourish mortal souls\nWhose voice the seal of silent awe controls\nImprinted by the Eumolpid minister.\n  There, on that sacred way,\n  Shall the divinest head\nOf royal Theseus, rouser of the fray,\nAnd those free maids, in their two squadrons led,\n  Meet in the valorous fight\n  That conquers for the right.\n\n  Else, by the snow-capped rock,                                   I 2\nPassing to westward, they are drawing nigh\nThe tract beyond the pasture high\n  Where Oea feeds her flock.\nThe riders ride, the rattling chariots flee\n  At racing speed.--'Tis done!\nHe shall be vanquished. Our land's chivalry\n  Are valiant, valiant every warrior son\n  Of Theseus.--On they run?\nFrontlet and bridle glancing to the light,\nForward each steed is straining to the fight,\n  Forward each eye and hand\n  Of all that mounted band,\nAthena's knighthood, champions of her name\nAnd his who doth the mighty waters tame,\n  Rhea's son that from of old\n  Doth the Earth with seas enfold.\n\nStrive they? Or is the battle still to be?                        II 1\n    An eager thought in me\nIs pleading, 'Soon must they restore\nThe enduring maid, whose kinsmen vex her sore!'\nTo-day shall Zeus perform his will.\nThe noble cause wins my prophetic skill.\nOh! had I wings, and like a storm-swift dove\nPoised on some aery cloud might there descry\n    The conflict from above,\nScouring the region with mine eye!\n\nSovran of Heaven, all-seeing Zeus, afford                         II 2\n    Unto this nation's lord\nPuissance to crown the fair emprise,\nThou, and all-knowing Pallas, thy dread child!\nApollo, huntsman of the wild,\n--Thou and thy sister, who doth still pursue\nSwift many-spotted stags,--arise, arise,\nWith love we pray you, be our champions true!\n    Yea, both together come\nTo aid our people and our home!\n\nLEADER OF CH.\nAh! wanderer friend, thou wilt not have to accuse\nThy seer of falsehood. I behold the maids\nThis way once more in safe protection brought.\n\nOED. Where? Is it true? How say you?\n\nANT.                                 Father, father!\nOh that some God would give thee once to see\nThe man whose royal virtue brings us hither!\n\nOED. My daughters, are ye there?\n\nANT.                             Saved by the arm\nOf Theseus and his most dear ministers.\n\nOED. Come near me, child, and let your father feel\nThe treasure he had feared for ever gone.\n\nANT. Not hard the boon which the heart longs to give.\n\nOED. Where are ye, where?\n\nANT.                      Together we draw near.\n\nOED. Loved saplings of a solitary tree!\n\nANT. A father's heart hides all.\n\nOED.                             Staves of mine age!\n\nANT. Forlorn supporters of an ill-starred life!\n\nOED. I have all I love; nor would the stroke of death\nBe wholly bitter, with you standing by.\nPress close to either side of me, my children;\nGrow to your sire, and ye shall give me rest\nFrom mine else lonely, hapless, wandering life.\nAnd tell your tale as briefly as ye may,\nSince at your age short speaking is enough.\n\nANT. Here is our saviour. He shall tell thee all,\nAnd shorten labour both for us and thee.\n\nOED. Think it not strange, dear friend, that I prolong\nThe unhoped-for greeting with my children here.\nFull well I know, the joy I find in them\nSprings from thee only, and from none beside.\nThou, thou alone hast saved them. May the Gods\nFulfil my prayer for thee and for thy land!\nSince only in Athens, only here i' the world,\nHave I found pious thought and righteous care,\nAnd truth in word and deed. From a full heart\nAnd thankful mind I thus requite thy love,\nKnowing all I have is due to none but thee.\nExtend to me, I pray thee, thy right hand,\nO King, that I may feel thee, and may kiss,\nIf that be lawful, thy dear head! And yet\nWhat am I asking? How can one like me\nDesire of thee to touch an outlawed man,\nOn whose dark life all stains of sin and woe\nAre fixed indelibly? I will not dare--\nNo, nor allow thee!--None but only they\nWho have experience of such woes as mine\nMay share their wretchedness. Thou, where thou art\nReceive my salutation, and henceforth\nContinue in thy promised care of me\nAs true as to this moment thou hast proved.\n\nTHE. I marvel not at all if mere delight\nIn these thy daughters lengthened thy discourse,\nOr led thee to address them before me.\nThat gives me not the shadow of annoy.\nNor am I careful to adorn my life\nWith words of praise, but with the light of deeds.\nAnd thou hast proof of this. For I have failed\nIn nought of all I promised, aged King!\nHere stand I with thy children in full life\nUnharmed in aught the foe had threatened them.\nAnd now why vaunt the deeds that won the day,\nWhen these dear maids will tell them in thine ear?\nBut let me crave thy counsel on a thing\nThat crossed me as I came. Small though it seem\nWhen told, 'tis worthy of some wonder, too.\nBe it small or great, men should not let things pass.\n\nOED. What is it, O son of Aegeus? Let me hear,\nI am wholly ignorant herein.\n\nTHE.                         We are told\nOne, not thy townsman, but of kin to thee,\nHath come in unawares, and now is found\nKneeling at great Poseidon's altar, where\nI sacrificed, what time ye called me hither.\n\nOED. What countryman, and wherefore suppliant there?\n\nTHE. One thing alone I know. He craves of thee\nSome speech, they say, that will not hold thee long.\n\nOED. His kneeling there imports no trivial suit.\n\nTHE. All he desires, they tell me, is to come,\nHave speech with thee, and go unharmed away.\n\nOED. Who can he be that kneels for such a boon?\n\nTHE. Think, if at Argos thou a kinsman hast\nWho might desire to obtain so much of thee.\n\nOED. Dear friend! Hold there! No more!\n\nTHE.                                   What troubles thee?\n\nOED. Ask it not of me!\n\nTHE.                   What? Speak plainly forth.\n\nOED. Thy words have shown me who the stranger is.\n\nTHE. And who is he that I should say him nay?\n\nOED. My son, O King,--hateful to me, whose tongue\nLeast of the world I could endure to hear.\n\nTHE. What pain is there in hearing? Canst thou not\nHear, and refuse to do what thou mislikest?\n\nOED. My Lord, I have come to loathe his very voice.\nI pray thee, urge me not to yield in this.\n\nTHE. Think that the God must be considered too,\nThe right of suppliants may compel thy care.\n\nANT. Father, give ear, though I be young that speak.\nYield to the scruple of the King, who claims\nThis reverence for his people's God, and yield\nTo us who beg our brother may come near.\nTake heart! He will not force thee from thy will.\nWhat harm can come of hearkening? Wisdom's ways\nReveal themselves through words. He is thy son.\nWhence, were his heartless conduct against thee\nBeyond redemption impious, O my sire,\nThy vengeance still would be unnatural.\nOh let him!--Others have had evil sons\nAnd passionate anger, but the warning voice\nOf friends hath charmed their mood. Then do not thou\nLook narrowly upon thy present griefs,\nBut on those ancient wrongs thou didst endure\nFrom father and from mother. Thence thou wilt learn\nThat evil passion ever ends in woe.\nThy sightless eyes are no light argument\nTo warn thee through the feeling of thy loss.\nRelent and hear us! 'Tis a mere disgrace\nTo beg so long for a just boon. The King\nIs kind to thee. Be generous in return.\n\nOED. Child, your dear pleading to your hard request\nHath won me. Let this be as ye desire.\nOnly, my lord, if he is to come near,\nLet no man's power molest my liberty.\n\nTHE. I need no repetition, aged friend,\nOf that request. Vaunt will I not, but thou\nBe sure, if Heaven protect me, thou art free.\n\nCHORUS.\n        Who, loving life, hath sought                              I 1\n          To outlive the appointed span,\n        Shall be arraigned before my thought\n          For an infatuate man.\n        Since the added years entail\n          Much that is bitter,--joy\n        Flies out of ken, desire doth fail,\n          The longed-for moments cloy.\n        But when the troublous life,\n          Be it less or more, is past,\n        With power to end the strife\n          Comes rescuing Death at last.\nLo! the dark bridegroom waits! No festal choir\nShall grace his destined hour, no dance, no lyre!\n\n        Far best were ne'er to be,                                 I 2\n          But, having seen the day,\n        Next best by far for each to flee\n          As swiftly as each may,\n        Yonder from whence he came:\n          For once let Youth be there\n        With her light fooleries, who shall name\n          The unnumbered brood of Care?\n        No trial spared, no fall!\n          Feuds, battles, murders, rage,\n        Envy, and last of all,\n          Despised, dim, friendless age!\nAy, there all evils, crowded in one room,\nEach at his worst of ill, augment the gloom.\n\nSuch lot is mine, and round this man of woe,                        II\n  --As some grey headland of a northward shore\nBears buffets of all-wintry winds that blow,--\n  New storms of Fate are bursting evermore\n    In thundrous billows, borne\n    Some from the waning light,\nSome through mid-noon, some from the rising morn,\n    Some from the realm of Night.\n\nANT. Ah! Who comes here? Sure 'tis the Argive man\nApproaching hitherward, weeping amain.\nAnd, father, it is he!\n\nOED.                   Whom dost thou mean?\n\nANT. The same our thoughts have dwelt on all this while,\nPolynices. He is here.\n\nPOLYNICES.             What shall I do?\nI stand in doubt which first I should lament,\nMy own misfortune or my father's woe,\nWhom here I find an outcast in his age\nWith you, my sisters, in the stranger land,\nClothed in such raiment, whose inveterate filth\nHorridly clings, wasting his reverend form,\nWhile the grey locks over the eye-reft brow\nWave all unkempt upon the ruffling breeze.\nAnd likewise miserable appears the store\nHe bears to nourish that time-wasted frame.\nWretch that I am! Too late I learn the truth,\nAnd here give witness to mine own disgrace,\nWhich is as deep as thy distress. Myself\nDeclare it. Ask not others of my guilt.\nBut seeing that Zeus on his almighty throne\nKeeps Mercy in all he doth to counsel him,\nThou, too, my father, let her plead with thee!\nThe evil that is done may yet be healed;\nIt cannot be augmented. Art thou silent?\nO turn not from me, father! Speak but once!\nWilt thou not answer, but with shame dismiss me\nVoiceless, nor make known wherefore thou art wroth?\nO ye his daughters, one with me in blood,\nSay, will not ye endeavour to unlock\nThe stern lips of our unrelenting sire?\nLet him not thus reject in silent scorn\nWithout response the suppliant of Heaven!\n\nANT. Thyself, unhappy one, say why thou camest.\nSpeech ofttimes, as it flows, touching some root\nOf pity or joy, or even of hate, hath stirred\nThe dumb to utterance.\n\nPOL.                   I will tell my need:--\nFirst claiming for protector the dread God\nFrom whose high altar he who rules this land\nHath brought me under safe-guard of his power,\nScatheless to speak and hear and go my way.\nHis word, I am well assured, will be made good,\nStrangers, by you, and by my sisters twain,\nAnd by our sire.--Now let me name mine errand.\nI am banished, father, from our native land,\nBecause, being elder-born, I claimed to sit\nUpon thy sovereign throne. For this offence\nEteocles, thy younger son, exiled me,\nNot having won the advantage in debate\nOr trial of manhood, but through guileful art\nGaining the people's will. Whereof I deem\nThy Fury the chief author; and thereto\nProphetic voices also testify.\nFor when I had come to Dorian Argolis,\nI raised, through marriage with Adrastus' child,\nAn army bound in friendly league with me,\nLed by the men who in the Apian land\nHold first pre-eminence and honour in war,\nWith whose aid levying all that mighty host\nOf seven battalions, I have deeply sworn\nEither to die, or drive from Theban ground\nThose who such wrongs have wrought. So far, so well.\nBut why come hither? Father, to crave thine aid\nWith earnest supplication for myself\nAnd for my firm allies, who at this hour,\nSeven leaders of seven bands embattled there,\nEncompass Thebe's plain. Amphiaraus,\nForemost in augury, foremost in war,\nFirst wields his warlike spear. Next, Oeneus' son,\nAetolian Tydeus; then Eteoclus\nOf Argive lineage; fourth, Hippomedon,\nSent by his father Talaues, and the fifth\nIs Capancus, who brags he will destroy\nThebe with desolating fire. The sixth,\nParthonopaeus, from the Arcadian glen\nComes bravely down, swift Atalanta's child,\nNamed from his mother's lingering maidenhood\nEre she conceived him. And the seventh am I,\nThy son, or if not thine, but the dire birth\nOf evil Destiny, yet named thy son,\nWho lead this dauntless host from Argolis\nAgainst the Theban land. Now one and all\nWe pray thee on our knees, conjuring thee\nAs thou dost love these maids and thine own life,\nMy father, to forgive me, ere I go\nTo be revenged upon my brother there\nWho drave me forth and robbed me of my throne.\nIf aught in prophecy deserves belief,\n'Tis certain, whom thou favourest, those shall win.\nNow by the wells whereof our fathers drank\nAnd by the Gods they worshipped, hear our prayer,\nGrant this petition: since alike in woe,\nAlike in poverty and banishment,\nPartakers of one destiny, thou and I\nCringe to the stranger for a dwelling place.\nWhilst he at home, the tyrant, woe is me,\nLaughs at us both in soft luxurious pride.\nWhose might, so thou wilt favour my design,\nI will lightly scatter in one little hour;\nAnd plant thee in thy Theban palace home\nNear to myself, hurling the usurper forth.\nAll this with thy consent I shall achieve,\nBut without thee, I forfeit life and all.\n\nCH. For his sake who hath brought him, Oedipus,\nSay what is meet, and let him go in peace.\n\nOED. Ay, were it not the lord of all this land\nTheseus, that brought him to me and desired\nHe might hear words from me,--never again\nHad these tones fallen upon his ear. But now\nThat boon is granted him: he shall obtain,\nEre he depart, such utterance of my tongue,\nAs ne'er shall give him joy,--ne'er comfort thee,\nVillain, who when possessed of the chief power\nWhich now thy brother holds o'er Theban land,\nDidst banish me, thy father, who stand here,\nTo live in exile, clothed with such attire,\nThat moves thy tears now that thine own estate\nIs fallen into like depth of struggling woe.\nBut tears are bootless. Howsoe'er I live,\nI must endure, and hold thee still my murderer.\n'Tis thou hast girt me round with misery,\n'Tis thou didst drive me forth, and driven by thee\nI beg my bread, a wandering sojourner.\nYea, had these daughters not been born to me\nTo tend me, I were dead, for all thou hast done.\nThey have rescued, they have nursed me. They are men,\nNot women, in the strength of ministry.\nYe are another's, not my sons--For this\nThe eye of Destiny pursues thee still\nEager to light on thee with instant doom\nIf once that army move toward the town\nOf ancient Thebes,--the _town_, no dearer name,\n'City' or 'Country' shall beseem thy lip\nTill ye both fall, stained with fraternal gore\nLong since I launched that curse against you twain\nWhich here again I summon to mine aid,\nThat ye may learn what duty children owe\nTo a parent, nor account it a light thing\nThat ye were cruel sons to your blind sire.\nThese maidens did not so. Wherefore my curse\nPrevails against thy prayer for Thebe's throne,\nIf ancient Zeus, the eternal lawgiver,\nHave primal Justice for his counsellor.\nBegone, renounced and fatherless for me,\nAnd take with thee, vilest of villanous men,\nThis imprecation:--Vain be thine attempt\nIn levying war against thy father's race,\nFrustrate be thy return to Argos' vale:\nDie foully by a fratricidal hand\nAnd foully slay him who hath banished thee!\nFurther, I bid the horror breathing gloom\nTartarean, of the vault that holds my sire,\nTo banish thee from that last home: I invoke\nThe Spirits who haunt this ground, and the fierce God\nWho hath filled you both with this unnatural hate.--\nGo now with all this in thine ears, and tell\nThe people of Cadmus and thy firm allies\nIn whom thou trustest, what inheritance\nOedipus hath divided to his sons.\n\nCH. 'Tis pity for thee, prince, to have come at all;\nAnd now we bid thee go the way thou camest.\n\nPOL. Alas! Vain enterprise, and hope undone!\nOh, my poor comrades! To what fatal end\nI led you forth from Argos, woe is me!\nI may not tell it you,--no, nor return.\nIn silence I must go to meet my doom.\nDaughters of this inexorable sire,\nSince now ye have heard his cruel curse on me,\nAh! in Heaven's name, my sisters, do not you\nTreat me despitefully, but if, one day,\nOur father's execration is fulfilled\nAnd ye shall be restored to Theban ground,\nGrace me with funeral honours and a tomb!\nSo shall this ample praise which ye receive\nFor filial ministration, in that day\nBe more than doubled through your care for me.\n\nANT. Brother, I beg thee, listen to my prayer!\n\nPOL. Dearest Antigone, speak what thou wilt.\n\nANT. Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed,\nAnd ruin not thyself and Thebe too.\n\nPOL. Impossible. If once I shrink for fear,\nNo longer may I lead them to the war.\n\nANT. But why renew thy rage? What benefit\nComes to thee from o'erturning thine own land?\n\nPOL. 'Tis shameful to remain in banishment,\nAnd let my brother mock my right of birth.\n\nANT. Then seest thou not how true unto their aim\nOur father's prophecies of mutual death\nAgainst you both are sped?\n\nPOL.                       He speaks his wish.\n'Tis not for me to yield.\n\nANT.                      O me, unhappy!\nBut who that hears the deep oracular sound\nOf his dark words, will dare to follow thee?\n\nPOL. They will not hear of danger from my mouth.\nWise generals tell of vantage, not of bale.\n\nANT. Art thou then so resolved, O brother mine?\n\nPOL. I am. Retard me not! I must attend\nTo my dark enterprise, blasted and foiled\nBeforehand by my father's angry curse.\nBut as for you, Heaven prosper all your way,\nIf ye will show this kindness in my death,\nFor nevermore in life shall ye befriend me!\nNay, cling to me no longer. Fare ye well.\nYe will behold my living form no more.\n\nANT. O misery!\n\nPOL.           Bewail me not.\n\nANT.                          And who\nThat saw thee hurrying forth to certain death\nWould not bewail thee, brother?\n\nPOL.                            If Fate wills,\nWhy, I must die.\n\nANT.             Nay, but be ruled by me.\n\nPOL. Give me not craven counsel.\n\nANT.                             Woe is me,\nTo lose thee!\n\nPOL.          Heaven hath power to guide the event\nOr thus or otherwise. Howe'er it prove,\nI pray that ye may ne'er encounter ill.\nAll men may know, ye merit nought but good.\n                   [_Exit. The sky is overcast--a storm is threatened_\n\nCHORUS.\nNew trouble, strange trouble, deep laden with doom,                I 1\nFrom the sight-bereft stranger seems dimly to loom!\n      Or peers Fate through the gloom?\nShe will move toward her mark or through shining or shade;\nSince no purpose of Gods ever idly was made.\nTime sees the fulfilment, who lifteth to-day\nWhat was lowly, and trampleth the lofty to clay.\n      Thunder! Heavens! what a sound!\n\nOED. My children! Would but some one in the place\nHaste hither Theseus, noblest among men!\n\nANT. Wherefore, my father? What is thy desire?\n\nOED. These winged thunders of the Highest will soon\nBear me away to the Unseen. Send quickly!\n\nCHORUS.\nAgain, yonder crash through the fire-startled air                  I 2\nWing'd from Zeus, rushes down, till my thin locks of hair,\n      Stiff with fear, upward stare.\nMy soul shrinks and cowers, for yon gleam from on high\nDarts again! Ne'er in vain hath it leapt from the sky,\nBut flies forth amain to what task Zeus hath given.\nI fear the unknown fatal edict of Heaven!\n      Lightning glares all around!\n\nOED. My daughters, the divinely promised end\nHere unavoidably descends on me.\n\nANT. How dost thou know it? By what certain sign?\n\nOED. I know it perfectly. Let some one go\nWith speed to bring the lord of Athens hither.\n\nCHORUS.\nGreat Heaven, how above me, beside me, around,                    II 1\n      Peals redoubled the soul-thrilling sound!\nO our God, to this land, to our mother, if aught\nThou wouldst send with some darkness of destiny fraught,\nSmile gently once more! With the good let me bear\n      What of fortune soe'er,--\nTaste no cup, touch no food, the doomed sinner may share.\n      Zeus, to thee, Lord, I cry!\n\nOED. Is the King coming? Will he find me alive,\nMy daughters, and with reason undisturbed?\n\nANT. Say wherefore dost thou crave with such desire\nThe clearness of an undistracted mind?\n\nOED. I would fully render from a grateful soul\nThe boon I promised, when I gained my suit.\n\nCHORUS (_looking towards Athens_).\nCome, my chief! come with speed! Or, if haply at hand,            II 2\n      On the height where the curved altars stand,\nThou art hallowing with oxen in sacrifice slain\nYonder shrine of Poseidon, dread lord of the main,\nHie thee hither! Be swift! The blind stranger intends\n      To thee, to thy friends,\nTo thy city, for burdens imposed, just amends.\n      Haste thee, King! Hear our cry!\n\n_Enter_ THESEUS.\n\nTHE. Why sounds again from hence your joint appeal,\nWherein the stranger's voice is loudly heard?\nIs it some lightning-bolt new-fallen from Zeus,\nOr cloud-born hail that is come rattling down?\nFrom Heavens so black with storm nought can surprise.\n\nOED. Prince, thou art come to my desire. Some God\nHath happily directed this thy way.\n\nTHE. What is befallen? Son of Laius, tell!\n\nOED. My path slopes downward, and before my death\nI would confirm to Athens and to thee\nMy promised boon.\n\nTHE.              What sign dost thou perceive\nThat proves thine end so near?\n\nOED.                           The Gods themselves\nWith herald voices are proclaiming it,\nNought failing of the fore-appointed signs.\n\nTHE. What are these tokens, aged monarch, say?\n\nOED. The loud continual thunder, and the darts\nThat flash in volleys from the unconquered hand.\n\nTHE. I may not doubt thee; for thy speech, I feel,\nHath ample witness of prophetic power.\nWhat must I do?\n\nOED.            I will instruct thee now,\nAegeus' great son! in rites that shall remain\nAn ageless treasure to thy countrymen.\nI will presently, with no man guiding me,\nConduct thee to the spot, where I must die.\nThis is thy secret, not to be revealed\nTo any one of men, or where 'tis hid\nOr whereabout it lies. So through all time\nThis neighbouring[3] mound shall yield thee mightier aid\nThan many a shield and help of alien spears.\nMore shalt thou learn, too sacred to divulge,\nWhen yonder thou art come thyself alone.\nSince to none other of these citizens\nNor even unto the children of my love\nMay I disclose it. 'Tis for thee to keep\nInviolate while thou livest, and when thy days\nHave ending, breathe it to the foremost man\nAlone, and he in turn unto the next\nSuccessively. So shalt thou ever hold\nAthens unravaged by the dragon brood[4].\nCities are numberless, and any one\nMay lightly insult even those who dwell secure.\nFor the eye of Heaven though late yet surely sees\nWhen, casting off respect, men turn to crime.\nErechtheus' heir! let that be far from thee!\nA warning needless to a man so wise!\nNow go we--for this leading of the God\nIs urgent--to the place, nor loiter more.\nThis way, my children! follow me! For I\nAm now your guide, as ye were mine. Come on!\nNay, touch me not, but leave me of myself\nTo find the holy sepulchre, wherein\nThis form must rest beneath Athenian soil.\nCome this way! Come! This way are leading me\nGuide Hermes and the Queen of realms below.\nO Light, all dark to me! In former time\nBright seemed thy shining! Now thy latest ray\nSheds vital influence o'er this frame. I go\nTo hide the close of my disastrous life\nWith Hades. Kind Athenian friend, farewell!\nMay'st thou, thy followers, and this glorious land\nBe happy, and in your endless happiness\nRemember him who blessed you in his death.                   [_Exeunt_\n\nCHORUS.\nPrince of the Powers Unseen,                                         1\n  Durst we with prayers adore\nThee and thy viewless Queen,\n  Your aid, Aidoneus, would our lips implore!\nBy no harsh-sounding doom\n    Let him we love descend,\n    With calm and cloudless end,\n  In deep Plutonian dwelling evermore\nTo abide among the people of the tomb!\nLong worn with many an undeserved woe,\nJust Gods will give thee glory there below.\n\nDread Forms, who haunt this floor,                                   2\n  And thou, the Unconquered Beast,\n  That hugely liest at rest\nBy the dim shining adamantine door,\n--Still from thy cavernous lair\n  Gnarling, so legends tell,\n  A tameless guard of Hell,--\nMayest thou this once thy vigilance forbear,\nAnd leave large room for him now entering there.\nHear us, great Son of Darkness and the Deep;\nOn thee we call, God of the dreamless sleep!\n\n_Enter_ Messenger.\n\nMESS. Athenian citizens, my briefest tale\nWere to say singly, Oedipus is gone;\nBut to describe the scene enacted yonder\nCraves no brief speech, nor was the action brief.\n\nCH. Then he is gone! Poor man!\n\nMESS.                          Know it once for all,\nHe hath left eternally the light of day.\n\nCH. Poor soul! What? Ended he with peace divine?\n\nMESS. Ay, there is the main marvel. How he moved\nFrom hence, thou knowest, for thou too wert here,\nAnd saw'st that of his friends none guided him,\nBut he they loved was leader to them all.\nNow, when he came to the steep pavement, rooted\nWith adamant foundation deep in Earth,\nOn one of many paths he took his stand\nNear the stone basin, where Peirithoues\nAnd Theseus graved their everlasting league.\nThere, opposite the mass of Laurian ore,\nTurned from the hollow pear-tree and the tomb\nOf marble, he sate down, and straight undid\nHis travel-soiled attire, then called aloud\nOn both his children, and bade some one fetch\nPure water from a running stream. And they,\nHasting together to the neighbouring hill\nOf green Demeter, goddess of the Spring,\nBrought back their sire's commission speedily,\nAnd bathed, and clothed him with the sacred robe.\nWhen he was satisfied, and nothing now\nRemained undone of all he bade them do,\nThe God of darkness thundered, and the maids\nStood horror-stricken on hearing; then together\nFell at their father's knees and wept and wailed\nLoudly and long with beating of the breast.\nHe, when that sound of sorrow pierced his ear,\nCaressed them in his arms and said:--'My daughters,\nFrom this day forth you have no more a father.\nAll that was mine is ended, and no longer\nShall ye continue your hard ministry\nOf labour for my life.--And yet, though hard,\nNot unendurable, since all the toil\nWas rendered light through love, which ye can never\nReceive on earth so richly, as from him\nBereaved of whom ye now shall live forlorn.'\nSuch was the talk, mingled with sobs and crying,\nAs each clung fast to each. But when they came\nTo an end of weeping and those sounds were stilled,\nFirst all was silent; then a sudden voice\nHurried him onward, making each man's hair\nBristle on end with force of instant fear.\nNow here, now there, not once but oftentimes,\nA God called loudly, 'Oedipus, Oedipus!\nWhy thus delay our going? This long while\nWe are stayed for and thou tarriest. Come away!'\nHe, when he knew the summons of the God,\nGave word for royal Theseus to go near;\nAnd when he came, said: 'Friend for ever kind,\nReach thy right hand, I pray thee (that first pledge)\nTo these my children:--daughters, yours to him!--\nAnd give thy sacred word that thou wilt never\nBetray these willingly: but still perform\nAll that thou mayest with true thought for their good.'\nHe, with grand calmness like his noble self,\nPromised on oath to keep this friendly bond.\nAnd when he had done so, Oedipus forthwith\nStroking his children with his helpless hands\nSpake thus:--'My daughters, you must steel your hearts\nTo noble firmness, and depart from hence,\nNor ask to see or hear forbidden things.\nGo, go at once! Theseus alone must stay\nSole rightful witness of these mysteries.'\nThose accents were the last we all might hear.\nThen, following the two maids, with checkless tears\nAnd groans we took our way. But by and by,\nAt distance looking round, we saw,--not him,\nWho was not there,--but Theseus all alone\nHolding his hand before his eyes, as if\nSome apparition unendurable\nHad dazed his vision. In a little while,\nWe marked him making reverence in one prayer\nTo the Earth, and to the home of Gods on high.\nBut by what fate He perished, mortal man,\nSave Theseus, none can say. No lightning-flash\nFrom heaven, no tempest rising from the deep,\nCaused his departure in that hour, but either\nSome messenger from heaven, or, from beneath,\nThe lower part of Earth, where comes no pain,\nOpening kindly to receive him in.\nNot to be mourned, nor with a tearful end\nOf sickness was he taken from the Earth,\nBut wondrously, beyond recorded fate.\nIf any deem my words unwise, I care not\nIn that man's judgement to be counted wise.\n\nCH. Where are those maidens and their escort? Say.\n\nMESS. They are not far off, but here. The voice of weeping\nBetokens all too plainly their approach.\n\nANT. Alas!\nHow manifold, the inheritance of woe\nDrawn from the troubled fountain of our birth!\nIndelible, ineradicable grief!\nFor him erewhile\nWe had labour infinite and unrelieved,\nAnd now in his last hour we have to tell\nOf sights and sorrows beyond thought.\n\nCH.                                   How then?\n\nANT. Friends, ye might understand.\n\nCH.                                Speak. Is he gone?\n\nANT. Gone! Even as heart could wish, had wishes power.\nHow else, when neither war, nor the wide sea\nEncountered him, but viewless realms enwrapt him,\nWafted away to some mysterious doom?\nWhence on our hearts a horror of night is fallen.\nWoe 's me! For whither wandering shall we find\nHard livelihood, by land or over sea?\n\nISM. I know not. Let dark Hades take me off\nTo lie in death with mine age honoured sire!\nDeath were far better than my life to be.\n\nCH. Noblest of maidens, ye must learn to bear\nMeekly the sending of the Gods. Be not\nOn fire with grief. Your state is well assured.\n\nANT. If to be thus is well, then may one long\nFor evil to return. Things nowise dear\nWere dear to me, whiles I had him to embrace.\nO father! loved one! that art wearing now\nThe eternal robe of darkness underground,\nOld as thou wert, think not this maid and I\nWill cease from loving thee!\n\nCH.                          He met his doom.\n\nANT. He met the doom he longed for.\n\nCH.                                 How was that?\n\nANT. In the strange land where he desired to die\nHe died. He rests in shadow undisturbed;\nNor hath he left a tearless funeral.\nFor these mine eyes, father, unceasingly\nMourn thee with weeping, nor can I subdue\nThis ever-mounting sorrow for thy loss.\nAh me! Would thou hadst not desired to die\nHere among strangers, but alone with thee\nThere, in the desert, I had seen thee die!\n\nISM. Unhappy me! What destiny, dear girl,\nAwaits us both, bereaved and fatherless?\n\nCH. His end was fortunate. He rests in peace.\nDear maidens, then desist from your complaint.\nSorrow is swift to overtake us all.\n\nANT. Thither again, dear girl, let us go speedily!\n\nISM. Say, for what end?\n\nANT.                    Desire possesses me--\n\nISM. Whereof?\n\nANT. To see the darksome dwelling-place--\n\nISM. Of whom?\n\nANT.          Woe is me! Of him, our sire!\n\nISM.                                       But how\nCan this be lawful? Seest thou not?\n\nANT.                                How say'st thou?\nWhy this remonstrance?\n\nISM.                   Seest thou not, again,\nHe hath no grave and no man buried him.\n\nANT. Take me but where he lies. Then slay me there.\n\nISM. Ah! woe is me, doubly unfortunate,\nForlorn and destitute, whither henceforth\nFor wretched comfort must we go?\n\nCH.                              Fear nought,\nDear maidens!\n\nISM.          Where shall we find refuge?\n\nCH.                                       Here,\nLong since, your refuge is secure.\n\nANT.                               How so?\n\nCH. No harm shall touch you.\n\nANT.                         I know that.\n\nCH.                                       What then\nFurther engrosseth thee?\n\nANT.                     How to get home\nI know not.\n\nCH.         Seek not for it.\n\nANT.                         Weariness\nO'erweighs me.\n\nCH.            Hath it not before oppressed thee?\n\nANT. Before, it vexed me; now it overwhelms.\n\nCH. A mighty sea of misery is your lot.\n\nANT. Woe is me! O Zeus! And whither must we go?\nUnto what doom doth my Fate drive me now?\n\nCH. Children, lament no longer. 'Tis not well\nTo mourn 'mongst those with whom the honoured dead\nHath left the heirloom of his benison.\n\n_Enter_ THESEUS.\n\nANT. Theseus, behold us falling at thy feet.\n\nTHE. What boon, my children, are ye bent to obtain?\n\nANT. Our eyes would see our father's burial-place.\n\nTHE. 'Tis not permitted to go near that spot.\n\nANT. O Athens' sovereign lord, what hast thou said?\n\nTHE. Dear children, 'twas your father's spoken will\nThat no man should approach his resting-place,\nNor human voice should ever violate\nThe mystery of the tomb wherein he lies.\nHe promised, if I truly kept this word,\nMy land would evermore be free from harm.\nThe power which no man may transgress and live,\nThe oath of Zeus, bore witness to our troth.\n\nANT. His wishes are enough. Then, pray thee, send\nAn escort to convey us to our home,\nPrimeval Thebes, if so we may prevent\nThe death that menaces our brethren there.\n\nTHE. That will I; and in all that I may do\nTo prosper you and solace him beneath,--\nWho even now passes to eternity,--\nI must not falter. Come, lament no more.\nHis destiny hath found a perfect end.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                                NOTES\n\n\n                          SOME PROPER NAMES\n\nAIDONEUS, Hades or Pluto.\nARES, The War-God, a destructive Power.\nDEO, Demeter.\nERINYES, the Furies.\nHELIOS, The Sun-God.\nRHEA, the Mother of the Gods.\nTHEBE, the town of Thebes personified.\n\n\n                              ANTIGONE.\n\n1 P. 6, l. 126. _The serpent._ The dragon, the emblem of Thebes.\n\n2   l. 130. _Idly caparisoned._ Reading [Greek: huperopliais].\n\n3 P. 7, l. 140. _Self-harnessed helper._ An allusion to the [Greek:\n  seiraphoros], or side trace-horse, in a chariot-race.\n\n4 P. 13, l. 342. _Children of the steed._ Mules are so-called by\n  Homer.\n\n5 P. 30, l. 955. _Dryas' hasty son._ Lycurgus. See Homer, _Iliad_, vi.\n\n6   l. 971. _Phineus' two sons._ Idothea, the second wife of Phineus,\n  persecuted his two sons by Cleopatra, a daughter of Boreas, whom he\n  had repudiated and immured. The Argonauts saw them in the condition\n  here described.\n\n7 P. 34, l. 1120. _The all-gathering bosom wide._ The plain of\n  Eleusis, where mysteries were held in honour of Deo or Demeter.\n\n8 P. 39, l. 1301. Reading [Greek: *oxuthekto ... peri*xiphei].\n\n9   l. 1303. _The glorious bed of buried Megareus._ Megareus, son of\n  Creon and Eurydice, sacrificed himself for Thebes by falling into a\n  deep cave called the Dragon's Lair.\n\n\n                                AIAS.\n\n1 P. 48, l. 172. _Her blood-stained temple._ In some of her temples\n  Artemis was worshipped with sacrifices of bulls, and, according to\n  an old tradition, also with human sacrifices.\n\n2 P. 49. l. 190. _The brood of Sisyphus._ Amongst his enemies,\n  Odysseus was reputed to be the offspring of Sisyphus and not of\n  Laertes.\n\n3 P. 59, l. 574. _Named of the shield._ Eurysakes means Broadshield.\n\n4 P. 71, l. 1011. _Who smiles no more._ Compare a fragment of the\n  _Teucer_ of Sophocles (519, Nauck),\n\n                   'How vain then, O my son,\n       How vain was my delight in thy proud fame,\n       While I supposed thee living! The fell Fury\n       From her dark shroud beguiled me with sweet lies.'\n\n\n                            KING OEDIPUS.\n\n1 P. 86, l. 36. _That stern songstress._ The Sphinx. See also\n  'minstrel hound.'\n\n2 P. 96, l. 402. _Will hunt | Pollution forth._ The party cry of\n  'driving out the pollution' was raised against the Alcmaeonidae and\n  other families in Athens, who were supposed to lie under a\n  traditional curse.\n\n3 P. 99. l. 525. _Who durst declare it._ [Greek: Tou pros d'\n  ephanthe]. Though the emphatic order of words is unusual, this seems\n  more forcible than the var. [Greek: toupos d' ephanthe].\n\n4 P. 102, l. 625. [CR. _You'll ne'er relent nor listen to my plea._] A\n  line has here been lost in the original.\n\n5 P. 113, l. 1025. _Your purchase or your child?_ Oedipus is not to be\n  supposed to have weighed the import of the Corinthian shepherd's\n  words, 'Nor I nor he,' &c., _supra_.\n\n6 P. 128. l. 1526. _His envied fortune mounted beaming._ Reading\n  [Greek: en zelo politon] (with 2 MSS) and [Greek: epiphlegon] from\n  my conjecture.\n\n\n                               ELECTRA.\n\n1 P. 131, l. 6. _The wolf-slaying God._ Apollo Lyceius, from _Lycos_,\n  a wolf.\n\n2 P. 140, l. 363. _Ne'er be it mine,_ &c. Reading [Greek: toume me\n  *lupoun monon | boskema].\n\n3 P. 143, l. 451. _That lingers on my brow._ A somewhat forced\n  interpretation of [Greek: tende lipare tricha]. Possibly [Greek:\n  tend' alamprunton tricha]: 'And this--unkempt and poor--yet give it\n  to him.'\n\n4 P. 144, l. 504. _Chariot course of Pelops, full of toil._ Pelops won\n  his bride Hippodameia by bribing Myrtilus, his charioteer; whom, in\n  order to conceal his fault, he flung into the sea.\n\n5 P. 150, l. 722. _That pulled the side-rope._ See on Ant., p. 7, l.\n  140.\n\n6   l. 151. _In letting loose again the left-hand rein._ The near\n  horse (see above) knows his business, and, when the slackening of\n  the rein shows that the goal is cleared, makes eagerly for the\n  direct downward course. But if he is let go an instant too soon, he\n  brings the car into contact with the stone.\n\n7   l. 746. _Caught in the reins._ In an ancient chariot-race, the\n  reins were often passed round the body of the charioteer, so as to\n  give more purchase. See this described in the _Hippolytus_ of\n  Euripides.\n\n8 P. 154, l. 837. _One in a woman's toils | was tangled._ Amphiaraus,\n  betrayed by Eriphyle for a necklace.\n\n9 P. 160, l. 1085. _Through homeless misery._ I read [Greek: aion'\n  aoikon] for [Greek: aiona koinon] of the MSS.\n\n10   l. 1086. _Purging the sin and shame._ I read [Greek: kathagnisasa]\n  for the impossible [Greek: kathoplisasa].\n\n11 P. 172, l. 1478. _Thou hast been taking,_ &c. Otherwise, reading\n  with the MSS [Greek: zon tois thanousin ounek' antaudas isa], _At\n  point to die, thou art talking with the dead._\n\n\n                         TRACHINIAN MAIDENS.\n\n1 P. 180, l. 104. _Bride of battle-wooing._ 'Deanira' signifies 'Cause\n  of strife to heroes.'\n\n2 P. 185, l. 303. _Ne'er may I see thee._ The Spartan captives from\n  Pylos had lately been at Athens, and some of them were reputed\n  descendants of Hyllus, the son of Deanira.\n\n3 P. 195, l. 654. _Frees him for ever._ His last contest brings his\n  final deliverance.\n\n4 P. 201, l. 860. _From Love's dread minister,_ i.e. from Aphrodite,\n  working through the concealed and silent Iole.\n\n\n                             PHILOCTETES.\n\n1 P. 222, l. 194. _Through Chrysa's cruel sting._ Chrysa was an island\n  near the Troad, sacred to a goddess of the name. Her precinct was\n  guarded by a serpent, whose bite, from which Philoctetes suffered,\n  was incurable. See below p. 254, l. 1327.\n\n2 P. 226, l. 344. _The fosterer of my sire._ Phoenix, the tutor of\n  Achilles.\n\n3 P. 227, l. 351. _For I ne'er | Had seen him._ The legend which makes\n  Achilles go to Troy from Scyros is probably ignored.\n\n4   l. 384. _Vile offset of an evil tree._ Alluding to the supposed\n  birth of Odysseus. See on Ai., l. 190, p. 60 [sic. should be p. 49].\n\n5 P. 230, l. 489. _Of old Chalcodon._ One of the former generation, a\n  friend and neighbour of Poeas the father of Philoctetes.\n\n6 P. 237, l. 729. _Of him, whose home is in the skies._ Heracles,\n  imagined as transfigured on Mount Oeta.\n\n7 P. 254, l. 1328. _The sky-roofed fold._ The open precinct that was\n  sacred to the goddess, merely surrounded by a wall. See above, note\n  on p. 222, l. 194.\n\n8 P. 255, l. 1333. _Phoebus' child._ Asclepius.\n\n\n                         OEDIPUS AT COLONOS.\n\n1 P. 265, l. 158. _Mingles with draughts,_ &c. Where libations are\n  mixed of water and honey.\n\n2 P. 288, l. 888. _The God._ Poseidon. See above, p. 282 [sic. should\n  be p. 262], l. 55.\n\n3 P. 306, l. 1525. _neighbouring._ [Greek: geitonon] (the participle).\n\n4   l. 1534. _The dragon-brood._ The Cadmeian race at Thebes, sprung\n  from the dragon's teeth sown by Cadmus.\n\n\nN.B.--For other questionable points the student is referred to the\nsmall edition of _Sophocles_, by Campbell and Abbott (2 vols.,\nClarendon Press, 1900).\n\n\nOxford: HORACE HART, Printer to the University.","title":"The Seven Plays in English Verse","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":92866}