{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_57999/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_57999","id":"gutenberg_57999","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57999","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Mythology, Classical -- Drama","Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, approximately 4 B.C.-65 A.D. -- Translations into English"],"text":"E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Eleni Christofaki, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n file which includes the original illustration.\n See 57999-h.htm or 57999-h.zip:\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/57999/pg57999-images.html)\n or\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/57999/57999-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n A list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA\n\n\n[Illustration: DOUBLE HERMES OF SENECA AND SOCRATES.\n\nNow in the Old Museum at Berlin]\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA\n\nTranslated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative\nAnalyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a\nMythological Index\n\nby\n\nFRANK JUSTUS MILLER\n\n\nIntroduced by an Essay on the Influence of the Tragedies of Seneca upon\nEarly English Drama\n\nby\n\nJohn Matthews Manly\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChicago\nThe University of Chicago Press\nLondon\nT. Fisher Unwin, 1 Adelphi Terrace\n1907\n\nCopyright 1907 by\nThe University of Chicago\n\nPublished December 1907\n\n\nComposed and Printed By\nThe University of Chicago Press\nChicago, Illinois, U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n TO\n FRANK FROST ABBOTT\n AND\n EDWARD CAPPS\n MY FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES\n THROUGH A SCORE OF YEARS\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe place of the tragedies of Seneca in literature is unique. They\nstand as the sole surviving representatives, barring a few fragments,\nof an extensive Roman product in the tragic drama. They therefore serve\nas the only connecting link between ancient and modern tragedy. They\nare, moreover, modeled more or less closely after the tragedies of\nAeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; and the Greek and Roman product\nin literature along parallel lines cannot be better studied than by\na comparison of these Senecan plays with their Greek prototypes--a\ncomparison which is not possible in comedy, since, unfortunately, the\nGreek originals of Plautus and Terence have not come down to us.\n\nThese plays are of great value and interest in themselves, first, as\nindependent dramatic literature of no small merit; and second, as an\nillustration of the literary characteristics of the age of Nero: the\nflorid, rhetorical style, the long, didactic speeches, the tendency to\nphilosophize, the frequent epigram, the pride of mythologic lore.\n\nPopular interest in the tragedies of Seneca has been growing to\na considerable extent during the last generation. This has been\nstimulated in part by Leo's excellent text edition, and by the\nresearches of German and English scholars into Senecan questions,\nmore especially into the influence of Seneca upon the pre-Elizabethan\ndrama; in part also by the fact that courses in the tragedies have been\nregaining their place, long lost, in college curricula.\n\nThe present edition seeks still further to bring Seneca back to the\nnotice of classical scholars, and at the same time to present to the\nEnglish reader all of the values accruing from a study of these plays,\nwith the single exception of the benefit to be derived from a reading\nof the original. The influence which the tragedies have had in English\nliterature is brought out in the introduction, which Professor Manly\nhas kindly contributed; the relation of Seneca to the Greek dramatists\nis shown by comparative analyses of the corresponding plays, so\narranged that the reader may easily observe their resemblances and\ndifferences; the wealth of mythological material is at once displayed\nand made available by an index of mythological characters; finally, it\nis hoped that the translation itself will prove to be as faithful a\nreproduction of the original as is possible in a translation, and at\nthe same time to have sufficient literary merit of its own to claim the\ninterest of the general reader.\n\nThe text used is that of Leo (Weidmann, Berlin, 1878), except in\nthe instances noted. The line numbers as printed in the translation\nare identical with those of the original text. The meter employed\nin the spoken parts is the English blank verse, with the exception\nof the _Medea_, in which the experiment was tried, not altogether\nsuccessfully, of reproducing the iambic trimeter of the original. In\nthe lyric parts, the original meters are sometimes used; and, where\nthese did not seem suitable in English, appropriate substitutes have\nbeen attempted.\n\n FRANK JUSTUS MILLER\n\n CHICAGO, ILL.\n October 25, 1907\n\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n PAGE\n I. THE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA 1\n\n II. THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA TRANSLATED\n OEDIPUS 11\n PHOENISSAE 51\n MEDEA 79\n HERCULES FURENS 115\n PHAEDRA OR HIPPOLYTUS 165\n HERCULES OETAEUS 213\n THYESTES 287\n TROADES 333\n AGAMEMNON 379\n OCTAVIA, WITH A REVIEW OF THE ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA 415\n\n III. COMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING\n GREEK DRAMAS 453\n\n IV. MYTHOLOGICAL INDEX 497\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY ESSAY\n\n\n\n\nTHE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA\n\nTo appreciate fully the nature and the extent of the influence of\nSeneca upon English tragedy in the days of Shakespeare and his\nimmediate predecessors, we must bear in mind that the public theaters\nwere not the only places at which plays were then produced. At the\nuniversities, at the inns of court (which may be roughly described as\ncombinations of a law school and a very exclusive social club), and\nat the Court itself plays were an important feature of almost every\nfestival. Even those of us who know these facts are very likely to\nfail to realize the full meaning of them. We are likely to regard\nthe non-professional performances as having no more significance for\nthe history of the drama than amateur performances at the present\nday by dramatic clubs and college societies. We are apt to forget\nthat, in the spacious days of great Elizabeth, learning, especially\nclassical learning, had a value, an importance, a dignity, which not\neven the most academic of us now feels it to have. Our generation,\nbusied above all things with making a living or with accumulating\nwealth, regards the scholar as, with the poet and the artist, the most\nunpractical and useless of men at best, tolerated as an ornamental\ncreature whom society can afford to keep if it does not have to pay\nhim more than it pays a butler or a chauffeur. To the men of the\nRenaissance, scholarship and the scholar had a unique and inestimable\nvalue. Ordinary business, in their view, enabled man to provide a\nliving; religion taught him how to save his soul; scholarship, the\nknowledge of the literature and life of the Greeks and the Romans,\nenabled him to distinguish his life as a man from that of a beast, to\napproach as nearly as possible to that ideal type toward which they\nstrove, the _uomo universale_, the perfect gentleman, complete master\nof his body, of his mind, of his passions. To men of these views\nand this temper, literature--first, classical literature and then\nthe vernacular literature produced under the stimulus of it--was of\nsupreme importance, and the drama was perhaps the most important form\nof literature. The value of literature for those who were then trying\nto transform the world, to rebuild it and themselves nearer to the\nheart's desire, was of course best recognized by the finest spirits of\nthe age, men like Erasmus, Thomas More, Walter Raleigh, Edmund Spenser,\nPhilip Sidney. But it seems to have been felt, though in cruder ways,\neven by the vulgar. An amusing illustration of this is the little\nrecord kept by old Simon Forman, a noted mountebank and quack doctor,\nin 1610 and 1611. It has preserved for us our earliest notices of\nperformances of _Macbeth_, _Cymbeline_, and _A Winter's Tale_; but\nthis is accidental. The doctor's intention was merely to note for his\nown guidance such lessons as he learned from the plays presented on\nthe stage. Such benefits were, according to the views of wiser men,\nto be gained chiefly from comedies; tragedy, and classical tragedy in\nparticular, had a finer, a more permanent value. Tragedy was the voice\nof the wisest men of the world, the ancients, upon the most serious\nthemes of human life; it not only, as Aristotle had said, purified the\nmind through pity and terror, it fortified the inner life, and both by\nexample and by sententious maxim prepared man to meet the most subtle\nattacks of fate, the temptations of success, or the discouragements of\nfailure. Tragedy therefore had a unique value for the Elizabethans, and\nthe performances of classical plays, or those written in imitation of\nthe classics, by the universities or the inns of court, did not fall\ninto the abyss which now receives amateur theatricals.\n\nFailure to take account of the value attached to the lessons and the\nexamples of tragedy may perhaps account for the misunderstanding which\nexists so widely, even among scholars, in regard to the first tragedy\nin English, _Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex_. Everyone knows that this\nwas written in direct imitation of Seneca, and everyone discusses\nglibly its Senecan features, the bloody theme, the division into five\nacts, the use of the chorus, the removal of the action from the view of\nthe spectators, the long speeches; but critics are, without exception,\noffended to the heart by the fifth act, and especially by the two long\ndisquisitions of Arostus and Eubulus. It is, however, no exaggeration\nto say that the play exists solely for the sake of these speeches. This\nwas not a mere academic exercise. It was a serious attempt by some of\nthe most thoughtful men of England to move the queen, Elizabeth, to a\ncourse of action which they regarded as absolutely essential to the\nwelfare of the realm. Other attempts to secure the same end were made\nby her best statesmen throughout the reign. The failure of this effort\nwas not due to the weakness of the tragedy, but, like the failure\nof all the rest, to some feature of Elizabeth's character or some\ncircumstance in her life which has not yet been fully and convincingly\nexplained. The purpose of the writers is clear. They wished to persuade\nElizabeth to marry and settle once for all the succession to the\nthrone of England. They, in common with all thoughtful and patriotic\nEnglishmen, feared the horrors of an unsettled succession or a divided\nrule. These they tried to impress upon her mind and heart by examples\ndrawn from the history of Gorboduc and his sons, and by maxims and\nexhortations presented in the most authoritative form known to them,\nthe form of Senecan tragedy. The occasion chosen was a great festival\ngiven by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple, one of the most important\nand influential of the inns of court referred to above.\n\nClassical tragedy had, then, as we can readily see, a prestige to\nwhich hardly anything in literature corresponds at the present day.\nThe statesman who should today wish to influence his sovereign to an\nimportant course of action would doubtless be puzzled to find any form\nof literature--academic or unacademic--appropriate to the task in\ndignity and authority.\n\nIt is not strange, therefore, that classical tragedy, the tragedy\nof the schools and the learned societies, must be taken seriously\ninto account in estimating the forces which shaped the drama of the\npopular stage. It is true that the English tragedies in classical or\nSenecan form were none of them written for the public stage. It is even\nprobable that they would not have been successful upon it. It is a\nmistake to treat them historically and critically, as if they belonged\nto the direct line of development which resulted in _Faustus_ and _The\nSpanish Tragedy_ and _Macbeth_ and _Lear_ and _Othello_. But none the\nless the influence of these academic plays was very real and very\nimportant.\n\nThe ways in which this influence was exercised may be noted, as having\nsome bearing upon the nature and extent of the influence. In the\nfirst place, there was in the early days no very rigid line between\nthe academic and the popular performers. The Children of the Chapel\nRoyal were at one time the leading theatrical company in London. When\nthe queen visited Oxford in 1566, there were among the several plays\npresented by the university, not only the Latin tragedy, _Progne_,\nof Dr. James Calfhill, but also the English _Palamon and Arcite_ of\nRichard Edwards, Master of Her Majesty's Children and the most popular\ndramatist of his day. Edwards himself trained the students who produced\nhis play, and it was a great success; according to a contemporary\nreport, \"certain courtiers said that it far surpassed _Damon and\nPythias_, than which they thought nothing could be better; likewise\nsome said that if the author did any more before his death, he would\nrun mad.\" Any impressions made upon Edwards by Dr. Calfhill's _Progne_\nwere doubtless lost to art, as Edwards died before the end of the year;\nbut this was probably not the first occasion on which the Master of\nthe Chapel Children had visited the university in behalf of the drama,\nand Edwards himself had been both a scholar and a probationary fellow\nthere. Certainly his famous _Damon and Pythias_ shows some evidences of\nthe influence of Seneca.\n\nIt is well known also that the most successful writers for the public\nstage in the years just preceding Shakespeare's advent, the years\nthat determined the forms and the methods of the popular drama, were\neducated at the universities, and, however clearly they may have\nrecognized the necessity of supplying to the populace story, action,\nthe raw material of life and philosophy, cherished as an ideal the\nSenecan interest in situation, the Senecan love for broad description,\nfor introspection and reflection, for elaborate monologue, and catchy\nsententiousness. Such were Greene and Peele and Marlowe; and Thomas\nKyd, author of that most popular of plays, _The Spanish Tragedy_, and\nprobable author of the version of _Hamlet_ which held the stage for\nfourteen years before Shakespeare revised it and gave it a new and a\ndifferent life, though not bred in either university, was more zealous\nabout his Latin and apparently more influenced by Seneca than the\nuniversity men themselves.\n\nBut, says some modern classical scholar, granting that these early\ndramatists were university men or men, like Kyd and Shakespeare, not\ntrained in the universities but all the more zealous to match their\nproductions with those which bore the official mark of classical\nscholarship, why should Seneca, a second-rate Roman tragedian, be\ncontinually cited in connection with classical influence instead of\nAeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides, the supreme masters of ancient\ntragedy, and Aristotle, the unique expositor of the theory of the\ndrama? The men of the Renaissance would have had a ready answer. In\nthe first place, they knew very little about the Greek tragedians,\nor, for that matter, about Greek literature in general; for although\nthe rediscovery of Greek literature was undoubtedly one of the events\nof that remarkable spurt of the human intellect and spirit which we\ncall the Renaissance, Greek literature and life were, after all, in\nevery country of Europe, far less important than Latin, as models for\nimitation, as sources of inspiration, as objects which engaged the\nattention of the moderns and set the pace which they tried to follow.\nAs for tragedy, a few scholars in Italy and France and Germany and\nEngland knew Sophocles and Euripides--Aeschylus was almost unknown--but\nthe theory and the practice of tragedy among the classicists were based\nalmost exclusively upon the example of Seneca and the precepts of\nHorace. Aristotle is, indeed, often cited as the ultimate authority,\nbut, although the voice may be the voice of Aristotle, the opinions are\nusually those of Scaliger or Minturno or Robortelli or Castelvetro,\nopinions which reduced to inviolable laws what Aristotle had merely\nstated as observed practices, and which supplemented these rules by\nothers drawn from the plays of Seneca, who was, according to these\ncritics, the most majestic, the most tragic, the most perfect of the\nancient tragedians. That Seneca's majesty seems to critics of today\nbombast, that his triumph in tragic quality consists in an accumulation\nof horrors and a consistently unfortunate ending, that his perfection\nof form is no more than a formal schematism, clear because it is simple\nand lifeless--all this may be true but is beside the mark. To the best\nspirits of the Renaissance, whether critical or creative, the ten\ntragedies which bore the name of Seneca presented the ideal of tragic\nart toward which modern writers should strive if they would be perfect.\n\nWhat, then, was the influence of Seneca in England? Two excellent\nstudies of different phases of it have been published, both,\nunfortunately, less known than they should be.\n\nThe purely formal influence, the influence upon dramatic technique\nand upon composition in the large sense of the term, is the subject\nof Rudolf Fischer's _Die Kunstentwicklung der englischen Trag\u00f6die_,\nperhaps the most ingenious and adequate scheme ever devised for the\nanalysis of the technical and compositional features of any form of\nart. Fischer sees in the history of English tragedy before Shakespeare\na steady approximation to the Senecan type. His argument is open to\nseveral objections. In the first place, he treats as if they belonged\nto the same simple line of development plays written for the public\nstage and the popular taste and those written for special audiences\ndominated by scholastic ideals. In the second place, as Professor Luick\nhas pointed out, he has disregarded the influence exercised by the\noriginal form of the story dramatized upon the dramatic presentation of\nit. And, furthermore, he, in common with other students of the subject,\nhas proceeded upon the assumption that only tragedy could have had any\ninfluence upon tragedy. He has neglected that remark of Ben Jonson's,\nwhich phrases the view not of his own time only but of all ages, \"The\nparts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy,\" and has failed to see\nthat for the structure of English tragedy, Roman comedy and the serious\nimitations of it by the men of the Renaissance--such as Gnapheus'\n_Acolastus_, Macropedius' _Asotus_ and _Rebelles_, and their anonymous\nEnglish offspring, _The Nice Wanton_--are no less important than the\nexample of Seneca himself. But his book is interesting and enlightening\nas few books on any subject are.\n\nEntirely different problems are dealt with in J.W. Cunliffe's little\nvolume on _The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy_, a book\nwhich, to the regret of many scholars, has long been out of print, and\nwhich the author ought to reprint with such additions as his continued\nstudy of the subject may suggest. Mr. Cunliffe is mainly concerned with\nshowing why Seneca appealed to the Elizabethans and with pointing out\ncertain details of theme, of situation, of theatrical effects, and of\nexpression, which the popular playwrights owed to Seneca.\n\nTo Seneca and the false Aristotle created by the humanists from the\n_Poetics_, the precepts of Horace, the definitions and maxims which\nsifted down through the encyclopaedists of the Middle Ages, and the\nexample of Seneca, not only the men of the Renaissance but even we of\ntoday owe some of our most cherished ideas concerning tragedy. First\nof all, perhaps, is the belief that tragedy must end unhappily. The\nGreeks--whether creators or critics--had no such theory. It was enough\nfor Sophocles and Aristotle that tragedy should be serious in theme\nand dignified in characters and in language. In the second place, we\nordinarily believe that a tragedy should have five acts, and many of\nus can draw a diagram to prove it. Shakespeare and his fellows seem to\nhave been dominated by the same theory, difficult as they sometimes\nfound it to observe. The sacred unities, dominant so long in Italian\nand French tragedy, though never observed in any English play more\nnotable than Addison's _Cato_, we have learned to disregard and even\nto decry, though such an attitude in the Elizabethan age awakened\nthe censure of Philip Sidney and doubtless required some hardihood\nor even recklessness. The chorus also we have long since abandoned,\nbut Greene and Peele and Kyd and Marlowe and Shakespeare and others\nof their time used it more than once and with good effect. They even,\nin some instances, combined with it the ghosts and infernal spirits,\nwhich beyond a doubt they owed to Seneca, and made this unearthly\nchorus, not only the commentator, but in some sense the subtle director\nof the action. Perhaps the most refined form of this is to be seen\nin the Ghost in _Hamlet_, who, though he does not appear technically\nas Chorus, yet recalls by his original incitement of the action and\nhis later intervention to renew and direct it, as well as by his\nlanguage and his attitude, the ghosts of Tantalus, Thyestes, Laius,\nand Agrippina in Seneca, and the spirits of Andrea and Revenge in\n_The Spanish Tragedy_. It is perhaps not going too far to find in the\ndream-setting of Hauptmann's _Elga_ some reminiscence of Shakespeare's\n_Taming of the Shrew_ and Greene's _James IV_, and consequently, in a\nremote sense, of Seneca's introductory figures, Tantalus, Thyestes, and\nthe rest.\n\nBut these matters and the striking resemblances in situation and in\nutterance cited so abundantly by Cunliffe and by Munroe (_Journal of\nPhilology_, Vol. VI, pp. 70-79), though they could be increased by many\npassages in _Macbeth_ and _King Lear_ as well as in the plays of other\ndramatists than Shakespeare, are after all not fundamental. Some other\nfeatures that seem fundamental may be noted.\n\nIn the first place, although it is doubtless true that the scanty\nscenery of the Elizabethan stage is largely the excuse and the reason\nfor the long descriptive passages with which the dramatists of that\ntime delighted themselves and delight us, their modern readers,\nthis is perhaps not the whole of the story. There are passages of\nexposition, of reflection, of pure declamation, equally long as well\nas equally beautiful. The Renaissance love of talk, of fine language,\nof _eloquentia_, may explain this in part; but it is doubtless due in\npart also to the example of Seneca, who never loses an opportunity for\na long passage of description or introspection or reflection or mere\ndeclamation--making them indeed for the Chorus when the situation does\nnot allow them to the ordinary _dramatis personae_.\n\nThen we may note that the thoroughly melodramatic character of\nElizabethan tragedy is a natural inheritance from Seneca. Greek tragedy\nhad, to be sure, many melodramatic situations, along with others of\na milder type. But the religious element in the tragedy of Aeschylus\nand Sophocles radically modifies the character and tone of the most\npoignant and repulsive themes and situations. When Seneca took the most\ndifficult of Greek themes and, following the lead of Euripides, cast\naway the over-ruling, compulsive dominance of the Greek theocracy, he\nproduced melodrama. Most moderns have been either content to follow\nhim or compelled to do so for lack of the ability to create striking\nsituations without the aid of villains of melodramatic criminality.\nA few of the French tragedians have had recourse to the method of\nthe Greeks either by reviving the Greek mythology and theocracy or\nby resorting to Hebrew history for characters whose deeds, however\ncriminal, were necessary parts of a divine plan. Shakespeare, almost\nalone, has at his best succeeded in substituting for the gods and\nfate the inevitable results of human character and the moral law, in\npresenting the worst deeds of his leading figures as less the results\nof free intention than of futile efforts to deliver themselves from\nthe web of circumstance which their first crimes or follies have\nwoven about them--the whole career of Macbeth, for example, being the\nnecessary outcome of his attempt to get free of the difficulties and\ndangers brought upon him by the murder of Duncan.\n\nSpeculation as to what the English drama might have been if Sophocles\ninstead of Seneca had been its inspiration and its model is idle. The\nmen of the Renaissance did not understand Sophocles; his stage, the\nmode of production of his plays, his aim, the whole nature of his art,\nwere beyond the scholarship of their day. And it is doubtful whether\nthey could in any event have made so successful a combination of the\nGreek and the national or mediaeval drama as they made of Senecan\ntragedy and the dramatic forms they already possessed.\n\nIn one thing, at any rate, the English drama was especially fortunate,\nthat is, in the fact that its form and its content were so largely\ndetermined by two such remarkable men as Marlowe and Shakespeare. The\nconditions in France in the sixteenth century were strikingly similar\nto those in England, except for the number of public theaters. M. Petit\nde Julleville points out that France as well as England possessed every\nitem of the motley list of dramatic types enumerated by Polonius;\nand he continues: \"Rien n'emp\u00eachait alors qu'un Shakespeare naquit\nen France; les circonstances n'\u00e9taient-elles pas merveilleusement\nfavorables? Mais, en d\u00e9pit de certaines th\u00e9ories, les grands hommes ne\nparaissent pas tout juste au moment o\u00f9 ils sont n\u00e9cessaires. Il nous\nfallait un Shakespeare; il naquit un Alexandre Hardy!\"\n\n\n\n\nOEDIPUS\n\n\n\n\nOEDIPUS\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\nOEDIPUS King of Thebes; the son, as he supposed, of Polybus, king of\nCorinth, and Merope, his wife, but found to be the son of Laius and\nJocasta.\n\n_Jocasta_ Wife and, as the play develops, found to be also the mother\nof Oedipus.\n\n_Creon_ Theban prince, brother of Jocasta.\n\n_Tiresias_ A celebrated prophet of Thebes, now old and blind.\n\n_Manto_ His daughter.\n\n_Old Man_ Sent from Corinth to announce to Oedipus the death of Polybus.\n\n_Phorbas_ Head-shepherd of the royal flocks of Thebes.\n\n_Messenger_ Who announces the self-inflicted blindness of Oedipus and\nthe suicide of Jocasta.\n\n_Chorus_ Of Theban elders.\n\nTHE SCENE is laid before the royal palace of Thebes; the play opens in\nthe early morning of the day within which the tragedy is consummated.\n\n\n_An oracle once came to Laius, king of Thebes, that he should perish by\nhis own son's hands. When, therefore, a son was born to him, he gave\nthe infant to his chief of shepherds to expose on Mount Cithaeron. But\nthe tenderhearted rustic gave the babe instead to a wandering herdsman\nof Polybus, the king of Corinth._\n\n_Years later, a reputed son of Polybus, Oedipus by name, fearing an\noracle which doomed him to slay his father and wed his mother, fled\nfrom Corinth, that so he might escape this dreadful fate. As he fared\nnorthward, he met and slew an old man who imperiously disputed the\nnarrow way with him. Upon arriving at the Theban land, he read the\nriddle of the Sphinx, and so destroyed that monster which Juno had\nsent to harass the land which she hated; and for this service, Oedipus\nwas made the husband of Jocasta, the widowed queen of Laius (who had\nrecently been slain upon the road), and set upon the vacant throne._\n\n_Now other years have passed, and sons and daughters have been born\nto the royal pair. But now a dreadful pestilence afflicts the state.\nOedipus has sent Creon to consult the oracle, to learn the cause and\nseek the means of deliverance from the scourge. And while he waits his\nmessenger's return, the murky dawn still finds him grieving for his\nkingdom's wretched plight._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Oedipus_: Now night has fled; and with a wavering gleam\n Returns the sun; all wrapped in murky clouds\n His beams arise, and with their baleful light\n Shall soon look forth upon our stricken homes,\n And day reveal the havoc of the night. 5\n Oh, who in all this realm is glad? O fate,\n That seemest good, how many ills lie hid\n Behind thy smiling face! As lofty peaks\n Most feel the winds' abuse; and as the cliff,\n That with its rocky front divides the deep,\n The waves of e'en a quiet sea assail; 10\n So is the loftiest power the most exposed\n To hostile fate's assaults.\n 'Twas well conceived\n That I should flee the kingdom of my sire,\n Old Polybus, and from my fears be freed,\n A homeless exile, dauntless, wandering.\n Be heaven and all the gods my witnesses,\n I chanced upon this realm. Yet even now\n The dreadful fear remains that by my hand 15\n My sire shall die. Thus spoke the Delphic god.\n And still another, greater sin he showed.\n And can there be a blacker crime than this,\n A father slain? Oh, cursed impiety!\n 'Twere shame to tell the hideous oracle:\n For Phoebus warned me of my father's couch, 20\n And impious wedlock. 'Twas the fear of this\n That drove me headlong from my father's realm,\n And for no sin I left my native land.\n All self-distrustful did I well secure\n Thy sacred laws, O mother Nature; still, 25\n When in the heart a mighty dread abides,\n Though well assured it cannot be fulfilled,\n The fear remains. I fear exceedingly,\n Nor can I trust myself unto myself.\n And even now the fates are aimed at me.\n For what am I to think, when this fell pest,\n Although it lays its blighting hand on all, 30\n Spares me alone? For what new horror now\n Am I reserved? Amidst my city's woes,\n 'Mid funeral pyres that ever must be wet\n With tears of grief afresh, 'mid heaps of slain,\n I stand unscathed. And couldst thou hope that thou,\n A culprit at the bar of God, shouldst gain 35\n For guilt a wholesome kingdom in return?\n Nay, rather, I myself infect the air.\n For now no breeze with its soft breath relieves\n Our spirits suffocating with the heat;\n No gentle zephyrs breathe upon the land;\n But Titan with the dog-star's scorching fires\n Doth parch us, pressing hard upon the back 40\n Of Nemea's lion. From their wonted streams\n The waters all have fled, and from the herbs\n Their accustomed green. Now Dirce's fount is dry;\n While to a trickling rill Ismenus' flood\n Hath shrunk, and barely laves the naked sands.\n Athwart the sky doth Phoebus' sister glide\n With paling light, and, 'mid the lowering clouds, 45\n The darkling heavens fade. No starlight gleams\n Amid the gloomy silence of the night,\n But heavy mists brood low upon the earth;\n And those bright mansions of the heavenly gods\n Are sicklied over with the hues of hell.\n The full-grown harvest doth withhold its fruit;\n And, though the yellow fields stand thick with corn, 50\n Upon the stalk the shriveled grain is dead.\n No class is free from this destructive plague,\n But every age and sex falls equally;\n Where youth with age, and sire with son are joined,\n And wife and husband are together burned. 55\n Now funerals claim no more their wonted grief;\n The magnitude of woe hath dried our eyes;\n And tears, the last resource of woeful hearts,\n Have perished utterly. The stricken sire\n Here bears his son unto the funeral flames; 60\n And there the mother lays her dead child down,\n And hastes to bring another to the pyre.\n Nay, in the midst of grief a new woe springs;\n For, while they minister unto the dead,\n Themselves need funeral rites. Anon they burn\n With others' fires the bodies of their friends.\n The fire is stol'n, for in their wretchedness 65\n No shame remains. No separate tombs receive\n The hallowed bones; mere burning is enough.\n How small a covering their ashes need!\n And yet the land does not suffice for all;\n And now the very woods have failed the pyre.\n Nor prayers nor skill avail to serve the sick,\n For even they who own the healing art\n Are smitten down. The baleful pestilence\n Removes the check that would restrain its force. 70\n So, prostrate at the altar, do I fall\n And, stretching suppliant hands, I pray the gods\n To grant a speedy end; that in my death\n I may anticipate my falling throne,\n Nor be myself the last of all to die,\n The sole surviving remnant of my realm.\n O gods of heaven, too hard! O heavy fate! 75\n Is death to be denied to me alone,\n So easy for all else? Come, fly the land\n Thy baleful touch has tainted. Leave thou here\n The grief, the death, the pestilential air,\n Which with thyself thou bring'st. Go speed thy flight\n To any land, e'en to thy parents' realm. 80\n\n _Jocasta_\n [_who has entered in time to hear her husband's last words_]: What\n boots it, husband, to augment thy woes\n With lamentations? For I think, indeed,\n This very thing is regal, to endure\n Adversity, and all the more to stand,\n With heart more valiant and with foot more sure,\n When the weight of empire totters to its fall. 85\n For 'tis not manly to present thy back\n To fortunes's darts.\n\n _Oedipus_: Not mine the guilt of fear;\n My valor feels no such ignoble throes.\n Should swords be drawn against me, should the power,\n The dreadful power of Mars upon me rush, 90\n Against the very giants would I stand.\n The Sphinx I fled not when she wove her words\n In mystic measures, but I bore to look\n Upon the bloody jaws of that fell bard,\n And on the ground, all white with scattered bones.\n But when, from a lofty cliff, with threatening mien, 95\n The baleful creature poised her wings to strike,\n And, like a savage lion, lashed her tail,[1]\n In act to spring; still did I dare my fate\n And ask her riddle. Then with horrid sound\n Of deadly jaws together crashed, she spake;\n The while her claws, impatient of delay,\n And eager for my vitals, rent the rock. 100\n But the close-wrought words of fate with guile entwined,\n And that dark riddle of the wing\u00e9d beast\n Did I resolve.\n\n _Jocasta_: What meant'st then thou by these\n Thy maddened prayers for death? Thou mightst have died.\n But no; the very scepter in thy hand\n Is thy reward for that fell Sphinx destroyed. 105\n\n _Oedipus_: Yea that, the artful monster's cruel shade,\n Doth war against me still. Now she alone,\n In vengeance for her death, is wasting Thebes.\n But now, one only way of safety still is left,\n If Phoebus show us not of safety all bereft.\n\n * * * * *\n\n[_Enter the_ Chorus of Theban elders, _deploring the violence of the\nplague._]\n\n _Chorus_: How art thou fall'n, O glorious stock 110\n Of Cadmus, thou and Thebes in one!\n How dost thou see, poor ruined Thebes,\n Thy lands laid waste and tenantless.\n And thou, O Theban Bacchus, hear:\n That hardy soldiery of thine,\n Thy comrades to the farthest Ind,\n Who dared invade the Eastern plains, 115\n And plant thy banners at the gates of dawn--\n Behold, destruction feeds on them.\n They saw the blessed Arabes,\n 'Mid spicy groves; and the fleeing steeds\n Of the Parthian, deadliest when he flees;\n They trod the marge of the ruddy sea, 120\n Where Phoebus his rising beams displays,\n And the day reveals; where his nearer fires\n Darken the naked Indians.\n Yea we, that race invincible,\n Beneath the hand of greedy fate 125\n Are falling fast.\n The gloomy retinue of death\n In march unceasing hurries on;\n The grieving line unending hastes\n To the place of death. Space fails the throng.\n For, though seven gates stand open wide, 130\n Still for the crowding funerals\n 'Tis not enough; for everywhere\n Is carnage seen, and death treads hard\n Upon the heels of death.\n The sluggish ewes first felt the blight,\n For the woolly flock the rich grass cropped\n To its own doom. At the victim's neck 135\n The priest stood still, in act to strike;\n But while his hand still poised the blow,\n Behold, the bull, with gilded horns,\n Fell heavily; whereat his neck,\n Beneath the shock of his huge weight,\n Was broken and asunder yawned.\n No blood the sacred weapon stained, 140\n But from the wound dark gore oozed forth.\n The steed a sudden languor feels,\n And stumbles in his circling course,\n While from his downward-sinking side\n His rider falls.\n The abandoned flocks lie in the fields; 145\n The bull amid his dying herd\n Is pining; and the shepherd fails\n His scanty flock, for he himself\n 'Mid his wasting kine is perishing.\n The stag no more fears the ravenous wolf;\n No longer the lion's roar is heard; 150\n The shaggy bear has lost her rage,\n And the lurking serpent his deadly sting;\n For parched and dying now he lies,\n With venom dried.\n No more do the woods, with leafage crowned,\n Spread out their shade in the mountain glens; 155\n No more are fields with verdure clad;\n No vines bend low with laden arms;\n For the very earth has felt the breath\n Of our dire pestilence.\n Through the riven bars of Erebus, 160\n With torches lit in Tartara,\n The raging band of the Furies troop;\n Dark Phlegethon has changed his course,\n And forced the waters of the Styx\n To mingle with our Theban streams.\n Grim Death opes wide his greedy jaws, 165\n And all his baleful wings outspreads.\n And he who plies that swollen stream\n In his roomy skiff, though his age is fresh\n And hardy, scarce can raise his arms,\n O'erwearied with his constant toil\n And the passage of the endless throng. 170\n 'Tis even rumored that the dog\n Hath burst the chains of Taenara,\n And through our fields is wandering.\n Now dreadful prodigies appear:\n The earth gives out a rumbling sound,\n And ghosts go stealing through the groves,\n Larger than mortal forms; and twice 175\n The trees of our Cadmean woods\n Have trembled sore and shed their snows;\n Twice Dirce flowed with streams of blood;\n And in the stilly night we heard\n The baying of Amphion's hounds.\n Oh, cruel, strange new form of death, 180\n And worse than death! The sluggish limbs\n Are with a weary languor seized;\n The sickly cheek with fever burns,\n And all the head with loathsome sores\n Is blotched. Now heated vapors rise\n And scorch with fever's flames the brain\n Within the body's citadel,\n And the throbbing temples swell with blood. 185\n The eyeballs start; the accurs\u00e9d fire\n Devours the limbs; the ears resound,\n And from the nostrils dark blood drips\n And strains apart the swelling veins. 190\n Now quick convulsions rend and tear\n The inmost vitals.\n Now to their burning hearts they strain\n Cold stones to soothe their agony;\n And they, whom laxer care permits,\n Since they who should control are dead,\n The fountains seek, and feed their thirst 195\n With copious draughts. The smitten throng\n All prostrate at the altars lie\n And pray for death; and this alone\n The gods, compliant, grant to them.\n Men seek the sacred fanes, and pray,\n Not that the gods may be appeased,\n But glutted with their feast of death. 200\n [Creon _is seen approaching_.]\n But who with hasty step the palace seeks?\n Is this our Creon, high in birth and deed,\n Or does my sickened soul see false for true?\n 'Tis Creon's self, in answer to our prayer. 205\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Reading, _caudam_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n[_Enter_ Creon.]\n\n _Oedipus_: I quake with horror, and I fear to know\n The tendency of fate. My trembling soul\n Strives 'neath a double load; for joy and grief\n Lie mingled still in dark obscurity.\n I shrink from knowing what I long to know.\n Wherefore, O brother of my consort, speak; 210\n And if to weary hearts thou bring'st relief,\n With quickened utterance thy news proclaim.\n\n _Creon_: In dark obscurity the answer lies.\n\n _Oedipus_: Who gives me doubtful succor grants me none.\n\n _Creon_: It is the custom of the Delphic god\n In dark enigmas to conceal the fates. 215\n\n _Oedipus_: Yet speak; however dark the riddle be\n 'Tis given to Oedipus alone to solve.\n\n _Creon_: Apollo doth ordain that banishment\n Be meted out to him who slew our king,\n And so our murdered Laius be avenged;\n For only thus shall we again behold\n The day's clear light, and drink safe draughts of air. 220\n\n _Oedipus_: Who was the slayer of the noble king?\n Tell who is designated by the god,\n That he th' allotted punishment may pay.\n\n _Creon_: May it be granted me to tell the things\n To sight and hearing dreadful. At the thought,\n Numb horror holds my limbs, my blood runs cold.\n When to Apollo's hallowed shrine I came 225\n With reverent feet, and pious hands upraised,\n Parnassus' double-crested, snowy peak\n Gave forth a fearful crash, the laurels shook,\n And fair Castalia's waters ceased to flow.\n The priestess of the son of Lato then 230\n Began to spread her bristling locks abroad,\n And felt the inspiration of the god.\n Scarce had she reached the sacred inner shrine,\n When with a roar, beyond the voice of man,\n There sounded forth this doubtful oracle:\n \"Kind shall the stars return to the Theban city of Cadmus,\n If, O fugitive guest, Ismenian Dirce thou leavest,\n Stained with the blood of a king, from infancy known to Apollo. 235\n Brief shall be thy joys, the impious joys of slaughter.\n With thee war thou bringest, and war to thy children thou leavest,\n Foul returned once more to the impious arms of thy mother.\"\n\n _Oedipus_: What I at heaven's command now meditate,\n Long since should have been rendered to the king, 240\n That none by craft might violate the throne.\n And most doth it become a sceptered king\n To guard the life of kings; for none lament\n The death of him whose safety breedeth fear.\n\n _Creon_: Our care for him a greater fear removed.\n\n _Oedipus_: What fear so great that duty to prevent? 245\n\n _Creon_: The Sphinx and her accurs\u00e9d riddle's threats.\n\n _Oedipus_: Then now at heaven's command shall be atoned\n That impious deed.\n Whoever of the gods\n Dost look with kindly eye upon our realm;\n And thou, whose hand doth guide the rolling sphere;\n And thou, O glory of the smiling sky, 250\n Who in thy wandering course dost rule the stars,\n And with thy flying wheels dost measure out\n The slow procession of the centuries;\n Thou sister of the sun, night-wanderer,\n Who ever dost reflect thy brother's fires;\n And thou, great ruler of the boisterous winds,\n Who o'er the level deep dost drive thy car; 255\n And thou, who dost allot the sunless homes:\n May he, by whose right hand king Laius fell,\n No peaceful home, no trusty lares find;\n And may no land in hospitality\n Receive his cheerless, exiled wanderings.\n O'er shameful marriage may he live to grieve, 260\n And monstrous progeny. May he his sire\n By his own hand destroy; and may he do\n (What doom more dreadful can I imprecate?)\n The deed which by my flight I did not do.\n No room for pardon shall be given him;\n By this my regal scepter do I swear,\n Both by the sway which I as stranger hold,\n And that I left behind; by my household gods, 265\n And thee, O Neptune, who with shorter waves\n And twofold current dost disport thyself\n Upon my native Corinth's double shores.\n And thou thyself be witness to my words,\n Who dost inspire the fate-revealing lips\n Of Cirrha's priestess: so may Polybus, 270\n My royal father, spend a quiet age,\n And end his days in peace upon the throne;\n And so may Merope, my mother, know\n The marriage of her Polybus alone,\n As from my grasp no favoring power shall snatch\n That guilty one, who basely slew the king.\n But tell me, where was that foul murder done?\n In open fight, or was he basely snared? 275\n\n _Creon_: In quest of cool Castalia's sacred fount\n And leafy woods, along the way he fared,\n On either side with tangled thickets hedged.\n 'Twas where the road, three-forked, spreads to the plain.\n One leads through Phocian land, to Bacchus dear,\n Where high Parnassus, by a gentle slope 280\n The lowlands leaving, lifts his double peak\n Into the heavens; and one leads off to where\n Two oceans bathe the land of Sisyphus;\n A third path, passing through Olenian fields,\n Along a hollow valley's winding way,\n Attains the vagrant waters and divides\n The chilling current of the Elean stream. 285\n 'Twas here he journeyed, safe 'mid general peace,\n When on a sudden, lo, a robber band\n Fell on him with the sword and slew him there.\n [Tiresias _is seen approaching_.]\n But in the nick of time, by Phoebus roused,\n Tiresias, ag\u00e9d and with trembling limbs,\n Hastes to our presence with what speed he may;\n And, as his faithful comrade, Manto comes, 290\n Her sightless father leading by the hand.\n\n[_Enter_ Tiresias, _led by his daughter_ Manto.]\n\n _Oedipus_: O priest of heaven, thou next to Phoebus' self,\n Explain the oracle which he hath sent,\n And tell on whom the penalty is laid.\n\n _Tiresias_: Because my tongue is slow and seeks delay,\n Thou shouldst not wonder, great-souled Oedipus;\n Much truth is hidden when the eye is dimmed. 295\n But when my country, when Apollo calls,\n I will obey. Then let me search the fates.\n If in my veins still flowed the blood of youth,\n I would myself sustain the god and speak.\n Now to the altar drive a pure-white bull,\n A heifer, too, upon whose tender neck 300\n The curv\u00e9d yoke of toil hath never pressed.\n And thou, my child, who guid'st my darkened steps,\n Describe the omens which Apollo sends.\n\n[_The victims are stationed before the altar as directed._]\n\n _Manto_: A perfect victim at the altar stands.\n\n _Tiresias_: With prayer invoke the presence of the gods,\n And heap the altar high with frankincense. 305\n\n _Manto_: Lo, on the sacred fire the spice is heaped.\n\n _Tiresias_: What of the flame? Did it with vigor seize\n The generous feast?\n\n _Manto_: With sudden gleam it leaped\n Into the air, and quickly fell again.\n\n _Tiresias_: And did the sacred fire burn bright and clear,\n And point its gleaming summit straight to heaven, 310\n And, spreading outward, to the breeze unfold;\n Or crawl, with course uncertain, near the ground,\n And, flickering, die away in gloomy smoke?\n\n _Manto_: Not one appearance only had the flame.\n As when the tempest-bringing Iris spreads\n Her varying colors on the vault of heaven, 315\n And with her painted bow adorns the sky;\n So to the sacred fire thou wouldst not tell\n What hue is wanting there and what prevails.\n Dark blue it flickered first, with yellow spots;\n Then bloody red, and then it vanished quite. 320\n But see! the flame is rent in rival parts,\n And the glowing embers of one sacred pile\n Are cleft in double heaps and fall apart!\n O father, horror fills me as I gaze;\n For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth,\n It changes straight to blood--Oh, horrible! 325\n And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head.\n And now in denser gloom it settles down\n Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud,\n It shuts away from him the fading light.\n Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend.\n\n _Tiresias_: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed\n Amid conflicting voices of the soul?\n What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed,\n But hidden yet in deepest mystery. 330\n With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wont\n To be made manifest: but what is that\n Which now they would disclose, and then, again,\n With changing and destructive purpose hide?\n Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell.\n But quickly set the chosen victims here,\n And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads. 335\n With peaceful face do they endure the rites,\n And hands outstretched to smite?\n\n _Manto_: His lofty head\n The bull uplifted to the eastern sky,\n Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turned\n In terror from the newly risen sun.\n\n _Tiresias_: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth? 340\n\n _Manto_: The heifer threw herself upon the steel,\n And with one blow has fallen; but the bull,\n Though smitten by a double deadly blow,\n Distracted wanders here and there in pain,\n And scarce can force his struggling life away.\n\n _Tiresias_: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood, 345\n Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds?\n\n _Manto_: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust,\n Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull,\n Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops,\n While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouth\n The plenteous current flows. 350\n\n _Tiresias_: These unblest rites\n Some dreadful ills portend. But come, describe\n The trusty markings of the viscera.\n\n _Manto_: Oh, what is this? For not, as is their wont,\n With gentle motion do the entrails quake,\n But, rather, strongly throb beneath the touch,\n While from the veins the blood leaps forth anew. 355\n The sickly heart is shriveled up and lies\n Deep hidden in the breast; the veins appear\n Of livid hue. The entrails suffer lack;\n And from the wasting liver oozes slow\n A stream of black corruption. Nay, behold\n (A sign of dark foreboding to a king\n Who holdeth single sway), two swelling points\n Of equal elevation rise to view; 360\n But both are lopped and covered with a veil.\n Refusing lurking-place to things unseen,\n The hostile side uprears itself with strength\n And shows seven swelling veins; but these, again,\n An intersecting line cuts straight across,\n Preventing their return. The natural law 365\n And order of the parts has been reversed,\n And nothing lies within its proper place.\n All on the right the blood-filled lungs appear,\n Incapable of air; the heart no more\n Is found upon the left, its 'customed place.\n The fatty walls, with their soft covering,\n No longer richly fold the entrails in. 370\n The ways of nature are in all things changed;\n The womb itself is most unnatural.\n Look close, and see what impious thing is this:\n Oh, monstrous! 'tis the unborn progeny\n Of a heifer still unmated! stranger still,\n It lies not in the wonted place, assigned\n By nature's laws, but fills its mother's side. 375\n It moves its members with a feeble groan;\n Its unformed limbs with trembling rigors twitch.\n Black blood has stained the darkened entrails all;\n The mangled bodies strive e'en yet to move,\n Make show to rise, and menace with their horns\n The priestly hands. The entrails shun the touch. 380\n Nor is that lowing which has frightened thee\n The deep-voiced roar of bulls, nor do the calls\n Of frightened cattle sound upon our ears:\n It is the lowing of the altar fires,\n It is the frightened muttering of the shrine!\n\n _Oedipus_: What meaning have these monstrous signs? Declare;\n And with no timid ears will I attend. 385\n For he who has the dregs of fortune drained\n Fears nothing more.\n\n _Tiresias_: The time will come to thee,\n When these thy ills, for which thou seekest aid,\n Will blessings seem.\n\n _Oedipus_: But tell me then, I pray,\n The one thing which the gods would have me know:\n Whose hands are stained with murder of the king?\n\n _Tiresias_: Neither the birds can summon up the name, 390\n Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing,\n Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts.\n But we must seek it in another way:\n The murdered king himself must be recalled\n From realms of everlasting night, that thus,\n Released from Erebus, he may declare\n His murderer. The earth must be unsealed; 395\n The pitiless divinity of Dis\n Must be implored, and hither brought the shades\n Who live beyond the Styx.\n Now do thou tell\n To whom thou giv'st the sacred embassy;\n For 'tis not right for thee who hold'st the reins\n Of government to seek the gloomy shades.\n\n _Oedipus_: O Creon, thee this task demands, to whom,\n As next in power, my kingdom looks for aid. 400\n\n _Tiresias_: And while we loose the bars of deepest hell,\n Do ye the praises of our Bacchus tell.\n\n[_Exeunt_ Creon, Tiresias, _and_ Manto.]\n\n _The Chorus_ [_in dithyrambic strain sings in praise of_ Bacchus]:\n Bind ye now your flowing locks with the swaying ivy,\n Brandish aloft with your languishing arms the Nysaean thyrsus!\n O glorious light of heaven, attend the prayers 405\n Which noble Thebes, thy Thebes, O beautiful Bacchus,\n With suppliant hands outstretched here offers thee.\n Turn hither thy smiling virgin face,\n Dispel the clouds with thy starry glance, 410\n The gloomy threats of Erebus,\n And ravenous fate.\n Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime,\n Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet;\n Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries,\n Softly to wreathe thy brow; 415\n Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion,\n Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it;\n Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno,\n Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens.\n Virgin, too, thou seemedst with golden ringlets, 420\n Binding up thy robe with a saffron girdle.\n So the softer graces of living please thee,\n Robes ungirt and flowing in long profusion.\n When in thy golden car thou wast drawn by lions,\n Clad in flowing garments, the East beheld thee, 425\n All the vast expanse of the Indian country,\n They who drink the Ganges and cleave the surface\n Of snowy Araxes.\n Seated on humble beast the old Silenus attends thee,\n Binding his throbbing brows with a waving garland of ivy; 430\n While the wanton priests lead on the mysterious revels.\n And then a troop of Bassarids\n With dancing step conducted thee,\n Now ranging o'er Pangaeus' foot,\n And now on Thracian Pindus' top. 435\n Soon, 'mid the noble dames of Thebes,\n A furious Maenad, the comrade of Bacchus,\n In garment of fawn-skin, conducted the god.\n The Theban dames, by Bacchus excited,\n With streaming locks and thyrsus uplifted 440\n In high-waving hands, now join in the revels,\n And wild in their madness they rend Pentheus\n Limb from limb.\n Their fury spent, with weary frame,\n They look upon their impious deed,\n And know it not.\n Into the sea realms holds, the foster-mother of Bacchus; 445\n Round her the daughters of Nereus dance, Leucotho\u00eb singing;\n Over the mighty deep, though new to its waves, Palaemon,\n Brother of Bacchus, rules, a mortal changed to a sea-god.\n When in childhood a band of robbers assailing\n Bore thee away in their flying vessel a captive,\n Nereus quickly calmed the billowy ocean; 450\n When lo! to rolling meadows the dark sea changes;\n Here stands in vernal green the flourishing plane-tree,\n There the groves of laurel dear to Apollo;\n While resounds the chatter of birds in the branches.\n Now are the oars enwreathed with the living ivy,\n While at the masthead hang the clustering grape vines; 455\n There on the prow loud roars a lion of Ida,\n At the stern appears a terrible tiger of Ganges.\n Filled with terror the pirates leap in the ocean.\n Straight in their plunging forms new changes appear; 460\n For first their arms are seen to shrink and fall,\n Their bodies' length to shorten; and on their sides\n The hands appear as fins; with curving back\n They skim the waves, and, lashing their crescent tails,\n They dash through the water. 465\n Changed to a school of dolphins now, they follow the vessel.\n Soon did the Lydian stream with its precious waters receive thee,\n Pouring down its golden waves in a billowy current.\n Loosed was the vanquished bow and Scythian darts of the savage\n Massagetan who mingles blood in his milky goblets. 470\n The realm of Lycurgus, bearer of axes, submitted to Bacchus;\n The land of the Dacians[2] untamable felt his dominion,\n The wandering tribes of the north by Boreas smitten,\n And whom the Maeotis bathes with its frozen waters. 475\n Where the Arcadian star looks down from the zenith,\n Even there the power of Bacchus extended;\n Conquered too the scattered Gelonian peoples.\n From the warlike maidens their arms he wrested;\n Down to the earth they fell in desperate conflict, 480\n The hardy bands of Amazonian maidens.\n Now, at last, their arrows swift are abandoned,\n And Maenads have they become.\n Holy Cithaeron too has streamed with slaughter,\n Where was spilt the noble blood of Ophion. 485\n Proetus' daughters the forests sought; and Argos,\n Juno at last consenting, paid homage to Bacchus.\n The island of Naxos, girt by the broad Aegean,\n Gave to Bacchus the maid whom Theseus abandoned,\n Compensating her loss by a better husband. 490\n Out of the rock there gushed Nyctelian liquor;\n Babbling streams at his word clove the grassy meadows;\n Deep the earth drank in the nectarean juices;\n Streams of snowy milk burst forth from the fountains, 495\n Mingled with Lesbian wine all fragrant with spices.\n Now is the bride to her place in the heavens conducted;\n Phoebus, with flowing locks, sings a stately anthem;\n Love, in honor of both, bears the wedding torches; 500\n Jove lays down the deadly darts of his lightning,\n Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.\n While the gleaming stars in their boundless pasturage wander,\n While the sea shall gird th' imprisoned earth with its waters, 505\n While the full-orb'd moon shall gather her lost refulgence,\n While the morning star shall herald the coming of Phoebus,\n While in the north the Bear shall fear the cerulean ocean,\n Still shall we worship the shining face of the beautiful Bacchus.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] Reading, _te Dac\u00fbm_.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_Enter_ Creon, _returned from the rites of necromancy_.]\n\n _Oedipus_: Although thy face displays the marks of grief,\n Declare whose death an angry heaven demands. 510\n\n _Creon_: Thou bid'st me speak where fear would silence keep.\n\n _Oedipus_: If Thebes, to ruin falling, move thee not,\n Regard the scepter of thy kindred house.\n\n _Creon_: Thou wilt repent the knowledge which thou seek'st.\n\n _Oedipus_: A useless cure for ills is ignorance. 515\n And wilt thou still obstruct the public weal?\n\n _Creon_: Where foul the cure, 'tis grievous to be cured.\n\n _Oedipus_: Thy tidings speak; or, by thy pains subdued,\n Thou soon shalt know what angered kings can do.\n\n _Creon_: Kings hate the words whose speech they would compel. 520\n\n _Oedipus_: In hades shalt thou pay thy life for all,\n Unless thou tell the secrets of the fates.\n\n _Creon_: Nay, let me hold my peace. No smaller boon\n Was ever sought.\n\n _Oedipus_: More often than by speech,\n Have kingdoms by the boon of silence fall'n. 525\n\n _Creon_: When silence is denied what can be given?\n\n _Oedipus_: He sins who silence holds when speech is best.\n\n _Creon_: Then hear in peace the words which I must speak.\n\n _Oedipus_: Was ever punishment for speech compelled?\n\n _Creon_: Afar from Thebes there is a frowning grove 530\n Near the well-watered vale of Dirce's fount.\n And there a cypress lifts its giant head\n And holds within its evergreen embrace\n The trees around. Here stands an ancient oak\n And spreads its branches dark with clustering mould.\n One side is torn by time's destructive hand; 535\n The rest, with roots decayed and falling, hangs\n Supported on a neighbor's trunk. Here stand\n The bitter laurel, rustling linden trees,\n The myrtle, and the alder destined soon\n To sweep its oarage on the boundless sea.\n Midway, a mighty pine its smooth trunk lifts 540\n Against the rays of Phoebus and the winds,\n And with its heavy shade it overwhelms\n The lesser trees; for, with its spreading boughs,\n It stands, the giant guardian of the wood.\n Beneath this pine there springs a gloomy pool 545\n That never saw the sun nor light of day.\n An oozy swamp surrounds the sluggish pool.\n Here did the ag\u00e9d priest direct his steps;\n Nor was there need to wait; the gloomy spot\n Supplied the shades of night. A trench is dug,\n Where brands are kindled, pluck'd from funeral pyres. 550\n The priest is shrouded in a mourning pall,\n And waves the bough; his dark robe sweeps the earth.\n And now, in squalid garb and wrapped in gloom,\n The priest advances, with his hoary locks 555\n Encircled by the yew-tree's deadly leaves.\n Black sheep and sable oxen, backward driven,[3]\n Are sacrificed. The fire devours the food,\n And the living entrails quiver in the flames.\n The shades he calls, and him who rules the shades,\n And him who guards the dark Lethaean stream. 560\n A magic rune he mutters o'er and o'er\n And fiercely chants the charm which either lures\n The shifting ghosts, or forces them to come.\n He burns the victims whole, and fills the trench\n With sacrificial blood, and snowy milk, 565\n And, with his left hand pouring, mingles wine;\n Again he chants, and, bending to the earth,\n With stronger words and frantic, summons up\n The manes. Loudly bayed the hounds of hell;\n And thrice the hollows gave a mournful sound; 570\n The whole earth trembled and the solid ground\n Was rent asunder. Then the priest exclaimed:\n \"I have prevailed, for strong the words I spoke;\n The deep and gloomy realm of chaos yawns,\n And for the dwellers in the home of Dis\n A way is opened to the world of light.\"\n The whole wood shrank away; its leaves erect\n In horror stood, the mighty trunks were split, 575\n And all the grove was smitten with amaze.\n The frightened earth crouched back with hollow groans,\n As if unwillingly she saw the deeps\n Of Acheron assailed; or else herself,\n That back to life the dead might find a way,\n With crashing sound her close-wrought barriers burst; 580\n Or threefold Cerberus in angry rage\n Clanked loud his heavy chains. Then suddenly\n The earth yawned wide, and at our very feet\n A deep abyss appeared. I saw, myself,\n The sluggish pools amidst the dusky shades;\n I saw the shadowy gods, and that black gloom\n No earthly night can give. At that dread sight\n My blood ran cold and froze within my veins. 585\n And then there hurried forth a dreadful band,\n And stood in armed array, that viper brood,\n The troop of brothers sprung from dragon's teeth;\n And that fell pestilence, the curse of Thebes.\n Then grim Erinys raised her piercing cry,\n Blind Fury, Dread, and all the ghastly forms 590\n Which spawn and lurk within the endless shades:\n Grief, in her madness, tearing out her hair;\n Disease, scarce holding up her weary head;\n Age, burdened with itself, and brooding Fear.\n Our spirits died within us at the sight. 595\n Even the prophet's daughter stood amazed,\n Though well she knew her father's mystic arts.\n But he, undaunted, since he saw them not,\n Convoked the bloodless throng of gloomy Dis.\n Like clouds the shadowy forms come trooping up,\n And snuff the air of unrestricted heaven.\n Not lofty Eryx in his mountain glades 600\n As many falling leaves, nor Hybla's slopes\n As many flowers produce, in sunny spring,\n When greedy bees in teeming bunches swarm;\n As many waves break not upon the shore;\n As many birds deserting Strymon's streams,\n Exchange not wintry blasts and Arctic snows, 605\n And seek the milder valley of the Nile;\n As were the shades the prophet summoned forth.\n In eager haste the shivering spirits seek\n The hiding-places of the leafy grove.\n From out the cave, his right hand by the horns 610\n A raging bull restraining, Zethus came,\n And next Amphion, with that famous shell\n Whose magic strains insensate rocks allured.\n Here haughty Niobe, in safety now,\n Amongst her children lifts her head in scorn\n And proudly counts her shades. And worse than she, 615\n That mother, mad Agave, next appears,\n With all the impious band who rent the king.\n Then Pentheus' self, all torn and bleeding, comes,\n In rage pursuing those wild Bacchanals.\n At length, when often summoned, Laius comes\n In shame, and, skulking, flees the shadowy throng, 620\n And hides himself away; but still the seer,\n With unrelenting purpose pressing on,\n Repeats his strong compelling exorcisms,\n Until he brings the ghost to open view.\n I shudder as I tell it. There he stood,\n A fearful sight, his body drenched with blood,\n His matted locks o'erspread with horrid filth. 625\n And now, with raging tongue, the specter spoke:\n \"O wild and savage house of Cadmus, thou\n Who ever dost rejoice in brother's blood!\n The thyrsus wave, in madness rend thy sons.\n The greatest crime of Thebes is mother's love.\n O fatherland, 'tis not the wrath of heaven, 630\n But sin of man by which thou art undone.\n No plague-fraught south wind with its deadly blast,\n Nor yet the parch\u00e9d earth with its dry breath,\n Is harming thee; but 'tis thy bloody king,\n Who, as the prize of savage murder done,\n Hath seized his father's scepter and his bed. 635\n An impious son (but far more impious,\n The mother who in most unhallowed womb\n Bore children once again), he forced his way\n Back to his source of life, and there begot\n Upon his mother offspring horrible,\n Got brothers to himself, a custom base,\n Whence e'en the very beasts of prey are free. 640\n Oh, base entanglement, more monstrous far\n Than that fell Sphinx which he himself hath slain.\n Thee, thee, who dost the bloody scepter hold,\n Thee will thy sire, still unavenged, pursue,\n With all thy town; and with me will I bring\n Th' attendant fury of my wedding night--\n I'll bring her with her loud-resounding[4] lash! 645\n Thy house, polluted, will I overthrow,\n And thy Penates will I trample down\n In fratricidal strife! Then quickly drive\n Thy king, O Thebes, from out thy boundaries!\n For when his baleful step shall leave the land,\n In vernal green shall it renew itself, 650\n The air shall give again pure springs of life,\n And to the woods their beauty shall return.\n Destruction, Pestilence and Death, Distress,\n Disease, Despair--his fitting company--\n Shall all depart with him. And he, indeed,\n Will seek with eager haste to flee his realm,\n But him will I hedge round with barriers, 655\n And hold him back. Uncertain of his way,\n And with his staff to guide his faltering steps,\n He'll creep along his sad and darkened path.\n Do ye the land deny him; I, his sire,\n Will take away from him the light of heaven.\"\n\n _Oedipus:_ A chilling tremor penetrates my bones;\n The very thing which I have feared to do, 660\n They say that I have done it. But the charge\n That in unholy wedlock I am joined,\n My mother Merope refutes, for she\n To Polybus, my sire, is wedded still;\n And my hands from stain of father's blood are clean,\n Since Polybus in safety lives and reigns.\n Since both my parents free me from the guilt\n Of murder and that base, incestuous crime,\n What room is there for accusation more?\n And as for Laius, Thebes his death deplored 665\n Long 'ere I set my feet upon her soil.\n What shall we say then? Was the seer deceived,\n Or does the hand of God afflict the state?\n No! now we see these two confederates\n Deep in a crafty plot: that priest of thine\n With lying tongue pretends the will of heaven,\n And promises my sovereignty to thee. 670\n\n _Creon:_ Would I expel my sister from the throne?\n But if that sacred fealty which I owe\n Unto my kindred house restrained me not,\n Yet fortune would herself affright me sore,\n For with care and danger is she ever fraught.\n But be thyself content to lay aside,\n While still thou safely mayst, the cares of state, 675\n Lest,[5] borne too long, they may o'erwhelm thee quite.\n In a humbler state more safely shalt thou dwell.\n\n _Oedipus:_ And dost thou bid me, then, of mine own will\n To lay aside the heavy cares of state?\n\n _Creon:_ Thus would I counsel those to whom the way\n Is open yet to choose the path he will. 680\n But the lot that fortune sends thee thou must bear.\n\n _Oedipus:_ When one desires to reign, 'tis ever thus,\n That humble life he praises, and the joys\n Of ease and sleep are ever in his mouth.\n A peaceful face oft hides a restless heart.\n\n _Creon:_ Does my long loyalty defend me not? 685\n\n _Oedipus:_ To traitors, loyalty's a cloak to crime.\n\n _Creon:_ Free from the burdens of a kingly state,\n I still enjoy the fruits of royalty;\n My house is honored by our citizens;\n And day by day thy royal gifts o'erflow,\n And fill my kindred home with luxury. 690\n Rich food and clothing, gifts of every sort,\n And safety flow to many through my aid.\n Why should I think aught lacking to my lot?\n\n _Oedipus:_ Because there is a lack. Prosperity\n Ne'er halts at any bounds.\n\n _Creon:_ And shall I fall, 695\n Prejudged, and have no right to plead my cause?\n\n _Oedipus:_ Hadst thou consideration for _my_ life?\n Did old Tiresias listen to my cause?\n And yet I am condemned. My pattern, thou;\n I do but follow in the way thou lead'st.\n\n _Creon:_ But what if I am guiltless?\n\n _Oedipus:_ Kings are wont\n To fear alike the doubtful and the true.\n\n _Creon:_ Who quakes at empty fears, hath true in store. 700\n\n _Oedipus_ Who in a fault is taken, and forgiven,\n Is filled with hate. Let all such dubious faith\n Be far from me.\n\n _Creon:_ But thus is hatred bred.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Nay, he who feareth hatred overmuch,\n Knows not the art of ruling like a king;\n For 'tis by fear that kings are guarded most.\n\n _Creon:_ Who holds the scepter with tyrannic sway, 705\n Doth live in fear of those who fear his power;\n For terror ever doth return to him\n Who doth inspire it.\n\n _Oedipus_ [_to attendants_]: Hence, away with him;\n Deep in some rocky dungeon let him stay,\n While I unto the palace take my way.\n\n[Creon _is led away by the attendants, while_ Oedipus _retires into the\npalace._]\n\n _Chorus:_ Not thou the cause of these our ills;\n And not on thy account hath fate\n Attacked the house of Labdacus; 710\n But 'tis the ancient wrath of heaven\n That still pursues our race.\n Castalia's grove once lent its shade\n Unto the Tyrian wanderer,\n And Dirce gave her cooling waves,\n What time the great Agenor's son, 715\n O'er all the earth the stolen prey\n Of Jove pursuing, worn and spent,\n Within these forests knelt him down\n And adored the heavenly ravisher.\n Then by Apollo's bidding led,\n A wandering heifer following, 720\n Upon whose neck the dragging plow,\n Nor the plodding wagon's curving yoke\n Had never rested, he his quest\n At last gave over, and his race\n From that ill-omened heifer named.\n From that time forth, the land of Thebes\n Strange monsters hath engendered: first, 725\n That serpent, sprung from the valley's depths,\n Hissing, o'ertopped the ag\u00e9d oaks\n And lofty pines; and higher still,\n Above Chaonia's woods, he reared\n His gleaming head, though on the ground 730\n His body lay in many coils.\n And next the teeming earth produced\n An impious brood of arm\u00e9d men.\n The battle call resounded loud\n From the curving horn, and the piercing notes\n Of the brazen trumpet shrill were heard.\n Their new-created, nimble tongues, 735\n And voices strange, they first employ\n In hostile clamor; and the fields,\n The plains, their kindred soil, they fill.\n This monster brood, consorting well\n With that dire seed from which they sprung,\n Their life within a day's brief span 740\n Enjoyed; for after Phoebus rose\n They had their birth, but ere he set\n They perished. At the dreadful sight\n Great terror seized the wanderer;\n And much he feared to face in war\n His new-born foes. Until, at length\n The savage youth in mutual strife 745\n Fell down, and mother earth\n Beheld her sons, but now produced,\n Returned again to her embrace.\n And Oh, that with their fall might end\n All impious strife within the state!\n May Thebes, the land of Hercules,\n Such fratricidal strife behold\n No more! 750\n Why sing Actaeon's fate,\n Whose brow the new-sprung antlers crowned\n Of the long-lived stag, and whom his hounds,\n Though their hapless master still, pursued?\n In headlong haste through the mountains and woods,\n He flees in fear, and with nimble feet 755\n He scours the glades and rocky passes,\n In fear of the wind-tossed feathers hung\n Among the trees; but most he shuns\n The snares which he himself has set;\n Until at last in the still, smooth pool 760\n He sees his horns and his features wild,\n The pool where the goddess, too sternly chaste,\n Had bathed her virgin limbs.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] Reading, _retro_.\n\n[4] Reading, _sonantem_.\n\n[5] Reading, _ne_.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n _Oedipus:_ My soul is filled with dark, foreboding fear;\n For the gods in heaven and hades join the charge 765\n That by my guilty hand King Laius fell.\n And yet my soul, in conscious innocence,\n And knowing better than the gods themselves\n Its secret deeds, denies the charge.\n But now,\n Along the shadowy vistas of the past,\n My memory beholds an ag\u00e9d man who fell\n Beneath the heavy stroke of my stout staff.\n But first the elder strove with haughty words 770\n To drive the younger traveler from the path.\n But that was far from Thebes, in Phocis' realm,\n Where the fork\u00e9d road in three directions leads.\n But thou, my faithful wife, dispel my care:\n What span of life had Laius at his death?\n Fell he in manhood's bloom, or spent with age? 775\n\n _Jocasta:_ Midway 'twixt youth and age, but nearer age.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Did courtiers, thronging round, protect his course?\n\n _Jocasta:_ The many lost him on the winding way;\n A few by faithful toil kept near his side.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Did any fall as comrade of his fate? 780\n\n _Jocasta:_ One comrade in his death did valor give.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Alas, I stand convicted, for the place\n And number tally. Tell me now the time.\n\n _Jocasta:_ Since Laius fell, ten harvests have been reaped.\n\n[_Enter an old Corinthian man, a messenger from_ Merope.]\n\n _Old Man_ [_to_ Oedipus]: The state of Corinth calls thee to\n the throne,\n For Polybus has gained his lasting rest. 785\n\n _Oedipus:_ See how a heartless fate doth compass me!\n But tell me how my father met his end.\n\n _Old Man:_ In gentle sleep he breathed his life away.\n\n _Oedipus:_ My sire is dead, and not by violence!\n I call the gods to witness that to heaven\n I now in piety may lift my hands, 790\n And fear no stain of impious slaughter more.\n And yet a still more fearful fate remains.\n\n _Old Man:_ Thy father's kingdom will dispel thy fears.\n\n _Oedipus:_ My father's kingdom would I seek, but still\n I fear my mother.\n\n _Old Man:_ Fear'st thou her who waits. 795\n With anxious heart, imploring thy return?\n\n _Oedipus:_ 'Tis piety itself that bids me flee.\n\n _Old Man:_ And wouldst thou leave her in her widowhood?\n\n _Oedipus:_ Thou speak'st the very essence of my fears.\n\n _Old Man:_ Speak out the fear that doth oppress thy soul;\n For 'tis my wont in trusty confidence\n To counsel kings.\n\n _Oedipus:_ By Phoebus' word forewarned, 800\n From wedlock with my mother do I flee.\n\n _Old Man:_ Then cease thy empty fears, and lay aside\n Thy base forebodings; for I tell thee here\n That thou art not the son of Merope.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Why did she wish to rear a spurious son?\n\n _Old Man:_ Because the proud security of kings\n Is by a son established.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Tell me now. 805\n How thou dost know the secrets of the court.\n\n _Old Man:_ With my own hands I gave thee to the king.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Thou gavest me? But who gave me to thee?\n\n _Old Man:_ A shepherd on Cithaeron's snowy slopes.\n\n _Oedipus:_ How camest thou within that sacred wood?\n\n _Old Man:_ My sheep upon that mountain did I seek. 810\n\n _Oedipus:_ Now on my body name some well-known mark.\n\n _Old Man:_ Behold, thy feet in infancy were pierced,\n And from thy swollen ankles art thou named.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Who was the man who gave me as a gift\n Into thy hands?\n\n _Old Man:_ He fed the royal flocks, 815\n And under him the hireling shepherds served.\n\n _Oedipus:_ But tell his name.\n\n _Old Man:_ An old man's memory\n Grows faint and weakly falters with disuse.\n\n _Oedipus:_ But wouldst thou know the features of the man?\n\n _Old Man:_ I might recall him, for a slender clue 820\n Ofttimes awakens memory of things\n Long buried and forgot.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Then hasten, slaves,\n Let all the master-shepherds drive their flocks\n Before the altar here, yea, summon all\n On whom depends the guidance of the flocks.\n\n _Old Man:_ Or chance or providence has kept thy fate 825\n In darkness hid. What long hath lain concealed,\n I bid thee suffer to remain in doubt.\n For often truth, when brought into the light,\n Becomes the bane of him who seeks for her.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Can any ills be worse than those I fear?\n\n _Old Man:_ Oh, be thou sure the truth is big with fate,\n Whose meaning must be sought with toil and pain.\n The public weal calls there, and here thine own, 830\n And both with equal voice. Direct thy steps\n Along a middle course! provoke not fate;\n Permit thy fortune to unfold itself.\n It profits naught to change a happy state.\n\n _Oedipus:_ A change is well when all is at the worst.\n\n _Old Man:_ What better canst thou ask than royal birth? 835\n No further seek, lest thou thy sire repent.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Though I should prove to be of shameful blood,\n My purpose still is fixed to know the truth.\n [_Enter_ Phorbas, _the head-shepherd._]\n But see, the ag\u00e9d man, old Phorbas, comes,\n 'Neath whose control the royal flocks are kept.\n Dost thou remember still his face or name? 840\n\n _Old Man:_ His form eludes my mind; not fully known,\n And yet again not all unknown his face.\n [_To_ Phorbas.]\n Old man, while Laius still was king, didst thou,\n His shepherd, ever drive the royal flocks\n To pasture here upon Cithaeron's slopes?\n\n _Phorbas:_ On fair Cithaeron's sunny slopes my flocks 845\n Have ever found the greenest pasturage.\n\n _Old Man:_ Dost thou know me?\n\n _Phorbas:_ But dim and indistinct\n My memory.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Didst thou at any time\n An infant boy deliver to this man?\n [Phorbas _falters and turns pale_.]\n Come then, speak out! why dost thou hesitate?\n And why does pallor overspread thy cheeks?\n Why seek for words? The truth no respite needs. 850\n\n _Phorbas:_ Thou speak'st of things long buried and forgot.\n\n _Oedipus:_ But speak, or pain shall drive thee to confess.\n\n _Phorbas:_ I gave a boy to him, a useless gift;\n He never could have lived or known the light.\n\n _Old Man:_ The gods forbid! The child is living still; 855\n And may his life be long on earth, I pray.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Why dost thou think the child did not survive?\n\n _Phorbas:_ A slender rod of iron his ankles pierced,\n And bound his limbs. This wound produced a sore,\n Which by contagion spread o'er all his frame.\n\n _Old Man:_ Why question more? The fatal truth draws near. 860\n Who was that infant boy?\n\n _Phorbas:_ My lips are sealed.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Bring hither fire! Its flames shall loose thy speech.\n\n _Phorbas:_ Must truth be sought along such cruel paths?\n I pray thy grace.\n\n _Oedipus:_ If I seem harsh to thee,\n Or headstrong, thy revenge is in thy hand-- 865\n The truth revealed. Then speak: who was the child?\n Of what sire gotten? Of what mother born?\n\n _Phorbas: He was the son of her who is thy--wife_.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Then yawn, O earth! and thou, O king of shades,\n Into the lowest depths of hades hurl\n This vile confounder of the son and sire! 870\n Ye citizens, on my incestuous head\n Heap crushing rocks! with weapons slaughter me!\n Let husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers--all\n Whose name I have defiled, against me arm!\n And let the poor, plague-smitten populace\n Hurl blazing brands from off their funeral pyres!\n The plague spot of the age, I wander here, 875\n Heaven-cursed pollutor of all sacred ties;\n Who, in the day when first I breathed the air,\n Was doomed to death.\n [_To himself._]\n Call up thy courage now,\n And dare some deed befitting these thy crimes.\n Haste to thy palace and congratulate 880\n Thy mother's house increased by children's sons.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Chorus:_ If it were mine to choose my fate\n And fashion as I would,\n I'd trim my sails to the gentle breeze,\n Lest, by the raging blasts o'erwhelmed, 885\n My spars should broken be.\n May soft and gently blowing winds\n My dauntless bark lead on;\n And ever on the middle course,\n Where safely runs the path of life, 890\n May I be traveling.\n Fearing the Cretan king, 'tis said,\n And trusting in strange arts,\n Young Icarus essayed the stars,\n And strove to conquer birds in flight, 895\n On false wings balancing.\n He fell into the raging sea\n And his name alone survived.\n But, wiser far, old Daedalus 900\n A safer course midst the clouds pursued,\n Awaiting his wing\u00e9d son.\n As the timid bird flees the threat'ning hawk,\n And collects her scattered young; 905\n So the father watched till he saw his son\n Plying his hands in the gulfing sea,\n Enmeshed in his useless wings.\n So does he stand in treacherous ways,\n Whoever goes beyond the bounds\n Ordained by nature's law. 910\n [_Enter_ Messenger _from within the palace._]\n But what is this? The palace gates resound;\n Behold, it is the royal messenger.\n With wild and woeful mien he seems to come.\n Speak out, and tell us what the news thou bring'st.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Messenger:_ When Oedipus his impious race perceived, 915\n And saw the warning fates had been fulfilled;\n When on a hideous charge he stood condemned;\n Then, with a deadly purpose in his breast,\n Did he approach his palace, and in haste\n Beneath those hated battlements he went.\n And as a lion rages o'er the sands,\n And, threat'ning, tosses back his tawny mane; 920\n So Oedipus advanced with blazing eyes,\n And stern, mad face, while hollow groans burst forth,\n And from his limbs there dripped a chilling sweat.\n He foams and vents a stream of threat'ning words,\n And from his heart his mighty grief o'erflows.\n He in his madness seeks against himself 925\n Some heavy penalty and like his fate.\n \"Why do I wait for punishment?\" he cries;\n \"Let my guilty heart with hostile sword be pierced,\n Or overwhelmed with flames or crushing rocks!\n Oh, for a tiger or some bird of prey,\n To rend my tender flesh! Do thou thyself,\n Who hast beheld full many deeds of blood, 930\n O cursed Cithaeron, from thy forests send\n Thy wild beasts 'gainst me or thy greedy dogs.\n Oh, that Agave were returned to earth!\n But thou, my soul, why dost thou shrink from death?\n For death alone can make thee innocent.\"\n So spake he, and his impious hand he laid 935\n Upon the hilt and drew his glittering sword.\n \"And dost thou, then, with this brief punishment\n Expect to pay thy mighty debt of guilt,\n And with one blow wilt balance all thy sins?\n Thy death would satisfy thy murdered sire;\n But what to appease thy mother wilt thou do,\n And those thy children, shamefully begot?\n What recompense canst make unto thy land, 940\n Which for thy sin is smit with pestilence?\n Such debts as these thou canst not pay by death.\n Let Nature, who, in Oedipus alone,\n Strange births devising, hath her laws o'erturned,\n Subvert herself again to punish him.\n Let it be mine, in never-ending round, 945\n To live and die, and to be born again,\n That for my crimes by never-ending pain\n I may atone. Now use thy wit, poor soul.\n Since by repeated death thou canst not die,\n Choose then some form of lingering death in life,\n Some way by which, not numbered with the dead,\n Nor yet the living, thou mayst linger on. 950\n So die, that in thy death thou mayst remain\n Without the land wherein thy father dwells.\n O soul, why dost thou hesitate?\" And then\n A sudden stream of tears o'erspread his face,\n And wet his cheeks. \"And can my tears suffice?\n Too long my eyes these useless showers have poured; 955\n Nay, let them follow where the tears have flowed,\n From out their sockets driven. O gods of wedlock,\n Is this enough? These eyes must be removed.\"\n He spoke with frenzied rage; and all the while\n His cheeks were flaming with a dangerous light,\n And his starting eyeballs strained to leave their seats.\n His face was full of passion, fierce resolve. 960\n Groaning he thrust his hands into his eyes;\n And those fierce eyes stood forth to meet his hands,\n And eager followed of their own accord\n Their kindred hands, as courting that deep wound.\n Deep in with hook\u00e9d fingers he explores, 965\n And rends his eyeballs from their deepest roots.\n Still stays his hands within those empty seats,\n And tears the hollow sockets with his nails,\n With savage joy, with vain and endless rage; 970\n So great[6] his fear and hatred of the light.\n He lifts his head, and with those empty eyes\n The heavens surveying, tests his darkened sight.\n Whatever from his mangled eyes still hangs,\n He tears away, and now in triumph cries\n To all the gods: \"Oh, spare my country now, 975\n I pray; for I have done what must be done,\n And I have paid the penalty I owed.\n Now have I found at last a fitting night\n To match my impious wedlock.\" As he speaks,\n His face is watered by a hideous shower,\n As the blood flows streaming from his ruptured veins.\n\n _Chorus:_ By fate we're driven; then yield to fate. 980\n No anxious, brooding care can change\n The thread of destiny that falls\n From that grim spindle of the Fates.\n Whate'er we mortals suffer here,\n Whate'er we do, all hath its birth\n In that deep realm of mystery.\n Stern Lachesis her distaff whirls, 985\n Spinning the threads of mortal men,\n But with no backward-turning hand.\n All things in ordered pathways go;\n And on our natal day was fixed\n Our day of death. Not God himself\n Can change the current of our lives,\n Which bears its own compelling force 990\n Within itself. Each life goes on\n In order fixed and absolute,\n Unmoved by prayer. Nay fear itself\n Has been by many found a bane;\n For, while they sought to shun their fate,\n They came upon it in their flight.\n But now the palace gates resound, and see, 995\n The sightless king himself, with none to guide,\n Takes hitherward his blind and groping way.\n\n[_Enter_ Oedipus.]\n\n _Oedipus:_ Now all is well and finished; to my sire\n I've paid the debt I owed. How sweet these shades!\n What god, at length appeased, hath wrapped my head\n In a pall of darkness, and my crimes forgiven? 1000\n Now have I 'scaped the conscious eye of day;\n And nothing dost thou owe, O parricide,\n To thine avenging hand. Thy sight is gone,\n And such a countenance becomes thee well.\n\n[_Enter_ Jocasta.]\n\n _Chorus:_ See where with hurried step Jocasta comes,\n Beside herself and overcome with grief; 1005\n As when in maddened rage that Theban dame\n Her son's head tore away and realized\n What she had done. She wavers, longs to speak\n To that afflicted one, and fears to speak.\n Now shame at last has yielded to her grief,\n And with a faltering tongue she speaks to him.\n\n _Jocasta:_ What shall I call thee? Son? Dost shun that name?\n Thou art my son; thy shame confesseth it. 1010\n And yet, O son, though all unwilling, speak.\n Why dost thou turn away thy sightless face?\n\n _Oedipus:_ Who now forbids me to enjoy my night?\n Who gives me back mine eyes? My mother's voice!\n Oh, awful sound! Now is my labor vain.\n Stay where thou art! Each step is impious.\n Let boundless seas our guilty souls divide, 1015\n And lands remote; and if beneath this land\n Some other hangs, beholding other stars,\n May that far country one of us receive.\n\n _Jocasta:_ What thou deplorest is the fault of fate.\n A fated crime can leave no stain of sin.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Now cease thy words, O mother, spare my ears, 1020\n By these poor remnants of my mangled form,\n By that unhallowed offspring of my blood,\n And all that in the double names we bear\n Is right and wrong!\n\n _Jocasta [to herself]:_ Why art thou listless now,\n O soul of mine? Since thou hast shared his guilt,\n Why hesitate to share his punishment? 1025\n The beauty of all human intercourse\n Has fallen into ruin for thy sake,\n Confused and lost, O wretch incestuous.\n Not if the father of the gods himself\n Should hurl at me his glittering thunderbolts,\n Could I for my foul crimes atonement make, 1030\n Since I the name of mother have profaned.\n Now death is welcome, but the way of death\n Must I consider.\n [_To_ Oedipus.]\n Come, thou parricide,\n And lift thy hand against thy mother too.\n This act is wanting to complete thy work.\n [_To herself._]\n Now let the sword be drawn. By this good blade\n Was Laius, my husband, slain--not so; 1035\n My husband's father, by his rightful name!\n Shall I this weapon plunge into my breast,\n Or thrust it deep within my waiting neck?\n Nay, nay: thou know'st not how to choose a place.\n Strike here, O hand, through this capacious womb,\n Which (horrible!) the son and husband bore.\n\n[_She stabs herself and falls dead._]\n\n _Chorus:_ She lies in death, her failing hand relaxed; 1040\n And spouting streams of blood drive out the sword.\n\n _Oedipus:_ O fate-revealer, thee do I upbraid,\n Thou god and guardian of the oracles.\n My father only was I doomed to slay;\n But now, twice parricide and past my fears,\n Have I been guilty, and my mother slain.\n For 'tis by sin of mine that she is dead. 1045\n O lying Phoebus, now have I outdone\n The impious fates.\n With apprehensive feet\n Let me go out upon my darkened way,\n Planting my footsteps with a faltering tread,\n And through the darkness grope with trembling hands.\n Stay not thy flight, speed thy uncertain steps-- 1050\n But hold! lest on thy mother's corse thou tread.\n O Thebans, weak and smitten sore with ills,\n Whose hearts are fainting in your breasts, behold,\n I flee, I go: lift up your drooping heads.\n A milder sky and sweeter air shall come\n When I am gone. Whoever still retains 1055\n His feeble life may now inhale the air\n In deep, life-giving draughts. Go, lend your aid\n To those who were to certain death resigned;\n For with me in my exile do I bear\n All pestilential humors of the land.\n Then come, ye blasting Fates and mad Despair,\n Thou deadly Pestilence, come, come with me; 1060\n With such a company 'tis sweet to flee!\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] Reading, _tantum_.\n\n\n\n\nPHOENISSAE, OR THEBA\u00cfS\n\nA FRAGMENT\n\n\n\n\nPHOENISSAE, OR THEBA\u00cfS\n\nA FRAGMENT\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n_Oedipus_ Late king of Thebes.\n\n_Antigone_ Daughter of Oedipus, constant to him in his misfortunes.\n\n_Jocasta_ Wife and mother of Oedipus.\n\n _Polynices_ }\n _Eteocles_ } Sons of Oedipus and rivals for the throne.\n\n_Messenger_\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid, first in the wild country to which Oedipus,\naccompanied by Antigone, has betaken himself; then in Thebes, and\nlastly in the plain before Thebes.\n\nTHE TIME is three years after the great tragedy of Oedipus.\n\n\n_The stroke of fate, that has been threatening Oedipus since long\nbefore his birth, has fallen at last, and he has done the thing he\nfeared to do. And now, self-blinded and self-exiled from his land, he\nhas for three years wandered in rough and trackless places, attended by\nAntigone, his daughter, who, alone of all his friends, has condoned his\nfated sins and remained attached to him._\n\n_Meanwhile his sons, though they agreed to reign alternate years, are\nsoon to meet in deadly strife; for Eteocles, although his year of royal\npower is at an end, refuses to give up the throne; and now Polynices,\nwho has in exile wed the daughter of Adrastus, king of Argos, is\nmarching against the gates of Thebes, with seven great armies, to\nenforce his rights._\n\n[_By a different version from the \"Oedipus,\" Jocasta did not slay\nherself at once as in that tale, but still is living on in grief and\nshame, and strives to reconcile her sons._]\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Oedipus_ [_to_ Antigone, _who has followed him into exile_]: O thou,\n who guid'st thy blinded father's steps,\n Sole comfort of my weary heart, my child,\n Begotten at such heavy cost to me,\n Leave thou the unpropitious way I tread.\n Why shouldst thou seek to lead my feet aright\n Which fain would wander? Let me stumble on. 5\n Far better shall I find my way, alone,\n The path that from the miseries of life\n Shall take me, and the face of heaven and earth\n Free from the sight of this ill-omened head.\n O hand of mine, how little hast thou done!\n For, though I do not see the light of day\n Which looked upon my crime, still am I seen.\n Unclasp thy clinging hand from mine; permit 10\n My sightless feet to wander where they will.\n I go, I go where my Cithaeron lifts\n His rugged crags on high; where to his dogs\n Actaeon, speeding through the rocky ways,\n Became a booty strange and pitiful;\n Where through the dim old woods and dusky glades, 15\n By Bacchic frenzy fired, the mother wild\n Her sisters led, rejoicing in the crime,\n When on the waving thyrsus' point she bore\n The gory head of Pentheus; where the bull\n Of Zethus rushed along, the mangled corpse\n Of Dirce dragging (through the thorny briars 20\n The mad beast's flight was traceable in blood);\n Or where the cliff of Ino lifts its head\n High o'er the heaving sea, into whose depths\n The mother leaped, fleeing an unknown crime,\n Yet daring other crime, by terror driven\n To sink her son with her beneath the waves. 25\n Oh, happy they whose better fortune gave\n Mothers like these! There is another place\n Within these woods--my place, which calls to me,\n To which I fain would haste; my eager feet\n Will not delay, and thither will I go,\n Unguided, all alone. Why hesitate 30\n To seek the place that most belongs to me?\n Give back that death, Cithaeron, give again\n That spot where once I lay upon thy breast,\n That, where I should in infancy have died,\n In age I may expire. Now let me pay\n The debt I long have owed. O mountain, fell\n And bloody, cruel, savage in thy rage,\n Both when thou spar'st and when thou dost destroy, 35\n This body long ago was given to thee:\n Obey my father's and my mother's will.\n My soul is eager to receive at last\n Its punishment. Why, daughter, why dost thou\n With baleful love restrain me? Hold me not.\n My father calls, and I will follow, yea,\n Will follow him. Then cease to hold me back. 40\n See where the royal Laius comes in rage,\n The blood-stained scepter of his ravished realm\n Within his grasp. See, with his angry hands\n He seeks to tear again my empty eyes.\n O daughter, dost thou see my father, too?\n I surely see him.\n [_To himself:_] Now, O coward soul,\n Brave but to mar a helpless part of thee, 45\n At length spew out that hateful life of thine.\n Delay no more upon thy punishment,\n And give thyself entirely unto death.\n Why do I, sluggish, linger on in life?\n There is no further crime that I can do.\n Oh, my foreboding, wretched soul, there is!\n [_To_ Antigone.]\n Flee from thy father, flee, while still a maid;\n My mother's fate makes me of all afraid. 50\n\n _Antigone_: No power, my father, shall unloose my hold\n Of thee; no one shall force me from thy side.\n The illustrious, rich house of Labdacus,\n Let my two brothers seek with strife to gain:\n The greatest part of all my father's realm 55\n Is mine--my father's self. Nor shall this share\n Be reft away from me by him who holds\n By stolen right the scepter over Thebes,\n Nor by that other brother who leads on\n Against his native land th' Argolic hosts;\n Though Jove himself should thunder out of heaven,\n And hurl his bolt against my clinging hands, 60\n I would not let thee go. Though thou forbid,\n I'll guide thee, O my father, 'gainst thy will,\n And thy reluctant feet will I direct.\n Seek'st thou the level plain? There will I go.\n The rugged mountain heights? I'll not oppose,\n But will precede thy way. Use me as guide\n Wherever thou wouldst go; since for us both 65\n Is every path selected that thou tread'st.\n With me, but not without me, canst thou die.\n There springs a lofty cliff, precipitous,\n And looks far out upon the sea below:\n Shall we seek this? There hangs a naked rock,\n There yawns the riven earth with gaping jaws: 70\n Wouldst thou to these? And there a mountain stream\n In roaring torrent falls, and 'neath its waves\n Worn fragments of the mountain roll along:\n Shall we rush headlong in? Where thou wouldst go,\n I go, but always first. I'll not oppose\n Nor urge. Dost thou desire to be destroyed?\n Is death thy highest wish? If thou dost die, 75\n I go before thee; if thou liv'st, I follow.\n But change thy mind, call up thine old-time strength,\n And with a mighty will thy sorrows curb.\n Resist, since in such ills defeat is death.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Whence springs so rare a spirit in a house 80\n So impious? Whence comes this noble maid,\n Unlike her race? Can it be true indeed?\n Has any pious thing been born of me?\n Ne'er would it be, for well I know my fates,\n Except for harmful ends. Nature herself\n Has changed her laws: now shall the stream, reversed, 85\n Bear back its whirling waters to their source;\n The torch of Phoebus shall bring in the night,\n And day be heralded by Hesperus;\n And, that I may but add unto my woe,\n I, too, shall pious be. Not to be saved--\n This is for Oedipus the only cure.\n Let me avenge my father, unavenged 90\n Till now. My hand, why dost thou hesitate\n To exact the penalty I owe to him?\n Whatever I have suffered hitherto\n Was for my mother's sake. Release my hand,\n Undaunted girl; thou but delay'st my death,\n And thy living father's funeral prolong'st. 95\n Let earth conceal at last this hated form.\n Thou wrongest me, though with a kind intent,\n And deem'st it piety to keep thy sire\n From burial. But they are one in guilt,\n Both he who forces death upon a man\n Who fain would live, and he who holds him back\n Who longs to die. And yet they are not one;\n For surely is the last the worser sin. 100\n To be condemned to death were better far\n For me than to be saved from death. Then cease,\n My child, from this attempt. I have reserved\n For my own will the right to live or die.\n Right gladly did I yield the sovereignty\n O'er all my realm; yet o'er myself alone\n I still am king. If thou in very truth 105\n Art loyal to me, give me back my sword,\n That sword already with my father's blood\n Defiled. Wilt give it back? Or do my sons\n Retain my sword together with my throne?\n 'Tis well. Wherever there is need of crime,\n There let it be; I gladly give it up.\n Let both my sons possess the sword. But thou,\n Flames, rather, and a heap of wood prepare; 110\n Then will I fling myself upon the pyre,\n Cling in its hot embrace, and hide myself\n Within its deadly hold. There will I loose\n This stubborn soul, and give to mortal dust\n Whatever lives in me. Where is the sea?\n Come, lead me where some beetling crag juts out, 115\n Or where Ismenus rolls his savage waves;\n Or thither would I go and end my life,\n Where once upon a jutting rock abode\n The hybrid Sphinx and wove her crafty speech. 120\n Direct me thither, set thy father there.\n Let not that dreadful seat be empty long,\n But place me there, a greater monster still.\n There will I sit and of my fate propose\n A riddle dark which no man will resolve.\n Come listen, ye, who plow the Theban fields;\n Whoever worships in the sacred grove 125\n Of Cadmus, for the deadly serpent famed,\n Where hallowed Dirce lies; whoever drinks\n Eurotas' stream; ye who in Sparta dwell,\n Illustrious for its heavenly brothers twain;\n And ye who reap Boeotia's fertile fields,\n The plains of Elis and Parnassus' slopes: 130\n What riddle like to this could she propose,\n That curse of Thebes, who wove destructive words\n In puzzling measures? What so dark as this?\n _He was his grandsire's son-in-law, and yet\n His father's rival; brother of his sons, 135\n And father of his brothers; at one birth\n The granddame bore unto her husband sons,\n And grandson's to herself._ Who can unwind\n A tangle such as this? E'en I myself,\n Who bore the spoils of triumph o'er the Sphinx,\n Stand mute before the riddle of my fate.\n\n * * * * *\n\n[_Has a speech of_ Antigone _dropped out at this point, or does_\nOedipus _hark back to a previous thought after a dramatic pause?_]\n\n But why waste further words? Why dost thou try 140\n To soften my determined heart with prayers?\n My will is fixed to pour this spirit forth\n Which now for long has struggled sore with death,\n And seek the world of shades; for blackest night\n Is still not black enough for this my crime.\n 'Tis sweet in deepest Tartarus to hide;\n Or, if there yet is deeper pit than this, 145\n There would I go. 'Tis well to do at last\n The thing which long ago should have been done.\n I cannot be prevented from my death.\n Wilt take away my sword? Wilt bar all paths\n That lead unto the fatal precipice?\n Wilt keep my neck free from the choking noose?\n Remove all poisonous herbs from me? Yet what, 150\n Think'st thou, will all that care of thine avail?\n For death is everywhere. A kindly God\n Hath this great law with wisest care ordained:\n That anyone can take man's life away,\n But none can stay his death; for countless ways\n Are open unto him who seeks to die.\n I ask no aid of thine. Well am I used\n To employ this naked hand. Then come, my hand, 155\n With all thy force, with all thy passion, come.\n And not one wound alone would I endure,\n For I have sinned in every part of me.\n Come, strike the mortal blow where'er thou wilt:\n Break through my breast and tear my heart away,\n So full of sin; lay bear my vitals all; 160\n Rain blows upon my neck until it break,\n Or let thy gouging fingers tear my veins\n Until they flow with blood. Or, if thou wilt,\n Direct thine anger whither thou art wont:\n These healing wounds reopen; let them flow\n With streams of blood and loathsome gore again;\n And through this passage drag my life away,\n So stubborn in defeat, so hard to storm. 165\n And thou, O father, wheresoe'er thou art,\n Who stand'st as judge upon my just deserts,\n I ne'er have thought that such a crime as mine\n Could ever be sufficiently atoned,\n Nor has this living death contented me;\n I have not bought my pardon with my eyes,\n But fain would perish for thee, limit by limb. 170\n Exact at last the penalty I owe.\n Now I atone; then I but sacrificed\n Unto thy manes. Be thou here to aid,\n And my reluctant hand help me to plunge\n Deep down and deeper in my sightless eyes.\n A scant and timid offering I made,\n When first I plucked my eager eyeballs out. 175\n And even now my trembling spirit halts,\n Yea, halts, though downward to my shrinking hands\n My face inclines. Now shalt thou hear the truth,\n O Oedipus: less boldly than thou plan'dst\n Did'st thou pluck out thine eyes. Let now thy brain 180\n Feel those avenging fingers; through this door\n Complete the death which has begun in me.\n\n _Antigone:_ O father, great of soul, I pray thee hear\n With quiet mind thy wretched daughter's words:\n I do not seek to lead thee back again\n Into the presence of thy former home,\n Nor to the illustrious splendor of thy realm; 185\n I ask thee not with calm and peaceful soul\n To bear again that fearful shock of woe\n Which even yet the soothing hand of time\n Has not assuaged. And yet it is not meet\n That one so stout of heart should be o'ercome\n And to misfortune weakly turn his back.\n It is not valor, father, as thou think'st, 190\n To shrink from life; but 'gainst the mightiest ills\n To stand opposed, and not to flinch or budge,\n That is the truest test of manly worth.\n Who tramples under foot his destiny,\n Who disregards and scorns the goods of life,\n And aggravates the evils of his lot, 195\n Who has no further need of Providence:\n Wherefore should such a man desire to die,\n Or seek for death? Each is the coward's act.\n No one holds death in scorn who seeks to die.\n The man whose evils can no farther go\n Is safely lodged. Who of the gods, think'st thou, 200\n Grant that he wills it so, can add one jot\n Unto thy sum of trouble? Nor canst thou,\n Save that thou deem'st thyself unfit to live.\n But thou art not unfit, for in thy breast\n No taint of sin has come. And all the more,\n My father, art thou free from taint of sin,\n Because, though heaven willed it otherwise, 205\n Thou still art innocent. What is there now\n Which has so maddened thee, which goads thy heart\n To fresh outbursts of grief? What forces thee\n To seek the abodes of hell, and fly from these?\n Is't that thou wouldst avoid the light of day?\n Thou dost avoid the light. Or wouldst thou flee\n This noble palace and thy native land?\n Thy native land, although thou livest still,\n Is dead to thee. Wouldst from thy sons escape, 210\n And from thy mother? From the sight of all\n Has fate removed thee; and whatever death\n From any man can take, thy life has taken.\n Art weary of the kingdom's press and stir?\n At thy command thy former courtier throng\n Has vanished.--Whom, O father, dost thou flee? 215\n\n _Oedipus:_ Myself I flee, I flee this heart of mine,\n Full of all crimes; I flee this hand, this sky,\n These gods; I flee those dreadful sins which I,\n Though innocent, have done. And can it be\n That this fair world, whence bounteous harvests spring,\n Is trod by such as I? This wholesome air\n Do I with pestilential lips inhale, 220\n With water quench my thirst, or any gift\n Of kindly earth enjoy? And do I dare,\n This impious, incestuous, curs\u00e9d wretch,\n To touch thy maiden hand? Have I still ears\n To hear the name of parent or of son? 225\n Oh, that with rending hands I might destroy\n These narrow ways of sound by which I hear\n The words of men. My child, all sense of thee,\n Who art a parcel of my impious deeds,\n In my unhappiness I would have fled. 230\n But now my crime sticks fast within my heart,\n And threatens ever to break out afresh;\n For what my blinded eyes have spared to me,\n Is through my ears poured in upon my soul.\n Oh, why do I not plunge this darkened life\n Into the eternal shadow-world of Dis?\n Why do I longer hold my spirit here? 235\n Why be a burden to the upper world,\n And wander still among the living men?\n What evil yet remains? My fatherland,\n My parents, children, valor--all are lost,\n And that illustrious glory of the mind;\n Yea, evil chance hath stripped me of my all.\n Tears yet remained, but these with my own hand 240\n Have I destroyed. Then go thy ways, my child.\n My soul will not give ear to any prayers,\n And only seeks new punishment for crime,\n And equal to my sin--if that can be.\n While yet an infant was I doomed to death.\n What mortal ever drew so hard a fate?\n Ere I had seen the light, while still confined 245\n Within the darksome prison of the womb,\n I was a thing of dread. The night of death\n Lays hold on many at the hour of birth,\n And snatches them away from dawning life;\n But death anticipated birth in me.\n Some are o'ertaken by untimely fate\n While still within the womb, yet without sin. 250\n But I, yet hid within the hold of life,\n While yet my very being was in doubt,\n Was by the heavenly oracle compelled\n To answer to a charge unspeakable.\n My sire condemned me at Apollo's word,\n And through my tender ankles thrust a rod\n Still glowing from the forge; then sent his child\n Into the forest deep, a prey for beasts 255\n And all the savage birds Cithaeron breeds,\n Accustomed to be stained with royal blood.\n Yet him, whom God condemned, who by his sire\n Was cast away to die, death also fled.\n And Delphi's oracle have I fulfilled:\n For I with impious hand assailed my sire, 260\n And slew him.\n [_With bitter irony_] Yet, for this impiety,\n Perchance another act of piety\n Will make amends: I killed my father; true,\n But still I loved my mother.--Oh, 'tis shame\n To mention such a wedlock; yet I will,\n And force myself to bear this punishment,\n To tell abroad my more than bestial crime,\n So strange, that nations stand in dumb amaze, 265\n So shameful, that no age will credit it,\n That e'en the shameless parricide is shocked:\n Into my father's bed I bore my hands\n Smeared with my father's blood, and there received\n The wages of my crime--a greater crime.\n My father's murder was a trivial thing; 270\n But, that my sum of crime might be complete,\n My mother, to my marriage chamber led,\n Conceived--Oh, how could nature e'er endure\n A greater crime? And yet, if aught remains,\n I have begotten children vile enough\n To do this also. I have cast away\n The scepter which I won by parricide, 275\n And with it other hands are armed for war.\n Full well do I my kingdom's fortune know,\n That never more shall any gain the throne\n Without the sacrifice of kindred blood.\n Dire evils doth my father-soul presage,\n For even now are sown the baleful seeds\n Of future strife; the plighted pact is spurned; 280\n One will not yield the throne he hath usurped,\n The other claims his right, calls on the gods\n To witness of his bond, and, driven from home,\n Moves Argos and the towns of Greece to arms.\n No light destruction comes to weary Thebes;\n For weapons, flames, and wounds press hard on her, 285\n And greater woes than these, if such there be,\n That all may know I have begotten sons.\n\n _Antigone:_ If thou no other cause for living hast,\n My father, this one reason is enough,\n That thou as father mayst restrain thy sons\n From deadly strife. Thou only canst avert 290\n Their threats of impious war, curb their mad hearts,\n Give peace to citizens, to country rest,\n And to their broken treaty honest faith.\n To many men art thou refusing life,\n If for thyself thou dost refuse to live.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Think'st thou that such as they have aught of love 295\n For father or for right, whose hearts are filled\n With lust for blood and power and impious arms,\n Profane and cruel sons--in brief, my own?\n Toward every form of evil deed they strive,\n And have no scruples where their wrath impels.\n In shame begot, they have no sense of shame. 300\n They have no feeling for their wretched sire,\n None for their country. Naught but lust of power\n Rules in their maddened breasts. I know full well\n To what dire ends they tend, what monstrous deeds\n They are prepared to do; and for this cause\n I seek to find destruction's shortest path,\n And haste to die, while yet within my house 305\n There is no soul more steeped in guilt than I.\n O child, why dost thou weep about my knees,\n Why seek with prayer to soften my hard heart?\n This means alone my fortune has reserved\n By which I may be led, unconquered else;\n For thou alone canst soothe my stubborn soul, 310\n Canst teach me piety. For naught is hard\n Or grievous in my sight, if I perceive\n That thou dost wish it. Do thou but command:\n Then will I swim the broad Aegean straits,\n Will drink the flames which from Sicilia's mount\n Earth belches forth in whirling, molten streams, 315\n Will beard the savage dragon in his den,\n Still raging at the theft of Hercules;\n At thy command, to birds of prey will give\n My bleeding heart--at thy command will live.\n\n[_The first act seems to be complete here, except for the commenting\nchorus which would naturally follow._ Oedipus _has temporarily yielded\nto his daughter's will._]\n\n\nACT II\n\n[_The following passage fittingly opens the second act or episode.\nAlthough some editors would assign it to_ Antigone, _it seems more\nfittingly to belong to a messenger who has just arrived, for the double\nreason that it gives fresher information from Thebes than_ Antigone\n_would naturally possess; and that_ Oedipus, _after the speech to his\ndaughter with which the previous scene ended, would hardly address to\nher as rough a reply as he uses in his next speech._]\n\n _Messenger:_ Thee, sprung from regal stock to be our guide, 320\n In fear of civil strife our Thebes invokes,\n And prays that thou wouldst save thy father's house\n From the flaming torch of war. No mere threats, these;\n For ever nearer does destruction come.\n One brother claims his share of royal power,\n His turn to rule according to the bond,\n And now is rousing all the tribes of Greece 325\n To bloody war. Against the walls of Thebes\n Seven camps have set them down. Haste to our aid,\n And war and crime prohibit equally.\n\n _Oedipus:_ Do I seem one to stay the hand of crime,\n And teach it to refrain from kindred blood?\n Should I teach righteousness and filial love? 330\n They take me as a model for their crimes,\n And follow me. I gladly recognize\n And praise them as my sons; I urge them on\n To do some outrage worthy of their sire.\n Then on, my worthy offspring; by your deeds\n Approve your noble birth; do ye surpass 335\n My glory and my praises; do some deed\n Because of which your father will rejoice\n That he has lived till now. And well I know\n That you will do it; for to such an end\n Were ye brought forth. Such noble birth as yours\n Cannot be satisfied with common crime\n Or slight. Then forward with your impious arms!\n Attack your household gods with flaming brands; 340\n With torches gather in the ripened grain\n Upon your native fields; confuse all things,\n And hurry all to ruin absolute;\n O'erthrow the city's walls, yea, lay them low,\n E'en to the level of the plain; the gods\n And temples in one common fall o'erwhelm;\n Destroy our lares, now so foully stained,\n And let our whole house perish utterly; 345\n Let all the city be consumed with fire,\n And be my impious marriage chamber first\n To feel the flames.\n\n _Antigone:_ This raging storm of grief\n Give o'er; and let the sorrows of the state\n Prevail with thee to reconcile thy sons.\n\n _Oedipus:_ And dost thou think that thou dost see in me 350\n A mild old man given o'er to peaceful thoughts?\n And dost thou summon me unto thine aid,\n As one who loves to 'stablish peace? Not so:\n For even now my spirit swells with rage,\n My grief burns fiercely, and I long to see\n Some greater deed than chance or youthful wrath\n Would dare attempt. I am not satisfied\n With civil war: let brother brother slay. 355\n Nor yet would this suffice. I wait to see\n Some evil done that shall be like my own,\n That shall be worthy of my marriage bed.\n Give deadly weapons to my mother's hand--\n But do not seek to drag me from these woods.\n Here will I hide within the rocky caves,\n Or hedge myself about with thickets dense. 360\n Here will I catch at warlike rumor rife\n And hear what news I may of brothers' strife.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_It is possible that the following fragments belong to still another\nplay. The presence of_ Antigone _in Thebes, notwithstanding her resolve\nto remain with her father, would strengthen this view_.]\n\n _Jocasta:_ Oh, fortunate Agave! for she bore,\n Within the hand which did the deed, the spoil,\n The horrid spoil of her dismembered son, 365\n A raging Maenad. Yea, she did the deed;\n But naught in all her sinfulness did she\n Save that one crime.[7] It is my least of sins\n That I am guilty; this my greater crime,\n That I have made another sinful too.\n But even this seems light when I reflect\n That I have given birth to sinful sons.\n Till now 'twas wanting to my sum of woe\n That I should love my country's enemy. 370\n Three times has winter put away his snows,\n And thrice have Ceres' golden harvests fall'n\n Beneath the sickle, since my hapless son\n In exile wanders, robbed of fatherland,\n And craves assistance from the Grecian kings.\n He has become Adrastus' son-in-law,\n Whose sway is o'er the waters of the sea\n Which Isthmus cleaves. Adrastus even now 375\n Is leading on his tribes, and with him march\n Seven other royal hosts. Ah, woe is me,\n I know not what I ought to wish or say.\n My exiled son with justice claims his share\n Of empire, but he seeks it wrongfully.\n How shall I pray? I count them both my sons, 380\n And yet, alas, without impiety,\n Can I for neither pray. If for one son\n I call a blessing down, 'tis but a curse\n Upon the other's head. Yet this I know:\n Although I love them both with equal love,\n My heart inclines toward the better cause, 385\n The worser fortune, ever favoring him\n Who suffers more; for this is fortune's way\n To win the wretched to their own again.\n\n[_Enter_ Messenger _in haste_.]\n\n _Messenger:_ O queen, while thou dost utter these complaints,\n And spend'st the precious time in useless tears,\n With weapons drawn the battle lines approach.\n The trumpet's blare incites to bloody war,\n And even now the eagles are advanced. 390\n The kings in seven-fold battle are arrayed,\n While the sons of Thebes with equal spirit go\n To meet the enemy. With hurrying tread,\n Now here, now there, advance the soldiery.\n Behold, dark clouds of dust obscure the day,\n And from the plain dense, smokelike billows rise, 395\n Which earth, beneath the tread of countless hoofs,\n Sends rolling heavenward. And through the dust,\n If terror-stricken eyes can see aright,\n The hostile standards shine; with lifted spears\n The foremost ranks advance; while banners gleam,\n Bearing the names of famous generals wrought 400\n In golden characters.\n Then haste, O queen:\n Unto the warring brothers love restore,\n Give peace to all, and by a mother's hands\n Prevent the conflict of these impious bands.\n\n _Antigone:_ O mother, haste thee, haste on flying feet;\n Hold back their weapons, from my brothers' hands\n Strike down the swords, and 'twixt their deadly points\n Thy bared breast interpose. Then, mother, haste; 405\n Or stop the war, or be thou first to fall.\n\n _Jocasta:_ I go, I go, and 'twixt their swords will stand,\n And there unto their points expose my life.\n And he who shall his brother seek to slay\n Must slay his mother first. At my command\n The son whose heart is moved by piety\n Will lay aside his arms; the impious son 410\n Must first make war on me. These fiery youths\n Will I, although a woman, old, restrain.\n Within my sight shall be no impious deed;\n Or, if within my sight one impious deed\n Can be committed--then shall two be done.\n\n[_Exit toward the scene of conflict._]\n\n _Antigone:_ Now gleam the advancing standards, near at hand;\n And loud the hostile battle-cry resounds. 415\n A moment, and the impious deed is done.\n O mother, speed thee with thy prayers. But see!\n You would suppose them by my weeping moved,\n So slowly do the arm\u00e9d lines advance.\n\n _Messenger:_ The lines move slowly, but the leaders haste.\n\n _Jocasta_ [_hurrying onward_]: What wing\u00e9d wind will speed me through\n the air, 420\n Bearing me onward with the storm's mad whirl?\n What monstrous Sphinx or dark Stymphalian bird,\n Whose spreading wings blot out the light of day,\n Will bear me on its space-consuming wings?\n What Harpy, hovering o'er the royal board\n Of that stern Thracian king, will catch me up\n Along the lofty highways of the air, 425\n And cast me headlong 'twixt th' opposing lines?\n\n _Messenger_ [_looking after her_]: Like some wild creature reft of\n sense she goes.\n Swift as an arrow shot by Parthian hand,\n Or as a ship which boisterous winds impel,\n Or as the flight of falling star from heaven, 430\n Which in unswerving course athwart the sky\n Darts on its fiery way: with maddened haste\n The queen has sped her flight, and even now\n Has ta'en her stand between th' opposing lines.\n The battle pauses yet a little while,\n O'ercome at sight of those maternal tears.\n And now the hosts, on mutual slaughter bent, 435\n Stand with their weapons balanced in their hands:\n Peace wins the day; the threat'ning points are lowered;\n The swords are sheathed. But in the brothers' hands\n They still are poised. The frantic mother now,\n Her white hair torn with grieving, speaks to them, 440\n Beseaches their reluctant, stubborn wills,\n And wets their knees with tears. Too long they bide:\n Such halting bodes the mother's prayers denied.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Reading, _ultra suum scelus hoc cucurrit_.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_On the field before Thebes, between the battle lines._]\n\n _Jocasta_ [_kneeling between her two hostile sons_]:\n 'Gainst me your arms and blazing torches turn;\n 'Gainst me alone let every warrior rush,\n Who comes from Argos thirsting for the fray,\n And they who from the citadel of Thebes 445\n Come down to battle. Friend and foe, alike,\n Attack this womb of mine which brothers bore\n Unto my husband. Rend me limb from limb,\n And scatter me abroad upon the plain.\n I bore you both--will you lay down your arms?\n Or shall I say from whom I bore you, too?\n Give me your hands while still they are unstained. 450\n 'Till now 'twas all unwittingly you sinned;\n 'Twas fortune's crime, who ever 'gainst our peace\n Delights to plot. But this impiety\n Is done with fullest knowledge of your sin.\n Within your power lies whichsoe'er you will: 455\n If filial love, then grant your mother peace;\n If crime, then must you do a greater crime.\n Your mother stands between you, blocks your way;\n Have done with war or with the war's delay.\n To which of you in fond anxiety\n Shall I address my prayers? Whom first embrace? 460\n My heart with equal love is drawn to both.\n [_Turning to_ Polynices.]\n This son has wandered far away from me;\n But if the compact of the brothers holds,\n This other son must wander too. Alas,\n And shall I never see you both again,\n Except in enmity? Do thou come first\n Into thy mother's arms, who hast endured\n So many toils, so many miseries, 465\n And, worn with weary exile, see'st at last\n Thy mother's face. Come nearer to me here.\n Now sheathe thine impious sword; and this thy spear,\n Which even now is quivering with hate\n And eager to be thrown, thrust in the ground.\n Put by thy shield as well; it keeps me off 470\n From folding thee unto my mother-breast.\n Unbind thy brow, and from thy warlike head\n Thy helm remove and let me see thy face.\n Why dost thou turn away, and fix thine eyes\n With timid gaze upon thy brother's band?\n I'll throw my arms about thee for a shield, 475\n That through my body only may the sword\n Find passage to thy blood. Why hesitate?\n Can it be that thou dost fear thy mother's pledge?\n\n _Polynices:_ I fear; for nature's laws no longer hold.\n Since I have known a brother's faithlessness,\n I scarce can trust my mother's plighted word. 480\n\n _Jocasta:_ Then lay thy hand upon the sword again,\n Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield;\n And while thy brother doth his arms remove,\n Remain thou armed.\n [_To_ Eteocles.]\n Do thou lay by thy sword,\n Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn.\n If peace is hateful to thee, if in war\n Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce 485\n Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons,\n Returned but now from exile, she may print\n A kiss of love, the first--perchance the last.\n While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed.\n Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn?\n But I do fear you both, and for you both.\n Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword?\n Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war, 490\n Of which the best end is to be o'ercome.\n And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles?\n If one must on his brother work deceit\n Or suffer it himself, 'tis better far\n To be the victim of the treachery\n Than to perform the crime. But fear thou not; 495\n For I will shield thee from all sudden snares.\n Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudge\n Thy father's blindness? Have I hither come\n To check an impious crime, or see it done\n Before my very eyes?\n [Eteocles _yields to her_.]\n He sheathes his sword,\n And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans.\n [_She turns to_ Polynices.]\n And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns 500\n With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face\n Which long have I desired and prayed to see.\n Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland,\n The household of a foreign king protects;\n O'er many seas, by many chances driven,\n Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mine\n With stately train to lead thee to thy bride, 505\n With my own hand to deck the festal halls,\n And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch.\n The father of thy bride no wedding gifts,\n No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns;\n Thy only gift is war. A foeman's son 510\n Hast thou become, far from thy native land,\n An alien household's guest, driven from thine own,\n Committed to another's interests,\n A sinless exile. That no element\n Might fail thee of thy father's hapless fate,\n Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice.\n O son, after so many years returned, 515\n O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear,\n For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods;\n Though thy return was doomed to take from me\n As much as at thy coming it could give:\n \"When shall I cease to fear for thee?\" I said; 520\n The mocking god replied: \"Him shalt thou fear.\"\n I should not have thee near me now, indeed,\n Were there no war; and there would be no war,\n If thou wert not at hand. Oh, bitter price\n And hard, that I must pay for sight of thee.\n But still there's pleasure in't. These hostile hosts-- 525\n Let them withdraw a little space from here,\n While yet stern Mars dares no impiety.\n Yet this as well is great impiety,\n That they have been so near. I am appalled,\n And tremble when I see two brothers stand,\n Each fronting each, upon the brink of crime. 530\n My limbs do quake with fear. How near I came\n To seeing greater infamy than that\n Which thy poor father never could have seen!\n Though I am freed from fear of such a crime,\n Though I shall not behold such evil now,\n Still am I most unhappy when I think\n How nearly I beheld it. O my son,\n By the womb that bore thee through ten weary months, 535\n And by thy noble sister's piety;\n By thy unhappy father's sightless eyes,\n Which he, though innocent of any crime,\n Tore out, his fatal error to avenge:\n Turn from thy father's walls these impious brands, 540\n Send back the standards of this warring host.\n Though thou shouldst yield, still is the greater part\n Of thy impiety already done:\n Thy fatherland has seen its fertile plains\n By hordes of hostile soldiery o'errun,\n The arm\u00e9d legions gleaming from afar, 545\n The broad Cadmean meadows trampled down\n By flying hoofs, the princes, insolent,\n High in their chariots dashing o'er the plain,\n The blazing torches threatening our homes\n With utter devastation, and, a crime\n Which even Thebes till now has never seen,\n A brother 'gainst his brother waging war.\n This crime was seen by all our Theban host; 550\n The citizens and both thy sisters saw,\n And I thy mother; to himself is due\n That Oedipus, thy father, saw it not.\n Oh, do thou but compare thyself with him,\n By whose stern judgment fitting penalty\n E'en error pays. Do not with impious sword 555\n Destroy thy city and thy father's house,\n Nor overthrow the city thou wouldst rule.\n What madness holds its sway within thy soul?\n Wouldst thou, by seeking to obtain the land,\n Destroy it? That it may become thine own,\n Dost thou intend to spoil it utterly?\n To thine own cause thou doest deadly wrong,\n In harrying this very soil of thine 560\n With hostile arms, in laying low the crops,\n And spreading fear through all the country round.\n No one such devastation ever works\n Upon his own. What thou dost burn with fire,\n And reap with sword, 'tis plain that thou dost grant\n To be another's. Gain thou then the throne,\n Whichever of you will; but gain it so\n That 'twill not be the kingdom's overthrow. 565\n Dost seek these homes with hostile sword and brand?\n Wilt thou avail to batter down these walls\n Which great Amphion built, these mighty walls,\n Whose stones no human hand e'er set in place,\n The huge weights moving by the creaking crane--\n But, marshaled by the strains of song and harp,\n The stones, e'en to the topmost turret's round, 570\n Moved of their own accord--wouldst shatter these?\n As victor wilt thou bear away the spoils?\n And shall rough soldiery lead off in chains\n Thy father's noble friends and stately dames\n Torn from their grieving husbands' very arms?\n And, mingled with the wretched captive band, 575\n Shall Theban maidens go as presents meet\n For wives of Argos? And shall I myself,\n My hands (disgraceful!) bound behind my back,\n The mother, be the booty of the son,\n In triumph borne? And canst thou bear to see\n On every hand thy fellow-citizens\n To dire destruction given? 'Gainst these dear walls 580\n Canst thou lead on the savage enemy,\n And fill thy native Thebes with blood and flame?\n Hast thou so wild a heart within thy breast,\n So hard and savage--and not yet a king?\n Then what will't be when thou the scepter wield'st?\n Oh, put aside thy spirit's swelling rage,\n And give thyself once more to piety. 585\n\n _Polynices:_ That I may wander still a fugitive?\n That ever, banished from my native land,\n Upon a stranger's bounty I may live?\n What, think'st thou, could I suffer more than this,\n If I had broken faith or falsely sworn?\n Shall I be punished for another's sin,\n While he enjoys the profits of his crime? 590\n Thou bid'st me go; and gladly would I yield\n Unto my mother's will. But whither, then,\n Shall I depart? \"Let my proud brother dwell\n Within my royal halls, and some poor hut\n Be my abode\": let such a boon be given\n Unto the exile; give him in exchange\n A hovel for a throne. And shall I, then, 595\n A pensioner upon my wealthy bride,\n Be forced to yield to her unbending will,\n And to her father's domineering ways\n Submit like any slave? 'Tis hard, indeed,\n To fall from royalty to servitude.\n\n _Jocasta:_ If thou art eager for a royal throne,\n And if, without the scepter in thy hand,\n Thou canst not live, whatever land thou wilt 600\n Will offer many kingdoms to thy hand.\n On this side Tmolus lifts his ridgy heights,\n Well known to Bacchus, where wide-spreading plains\n Stretch out upon the grain-producing earth;\n And where Pactolus' all-enriching stream\n O'erflows the country with its sands of gold.\n And there Maeander through the joyful fields 605\n Directs his wandering waves; swift Hermus, too,\n Cleaves meadows rich. And there is Gargara,\n Beloved of Ceres, and the fertile plains\n Which Xanthus waters, fed by Ida's snows.\n And here, where ends the long Ionian sea,[8] 610\n Across the narrows from Abydos stands\n The Thracian Sestos. Farther to the east,\n With safe and numerous harbors, lies the land\n Of Lycia. There realms seek with thy sword;\n Against these peoples let Adrastus fight,\n And to thy sceptered hand deliver them. 615\n Consider that thy father still is king\n Within this realm of Thebes. Far better, then,\n Than such returns as this will exile seem.\n Thou liv'st in exile through another's sin;\n But thy return must be through thine alone.\n With those brave troops of thine 'twere better far\n To seek thee out new realms unstained by crime. 620\n Nay, e'en thy brother's self will be thy aid,\n And fight for thee. Go, wage such warfare, then,\n That, as thou fight'st, thy mother and thy sire\n May pray for thy success. For, be assured,\n That kingdoms won by crime are heavier far\n Than any exile. 625\n Now consider well\n The woes of war and war's uncertainties:\n Though thou dost bring with thee the flower of Greece,\n Though far and near thy arm\u00e9d soldiery\n Is spread, still ever in the balance hangs\n The fate of war. 'Tis all as Mars decides.\n Though two may seem to be unmatched in strength, 630\n The sword will make them equal; hope and fear\n Are subject to the blind caprice of fate.\n Uncertain is the prize of war thou seek'st,\n But sure the crime. Suppose that all the gods\n Have heard thy prayers; suppose the citizens,\n In panic fear, have turned their backs and fled;\n The soldiers' bloody corpses hide the plain: 635\n Though in such victory thou shouldst exalt\n And bear thy murdered brother's spoils away,\n Thy victory is but a broken thing.\n What sort of warfare, think'st thou, that would be,\n In which the victor wins by curs\u00e9d crime,\n And glories in it? Nay, thy brother's self,\n Whom thou, unhappy man, dost seek to slay, 640\n When thou hast gained thy wish, thou wilt lament.\n Oh, then, forego this most unhallowed strife,\n And free at last thy fatherland from fear,\n Thy parents from their grief.\n\n _Polynices:_ Shall I do this,\n That so for all his treachery and crime\n My curs\u00e9d brother be not recompensed?\n\n _Jocasta:_ Fear not. He shall indeed be recompensed, 645\n For he shall reign.\n\n _Polynices:_ Is that a punishment?\n\n _Jocasta:_ If thou believe me not, believe thy sire,\n Believe thy grandsire too. This truth to thee\n Will Cadmus and the house of Cadmus tell.\n Without disaster has no Theban king\n E'er held the scepter, nor will anyone\n Who wins the kingly power by broken faith\n Retain it long. And 'mongst those faithless ones 650\n Count now thy brother.\n\n _Eteocles:_ Be it even so:\n If I must die, I count it worthy death,\n To die with kings.\n [_To_ Polynices.]\n Thee to the exiled band\n I doom.\n\n _Jocasta:_ Reign then, but hated by thy friends.\n\n _Eteocles:_ Who shrinks from hatred does not wish to reign.\n That great divinity who made the world 655\n Made of one substance royalty and hate.\n For me, I count it worthy of a king\n To overcome this hate. By love of friends\n Too oft is royal power circumscribed.\n O'er those who hate him is the king more free\n To lord it as he will. Who would be loved,\n With but a weak and languid scepter reigns.\n\n _Jocasta:_ But hated empire never long endures. 660\n\n _Eteocles:_ 'Tis for the king to speak of empire's rules.\n Do thou give laws for exiles. For the throne--\n\n _Jocasta:_ Wouldst burn thy native land, thy home and all?\n\n _Eteocles:_ A kingdom is well bought at any price.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] The text is corrupt here. The Ionian Sea, situated to the west of\nGreece, can have no possible connection with the region here described,\ni. e., the Hellespont.\n\n\n\n\nMEDEA\n\n\n\n\nMEDEA\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n\nMEDEA Daughter of Ae\u00ebtes, King of Colchis, and wife of Jason.\n\n_Jason_ Son of Aeson, and nephew of Pelias, the usurping king of\nThessaly; organizer and leader of the Argonautic expedition to Colchis\nin quest of the golden fleece.\n\n_Creon_ King of Corinth, who had received into his hospitable kingdom\nMedea and Jason, fugitives from Thessaly, after Medea had plotted the\ndeath of Pelias.\n\n_Nurse_ Of Medea.\n\n_Messenger_\n\n_Two Sons_ Of Medea and Jason (_personae mutae_).\n\n_Chorus of Corinthians_ Friendly to Jason and hostile to Medea.\n\n\nTHE TIME of the play is confined to the single day of the culmination\nof the tragedy, the day proposed by Creon for the banishment of Medea\nand marriage of Jason to Cre\u00fcsa, daughter of Creon.\n\nTHE SCENE is in Corinth, in the court of the house of Jason.\n\n\n_Although the play is confined in time to the final day of catastrophe\nat Corinth, the background is the whole romantic story of the\nArgonauts: how Jason and his hero-comrades, at the instigation of\nPelias, the usurping king of Thessalian Iolchos, undertook the first\nvoyage in quest of the golden fleece; how, after many adventures, these\nfirst sailors reached the kingdom of Ae\u00ebtes who jealously guarded the\nfleece, since upon its possession depended his own kingship; how the\nthree deadly labors were imposed upon Jason before the fleece could\nbe won--the yoking of the fiery bulls, the contest with the giants\nthat sprang from the sown serpent's teeth, and the overcoming of the\nsleepless dragon that ever guarded the fleece; how, smitten by love of\nhim, the beautiful, barbaric Medea, daughter of the king, by the help\nof her magic aided Jason in all these labors and accompanied him in his\nflight; how, to retard her father's pursuit she slew her brother and\nscattered his mangled remains in the path as they fled; how again, for\nlove of Jason, she restored his father to youth and tricked Pelias' own\ndaughters into slaying their ag\u00e9d sire; how, for this act, Medea with\nher husband were exiled from Thessalia and dwelt in Corinth; how, for\nten happy years, she lived with her husband and two sons in this alien\nland, her wild past almost forgotten, her magic untouched._\n\n_But now, Jason has been gradually won away from his wife, and is about\nto wed Cre\u00fcsa, the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. The wedding\nfestivities have already begun when the play opens and reveals Medea\ninvoking all the powers of heaven and hell in punishment of her false\nlord._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Medea:_ Ye gods of wedlock, thou the nuptial couch's guard,\n Lucina, thou from whom that tamer of the deep,\n The Argo's pilot, learned to guide his pristine bark,\n And Neptune, thou stern ruler of the ocean's depths,\n And Titan, by whose rays the shining day is born, 5\n Thou triformed maiden Hecate, whose conscious beams\n With splendor shine upon the mystic worshipers--\n Upon ye all I call, the powers of heaven, the gods\n By whose divinity false Jason swore; and ye\n Whose aid Medea may more boldly claim, thou world\n Of endless night, th' antipodes of heavenly realms,\n Ye damn\u00e9d ghosts, thou lord of hades' dark domain, 10\n Whose mistress was with trustier pledge won to thy side--\n Before ye all this baleful prayer I bring: Be near!\n Be near! Ye crime-avenging furies, come and loose\n Your horrid locks with serpent coils entwined, and grasp\n With bloody hands the smoking torch; be near as once 15\n Ye stood in dread array beside my wedding couch.\n Upon this new-made bride destruction send, and death\n Upon the king and all the royal line! But he,\n My husband, may he live to meet some heavier doom;\n This curse I imprecate upon his head; may he,\n Through distant lands, in want, in exile wander, scorned 20\n And houseless. Nay, may he once more my favor woo;\n A stranger's threshold may he seek where now he walks\n A well-known guest; and--this the blackest curse I know--\n May children rise to him to emulate their sire,\n Their mother's image bear.--Now won is vengeance, won!\n For I have children borne.--Nay, nay, 'tis empty plaints 25\n And useless words I frame. Shall I not rather rush\n Against the foe and dash the torches from their hands,\n The light from heaven? Does Father Phoebus suffer this?\n Do men behold his face, as, seated in his car,\n He rolls along th' accustomed track of sky serene? 30\n Why does he not return to morning's gates, the law\n Of heaven reversing? Grant that I be borne aloft\n In my ancestral car! Give me the reins, O sire,\n Thy fiery team grant me to guide with lines of flame.\n Then Corinth, though with double shore delaying fate, 35\n Herself consumed with fire, shall light two seas with flame.\n But no, this course alone remains, that I myself\n Should bear the wedding torch, with acquiescent prayers,\n And slay the victims on the altars consecrate.\n Thyself inspect the entrails, and seek there the way 40\n By prayer, if still, O soul, thou livest, if there still\n Remaineth aught of old-time strength in thee! Away\n With woman's fears! Put on thy heart a breast-plate hard\n And chill as Caucasus! Then all the wizard arts\n That Phasis knew, or Pontus, shall be seen again\n In Corinth. Now with mad, unheard of, dreadful deeds, 45\n Whereat high heaven and earth below shall pale and quake,\n My pregnant soul is teeming; and my heart is full\n Of pictured wounds and death and slaughter.--Ah, too long\n On trifling ills I dwell. These were my virgin deeds.\n Now that a mother's pains I've felt, my larger heart 50\n Must larger crimes conceive. Then passion, gird thyself,\n Put on thy strength, and for the issue now prepare!\n Let my rejection pay as dread a fee as when,\n Of old, through impious deeds of blood, I came to him.\n Come, break through slow delay, and let the home once won\n By crime, by equal deeds of crime be done away! 55\n\n _Chorus_ [_chanting the epithalamium for the nuptials of_ Jason _and_\n Cre\u00fcsa]:\n\n Now on our royal nuptials graciously smiling,\n Here may the lords of heaven and the deeps of the ocean\n Come while the people feast in pious rejoicing!\n\n First to the gods who sway the scepter of heaven,\n Pealing forth their will in the voice of thunder,\n Let the white bull his proud head bow in tribute. 60\n\n Then to the fair Lucina, her gift we offer,\n White as the driven snow, this beautiful heifer,\n Still with her neck untouched by the yoke of bondage.\n\n Thou who alone canst rule the heart of the war-god,\n Thou who linkest in peace the opposing nations,\n Out of thy generous hand abundance pouring-- 65\n Thee we offer a daintier gift, O Concord!\n\n Thou who, on the marriage torches attending,\n Night's dark gloom with favoring hand dispellest,\n Hither come with languishing footstep drunken,\n Binding thy temples fair with garlands of roses! 70\n\n Star of the evening, thou who to twilight leadest\n The day, and hailest again the dawn of the morning,\n All too slowly thou com'st for lovers impatient,\n Eager to see thy sign in the glow of the sunset.\n\n The fairest of girls is she, 75\n The Athenian maids outshining,\n Or the Spartan maiden with armor laden,\n No burden of war declining.\n\n Not by Alpheus' sacred stream,\n Nor Boeotia's musical water,\n Is there any fair who can compare 80\n With our lovely Corinthian daughter.\n\n Our Thessalian prince excels,\n In beauty of form and face,\n Even Bacchus, the son of the fierce-flaming one,\n Who yokes the wild tigers in place. 85\n\n The murmuring tripod's lord,\n Though the fairest in heavenly story,\n The twins with their star bright gleaming afar--\n All yield to our Jason in glory. 90\n\n When in her train of courtly maidens she mingles--\n Like the bright sunshine paling the starry splendor, 95\n Or the full moonlight quenching the Pleiads' brilliance,\n So does she shine, all peerless, of fair ones the fairest.\n\n Now, O Jason, freed from the hateful wedlock 100\n That held thee bound to the barbarous Colchian woman,\n Joyfully wed the fair Corinthian maiden,\n While at last her parents' blessings attend thee. 105\n\n Ho then, youths, with licensed jest and rejoicing,\n Loud let the songs of gladness ring through the city;\n Rarely against our lords such freedom is given.\n\n Fair and noble band of Bacchus, the thyrsus-bearer, 110\n Now is the time to light the glittering torches of pinewood.\n Shake on high the festal fire with languishing fingers;\n\n Now let the bold and merry Fescennine laughter and jesting\n Sound through our ranks. Let Medea fare in silence and darkness,\n If perchance another lord she shall wed in her exile. 115\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Medea:_ We are undone! How harsh upon mine ears doth grate\n The song! and even now I cannot comprehend\n The vast extent of woe that hath befallen me.\n Could Jason prove so false? Bereft of native land,\n And home, and kingdom, could he leave me here alone\n On foreign shores? Oh, cruel, could he quite reject 120\n My sum of service, he who saw the fire and sea\n With crime o'ercome for his dear sake? And does he think\n That thus the fatal chapter can be ended? Wild,\n Devoid of reason, sick of soul, my swift mind darts\n In all directions seeking whence revenge may come!\n I would he had a brother! But his wife--'gainst her 125\n Be aimed the blow! Can thus my wrongs be satisfied?\n Nay, nay--to meet my sum of woe must be heaped high\n The crimes of Greece, of strange barbaric lands, and those\n Which even thy hands have not known. Now lash thy soul\n With memory's scourge, and call thy dark deeds in review: 130\n The glory of thy father's kingdom reft away;\n Thy brother, guiltless comrade of thy guilty flight,\n All hewn in pieces and his corpse strewn on the deep,\n To break his royal father's heart; and, last of crimes,\n Old Pelias by his daughters slain at thy command. 135\n O impious one, what streams of blood have flowed to work\n Thy ends! And yet, not one of all my crimes by wrath\n Was prompted. Love, ill-omened love, suggested all.\n Yet, what could Jason else have done, compelled to serve\n Another's will, another's law? He should have died\n Before he yielded to the tyrant's will. Nay, nay, 140\n Thou raging passion, speak not so! For, if he may,\n I would that Jason still may live and still be mine,\n As once he was; if not, yet may he still live on,\n And, mindful of my merits, live without my aid.\n The guilt is Creon's all, who with unbridled power\n Dissolves the marriage bond, my children separates 145\n From me who bore them, yea, and makes the strongest pledge,\n Though ratified with straightest oath, of none effect.\n Let him alone sustain my wrath; let Creon pay\n The debt of guilt he owes! His palace will I bring\n To utter desolation; and the whirling fire\n To far-off Malea's crags shall send its lurid glare. 150\n\n _Nurse:_ Be silent now, I pray thee, and thy plaints confine\n To secret woe! The man who heavy blows can bear\n In silence, biding still his time with patient soul,\n Full oft his vengeance gains. 'Tis hidden wrath that harms;\n But hate proclaimed oft loses half its power to harm.\n\n _Medea:_ But small the grief is that can counsel take and hide\n Its head; great ills lie not in hiding, but must rush 155\n Abroad and work their will.\n\n _Nurse:_ Oh, cease this mad complaint,\n My mistress; scarce can friendly silence help thee now.\n\n _Medea:_ But fortune fears the brave, the faint of heart o'erwhelms.\n\n _Nurse:_ Then valor be approved, if for it still there's room. 160\n\n _Medea:_ But it must always be that valor finds its place.\n\n _Nurse:_ No star of hope points out the way from these our woes.\n\n _Medea:_ The man who hopes for naught at least has naught to fear.\n\n _Nurse:_ The Colchians are thy foes; thy husband's vows have failed;\n Of all thy vast possessions not a jot is left. 165\n\n _Medea:_ Yet I am left. There's left both sea and land and fire\n And sword and gods and hurtling thunderbolts.\n\n _Nurse:_ The king must be revered.\n\n _Medea:_ My father was a king.\n\n _Nurse:_ Dost thou not fear?\n\n _Medea:_ Not though the earth produced the foe.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thou'lt perish. 170\n\n _Medea:_ So I wish it.\n\n _Nurse:_ Flee!\n\n _Medea:_ I'm done with flight.[9]\n Why should Medea flee?\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy children!\n\n _Medea:_ Whose, thou know'st.\n\n _Nurse:_ And dost thou still delay?\n\n _Medea:_ I go, but vengeance first.\n\n _Nurse:_ Th' avenger will pursue.\n\n _Medea:_ Perchance I'll stop his course.\n\n _Nurse:_ Nay, hold thy words, and cease thy threats, O foolish one.\n Thy temper curb; 'tis well to yield to fate's decrees. 175\n\n _Medea:_ Though fate may strip me of all my, myself am left.\n But who flings wide the royal palace doors? Behold,\n 'Tis Creon's self, exalted high in Grecian sway.\n\n[Medea _retires to back of stage; exit_ Nurse; _enter_ Creon.]\n\n _Creon:_ Medea, baleful daughter of the Colchian king,\n Has not yet taken her hateful presence from our realm. 180\n On mischief is she bent. Well known her treach'rous power.\n For who escapes her? Who may pass his days in peace?\n This curs\u00e9d pestilence at once would I have stayed\n By force of arms; but Jason's prayers prevailed. She still\n May live, but let her free my borders from the fear 185\n Her presence genders, and her safety gain by flight.\n [_He sees_ Medea _approaching_.]\n But lo, she comes, with fierce and threatening mien, to seek\n An audience with us.\n [_To attendants._]\n Slaves defend us from her touch\n And pestilential presence! Bid her silence keep,\n And learn to yield obedience to the king's commands. 190\n [_To_ Medea.]\n Go, speed thy flight, thou thing of evil, fell, and monstrous!\n\n _Medea:_ But tell me what the crime, my lord, or what the guilt\n That merits exile?\n\n _Creon:_ Let the guiltless question thus.\n\n _Medea:_ If now thou judgest, hear me; if thou reign'st, command.[10]\n\n _Creon:_ The king's command thou must abide, nor question aught. 195\n\n _Medea:_ Unrighteous sovereignty has never long endured.\n\n _Creon:_ Go hence, and to the Colchians complain.\n\n _Medea:_ I go,\n But let him take me hence who brought me to thy shores.\n\n _Creon:_ Thy prayer has come too late, for fixed is my decree.\n\n _Medea:_ Who judges, and denies his ear to either side,\n Though right his judgment, still is he himself unjust. 200\n\n _Creon:_ Didst lend thine ear to Pelias, ere thou judgedst him?\n But come, I'll give thee grace to plead thy goodly cause.\n\n _Medea:_ How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once\n To wrath inclined; how 'tis the creed of sceptered kings\n To swerve not from the purposed course they once have taken, 205\n Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty.\n For, though by present storms of ill I'm overwhelmed,\n An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all forlorn,\n I once in happier times a royal princess shone,\n And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus' self. 210\n My father's realm extended wide o'er all the land\n Where Phasis' gentle waters flow, o'er Scythia's plains\n Whose rivers sweeten Pontus' briny waves; where, too,\n Thermodon's banks inclose the race of warlike maids,\n Whose gleaming shields strike terror to their foes. All this 215\n My father held in sway. And I, of noble birth,\n And blessed of heaven, in royal state was high upraised.\n Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,\n Who now must sue. O changeful fortune, thou my throne 220\n Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.\n Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew\n Their treasures to the winds. Lo, this is regal, this\n The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo:\n To succor the afflicted, to provide at need 225\n A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone\n I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown,\n This very flower of fame,[11] that by my arts I saved\n The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods.\n My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard 230\n Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt\n The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' wing\u00e9d sons,\n And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he,\n Whose glance can pierce the distant view--yea, all the Greeks,\n Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings,\n The leader of the leaders; he is mine alone,\n My labor's recompense; the rest I give to you. 235\n Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes.\n But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime\n Of which I stand accused is this--the Argo saved.\n Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed;\n Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand:\n Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate\n All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this, thy son-in-law, 240\n Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there.\n Nay, nay, let fortune, when she will, my doom decree;\n I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me.\n But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds\n Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin, 245\n But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see,\n I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know,\n When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant,\n And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency.\n Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask,\n In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again, 250\n Oh, let some nook remote within thy broad domain\n Be found for me!\n\n _Creon:_ That I my power in mercy wield,\n And spurn not those who seek my aid let Jason's self\n My witness be, who, exiled, overwhelmed by fate, 255\n And smitten sore with fear, a refuge found with me.\n For Io, Thessalia's monarch, bent on vengeance dire,\n Seeks Jason at my hand. The cause, indeed, is just:\n For that his sire, o'erburdened with the weight of years,\n Was foully taken off, while by thy wicked guile 260\n His guileless sisters' hands were nerved to do the deed.\n If now our Jason can unlink his cause from thine,\n 'Tis easy his defense to make, for on his hands\n No stain of blood is found. His arm no sword upraised,\n And he has had no part nor lot in this thy crime. 265\n No, thou and thou alone the arch contriver art,\n Uniting in thy person woman's fertile wit\n And man's effective strength; while in thy reckless heart\n No thought of reputation dwells to check thy hand.\n Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;\n Bear hence thy deadly poisons; free the citizens 270\n From fear; abiding in some other land than this,\n Outwear the patience of the gods.\n\n _Medea:_ Thou bid'st me flee?\n Then give me back my bark wherein to flee. Restore\n The partner of my flight! Why should I flee alone?\n I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st,\n Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me 275\n From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome;\n For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm,\n My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,\n And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him.\n Deep dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul 280\n The sin of profit lieth not.\n\n _Creon:_ Why seek delay\n By speech? Too long thou tarriest.\n\n _Medea:_ I go, but grant\n This last request: let not the mother's fall o'erwhelm\n Her hapless babes.\n\n _Creon:_ Then go in peace. For I to them\n A father's place will fill, and take them to my heart.\n\n _Medea:_ Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day, 285\n And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure\n From changeful fate's assault, I pray thee grant from flight\n A respite brief, while I upon my children's lips\n A mother's kiss imprint, perchance the last.\n\n _Creon:_ A time\n Thou seek'st for treachery. 290\n\n _Medea:_ What fraud can be devised\n In one short hour?\n\n _Creon:_ To those on mischief bent, be sure,\n The briefest time is fraught with mischief's fatal power.\n\n _Medea:_ Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?\n\n _Creon:_ Though deep-ingrafted fear would fain resist thy plea,\n A single day I'll give thee ere my sentence holds. 295\n\n _Medea:_ Too gracious thou. But let my respite further shrink,\n And I'll depart content.\n\n _Creon:_ Thy life shall surely pay\n The forfeit if tomorrow's sun beholds thee still\n In Corinth. But the voice of Hymen calls away\n To solemnize the rites of this his festal day. 300\n\n[_Exeunt._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Too bold the man who first upon the seas,\n The treacherous seas, his fragile bark confided;\n Who, as the well-known shore behind him glided,\n His life intrusted to the fickle breeze;\n\n And, as his unknown seaward course he sped 305\n Within his slender craft with foolish daring,\n Midway 'twixt life and death went onward faring,\n Along the perilous narrow margin led.\n\n Not yet were sparkling constellations known,\n Or sky, all spangled with the starry glory; 310\n Not yet could sailors read the warning story\n By stormy Hyades upon the heavens thrown.\n\n Not yet was Zeus's foster-mother famed,\n Nor slow Bo\u00f6tes round the north star wheeling; 315\n Nor Boreas nor Zephyr gently stealing,\n Each feared or welcomed, though as yet unnamed.\n\n First Tiphys dared to spread his venturous sail,\n The hidden lesson of the breezes learning,\n Now all his canvas to the Zephyrs turning, 320\n Now shifting all to catch the changing gale.\n\n Now midway on the mast the yard remains,\n Now at the head with all its canvas drawing,\n While eager sailors lure the breezes blowing,\n And over all the gleaming topsail strains. 325\n\n The guiltless golden age our fathers saw,\n When youth and age the same horizon bounded;\n No greed of gain their simple hearts confounded;\n Their native wealth enough, 'twas all they knew. 330\n\n But lo, the severed worlds have been brought near\n And linked in one by Argo's hand uniting;\n While seas endure the oar's unwonted smiting, 335\n And add their fury to the primal fear.\n\n This impious bark its guilt in dread atoned 340\n When clashing mountains were together driven,\n And sea, from sea in mighty conflict riven,\n The stars besprinkled with the leaping foam. 345\n\n Amid these perils sturdy Tiphys paled,\n And from his nerveless hand the vessel bounded;\n While stricken Orpheus' lyre no more resounded,\n And tuneful Argo's warning message failed.\n\n What sinking terror filled each quaking breast,\n When near the borders of sea-girt Pelorus, 350\n There smote upon their ears the horrid chorus\n Of Scylla's baying wolves around them pressed.\n\n What terror when they neared the Sirens' lair, 355\n Who soothe the troubled waves with witching measures!\n But Orpheus filled their souls with nobler pleasures,\n And left the foe in impotent despair. 360\n\n And of this wild adventure what the prize,\n That lured the daring bark with heroes laden?\n The fleece of gold, and this mad Colchian maiden,\n Well fit to be the first ship's merchandize.\n\n The sea, subdued, the victor's law obeys; 365\n No vessel needs a goddess' art in framing,\n Nor oars in heroes' hands, the ocean taming:\n The frailest craft now dares the roughest waves.\n\n Now, every bound removed, new cities rise 370\n In lands remote, their ancient walls removing;\n While men of Ind by Caspian shores are roving,\n And Persia's face now greets the western skies. 375\n\n The time will come, as lapsing ages flee,\n When every land shall yield its hidden treasure;\n When men no more shall unknown courses measure,\n For round the world no \"farthest land\" shall be.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[9] Reading, _Medea fugiam_, as a continuation of Medea's speech.\n\n[10] Retaining _si regnas, iube_ in Medea's speech.\n\n[11] Reading, _gloriae_.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[Medea _is rushing out to seek vengeance, while the_ Nurse _tries in\nvain to restrain her_.]\n\n _Nurse:_ My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad? 380\n Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.\n [Medea _hastens by without answering. The_ Nurse _soliloquizes_.]\n As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fire\n The god inflames, now roams distraught on Pindus' snows,\n And now on lofty Nysa's rugged slopes; so she, 385\n Now here, now there, with frenzied step is hurried on,\n Her face revealing every mark of stricken woe,\n With flushing cheek and sighs deep drawn, wild cries, and tears,\n And laughter worse than tears. In her a medley strange\n Of every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath, 390\n Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tends\n This overburdened soul? What mean her frenzied threats?\n When will the foaming wave of fury spend itself?\n No common crime, I fear, no easy deed of ill\n She meditates. Herself she will outvie. For well\n I recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deed\n Is threatening, wild, profane, and hideous. 395\n [_Re-enter_ Medea.]\n Behold\n Her face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may these\n Our fears prove vain forebodings!\n\n _Medea_ [_not noticing the_ Nurse's _presence_]: For thy hate, poor\n soul,\n Dost thou a measure seek? Let it be deep as love.\n And shall I tamely view the wedding torches's glare?\n And shall this day go uneventful by, this day,\n So hardly won, so grudgingly bestowed? Nay, nay, 400\n While, poised upon her heights, the central earth shall bear\n The heavens up; while seasons run their endless round,\n And sands unnumbered lie; while days, and nights, and sun,\n And stars in due procession pass; while round the pole\n The ocean-fearing bears revolve, and tumbling streams\n Flow downward to the sea; my grief shall never cease 405\n To seek revenge, and shall forever grow. What rage\n Of savage beast can equal mine? What Scylla famed?\n What sea-engulfing pool? What burning Aetna placed\n On impious Titan's heaving breast? No torrent stream, 410\n Nor storm-tossed sea, nor breath of flame fanned by the gale,\n Can check or equal my wild storm of rage. My will\n Is set on limitless revenge!\n Will Jason say 415\n He feared the power of Creon and Acastus' threats?\n True love is proof against the fear of man. But grant\n He was compelled to yield, and pledged his hand in fear:\n He might at least have sought his wife with one last word\n Of comfort and farewell. But this, though brave in heart, 420\n He feared to do. The cruel terms of banishment\n Could Creon's son-in-law not soften? No. One day\n Alone was giv'n for last farewell to both my babes.\n But time's short space I'll not bewail; though brief in hours,\n In consequence it stretches out eternally.\n This day shall see a deed that ne'er shall be forgot.\n But now I'll go and pray the gods, and move high heaven 425\n But I shall work my will!\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy heart all passion-tossed,\n I pray thee, mistress, soothe, and calm thy troubled soul.\n\n _Medea:_ My troubled soul can never know a time of rest\n Until it sees all things o'erwhelmed in common doom.\n All must go down with me! 'Tis sweet such death to die.\n\n[_Exit_ Medea.]\n\n _Nurse_ [_calling after her_]: Oh, think what perils thou must meet\n if thou persist! 430\n No one with safety may defy a sceptered king.\n\n[_Enter_ Jason.]\n\n _Jason:_ O heartless fate, if frowns or smiles bedeck thy brow,\n How often are thy cures far worse than the disease\n They seek to cure! If, now, I wish to keep the troth 435\n I plighted to my lawful bride, my life must pay\n The forfeit; if I shrink from death, my guilty soul\n Must perjured be. I fear no power that man can wield;\n But in my heart paternal love unmans me quite;\n For well I know that in my death my children's fate\n Is sealed. O sacred Justice, if in heaven thou dwell'st, 440\n Be witness now, that for my children's sake I act.\n Nay, sure am I that even she, Medea's self,\n Though fierce she is of soul and brooking no restraint,\n Will see her children's good outweighing all her wrongs.\n With this good argument my purpose now is fixed, 445\n In humble wise to brave her wrath.\n [_Enter_ Medea.]\n At sight of me\n Her raging fury flames anew! Hate, like a shield,\n She bears, and in her face is pictured all her woe.\n\n _Medea:_ Thou see'st, Jason, that we flee. 'Tis no new thing\n To suffer exile, but the cause of flight is strange;\n For with thee I was wont to flee, not from thee. Yes,\n I go. But whither dost thou send me whom thou driv'st 450\n From out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,\n My royal father's realm, whose soil is steeped in blood\n My brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?\n What way by sea is open? Shall I fare again\n Where once I saved the noble kings of Greece, and thee, 455\n Thou wanton, through the threatening jaws of Pontus' strait,\n The blue Symplegades? Or shall I hie me back\n To fair Thessalia's realms? Lo, all the doors which I,\n For thee, have opened wide, I've closed upon myself.\n But whither dost thou send me now? Thou bid'st me flee, 460\n But show'st no way or means of flight.\n But 'tis enough:\n The king's own son-in-law commands and I obey.\n Come, heap thy torments on me; I deserve them all.\n Let royal wrath oppress me, wanton that I am,\n With cruel hand, and load my guilty limbs with chains;\n And let me be immured in dungeons black as night: 465\n Still will my punishment be less than my offense.\n O ingrate! hast thou then forgot the brazen bull,\n And his consuming breath? the fear that smote thee, when,\n Upon the field of Mars, the earth-born brood stood forth\n To meet thy single sword? 'Twas by my arts that they, 470\n The monsters, fell by mutual blows. Remember, too,\n The long-sought fleece of gold I won for thee, whose guard,\n The dragon huge, was lulled to rest at my command;\n My brother slain for thee. For thee old Pelias fell, 475\n When, taken by my guile, his daughters slew their sire,\n Whose life could not return. All this I did for thee.\n In quest of thine advantage have I quite forgot\n Mine own.\n And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes,\n By thine established house, by all the monsters slain 480\n For thee, by these my hands which I have ever held\n To work thy will, by all the perils past, by heaven\n And sea that witnessed at my wedlock, pity me!\n Since thou art blessed, restore me what I lost for thee:\n That countless treasure plundered from the swarthy tribes\n Of India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth, 485\n And decked our very trees with gold. This costly store\n I left for thee, my native land, my brother, sire,\n My reputation--all; and with this dower I came.\n If now to homeless exile thou dost send me forth,\n Give back the countless treasures which I left for thee. 490\n\n _Jason:_ Though Creon in a vengeful mood would have thy life,\n I moved him by my tears to grant thee flight instead.\n\n _Medea:_ I thought my exile punishment; 'tis now, I see,\n A gracious boon!\n\n _Jason:_ Oh, flee while still the respite holds;\n Provoke him not, for deadly is the wrath of kings. 495\n\n _Medea:_ Not so. 'Tis for Cre\u00fcsa's love thou sayest this;\n Thou wouldst remove the hated wanton once thy wife.\n\n _Jason:_ Dost thou reproach me with a guilty love?\n\n _Medea:_ Yea, that,\n And murder too, and treachery.\n\n _Jason:_ But name me now,\n If so thou canst, the crimes that I have done.\n\n _Medea:_ Thy crimes--\n Whatever I have done.\n\n _Jason:_ Why then, in truth, thy guilt\n Must all be mine, if all thy crimes are mine. 500\n\n _Medea:_ They are,\n They are all thine; for who by sin advantage gains,\n Commits the sin. All men proclaim thy wife defiled.\n Do thou thyself protect her, and condone her sin.\n Let her be guiltless in thine eyes who for thy gain\n Has sinned.\n\n _Jason:_ But gifts which sin has bought 'twere shame to take.\n\n _Medea:_ Why keep'st thou then the gifts which it were shame to\n take? 505\n\n _Jason:_ Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children--for their sake\n Be calm.\n\n _Medea:_ My children! Them I do refuse, reject,\n Renounce! Shall then Cre\u00fcsa brothers bear to these\n My children?\n\n _Jason:_ But the queen can aid thy wretched sons.\n\n _Medea:_ May that day never dawn, that day of shame and woe, 510\n When in one house are joined the low born and the high,\n The sons of that foul robber Sisyphus, and these,\n The sons of Phoebus.\n\n _Jason:_ Wretched one, and wilt thou then\n Involve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.\n\n _Medea:_ Creon hath heard my prayer.\n\n _Jason:_ What wouldst thou have me do? 515\n\n _Medea:_ For me? I'd have thee dare the law.\n\n _Jason:_ The royal power\n Doth compass me.\n\n _Medea:_ A greater than the king is here:\n Medea. Set us front to front and let us strive;\n And of this royal strife let Jason be the prize.\n\n _Jason:_ O'erwearied by my woes I yield. But be thou ware,\n Medea, lest too often thou shouldst tempt thy fate. 520\n\n _Medea:_ Yet fortune's mistress have I ever been.\n\n _Jason:_ But see,\n With hostile front Acastus comes, on vengeance bent,\n While Creon threatens instant death.\n\n _Medea:_ Then flee them both.\n I ask thee not to draw thy sword against the king\n Nor yet to stain thy pious hands with kindred blood.\n Come, flee with me.\n\n _Jason:_ But what resistance can we make, 525\n If war with double visage rear his horrid front,\n If Creon and Acastus join in common cause?\n\n _Medea:_ Add, too, the Colchian armies with my father's self\n To lead them; join the Scythian and Pelasgian hordes:\n In one deep gulf of ruin will I whelm them all.\n\n _Jason:_ Yet on the scepter do I look with fear.\n\n _Medea:_ Beware,\n Lest not the fear, but lust of power prevail with thee.\n\n _Jason:_ Too long we strive: have done, lest we suspicion breed. 530\n\n _Medea:_ Now Jove, throughout thy heavens let the thunders roll!\n Thy mighty arm in wrath make bare! Thy darting flames\n Of vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmament\n With rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,\n Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim;\n That thus whoever falls may perish with the brand 535\n Of guilt upon him; for thy hurtling darts can take\n No erring flight.\n\n _Jason:_ Recall thee and in calmness speak\n With words of peace and reason. Then if any gift\n From Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,\n Take that as solace of thy flight.\n\n _Medea:_ My soul doth scorn 540\n The wealth of kings. But let me have my little ones\n As comrades of my flight, that in their childish breasts\n Their mother's tears may flow. New sons await thy home.\n\n _Jason:_ My heart inclines to yield to thee, but love forbids.\n For these my sons shall never from my arms be reft, 545\n Though Creon's self demand. My very spring of life,\n My sore heart's comfort, and my joy are these my sons;\n And sooner could I part with limbs or vital breath,\n Or light of life.\n\n _Medea_ [_aside_]: Doth he thus love his sons? 'Tis well;\n Then is he bound, and in his armored strength this flaw 550\n Reveals the place to strike.\n [_To_ Jason.]\n At least, ere I depart,\n Grant me this last request: let me once more embrace\n My sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.\n And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,\n My tongue was over bold, let not my words remain 555\n To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things\n Of me and let my bitter words be straight forgot.\n\n _Jason:_ Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,\n Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.\n For resignation ever soothes the woeful soul.\n\n[_Exit_ Jason.]\n\n _Medea:_ He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart, 560\n Forgetting me and all my service? Must I drop,\n Like some discarded toy, out of his faithless heart?\n It shall not be. Up then, and summon all thy strength\n And all thy skill! And, this the fruit of former crime,\n Count nothing criminal that works thy will. But lo,\n We're hedged about; scant room is left for our designs. 565\n Now must the attack be made where least suspicion wakes\n The least resistance. Now Medea, on! and do\n And dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thine utmost power!\n [_To the_ Nurse.]\n Do thou, my faithful nurse, the comrade of my grief,\n And all the devious wanderings of my checkered course,\n Assist me now in these my plans. There is a robe,\n The glory of our Colchian realm, the precious gift 570\n Of Phoebus' self to king Ae\u00ebtes as a proof\n Of fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wrought\n With threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'er\n With gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head.\n These treasures let Medea's children bear as gifts 575\n To Jason's bride. But first infuse them with the power\n Of magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate;\n The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare,\n And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.\n\n _Chorus:_ No force of flame or raging gale,\n Or whizzing bolt so fearful is, 580\n As when a wife, by her lord betrayed,\n Burns hot with hate.\n\n Not such a force is Auster's blast,\n When he marshals forth the wintry storms;\n Nor Hister's headlong rushing stream,\n Which, wrecking bridges in its course, 585\n Pours reckless on;\n\n Nor yet the Rhone, whose current strong\n Beats back the sea; nor when the snows,\n Beneath the lengthening days of spring\n And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams\n From Haemus' top. 590\n\n Blind is the rage of passion's fire,\n Will not be governed, brooks no reins,\n And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords\n It gladly courts.\n\n Spare, O ye gods, be merciful, 595\n That he who tamed the sea may live.\n But much we fear, for the lord of the deep\n Is wroth that his realm of the second lot\n Should be subdued.\n\n The thoughtless youth who dared to drive\n His father's sacred chariot,\n Was by those fires, which o'er the heavens 600\n He scattered in his mad career,\n Himself consumed.\n\n The beaten path has never proved\n The way of danger. Walk ye then\n Where your forefathers safely trod,\n And keep great nature's holy laws 605\n Inviolate.\n\n Whoever dipped the famous oars\n Of that bold bark in the rushing sea;\n Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion\n Of the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves;\n Whoever dared the clashing rocks, 610\n And, after countless perils passed,\n His vessel moored on a barbarous shore,\n Hoping to fare on his homeward way\n The master of the golden fleece,\n All by a fearful end appeased 615\n The offended sea.\n\n First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,\n Abandoned to an untrained hand\n His vessel's helm. On a foreign shore,\n Far from his native land he died;\n And now within a common tomb, 620\n 'Midst unknown ghosts, he lies at rest.\n In wrathful memory of her king\n Lost on the sea, did Aulis then\n Within her sluggish harbor hold\n The impatient ships.\n\n Then he, the tuneful Muse's son, 625\n At whose sweet strains the streams stood still,\n The winds were silent, and the birds,\n Their songs forgotten, flocked to him,[12]\n The whole wood following after--he,\n Over the Thracian fields was hurled 630\n In scattered fragments; but his head\n Down Hebrus' grieving stream was borne.\n The well-remembered Styx he reached,\n And Tartarus, whence ne'er again\n Would he return.\n\n The wing\u00e9d sons of Boreas\n Alcides slew, and Neptune's son 635\n Who in a thousand changing forms\n Could clothe himself. But after peace\n On land and sea had been proclaimed,\n And after savage Pluto's realm\n Had been revealed to mortal eyes,\n Then did Alcides' self, alive,\n On burning Oeta's top lie down,\n And give his body to the flames; 640\n For sore distressed was he, consumed\n By Deianira's deadly gift,\n The double blood.\n\n A savage boar Ancaeus slew;\n Thou, Meleager, impiously\n Thy mother's brother in wrath didst slay,\n And by that angry mother's hand 645\n Didst die. All these deserved their death.\n But for what crime did Hylas die,\n A tender lad whom Hercules\n\n Long time but vainly sought? For he,\n 'Mid waters safe was done to death.\n Go then, and fearlessly the deep\n Plow with your daring ships; but fear 650\n The peaceful pools.\n\n Idmon, though well be knew the fates,\n A serpent slew on Afric sands;\n And Mopsus, to all others true,\n False to himself, died far from Thebes. 655\n If he with truth the future sang,\n Then Nauplius, who strove to wreck\n The Argive ships by lying fires,\n Shall headlong fall into the sea.\n And for his father's daring crime 660\n Shall Ajax, that O\u00efleus' son,\n Make full atonement, perishing\n 'Midst flame and flood.[13]\n\n And thou, Admetus' faithful mate,\n Shalt[14] for thy husband pay thy life,\n Redeeming his from death. But he,\n Who bade the first ship sail in quest 665\n Of the golden spoil, King Pelias,\n Seethed in a boiling cauldron, swam\n 'Mid those restricted waves. Enough,\n O gods, have ye avenged the sea:\n Spare him, we pray, who did but go\n On ordered ways.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] Reading, _cui_.\n\n[13] Reading, with a period after _profundum_ and after _O\u00efleus_.\n\n[14] Reading, _impendes_.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n _Nurse_ [_alone_]: My spirit trembles, for I feel the near\n approach 670\n Of some unseen disaster. Swiftly grows her grief,\n Its own fires kindling; and again her passion's force\n Hath leaped to life. I oft have seen her, with the fit\n Of inspiration in her soul, confront the gods\n And force the very heavens to her will. But now,\n A monstrous deed, of greater moment far than these, 675\n Medea is preparing. For, but now, did she\n With step of frenzy hurry off until she reached\n Her stricken home. There, in her chamber, all her stores\n Of magic wonders are revealed; once more she views\n The things herself hath held in fear these many years,\n Unloosing one by one her ministers of ill,\n Occult, unspeakable, and wrapt in mystery;\n And, grasping with her hand the sacred altar-horn, 680\n With prayers, she straightly summons all destructive powers,\n The creatures bred in Libya's sands, and on the peaks\n Of frigid Taurus, clad in everlasting snows.\n Obedient to her potent charms, the scaly brood 685\n Of serpents leave their darksome lairs and swarm to her;\n One savage creature rolls his monstrous length along,\n And darts his fork\u00e9d tongue with its envenomed sting,\n Death-dealing; at the charming sound he stops amazed,\n And fold on fold his body writhes in nerveless coils. 690\n \"But these are petty ills; unworthy of my hand,\"\n She cries, \"are such weak, earth-born weapons. Potent charms\n Are bred in heaven. Now, now 'tis time to summon powers\n Transcending common magic. Down I'll draw from heaven\n That serpent huge whose body lies athwart the sky 695\n Like some great ocean stream, in whose constricting folds\n The greater and the lesser Bears are held enthralled,\n The greater set as guide for Grecian ships, the less\n For Sidon's mariners! Let Ophiuchus loose\n His hand and pour forth venom from his captive thrall!\n And let the Python huge, that dared to rear its head 700\n Against the heavenly twins, be present at my prayer!\n Let Hydra's writhing heads, which by Alcides' hand\n Were severed, all return to life and give me aid!\n Thou too be near and leave thy ancient Colchian home,\n Thou watchful dragon, to whose eyes the first sleep came\n In answer to my incantations.\"\n When she thus 705\n Had summoned all the serpent brood, she cast her store\n Of baleful herbs together; all the poisons brewed\n Amid the rocky caves of trackless Eryx; plants\n That flourish on the snowy peaks of Caucasus,\n Whose crags were spattered with Prometheus' gore; the herbs 710\n Within whose deadly juice the Arab dips his darts,\n And the quiver-bearing Mede and fleeing Parthian;\n Those potent juices, too, which, near the shivering pole,\n The Suabian chieftains gather in Hyrcanian groves.\n The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores:\n Whatever earth produces in the nesting time,\n And when the stiff'ning hand of winter's frost has stripped 715\n The glory from the trees and fettered all the land\n With icy bonds; whatever flow'ring plant conceals\n Destruction in its bloom, or in its twisted roots\n Distils the juice of death, she gathers to her use.\n These pestilential herbs Haemonian Athos gave; 720\n And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knife\n Clipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia's heights;\n Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling on\n His flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some;\n These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes' tepid stream; 725\n And these the Baetis bore, which gave the land its name,\n Displacing with its langourous tide, the western sea.\n These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break;\n The fruit of these was cut in midnight's gloomy hour;\n This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged. 730\n These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o'er\n With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth\n She mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech owl's heart,\n A ghastly vampire's vitals torn from living flesh.\n Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use. 735\n The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these,\n While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost.\n Now magic runes she adds more potent far.\n But lo!\n Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes,\n She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock.\n\n[_Enter_ Medea, _chanting her incantations_.]\n\n _Medea:_ I supplicate the silent throng, and you, the gods 740\n Of death's sad rites, and groping chaos, and the home\n Of gloomy Pluto, and the black abyss of death\n Girt by the banks of Tartarus! Ye storied shades,\n Your torments leave and haste to grace the festival\n At Hymen's call! Let stop the whirling wheel that holds\n Ixion's limbs and let him tread Corinthian ground;\n Let Tantalus unfrighted drink Pirene's stream. 745\n On Creon's stock alone let heavier torments fall,\n And backward o'er the rocks let Sisyphus be hurled.\n You too, the seed of Dana\u00fcs, whose fruitless toil\n The ever-empty urns deride, I summon you;\n This day requires your helping hands. Thou radiant moon, 750\n Night's glorious orb, my supplications hear and come\n To aid; put on thy sternest guise, thou goddess dread\n Of triple form! Full oft have I with flowing locks,\n And feet unsandaled, wandered through thy darkling groves\n And by thy inspiration summoned forth the rain\n From cloudless skies; the heaving seas have I subdued, 755\n And sent the vanquished waves to ocean's lowest depths.\n At my command the sun and stars together shine,\n The heavenly law reversed; while in the Arctic sea\n The Bears have plunged. The seasons, too, obey my will:\n I've made the burning summer blossom as the spring, 760\n And hoary winter autumn's golden harvests bear.\n The Phasis sends his swirling waves to seek their source,\n And Ister, flowing to the sea with many mouths,\n His eager water checks and sluggish rolls along.\n The billows roar, the mad sea rages, though the winds 765\n All silent lie. At my command primeval groves\n Have lost their shade;[15] the sun, abandoning[16] the day,\n Has stood in middle heaven; while falling Hyades\n Attest my charms.\n But now thy sacred hour is come, 770\n O Phoebe. Thine these bonds with bloody hand entwined\n With ninefold serpent coils; these cords I offer thee,\n Which on his hybrid limbs Typhoeus bore, who shook\n The throne of Jove. This vessel holds the dying blood\n Of Nessus, faithless porter of Alcides' bride. 775\n Here are the ashes of the pyre on Oeta's top\n Which drank the poisoned blood of dying Hercules;\n And here the fatal billet that Althaea burned\n In vengeance on her son. These plumes the Harpies left 780\n Within their caverned lair when Zetes drove them forth;\n And these the feathers of that vile Stymphalian bird\n Which arrows, dipped in Lerna's deadly poison, pierced.\n But lo! mine altar fires resound!\n While in the tripod's answering voice 785\n Behold the present deity!\n I see the car of Trivia,\n Not full and clear as when she drives\n The livelong night to meet the dawn;\n But with a baleful, lurid glare,\n As, harried by Thessalian cries, 790\n She holds a more restricted course.\n Send such uncanny light abroad!\n Fill mortals with a dread unknown;\n And let our Corinth's priceless bronze\n Resound, Dictynna, for thy aid! 795\n To thee a solemn sacrifice\n On bloody altar do we pay!\n To thee, snatched from the mournful tomb,\n The blazing torch nocturnal burns;\n On thee I call with tossing head, 800\n And many a frantic gesture make;\n Corpselike upon the bier I lie,\n My hair with priestly fillet bound;\n Before thy awful shrine is waved\n The branch in Stygian waters dipped.\n And, calling on thy name, with gleaming shoulders bared, 805\n Like Bacchus' mad adorers, will I lash my arms\n With sacrificial knife. Now let my life-blood flow!\n And let my hands be used to draw the deadly sword,\n And learn to shed belov\u00e9d blood!\n [_She cuts her arm and lets the blood flow upon the altar._]\n Behold, self-stricken have I poured the sacrifice! 810\n But if too oft upon thy name I call,\n I pray forgive this importunity!\n The cause, O Hecate, of all my prayers\n Is ever Jason; this my constant care. 815\n [_To attendants._]\n Take now Cre\u00fcsa's bridal robe, and steep in these,\n My potent drugs; and when she dons the clinging folds,\n Let subtle flames go stealing through her inmost heart.\n The fire that in this tawny golden circlet lurks 820\n Prometheus gave, who, for his daring heavenly theft\n In human aid, endured an ever-living death.\n 'Twas Vulcan showed the fires concealed in sulphur's veins; 825\n While from my brother Pha\u00ebthon I gained a flame\n That never dies; I have preserved Chimera's breath,\n And that fierce heat that parched the fiery, brazen bull\n Of Colchis. These dread fires commingled with the gall 830\n Of dire Medusa have I bidden keep the power\n Of lurking evil. Now, O Hecate,\n Give added force to these my deadly gifts.\n And strictly guard the hidden seeds of flame.\n Let them deceive the sight, endure the touch; 835\n But through her veins let burning fever run;\n In fervent heat consume her very bones,\n And let her fiercely blazing locks outshine\n Her marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:\n Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate, 840\n And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.\n Now all is ready: hither call my sons,\n And let them bear these presents to the bride.\n [_Enter sons._]\n Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born, 845\n And win with costly gifts and many prayers\n The favor of the queen, your father's wife.\n Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,\n That I may fold you in a last embrace.\n\n[_Exeunt sons toward the palace_, Medea _in the opposite direction_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,\n All passion-swept? what evil deed 850\n Does her unbridled rage prepare?\n Her features are congealed with rage,\n And with a queenly bearing, grand\n But terrible, she sets herself 855\n Against e'en Creon's royal power.\n An exile who would deem her now?\n Her cheeks anon with anger flush,\n And now a deadly pallor show;\n Each feeling quick succeeds to each, 860\n While all the passions of her heart\n Her changing aspect testifies.\n She wanders restless here and there,\n As a tigress, of her young bereft,\n In frantic grief the jungle scours. 865\n Medea knows not how in check\n To hold her wrath nor yet her love;\n If love and wrath make common cause,\n What dire results will come?\n When will this scourge of Corinth leave 870\n Our Grecian shores for Colchis' strand,\n And free our kingdom from its fear?\n Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy course\n With no retarding rein. 875\n Let friendly darkness quickly veil the light,\n And this dread day be buried deep in night.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] Reading, with period after _meae_.\n\n[16] Reading, _relicto_, and substituting comma for semicolon.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Messenger_ [_comes running in from the direction of the palace_]: Lo,\n all is lost! the kingdom totters from its base!\n The daughter and the father lie in common dust! 880\n\n _Chorus:_ By what snare taken?\n\n _Messenger:_ By gifts the common snare of kings.\n\n _Chorus:_ What harm could lurk in them?\n\n _Messenger:_ In equal doubt I stand;\n And, though my eyes proclaim the dreadful deed is done,\n I scarce can trust their witness.\n\n _Chorus:_ What the mode of death?\n\n _Messenger:_ Devouring flames consume the palace at the will 885\n Of her who sent them; there complete destruction reigns,\n While men do tremble for the very city's doom.\n\n _Chorus:_ Let water quench the fire.\n\n _Messenger:_ Nay here is added wonder:\n The copious streams of water feed the deadly flames;\n And opposition only fans their fiery rage\n To whiter heat. The very bulwarks feel their power. 890\n\n[Medea _enters in time to hear that her magic has been successful_.]\n\n _Nurse_ [_to_ Medea]: Oh, haste thee, leave this land of Greece,\n in headlong flight!\n\n _Medea:_ Thou bid'st me speed my flight? Nay rather, had I fled\n I should return for this. Strange bridal rites I see!\n [_Absorbed in her own reflections._]\n Why dost thou falter, O my soul? 'Tis well begun; 895\n But still how small a portion of thy just revenge\n Is that which gives thee present joy? Not yet has love\n Been banished from thy maddened heart if 'tis enough\n That Jason widowed be. Pursue thy vengeful quest\n To acts as yet unknown, and steel thyself for these.\n Away with every thought and fear of God and man; 900\n Too lightly falls the rod that pious hands upbear.\n Give passion fullest sway; exhaust thy ancient powers;\n And let the worst thou yet hast done be innocent\n Beside thy present deeds. Come, let them know how slight\n Were those thy crimes already done; mere training they 905\n For greater deeds. For what could hands untrained in crime\n Accomplish? Or what mattered maiden rage? But now,\n I am Medea; in the bitter school of woe\n My powers have ripened. 910\n [_In an ecstacy of madness._]\n Oh, the bliss of memory!\n My infant brother slain, his limbs asunder rent,\n My royal father spoiled of his ancestral realm,\n And Pelias' guiltless daughters lured to slay their sire!\n But here I must not rest; no untrained hand I bring 915\n To execute my deeds. But now, by what approach\n Or by what weapon wilt thou threat the treacherous foe?\n Deep hidden in my secret heart have I conceived\n A purpose which I dare not utter. Oh, I fear\n That in my foolish madness I have gone too far--\n I would that children had been born to him of this 920\n My hated rival. Still, since she hath gained his heart,\n His children too are hers--\n That punishment would be most fitting and deserved.\n Yes, now I see the final deed of crime, and thou,\n My soul, must face it. You, who once were called my sons,\n Must pay the penalty of these your father's crimes-- 925\n My heart with horror melts, a numbing chill pervades\n My limbs, and all my soul is filled with sinking fear.\n Now wrath gives place, and, heedless of my husband's sins,\n The tender mother-instinct quite possesses me.\n And could I shed my helpless children's blood? Not so,\n Oh, say not so, my maddened heart! Far from my hand 930\n And thought be that unnameable and hideous deed!\n What sin have they that shedding of their wretched blood\n Would wash away?\n Their sin--that Jason is their sire,\n And, deeper guilt, that I have borne them. Let them die;\n They are not mine. Nay, nay! they are my own, my sons,\n And with no spot of guilt. Full innocent they are, 935\n 'Tis true--my brother, too, was innocent. O soul,\n Why dost thou hesitate? Why flow these streaming tears,\n While with contending thoughts my wavering heart is torn?\n As when conflicting winds contend in stubborn strife,\n And waves, to stormy waves opposed, the sea invade, 940\n And to their lowest sands the briny waters boil;\n With such a storm my heart is tossed. Hate conquers love,\n And love puts impious hate to flight. Oh, yield thee, grief,\n To love! Then come, my sons, sole comfort of my heart, 945\n Come, cling within your mother's close embrace. Unharmed\n Your sire may keep you, while your mother holds you too.\n [_Embraces her sons._]\n But flight and exile drive me forth! And even now\n My children must be torn away with tears and cries.\n Then let them die to Jason since they're lost to me. 950\n Once more has hate resumed her sway, and passion's fire\n Is hot within my soul. Now fury, as of yore,\n Reseeks her own. Lead on, I follow to the end!\n I would that I had borne twice seven sons, the boast 955\n Of Niobe! But all too barren have I been.\n Still will my two sufficient be to satisfy\n My brother and my sire.\n [_Sees a vision of the furies and her brother's ghost._]\n But whither hastes that throng\n Of furies? What their quest? What mean their brandished fires?\n Whom threats this hellish host with horrid, bloody brands? 960\n I hear the writhing lash resound of serpents huge.\n Whom seeks Megaera with her deadly torch? Whose shade\n Comes gibbering there with scattered limbs? It is my brother!\n Revenge he seeks, and we will grant his quest. Then come,\n Within my heart plunge all your torches, rend me, burn; 965\n For lo, my bosom open to your fury's stroke.\n O brother, bid these vengeful goddesses depart\n And go in peace down to the lowest shades of hell.\n And do thou leave me to myself, and let this hand\n That slew thee with the sword now offer sacrifice 970\n Unto thy shade.\n [_Slays her first son._]\n What sudden uproar meets my ear?\n 'Tis Corinth's citizens on my destruction bent.\n Unto the palace roof I'll mount and there complete\n This bloody sacrifice.\n [_To her remaining son._]\n Do thou come hence with me.\n But thee, poor senseless corse, within mine arms I'll bear. 975\n Now gird thyself, my heart, with strength. Nor must this deed\n Lose all its just renown because in secret done;\n But to the public eye my hand must be approved.\n\n _Jason [in the street below shouting to citizens_]: Ho, all ye loyal\n sons, who mourn the death of kings!\n Come, let us seize the worker of this hideous crime. 980\n Now ply your arms and raze her palace to the ground.\n\n _Medea [appearing on the housetop with her two sons_]: Now, now have\n I regained my regal state, my sire,\n My brother! Once again the Colchians hold the spoil\n Of precious gold! And by the magic of this hour\n I am a maid once more. O heavenly powers, appeased\n At length! O festal hour! O nuptial day! On, on! 985\n Accomplished is the guilt, but not the recompense.\n Complete the task while yet thy hands are strong to act!\n Why dost thou linger still? why dost thou hesitate\n Upon the threshold of the deed? Thou canst perform it.\n Now wrath has died within me, and my soul is filled\n With shame and deep remorse. Ah me, what have I done,\n Wretch that I am? Wretch that thou art, well mayst thou mourn, 990\n For thou hast done it!\n At that thought delirious joy\n O'ermasters me and fills my heart which fain would grieve.\n And yet, methinks, the act was almost meaningless,\n Since Jason saw it not; for naught has been performed\n If to his grief be added not the woe of sight.\n\n _Jason_ [_discovering her_]: Lo, there she stands upon the\n lofty battlements! 995\n Bring torches! fire the house, that she may fall ensnared\n By those devices she herself hath planned.\n\n _Medea_ [_derisively_]: Not so,\n But rather build a lofty pyre for these thy sons;\n Their funeral rites prepare. Already for thy bride\n And father have I done the service due the dead;\n For in their ruined palace have I buried them.\n One son of thine has met his doom; and this shall die 1000\n Before his father's face.\n\n _Jason:_ By all the gods, and by the perils of our flight,\n And by our marriage bond which I have ne'er betrayed,\n I pray thee spare the boy, for he is innocent.\n If aught of sin there be, 'tis mine. Myself I give\n To be the victim. Take my guilty soul for his. 1005\n\n _Medea:_ 'Tis for thy prayers and tears I draw, not sheathe the sword.\n Go now, and take thee maids for wives, thou faithless one;\n Abandon and betray the mother of thy sons.\n\n _Jason:_ And yet, I pray thee, let one sacrifice atone.\n\n _Medea:_ If in the blood of one my passion could be quenched,\n No vengeance had it sought. Though both my sons I slay, 1010\n The number still is all too small to satisfy\n My boundless grief.\n\n _Jason:_ Then finish what thou hast begun--\n I ask no more--and grant at least that no delay\n Prolong my helpless agony. 1015\n\n _Medea:_ Now hasten not,\n Relentless passion, but enjoy a slow revenge.\n This day is in thy hands; its fertile hours employ.\n\n _Jason:_ Oh, take my life, thou heartless one.\n\n _Medea:_ Thou bid'st me pity--\n Well! [_Slays the second child_.]--'Tis done!\n No more atonement, passion, can I offer thee.\n Now hither lift thy tearful eyes ungrateful one. 1020\n Dost recognize thy wife? 'Twas thus of old I fled.\n The heavens themselves provide me with a safe retreat.\n [_A chariot drawn by dragons appears in the air._]\n Twin serpents bow their necks submissive to the yoke.\n Now, father, take thy sons; while I, upon my car,\n With wing\u00e9d speed am borne aloft through realms of air. 1025\n\n[_Mounts her car and is borne away._]\n\n _Jason [calling after her_]: Speed on through realms of air that\n mortals never see:\n But, witness heaven, where thou art gone no gods can be!\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES FURENS\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES FURENS\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n\nHERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena, but the reputed son of Amphitryon.\n\n_Juno_ Sister and wife of Jupiter, and queen of heaven.\n\n_Amphitryon_ Husband of Alcmena.\n\n_Theseus_ King of Athens and friend of Hercules.\n\n_Lycus_ The usurping king of Thebes, who has, prior to the opening of\nthe play, slain king Creon in battle.\n\n_Megara_ Wife of Hercules and daughter of Creon.\n\n_Chorus_ Of Thebans.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is in the princely palace of Hercules at Thebes, on the day\nof the return of the hero from the lower world.\n\n\n_The jealous wrath of Juno, working through Eurystheus, has imposed\ntwelve mighty and destructive tasks on Hercules, her hated stepson.\nBut these, even to the last and worst, the bringing of Cerberus to the\nupper world, he has triumphantly accomplished. Abandoning her plan\nof crushing him by toils like these, she will turn his hand against\nhimself, and so accomplish his destruction. Upon the day of his return\nfrom hell, she brings a madness on him, and so precipitates the tragedy\nwhich forms the action of the play._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Juno_ [_in soliloquy_]: Lo I, the sister of the Thunderer\n (For, save this name alone, I've nothing more),\n Have left my lord, so often false to me,\n Have left, in widowhood, the realms of heaven,\n And, banished from the sky, have given place\n Unto my hated rivals. Now must earth 5\n Be my abode, while they in heaven reign.\n Behold, the Bear, far in the frozen north,\n Is set on high to guide the Argive ships;\n Behold, in southern skies, where days grow long\n Beneath the warmth of spring, the Bull shines bright,\n Who once the Tyrian Europa bore.\n There gleam the wandering Atlantides, 10\n A fearful band for ships and sea alike;\n And yonder fierce Orion with his sword\n The very gods affrights; his stars, as well,\n The golden Perseus boasts; while Leda's sons\n With shining banners glitter in the sky;\n And they, Latona's children, for whose birth 15\n The floating land stood firm. And not alone\n Have Bacchus and his mother gained the heavens;\n But, that the infamy may be complete,\n The skies must needs the Cretan maiden's crown\n Endure. But these are ancient wrongs I tell:\n One wild and baneful land alone is full\n Of shameless mistresses--the Theban land, 20\n Which all too oft has me a stepdame made.\n And though Alcmena scale the heights of heaven,\n And hold my place, victorious over me;\n And though her son his promised star obtain\n (Whose hateful getting cost the world a day,\n Since Phoebus, bidden to hold his shining car 25\n In Ocean hid, with tardy light shone forth\n From eastern seas): still ever in my heart\n Shall hate relentless dwell. Undying wrath\n My outraged soul shall kindle; and my grief,\n All hope of truce denying, endless wars\n Shall fiercely wage. But what avail my wars? 30\n Whatever savage things the hurtful earth,\n The sea or air produce, terrific shapes,\n Fierce, pestilential, horrible, and dire,\n The power of all is broken and subdued.\n Alcides towers above and thrives on woe;\n My wrath is his delight, and to his praise\n He turns my deadly hate. While I, too stern, 35\n Impose his dreadful tasks, I do but prove\n His origin, and opportunity\n For glorious achievement render him.\n Where Phoebus with his neighboring torch illumes\n The east and western shores of Aethiop's land,\n Alcides' dauntless courage is adored;\n While all the world considers him a god.\n And now have I no monsters more to send; 40\n And less his toil to do the tasks I bid,\n Than mine to set them. Joyfully he hears\n My several commands. But what dire tasks\n The tyrant may conceive can harm that youth\n Impetuous? His very arms, forsooth,\n Are torn from monsters which he feared--and slew; 45\n With spoils of lion and of hydra armed,\n He walks abroad. Nor are the lands of earth\n Enough for him: behold, the doors of Dis\n Are burst, and to the upper world he brings\n The booty taken from the vanquished king.\n 'Tis not enough that he returns alive:\n The law that binds the shades is set at naught.\n Myself I saw him, when he had o'ercome 50\n The king of hades and escaped the night\n Of that deep underworld, display to Jove\n The spoils of Dis. But why does he not lead,\n Oppressed and overcome, the king himself\n Who gained by lot an equal realm with Jove?\n Why rules he not in conquered Erebus?\n Why bares he not the Styx? His upward way\n From deepest hell to earth he has retraced, 55\n And all the sacred mysteries of death\n Lie open to the world. Not yet content,\n And proud that he has burst the bars of night,\n He triumphs over me, and, insolent,\n He leads through all the cities of the land\n That gruesome dog of hell. I saw, myself,\n The daylight pale at sight of Cerberus, 60\n The sun start in affright. Nay, even I\n Was struck with terror; and, as I beheld\n That triple-headed beast in bondage led,\n I trembled at the thought that 'twas my will.\n But all too trivial ills do I lament;\n My fears must be aroused for heaven itself,\n Lest he who overcame the lowest depths\n Should scale the very skies, and from his sire 65\n His scepter snatch away. Nor to the stars\n Will he, like Bacchus, by an easy path\n Ascend; through ruin would he make his way,\n And wish to rule an empty universe.\n He is inflamed with pride of tested strength;\n But he has learned by bearing up the heavens,\n That by his power the heavens can be subdued. 70\n Upon his head he bore the universe,\n Nor did his shoulders bend beneath the weight\n Of that stupendous mass; the vault of heaven\n Upon his neck was poised, and steadily\n He bore the expanse of sky, the shining stars;\n And even me, down pressing, he endured.\n He seeks a place among the immortal gods.\n Then up, arouse thee to destructive wrath, 75\n Destroy him meditating plans so great.\n Meet him in single strife; with thine own hands\n Asunder rend him. Why thy mighty hate\n Dost thou consign to others to appease?\n Enough of monsters; let Eurystheus rest,\n All weary with imposing thy commands.\n Though thou shouldst open wide Sicilia's vaults,\n And free the Titans who essayed to wrench 80\n The scepter from the hand of mighty Jove;\n Though the Doric isle, which trembles with affright\n Whene'er the heaving giant turns himself,\n Should ease her weight upon the monster's head;\n Though in the moon another race of beasts\n Should be conceived: yet all of these, I know\n Alcides conquered and will conquer still.\n Seek'st thou his match? There is none save himself. 85\n Then set him on to war against himself;\n Let furies from the lowest depths of hell\n Be roused and come to aid, their flaming locks\n Aglow with maddening fire, their savage hands\n The horrid snaky scourges brandishing.\n Go now, thou proud one, seek the seats of heaven,\n And scorn the lot of men. And dost thou think, 90\n O hero brave, that thou hast fled the Styx\n And gloomy shades? Here will I show thee hell;\n Here will I summon up the goddess dire\n Of Discord, deep in darkness thick confined\n Far down below the abode of guilty souls.\n A cavern huge within a mountain's hold\n Is her dark prison. Her will I call forth, 95\n And from the deepest realms of Dis bring up\n Whate'er thou hast escaped: base Crime shall come;\n Impiety that fiercely stains its hands\n In kindred blood; the shape of Error, too,\n And Fury ever armed against itself.\n This, this assistance shall my grief employ.\n Come then, ye ever-faithful slaves of Dis, 100\n Begin your task. Shake high the blazing torch;\n And let Megaera lead her dreadful band\n Of sisters viperous. With deadly hand\n Let her from off the blazing funeral pyre\n A burning brand snatch up. Now to your task;\n Thus seek revenge for violated Styx:\n Distract his heart with madness; let his soul 105\n More fiercely burn than that hot fire which glows\n On Aetna's forge. But first, that Hercules\n May be to madness driven, smitten through\n With mighty passion, I must be insane.\n Why rav'st thou not, O Juno? Me, Oh, me, 110\n Ye sisters, first of sanity deprive,\n That something worthy of a stepdame's wrath\n I may prepare. Let all my hate be changed\n To favor. Now I pray that he may come\n To earth again, and see his sons unharmed;\n May he return with all his old-time strength.\n Now have I found a day when Hercules\n May help me with his strength that I deplore. 115\n Now let him equally o'ercome himself\n And me; and let him, late escaped from death,\n Desire to die. Now let it profit me\n That he is born of Jove. I'll stand by him\n And nicely poise his hand, that so his darts\n May with more deadly aim be hurled. I'll guide\n The madman's arms. And so at last I help 120\n Alcides in his wars. The crime complete,\n Then let his father to the heavens admit\n Those guilty hands. Now must the attack begin.\n The day is breaking, and with saffron light\n The rising sun dispels the gloom of night.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Now scattered and with paling light 125\n The stars gleam in the sinking west;\n Now vanquished night collects her fires,\n Whose shining band at the day's return\n The star of morning drives away.\n High up in the frozen northern sky,\n The Arcadian Bears with their seven-fold stars, 130\n Their course completed, hail the dawn.\n Now borne along by his azure steeds\n The sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge;\n With whose light suffused, the clustering grapes\n In the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dear\n Flush rosy red. The waning moon 135\n Fades out of sight, to return again.\n Hard Toil awakens, at whose knock\n The doors of men are opened wide,\n And daily cares resumed.\n The shepherd sends his flock afield,\n And plucks, himself, the tender grass 140\n Still sparkling with the frosty rime.\n The young bull sports among the fields\n At liberty; the dams refill\n Their empty udders; sportive kids\n Leap lightly o'er the tender grass 145\n In aimless course. On the topmost branch\n The Thracian Philomela sings\n Her strident song, and near her nest\n Of chattering young she spreads her wings\n To the morning sun; while all around 150\n The throng of birds with united songs\n Announce the day.\n The daring sailor spreads his sails\n To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill\n Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks\n The fisher leans and baits anew\n His cunning hook; he feels his line 155\n A-tremble with the struggling fish,\n Or weighs his prize with practiced hand\n And eager eye.\n Such are the joys of him who lives 160\n In tranquil and unworried peace;\n Whose pleasure is a humble house,\n His own, though small; whose simple hopes\n Are in the open fields.[17]\n But worried hopes in cities dwell,\n And trembling fears. There some would haunt\n The rich man's haughty vestibules,\n Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors, 165\n Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth,\n Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze\n In admiration at their heaps;\n And yet, with all their gold, are poor.\n Some strain for the applause of men,\n The vulgar throng, whose fickle will\n Is shifting as the sea, and swell 170\n With empty pride. The noisy mart\n Still others claim, who meanly deal\n In quarrelsome suits, and profit make\n Of wrath and empty words.\n Few know untroubled peace, the men\n Who, heeding time's swift flight, hold fast 175\n The years that never will return.\n While fate permits, live happily;\n For life runs on with rapid pace,\n And with headlong speed the year's swift wheel 180\n With winged hours is turned.\n The cruel sisters urge their task,\n Nor backward turn the threads of life.\n But the race of men is hurried on\n To meet the quick approaching fates,\n Uncertain of their own.\n Of our own will we haste to cross 185\n The Stygian waves. Thou, Hercules,\n With heart too brave, before thy time\n Didst see the grieving shades. The fates\n In pre-established order come;\n And none may stay when they command,\n None may put off the appointed day. 190\n The swiftly whirling urn of fate\n Contains all mortal men.\n Let glory then to many lands\n Proclaim some names, and chattering fame\n Through every city sing their praise,\n And raise them to the stars. Sublime 195\n In triumph let another ride.\n Me let my native land conceal\n Within a safe and humble home.\n 'Tis unambitious souls who come\n To hoary-headed age at last.\n If humble, still the lot is sure\n Of lowly homes. Souls lifted high, 200\n For this to greater depths must fall.\n But see, sad Megara comes with flowing hair,\n Her little children closely pressing round;\n And with her, with the tardy step of age,\n The sire of Hercules, Amphitryon.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[17] Reading, _et in agris_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Megara:_ O mighty ruler of Olympus' heights, 205\n Thou judge of all the world, now set at length\n A limit to my cares, and make an end\n Of my disasters. No untroubled day\n Doth dawn for me; but one misfortune's end\n Marks but the starting-point of future woes.\n Fresh foes are ready for my Hercules\n Straightway on his return; ere he can reach 210\n His happy home, another warfare bids\n That he set forth again. No time for rest\n Is given, save while he waits a fresh command.\n 'Twas ever thus: from earliest infancy\n Unfriendly Juno follows on his track.\n Was e'en his cradle free from her assaults?\n He conquered monsters ere he learned to know 215\n What monsters were. Two crested serpents huge\n Against him reared their heads; the dauntless child\n Crawled forth to meet them, and, with placid gaze\n Intently fixed upon their fiery eyes,\n With fearless look he raised their close-coiled folds, 220\n And crushed their swollen necks with tender hand.\n And thus he practiced for the hydra's death.\n He caught the nimble stag of Maenalus,\n Its beauteous head adorned with horns of gold.\n The lion, terror of Nemean woods,\n Groaned out his life beneath the mighty arms 225\n Of Hercules. Why should I call to mind\n The stables dire of that Bistonian herd,\n And the king as food to his own horses given?\n The rough Maenalian boar, which, from his lair\n On Erymanthus' thickly wooded heights,\n Filled all the groves of Arcady with dread?\n Or that fell Cretan bull whose terror filled 230\n A hundred towns? Among his herds remote,\n The three-formed shepherd by Tartessus' shore\n Was slain, and from the farthest west his herds\n Were driven as booty. Now Cithaeron feeds\n The cattle once to Ocean known. Again,\n When bidden to penetrate the sultry zone 235\n Of summer's burning sun, those scorch\u00e9d realms\n Which midday parches with its piercing rays,\n He clove the ponderous mountain barriers,\n And made a pathway for the rushing sea.\n He next assailed the rich Hesperides,\n And bore therefrom the watchful dragon's spoil 240\n Of golden fruit. Then Lerna's savage beast,\n An evil creature constantly renewed,\n Did he not overcome by fire at last,\n And teach it how to die? Did he not seek\n Within the clouds the dire Stymphalian birds,\n Whose spreading wings were wont to obscure the day?\n He was not conquered by the maiden queen 245\n Who ruled the Amazons and ever kept\n Her couch in virgin state. Nor did his hands,\n Courageous to attempt all glorious deeds,\n Disdain to cleanse the vile Augean stalls.\n But what avail these toils? For he alone\n Cannot enjoy the world he saved. And now\n The world perceives the giver of its peace 250\n Is absent from its sight. Now prosperous crime\n Is called by virtue's name; good men obey\n The guilty, might is counted right, and fear\n O'ershadows law. Before my eyes I saw\n The sons who dared defend their father's throne\n Fall dead beneath the tyrant's murderous hand; 255\n I saw King Creon's self by death o'ercome,\n The latest son of Cadmus' noble line;\n And with his head the royal diadem\n Was reft away. Who now could weep enough\n For Thebes? Proud land and mother of the gods,\n What master fears she now, she, from whose fields 260\n And fertile bosom sprang that band of youth\n With swords all ready drawn; whose mighty walls\n Amphion, son of Jove, once built, its stones\n Compelling by the magic of his lyre;\n Down to whose citadel not once alone\n The father of the gods from heaven came?\n This royal city which the immortals oft\n Has entertained, which has divinities 265\n Produced, and (heaven forgive the boastful word)\n Perchance will yet produce, is now oppressed\n Beneath a shameful yoke. O royal race\n Of Cadmus, noble state Amphion ruled,\n Low hast thou fallen indeed! Dost thou obey\n A low-born exile, driven from his land 270\n And yet oppressing ours? And now, alas,\n He, who on land and sea doth punish crime,\n Who breaks all cruel rule with righteous hand,\n Far off obeys another, and himself\n Endures those ills from which he others saved;\n And Lycus rules the Thebes of Hercules!\n But not for long; he soon will come again, 275\n And punish all the wrongs; he suddenly\n Will to the upper world emerge; a way\n He'll find--or make. Oh, come unharmed, I pray;\n As victor come at last unto thy home\n Which now in ruins lies. O husband, come,\n With thy strong hand break through the shades of hell. 280\n And if no way is open, if the road\n Is closely barred, then rend the earth and come;\n And all that lies in keep of dismal night\n Bring forth with thee. As once, through riven hills\n A passage seeking for a headlong stream,\n Thou stood'st, and, with thy strength gigantic cleft, 285\n The vale of Tempe opened wide; as then,\n Impelled by might of thy resistless breast,\n The mountains fell away from either side,\n And through the broken masses poured the stream\n Of Thessaly along a channel new:\n So now to parents, children, native land,\n A passage burst. And bring away with thee 290\n The shapes of death, and all that greedy time\n Through countless rounds of years has hidden away;\n Those nations who have drunk forgetfulness,\n Drive out before thee, fearful of the light.\n The spoils are all unworthy of thy fame,\n If thou shouldst bring from hades only that 295\n Which was commanded. But too bold my words,\n And thoughtless of my present lot I speak.\n Oh, when will come at last that day for me\n When I shall clasp my husband once again,\n And weep no more his long-delayed return,\n His long forgetfulness of me? To thee,\n O ruler of the gods, a hundred bulls\n Shall bleed; to thee, thou goddess of the fruits, 300\n Thy secret rites I'll pay: for thee shall blaze\n Upon Eleusin's shrine the sacred torch\n In celebration of thy mysteries.\n Then shall I think my brothers' lives restored,\n My father once again upon his throne. 305\n But if some power more potent than thine own\n Holds thee in durance, we shall come to thee.\n Return in safety and protect us all,\n Or drag us down with thee. This wilt thou do;\n No god will e'er our broken fortunes mend.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ O ally of my house, with wifely faith\n Preserving for the great-souled Hercules 310\n His couch and children, be of better mind.\n Take heart again, for surely he will come,\n Increased in fame by this, as is his wont\n By other tasks.\n\n _Megara:_ What wretched men desire\n They readily believe.\n\n _Amphitryon:_ Nay, what they fear\n They think can never be escaped or borne. 315\n For fear is prone to see the darker side.\n\n _Megara:_ Submerged, deep buried, crushed beneath the world,\n What chance has he to reach the upper realms?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ The same he had, when, through the arid plain,\n And sands that billowed like the stormy sea, 320\n Those twice receding, twice returning gulfs,\n He made his way; when on the dangerous shoals\n Of Syrtes he was wrecked, he left his ship\n A helpless hulk and crossed the sea on foot.\n\n _Megara:_ Unjust is fortune, rarely does she spare 325\n The bravest souls. No one with safety long\n Can brave so frequent perils; he who oft\n Has shunned misfortune meets at last his fate.\n But see, with threatening looks fierce Lycus comes,\n His hateful soul in hateful bearing shown, 330\n And bears the stolen scepter in his hand.\n\n[_Enter_ Lycus.]\n\n _Lycus:_ The rich domain of this proud town of Thebes,\n With all the fertile soil which Phocis bounds\n Within its winding borders, all the land\n Ismenus waters; all Cithaeron sees 335\n From his high top; the narrow Isthmus, too,\n Two seas asunder cleaving: all I own,\n Not by prerogative of long descent,\n A worthless heir. No noble ancestors,\n Nor family adorned with lofty names\n Have I; but splendid valor. He who boasts 340\n His noble ancestry exalts a thing\n Which is not his to boast. But power usurped\n Is held with anxious hands; the sword alone\n Can guard it. All thou hold'st against the will\n Of citizens the sword must hold for thee.\n No kingdom built upon a foreign soil 345\n Is safe for long. One thing alone I see\n Which can our power establish--Megara,\n By ties of royal marriage bound to me.\n From her illustrious line my humble blood\n Shall a richer hue derive. Nor do I think\n That she will scorn me and refuse my suit.\n But should she with a blind and stubborn soul 350\n Refuse my proffered hand, my mind is fixed\n To give to utter ruin all the house\n Of Hercules. Will such a deed arouse\n A storm of scandal and the people's hate?\n The art of ruling chiefly lies in this:\n The power to bear the people's hate unmoved.\n Let me make trial then. Occasion smiles,\n For she herself, in mourning vestments clad, 355\n Stands by the altars of her guardian gods,\n While near at hand Alcides' father waits.\n\n _Megara_ [_seeing_ Lycus, _aside_]: What new outrage does yonder\n wretch prepare,\n The pestilent destroyer of our race?\n\n _Lycus:_ O thou, who bear'st a name illustrious 360\n From royal stock, with patient ear awhile\n Receive my words. If everlasting hate\n The hearts of men should feel, if fury dire,\n Once in the heart conceived, should never cease;\n If prosperous men must ever fight to rule,\n And those who fail obey because they must:\n Then never-ending wars would nothing leave, 365\n And all the fields would be a barren waste;\n Homes would be burned, and 'neath their ashes deep\n All nations of the earth would be o'erwhelmed.\n The victor's profit is in peace restored,\n But for the vanquished 'tis their direful need.\n Come, share my throne; let us unite our wills. 370\n And, as my pledge of faith, receive my hand.\n But why dost thou in scornful silence wait?\n\n _Megara:_ And dost thou think that I would touch the hand\n That is besprinkled with my father's gore,\n And my two brothers' blood? Oh, sooner far\n Shall day's last beams go out in eastern skies,\n And dawn break in the west; sooner shall peace 375\n Be made 'twixt snow and flame, and Scylla join\n Sicilia's shores with those of Italy;\n And sooner shall Euripus' rushing waves\n Lap peacefully upon Euboea's shores.\n My father and my brothers hast thou slain,\n My kingdom ruined, home and native land.\n What still is left? One thing remains to me, 380\n That's dearer than my father, brother, home,\n And kingdom: 'tis my deadly hate of thee.\n That I must share this with the land at large\n Is grief to me. For in their cause for hate\n How small a share have I? Thou, swollen with pride,\n Rule on, and let thy soul exalt itself;\n But know that evermore the avenging god\n Pursues the proud of heart. Well do I know 385\n The history of Thebes. Why need I tell\n Of matrons who have dared and suffered wrong?\n Why name the double crime, the mingled names\n Of husband, father, son, the opposing camps\n Of brothers? Why describe the funeral pyres?\n The haughty mother, child of Tantalus, 390\n Still sits in stony grief; the mourning rock\n On Phrygian Sipylus still drips with tears.\n Nay, Cadmus' self, in form of serpent, still\n Flees through Illyria's realm with crested head,\n And leaves behind his dragging body's trail.\n Such fates admonish thee. Rule as thou wilt: 395\n But may the accustomed doom of Thebes be thine.\n\n _Lycus:_ Come then, have done with this wild talk of thine,\n And learn from Hercules to obey the will\n Of kings. Although by right of victory\n I wield this scepter, though I reign supreme 400\n Without the fear of laws which arms annul,\n Still will I briefly speak in my defense.\n And did thy father fall in bloody war?\n Thy brothers too? But arms no limit know,\n Cannot be checked with ease, nor can the sword,\n Once drawn, restrain its wrath. War will have blood. 405\n But (you will say), he fought to save his state,\n While I was prompted by the lust of power.\n Still we should look, not at the cause of war,\n But at its outcome. Now let memory\n Of all the former wrongs pass from thy heart.\n When the victor lays aside his arms, 'tis meet\n The vanquished should abandon hatred too. 410\n I ask thee not upon thy bended knees\n To acknowledge me as king; for it is well\n That thou shouldst meet thy ruin dauntlessly.\n Lo, thou art worthy of a royal mate:\n Be then my wife and not my enemy.\n\n _Megara:_ Cold horror creeps throughout my lifeless limbs.\n What shameful proposition do I hear? 415\n I did not shrink when loud alarms of war\n Rang round our city's walls; and all my woes\n I've bravely borne. But marriage--and with him!\n Now do I think myself indeed a slave.\n Load down my tender frame with heavy chains;\n Be lingering death by long starvation sought; 420\n Still shall no power o'ercome my wifely faith.\n I shall be thine, Alcides, to the death.\n\n _Lycus:_ Such spirits does a buried husband give?\n\n _Megara:_ He went below that he might reach the heavens.\n\n _Lycus:_ The boundless weight of earth oppresses him.\n\n _Megara:_ No weight of earth can overwhelm the man 425\n Who bore the heavens up.\n\n _Lycus:_ Thou shalt be forced.\n\n _Megara:_ He can be forced who knows not how to die.\n\n _Lycus:_ Tell me what gift I could bestow more rich\n Than royal wedlock?\n\n _Megara:_ Grant thy death, or mine.\n\n _Lycus:_ Then die, thou fool.\n\n _Megara:_ 'Tis thus I'll meet my lord.\n\n _Lycus:_ Is that slave more to thee, than I, a king? 430\n\n _Megara:_ How many kings has that slave given to death!\n\n _Lycus:_ Why does he serve a king, and bear the yoke?\n\n _Megara:_ Remove hard tasks, and where would valor be?\n\n _Lycus:_ To conquer monsters call'st thou valor then?\n\n _Megara:_ 'Tis valor to subdue what all men fear. 435\n\n _Lycus:_ The shades of hades hold that boaster fast.\n\n _Megara:_ No easy way leads from the earth to heaven.\n\n _Lycus:_ Who is his father, that he hopes for heaven?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Unhappy wife of mighty Hercules,\n Be silent now, for 'tis my part to tell 440\n Alcides' parentage. After his deeds,\n So many and so great; after the world,\n From rising unto setting of the sun,\n Has been subdued, so many monsters tamed;\n After the giants' impious blood was spilled\n In Phlegra's vale, and gods were reinforced, 445\n What need we yet to prove his parentage?\n Do we make false pretense of Jupiter?\n Then Juno's hate believe.\n\n _Lycus:_ Why blaspheme Jove?\n The race of mortals cannot mate with gods.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Such is the origin of many gods.\n\n _Lycus:_ But were they slaves before their heaven was gained? 450\n\n _Amphitr.:_ The Delian at Pherae kept the flocks.\n\n _Lycus:_ But he did not in exile roam the world.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ His mother bore him in a roaming land,\n Herself a fugitive.\n\n _Lycus:_ Did Phoebus fear\n Wild beasts and monsters?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Yes, in dragon's blood 455\n His earliest shafts were stained.\n\n _Lycus:_ Thou knowest not\n What heavy ills the young Alcides bore.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ But Bacchus by a thunderbolt was ripped\n From out his mother's womb; and yet he stood\n In after time beside the Thunderer,\n His sire. Nay, Jove himself, who rules the stars\n And drives the clouds, did he not lie concealed, 460\n In helpless infancy in Ida's cave?\n A heavy price must so high lineage pay,\n And suffering is the birthright of a god.\n\n _Lycus:_ Whoe'er is wretched, thou wouldst mortal know.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Whoe'er is brave, thou wouldst not wretched call.\n\n _Lycus:_ But is he brave, from whose broad shoulders fell 465\n The lion's skin and club, that they might be\n A maiden's plaything? Who himself shone bright\n In Tyrian vestments? Should we call him brave,\n Whose bristling locks were wet with fragrant nard,\n Whose famous hands in woman's wise essayed\n To play the tambour; on whose frowning brow 470\n The Phrygian turban shamelessly was worn?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ But youthful Bacchus did not blush to wear\n His locks in flowing ringlets, in his hand\n The thyrsus light to brandish, as he walked\n With steps unsteady, clad in trailing robes\n Bright with barbaric gold. 'Tis virtue's right 475\n In foolishness to ease the strain of toil.\n\n _Lycus:_ 'Twas for this cause the house of Eurytus\n Was overthrown, and troops of maidens slain\n Like helpless sheep! No Juno ordered this,\n Nor yet Eurystheus: these his works alone. 480\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Thou know'st not all his deeds: it was his work\n That Eryx fell, by his own gauntlets slain;\n That in his death Antaeus, too, was joined;\n That those foul altars, dripping with the blood\n Of hapless strangers, drank the blood at last\n Of murderous Busiris. 'Twas his work\n That Cycnus, proof against the sword, was slain, 485\n Though still unwounded; by his hand alone\n The threefold Geryon fell. And thou shalt be\n As one of these, though they ne'er basely sinned\n Against the rites of marriage.\n\n _Lycus:_ What to Jove\n Is lawful, is my kingly right as well.\n A wife thou gav'st to him; so for thy king\n Shalt thou a mate provide. Now Megara 490\n From thine example shall the lesson learn,\n Not new, that wives may yield to better men,\n When husbands give consent. But if, self-willed,\n She still refuse to take me for her lord,\n I'll force her will to bear me noble seed.\n\n _Megara:_ Ye shades of Creon, and ye household gods 495\n Of Labdacus, ye impious nuptial fires\n Of Oedipus, your wonted fortune give\n To this our union! O ye savage wives\n Of king Aegyptus' sons, be present now,\n With blood-stained hands. Your count is incomplete.\n I gladly will that impious number fill. 500\n\n _Lycus:_ Since thou dost stubbornly refuse my suit,\n And striv'st to fright the king, now shalt thou feel\n The strength of royal power. Cling as thou mayst\n To altar horns: no god shall save thee now\n From me; not though the earth itself be rent,\n And Hercules victorious come again\n Unto the upper world. 505\n [_To slaves._]\n Heap high the logs,\n And let the sacred temple blazing fall\n Upon its suppliants. Now let the wife\n And all her brood upon the funeral pyre\n Be burned to ashes in the kindling flames.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ This boon Alcides' father asks of thee,\n Which fits me well, that I be first to die. 510\n\n _Lycus:_ Who bids all men meet punishment with death\n Knows not the ruler's art. Seek varied pains;\n Forbid the wretch to die, the happy slay.\n Now, while the pyre is growing for the flames,\n I'll pay my vows unto the ocean's god. 515\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Amphitr.:_ O god of gods, O ruler of the skies,\n Whose hurtling bolts make mortals quake with fear,\n Check thou the impious hand of this dire king.\n Why do I vainly importune the gods?\n Where'er thou art, hear thou and answer, son. 520\n But why this sudden rocking of the shrine?\n Why groans the earth? Far in her lowest hold\n A crashing deep resounds. Our prayer is heard!\n It is, it is the step of Hercules!\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ O Fortune, envious of the brave,\n Unjustly are thy prizes given! 525\n Behold Eurystheus reigns at ease,\n While our Alcmena's noble son,\n With hands which could the heavens uplift,\n Must endless wars with monsters wage;\n Must sever the hydra's teeming necks,\n And from the cheated sisters bear 530\n The apples, when the dragon huge,\n The guardian of the golden fruit,\n Had given to sleep his watchful eyes.\n To the wandering homes of Scythia,\n Where tribes in their ancestral seats\n As strangers dwell, he made his way.\n He trod the frozen ocean's crust, 535\n A still sea hemmed by silent shores;\n There no waves beat on the rigid plains,\n And where but now full swelling sails\n Had sped their barks, a path is worn\n By the long-haired Sarmatae.\n There the waters change with the changing year, 540\n Now ships, now horses bearing up.\n From the queen who rules o'er virgin tribes,\n With golden girdles on their loins,\n He took her body's noble spoil,\n Her shield and her snowy bosom's guard. 545\n On bended knee she acknowledged him victor.\n With what hope, driven to the depths of hell,\n Bold to tread irretraceable ways,\n Didst thou behold the dusky realms\n Of Proserpine of Sicily?\n There Notus and Favonius lash 550\n No seas to rage with swelling floods;\n There do no frightened vessels find\n Help from the twin Tyndaridae.\n Those waters lie in stagnant pools\n And black; and when, with greedy teeth, 555\n Pale Death bears off uncounted tribes\n Unto the shades, one oarsman grim\n Bears all across their gloomy depths.\n Oh, that the laws of cruel Styx\n Thou mightst annul, and the distaff break,\n Relentless, of the fates. And lo, 560\n Thou canst avail, for he who rules\n O'er many nations once with thee\n His deadly hands in battle joined,\n When thou didst wage 'gainst Nestor's land\n A mighty war. A three-pronged spear\n He bore; but soon, by but a wound\n O'ercome, he fled. He feared to die, 565\n Though lord of death. Burst with thy hands\n The bonds of fate. To those sad souls\n In hell let in the light of day,\n And to the upper world reveal\n An easy path. Once, by his songs\n And suppliant prayers, did Orpheus bend\n The stubborn lords of hell, when he 570\n His lost Eurydice would seek.\n That art which drew the forest trees,\n Which held the birds and rocks enthralled,\n Which stopped the river's headlong race,\n And tamed the hearts of savage beasts,\n Soothed with its strains ne'er heard before 575\n Those darksome realms, and clear and fine\n Resounded through that silent land.\n Eurydice the Thracian dames\n Bewailed; Eurydice, the gods,\n Who ne'er had wept before; and they\n Who with forbidding, awful brows,\n In judgment sit and hear the crimes 580\n Long since committed, unconfessed,\n They sat and wept Eurydice,\n Until the lord of death exclaimed:\n \"We grant thy prayer. Away to earth;\n But on this sole condition go:\n Do thou behind thy husband fare;\n And look thou not upon thy wife, 585\n Until the light of day thou see,\n And Spartan Taenarus appear.\"\n Love hates delay, nor suffers it:\n He hasted to behold his wife--\n And she again was lost to him.\n So, then, the fortress that could yield to song, 590\n Be sure that fortress shall to strength belong.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_Enter_ Hercules, _just returned from the lower world, accompanied by_\nTheseus.]\n\n _Hercules:_ O kindly lord of light, heaven's ornament,\n Who circlest all the spaces of the sky\n With thy flame-bearing car, and thy bright head\n Dost lift to glad a new-awakened earth:\n Thy pardon, O Apollo, do I crave, 595\n If aught unlawful thou dost see in me;\n For by another's will have I revealed\n The hidden things of earth. Thou lord of heaven,\n And sire, behind thy flaming thunderbolt\n Conceal thy face; and thou who rul'st the seas\n By second lot, seek thou their lowest depths. 600\n Whoever from on high beholds the earth,\n And would not by strange sights be vision-stained,\n To heaven look and so these portents shun.\n Two only may behold this horrid sight:\n The one who brought and she who ordered it.\n To work my punishment and fated toils 605\n The earth was not enough. Through Juno's hate\n Have I seen regions unapproachable,\n Unknown to Phoebus' rays; yea, I have seen\n Those gloomy spaces which the nether pole\n Has yielded to the dusky Jove's domain.\n And had the regions of the final lot\n Been pleasing, there could I myself have reigned. 610\n That seething chaos of eternal night,\n And, what is worse than night, the gloomy gods,\n And fates I conquered; and in scorn of death\n I have come back again. What else remains?\n I've seen and shown the lower world to men.\n If aught beyond is left to do, command.\n Why dost thou for so long allow these hands,\n O Juno, to remain in idleness? 615\n What conquest still dost thou command? But why\n Do soldiers hold the temple walls in siege,\n And fear of arms beset their sacred doors?\n\n[_Enter_ Amphitryon.]\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Now do my fervent hopes deceive my sight,\n Or is this he, the tamer of the world,\n The pride of Greece, from that sad, silent land 620\n Returned? Is this my son? My ag\u00e9d limbs\n Give way through utter joy. O son, of Thebes\n The sure though long-delayed preserver thou!\n And do I hold thee sent to earth again,\n Or does some empty shadow mock my joy?\n And art thou he indeed? I recognize\n Thy arms and shoulders and the mighty club\n Within thy hands renowned. 625\n\n _Hercules:_ O father, whence\n These marks of grief, and why do I behold\n My wife in dusky mourning garments clad,\n My children garbed in these vile signs of woe?\n What fell disaster hath o'erwhelmed my house?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Thy father-in-law is slain, his kingdom gone,\n For Lycus hath usurped it; now he seeks\n Thy children, father, wife, to bring to death. 630\n\n _Hercules:_ Ungrateful land! did no one come to aid\n The home of Hercules? Did all the world,\n Defended by my arm, look on this deed\n And suffer it? But why waste time in grief?\n My enemy must die.\n\n _Theseus_ [_seeking to detain him_]: O Hercules,\n Let not thy mighty courage bear this stain,\n And such a foe as Lycus be thy last. 635\n I go myself to drink his hateful blood.\n\n _Hercules:_ My Theseus, stay thou here, lest violence\n From some new source arise. This war is mine.\n Let thy embraces wait awhile, my sire,\n And thine, my wife. Let Lycus first announce\n To Dis that I have safe returned to earth. 640\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Theseus:_ Now let thy face give o'er its grief, my queen;\n And thou, O father, check thy falling tears,\n Since this thy son is safe returned to thee.\n If I know Hercules, for Creon's death\n This Lycus soon shall pay the penalty.\n \"Shall pay\" is slow; he pays; nay more, has paid.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Now may some favoring god our prayers fulfil, 645\n And help us in our need. O trusty friend\n Of our great son, his deeds in order tell:\n How long the way that leads to the sorrowing shades;\n How bore the dog of hell his heavy chains.\n\n _Theseus:_ Thou bid'st me call to memory such deeds 650\n As e'en in safety make me tremble still.\n For I can scarce believe that even yet\n I breathe the vital air. My eye's clear sight\n Is blinded, and, by that thick darkness dimmed,\n Can scarce endure the unaccustomed light.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ But conquer thou the fear that still remains\n Deep in thy heart; and do not rob thyself 665\n Of the best fruit of toil. For what was hard\n To bear becomes most sweet in memory.\n Go on, and tell us all thy sufferings.\n\n _Theseus:_ O god of heaven, and thou who holdest sway\n In that deep, all-embracing realm of death,\n And thou whose mother sought thee (but in vain)\n Through all the world: your powers I supplicate\n That I may speak with boldness of the things 660\n Concealed and buried in the hold of earth.\n The Spartan land lifts high a famous cliff\n Where Taenarus juts out upon the sea,\n Dense wooded. Here the realm of hated Dis\n Opes wide its mouth; the high cliff spreads apart, 665\n And in a mighty cavern yawns a pit\n With jaws portentous, huge, precipitous;\n And for all nations ample passage gives.\n The way begins, not dark with heavy shades.\n A watery gleam of daylight follows in,\n And doubtful light, as of the sun eclipsed, 670\n Falls there and mocks the eye. Such light the day,\n While mingled still with night, at early dawn\n Or in its waning hour, is wont to give.\n The way then broadens into spaces vast\n And empty, where the human race entire\n Might plunge and perish. 'Tis no labor here 675\n To travel, for the road itself draws down.\n As often whirlpools suck unwilling ships,\n So does the air, down streaming, urge us on,\n And hungry chaos. Here the clutching shades\n Permit no backward step. Deep in the abyss,\n With peaceful shallows gentle Lethe glides, 680\n And by its draughts removes all mortal care\n And, that no backward way may be allowed,\n With many folds it wraps the stream of death;\n Just as the wandering Maeander sports\n With waves uncertain, now upon itself\n Retreats, now halts in hesitation slow, 685\n Whether it shall its fountain seek again,\n Or journey to the sea. Here lies the marsh\n Of sluggish, vile Cocytus; here, behold,\n The vulture, there the doleful owl laments,\n And through the air the fearsome screech-owl sends\n Its sad, foreboding cry. There stands the yew,\n Its black leaves shuddering on the gloomy boughs; 690\n And 'neath its shelter hover sluggish Sleep,\n And mournful Famine with her wasting jaws,\n And Shame, at last her guilty face concealed.\n Here quaking Fear, and Murder, desperate Grief,\n Black Mourning, tottering Disease, and War\n With weapons girded on, lie hid; and last 695\n Comes feeble Age upon his staff upheld.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Are there no fruitful fields of corn or wine?\n\n _Theseus:_ Not so: no joyful fields with verdure shine,\n No ripening grain waves gently in the breeze,\n No stately trees bear apple-laden boughs; 700\n But sterile wastes defile those lonely depths,\n And in eternal sloth the foul earth lies.\n Here lie the lonesome remnants of the world.\n The air hangs motionless; and thick night broods\n Upon a sluggish, horror-stricken land. 705\n The place of death is worse than death itself.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ And what of him who rules those dusky realms?\n Where sits he as he rules his shadowy folk?\n\n _Theseus:_ There is a place in an obscure recess\n Of Tartarus, which, with its heavy shades, 710\n Dense vapor shrouds. Hence, from a single source,\n Two different rivers flow: with silent stream\n One bears along the sacred Stygian waves\n On which the gods take oath; with mighty roar\n The other fiercely rolls the rocks along\n Within its flood, the raging Acheron, 715\n Which may not be recrossed. Set opposite,\n By these two streams encircled, stands the hall\n Of royal Dis; and by a shading grove\n The mighty house is hid. A spacious cave\n Of overhanging rock the threshold forms.\n This is the path of souls; here is the door 720\n Of Pluto's realm; and, round about, there spreads\n The plain wherein the frowning monarch sits\n And new-come souls reviews. Of lowering brow\n And awful majesty the god appears;\n Yet in his face his brother's likeness bears,\n And proves his noble birth. Jove's face is his,\n But thundering Jove's. And of that savage realm 725\n The master's self makes up the largest part,\n For every fearful thing holds him in fear.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ And is the story true that down below\n Stern justice is at last administered,\n And guilty souls, who have their crimes forgot,\n At last atone for sin? Who is he, then, 730\n Who searches out the truth, and justice gives?\n\n _Theseus:_ There is not one inquisitor alone\n Who sits in judgment on the lofty seat,\n And tries the trembling culprits: in that hall\n Sit Cretan Minos, Rhadamanthus too,\n And Aeacus. Each for his sins of earth 735\n Must suffer here; the crime returns to him\n Who did it, and the guilty soul is crushed\n By its own precedents. There, deep immured\n In prison, bloody leaders have I seen,\n And bleeding backs of heartless tyrants, scourged\n By base plebeian hands. Who mildly reigns,\n And, though the lord of life, restrains his hands; 740\n Who mercifully rules a bloodless realm,\n And spares the lives of men: he shall enjoy\n Long years of happy life, and, at the end,\n Attain to heaven, or to those regions blest\n Of the Elysian fields, himself a judge.\n Refrain from human blood, all ye who rule: 745\n Your sins with heavier judgment shall be judged.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Does any certain place inclose the lost,\n And do, as rumor says, the impious\n Sharp punishments in endless chains endure?\n\n _Theseus:_ On swiftly flying wheel Ixion turns; 750\n And on the neck of Sisyphus a stone\n Weighs heavily. There stands in middle stream,\n With throat thirst-parched, the poor old man, and seeks\n To catch the cooling waves which wash his chin.\n He, oft deceived, hopes now at last to drink;\n As often fails the water at his lips. 755\n So also do the fruits his hunger fail.\n There Tityos eternal banquets gives\n Unto the greedy vulture; and in vain\n Do Dana\u00fcs' daughters bear their brimming urns.\n There wander, raging still, the Cadmeids;\n And greedy birds still fright old Phineus.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Now tell the noble struggle of my son. 760\n Does he bring back his uncle's willing gift,\n Or does he lead the dog as spoil of war?\n\n _Theseus:_ A gloomy cliff o'erhangs the sluggish shoals,\n Whose waves are dead, and waters motionless.\n This stream is guarded by a grim old man,\n Of squalid garb and aspect hideous,\n Who carries o'er the pool the quaking shades. 765\n His long beard hangs unkempt; his shapeless robe\n Is knotted into place; his fierce eyes gleam\n From sunken cheeks; and he, as ferryman,\n With his long pole propels his bark across.\n He now his empty boat unto the shore\n Was turning to receive the waiting souls, 770\n When Hercules requested to be borne\n Across the stream. The throng of shades give way;\n But fiercely Charon cries: \"Whither so bold\n Dost thou haste on? Stay there thy hurrying steps.\"\n Alcmena's son would no delay endure,\n But with the pole itself the boatman tamed,\n And climbed aboard the boat. The roomy craft, 775\n For nations ample, groaned beneath his weight;\n And as he sat, the heavy-weighted skiff\n With rocking sides drank in the Lethe stream.\n Then quaked the conquered monsters at the sight:\n The Centaurs, fierce and wild, the Lapithae,\n Inflamed to strife by copious draughts of wine;\n And, seeking out the farthest pools of Styx, 780\n The beast of Lerna hid his fertile heads.\n Soon there appeared the home of greedy Dis,\n Where the fierce Stygian dog affrights the shades,\n Who, tossing back and forth his triple heads,\n With mighty bayings watches o'er the realm.\n Around his head with damp corruption foul, 785\n Writhe deadly serpents, and his shaggy mane\n With vipers bristles; while a twisting snake\n Forms his long, hissing tail. His wrath and form\n Are both alike terrific. When he heard\n The sound of coming feet, straightway he raised\n His hackles, bristling with their darting snakes,\n And with erected ears caught at the sound 790\n (For even noiseless spirits can he hear).\n When Jove's son nearer came, within his cave\n The dog stood hesitant, and nameless fear\n Each of the other felt. Then suddenly\n The silence shudders with his bayings deep,\n And threatening snakes along his shoulders hiss.\n The clamor of his dreadful voice, sent forth 795\n Three-throated, even happy shades dismayed.\n Then did the hero from his left arm loose\n The lion's skin with head and grinning jaws,\n And 'neath this mighty shield opposed the dog.\n Then in his right all conquering, he raised 800\n His mighty club, and with a rain of blows,\n Now here, now there, he drove the frightened beast.\n The conquered dog at last gave o'er his threats,\n And, spent with fighting, lowered all his heads,\n And left the entrance free. Then did the king\n And queen of hell sit trembling on their thrones, 805\n And bade the dog be led away. Me, too,\n Did Dis at Hercules' request release,\n A royal gift. Then with his soothing hand\n Alcides stroked the monster's massive necks,\n And bound him with an adamantine chain.\n The watchful guardian of the dusky world\n Forgot his wonted fierceness, and his ears\n Drooped timidly. He let himself be led, 810\n Confessed his master, and, with muzzle low,\n Submissively he went, his snaky tail\n Beating his sides the while. But when he came\n To Taenarus, and in his eyes there smote\n The gleam of unknown light, though strongly bound, 815\n His courage he regained and madly shook\n His mighty chains. Even his conqueror\n Was backward borne and forced to yield his stand.\n Then even my aid did the hero seek;\n And with united strength we dragged the dog,\n Still mad with rage, attempting fruitless war, 820\n Into the upper world. But when he saw\n The gleaming spaces of the shining sky,\n The light of day, thick darkness blinded him;\n He turned his gaze to earth, and closed his eyes,\n Expelled the hated light, looked backward, sought 825\n With all his necks the sheltering earth; and last,\n He hid his head within Alcides' shade.\n But see, a mighty throng with shouts of joy\n Comes yonder, wearing laurel on their brows,\n Who chant the well-earned praise of Hercules.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Eurystheus, brought untimely forth, 830\n Had bidden Hercules to pierce\n The depths of earth. This task alone\n Of all his labors yet remained--\n To rob the dusky king of hell.\n He dared to enter that dark way\n Which to the distant manes leads, 835\n Dismal, with gloomy forests set,\n Yet crowded with the thronging souls.\n As when the eager people haste\n Throughout the city to behold\n The play in some new theater;\n As when they crowd the Pisan fields 840\n When the fifth summer brings again\n The Elean Thunderer's sacred games;\n As, when the lengthening nights return,\n And the balanced Scales the sun's bright car\n Detain, to gentle sleep inclined,\n The people throng the mysteries 845\n Of Ceres, while the Attic priests\n Lead through the fields with hurried steps\n The worshipers: such thronging hordes\n Are driven through those silent plains.\n A part goes slow with steps of age,\n Sadly, and sated with the years; 850\n Some, in the earlier flush of life,\n Advance with the sprightly step of youth,\n Young maids not yet in wedlock joined,\n And boys with flowing ringlets, babes,\n Who have not yet learned to repeat\n Their mother's name. To these alone 855\n 'Tis given to dispel the night\n With torches, and their fears relieve.\n The rest in utter darkness fare,\n And sadness. So our spirits mourn,\n When each one, grieving o'er his fate,\n Feels crushed in darkness 'neath the weight 860\n Of all the world. There chaos reigns,\n Repulsive glooms, the hateful dark\n Of night, the empty veil of clouds,\n The weary inactivity\n Of that still, empty universe.\n Oh, may the time far distant be\n When old age bears us to that land.\n None come too late, and ne'er can he, 865\n Who once has come, return again.\n What need to hasten cruel fate?\n For all the wandering tribes of earth\n Shall surely seek the land of shades,\n And on the still Cocytus spread\n Their sails; all things the sun beholds, 870\n In rising and in setting, grow\n But to decay. Then spare, O death,\n Those who are doomed to come to thee.\n Life is but practicing for death;\n Though thou be slow in coming, still\n We hasten of ourselves. The hour\n Which gave us life begins our death.\n The joyful day of Thebes is here; 875\n Now at the altars sacrifice,\n And let the choicest victims fall.\n Ye maids and men, in mingled bands\n Begin the stately choral dance;\n And let the cattle of the fields 880\n Put off their yokes and be glad today;\n For by the hand of Hercules\n Has peace from east to west been won,\n And in that land where the sun rides high\n In middle heaven, and the shadows fail. 885\n Whatever region Tethys laves\n In her long reach has been o'ercome\n By great Alcides' toils. Borne now\n Across the shoals of Tartarus,\n With hell subdued, he comes again. 890\n No room is left for fear; for what\n Beyond the world of death remains?\n And now ye priests, adorn your bristling hair\n With poplar which Alcides loves to wear.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Hercules, _fresh from the slaying of_ Lycus, _intending to\noffer sacrifices to the gods_.]\n\n _Hercules:_ By my avenging hand lies Lycus slain; 895\n And all, who in his life the tyrant claimed\n As comrades, now by death are comrades still\n In punishment. Now will I offerings pay\n Unto my father and the gods of heaven\n For victory, and heap the altars high\n With bleeding victims to their kindness due. 900\n Thee, thee, O friend and helper in my toils,\n O warlike Pallas, unto thee I pray,\n Upon whose left the petrifying shield\n Makes direful threats. And be thou here I pray,\n Thou tamer of Lycurgus, who didst cross\n The ruddy sea, who in thy hand dost bear\n The thyrsus, ivy-wreathed; and ye twin gods,\n Apollo and Diana, hear my prayer. 905\n (Her hand the bow adorns, but his, the lyre.)\n Ye, too, I worship, all ye brothers mine,\n Who dwell in heaven; but not my stepdame's sons.\n [_To his attendants._]\n And do ye hither drive my richest flocks;\n Whatever fragrant spices India bears 910\n And far Arabia, to the altars bring,\n And let the savory smoke of sacrifice\n To heaven ascend. Now let us crown our locks\n With wreaths of poplar; but the olive leaves,\n Thy nation's symbol, should adorn thy head,\n O Theseus. Now in prayer we lift our hands\n To Jove the Thunderer: do thou protect 915\n The founders of our state, the wooded caves\n Of savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount,\n And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king.\n [_To the attendants._]\n Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ O son, thy hands, all dripping with the blood\n Of thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify.\n\n _Hercules:_ Would that his hateful blood I might pour out 920\n Unto the gods; for no libation poured\n Could stain the altars more acceptably.\n No ampler, richer victim could be paid\n To mighty Jove, than this unrighteous king.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Beseech thy father that he end thy tasks;\n Pray that at last he give surcease of toil, 925\n And to the wearied rest.\n\n _Hercules:_ I shall myself\n Frame prayers more worthy Jupiter and me:\n May heaven, earth, and air their order keep,\n And the everlasting stars wheel on their way,\n Unchanged; may peace profound brood o'er the world;\n May iron be used for harmless toil alone, 930\n And deadly weapons vanish from the earth;\n May no unbridled tempest lash the sea;\n May angry Jove send forth no lightning bolts;\n And may no river, fed by winter's snows,\n O'erflow the troubled fields; may venom fail;\n And may no noxious herb its fruitage bear; 935\n May fierce and cruel tyrants rule no more.\n If the pregnant earth still foster any crime,\n Let her make haste to bring it to the light;\n And if she still another monster bear,\n Let it be mine to meet.\n [_The madness planned by_ Juno _begins to come upon him_.]\n But what is this?\n The day's bright noon is by dark shadows dimmed, 940\n And, though the sky be cloudless, Phoebus fares\n With face obscured. Who puts the day to flight,\n And drives it back to seek the dawn again?\n Whence rears unheard-of night its gloomy head?\n Why do so many stars the heavens fill\n In daylight hours? See where the Lion fierce,\n My earliest labor, glitters in the sky, 945\n Inflamed with wrath, and threatens with his fangs.\n Now, surely, will he some bright star devour.\n With gaping jaws and menacing he stands;\n He breathes out fire, and on his flaming neck\n His mane he tosses. Soon will he o'erleap\n With one huge bound the fruitful autumn's stars,\n And those which frozen winter brings to view, 950\n And slay with savage lunge the vernal Bull.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ What sudden ill is this? Why dost thou turn\n Now here now there thy burning eyes? And why\n Dost thou so falsely see the heavens?\n\n _Hercules:_ Now is the whole round earth at last subdued; 955\n The swollen seas give place, and e'en the realms\n Infernal have our toils heroic known.\n The heavens alone remain untried, a task\n Well worth the struggles of a Hercules.\n Now shall I soar aloft to those far heights,\n And seek the heavenly spaces; for a star\n Has Jupiter, my father, promised me.\n What if he should refuse? Nay, but the earth 960\n No longer can Alcides hold, and now\n Returns him to the heavens whence he came.\n Behold, the whole assembly of the gods\n Invite me to their midst, and open wide\n The doors of heaven--with one dissenting voice.\n [_To_ Juno, _in apostrophe_.]\n And wilt thou not receive me into heaven?\n Wilt not unbar the gates? Wouldst have me rend\n The portals of the stubborn sky away?\n And dost doubt thou my power? Nay, Saturn's chains 965\n Will I unbind, and loose my grandsire's might\n Against his impious son's unbridled sway.\n I'll stir the Titans up to war again,\n And lead them on; great rocks and trees I'll bring,\n And with my strong right hand I'll snatch and hurl\n The ridges where the Centaurs have their home. 970\n Two mountains, one on other, will I pile\n And so construct a highway to the skies.\n Then shall old Chiron see Mount Ossa placed\n Upon his Pelion; and if to heaven\n Olympus reach not, third in order set,\n I'll hurl it there.\n\n _Amphitryon:_ Such thought be far from thee!\n Check this mad impulse of a heart insane, 975\n Though great.\n\n _Hercules:_ But what is this? With dire intent\n The giants are in arms. Great Tityus\n Has fled the shades, and, towering aloft\n With torn and empty breast, has almost gained\n The heavens. Cithaeron totters to his base,\n Pallene trembles, Tempe faints in fear. 980\n One has Mount Pindus snatched away, and one\n Mount Oeta. Mimas rages horribly.\n Now comes Erinnys with her flaming torch,\n And shakes her hissing scourge; my face she seeks\n Nearer and nearer with ill-omened brands\n On funeral pyres enkindled. There I see\n Tisiphone with snake-encircled head; 985\n With brandished torch she guards the gate of hell,\n Now that their watch-dog has been stolen away.\n [_He catches sight of his children._]\n But see where lurk the children of the king,\n The impious spawn of Lycus whom I hate.\n To your detested sire I'll send you now.\n Let darting arrows from my bowstring fly; 990\n Such errands fit my noble weapons well.\n\n[_He aims an arrow at one of the children._]\n\n _Amphitr.:_ What will he do in his blind passion's rage?\n Now he has bent his mighty bow, and now\n His quiver loosed. The hissing dart is sped.\n Straight through the neck it flies, and leaves the wound.\n\n _Hercules:_ The rest will I hunt out, yea, all that lurk 995\n Within this city's walls, without delay.\n A greater war against Mycenae waits,\n That by my hands those Cyclopean walls\n May be o'erthrown; and that the royal hall,\n Its high walls shattered, noble roof in-fall'n,\n Doors burst, may be to utter ruin brought, 1000\n And all its royal secrets be revealed.\n [_He sees his second son hiding._]\n Ah, here I see another hiding son\n Of that most wicked sire.\n\n[_He seizes the child and drags him from the scene._]\n\n _Amphitryon_ [_standing where he can see what is being done behind the\n scenes_]: Behold the child,\n His coaxing hands stretched out to clasp the knees\n Of his mad father, begs with piteous tones.\n Oh, crime unspeakable, pathetic, grim:\n For by his pleading hand the child is caught, 1005\n And, madly whirled again and yet again,\n Sent headlong through the air. A sickening sound--\n And with his scattered brains the roof is wet.\n But wretched Megara, her little son\n Protecting in her arms, flees madly forth.\n\n _Hercules_ [_behind the scenes, to_ Megara _also behind the scenes_]:\n Though thou shouldst hide thee in the Thunderer's arms, 1010\n This hand of mine will seek and snatch thee forth.\n\n _Amphitryon_ [_standing throughout this scene as above_]: Oh, whither,\n wretched woman dost thou flee?\n What flight, what hiding-places dost thou seek?\n No place is safe from angry Hercules.\n Embrace his knees the rather, and with prayer\n Attempt to soothe his wrath. 1015\n\n _The voice of Megara:_ O husband, spare;\n Thy Megara behold and recognize;\n This son of thine thy face and manner bears.\n See how he stretches out his hands to thee.\n\n _The voice of Hercules:_ At last I have thee, stepdame, in my power.\n Come thou with me, and pay full penalty\n For all my wrongs; free thy poor, troubled lord\n From his base yoke. But ere the mother dies, 1020\n This little monster must be put to death.\n\n _The voice of Megara:_ What wouldst thou, madman? Shed thine\n infant's blood?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ The child, in terror of his father's face,\n Died ere he felt the blow. 'Twas fear that snatched\n His spirit forth. Now 'gainst his trembling wife,\n His mighty club is raised--her bones are crushed,\n Her head is stricken from the mangled trunk 1025\n And may no more be seen.\n [_To himself._]\n O stubborn age,\n Too long enduring, canst thou bide this sight?\n But if thy grief is irksome, death is near.\n [_To_ Hercules.]\n Impale me on thy darts; that club of thine,\n With blood of monsters smeared, raise to my death.\n Come, slay me who am falsely called thy sire, 1030\n And so remove this blot upon thy name,\n That I no longer may thy fame obscure.\n\n _Theseus:_ Why shouldst thou wantonly provoke thy death,\n Old man? Why this mad haste to die? Away,\n And hide. From this one crime spare Hercules.\n\n[_Enter_ Hercules.]\n\n _Hercules:_ 'Tis well; the household of the shameless king 1035\n Is utterly destroyed. To thee, O wife\n Of mighty Jove, this promised sacrifice\n Have I performed; my vows I've gladly paid;\n And other victims shall thine Argos give.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Thou hast not yet enough atonement made,\n O son. Complete the sacrifice. Behold, 1040\n A victim at the altar stands, and waits,\n With willing neck, thy hand. I offer here\n My life, and eagerly; I seek to die.\n Slay me.\n [Hercules _appears to be fainting_.]\n But what is this? His eye's keen glance\n Cannot maintain its gaze; grief dims his sight;\n And do I see the hands of Hercules\n A-tremble? Now his eyelids fall in sleep,\n His head sinks down upon his weary breast, 1045\n His knees give way, and down upon the earth\n His whole great body falls; as when some ash\n Is felled in forest glades, or when some cliff\n Falls down and makes a harbor in the sea.\n [_To_ Hercules.]\n Dost thou yet live? Or has thy furious rage,\n Which sent thy friends to death, slain thee as well?\n [_He examines the prostrate body._]\n He slumbers; this his measured breathing proves. 1050\n Let him have time for rest, that heavy sleep\n May break his madness' force, and so relieve\n His troubled heart.\n [_To attendants._]\n Ye slaves, his arms remove,\n Lest, waking, he again his madness prove.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Let heaven and heaven's creator mourn,\n The fertile earth, the wandering wave 1055\n Upon the restless sea. And thou,\n Who over lands and ocean's plains\n Dost shed thy light, whose beauteous face\n Drives night away, O glowing Sun,\n Grieve more than all. For equally 1060\n Thy risings had Alcides seen,\n And eke thy settings; both thy homes\n Were known to him. His spirit loose\n From monstrous madness; loose him, ye\n Who rule above. His mind restore\n To sanity again. And thou, 1065\n O Sleep, subduer of our ills,\n The spirit's rest, thou better part\n Of human life, swift-wing\u00e9d one,\n Astraea's child, of cruel Death\n The sluggish brother, mixing false 1070\n With true, prescient of future things,\n But oftenest of misery;\n O sire of all things, gate of life,\n Day's respite and the comrade true\n Of night, who com'st impartially\n To king and slaves, with gentle hand\n The wearied spirit comforting; 1075\n Thou who dost force the race of men\n Who quail at mortal doom, to gain\n A foretaste of the sleep of death:\n Subdue and overwhelm him quite\n With heavy stupor; let his limbs,\n Unconquered hitherto, be held\n Fast bound in chains of deepest sleep;\n Take not the spell from his fierce heart, 1080\n Until his former mind return\n To its accustomed course.\n But see, prone on the ground he lies,\n His savage dreams in his fierce heart\n Still hold their sway. Not yet, alas,\n Is his dire madness overcome.\n Accustomed to recline his head 1085\n Upon his heavy club, see now,\n He feels about with empty hand\n To find the ponderous trunk, his arms\n With fruitless motion tossed. Not yet\n Has all the fever from his veins\n Been driven out, but rages on;\n As waves, by mighty tempests vexed, 1090\n Toss wildly on and swell with rage,\n Although the winds have ceased to blow.\n Oh, calm this tempest in his soul;\n Let piety and manly strength\n Return; or, rather, let his mind 1095\n Be still by mad impulses stirred,\n And his blind error go the way\n It has begun. For madness now\n Alone can make him innocent.\n To have the hands unstained by guilt\n Is best, but next to this is sin\n Done in unconsciousness.\n Now let thy breast resound with blows, 1100\n And let those arms which once have borne\n The heavens up be smitten now\n By thy victorious hands; thy cries\n Be heard throughout the realms of air,\n By her who rules the world of night, 1105\n And Cerberus crouching in his cave,\n His neck still burdened with thy chains.\n Let Chaos with the dolorous sound\n Re-echo, and the widespread waves\n Of ocean, and the air above 1110\n Which had thy darts in better use\n Beheld. Thy breast, with ills beset\n So mighty, must with no light blow\n Be smitten. With one great sound of grief\n Let heaven, sea, and hell be filled.\n And thou, brave shaft, above his neck 1115\n So long suspended, armament\n And weapon too, thou quiver huge,\n Smite heavily his savage back.\n Thou sturdy club of oak, come beat\n His mighty shoulders, and oppress 1120\n His breast with thy hard-knotted stock.\n Let all his weapons worthily\n Of so great grief lament with him.\n [_To the dead children._]\n But you, who in your father's praise\n Can never share, who ne'er from kings\n Have taken deadly recompense,\n Who never in the Argive games\n Have learned to bend your youthful limbs,\n In wrestling and in boxing strong 1125\n To strive; who have but dared as yet\n To poise the slender Scythian dart\n With steady hand, and pierce the stag\n Who safety seeks in flight, but not\n The lion fierce with tawny mane: 1130\n Go to your Stygian refuge, go,\n Ye guiltless shades, who on life's verge\n Have by your father's mad assault\n Been overwhelmed. Poor children, born\n Of an ill-omened, luckless race, 1135\n Fare on along your father's toilsome path,\n To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath!\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Hercules_ [_waking up in his right mind_]: What place is this? What\n quarter of the world?\n Where am I? 'Neath the rising sun, or where\n The frozen Bear wheels slowly overhead?\n Or in that farthest land whose shores are washed 1140\n By the Hesperian sea? What air is this\n I breathe? What soil supports my weary frame?\n For surely have I come again to earth.\n [_His eyes fall on his murdered children._]\n Whence came those bloody corpses in my house?\n Do I behold them, or not even yet\n Have those infernal visions left my mind? 1145\n Even on earth the ghostly shapes of death\n Still flit before mine eyes. I speak with shame:\n I am afraid. Some great calamity,\n Some hidden ill my prescient soul forebodes.\n Where is my father? Where my faithful wife,\n Proud of that troop of children at her side? 1150\n Why does my left side miss the lion's skin,\n My shield in danger and my couch in sleep?\n Where is my bow, my darts? Who, while I live\n Has dared remove my arms? Who so great spoils\n Has gained? Who then so bold as not to fear 1155\n The very slumber of a Hercules?\n 'Twould please me well to see my victor--well.\n Arise, thou victor, whom my sire begot,\n A later wonder, leaving heaven behind;\n At whose begetting, longer than at mine,\n The night stood waiting.\n [_He recognizes his dead wife and children._]\n Oh, what sight is this?\n My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood; 1160\n My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?\n Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes,\n And Hercules returned? Whoever dwells\n Along Ismenus' stream, in Attic plains,\n Or in the land Dardanian Pelops rules, 1165\n By two seas lapped, come to my aid, and tell\n The name of him who has this murder done.\n If not, my wrath will turn against you all;\n For he's my foe who shows me not my foe.\n Why dost thou hide, Alcides' vanquisher?\n I care not whether thou dost vengeance seek\n For those wild horses of the Thracian king, 1170\n Or Geryon's flock, or Libya's vanquished lords;\n I do not shun the fight; see, here I stand,\n Defenseless, even though with my own arms\n Thou com'st against me, armorless. But why\n Do Theseus and my father shun my glance?\n Why do they turn away? Postpone your tears, 1175\n And tell me who has given my loved ones all\n To death. What, father, art thou silent still?\n Then do thou tell me, Theseus, faithful friend.\n Each turns away in silence, and his face,\n As if in shame, conceals; while down his cheeks\n The tears flow stealthily. In so great ills\n What cause for shame can be? Is this the work 1180\n Of him who ruthlessly at Argos rules?\n Has dying Lycus' hostile soldiery\n With such disaster overwhelmed our house?\n O father, by the praises of my deeds,\n By thine own name which ever was to me\n Propitious, tell, I pray thee, who it is\n Who hath o'erthrown my house. Whose prey am I? 1185\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Let ills like these in silence pass away.\n\n _Hercules:_ And I be unavenged?\n\n _Amphitryon:_ But vengeance hurts.\n\n _Hercules:_ Who has, inactive, ever borne such wrongs?\n\n _Amphitr.:_ He who feared greater wrongs.\n\n _Hercules:_ Than these my wrongs\n Can any greater, heavier be feared? 1190\n\n _Amphitr.:_ The part thou knowest of thy woes is least.\n\n _Hercules:_ Have pity. See, I stretch my suppliant hands.\n But what is this? He will not touch my hands.\n In these must be the sin.\n But whence this blood?\n Why is that shaft, once dipped in Hydra's gall, 1195\n Now wet with infant gore? They are my own,\n These arrows that I see; the guilty hand\n I need no longer seek; for who but me\n Could bend that mighty bow, or whose right hand\n Could draw the string that scarcely yields to me?\n [_To_ Amphitryon _and_ Theseus.]\n To you I turn again. O father, tell:\n Is this my deed? 1200\n [_Both men hesitate in silence._]\n They hesitate--'tis mine.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Thine is the grief; thy stepdame's is the crime.\n From fault of thine this sad mischance is free.\n\n _Hercules:_ Now hurl thy wrathful bolts from all the heavens,\n O sire, who hast forgotten me, thy son;\n Avenge at least, though with a tardy hand,\n Thy grandsons. Let the star-set heavens resound,\n And darting lightnings leap from pole to pole. 1205\n Let me be bound upon the Caspian rocks,\n And let the birds of prey devour my flesh.\n Why lacks Prometheus' cliff a prisoner?\n Prepare for me the bare, steep mountain side\n Of Caucasus, that, on his towering peak,\n The birds and beasts of prey may feed on me.\n Or let the blue Symplegades, which hedge 1210\n The Scythian deep, stretch out my fettered hands\n This way and that; and, when with rhythmic change\n The rocks together clash, which fling to heaven\n The sea that lies between the rushing cliffs,\n May I lie there, the mountains' restless check. 1215\n Or why not heap a mighty pyre of wood,\n And burn my body stained with impious blood?\n Thus, thus it must be done; so Hercules\n Shall to the lower world return again.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Not yet has madness ceased to vex his heart.\n But now his wrath has changed, and, fury's sign, 1220\n He rages 'gainst himself.\n\n _Hercules:_ Ye dire abodes\n Of fiends, ye prison-house of damn\u00e9d shades,\n Ye regions set apart for guilty throngs,\n If any place of exile lie beyond\n Deep Erebus, unknown to Cerberus\n And me, there hide ye me. I'll go and dwell 1225\n Upon the farthest bound of Tartarus.\n O heart, too hard! Who worthily will weep\n For you, my children, scattered through my house?\n This face, woe-hardened, knows not how to weep.\n Bring me my sword, and give me here my darts, 1230\n My mighty club.\n [_He addresses the four corpses in order._]\n For thee, poor murdered boy,\n I'll break my shafts; for thee my mighty bow\n Shall be asunder riven; to thy shades\n My heavy club shall burn; and on thy pyre\n My quiver, full of venomed darts, shall lie.\n My arms shall pay their penalty for sin. 1235\n You, too, my guilty hands, with these shall burn,\n Too prompt to work a cruel stepdame's will.\n\n _Theseus:_ Who ever called an act of madness crime?\n\n _Hercules:_ Unbridled madness often ends in crime.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Now is there need of Hercules to bear\n This greatest weight of woe.\n\n _Hercules:_ Not yet is shame 1240\n So utterly extinguished in my heart,\n That I can bear to see all people flee\n My impious presence. Arms, my Theseus, arms!\n I pray you give them quickly back to me.\n If I am sane, trust weapons to my hands;\n If madness still remains, O father, fly;\n For I shall quickly find the road to death. 1245\n\n _Amphitr.:_ By holy ties of birth, and by the name\n That makes us one, be it of father true,\n Or foster-father; by these hoary locks\n Which pious souls revere: I pray thee spare\n My lonely age and my enfeebled years.\n Spare thou thyself to me, the only prop 1250\n Of this my falling house, the only light\n That's left to cheer my woeful heart. No fruit\n Of all thy toils have I as yet enjoyed;\n But ever either stormy seas I've feared,\n Or monsters. Every savage king who raves\n In all the world, for impious altars famed, 1255\n Is cause of dread to me. Thy father longs\n For joy of thee, to feel and see thee near.\n\n _Hercules:_ Why I should longer keep my soul in life,\n And linger on the earth, there is no cause;\n For I have lost my all: my balanced mind, 1260\n My arms, my reputation, children, wife,\n The glory of my strength--my madness too.\n There is no remedy for tainted souls;\n But death alone can cure me of my sin.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ And wilt thou slay thy father?\n\n _Hercules:_ Lest I do,\n I'll kill myself.\n\n _Amphitryon:_ Before thy father's face?\n\n _Hercules:_ Such impious sights I've taught him to behold.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Nay, rather think upon thy worthy deeds, 1265\n And grant thyself remission of one sin.\n\n _Hercules:_ Shall he give absolution to himself,\n Who granted none to other men? My deeds\n Which have deserved the praise of men, I did\n Because another bade. This is my own.\n Then help me, father, whether piety\n Or my sad fortune move thee to my aid, 1270\n Or the glory of my manhood, now profaned.\n Give me my arms again, that my right hand\n May vanquish fate.\n\n _Theseus:_ Thy father's prayers, indeed,\n Are strong enough; but by my pleadings, too,\n Be moved. Rise up, and meet adversity\n With thine accustomed force. Thy strength of mind 1275\n Recall, which no misfortune ever yet\n Has daunted. Now must thou with all thy might\n Contend, and curb the wrath of Hercules.\n\n _Hercules:_ If yet I live, I have committed wrong;\n But if I die, then have I suffered it.\n I haste to purge the earth of such as I.\n Now long enough has there been hovering\n Before my eyes that monstrous shape of sin, 1280\n So impious, savage, merciless, and wild.\n Then come, my hand, attempt this mighty task,\n Far greater than the last. Dost hesitate\n Through cowardice? Or art thou brave alone\n 'Gainst boys and trembling mothers?\n Give my arms,\n Or else I shall from Thracian Pindus strip 1285\n The woods, the groves of Bacchus, and shall burn\n Cithaeron's ridgy heights along with me.\n The homes of Thebes together with their lords,\n The temples with their gods, will I o'erthrow,\n And 'neath a ruined city will I lie. 1290\n And if this weight of walls should prove too light\n For these strong shoulders, and the seven gates\n Be not enough to crush me to the earth,\n The mighty mass of earth which separates\n The upper from the nether skies I'll take,\n And hurl its crushing weight upon my head.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ Lo, I return thine arms. 1295\n\n _Hercules:_ Now are thy words\n More worthy of the sire of Hercules.\n See, by this arrow pierced, my child was slain.\n\n _Amphitr.:_ 'Tis true, but Juno shot it by thy hand.\n\n _Hercules:_ Then I myself shall use it now.\n\n _Amphitryon:_ Behold,\n How throbs his heart within his anxious breast.\n\n _Hercules:_ The shaft is ready. 1300\n\n _Amphitryon:_ Ah now wilt thou sin,\n Of thine own will and with full consciousness.\n Have then thy will; we make no further prayer.\n For now my grief has gained a safe retreat.\n Thou only canst preserve my son to me;\n Thou canst not take him from me. For my fear\n I've sounded to the depths and feel no more.\n Thou canst no longer give me any pain, 1305\n Though happy thou canst make me even yet.\n Decide then as thou wilt decide: but know\n That here thy cause and reputation stand\n In doubtful balance. Either thou dost live,\n Or thou dost kill thy sire. This fleeting soul,\n Now worn with age and shattered by its grief,\n Is trembling on my lips in act to go. 1310\n Art thou so slow to grant thy father life?\n I can no longer brook delay, nor wait\n To thrust the fatal sword into my breast.\n And this shall be a sane Alcides' crime.\n\n _Hercules:_ Now stay, my father, stay; withhold thy hand.\n Yield thee, my manhood; do a father's will. 1315\n Add this task also to thy former toils--\n And live! Lift up my father's fainting form,\n O Theseus, friend; for these my guilty hands\n That pious duty shun.\n\n _Amphitryon:_ But I with joy\n Will clasp this hand, with its support I'll walk, 1320\n And to my aching heart I'll clasp it close,\n And banish all my woes.\n\n _Hercules:_ Where shall I flee?\n Where hide myself? What land shall bury me\n From human sight? What Tana\u00efs or Nile,\n What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad,\n What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full 1325\n And turgid with Iberia's golden sands,\n Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains?\n Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods\n Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour\n Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be\n Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself,\n Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west? 1330\n Known everywhere, I have no place of flight.\n The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars\n Avert their courses from me, and the sun\n Saw even Cerberus with milder face.\n O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place, 1335\n Far off from here, where I may hide myself.\n Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins\n Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me.\n Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg,\n And load me with the chains thou once didst wear. 1340\n That place will hide me--but it knows me too!\n\n _Theseus:_ My land awaits thy coming; there will[18] Mars\n Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms.\n That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,\n Which even gods from sin is wont to free.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[18] Reading, _restituet_.\n\n\n\n\nHIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA\n\n\n\n\nHIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n\nHIPPOLYTUS Son of Theseus and Antiope, an Amazon.\n\n_Phaedra_ Wife of Theseus and stepmother of Hippolytus.\n\n_Theseus_ King of Athens.\n\n_Nurse_ Of Phaedra.\n\n_Messenger._\n\n_Slaves and attendants._\n\n_Chorus_ Of Athenian citizens.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid throughout in the court in front of the royal palace\nat Athens; and the action is confined to the space of one day.\n\n\n_Theseus had wed Antiope, the Amazon, and of their union had been\nborn Hippolytus. This youth grew up to love the chase, austere and\nbeautiful, shunning the haunts of men, and scorning the love of women.\nTheseus had meanwhile slain Antiope, and married Phaedra, Cretan Minos'\nchild._\n\n_And now, for four years past, the king has not been seen upon the\nearth, for, following the mad adventure of his bosom friend, Piritho\u00fcs,\nhe has descended into Tartara, and thence, men think, he never will\nreturn._\n\n_Deserted by her lord, the hapless Phaedra has conceived a hopeless\npassion for Hippolytus; for Venus, mindful of that ancient shame, which\nPhaedra's ancestor, Apollo, had exposed, has sent this madness on her,\neven as Pasipha\u00eb, her mother, had been cursed with a most mad and fatal\nmalady._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Hippolytus_ [_in hunting costume, assigning duties and places to\n his servants and companions of the hunt_]:\n Up comrades, and the shadowy groves\n With nets encircle; swiftly range\n The heights of our Cecropian hills;\n Scour well those coverts on the slopes\n Of Parnes, or in Thria's vale 5\n Whose chattering streamlet roars along\n In rapid course; go climb the hills\n Whose peaks are ever white with snows\n Of Scythia. Let others go\n Where woods with lofty alders stand 10\n In dense array; where pastures lie\n Whose springing grass is waked to life\n By Zephyr's breath, dew laden. Go,\n Where calm Ilissus flows along\n The level fields, a sluggish stream, 15\n Whose winding course the barren sands\n With niggard water laps. Go ye\n Along the leftward-leading way,\n Where Marathon her forest glades\n Reveals, where nightly with their young\n The suckling mothers feed. Do you, 20\n Where, softened by the warming winds\n From southern lands, Acharnae melts\n His snows, repair; let others seek\n Hymettus' rocky slopes, far famed\n For honey; others still the glades\n Of small Aphidnae. All too long\n That region has unharried lain 25\n Where Sunium with its jutting shore\n Thrusts out the curving sea.\n If any feels the forest's lure,\n Him Phlye calls, where dwells the boar\n Now scarred and known by many a wound,\n The farmers' fear. 30\n Now free the dogs from straining leash,\n That hunt in silence; but the hounds\n Of keen Molossian breed hold fast\n In check; let the savage Cretans strain\n With chaffing necks upon their chains;\n The Spartans hold in strongest curb, 35\n With caution bind, for bold their breed,\n And eager for the prey.\n The time will come when their baying loud\n Through the hollow rocks shall echo; now\n Let them snuff the air with nostrils keen,\n And with lowered muzzles seek the tracks 40\n Of beasts, while yet the dawn is dim,\n And while the dewy earth still holds\n The marks of treading feet. Let some\n On burdened necks the wide nets bear,\n And others haste to bring the snares 45\n Of smooth-wrought cords. Let feathers, dyed\n With crimson, hedge the timid deer\n With terrors vain. Do thou use darts\n Of Crete, and thou the heavy spear\n By both hands wielded. Thou shalt sit 50\n In hiding and with clamors loud\n Drive out the frightened beasts; and thou,\n When all is done, with curving blade\n Shalt break the victims.\n And thou, be with thy worshiper,\n O goddess of the chase, whose rule 55\n Extends o'er all the secret haunts\n Of earth; whose darts unerring pierce\n The flying prey; whose thirst is quenched\n By cool Araxes' distant stream,\n Or for whose sport the Ister spreads\n His frozen waves. Thy hand pursues 60\n Gaetulian lions, Cretan deer;\n And now the swiftly fleeing does\n With lighter stroke are pierced. To thee\n The spotted tigers yield, to thee\n The bisons, shaggy backed, and the wild,\n Broad-horn\u00e9d oxen of the woods. 65\n Whatever feeds upon the plains\n In desert pasture lands; whate'er\n The needy Garamantian knows,\n Whate'er the Arab rich in woods,\n Or wild Sarmatian, wandering free\n Across the lonely wilderness; 70\n Whate'er the rugged Pyrenees\n Or deep Hyrcanian glades conceal:\n All fear thy bow, thou huntress queen.\n If any worshiper of thine\n Takes to the hunt thy favoring will,\n His nets hold fast the struggling prey; 75\n No birds break from his snares; for him\n The groaning wagons homeward come\n With booty rich; the hounds come back\n With muzzles deeply dyed in blood,\n And all the rustic throng returns\n In shouting triumph home. 80\n But lo, the goddess hears. The hounds\n Are baying loud and clear to announce\n The start. I'm summoned to the woods.\n Here, here I'll hasten where the road\n Most quickly leads away.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Phaedra:_ O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep, 85\n Whose ships uncounted sail through every sea\n Wherever Nereus shows their beaks the way,\n E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou here\n Compel me thus in woe and tears to live,\n A hostage given to the hated foe, 90\n And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord,\n Deserting me, his bride, is far away,\n And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deep\n Of that dark pool which may not be recrossed,\n This doughty follower of a madcap prince\n Has gone, that from the very throne of Dis 95\n He might seduce and bear away his queen.\n With such mad folly linked he went away,\n Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so,\n In deepest Acheron, illicit love\n This father of Hippolytus desires.\n But other, greater griefs than this oppress\n My sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night, 100\n No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares;\n But woe is fed and grows within my heart,\n And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires.\n My loom stands empty and my listless hands\n Drop idly from their tasks. No more I care 105\n To make my votive offerings to the gods,\n Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, dance\n Around their sacred shrines, and conscious brands\n Toss high in secret rites. I have no heart\n With chaste and pious prayers to worship her,\n That mighty goddess who was set to guard\n This Attic land. My only joy is found 110\n In swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey,\n My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear.\n But what will come of this? Why do I love\n The forest glades so madly? Ah, I feel\n The fatal malady my mother felt;\n For both have learned within the forest depths\n To sin in love. O mother, now my heart 115\n Doth ache for thee; for, swept away by sin\n Unspeakable, thou boldly didst conceive\n A shameful passion for the savage lord\n Of the wild herd. Untamable was he,\n That stern and lustful leader of the flock;\n And yet he loved. But in my passion's need 120\n What god can help me? Where the Daedalus\n Who can my love relieve? Should he return\n Who shut our monster in the labyrinth,\n He could not by his well-known Attic skill\n Avail to save me from this dire mischance.\n For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us,\n The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avenge 125\n The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars,\n And all our house with direful love she fills.\n No princess of our race has ever loved\n In modest wise, but always monstrously.\n\n _Nurse:_ O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove,\n Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts. 130\n Put out these flames; and give thyself no hope\n Of such dire love as this. Whoe'er at first\n Has set himself to fight and conquer love,\n A safe and easy victory finds. But he,\n Who dallies with its evil sweets, too late\n Refuses to endure the galling yoke 135\n Which he himself has placed upon his neck.\n I know full well how scornful of the truth,\n How harsh the swollen pride of princesses,\n How it refuses to be bent aright.\n Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear;\n For dawning freedom makes the ag\u00e9d brave.\n To will to live uprightly nor to fall 140\n From virtue's ways is best; but next to this\n Is sense of shame, the knowing when to stop\n A sinful course. What, pray, will be the end\n For thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy house\n With further infamy? Wouldst thou outsin\n Thy mother? For thy impious love is worse\n Than her unnatural and monstrous love.\n The first you would impute to character,\n The last to fate. If, since thy husband sees 145\n No more the realms of earth, thou dost believe\n That this thy sin is safe and free from fear,\n Thou art in error. Grant that he is held\n Imprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths,\n And must forever feel the bonds of Styx:\n Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading sway\n Encroaches on the sea, who gives their laws 150\n Unto a hundred peoples, e'er permit\n So great a crime as this to lie unknown?\n Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet,\n Suppose that by our craft and guile we hide\n This crime from him: what of thy mother's sire,\n Who floods the earth with his illuming rays? 155\n And what of him who makes the earth to quake,\n The bolts of Aetna flashing in his hand,\n The father of the gods? And dost thou think\n That it can be that thou couldst hide thy sin\n From these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones?\n But even should the favor of the gods,\n Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world; 160\n Though to thy lust alone should fall that grace\n Denied to other crimes: still must thou fear.\n What of that ever-present punishment,\n The terror of the soul that knows its guilt,\n Is stained with crime and fearful of itself?\n Some women have with safety sinned, but none\n With peace of soul. Then quench these flames, I pray, 165\n Of impious love, and shun this monstrous crime\n Which no barbaric land has ever done,\n No Getan wandering on his lonely plains,\n No savage Taurian, no Scythian.\n Expel from thy chaste soul this hideous thing,\n And, mindful of thy mother's sin, avoid 170\n Such monstrous unions. Wouldst in marriage give\n Thyself to son and father? Wouldst thou take\n In thine incestuous womb a progeny\n So basely mixed? Then go the length of sin:\n O'erthrow all nature with thy shameful fires.\n Why should the monsters cease? Why empty stands\n Thy brother's labyrinth? Shall all the world 175\n Be shocked with prodigies, shall nature's laws\n Be scorned, whene'er a Cretan woman loves?\n\n _Phaedra:_ I know that what thou say'st is true, dear nurse;\n But raging passion forces me to take\n The path of sin. Full consciously my soul\n Goes headlong on its downward way, ofttimes\n With backward glance, sane counsel seeking still,\n Without avail. So, when the mariner 180\n Would sail his ship against the boisterous waves,\n His toil is all in vain, and, vanquished quite,\n The ship drifts onward with the hurrying tide.\n For what can reason do when passion rules,\n When love, almighty, dominates the soul? 185\n The wing\u00e9d god is lord through all the earth,\n And with his flames unquenchable the heart\n Of Jove himself is burned. The god of war\n Has felt his fire; and Vulcan too, that god\n Who forges Jove's three-fork\u00e9d thunderbolts;\n Yea, he, who in the hold of Aetna huge 190\n Is lord of ever-blazing furnaces,\n By this small spark is burned. Apollo, too,\n Who sends his arrows with unerring aim,\n Was pierced by Cupid's still more certain darts.\n For equally in heaven and earth the god\n Is powerful.\n\n _Nurse:_ The god! 'Tis vicious lust 195\n That hath his godhead framed; and, that its ends\n More fully may be gained, it has assigned\n To its unbridled love the specious name,\n Divinity! 'Tis Venus' son, in sooth,\n Sent wandering through all the earth! He flies\n Through empty air and in his boyish hands 200\n His deadly weapon bears! Though least of gods,\n He holds the widest sway! Such vain conceits\n The love-mad soul adopts, love's goddess feigns,\n And Cupid's bow. Whoe'er too much enjoys\n The smiles of fortune and in ease is lapped,\n Is ever seeking unaccustomed joys. 205\n Then that dire comrade of a high estate,\n Inordinate desire, comes in. The feast\n Of yesterday no longer pleases; now\n A home of sane and simple living, food[19]\n Of humble sort, are odious. Oh, why\n Does this destructive pest so rarely come\n To lowly homes, but chooses rather homes 210\n Of luxury? And why does modest love\n Beneath the humble roof abide, and bless\n With wholesome intercourse the common throng?\n Why do the poor restrain their appetites,\n Whereas the rich, on empire propped, desire\n More than is right. Who wields too much of power 215\n Desires to gain what is beyond his power.\n What is befitting to thy high estate\n Thou knowest well. Then fitting reverence show\n To thy returning husband's sovereignty.\n\n _Phaedra:_ The sovereignty of love is over me,\n The highest rule of all. My lord's return,\n I fear it not; for never more has he,\n Who once within the silent depths of night 220\n Has plunged, beheld again the light of day.\n\n _Nurse:_ Trust not the power of Dis; for though his realm\n He closely bar, and though the Stygian dog\n Keep watch and ward upon the baleful doors,\n Theseus can always walk forbidden ways.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Perchance he'll give indulgence to my love. 225\n\n _Nurse:_ But he was harsh e'en to a modest wife;\n His heavy hand Antiope has known.\n But grant that thou canst bend thy angry lord:\n Canst bend as well the stubborn soul of him,\n Hippolytus, who hates the very name 230\n Of womankind? Inexorable his resolve\n To spend his life unwedded. He so shuns\n The sacred rites of marriage, thou wouldst know\n That he of Amazonian stock was born.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Though on the tops of snowy hills he hide,\n Or swiftly course along the ragged cliffs,\n Through forests deep, o'er mountains, 'tis my will 235\n To follow him.\n\n _Nurse:_ And will he turn again,\n And yield himself unto thy sweet caress?\n Or will he lay aside his modesty\n At thy vile love's behest? Will he give o'er\n His hate of womankind for thee alone,\n On whose account, perchance, he hates them all?\n\n _Phaedra:_ Can he not be by any prayers o'ercome?\n\n _Nurse:_ He's wild. 240\n\n _Phaedra:_ Yes, but the beasts are tamed by love.\n\n _Nurse:_ He'll flee.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Through Ocean's self I'll follow him.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy sire remember.\n\n _Phaedra:_ And my mother too.\n\n _Nurse:_ Women he hates.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Then I'll no rival fear.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy husband comes.\n\n _Phaedra:_ With him Piritho\u00fcs!\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy sire! 245\n\n _Phaedra:_ To Ariadne he was kind.\n\n _Nurse:_ O child, by these white locks of age, I pray,\n This care-filled heart, these breasts that suckled thee,\n Put off this rage; to thine own rescue come.\n The greater part of life is will to live.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Shame has not wholly fled my noble soul. 250\n I yield: let love, which will not be controlled,\n Be conquered. Nor shalt thou, fair fame, be stained.\n This way alone is left, sole hope of woe:\n Theseus I'll follow, and by death shun sin.\n\n _Nurse:_ Oh, check, my child, this wild, impetuous thought; 255\n Be calm. For now I think thee worthy life,\n Because thou hast condemned thyself to death.\n\n _Phaedra:_ I am resolved to die, and only seek\n The mode of death. Shall I my spirit free\n By twisted rope, or fall upon the sword,\n Or shall I leap from yonder citadel? 260\n\n _Nurse:_ Shall my old age permit thee thus to die\n Self-slain? Thy deadly, raging purpose stay.\n No one may easily come back to life.\n\n _Phaedra:_ No argument can stay the will of one 265\n Who has resolved to die, and ought to die.\n Quick, let me arm myself in honor's cause.\n\n _Nurse:_ Sole comfort of my weary age, my child,\n If such unruly passion sways thy heart,\n Away with reputation! 'Tis a thing\n Which rarely with reality agrees;\n It smiles upon the ill-deserving man, 270\n And from the good withholds his meed of praise.\n Let us make trial of that stubborn soul.\n Mine be the task to approach the savage youth,\n And bend his will relentless to our own.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Thou goddess, child of the foaming sea,\n Thou mother of love, how fierce are the flames, 275\n And how sharp are the darts of thy petulant boy;\n How deadly of aim his bow.\n Deep to the heart the poison sinks\n When the veins are imbued with his hidden flame; 280\n No gaping wound upon the breast\n Does his arrow leave; but far within\n It burns with consuming fire.\n No peace or rest does he give; world wide\n Are his flying weapons sown abroad:\n The shores that see the rising sun, 285\n And the land that lies at the goal of the west;\n The south where raging Cancer glows,\n And the land of the cold Arcadian Bear\n With its ever-wandering tribes--all know\n And have felt the fires of love. 290\n The hot blood of youth he rouses to madness,\n The smouldering embers of age he rekindles,\n And even the innocent breasts of maids\n Are stirred by passion unknown.\n He bids the immortals desert the skies\n And dwell on the earth in forms assumed. 295\n For love, Apollo kept the herds\n Of Thessaly's king, and, his lyre unused,\n He called to his bulls on the gentle pipe.\n How oft has Jove himself put on\n The lower forms of life, who rules\n The sky and the clouds. Now a bird he seems, 300\n With white wings hovering, with voice\n More sweet than the song of the dying swan;\n Now with lowering front, as a wanton bull,\n He offers his back to the sport of maids;\n And soon through his brother's waves he floats, 305\n With his hoofs like sturdy oars, and his breast\n Stoutly opposing the waves, in fear\n For the captured maid he bears. For love,\n The shining goddess of the night\n Her dim skies left, and her glittering car 310\n To her brother allotted to guide. Untrained\n In managing the dusky steeds,\n Within a shorter circuit now\n He learns to direct his course. Meanwhile\n The nights no more their accustomed space\n Retained, and the dawn came slowly back, 315\n Since 'neath a heavier burden now\n The axle trembled. Love compelled\n Alcmena's son to lay aside\n His quiver and the threat'ning spoil\n Of that great lion's skin he bore,\n And have his fingers set with gems,\n His shaggy locks in order dressed. 320\n His limbs were wrapped in cloth of gold,\n His feet with yellow sandals bound;\n And with that hand which bore but now\n The mighty club, he wound the thread\n Which from his mistress' spindle fell.\n The sight all Persia saw, and they 325\n Who dwell in Lydia's fertile realm--\n The savage lion's skin laid by,\n And on those shoulders, once the prop\n For heaven's vast dome, a gauzy cloak\n Of Tyrian manufacture spread.\n Accursed is love, its victims know, 330\n And all too strong. In every land,\n In the all-encircling briny deep,\n In the airy heavens where the bright stars course,\n There pitiless love holds sway.\n The sea-green band of the Nereids 335\n Have felt his darts in their deepest waves,\n And the waters of ocean cannot quench\n Their flames. The birds know the passion of love,\n And mighty bulls, with its fire inflamed,\n Wage furious battle, while the herd 340\n Look on in wonder. Even stags,\n Though timorous of heart, will fight\n If for their mates they fear, while loud\n Resound the snortings of their wrath.\n When with love the striped tigers burn,\n The swarthy Indian cowers in fear. 345\n For love the boar whets his deadly tusks\n And his huge mouth is white with foam.\n The African lions toss their manes\n When love inflames their hearts, and the woods\n Resound with their savage roars. 350\n The monsters of the raging deep,\n And those great beasts, the elephants,\n Feel the sway of love; since nature's power\n Claims everything, and nothing spares.\n Hate perishes when love commands,\n And ancient feuds yield to his touch. 355\n Why need I more his sway approve,\n When even stepdames yield to love?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[19] Reading, _cibus_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n[_Enter_ Nurse _from the palace_.]\n\n _Chorus:_ Speak, nurse, the news thou bring'st. How fares the queen?\n Do her fierce fires of love know any end?\n\n _Nurse:_ I have no hope that such a malady 360\n Can be relieved; her maddened passion's flames\n Will endless burn. A hidden, silent fire\n Consumes her, and her raging love, though shut\n Within her heart, is by her face betrayed.\n Her eyes dart fire; anon, her sunken gaze\n Avoids the light of day. Her restless soul 365\n Can find no pleasure long in anything.\n Her aimless love allows her limbs no rest.\n Now, as with dying, tottering steps, she goes,\n And scarce can hold her nodding head erect;\n And now lies down to sleep. But, sleepless quite,\n She spends the night in tears. Now does she bid\n Me lift her up, and straight to lay her down; 370\n To loose her locks, and bind them up again.\n In restless mood she constantly demands\n Fresh robes. She has no care for food or health.\n With failing strength she walks, with aimless feet. 375\n Her old-time strength is gone; no longer shines\n The ruddy glow of health upon her face.\n Care feeds upon her limbs; her trembling steps\n Betray her weakness, and the tender grace\n Of her once blooming beauty is no more.\n Her eyes, which once with Phoebus' brilliance shone,\n No longer gleam with their ancestral fires. 380\n Her tears flow ever, and her cheeks are wet\n With constant rain; as when, on Taurus' top,\n The snows are melted by a warming shower.\n But look, the palace doors are opening,\n And she, reclining on her couch of gold, 385\n And sick of soul, refuses one by one\n The customary garments of her state.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Remove, ye slaves, those bright and gold-wrought robes;\n Away with Tyrian purple, and the webs\n Of silk whose threads the far-off eastern tribes\n From leaves of trees collect. Gird high my robes; 390\n I'll wear no necklace, nor shall snowy pearls,\n The gift of Indian seas, weigh down my ears.\n No nard from far Assyria shall scent\n My locks; thus loosely tossing let them fall\n Around my neck and shoulders; let them stream\n Upon the wind, by my swift running stirred. 395\n Upon my left I'll wear a quiver girt,\n And in my right hand will I brandish free\n A hunting-spear of Thessaly; for thus\n The mother of Hippolytus was clad.\n So did she lead her hosts from the frozen shores\n Of Pontus, when to Attica she came, 400\n From distant Tana\u00efs or Maeotis' banks,\n Her comely locks down flowing from a knot,\n Her side protected by a crescent shield.\n Like her would I betake me to the woods.\n\n _Chorus:_ Cease thy laments, for grief will not avail\n The wretched. Rather seek to appease the will 405\n Of that wild virgin goddess of the woods.\n\n _Nurse_ [_to_ Diana]: O queen of forests, thou who dwell'st alone\n On mountain tops, and thou who only art\n Within their desert haunts adored, convert,\n We pray, to better issue these sad fears.\n O mighty goddess of the woods and groves,\n Bright star of heaven, thou glory of the night, 410\n Whose torch, alternate with the sun, illumes\n The sky, thou three-formed Hecate--Oh, smile,\n We pray, on these our hopes; the unbending soul\n Of stern Hippolytus subdue for us.\n Teach him to love; our passion's mutual flame\n May he endure. May he give ready ear\n To our request. His hard and stubborn heart 415\n Do thou make soft to us. Enthral his mind.\n Though stern of soul, averse to love, and fierce,\n May he yet yield himself to Venus' laws.\n Bend all thy powers to this. So may thy face\n Be ever clear, and through the rifted clouds\n Mayst thou sail on with crescent shining bright;\n So, when thou driv'st thy chariot through the sky, 420\n May no Thessalian mummeries prevail\n To draw thee from thy nightly journey down;\n And may no shepherd boast himself of thee.\n Lo, thou art here in answer to our prayer;\n [Hippolytus _is seen approaching_.]\n I see Hippolytus himself, alone,\n Approaching to perform the yearly rites\n To Dian due. 425\n [_To herself._]\n Why dost thou hesitate?\n Both time and place are given by fortune's lot.\n Use all thy arts. Why do I quake with fear?\n It is no easy task to do the deed\n Enjoined on me. Yet she, who serves a queen,\n Must banish from her heart all thought of right;\n For sense of shame ill serves a royal will. 430\n\n[_Enter_ Hippolytus.]\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Why dost thou hither turn thine ag\u00e9d feet,\n O faithful nurse? Why is thy face so sad,\n Thy brow so troubled? Truly is my sire\n In safety, Phaedra safe, and their two sons.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thou need'st not fear for them; the kingdom stands 435\n In prosperous estate, and all thy house\n Rejoices in the blessings of the gods.\n But Oh, do thou with greater kindness look\n Upon thy fortune. For my heart is vexed\n And anxious for thy sake; for thou thyself\n With grievous sufferings dost bruise thy soul.\n If fate compels it, one may be forgiven 440\n For wretchedness; but if, of his own will,\n A man prefers to live in misery,\n Brings tortures on himself, then he deserves\n To lose those gifts he knows not how to use.\n Be mindful of thy youth; relax thy mind.\n Lift high the blazing torch on festal nights;\n Let Bacchus free thee from thy weighty cares; 445\n Enjoy this time which speeds so swiftly by.\n Now is the time when love comes easily,\n And smiles on youth. Come, let thy soul rejoice.\n Why dost thou lie upon a lonely couch?\n Dissolve in pleasures that grim mood of thine,\n And snatch the passing joys;[20] let loose the reins. 450\n Forbid that these, the best days of thy life,\n Should vanish unenjoyed. Its proper hue\n Has God allotted to each time of life,\n And leads from step to step the age of man.\n So joy becomes the young, a face severe\n The ag\u00e9d. Why dost thou restrain thyself,\n And strangle at their birth the joys of life?\n That crop rewards the farmer's labor most 455\n Which in the young and tender sprouting-time\n Runs riot in the fields. With lofty top\n That tree will overspread the neighboring grove,\n Which no begrudging hand cuts back or prunes.\n So do our inborn powers a richer fruit\n Of praise and glory bear, if liberty,\n Unchecked and boundless, feed the noble soul. 460\n Thou, harsh, uncouth, and ignorant of life,\n Dost spend thy youth to joy and love unknown.\n Think'st thou that this is man's allotted task,\n To suffer hardships, curb the rushing steeds,\n And fight like savage beasts in bloody war? 465\n When he beheld the boundless greed of death,\n The mighty father of the world ordained\n A means by which the race might be renewed.\n Suppose the power of Venus over men\n Should cease, who doth supply and still renew 470\n The stream of life, then would this lovely world\n Become a foul, unsightly thing indeed:\n The sea would bear no fish within its waves,\n The woods no beasts of prey, the air no birds;\n But through its empty space the winds alone\n Would rove. How various the forms of death 475\n That seize and feed upon our mortal race:\n The wrecking sea, the sword, and treachery!\n But say that these are lacking: still we fall\n Of our own gravity to gloomy Styx.\n Suppose our youth should choose a mateless life,\n And live in childless state: then all this world\n Of teeming life which thou dost see, would live\n This generation only, and would fall 480\n In ruins on itself. Then spend thy life\n As nature doth direct; frequent the town,\n And live in friendly union with thy kind.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ There is no life so free, so innocent,\n Which better cherishes the ancient rites,\n Than that which spurns the crowded ways of men\n And seeks the silent places of the woods. 485\n His soul no maddening greed of gain inflames\n Who on the lofty levels of the hills\n His blameless pleasures finds. No fickle breath\n Of passing favor frets him here, no sting\n Of base ingratitude, no poisonous hate.\n He fears no kingdom's laws; nor, in the quest 490\n Of power, does he pursue the phantom shapes\n Of fame and wealth. From hope and fear alike\n Is he removed. No black and biting spite\n With base, malicious tooth preys on him here.\n He never hears of those base, shameful things\n That spawn amid the city's teeming throngs.\n It is not his with guilty heart to quake\n At every sound; he need not hide his thoughts 495\n With guileful words; in pride of sinful wealth\n He seeks to own no lordly palace propped\n Upon a thousand pillars, with its beams\n In flaunting arrogance incased with gold.\n No streams of blood his pious altars drench;\n No hecatombs of snowy bullocks stand 500\n Foredoomed to death, their foreheads sprinkled o'er\n With sacred meal; but in the spacious fields,\n Beneath the sky, in fearless innocence,\n He wanders lord of all. His only guile,\n To set the cunning snare for beasts of pray;\n And, when o'erspent with labors of the chase,\n He soothes his body in the shining stream\n Of cool Ilissus. Now swift Alpheus' banks 505\n He skirts, and now the lofty forest's deep,\n Dense places treads, where Lerna, clear and cool,\n Pours forth her glimmering streams.\n Here twittering birds make all the woods resound,\n And through the branches of the ancient beech\n The leaves are all a-flutter in the breeze. 510\n How sweet upon some vagrant river's bank,\n Or on the verdant turf, to lie at length,\n And quaff one's fill of deep, delicious sleep,\n Whether in hurrying floods some copious stream\n Pours down its waves, or through the vernal flowers\n Some murmuring brook sings sweetly as it flows.\n The windfall apples of the wood appease 515\n His hunger, while the ripening berries plucked\n From wayside thickets grant an easy meal.\n He gladly shuns the luxuries of kings.\n Let mighty lords from anxious cups of gold\n Their nectar quaff; for him how sweet to catch\n With naked hand the water of the spring! 520\n More certain slumber soothes him, though his couch\n Be hard, if free from care he lay him down.\n With guilty soul he seeks no shameful deeds\n In nooks remote upon some hidden couch,\n Nor timorous hides in labyrinthine cell;\n He courts the open air and light of day,\n And lives before the conscious eye of heaven. 525\n Such was the life, I think, the ancients lived,\n Those primal men who mingled with the gods.\n They were not blinded by the love of gold;\n No sacred stone divided off the fields\n And lotted each his own in judgment there.\n Nor yet did vessels rashly plow the seas; 530\n But each his native waters knew alone.\n Then cities were not girt with massive walls,\n With frequent towers set; no soldier there\n To savage arms his hands applied, nor burst\n The close-barred gates with huge and heavy stones\n From ponderous engines hurled. As yet the earth 535\n Endured no master's rule, nor felt the sway\n Of laboring oxen yoked in common toil;\n But all the fields, self-fruitful, fed mankind,\n Who took and asked no more. The woods gave wealth,\n And shady grottoes natural homes supplied.\n Unholy greed first broke these peaceful bonds, 540\n And headlong wrath, and lust which sets aflame\n The hearts of men. Then came the cruel thirst\n For empire; and the weak became the prey\n Of strong, and might was counted right. At first\n Men fought with naked fists, but soon they turned 545\n Rough clubs and stones to use of arms. Not yet\n Were cornel spears with slender points of iron,\n And long, sharp-pointed swords, and crested helms.\n Such weapons wrath invented. Warlike Mars\n Produced new arts of strife, and forms of death 550\n In countless numbers made. Thence streams of gore\n Stained every land, and reddened every sea.\n Then crime, o'erleaping every bound, ran wild;\n Invaded every home. No hideous deed\n Was left undone: but brothers by the hand 555\n Of brothers fell, parents by children's hands,\n Husbands by wives', and impious mothers killed\n Their helpless babes. Stepmothers need no words;\n The very beasts are kind compared with them.\n Of all these evils woman was the cause,\n The leader she. She with her wicked arts\n Besets the minds of men; and all for her 560\n And her vile, lustful ways, unnumbered towns\n Lie low in smoking heaps; whole nations rush\n To arms; and kingdoms, utterly o'erthrown,\n Drag down their ruined peoples in their fall.\n Though I should name no other, Aegeus' wife\n Would prove all womankind a curs\u00e9d race.\n\n _Nurse:_ Why blame all women for the crimes of few? 565\n\n _Hippolytus:_ I hate them all. I dread and shun and curse\n Them all. Whether from reason, instinct, blind\n And causeless madness, this I know--I hate.\n And sooner shall you fire and water wed;\n Sooner shall dangerous quicksands friendly turn\n And give safe anchorage; and sooner far 570\n Shall Tethys from her utmost western bounds\n Bring forth the shining day, and savage wolves\n Smile kindly on the timid does, than I,\n O'ercome, feel ought but hate to womankind.\n\n _Nurse:_ But oft doth love put reins on stubborn souls,\n And all their hatred to affection turns. 575\n Behold thy mother's realm of warlike dames;\n Yet even they the sway of passion know.\n Of this thy birth itself is proof enough.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ My comfort for my mother's loss is this,\n That now I'm free to hate all womankind.\n\n _Nurse:_ As some hard crag, on every side unmoved, 580\n Resists the waves, and dashes backward far\n The opposing floods, so he doth spurn my words.\n But hither Phaedra comes with hasty step,\n Impatient of delay. What fate is hers?\n Or to what action doth her madness tend?\n [Phaedra _enters and falls fainting to the earth_.]\n But see, in sudden fainting fit she falls, 585\n And deathlike pallor overspreads her face.\n [Hippolytus _hastens to raise her up in his arms_.]\n Lift up thy face, speak out, my daughter, see,\n Thine own Hippolytus embraces thee.\n\n _Phaedra_ [_recovering from her faint_]: Who gives me back to griefs,\n and floods again\n My soul with heavy care? How well for me\n Had I sunk down to death! 590\n\n _Hippolytus:_ But why, poor soul,\n Dost thou lament the gift of life restored?\n\n _Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Come dare, attempt, fulfil thine own command.\n Speak out, and fearlessly. Who asks in fear\n Suggests a prompt refusal. Even now\n The greater part of my offense is done.\n Too late my present modesty. My love, 595\n I know, is base; but if I persevere,\n Perchance the marriage torch will hide my sin.\n Success makes certain sins respectable.\n Come now, begin.\n [_To_ Hippolytus].\n Bend lower down thine ear,\n I pray; if any comrade be at hand,\n Let him depart, that we may speak alone. 600\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Behold, the place is free from witnesses.\n\n _Phaedra:_ My lips refuse to speak my waiting words;\n A mighty force compels my utterance,\n A mightier holds it back. Ye heavenly powers,\n I call ye all to witness, what I wish-- 605\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Thy heart desires and cannot tell its wish?\n\n _Phaedra:_ Light cares speak out, the weighty have no words.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Into my ears, my mother, tell thy cares.\n\n _Phaedra:_ The name of mother is too proud and high;\n My heart dictates some humbler name than that. 610\n Pray call me sister--slave, Hippolytus.\n Yes, slave I'd be. I'll bear all servitude;\n And shouldst thou bid me tread the driven snows,\n To walk along high Pindus' frozen peaks,\n I'd not refuse; no, not if thou shouldst bid\n Me go through fire, and serried ranks of foes, 615\n I would not hesitate to bare my breast\n Unto the naked swords. Take thou the power\n Which was consigned to me. Make me thy slave.\n Rule thou the state, and let me subject be.\n It is no woman's task to guard this realm\n Of many towns. Do thou, who in the flower 620\n Of youth rejoicest, rule the citizens\n With strong paternal sway. But me receive\n Into thy arms, and there protect thy slave\n And suppliant. My widowhood relieve.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ May God on high this omen dark avert!\n My father will in safety soon return.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Not so: the king of that fast-holding realm 625\n And silent Styx has never opened back\n The doors of earth to those who once have left\n The realms above. Think'st thou that he will loose\n The ravisher of his couch? Unless, indeed,\n Grim Pluto has at last grown mild to love.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ The righteous gods of heaven will bring him back.\n But while the gods still hold our prayers in doubt, 630\n My brothers will I make my pious care,\n And thee as well. Think not thou art bereft;\n For I will fill for thee my father's place.\n\n _Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Oh, hope of lovers, easily beguiled!\n Deceitful love! Has he[21] not said enough? 635\n I'll ply him now with prayers.\n [_To_ Hippolytus.]\n Oh, pity me.\n Hear thou the prayers which I must only think.\n I long to utter them, but am ashamed.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ What is thy trouble then?\n\n _Phaedra:_ A trouble mine,\n Which thou wouldst scarce believe could vex the soul\n Of any stepdame.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Speak more openly;\n In doubtful words thy meaning thou dost wrap.\n\n _Phaedra:_ My maddened heart with burning love is scorched; 640\n My inmost marrow is devoured with love;\n And through my veins and vitals steals the fire,\n As when the flames through roomy holds of ships\n Run darting. 645\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Surely with a modest love\n For Theseus thou dost burn.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Hippolytus,\n 'Tis thus with me: I love those former looks\n Of Theseus, which in early manhood once\n He wore, when first a beard began to show\n Upon his modest cheeks, what time he saw\n The Cretan monster's hidden lurking-place,\n And by a thread his labyrinthine way 650\n Retraced. Oh, what a glorious sight he was!\n Soft fillets held in check his flowing locks,\n And modesty upon his tender face\n Glowed blushing red. His soft-appearing arms\n But half concealed his muscles' manly strength.\n His face was like thy heavenly Phoebe's face,\n Or my Apollo's, or 'twas like thine own. 655\n Like thee, like thee he was when first he pleased\n His enemy. Just so he proudly held\n His head erect; still more in thee shines out\n That beauty unadorned; in thee I find\n Thy father all. And yet thy mother's stern\n And lofty beauty has some share in thee;\n Her Scythian firmness tempers Grecian grace. 660\n If with thy father thou hadst sailed to Crete,\n My sister would have spun the thread for thee\n And not for him. O sister, wheresoe'er\n In heaven's starry vault thou shinest, thee,\n Oh, thee I call to aid my hapless cause,\n So like thine own. One house has overthrown 665\n Two sisters, thee the father, me the son.\n [_To_ Hippolytus.]\n Behold, as suppliant, fallen to thy knees,\n A royal princess kneels. Without a spot\n Of sin, unstained and innocent, was I;\n And thou alone hast wrought the change in me.\n See at thy feet I kneel and pray, resolved\n This day shall end my misery or life. 670\n Oh, pity her who loves thee--\n\n _Hippolytus:_ God in heaven,\n Great ruler of all gods, dost thou this sin\n So calmly hear, so calmly see? If now\n Thou hurlest not thy bolt with deadly hand,\n What shameful cause will ever send it forth?\n Let all the sky in shattered ruins fall,\n And hide the light of day in murky clouds. 675\n Let stars turn back, and trace again their course\n Athwart their proper ways. And thou, great star\n Of stars, thou radiant Sun, let not thine eyes\n Behold the impious shame of this thy stock;\n But hide thy face, and to the darkness flee\n Why is thy hand, O king of gods and men, 680\n Inactive? Why by fork\u00e9d lightning's brands\n Is not the world in flames? Direct thy bolts\n At me; pierce me. Let that fierce darting flame\n Consume me quite, for mine is all the blame.\n I ought to die, for I have favor found\n In my stepmother's eyes.\n [_To_ Phaedra.]\n Did I seem one\n To thee to do this vile and shameful thing?\n Did I seem easy fuel to thy fire, 685\n I only? Has my virtuous life deserved\n Such estimate? Thou, worse than all thy kind!\n Thou woman, who hast in thy heart conceived\n A deed more shameful than thy mother's sin,\n Whose womb gave monstrous birth; thou worse than she!\n She stained herself with vilest lust, and long 690\n Concealed the deed. But all in vain: at last,\n Her two-formed child revealed his mother's crime,\n And by his fierce bull-visage proved her guilt.\n Of such a womb and mother art thou born.\n Oh, thrice and four times bless\u00e9d is their lot\n Whom hate and treachery give o'er and doom 695\n To death. O father, how I envy thee!\n Thy stepdame was the Colchian; but this,\n This woman is a greater curse than she.\n\n _Phaedra:_ I clearly see the destiny of my house:\n We follow ever what we should avoid.\n But I have given over self-control;\n I'll follow thee through fire, through raging sea, 700\n O'er ragged cliffs, through roaring torrents wild--\n Wherever thou dost go, in mad pursuit\n I shall be borne. Again, O haughty one,\n I fall in suppliance and embrace thy knees.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Away from my chaste body with thy touch\n Impure! What more? She falls upon my breast! 705\n I'll draw my sword and smite as she deserves.\n See, by her twisted locks, I backward bend\n Her shameless head. No blood more worthily\n Was ever spilled, O goddess of the bow,\n Upon thy altars.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Now, Hippolytus, 710\n Thou dost fulfil the fondest wish of mine;\n Thou sav'st me from my madness; greater far\n Than all my hopes, that by the hands I love,\n By thine own hands, I perish ere I sin.\n\n _Hippolytus:_ Then live, be gone! Thou shalt gain naught from me.\n And this my sword, defiled by thy base touch,\n No more shall hang upon my modest side.\n [_He throws his sword from him._]\n What Tana\u00efs will make me clean again? 715\n Or what Maeotis rushing to the sea,\n With its barbaric waves? Not Neptune's self,\n With all his ocean's waters could avail\n To cleanse so foul a stain. O woods! O beasts!\n\n[_He rushes off into the depths of the forest._]\n\n _Nurse_ [_in soliloquy, while_ Phaedra _seems to have fallen in a\n fainting fit_]:\n Now is her fault discovered. Soul of mine,\n Why dost thou stand in dumb amaze? This crime\n We must throw back upon the man himself, 720\n And charge him with a guilty love, ourselves.\n Sin must be hid by sin. The safest way\n Is to go straight forward on the course you fear.\n Who is to know, since no one saw the deed,\n Whether we dared, ourselves, or suffered ill?\n [_Raising her voice in a loud cry._]\n Help! Help! ye dames of Athens! Faithful band 725\n Of slaves, bring aid! Behold Hippolytus,\n With vile adultery, attacks the queen!\n He has her in his power! He threatens death!\n At point of sword he storms her chastity!\n There, he has gone in haste, and left behind\n His sword in trembling, panic-stricken flight.\n This proof of guilt we'll keep. But first restore 730\n The stricken queen to life. Let all remain\n Just as they are, her locks disheveled, torn,\n To show how great a wrong she has endured.\n Back to the city bear her now. Revive,\n My mistress. Why dost seek to harm thyself\n And shun thy comrades' eyes. For be thou sure\n Not circumstance but will can make impure. 735\n\n[_Exeunt._]\n\n _Chorus:_ He fled away like the storm-blast wild,\n More swift than cloud-compelling winds;\n And swifter than the comet's torch,\n When, driven before the wind, it speeds\n With long-drawn, trailing fires. 740\n Let fame, that boasts of her olden times,\n Compare with thine all ancient charms:\n Beyond compare does thy beauty shine,\n Clear and bright as the full-orbed moon,\n When, with waxing hours in splendor joined, 745\n Night long she speeds her shining car,\n And her ruddy face so brightly gleams,\n That the fires of the lesser stars are dimmed.\n He is fair as the messenger of night,\n When he leads the evening shadows in,\n Himself new bathed in the ocean's foam; 750\n Or when, the darkness put to flight,\n He heralds the dawn--bright Lucifer.\n And thou of the thyrsus, Indian Bacchus,\n With the flowing locks of endless youth,\n With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving, 755\n And thy turban set on thy horn\u00e9d head:\n Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine\n The unadorned hair of Hippolytus.\n And admire not thy beauty over much,\n For fame has spread the story far,\n How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee, 760\n O Bromius, a mortal man.\n Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou,\n The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift\n On flying feet thou glidest away!\n So flowery meadows of the spring\n The summer's burning heat devours, 765\n When midday's raging sun rides high,\n And night's brief round is hurried through.\n As the lilies languish on their stems,\n So pleasing tresses fail the head;\n And swiftly is the radiance dimmed 770\n Which gleams from the tender cheeks of youth!\n Each day hath its spoil from the lovely form;\n For beauty flees and soon is gone.\n Who then would trust a gift so frail?\n Nay, use its joys, while still thou mayst;\n For silent time will soon destroy thee, 775\n And hours to baser hours steal on.\n Why seek the desert wilds? Thy form\n Is no more safe in pathless ways.\n If in the forest's depths thou hide,\n When Titan brings the noonday heat,\n The saucy Na\u00efds will surround thee, 780\n Who are wont in their clear springs to snare\n The lovely youth; and 'gainst thy sleep\n The wanton goddesses of groves,\n The Dryads, who the roving Pans\n Drive in pursuit, will mischief plot.\n Or else that glowing star, whose birth 785\n The old Arcadians beheld,\n Will see thee from the spangled sky,\n And straight forget to drive her car.\n Of late she blushed a fiery red,\n And yet no staining cloud obscured\n Her shining disk. But we, in fear\n For her troubled face, clashed cymbals loud, 790\n Deeming her harried by the charms\n Of Thessaly. But for thee alone\n Was all her toil; thou wast the cause\n Of her long delay; for, seeing thee,\n The night's fair goddess checked her course.\n If only winter's blasts would beat 795\n Less fiercely on that face of thine;\n If less it felt the sun's hot rays,\n More bright than Parian marble's gleam\n Would it appear. How beautiful\n The manly sternness in thy face,\n Thy brow's dark frowning majesty!\n Compare with Phoebus' that fair neck. 800\n His hair o'er his shoulders flowing free,\n Unbound by fillet, ornaments\n And shelters him. A shaggy brow\n Becomes thee best; thee, shorter locks,\n In tossing disarray. 'Tis thine\n The rough and warlike gods to meet 805\n In strife, and by thy mighty strength\n To overcome them. Even now,\n The muscles of a Hercules\n Thy youthful arms can match. Thy breast\n Is broader than the breast of Mars.\n If on a horny-footed steed\n Thou'rt pleased to mount, not Castor's self 810\n More easily could hold in check\n The Spartan Cyllarus.\n Take thong in hand; with all thy strength\n Discharge the javelin: not so far,\n Though they be trained to hurl the dart,\n Will Cretans send the slender reed. 815\n Or if it please thee into air,\n In Parthian style, to shoot thy darts,\n None will descend without its bird,\n Fixed deep within the throbbing breast;\n From out the very clouds thy prey\n Thou wilt regain.\n By few has beauty been possessed\n (The voice of history proclaims) 820\n Without some loss or suffering.\n But thee, unharmed, may God pass by\n More merciful, and may thy form,\n Now famous for its beauty, show\n At last the marks of ugly age.\n What crime would woman's fury leave undared?\n She plans against this harmless youth some fraud. 825\n Behold her scheme! For by her tumbled hair,\n All torn, she seeks sure credence for her tale.\n She wets her cheeks with tears; and every art\n That woman's shrewdness knows, does she employ.\n [_A man is seen approaching, who proves to be_ Theseus.]\n But who is that who comes with grace of kings\n Displayed upon his face, his lofty head 830\n Held high in kingly pride? In countenance,\n How like the young Piritho\u00fcs he seems,\n Were not his cheeks too deadly pale and wan,\n And if his hair fell not in locks unkempt.\n Behold, 'tis Theseus' self returned to earth.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[20] Reading, _luxus_.\n\n[21] Reading, _dixit_.\n\n\nACT III\n\n _Theseus:_ At last have I escaped from endless night, 835\n That shadowy realm which close confines the dead.\n And now my eyes can scarce endure the light\n Which I have long desired. Eleusin now\n Has four times reaped her ripened grain, the gift\n Triptolemus bestowed; thrice and again\n Has Libra measured equal day and night,\n Since dubious battling with an unknown fate\n Has held me in the toils of life and death. 840\n To me, though dead to all things else, one part\n Of life remained, the consciousness of ill.\n Alcides was the end. When he came down\n To bring the dog by force from Tartarus,\n He brought me also to the upper world. 845\n But ah, my wearied frame has lost the strength\n It had of old; I walk with faltering steps.\n Alas! how great a task it was to reach\n The world of light from lower Phlegethon,\n To flee from death and follow Hercules!\n But why this sound of wailing in my ears? 850\n Let someone tell; for agonies of woe\n And grief and lamentations sad I meet\n Upon the very threshold of my home--\n A fitting welcome to a guest from hell.\n\n _Nurse:_ The queen is obstinately bent on death,\n And scorns the strong remonstrance of our tears. 855\n\n _Theseus:_ Why should she die, her husband safe returned?\n\n _Nurse:_ That very cause compels her speedy death.\n\n _Theseus:_ Thy words are dark and hide some weighty truth.\n Speak out and tell what grief weighs down her soul.\n\n _Nurse:_ She tells her grief to none. Some secret woe 860\n She hides within her heart, and is resolved\n To take her secret with her to the grave.\n But speed thee to her; there is need of haste.\n\n _Theseus:_ Unbar the close-shut portals of my house.\n\n[_The doors are opened and_ Theseus _encounters his wife just within_.]\n\n _Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: My queen, is't thus thou dost receive thy\n lord,\n And welcome back thy husband long desired? 865\n Nay, put away the sword from thy right hand,\n And give me heart again. Reveal to me\n The cause that forces thee to flee from life.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Alas, great Theseus, by thy kingly power,\n And by thy children's souls, by thy return, 870\n And by my ashes, suffer me to die.\n\n _Theseus:_ What cause compels thy death?\n\n _Phaedra:_ The fruit of death\n Would perish if I let its cause be known.\n\n _Theseus:_ None else shall hear it save myself alone.\n\n _Phaedra:_ A chaste wife fears her husband most of all.\n\n _Theseus:_ Speak out; I'll hide thy secret in my heart. 875\n\n _Phaedra:_ The secret thou wouldst have another guard,\n First guard thyself.\n\n _Theseus:_ No chance of death thou'lt find.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Death cannot fail the heart that's bent on death.\n\n _Theseus:_ Confess what sin must be atoned by death.\n\n _Phaedra:_ My life.\n\n _Theseus:_ Will not my tears avail with thee? 880\n\n _Phaedra:_ That death is best which one's own friends lament.\n\n _Theseus:_ She still persists in silence. By the lash\n And chains shall her old nurse be forced to tell\n What she will not declare. Put her in chains.\n Now let the lash lay bare her hidden thoughts.\n\n _Phaedra:_ Hold, stay thy hand, for I myself will speak. 885\n\n _Theseus:_ Why dost thou turn thy grieving face away,\n And hide the quickly rising shower of tears\n Behind thy robe?\n\n _Phaedra:_ Thee, thee do I invoke,\n O father of the gods, and thee, O Sun,\n Thou shining glory of the heavenly dome,\n On whom as founder doth our house depend, 890\n I call ye both to witness that I strove\n Against his prayers, though sorely tried. To threats\n Of death my spirit did not yield; but force\n O'ercame my body. This the shameful stain\n Upon my honor which my blood must cleanse.\n\n _Theseus:_ Come, tell, who hath defiled our honor so?\n\n _Phaedra:_ Whom thou wouldst least expect. 895\n\n _Theseus:_ But who is he?\n I wait to hear his name.\n\n _Phaedra:_ This sword shall tell,\n Which in his terror at our loud laments,\n The adulterer left, fearing the citizens.\n\n _Theseus:_ Ah me! What villainy do I behold?\n What monstrous deed is this? The royal sword,\n Its ivory hilt with tiny signs engraved,\n Shines out, the glory of the Athenian race. 900\n But he--where has he gone?\n\n _Phaedra:_ These slaves have seen\n How, borne on speeding feet, he fled away.\n\n _Theseus:_ Oh, holy piety! O thou who reign'st\n In heaven, and thou who rulest in the seas,\n Whence came this base infection of our race? 905\n Was he of Grecian birth, or did he spring\n From Scythian Taurus or some Colchian stream?\n The type reverts to its ancestral stock,\n And blood ignoble but repeats its source.\n This is the madness of that savage race,\n To scorn all lawful love, and prostitute 910\n At last the long-chaste body to the crowd.\n Oh, loathsome race, restrained by no good laws\n Which milder climes revere! The very beasts\n Shun love incestuous, and keep the laws\n Of nature with instinctive chastity.\n Where is that face, that feigned austerity, 915\n That rough and careless garb that sought to ape\n The ancient customs? Where that aspect stern,\n That sour severity which age assumes?\n O life, two-faced! How thou dost hide thy thoughts!\n For fairest faces cover foulest hearts;\n The chaste demeanor hides inchastity; 920\n The gentle, boldness; seeming goodness, sin.\n False men approve the truth; the faint of heart\n Affect a blustering mood. O thou, of woods\n Enamored, savage, rough and virgin pure,\n Didst thou reserve thyself for me alone?\n On my couch first and with so fell a crime 925\n Wast thou inclined to try thy manly powers?\n Now, now I thank the kindly gods of heaven\n That long ago I slew Antiope;\n That, when I went below to Stygian caves,\n I did not leave thy mother for thy lust.\n Go, get thee far away to unknown lands;\n And there, though to her utmost bounds removed, 930\n The earth should hem thee off by ocean's wastes;\n Though thou shouldst dwell at the Antipodes;\n Though to the frigid northern realms thou go,\n And deep within her farthest caverns hide;\n Or, though beyond the reach of winter placed, 935\n And drifting snows, thou leave the boisterous threats\n Of frosty Boreas in mad pursuit:\n Thou still shalt meet thy fitting punishment.\n Persistent shall I chase thee in thy flight\n Through all thy hiding-places. Ways remote,\n Hemmed in, secluded, hard and trackless ways,\n I'll traverse in pursuit. No obstacle 940\n Shall block my way. Thou know'st whence I return.\n And whither spears cannot be hurled at thee\n I'll hurl my prayers. My father of the sea\n Once promised me that thrice I might prevail\n With him in prayer, and ratified the boon\n By oath upon the inviolable Styx.\n [_To_ Neptune.]\n Thou ruler of the sea, the boon bestow, 945\n And grant my prayer: let not Hippolytus\n Live to behold another sun's bright rays,\n But may he go to meet those shades of hell\n Enraged at my escape. O father, now\n I pray that aid which still I deprecate.\n This last of thy three boons I would not use, 950\n If I were not beset by grievous ills.\n Amidst the depths of hell and dreadful Dis,\n Amidst the infernal king's pursuing threats,\n I did not call on thee. But now I claim\n Thy promise, father. Why delay thine aid?\n Why are thy waves inactive? Let the winds 955\n That drive the blackening clouds bring darkness on;\n Snatch stars and sky from sight; pour forth the sea;\n Arouse thy watery monsters, and let loose\n On him from ocean's depths thy swelling waves.\n\n[_Exit_ Theseus.]\n\n _Chorus_: Great nature, mother of the gods,\n And thou, fire-girt Olympus' lord, 960\n Who speedest through the flying skies\n The scattered stars, the wandering ways\n Of constellations, and the heavens\n Upon their whirling axes turn'st:\n Why is thy care so great to keep\n The annual highways of the air, 965\n That now the hoary frosts may strip\n The woods of leaves, and now the trees\n May spread once more their pleasant shade;\n That now the summer's fervent heat\n May ripen Ceres' gift, and soon 970\n Her strength the Autumn may subdue?\n But why, though thou dost rule so wide,\n Though in thy hand the ponderous worlds\n Are poised, and calmly wheel along\n Their appointed ways, why dost thou shun\n The affairs of men and have no care\n For them? Art not solicitous 975\n That good should prosper, and that sin\n Receive its just deserts? But no:\n Blind Fortune rules the affairs of men,\n Dispensing with unthinking hand\n Her gifts, oft favoring the worst. 980\n And so the violent oppress\n The innocent; and fraud holds sway\n In highest places. To the hands\n Of brutish men the rabble most\n Rejoice to trust their government;\n The same they honor and they hate,\n With fickle will. Sad virtue finds\n Her recompense for righteousness\n All gone away; and poverty, 985\n Relentless, follows innocence;\n While, deep intrenched in wickedness,\n The adulterer sits secure, and reigns.\n O modesty--an empty name!\n And worth--a glorious cheat!\n But what would yonder messenger announce,\n Who comes in haste, with woeful countenance? 990\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Messenger.]\n\n _Messenger:_ O slavery, thou hard and bitter lot,\n Why must I voice these woes unspeakable?\n\n _Theseus:_ Fear not, but boldly tell the worst mischance;\n For mine a heart not unprepared for grief.\n _Messenger:_ My tongue can find no words to voice its woe. 955\n\n _Theseus:_ But speak, what evil fortune still besets\n My shattered house?\n\n _Messenger:_ Hippolytus is dead!\n\n _Theseus:_ The father knew long since his son had died;\n But now the adulterer has met his end.\n Tell me, I pray, the manner of his death.\n\n _Messenger:_ When, fleeing forth, he left the city's walls, 1000\n With maddened speed he hurried on his way,\n And quickly yoked his chargers to his car,\n And curbed them to his will with close-drawn reins.\n And then, with much wild speech, and cursing loud\n His native land, oft calling on his sire, 1005\n He fiercely shook the reins above his steeds;\n When suddenly, far out the vast sea roared,\n And heaved itself to heaven. No wind was there\n To stir the sea, no quarter of the sky\n Broke in upon its peace; the rising waves\n Were by their own peculiar tempest raised. 1010\n No blast so great had ever stirred the straits\n Of Sicily, nor had the deep e'er swelled\n With such wild rage before the north wind's breath,\n When high cliffs trembled with the shock of waves,\n And hoary foam smote high Leucate's top.\n The sea then rose into a mighty heap, 1015\n And, big with monstrous birth, was landward borne.\n For no ship's wrecking was this swelling pest\n Intended; landward was its aim. The flood\n Rolled shoreward heavily, something unknown\n Within its laden bosom carrying.\n What land, new born, will lift its head aloft? 1020\n Is some new island of the Cyclades\n Arising? Now the rocky heights are hid,\n Held sacred to the Epidaurian god,\n And those high crags well known for Sciron's crime;\n No longer can be seen that land whose shores\n Are washed by double seas. While in amaze 1025\n We look in fear and wonder, suddenly\n The whole sea bellows, and on every side\n The towering cliffs re-echo with the roar;\n While all their tops the leaping spray bedews.\n The deep spouts forth and vomits up its waves\n In alternating streams, like some huge whale 1030\n Which roves the ocean, spouting up the floods.\n Then did that mound of waters strongly heave\n And break itself, and threw upon the shore\n A thing more terrible than all our fears.\n The sea itself rushed landward, following\n That monstrous thing. I shudder at the thought.\n What form and bearing had the monster huge! 1035\n A bull it was in form, with dark-green neck\n Uplifted high, its lofty front adorned\n With verdant mane. Its ears with shaggy hair\n Were rough; its horns with changing color flashed,\n Such as the lord of some fierce herd would have,\n Both earth and ocean-born. He vomits flames; 1040\n With flames his fierce eyes gleam. His glossy neck\n Great couch-like muscles shows, and as he breathes,\n His spreading nostrils quiver with the blast\n Of his deep panting. Breast and dewlap hang\n All green with clinging moss; and on his sides\n Red lichens cling. His hinder parts appear 1045\n In monstrous shape, and like some scaly fish\n His vast and shapeless members drag along;\n As are those monsters of the distant seas\n Which swallow ships, and spout[22] them forth again.\n The country-side was panic stricken; herds 1050\n In frenzied terror scattered through the fields;\n Nor did the herdsmen think to follow them.\n The wild beasts in the forest pastures fled\n In all directions, and the hunters shook\n With deadly fear. Hippolytus alone\n Was not afraid, but curbed his frantic steeds 1055\n With close-drawn reins, and with his well-known voice\n He cheered them on. The road to Argos[23] runs\n Precipitous along the broken hills,\n On one side bordered by the roaring sea.\n Here does that massive monster whet himself\n And kindle hot his wrath; then, when he felt\n His courage strong within his breast, and when\n His power to attempt the strife he had rehearsed, 1060\n He charged Hippolytus with headlong course,\n The ground scarce touching with his bounding feet;\n And, fearful, stopped before the trembling steeds.\n But this thy son, with savage countenance,\n Stood steadfast, threatening, before the foe.\n His features changed not, while he thundered loud: 1065\n \"This empty terror cannot daunt my soul,\n For 'twas my father's task to vanquish bulls.\"\n But straightway, disobedient to the reins,\n The horses hurried off the car. And now,\n The highway leaving, maddened by their fear,\n They plunged along where'er their terror led, 1070\n And took their way among the rocky fields.\n But he, their driver, as some captain strong\n Holds straight his bark upon the boisterous sea,\n Lest she oppose her side against the waves,\n And by his art escapes the yawning floods;\n Not otherwise he guides the whirling car. 1075\n For now with tight-drawn reins he curbs his steeds,\n And now upon their backs he plies the lash.\n But doggedly that monster kept along,\n Now running by their side, now leaping straight\n Upon them as they came, from every hand\n Great fear inspiring. Soon all further flight 1080\n Was checked; for that dread, horn\u00e9d, ocean beast\n With lowering front charged full against their course.\n Then, truly, did the horses, wild with fear,\n Break loose from all control; and from the yoke\n They madly struggled to withdraw their necks,\n Their master hurling to their stamping feet.\n Headlong among the lossened reins he fell, 1085\n His form all tangled in their clinging strands.\n The more he struggled to release himself\n The tighter those relentless fetters bound.\n The steeds perceived what they had done, and now,\n With empty car, and no one mastering them,\n They ran where terror bade. Just so, of old,\n Not recognizing their accustomed load, 1090\n And hot with anger that the car of day\n Had been entrusted to a spurious sun,\n The steeds of Phoebus hurled young Pha\u00ebthon\n Far through the airs of heaven in wandering course.\n Now far and wide he stains the fields with blood,\n His head rebounding from the smitten rocks.\n The bramble thickets pluck away his hair, 1095\n And that fair face is bruised upon the stones.\n His fatal beauty which had been his bane,\n Is ruined now by many a wound. His limbs\n Are dragged along upon the flying wheels.\n At last, his bleeding trunk upon a charred\n And pointed stake is caught, pierced through the groin;\n And for a little, by its master held, 1100\n The car stood still. The horses by that wound\n Were held awhile, but soon they break delay--\n And break their master too. While on they rush,\n The whipping branches cut his dying form,\n The rough and thorny brambles tear his flesh,\n And every bush retains its part of him.\n Now bands of servants scour those woeful fields, 1105\n Those places where Hippolytus was dragged,\n And where his bloody trail directs the way;\n And sorrowing dogs trace out their master's limbs.\n But not as yet has all this careful toil\n Of grieving friends sufficed to gather all. 1110\n And has it come to this, that glorious form?\n But now the partner of his father's realm,\n And his acknowledged heir, illustrious youth,\n Who shone refulgent like the stars--behold\n His scattered fragments for the funeral pile\n They gather up and heap them on the bier!\n\n _Theseus:_ O mother Nature, all too potent thou!\n How firmly dost thou hold me by the ties 1115\n Of blood! How thou dost force me to obey\n Thy will! I wished to slay my guilty son,\n While yet he lived; but now I mourn his loss.\n\n _Messenger:_ One may not rightly mourn what he has willed.[24]\n\n _Theseus:_ This is indeed the crowning woe, I think,\n When chance fulfils the prayers we should not make. 1120\n\n _Messenger:_ If still you hate your son, why weep for him?\n\n _Theseus:_ Because I slew, not lost my son, I weep.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ How on the wheel of circumstance\n We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk\n Does fate more gently rage, and God\n More lightly smites the lightly blest. 1125\n A life in dim retirement spent\n Insures a peaceful soul; and he\n Who in a lowly cottage dwells\n May live to tranquil age at last.\n The mountain tops that pierce the skies,\n Feel all the stormy winds that blow,\n Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats\n Of Boreas, and Corus too, 1130\n Storm bringer.\n The vale low lying seldom feels\n The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus,\n The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves\n Of mother Cybele have felt\n The bolts of Jove the Thunderer. 1135\n For Jupiter in jealousy\n Attacks the heights too near his skies;\n But never is the humble roof\n Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults.\n Round mighty kings and homes of kings 1140\n He thunders.\n The passing hour on doubtful wings\n Flits ever; nor may any claim\n Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king,\n Who sees at last the glowing stars\n And light of day, the gloom of hell\n Behind him left, a sad return 1145\n Laments; for this his welcome home\n He finds more sorrowful by far\n Than dismal, dark Avernus' self.\n O Pallas, by the Athenian race\n In reverence held, that once again\n Thy Theseus sees the light of day, 1150\n And has escaped the pools of Styx,\n Thou owest naught to greedy Dis;\n For still the number of the shades\n Within the infernal tyrant's power\n Remains the same.\n But why the sounds of wailing that we hear?\n And what would Phaedra with her naked sword? 1155\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[22] Reading, _reddit_.\n\n[23] Reading, _Argos_.\n\n[24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_.\n\n\nACT V\n\n[_Enter_ Phaedra _with a drawn sword in her hand_.]\n\n _Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: What madness pricks thee on, all wild\n with grief?\n What means that sword? or why these loud laments?\n Why weepest thou above the hated corpse?\n\n _Phaedra:_ Me, me, O savage ruler of the deep,\n Attack; against me send the monstrous shapes 1160\n That breed within the caverns of the sea,\n Whatever Tethys in her heart conceals,\n And ocean hides within his wandering waves.\n O Theseus, always ill of omen thou!\n Oh, never to thy loved ones safe returned,\n Since son and father by their death have paid 1165\n For thy home-coming. Thou of thine own house\n Art the destroyer; ever baneful thou,\n Whether in love or hatred of thy wives.\n [_Turning to the mangled corpse._]\n Hippolytus, is this thy face I see?\n Have I brought thee to this? What Sinis wild,\n What pitiless Procrustes mangled thee? 1170\n What Cretan bull-man, filling all the cave\n Of Daedalus with his vast bellowings,\n Has rent thee thus upon his savage horns?\n Ah me! where now is fled thy beauty bright,\n Thy eyes, my stars? Dost thou all lifeless lie?\n Come back a little while and hear my words. 1175\n 'Tis nothing base I speak. With my own hand\n I'll make thee full atonement, and will plunge\n The avenging sword within my sinful breast,\n And so be free from life and guilt at once.\n Thee will I follow through Tartarean pools.\n Across the Styx, through streams of liquid fire. 1180\n Let me appease the spirit of the dead.\n Accept the spoils I offer, take this lock\n Torn from my bleeding forehead. 'Twas not right\n To join our souls in life; but surely now\n We may by death unite our fates.\n [_To herself._]\n Now die,\n If thou art undefiled, to appease thy lord;\n But if defiled, die for thy lover's sake. 1185\n Is't meet that I should live and seek again\n My husband's couch, by such foul incest stained?\n This wrong was lacking still, that, as if pure,\n Thou shouldst enjoy that union, justified.\n O death, thou only cure for evil love,\n For injured chastity the last resort:\n I fly to thee; spread wide thy soothing arms. 1190\n Hear me, O Athens; thou, O father, hear,\n Thou worse than stepdame: I have falsely sworn.\n The crime, which I myself within my heart,\n With passion mad, conceived, I basely charged\n To him. An empty vengeance hast thou wrought\n Upon thy son; for he in chastity, 1195\n Through fault of the unchaste, lies there, unstained\n And innocent.\n [_To_ Hippolytus.]\n Regain thine honor now;\n Behold my impious breast awaits the stroke\n Of justice, and my blood makes sacrifice\n Unto the spirit of a guiltless man.\n [_To_ Theseus.]\n How thou mayst recompense thy murdered son,\n Learn now from me--and seek the Acheron. 1200\n\n[_She falls upon her sword and dies._]\n\n _Theseus:_ Ye jaws of wan Avernus, and ye caves\n Of Taenara, ye floods of Lethe's stream,\n A soothing balm to hearts o'ercome with grief,\n Ye sluggish pools: take ye my impious soul\n And plunge me deep in your eternal woes.\n Now come, ye savage monsters of the deep,\n Whatever Proteus hides within his caves, 1205\n And drown me in your pools, me who rejoice\n In crime so hideous. O father, thou\n Who ever dost too readily assent\n Unto my wrathful prayers, I merit not\n An easy death, who on my son have brought\n A death so strange, and scattered through the fields\n His mangled limbs; who, while, as austere judge,\n I sought to punish evil falsely charged, 1210\n Have fallen myself into the pit of crime.\n For heaven, hell, and seas have by my sins\n Been peopled; now no further lot remains;\n Three kingdoms know me now. Was it for this\n That I returned? Was heaven's light restored\n To me that I might see two funerals,\n A double death? That I, bereft of wife 1215\n And son, should with one torch upon the pyre\n Consume them both? Thou giver of the light\n Which has so baleful proved, O, Hercules,\n Take back thy boon, and give me up again\n To Dis; restore me to the curs\u00e9d shades\n Whom I escaped. Oh, impious, in vain\n I call upon that death I left behind. 1220\n Thou bloody man, well skilled in deadly arts,\n Who hast contrived unwonted ways of death\n And terrible, now deal unto thyself\n The fitting punishment. Let some great pine\n Be bent to earth and hurl thee high in air;\n Or let me headlong leap from Sciron's cliff. 1225\n More dreadful punishments have I beheld,\n Which Phlegethon upon the guilty souls\n Encircled by his fiery stream inflicts.\n What suffering awaits me, and what place,\n Full well I know. Make room, ye guilty shades;\n On me, me only, let that rock be placed,\n The everlasting toil of Sisyphus, 1230\n And let these wearied hands upbear its weight;\n Let cooling waters lap and mock my lips;\n Let that fell vulture fly from Tityos,\n And let my vitals ever living be\n For punishment. And thou, Ixion, sire 1235\n Of my Piritho\u00fcs, take rest awhile,\n And let the wheel that never stops its flight\n Bear these my limbs upon its whirling rim.\n Now yawn, O earth, and chaos dire, receive,\n I pray, receive me to your depths; for thus\n 'Tis fitting that I journey to the shades.\n I go to meet my son. And fear thou not, 1240\n Thou king of dead men's souls; I come in peace\n To that eternal home, whence ne'er again\n Shall I come forth.\n My prayers move not the gods.\n But if some impious plea I made to them,\n How ready would they be to grant my prayer!\n\n _Chorus:_ Theseus, thou hast unending time to mourn.\n Now pay the funeral honors due thy son, 1245\n And bury these poor torn and scattered limbs.\n\n _Theseus:_ Then hither bring the pitiful remains\n Of that dear corpse, and heap together here\n That shapeless mass of flesh, those mangled limbs.\n Is this Hippolytus? I realize\n My depth of crime, for I have murdered thee. 1250\n And lest but once and I alone should sin,\n A parent, bent to do an impious thing,\n My father did I summon to my aid.\n Behold, my father's boon do I enjoy.\n O childlessness, a bitter loss art thou\n For broken age! But come, embrace his limbs,\n Whatever of thy hapless son is left,\n And clasp them, wretched father, to thy breast. 1255\n Arrange in order those dismembered parts,\n And to their proper place restore them. Here\n His brave right hand should be. Place here the left,\n Well trained to curb his horses with the reins.\n The marks of his left side I recognize; 1260\n And yet how large a part is lacking still\n Unto our tears. Be firm, ye trembling hands,\n To do the last sad offices of grief;\n Be dry, my cheeks, and stay your flowing tears,\n While I count o'er the members of my son,\n And lay his body out for burial. 1265\n What is this shapeless piece, on all sides torn\n With many a wound? I know not what it is,\n Save that 'tis part of thee. Here lay it down.\n Not in its own, but in an empty place.\n That face, that once with starry splendor gleamed,\n That softened by its grace e'en foemen's eyes, 1270\n Has that bright beauty come to this? O fate,\n How bitter! Deadly favor of the gods!\n And is it thus my son comes back to me\n In answer to my prayers? These final rites\n Thy father pays, receive, O thou my son,\n Who often to thy funeral must be borne.\n And now let fires consume these dear remains.\n Throw open wide my palace, dark with death, 1275\n And let all Athens ring with loud laments.\n Do some of you prepare the royal pyre,\n And others seek yet farther in the fields\n His scattered parts.\n [_Pointing to_ Phaedra's _corpse_.]\n Let earth on her be spread,\n And may it heavy rest upon her head. 1280\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES OETAEUS\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES OETAEUS\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\nHERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena.\n\n_Hyllus_ Son of Hercules and Deianira.\n\n_Alcmena_ Daughter of Electryon, king of Mycenae.\n\n_Deianira_ Daughter of Oeneus, king of Aetolia, and wife of Hercules.\n\n_Iole_ Daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia.\n\n_Nurse_ Of Deianira.\n\n_Philoctetes_ A prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, and the faithful\nfriend of Hercules.\n\n_Lichas_ The messenger (_persona muta_) of Deianira to Hercules.\n\n_Chorus_ Of Aetolian women, faithful to Deianira.\n\n_Band_ Of Oechalian maidens, suffering captivity in company with Iole.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid, first in Euboea, and later at the home of Hercules\nin Trachin.\n\n\n_The long, heroic life of Hercules has neared its end. His twelve great\ntasks, assigned him by Eurystheus through Juno's hatred, have been\ndone. His latest victory was over Eurytus, king of Oechalia. Him he\nslew and overthrew his house, because the monarch would not give him\nIole to wife._\n\n_And now the hero, having overcome the world, and Pluto's realm beneath\nthe earth, aspires to heaven. He sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, and prays\nat last to be received into his proper home._\n\n\nACT I\n\n[_On the Cenaean promontory of the island of Euboea._]\n\n _Hercules_ [_about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove_]: O sire of gods,\n from whose almighty hand\n Both homes of Phoebus feel thy darting bolt:\n Rule now serene, for I have 'stablished peace\n Wherever Nereus checks the spreading lands.\n Now let thy thunders rest; for treacherous kings 5\n And savage tyrants are in ruin laid.\n Whatever merited thy blasting darts\n Have I o'erthrown and crushed. But, father, why\n Is heaven still denied to me, thy son?\n For surely have I ever shown myself\n A worthy child of Jove; and Juno's self,\n My hard task-mistress, testifies to this,\n That I am born of thee. Why dost thou still 10\n Contrive delays? Am I thy cause of fear?\n Will Atlas not avail to prop the skies\n If to their bulk the weight of Hercules\n Be superadded? Why, O father, why\n Dost thou deny the stars to me? To thee\n Did death restore me; every monstrous shape\n Which had its source in earth or sea or air,\n Or hell itself, has yielded to my arms. 15\n No lion treads the Arcadian cities now;\n Stymphalus fears no more its noxious birds;\n The wondrous stag of Maenalus is dead;\n The watchful dragon spattered with its blood\n The golden grove; the hydra's force is gone;\n Those famous horses to the Hebrus known,\n Which fattened on the blood of murdered guests, 20\n Have I destroyed, and spoils of war obtained\n In victory o'er my Amazonian foe.\n I saw the silent realms; nor all alone\n Did I return, but shuddering day beheld\n Dark Cerberus, and he beheld the sun.\n No more Antaeus, Libya's monarch huge,\n His strength renews; before his bloody shrines 25\n Busiris lies o'erthrown; by my sole hand\n The threefold Geryon was o'ercome and slain,\n And that dread terror of a hundred tribes,\n The Cretan bull, yea all the monstrous things\n To which the hostile world has given birth,\n Have fallen in utter ruin by my hand.\n If now the earth can show no monsters more, 30\n If now my stepdame has her wrath fulfilled,\n Restore the father to his son; yea, more--\n Admit the hero to his proper skies.\n I ask not that thou point the way to me;\n Permit it only, father, and the way\n I'll find. Or, if thou fearest that the earth\n Shall to the light new shapes of terror bring,\n Let them make haste to come, whate'er they be, 35\n While still the earth beholds her Hercules.\n For who will e'er again these fearsome things\n Attack, or who, throughout the towns of Greece,\n Will e'er be worthy of great Juno's hate?\n In truth, my praises have I safe bestowed,\n Since now there is no land but sings of me.\n The Scythian, dwelling in the frozen North, 40\n The Indian, smitten by the burning rays\n Of Phoebus, and the tropic African:\n All know my fame. O glowing Sun, I thee\n As witness call: I have encountered thee\n Where'er thou shin'st; nor have thy darting beams\n Availed to follow my triumphant course.\n I've gone beyond the reaches of the sun,\n And daylight halted far within my bounds. 45\n The world of nature yielded; for my steps\n No earth remained. She was exhausted first.\n But night and utter chaos met me there.\n From that dark realm whence no one e'er returns,\n Have I come back to earth. Old Ocean's threats\n Have I endured; no raging storm of his 50\n Has e'er prevailed to overcome the bark\n In which I fared. How small a part I tell![25]\n Exhausted is the air and can no more\n Suffice to feed the hatred of thy wife;\n The earth in fear brings forth no monster more\n For me to conquer, no wild beasts of prey.\n These are denied to me, and in the stead 55\n Of monster have I come myself to be.\n How many evils have I overcome,\n Though all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing\n Opposed, these empty hands have overthrown;\n Nor did there ever live a savage beast\n Which I as boy or infant feared to meet.\n My bidden labors have seemed always light,\n And no day ever dawned that brought to me 60\n No strenuous toil. How many monstrous tasks\n Have I fulfilled which no king set to me!\n A harder master has my courage been\n Than ever Juno was. But what avails\n That I have saved the human race from fear?\n The gods in consequence have lost their peace.\n The freed earth sees whatever she has feared 65\n Now set in heaven; for Juno thitherward\n Hath borne the beasts I slew. Restored to life,\n The Crab fares safely in his torrid path,\n A constellation now in southern skies,\n And ripens Libya's waving fields of grain.\n The Lion to the heavenly Virgin gives\n The flying year; but he, with beaming mane 70\n Upon his wild neck tossing, dries the winds\n Which drip with moisture, and the clouds devours.\n Behold, the beasts have all invaded heaven,\n Forestalling me. Though victor, here I stand\n Upon the earth, and view my labors there.\n For Juno to the monsters and the beasts\n Has given stars, that so the heavenly realm 75\n Might be for me a place of terror made.\n But no! Though in her wrath she fill the skies\n With monsters, though she make the heavens worse\n Than earth and hell, yet shall a place be given\n To Hercules. If, after beasts and wars,\n If, after I subdued the Stygian dog,\n I have not earned a place among the stars, 80\n Then shall Sicilian Pelorus touch\n Hesperia's shores, and both shall be one land.\n I'll put the intervening sea to flight;\n Or, if thou wilt that severed seas be joined,\n Then Isthmus shall give passage to the waves,\n And Attic vessels by a new-found way\n Shall sail united seas. I'll change the world. 85\n Along new channels shall the Hister flow,\n And Tana\u00efs find new passage to the sea.\n Grant, grant, O Jupiter, this boon to me,\n That I at least may shield the gods from harm.\n There mayst thou lay aside thy thunderbolts,\n Where I stand guard against thy enemies.\n Whether thou bid'st me guard the icy pole,\n Or o'er the torrid regions watch, be sure 90\n That on that side the gods may be at rest.\n Apollo earned the shrine of Pythia\n And heaven, because he slew the Python huge;\n But Oh, how many Pythons did I slay\n In that dire hydra! Bacchus, Perseus, too,\n Have found a place among the heavenly gods. 95\n How small that eastern portion of the earth\n Which he subdued! How meager is the spoil\n Which Perseus in the stony Gorgon gained!\n What son of thine from Juno born has earned\n A place in heaven because of his renown?\n I seek the skies which I myself have borne.\n [_Turning to_ Lichas.]\n But thou, O Lichas, comrade of my toils,\n Go tell my triumphs over Eurytus, 100\n His lares conquered and his realm o'erthrown.\n [_To his attendants._]\n Do you with speed the victims hurry on\n To where the temple of Cenaean Jove\n Looks off upon the wild Euboean sea.\n\n _Band of captive Oechalian maidens:_ The mate of the immortals he,\n Whose life and fortune hand in hand\n Go on apace. But worse than death 105\n Is life, dragged on with many groans.\n Whoe'er has trodden under foot\n The greedy fates, and can disdain\n The boat that plies on death's dark stream,\n Will never feel the galling chains\n Upon his captive arms; nor grace,\n As noble spoil, the victor's train. 110\n For he who faces death with joy\n Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark\n Be wrecked upon the stormy sea\n Where Africus with Boreas,\n And Zephyrus with Eurus strive,\n And rend the seas; he does not seek\n To gather up the broken parts 115\n Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea,\n He still may cherish hopes of land.\n For he, who ever ready stands\n To give his life, alone is safe\n From all the perils of the storm.\n But we are held by shameful grief,\n The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears,\n By the ashes of our fatherland\n Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame, 120\n Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms.\n Thou dost pursue the fortunate,\n O death, but fleest from wretched souls.\n Behold, we live: but Oh, no more,\n Our country's walls[26] remain; their place\n Shall soon be hidden by the woods,\n And all our temples fall away\n To squalid hovels. Even now 125\n The cold Dolopian will come\n And o'er the ashes, glowing yet,\n Sad remnants of Oechalia,\n Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas,\n Within our walls, the shepherd rude\n Shall sing upon his rustic pipes,\n With doleful voice, our history. 130\n And when the hand of God shall speed\n A few more generations on,\n The very place where once we dwelt\n Will be forgotten. Happy once,\n I kept no barren hearth at home;\n Not mine the hungry acres then\n Of Thessaly. But now I'm called\n To Trachin's rough and stony land, 135\n To ridges parched and jungle-set,\n To groves which e'en the mountain goat\n Would not inhabit. But, perchance,\n Some milder fate the captives calls.\n Then will they see the Inachus,\n Whose rapid waves shall bear them on,\n Or dwell within Dircaean walls 140\n Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream--\n And where was once the mother wed\n Of mighty Hercules.\n False is that tale of doubled night,\n When overlong the stars delayed\n Within the skies, and Hesperus\n In place of Lucifer arose,\n And Delia with tardy car 145\n Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag\n Begot thee, or what stony mount?\n Like some wild Titan wast thou born\n On Rhodope, or Athos rough?\n What savage beast on Caspian shores,\n What spotted tigress, suckled thee? 150\n Impervious to wounds is he.\n Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent\n Against his heart; and glittering swords,\n Upon his naked members struck,\n In broken fragment drop apart;\n Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound.\n And so he scorns the deadly fates, 155\n And, all invincible, provokes\n His death. No spears can pierce his heart,\n No arrow shot from Scythian bow,\n No darts which cold Sarmatians bear,\n Or they who dwell beneath the dawn,\n The Parthians, whose fatal shafts\n More deadly than the Cretan dart, 160\n The neighboring Nabathaeans wound.\n Oechalia's walls he overthrew\n With his bare hands. Naught can withstand\n His onslaught. For whate'er he plans\n To overcome, is by that fact\n Already overcome. How few\n The foes who by his wounds have fallen!\n His angry countenance means death; 165\n And to have met his threatening gaze\n Is worse than death. What Gyas huge,\n What vast Briareus, who stood\n Upon Thessalia's mountain heap\n And clutched at heaven with snaky hands,\n Would not have frozen at the glance\n Of that dread face? But mighty ills 170\n Have mighty recompense: no more\n Is left to suffer--we have seen,\n Oh, woe! the angry Hercules!\n\n _Iole:_ But I, unhappy one, must mourn,\n Not temples with their gods o'erthrown,\n Not scattered hearths and burning homes,\n Where lie in common ruin mixed\n Fathers with sons, and gods with men, 175\n Temples and towns--the common woe;\n But fortune calls my tears away\n To other grief. Fate bids me weep\n O'er other ruins. What lament 180\n Shall I make first? What greatest ill\n Shall I bewail? All equally\n I'll weep. Ah me, that mother earth\n Hath not more bosoms given me,\n That worthily they might resound\n Unto my grief. But, O ye gods,\n Transform me to a weeping rock\n On Sipylus; or set me where, 185\n Between its grassy banks, the Po\n Glides on, where grieving woods respond\n To the mourning of the sisters sad\n Of Pha\u00ebthon; or to the shores\n Of Sicily transport me. There,\n Another Siren, let me mourn 190\n The woeful fate of Thessaly.\n Or bear me to the Thracian woods,\n Where, underneath Ismarian shade,\n The Daulian bird bewails her son.\n Give me a form to fit my tears,\n And let rough Trachin echo back 195\n My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid\n Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;\n Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans\n Her vanished lord; and Niobe,\n Surviving life and grief, weeps on;\n Her human form has Philomel\n Escaped, and now with doleful notes\n The Attic maid bewails her dead. 200\n Oh, that my arms were feathered wings!\n Oh, then, how happy would I be,\n When, hidden in the forest depths,\n I might lament in plaintive strain, 205\n And live in fame as Iole,\n The maiden bird. I saw, alas,\n I saw my father's dreadful fate,\n When, smitten with that deadly club,\n He fell, in mangled fragments dashed 210\n Throughout the palace hall. If then\n His fate had granted burial,\n How often had I searched, O sire,\n For all thy parts!\n How could I look upon thy death,\n O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks\n Unbearded yet, thy boyish veins\n Not yet with manhood's vigor filled?\n But why do I bewail your fates, 215\n O parents, whom to safety now\n Kind death has borne? My fortune bids\n That I bewail myself instead.\n Soon, ah too soon, in captive state,\n Shall I the flying spindle turn\n For some proud mistress in her hall.\n O cruel beauty, how hast thou 220\n Decreed my death! For thee alone\n Am I and all my house undone,\n Since when my sire to Hercules\n Refused my hand, because he feared\n Great Hercules as son-in-law.\n And now, not wife, but captive maid,\n I seek my haughty mistress' home.\n\n _Chorus:_ Why dost thou, foolish, ever dwell 225\n Upon thy sire's illustrious realm,\n And on thy own unhappy fate?\n Forget thy former station now;\n For only is he happy who,\n As king or slave, knows how to bear\n His lot, and fit his countenance\n To changing circumstance. For he 230\n Who bears his ills with steadfast soul\n Has from misfortune reft away\n Its strength and heaviness.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] Reading, _quam prosequor_.\n\n[26] Reading, _patriae moenibus_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n[_In the palace of_ Deianira _at Trachin_.]\n\n _Nurse of_ Deianira: Oh, bitter is the rage a woman feels,\n When in one house both wife and mistress dwell!\n No wrecking Scylla, no Charybdis dire, 235\n The wild upheavers of Sicilia's waves,\n No savage beast, is more untamed than she.\n For when the maiden's beauty was revealed,\n And Iole shone like the cloudless sky,\n Or gleaming stars within the heavens serene,\n Then did Alcides' bride like one distraught 240\n Stand gazing fiercely on the captive maid;\n As when a tigress, lying with her young\n Beneath some rock in far Armenia,\n Leaps up to meet an enemy's approach;\n Or as a Maenad, by the god inspired,\n And bidden shake the thyrsus, stands awhile\n In wonder whither she shall take her way.\n Then she throughout the house of Hercules 245\n Goes madly rushing; nor does all the house\n Give space enough. Now here, now there she runs,\n At random wandering; and now she stands,\n Her face reflecting woe in every line,\n The inmost feelings of her heart revealed.\n She threatens fiercely, then a flood of tears\n Succeeds to threats. No mood for long endures, 250\n Nor can one form of rage content her long.\n Now flame her cheeks with wrath; pale terror now\n Drives out the flush of anger, and her grief\n Takes every form that maddened sorrow knows:\n Complainings, prayers, and groans. But now the doors\n Are creaking: see, she comes in frenzied haste,\n With words confused revealing all her heart. 255\n\n[_Enter_ Deianira.]\n\n _Deianira:_ O wife of Jove, where'er in heaven thou dwell'st,\n Against Alcides send some raging beast\n That shall be dire enough to sate my wrath.\n If any hydra rears its fertile head\n Too vast to be contained in any pool,\n Impossible of conquest, send it forth.\n If anything is worse than other beasts, 260\n Enormous, unrelenting, horrible,\n From which the eye of even Hercules\n Would turn in fear, let such an one come out\n From its huge den. But if no beasts avail,\n This heart of mine into some monster change;\n For of my hate can any shape be made\n That thou desir'st. Oh, mould my woman's form 265\n To match my grief. My breast cannot contain\n Its rage. Why dost thou search the farthest bounds\n Of earth, and overturn the world? Or why\n Dost thou demand of hell its evil shapes?\n This breast of mine will furnish for thy use\n All fearful things. To work thy deadly hate 270\n Use me as tool. Thou canst destroy him quite.\n Do thou but use these hands for what thou will.\n Why dost thou hesitate, O goddess? See,\n Use me, the raging one. What impious deed\n Dost thou command? Decide. Why doubtful stand?\n Now mayst thou rest awhile from all thy toils,\n For my rage is enough. 275\n\n _Nurse:_ O child of mine,\n These sad outpourings of thy maddened heart\n Restrain, quench passion's fire, and curb thy grief.\n Show now that thou art wife of Hercules.\n\n _Deianira:_ Shall captive Iole unto my sons\n Give brothers, and a lowly slave become\n The daughter-in-law of Jove? In common course\n Will fire and rushing torrent never run; 280\n The thirsty Bear will never taste the sea--\n And never shall my woes go unavenged.\n Though thou didst bear the vasty heavens up,\n Though all the world is debtor unto thee,\n 'Twill not avail thee now, for thou shalt find\n A monster greater far than Hydra's rage,\n An angry wife's revenge, awaiting thee.\n The flames that leap from Aetna's top to heaven 285\n Burn not so fiercely as my passion's fire\n Which shall outvie whate'er thou hast o'ercome.\n Shall then a captive slave usurp my bed?\n Before, I feared the monsters dire; but now,\n Those pests have vanished quite, and in their stead\n This hated rival comes. O mighty God, 290\n Of all gods ruler, O thou lustrous Sun,\n 'Tis only in his perils, then, it seems,\n Have I been wife to Hercules. The gods\n Have granted to the captive all my prayers;\n For her behoof have I been fortunate.\n Ye heard, indeed, my prayers, O gods of heaven,\n And Hercules is safe returned--for her! 295\n O grief, that no revenge can satisfy,\n Seek out some dreadful means of punishment,\n By man unthought of and unspeakable.\n Teach Juno's self how slight her hatred is.\n She knows not how to rage. O Hercules,\n For me didst thou thy mighty battles wage;\n For me did Achelo\u00fcs dye his waves 300\n With his own blood in mortal strife with thee,\n When now a writhing serpent he became,\n Now to a threatening bull he turned himself,\n And thou a thousand beasts didst overcome\n In one sole enemy. But now, alas,\n Am I no longer pleasing in thy sight,\n And this base captive is preferred to me.\n But this she shall not be. For that same day 305\n Which ends our married joys shall end thy life.\n But what is this? My rage begins to fail\n And moderate its threats. My anger's gone.\n Why dost thou languish thus, O wretched grief?\n Wilt thou give o'er thy passion, be again\n The faithful, uncomplaining wife? Ah no!\n Why dost thou strive to check the flames of wrath? 310\n Why quench its fire? Let me but keep my rage,\n And I shall be the peer of Hercules,\n And I shall need to seek no heavenly aid.\n But still, though all uncalled, will Juno come\n To guide my hands.\n\n _Nurse:_ What crime dost thou intend,\n O foolish one? Wilt slay thy noble lord, 315\n Whose praises from the east to west are known,\n Whose fame extends from earth to highest heaven?\n For all the earth will rise to avenge his death;\n And this thy father's house and all thy race\n Will be the first to fall. Soon rocks and brands 320\n Will be against thee hurled, since every land\n Will its protector shield; and thou alone\n Wilt suffer many, many penalties.\n Suppose thou canst escape the world of men;\n Still must thou face the thunderbolts of Jove,\n The father of Alcides. Even now\n His threat'ning torches gleam athwart the sky, 325\n And all the heavens tremble with the shock.\n Nay, death itself, wherein thou hop'st to find\n A place of safe retreat--fear that as well;\n For there Alcides' uncle reigns supreme.\n Turn where thou wilt, O wretched woman; there\n Shalt thou behold thy husband's kindred gods. 330\n\n _Deianira:_ A fearful crime it is, I do confess;\n But Oh, my passion bids me do it still.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thou'lt die.\n\n _Deianira:_ But as the wife of Hercules\n I'll die; no night shall ever bring the day\n That shall behold me cheated of my own,\n Nor shall a captive mistress have my bed.\n Sooner shall western skies give birth to day; 335\n Sooner shall men of India make their home\n Beneath the icy pole, and Phoebus tan\n With his hot rays the shivering Scythians,\n Than shall the dames of Thessaly behold\n My downfall. For with my own blood I'll quench\n The marriage torches. Either he shall die,\n Or slay me with his hand. To all the beasts 340\n Whom he has slaughtered let him add his wife;\n Let me be numbered 'mongst his mighty deeds;\n But in my death my body still shall claim\n The couch of Hercules. Oh, sweet, 'tis sweet\n To fare to Hades as Alcides' bride,\n And not without my vengeance. If, indeed, 345\n From Hercules my rival has conceived,\n With my own hands I'll tear the child away\n Untimely, and that shameless harlot face\n Within her very wedding torches' glare.\n And though in wrath upon his nuptial day\n He slay me as a victim at the shrine,\n Let me but fall upon my rival's corse,\n And I shall die content. For happy he\n Who drags with him his enemy to death. 350\n\n _Nurse:_ Why dost thou feed thy passion's flames, poor child,\n And nurse thy grief? Why cherish needless fear?\n He did feel love for Iole, 'tis true;\n But in the time while yet her father reigned,\n And while she was a haughty monarch's child.\n The princess now has fallen to the place\n Of slave, and love has lost its power to charm, 355\n Since her unhappy state has stol'n from her\n Her loveliness. The unattainable\n Is ever sought in love. But from the thing\n That is within his reach love turns away.\n\n _Deianira:_ Nay: fallen fortunes fan the flames of love;\n And for this very reason does he love,\n Because her home is lost, and from her head\n The crown of gleaming gold and gems has fallen. 360\n For these her woes he pities her--and loves.\n 'Twas e'er his wont to love his captive maids.\n\n _Nurse:_ 'Tis true, he loved the captive Trojan maid,\n Young Priam's sister; but he gave her up.\n Recall how many dames, how many maids\n Aforetime he has loved, this wandering swain. 365\n The Arcadian maiden Auge, while she led\n The choral dance of Pallas, roused his love\n And suffered straight his passionate embrace.\n But from his heart she quickly fell away,\n And now retains no traces of his love.\n Why mention others? The Thespiades\n Enjoyed the passing love of Hercules, 370\n But are forgotten. Soon, a wanderer\n Upon Timolus, he caressed the queen\n Of Lydia, and, smitten by her love,\n He sat beside the whirling distaff there,\n His doughty fingers on the moistened thread.\n His neck no longer bears the lion's spoil;\n But there he sits, a languid, love-sick slave,\n His shaggy locks with Phrygian turban bound, 375\n And dripping with the costly oil of myrrh.\n Yes, everywhere he feels the fires of love,\n But always does he glow with transient flame.\n\n _Deianira:_ But lovers after many transient flames,\n Are wont at last to choose a single love.\n\n _Nurse:_ And could Alcides choose instead of thee\n A slave, the daughter of his enemy? 380\n\n _Deianira:_ As budding groves put on a joyous form\n When spring's warm breezes clothe the naked boughs;\n But, when the northwind rages in their stead,\n And savage winter strips the leaves away,\n Thou seest naught but bare and shapeless trunks:\n So this my beauty, which has traveled far 385\n Along the road of life, has lost its bloom,\n And gleams less brightly than in former years.\n Behold that loveliness--but Oh, whate'er\n Was once by many suitors sought in me,\n Has vanished quite; for toils of motherhood\n Have stolen my beauty, and with speeding foot\n Advancing age has hurried it away. 390\n But, as thou seest, this slave has not yet lost\n Her glorious charms. Her queenly robes, 'tis true,\n Have yielded to the garb of poverty;\n Still, through her very grief her beauty shines,\n And nothing save her kingdom has she lost\n By this hard stroke of fate. This fear of her 395\n Doth vex my heart and take away my sleep.\n I once was in the eyes of all the world\n The wife most to be praised; and every bride\n Longed for a mate like mine with envious prayers;\n And every soul that asked the gods for aught,\n Took me as type and measure of her vows. 400\n What father shall I ever find, O nurse,\n To equal Jove? What husband like to mine\n In all the world? Though he, Eurystheus' self,\n Beneath whose power my Hercules is placed,\n Should take me for his wife, 'twould not suffice.\n A trifling thing, to miss a royal couch; 405\n But far she falls who loses Hercules.\n\n _Nurse:_ But children often win a husband's love.\n\n _Deianira:_ My rival's child perchance will win him too.\n\n _Nurse:_ I think that slave is but a gift for thee.\n\n _Deianira:_ This fellow whom thou seest wandering 410\n Throughout our Grecian cities, big with fame,\n A tawny lion's spoils upon his back,\n And in his dreadful hand a massive club;\n Who takes their realms away from haughty kings,\n And gives them to the weak; whose praise is sung\n By men of every land throughout the world: 415\n This man is but a trifler, without thought\n Of winning deathless glory for himself.\n He wanders through the earth, not in the hope\n That he may rival Jupiter, or go\n With great renown throughout the towns of Greece;\n His quest is ever love, the maiden's couch.\n He takes by force what is refused to him; 420\n He rages 'gainst the nations, seeks his brides\n Amidst the ruins of a people's hopes.\n And this wild carnival of lustful crime\n Is by the honored name, heroic, called.\n But now, illustrious Oechalia fell;\n One sun, one day beheld it stand--and fall.\n And of the strife the only cause was love.\n As often as a father shall refuse 425\n To give his daughter unto Hercules,\n And be the father of his enemy,\n So often need he be in mortal fear.\n If he is not accepted as a son,\n He smites in rage. Why then do I preserve\n In harmless inactivity these hands,\n Until he feign another fit of rage,\n And stretch his bow with deadly aim at me,\n And slaughter both his wife and child at once? 430\n Thus 'tis his wont to put away his wives;\n And such his cruel method of divorce.\n But he cannot be held the guilty one!\n For he contrives to make the world believe\n That Juno is the cause of all his crimes.\n O sluggish passion, why inactive stand?\n Anticipate his crime, and act at once\n While still thy hands are burning for the deed. 435\n\n _Nurse:_ Wilt kill thy husband?\n\n _Deianira:_ And my rival's too.\n\n _Nurse:_ The son of Jove?\n\n _Deianira:_ Alcmena's son as well.\n\n _Nurse:_ With the sword?\n\n _Deianira:_ The sword.\n\n _Nurse:_ If not?\n\n _Deianira:_ With guile I'll slay.\n\n _Nurse:_ What madness this?\n\n _Deianira:_ That which I learned of him.\n\n _Nurse:_ Whom Juno could not harm wilt thou destroy? 440\n\n _Deianira:_ Celestial anger only wretched makes\n Those whom it touches; mortal wrath destroys.\n\n _Nurse:_ Oh, spare thy husband, wretched one, and fear.\n\n _Deianira:_ The one who first has learned the scorn of death,\n Scorns everything. 'Tis sweet to meet the sword.\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy grief is all too great, my foster-child;\n Let not his fault claim more than equal hate. 445\n Why dost so sternly judge a light offense?\n Nay, suit thy grieving to thine injury.\n\n _Deianira:_ But dost thou call a mistress light offense?\n Of all that feeds my grief, count this the worst.\n\n _Nurse:_ And has thy love for great Alcides fled?\n\n _Deianira:_ Not fled, dear nurse, believe me; still it lies 450\n Securely fixed within my inmost heart.\n But outraged love is poignant misery.\n\n _Nurse:_ By magic arts united to their prayers\n Do wives full oft their wandering husbands bind.\n I have myself in midst of winter's cold\n Commanded trees to clothe themselves in green,\n The thunderbolt to stop; I've roused the sea 455\n When no wind blew, and calmed the swollen waves;\n The thirsty plain has opened at my touch\n To springs of water; rocks give way to me,\n And doors fly open; when I bid them stand\n The shades of hell obey, and talk with me;\n The infernal dog is still at my command; 460\n Midnight has seen the sun, midday the night.\n For sea, land, heaven, and hell obey my will,\n And nothing can withstand my potent charms.\n Then let us bend him; charms will find the way.\n\n _Deianira:_ What magic herbs does distant Pontus yield, 465\n Or Pindus 'neath the rocks of Thessaly,\n Where I may find a charm to bend his will?\n Though Luna leave the stars and fall to earth,\n Obedient to thy magic; though the crops\n In winter ripen; though the hurtling bolt\n Stand still at thy command; though all the laws 470\n Of nature be reversed, and stars shine out\n Upon the noonday skies--he would not yield.\n\n _Nurse:_ But Love has conquered e'en the heavenly gods.\n\n _Deianira:_ Perhaps by one alone he will himself\n Be conquered, and give spoils of war to him,\n And so become Alcides' latest task.\n But by each separate god of heaven I pray, 475\n By this my fear: what secret I disclose\n Keep hidden thou and close within thy breast.\n\n _Nurse:_ What secret wouldst thou then so closely guard?\n\n _Deianira:_ I mean no weapons, arms, or threatening flames.\n\n _Nurse:_ I can give pledge of faith, if it be free 480\n From sin; for sometimes faith itself is sin.\n\n _Deianira:_ Lest someone hear my secret, look about;\n In all directions turn thy watchful gaze.\n\n _Nurse:_ Behold, the place is free from curious eyes.\n\n _Deianira:_ Deep hidden, far within this royal pile, 485\n There is a cave that guards my secret well.\n Neither the rising sun can reach the spot\n With its fresh beams; nor can its latest rays,\n When Titan leads the weary day to rest,\n And plunges 'neath the ruddy ocean's waves.\n There lies a charm that can restore to me 490\n The love of Hercules. I'll tell thee all.\n The giver of the charm was Nessus, he\n Whom Nephele to bold Ixion bore,\n Where lofty[27] Pindus towers to the skies,\n And high above the clouds cold Othrys stands.\n For when, compelled by dread Alcides' club 495\n To shift with ready ease from form to form\n Of beasts, and, overcome in every form,\n At last bold Achelo\u00fcs bowed his head\n With its one horn defiled; then Hercules,\n Exulting in his triumph, claimed his bride\n And bore me off to Argos. Then, it chanced, 500\n Evenus' stream that wanders through the plain,\n Its whirling waters bearing to the sea,\n Was swollen beyond its banks[28] with turbid flood.\n Here Nessus, well accustomed to the stream,\n Required a price for bearing me across; 505\n And on his back, where beast and human join,\n He took me, boldly stemming every wave.\n Now was fierce Nessus well across the stream,\n And still in middle flood Alcides fared,\n Breasting with mighty strides the eager waves;\n When he, beholding Hercules afar, 510\n Cried, \"Thou shalt be my wife, my booty thou,\n For Hercules is held within the stream;\"\n And clasping me was galloping away.\n But now the waves could not thwart Hercules.\n \"O faithless ferryman,\" he shouted out,\n \"Though Ganges and the Ister join their floods, 515\n I shall o'ercome them both and check thy flight.\"\n His arrow sped before his words were done,\n Transfixing Nessus with a mortal wound,\n And stayed his flight. Then he, with dying eyes\n Seeking the light, within his hand caught up 520\n The flowing[29] gore; and in his hollow hoof,\n Which he with savage hand had wrenched away,\n He poured and handed it to me, and said:\n \"This blood, magicians say, contains a charm,\n Which can a wavering love restore; for so\n Thessalian dames by Mycale were taught, 525\n Who only, 'midst all wonder-working crones,\n Could lure the moon from out the starry skies.\n A garment well anointed with this gore\n Shalt thou present to him,\" the centaur said,\n \"If e'er a hated rival steal thy couch,\n If e'er thy husband in a fickle mood\n To heavenly Jove another daughter give. 530\n Let not the light of day shine on the charm,\n But in the thickest darkness let it lie.\n So shall the blood its magic power retain.\"\n So spake he; o'er his words a silence fell,\n And the sleep of death upon his weary limbs.\n Do thou, who knowest now my secret plans, 535\n Make haste and bring this charm to me, that so\n Its force, imparted to a gleaming robe,\n May at the touch dart through his soul, his limbs,\n And through the very marrow of his bones.\n\n _Nurse:_ With speed will I thy bidding do, dear child.\n And do thou call upon the god of love,\n Invincible, who with his tender hand 540\n Doth speed his arrows with unerring aim.\n\n[_Exit_ Nurse.]\n\n _Deianira_ [_invoking_ Cupid]: O wing\u00e9d boy, by earth and heaven\n feared,\n By creatures of the sea, and him who wields\n The bolts in Aetna forged; and dreaded too\n By thy relentless mother, queen of love:\n Aim with unerring hand thy swiftest dart.\n Not harmless be the shaft, but choose, I pray 545\n One of thy keenest arrows, which thy hand\n Has never used; for such must be thy dart\n If mighty Hercules be forced to love.\n Make firm thy hands and strongly bend thy bow;\n Now, now that shaft let loose which once thou aim'dst 550\n At Jove the terrible, what time the god\n Laid down his thunderbolts, and as a bull\n With swelling forehead clove the boisterous sea,\n And bore the Assyrian maiden as his prize.\n Now fill his heart with love; let him surpass\n All who have ever felt thy passion's power--\n And learn to love his wife. If Iole 555\n Has kindled flames of love within his heart,\n Extinguish them, and let him dream alone\n Of me. Thou who hast often conquered Jove,\n The Thunderer, and him whose scepter dark\n Holds sway within the gloomy underworld,\n The king of countless throngs, the lord of Styx; 560\n Whom angry Juno cannot quell: win thou\n Alone this triumph over Hercules.\n\n _Nurse_ [_returning with robe and charm ready_]: The charm from its\n dark hiding-place is brought,\n And that fair robe upon whose cunning web\n Thy maidens all have wrought with wearied hands.\n Now bring the poisoned blood and let the robe 565\n Drink in its magic power, while by my prayers\n Will I the charm augment.\n [_Enter_ Lichas.]\n But at the word\n The faithful Lichas comes. Quick! hide the charm,\n Lest by his mouth our plot may be revealed.\n\n _Deianira_ [_to_ Lichas]: O Lichas, ever faithful to thy lord,\n A name which mighty houses may not boast: 570\n Take thou this garment woven by my hands,\n While Hercules was wandering o'er the earth,\n Or, spent with wine, was holding in his arms\n The Lydian queen, or calling Iole.\n And yet, perchance, I still may turn his heart\n To me again by wifely service. Thus\n Have evil men full often been reclaimed. 575\n Before my husband puts this tunic on,\n Bid him burn incense and appease the gods,\n His rough locks wreathed with hoary poplar leaves.\n [Lichas _takes the robe and departs upon his mission_.]\n I will myself within the palace go\n And pray the mother of relentless love. 580\n [_To her Aetolian attendants._]\n Do ye, who from my father's house have come,\n Bewail the sad misfortunes of your queen.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Chorus of Aetolian women:_ We weep for thee, O lady dear,\n And for thy couch dishonored--we,\n The comrades of thy earliest years,\n Weep and lament thy fate. 585\n How often have we played with thee\n In Achelo\u00fcs' shallow pools,\n When now the swollen floods of spring\n Had passed away, and gently now,\n With graceful sweep, the river ran;\n When mad Lycormas ceased to roll 590\n His headlong waters on.\n How oft have we, a choral band,\n To Pallas' altars gone with thee;\n How oft in Theban baskets borne 595\n The sacred Bacchic mysteries,\n When now the wintry stars have fled,\n When each third summer calls the sun;\n And when, the sacred rites complete\n To Ceres, queen of golden grain,\n Eleusin hides her worshipers\n Within her mystic cave.\n Now too, whatever fate thou fear'st, 600\n Accept us as thy trusted friends;\n For rare is such fidelity\n When better fortune fails.\n O thou, who wield'st the scepter's power,\n Whoe'er thou art, though eagerly\n The people throng within thy courts, 605\n And press for entrance at thy doors;\n And though the crowds press thick about\n Where'er thou tak'st thy way: be sure\n That in so many seeming friends,\n Scarce one is true.\n Erinys keeps the gilded gate;\n And when the great doors swing apart, 610\n Then cunning treachery creeps in\n And fraud, and murderous dagger points.\n Whene'er thou think'st to walk abroad,\n Base envy as thy comrade goes.\n As often as the morning dawns\n Be sure a king from fear of death 615\n Has been delivered. Few there are\n Who love the king, and not his power.\n For 'tis the glitter of the throne\n That fires most hearts to loyalty.\n Now one is eager next the king\n To walk before the gaze of men,\n And so gain luster for himself;\n For greed of glory burns his heart. 620\n Another from the royal stores\n Seeks to supply his own desires;\n And yet not all the precious sands\n Of Hister's streams could satisfy,\n Nor Lydia sate his thirst for gold;\n Nor that far land where Zephyr blows,\n Which looks in wonder on the gleam 625\n Of Tagus' golden sands.\n Were all the wealth of Hebrus his;\n If rich Hydaspes were his own;\n If through his fields, with all its stream,\n He saw the Ganges flowing: still 630\n For greed, base greed 'twould not suffice.\n One honors kings and courts of kings,\n Not that his careful husbandmen\n Forever stooping o'er the plow\n May never cease their toil for him;\n Or that his peasantry may till 635\n His thousand fields: but wealth alone,\n Which he may hoard away, he seeks.\n Another worships kings, that so\n All other men he may oppress,\n May ruin many, none assist;\n And with this sole aim covets power,\n That he may use it ill.\n How few live out their fated span! 640\n Whom yesternight saw radiant\n With joy, the newborn day beholds\n In wretched case. How rare it is\n To find old age and happiness\n Combined. More soft than Tyrian couch,\n The greensward soothes to fearless sleep; 645\n But gilded ceilings break our rest,\n And sleepless through the night we lie\n On beds of luxury.\n Oh, should the rich lay bare their hearts,\n What fears which lofty fortune breeds\n Would be revealed! The Bruttian coast 650\n When Corus lashes up the sea\n Is calmer far. Not so the poor:\n His heart is ever full of peace.\n From shallow beechen cups he drinks,\n But not with trembling hands; his food\n Is cheap and common, but he sees 655\n No naked sword above his head.\n 'Tis in the cup of gold alone\n That blood is mingled with the wine.\n The poor man's wife no necklace wrought\n Of costly pearls, the red sea's gift, 660\n May wear; no gems from eastern shores\n Weigh down her ears; nor does she wear\n Soft scarlet wools in Tyrian dye\n Twice dipped; not hers with Lydian art\n To 'broider costly silks whose threads 665\n The Serians under sunlit skies\n From orient treetops gather; she\n With common herbs must dye the web\n Which she with unskilled hands has wov'n:\n But still her husband is her own, 670\n Her couch by rivals undisturbed.\n But favored brides, whose wedding day\n The thronging people celebrate,\n Fate with her cruel torch pursues.\n The poor no happiness can know\n Unless he sees the fortunate\n From their high station fallen.\n Whoever shuns the middle course 675\n Can never in safe pathways go.\n When once bold Pha\u00ebthon essayed\n Within his father's car to stand\n And give the day, and did not fare\n Along the accustomed track, but sought\n With wandering wheels to make his way 680\n With Phoebus' torch 'midst unknown stars--\n Himself he ruined and the earth\n In one destruction. Daedalus\n The middle course of heaven pursued,\n And so to peaceful shores attained\n And gave no sea its name. His son, 685\n Young Icarus, dared rival birds\n In flight, despised his father's wings,\n And soared high up into the realm\n Of Phoebus' rays: headlong he fell\n And to an unknown sea his name\n He gave. So are great fortunes joined 690\n To mighty ills.\n Let others then as fortunate\n And great be hailed; I wish no share\n Of popular renown. My boat\n Is frail and needs must hug the shore.\n And let no strong wind force my bark 695\n Far out to sea; for fortune spares\n Safe-harbored boats, but seeks the ships\n In mid sea proudly sailing on,\n Their topsails in the clouds.\n But why with pallid face, in fear, 700\n Like some Bacchante smitten sore\n With madness, comes our princess forth?\n What new reverse of fortune's wheel\n Has come to vex thy tortured soul?\n For though thou speakest ne'er a word, poor queen,\n Whate'er thou hidest, in thy face is seen.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[27] Reading, _celsus_.\n\n[28] Reading, _ripis_.\n\n[29] Reading, _fluentem_.\n\n\nACT III\n\n _Deianira_ [_hurrying distractedly out of the palace_]: A nameless\n terror fills my stricken limbs, 705\n My hair stands up in horror, and my soul,\n But now so passion tossed, is dumb with fear;\n My heart beats wildly, and my liver throbs\n With pulsing veins. As when the storm-tossed sea 710\n Still heaves and swells, although the skies are clear\n And winds have died away; so is my mind\n Still tossed and restless, though my fear is stayed.\n When once the fortunate begin to feel\n The wrath of god, their sorrows never cease.\n For so does fortune ever end in woe.\n\n _Nurse:_ What new distress, poor soul, has come to thee? 715\n\n _Deianira:_ But now, when I had sent away the robe\n With Nessus' poisoned blood besmeared, and I,\n With sad forebodings, to my chamber went,\n Some nameless fear oppressed my anxious heart,\n A fear of treachery. I thought to prove\n The charm. Fierce Nessus, I bethought me then,\n Had bidden me to keep the blood from flame; 720\n And this advice itself foreboded fraud.\n It chanced the sun was shining, bright and warm,\n Undimmed by clouds. As I recall it now,\n My fear scarce suffers me to tell the tale.[30]\n Into the blazing radiance of the sun 725\n I cast the blood-stained remnant of the cloth\n With which the fatal garment had been smeared.\n The thing writhed horribly, and burst aflame\n As soon as Phoebus warmed it with his rays.\n Oh, 'tis a dreadful portent that I tell!\n As when the snows on Mimas' sparkling sides\n Are melted by the genial breath of spring; 730\n As on Leucadia's crags the heaving waves\n Are dashed and break in foam upon the beach;\n Or as the incense on the holy shrines\n Is melted by the warming altar fires:\n So did the woolen fragment melt away. 735\n And while in wonder and amaze I looked,\n The object of my wonder disappeared.\n Nay, e'en the ground itself began to foam,\n And what the poison touched to shrink away.\n [Hyllus _is seen approaching_.]\n But hither comes my son with face of fear, 740\n And hurrying feet.\n [_To_ Hyllus.]\n What tidings dost thou bear?\n\n _Hyllus:_ Oh, speed thee, mother, to whatever place\n On land or sea, among the stars of heaven,\n Or in the depths of hell, can keep thee safe\n Beyond the deadly reach of Hercules.\n\n _Deianira:_ Some great disaster doth my mind presage. 745\n\n _Hyllus:_ Hie thee to Juno's shrine, the victor's realm;\n This refuge waits thee 'midst the loss of all.\n\n _Deianira:_ Tell what disaster hath o'erta'en me now.\n\n _Hyllus:_ That glory and sole bulwark of the world,\n Whom in the place of Jove the fates had given 750\n To bless the earth, O mother, is no more.\n A strange infection wastes Alcides' limbs;\n And he who conquered every form of beast,\n He, he, the victor is o'ercome with woe.\n What wouldst thou further hear?\n\n _Deianira:_ All wretched souls\n Are e'er in haste to know their miseries.\n Come, tell, what present fate o'erhangs our house? 755\n O wretched, wretched house! Now, now indeed,\n Am I a widow, exiled, fate-o'ercome.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Not thou alone dost weep for Hercules;\n For in his fall the universe laments.\n Think not on private griefs; the human race\n Lifts up the voice of mourning. All the world 760\n Is grieving with the selfsame grief thou feel'st.\n Thou shar'st thy misery with every land.\n Thou hast, indeed, forestalled their grief, poor soul;\n Thou first, but not alone, dost weep for him.\n\n _Deianira:_ Yet tell me, tell, I pray, how near to death 765\n Lies my Alcides now.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Death flees his grasp,\n Death whom he conquered once in its own realm;\n Nor will the fates permit so great a crime.\n Perchance dread Clotho from her trembling hand\n Has thrown aside her distaff, and in fear\n Refuses to complete Alcides' fate. 770\n O day, O awful day! and must this be\n The final day for mighty Hercules?\n\n _Deianira:_ To death and the world of shades, to that dark realm,\n Dost say that he has gone already? Why,\n Oh, why may I not be the first to go?\n But tell me truly, if he still doth live.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Euboea stands with high uplifted head, 775\n On every side lashed by the tossing waves.\n Here high Caphereus faces Phrixus' sea,\n And here rough Auster blows. But on the side\n Which feels the blast of snowy Aquilo,\n Euripus restless leads his wandering waves;\n Seven times his heaving tides he lifts on high, 780\n Seven times they sink again, before the sun\n His weary horses plunges in the sea.\n Here on a lofty cliff, 'midst drifting clouds,\n An ancient temple of Cenaean Jove\n Gleams far and wide. When at the altars stood\n The votive herd, and all the grove was full\n Of hollow bellowings of the gilded bulls; 785\n Then Hercules put off his lion's skin\n With gore besmeared, his heavy club laid down,\n And freed his shoulders of the quiver's weight.\n Then, gleaming brightly in the robe thou gav'st,\n His shaggy locks with hoary poplar wreathed,\n He lit the altar fires, and prayed: \"O Jove, 790\n Not falsely called my father, take these gifts\n And let the sacred fire blaze brightly up\n With copious incense, which the Arab rich\n From Saba's trees in worship of the sun\n Collects. All monsters of the earth, the sea,\n The sky have been subdued at last, and I,\n As victor over all, am home returned. 795\n Lay down thy thunderbolt.\" So prayed he then.\n But even as he prayed a heavy groan\n Fell from his lips, and he was horror struck\n And mute awhile. And then with dreadful cries\n He filled the air. As when a votive bull\n Feels in his wounded neck the deep-driven ax,\n And flees away, retaining still the steel,\n And fills with loud uproar the spacious hall; 800\n Or as the thunder rumbles round the sky:\n So did Alcides smite the very stars\n And sea with his loud roarings. Chalcis heard,\n The Cyclades re-echoed with the sound,\n Caphereus' rocky crags and all the grove\n Resounded with the groans of Hercules. 805\n We saw him weep. The common people deemed\n His former madness had come back to him.\n His servants fled away in fear. But he,\n With burning gaze, seeks one among them all,\n Ill-fated Lichas, who, with trembling hands 810\n Upon the altar, even then forestalled\n Through deadly fear the bitter pangs of death,\n And so left meager food for punishment.\n Then did Alcides grasp the quivering corpse\n And cried: \"By such a hand as this, ye fates,\n Shall it be said that I was overcome?\n Has Lichas conquered Hercules? See then\n Another slaughter: Hercules in turn 815\n Slays Lichas. Be my noble deeds by this\n Dishonored; let this be my crowning task.\"\n He spake, and high in air the wretched boy\n Was hurled, the very heavens with his gore\n Besprinkling. So the Getan arrow flies,\n Far leaping from the bowman's hand; so flies\n The Cretan dart, but far within the mark. 820\n His head against the jagged rocks is dashed,\n His headless body falls into the sea,\n Death[31] claiming both. \"But hold,\" Alcides said,\n \"No madness steals my reason as of yore;\n This is an evil greater far than rage\n Of madness; 'gainst myself alone I turn.\" 825\n He stays him not to tell his cause of woe,\n But rages wildly, tearing at his flesh,\n His huge limbs rending with his savage hands.\n He strove to tear away the fatal robe;\n But this alone of all his mighty deeds\n Alcides could not do. Yet striving still\n To tear the garment off, he tore the flesh.\n The robe seemed part of that gigantic form, 830\n Yea, part and parcel of the flesh itself.\n The cause of this dire suffering is hid,\n But yet there is a cause. His pain at length\n Unable to endure, prone on the earth\n He grovels; now for cooling water calls.\n But water has no power to soothe his pain. 835\n He seeks the shore and plunges in the sea,\n The while his servant's hands direct his steps.\n Oh, bitter lot, that mighty Hercules\n Should come to be the mate of common men!\n And now a vessel from Euboea's shore\n Bears off the ponderous bulk of Hercules,\n The gentle southwind wafting it along. 840\n His spirit from his mighty frame has fled,\n And o'er his eyes have fall'n the shades of night.\n\n _Deianira:_ Why dost thou hesitate? why stand amazed,\n O soul, that thus at last the deed is done?[32]\n But Jove demands again his son of thee;\n Juno, her rival; yea, to all the world\n Must he be given back. Vain such appeal.\n Make then what reparation[33] yet thou mayst:\n Through this my guilty body let the sword 845\n Be driven. Thus, thus, 'tis well that it be done.\n But can this puny hand of mine atone\n For crime so great? O sire of Hercules,\n Destroy me with thy hurtling thunderbolt,\n Thy guilty daughter. With no common dart\n Arm thine avenging hand; but use that shaft\n With which, had Hercules ne'er sprung from thee, 850\n Thou wouldst have scorched the hydra. As a pest\n Unprecedented smite me, as a scourge\n Far worse to bear than any stepdame's wrath.\n Such bolt as once at wandering Pha\u00ebthon\n Thou hurledst, aim at me. For I myself\n Have ruined all mankind in Hercules. 855\n But why demand a weapon of the gods?\n For 'tis her shame that great Alcides' wife\n Should pray for death. Let prayers give way to deeds,\n And from myself let me demand my death.\n Take then the sword in haste. But why the sword?\n Whate'er can work my death is sword enough.\n From some heaven-piercing cliff I'll cast me down. 860\n Yea, let our neighboring Oeta be my choice,\n Whose top is first to greet the newborn day.\n From its high peak I'll hurl me down to death.\n May I be rent asunder on its crags,\n And every rock demand some part of me;\n Let sharp projections pierce my mangled hands,\n And all the rugged mountainside be red 865\n With blood. One death is not enough, 'tis true;\n But still its agony can be prolonged.\n O hesitating soul, thou canst not choose\n What form of death to die. Oh, that the sword\n Of Hercules within my chamber hung!\n How fitting 'twere by such a sword to die!\n But is't enough that by one hand I fall? 870\n Assemble, all ye nations of the world,\n And hurl upon me rocks and blazing brands;\n Let no hand shirk its task of punishment,\n For your avenger have I done to death.\n Now with impunity shall cruel kings\n Their scepters wield; and monstrous ills shall rise 875\n With none to let; again shall shrines be sought,\n Where worshiper and victim are alike\n In human form. A broad highway for crime\n Have I prepared; and, by removing him\n Who was their bulwark, have exposed mankind\n To every form of monstrous man and beast\n And savage god. Why dost thou cease thy work, 880\n O wife of thundering Jove? Why dost thou not,\n In imitation of thy brother, snatch\n From his own hand the fiery thunderbolt,\n And slay me here thyself? For thou hast lost\n Great praise and mighty triumph by my act:\n I have forestalled thee, Juno, in the death\n Of this thy rival.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Wouldst to ruin doom\n Thy house already tottering? This crime,\n Whate'er it is, is all from error sprung. 885\n He is not guilty who unwitting sins.\n\n _Deianira:_ Whoe'er ignores his fate and spares himself,\n Deservedly has erred, deserves to die.\n\n _Hyllus:_ He must be guilty who desires to die.\n\n _Deianira:_ Death, only, makes the erring innocent. 890\n\n _Hyllus:_ Fleeing the sun--\n\n _Deianira:_ The sun himself flees me.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Wouldst leave thy life?\n\n _Deianira:_ A wretched life indeed;\n I long to go where Hercules has gone.\n\n _Hyllus:_ He still survives, and breathes the air of heaven.\n\n _Deianira:_ Alcides died when first he was o'ercome.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Wilt leave thy son behind? forestall thy fates? 895\n\n _Deianira:_ She whom her own son buries has lived long.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Follow thy husband.\n\n _Deianira:_ Chaste wives go before.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Who dooms himself to death confesses sin.\n\n _Deianira:_ No sinner seeks to shirk his punishment.\n\n _Hyllus:_ The life of many a man has been restored 900\n Whose guilt in judgment not in action lay.\n Who blames the lot by fate assigned to him?\n\n _Deianira:_ He blames it to whom fate has been unkind.\n\n _Hyllus:_ But Hercules himself killed Megara,\n And by his raging hands with deadly darts 905\n Transfixed his sons. Still, though a parricide,\n Thrice guilty, he forgave himself the deed,\n Blaming his madness. In Cinyphian waves\n In Libya's land he washed his sin away,\n And cleansed his hands. Then why, poor soul, shouldst thou\n So hastily condemn thine own misdeeds?\n\n _Deianira:_ The fact that I have ruined Hercules 910\n Condemns my deeds. I welcome punishment.\n\n _Hyllus:_ If I know Hercules, he soon will come\n Victorious over all his deadly woe;\n And agony, o'ercome, will yield to him.\n\n _Deianira:_ The hydra's venom preys upon his frame;\n A boundless pestilence consumes his limbs. 915\n\n _Hyllus:_ Think'st thou the poison of that serpent, slain,\n Cannot be overcome by that brave man\n Who met the living foe and conquered it?\n He slew the hydra, and victorious stood,\n Though in his flesh the poisonous fangs were fixed,\n And o'er his limbs the deadly venom flowed. 920\n Shall he, who overcame dread Nessus' self,\n By this same Nessus' blood be overcome?\n\n _Deianira:_ 'Tis vain to stay one who is bent on death.\n It is my will at once to flee the light.\n Who dies with Hercules has lived enough.\n\n _Nurse:_ Now by these hoary locks, as suppliant, 925\n And by these breasts which suckled thee, I beg:\n Abate thy wounded heart's wild threatenings,\n Give o'er thy dread resolve for cruel death.\n\n _Deianira:_ Whoe'er persuades the wretched not to die\n Is cruel. Death is sometimes punishment, 930\n But oft a boon, and brings forgiveness oft.\n\n _Nurse:_ Restrain at least thy hand, unhappy child,\n That he may know the deed was born of fraud,\n And was not purposed by his wife's design.\n\n _Deianira:_ I'll plead my cause before the bar of hell,\n Whose gods, I think, will free me from my guilt,\n Though I am self-condemned; these guilty hands 935\n Will Pluto cleanse for me. Then, on thy banks,\n O Lethe, with my memory clean I'll stand,\n A grieving shade, awaiting him I love.\n But thou, who rulest o'er the world of gloom,\n Prepare some toil for me, some dreadful toil;\n For this my fault outweighs all other sins\n That heart of man has ever dared to do.\n Nay, Juno's self was never bold enough 940\n To rob the grieving world of Hercules.\n Let Sisyphus from his hard labor cease,\n And let his stone upon my shoulders press;\n Let vagrant waves flee from my eager lips,\n And that elusive water mock my thirst.\n Upon thy whirling spokes have I deserved 945\n To be stretched out, O king of Thessaly.\n Let greedy vultures feed upon my flesh.\n One from the tale of the Dana\u00efdes\n Is lacking[34] yet; let me the number fill.\n Ye shades, make room for me; O Colchian wife,\n Receive me as thy comrade there below. 950\n My deed is worse, far worse than both thy crimes,\n Though thou as mother and as sister, too,\n Hast sinned. Thou also, cruel queen of Thrace,\n Take me as comrade of thy crimes. And thou,\n Althaea, take thy daughter, for indeed\n Thou shalt discern in me thy daughter true.\n And yet not one of you has ever done 955\n Such deed as mine. O all ye faithful wives,\n Who have your seats within the sacred groves,\n Expel me from Elysium's blessed fields.\n But faithless wives, who with their husbands' blood\n Have stained their hands, who have forgotten quite\n Their marriage vows and stood with naked sword 960\n Like Belus' bloody daughters, they will know\n My deeds for theirs and praise them as their own.\n To such a company of wives 'tis meet\n That I betake myself; but even they\n Will shun such dire companionship as mine.\n O husband, strong, invincible, believe\n My soul is innocent, although my hands\n Are criminal. O mind too credulous! 965\n O Nessus, false and skilled in bestial guile!\n Striving my hated rival to remove,\n I have destroyed myself. O beaming sun,\n And thou, O life, that by thy coaxing arts\n Dost strive to hold the wretched in the light,\n Begone! for every day is vile to me\n That shineth not upon my Hercules. 970\n Oh, let me bear, myself, thy sufferings\n And give my life for thee. Or shall I wait\n And keep myself for death at thy right hand?\n Hast still some strength in thee, and can thy hands\n Still bend the bow and speed the fatal shaft?\n Or do thy weapons lie unused, thy bow 975\n No more obedient to thy nerveless hand?\n But if, perchance, thou still art strong to slay,\n Undaunted husband, I await thy hand;\n Yea, for this cause will I postpone my death.\n As thou didst Lichas crush, though innocent,\n Crush me, to other cities scatter me,\n Yea, hurl me to a land to thee unknown. 980\n Destroy me as thou didst the Arcadian boar,\n And every monster that resisted[35] thee.\n But Oh, from them, my husband, thou didst come\n Victorious and safe.\n\n _Hyllus:_ Give o'er, I pray,\n My mother; cease to blame thy guiltless fates.\n Thy deed was but an error, not a fault.\n\n _Deianira:_ My son, if thou wouldst truly filial be,\n Come, slay thy mother. Why with trembling hand 985\n Dost thou stand there? Why turn away thy face?\n Such crime as this is truest piety.\n Still dost thou lack incentive for the deed?\n Behold, this hand took Hercules from thee,\n Took that great sire through whom thou dost derive\n Thy blood from thundering Jove. I've stolen from thee\n A greater glory than the life I gave 990\n At birth. If thou art all unskilled in crime,\n Learn from thy mother; wouldst thou thrust the sword\n Into my neck, or sheath it in my womb,\n I'll make thy soul courageous for the deed.\n Thou wilt not be the doer of this crime;\n For though 'tis by thy hand that I shall fall, 995\n 'Twill be my will. O son of Hercules,\n Art thou afraid? Wilt thou not be like him,\n Perform thy bidden tasks, the monsters slay?\n Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,\n So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke. 1000\n Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,\n The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.\n But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.\n See! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,\n And at her ugly temples brandishes\n Two deadly[36] darts? Why dost thou follow me, 1005\n O dire Megaera, with thy blazing brand?\n Dost thou seek penalty for Hercules?\n I will discharge it. O thou dreadful one,\n Already have the arbiters of hell\n Passed judgment on me? Lo, I see the doors\n Of that sad prison-house unfold for me.\n Who is that ancient man who on his back,\n Worn with the toil, the stone's huge burden heaves? 1010\n And even as I look the conquered stone\n Rolls back again. Who on the whirling wheel\n Is racked? And see! There stands Tisiphone,\n With ghastly, cruel face; she seeks revenge.\n Oh, spare thy scourge, Megaera, spare, I pray,\n Thy Stygian brands. 'Twas love that prompted me. 1015\n But what is this? The earth is tottering,\n The palace roof is crashing to its fall.\n Whence comes that threatening throng? Against me comes\n The whole world rushing; see, on every side\n The nations gnash at me, demanding back\n Their savior. O ye cities, spare, I pray. 1020\n Oh, whither shall I hide me from their rage?\n Death is the only haven left to me.\n By gleaming Phoebus' fiery disk I swear,\n By all the gods of heaven: I go to death,\n But leave Alcides still upon the earth.\n\n [_She rushes from the scene._]\n\n _Hyllus:_ Ah me, in mood of frenzy has she fled.\n My mother's part in this sad tragedy 1025\n Is self-assigned; she is resolved to die.\n My part remains to thwart her dread resolve.\n O wretched piety! O filial love!\n If now my mother's death I should prevent,\n I wrong my father; if I let her die,\n 'Gainst her I sin. Crime stands on either hand;\n Yet must I check her and true crime withstand. 1030\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ The sacred singer's word was true\n Which once on Thracian Rhodope,\n Orpheus, the heavenly Muse's son,\n Sang to his lute Pierian:\n That naught for endless life is made. 1035\n At his sweet strains the rushing stream\n Its uproar stilled, and all its waves\n Paused in forgetfulness of flight;\n And while the waters stayed to hear, 1040\n The tribes far down the Hebrus' stream\n Deemed that their river was no more.\n All wing\u00e9d creatures of the wood\n And e'en the woods themselves came near\n To listen; or, if far on high\n Some bird was wheeling through the air, 1045\n To that sweet music swift he fell\n On drooping wings. The mountains came:\n Rough Athos with its Centaur herd,\n And Rhodope, its drifted snows\n Loosed by the magic of that song, 1050\n Stood by to hear. The Dryads left\n The shelter of their oaken trunks\n And gathered round the tuneful bard.\n The beasts came, too, and with them came 1055\n Their lairs; hard by the fearless flocks\n The tawny Afric lion crouched;\n The timid does feared not the wolves;\n And serpents crawled forth to the light,\n Their venom quite forgot. 1060\n When through the doors of Taenara\n He made his way to the silent land,\n Sounding his mournful lyre the while,\n The glooms of Tartara were filled\n With his sad song; and the sullen gods\n Of Erebus were moved to tears. 1065\n He feared not the pool of the Stygian stream\n By whose dread waves the heavenly gods\n Make oath unbreakable.\n The whirling rim of the restless wheel\n Stood still, its breathless speed at rest. 1070\n The immortal liver of Tityos\n Grew, undevoured, while at the song\n The spellbound birds forgot their greed.\n Thou, too, didst hear, O boatman grim,\n And thy bark that plies the infernal stream\n With oars all motionless came on.\n Then first the hoary Phrygian 1075\n Forgot his thirst, although no more\n The mocking waters fled his lips\n But stood enchanted; now no more\n He reaches hungry hands to grasp\n The luscious fruit.\n When thus through that dark world of souls\n Sweet Orpheus poured such heavenly strains 1080\n That the impious rock of Sisyphus\n Was moved to follow him;\n Then did the goddesses of fate\n Renew the exhausted thread of life\n For fair Eurydice. But when,\n Unmindful of the law they gave, 1085\n And scarce believing that his wife\n Was following, the hapless man\n Looked back, he lost his prize of song;\n For she, who to the very verge\n Of life had come again, fell back\n And died again.\n Then, seeking solace still in song, 1090\n Orpheus unto the Getans sang:\n\n * * * * *\n\n The gods themselves are under law,\n Yea he, who through the changing year\n Directs the seasons in their course. 1095\n\n * * * * *\n\n Dead Hercules bids us believe\n The bard, that not for any man\n The fates reweave the broken web;\n And that all things which have been born, 1100\n And shall be, are but born to die.\n When to the world the day shall come\n On which the reign of law shall cease,\n Then shall the southern heavens fall,\n And overwhelm broad Africa 1105\n With all her tribes; the northern skies\n Shall fall upon those barren plains\n Where sweep the blasts of Boreas.\n Then from the shattered heaven the sun\n Shall fall, and day shall be no more. 1110\n The palace of the heavenly ones\n Shall sink in ruins, dragging down\n The east and western skies. Then death\n And chaos shall o'erwhelm the gods 1115\n In common ruin; and at last,\n When all things else have been destroyed,\n Death shall bring death unto itself.\n Where shall the earth find haven then?\n Will hades open wide her doors\n To let the shattered heavens in? 1120\n Or is the space 'twixt heaven and earth\n Not great enough (perchance too great)\n For all the evils of the world?\n What place is great enough to hold\n Such monstrous ills of fate?[37] What place\n Will hold the gods? Shall one place then 1125\n Contain three kingdoms--sea and sky\n And Tartara?--\n But what outrageous clamor this\n That fills our frightened ears? Behold,\n It is the voice of Hercules. 1130\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[30] Lines 725-28 follow the text of Schroeder.\n\n[31] Reading, _funus_.\n\n[32] Reading, _quid stupes factum scelus?_\n\n[33] Reading, _reddi_.\n\n[34] Reading, _vacat_.\n\n[35] Reading, _restitit_.\n\n[36] Reading, _atras_.\n\n[37] Reading, _fati_.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Hercules _in the extremity of suffering_.]\n\n _Hercules:_ Turn back thy panting steeds, thou shining sun,\n And bid the night come forth. Blot out the day,\n And let the heavens, with pitchy darkness filled,\n Conceal my dying pains from Juno's eyes.\n Now, father, were it fitting to recall\n Dark chaos; now the joinings of the skies 1135\n Should be asunder rent, and pole from pole\n Be cleft. Why, father, dost thou spare the stars?\n Thy Hercules is lost. Now, Jupiter,\n Look well to every region of the heavens,\n Lest any Gyas hurl again the crags\n Of Thessaly, and Othrys be again 1140\n An easy missile for Enceladus.\n Now, even now will haughty Pluto loose\n The gates of hell, strike off his father's chains,\n And give him back to heaven. Since Hercules,\n Who on the earth has seen thy thunderbolt\n And lightning flash, must turn him back to Styx;\n Enceladus the fierce will rise again, 1145\n And hurl against the gods that mighty weight\n Which now oppresses him. O Jupiter,\n My death throughout the kingdom of the sky\n Shall shake thy sovereignty. Then, ere thy throne\n Become the giants' spoil, give burial\n Beneath the ruined universe to me;\n Oh, rend thy kingdom ere 'tis rent from thee. 1150\n\n _Chorus:_ No empty fears, O Thunderer's son,\n Dost thou express: for soon again\n Shall Pelion on Ossa rest;\n And Athos, heaped on Pindus, thrust\n Its woods amidst the stars of heaven.\n Then shall Typhoeus heave aside 1155\n The crags of Tuscan Ischia;\n Enceladus, not yet o'ercome\n By thunderbolts, shall bear aloft\n The huge Aetnaean furnaces,\n And rend the gaping mountain side.\n So shall it be; for even now\n The skies are tottering with thy fall. 1160\n\n _Hercules:_ Lo I, who have escaped the hands of death,\n Who scorned the Styx, and thence through Lethe's pool\n Returned with spoil so grim and terrible,\n That Titan from his reeling chariot\n Was well-nigh thrown; I, whom three realms have felt:\n I feel the pangs of death, and yet no sword 1165\n Has pierced my side, nor has some mighty crag,\n All Othrys, been the weapon of my death;\n No giant with his fierce and gaping jaws\n Has heaped high Pindus on my lifeless corpse.\n Without an enemy am I o'erwhelmed; 1170\n And, what brings greater anguish to my soul\n (Shame to my manhood!), this my final day\n Has seen no monster slain. Ah, woe is me!\n My life is squandered--and for no return.\n O thou, whose rule is over all the world;\n Ye gods of heaven who have beheld my deeds;\n O earth, is't fitting that your Hercules 1175\n Should die by such a death? Oh, cruel shame!\n Oh, base and bitter end--that fame should say\n Great Hercules was by a woman slain,\n He who in mortal combat has o'ercome[38]\n So many men and beasts! If changeless fate\n Had willed that I by woman's hand should die, 1180\n And if to such base end my thread of life,\n Alas, must lead, Oh, that I might have fallen\n By Juno's hate. 'Twould be by woman's hand,\n But one who holds the heavens in her sway.\n If that, ye gods, were more than I should ask,\n The Amazon, beneath the Scythian skies\n Brought forth, might better have o'ercome my strength.\n But by what woman's hand shall I be said, 1185\n Great Juno's enemy, to have been slain?\n This is for thee, my stepdame, deeper shame.\n Why shouldst thou call this day a day of joy?\n What baleful thing like this has earth produced\n To sate thy wrath? A mortal woman's hate\n Has far excelled thine own. 'Twas late thy shame, 1190\n To feel thyself by Hercules alone\n Outmatched; but now must thou confess thyself\n By two o'ercome. Shame on such heavenly wrath!\n Oh, that the Nemean lion of my blood\n Had drunk his fill, and Oh, that I had fed\n The hydra with his hundred snaky heads\n Upon my gore! Oh, that the centaurs fierce 1195\n Had made a prey of me; or 'midst the shades\n I, bound upon the everlasting rock,\n Were sitting, lost in misery! But no:\n From every distant land I've taken spoil,\n While fate looked on amazed; from hellish Styx\n Have I come back to earth; the bonds of Dis\n I have o'ercome. Death shunned me everywhere, 1200\n That I might lack at last a glorious end.\n Alas for all the monsters I have slain!\n Oh, why did not three-headed Cerberus,\n When he had seen the sunlight, drag me back\n To hell? Why, far away 'neath western skies,\n Did not the monstrous shepherd lay me low?\n And those twin serpents huge--ah, woe is me,\n How often have I 'scaped a glorious death! 1205\n What honor comes from such an end as this?\n\n _Chorus:_ Dost see how, conscious of his fame,\n He does not shrink from Lethe's stream?\n Not grief for death, but shame he feels\n At this his cause of death; he longs\n Beneath some giant's vasty bulk 1210\n To draw his final breath, to feel\n Some mountain-heaving Titan's weight\n Oppressing him, to owe his death\n To some wild, raging beast. But no,\n Poor soul, because of thine own hand\n There is no deadly monster more. 1215\n What worthy author of thy death,\n Save that right hand of thine, is left?\n\n _Hercules:_ Alas, what Scorpion, what Cancer, torn\n From Summer's burning zone, inflames my breast?\n My lungs, once filled with pulsing streams of blood, 1220\n Are dry and empty now; my liver burns,\n Its healthy juices parched and dried away;\n And all my blood is by slow creeping fires\n Consumed. Destruction on my skin feeds first,\n Then deep within my flesh it eats its way, 1225\n Devours my sides, my limbs and breast consumes,\n Dries up the very marrow of my bones.\n There in my empty bones the pest remains;\n Nor can my massive frame for long endure,\n But even now, with broken, crumbling joints,\n Begins to fall away. My strength is gone, 1230\n And e'en the limbs of mighty Hercules\n Are not enough to satisfy this pest.\n Alas, how mighty must that evil be,\n When I confess it great! Oh, cruel wrong!\n Now see, ye cities, see what now remains\n Of famous Hercules. Dost know thy son,\n O father Jove? Was't with such arms as these 1235\n That I crushed out the Nemean monster's life?\n Did this hand stretch that mighty bow of mine\n Which brought to earth from out the very stars\n The vile Stymphalian birds? These sluggish feet--\n Did they outstrip the swiftly fleeing stag,\n With golden antlers gleaming on his head?\n Did rocky Calpe, shattered by these hands, 1240\n Let out the sea? So many monstrous beasts,\n So many cruel men, so many kings--\n Did these poor hands of mine destroy them all?\n Upon these shoulders did the heavens rest?\n Is this my mighty frame? Is this my neck?\n Are these the hands which once the tottering skies\n Upheld? Oh, can it be that ever I\n The Stygian watchdog dragged into the light? 1245\n Where are those powers, which ere their proper time\n Are dead and buried? Why on Jupiter\n As father do I call? Why, wretched one,\n Do I lay claim to heaven by right of him?\n For now, Oh, now will I be thought the son\n Of old Amphitryon. O deadly pest,\n Whate'er thou art which in my vitals lurk'st,\n Come forth. Why with a hidden agony 1250\n Dost thou afflict my heart? What Scythian sea\n Beneath the frozen north, what Tethys slow,\n What Spanish Calpe nigh the Moorish shore\n Begot and brought thee forth? O evil dire!\n Art thou some crested serpent brandishing\n Its hideous head; or some fell thing of ill 1255\n As yet unknown to me, produced perchance\n From Hydra's poisonous gore, or left on earth\n By Cerberus, the deadly dog of Styx?\n Oh, every ill art thou, and yet no ill.\n What are thy form and features? Grant at least\n That I may know the thing by which I die.\n Whate'er thy name, whatever monster thou, 1260\n Come out, and show thy terror to my face.\n What enemy has made a way for thee\n Unto my inmost heart? Behold my hands\n Have torn aside my burning skin and so\n My bleeding flesh disclosed. But deeper yet\n Its hiding-place. Oh, woe invincible\n As Hercules! But whence these grievous cries? 1265\n And whence these tears which trickle down my cheeks?\n My face, unmoved by grief, has never yet\n Been wet with tears; but now, Oh, shame to me,\n Has learned to weep. Where is the day, the land,\n That has beheld the tears of Hercules?\n Dry-eyed have I my troubles ever borne.\n To thee alone, dire pest, to thee alone 1270\n That strength has yielded which so many ills\n Has overcome. Thou first, yea, first of all\n Hast forced the tear-drops from these stubborn eyes.\n For, harder than the bristling crag, or steel,\n Or than the wandering Symplegades,\n Hast thou my stern face softened, and my tears,\n Unwilling, forced to flow. And now the world, 1275\n O thou most mighty ruler of the skies,\n Has seen me giving way to tears and groans;\n And, that which brings me greater anguish still,\n My stepdame too has seen. But lo, again\n The scorching heat flames up and burns my heart.\n Oh, slay me, father, with thy heavenly dart.\n\n _Chorus:_ Where is the strength that can withstand\n The power of suffering? But now\n More hard than Thracian Haemus' crags, 1280\n Sterner than savage northern skies,\n He is by agony subdued.\n His fainting head upon his breast\n Falls low; his massive frame he shifts\n From side to side; now and again\n His manly courage dries his tears. 1285\n So, with however warm a flame\n Bright Titan labors to dissolve\n The arctic snows, still are his fires\n By those bright, icy rays outshone.\n\n _Hercules:_ O father, turn and look upon my woes. 1290\n Never till now has great Alcides fled\n To thee for aid; not when around my limbs\n The deadly hydra, fertile in its death,\n Its writhing serpents folded. 'Mid the pools\n Of hell, by that thick pall of death I stood\n Surrounded close; and yet I called thee not.\n How many dreadful beasts have I o'ercome, 1295\n How many kings and tyrants; yet my face\n Have I ne'er turned in suppliance to the sky.\n This hand of mine alone has been the god\n Who heard my prayers. No gleaming thunderbolts\n Have ever flashed from heaven on my account.\n But now at last has come a woeful time\n Which bids me ask for aid. This day, the first 1300\n And last, shall hear the prayers of Hercules.\n One thunderbolt I ask, and only one.\n Consider me a giant storming heaven.\n Yea, heaven I might have stormed in very truth;\n But, since I deemed thee sire, I spared the skies.\n Oh, whether thou be harsh or merciful, 1305\n Stretch forth thy hand and grant me speedy death,\n And gain this great renown unto thy name.\n Or, if thy righteous hand refuse a task\n So impious, send forth from Sicily\n Those burning Titans, who with giant hands\n May Pindus huge upheave, and Ossa too, 1310\n And overwhelm me with their crushing weight.\n Let dire Bellona burst the bars of hell,\n And with her gleaming weapon pierce my heart;\n Or let fierce Mars be arm\u00e9d for my death;\n He is my brother; true, but Juno's son.\n Thou also, sprung from father Jove, and so\n Alcides' sister, bright Athene, come, 1315\n And hurl thy spear against thy brother's breast.\n And e'en to thee I stretch my suppliant hands,\n O cruel stepdame; thou at least, I pray,\n Let fly thy dart (so by a woman's hand\n I may be slain), thine anger soothed at last,\n Thy thirst for vengeance sated. Why dost thou\n Still nurse thy wrath? Why further seek revenge? 1320\n Behold Alcides suppliant to thee,\n Which no wild beast, no land has ever seen.\n But now, O Juno, when I need thy wrath,\n Is now thine anger cooled, thy hate forgot?\n Thou giv'st me life when 'tis for death I pray.\n O lands, and countless cities of the earth, 1325\n Is there no one among you all to bring\n A blazing torch for mighty Hercules?\n Will no one give me arms? Why take away\n My weapons from my hands? Then let no land\n Bring forth dire monsters more when I am dead,\n And let the world not ask for aid of mine.\n If other ills are born into the world,\n Then must another savior come as well. 1330\n Oh, bring ye heavy stones from every side\n And hurl them at my wretched head; and so\n O'erwhelm at last my woes. Ungrateful world,\n Dost thou refuse? Hast thou forgot me quite?\n Thou wouldst thyself have been a helpless prey\n To evil monsters, had not I been born.\n Then, O ye peoples, rescue me from ill, 1335\n Your champion. This chance is given you,\n By slaying me to cancel all you owe.\n\n[_Enter_ Alcmena.]\n\n _Alcmena:_ Where shall Alcides' wretched mother go?\n Where is my son? Lo, if I see aright,\n Yonder he lies with burning fever tossed\n And throbbing heart. I hear his groans of pain. 1340\n Ah me, his life is at an end. My son,\n Come, let me fold thee in a last embrace,\n And catch thy parting spirit in my mouth;\n These arms of mine upon thine own I'll lay.\n But where are they? Where is that sturdy neck\n Which bore the burden of the starry heavens?\n What cause has left to thee so small a part\n Of thy once massive frame? 1345\n\n _Hercules:_ Thou seest, indeed,\n The shadow and the piteous counterfeit\n Of thine Alcides. Come, behold thy son.\n But why dost turn away and hide thy face?\n Art thou ashamed that such as I am called\n Thy son?\n\n _Alcmena:_ What land, what world has given birth\n To this new monster? What so dire a thing 1350\n Has triumphed over mighty Hercules?\n\n _Hercules:_ By my own wife's deceits am I undone.\n\n _Alcmena:_ What fraud is great enough to conquer thee?\n\n _Hercules:_ Whate'er is great enough for woman's wrath.\n\n _Alcmena:_ How got the pest so deep within thy frame? 1355\n\n _Hercules:_ Through a poisoned robe sent by a woman's hands.\n\n _Alcmena:_ Where is the robe? I see thy limbs are bare.\n\n _Hercules:_ With me 'tis all consumed.\n\n _Alcmena:_ How can it be?\n\n _Hercules:_ I tell thee, mother, through my vitals roam\n The hydra and a thousand poisonous beasts. 1360\n What flames as hot as these invade the clouds\n O'er Aetna's top? What glowing Lemnian fires,\n What torrid radiance of the burning heavens,\n Within whose scorching zone the day comes not?\n O comrades, take and throw me in the sea,\n Or in the river's rushing stream--alas, 1365\n Where is the stream that will suffice for me?\n Though greater than all lands, not ocean's self\n Can cool my burning pains. To ease my woe\n All streams were not enough, all springs would fail.\n Why, O thou lord of Erebus, didst thou\n To Jove return me? Better had it been\n To hold me fast. Oh, take me back again, 1370\n And show me as I am to those fell shades\n Whom I subdued. Naught will I take away.\n Thou hast no need to fear Alcides more.\n Come death, attack me; have no fear of me;\n For I at length am fain to welcome thee.\n\n _Alcmena:_ Restrain thy tears at least; subdue thy pains.\n Come, show thyself unconquered still by woe; 1375\n And death and hell, as is thy wont, defy.\n\n _Hercules:_ If on the heights of Caucasus I lay\n In chains, to greedy birds of prey exposed,\n While Scythia wailed in sympathy with me,\n No sound of woe should issue from my lips;\n Or should the huge, unfixed Symplegades 1380\n Together clash and threaten me with death,\n I'd bear unmoved the threatened agony.\n Should Pindus fall upon me, Haemus too,\n Tall Athos which defies the Thracian seas,\n And Mimas at whose towering peaks are hurled\n The bolts of Jove--if e'en the sky itself 1385\n Should fall upon my head, and Phoebus' car\n In blazing torture on my shoulders lie:\n No coward cry of pain would ever show\n The mind of Hercules subdued. Nay more:\n Although a thousand monstrous beasts at once\n Should rush upon and rend me limb from limb;\n Though here Stymphalus' bird with clangor wild, 1390\n And there with all his strength the threat'ning bull,\n And all fierce, monstrous things, should press me hard;\n Nay, though the very soil of earth should rise\n And shriek[39] its rage at me from every side;\n Though Sinis dire should hurl me through the air:\n Though sore bestead and mangled, still would I\n In silence bear it all. No beasts, no arms,\n No weapon wielded by the hand of man,\n Could force from me a single word of pain. 1395\n\n _Alcmena:_ No woman's poison burns thy limbs, my son;\n But thy long years of work, thy constant toils,\n Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.\n\n _Hercules:_ Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be?\n Does any evil still upon the earth\n Exist, with me alive? But let it come.\n Let someone quickly bring my bow to me-- 1400\n But no: my naked hands will be enough.\n Now bid the monster come.\n\n _Alcmena:_ Alas, his pains,\n Too great, have reft his senses quite away.\n Remove his weapons, take those deadly shafts\n Out of his reach, I pray. His burning cheeks 1405\n Some violence portend. Oh, where shall I,\n A helpless, ag\u00e9d woman hide myself?\n That grief of his has changed to maddened rage,\n And that alone is master of him now.\n Why should I, therefore, foolish that I am,\n Seek hiding-place or flight? By some brave hand\n Alcmena has deserved to meet her death.\n So let me perish even impiously, 1410\n Before some craven soul command my death,\n Or some base creature triumph over me.\n But see, outworn by woe, his weary heart\n Is in the soothing bonds of slumber bound;\n His panting chest with labored breathing heaves.\n Have mercy, O ye gods. If ye from me 1415\n Have willed to take my glorious son, at least\n Spare to the world, I pray, its champion.\n Let all his pains depart, and once again\n Let great Alcides' frame renew its strength.\n\n[_Enter_ Hyllus.]\n\n _Hyllus:_ O bitter light, O day with evil filled!\n Dead is the Thunderer's daughter, and his son 1420\n Lies dying. I alone of all survive.\n By my own mother's crime my father dies,\n But she by guile was snared. What ag\u00e9d man,\n Throughout the round of years, in all his life,\n Will e'er be able to recount such woes?\n One day has snatched away my parents both. 1425\n But though I say naught of my other ills,\n And cease to blame the fates, still must I say:\n My sire, the mighty Hercules, is gone.\n\n _Alcmena:_ Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire,\n And matched with sad Alcmena in her grief;\n Perchance long slumber will assuage his pain.\n But see, repose deserts his weary heart, 1430\n And gives him back to suffering, me to grief.\n\n _Hercules_ [_awakening in delirium_]: Why, what is this? Do I with\n waking eyes\n See little Trachin on her craggy seat,\n Or, set amongst the stars, have I at length\n Escaped the race of men? Who opes for me\n The gate of heaven? Thee, father, now I see, 1435\n Thee, and my stepdame too at last appeased.\n What heavenly sound is this that fills my ears?\n Great Juno calls me son! Now I behold\n The gleaming palace of the heavenly world,\n And Phoebus' path worn by his burning wheels.\n [_Beginning to come out of his delirium._]\n I see night's couch; her shadows call me hence. 1440\n But what is this? who shuts me out of heaven,\n And from the stars, O father, leads me down?\n I felt the glow of Phoebus on my face,\n So near to heaven was I; but now, alas,\n 'Tis Trachin that I see. Oh, who to earth\n Has given me back again? A moment since, 1445\n And Oeta's lofty peak stood far below,\n And all the world was lying at my feet.\n How sweet the respite that I had from thee,\n O grief. Thou mak'st me to confess--but stay,\n Let not such shameful words escape thy lips.\n [_To_ Hyllus.]\n This woe, my son, is of thy mother's gift.\n Oh, that I might crush out her guilty life\n With my great club, as once the Amazons 1450\n I smote upon the snowy Caucasus.\n O well-loved Megara, to think that thou\n Wast wife of mine when in that fit I fell\n Of maddened rage! Give me my club and bow;\n Let my hand be disgraced, and with a blot\n Let me destroy the luster of my praise--\n My latest conquest on a woman gained! 1455\n\n _Hyllus:_ Now curb the dreadful threatenings of thy wrath;\n She has her wound--'tis over--and has paid\n The penalty which thou wouldst have her pay:\n For now, self-slain, my mother lies in death.\n\n _Hercules:_ O grief, still with me! She deserved to die\n Beneath the hands of angry Hercules. 1460\n O Lichas, thou hast lost thy mate in death.\n So hot my wrath, against her helpless corpse\n I still would rage. Why does her body lie\n Secure from my assaults? Go cast it out\n To be a banquet for the birds of prey.\n\n _Hyllus:_ She suffered more than even thou wouldst wish.\n Self-slain, and grieving sore for thee, she died. 1465\n But 'tis not by a cruel wife's deceit,\n Nor by my mother's guile, thou liest low.\n By Nessus was this deadly plot conceived,\n Who, smitten by thine arrow, lost his life.\n 'Twas in the centaur's gore the robe was dipped, 1470\n And by thy pains he doth requite his own.\n\n _Hercules:_ Then truly are his pains well recompensed,\n And my own doubtful oracles explained.\n This fate the talking oak foretold to me,\n And Delphi's oracle, whose sacred voice\n Shook Cirrha's temples and Parnassus' slopes: 1475\n \"By hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day,\n Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low.\n This end, when thou hast traversed sea and land,\n And the realm of spirits, is reserved for thee.\"\n Now will we grieve no more; such end is meet;\n Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules 1480\n Survive to tell the tale. Now shall my death\n Be glorious, illustrious, renowned,\n And worthy of myself. This final day\n Will I make famous in the ears of men.\n Go, cut down all the woods, and Oeta's groves\n Bring hither, that a mighty funeral pyre\n May hold great Hercules before he dies.\n And thee, dear son of Poeas, thee I ask 1485\n To do this last, sad office for thy friend,\n And all the sky illumine with the flames\n Of Hercules. And now to thee this prayer,\n This last request, Hyllus, my son, I make:\n Among my captives is a beauteous maid,\n Of noble breeding and of royal birth.\n 'Tis Iole, the child of Eurytus. 1490\n Her would I have thee to thy chamber lead\n With fitting marriage rites; for, stained with blood,\n Victorious, I robbed her of her home\n And fatherland; and in return, poor girl,\n Naught save Alcides have I given her;\n And he is gone. Then let her soothe her woes\n In the embrace of him who boasts the blood 1495\n Of Jove and Hercules. Whatever seed\n She has conceived of me let her to thee\n Bring forth.\n [_To_ Alcmena.]\n And do thou cease thy plaints, I pray,\n For me, great mother; thy Alcides lives;\n And by my might have I my stepdame made\n To seem but as the concubine of Jove. 1500\n Whether the story of the night prolonged\n At Hercules' begetting be the truth,\n Or whether I was got of mortal sire--\n Though I be falsely called the son of Jove,\n I have indeed deserved to be his son;\n For I have honored him, and to his praise 1505\n My mother brought me forth. Nay, Jove himself\n Is proud that he is held to be my sire.\n Then cease thy tears, O mother; thou shalt be\n Of high degree among Argolic dames.\n For no such son as thine has Juno borne,\n Though she may wield the scepter of the skies, 1510\n The Thunderer's bride. And yet, though holding heaven,\n She grudged Alcides to a mortal birth,\n And wished that she might call him son of hers.\n Now, Titan, must thou go thy way alone;\n For I, who have thy constant comrade been,\n Am bound for Tartara, the world of shades.\n Yet down to hell I bear this noble praise: 1515\n That openly no monster conquered me,\n But that I conquered all--and openly.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Bright sun, thou glory of the world,\n At whose first rays wan Hecate\n Unyokes the weary steeds of night, 1520\n To east and west the message tell;\n To those who suffer 'neath the Bear,\n And who, beneath thy burning car\n Are tortured: Hercules prepares\n To speed him to the world of shades, 1525\n The realm of sleepless Cerberus,\n Whence he will[40] ne'er again return.\n Let thy bright rays be overcast\n With clouds; gaze on the mourning world\n With pallid face; and let thy head\n In thick and murky mists be veiled. 1530\n When, Titan, where, beneath what sky,\n Shalt thou behold upon the earth\n Another such as Hercules?\n Whom shall the wretched land invoke,\n If any hundred-headed pest,\n In Lerna born, spring up anew 1535\n And spread destruction; if again\n Some boar in ancient Arcady\n Infest the woods; or if again\n Some son of Thracian Rhodope,\n With heart more hard than the frozen lands\n That lie 'neath snowy Helice,\n Should stain his stalls with human gore? 1540\n Who will give peace to the trembling folk\n If angry gods with monstrous birth\n Should curse the world again? Behold,\n The mate for common man he lies,\n Whom earth produced a mate for Jove.\n Let lamentations loud resound 1545\n Through all the world; with streaming hair\n Let women smite their naked arms;\n Let all the temples of the gods\n Be closed save Juno's; she alone\n Is free from care.\n To Lethe and the Stygian shore 1550\n Now art thou going, whence no keel\n Will ever bring thee back. Thou goest,\n Lamented one, unto the shades,\n Whence, death o'ercome, thou once return'dst\n In triumph with thy prize; but now,\n An empty shade, with fleshless arms,\n Wan face, and slender, drooping neck, 1555\n Thou goest back. Nor will the skiff\n (Which once bore only thee and feared\n That even so 'twould be o'erturned)\n Bear thee alone across the stream.\n But not with common shades shalt thou\n Be herded. Thou with Aeacus[41]\n And pious kings of Crete shalt sit\n In judgment on the deeds of men,\n And punish tyrants. O ye kings, 1560\n Be merciful, restrain your hands.\n 'Tis worthy praise to keep the sword\n Unstained with blood; while thou didst reign,\n Upon thy realm to have allowed\n Least privilege to bloody[42] fate.\n But place among the stars is given\n To manly virtue. Shalt thou hold 1565\n Thy seat within the northern skies,\n Or where his fiercest rays the sun\n Sends forth? Or in the balmy west\n Wilt shine, where thou mayst hear the waves\n On Calpe's shore resound? What place\n In heaven serene shalt thou obtain? 1570\n When great Alcides is received\n Among the stars, who will be free\n From fear? May Jove assign thy place\n Far from the raging Lion's seat,\n And burning Crab, lest at sight of thee\n The frightened stars confuse their laws\n And Titan quake with fear. 1575\n So long as blooming flowers shall come\n With wakening spring; while winter's frosts\n Strip bare the trees, and summer suns\n Reclothe them with their wonted green;\n While in the autumn ripened fruits\n Fall to the ground: no lapse of time 1580\n Shall e'er destroy thy memory\n Upon the earth. For thou shalt live\n As comrade of the sun and stars.\n Sooner shall wheat grow in the sea,\n Or stormy straits with gentle waves\n Beat on the shore; sooner descend\n The Bear from out his frozen sky\n And bathe him in forbidden waves: 1585\n Than shall the thankful people cease\n To sing thy praise.\n And now to thee,\n O father of the world, we pray:\n Let no dread beast be born on earth,\n No monstrous pest; keep this poor world\n From abject fear of heartless kings;\n Let no one hold the reins of power 1590\n Who deems his kingdom's glory lies\n In the terror of his naked sword.\n But if again some thing of dread\n Appear upon the earth, Oh, give,\n We pray, another champion.\n But what is this? The heavens resound. 1595\n Behold Alcides' father mourns,\n He mourns his son. Or is't the sound\n Of grieving gods, or the cry of fear\n Of the timid stepdame? Can it be\n That at the sight of Hercules\n Great Juno flees the stars? Perchance\n Beneath the added weight of heaven\n Tall Atlas reels. Or do the shades 1600\n Cry out in fear of Hercules,\n While Cerberus with broken chains\n In panic flees the sight? Not so:\n Behold, 'tis Poeas' son, who comes\n With looks of gladness. See, he bears\n The well-known quiver and the shafts 1605\n Of Hercules.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[38] Reading, _auctor_.\n\n[39] Reading, _fremens_.\n\n[40] Reading, _remeabit_.\n\n[41] Reading, _Aeacon_.\n\n[42] Reading, _minimum cruentis_.\n\n\nACT V\n\n[_Enter_ Philoctetes.]\n\n _Nurse:_ Speak out, good youth, and tell the end, I pray,\n Of Hercules. How did he meet his death?\n\n _Philoctetes:_ More gladly than another meets his life.\n\n _Nurse:_ What? Did he then rejoice him in the fire?\n\n _Philoctetes:_ He showed that burning flames were naught to him. 1610\n What is there in the world which Hercules\n Has left unconquered? He has vanquished all.\n\n _Nurse:_ What chance for glory on the funeral pyre?\n\n _Philoctetes:_ One evil thing remained upon the earth\n Which he had not o'ercome--the power of fire. 1615\n But this has now been added to the beasts,\n And fire is one of great Alcides' toils.\n\n _Nurse:_ But tell us in what way he conquered fire.\n\n _Philoctetes:_ When all his sorrowing friends began to fell\n The trees on Oeta's slopes, beneath one hand\n The beech-tree lost its foliage and lay,\n Its mighty trunk prone on the ground. One hand\n With deadly stroke attacked the towering pine, 1620\n Which lifted to the stars its threatening top,\n And called it from the clouds. In act to fall,\n It shook its rocky crag, and with a crash\n Whelmed all the lesser forest in its fall.\n Within the forest was a certain oak,\n Wide-spreading, vast, like that Chaonian tree\n Of prophecy, whose shade shuts out the sun,\n Embracing all the grove[43] within its arms. 1625\n By many a blow beset, it groans at first\n In threatening wise, and all the wedges breaks;\n The smiting axe bounds back, its edges dulled,\n Too soft for such a task. At length the tree,\n Long wavering, falls with widespread ruin down.\n Straightway the place admits the sun's bright rays; 1630\n The birds, their tree o'erthrown, fly twittering round,\n And seek their vanished homes on wearied wing.\n Now every tree resounds; even the oaks\n Feel in their sacred sides the piercing steel,\n Nor does its ancient sanctity protect 1635\n The grove. The wood into a pile is heaped;\n Its logs alternate rising high aloft,\n Make all too small a pyre for Hercules:\n The pine inflammable, tough-fibered oak,\n The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees, 1640\n Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow,\n Fill up the space and make the pyre complete.\n But he, like some great lion in the woods\n Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain,\n Is borne along--but who would e'er believe\n That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre?\n His gaze was fixed upon the stars of heaven, 1645\n Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came\n And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre.\n The great beams groaned and broke beneath his weight.\n Now he demands his bow. \"Take this,\" he said,\n \"O son of Poeas, take this as the gift\n And pledge of love from Hercules to thee.\n These deadly shafts the poisonous hydra felt; 1650\n With these the vile Stymphalian birds lie low;\n And every other monster which I slew\n With distant aim. O noble youth, go on\n In victory, for never 'gainst thy foes\n Shalt thou send these in vain. Wouldst wish to bring\n Birds from the very clouds? Down shall they fall,\n And with them come thine arrows sure of prey. 1655\n This bow shall never disappoint thy hand.\n Well has it learned to poise the feathered shaft\n And send it flying in unerring course.\n The shafts themselves as well, loosed from the string,\n Have never failed to find their destined mark.\n But do thou in return, my only prayer,\n Bring now the funeral torch and light the pyre. 1660\n This club,\" he said, \"which never hand but mine\n Has wielded, shall the flames consume with me.\n This weapon, only, shall to Hercules\n Belong. But this, too, thou shouldst have from me\n If thou couldst bear its weight. But let it serve\n To aid its master's pyre.\" Then he required 1665\n The shaggy spoil of the dire Nemean beast\n To burn with him. The huge skin hid the pyre.\n Now all the gazing crowd begin to groan,\n And tears of woe to fall from every eye.\n His mother bares her breast in eager grief\n And smites her body stripped e'en to the loins 1670\n For unrestrained lament; then all the gods\n And Jupiter himself she supplicates,\n While all the place re-echoes with her shrieks.\n \"Thou dost disgrace the death of Hercules,\n O mother, check thy tears,\" Alcides said;\n \"Within thy heart thy woman's grief confine.\n Why shouldst thou make this day a time of joy 1675\n For Juno with thy tears? For she, be sure,\n Rejoices to behold her rival weep.\n Then this unworthy grief, my mother, check.\n It is not meet to abuse the breast that nursed,\n And the womb that bore Alcides.\" Thus he spake;\n Then with a dreadful cry, as when he led 1680\n The awful dog throughout the towns of Greece,\n Returned triumphant o'er the shades of hell,\n Scorning the lord of death and death itself,\n So did he lay him down upon the pyre.\n What victor in his chariot ever shone\n With such triumphant joy? What tyrant king\n With such a countenance e'er uttered laws\n Unto his subject tribes? So deep his calm 1685\n Of soul. All tears were dried, our sorrows shamed\n To silence, and we groaned no more to think\n That he must perish. E'en Alcmena's self,\n Whose sex is prone to mourn, now tearless stood,\n A worthy mother of her noble son. 1690\n\n _Nurse:_ But did he, on the verge of death, no prayer\n To heaven breathe, no aid from Jove implore?\n\n _Philoctetes:_ With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies,\n As searching from what quarter of the heavens\n His sire would look on him, and thus he spake, 1695\n With hands outstretched: \"O father, whencesoe'er\n From heaven thou lookest down upon thy son--\n He truly is my father for whose sake\n One day of old was swallowed up in night--\n If both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise,\n If Scythia, and all the sun-parched lands; 1700\n If peace fills all the world; if cities groan\n Beneath no tyrant's hand, and no one stains\n With blood of guests his impious altar stones;\n If horrid crimes have ceased: then, take, I pray,\n My spirit to the skies. I have no fear\n Of death, nor do the gloomy realms of Dis 1705\n Affright my soul; but Oh, I blush with shame\n To go, a naked shade, unto those gods\n Whom I myself aforetime overcame.\n Dispel the clouds and ope the gates of heaven,\n That all the gods may see Alcides burn.\n Though thou refuse me place among the stars,\n Thou shalt be forced to grant my prayer. Ah no: 1710\n If grief can palliate my impious words,\n Forgive; spread wide the Stygian pools for me,\n And give me up to death. But first, O sire,\n Approve thy son. This day at least shall show\n That I am worthy of the skies. All deeds\n Which I have done before seem worthless now; 1715\n This day shall prove me worthy, or condemn.\"\n When he had spoken thus he called for fire:\n \"Come hither now, comrade of Hercules,\n With willing hand take up the funeral torch.\n Why dost thou tremble? Does thy timid hand\n Shrink from the deed as from an impious crime?\n Then give me back my quiver, coward, weak. 1720\n Is that the hand which fain would bend my bow?\n Why does such pallor sit upon thy cheeks?\n Come, ply the torch with that same fortitude\n That thou dost see in me. Thy pattern take,\n Poor soul, from him who faces fiery death.\n But lo, my father calls me from the sky\n And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!\" 1725\n And as he spake his face was glorified.\n Then did I with my trembling hand apply\n The blazing torch. But see, the flames leap back,\n And will not touch his limbs. But Hercules\n Pursues the fleeing fires. You would suppose\n That Caucasus or Pindus was ablaze, 1730\n Or lofty Athos. Still no sound was heard\n Save only that the flames made loud lament.\n O stubborn heart! Had Typhon huge been placed\n Upon that pyre, or bold Enceladus,\n Who bore uprooted Ossa on his back,\n He would have groaned aloud in agony. 1735\n But Hercules amidst the roaring flames\n Stood up, all charred and torn, with dauntless gaze,\n And said: \"O mother, thus 'tis meet for thee\n Beside the pyre of Hercules to stand.\n Such mourning fits him well. Now dost thou seem\n In very truth Alcides' mother.\" There, 1740\n 'Midst scorching heat and roaring flames he stood,\n Unmoved, unshaken, showing naught of pain,\n Encouraging, advising, active still.\n His own brave spirit animated all.\n You would have thought him burning with desire\n To burn. The crowd looked on in speechless awe,\n And scarce believed the flames to be true fire, 1745\n So calm and so majestic was his mien.\n Nor did he hasten to consume himself;\n But when he deemed that fortitude enough\n Was shown in death, from every hand he dragged\n The burning logs which with least ardor glowed,\n Piled them together in a mighty fire, 1750\n And to the very center of the blaze\n The dauntless hero went. Awhile he stood\n And feasted on the flames his eager eyes.\n Then from his heavy beard leaped gleaming fire.\n But even when the flames assailed his face,\n And licked his head with their hot, fiery tongues,\n He did not close his eyes. 1755\n But what is this?\n 'Tis sad Alcmena. With what signs of woe\n She makes her way, while in her breast she bears\n The pitiful remains of Hercules.\n\n[_Enter_ Alcmena, _carrying in her bosom a funeral urn_.]\n\n _Alcmena:_ Ye powers of heaven, I bid you fear the fates.\n [_Holding up the urn._]\n How small a space Alcides' ashes fill!\n To this small compass has that giant come!\n O shining sun, how great a man has gone 1760\n To nothingness. Alas, this ag\u00e9d breast\n Is large enough to be Alcides' tomb.\n Behold, his ashes scarce can fill the urn.\n How small his weight, upon whose shoulders once\n The dome of heaven lay, a burden light.\n Thou once didst go, my son, to Tartara, 1765\n The farthest realms of death--and come again.\n Oh, when wilt thou a second time return\n From that infernal stream? I ask thee not\n To come again with spoil, nor bring again\n Imprisoned Theseus to the light of day;\n But only that thou come again--alone.\n Will all the world, heaped on thee, hold thy shade, 1770\n Or Cerberus avail to keep thee back?\n When wilt thou batter down the gates of hell,\n Or to what portals shall thy mother go?\n Where is the highway that leads down to death?\n E'en now thou tak'st thy journey to the shades,\n Which thou wilt ne'er retrace. Why waste the hours\n In vain complaints? And why, O wretched life, 1775\n Dost thou endure? Why dost thou cling to day?\n What Hercules can I again bring forth\n To Jupiter? What son so great as he\n Will ever call Alcmena mother? Oh,\n Too happy thou, my Theban husband, thou\n Who didst to gloomy Tartara descend\n While still Alcides lived; at thine approach 1780\n The infernal deities were filled with fear\n Of thee, though only the reputed sire\n Of Hercules. What land will welcome me,\n Now old and hated by all cruel kings\n (If any cruel king remains alive)?\n Oh, woe is me! Whatever orphaned son\n Laments his sire will strive to seek revenge 1785\n From me, and I shall be the prey of all.\n If any young Busiris or the son\n Of dread Antaeus terrifies the land,\n His booty shall I be. If anyone\n Would make reprisal for the Thracian steeds\n Of bloody Diomede, I shall be given 1790\n To feed those cruel herds. Juno perchance\n Will be by passion pricked to seek revenge.\n Now all her anger will be turned on me;\n For, though her soul no longer is disturbed\n Because of Hercules, I still am left,\n Her hated rival. Ah, what punishment\n Will she inflict, in fear lest I bring forth 1795\n Another son! The mighty Hercules\n Has made my womb a thing of terror still.\n Where shall Alcmena take herself? What place,\n What region of the universe will keep,\n What hiding-place conceal thy mother now,\n Since she is known through thee in every land?\n Shall I return unto my native shores,\n My wretched lares? There Eurystheus reigns. 1800\n Shall I seek out my husband's city, Thebes,\n Ismenus' stream, and my own bridal bed\n Where once, beloved, I saw great Jupiter?\n Oh, happy, far too happy had I been,\n If I myself, like Semele, had felt\n The blasting presence of the thundering Jove!\n Oh, would that from my womb Alcides, too, 1805\n Untimely had been torn! But now 'tis given,\n 'Tis given to see my son with mighty Jove\n Vying in praise; would that this might be given,\n To know from what fate he could rescue me.\n What people now will live remembering thee,\n O son? Ungrateful are they all alike. 1810\n Cleonae shall I seek? the Arcadians,\n And the lands ennobled by thy mighty deeds?\n Here fell the serpent dire, here monstrous birds,\n Here fell the bloody king; and here, subdued\n By thy right hand, the lion, who in heaven\n Is given a place, whilst thou in earth remain'st. 1815\n If earth is grateful, then let every race\n Defend Alcmena for thy sake. Shall I\n To Thracian peoples go, to Hebrus' tribes?\n For this land, too, was by thy mighty works\n Defended. Low the bloody stables lie,\n And low the kingdom; peace was granted it, 1820\n What time the cruel king was overthrown.\n What land, indeed, has not gained peace through thee?\n Where shall I seek for thee a sepulcher,\n Unhappy, ag\u00e9d woman that I am?\n Let all the world contend for these remains\n Collected from the pyre of Hercules.\n What race, what temples, or what nations ask\n For them? Who asks to have Alcmena's load? 1825\n What sepulcher, O son, what tomb for thee\n Is great enough? Naught save the world itself;\n And lasting fame shall be thine epitaph.\n But why, O soul of mine, art thou in fear?\n Thou hast the ashes of thy Hercules.\n Embrace his bones, and they will give thee help,\n Will be thy sure defense. For e'en the shade 1830\n Of great Alcides will make kings afraid.\n\n _Philoctetes:_ O mother of illustrious Hercules,\n Restrain the tears thou deemest due thy son;\n For neither grieving tears nor mournful prayers\n Should follow him who by his noble worth\n Has forced his way to heaven in spite of fate.\n Alcides' deathless valor checks your tears. 1835\n\n _Alcmena:_ Why should I bate my grief? For I have lost\n My savior,[44] yea, the savior of the land\n And sea,[45] and wheresoe'er the shining day\n From his resplendent car, in east or west,\n Looks down upon the earth. How many sons\n In him, O wretched mother, have I lost! 1840\n Without a kingdom, I could kingdoms give.\n I only, 'midst all mothers of the earth,\n Had never need of prayer; naught from the gods\n I asked, while Hercules remained alive;\n For what could his devotion not bestow?\n What god in heaven could e'er deny me aught? 1845\n In my own hands was answer of my prayer;\n For what great Jove denied, Alcides gave.\n What mortal mother e'er bore such a son?\n A mother once with grief was turned to stone,\n When, 'midst her brood of fourteen children slain,\n She stood, one mother, and bewailed them all. 1850\n To many families like hers my son\n Could be compared. Till now for mother's grief\n A measure vast enough could not be found;\n But now will I, Alcmena, furnish it.\n Then cease, ye mothers, though persistent grief\n Till now has bidden you weep; though heavy woe 1855\n Has turned your hearts to stone; and yield you all\n Unto my woes.\n Then come, ye wretched hands,\n And beat this ag\u00e9d breast. But can it be\n That thou alone canst for so great a loss\n Lament, so old and worn, which[46] all the world 1860\n Will presently attempt? Yet raise thy arms,\n However weary, to their mournful task.\n And to thy wailing summon all the earth,\n And so excite the envy of the gods.\n\n[_Here follows_ Alcmena's _formal song of mourning, accompanied by the\nusual Oriental gestures of grief_.]\n\n Bewail Alcmena's son, the seed\n Of Jove, for whose conception, long, 1865\n Day perished and the lingering dawn\n Combined two nights in one. But now\n A greater than the day is dead.\n Ye nations, join in common grief,\n Whose cruel lords he bade descend\n To Stygian realms, and lay aside 1870\n Their red swords reeking with the blood\n Of subject peoples. With your tears\n Repay his services; let earth,\n The whole round earth, with woe resound.\n Let sea-girt Crete bewail him, Crete,\n The Thunderer's belov\u00e9d land; 1875\n Beat, beat your breasts, ye hundred tribes;\n Ye Cretans, Corybantes, now\n Clash Ida's cymbals; for 'tis meet\n To mourn him thus. Now, now lament\n His funeral; for low he lies, 1880\n A mate, O Crete, for Jove himself.\n Bewail the death of Hercules,\n Ye sons of Arcady, whose race\n Is older than Diana's birth.\n Let your cries from high Parthenius\n And Nemea's halls resound afar; 1885\n Let Maenala re-echo loud\n Your sounds of woe. The bristly boar\n Within your borders overthrown\n Demands lament for Hercules;\n And the monster of Stymphalus' pool,\n Whose spreading wings shut out the day,\n By great Alcides' arrows slain. 1890\n Weep thou, Cleonae, weep and wail\n For him; for once the lion huge\n Which held your walls in terror, he,\n By his strong hand, o'ercame and slew.\n Ye Thracian matrons, beat your breasts,\n And let cold Hebrus resound to your beating. 1895\n Lament for Alcides: no longer your children\n Are born for the stables; no longer your vitals\n Wild horses devour. O ye African lands,\n From Antaeus delivered, ye regions of Spain\n From Geryon saved, come, weep for your hero. 1900\n Yea, all ye wretched nations, weep\n With me and smite your breasts in woe,\n And let your blows be heard afar,\n By eastern and by western shores.\n Ye dwellers in the whirling sky,\n Ye gods above, do ye, too, weep\n The fate of Hercules; for he 1905\n Your heavens upon his shoulders bore,\n When Atlas, who was wont to bear\n The spangled skies, was eased awhile\n Of his vast load. Where now, O Jove,\n Is the promised palace of the sky, 1910\n Those heavenly heights? Alcides dies\n And is entombed--the common lot.\n How often has he spared for thee\n The deadly thunderbolt of wrath!\n How seldom wast thou forced to hurl\n Thy fires! But hurl 'gainst me at least\n One shaft, and think me Semele. 1915\n And now, O son, hast thou obtained\n The fields Elysian, the shore\n To which the voice of nature calls\n All nations? Or has gloomy Styx\n Hemmed in thy way in vengeful wrath\n Because of stolen Cerberus,\n And in the outer court of Dis 1920\n Do jealous fates detain thee still?\n Oh what a rout among the shades\n And frightened manes must there be!\n Does Charon flee in his ghostly skiff?\n With flying hoofs do the Centaurs rush 1925\n Through the wandering shades? Does the hydra seek\n In fear to plunge his snaky heads\n 'Neath the murky waves? Do all thy tasks\n Hold thee in fear?\n Ah me! Ah me!\n What foolish, raving madness this!\n I am mistaken quite. I know 1930\n The shades and manes fear thee not;\n For neither does the tawny skin\n Stripped from the fierce Argolic beast\n Protect thy left with its streaming mane,\n Nor do its savage teeth surround 1935\n Thy head. Thy quiver with its darts\n Thou hast given away, and a weaker hand\n Will aim thy bow. Alas, my son,\n Unarmed through the shades thou tak'st thy way;\n And with the shades shalt thou dwell for aye.\n\n _The Voice of Hercules_ [_sounding from heaven_]: Why, since I hold\n the starry realms of sky, 1940\n And have at last attained a heavenly seat,\n Dost thou by wailing bid me feel again\n Mortality? Give o'er, since valor now\n Has made for me a passage to the gods.\n\n _Alcmena_ [_bewildered_]: Whence fall upon my startled ears\n These sounds? Whence come these thunder tones\n That bid me check my tears? Ah, now 1945\n I know that chaos is o'ercome.\n From Styx art thou once more returned,\n O son? And hast thou once again\n Vanquished the grizzly power of death?\n Hast thou escaped the grim abode\n Of death once more, the gloomy pools\n Where sailed the dark infernal skiff? 1950\n Does Acheron's wan stream allow\n To thee alone a backward way?\n And after death has greedy fate\n No hold upon thy dauntless soul?\n Perchance thy way to hell was barred\n By Pluto's self, who trembled sore\n For his own realm? Upon the pyre 1955\n Of blazing woods I saw thee lie;\n While to the stars the raging flames\n Shot up. Thou wast indeed consumed.\n Then why does not the far abode\n Of death retain thy spirit still? 1960\n What part of thee do trembling manes fear?\n Is e'en thy shade too terrible for Dis?\n\n _Hercules_ [_his form now taking shape in the air above_]: The pools\n of grim Cocytus hold me not,\n Nor has the dusky skiff contained my ghost.\n Then cease thy mourning, mother; once for all\n Have I beheld the manes and the shades. 1965\n The mortal part of me, the part thou gav'st,\n Was by the overmastering flames consumed;\n Thy part to fire, my father's part to heaven\n Has been consigned. Then cease thy loud laments,\n Which it were fitting to a worthless son\n To give. To inglorious souls such grief is due; 1970\n For courage heavenward tends; base fear, to death.\n Hear now, as from the stars I prophesy:\n Soon shall the bloody king, Eurystheus, pay\n Fit penalty to thee for all his deeds;\n For over his proud head shalt thou be borne\n In thy triumphant car. But now 'tis meet\n That I return to the celestial realms; 1975\n Alcides once again has conquered hell.\n\n[_He vanishes from sight._]\n\n _Alcmena:_ Stay but a little--ah, from my fond eyes\n He has departed, gone again to heaven.\n Am I deceived, and do my eyes but dream\n They saw my son? My soul for very grief\n Is faithless still. Not so, thou art a god, 1980\n And holdest even now the immortal skies.\n I trust thy triumph still. But quickly now\n Unto the realm of Thebes will I repair,\n And proudly tell thy new-made godhead there.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Chorus:_ Never is glorious manhood borne\n To Stygian shades. The brave live on,\n Nor over Lethe's silent stream 1985\n Shall they by cruel fate be drawn.\n But when life's days are all consumed,\n And comes the final hour, for them\n A pathway to the gods is spread\n By glory.\n Be thou with us yet,\n O mighty conqueror of beasts, 1990\n Subduer of the world. Oh, still\n Have thought unto this earth of ours.\n And if some strange, new monster come\n And fill the nations with his dread,\n Do thou with fork\u00e9d lightnings crush\n The beast; yea, hurl thy thunderbolts 1995\n More mightily than Jove himself.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[43] Reading, _nemus_.\n\n[44] Reading, _vindicem amisi_.\n\n[45] Reading, _terrae atque pelagi_.\n\n[46] Reading, _quod_.\n\n\n\n\nTHYESTES\n\n\n\n\nTHYESTES\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n\nTHYESTES Brother of Atreus, in exile from his fatherland.\n\n_The Ghost of Tantalus._ Doomed for his sins to come back to earth and\ninspire his house to greater sin.\n\n_The Fury_ Who drives the ghost on to do his allotted part.\n\n_Atreus_ King of Argos, grandson of Tantalus, who has quarreled with\nhis brother and driven him into exile.\n\n_An Attendant of Atreus._\n\n_Three sons of Thyestes:_ Only one of whom, Tantalus, takes part in\nthe dialogue.\n\n_A Messenger._\n\n_Chorus_ Citizens of Mycenae.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid partly without the city of Argos, and partly within\nthe royal palace.\n\n\n_Pelops, the son of Tantalus, had banished his sons for the murder of\ntheir half-brother, Crysippus, with a curse upon them, that they and\ntheir posterity might perish by each others' hands. Upon the death of\nPelops, Atreus returned and took possession of his father's throne.\nThyestes, also, claimed the throne, and sought to gain it by the\nfoulest means. For he seduced his brother's wife, A\u00ebrope, and stole by\nher assistance the magical, gold-fleeced ram from Atreus' flocks, upon\nthe possession of which the right to rule was said to rest. For this\nact he was banished by the king._\n\n_But Atreus has long been meditating a more complete revenge upon\nhis brother; and now in pretended friendship has recalled him from\nbanishment, offering him a place beside himself upon the throne, that\nthus he may have Thyestes entirely in his power._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _The Ghost of Tantalus:_ Who from th' accurs\u00e9d regions of the dead,\n Hath haled me forth, where greedily I strive\n To snatch the food that ever doth escape\n My hungry lips? Who now to Tantalus\n Doth show those heavenly seats which once before\n I saw to my undoing? Can it be\n That some more fearful suffering than thirst\n In sight of water, worse than gaping want, 5\n Hath been devised? Must I the slippery stone\n Of Sisyphus upon my shoulders bear?\n Must I be stretched upon the whirling wheel,\n Or suffer Tityus' pangs, who, lying prone\n Within a huge recess, the grewsome birds 10\n Doth with his quivering, torn-out vitals feed?\n By night renewing what the day hath lost,\n He lies, an undiminished feast for all.\n For what new evil am I now reserved?\n O thou grim judge of shades, who'er thou art\n Who to the dead doth mete new punishments!\n If thou canst still some suffering devise 15\n Whereat grim Cerberus himself would quake,\n And gloomy Acheron be seized with fear,\n At whose dread sight e'en I would tremble sore:\n Seek such a punishment; for from my seed\n Is sprung a race which shall their house outvie 20\n In sin, shall make me innocent appear,\n And dare to do what I have never dared.\n Whatever space within the impious realms\n Remains unoccupied, my house shall fill.\n While lives the race of Pelops on the earth,\n No rest shall Minos know.\n\n _The Fury:_ Thou curs\u00e9d shade,\n Be gone, and to the verge of madness drive\n Thine impious house. Be drawn the deadly sword 25\n To every crime upraised, by every hand;\n Of angry passions let there be no end,\n No shame of strife; let blinded fury's sting\n Prick on their souls; seared by the breath of rage\n May parents' hearts grow hard, and endless crime\n To childrens' children drag its impious trail.\n No time be given to hate their former crimes;\n But let the new in quick succession rise, 30\n Not one alone in each; and may their crimes,\n E'en while they suffer punishment, increase.\n Let the throne fall from the haughty brothers' grasp,\n And call them back from exiled wanderings.\n Let the tottering fortune of this bloody house,\n Amid its changing kings in ruins fall.\n Bring him of high estate to wretchedness, 35\n The wretched raise; and let the kingdom toss\n Upon the seething tide of circumstance.\n By crime driven out, when God shall bring them home,\n May they return but to still other crimes,\n And by all men as by themselves be loathed.\n Let nothing be which wrath deems unallowed:\n Let brother brother fear, and parent child; 40\n Let son fear father; let the children die\n An evil death--by doubly evil birth\n Be born. Let wives against their husbands lift\n Their murderous hands. Let wars pass over seas,\n And every land be drenched with streams of blood.\n Triumphant o'er the mighty kings of earth,\n Let Lust exult; and in thy sinful house, 45\n Let vile, incestuous deeds seem trivial.\n Let justice, faith, fraternal amity\n Be trampled underfoot; and of our sins\n Let not the heavens themselves escape the taint.\n Why gleam the constellations in the sky,\n And flash their wonted glories to the world? 50\n Be pitchy black the night, and let the day\n Fall fainting from the heavens and be no more.\n Embroil thy household gods, rouse murderous hate,\n And all the palace fill with Tantalus.\n Adorn the lofty columns; let the doors,\n With verdant laural decked, proclaim their joy;\n Let torches gleam in celebration meet 55\n Of thy return--then let the Thracian crime\n Be done again, but triply hideous.\n Why stays the uncle's hand in idleness?\n Not yet Thyestes weeps his murdered sons.\n When will he act? The kettles o'er the fires\n Should even now be boiling, severed limbs 60\n Be broken up, the father's hearth be stained\n With children's blood, the festal tables spread.\n But at no untried carnival of crime\n Wilt thou sit down as guest. This day be free,\n And sate thy hunger at that festal board;\n Go eat thy fill, and drink the blood and wine 65\n Commingled in thy sight. A banquet this,\n Which thou thyself wouldst look in horror on.--\n But stay thee. Whither dost thou rush away?\n\n _Tantalus:_ Back to my pools and streams and ebbing waves,\n Back to that tree whose ever-mocking fruit\n Eludes my lips. Oh, let me seek again\n The gloomy couch of my old prison-house; 70\n And if too little wretched I appear,\n Bid me my river change. Within thy stream,\n O Phlegethon, hemmed round with waves of fire,\n Let me be left to suffer.\n Ye, whoe'er\n By fate's decrees are doomed to punishment,\n Whoe'er thou art who 'neath the hollowed cave 75\n Dost lie, in constant fear lest even now\n The cavern's mass shall fall upon thy head;\n Whoever fears the gaping, greedy jaws\n Of lions, and in helpless horror looks\n Upon the advancing furies' cruel lines;\n Whoe'er, half burned, their threat'ning torches shuns:\n Oh, listen to the voice of Tantalus 80\n Fast speeding to your realm; believe the words\n Of one who knows, and love your punishment.\n But now--Oh, when shall it be mine to flee\n This upper world?\n\n _The Fury:_ First must thou plunge thy house\n In dire disorders, stir up deadly feuds,\n Awake the kings to evil lust for blood,\n And rouse to wild amaze their maddened hearts.\n\n _Tantalus:_ 'Tis fit that I should suffer, not bestow, 85\n The punishment. But thou wouldst have me go,\n Like deadly vapor from the riven earth,\n Or like the plague amongst the people spread,\n And lead my grandsons into crime most foul.\n O mighty sire of gods, my sire as well,\n Although 'tis shame to thee to own me son, 90\n Though cruel tortures seize my tattling tongue,\n I will not hold my peace:\n [_He cries aloud as to his family._]\n I warn ye all,\n Stain not your kindred hands with sacred blood,\n And with no madman's gifts pollute the shrines.\n Lo, here I stand, and shall avert the deed. 95\n [_To the_ Fury.]\n Why dost thou fright me with thy brandished scourge,\n And shake thy writhing serpents in my face?\n Why in mine inmost marrow dost thou rouse\n These gnawing hunger pangs? My very heart\n Is parched with burning thirst, and leaping flames\n Dart scorching through my vitals--Oh, desist;\n I yield me to thy will. 100\n\n _The Fury:_ Then fix this thirst,\n This maddening thirst in all thy kindred here;\n So, e'en as thou, may they be driven on\n To quench their thirst each in the others' blood.\n But lo, thy house perceives thy near approach,\n And shrinks in horror from thy loathsome touch.\n But now enough. Do thou go back again 105\n To thine infernal caves and 'customed stream;\n For here the sad earth groans beneath thy feet.\n Dost thou not see how, driven far within,\n The waters flee their springs? how river banks\n Are empty, and the fiery wind drives on\n The scattered clouds? The trees grow sickly pale,\n Their branches hang denuded of their fruits; 110\n And where but late the Isthmus echoed back\n The loud resounding waters near at hand,\n Their neighboring waves by but a narrow span\n Dividing, now have all the waves withdrawn\n Far seaward, and their voice is faintly heard\n Upon the shore. Now Lerna backward shrinks, 115\n The streams of Inachus have hidden away,\n The sacred Alpheus sends his waters forth\n No longer, and Cithaeron lifts no more\n Its hoary head, for all its snows are gone;\n While they who dwell in noble Argos fear\n Their ancient thirst again. E'en Titan's self\n Stands doubtful whether he shall bid his steeds 120\n Run their accustomed course and bring the day,\n Foredoomed by thee to perish on the way.\n\n[_They vanish._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ If any god for Argos cares,\n And Pisa's realm for chariots famed;\n If any loves the Isthmian state\n Of Corinth, with its double ports,\n And two opposing seas; 125\n If any joys in the far-seen snows\n Of Mount Taygetus, which lie\n Heaped on his loftiest peaks what time\n The wintry blasts of Boreas blow,\n But which the summer melts again\n When breathe the soft Etesian winds,\n Sail filling; if the Alpheus bright\n With its cool, clear stream moves any god, 130\n Far famed for its Olympic course--\n Let him his peaceful godhead turn\n To our affairs; let him avert\n This dread inheritance of crime;\n Forbid that in his grandsire's steps\n The grandson follow, worse than he;\n And let not worse monstrosities\n Please generations yet to be. 135\n Oh, may at last the impious race\n Of thirsty Tantalus give o'er\n In utter weariness its lust\n For savage deeds. Enough of sin!\n No longer does the right prevail,\n And wrong is general. Behold,\n As Myrtilus his lord betrayed,\n He, too, was treacherously slain;\n For by that selfsame broken faith 140\n Which he had shown, himself o'ercome,[47]\n He fell into the sea and changed\n Its name for his. Amidst the ships\n That sail the Ionian sea, no tale\n Is better known.\n See now, while runs the little son\n To meet his father's kiss, he falls 145\n By that accurs\u00e9d sword transfixed,\n Untimely victim at thy hearth,\n And carved, O Tantalus, by thee,\n That so thou mightest grace the board\n Of friendly gods. That impious feast\n Eternal hunger, endless thirst\n Rewarded; penalty more fit 150\n For such a crime could not be found.\n See where, with gaping throat, forespent,\n Stands Tantalus; above his head\n Hang many luscious fruits; but, swift\n As Phineus' birds, they flee his grasp;\n On every side the tree droops low,\n With heavy-laden boughs, o'erweighed 155\n By its own fruit, and mockingly\n Sways to his straining lips. Yet he,\n Though with impatient longing filled,\n As often mocked, so often fails\n To grasp the prize; he turns away 160\n His longing gaze, strains close his lips,\n And grimly bars his hunger fast\n Behind his teeth. But still again\n The whole grove lets its riches down,\n And flaunts them in his face, soft fruits\n On drooping boughs, and whets once more\n His hunger, bidding stretch again 165\n His hands--but all in vain. For now,\n When it has lured him on to hope,\n And mocked its fill, the boughs recede,\n And the whole ripe harvest of the wood\n Is snatched far out of reach.\n Then comes a raging thirst more fierce\n Than hunger, which inflames his blood, 170\n And with its parching fires burns up\n Its moisture. There the poor wretch stands,\n Striving to quaff the nearby waves;\n But the fleeing waters whirl away,\n And leave but the empty bed to him\n Who seeks to follow. Quick he quaffs\n At that swift stream, but to drink--the dust. 175\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[47] Reading, _vectus_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Atreus_ [_in soliloquy_]: O soul, so sluggish, spiritless, and weak,\n And (what in kings I deem the last reproach)\n Still unavenged, after so many crimes,\n Thy brother's treacheries, and every law\n Of nature set at naught, canst vent thy wrath\n In vain and meaningless complaints? By now\n The whole wide world should be astir with arms, 180\n Thy arms, and on both seas thy ships of war\n Should swarm; the fields and town's should be ablaze,\n And gleaming swords should everywhere be seen.\n Beneath our charging squadrons' thundering tread\n Let Greece resound; let this my enemy\n Within no forest's depths a hiding find. 185\n No citadel upon the mountain heights\n Shall shelter him. Let all the citizens,\n Mycenae leaving, sound the trump of war.\n Whoe'er grants refuge to that curs\u00e9d head,\n Shall die a dreadful death. This noble pile,\n The home of our illustrious Pelops' line, 190\n I would might fall on me, if only thus\n It might destroy my hated brother too.\n But come, my soul, do what no coming age\n Shall e'er approve--or e'er forget; some deed\n Must be attempted, impious, bloody, dire,\n Such as my brother's self might claim as his.\n No crime's avenged save by a greater crime. 195\n But where the crime that can surpass his deeds?\n Is he yet crushed in spirit? Does he show\n In prosperous circumstances self-control,\n Contentment in defeat? Full well I know\n His tameless spirit; it can ne'er be bent--\n But can be broken. Then, before his force 200\n He strengthens and opposing powers prepares,\n We must the attack begin, lest, while we wait,\n He strike us unprepared. For well I know\n That he must either slay me or be slain\n By me. There lies the crime between us two:\n Who leaps to grasp it first, the crime shall do.\n\n _Attendant:_ But does the evil fame of such a deed\n Deter you not?\n\n _Atreus:_ The greatest blessing this\n Of royal power, that men are forced to praise 205\n Their monarchs' deeds as well as bear them.\n\n _Attendant:_ Yea,\n But they whose praise is forced by fear become\n By that same fear in turn the bitterest foes.\n But he who seeks the people's heartfelt praise,\n Will wish their hearts and not their tongues to speak. 210\n\n _Atreus:_ True praise may often fall to humble men,\n But false alone to kings. Let subjects learn\n To want what they would not.\n\n _Attendant:_ Let monarchs learn\n To choose the right; then all will choose the same.\n\n _Atreus:_ When kings are forced to choose the right alone,\n Their rule is insecure.\n\n _Attendant:_ Where is no shame,\n No thought of righteousness, no piety, 215\n No faith, no purity, Oh, then indeed\n That rule is insecure.\n\n _Atreus:_ But purity,\n Faith, piety, are private virtues all;\n With kings, their will is law.\n\n _Attendant:_ Oh, count it wrong\n To harm thy brother, though he basest be.\n\n _Atreus:_ Whatever may not lawfully be done 220\n To brothers, may with perfect right be done\n To him. What is there left me now unstained\n By crime of his? Where has he failed to sin?\n My wife has he debauched, my kingdom stolen,\n The ancient emblem of our dynasty\n By fraud obtained, and all our royal house\n By that same fraud in dire confusion plunged.\n There is a flock within our royal stalls, 225\n Rich fleeced and nobly bred, and with the flock\n A ram, their leader, wondrous, magical;\n For from his body thickly hangs a fleece\n Of fine-spun gold, with which the new-crowned kings\n Of Pelops' line are wont t' adorn their scepters.\n Who owns the ram is king, for with his fate 230\n The fortunes of our noble house are linked.\n This sacred ram in safety feeds apart\n Within a mead whose fateful bounds are fenced\n By stony walls, and kept with gate of stone.\n Him, greatly daring, did my brother steal,\n Perfidious, with my wife in secret league 235\n Of crime. And this has been the fountain spring\n Of all my woes; throughout my kingdom's length\n Have I a trembling exile wandered long,\n And found no place of safety from his snares;\n My wife has he defiled, my subjects' faith\n And loyalty destroyed, my house o'erthrown,\n All ties of kinship broken, and nothing left 240\n Of which I may be sure save only this--\n My brother's enmity. Why do I stand\n In stupid inactivity? At length\n Bestir thyself, and gird thy courage up.\n Think thou on Pelops and on Tantalus;\n Such deeds as theirs must by my hands be done.\n\n [_To_ Attendant.]\n\n Tell thou me then how vengeance may be won.\n\n _Attendant:_ Drive out his hostile spirit with the sword. 245\n\n _Atreus:_ Thou speakest of the end of punishment,\n But I the punishment itself desire.\n Let easy-going rulers slay their foes;\n In my domain death is a longed-for boon.\n\n _Attendant:_ Do pious motives stir thee not at all?\n\n _Atreus:_ Away, O Piety, if ever thou\n Didst dwell within my house, and in thy stead\n Let come dire furies' cohorts, fiends at war, 250\n Megaera holding high in either hand\n Her flaming torch; for with a mighty rage\n 'Tis not enough my heart should be inflamed:\n I fain would be by greater horrors filled.\n\n _Attendant:_ What new design does thy mad soul conceive?\n\n _Atreus:_ No deed within the accustomed bounds of grief. 255\n I'll leave no crime undone; and yet no crime\n Is bad enough for me.\n\n _Attendant:_ Wilt use the sword?\n\n _Atreus:_ 'Tis not enough.\n\n _Attendant:_ The flames?\n\n _Atreus:_ Still not enough.\n\n _Attendant:_ What weapon then will thy mad passion use?\n\n _Atreus:_ Thyestes' self.\n\n _Attendant:_ Far worse than madness this.\n\n _Atreus:_ I do confess it. Deep within my heart, 260\n A fearful tumult rages unrestrained,\n And I am hurried on, I know not where;\n I only know that I am hurried on.\n From lowest depths a moaning sound is heard,\n And thunders rumble in the cloudless skies;\n A crashing noise resounds throughout the house\n As though 'twere rent in twain; upon my hearth\n The frightened Lares turn their gaze from me. 265\n Yet this shall be, this awful thing shall be,\n Ye gods, which ye do fear to think upon.\n\n _Attendant:_ What then is this which thou dost meditate?\n\n _Atreus:_ Some greater evil lurks within my soul,\n And, monstrous, swells beyond all human bounds,\n My sluggish hands impelling to the deed.\n I know not what it is; but this I know,\n That 'tis some monstrous deed. So let it be. 270\n Haste thee and do this deed, O soul of mine!\n 'Tis worthy of Thyestes--and of me.\n Let both perform it then. The Odrysian house\n Was wont to look on feasts unspeakable--\n monstrous thing, 'tis true, but long ago\n Performed. This grief of mine some greater sin 275\n Must find to feed upon. Do thou inspire\n My heart, O Daulian Procne, who didst know\n A mother's and a sister's feelings too.\n Our cause is similar. Assist thou then,\n And nerve my hand to act. Let once again\n A sire with joyous greed his children rend,\n And hungrily devour their flesh. 'Tis good,\n 'Tis quite enough. This mode of punishment\n So far doth please me well. But where is he? 280\n Why do the hands of Atreus rest so long\n Inactive? Even now before mine eyes\n The perfect image of the slaughter comes;\n I seem to see the murdered children heaped\n Before their father's face. O timid soul,\n Why dost thou fear? Why droops thy courage now\n Before the deed is done? Then up, and dare.\n Of this mad crime the most revolting part 285\n Thyestes' self shall do.\n\n _Attendant:_ But by what wiles\n Shall we unto our snares entice his feet?\n For he doth count us all his enemies.\n\n _Atreus:_ He never could be taken, were his will\n Not bent on taking too. E'en now he hopes\n To take my kingdom from me. In this hope,\n He'll rush against the bolts of threat'ning Jove; 290\n This hope will make him brave the whirlpools' wrath,\n And sail within the treacherous Libyan shoals;\n On this hope stayed, the greatest ill of all\n Will he have strength to bear--the sight of me.\n\n _Attendant:_ But who will give him confidence in peace?\n To whom will he such weighty credence give? 295\n\n _Atreus:_ His wicked hope is ready to believe.\n Yet shall my sons this message bear from me:\n Now let the wretched exile roam no more,\n But leave his homeless state for royal halls,\n And rule at Argos, sharer of my throne.\n But if Thyestes harshly spurn my prayer,\n His guileless children, overspent with woes 300\n And easily beguiled, will bend his will\n Unto their prayers. His ancient thirst for power,\n Together with his present poverty,\n And harsh demands of toil will move the man,\n However stubborn, by their weight of woes.\n\n _Attendant:_ But time by now has made his troubles light. 305\n\n _Atreus:_ Nay; sense of wrong increases day by day.\n 'Tis easy to bear hardship for a time;\n But to endure it long, an irksome task.\n\n _Attendant:_ Choose other servants of thy grim design.\n\n _Atreus:_ Young men lend ready ear to base commands.\n\n _Attendant:_ Beware, lest what against their uncle now 310\n Thou teachest them, they turn against their sire\n In time to come. Full oft do crimes recoil\n Upon the man who instigated them.\n\n _Atreus:_ Though none should teach them fraud and ways of crime,\n The throne itself would teach them. Dost thou fear\n Lest they grow evil? Evil were they born.\n What thou dost savage, cruel call in me,\n Dost deem impossible and impious, 315\n Perchance my brother even now doth plot\n Against myself.\n\n _Attendant:_ Shall then thy children know\n What crime they do?\n\n _Atreus:_ Not so, for youthful years\n Cannot keep silent faith. They might perchance\n Betray the trick. The art of secrecy\n Is mastered only by the ills of life.\n\n _Attendant:_ And wilt thou then deceive the very ones 320\n Through whom thou plann'st another to deceive?\n\n _Atreus:_ That so they may themselves be free from guilt.\n For what the need of implicating them\n In crimes of mine? Nay, through my acts alone\n My hate shall work its ends. But hold, my soul,\n Thou doest ill, thou shrinkest from the task.\n If thou dost spare thine own, thou sparest his 325\n As well. So then let Agamemnon be\n The conscious minister of my designs,\n And wittingly let Menela\u00fcs help\n His father's plans. And by this test of crime,\n Let their uncertain birth be put to proof:\n If they refuse to wage this deadly war,\n And will not serve my hatred; if they plead\n He is their uncle--then is he their sire.\n So let them go. But no! a look of fear 330\n Has oft revealed the heart. And weighty plans,\n E'en 'gainst the stoutest will, betray themselves.\n They shall not know of how great consequence\n Their mission is.\n [_To_ Attendant.]\n And do thou hide it too.\n\n _Attendant:_ No warning do I need, for in my breast\n It shall be hid by fear and loyalty.\n But more shall loyalty prevail with me. 335\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ At last our royal family,\n The race of ancient Inachus,\n Hath quelled the brothers' deadly strife\n What fatal madness drives you on\n To shed by turns each other's blood, 340\n And gain the throne through paths of crime?\n O ye who lust for regal state,\n Ye know not where true power is found;\n For riches cannot make a king,\n Nor Tyrian garments richly dyed, 345\n Nor royal crowns upon the brow,\n Nor portals glittering with gold.\n But he is king who knows no fear,\n Whose heart is free from mad desires;\n Whom vain ambition moveth not, 350\n Nor fickle favor of the mob.\n The hidden treasures of the west\n Move not his heart, nor sands of gold\n Which Tagus' waters sweep along\n Within their shining bed; 355\n Nor yet the garnered wealth of grain\n Trod out on Libyan threshing-floors.\n He fears no hurtling thunderbolt\n In zig-zag course athwart the sky;\n No Eurus ruffling up the sea, 360\n Nor the heaving Adriatic's waves,\n Windswept and mad before the blast;\n No hostile spear, nor keen, bare sword\n Can master him; but, set on high,\n In calm serenity he sees 365\n All things of earth beneath his feet.\n And so with joy he goes to meet\n His fate, and welcomes death.\n In vain 'gainst him would kings contend,\n Though from all lands they congregate--\n They who the scattered Dacians lead; 370\n Who dwell upon the red sea's marge\n Whose depths are set with gleaming pearls;\n Or who, secure on Caspian heights,\n Leave all unclosed their mountain ways\n Against the bold Sarmatians; 375\n They who through Danube's swelling waves\n Dare make their way with fearless feet,\n And, wheresoe'er they dwell, despoil\n The famed and far-off Serians:\n In vain all these, for 'tis the soul 380\n That makes the king. He needs no arms,\n No steeds, no ineffectual darts\n Such as the Parthian hurls from far\n In simulated flight; for him\n No engines huge with far-hurled rocks 385\n Lay waste the hostile city's walls.\n But he is king who knows no fear,\n And he is king who has no lust;\n And on his throne secure he sits\n Who is self-crowned by conscious worth. 390\n Let him who will, in pride of power,\n Upon the brink of empire stand:\n For me, be sweet repose enough;\n In humble station fixed, would I\n My life in gentle leisure spend, 395\n In silence, all unknown to fame.\n So when my days have passed away\n From noisy, restless tumult free,\n May I, in meek obscurity 400\n And full of years, decline in death.\n But death lies heavily on him\n Who, though to all the world well known,\n Is stranger to himself alone.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_Enter_ Thyestes _returning from banishment, accompanied by his three\nsons_.]\n\n _Thyestes:_ At last do I behold the welcome roofs\n Of this my fatherland, the teeming wealth\n Of Argos, and, the greatest and the best\n Of sights to weary exiles, here I see 405\n My native soil and my ancestral gods\n (If gods indeed there be). And there, behold,\n The sacred towers by hands of Cyclops reared,\n In beauty far excelling human art;\n The race-course thronged with youth, where oftentimes\n Have I within my father's chariot\n Sped on to victory and fair renown. 410\n Now will all Argos come to welcome me;\n The thronging folk will come--and Atreus too!\n Oh, better far reseek thy wooded haunts,\n Thy glades remote, and, mingled with the brutes,\n Live e'en as they. Why should this splendid realm\n With its fair-seeming glitter blind my eyes? 415\n When thou dost look upon the goodly gift,\n Scan well the giver too. Of late I lived\n With bold and joyous spirit, though my lot\n All men considered hard to bear. But now\n My heart is filled with fears, my courage fails;\n And, bent on flight, my feet unwilling move. 420\n\n _Tantalus_ [_one of_ Thyestes' _sons_]: Why, O my father,\n dost thou falter so\n With steps uncertain, turn away thy face,\n And hold thyself as on a doubtful course?\n\n _Thyestes_ [_in soliloquy_]: Why hesitate, my soul, or why so long\n Deliberate upon a point so clear?\n To such uncertain things dost thou intrust\n Thyself as throne and brother? And fearest thou\n Those ills already conquered and found mild? 425\n Dost flee those cares which thou hast well bestowed?\n Oh, now my former wretchedness is joy.\n Turn back, while still thou mayst, and save thyself.\n\n _Tantalus:_ What cause, O father, forces thee to leave\n Thy native land at last regained? Why now, 430\n When richest gifts are falling in thy lap,\n Dost turn away? Thy brother's wrath is o'er;\n And he has turned himself once more to thee,\n Has given thee back thy share of sovereignty,\n Restored our shattered house to harmony,\n And made thee master of thyself again.\n\n _Thyestes:_ Thou askest why I fear--I cannot tell.\n No cause for fear I see, but still I fear. 435\n I long to go, and yet my trembling limbs\n Go on with faltering steps, and I am borne\n Where I most stoutly struggle not to go.\n So, when a ship by oar and sail is driven,\n The tide, resisting both, bears it away.\n\n _Tantalus:_ But thou must overcome whate'er it be 440\n That doth oppose and hold thy soul in check;\n And see how great rewards await thee here:\n Thou canst be king.\n\n _Thyestes:_ Since I have power to die.\n\n _Tantalus:_ But royal power is--\n\n _Thyestes:_ Naught, if only thou\n No power dost covet.\n\n _Tantalus:_ Leave it to thy sons.\n\n _Thyestes:_ No realm on earth can stand divided power.\n\n _Tantalus:_ Should he, who can be happy, still be sad? 445\n\n _Thyestes:_ Believe me, son, 'tis by their lying names\n That things seem great, while others harsh appear\n Which are not truly so. When high in power\n I stood, I never ceased to be in fear;\n Yea, even did I fear the very sword\n Upon my thigh. Oh, what a boon it is\n To be at feud with none, to eat one's bread 450\n Without a trace of care, upon the ground!\n Crime enters not the poor man's humble cot;\n And all in safety may one take his food\n From slender boards; for 'tis in cups of gold\n That poison lurks--I speak what I do know.\n Ill fortune is to be preferred to good.\n For since my palace does not threatening stand 455\n In pride upon some lofty mountain top,\n The people fear me not; my towering roofs\n Gleam not with ivory, nor do I need\n A watchful guard to keep me while I sleep.\n I do not fish with fleets, nor drive the sea\n With massive dykes back from its natural shore; 460\n I do not gorge me at the world's expense;\n For me no fields remote are harvested\n Beyond the Getae and the Parthians;\n No incense burns for me, nor are my shrines\n Adorned in impious neglect of Jove;\n No forests wave upon my battlements,\n No vast pools steam for my delight; my days 465\n Are not to slumber given, nor do I spend\n The livelong night in drunken revelry.\n No one feels fear of me, and so my home,\n Though all unguarded, is from danger free;\n For poverty alone may be at peace.\n And this I hold: the mightiest king is he,\n Who from the lust of sovereignty is free. 470\n\n _Tantalus:_ But if some god a kingdom should bestow,\n It is not meet for mortal to refuse:\n Behold, thy brother bids thee to the throne.\n\n _Thyestes:_ He bids? 'Tis but a cloak for treachery.\n\n _Tantalus:_ But brotherly regard ofttimes returns\n Unto the heart from which it has been driven;\n And righteous love regains its former strength.\n\n _Thyestes:_ And dost thou speak of brother's love to me? 475\n Sooner shall ocean bathe the heavenly Bears,\n The raging waves of Sicily be still;\n And sooner shall the Ionian waters yield\n Ripe fields of grain; black night illume the earth;\n And fire shall mate with water, life with death, 480\n And winds shall make a treaty with the sea:\n Than shall Thyestes know a brother's love.\n\n _Tantalus:_ What treachery dost thou fear?\n\n _Thyestes:_ All treachery.\n What proper limit shall I give my fear?\n My brother's power is boundless as his hate.\n\n _Tantalus:_ How can he harm thee?\n\n _Thyestes:_ For myself alone 485\n I have no fears; but 'tis for you, my sons,\n That Atreus must be held in fear by me.\n\n _Tantalus:_ But canst thou be o'ercome, if on thy guard?\n\n _Thyestes:_ Too late one guards when in the midst of ills.\n But let us on. In this one thing I show\n My fatherhood: I do not lead to ill,\n But follow you.\n\n _Tantalus:_ If well we heed our ways,\n God will protect us. Come with courage on. 490\n\n _Atreus_ [_coming upon the scene, sees_ Thyestes _and his three sons,\n and gloats over the fact that his brother is at last in his power.\n He speaks aside_]: Now is the prey fast caught within my toils.\n I see the father and his hated brood,\n And here my vengeful hate is safe bestowed;\n For now at last he's come into my hands;\n He's come, Thyestes and his children--all! 495\n When I see him I scarce can curb my grief,\n And keep my soul from breaking madly forth.\n So when the Umbrian hound pursues the prey,\n Keen scented, on the long leash held, he goes\n With lowered muzzle questing on the trail.\n While distant still the game and faint the scent,\n Obedient to the leash, with silent tongue 500\n He goes along; but when the prey is near,\n With straining neck he struggles to be free,\n Bays loud against the cautious hunter's check,\n And bursts from all restraint.\n When, near at hand,\n Hot wrath perceives the blood for which it thirsts,\n It cannot be restrained. Yet must it be.\n See how his unkempt, matted hair conceals 505\n His woeful countenance; how foul his beard.\n [_He now addresses_ Thyestes.]\n My promised faith, my brother, will I keep;\n 'Tis a delight to see thee once again.\n Come to my arms in mutual embrace;\n For all the anger which I felt for thee\n Has melted clean away. From this time forth\n Let ties of blood be cherished, love and faith; 510\n And let that hatred which has cursed us both\n Forever vanish from our kindred souls.\n\n _Thyestes:_ I should attempt to palliate my sins,\n Hadst thou not shown me such fraternal love;\n But now I own, my brother, now I own\n That I have sinned against thee past belief.\n Thy faithful piety has made my case\n Seem blacker still. A double sinner he 515\n Who sins against a brother such as thou.\n Now let my tears my penitence approve.\n Thou, first of all mankind, beholdest me\n A suppliant; these hands, which never yet\n Have touched the feet of man, are laid on thine.\n Let all thy wrathful feelings be forgot,\n Be utterly erased from off thy soul; 520\n And take, O brother, as my pledge of faith\n These guiltless sons of mine.\n\n _Atreus:_ Lay not thy hands\n Upon my knees. Come, rather, to my arms.\n And you, dear youths, the comforters of age,\n Come cling about my neck. Those rags of woe,\n My brother, lay aside, and spare mine eyes;\n And clothe thyself more fittingly in these, 525\n The equal of my own. And, last of all,\n Accept thine equal share of this our realm.\n 'Twill bring a greater meed of praise to me,\n To restore thee safely to thy father's throne.\n For chance may put the scepter in our hands;\n But only virtue seeks to give it up.\n\n _Thyestes:_ May heaven, my brother, worthily repay 530\n These deeds of thine. But this my wretched head\n Will not consent to wear a diadem,\n Nor my ill-omened hand to hold the staff\n Of power. Nay, rather, let me hide myself\n Among the throng.\n\n _Atreus:_ There's room upon the throne.\n\n _Thyestes:_ But I shall know that all of thine is mine. 535\n\n _Atreus:_ But who would throw away good fortune's gifts?\n\n _Thyestes:_ Whoe'er has found how easily they fail.\n\n _Atreus:_ And wouldst thou thwart thy brother's great renown?\n\n _Thyestes:_ Thy glory is attained; mine bides its time.\n My mind is resolute to shun the crown. 540\n\n _Atreus:_ Then I refuse my share of power as well.\n\n _Thyestes:_ Nay then, I yield. The name of king I'll wear,\n But laws and arms--and I, are thine to sway.\n\n _Atreus_ [_placing the crown on his brother's head_]: I'll place this\n crown upon thy reverend head,\n And pay the destined victims to the gods. 545\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ The sight is past belief. Behold,\n This Atreus, fierce and bold of soul,\n By every cruel passion swayed,\n When first he saw his brother's face\n Was held in dumb amaze.\n No force is greater than the power\n Of Nature's ties of love. 'Tis true\n That wars with foreign foes endure; 550\n But they whom true love once has bound\n Will ever feel its ties.\n When wrath, by some great cause aroused,\n Hath burst the bonds of amity,\n And raised the dreadful cry of war;\n When gleaming squadrons thunder down\n With champing steeds; when flashing swords, 555\n By carnage-maddened Mars upreared,\n Gleam with a deadly rain of blows:\n E'en then for sacred piety\n Those warring hands will sheathe the sword\n And join in the clasp of peace.\n What god has given this sudden lull 560\n In the midst of loud alarms? But now\n Throughout Mycenae's borders rang\n The noisy prelude of a strife\n 'Twixt brothers' arms. Here mothers pale\n Embraced their sons, and the trembling wife\n Looked on her arm\u00e9d lord in fear,\n While the sword to his hand reluctant came, 565\n Foul with the rust of peace.\n One strove to renew the tottering walls,\n And one to strengthen the shattered towers,\n And close the gates with iron bars;\n While on the battlements the guard 570\n His anxious nightly vigils kept.\n The daily fear of war is worse\n Than war itself.\n But fallen now are the sword's dire threats,\n The deep-voiced trumpet-blare is still,\n And the shrill, harsh notes of the clarion 575\n Are heard no more. While peace profound\n Broods once again o'er the happy state.\n So when, beneath the storm blast's lash,\n The heaving waves break on the shore\n Of Bruttium, and Scylla roars\n Responsive from her cavern's depths;\n Then, even within their sheltered port, 580\n The sailors fear the foaming sea\n Which greedy Charybdis vomits up;\n And Cyclops dreads his father's rage\n Where he sits on burning Aetna's crag,\n Lest the deathless flames on his roaring forge 585\n Be quenched by the overwhelming floods;\n When poor La\u00ebrtes feels the shock\n Of reeling Ithaca, and thinks\n That his island realm will be swallowed up:\n Then, if the fierce winds die away,\n The waves sink back in their quiet depths;\n And the sea, which of late the vessels feared, 590\n Now far and wide with swelling sails\n Is overspread, while tiny skiffs\n Skim safely o'er its harmless breast;\n And one may count the very fish\n Deep down within the peaceful caves,\n Where but now, beneath the raging blast,\n The battered islands feared the sea. 595\n No lot endureth long. For grief\n And pleasure, each in turn, depart;\n But pleasure has a briefer reign.\n From lowest to the highest state\n A fleeting hour may bring us. He,\n Who wears a crown upon his brow,\n To whom the trembling nations kneel, 600\n Before whose nod the barbarous Medes\n Lay down their arms, the Indians too,\n Who dwell beneath the nearer sun,\n And Dacians, who the Parthian horse\n Are ever threat'ning: he, the king,\n With anxious mind the scepter bears,\n Foresees and fears the fickle chance 605\n And shifting time which soon or late\n Shall all his power overthrow.\n Ye, whom the ruler of the land\n And sea has given o'er subject men\n The fearful power of life and death,\n Abate your overweening pride.\n For whatsoever fear of you 610\n Your weaker subjects feel today,\n Tomorrow shall a stronger lord\n Inspire in you. For every power\n Is subject to a greater power.\n Him, whom the dawning day beholds\n In proud estate, the setting sun\n Sees lying in the dust.\n Let no one then trust overmuch 615\n To favoring fate; and when she frowns,\n Let no one utterly despair\n Of better fortune yet to come.\n For Clotho mingles good and ill;\n She whirls the wheel of fate around,\n Nor suffers it to stand.\n To no one are the gods so good\n That he may safely call his own 620\n Tomorrow's dawn; for on the whirling wheel\n Has God our fortunes placed for good or ill.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Messenger _breathlessly announcing the horror which has just\nbeen enacted behind the scenes_.]\n\n _Messenger:_ Oh, for some raging blast to carry me\n With headlong speed through distant realms of air,\n And wrap me in the darkness of the clouds;\n That so I might this monstrous horror tear\n From my remembrance. Oh, thou house of shame 625\n To Pelops even and to Tantalus!\n\n _Chorus:_ What is the news thou bring'st?\n\n _Messenger:_ What realm is this?\n Argos and Sparta, once the noble home\n Of pious brothers? Corinth, on whose shores\n Two rival oceans beat? Or do I see\n The barbarous Danube on whose frozen stream\n The savage Alani make swift retreat? 630\n Hyrcania beneath eternal snows?\n Or those wide plains of wandering Scythians?\n What place is this that knows such hideous crime?\n\n _Chorus:_ But tell thy tidings, whatsoe'er they be.\n\n _Messenger:_ When I my scattered senses gather up,\n And horrid fear lets go its numbing hold\n Upon my limbs. Oh, but I see it still,\n The ghastly picture of that dreadful deed! 635\n Oh, come, ye whirlwinds wild, and bear me far,\n Far distant, where the vanished day is borne.\n\n _Chorus:_ Thou hold'st our minds in dire uncertainty.\n Speak out and tell us what this horror is,\n And who its author. Yet would I inquire\n Not who, but which he is. Speak quickly, then. 640\n\n _Messenger:_ There is upon the lofty citadel\n A part of Pelops' house that fronts the south,\n Whose farther side lifts up its massive walls\n To mountain heights; for so the reigning king\n May better sway the town, and hold in check\n The common rabble when it scorns the throne.\n Within this palace is a gleaming hall, 645\n So huge, it may a multitude contain;\n Whose golden architraves are high upborne\n By stately columns of a varied hue.\n Behind this public hall where people throng,\n The palace stretches off in spacious rooms;\n And, deep withdrawn, the royal sanctum lies, 650\n Far from the vulgar gaze. This sacred spot\n An ancient grove within a dale confines,\n Wherein no tree its cheerful shade affords,\n Or by the knife is pruned; but cypress trees\n And yews, and woods of gloomy ilex wave\n Their melancholy boughs. Above them all 655\n A towering oak looks down and spreads abroad,\n O'ershadowing all the grove. Within this place\n The royal sons of Tantalus are wont\n To ask consent of heaven to their rule,\n And here to seek its aid when fortune frowns.\n Here hang their consecrated offerings:\n Sonorous trumpets, broken chariots,\n Those famous spoils of the Myrtoan sea; 660\n Still hang upon the treacherous axle-trees\n The conquered chariot-wheels--mementoes grim\n Of every crime this sinful race has done.\n Here also is the Phrygian turban hung\n Of Pelops' self; and here the spoil of foes,\n A rich embroidered robe, the prize of war.\n An oozy stream springs there beneath the shade, 665\n And sluggish creeps along within the swamp,\n Just like the ugly waters of the Styx\n Which bind the oaths of heaven. 'Tis said that here\n At dead of night the hellish gods make moan,\n And all the grove resounds with clanking chains,\n And mournful howl of ghosts. Here may be seen 670\n Whatever, but to hear of, causes fear.\n The spirits of the ancient dead come forth\n From old, decaying tombs, and walk abroad;\n While monsters, greater than the world has known,\n Go leaping round, grotesque and terrible.\n The whole wood gleams with an uncanny light,\n And without sign of fire the palace glows.\n Ofttimes the grove re-echoes with the sound 675\n Of threefold bayings of the dogs of hell,\n And oft do mighty shapes affright the house.\n Nor are these fears allayed by light of day;\n For night reigns ever here, and e'en at noon\n The horror of the underworld abides.\n From this dread spot are sure responses given 680\n To those who seek the oracle; the fates\n With mighty sound from out the grot are told,\n And all the cavern thunders with the god.\n 'Twas to this spot that maddened Atreus came,\n His brother's children dragging in his train.\n The sacrificial altars are adorned--\n Oh, who can worthily describe the deed?\n Behind their backs the noble captives' hands 685\n Are bound, and purple fillets wreathe their brows.\n All things are ready, incense, sacred wine,\n The sacrificial meal, and fatal knife.\n The last detail is properly observed,\n That this outrageous murder may be done\n In strict observance of the ritual!\n\n _Chorus:_ Who lays his hand unto the fatal steel? 690\n\n _Messenger:_ He is himself the priest; the baleful prayer\n He makes, and chants the sacrificial song\n With wild and boisterous words; before the shrine\n He takes his place; the victims doomed to death\n He sets in order, and prepares the sword.\n He gives the closest heed to all details\n And misses no least portion of the rite. 695\n The grove begins to tremble, earth to quake,\n And all the palace totters with the shock,\n And seems to hesitate in conscious doubt\n Where it shall throw its ponderous masses down.\n High on the left a star with darkling train\n Shoots swift athwart the sky; the sacred wine\n Poured at the altar fires, with horrid change, 700\n Turns bloody as it flows. The royal crown\n Fell twice and yet again from Atreus' head,\n And the ivory statues in the temple wept.\n These monstrous portents moved all others sore;\n But Atreus, only, held himself unmoved,\n And even set the threat'ning gods at naught.\n And now delay is at an end. He stands 705\n Before the shrine with lowering, sidelong gaze.\n As in the jungle by the Ganges stream\n A hungry tigress stands between two bulls,\n Eager for both, but yet in doubtful mood\n Which first shall feel her fangs (to this she turns 710\n With gaping jaws, then back to that again,\n And holds her raging hunger in suspense):\n So cruel Atreus eyes the victims doomed\n To sate his curs\u00e9d wrath; and hesitates\n Who first shall feel the knife, and who shall die\n The next in order. 'Tis of no concern,\n But still he hesitates, and gloats awhile 715\n In planning how to do the horrid deed.\n\n _Chorus:_ Who then is first to die?\n\n _Messenger:_ First place he gives\n (Lest you should think him lacking in respect)\n Unto his grandsire's namesake, Tantalus.\n\n _Chorus:_ What spirit, what demeanor showed the youth?\n\n _Messenger:_ He stood quite unconcerned, nor strove to plead, 720\n Knowing such prayer were vain. But in his neck\n That savage butcher plunged his gleaming sword\n Clear to the hilt and drew it forth again.\n Still stood the corpse upright, and, wavering long,\n As 'twere in doubt or here or there to fall, 725\n At last prone on the uncle hurled itself.\n Then he, his rancor unabated still,\n Dragged youthful Plisthenes before the shrine,\n And quickly meted him his brother's fate.\n With one keen blow he smote him on the neck,\n Whereat his bleeding body fell to earth;\n While with a murmur inarticulate,\n His head with look complaining rolled away.\n\n _Chorus:_ What did he then, this twofold murder done? 730\n The last one spare, or heap up crime on crime?\n\n _Messenger:_ As when some man\u00e9d lion in the woods\n Victorious attacks the Armenian herds--\n (His jaws are smeared with blood, his hunger gone;\n And yet he does not lay aside his wrath; 735\n Now here, now there he charges on the bulls,\n And now the calves he worries, though his teeth\n Are weary with their work)--so Atreus raves;\n He swells with wrath; and, grasping in his hand\n The sword with double slaughter dripping yet,\n By fury blinded but with deadly stroke,\n He drives clean through the body of the boy. 740\n And so, from breast to back transfixed, he falls\n By double wound, and with his streaming blood\n Extinguishes the baleful altar fires.\n\n _Chorus:_ Oh, horrid deed!\n\n _Messenger:_ What! horrid call ye that?\n If only there the course of crime had stopped,\n 'Twould pious seem. 745\n\n _Chorus:_ What more atrocious crime,\n What greater sin could human heart conceive?\n\n _Messenger:_ And do ye think his crime was ended here?\n 'Twas just begun.\n\n _Chorus:_ What further could there be?\n Perchance he threw the corpses to be torn\n By raving beasts, and kept them from the fire?\n\n _Messenger:_ Would that he had! I do not pray for this,\n That friendly earth may give them burial,\n Or funeral fires consume; but only this, 750\n That as a ghastly meal they may be thrown\n To birds and savage beasts. Such is my prayer,\n Which otherwise were direful punishment.\n Oh, that the father might their corpses see\n Denied to sepulture! Oh, crime of crimes,\n Incredible in any age; a crime\n Which coming generations will refuse\n To hear! Behold, from breasts yet warm with life, 755\n The exta, plucked away, lie quivering,\n The lungs still breathe, the timid heart still beats.\n But he the organs with a practiced hand\n Turns deftly over, and inquires the fates,\n Observing carefully the viscera.\n With this inspection satisfied at length,\n With mind at ease, he now is free to plan 760\n His brother's awful feast. With his own hand\n The bodies he dismembers, carving off\n The arms and shoulders, laying bare the bones,\n And all with savage joy. He only saves\n The heads and hands, those hands which he himself\n Had clasped in friendly faith. Some of the flesh\n Is placed on spits and by the roasting fires 765\n Hangs dripping; other parts into a pot\n Are thrown, where on the water's seething stream\n They leap about. The fire in horror shrinks\n From the polluting touch of such a feast,\n Recoils upon the shuddering altar-hearth\n Twice and again, until at last constrained,\n Though with repugnance strong, it fiercely burns.\n The liver sputters strangely on the spits; 770\n Nor could I say whether the flesh or flames\n Groan more. The fitful flames die out in smoke\n Of pitchy blackness; and the smoke itself,\n A heavy mournful cloud, mounts not aloft\n In upward-shooting columns, straight and high,\n But settles down like a disfiguring shroud\n Upon the very statues of the gods. 775\n O all-enduring sun, though thou didst flee\n In horror from the sight, and the radiant noon\n Didst into darkness plunge; 'twas all too late.\n The father tears his sons, and impiously feasts\n On his own flesh. See, there in state he sits,\n His hair anointed with the dripping nard, 780\n His senses dulled with wine. And oft the food,\n As if in horror held, sticks in his throat.\n In this thine evil hour one good remains,\n One only, O Thyestes: that to know\n Thy depth of suffering is spared to thee.\n But even this will perish. Though the sun\n Should turn his chariot backward on its course, 785\n And night, at noon arising from the earth,\n Should quite obscure this foul and ghastly crime\n With shades unknown, it could not be concealed;\n For every evil deed shall be revealed.\n\n * * * * *\n\n[_Unnatural darkness has come over the world at midday._]\n\n _Chorus:_ O father of the earth and sky,\n Before whose rising beams the night 790\n With all her glories flees away;\n Oh, whither dost thou turn thy course,\n And why, midway of heaven, does day\n To darkness turn? O Phoebus, why\n Dost turn away thy shining face?\n Not yet has evening's messenger\n Called forth the nightly stars; not yet 795\n The rounding of thy western goal\n Bids loose thy horses from their toil;\n Not yet, as day fades into night,\n Sounds forth the trumpets' evening call.\n The plowman stands in dumb amaze, 800\n With oxen still unspent with toil,\n To see the welcome supper hour\n So quickly come. But what, O sun,\n Has driven thee from thy heavenly course?\n What cause from their accustomed way\n Has turned thy steeds? Is war essayed\n Once more by giants, bursting forth\n From out the riven gates of Dis? 805\n Does Tityos, though wounded sore,\n Renew his ancient, deadly wrath?\n Perchance Typhoeus has thrown off\n His mountain, and is free once more;\n Perchance once more a way to heaven 810\n Those giants, felled in Phlegra's vale,\n Are building, and on Pelion's top\n Are piling Thracian Ossa high.\n The accustomed changes of the heavens\n Are gone to come no more. No more\n The rising and the setting sun\n Shall we behold. Aurora bright, 815\n The herald of the dewy morn,\n Whose wont it is to speed the sun\n Upon his way, now stands amazed\n To see her kingdom overturned.\n She is not skilled to bathe his steeds,\n A-weary with their rapid course,\n Nor in the cooling sea to plunge 820\n Their reeking manes. The sun himself,\n In setting, sees the place of dawn,\n And bids the darkness fill the sky\n Without the aid of night. No stars\n Come out, nor do the heavens gleam\n With any fires; no moon dispels 825\n The darkness' black and heavy pall.\n Oh, that the night itself were here,\n Whatever this portends! Our hearts\n Are trembling, yea, are trembling sore,\n And smitten with a boding fear\n Lest all the world in ruins fall, 830\n And formless chaos as of yore\n O'erwhelm us, gods and men; lest land,\n And all-encircling sea, and stars\n That wander in the spangled heavens,\n Be buried in the general doom.\n No more with gleaming, deathless torch, 835\n Shall Phoebus, lord of all the stars,\n Lead the procession of the years\n And mark the seasons; nevermore\n Shall Luna, flashing back his rays,\n Dispel the fears of night; and pass\n In shorter course her brother's car. 840\n The throng of heavenly beings soon\n Shall in one vast abyss be heaped.\n That shining path of sacred stars,\n Which cuts obliquely 'thwart the zones, 845\n The standard-bearer of the years,\n Shall see the stars in ruin fall,\n Itself in ruin falling. He,\n The Ram, who, in the early spring,\n Restores the sails to the warming breeze,\n Shall headlong plunge into those waves 850\n Through which the trembling maid of Greece\n He bore of old. And Taurus, who\n Upon his horns like a garland wears\n The Hyades, shall drag with him\n The sacred Twins, and the stretched-out claws\n Of the curving Crab. With heat inflamed,\n Alcides' Lion once again 855\n Shall fall from heaven; the Virgin, too,\n Back to the earth she left shall fall;\n And the righteous Scales with their mighty weights,\n Shall drag in their fall the Scorpion.\n And he, old Chiron, skilled to hold 860\n Upon his bow of Thessaly\n The feathered dart, shall lose his shafts\n And break his bow. Cold Capricorn,\n Who ushers sluggish winter in,\n Shall fall from heaven, and break thy urn,\n Whoe'er thou art, O Waterman. 865\n And with thee shall the Fish depart\n Remotest of the stars of heaven;\n And those monsters[48] huge which never yet\n Were in the ocean plunged, shall soon\n Within the all-engulfing sea\n Be swallowed up. And that huge Snake,\n Which like a winding river glides 870\n Between the Bears, shall fall from heaven;[49]\n United with that serpent huge,\n The Lesser Bear, congealed with cold,\n And that slow driver of the Wain\n No longer stable in its course,\n Shall all in common ruin fall.\n Have we, of all the race of men, 875\n Been worthy deemed to be o'erwhelmed\n And buried 'neath a riven earth?\n Is this our age the end of all?\n Alas, in evil hour of fate\n Were we begotten, wretched still,\n Whether the sun is lost to us 880\n Or banished by our impious sins!\n But away with vain complaints and fear:\n Eager for life is he who would not die,\n Though all the world in death around him lie.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[48] Reading, _monstra_.\n\n[49] Reading, with a semicolon after _Anguis_.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Atreus_ [_entering exultingly_]: The peer of stars I move, high over\n all, 885\n And with exalted head attain the heavens!\n Now are the reins of power within my hands,\n And I am master of my father's throne.\n I here renounce the gods, for I have gained\n The height of my desires. It is enough,\n And even I am satisfied. But why?\n Nay, rather, will I finish my revenge,\n And glut the father with his feast of death. 890\n The day has fled, lest shame should hold me back;\n Act then, while yet the darkness veils the sky.\n Oh, that I might restrain the fleeing gods,\n And force them to behold the avenging feast!\n But 'tis enough, if but the father sees. 895\n Though daylight aid me not, yet will I snatch\n The shrouding darkness from thy miseries.\n Too long with care-free, cheerful countenance\n Thou liest at the feast. Now food enough,\n And wine enough. For so great ills as these, 900\n Thyestes must his sober senses keep.\n [_To the slaves._]\n Ye menial throng, spread wide the temple doors,\n The festal hall reveal. 'Tis sweet to note\n The father's frantic grief when first he sees\n His children's gory heads; to catch his words,\n To watch his color change; to see him sit,\n All breathless with the shock, in dumb amaze,\n In frozen horror at the gruesome sight. 905\n This is the sweet reward of all my toil--\n To see his misery, e'en as it grows\n Upon his soul.\n[_The doors are thrown open, showing_ Thyestes _at the banquet table_.]\n Now gleams with many a torch\n The spacious banquet hall. See, there he lies\n Upon his golden couch all richly decked\n With tapestry, his wine-befuddled head\n Upstayed upon his hand. Oh, happy me! 910\n The mightiest of the heavenly gods am I,\n And king of kings! The fondest of my hopes\n Is more than realized. His meal is done;\n Now raises he his silver cup to drink.\n Spare not the wine; there still remains the blood\n Of thy three sons, and 'twill be well disguised 915\n With old red wine. Now be the revel done.\n Now let the father drink the mingled blood\n Of his own offspring; mine he would have drunk.\n But see, he starts to sing a festal song,\n With mind uncertain and with senses dim.\n\n _Thyestes_ [_sits alone at the banquet table, half overcome with wine;\n he tries to sing and be gay, but in spite of this, some\n vague premonition of evil weighs upon his spirit_]:\n O heart, long dulled with wretchedness, 920\n Put by at last thine anxious cares.\n Oh, now let grief and fear depart;\n Let haunting hunger flee away,\n The grim companion of the lot\n Of trembling exiles; and disgrace,\n A heavy load for mourning souls. 925\n More boots it from what height thou fall'st,\n Than to what depth. How noble is't,\n When fallen from the pinnacle,\n With dauntless step and firm, to tread\n The lowly plain; and noble too,\n Though by a mass of cares o'erwhelmed,\n To bolster up the shattered throne 930\n With neck unbending; and with soul\n Heroic, undismayed by ills,\n To stand erect beneath the weight\n Of ruined fortunes.\n But away,\n Ye gloomy clouds of fate; ye marks\n Of former misery, depart. 935\n Thy happy fortune greet with face\n Of joy, and utterly forget\n The old Thyestes. But alas!\n This fault is linked with wretchedness,\n That never can the woeful soul\n Accept returned prosperity.\n Though kindly fortune smile again, 940\n He who has suffered finds it hard\n To give himself to joy. But why\n Dost thou restrain me? Why forbid\n To celebrate this festal day?\n Why wouldst thou have me weep, O grief,\n For no cause rising? Why with flowers, 945\n Dost thou forbid to wreathe my hair?\n It does, it does forbid! For see,\n Upon my head the flowers of spring\n Have withered; and my festal locks,\n Though dripping with the precious nard,\n Stand up in sudden dread; my cheeks,\n That have no cause to weep, are wet 950\n With tears; and in the midst of speech\n I groan aloud. No doubt 'tis true,\n That grief, well trained in weeping, loves\n To melt away in tears; and oft\n The wretched feel a strong desire\n To weep their fill. E'en so I long\n To cry aloud my wretchedness,\n To rend these gorgeous Tyrian robes, 955\n And shriek my misery to heaven.\n My mind gives intimation dark\n Of coming grief, its own distress\n Foreboding. So the sailor fears\n The raging tempest's near approach,\n When tranquil waters heave and swell, 960\n Without a breath of wind. Thou fool,\n What grief, what rising storm of fate\n Dost thou imagine nigh? Nay, nay,\n Believe thy brother; for thy fear--\n 'Tis groundless, whatsoe'er it be,\n Or thou dost fear too late. Ah me,\n I would not be unhappy now; 965\n But in my soul dim terror stalks,\n Nor can my eyes withhold their tears;\n And all for naught. What can it be?\n Am I possessed by grief or fear?\n Or can this some great rapture be,\n That weeps for joy?\n\n _Atreus_ [_greeting his brother with effusive affection_]:\n With one consent, my brother, let us keep 970\n This festal day. For this the happy day\n Which shall the scepter 'stablish in thy hand,\n And link our family in the bonds of peace.\n\n _Thyestes_ [_pushing the remains of the feast from him_]:\n Enough of food and wine! One thing alone\n Can swell my generous sum of happiness--\n If with my children I may share my joy. 975\n\n _Atreus:_ Believe that in the father's bosom rest\n The sons; both now and ever shall they be\n With thee. No single part of these thy sons\n Shall e'er be taken from thee. Make request:\n What thou desirest will I freely give,\n And fill thee with thy loving family.\n Thou shalt be satisfied; be not afraid. 980\n E'en now thy children, mingled with my own,\n Enjoy alone their youthful festival.\n They shall be summoned hither. Now behold\n This ancient cup, an heirloom of our house.\n Take thou and drink the wine which it contains.\n\n [_He hands_ Thyestes _the cup filled with mingled blood and wine_.]\n\n _Thyestes:_ I take my brother's proffered gift. But first\n Unto our father's gods we'll pour a share,\n And then will drink the cup. 985\n But what is this?\n My hands will not obey my will; the cup--\n How heavy it has grown, how it resists\n My grasp! And see how now the wine itself,\n Though lifted to my mouth, avoids the touch,\n And flees my disappointed lips. Behold,\n The table totters on the trembling floor;\n The lights burn dim; the very air is thick, 990\n And, by the natural fires deserted, stands\n All dull and lifeless 'twixt the day and night.\n What can it all portend? Now more and more\n The shattered heavens seem tottering to their fall;\n The darkness deepens, and the gloomy night\n In blacker night is plunged. And all the stars\n Have disappeared. Whatever this may mean, 995\n Oh, spare my children, brother, spare, I pray;\n And let this gathering storm of evil burst\n Upon my head. Oh, give me back my sons!\n\n _Atreus:_ Yes, I will give them back, and never more\n Shall they be taken from thy fond embrace.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Thyestes:_ What is this tumult rising in my breast?\n Why do my vitals quake? I feel a load 1000\n Unbearable, and from my inmost heart\n Come groans of agony that are not mine.\n My children, come! your wretched father calls.\n Oh come! For when mine eyes behold you here,\n Perchance this care will pass away.--But whence\n Those answering calls?\n\n _Atreus_ [_returning, with a covered platter in his hands_]:\n Now spread thy loving arms.\n See, here they are.\n [_He uncovers the platter revealing the severed heads of_ Thyestes'\n _sons_.]\n Dost recognize thy sons? 1005\n\n _Thyestes:_ I recognize my brother! How, O Earth,\n Canst thou endure such monstrous crime as this?\n Why dost thou not to everlasting shade\n And Styx infernal cleave a yawning gulf,\n And sweep away to empty nothingness\n This guilty king with all his realm? And why\n Dost thou not raze, and utterly destroy 1010\n The city of Mycenae? Both of us\n Should stand with Tantalus in punishment.\n If, far below the depths of Tartarus,\n There is a deeper hell, O Mother Earth,\n Thy strong foundations rend asunder wide,\n And send us thither to that lowest pit. 1015\n There let us hide beneath all Acheron;\n Let damn\u00e9d shades above our guilty heads\n Go wandering; let fiery Phlegethon\n In raging torrent pour his burning sands\n Above our place of exile.\n But the earth\n Insensate lies, and utterly unmoved. 1020\n The gods have fled.\n\n _Atreus:_ Nay, come with thankful heart\n Receive thy sons whom thou hast long desired.\n Enjoy them, kiss them, share among the three\n Thy fond embraces.\n\n _Thyestes:_ And is this thy bond?\n Is this thy grace, thy fond fraternal faith?\n So dost thou cease to hate? I do not ask 1025\n That I may have my sons again unharmed;\n But what in crime and hatred may be given,\n This I, a brother, from a brother ask:\n That I may bury them. Restore my sons,\n And thou shalt see their corpses burned at once.\n The father begs for naught that he may keep,\n But utterly destroy. 1030\n\n _Atreus:_ Thou hast thy sons,\n Whate'er of them remains; thou also hast\n Whate'er does not remain.\n\n _Thyestes:_ What hast thou done?\n Hast fed them to the savage, greedy birds?\n Have beasts of prey devoured their tender flesh?\n\n _Atreus:_ _Thou hast thyself that impious banquet made._\n\n _Thyestes:_ Oh, then, 'twas this that shamed the gods of heaven, 1035\n And drove the day in horror back to dawn!\n Ah me, what cries shall voice, what plaints express\n My wretchedness? Where can I find the words\n That can describe my woe? The severed heads\n And hands and mangled feet are there; for these\n Their sire, for all his greed, could not devour. 1040\n But Oh, I feel within my vitals now\n That horrid thing which struggles to be free,\n But can no exit find. Give me the sword,\n Which even now is reeking with my blood,\n That it may set my children free from me.\n Thou wilt not give it me? Then let my breast 1045\n Resound with crushing blows--but hold thy hand,\n Unhappy one, and spare the imprisoned shades.\n Oh, who has ever seen such crime as this?\n What dweller on the rough and hostile crags\n Of Caucasus, or what Procrustes dire,\n The terror of the land of Attica?\n Lo I, the father, overwhelm my sons, 1050\n And by those very sons am overwhelmed.\n Is there no limit to this crime of thine?\n\n _Atreus:_ When one for its own sake commits a crime,\n There is a proper limit; but no end\n Is possible when vengeance through the crime\n Is sought. E'en as it is, this deed of mine\n Is all too mild. I should have poured their blood\n Straight from their gaping wounds into thy mouth, 1055\n That thou mightst drink their very streams of life.\n But there my wrath was cheated of its due\n By overhaste.\n I smote them with the sword,\n I slaughtered them before the sacred shrine,\n And with their blood appeased our household gods;\n I hewed their lifeless bodies limb from limb;\n I carved them into bits, and part I seethed 1060\n In brazen kettles, part before the fire\n On spits I roasted. From their living limbs\n I carved the tender flesh, and saw it hiss\n And sputter on the slender spit, the while\n With my own hands I kept the fire a-blaze. 1065\n But all these things the father should have done.\n In this my vengeful grief has fallen short.\n With impious teeth he tore his slaughtered sons;\n But still in merciful unconsciousness\n The deed was done and suffered.\n\n _Thyestes:_ O ye seas,\n Hemmed round by curving shores, give ear to this!\n Hear too, ye gods, wherever ye have fled. 1070\n Ye lords of hades, hear; hear, O ye lands;\n And Night, all black and heavy with the pall\n Of Tartarus, attend unto my cry;\n For I am left to thee, and thou alone\n Doth look in pity on my wretchedness,\n Thou, too, forsaken of the friendly stars;\n For I will raise no wicked prayers to thee,\n Naught for myself implore--what could I ask? 1075\n For you, ye heavenly gods, be all my prayers.\n O thou, almighty ruler of the sky,\n Who sitt'st as lord upon the throne of heaven,\n Enwrap the universe in dismal clouds,\n Incite the winds to war on every side,\n And let thy thunders crash from pole to pole; 1080\n Not with such lesser bolts as thou dost use\n Against the guiltless homes of common men,\n But those which overthrew the triple mass\n Of heaped-up mountains, and those giant forms,\n Themselves like mountains huge: such arms employ;\n Hurl down such fires. Avenge the banished day; 1085\n With thy consuming flames supply the light\n Which has been snatched from out the darkened heaven.\n Select us both as objects of thy wrath;\n Or if not both, then me; aim thou at me.\n With that three-fork\u00e9d bolt of thine transfix 1090\n My guilty breast. If I would give my sons\n To burning and to fitting burial,\n I must myself be burned. But if my prayers\n Do not with heaven prevail, and if no god\n Aims at the impious his fatal shaft;\n Then may eternal night brood o'er the earth,\n And hide these boundless crimes in endless shade.\n If thou, O sun, dost to thy purpose hold, 1095\n And cease to shine, I supplicate no more.\n\n _Atreus:_ Now do I praise my handiwork indeed;\n Now have I gained the palm of victory.\n My deed had failed entirely of its aim,\n Didst thou not suffer thus. Now may I trust\n That those I call my sons are truly so,\n And faith that once my marriage bed was pure\n Has come again.\n\n _Thyestes:_ What was my children's sin? 1100\n\n _Atreus:_ Because they were thy children.\n\n\n _Thyestes:_ But to think\n That children to the father--\n\n _Atreus:_ That indeed,\n I do confess it, gives me greatest joy:\n That thou art well assured they were thy sons.\n\n _Thyestes:_ I call upon the gods of innocence--\n\n _Atreus:_ Why not upon the gods of marriage call?\n\n _Thyestes:_ Why dost thou seek to punish crime with crime?\n\n _Atreus:_ Well do I know the cause of thy complaint:\n Because I have forestalled thee in the deed.\n Thou grievest, not because thou hast consumed 1105\n This horrid feast, but that thou wast not first\n To set it forth. This was thy fell intent,\n To arrange a feast like this unknown to me,\n And with their mother's aid attack my sons,\n And with a like destruction lay them low.\n But this one thing opposed--thou thought'st them thine.\n\n _Thyestes:_ The gods will grant me vengeance. Unto them 1110\n Do I intrust thy fitting penalty.\n\n _Atreus:_ And to thy sons do I deliver thee.\n\n\n\n\nTROADES\n\n\n\n\nTROADES\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n_Agamemnon_ King of the Greek forces in the war against Troy.\n\n_Pyrrhus_ Son of Achilles, one of the active leaders in the final\nevents of the war.\n\n_Ulysses_ King of Ithaca, one of the most powerful and crafty of the\nGreek chiefs before Troy.\n\n_Calchas_ A priest and prophet among the Greeks.\n\n_Talthybius_ A Greek messenger.\n\n_An Old Man_ Faithful to Andromache.\n\n_Astyanax_ Little son of Hector and Andromache.\n\n_Hecuba_ Widow of Priam, one of the Trojan captives.\n\n_Andromache_ Widow of Hector, a Trojan captive.\n\n_Helena_ Wife of Menela\u00fcs, king of Sparta, and afterward of Paris, a\nprince of Troy; the exciting cause of the Trojan war.\n\n_Polyxena_ Daughter of Hecuba and Priam (_persona muta_).\n\n_Chorus_ Of captive Trojan women.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid on the seashore, with the smouldering ruins of Troy\nin the background. The time is the day before the embarkation of the\nGreeks on their homeward journey.\n\n\n_The long and toilsome siege of Troy is done. Her stately palaces and\nmassive walls have been overthrown and lie darkening the sky with their\nstill smouldering ruins. Her heroic defenders are either slain or\nscattered seeking other homes in distant lands. The victorious Greeks\nhave gathered the rich spoils of Troy upon the shore, among these, the\nTrojan women who have suffered the usual fate of women when a city is\nsacked. They await the lot which shall assign them to their Grecian\nlords and scatter them among the cities of their foes. All things are\nready for the start._\n\n_But now the ghost of Achilles has risen from the tomb, and demanded\nthat Polyxena be sacrificed to him before the Greeks shall be allowed\nto sail away. And Calchas, also, bids that Astyanax be slain, for only\nthus can Greece be safe from any future Trojan war. And thus the Trojan\ncaptives who have so long endured the pains of war, must suffer still\nthis double tragedy._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Hecuba:_ Whoe'er in royal power has put his trust,\n And proudly lords it in his princely halls;\n Who fears no shifting of the winds of fate,\n But fondly gives his soul to present joys:\n Let him my lot and thine, O Troy, behold.\n For of a truth did fortune never show\n In plainer wise the frailty of the prop 5\n That doth support a king; since by her hand\n Brought low, behold, proud Asia's capitol,\n The work of heavenly hands, lies desolate.\n From many lands the warring princes came\n To aid her cause: from where the Tana\u00efs\n His frigid waves in seven-fold channel pours;\n And that far land which greets the newborn day, 10\n Where Tigris mingles with the ruddy sea\n His tepid waves; and where the Amazon,\n Within the view of wandering Scythia\n Arrays her virgin ranks by Pontus' shores.\n Yet here, o'erthrown, our ancient city lies,\n Herself upon herself in ruins laid;\n Her once proud walls in smouldering heaps recline, 15\n Mingling their ashes with our fallen homes.\n The palace flames on high, while far and near\n The stately city of Assaracus\n Is wrapped in gloomy smoke. Yet e'en the flames\n Keep not the victor's greedy hands from spoil;\n And Troy, though in the grasp of fiery death,\n Is pillaged still. The face of heaven is hid\n By that dense, wreathing smoke; the shining day,\n As if o'erspread by some thick, lowering cloud, 20\n Grows black and foul beneath the ashy storm.\n The victor stands with still unsated wrath,\n Eyeing that stubborn town of Ilium,\n And scarce at last forgives those ten long years\n Of bloody strife. Anon, as he beholds\n That mighty city, though in ruins laid,\n He starts with fear; and though he plainly sees\n His foe o'ercome, he scarce can comprehend 25\n That she could be o'ercome. The Dardan spoil\n Is heaped on high, a booty vast, which Greece,\n In all her thousand ships, can scarce bestow.\n Now witness, ye divinities whose face\n Was set against our state, my fatherland\n In ashes laid; and thou, proud king of Troy,\n Who in thy city's overthrow hast found\n A fitting tomb; thou shade of mighty Hector,\n In whose proud strength abiding, Ilium stood; 30\n Likewise ye thronging ghosts, my children all,\n But lesser shades: whatever ill has come;\n Whatever Phoebus' bride with frenzied speech,\n Though all discredited, hath prophesied; 35\n I, Hecuba, myself foresaw, what time,\n With unborn child o'erweighed, I dreamed a dream\n That I had borne a flaming brand. And though,\n Cassandra-like, I told my fears, my warnings,\n Like our Cassandra's words in after time,\n Were all in vain. 'Tis not the Ithacan,\n Nor yet his trusty comrade of the night,\n Nor that false traitor, Sinon, who has cast\n The flaming brands that wrought our overthrow:\n Mine is the fire--'tis by my brands ye burn. 40\n But why dost thou bewail the city's fall,\n With ancient gossip's prattle? Turn thy mind,\n Unhappy one, to nearer woes than these.\n Troy's fall, though sad, is ancient story now.\n I saw the horrid slaughter of the king,\n Defiling the holy altar with its stain, 45\n When bold Aeacides, with savage hand\n Entwined in helpless Priam's hoary locks,\n Drew back his sacred head, and thrust the sword\n Hilt-buried in his unresisting side.\n And when he plucked the deep-driven weapon back,\n So weak and bloodless was our ag\u00e9d king,\n The deadly blade came almost stainless forth. 50\n Whose thirst for blood had not been satisfied\n By that old man just slipping o'er the verge\n Of life? Whom would not heavenly witnesses\n Restrain from crime? Who would not stay his hand\n Before the sacred altar, last resort\n Of fallen thrones? Yet he, our noble Priam,\n The king, and father of so many kings,\n Lies like the merest peasant unentombed; 55\n And, though all Troy's aflame, there's not a brand\n To light his pyre and give him sepulture.\n And still the heavenly powers are not appeased.\n Behold the urn; and, subject to its lot,\n The maids and matrons of our princely line,\n Who wait their future lords. To whom shall I,\n An ag\u00e9d and unprized allotment, fall?\n One Grecian lord has fixed his longing eyes\n On Hector's queen; another prays the lot\n To grant to him the bride of Helenus; 60\n Antenor's spouse is object of desire,\n And e'en thy hand, Cassandra, hath its suitor:\n My lot alone they deprecate and fear.\n And can ye cease your plaints? O captive throng,\n Come beat upon your breasts, and let the sound\n Of your loud lamentations rise anew,\n The while we celebrate in fitting wise\n Troy's funeral; let fatal Ida, seat 65\n Of that ill-omened judgment, straight resound\n With echoes of our pitiful refrain.\n\n _Chorus:_ Not an untrained band, to tears unknown,\n Thou callest to grief, for our tears have rained\n In streams unending through the years,\n Since the time when the Phrygian guest arrived\n At the friendly court of Tyndarus, 70\n Sailing the sea in his vessel framed\n From the sacred pines of Cybele.\n Ten winters have whitened Ida's slopes,\n So often stripped for our funeral pyres;\n Ten years have ripened the waving grain\n Which the trembling reaper has garnered in\n From wide Sigean harvest-fields: 75\n But never a day was without its grief,\n Never a night but renewed our woe.\n Then on with the wailing and on with the blows;\n And thou, poor fate-smitten queen, be our guide, 80\n Our mistress in mourning; we'll obey thy commands,\n Well trained in the wild liturgy of despair.\n\n _Hecuba:_ Then, trusty comrades of our fate,\n Unbind your tresses and let them flow\n Over your shoulders bent with grief,\n The while with Troy's slow-cooling dust 85\n Ye sprinkle them. Lay bare your arms,\n Strip from your breasts their covering;\n Why veil your beauty? Shame itself 90\n Is held in captive bonds. And now\n Let your hands wave free to the quickening blows\n That resound to your wailings. So, now are ye ready,\n And thus it is well. I behold once more\n My old-time Trojan band. Now stoop\n And fill your hands; 'tis right to take\n Her dust at least from fallen Troy.\n Now let the long-pent grief leap forth, 95\n And surpass your accustomed bounds of woe.\n _Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep._\n\n _Chorus:_ Our hair, in many a funeral torn, 100\n We loose; and o'er our streaming locks\n Troy's glowing ashes lie bestrewn.\n From our shoulders the veiling garments fall, 105\n And our breasts invite the smiting hands.\n Now, now, O grief, put forth thy strength.\n Let the distant shores resound with our mournings;\n And let Echo who dwells in the slopes of the mountains\n Repeat all our wailings, not, after her wont, 110\n With curt iteration returning the end.\n Let earth hear and heed; let the sea and the sky\n Record all our grief. Then smite, O ye hands,\n With the strength of frenzy batter and bruise.\n With crying and blows and the pain of the smiting-- 115\n _Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep_.\n\n _Hecuba:_ Our hero, for thee the blows are descending,\n On arms and shoulders that stream with our blood;\n For thee our brows endure rough strokes,\n And our breasts are mangled with pitiless hands. 120\n Now flow the old wounds, reopened anew,\n That bled at thy death, the chief cause of our sorrow.\n O prop of our country, delayer of fate,\n Our Ilium's bulwark, our mighty defender, 125\n Our strong tower wast thou; secure on thy shoulders,\n Our city stood leaning through ten weary years.\n By thy power supported, with thee has she fallen,\n Our country and Hector united in doom.\n Now turn to another the tide of your mourning; 130\n Let Priam receive his due meed of your tears.\n\n _Chorus:_ Receive our lamentings, O Phrygia's ruler;\n We weep for thy death, who wast twice overcome.\n Naught once did Troy suffer while thou didst rule o'er her:\n Twice fell her proud walls from the blows of the Grecians, 135\n And twice was she pierced by great Hercules' darts.\n Now all of our Hecuba's offspring have perished,\n And the proud band of kings who came to our aid;\n Thy death is the last--our father, our ruler--\n Struck down as a victim to Jove the Almighty, 140\n All helpless and lone, a mute corpse on the ground.\n\n _Hecuba:_ Nay, give to another your tears and your mourning,\n And weep not the death of Priam our king.\n But call ye him blessed the rather; for free,\n To the deep world of shadows he travels, and never 145\n Upon his bowed neck the base yoke shall he bear.\n No proud sons of Atreus shall call him their captive,\n No crafty Ulysses his eyes shall behold;\n As boast of their triumphs he shall not bear onward 150\n In humble submission their prizes of war.\n Those free, royal hands to the scepter accustomed,\n Shall never be bound at his back like a slave,\n As he follows the car of the triumphing chieftain,\n A king led in fetters, the gaze of the town. 155\n\n _Chorus:_ Hail! Priam the blessed we all do proclaim him;\n For himself and his kingdom he rules yet below;\n Now through the still depths of Elysium's shadows\n 'Midst calm, happy spirits he seeks the great Hector. 160\n Then hail, happy Priam! Hail all who in battle\n Have lost life and country, but liberty gained.\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Talthybius:_ Alas, 'tis thus the Greeks are ever doomed\n To lie impatient of the winds' delay,\n Whether on war or homeward journey bent. 165\n\n _Chorus:_ Tell thou the cause of this the Greeks' delay.\n What god obstructs the homeward-leading paths?\n\n _Talthybius:_ My soul doth quake, and all my limbs with fear\n Do tremble. Scarce is credence given to tales\n That do transcend the truth. And yet I swear,\n With my own eyes I saw what I relate.\n Now with his level rays the morning sun 170\n Just grazed the summits of the hills, and day\n Had vanquished night; when suddenly the earth,\n 'Mid rumblings hidden deep and terrible,\n To her profoundest depths convulsive rocked.\n The tree-tops trembled, and the lofty groves\n Gave forth a thunderous sound of crashing boughs;\n While down from Ida's rent and rugged slopes 175\n The loosened bowlders rolled. And not alone\n The earth did quake: behold, the swelling sea\n Perceived its own Achilles drawing near,\n And spread its waves abroad. Then did the ground\n Asunder yawn, revealing mighty caves,\n And gave a path from Erebus to earth.\n And then the high-heaped sepulcher was rent, 180\n From which there sprang Achilles' mighty shade,\n In guise as when, in practice for thy fates,\n O Troy, he prostrate laid the Thracian arms,\n Or slew the son of Neptune, doomed to wear\n The swan's white plumes; or when, amidst the ranks\n In furious battle raging, he the streams 185\n Did choke with corpses of the slain, and Xanthus\n Crept sluggishly along with bloody waves;\n Or when he stood as victor in his car,\n Plying the reins and dragging in the dust\n Great Hector's body and the Trojan state.\n So there he stood and filled the spreading shore 190\n With wrathful words: \"Go, get you gone, ye race\n Of weaklings, bear away the honors due\n My manes; loose your thankless ships, and sail\n Across my seas. By no slight offering\n Did ye aforetime stay Achilles' wrath;\n And now a greater shall ye pay. Behold,\n Polyxena, once pledged to me in life, 195\n Must by the hand of Pyrrhus to my shade\n Be led, and with her blood my tomb bedew.\"\n So spake Achilles and the realms of day\n He left for night profound, reseeking Dis;\n And as he plunged within the depths of earth,\n The yawning chasm closed and left no trace.\n The sea lies tranquil, motionless; the wind\n Its boisterous threats abates, and where but now 200\n The storm-tossed waters raged in angry mood,\n The gentle waves lap harmless on the shore;\n While from afar the band of Tritons sounds\n The marriage chorus of their kindred lord.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n[_Enter_ Pyrrhus _and_ Agamemnon.]\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Now that you homeward fare, and on the sea\n Your joyful sails would spread, my noble sire\n Is quite forgot, though by his single hand\n Was mighty Troy o'erthrown; for, though his death 205\n Some respite granted to the stricken town,\n She stood but as some sorely smitten tree,\n That sways uncertain, choosing where to fall.\n Though even now ye seek to make amends\n For your neglect, and haste to grant the thing\n He asks, 'tis but a tardy recompense.\n Long since, the other chieftains of the Greeks\n Have gained their just reward. What lesser prize\n Should his great valor claim? Or is it naught 210\n That, though his mother bade him shun the war,\n And spend his life in long, inglorious ease,\n Surpassing even Pylian Nestor's years,\n He cast his mother's shamming garments off,\n Confessing him the hero that he was?\n When Telephus, in pride of royal power, 215\n Forbade our progress through his kingdom's bounds,\n He stained with royal blood the untried hand\n That young Achilles raised. Yet once again\n He felt that selfsame hand in mercy laid\n Upon his wound to heal him of its smart.\n Then did E\u00ebtion, smitten sore, behold\n His city taken and his realm o'erthrown;\n By equal fortune fell Lyrnessus' walls, 220\n For safety perched upon a ridgy height,\n Whence came that captive maid, Brise\u00efs fair;\n And Chrysa, too, lies low, the destined cause\n Of royal strife; and Tenedos, and the land\n Which on its spreading pastures feeds the flocks 225\n Of Thracian shepherds, Scyros; Lesbos too,\n Upon whose rocky shore the sea in twain\n Is cleft; and Cilla, which Apollo loved.\n All these my father took, and eke the towns\n Whose walls Ca\u00ffcus with his vernal flood\n Doth wash against. This widespread overthrow\n Of tribes, this fearful and destructive scourge,\n That swept through many towns with whirlwind power-- 230\n This had been glory and the height of fame\n For other chiefs; 'twas but an incident\n In great Achilles' journey to the war.\n So came my father and such wars he waged\n While but preparing war. And though I pass\n In silence all his other merits, still\n Would mighty Hector's death be praise enough. 235\n My father conquered Troy; the lesser task\n Of pillage and destruction is your own.\n 'Tis pleasant thus to laud my noble sire\n And all his glorious deeds pass in review:\n Before his father's eyes did Hector lie,\n Of life despoiled; and Memnon, swarthy son\n Of bright Aurora, goddess of the dawn,\n For whose untimely death his mother's face\n Was sicklied o'er with grief, while day was veiled 240\n In darkness. When the heaven-born Memnon fell,\n Achilles trembled at his victory;\n For in that fall he learned the bitter truth\n That even sons of goddesses may die.\n Then, 'mongst our latest foes, the Amazons,\n Fierce maidens, felt my father's deadly power.\n So, if thou rightly estimate his deeds,\n Thou ow'st Achilles all that he can ask,\n E'en though he seek from Argos or Mycenae 245\n Some high-born maid. And dost thou hesitate\n And haggle now, inventing scruples new,\n And deem it barbarous to sacrifice\n This captive maid of Troy to Peleus' son?\n But yet for Helen's sake didst thou devote\n Thy daughter to the sacrificial knife.\n I make in this no new or strange request,\n But only urge a customary rite.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ 'Tis the common fault of youth to have no check 250\n On passion's force; while others feel alone\n The sweeping rush of this first fire of youth,\n His father's spirit urges Pyrrhus on.\n I once endured unmoved the blustering threats\n Of proud Achilles, swoll'n with power; and now,\n My patience is sufficient still to bear\n His son's abuse. Why do you seek to smirch 255\n With cruel murder the illustrious shade\n Of that famed chief? 'Tis fitting first to learn\n Within what bounds the victor may command,\n The vanquished suffer. Never has for long\n Unbridled power been able to endure,\n But lasting sway the self-controlled enjoy.\n The higher fortune raises human hopes, 260\n The more should fortune's favorite control\n His vaulting pride, and tremble as he views\n The changing fates of life, and fear the gods\n Who have uplifted him above his mates.\n By my own course of conquest have I learned\n That mighty kings can straightway come to naught.\n Should Troy o'erthrown exalt us overmuch?\n Behold, we stand today whence she has fallen. 265\n I own that in the past too haughtily\n Have I my sway o'er fallen chieftains borne;\n But thought of fortune's gift has checked my pride,\n Since she unto another might have given\n These selfsame gifts. O fallen king of Troy,\n Thou mak'st me proud of conquest over thee,\n Thou mak'st me fear that I may share thy fate. 270\n Why should I count the scepter anything\n But empty honor and a tinsel show?\n This scepter one short hour can take away,\n Without the aid, perchance, of countless ships\n And ten long years of war. The steps of fate\n Do not for all advance with pace so slow. 275\n For me, I will confess ('tis with thy grace,\n O land of Greece, I speak) I have desired\n To see the pride and power of Troy brought low;\n But that her walls and homes should be o'erthrown\n In utter ruin have I never wished.\n But a wrathful foe, by greedy passion driven,\n And heated by the glow of victory,\n Within the shrouding darkness of the night, 280\n Cannot be held in check. If any act\n Upon that fatal night unworthy seemed\n Or cruel, 'twas the deed of heedless wrath,\n And darkness which is ever fury's spur,\n And the victorious sword, whose lust for blood,\n When once in blood imbued, is limitless.\n Since Troy has lost her all, seek not to grasp 285\n The last poor fragments that remain. Enough,\n And more has she endured of punishment.\n But that a maid of royal birth should fall\n An offering upon Achilles' tomb,\n Bedewing his harsh ashes with her blood,\n While that foul murder gains the honored name\n Of wedlock, I shall not permit. On me\n The blame of all will come; for he who sin 290\n Forbids not when he can, commits the sin.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Shall no reward Achilles' shade obtain?\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Yea, truly; all the Greeks shall sing his praise,\n And unknown lands shall hear his mighty name.\n But if his shade demand a sacrifice 295\n Of out-poured blood, go take our richest flocks,\n And shed their blood upon thy father's tomb;\n But let no mother's tears pollute the rite.\n What barbarous custom this, that living man\n Should to the dead be slain in sacrifice?\n Then spare thy father's name the hate and scorn\n Which by such cruel worship it must gain. 300\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Thou, swoll'n with pride so long as happy fate\n Uplifts thy soul, but weak and spent with fear\n When fortune frowns; O hateful king of kings,\n Is now thy heart once more with sudden love\n Of this new maid inflamed? Shalt thou alone\n So often bear away my father's spoils? 305\n By this right hand he shall receive his own.\n And if thou dost refuse, and keep the maid,\n A greater victim will I slay, and one\n More worthy Pyrrhus' gift; for all too long\n From royal slaughter hath my hand been free,\n And Priam asks an equal sacrifice. 310\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Far be it from my wish to dim the praise\n That thou dost claim for this most glorious deed--\n Old Priam slain by thy barbaric sword,\n Thy father's suppliant.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ I know full well\n My father's suppliants--and well I know\n His enemies. Yet royal Priam came,\n And made his plea before my father's face; 315\n But thou, o'ercome with fear, not brave enough\n Thyself to make request, within thy tent\n Didst trembling hide, and thy desires consign\n To braver men, that they might plead for thee.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ But, of a truth, no fear thy father felt;\n But while our Greece lay bleeding, and her ships\n With hostile fire were threatened, there he lay\n Supine and thoughtless of his warlike arms, 320\n And idly strumming on his tuneful lyre.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Then mighty Hector, scornful of thy arms,\n Yet felt such wholesome fear of that same lyre,\n That our Thessalian ships were left in peace.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ An equal peace did Hector's father find\n When he betook him to Achilles' ships. 325\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis regal thus to spare a kingly life.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Why then didst thou a kingly life despoil?\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ But mercy oft doth offer death for life.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Doth mercy now demand a maiden's blood? 330\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Canst _thou_ proclaim such sacrifice a sin?\n\n _Agamemnon:_ A king must love his country more than child.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ No law the wretched captive's life doth spare.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ What law forbids not, this let shame forbid.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis victor's right to do whate'er he will. 335\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Then should he will the least who most can do.\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Dost thou boast thus, from whose tyrannic reign\n Of ten long years but now the Greeks I freed?\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Such airs from Scyros!\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Thence no brother's blood.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Hemmed by the sea!\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Yet that same sea is ours. 340\n But as for Pelops' house, I know it well.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Thou base-born son of maiden's secret sin,\n And young Achilles, scarce of man's estate--\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ Yea, that Achilles who, by right of birth,\n Claims equal sovereignty of triple realms: 345\n His mother rules the sea, to Aeacus\n The shades submit, to mighty Jove the heavens.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Yet that Achilles lies by Paris slain!\n\n _Pyrrhus:_ But by Apollo's aid, who aimed the dart;\n For no god dared to meet him face to face.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ I could have checked thy words, and curbed thy tongue,\n Too bold in evil speech; but this my sword 350\n Knows how to spare. But rather let them call\n The prophet Calchas, who the will of heaven\n Can tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.\n [_Enter_ Calchas.]\n Thou who from bonds didst loose the Grecian ships,\n And bring to end the slow delays of war;\n Who by thy mystic art canst open heaven,\n And read with vision clear the awful truths\n Which sacrificial viscera proclaim;\n To whom the thunder's roll, the long, bright trail 355\n Of stars that flash across the sky, reveal\n The hidden things of fate; whose every word\n Is uttered at a heavy cost to me:\n What is the will of heaven, O Calchas; speak,\n And rule us with the mastery of fate.\n\n _Calchas:_ The Greeks must pay th' accustomed price to death, 360\n Ere on the homeward seas they take their way.\n The maiden must be slaughtered on the tomb\n Of great Achilles. Thus the rite perform:\n As Grecian maidens are in marriage led\n By other hands unto the bridegroom's home,\n So Pyrrhus to his father's shade must lead\n His promised bride. 365\n But not this cause alone\n Delays our ships: a nobler blood than thine,\n Polyxena, is due unto the fates;\n For from yon lofty tower must Hector's son,\n Astyanax, be hurled to certain death.\n Then shall our vessels hasten to the sea,\n And fill the waters with their thousand sails. 370\n\n[_Exeunt._]\n\n _Chorus:_ When in the tomb the dead is laid,\n When the last rites of love are paid;\n When eyes no more behold the light,\n Closed in the sleep of endless night;\n Survives there aught, can we believe?\n Or does an idle tale deceive? 375\n What boots it, then, to yield the breath\n A willing sacrifice to death,\n If still we gain no dreamless peace,\n And find from living no release?\n Say, do we, dying, end all pain?\n Does no least part of us remain?\n When from this perishable clay\n The flitting breath has sped away;\n Does then the soul that dissolution share\n And vanish into elemental air? 380\n Whate'er the morning sunbeam knows,\n Whate'er his setting rays disclose;\n Whate'er is bathed by Ocean wide,\n In ebbing or in flowing tide:\n Time all shall snatch with hungry greed,\n With mythic Pegasean speed. 385\n Swift is the course of stars in flight,\n Swiftly the moon repairs her light;\n Swiftly the changing seasons go,\n While time speeds on with endless flow:\n But than all these, with speed more swift,\n Toward fated nothingness we drift. 390\n For when within the tomb we're laid,\n No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.\n Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast,\n This animating spirit soon has passed. 395\n Since naught remains, and death is naught\n But life's last goal, so swiftly sought;\n Let those who cling to life abate\n Their fond desires, and yield to fate;\n And those who fear death's fabled gloom,\n Bury their cares within the tomb.\n Soon shall grim time and yawning night\n In their vast depths engulf us quite; 400\n Impartial death demands the whole--\n The body slays nor spares the soul.\n Dark Taenara and Pluto fell,\n And Cerberus, grim guard of hell--\n All these but empty rumors seem, 405\n The pictures of a troubled dream.\n Where then will the departed spirit dwell?\n Let those who never came to being tell.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_Enter_ Andromache, _leading the little_ Astyanax.]\n\n _Andromache:_ What do ye here, sad throng of Phrygian dames?\n Why tear your hair and beat your wretched breasts? 410\n Why stream your cheeks with tears? Our ills are light\n If we endure a grief that tears can soothe.\n You mourn a Troy whose walls but now have fall'n;\n Troy fell for me long since, when that dread car\n Of Peleus' son, urged on at cruel speed,\n With doleful groanings 'neath his massive weight,\n Dragged round the walls my Hector's mangled corse. 415\n Since then, o'erwhelmed and utterly undone,\n With stony resignation do I bear\n Whatever ills may come. But for this child,\n Long since would I have saved me from the Greeks\n And followed my dear lord; but thought of him\n Doth check my purpose and forbid my death.\n For his dear sake there still remaineth cause 420\n To supplicate the gods, an added care.\n Through him the richest fruit of woe is lost--\n The fear of naught; and now all hope of rest\n From further ills is gone, for cruel fate\n Hath still an entrance to my grieving heart.\n Most sad his fear, who fears in hopelessness. 425\n\n _An Old Man:_ What sudden cause of fear hath moved thee so?\n\n _Andromache:_ Some greater ill from mighty ills doth rise.\n The fate of fallen Troy is not yet stayed.\n\n _Old Man:_ What new disasters can the fates invent?\n\n _Andromache:_ The gates of deepest Styx, those darksome realms\n (Lest fear be wanting to our overthrow), 430\n Are opened wide, and forth from lowest Dis\n The spirit of our buried foeman comes.\n (May Greeks alone retrace their steps to earth?\n For death at least doth come to all alike.)\n That terror doth invade the hearts of all;\n But what I now relate is mine alone-- 435\n A terrifying vision of the night.\n\n _Old Man:_ What was this vision? Speak and share thy fears.\n\n _Andromache:_ Now kindly night had passed her middle goal,\n And their bright zenith had the Bears o'ercome.\n Then came to my afflicted soul a calm 440\n Long since unknown, and o'er my weary eyes,\n For one brief hour did drowsy slumber steal\n If that be sleep--the stupor of a soul\n Forespent with ills: when suddenly I saw\n Before mine eyes the shade of Hector stand;\n Not in such guise as when, with blazing torch\n He strove in war against the Grecian ships, 445\n Nor when, all stained with blood, in battle fierce\n Against the Danai, he gained true spoil\n From that feigned Peleus' son; not such his face\n All flaming with the eager battle light;\n But weary, downcast, tear-stained, like my own,\n All covered o'er with tangled, bloody locks. 450\n Still did my joy leap up at sight of him;\n And then he sadly shook his head and said:\n \"Awake from sleep and save our son from death,\n O faithful wife. In hiding let him lie;\n Thus only can he life and safety find.\n Away with tears--why dost thou mourning make\n For fallen Troy? I would that all had fall'n. 455\n Then haste thee, and to safety bear our son,\n The stripling hope of this our vanquished home,\n Wherever safety lies.\"\n So did he speak,\n And chilling terror roused me from my sleep.\n Now here, now there I turned my fearful eyes.\n Forgetful of my son, I sought the arms\n Of Hector, there to lay my grief. In vain:\n For that elusive shade, though closely pressed, 460\n Did ever mock my clinging, fond embrace.\n O son, true offspring of thy mighty sire,\n Sole hope of Troy, sole comfort of our house,\n Child of a stock of too illustrious blood,\n Too like thy father, thou: such countenance\n My Hector had, with such a tread he walked,\n With such a motion did he lift his hands,\n Thus stood he straight with shoulders proudly set,\n And thus he oft from that high, noble brow\n Would backward toss his flowing locks.--But thou,\n O son, who cam'st too late for Phrygia's help,\n Too soon for me, will that time ever come,\n That happy day, when thou, the sole defense, 470\n And sole avenger of our conquered Troy,\n Shalt raise again her fallen citadel,\n Recall her scattered citizens from flight,\n And give to fatherland and Phrygians\n Their name and fame again?--Alas, my son,\n Such hopes consort not with our present state.\n Let the humble captive's fitter prayer be mine-- 475\n The prayer for life.\n Ah me, what spot remote\n Can hold thee safe? In what dark lurking-place\n Can I bestow thee and abate my fears?\n Our city, once in pride of wealth secure,\n And stayed on walls the gods themselves had built,\n Well known of all, the envy of the world,\n Now deep in ashes lies, by flames laid low; 480\n And from her vast extent of temples, walls\n And towers, no part, no lurking-place remains,\n Wherein a child might hide. Where shall I choose\n A covert safe? Behold the mighty tomb\n Wherein his father's sacred ashes lie,\n Whose massive pile the enemy has spared.\n This did old Priam rear in days of power, 485\n Whose grief no stinted sepulture bestowed.\n Then to his father let me trust the child.--\n But at the very thought a chilling sweat\n Invades my trembling limbs, for much I fear\n The gruesome omen of the place of death. 490\n\n _Old Man:_ In danger, haste to shelter where ye may;\n In safety, choose.\n\n _Andromache:_ What hiding-place is safe\n From traitor's eyes?\n\n _Old Man:_ All witnesses remove.\n\n _Andromache:_ What if the foe inquire?\n\n _Old Man:_ Then answer thus:\n \"He perished in the city's overthrow.\"\n This cause alone ere now hath safety found\n For many from the stroke of death--belief\n That they have died.\n\n _Andromache:_ But scanty hope is left;\n Too huge a weight of race doth press him down.\n Besides, what can it profit him to hide 495\n Who must his shelter leave and face the foe?\n\n _Old Man:_ The victor's deadliest purposes are first.\n\n _Andromache:_ What trackless region, what obscure retreat\n Shall hold thee safe? Oh, who will bring us aid\n In our distress and doubt? Who will defend?\n O thou, who always didst protect thine own, 500\n My Hector, guard us still. Accept the trust\n Which I in pious confidence impose;\n And in the faithful keeping of thy dust\n May he in safety dwell, to live again.\n Then son, betake thee hither to the tomb.\n Why backward strain, and shun that safe retreat?\n I read thy nature right: thou scornest fear. 505\n But curb thy native pride, thy dauntless soul,\n And bear thee as thine altered fates direct.\n For see what feeble forces now are left:\n A sepulcher, a boy, a captive band.\n We cannot choose but yield us to our woes.\n Then come, make bold to enter the abode,\n The sacred dwelling of thy buried sire.\n If fate assist us in our wretchedness, 510\n 'Twill be to thee a safe retreat; if life\n The fates deny, thou hast a sepulcher.\n\n[_The boy enters the tomb, and the gates are closed and barred behind\nhim._]\n\n _Old Man:_ Now do the bolted gates protect their charge.\n But thou, lest any sign of fear proclaim\n Where thou hast hid the boy, come far away.\n\n _Andromache:_ Who fears from near at hand, hath less of fear; 515\n But, if thou wilt, take we our steps away.\n\n[Ulysses _is seen approaching._]\n\n _Old Man_: Now check thy words awhile, thy mourning cease;\n For hither bends the Ithacan his course.\n\n _Andromache_ [_with a final appealing look toward the tomb_]:\n Yawn deep, O earth, and thou, my husband, rend\n To even greater depths thy tomb's deep cave, 520\n And hide the sacred trust I gave to thee\n Within the very bosom of the pit.\n Now comes Ulysses, grave and slow of tread;\n Methinks he plotteth mischief in his heart.\n\n[_Enter_ Ulysses.]\n\n _Ulysses:_ As harsh fate's minister, I first implore\n That, though the words are uttered by my lips, 525\n Thou count them not my own. They are the voice\n Of all the Grecian chiefs, whom Hector's son\n Doth still prohibit from that homeward voyage\n So long delayed. And him the fates demand.\n A peace secure the Greeks can never feel,\n And ever will the backward-glancing fear 530\n Compel them on defensive arms to lean,\n While on thy living son, Andromache,\n The conquered Phrygians shall rest their hopes.\n So doth the augur, Calchas, prophesy.\n Yet, even if our Calchas spake no word,\n Thy Hector once declared it, and I fear\n Lest in his son a second Hector dwell; 535\n For ever doth a noble scion grow\n Into the stature of his noble sire.\n Behold the little comrade of the herd,\n His budding horns still hidden from the sight:\n Full soon with arching neck and lofty front,\n He doth command and lead his father's flock. 540\n The slender twig, just lopped from parent bough,\n Its mother's height and girth surpasses soon,\n And casts its shade abroad to earth and sky.\n So doth a spark within the ashes left,\n Leap into flame again before the wind.\n Thy grief, I know, must partial judgment give; 545\n Still, if thou weigh the matter, thou wilt grant\n That after ten long years of grievous war.\n A veteran soldier doeth well to fear\n Still other years of slaughter, and thy Troy\n Still unsubdued. This fear one cause alone 550\n Doth raise--another Hector. Free the Greeks\n From dread of war. For this and this alone\n Our idle ships still wait along the shore.\n And let me not seem cruel in thy sight,\n For that, compelled of fate, I seek thy son:\n I should have sought our chieftain's son as well.\n Then gently suffer what the victor bids. 555\n\n _Andromache:_ Oh, that thou wert within my power to give,\n My son, and that I knew what cruel fate\n Doth hold thee now, snatched from my eager arms--\n Where thou dost lie; then, though my breast were pierced\n With hostile spears, and though my hands with chains\n Were bound, and scorching flames begirt my sides, 560\n Thy mother's faith would ne'er betray her child.\n O son, what place, what lot doth hold thee now?\n Dost thou with wandering footsteps roam the fields?\n Wast thou consumed amid the raging flames?\n Hath some rude victor reveled in thy blood? 565\n Or, by some ravening beast hast thou been slain,\n And liest now a prey for savage birds?\n\n _Ulysses:_ Away with feign\u00e9d speech; no easy task\n For thee to catch Ulysses: 'tis my boast\n That mother's snares, and even goddesses'\n I have o'ercome. Have done with vain deceit. 570\n Where is thy son?\n\n _Andromache:_ And where is Hector too?\n Where ag\u00e9d Priam and the Phrygians?\n _Thou_ seekest one; _my_ quest includes them all.\n\n _Ulysses:_ By stern necessity thou soon shalt speak\n What thy free will withholds.\n\n _Andromache:_ But safe is she,\n Who can face death, who ought and longs to die.\n\n _Ulysses:_ But death brought near would still thy haughty words.\n\n _Andromache:_ If 'tis thy will, Ulysses, to inspire 575\n Andromache with fear, then threaten life;\n For death has long been object of my prayer.\n\n _Ulysses:_ With stripes, with flames, with lingering pains of death\n Shalt thou be forced to speak, against thy will,\n What now thou dost conceal, and from thy heart\n Its inmost secrets bring. Necessity 580\n Doth often prove more strong than piety.\n\n _Andromache:_ Prepare thy flames, thy blows, and all the arts\n Devised for cruel punishment: dire thirst,\n Starvation, every form of suffering;\n Come, rend my vitals with the sword's deep thrust;\n In dungeon, foul and dark, immure; do all 585\n A victor, full of wrath and fear, can do\n Or dare; still will my mother heart, inspired\n With high and dauntless courage, scorn thy threats.\n\n _Ulysses:_ This very love of thine, which makes thee bold,\n Doth warn the Greeks to counsel for their sons. 590\n This strife, from home remote, these ten long years\n Of war, and all the ills which Calchas dreads,\n Would slight appear to me, if for myself\n I feared: but thou dost threat Telemachus.\n\n _Andromache:_ Unwillingly, Ulysses, do I give\n To thee, or any Grecian, cause of joy;\n Yet must I give it, and speak out the woe,\n The secret grief that doth oppress my soul. 595\n Rejoice, O sons of Atreus, and do thou,\n According to thy wont, glad tidings bear\n To thy companions: _Hector's son is dead_.\n\n _Ulysses:_ What proof have we that this thy word is true?\n\n _Andromache:_ May thy proud victor's strongest threat befall,\n And bring my death with quick and easy stroke; 600\n May I be buried in my native soil,\n May earth press lightly on my Hector's bones:\n According as my son, deprived of light,\n Amidst the dead doth lie, and, to the tomb\n Consigned, hath known the funeral honors due\n To those who live no more. 605\n\n _Ulysses_ [_joyfully_]: Then are the fates\n Indeed fulfilled, since Hector's son is dead,\n And I with joy unto the Greeks will go,\n With grateful tale of peace at last secure.\n [_Aside._]\n But stay, Ulysses, this rash joy of thine!\n The Greeks will readily believe _thy_ word;\n But what dost thou believe?--his mother's oath.\n Would then a mother feign her offspring's death,\n And fear no baleful omens of that word?\n They omens fear who have no greater dread. 610\n Her truth hath she upheld by straightest oath.\n If that she perjured be, what greater fear\n Doth vex her soul? Now have I urgent need\n Of all my skill and cunning, all my arts,\n By which so oft Ulysses hath prevailed;\n For truth, though long concealed, can never die.\n Now watch the mother; note her grief, her tears, 615\n Her sighs; with restless step, now here, now there,\n She wanders, and she strains her anxious ears\n To catch some whispered word. 'Tis evident,\n She more by present fear than grief is swayed.\n So must I ply her with the subtlest art.\n [_To_ Andromache.]\n When others mourn, 'tis fit in sympathy\n To speak with kindred grief; but thou, poor soul,\n I bid rejoice that thou hast lost thy son, 620\n Whom cruel fate awaited; for 'twas willed\n That from the lofty tower that doth remain\n Alone of Troy's proud walls, he should be dashed,\n And headlong fall to quick and certain death.\n\n _Andromache_ [_aside_]: My soul is faint within me, and my limbs\n Do quake; while chilling fear congeals my blood. 625\n\n _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: She trembles; here must I pursue my quest.\n Her fear betrayeth her; wherefore this fear\n Will I redouble.--\n [_To attendants._]\n Go in haste, my men,\n And find this foe of Greece, the last defense\n Of Troy, who by his mother's cunning hand\n Is safe bestowed, and set him in our midst.\n [_Pretending that the boy is discovered._]\n 'Tis well! He's found. Now bring him here with haste. 630\n [_To_ Andromache.]\n Why dost thou start, and tremble? Of a truth\n Thy son is dead, for so hast thou declared.\n\n _Andromache:_ Oh, that I had just cause of dread. But now,\n My old habitual fear instinctive starts;\n The mind ofttimes forgets a well-conned woe.\n\n _Ulysses:_ Now since thy boy hath shunned the sacrifice\n That to the walls was due, and hath escaped 635\n By grace of better fate, our priest declares\n That only can our homeward way be won\n If Hector's ashes, scattered o'er the waves,\n Appease the sea, and this his sepulcher\n Be leveled with the ground. Since Hector's son\n Has failed to pay the debt he owed to fate, 640\n Then Hector's sacred dust must be despoiled.\n\n _Andromache_ [_aside_]: Ah me, a double fear distracts my soul!\n Here calls my son, and here my husband's dust.\n Which shall prevail? Attest, ye heartless gods,\n And ye, my husband's shades, true deities: 645\n Naught else, O Hector, pleased me in my son,\n Save only thee; then may he still survive\n To bring thine image back to life and me.--\n Shall then my husband's ashes be defiled?\n Shall I permit his bones to be the sport\n Of waves, and lie unburied in the sea?\n Oh, rather, let my only son be slain!-- 650\n And canst thou, mother, see thy helpless child\n To awful death given up? Canst thou behold\n His body whirling from the battlements?\n I can, I shall endure and suffer this,\n Provided only, by his death appeased,\n The victor's hand shall spare my Hector's bones.--\n But he can suffer yet, while kindly fate 655\n Hath placed his sire beyond the reach of harm.\n Why dost thou hesitate? Thou must decide\n Whom thou wilt designate for punishment.\n What doubts harass thy troubled soul? No more\n Is Hector here.--Oh, say not so; I feel\n He is both here and there. But sure am I\n That this my child is still in life, perchance\n To be the avenger of his father's death.\n But both I cannot spare. What then? O soul, 660\n Save of the two, whom most the Greeks do fear.\n\n _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: Now must I force her answer.\n [_To_ Andromache.]\n From its base\n Will I this tomb destroy.\n\n _Andromache:_ The tomb of him\n Whose body thou didst ransom for a price?\n\n _Ulysses:_ I will destroy it, and the sepulcher\n From its high mound will utterly remove. 665\n\n _Andromache:_ The sacred faith of heaven do I invoke,\n And just Achilles' plighted word: do thou,\n O Pyrrhus, keep thy father's sacred oath.\n\n _Ulysses:_ This tomb shall soon lie level with the plain.\n\n _Andromache:_ Such sacrilege the Greeks, though impious,\n Have never dared. 'Tis true the sacred fanes,\n E'en of your favoring gods, ye have defiled; 670\n But still your wildest rage hath spared our tombs.\n I will resist, and match your warriors' arms\n With my weak woman's hands. Despairing wrath\n Will nerve my arm. Like that fierce Amazon,\n Who wrought dire havoc in the Grecian ranks;\n Or some wild Maenad by the god o'ercome,\n Who, thrysus-armed, doth roam the trackless glades\n With frenzied step, and, clean of sense bereft, 675\n Strikes deadly blows but feels no counter-stroke:\n So will I rush against ye in defense\n Of Hector's tomb, and perish, if I must,\n An ally of his shade.\n\n _Ulysses_ [_to attendants_]: Do ye delay,\n And do a woman's tears and empty threats\n And outcry move you? Speed the task I bid. 680\n\n _Andromache_ [_struggling with attendants_]:\n Destroy me first! Oh, take my life instead!\n [_The attendants roughly thrust her away._]\n Alas, they thrust me back! O Hector, come,\n Break through the bands of fate, upheave the earth,\n That thou mayst stay Ulysses' lawless hand.\n Thy spirit will suffice.--Behold he comes!\n His arms he brandishes, and firebrands hurls.\n Ye Greeks, do ye behold him, or do I,\n With solitary sight, alone behold? 685\n\n _Ulysses:_ This tomb and all it holds will I destroy.\n\n _Andromache_ [_aside, while the attendants begin to demolish the\n tomb_]: Ah me, can I permit the son and sire\n To be in common ruin overwhelmed?\n Perchance I may prevail upon the Greeks\n By prayer.--But even now those massive stones\n Will crush my hidden child.--Oh, let him die,\n In any other way, and anywhere, 690\n If only father crush not son, and son\n No desecration bring to father's dust.\n [_Casts herself at the feet of_ Ulysses.]\n A humble suppliant at thy knees I fall,\n Ulysses; I, who never yet to man\n Have bent the knee in prayer, thy feet embrace.\n By all the gods, have pity on my woes,\n And with a calm and patient heart receive\n My pious prayers. And as the heavenly powers 695\n Have high exalted thee in pride and might,\n The greater mercy show thy fallen foes.\n Whate'er is given to wretched suppliant\n Is loaned to fate. So mayst thou see again\n Thy faithful wife; so may La\u00ebrtes live\n To greet thee yet again; so may thy son\n Behold thy face, and, more than that thou canst pray, 700\n Excel his father's valor and the years\n Of old La\u00ebrtes. Pity my distress:\n The only comfort left me in my woe,\n Is this my son.\n\n _Ulysses:_ Produce the boy--and pray.\n\n _Andromache_ [_goes to the tomb and calls to_ Astyanax]:\n Come forth, my son, from the place of thy hiding 705\n Where thy mother bestowed thee with weeping and fear.\n\n[Astyanax _appears from the tomb_. Andromache _presents him to_\nUlysses.]\n\n Here, here is the lad, Ulysses, behold him;\n The fear of thy armies, the dread of thy fleet!\n [_To_ Astyanax.]\n My son, thy suppliant hands upraise,\n And at the feet of this proud lord,\n Bend low in prayer, nor think it base 710\n To suffer the lot which our fortune appoints.\n Put out of mind thy regal birth,\n Thy ag\u00e9d grandsire's glorious rule\n Of wide domain; and think no more\n Of Hector, thy illustrious sire.\n Be captive alone--bend the suppliant knee; 715\n And if thine own fate move thee not,\n Then weep by thy mother's woe inspired.\n [_To_ Ulysses.]\n That older Troy beheld the tears\n Of its youthful king, and those tears prevailed\n To stay the fierce threats of the victor's wrath, 720\n The mighty Hercules. Yea he,\n To whose vast strength all monsters had yielded,\n Who burst the stubborn gates of hell,\n And o'er that murky way returned,\n Even he was o'ercome by the tears of a boy. 725\n \"Take the reins of the state,\" to the prince he said;\n \"Reign thou on thy father's lofty throne,\n But reign with the scepter of power--and truth.\"\n Thus did that hero subdue his foes.\n And thus do thou temper thy wrath with forbearance. 730\n And let not the power of great Hercules, only,\n Be model to thee. Behold at thy feet,\n As noble a prince as Priam of old\n Pleads only for life! The kingdom of Troy\n Let fortune bestow where she will. 735\n\n _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: This woe-struck mother's grief doth move me sore;\n But still the Grecian dames must more prevail,\n Unto whose grief this lad is growing up.\n\n _Andromache_ [_hearing him_]: What? These vast ruins of our fallen\n town,\n To very ashes brought, shall he uprear?\n Shall these poor boyish hands build Troy again? 740\n No hopes indeed hath Troy, if such her hopes.\n So low the Trojans lie, there's none so weak\n That he need fear our power. Doth lofty thought\n Of mighty Hector nerve his boyish heart?\n What valor can a fallen Hector stir?\n When this our Troy was lost, his father's self\n Would then have bowed his lofty spirit's pride;\n For woe can bend and break the proudest soul. 745\n If punishment be sought, some heavier fate\n Let him endure; upon his royal neck\n Let him support the yoke of servitude.\n Must princes sue in vain for this poor boon?\n\n _Ulysses:_ Not I, but Calchas doth refuse thy prayer.\n\n _Andromache:_ O man of lies, artificer of crime, 750\n By whom in open fight no foe is slain,\n But by whose tricks and cunning, evil mind\n The very chiefs of Greece are overthrown,\n Dost thou now seek to hide thy dark intent\n Behind a priest and guiltless gods? Nay, nay:\n This deed within thy sinful heart was born.\n Thou midnight prowler, brave to work the death 755\n Of this poor boy, dost dare at length alone\n To do a deed, and that in open day?\n\n _Ulysses:_ Ulysses' valor do the Grecians know\n Full well, and all too well the Phrygians.\n But we are wasting time with empty words.\n The impatient ships are tugging at their chains.\n\n _Andromache:_ But grant a brief delay, while to my son 760\n I pay the rites of woe, and sate my grief\n With tears and last embrace.\n\n _Ulysses:_ I would 'twere mine\n To spare thy tears; but what alone I may,\n I'll give thee respite and a time for grief.\n Then weep thy fill, for tears do soften woe. 765\n\n _Andromache_ [_to_ Astyanax]: O darling pledge of love, thou only stay\n Of our poor fallen house, last pang of Troy;\n O thou whom Grecians fear, O mother's hope,\n Alas too vain, for whom, with folly blind,\n I prayed the war-earned praises of his sire,\n His royal grandsire's prime of years and strength:\n But God hath scorned my prayers. 770\n Thou shalt not live\n To wield the scepter in the royal courts\n Of ancient Troy, to make thy people's laws,\n And send beneath thy yoke the conquered tribes;\n Thou shalt not fiercely slay the fleeing Greeks,\n Nor from thy car in retribution drag\n Achilles' son; the dart from thy small hand 775\n Thou ne'er shalt hurl, nor boldly press the chase\n Of scattered beasts throughout the forest glades;\n And when the sacred lustral day is come,\n Troy's yearly ritual of festal games,\n The charging squadrons of the noble youth\n Thou shalt not lead, thyself the noblest born;\n Nor yet among the blazing altar fires, 780\n With nimble feet the ancient sacred dance\n At some barbaric temple celebrate,\n While horns swell forth swift-moving melodies.\n Oh, mode of death, far worse than bloody war!\n More tearful sight than mighty Hector's end\n The walls of Troy must see. 785\n\n _Ulysses:_ Now stay thy tears,\n For mighty grief no bound or respite finds.\n\n _Andromache:_ Small space for tears, Ulysses, do I ask;\n Some scanty moments yet, I pray thee, grant,\n That I may close his eyes though living still,\n And do a mother's part.\n [_To_ Astyanax.]\n Lo, thou must die,\n For, though a child, thou art too greatly feared.\n Thy Troy awaits thee: go, in freedom's pride, 790\n And see our Trojans, dead yet unenslaved.\n\n _Astyanax:_ O mother, mother, pity me and save!\n\n _Andromache:_ My son, why dost thou cling upon my robes,\n And seek the vain protection of my hand?\n As when the hungry lion's roar is heard,\n The frightened calf for safety presses close 795\n Its mother's side; but that remorseless beast,\n Thrusting away the mother's timid form,\n With ravenous jaws doth grasp the lesser prey,\n And, crushing, drag it hence: so shalt thou, too,\n Be snatched away from me by heartless foes.\n Then take my tears and kisses, O my son,\n Take these poor locks, and, full of mother love, 800\n Go speed thee to thy sire; and in his ear\n Speak these, thy grieving mother's parting words:\n \"If still thy manes feel their former cares,\n And on the pyre thy love was not consumed,\n Why dost thou suffer thy Andromache\n To serve a Grecian lord, O cruel Hector?\n Why dost thou lie in careless indolence? 805\n Achilles has returned.\"\n Take once again\n These hairs, these flowing tears, which still remain\n From Hector's piteous death; this fond caress\n And rain of parting kisses take for him.\n But leave this cloak to comfort my distress,\n For it, within his tomb and near his shade,\n Hath lain enwrapping thee. If to its folds 810\n One tiny mote of his dear ashes clings,\n My eager lips shall seek it till they find.\n\n _Ulysses:_ Thy grief is limitless. Come, break away,\n And end our Grecian fleet's too long delay.\n\n[_He leads the boy away with him._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ Where lies the home of our captivity?\n On Thessaly's famed mountain heights?\n Where Tempe's dusky shade invites? 815\n Or Phthia, sturdy warriors' home,\n Or where rough Trachin's cattle roam?\n Iolchos, mistress of the main,\n Or Crete, whose cities crowd the plain? 820\n Where frequent flow Mothone's rills,\n Beneath the shade of Oete's hills,\n Whence came Alcides' fatal bow\n Twice destined for our overthrow? 825\n But whither shall our alien course be sped?\n Perchance to Pleuron's gates we go,\n Where Dian's self was counted foe;\n Perchance to Troezen's winding shore,\n The land which mighty Theseus bore;\n Or Pelion, by whose rugged side\n Their mad ascent the giants tried.\n Here, stretched within his mountain cave, 830\n Once Chiron to Achilles gave\n The lyre, whose stirring strains attest\n The warlike passions of his breast. 835\n What foreign shore our homeless band invites?\n Must we our native country deem\n Where bright Carystos' marbles gleam?\n Where Chalcis breasts the heaving tide,\n And swift Euripus' waters glide?\n Perchance unhappy fortune calls 840\n To bleak Gono\u00ebssa's windswept walls;\n Perchance our wondering eyes shall see\n Eleusin's awful mystery; 845\n Or Elis, where great heroes strove\n To win the Olympic crown of Jove. 850\n Then welcome, stranger lands beyond the sea!\n Let breezes waft our wretched band,\n Where'er they list, to any land;\n If only Sparta's curs\u00e9d state\n (To Greeks and Trojans common fate)\n And Argos, never meet our view,\n And bloody Pelops' city too; 855\n May we ne'er see Ulysses' isle,\n Whose borders share their master's guile.\n But thee, O Hecuba, what fate,\n What land, what Grecian lord await? 860\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Helen.]\n\n _Helen_ [_aside_]: Whatever wedlock, bred of evil fate,\n Is full of joyless omens, blood and tears,\n Is worthy Helen's baleful auspices.\n And now must I still further harm inflict\n Upon the prostrate Trojans: 'tis my part\n To feign Polyxena, the royal maid,\n Is bid to be our Grecian Pyrrhus' wife, 865\n And deck her in the garb of Grecian brides.\n So by my artful words shall she be snared,\n And by my craft shall Paris' sister fall.\n But let her be deceived; 'tis better so;\n To die without the shrinking fear of death\n Is joy indeed. But why dost thou delay\n Thy bidden task? If aught of sin there be, 870\n 'Tis his who doth command thee to the deed.\n [_To_ Polyxena.]\n O maiden, born of Priam's noble stock,\n The gods begin to look upon thy house\n In kinder mood, and even now prepare\n To grant thee happy marriage; such a mate\n As neither Troy herself in all her power\n Nor royal Priam could have found for thee. 875\n For lo, the flower of the Pelasgian lords,\n Whose sway Thessalia's far-extending plains\n Acknowledge, seeks thy hand in lawful wedlock.\n Great Tethys waits to claim thee for her own,\n And Thetis, whose majestic deity\n Doth rule the swelling sea, and all the nymphs\n Who dwell within its depths. As Pyrrhus' bride 880\n Thou shalt be called the child of Peleus old,\n And Nereus the divine.\n Then change the garb\n Of thy captivity for festal robes,\n And straight forget that thou wast e'er a slave.\n Thy wild, disheveled locks confine; permit\n That I, with skilful hands, adorn thy head. 885\n This chance, mayhap, shall place thee on a throne\n More lofty far than ever Priam saw.\n The captive's lot full oft a blessing proves.\n\n _Andromache:_ This was the one thing lacking to our woes--\n That they should bid us smile when we would weep.\n See there! Our city lies in smouldering heaps;\n A fitting time to talk of marriages! 890\n But who would dare refuse? When Helen bids,\n Who would not hasten to the wedding rites?\n Thou common curse of Greeks and Trojans too,\n Thou fatal scourge, thou wasting pestilence,\n Dost thou behold where buried heroes lie?\n And dost thou see these poor unburied bones\n That everywhere lie whitening on the plain?\n This desolation hath thy marriage wrought. 895\n For thee the blood of Asia flowed; for thee\n Did Europe's heroes bleed, whilst thou, well pleased,\n Didst look abroad upon the warring kings,\n Who perished in thy cause, thou faithless jade!\n There! get thee gone! prepare thy marriages!\n What need of torches for the solemn rites?\n What need of fire? Troy's self shall furnish forth 900\n The ruddy flames to light her latest bride.\n Then come, my sisters, come and celebrate\n Lord Pyrrhus' nuptial day in fitting wise:\n With groans and wailing let the scene resound.\n\n _Helen:_ Though mighty grief is ne'er by reason swayed,\n And oft the very comrades of its woe,\n Unreasoning, hates; yet can I bear to stand 905\n And plead my cause before a hostile judge,\n For I have suffered heavier ills than these.\n Behold, Andromache doth Hector mourn,\n And Hecuba her Priam; each may claim\n The public sympathy; but Helena\n Alone must weep for Paris secretly.\n Is slavery's yoke so heavy and so hard 910\n To bear? This grievous yoke have I endured,\n Ten years a captive. Doth your Ilium lie\n In dust, your gods o'erthrown? I know 'tis hard\n To lose one's native land, but harder still\n To fear the land that gave you birth. Your woes\n Are lightened by community of grief;\n But friend and foe are foes alike to me.\n Long since, the fated lot has hung in doubt 915\n That sorts you to your lords; but I alone,\n Without the hand of fate am claimed at once.\n Think you that I have been the cause of war,\n And Troy's great overthrow? Believe it true\n If in a Spartan vessel I approached\n Your land; but if, sped on by Phrygian oars, 920\n I came a helpless prey; if to the judge\n Of beauty's rival claims I fell the prize\n By conquering Venus' gift, then pity me,\n The plaything of the fates. An angry judge\n Full soon my cause shall have--my Grecian lord.\n Then leave to him the question of my guilt,\n And judge me not.\n But now forget thy woes\n A little space, Andromache, and bid 925\n This royal maid--but as I think on her\n My tears unbidden flow.\n\n[_She stops, overcome by emotion._]\n\n _Andromache_ [_in scorn_]: Now great indeed\n Must be the evil when our Helen weeps!\n But dry thy tears, and tell what Ithacus\n Is plotting now, what latest deed of shame?\n Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,\n Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?\n Must she be flung into the cruel sea 930\n That roars beneath this lofty precipice,\n Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?\n Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.\n In all our ills there's none so great as this,\n That any princess of our royal house\n Should wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent; 935\n What further suffering remains to bear?\n To compensate our woes, this grace impart,\n That we may know the worst that can befall.\n Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.\n\n _Helen:_ Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bonds\n Which bind me to this life I hate; to die\n By Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb 940\n Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,\n O poor Polyxena. For even now,\n The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,\n And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;\n That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,\n Within the borders of Elysium.\n\n _Andromache_ [_observing the joy with which_ Polyxena _receives these\n tidings_]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy 945\n At thought of death; she seeks the festal robes\n Wherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,\n And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.\n Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,\n Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.\n [_Observing_ Hecuba.]\n But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,\n Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate. 950\n [_To_ Hecuba.]\n Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,\n And gird thy fainting spirit up.\n [Hecuba _falls fainting_.]\n Behold,\n By what a slender thread her feeble life\n Is held to earth. How slight the barrier now\n That doth remove our Hecuba from joy.\n But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,\n For from the wretched, death is first to flee.\n\n _Hecuba_ [_reviving_]: Still dost thou live, Achilles,\n for our bane? 955\n Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,\n Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.\n For see, the very ashes and the tomb\n Of that insatiate chieftain still do thirst\n For Trojan blood. But lately did a throng\n Of happy children press me round; and I,\n With fond endearment and the sweet caress\n That mother love would shower upon them all,\n Was oft forespent. But now this child alone 960\n Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,\n For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.\n Hers are the only lips still left to me\n To call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,\n Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?\n Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,\n The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;\n And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy, 965\n A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.\n\n _Andromache:_ We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,\n Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea; 970\n While _she_ shall rest beneath the soil she loves.\n\n _Helen:_ Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,\n If thou didst know thine own.\n\n _Andromache:_ Remains there still\n Some punishment that I must undergo?\n\n _Helen:_ The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.\n\n _Andromache:_ To whom hath fate allotted me a slave? 975\n Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.\n\n _Helen:_ To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.\n\n _Andromache:_ O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,\n For by thy madness art thou held exempt\n From fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.\n\n _Helen:_ Not so, for even now the Grecian king\n Doth hold her as his prize.\n\n _Hecuba_ [_to_ Polyxena]: Rejoice, my child.\n How gladly would thy sisters change their lot\n For thy death-dooming marriage.\n [_To_ Helen.]\n Tell me now,\n Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?\n\n _Helen:_ The Ithacan, though much against his will, 980\n Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.\n\n _Hecuba:_ What cruel, ruthless providence hath given\n A royal slave to serve unkingly[50] men?\n What hostile god divides our captive band?\n What heartless arbiter of destiny\n So carelessly allots our future lords,\n That Hector's mother is assigned to him 985\n Who hath by favor gained th' accursed arms\n Which laid my Hector low? And must I then\n Obey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,\n Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,\n And sore beset by all my woes at once.\n Now must I blush, not for my slavery, 990\n But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,\n That barren land by savage seas beset,\n Shall not receive my bones.\n Then up, Ulysses,\n And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuse\n To follow thee as lord; for well I know\n That my untoward fates shall follow me.\n No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails, 995\n But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,\n And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,\n Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,\n While yet those ills delay, hast thou received\n Some punishment. For I usurped thy lot,\n And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.\n [_Enter_ Pyrrhus.]\n But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,\n Stern Pyrrhus comes. 1000\n [_To_ Pyrrhus.]\n Why dost thou hesitate?\n Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,\n And join the parents of Achilles' bride.\n Make haste, thou murderer of ag\u00e9d men,\n My blood befits thee too.\n [_Pointing to_ Polyxena.]\n Away with her;\n Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,\n Defile the shades.--But why make prayer to you? 1005\n I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rage\n Befits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,\n Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,\n May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,\n And so may evil fate engulf them all.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus:_ 'Tis sweet for one in grief to know\n That he but feels a common woe; 1010\n And lighter falls the stroke of care\n Which all with equal sorrow bear;\n For selfish and malign is human grief 1015\n Which in the tears of others finds relief.\n\n Remove all men to fortune born,\n And none will think himself forlorn;\n Remove rich acres spreading wide, 1020\n With grazing herds on every side:\n Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,\n For none are poor if all in common thrive. 1025\n\n The mariner his fate bewails,\n Who in a lonely vessel sails,\n And, losing all his scanty store,\n With life alone attains the shore;\n But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,\n That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves. 1030\n\n When Phrixus fled in days of old\n Upon the ram with fleece of gold,\n His sister Helle with him fared\n And all his exiled wanderings shared;\n But when she fell and left him quite alone,\n Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone. 1035\n\n Not so they wept, that fabled pair,\n Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,\n When 'midst the boundless sea they stood\n The sole survivors of the flood;\n For though their lot was hard and desolate,\n They shared their sorrow--'twas a common fate. 1040\n\n Too soon our grieving company\n Shall scatter on the rolling sea,\n Where swelling sails and bending oars 1045\n Shall speed us on to distant shores.\n Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,\n When far away our country lies,\n And round us heaving billows rise,\n And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.\n\n Then mother shall her child embrace, 1050\n And point with straining eyes the place\n Where Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,\n Far off beneath the eastern sky:\n \"See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,\n Where wreathing smoke in murky clouds\n The distant, dim horizon shrouds;\n And by that sign alone our land we know.\" 1055\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[50] Reading, _haud regibus_.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Messenger_ [_entering_]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!\n What sight so fell and bloody have we seen\n In ten long years of war? Between thy woes,\n Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,\n I halt, and know not which to weep the more.\n\n _Hecuba:_ Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt--thou weepest mine. 1060\n While others bow beneath their single cares,\n I feel the weight of all. All die to me;\n Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.\n\n _Messenger:_ The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.\n But each has met his death with royal soul.\n\n _Andromache:_ Expound the deed in order, and display 1065\n The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fain\n To hear the gruesome narrative entire.\n Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.\n\n _Messenger:_ One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,\n Well known to Priam, on whose battlements\n He used to sit and view his warring hosts. 1070\n Here in his arms his grandson he would hold\n With kind embrace, and bid the lad admire\n His father's warlike deeds upon the field,\n Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursued\n The frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower 1075\n Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,\n But now a lonely crag, the people pour,\n A motley, curious throng of high and low.\n For some, a distant hill gives open view;\n While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge 1080\n The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.\n The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;\n The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.\n One climbs a smouldering roof; unto another\n A crumbling wall precarious footing gives; 1085\n While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.\n Now through the thronging crowd with stately tread\n Ulysses makes his way, and by the hand\n He leads the little prince of Ilium.\n With equal pace the lad approached the wall; 1090\n But when he reached the lofty battlement,\n He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.\n And as the savage lion's tender young,\n Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,\n Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart; 1095\n So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,\n Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,\n And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.\n But he alone wept not of all the throng\n Who wept for him. And now Ulysses spake\n In priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed, 1100\n And summoned to the rite the savage gods;\n When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,\n The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plunged\n Into the depths below.--\n\n _Andromache:_ What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,\n What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea 1105\n Could do or dare a crime so hideous?\n No blood of helpless children ever stained\n Busiris' altars, monster though he was;\n Nor did the horses of the Thracian king\n E'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?\n Who now will take and lay him in the tomb? 1110\n\n _Messenger:_ Alas, my lady, how can aught remain\n From such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,\n Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signs\n In face and feature of his royal birth,\n Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?\n Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse. 1115\n\n _Andromache:_ Thus also is he like his noble sire.\n\n _Messenger:_ When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,\n And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crime\n Which it had seen and done; that selfsame throng\n Returned to witness yet another crime 1120\n Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward side\n Is beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;\n While on the other sides a level space,\n And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,\n Encompass it, and make a theater.\n Here rush the multitude and fill the place 1125\n With eager throngs. A few rejoice that now\n Their homeward journey's long delay will end,\n And that another prop of fallen Troy\n Is stricken down. But all the common herd\n Look on in silence at the crime they hate.\n The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice, 1130\n And wait with quaking hearts the final scene\n Of Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shone\n The gleaming torches of the wedding march;\n And, as the bride's attendant, Helen came\n With drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:\n \"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this, 1135\n With bloody rites; like this may Helena\n Return unto her lord.\" Then numbing dread\n Seized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheld\n The maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,\n But on her face a wondrous beauty glowed\n In flaming splendor, as the setting sun\n Lights up the sky with beams more beautiful, 1140\n When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.\n All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,\n And some her tender age and hapless fate;\n But all, her dauntless courage in the face 1145\n Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;\n And as they looked, the souls of all were filled\n With quaking terror, pity, and amaze.\n But when she reached the summit of the mound\n And stood upon the lofty sepulcher, 1150\n Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.\n And now she turned her to the stroke of death\n With eyes so fierce and fearless that she smote\n The hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,\n E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.\n But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke, 1155\n He drove the weapon deep within her breast;\n And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forth\n In sudden streams. But still the noble maid\n Did not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,\n Though in the act of death. For in her fall\n She smote the earth with angry violence,\n As if to make it heavy for the dead.\n Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned 1160\n With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;\n But openly the victors voiced their grief.\n And now the savage rite was done. The blood\n Stood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;\n But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,\n As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.\n\n _Hecuba:_ Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace. 1165\n With spreading sails your fleet in safety now\n May cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boy\n Are slain, the war is done. Oh, whither now\n Shall I betake me in my wretchedness?\n Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?\n My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn, 1170\n My husband, country--or myself alone?\n O death, my sole desire, for boys and maids\n Thou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;\n But me alone of mortals dost thou fear\n And shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,\n I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands, 1175\n But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,\n Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could give\n The death I sought. And yet how near I stood\n To ag\u00e9d Priam's side when he was slain!\n\n _Messenger:_ Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;\n The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.\n\n\n\n\nAGAMEMNON\n\n\n\n\nAGAMEMNON\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n\n_Agamemnon_ King of Argos, and leader of all the Greeks in their war\nagainst Troy.\n\n_Ghost of Thyestes_ Returned to earth to urge on his son to the\nvengeance which he was born to accomplish.\n\n_Aegisthus_ Son of Thyestes by an incestuous union with his daughter;\nparamour of Clytemnestra.\n\n_Clytemnestra_ Wife of Agamemnon, who has been plotting with Aegisthus\nagainst her husband, in his absence at Troy.\n\n_Chorus_ Of Argive women.\n\n_Eurybates_ Messenger of Agamemnon.\n\n_Cassandra_ Daughter of Priam, captive of Agamemnon.\n\n_Electra_ Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.\n\n_Strophius_ King of Phocis.\n\n_Orestes_ Son of Agamemnon (_persona muta_).\n\n_Pylades_ Son of Strophius (_persona muta_).\n\n_Band_ Of captive Trojan women.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid partly within and partly without the palace of\nAgamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king\nfrom his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just\npreceding the dawn.\n\n\n_The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the\nterrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in\nfate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son,\nAegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the\ngreat Atrides, Agamemnon._\n\n_The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious\nking, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been\nannounced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning.\nFor Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her\ndaughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy\nbecause he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the\nlong-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own\nguilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay Agamemnon on his\nreturn, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath._\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Ghost of Thyestes:_ Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm\n And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,\n All doubting which abode I hate the more;\n That world I flee, but this I put to flight.\n My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear. 5\n I see my father's house--my brother's too!\n Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;\n In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont\n To crown their kings; here sit those overlords\n Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield; 10\n Here is their council chamber--here they feast!\n Let me go hence. Were it not better far\n To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,\n And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?\n Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel, 15\n Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil\n Is mocked forever by the rolling stone;\n Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,\n Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,\n By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain 20\n To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment\n For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.\n But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!\n Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth\n Make them to tremble at the bar of hell:\n By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;-- 25\n But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine\n Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh\n Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot\n With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;\n But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek\n (Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms. 30\n Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,\n And so fearful cycle was complete:\n As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.\n Then were the laws of nature backward turned:\n I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;\n Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join, 35\n And drove the day back to the shades of night.\n But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,\n Hath had regard unto my evil plight,\n And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,\n This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,\n This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag 40\n A thousand Grecian vessels following\n Once filled the Trojan waters with their sails.\n Now ten bright suns have run their course, and Troy\n Has been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand--\n To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.\n Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,\n But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts 45\n I see, and that proud head with murderous stroke\n Asunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,\n Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.\n The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,\n Is come at last. But why hangs down thy head\n In shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand 50\n And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel take\n Within thy heart, and turn away, and ask\n Whether this deed become thee? Do but think\n Upon thy mother; then wilt thou confess\n It doth become thee well. But what drags out\n In long delay this summer night's brief span\n To winter's hours of darkness? And what cause\n Prevents the stars from sinking in the sky? 55\n The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,\n That so he may bring back the light of day.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus of Argive women:_ On fortune's headlong brink they stand\n Who hold the scepter in their hand;\n No safe assurance can they know 60\n Who on too lofty pathways go:\n But care on care pursues them to the last,\n Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.\n\n As seas on Libya's sandy shore\n Their waves in ceaseless billows pour; 65\n As Euxine's swelling waters rise\n Beneath the lowering northern skies,\n Where bright Bo\u00f6tes wheels his team\n High o'er the ocean's darksome stream: 70\n With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,\n Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!\n\n Who would be feared, in fear must live.\n No kindly night can refuge give;\n Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest, 75\n Can bring care-freedom to his breast.\n What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,\n That may not be destroyed by impious hands?\n\n For justice, shame, the virtues all,\n E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall 80\n Where courtiers dwell. Within, there stands\n Bellona dire with bloody hands;\n Erinys too, the dogging fate,\n Of them who hold too high estate,\n Which any hour from high to low may bring. 85\n Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,\n Still is the will of fortune done:\n By force of his own greatness falls the king.\n\n 'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail 90\n Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;\n The tower feels rainy Auster's dread\n If to the clouds it rear its head;\n Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash; 95\n High mountains most with thunder crash;\n And while the common herd in safety feeds,\n Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds. 100\n\n Fate places us on high, that so\n To surer ruin we may go.\n The meanest things in longest fortune live.\n Then happy he whose modest soul\n In safety seeks a nearer goal; 105\n Fearing to leave the friendly shore,\n He rows with unambitious oar,\n Content in low security to thrive.\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?\n Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.\n Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch, 110\n And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;\n But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,\n The homely virtues, honor, piety,\n And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.\n Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;\n The safest way through crime is by the path 115\n Of greater crime. Consider in thy heart\n All woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,\n Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;\n What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;\n Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,\n Who left her father's realm for Thessaly: 120\n Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flight\n Must thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.\n But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?\n Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,\n Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.\n\n _Nurse:_ O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child, 125\n What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?\n Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,\n By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?\n Though thou be silent, yet thy face declares\n Thy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.\n Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.\n Time often cures what reason cannot heal. 130\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.\n My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:\n I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,\n The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,\n Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke 135\n Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.\n And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,\n Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,\n Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:\n As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,\n The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers. 140\n And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.\n Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,\n There will I speed my course; my helmless ship\n I've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.\n Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.\n\n _Nurse:_ Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance. 145\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?\n\n _Nurse:_ Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.\n\n _Nurse:_ Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ To stop midway in sin is foolishness. 150\n\n _Nurse:_ His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.\n\n _Nurse:_ Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ The path of sin is headlong from the first.\n\n _Nurse:_ Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back. 155\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ What long-deserted wife regards her lord?\n\n _Nurse:_ Your common children--hast no thought of them?\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,\n High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.\n\n _Nurse:_ She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay, 160\n And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born child\n Of Tyndarus, should give my daughter up\n To save the Grecian fleet! I see once more\n In memory my daughter's wedding day,\n Which _he_ made worthy of base Pelops' house, 165\n When, with his pious face, this father stood\n Before the altar fires--Oh, monstrous rites!\n E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread words\n And backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,\n That ever wades through crime to other crime!\n With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war. 170\n\n _Nurse:_ Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ But not with favoring omens did they sail;\n The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.\n So launched in war, he still no better fared.\n Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer, 175\n He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,\n E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.\n Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,\n Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates\n (A faithful seer to us, to captives mild), 180\n Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.\n When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,\n This man with passion pined, had time for love,\n Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch\n Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft, 185\n He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,\n Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.\n Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,\n And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.\n And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes, 190\n A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!\n Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;\n Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, wait\n Till Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?\n Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand, 195\n Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?\n Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,\n Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,\n A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.\n Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepare\n To drive the sword, and so slay two in one. 200\n Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.\n For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.\n\n _Nurse:_ My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,\n And think how great thy task. Atrides comes\n Wild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord; 205\n He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.\n 'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,\n Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,\n Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;\n Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage; 210\n Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;\n Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;\n Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;\n Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;\n Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea; 215\n Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;\n Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,\n Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?\n This hero, home returned, dost thou prepare\n To slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?\n Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this? 220\n Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,\n The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,\n The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,\n Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:\n Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,\n And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run. 225\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]\n\n _Aegisthus:_ The fatal day which I was born to see,\n Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.\n Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,\n And turn away from action scarce begun?\n Be sure that not thy hand is ordering\n These dire events, but the relentless gods. 230\n Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fate\n And let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.\n To one of shameful birth death is a boon.\n [_Enter_ Clytemnestra.]\n Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,\n Be with me still in this; and thy false lord, 235\n This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.\n But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?\n What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ My husband's love has met and conquered me.\n Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room, 240\n To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;\n Let even now fair fame be sought again;\n For never is it over late to mend.\n Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ What madness this? Dost thou believe or hope\n That Agamemnon will be true to thee? 245\n Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,\n Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;\n Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,\n Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.\n Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;\n How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on 250\n His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?\n Mycenae's king he went; he will return\n Her tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.\n With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!\n But one of these, surpassing all the rest,\n Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall. 255\n And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?\n But she will not. A wife's last infamy--\n To see her rival ruling in her stead.\n No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on, 260\n And fan to flames again my dying wrath?\n For if the victor has his right employed,\n To work his will upon a captive maid,\n His wife should not complain or reck of this.\n The law that binds the man fits not the king.\n And why should I, myself in conscious guilt, 265\n Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?\n Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ In very truth there's room for mutual grace.\n But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.\n Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself 270\n A milder law in gentler mood apply.\n And this they deem the highest pledge of power,\n If, what to common mortals is denied,\n Is given by general will to them alone.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,\n To Menela\u00fcs joined, though East and West\n Have been engulfed for her in common woe.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ But Menela\u00fcs nursed no secret love, 275\n Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.\n Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.\n Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:\n What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,\n When hate condemns the suppliant unheard? 280\n Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and return\n Unto thy father's house? No shelter waits\n The scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ In vain: no faith is found in royal courts. 285\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ But surely gifts will buy fidelity.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ My strength and purity of soul revive.\n Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,\n Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course? 290\n Dost think that I would leave a king of kings\n And stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?\n\n _Aegisthus:_ What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,\n Who am Thyestes' son?\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Why, so thou art,\n And grandson too.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ My getting shames me not;\n For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock, 295\n Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,\n Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he behold\n Thy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,\n Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?\n Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes 300\n Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;\n This home is waiting for its king and lord.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ Exile is naught to me, for I am used\n To woe. At thy command I'll farther flee\n Than from this house: I but await thy word\n To plunge my dagger in this woeful breast. 305\n\n _Clytemnestra_ [_aside_]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?\n Who sin in company should suffer so.\n [_To_ Aegisthus.]\n Nay, come with me; we will together wait\n The issue of our dark and dangerous fate.\n\n[_Exeunt into the palace._]\n\n _Chorus:_[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned; 310\n With festal laurel wreathe your heads;\n And let your virgin locks flow free,\n Ye Argive maids.\n And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,\n Who dwell by Eurotas, 315\n Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus\n Come join in our singing;\n And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,\n Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,\n Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods. 320\n Now peace has come:\n Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,\n Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,\n And let thy tuneful lyre resound\n To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers. 325\n No lofty strain be thine today,\n But such as on thy milder lyre\n Thou art wont to sound when the learn\u00e9d muse\n Surveys thy sports.\n And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain, 330\n As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome\n By Jupiter's hurtling bolts;\n When mountain on lofty mountain piled,\n Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,\n Built high to the sky for the impious monsters 335\n Their ladder's rocky rounds.\n Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,\n Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord. 340\n Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.\n Thou alone dost protect us,\n Anxious and suppliant;\n Thou art the goddess of peace,\n And the issues of war are thine; 345\n And thine are the laurels of victory twined\n On the brow of our king Agamemnon.\n To thee the boxwood flute resounds\n In solemn festival;\n To thee the maidens strike the harp 350\n In sweetest song;\n To thee the votive torch is tossed;\n The gleaming heifer, all unmarred\n By the plow's rough touch\n Falls at thy shrine. 355\n And thou, child of the Thunderer,\n Pallas illustrious, hear;\n Before whose might the Dardanian walls\n Have trembled and fallen to dust.\n Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united 360\n Exalt and adore; at thy approach\n Thy temple doors swing open wide,\n While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,\n Rejoice at thy coming;\n And feeble, tottering elders come\n To pay their vows of thanks and praise, 365\n And pour their offerings of wine\n With trembling hands.\n And to thee with mindful lips we pray,\n Bright Trivia, Lucina called.\n Thy native Delos didst thou bid\n Stand fast upon the sea, and float 370\n No more, the wandering mock of winds.\n And now, with firmly fix\u00e9d root,\n It stands secure, defies the gale,\n And, wont of old to follow ships,\n Now gives them anchorage.\n Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt 375\n Who thy divinity defied.\n Now, high on lonely Sipylus,\n She sits and weeps in stony grief;\n Though to insensate marble turned,\n Her tears flow fresh forevermore.\n And now both men and women join 380\n In praise to the twin divinities.\n But thee, above all gods, we praise;\n Our father and our ruler thou,\n Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,\n At whose dread nod the farthest poles\n Do quake and tremble.\n O Jove, thou founder of our race, 385\n Accept our gifts, and have regard\n Unto thy faithful progeny.\n But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,\n With wonted signs of victory displayed;\n For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears-- 390\n Eurybates, our king's own messenger.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[51] The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.\n\n\nACT III\n\n[_Enter_ Eurybates _with laurel-wreathed spear_.]\n\n _Eurybates:_ Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,\n Ye Lares of my fathers, after long\n And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet\n My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.\n Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,\n Ye Argive people; for behold, your king, 395\n The pride and glory of this land of Greece,\n Back to his father's house as victor comes.\n\n[_Enter_ Clytemnestra _in time to hear the concluding words of the\nherald_.]\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!\n But where delays my lord, whom I with grief\n For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea\n Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?\n\n _Eurybates:_ Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise, 400\n He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Then hail this day with joy, and thank the gods\n Who, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,\n At last have smiled propitious on our cause.\n But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?\n Say, too, how fares my sister Helena? 405\n\n _Eurybates:_ If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;\n No surer tidings is it given to speak\n Of those who wander on the stormy sea.\n Scarce had the swollen highways of the deep\n Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship\n Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.\n E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear 410\n Went wandering upon the trackless waste,\n And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings\n Than he had e'er endured in bloody war.\n And now, a humble victor, home he comes,\n With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,\n And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea? 415\n\n _Eurybates:_ A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix\n The bitter message with the sweet. But I,\n Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell\n For very horror our most woeful tale.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ But tell it even so; for he who shrinks\n From knowledge of his woe has greater fear.\n And ills half seen are worse than certainty. 420\n\n _Eurybates:_ When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian fires\n We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea\n In eager haste. And now our weary sides\n Are eas\u00e9d of the falchion's wonted load;\n Our shields along the vessels' lofty sterns\n Unheeded hang, and once again our hands,\n Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar; 425\n And all impatiently we wait the word.\n Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign\n That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud\n The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;\n The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,\n The course directing for a thousand ships. 430\n A kindly breeze first stole into our sails\n And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves\n Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;\n The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet\n Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way.\n 'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy, 435\n The broad plains left in lonely solitude.\n The eager sailors ply the bending oars,\n Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms\n With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,\n And sing along the sides, while rushing prows 440\n Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.\n When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,\n We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,\n We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,\n Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare; 445\n Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,\n His corpse dishonored, and again restored\n To purchased honors of the funeral pyre;\n And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood\n The sacred altar of Hercean Jove.\n Then to and fro amid the briny sea\n The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves 450\n With arching backs; now race in circles wide,\n Now swim beside us in a friendly band,\n Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;\n Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,\n And so our thousand rushing barks surround. 455\n Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;\n And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.\n And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,\n Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.\n The sun was bringing weary mortals rest, 460\n And waning day was giving place to night;\n When clouds began to fill the western sky,\n And dim the luster of the sinking sun--\n The grim prognostic of a rising gale.\n Young night had spangled all the sky with stars, 465\n And empty sails hung languid on the masts;\n When low, foreboding sighings of the wind\n Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore\n Resounds afar with warning mutterings;\n The rising waves anticipate the storm; 470\n The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,\n The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.\n Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;\n For blinding mists add blackness to the night,\n And murky waves with murky sky contend.\n Then in concerted rush from every hand\n The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,\n And heave its boiling billows from the depths; 475\n While east with west wind struggles, south with north.\n Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:\n The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail\n Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves\n Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone 480\n Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first\n Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;\n And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,\n The far Arabian realms and morning seas.\n What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,\n His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?\n We thought the very heavens would be rent, 485\n The gods fall down from out the riven sky,\n And all revert to chaos as of old.\n The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn\n Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea\n Within itself contained; but, lifted high,\n It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven. 490\n Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight\n By open view and knowledge of our ills;\n For darkness like the murky night of Styx\n Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,\n When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds 495\n With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam\n Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is\n To those in evil plight to see their ills.\n The fleet assists its own destruction, too,\n Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;\n Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,\n And now, belched forth, it sees the air again. 500\n One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;\n Another, through its gaping side, invites\n Destruction from the raging floods; a third\n Is smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.\n Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,\n Of all its boastful decoration shorn;\n And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.\n No lofty mast with hanging spars remains, 505\n But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels drift\n Upon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,\n Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?\n Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors stand\n In dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;\n While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,\n And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid. 510\n Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vows\n The Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.\n Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;\n Ulysses, Ajax'; Menela\u00fcs, Hector's;\n And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:\n Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,\n Whose lot it was to die by human hand,\n Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame, 515\n For they rest safely in the land they won.\n \"Shall winds and waves engulf in common fate\n The faint of heart who nothing noble dare,\n And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?\n Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?\n O thou of gods who art not even yet\n With these our evil fortunes satisfied, 520\n At last have pity on our woeful plight,\n Which Ilium itself would weep to see.\n If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreed\n That we of Greece must perish utterly,\n Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,\n To share our fate? Allay the raging sea: 525\n For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too.\"\n So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant words\n Were swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,\n Another shape of death! For Pallas, armed\n With those swift bolts her angry father wields,\n Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,\n Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head, 530\n And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.\n Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,\n Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sail\n With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt\n Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt 535\n With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,\n And hurled it true with shock impetuous.\n Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,\n It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.\n Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,\n All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff, 540\n And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.\n Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,\n He shines amid the blackness like a torch\n Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep.\n At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts\n In madness: \"Now have I o'ercome the sea, 545\n The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,\n The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.\n I've braved the terrors of the god of war;\n With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,\n Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.\n Those gods, together with their Phrygians, 550\n I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?\n Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:\n But what if Jove himself--\"\n When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,\n Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,\n And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea. 555\n So, falling with its fall, the madman lies\n By earth and fire and billows overcome.\n But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,\n A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,\n Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,\n Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot\n Beneath the whirling waters of the sea. 560\n Above this reef the billows heave and dash,\n And madly seethe with each recurring wave.\n High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,\n Which views on either side the spreading sea.\n There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,\n And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,\n Shielding the broad Aegean from the west. 565\n There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies;\n And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.\n This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,\n With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.\n There his accurs\u00e9d hand a beacon raised\n And lured us onward to the fatal spot. 570\n Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,\n Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;\n And where but now our vessels sought to land,\n They flee the land and choose the angry waves. 575\n With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,\n And full atonement had been made to Troy.\n Then came the sun again; and brightening day\n Revealed the awful havoc of the night.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy.\n I do rejoice to see my lord again, 580\n And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.\n O father Jove, at whose august command\n The sounding heavens quake, regard our race,\n And bid the angry gods be merciful.\n Let every head be decked with festal wreath,\n The flute resound, and at the stately shrine\n Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice. 585\n But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,\n The Trojan women come; and at their head,\n With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,\n Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.\n\n[_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]\n\n _Band of Trojan women:_ Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,\n This love of life we mortals cherish so!\n What madness, when the door stands open wide 590\n That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud\n And welcomes us to everlasting rest!\n Who finds that refuge, fears no more\n These nameless terrors, these assaults,\n These insolent assaults of fate,\n And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove. 595\n Deep peace of death!\n No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,\n No victor's threatening madness here;\n No wild seas ruffled by the blast;\n No hosts in serried battle massed,\n Where whirling clouds of dust disclose 600\n The savage riders to their foes;\n No nation falling with its city's fall,\n 'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;\n No wasting fires,\n No burning pyres,\n And all the horrors impious war inspires.\n They from the servile bonds of fate 605\n This human life emancipate,\n Who fickle fortune dare to brave,\n And face the terrors of the grave;\n Who joyful view the joyless Styx,\n And dare their mortal span to fix.\n How like a king, how like a god on high\n Is he who faces death nor fears to die! 610\n In one dark night we saw our city doomed,\n When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;\n But not in battle, not by warlike arts,\n As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.\n No son of Thetis dealt the blow 615\n Which wrought our final overthrow,\n Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,\n When once, in borrowed armor dight,\n He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;\n Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er 620\n The fierce resentment that he bore,\n And sped him forth on vengeance bent--\n Not even in such evils pent,\n Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,\n But struggled bravely to the end.\n Her bitter fate--for ten long years to stand,\n And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand. 625\n In memory still we see the monstrous bulk\n Of that pretended and most fatal gift,\n The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,\n With our own hands into our city led.\n The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft 630\n Upon the threshold of the city gate,\n While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.\n And we might well have turned their crafty arts\n To work their own destruction. But alas,\n We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes\n The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,\n And low and angry mutterings within 635\n Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.\n Now free from fear our Trojan youth\n Crowd round to touch the sacred cords\n With joyous hands. Astyanax\n Here leads his youthful playmates on,\n While 'midst the maidens gaily comes\n The maid Polyxena, foredoomed\n To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640\n Mothers in festal garments bring\n Their votive offerings to the gods,\n And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645\n Throughout the town all faces tell\n One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,\n Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,\n Had never ceased her tears, was glad.\n But now, unhappy grief, what first,\n What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650\n Our city walls in ruin laid,\n Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines\n Upon their very gods consumed?\n Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes\n Have dried their tears for these. But now\n We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655\n We saw, with our own eyes we saw,\n The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,\n Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,\n Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. 660\n Let each bewail her several woes; but I\n For my own heavy grief have tears enough.\n\n _Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know\n That our own tears with others' flow;\n More sharply gnaws the hidden care 665\n Which we with others may not share:\n And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,\n Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.\n Though Philomel for Itys sing 670\n Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;\n Though Procne, with insistent din,\n Bewail her husband's hidden sin; 675\n Not these, with all their passionate lament,\n Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.\n Let Cycnus raise his dying song,\n And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;\n Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, 680\n A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;\n Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele 685\n Their tears for Attis share with thee:\n Still would our tears in no such measure flow, 690\n For sufferings like these no limits know.\n\n [Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.]\n\n But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?\n Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.\n\n _Cassandra:_ But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear. 695\n I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,\n For now am I beyond their power to harm,\n And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.\n No country have I left, no sister, sire;\n For tombs and altars have my blood consumed. 700\n Where is that happy throng of brothers now?\n Departed all! And only weak old men\n Remain within the lonely palace walls\n To serve the wretched king; and these, alas,\n Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,\n Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.\n And Hecuba, proud mother of a race 705\n Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,\n Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock\n Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form,\n Barks madly round the ruins of her home,\n Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.\n\n _Band:_ Why falls this sudden silence on her? See 710\n Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear\n Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise,\n And we can hear, though pent within her breast,\n The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.\n Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon\n Her eyes seem backward turned into herself, 715\n Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.\n Now higher than her wont she lifts her head\n And walks with stately step; and now she strives\n To open her reluctant lips. At last,\n Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,\n The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Why prick me on with fury's goads anew, 720\n Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why\n Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh?\n Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.\n Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.\n Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?\n Now Troy is fallen--must I still rave on, 725\n And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?\n The kindly light has fled, and deepest night\n Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped\n In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,\n The day shines forth again; and doubled homes\n In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again\n I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits 730\n Amid those awful goddesses to judge\n (Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.\n Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit\n Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon\n Shall overthrow your house.\n Beware the queen!\n Why does she madly in her woman's hand\n Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek 735\n With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,\n Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?\n What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?\n A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,\n Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;\n While at his mangled[53] neck a low-born beast 740\n Gnaws greedily.\n Why do ye summon me,\n Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?\n I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54] deep\n Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop\n Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,\n I see, though not in brave and fair array,\n As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow 745\n Of burning ships; but with thy members torn\n And foully mangled by the dragging thongs.\n And thee, O Tro\u00eflus, I follow too,\n Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!\n I see thy face, my poor De\u00efphobus,\n Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift\n Of thy new wife? 750\n Ah me, 'tis sweet to go\n Along the borders of the Stygian pool;\n To see the savage hound of Tartarus,\n The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,\n Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls\n Across the murky Phlegethon today,\n The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,\n And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven 755\n Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:\n Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,\n That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians\n May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,\n Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.\n See, see! the squalid sisters come, 760\n Their bloody lashes brandishing,\n And smoking torches half consumed.\n A sickly pallor overspreads\n Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes\n Of death begird their hollow loins.\n The gloomy night with fearsome cries 765\n Resounds, and to my startled eyes\n Dread sights appear: there lie the bones\n Of that huge giant, far outstretched,\n Upon a slimy marsh's brink\n All white and rotting. Now I see\n That old man, wan with suffering,\n Forget awhile the mocking waves, 770\n Forget his burning thirst, to grieve\n For this disaster hovering\n About his house;\n But Dardanus exults to see\n His foeman's baleful destiny.\n\n _Band:_ Now has her rage prophetic spent itself, 775\n And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,\n Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine\n Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.\n Let us support her ere she faint and fall.\n But see, our Agamemnon comes at last\n To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;\n And, all in festal garb, with glad accord, 780\n His consort welcomes her returning lord.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[52] Reading, _hinc et Chalcida_.\n\n[53] Reading, _vexatus_.\n\n[54] Reading, _tot\u00e2 Troi\u00e2 sepulte_.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n[_Enter_ Agamemnon. _He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns\ninto the palace._]\n\n _Agamemnon:_ At last in safety am I home returned.\n Oh, hail, belov\u00e9d land! I bring thee spoil\n From many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,\n So long the mistress of the haughty east, 785\n Submits herself as suppliant to thee.\n But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling falls\n With nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;\n Revive her drooping spirits with the chill\n Of water on her face. Her languid eyes\n Again behold the light of day. Arise,\n Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.\n That shelter from our woes, so long desired, 790\n Is here at last. This is a festal day.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Remember Ilium's festal day.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ But come,\n We'll kneel before the shrine.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Before the shrine\n My father fell.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ We will together pray\n In thankfulness to Jove.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Hercean Jove?\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Thou think'st of Ilium?\n\n _Cassandra:_ And Priam too.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ This is not Troy. 795\n\n _Cassandra:_ Where a Helen is, is Troy.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.\n\n _Cassandra:_ But freedom is at hand.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Live on secure.\n\n _Cassandra:_ I think that death is my security.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ For thee there's naught to fear.\n\n _Cassandra:_ But much for thee.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ What can a victor fear?\n\n _Cassandra:_ What least he fears.\n\n _Agamemnon:_ Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard, 800\n Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,\n Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.\n To thee, O father, who the blinding bolt\n Dost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,\n Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,\n To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;\n And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord, 805\n Argolic Juno, here I offer now\n All fitting gifts--and so fulfil my vow.\n\n[_Exit into the palace._]\n\n _Chorus of Argive women:_ O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,\n And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,\n How mighty the children who feed at thy breast! 810\n Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;\n For Alcides has won by his labors heroic\n The right to be named with the lords of the sky.\n Alcides the great! at his birth were the laws\n Of the universe broken; for Jove bade the night\n To double the dew-laden hours of the darkness. 815\n At his command did the god of the sun\n To a sluggish pace restrain his car;\n And slow of foot around their course,\n O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.\n He also checked his feet, the star,\n Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft 820\n In the evening sky; and he marveled that he\n Should be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that Aurora\n Roused to her wonted task, but again\n Sank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:\n For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,\n That waits for the birth of a hero divine. 825\n The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood still\n To greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.\n Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy hand\n Has the terrible lion of Nemea felt, 830\n The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boar\n That Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bull\n When torn from the fields of Crete;\n Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction, 835\n And severed the last of its multiplied heads.\n The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,\n Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;\n But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,\n Were driven away as the spoils of the east. 840\n The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,\n Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,\n Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,\n With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them), 845\n These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,\n As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.\n The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte saw\n A-gleam on her conqueror's breast.\n The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds 850\n By his arrows death-smitten,\n And the tree which bears the fruit of gold\n Feared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,\n Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.\n Forth from the ravished grove he strode 855\n With its golden fruit full laden; in vain\n Did the deadly, sleepless dragon guard\n Hear the sound of the musical metal.\n By triple chains to the upper world\n The hound of hell was meekly dragged; 860\n His three great mouths in silence gaped,\n Amazed by the light of day.\n And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,\n The lying house of Dardanus\n Was overthrown, and felt the force\n Of that dread bow which it was doomed\n In far-off time to feel again.\n Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow; 865\n As many years her second ruins know.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Cassandra_ [_alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the\n interior of the palace, describes what is going on there;\n or else she sees it by clairvoyant power_]:\n Great deeds are done within, the cruel match\n For ten long years of suffering at Troy.\n Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,\n And take reward for thy mad prophecies.\n The conquered Phrygians are victors now.\n 'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust, 870\n For thou hast now to equal ruin brought\n Mycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.\n Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soul\n So clearly seen the things of which it raved.\n I see, and no false image cheats my sight,\n I see it plainly, there, within the hall, 875\n A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,\n Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.\n The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;\n Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of gold\n That once cheered great Assaracus; and see,\n The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,\n Sits high in triumph at the table's head, 880\n With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.\n Now comes his queen and bids him put away\n The garment which his enemy has worn,\n And don instead the robe which she has made\n With loving thoughts of him.\n Oh, horrid deed!\n I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,\n That exile, smite a king? the paramour\n The husband slay? The fatal hour has come. 885\n The second course shall flow with royal blood,\n And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.\n And now the king has donned the deadly robe,\n Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.\n His hands no outlet find; the clinging gown\n Enwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.\n With trembling hand the coward paramour 890\n Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;\n For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.\n But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,\n Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strives\n And strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:\n So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside 895\n The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,\n Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.\n Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches up\n A two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,\n Before he smites the sacrificial bull,\n Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:\n So she her impious weapon balances. 900\n He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed head\n Hangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.\n Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:\n The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,\n While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task. 905\n So each responds to each in infamy.\n Thyestes' son in very truth is he,\n While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.\n The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;\n Shall he go on or backward bend his way?\n\n[_Remains beside the altar._]\n\n[_Enter_ Electra, _leading her little brother_, Orestes.]\n\n _Electra:_ Flee, sole avenger of my father's death, 910\n Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.\n Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,\n Our kingdom gone.\n But see, a stranger comes,\n His horses driven to their utmost speed;\n Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.\n But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear? 915\n A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.\n Put off thy fears, for close at hand I see\n The timely shelter of a faithful friend.\n\n[_Enter_ Strophius _in a chariot, accompanied by his son_ Pylades.]\n\n _Strophius:_ I, Strophius, had left my Phocian realm,\n And now, illustrious with th' Olympic palm,\n I home return. My hither course is bent\n To 'gratulate my friend, by whose assault 920\n Has Ilium fallen after years of war.\n [_Noticing_ Electra's _distress_.]\n But why these flowing tears and looks of woe?\n And why these marks of fear? I recognize\n In thee the royal house. Electra! Why,\n When all is joyful here, dost thou lament?\n\n _Electra:_ My father lies within the palace, slain 925\n By Clytemnestra's hand. His son is doomed\n To share his father's death. Aegisthus holds\n The throne which he through guilty love has gained.\n\n _Strophius:_ Oh, happiness that never long endures!\n\n _Electra:_ By all thy kindly memories of my sire,\n By his proud scepter, known to all the earth, 930\n And by the fickle gods, I pray thee take\n My brother hence, and hide him from his foes.\n\n _Strophius:_ Although dead Agamemnon bids me fear,\n I'll brave the danger and thy brother save.\n Good fortune asks for faith; adversity\n Compels us to be true.\n [_Takes_ Orestes _into the chariot_.]\n My lad, attend:\n Wear this wild-olive wreath upon thy brow, 935\n The noble prize I won on Pisa's plain;\n And hold above thy head this leafy branch,\n The palm of victory, that it may be\n A shield and omen of success to thee.\n And do thou too, O Pylades, my son, 940\n Who dost as comrade guide thy father's car,\n From my example faith in friendship learn.\n Do you, swift steeds, before the eyes of Greece\n Speed on in flight, and leave this faithless land.\n\n[_Exeunt at great speed._]\n\n _Electra_ [_looking after them_]: So is he gone. His car at reckless\n pace\n Fast vanishes from sight. And now my foes, 945\n With heart released from care, will I await,\n And willingly submit my head to death.\n Here comes the bloody conqueror of her lord,\n And bears upon her robes the stains of blood.\n Her hands still reek with gore, and in her face\n She bears the witness of her impious crime. 950\n I'll hie me to the shrine; and, kneeling here,\n I'll join Cassandra in our common fear.\n\n[_Enter_ Clytemnestra, _fresh from the murder of her husband_.]\n\n _Clytemnestra_ [_to_ Electra]: Thou base, unfilial, and froward girl,\n Thy mother's foe, by what authority\n Dost thou, a virgin, seek the public gaze?\n\n _Electra:_ Because I am a virgin have I left 955\n The tainted home of vile adulterers.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Who would believe thee chaste?\n\n _Electra:_ I am thy child.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Thou shouldst thy mother speak with gentler tongue.\n\n _Electra:_ Shall I learn filial piety of thee?\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Thou hast a mannish soul, too puffed with pride;\n But tamed by suffering thou soon shalt learn\n To play a woman's part.\n\n _Electra:_ A woman's part!\n Yea, truly, 'tis to wield the battle-ax. 960\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Thou fool, dost think thyself a match for us?\n\n _Electra:_ \"For us?\" Hast thou another husband then?\n Speak thou as widow, for thy lord is dead.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ As queen I soon shall curb thy saucy tongue,\n And break thy pride. But meanwhile quickly tell, 965\n Where is my son, where is thy brother hid?\n\n _Electra:_ Far from Mycenae fled.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Then bring him back.\n\n _Electra:_ Bring back my father too.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Where lurks the boy?\n\n _Electra:_ In safety, where he fears no rival's power.\n This will content a loving mother.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Yes,\n But not an angry one. Thou diest today. 970\n\n _Electra:_ Oh, let me perish by thy practiced hand!\n Behold, I leave the altar's sheltering side;\n Wilt plunge the knife into my tender throat?\n I yield me to thy will. Or dost prefer\n At one fell stroke to smite away my head?\n My neck awaits thy deadly aim. Let crime 975\n By other crime be purged. Thy hands are stained\n And reeking with thy murdered husband's blood:\n Come, cleanse them in the fresher stream of mine.\n\n[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Thou partner of my perils and my throne,\n Aegisthus, come; this most unnatural child\n Assails her mother and her brother hides. 980\n\n _Aegisthus:_ Thou mad and foolish girl, restrain thy tongue,\n For such wild words offend thy mother's ears.\n\n _Electra:_ Thou arch contriver of most impious crime,\n Wilt thou admonish me? Thou base-born wretch,\n Thou sister's son, and grandson of thy sire! 985\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, how canst thou restrain thy hand\n From smiting off her head? But hear my word:\n Let her give up her brother or her life.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ Nay, rather, in some dark and stony cell\n Let her be straight confined; and there, perchance,\n By cruel tortures racked, will she give up 990\n Whom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there,\n In dank and loathsome solitude immured,\n Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all--\n Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.\n\n _Electra:_ Oh, grant me death.\n\n _Aegisthus:_ If thou shouldst plead for life,\n I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he, 995\n Who balances by death the score of sin.\n\n _Electra:_ Can any punishment be worse than death?\n\n _Aegisthus:_ Yes! Life for those who wish to die. Away,\n Ye slaves, seek out some dark and lonely cave,\n Far from Mycenae's bounds; and there in chains,\n Confine this bold, unmanageable maid,\n If haply prison walls may curb her will. 1000\n\n[Electra _is led away_.]\n\n _Clytemnestra_ [_indicating_ Cassandra]:\n But she shall die, that rival of my couch,\n That captive bride. Go, drag her hence at once,\n That she may follow him she stole from me.\n\n _Cassandra:_ Nay, drag me not; for I with joy will go,\n Outstripping your desire. How eagerly\n I hasten to my Phrygians, to tell 1005\n The news: the ocean covered with the wrecks\n Of Argive ships; Mycenae overthrown;\n The leader of a thousand leaders slain\n (And thus atoning for the woes of Troy)\n By woman's gift of wantonness and guile.\n Make haste! I falter not, but thank the gods, 1010\n That I have lived to see my land avenged.\n\n _Clytemnestra:_ O maddened wretch, thy death I wait to see.\n\n _Cassandra:_ A fateful madness waits as well for thee.\n\n\n\n\nOCTAVIA\n\n\n\n\nOCTAVIA\n\nA FABULA PRAETEXTA\n\nTHE ONLY EXTANT ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nThe Roman historical drama had a place among the earliest products of\nRoman literature, and seems to have enjoyed a degree of popularity\nthrough all succeeding periods. That Roman literary genius did not find\na much fuller expression through this channel was not due to a lack\nof national pride and patriotism, nor yet to a dearth of interesting\nand inspiring subjects in Roman history. The true reason is probably\nto be found in the fact that by the time national conditions were\nripe for the development of any form of literature, the Greeks had\nalready worked, and well worked, nearly all available fields, and had\nproduced a mass of literature which dazzled the Roman mind when at last\ncircumstances brought these two nations into closer contact.\n\nThe natural and immediate result was an attempt on the part of the\nRomans to imitate these great models. And hence we have in drama, both\nin tragedy and comedy, a wholesale imitation of the Greek dramas,\noftentimes nothing more than a translation of these, with only here and\nthere an attempt to produce something of a strictly native character,\nentirely independent of the Greek influence.\n\nThis imitative impulse was augmented by the fact that the Romans were\nfollowing the line of least resistance, since it is always easier\nto imitate than to create. Furthermore, they had as yet developed\nno national pride of literature to hold them to their own lines\nof national development; they had no forms of their own so well\nestablished that the mere force of literary momentum would carry them\nsteadily on toward a fuller development, in spite of the disturbing\ninfluences of the influx of other and better models. They had, indeed,\ndeveloped a native Saturnian verse which, had it been allowed a free\nfield, might have reached a high pitch of literary excellence. But it\nspeedily gave way at the approach of the more elegant imported forms.\n\nThe overwhelming influence of Greek tragedy upon the Roman dramatists\ncan be seen at a glance as we review the dramatic product of the\nRoman tragedians. We have titles and fragments of nine tragedies by\nLivius Andronicus, seven by Naevius, twenty-two by Ennius, thirteen\nby Pacuvius, forty-six by Accius, and many unassignable fragments\nfrom each of these which indicate numerous other plays of the same\ncharacter. To these should be added scattering additions from nearly\na score more of Roman writers during the next two hundred years after\nAccius. All the above-mentioned plays are on Greek subjects; and most\nof those whose fragments are sufficiently extensive to allow us to\nform an opinion of their character are either translations or close\nimitations of the Greeks, or are so influenced by these as to be\ndecidedly Greek rather than Roman in character.\n\nAnd what of the genuine Roman dramatic product? Speaking for the\n_fabula praetexta_, or Roman historical drama, alone, the entire\noutput, so far as our records go, is contained in the following list of\nauthors and titles.\n\nFrom Naevius (265-204 B.C.) we have the _Clastidium_, written in\ncelebration of the victory of Marcellus over Vidumarus, king of the\nTranspadane Gauls, whom Marcellus slew and stripped of his armor,\nthus gaining the rare _spolia opima_; this at Clastidium in 222 B.C.\nThe play was probably written for the especial occasion either of the\ntriumph of Marcellus or of the celebration of his funeral.\n\nWe have also from Naevius a play variously entitled _Lupus_ or\n_Romulus_ or _Alimonium Remi et Romuli_, evidently one of those\ndramatic reproductions of scenes in the life of a god, enacted as a\npart of the ceremonies of his worship. These are comparable to similar\ndramatic representations among the Greeks in the worship of Dionysus.\n\nThe _Ambracia_ and the _Sabinae_ of Ennius (239-169 B.C.) are\nordinarily classed as _fabulae praetextae_, although Lucian M\u00fcller\nclasses the fragments of the _Ambracia_ among the _Saturae_ of Ennius;\nwhile Vahlen puts the _Ambracia_ under the heading _Comoediarum et\nceterorum carminum reliquiae_, and classifies the fragments of the\n_Sabinae_ under _ex incertis saturarum libris_. The _Ambracia_ is\nevidently called after the city of that name in Epirus, celebrated for\nthe long and remarkable siege which it sustained against the Romans\nunder M. Fulvius Nobilior. That general finally captured the city in\n189 B.C. If the piece is to be considered as a play, it was, like the\n_Clastidium_, written in honor of a Roman general, and acted on the\noccasion either of his triumph or of his funeral.\n\nWe have four short fragments from the _Paulus_ of Pacuvius (220-130\nB.C.), written in celebration of the exploits of L. Aemilius Paulus who\nconquered Perseus, king of Macedonia, in the battle of Pydna, 168 B.C.\n\nThe fragments of the plays already mentioned are too brief to afford\nany adequate idea of the character or content of the plays. But in the\n_Brutus_ of Accius (b. 170 B.C.), which centers around the expulsion of\nthe Tarquins and the establishment of the Republic, we have a larger\nglimpse into the play through two most interesting fragments consisting\nof twelve iambic trimeters and ten trochaic tetrameters, respectively.\nIn the first, King Tarquin relates to his seer an ill-ominous dream\nwhich he has had; the second is the seer's interpretation of this\ndream, pointing to Tarquin's dethronement by Brutus. Other short\nfragments give glimpses of the outrage of Lucretia by Sextus at\nCollatia, and the scene in the forum where Brutus takes his oath of\noffice as first consul. This play, unlike its predecessors, was not\nwritten at the time of the events which it portrays, but may still\nbe classed with them, so far as its object is concerned, since it is\ngenerally thought to have been written in honor of D. Junius Brutus\nwho was consul in 138 B.C., and with whom the poet enjoyed an intimate\nfriendship.\n\nAnother _praetexta_ of Accius is preserved, the _Decius_, of which\neleven short fragments remain. This play celebrates the victory\nof Quintus Fabius Maximus and P. Decius Mus over the Samnites and\nGauls at Sentinum in 295 B.C. The climax of the play would be the\nself-immolation of Decius after the example of his father in the Latin\nwar of 340 B.C.\n\nIn addition to these plays of the Roman dramatists of the Republic,\nwe have knowledge of a few which date from later times. There was\na historical drama entitled _Iter_, by L. Cornelius Balbus, who\ndramatized the incidents of a journey which he made to Pompey's camp\nat Dyrrachium at the opening of civil war in 49 B.C. Balbus was under\ncommission from Caesar to treat with the consul, L. Cornelius Lentulus,\nand other optimates who had fled from Rome, concerning their return to\nthe city. The journey was a complete fiasco, so far as results were\nconcerned; but the vanity of Balbus was so flattered by his (to him)\nimportant mission that he must needs dramatize his experiences and\npresent the play under his own direction in his native city of Gades.\n\nWe have mention also of an _Aeneas_ by Pomponius Secundus, and of two\n_praetextae_ by Curiatius Maternus, entitled _Domitius_ and _Cato_.\n\nThese eleven historical plays are, as we have seen, for the most part,\nplays of occasion, and would be at best of but temporary interest,\nborn of the special circumstances which inspired them. They are in\nno way comparable with such historical dramas on Roman subjects as\nShakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ or _Coriolanus_, whose interest is for\nall times.\n\nWe have still a twelfth play of this class, which enjoys the unique\ndistinction of being the only Roman historical drama which has come\ndown to us--the _Octavia_. Its authorship is unknown, although\ntradition gives it a place among the tragedies of Seneca, the\nphilosopher. The general opinion of modern critics, however, is against\nthis tradition, chiefly because one passage in the play, in the form\nof a prophecy, too circumstantially describes the death of Nero, which\noccurred three years after the death of Seneca. It is generally agreed\nthat the play must have been written soon after the death of Nero, and\nby some one, possibly Maternus, who had been an eye-witness of the\nevents, and who had been inspired by his sympathies for the unfortunate\nOctavia to write this story of her sufferings.\n\n\n\n\nOCTAVIA\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\nOCTAVIA Stepsister and wife of Nero.\n\n_Nurse_ of Octavia.\n\n_Poppaea_ Mistress and afterward wife of Nero.\n\n_Ghost of Agrippina_ Mother of Nero, slain by him.\n\n_Nero_ Emperor of Rome.\n\n_Seneca_ Former tutor of Nero, and later one of his chief counselors.\n\n_Prefect of Roman Soldiers._\n\n_Messenger._\n\n_Chorus of Romans_ Sympathetic with Octavia.\n\n_Chorus_ Attached to the interests of the court.\n\n\nTHE SCENE is laid throughout in different apartments of the palace of\nNero, and is concerned with the events of the year 62 A.D.\n\n\nACT I\n\n _Octavia:_ Now doth the flushing dawn from heaven drive\n The wandering stars; the sun mounts into sight\n With radiant beams, and brings the world once more\n The light of day. Up, then, my heavy soul,\n With grievous cares o'erburdened, and resume 5\n Thy woe; out-wail the sea-bred Halcyons,\n And those sad birds of old Pandion's house;\n For this thy lot is heavier far than theirs.\n O mother, constant source of tears to me, 10\n Hear now thy woeful daughter's sad complaints,\n If aught of sense remains among the shades.\n Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,\n With her own hand had clipt my thread of life! 15\n Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,\n Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.\n Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!\n From that dread hour I hate the day's pure light 20\n More than the night's dark gloom; for daily now\n Must I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,\n Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.\n She, she the baleful fury fiend it was\n Who at my marriage rites bore torches lit 25\n With hellish fires; 'twas she who wrought thy death,\n O wretched father, whom but yesterday\n The whole world owned as lord on land and sea;\n To whom the Britain bowed, though ne'er before\n Had he a Roman master known or owned. 30\n Alas, my father, by thy wife's fell plots\n Thou liest low, and I and all thy house\n Like captives groan beneath the tyrant's sway.\n\n[_Exit to her chamber._]\n\n _Nurse_ [_entering_]: Who stands in wonder, smitten by the gloss 35\n And splendor of a princely court, amazed\n At sight of easy-won prosperity,\n Let him behold how, at the stroke of fate,\n The house of Claudius is overthrown,\n To whose control the world was subjugate, 40\n Whose rule an ocean, long to sway unknown,\n Obeyed, and bore our ships with subject will.\n Lo, he, who first the savage Britains curbed,\n And filled an unknown ocean with his fleet,\n And passed in safety 'mid barbaric tribes--\n By his own wife's impiety was slain. 45\n And she is destined by her son to fall,\n Whose hapless brother lies already slain\n By poison's hand, whose sister-wife alone\n Is left to mourn. Nor may she hide her grief,\n By bitter wrath impelled to speak. She shuns\n Her cruel lord's society, and, fired 50\n With equal hate, with mutual[55] loathing burns.\n Our pious faithfulness in vain consoles\n Her grieving heart; her cruel woes reject\n Our aid; the noble passion of her soul\n Will not be ruled, but grows on ills renewed.\n Alas, my fears forebode some desperate deed, 55\n Which may the gods forbid!\n\n _Octavia_ [_heard speaking from within her chamber_]: O fate of mine,\n that can no equal know!\n Thy woes, Electra, were no match for these;\n For thou couldst soothe with tears the grief thou hadst 60\n For thy dear father's fall; thou couldst avenge\n The murder by thy brother's ready hand,\n Who by thy piety was saved from death,\n And whom thy faith concealed. But me base fear\n Forbids to weep my parents reft away 65\n By cruel fate; forbids to weep the death\n Of him, my brother, who my sole hope was,\n My fleeting comfort of so many woes.\n And now, surviving but to suffer still,\n I live, the shadow of a noble name. 70\n\n _Nurse:_ Behold, the voice of my sad foster-child\n Falls on my list'ning ears. Slow steps of age,\n Why haste ye not within her chamber there?\n\n[_Starts to enter the chamber, but is met by_ Octavia _coming forth_.]\n\n _Octavia:_ Within thy bosom let me weep, dear nurse,\n Thou ever trusty witness of my grief. 75\n\n _Nurse:_ What day shall free thee from thy woes, poor child?\n\n _Octavia:_ The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.\n\n _Nurse:_ May heaven keep such dark omens far away! 80\n\n _Octavia:_ 'Tis not thy prayers, but fate that shapes my life.\n\n _Nurse:_ But God will bring thy life to better days.\n Do thou but be appeased, and win thy lord\n With mild obedience. 85\n\n _Octavia:_ I'll sooner tame\n The savage lion's heart, the tiger's rage,\n Than curb that brutal tyrant's cruel soul.\n He hates all sons of noble blood, and gods\n And men he sets at naught; nor can he bear 90\n That high estate to which along the paths\n Of shameful crime his impious mother led;\n For though it shames him now, ungrateful one,\n To hold the scepter which his mother gave;\n And though by death he has requited her: 95\n Still will the glory of the empire won\n Belong to her for centuries to come.\n\n _Nurse:_ Restrain these words that voice thy raging heart,\n And check thy tongue's too rash and thoughtless speech.\n\n _Octavia:_ Though I should bear what may be borne, my woes, 100\n Save by a cruel death, could not be ended.\n For, since my mother was by murder slain,\n And my father taken off by crime most foul,\n Robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with woe,\n Oppressed with sadness, by my husband scorned,\n Degraded to the level of my slave, 105\n I find this life no more endurable.\n My heart doth tremble, not with fear of death,\n But slander base, employed to work my death.\n Far from my name and fate be that foul blot.\n For death itself--Oh, 'twould be sweet to die;\n For 'tis a punishment far worse than death,\n To live in contact with the man I loathe,\n To see the tyrant's face all passion puffed, 110\n And fierce with rage, to kiss my deadliest foe.\n That I should fear his nod, obey his will,\n My grief, resentful, will not suffer me,\n Since by his hand my brother was destroyed,\n Whose kingdom he usurps, and boasts himself\n The author of that shameful deed. How oft 115\n Before my eyes does that sad image come,\n My brother's ghost, when I have gone to rest,\n And sleep has closed my eyelids faint with tears!\n Now in his weakling hand he brandishes\n The smoking torch, and violently assails\n His brother to his face; now, trembling sore,\n He flees for refuge to my sheltering arms. 120\n His foe pursues, and, as his victim clings\n Convulsively to me, he thrusts his sword\n With murderous intent through both our sides.\n Then, all a-tremble, do I start awake,\n And in my waking sense renew my fear.\n Add to these cares a rival, arrogant, 125\n Who queens it in the spoils of this our house;\n At whose behest the mother was enticed\n To that fell ship which should have carried her\n To Orcus' depths; but when o'er ocean's waves\n She triumphed, he, than ocean's waves more harsh\n And pitiless, despatched her with the sword.\n Amid such deeds, what hopes of peace have I? 130\n O'erblown with hate, triumphant, doth my rival\n Within my very chamber's hold defy me;\n With deadly malice doth she blaze against me,\n And as the price of her adulterous sweets,\n Doth she demand that he, my husband, give\n My life, his lawful wife's, in sacrifice.\n Oh, rise thou, father, from the gloomy shades,\n And help thy daughter who invokes thine aid; 135\n Or else cleave wide the earth to Stygian depths,\n And let me plunge at last to shelter there.\n\n _Nurse:_ In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul,\n Poor child, in vain; for there among the shades\n He little thinks upon his offspring here;\n Who, when in life, unto his own true son\n Preferred the offspring of another's blood, 140\n And to himself in most incestuous bonds\n And rites unhallowed joined his brother's child.\n From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime:\n Of murder, treachery, the lust of power,\n The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell,\n A victim slain to grace that wedding feast, 145\n Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow.\n Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime,\n Was slain to make a bridal offering,\n And stained the household gods with guiltless blood.\n And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me, 150\n And by his mother's wiles usurps the house,\n Made son-in-law and son to the emperor,\n A youth of temper most unnatural,\n To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flame\n His mother fanned, and forced thee at the last\n In hated wedlock into his embrace.\n Emboldened by this notable success, 155\n She dared to dream of wider sovereignty.\n What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime,\n Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries,\n Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin?\n Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew, 160\n And Fury through the empty palace halls\n With baleful tread resounded, and defiled\n The sacred images with Stygian brands.\n All holy laws of nature and of heaven\n In mad abandon did she set at naught.\n She mingled deadly poison for her lord, 165\n And she herself by the impious mandate fell\n Of her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie,\n Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us,\n Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life,\n The brightest star of this our firmament,\n The prop and stay of our imperial house;\n But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust,\n Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade. 170\n Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeks\n Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre\n She placed thy form and saw the flames consume\n Thy limbs and face fair as the wing\u00e9d god's.\n\n _Octavia:_ Me, too, he must destroy--or fall by me.\n\n _Nurse:_ But nature has not given thee strength to slay. 175\n\n _Octavia:_ Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,\n The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.\n\n _Nurse:_ Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.\n\n _Octavia:_ That thus he may restore my brother slain?\n\n _Nurse:_ That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;\n That thou by thine own offspring mayst restore\n Thy father's falling house. 180\n\n _Octavia:_ This princely house\n Expects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me,\n For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.\n\n _Nurse:_ Console thy heart with this, that thou art dear\n Unto the populace, who love thee well.\n\n _Octavia:_ That thought doth soothe, but cannot cure my grief.\n\n _Nurse:_ Their power availeth much. 185\n\n _Octavia:_ The prince's more.\n\n _Nurse:_ He will regard his wife.\n\n _Octavia:_ My foe forbids.\n\n _Nurse:_ But she is scorned by all.\n\n _Octavia:_ Yet loved by him.\n\n _Nurse:_ She is not yet his wife.\n\n _Octavia:_ But soon will be,\n And mother of his child, his kingdom's heir.\n\n _Nurse:_ The fire of youthful passion glows at first\n With heat impetuous; but soon abates, 190\n And vanishes like flickering tongues of flame.\n Unhallowed love cannot for long endure;\n But pure and lasting is the love inspired\n By chaste and wifely faith. She who has dared\n To violate thy bed, and hold so long\n Thy husband's heart in thrall, herself a slave,\n Already trembles lest his fickle love 195\n Shall thrust her forth and set a rival there.\n Subdued and humble, even now she shows\n How deep and real her fear; for her, indeed,\n Shall wing\u00e9d Cupid, false and fickle god,\n Abandon and betray. Though face and form\n Be passing fair, though beauty vaunt herself,\n And boast her power, still are her triumphs brief, 200\n Her joys a passing dream.\n Nay, Juno's self,\n Though queen of heaven, endured such grief as thine,\n When he, her lord, and father of the gods,\n Stole from her side to seek in mortal forms\n The love of mortal maids. Now, in his need, 205\n He dons the snowy plumage of a swan;\n Now horn\u00e9d seems, like a Sidonian bull;\n And now a glorious, golden shower he falls,\n And rests within the arms of Dana\u00eb.\n Nor yet is Juno's sum of woe complete:\n The sons of Leda glitter in the sky\n In starry splendor; Bacchus proudly stands\n Beside his father on Olympus' height;\n Divine Alcides hath to Hebe's charms 210\n Attained, and fears stern Juno's wrath no more.\n Her very son-in-law hath he become\n Whom once she hated most. Yet in her heart\n Deep down she pressed her grief, and wisely won,\n By mild compliance to his wayward will,\n Her husband's love again. And now the queen, 215\n Secure at last from rivalry, holds sway\n Alone, within the Thunderer's heart. No more,\n By mortal beauty smitten, does he leave\n His royal chambers in the vaulted sky.\n Thou, too, on earth, another Juno art, 220\n The wife and sister of our mighty lord.\n Then be thou wise as she, make show of love,\n And hide thy crushing sorrows with a smile.\n\n _Octavia:_ The savage seas shall sooner mate with stars,\n And fire with water, heav'n with gloomy hell,\n Glad light with shades, and day with dewy night,\n Than shall my soul in amity consort 225\n With his black heart, most foul and impious:\n Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost.\n And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds,\n Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts,\n And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds,\n Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince. 230\n Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire,\n Shining with baleful light, his glowing train\n Far gleaming in the distant northern sky,\n Where slow Bo\u00f6tes, numb with arctic frosts,\n Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds.\n The very air is tainted by the breath 235\n Of this destructive prince; and for his sake\n The stars, resentful, threaten to destroy\n The nations which so dire a tyrant rules.\n Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge,\n Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced.\n This scourge is more destructive far than he. 240\n He is the bitter foe of gods and men,\n Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines,\n And from their native land the citizens;\n Who from his brother took the breath of life,\n And drained his mother's blood.\n And does he live,\n This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath?\n O Jove, thou high-exalted father, why 245\n Dost thou so oft with thine imperial hand\n Thy darts invincible at random hurl?\n Why from his guilty head dost thou withhold\n Thy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might pay\n For all his crimes the fitting penalty,\n This son of deified Domitius,\n This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world, 250\n Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds,\n This moral blot upon a noble name!\n\n _Nurse:_ Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know;\n But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield,\n Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath.\n Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs, 255\n And on thy life some happier day will dawn.\n\n _Octavia:_ That may not be. Long since, our ill-starred house\n Has groaned beneath the heavy wrath of heaven.\n That wrath at first my hapless mother felt,\n Whom Venus cursed with lust insatiate;\n For she, with heedless, impious passion fired, 260\n Unmindful of her absent lord, of us,\n Her guiltless children, and the law's restraints,\n In open day another husband wed.\n To that fell couch avenging Fury came\n With streaming locks and serpents intertwined,\n And quenched those stolen wedding fires in blood.\n For with destructive rage, on murder bent, 265\n She fired the prince's heart; and at his word,\n Ah, woe is me, my ill-starred mother fell,\n And, dying, doomed me to perpetual grief.\n For after her in quick succession came\n Her husband and her son; and this our house,\n Already falling, was to ruin plunged.\n\n _Nurse:_ Forbear with pious tears to renew thy grief, 270\n And do not so disturb thy father's shade,\n Who for his rage has bitterly atoned.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Chorus_ [_sympathetic with_ Octavia]: False prove the rumor that of\n late\n To our ears has come! May its vaunted threats\n Fall fruitless out and of no avail! 275\n May no new wife invade the bed\n Of our royal prince; may Octavia, born\n Of the Claudian race, maintain her right\n And bear us a son, the pledge of peace,\n In which the joyful world shall rest, 280\n And Rome preserve her glorious name.\n Most mighty Juno holds the lot\n By fate assigned--her brother's mate;\n But this our Juno, sister, wife\n Of our august prince, why is she driven 285\n From her father's court? Of what avail\n Her faith, her father deified,\n Her love and spotless chastity?\n We, too, of our former master's fame\n Have been unmindful, and his child\n At the hest of cringing[56] fear betrayed. 290\n Not so of old: then Rome could boast\n Of manly virtue, martial blood.\n There lived a race of heroes then\n Who curbed the power of haughty kings\n And drove them forth from Rome; and thee,\n O maiden, slain by thy father's hand, 295\n Lest thou shouldst in slavery's bonds be held,\n And lest foul lust its victorious will\n Should work on thee, did well avenge.\n Thee, too, a bloody war avenged,\n O chaste Lucretia; for thou, 300\n By the lust of an impious tyrant stained,\n With wretched hand didst seek to cleanse\n Those stains by thy innocent blood.\n Then Tullia with her guilty lord,\n Base Tarquin, dared an impious deed,\n Whose penalty they paid; for she 305\n Over the limbs of her murdered sire,\n A heartless child, drove cruel wheels,\n And left his corpse unburied there.\n Such deeds of dire impiety\n Our age has known, our eyes have seen,\n When the prince on the mighty Tyrrhene deep 310\n In a fatal bark his mother sent,\n By guile ensnared.\n The sailors at his bidding haste\n To leave the peaceful harbor's arms;\n And soon the rougher waves resound 315\n Beneath their oars, and far away\n Upon the deep the vessel glides;\n When suddenly the reeling bark\n With loosened beams yawns open wide,\n And drinks the briny sea.\n A mighty shout to heaven goes, 320\n With women's lamentations filled,\n And death stalks dire before the eyes\n Of all. Each seeks to save himself.\n Some naked cling upon the planks\n Of the broken ship and fight the floods, 325\n While others swimming seek the shore.\n But most, alas! a watery death\n By fate awaits. Then did the queen\n In mad despair her garments rend;\n Her comely locks she tore, and tears\n Fell streaming down her grieving cheeks. 330\n At last, with hope of safety gone,\n With wrath inflamed, by woes o'ercome,\n \"Dost thou, O son, make this return,\"\n She cried, \"for that great boon I gave?\n Such death I merit, I confess, 335\n Who bore such monstrous child as thou,\n Who gave to thee the light of day,\n And in my madness raised thee high\n To Caesar's name and Caesar's throne.\n Oh, rise from deepest Acheron,\n My murdered husband, feast thine eyes 340\n Upon my righteous punishment;\n For I brought death to thee, poor soul,\n And to thy son. See, see, I come,\n Deep down to meet thy grieving shade;\n And there, as I have merited,\n Shall I unburied lie, o'erwhelmed 345\n By the raging sea.\" E'en as she spoke,\n The lapping waves broke o'er her lips,\n And deep she plunged below. Anon\n She rises from the briny depths,\n And, stung by fear of death, she strives\n With frenzied hands to conquer fate;\n But, spent with fruitless toil at last, 350\n She yields and waits the end. But lo,\n In hearts which in trembling silence watch,\n Faith triumphs over deadly fear,\n And to their mistress, spent and wan\n With fruitless buffetings, they dare\n To lend their aid with cheering words 355\n And helping hands.\n But what avails\n To escape the grasp of the savage sea?\n By the sword of the son is she doomed to die,\n Whose monstrous deed posterity\n Will scarce believe. With rage and grief 360\n Inflamed, he raves that still she lives,\n His mother, snatched from the wild sea's jaws,\n And doubles crime on impious crime.\n Bent on his wretched mother's death,\n He brooks no tarrying of fate. 365\n His willing creatures work his will,\n And in the hapless woman's breast\n The fatal sword is plunged; but she\n To that fell minister of death\n Appeals with dying tongue: \"Nay here,\n Here rather strike the murderous blow,\n Here sheathe thy sword, deep in the womb 370\n Which such a monster bore.\"\n So spake the dying queen, her words\n And groans commingling. So at last\n Through gaping wounds her spirit fled 375\n In grief and agony.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[55] Reading, _mariti mutua_.\n\n[56] Reading, _saevo_.\n\n\nACT II\n\n _Seneca_ [_alone_]: Why hast thou, potent Fate, with flattering looks,\n Exalted me, contented with my lot,\n That so from this great height I might descend\n With heavier fall, and wider prospect see 380\n Of deadly fears? Ah, better was I, hid\n Far from the stinging lash of envy's tongue,\n Amid the lonely crags of Corsica.\n There was my spirit free to act at will,\n Was master of itself, had time to think\n And meditate at length each favorite theme.\n Oh, what delight, than which none greater is, 385\n Of all that mother nature hath produced,\n To watch the heavens, the bright sun's sacred rounds,\n The heavenly movements and the changing night,\n The moon's full orb with wandering stars begirt,\n The far-effulgent glory of the sky! 390\n And is it growing old, this structure vast,\n Doomed to return to groping nothingness?\n Then must that final doomsday be at hand,\n That shall by heaven's fall o'erwhelm a race\n So impious, that thus the world may see\n A newer race of men, a better stock, 395\n Which once the golden reign of Saturn knew.\n Then virgin Justice, holy child of heaven,\n In mercy ruled the world; the race of men\n Knew naught of war, the trumpet's savage blare, 400\n The clang of arms; not yet were cities hedged\n With ponderous walls; the way was free to all,\n And free to all the use of everything.\n The earth, untilled, spread wide her fertile lap, 405\n The happy mother of a pious stock.\n Then rose another race of sterner mold;\n Another yet to curious arts inclined,\n But pious still; a fourth of restless mood,\n Which lusted to pursue the savage beasts, 410\n To draw the fishes from their sheltering waves\n With net or slender pole, to snare the birds,\n To force the headstrong bullocks to endure\n The bondage of the yoke, to plow the earth\n Which never yet had felt the share's deep wound,\n And which in pain and grief now hid her fruits\n Within her sacred bosom's safer hold. 415\n Now deep within the bowels of the earth\n Did that debased, unfilial age intrude;\n And thence it dug the deadly iron and gold,\n And soon it armed its savage hands for war.\n It fixed the bounds of realms, constructed towns, 420\n Fought for its own abodes, or threat'ning strove\n To plunder those of others as a prize.\n Then did abandoned Justice, heavenly maid,\n In terror flee the earth, the bestial ways\n Of men, their hands with bloody slaughter stained,\n And, fixed in heaven, now shines among the stars. 425\n Then lust of war increased, and greed for gold,\n Throughout the world; and luxury arose,\n That deadliest of evils, luring pest,\n To whose fell powers new strength and force were given\n By custom long observed, and precedent\n Of evil into worser evil led.\n This flood of vice, through many ages dammed, 430\n In ours has burst its bounds and overflowed.\n By this dire age we're fairly overwhelmed--\n An age when crime sits regnant on the throne,\n Impiety stalks raging, unrestrained;\n Foul lust, with all unbridled power, is queen,\n And luxury long since with greedy hands\n Has snatched the boundless riches of the world, 435\n That she with equal greed may squander them.\n [_Enter_ Nero, _followed by a_ Prefect.]\n But see, with frenzied step and savage mien,\n The prince approaches. How I fear his will.\n\n _Nero_ [_to_ Prefect]: Speed my commands: send forth a messenger\n Who straight shall bring me here the severed heads\n Of Plautus and of Sulla.\n\n _Prefect:_ Good, my lord;\n Without delay I'll speed me to the camp.\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Seneca:_ One should not rashly judge against his friends. 440\n\n _Nero:_ Let him be just whose heart is free from fear.\n\n _Seneca:_ But mercy is a sovereign cure for fear.\n\n _Nero:_ A ruler's part is to destroy his foes.\n\n _Seneca:_ A ruler's better part, to save his friends.\n\n _Nero:_ A mild old man's advice is fit for boys. 445\n\n _Seneca:_ Still more does hot young manhood need the rein--\n\n _Nero:_ I deem that at this age we're wise enough.\n\n _Seneca:_ That on thy deed the heavenly gods may smile.\n\n _Nero:_ Thou fool, shall I fear gods myself can make?\n\n _Seneca:_ Fear this the more, that so great power is thine. 450\n\n _Nero:_ My royal fortune grants all things to me.\n\n _Seneca:_ But trust her cautiously; she may deceive.\n\n _Nero:_ A fool is he who does not what he may.\n\n _Seneca:_ To do, not what he may, but ought, wins praise.\n\n _Nero:_ The crowd spurns sluggish men. 455\n\n _Seneca:_ The hated, slays.\n\n _Nero:_ Yet swords protect a prince.\n\n _Seneca:_ Still better, faith.\n\n _Nero:_ A Caesar should be feared.\n\n _Seneca:_ And more be loved.\n\n _Nero:_ But men must fear.\n\n _Seneca:_ Enforced commands are hard.\n\n _Nero:_ Let them obey our laws.\n\n _Seneca:_ Make better laws--\n\n _Nero:_ I'll be the judge. 460\n\n _Seneca:_ Which all men may approve.\n\n _Nero:_ The sword shall force respect.\n\n _Seneca:_ May heaven forbid!\n\n _Nero:_ Shall I then tamely let them seek my blood,\n That suddenly despised and unavenged,\n I may be taken off? Though exiled far,\n The stubborn spirits are not broken yet\n Of Plautus and of Sulla. Still their rage 465\n Persistent spurs their friends to seek my death;\n For still have they the people's love in Rome,\n Which ever nourishes the exile's hopes.\n Then let the sword remove my enemies; 470\n My hateful wife shall die, and follow him,\n That brother whom she loves. The high must fall.\n\n _Seneca:_ How fair a thing it is to be the first\n Among great men, to think for fatherland,\n To spare the weak, to hold the hand of power\n From deeds of blood, to give wrath time to think,\n Give rest to a weary world, peace to the age. 475\n This is the noblest part; by this high path\n Is heaven sought. So did Augustus first,\n The father of his country, gain the stars,\n And as a god is worshiped at the shrines.\n Yet he was long by adverse fortune tossed\n On land and sea, in battle's deadly chance, 480\n Until his father's foes he recompensed.\n But fortune hath to thee in peaceful guise\n Bent her divinity; with unstained hand\n Hath she the reins of government bestowed,\n And given world-dominion to thy nod.\n Sour hate is overcome, and in its stead 485\n Is filial harmony; the senate, knights,\n All orders yield obedience to thy will;\n For in the fathers' judgment and the prayers\n Of humbler folk, thou art the arbiter\n Of peace, the god of human destinies,\n Ordained to rule the world by right divine.\n Thy country's father thou. This sacred name 490\n Doth suppliant Rome beseech thee to preserve,\n And doth commend her citizens to thee.\n\n _Nero:_ It is the gift of heaven that haughty Rome,\n Her people, and her senate bow to me,\n And that my terror doth extort those prayers\n And servile words from their unwilling lips.\n To save the citizens! seditious men,\n Who ever 'gainst their land and prince conspire, 495\n Puffed up with pride of race--sheer madness that,\n When all my enemies one word of mine\n Can doom to death. Base Brutus raised his hand\n To slay that prince from whom he had his all;\n And he, who never 'mid the shock of arms\n Had been o'ercome, the world's great conqueror, 500\n Who trod, a very Jove, the lofty paths\n Of honor, he was slain by impious hands--\n Of _citizens_! What streams of blood hath Rome,\n So often rent by civil strife, beheld!\n That very saint of thine, Augustus' self, 505\n Who, as thou said'st but now, did merit heaven\n By piety--how many noble men\n Did he destroy, in lusty youth, in age,\n At home, abroad, when, spurred by mortal fear,\n They fled their household gods and that fell sword\n Of the Triumvirate, consigned to death\n Upon those mindful tablets' fatal lists.\n The grieving parents saw their severed heads 510\n Upon the rostra set, but dared not weep\n Their hapless sons; the forum reeked with blood,\n And gore down all those rotting faces dripped.\n Nor this the end of slaughter and of death:\n Long did the plains of grim Philippi feed 515\n The ravenous birds and prowling beasts of prey;\n While ships and men, in deadly conflict met,\n Beneath Sicilia's waters were engulfed.\n The whole world trembled with the shock of arms;\n And now, when all was lost, with fleeing ships, 520\n That mighty leader sought the distant Nile,\n Doomed soon himself to perish there. And thus,\n Once more incestuous Egypt drank the blood\n Of Rome's great captains. Now his flitting shade\n Is hovering there; and there is civil strife,\n So long and impious, at last interred.\n Now did the weary victor sheathe his sword,\n All blunted with the savage blows he gave, 525\n And held his empire with the rein of fear.\n He lived in safety 'neath the ample shield\n Of loyal guards; and when his end was come,\n The pious mandate of his son proclaimed\n Him god, and at the temples' sacred shrines\n Was he adored. So shall the stars expect\n My godhead too, if first I seize and slay 530\n With sword relentless all who bear me hate,\n And on a worthy offspring found my house.\n\n _Seneca:_ But she will fill thy house with noble sons,\n That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock,\n Who by the will of fate was wed to thee,\n As Juno to her brother Jove was given. 535\n\n _Nero:_ A child of hers would stain my noble line,\n For she herself was of a harlot born;\n And more--her heart was never linked to me.\n\n _Seneca:_ In tender years is faith not manifest,\n When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.\n\n _Nero:_ This I myself long trusted, but in vain, 540\n Though she was clearly of unloving heart,\n And every look betrayed her hate of me.\n At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;\n And I have now a worthy wife obtained,\n In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms 545\n Minerva, Venus, Juno--all would bow.\n\n _Seneca:_ But honor, wifely faith, and modesty--\n These should the husband seek, for these alone,\n The priceless treasures of the heart and soul,\n Remain perpetual; but beauty's flower\n Doth fade and languish with each passing day. 550\n\n _Nero:_ On her has heaven all its charms bestowed,\n And fate has given her from her birth to me.\n\n _Seneca:_ But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.\n\n _Nero:_ Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies,\n Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove,\n Who lords it over savage seas, the realms 555\n Of gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?\n\n _Seneca:_ 'Tis by our human error that we paint\n Love as a god, wing\u00e9d, implacable,\n And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow,\n Assign him blazing torches, count him son\n Of fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay, 560\n But love is of the heart's compelling power,\n A fond and cozening passion of the soul;\n Of hot youth is it born, and in the lap\n Of ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys,\n Is fostered. But it sickens straight and dies\n When you no longer feed and fondle it. 565\n\n _Nero:_ I deem the primal source of life is this,\n The joy of love; and it can never die,\n Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts,\n The human race is evermore renewed.\n This god shall bear for me the wedding torch, 570\n And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.\n\n _Seneca:_ The people's grief could scarce endure to see\n That marriage, nor would piety permit.\n\n _Nero:_ Shall I alone avoid what all may do?\n\n _Seneca:_ The state from loftiest souls expects the best. 575\n\n _Nero:_ I fain would see if, broken by my power,\n This rashly cherished favor will not yield.\n\n _Seneca:_ 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.\n\n _Nero:_ Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.\n _Seneca:_ They justly chafe who pray without avail. 580\n\n _Nero:_ When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?\n\n _Seneca:_ Rebuffs are hard.\n\n _Nero:_ 'Tis wrong to force a prince.\n\n _Seneca:_ He should give way.\n\n _Nero:_ Then rumor counts him forced.\n\n _Seneca:_ Rumor's an empty thing.\n\n _Nero:_ But harmful too.\n\n _Seneca:_ She fears the strong. 585\n\n _Nero:_ But none the less maligns.\n\n _Seneca:_ She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth,\n The faith and chastity of this thy wife,\n The merits of her sainted sire prevail\n To turn thee from thy will.\n\n _Nero:_ Have done at last,\n For wearisome has thy insistence grown;\n One still may do what Seneca comdemns.\n And I myself have now too long delayed 590\n The people's prayers for offspring to the throne.\n Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove,\n Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.\n\n[_Exeunt._]\n\n\nACT III\n\n _Ghost of Agrippina_ [_bearing a flaming torch_]: Through cloven\n earth from Tartarus I come,\n To bring in bloody hands this torch of hell\n To light these curs\u00e9d rites; with such dire flames 595\n Let this Poppaea wed my son, which soon\n His mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turn\n To funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shades\n My impious murder in my memory dwells,\n A heavy weight upon my grieving soul\n Still unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitude\n He gave me in return for all my gifts, 600\n E'en for the gift of empire did he give\n A murderous ship designed to work my death.\n I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more,\n My son's most cruel deed: no time for tears\n Was given, but even higher did he heap 605\n His sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea,\n I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my blood\n The very gods defiling, poured my soul\n In anguish forth. But even yet his hate\n Was not appeased. Against my very name\n The tyrant raged; my merits he obscured; 610\n My statues, my inscriptions, honors--all,\n On pain of death he bade to be destroyed\n Throughout the world--that world my hapless love,\n To my own direful punishment, had given\n To be by him, an untried boy, controlled.\n And now my murdered husband's angry ghost\n Shakes vengeful torches in my guilty face, 615\n Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me,\n His murdered son, and loud demands that now\n The guilty cause be given up. Have done:\n He shall be given, and that right speedily.\n Avenging furies for his impious head\n Are planning even now a worthy fate: 620\n Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings,\n By which the raging thirst of Tantalus\n He shall surpass; the cruel, endless toil\n Of Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels,\n And the dread, racking anguish of the wheel\n On which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.\n Let gold and marble deck his palace walls;\n Let arm\u00e9d guards protect him; let the world 625\n Be beggared that its treasures vast may flow\n Into his lap; let suppliant Parthians bend\n To kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings:\n The day and hour will come when for his crimes\n His guilty soul shall full atonement make, 630\n When to his enemies he shall be given,\n Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.\n Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?\n Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son,\n And fate impel thee to such depths of crime\n That e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay, 635\n Is all too small to match her sufferings?\n Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light,\n And suckled thee, my vitals had been rent\n By savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent,\n And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to me\n Wouldst thou forever see the quiet seats 640\n Of this abode of souls, thy mighty sire,\n And grandsires too, those men of glorious name,\n Whom now perpetual shame and grief await\n Because of thee, thou monster, and of me.\n But why delay in hell to hide my face,\n Since I have proved a curse to all my race? 645\n\n[_Vanishes._]\n\n _Octavia_ [_to the_ Chorus _in deprecation of their grief because\n of her divorce_]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy,\n As on a festal day, lest this your love\n And care for me should stir the royal wrath,\n And I be cause of suffering to you. 650\n This wound is not the first my heart has felt;\n Far worse have I endured; but all shall end,\n Perchance in death, before this day is done.\n No more upon my brutal husband's face\n Shall I be forced to look; that hateful couch, 655\n Long since consigned to slavish uses, base,\n I shall behold no more.\n For now Augustus' sister shall I be,\n And not his wife. But Oh, be far from me\n All cruel punishments and fear of death. 660\n Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?\n Bethink thee of his former sins--and hope.\n Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now,\n That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.\n But why so often turn thy streaming eyes 665\n Upon thy home? Now speed thy steps away,\n And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.\n\n _Chorus:_ Now dawns at last the day we long have feared\n And talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forth 670\n By cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abode\n Which even now Poppaea calls her own;\n While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe,\n By heavy fear oppressed. 675\n Where is that Roman people's manhood now,\n Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed,\n Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land,\n Gave powers at will to worthy citizens,\n Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame, 680\n And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?\n Behold, on every side our eyes are grieved\n By this Poppaea's gleaming statues joined\n With Nero's images--a shameful sight. 685\n Come, overturn them with indignant hands,\n Too like in feature to her living face.\n And her we'll drag from off that royal couch;\n And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword,\n Attack the princely palace of her lord.\n\n\nACT IV\n\n _Nurse_\n [_to_ Poppaea, _who appears, distraught, coming out of her chamber_]:\n Why dost thou from thy husband's chamber come, 690\n Dear child, with hurried step and troubled face?\n Why dost thou seek a lonely place to weep?\n For surely has the day we long have sought\n With prayers and promised victims come at last.\n Thou hast thy Caesar, firmly joined to thee\n By ties of marriage, whom thy beauty won, 695\n Whom Venus gave to thee in bonds of love,\n Though Seneca despised and flouted her.\n How beautiful, upon the banquet couch\n Reclining in the palace, didst thou seem!\n The senate viewed thy beauty in amaze\n When thou didst offer incense to the gods, 700\n And sprinkle wine upon the sacred shrines,\n Thy head the while with gauzy purple veiled.\n And close beside thee was thy lord himself;\n Amid the favoring plaudits of the crowd\n He walked majestic, in his look and mien\n Proclaiming all his pride and joy in thee. 705\n So did the noble Peleus lead his bride\n Emerging from the ocean's snowy foam,\n Whose wedding feast the heavenly gods adorned,\n With equal joy the sea divinities.\n What sudden cause has clouded o'er thy face? 710\n Tell me, what mean thy pallor and thy tears!\n\n _Poppaea:_ Dear nurse, this night I had a dreadful dream;\n And even now, as I remember it,\n My mind is troubled and my senses fail.\n For when the joyful day had sunk to rest,\n And in the darkened sky the stars appeared, 715\n I lay asleep within my Nero's arms.\n But that sweet sleep I could not long enjoy;\n For suddenly a grieving crowd appeared\n To throng my chamber--Roman matrons they,\n With hair disheveled and loud cries of woe. 720\n Then 'midst the oft-repeated, strident blasts\n Of trumpets, there appeared my husband's mother,\n And shook before my face with threat'ning mien\n A bloody torch. Compelled by present fear,\n I followed her; when suddenly the earth 725\n Seemed rent asunder to its lowest depths.\n Headlong to these I plunged, and even there\n In wonder I beheld my wedding couch,\n Whereon I sank in utter weariness.\n Then with a throng of followers I saw\n My son and former husband drawing near.\n Straightway Crispinus hastened to my arms, 730\n And on my lips his eager kisses fell:\n When suddenly within that chamber burst\n My lord the king with frantic, hurrying steps,\n And plunged his sword into that other's throat.\n A mighty terror siezed me, and at last\n It roused me from my sleep. I started up\n With trembling limbs and wildly beating heart. 735\n Long was I speechless from that haunting fear,\n Until thy fond affection gave me tongue.\n Why do the ghosts of hades threaten me?\n Or why did I behold my husband's blood?\n\n _Nurse:_ All things which occupy the waking[57] mind, 740\n Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again\n Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then,\n Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds\n And husbands, when thy newly mated lord\n Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange\n That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe, 745\n Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?\n Octavia's departure did they mourn\n Within her brother's and her father's house.\n The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft\n By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign\n That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.\n Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen, 750\n Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.\n Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed,\n Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage,\n But hide his sword within the breast of peace.\n Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray,\n Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return. 755\n\n _Poppaea:_ Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines,\n And there make sacrifice unto the gods,\n That they avert these threats of night and sleep,\n And turn my terrors all upon my foes.\n Do thou pray for me and the gods implore 760\n That in this happy state I may endure.\n\n[_Exeunt_ Poppaea _and_ Nurse.]\n\n _Chorus_ [_of Roman women in sympathy with_ Poppaea]:\n If babbling rumor's tales of Jove,\n His secret joys in mortal love,\n Are true, he once, in plumage dressed,\n Was to the lovely Leda pressed; 765\n And as a savage bull he bore\n Europa from her native shore:\n But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see,\n He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.\n For thou than Leda many fold 770\n Art fairer, or that maid of old\n Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.\n Let Sparta boast her lovely dame,\n Who, as his prize, to Paris came:\n Though Helen's beauty drove the world to arms, 775\n She still must yield to our Poppaea's charms.\n [_Enter_ Messenger.]\n But who comes here with hurried step and wild?\n What tidings bears he in his heaving breast?\n\n _Messenger:_ Whoever guards our noble prince's house, 780\n Let him defend it from the people's rage.\n Behold, the prefects lead their men in haste,\n To save the city from the furious mob\n Whose reckless passion grows, unchecked by fear.\n\n _Chorus:_ What is the madness that inflames their hearts? 785\n\n _Messenger:_ The people for their loved Octavia\n Are wild with rage and grief; and now in throngs\n Are rushing forth in mood for any deed.\n\n _Chorus:_ What are they bent to do, or with what plan?\n\n _Messenger:_ To give Octavia back her father's house,\n Her brother's bed, and her due share of empire. 790\n\n _Chorus:_ But these Poppaea holds as Nero's wife.\n\n _Messenger:_ 'Tis even she 'gainst whom the people's rage\n Burns most persistent, and to reckless deeds\n Is driven headlong on. Whate'er they see,\n Of noble marble wrought, or gleaming bronze,\n The hated image of Poppaea's face, 795\n They cast it to the earth with wanton hands\n And crushing bars. The shattered parts they drag\n Along the streets, and with insulting heel\n Deep in the filthy mud they trample them.\n These savage deeds are mingled with such words\n As I should fear to utter in your ears. 800\n Soon will they hedge the royal house with flames,\n Unless the prince his new-made wife give up\n To sate the people's wrath, and then restore\n To noble Claudia her father's house.\n That he himself may know these threatened deeds,\n I'll haste to tell him as the prefect bade. 805\n\n[_Exit._]\n\n _Chorus:_ Why vainly strive against the powers above?\n For Cupid's weapons are invincible.\n Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim\n By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove,\n And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky. 810\n For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay,\n E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he,\n And may not be o'ercome. At his command\n Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre;\n He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud 815\n To do his will. Illustrious cities, too,\n And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed.\n And now my mind in fear awaits to see\n What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[57] Reading, _intentus_.\n\n\nACT V\n\n _Nero_ [_seated in a room of his palace_]: Too slow my soldiers'\n hands, too mild my wrath, 820\n When citizens have dared such crimes as these.\n Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince\n Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men,\n Shall be bespattered with her people's gore.\n Yet death is far too light a punishment 825\n For such atrocities; this impious mob\n Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife\n And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear,\n For whose sole sake the people rage at me,\n Shall give her life at last to sate my grief,\n And quench my anger in her flowing blood. 830\n Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls,\n And in the ruins of her falling homes\n The people shall be buried; squalid want,\n Dire hunger, grief-all these shall they endure.\n Too fat upon the blessings of our age\n Has this vile mob become, and know not how 835\n To bear our clemency and relish peace;\n But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne\n By shifting tides of passion to their hurt.\n They must be held in check by suffering,\n Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke,\n Lest once again they dare assail the throne, 840\n And to the august features of my wife\n Dare lift again their vulgar eyes. O'erawed\n By fear of punishment must they be taught\n To yield obedience to their prince's nod.\n But here I see the man whose loyalty\n Has made him captain of my royal guards. 845\n\n[_Enter_ Prefect.]\n\n _Prefect:_ The people's rage by slaughter of a few,\n Who most resistance made is overcome.\n\n _Nero:_ Is that enough? Was that my word to thee?\n \"Is overcome?\" Where then is my revenge?\n\n _Prefect:_ The guilty leaders of the mob are dead. 850\n\n _Nero:_ Nay, but the mob itself, which dared to assail\n My house with flames, to dictate laws to me,\n To drag my noble wife from off my bed,\n And with unhallowed hands and angry threats\n To affront her majesty--are they unscathed? 855\n\n _Prefect:_ Shall angry grief decide their punishment?\n\n _Nero:_ It shall--whose fame no future age shall dim.\n\n _Prefect:_ Which neither wrath nor fear shall moderate?[58]\n\n _Nero:_ She first shall feel my wrath who merits it.\n\n _Prefect:_ Tell whom thou mean'st. My hand shall spare her not. 860\n\n _Nero:_ My wrath demands my guilty sister's death.\n\n _Prefect:_ Benumbing horror holds me in its grasp.\n\n _Nero:_ Wilt not obey my word?\n\n _Prefect:_ Why question that?\n\n _Nero:_ Because thou spar'st my foe.\n\n _Prefect:_ A woman, foe?\n\n _Nero:_ If she be criminal. 865\n\n _Prefect:_ But what her crime?\n\n _Nero:_ The people's rage.\n\n _Prefect:_ But who can check their rage?\n\n _Nero:_ The one who fanned its flame.\n\n _Prefect:_ But who that one?\n\n _Nero:_ A woman she, to whom an evil heart\n Hath nature given, a soul to fraud inclined.\n\n _Prefect:_ But not the power to act. 870\n\n _Nero:_ That she may be\n Without the power to act, that present fear\n May break her strength, let punishment at once,\n Too long delayed, crush out her guilty life.\n Have done at once with arguments and prayers,\n And do my royal bidding: let her sail\n To some far distant shore and there be slain, 875\n That thus at last my fears may be at rest.\n\n[_Exeunt._]\n\n _Chorus_ [_attached to_ Octavia]: Oh, dire and deadly has the people's\n love\n To many proved, which fills their swelling sails\n With favoring breeze, and bears them out to sea;\n But soon its vigor languishes and dies, 880\n And leaves them to the mercy of the deep.\n The wretched mother of the Gracchi wept\n Her murdered sons, who, though of noble blood,\n Far famed for eloquence and piety, 885\n Stout-hearted, learn\u00e9d in defense of law,\n Were brought to ruin by the people's love\n And popular renown. And Livius, thee\n To equal fate did fickle fortune give,\n Who found no safety in thy lictors' rods,\n No refuge in thy home. But grief forbids\n To tell more instances. This hapless girl, 890\n To whom but now the citizens decreed\n The restoration of her fatherland,\n Her home, her brother's couch, is dragged away\n In tears and misery to punishment,\n With citizens consenting to her death! 895\n Oh, bless\u00e9d poverty, content to hide\n Beneath the refuge of a lowly roof!\n For lofty homes, to fame and fortune known,\n By storms are blasted and by fate o'erthrown!\n\n[_Enter_ Octavia _in the custody of the palace guards, who are dragging\nher roughly out into the street_.]\n\n _Octavia:_ Oh, whither do ye hurry me? What fate\n Has that vile tyrant or his queen ordained? 900\n Does she, subdued and softened by my woes,\n Grant me to live in exile? Or, if not,\n If she intends to crown my sufferings\n With death, why does her savage heart begrudge\n That I should die at home? But now, alas, 905\n I can no longer hope for life; behold,\n My brother's bark, within whose treacherous hold\n His mother once was borne; and now for me,\n Poor wretch, his slighted sister-wife, it waits. 910\n No more has right a place upon the earth,\n Nor heavenly gods. Grim Fury reigns supreme.\n Oh, who can fitly weep my evil plight?\n What nightingale has tongue to sing my woes? 915\n Would that the fates would grant her wings to me!\n Then would I speed away on pinions swift,\n And leave my grievous troubles far behind,\n Leave these unholy haunts of savage men. 920\n There, all alone, within some forest wide,\n Among the swaying branches would I sit,\n And let my grieving spirit weep its fill.\n\n _Chorus:_ The race of men is by the fates controlled,\n And none may hope to make his own secure; 925\n And o'er the ever-shifting ways of life\n The day which most we fear shall come to us.\n But comfort now thy heart with thought of those\n Of thine own house who suffered ill, and ask: 930\n In what has fortune been more harsh to thee?\n Thee first I name, Agrippa's noble child,\n The famous mother of so many sons,\n Great Caesar's wife, whose name throughout the world 935\n In flaming glory shone, whose teeming womb\n Brought forth so many hostages of peace:\n E'en thee did exile wait, and cruel chains,\n Blows, bitter anguish, and at last a death 940\n Of lingering agony. And Livia, thou,\n Though fortunate in husband and in sons,\n Didst walk the way of sin--and punishment.\n And Julia, too, endured her mother's fate;\n For, though no evil deed was charged to her, 945\n She fell a victim to the sword at last.\n What could not once thy mighty mother do\n Who ruled supreme the house of Claudius,\n By him beloved, and in her son secure?\n Yet she at last was subject to a slave, 950\n And fell beneath a brutal soldier's sword.\n For what exalted heights of royalty\n Might not our Nero's mother once have hoped?\n Mishandled first by vulgar sailors' hands, 955\n Then slain and mangled by the bungling sword,\n She lay the victim of her cruel son.\n\n _Octavia:_ Me, too, the tyrant to the world of shades\n Is sending. Why delay? Then speed my death, 960\n For fate hath made me subject to your power.\n I pray the heavenly gods--what wouldst thou, fool?\n Pray not to gods who show their scorn of thee.\n But, O ye gods of hell, ye furies dire, 965\n Who work your vengeance on the crimes of men,\n And thou, my father's restless spirit, come\n And bring this tyrant fitting punishment.\n [_To her guards._]\n The death you threaten has no terrors now\n For me. Go, set your ship in readiness, 970\n Unfurl your sails, and let your pilot seek\n The barren shores of Pandataria.\n\n[_Exit_ Octavia _with guards_.]\n\n _Chorus:_ Ye gentle breezes and ye zephyrs mild,\n Which once from savage Dian's altar bore 975\n Atrides' daughter in a cloud concealed,\n This child of ours, Octavia too, we pray,\n Bear far away from these too cruel woes,\n And set her in the fane of Trivia.\n For Aulis is more merciful than Rome,\n The savage Taurian land more mild than this: 980\n There hapless strangers to their gods they feed,\n But Rome delights to see her children bleed.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[58] Reading, _quam temperet non ira_, etc.\n\n\n\n\nCOMPARATIVE ANALYSES\n\n\n\n\nCOMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING GREEK\nDRAMAS\n\n\nThe _Phoenissae_, if, indeed, these fragments are to be considered as\nbelonging to one play, has no direct correspondent in Greek drama;\nalthough, in the general situations and in some details, it is similar\nto parts of three plays: _The Seven Against Thebes_ of Aeschylus, the\n_Oedipus at Colonus_ of Sophocles, and the _Phoenician Damsels_ of\nEuripides. The _Thyestes_ is without a parallel in extant Greek drama;\nand the _Octavia_, of course, stands alone.\n\nThe other seven tragedies attributed by tradition to Seneca, together\nwith their Greek correspondents, are here presented in comparative\nanalyses in order that the reader may be enabled easily to compare, at\nleast so far as subject-matter and dramatic structure are concerned,\nthe Roman tragedies and their Greek originals.\n\nAlthough the traditional division into acts is followed in the English\nversion of the several plays, it seems wise in these comparisons to\ngive the more minute division into prologue, episodes, and choral\ninterludes.\n\n\nTHE _OEDIPUS_ OF SOPHOCLES, AND THE _OEDIPUS_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--Dialogue between Oedipus and the priest of Zeus, who\ndiscloses the present plague-smitten condition of the people, and prays\nthe king for aid since he is so wise. The fatherly regard of Oedipus\nfor his people, in that he has already sent a messenger to ask the aid\nof the oracle, is portrayed.\n\nThe answer of the oracle: first reference to an unexpiated sin. Short\nquestion and answer between Oedipus and Creon, the messenger, bringing\nout the facts of La\u00efus' death.\n\nThe irony of fate: Oedipus proposes, partly in his own interest, to\nseek out the murderer. As yet there is no foreshadowing of evil in the\nking's mind. At the end of the prologue Oedipus remains alone upon the\nstage.\n\n _Prologue._--In the early morning Oedipus is seen lamenting the\n plague-smitten condition of his people. He narrates how he had fled\n from Corinth to avoid the fulfilment of a dreadful oracle, that he\n should kill his father and wed his mother. Even here he cannot feel\n safe, but still fears some dreadful fate that seems threatening. He\n describes with minute detail the terrors of the pestilence which\n has smitten man and beast and even the vegetable world. He prays\n for death that he may not survive his stricken people. Jocasta\n remonstrates with him for his despair and reminds him that it is a\n king's duty to bear reverses with cheerfulness.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus enlarges upon the distresses of\nthe city, and appeals to the gods for aid.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus appeals to Bacchus, relating\n how the descendants of his old Theban comrades are perishing. It\n enlarges upon the distresses of the city, and deplores the violence\n of the plague. The sufferings of the people are described in minute\n detail.\n\n_First episode._--The curse of Oedipus upon the unknown murderer is\npronounced, and the charge is made by Tiresias (who long refuses to\nspeak but is forced to do so by Oedipus), \"Thou art the man.\" Oedipus'\nexplanation of Tiresias' charge; it is a plot between the latter and\nCreon. The facts of Oedipus' birth are hinted at. Tiresias prophesies\nthe after-life of the king, with the name but thinly veiled.\n\n _First episode._--Creon, returned from the consultation of the\n oracle at Delphi, announces that the plague is caused by the\n unatoned murder of La\u00efus, former king of Thebes. Oedipus anxiously\n inquires who the murderer is, but is told that this is still a\n mystery. Creon describes the scene at Delphi in the giving of the\n oracle. Oedipus declares himself eager to hunt out the murderer and\n inquires why the matter has been left so long uninvestigated. He is\n told that the terrors of the Sphinx had driven all other thoughts\n out of the people's mind.\n\n The irony of fate: Oedipus pronounces a dreadful curse upon the\n murderer of La\u00efus and vows not to rest until he finds him. He\n inquires where the murder took place and how. At this moment the\n blind old Tiresias enters, led by his daughter, Manto. Tiresias\n tries by the arts of divination (which are described with the\n greatest elaboration) to ascertain the name of the murderer, but\n without avail; and says that recourse must be had to necromancy, or\n the raising of the dead.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the oracle and the\ncertain discovery of the guilty one. Ideal picture of the flight of the\nmurderer. While troubled by the charge of Tiresias, the chorus still\nrefuses to give it credence. After all, the seer is only a man and\nliable to be mistaken. Oedipus has shown himself a wiser man by solving\nthe riddle of the Sphinx.\n\n _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings a dithyrambic strain in\n praise of the wonderful works of Bacchus. No reference is made to\n the tragedy which is in progress.\n\n_Second episode._--Quarrel of Oedipus and Creon based upon the charges\nof the former. Oedipus' argument: The deed was done long ago, and\nTiresias, though then also a seer, made no charge. Now, when forced\nby the recent oracle, the seer comes forward with Creon. This looks\nlike a conspiracy. Creon pleads for a fair and complete investigation.\nJocasta tries to reconcile the two, but in vain, and Creon is driven\nout. Jocasta relates the circumstances of La\u00efus' death, which tally in\nall details but one with the death of one slain by Oedipus. A terrible\nconclusion begins to dawn upon the king. He tells his queen the story\nof his life and the dreadful oracle, the fear of the fulfilment of\nwhich drove him from Corinth. At the end of this episode the death\nof La\u00efus at the hands of Oedipus is all but proved, but the relation\nbetween the two is not yet hinted at.\n\n _Second episode._--Creon returns from the rites of necromancy in\n which he had accompanied Tiresias, and strives to avoid telling\n the result of the investigation to the king. Being at last forced\n to reveal all that he knows, he describes with great vividness of\n detail how Tiresias has summoned up the spirits of the dead, and\n among them La\u00efus. The latter declares that Oedipus himself is the\n murderer, having slain his father and married his mother. Oedipus,\n strong in the belief that Polybus and Merope of Corinth are his\n parents, denies the charge, and after a hot dispute orders Creon to\n be cast into prison, on suspicion of a conspiracy with Tiresias to\n deprive Oedipus of the scepter.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--Prayer for a life in accordance with the\nwill of heaven. Under the shadow of impending ill, the chorus seeks the\naid of God, meditates upon the doom of the unrighteous, and considers\nthe seeming fallibility of the oracle.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus refuses to believe the\n charge against Oedipus, but lays the blame of all these ills upon\n the evil fate of Thebes which has pursued the Thebans from the\n first.\n\n_Third episode._--A messenger from Corinth brings the news of Polybus'\ndeath, the supposed father of Oedipus. The irony of fate: the king is\nlifted up with joy that now the oracle cannot be fulfilled that he\nshould kill his own father. Step by step the details of the king's\ninfancy come out, which reveal the awful truth to Jocasta. To Oedipus\nthe only result of the present revelation is that he is probably\nbase-born. Jocasta tries to deter Oedipus from further investigation.\n\n _Third episode._--Oedipus, remembering that he had slain a man\n on his way to Thebes, questions Jocasta more closely as to the\n circumstances of La\u00efus' death, and finding these circumstances to\n tally with his own experience, is convinced that he was indeed the\n slayer of La\u00efus.\n\n At this point a messenger from Corinth, an old man, announces to\n Oedipus the death of Polybus, the king of Corinth, and the supposed\n father of Oedipus. The latter is summoned to the empty throne of\n Corinth. A quick succession of questions and answers brings to\n light the fact that Oedipus is not the child of Polybus and Merope,\n but that the messenger himself had given him when an infant to the\n Corinthian pair. This announcement removes the chief support of\n Oedipus against the charges of Tiresias, and now he rushes blindly\n on to know the rest of the fatal truth. The shepherd is summoned\n who had given the baby to the old Corinthian. He strives to avoid\n answering, but, driven on by the threats of Oedipus, he at last\n states that he had received the child from the royal household of\n Thebes, and that it was in fact the son of Jocasta. At this last\n and awful disclosure, Oedipus goes off the stage in a fit of raving\n madness.\n\n_Strophe and antistrophe._--A partial interlude, while they wait for\nthe shepherd who is to furnish the last link in the chain of evidence.\nThe chorus conjectures as to the wonderful birth of Oedipus; possibly\nhis father is Pan, or Apollo, or Mercury, or Bacchus.\n\nThe shepherd, arriving, also seeks to keep the dreadful truth from the\nking, but a second time the passion of Oedipus forces the truth from\nan unwilling witness. At last the whole story comes out, and Oedipus\nrealizes that he has slain his father and wed his mother.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The utter nothingness of human life, judged\nby the fate of Oedipus, who above all men was successful, wise, and\ngood. It is inscrutable; why should such a fate come to him? The chorus\nlaments the doom of the king as its own.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the dangerous\n position of the man who is unduly exalted, and illustrates this\n principle by the case of Icarus.\n\n_Exode._--The catastrophe in its final manifestations. A messenger\ndescribes the lamentations and suicide of Jocasta, the despair of\nOedipus, and the wild mood in which he inflicts blindness upon himself.\nHe comes upon the stage piteously wailing and groping his way. He prays\nfor death or banishment at the hands of Creon, who is now king. He\ntakes a tender farewell of his daughters and consigns them to Creon's\ncare.\n\nThe play ends with the solemn warning of the chorus \"to reckon no man\nhappy till ye witness the closing day; until he pass the border which\nsevers life from death, unscathed by sorrow.\"\n\n _Exode._--Although there is a short chorus interjected here (lines\n 980-97) on the inevitableness of fate, all the remainder of the\n play is really the exode, showing the catastrophe in its final\n manifestation. A messenger describes with horrible minuteness how\n Oedipus in his ravings has dug out his eyes. At this point Oedipus\n himself comes upon the stage, rejoicing in his blindness, since\n now he can never look upon his shame. And now Jocasta appears,\n having heard strange rumors. On learning the whole truth, she slays\n herself on the stage with Oedipus' sword. The play ends as the\n blind old king goes groping his way out into darkness and exile.\n\n\nTHE _MEDEA_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _MEDEA_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--The old nurse of Medea, alone upon the stage, laments that\nthe Argo was ever framed and that Medea had ever fled from Colchis.\nThen had she never been here in Corinth an exile and now deserted even\nby her husband, Jason. In describing Medea's distracted condition,\nthe nurse first voices the fear of that violence which forms the\ncatastrophe of the play. Enter an old attendant with the two sons of\nMedea, who announces a new woe--that Creon, the king, has decreed the\nbanishment of Medea and her children. The nurse repeats her warning\nnote, and urges the attendant to keep the children out of the sight of\ntheir mother, who even now can be heard raving within, and vowing the\ndestruction of her children and her husband. The attendant retires with\nthe children.\n\n _Prologue._--Medea, finding herself deserted by Jason, calls upon\n gods and furies to grant her vengeance. She prays for destruction\n to light upon her rival, and imprecates curses upon Jason. She\n thinks it monstrous that the sun can still hold on his way, and\n prays for power to subvert the whole course of nature. She finally\n realizes that she is impotent save as she has recourse to her old\n sorceries which she has long since laid aside, and resolves upon\n them as a means of revenge.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Corinthian women comes to\nthe front of the palace to inquire the cause of Medea's cries, which\nthey have heard, and to profess their attachment to her. From time to\ntime Medea's voice can be heard from within as she prays for death and\nimprecates curses upon Jason. The nurse at the suggestion of the chorus\nundertakes to induce her mistress to come forth, that converse with her\nfriends may soothe her grief. The nurse goes within, leaving the chorus\nalone upon the stage.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--A chorus of Corinthians chants an\n epithalamium for the nuptials of Jason and Cre\u00fcsa. First, in\n Asclepiadean strains, they invoke the gods to be present and bless\n the nuptials. The strain then changes to quick, joyful Glyconics\n in praise of the surpassing beauty of the married pair. Changing\n back to Asclepiads, the chorus continues in extravagant praise of\n Jason and his bride, congratulates him on his exchange from Medea\n to Cre\u00fcsa, and finally, in six lines of hexameter, exults in the\n license of the hour.\n\n_First episode._--Medea comes forth from the palace to explain to the\nchorus her position and unhappy condition. She deplores the lot of\nwomen in general, and especially in relation to marriage, and enlists\nthe sympathy of the chorus in her attempt to secure some revenge for\nher wrongs. They confess the justice of her cause and promise to keep\nher secret.\n\nCreon announces to Medea that she must leave his realm at once, for\nmuch he fears that she will take her revenge upon him and upon his\nhouse. She pleads for grace, and bewails her reputation for magic\npower; she assures the king that he has nothing to fear from her, and\naffects compliance with all that has taken place. Creon, while still\nprotesting that she cannot be trusted, yields in so far that he grants\nher a single day's delay.\n\nMedea tells the chorus that her recent compliance was only feigned, and\nopenly announces her intention before the day is done of slaying Creon,\nhis daughter, and Jason. She debates the various methods by which this\nmay be accomplished, and decides, for her own greater safety, upon the\nhelp of magic.\n\n _First episode._--Hearing the epithalamium, Medea goes into a\n passion of rage. She recounts all that she has done for Jason, and\n exclaims against his ingratitude. Again, with shifting feelings she\n pleads Jason's cause to herself and strives to excuse him, blaming\n all upon Creon. Upon him she vows the direst vengeance. Meanwhile\n the nurse in vain urges prudence.\n\n Creon now enters, manifesting in his words a fear of Medea, and\n bent upon her immediate banishment. Medea pleads her innocence,\n and begs to know the reason for her exile. She reviews at length\n her former regal estate and contrasts with this her present\n forlorn condition. She claims the credit for the preservation of\n all the Argonautic heroes. Upon this ground she claims that Jason\n is hers. She begs of Creon some small corner in his kingdom for\n her dwelling, but the king remains obdurate. She then prays for a\n single day's delay in which to say farewell to her children, who\n are to remain, the wards of the king. This prayer Creon reluctantly\n grants.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The course of nature is subverted. No longer\nlet woman alone have the reputation for falsehood; man's insincerity\nequals hers. In poetry the fickleness of both should be sung, just as\nin history it is seen. Though Medea, for her love of Jason, left her\nnative land and braved all the terrors of the deep, she is now left all\nforsaken and alone. Verily truth and honor have departed from the earth.\n\n _First choral interlude._--Apropos of Medea's reference to the\n Argonautic heroes the chorus sings of the dangers which those first\n voyagers upon the sea endured; how the natural bounds which the\n gods set to separate the lands have now been removed--and all this\n for gold and this barbarian woman. (The chorus is nowhere friendly\n to Medea, as in Euripides.) The ode ends with a prophecy of the\n time when all the earth shall be revealed, and there shall be no\n \"Ultima Thule.\"\n\n_Second episode._--Jason reproaches Medea for her intemperate speech\nagainst the king, which has resulted in her banishment, and shows\nher that he is still concerned for her interests. She retorts with\nreproaches because of his ingratitude, and proceeds to recount all that\nshe had done for him and given up in his behalf. Jason replies that it\nwas not through her help but that of Venus that he had escaped all the\nperils of the past, and reminds her of the advantages which she herself\nhad gained by leaving her barbarous land for Greece. He even holds that\nhis marriage into the royal family of Corinth is in her interest and\nthat of her children, since by this means their common fortunes will be\nmended. He offers her from his new resources assistance for her exile,\nwhich she indignantly refuses, and Jason retires from her bitter taunts.\n\n _Second episode._--Medea is rushing out to seek vengeance, while\n the nurse tries in vain to restrain her. The nurse soliloquizes,\n describing the wild frenzy of her mistress, and expressing grave\n fears for the result. Medea, not noticing the nurse's presence,\n reflects upon the day that has been granted her by Creon, and\n vows that her terrible vengeance shall be commensurate with her\n sufferings. She rushes off the stage, while the nurse calls after\n her a last warning.\n\n Jason now enters, lamenting the difficult position in which he\n finds himself. He asserts that it is for his children's sake that\n he has done all, and hopes to be able to persuade Medea herself\n to take this view. Medea comes back, and at sight of Jason her\n fury is still further inflamed. She announces her intended flight.\n But whither shall she flee? For his sake she has closed all lands\n against herself. In bitter sarcasm she accepts all these sufferings\n as her just punishment. Then in a flash of fury she recalls all her\n services to him and contrasts his ingratitude. She shifts suddenly\n to passionate entreaty, and prays him to pity her, to give back all\n that she gave up for him, if she must needs flee; she begs him to\n brave the wrath of Creon and flee with her, and promises him her\n protection as of old. In a long series of quick, short passages\n they shift from phase to phase of feeling, and finally Medea prays\n that in her flight she may have her children as her comrades.\n Jason's refusal shows how deeply he loves his sons, and here is\n suggested to Medea for the first time the method of her direst\n revenge. Jason now yields to her assumed penitence and grants her\n the custody of the children for this day alone. When Jason has\n withdrawn, she bids the nurse prepare the fatal robe which she\n proposes to send to her rival by the hands of her children.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The chorus prays to be delivered from the\npangs of immoderate love and jealousy, from exile, and the ingratitude\nof friends.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus opens on the text, \"Hell\n hath no fury like a woman scorned,\" and continues with a prayer\n for Jason's safety. It then recounts the subsequent history of the\n individual Argonauts, showing how almost all came to some untimely\n end. They might indeed be said to deserve this fate, for they\n volunteered to assist in that first impious voyage in quest of the\n golden fleece; but Jason should be spared the general doom, for the\n task had been imposed upon him by his usurping uncle, Pelias.\n\n_Third, episode._--Aegeus, in Corinth by accident, recognizes Medea,\nand learns from her her present grievous condition and imminent exile.\nShe begs that he receive her into his kingdom as a friend under his\nprotection. This he promises with a mighty oath to do.\n\nMedea, left alone with the chorus, explains to it still more in detail\nher plans. She will send her sons with gifts to the new bride, which,\nby their magic power, will destroy her and all who touch her. She\nadds that she will also slay her two sons, the more to injure Jason.\nThe chorus, while protesting against this last proposal, offers no\nresistance.\n\n _Third episode._--The nurse in a long monologue recites Medea's\n magic wonders of the past, and all her present preparations. Then\n Medea's voice is heard, and presently she comes upon the stage\n chanting her incantations. She summons up the gods of Tartara to\n aid her task; recounts all the wonders which her charms can work;\n describes her store of magic fires and other potent objects. Then\n breaking into quicker measure, as if filled with a fuller frenzy,\n she continues her incantations accompanied by wild cries and\n gestures. She finally dispatches her sons to Jason's bride with the\n robe she has anointed with her magic drugs and charged with her\n curses. She hastens out in the opposite direction.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The chorus, dwelling upon Medea's proposed\nplace of refuge, sings the praises of Athens, sacred to the Muses. It\ncontrasts with this holy city the dreadful deed which Medea intends,\nand again vainly strives to dissuade her.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus notes and describes Medea's\n wild bearing, and prays for her speedy departure from their city.\n\n_Fourth episode._--Medea, sending for Jason, with feigned humility\nreproaches herself for her former intemperate words to him, and begs\nonly that he use his influence for the reprieve of their children\nfrom exile. To assist him in this, she proposes to send the children\nthemselves, bearing a gorgeous robe of golden tissue (which she has\nanointed with magic poison) as a wedding present to the bride. Upon\nthis errand Jason retires attended by his little sons.\n\n_Fourth choral interlude._--The chorus, with full knowledge of the\nfatal robe, pictures the delight of the bride at its reception, and\nlaments her fearful doom.\n\n_Fifth episode._--This episode is in four parts.\n\nThe attendant returns with the children and announces to Medea that\nher gifts have prevailed for their reprieve. (The attendant retires.)\n\nMedea contrasts the assured career of her children with her own hapless\ncondition; then remembers her resolve and with softening heart laments\ntheir dreadful fate. She hastily sends them within the palace. Left\nalone, she again struggles between her mother-love and her resolve\nnot to leave her children subject to the scorn of her foes. (She here\nleaves the stage to wait for tidings from the royal house.)\n\nThen follows a monologue by the chorus leader discussing the advantages\nof childlessness. No reference is made to the passing events.\n\nMedea returns just in time to meet a messenger who breathlessly\nannounces the death of Creon and his daughter. At the request of Medea\nhe gives a detailed account of the reception of the magic robe and\ncrown, the bride's delight, and her sudden and awful death, in which\nher father also was involved. He urges Medea to fly at once. She\nannounces her intention to do so as soon as she has slain her children;\nand then rushes into the house.\n\n_Fifth choral interlude._--This consists of a single strophe and\nantistrophe in which the chorus calls upon the gods to restrain Medea's\nmad act. Then are heard within the house the shrieks first of the\ntwo children, then of one, then silence, the chorus meanwhile wildly\nshouting to Medea to desist from her deadly work.\n\n_The exode._--Jason appears in search of Medea that he may avenge on\nher the death of the royal pair; but most he fears for his children.\nThe chorus informs him that they are already slain within the palace by\ntheir mother's hand. He prepares to force an entrance into the house.\n\nBut now Medea appears in a chariot drawn by dragons. She defies Jason's\npower to harm her. Jason replies by reproaching her with all the\nmurderous deeds of her life, which have culminated in this crowning\ndeed of blood. She in turn reproaches him and his ingratitude as\nthe cause of all. A storm of mutual imprecations follows, and Medea\ndisappears with the bodies of her two sons, denying to Jason even the\ncomfort of weeping over their remains.\n\n _The exode._--A messenger comes running in from the direction\n of the palace, and announces that the king and his daughter are\n dead. The eager questions of the chorus bring out the strange\n circumstances attending this catastrophe. Medea enters in time to\n hear that her magic has been successful, and ignoring the nurse's\n entreaties to flee at once, she becomes absorbed in her own\n reflections. And now in her words may be seen the inward struggle\n between maternal love and jealous hate as she nerves herself for\n the final act of vengeance. The purpose to kill her children grows\n upon her, resist it as she may, until in an ecstasy of madness,\n urged on by a vision of her murdered brother, she slays her first\n son; and then, bearing the corpse of one and leading the other\n by the hand, she mounts to the turret of her house. Here with a\n refinement of cruelty she slays the second son in Jason's sight,\n disregarding his abject prayers for the boy's life. Now a chariot\n drawn by dragons appears in the air. This Medea mounts and is borne\n away, while Jason shouts his impotent curses after her.\n\n\nTHE _HERCULES FURENS_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _HERCULES FURENS_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--The old Amphitryon, before the altar of Jupiter, at the\nentrance of the house of Hercules in Thebes, relates how Hercules\nhas gone to the lower world to bring thence to the realms of day the\ntriple-headed Cerberus. Meanwhile, Lycus, taking advantage of the\nhero's absence, has slain king Creon and usurped his throne. The\nfather, wife, and children of Hercules he has reduced to poverty, and\nholds them in durance here in Thebes, threatening to slay the sons,\n\n Lest, when the boys attain maturer age,\n They should avenge their grandsire, Creon's, death.\n\nAmphitryon condoles with Megara, and counsels with her how they may\nescape the dangers of their present lot.\n\n _Prologue._--Juno complains that she is fairly driven out of\n heaven by her numerous rivals, mortal women who have been deified\n and set in the sky, either they or their offspring, by Jupiter.\n Especially is her wrath hot against Hercules, against whom she has\n waged fruitless war from his infancy until now. But he thrives on\n hardship, and scorns her opposition. She passes in review the hard\n tasks which she has set him, and all of which he has triumphantly\n performed. Already is he claiming a place in heaven. He can be\n conquered only by his own hand. Yes, this shall be turned against\n him, for a fury shall be summoned up from hell who shall fill his\n heart with madness; and in this madness shall he do deeds which\n shall make him long for death.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Theban elders, feeble,\ntottering old men, enters and bemoans the wretched fate that has\nbefallen their city and the household of their prince.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--A vivid picture of the dawning day,\n when the stars and waning moon fade out before the rising sun; when\n Toil wakes up and resumes its daily cares; when through the fields\n the animals and birds are all astir with glad, new life.\n\n But in the cities men awaken to repeat the sordid round of toil,\n the greedy quest for gold and power. But, whether happily or\n unhappily, all are speeding down to the world of shades. Even\n before his time has Hercules gone down to Pluto's realm, and has\n not yet returned.\n\n_First episode_.--Now enters Lycus, the usurper. He insolently taunts\nhis victims on their helplessness, tells them that Hercules will never\nreturn, belittles and scorns the hero's mighty deeds, and announces his\nintention of killing the sons.\n\nAmphitryon answers the slanders of Lycus against Hercules, and protests\nagainst the proposed barbarous treatment of the children, who are\ninnocent of any harm. He reproaches Thebes and all the land of Greece,\nbecause they have so ill repaid the services of their deliverer in not\ncoming to the rescue of his wife and children. Lycus gives orders to\nburn the hated race of Hercules, even where they kneel for refuge at\nthe altar-side; and threatens the elders who would thwart his will,\nbidding them remember that they are but as slaves in his sight. Yet the\nold men valiantly defy him, and warn him that they will withstand his\nattacks upon the children.\n\nBut Megara shows them how foolish it is to contend against the king's\nunbounded power. Let them rather entreat his mercy. Could not exile be\nsubstituted for death? But no, for this is worse than death. Rather,\nlet them all die together. Perhaps Lycus will allow her to go into\nthe palace and deck her children in funeral garments? This prayer is\ngranted, though Lycus warns them that they are to die at once. Left\nalone, Amphitryon chides Jupiter because he does not care for the\nchildren of his son:\n\n Thou know'st not how\n To save thy friends. Thou surely art a god,\n Either devoid of wisdom, or unjust.\n\n _First episode._--Megara enters and bewails the fresh woes that\n are ever ready to meet her husband's home-coming. She recounts the\n incidents of his long and difficult career, his heroic suffering at\n Juno's bidding.\n\n And now base Lycus has taken advantage of her husband's absence in\n the lower world to kill her father, Creon, king of Thebes, and all\n his sons, and to usurp the throne--\n\n And Lycus rules the Thebes of Hercules!\n\n She prays her husband soon to come and right these wrongs, though\n in her heart she fears that he will never come again.\n\n Old Amphitryon tries to reassure her by recalling the superhuman\n valor and strength of Hercules, but without success.\n\n Now Lycus appears, boasting of the power which he has gained, not\n by long descent from a noble line, but by his own valor. But his\n house cannot stand by valor alone. He must strengthen his power by\n union with some princely house--he will marry Megara! Should she\n refuse, he will give to utter ruin all the house of Hercules.\n\n Meeting her at the moment, he attempts with specious arguments\n to persuade her to his plan. But Megara repulses his monstrous\n proposition with indignant scorn. Lycus attempts to defend his\n slaughter of her father and brother as done through the exigency of\n war, and pleads with her to put away her wrath; but all in vain,\n and in the end he bids his attendants heap high a funeral pyre on\n which to burn the woman and all her brood.\n\n When Lycus has retired, Amphitryon in his extremity prays to heaven\n for aid; but suddenly checks himself with incredulous joy, for he\n hears approaching the well-known step of Hercules!\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of the mighty\nworks of Hercules, describing these in picturesque detail, from the\ndestruction of the Nemean lion to his last adventure which has taken\nhim to the world of shades, whence, alas, he will never more return.\nAnd meanwhile, lacking his protection, his friends and family are\nplunged in hopeless misery.\n\n _First choral interlude._--Verily fortune is unjust, for while\n Eurystheus sits at ease, the nobler Hercules must suffer unending\n hardships. His labors are briefly recapitulated. Now has he gone to\n hell to bring back Cerberus. Oh, that he may conquer death as all\n things else, and come back again, as did Orpheus by the charm of\n his lyre.\n\n_Second episode._--Forth from the palace, all dressed in the garb of\ndeath, come Megara and her children. She is ready for the doom which\nhas been pronounced upon them. She sadly recalls the fond hopes that\nshe and her husband had cherished for these sons. But these bright\nprospects have vanished now, for death is waiting to claim them all,\nherself as well. She will fold them in a last motherly embrace, and\npour out her grief:\n\n How, like the bee with variegated wings,\n Shall I collect the sorrows of you all,\n And blend the whole together in a flood\n Of tears exhaustless!\n\nBut perhaps even yet her absent lord has power to intervene in her\nbehalf, though he be but a ghost. She prays despairingly that he will\ncome to aid. Amphitryon would try the favor of Jove once more in this\nextremity:\n\n I call on thee, O Jove, that, if thou mean\n To be a friend to these deserted children,\n Thou interpose without delay and save them;\n For soon 'twill be no longer in thy power.\n\nBut at this juncture, when no help seems possible from heaven or hell,\nto their amazed joy, Hercules himself appears, and in the flesh. He\nperceives the mourning garments of his family, and the grief-stricken\nfaces of the chorus, and quickly learns the cause of all this woe. He\nat once plans vengeance upon the wretch who has wrought it all. He has,\nhimself, forewarned by a \"bird of evil omen perched aloft,\" entered\nThebes in secret; and now he will hide within his own palace and wait\nuntil Lycus comes to fetch the victims whom he has doomed to death. But\nfirst he briefly replies to Amphitryon's questions as to the success of\nhis errand to the lower world.\n\n _Second episode._--Hercules enters, fresh from the lower world,\n rejoicing that he again beholds the light of day, and exulting\n in the accomplishment of his latest and most difficult task;\n when suddenly he notices soldiers on guard, and his wife and\n children dressed in mourning garments. He asks what these things\n mean. Amphitryon answers briefly that Lycus has killed Creon and\n his sons, usurped the throne, and now has doomed Megara and her\n children to death.\n\n Hercules leaves his home at once to find, and take vengeance on,\n his enemy, though Theseus, whom he has rescued from the world of\n shades, begs for the privilege himself of slaying Lycus. Left with\n Amphitryon, in reply to the latter's questions, Theseus gives in\n great detail an account of the lower world, its way of approach,\n its topography, and the various creatures who dwell within its\n bounds. After describing in particular the operations of justice\n and the punishment of the condemned, he tells how Hercules overcame\n Cerberus and brought him to the upper world.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The old men sing in envy of youth and\ncomplaint of old age:\n\n But now a burden on my head\n Heavier than Aetna's rock, old age, I bear.\n\nThey hold that had the gods been wiser they would have given renewed\nyouth as a reward to the virtuous, leaving the degenerate to fall\nasleep and wake no more. And yet, though oppressed by age, they still\nmay \"breathe the strain Mnemosyne inspires,\" and sing unceasingly the\ndeeds of Hercules:\n\n Alcides, the resistless son of Jove;\n Those trophies which to noble birth belong\n By him are all surpassed; his forceful hand,\n Restoring peace, hath cleansed this monster-teeming land.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus, with Theseus' words in\n mind, dwell in fancy still upon the lower world. They follow\n Hercules along \"that dark way, which to the distant manes leads,\"\n and picture the thronging shades, the \"repulsive glooms,\" and the\n \"weary inactivity of that still, empty universe.\" They pray that it\n may be long ere they must go to that dread world, to which all the\n wandering tribes of earth must surely come. But away with gloomy\n thoughts! Now is the time for joy, for Hercules is come again. Let\n animals and men make holiday, and fitly celebrate their prince's\n world-wide victories, and their own deliverance from their recent\n woes.\n\n_Third episode._--Lycus enters and encounters Amphitryon without the\npalace. Him he bids to go within and bring out the victims to their\ndeath. To this Amphitryon objects on the ground that it would make him\nan accomplice in their murder. Whereupon Lycus enters the palace to do\nhis own errand. The old man, looking after him, exclaims:\n\n Depart; for to that place the fates ordain\n You now are on the road;\n\nwhile the chorus rejoices that now the oppressor is so soon to meet his\njust punishment. Now the despairing cries of Lycus are heard within and\nthen--silence.\n\n _Third episode._--Hercules returns to his house, fresh from the\n slaying of Lycus, and proceeds to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving\n to Jupiter. But in the midst of the sacrifice the madness planned\n by Juno begins to come upon him. His sight is darkened, and his\n reason changed to delirium. Now he catches sight of his children,\n cowering in fright; he thinks they are the children of Lycus,\n immediately lets fly an arrow at one of them, and seizes a second,\n whom he drags from the scene. Amphitryon, standing where he can see\n all that takes place, describes the wretched death of the second,\n and then the third, though Megara tries to save her last remaining\n child. She also falls before the blow of her husband, who thinks\n in his madness that she is his cruel stepmother, Juno. Hercules,\n re-entering, exults in his supposed victory over his enemies, and\n then sinks down in a deep faint.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--All is now joy and exultation. Fear has\ndeparted, hope has come back again, and faith in the protecting care of\nthe gods is restored. Therefore, let all Thebes give herself up to the\nrapture and triumph of this hour.\n\nBut now two specters are seen hovering over the palace, one of whom\nintroduces herself to the chorus as Iris, the ambassadress of Juno, and\nannounces that her companion is a fiend, daughter of the night. Their\nmission hither is, at the command of Juno, to drive Hercules into a\nmadness in which he shall slay his children. The fiend, indeed, makes\na weak protest against such a mission, but speedily yields and goes\ndarting into the palace, where we know that she begins at once her\ndeadly work within the breast of Hercules.\n\nThe chorus bemoans the city's short-lived joy, and the new and terrible\ndisaster that has fallen upon their hero's house. Soon they hear the\nmad shouts of Hercules, and know by these that the fiend has already\ndone her fatal work.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus calls upon heaven, earth, and\n sea to mourn for Hercules in this new disaster that has befallen\n him. They pray that he may be restored to sanity. In a long\n apostrophe to Sleep they pray that the soothing influences of this\n god may hold and subdue him until his former mind returns to its\n accustomed course. They watch his feverish tossings, and suffer\n with him in the grief which he so soon must realize. They close\n with a pathetic lament over the dead children.\n\n_Exode._--A messenger hurries out of the palace, and describes the\ndreadful scenes that have just been enacted there. Hercules was\noffering sacrifices of purification before Jove's altar, with his three\nsons and Megara beside him. All was propitious, when suddenly a madness\nseized on Hercules. He ceased his present sacrifice, declaring that\nhe must first go to Mycenae and kill Eurystheus and his sons, and so\nmake an end of all his enemies at once. In fancy he mounted a chariot\nand speedily arrived at Mycenae. His own sons seemed to his disordered\nvision to be Eurystheus' sons; and, rushing savagely upon them, he\nsoon had slain them all, and Megara herself. Then did he fall into a\ndeep, swoonlike slumber, prostrate beside a mighty column, to which the\nattendants tied him securely with cords, lest he awake and do further\nmischief.\n\nThe palace doors are now thrown open, and the prostrate, sleeping\nHercules is seen. Amphitryon warns the chorus not to wake him lest they\nrestore him to his miseries. Soon Hercules awakes, and in his right\nmind. He seems to himself to have had a dreadful dream. He looks in\nwonder at the cords which bind his arms, at the fresh-slain corpses\nlying near, at his own arrows scattered on the floor. He calls aloud\nfor someone to explain these things to him. Amphitryon advances and\ninforms him that in his madness, sent by Juno's hate, he has destroyed\nhis wife and all his sons.\n\nAnd now Theseus, having heard that Lycus has usurped the throne of\nThebes, and grateful for his own deliverance from the world of shades\nby Hercules, has come with an army of Athenian youth to aid his friend.\nHe is shocked to find the hero sitting in deepest dejection, with head\nbowed low, and covered with a mourning-veil. Quickly he inquires and\nlearns the truth from Amphitryon. With noble and unselfish friendship,\nhe offers his sympathy and help to Hercules, although the latter warns\nhim to avoid the contagion which his own guilty presence engenders. He\nbids Hercules be a man, and give over his threats of self-destruction.\n\nHercules gives the reasons why it is impossible for him to live. First,\nJuno's inveterate hate, which attacked him in his very cradle, pursues\nhim still, relentlessly; but, most and worst of all, he has incurred\nsuch odium because of the murder of his wife and children, that he will\nbe henceforth an outcast on the earth. No land will give him refuge\nnow. Why should he live? Let him die; and let Juno's cup of happiness\nbe full.\n\nTheseus reminds him that no man escapes unscathed by fate. Nay, even\nthe gods themselves have done unlawful things, and yet live on and\ndo not feel the obloquy their deeds should cause. As for a place of\nrefuge, Athens shall be his home. There shall he obtain full cleansing\nfor his crimes, a place of honor, and ample provision for his wants.\nAll that a generous and grateful friend can give shall be his own.\n\nHercules accepts this offer of Theseus, reflecting also that he might\nbe charged with cowardice should he give up to his troubles and seek\nrefuge in death. He accordingly takes a mournful farewell of his dead\nwife and children, commends their bodies to Amphitryon for burial,\nwhich it is not lawful for him to give, and so commits himself to the\nhands of his faithful friend:\n\n I will follow Theseus,\n Towed like a battered skiff. Whoe'er prefers\n Wealth or dominion to a steadfast friend\n Judges amiss.\n\n _Exode._--Hercules wakes up in his right mind, bewildered and\n uncertain where he is. His eyes fall on the murdered children,\n though he does not as yet recognize them as his own. He misses\n his familiar club and bow, and wonders who has been bold enough\n to remove these and not to fear even a sleeping Hercules. Now he\n recognizes in the corpses his own wife and children:\n\n Oh, what sight is this?\n My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood;\n My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?\n Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes,\n And Hercules returned?\n\n He notices that Theseus and Amphitryon turn away and will not meet\n his gaze. He asks them who has slain his family. At last, partly\n through their half-admissions, and partly through his own surmise,\n it comes to him that this dreadful deed is his own. His soul reels\n with the shock, and he prays wildly for death. No attempts of his\n two friends to palliate his deed can soothe his grief and shame.\n At last the threat of old Amphitryon instantly to anticipate the\n death of Hercules by his own leads the hero to give over his deadly\n purpose.\n\n He consents to live--but where? What land will receive a polluted\n wretch like him? He appeals to Theseus:\n\n O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place,\n Far off from here where I may hide myself.\n\n Theseus offers his own Athens as a place of refuge, where his\n friend may find at once asylum and cleansing from his sin:\n\n My land awaits thy coming; there will Mars\n Wash clean thy hands and give thee back thy arms.\n That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,\n Which even gods from sin is wont to free.\n\n\nTHE _HIPPOLYTUS_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _HIPPOLYTUS_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--Venus complains that Hippolytus alone of all men sets her\npower at naught and owns allegiance to her rival, Diana. She announces\nher plan of revenge: that Phaedra shall become enamored of her stepson,\nthat Theseus shall be made aware of this and in his rage be led to slay\nhis son. If Phaedra perish too, it will but add to the triumph of the\ngoddess' slighted power.\n\nHippolytus comes in from the chase and renders marked homage to Diana.\nHe is warned by an aged officer of the palace \"to loathe that pride\nwhich studies not to please.\" Inquiring the meaning of this warning, he\nis told to recognize the presence of Venus, too, and to include her in\nhis devotions; but from this advice he turns away in scorn.\n\n _Prologue._--Hippolytus, in hunting-costume, appears in the court\n of the palace, which is filled with huntsmen bearing nets and all\n sorts of hunting-weapons, and leading dogs in leash. The young\n prince, in a long, rambling speech, assigns places for the hunt,\n and their duties to his various servants and companions. He ends\n with an elaborate ascription of praise to his patroness Diana, as\n goddess of the chase, and with a prayer to her for success in his\n own present undertaking. The whole speech is in lyric strain, the\n anapestic measure, most commonly employed by Seneca.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Troezenian women deplores the\nstrange malady that has befallen the young queen. They relate how\n\n This is the third revolving day,\n Since, o'erpowered by lingering pains,\n She from all nourishment abstains,\n Wasting that lovely frame with slow decay.\n\nAt the conclusion of the lyric part of the chorus, the queen, closely\nveiled, in company with her aged nurse, is seen coming from the palace\ngates.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--The technical chorus entry is entirely\n lacking in this play. While the chorus may be assumed to have\n entered and to have been present during the long interview between\n Phaedra and her nurse, which forms the first episode, still its\n presence is in no way manifested until the end of this interview.\n\n_First episode._--Full of anxiety, the nurse strives to indulge her\nmistress' every whim. Phaedra answers feebly at first, but suddenly,\nto the amazement of her companion, her speech is filled with language\nof the chase, and she again relapses into her mute lethargy. At last,\nunder the insistence of the nurse to probe her mystery, Phaedra\nconfesses that the wretched fate of her house pursues her, too, and\nthat she now feels the torments of love; and, though she does not speak\nhis name, the truth at last is clear that Hippolytus is the object of\nher passion. The nurse recoils in horror and shame from this confession.\n\nPhaedra describes how she has struggled against her unhappy love, but\nin vain, and is now resolved on death in order to save her honor. At\nthis the nurse throws all her influence in the opposite scale, arguing\nthat, after all, the sway of Venus is universal, that it is only human\nto love, and that this is no reason why one should cast his life away.\nShe even proposes to acquaint Hippolytus with her mistress' feelings,\nand strive to win his love in return. This proposal Phaedra indignantly\nrejects. The nurse then offers to fetch from the house certain philters\nwhich will cure the queen of her malady. The queen reluctantly consents\nto this, and the nurse retires into the palace.\n\n _First episode._--Phaedra bewails her present lot, in that she has\n been forced to leave her native Crete, and live in wedlock with\n her father's enemy. And even he has now deserted her, gone to the\n very realms of Dis, in company with a madcap friend, to seduce and\n bear away the gloomy monarch's queen. But a worse grief than this\n is preying on her soul. She feels in her own heart the devastating\n power of unlawful love, which has already destroyed all the natural\n interests of her life. She recalls her mother's unhappy passion;\n but this was bearable compared with her own. For Venus has, from\n deadly hatred of her family, filled her with a far more hopeless\n love. She does not name the object of her passion, but, from her\n guarded references, it is clear that Hippolytus, her stepson, is\n meant.\n\n The nurse urges her mistress to drive this passion from her breast,\n moralizing upon the danger of delay. Has not her house already\n known sinful love enough? Such love is dangerous for it cannot long\n be hid. Granting that Theseus may never return to earth, can her\n sin be concealed from her father? from her grandsires, both gods of\n heaven? And what of her own conscience? Can she ever be happy or\n at peace with such a sin upon her soul? She pictures her mistress'\n passion in all its hideousness. Besides, it is most hopeless, since\n Hippolytus, woman-hater that he is, can never be brought to respond\n to it. Phaedra yields to these arguments and entreaties of the\n nurse, and says that now she is resolved upon death as her only\n refuge. Hereupon the nurse (the usual r\u00f4le) begs her not to take\n this desperate course, and undertakes to bend Hippolytus to their\n will.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus prays that love may never come\nupon its breast with immoderate power, and relates instances of the\nresistless sway of Venus and her son.\n\n _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings at length upon the\n universal and irresistible sway of love.\n\n_Second episode._--Phaedra, standing near the doors of the palace,\nsuddenly becomes agitated, and utters despairing cries. The chorus,\ninquiring the cause of these, is told to listen. At first there is\nonly a confused murmur from within; but this soon resolves itself into\nthe angry denunciations of Hippolytus and the pleading tones of the\nnurse. By these Phaedra learns that the nurse has indeed revealed the\nfatal secret to Hippolytus under an oath that he will not betray the\ntruth to anyone, and that the youth has received the announcement with\nhorror and scorn. He breaks forth into bitter reproaches against all\nwomankind. He regrets that his lips are sealed by his oath, else would\nhe straightway reveal to Theseus all his wife's unfaithfulness.\n\nPhaedra, on her side, reproaches the nurse for betraying her secret.\nShe angrily dismisses her, and, after exacting an oath of silence from\nthe chorus, goes out, reiterating her resolve to die, and suggests that\nshe has one expedient left by which her name may be preserved from\ninfamy, and her sons from dishonor.\n\n _Second episode._--On the inquiry of the chorus as to how the queen\n is faring, the nurse describes the dreadful effect which this\n malady of love has already produced upon her. Then the palace doors\n open, and Phaedra is seen reclining upon a couch, attended by her\n tiring-women. She rejects all the beautiful robes and jewels which\n they offer, and desires to be dressed as a huntress, ready for the\n chase.\n\n The nurse prays to Diana to conquer the stubborn soul of Hippolytus\n and bend his heart toward her mistress. At this moment the youth\n himself enters and inquires the cause of the nurse's distress.\n\n Thereupon ensues a long debate, in which the nurse chides\n Hippolytus for his austere life and argues that the pleasures of\n life were meant to be enjoyed, and that no life comes to its full\n fruition unless youth is given free rein. The young man replies by\n a rhapsody on the life of the woods, so full of simple, wholesome\n joys, and so free from all the cares of life at court and among\n men. He compares this with the Golden Age, and traces the gradual\n fall from the innocence of that time to the abandoned sin of the\n present. He concludes with laying all the blame for this upon woman.\n\n Phaedra now comes forth, and, seeing Hippolytus, falls fainting,\n but is caught in the young man's arms. He attempts to reassure her\n and inquires the cause of her evident grief. After much hesitation,\n she at last confesses her love for him and begs him to pity her.\n With scorn and horror he repulses her and starts to kill her with\n his sword; but, deciding not so to stain his sword, he throws the\n weapon away and makes off toward the forest.\n\n The nurse now plans to save her mistress by inculpating Hippolytus.\n She accordingly calls loudly for help, and tells the attendants who\n come rushing in that the youth has attempted an assault upon the\n queen, and shows his sword in evidence.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The chorus prays to be wafted far away from\nthese scenes of woe; and laments that the hapless queen had ever come\nfrom Crete, for then she would not now be doomed by hopeless love to\nself-inflicted death.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus dwells upon and praises the\n beauty of Hippolytus, and discourses upon the theme that beauty has\n always been a dangerous possession, citing various mythological\n instances in proof of this.\n\n_Third episode._--A messenger hurriedly enters with the announcement\nthat the queen has destroyed herself by the noose. The chorus,\nthough grieved, manifests no surprise at this, and is divided as to\na plan of action. And now enters Theseus, who demands the cause of\nthe lamentations of the servants, which may be heard from within the\npalace. He learns from the chorus the fact and manner, but not the\ncause, of Phaedra's death.\n\nThe palace doors are now thrown open and the shrouded body of the queen\nis discovered within. Theseus, in an agony of lamentations, seeks to\nknow the cause of his queen's death. He at length discovers a letter\nclasped in her dead hand, by which he is informed that Phaedra has\nslain herself in grief and shame because her honor has been violated\nby the king's own son, Hippolytus. Thereupon Theseus curses his son,\nand calls on Neptune to destroy him, offering this as one of the three\nrequests which, in accordance with the promise of the god, should not\nbe denied.\n\nHere enters Hippolytus, hearing the sound of his father's voice. He\nlooks in amazement upon the corpse of Phaedra, and begs his father\nto explain her death. Theseus, supposing that his son conceals a\nguilty conscience, makes no direct answer, but inveighs against the\nspecious arts of man. This strange speech, and still more the manner\nof his father, now show Hippolytus that he himself is connected in his\nfather's mind with Phaedra's death; and he seeks to know who has thus\ncalumniated him. The wrath of Theseus now breaks over all bounds. He\ncharges his son with the dishonor and murder of his wife, and with\nwithering scorn taunts him with his former professions of purity.\nHippolytus protests his innocence, but Theseus continues obdurate, and\nproduces the fatal letter in proof of his statements. Then the youth\nrealizes the terrible mesh of circumstances in which he is taken; but,\nbound by his oath of secrecy, he endures in silence. After Theseus has\npronounced the doom of exile upon him, and retired within the gates, he\nhimself goes forth to seek his comrades and acquaint them with his fate.\n\n _Third episode._--Theseus, just returned to earth from hades, and\n with all the horrors of the lower world still upon him, briefly\n refers to his dreadful experiences and his escape by the aid of\n Hercules. Then, hearing the sounds of lamentation, he asks the\n cause. He is told by the nurse that Phaedra, for some reason which\n she will not disclose, has resolved on immediate self-destruction.\n Rushing into the palace, he encounters Phaedra just within. After\n urgent entreaties and threats from Theseus, she confesses that she\n is determined to die in order to remove the stain upon her honor;\n and without mentioning the name of him who has ruined her, she\n shows the sword which Hippolytus has left behind in his flight.\n This is at once recognized by Theseus, who flies into a wild\n passion of horror, rage, and bitter scorn. He vows dire vengeance\n upon his son, which shall reach him wherever he may flee; and ends\n by claiming from Neptune, as the third of the boons once granted\n him, that the god will destroy Hippolytus.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the precarious life\nof man, lauds the golden mean, and prays for the blessings of life\nwithout conspicuous fame. No man can hope for continued security in\nlife, when such a youth as Hippolytus is driven off by Theseus' ire. It\nlaments that no longer will his steeds, his lyre, his wonted woodland\nhaunts know the well-loved youth; and reproaches the gods that they did\nnot better screen their guiltless votary.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus complains that while nature\n is so careful to maintain the order of the heavenly bodies, the\n atmospheric phenomena, the seasons, and the productiveness of\n wealth, for the affairs of men alone she has no care. These go all\n awry. Sin prospers and righteousness is in distress. Verily, it\n does not at all profit a man to strive to live uprightly, since all\n the rewards of life go to the vain and profligate. While the case\n of Hippolytus is not mentioned, it is clearly in mind throughout.\n\n_Exode._--The last words of the chorus are interrupted by the approach\nof a messenger who hastily inquires for the king. As the latter comes\nforth from the palace, the messenger announces the death of his son.\nAt the king's request he gives a detailed account of the disaster: how\nHippolytus was driving his fiery coursers along the shore, when Neptune\nsent a monstrous bull from out the sea, which drove the horses to a\npanic of fear; how the car was at length dashed against a ragged cliff,\nand Hippolytus dragged, bruised and bleeding, by the maddened horses;\nhow, though yet living, he could not long survive. Theseus expresses\npleasure at his son's sufferings, and bids that he be brought into his\npresence that he may behold his punishment.\n\nThe chorus interjects a single strophe, acknowledging Venus as the\nunrivaled queen of heaven and earth.\n\nDiana now appears to Theseus and reveals to him the whole truth,\nexplaining the infatuation of the queen, the fatal letter, and the\nwiles of Venus. The father is filled with horror and remorse. Diana\ntells him that he may yet hope for pardon for his sin, since through\nthe wiles of Venus, which she herself could not frustrate, the deed was\ndone.\n\nHere the dying Hippolytus is borne in by his friends. In his agony he\nprays for death; but by the voice of his loved goddess he is soothed\nand comforted. After a touching scene of reconciliation between the\ndying prince and his father, the youth perishes, leaving Theseus\novercome with grief.\n\n _Exode._--A messenger, hurrying in, announces to Theseus the\n death of his son. Theseus receives the news calmly and asks for a\n detailed account. The messenger relates how Hippolytus had yoked\n his horses to his car and was driving madly along the highway by\n the sea, when suddenly the waves swelled up and launched a strange\n monster in the form of a bull upon the land. This monster charged\n upon Hippolytus, who fronted the beast with unshaken courage. But\n in the end the horses became unmanageable through fright, and\n dragged their master to his death among the rocks. The body of the\n hapless Hippolytus has been torn in pieces and scattered far and\n wide through the fields; and even now attendants are bringing these\n in for burning on the pyre. Theseus laments, not because his son is\n dead, but because it is through his, the father's, act.\n\n The chorus expatiates upon the fact that the blows of fate fall\n heavily upon men of exalted condition, but spare the humble. The\n great Theseus, once so mighty a monarch, but now so full of woe, is\n an example of this truth. It has not profited him to escape from\n hades, since now his son has hastened thither.\n\n But now their attention is turned to Phaedra who appears, wailing\n aloud, and with a drawn sword in hand. She rails at Theseus as\n the destroyer of his house, weeps over the mangled remains of\n Hippolytus, confesses to Theseus that her charge against his son\n was false, and ends by falling upon the sword.\n\n Theseus, utterly crushed by the weight of woe that has fallen upon\n him, prays only that he may return to the dark world from which he\n has just escaped.\n\n The chorus reminds him that he will find ample time for mourning,\n and that he should now pay due funeral honors to his son. Whereat\n Theseus bids all the fragments be hunted out and brought before\n him. These he fits together as best he can, lamenting bitterly as\n each new gory part is brought to him.\n\n He ends by giving curt command for the burial of Phaedra, with a\n prayer that the earth may rest heavily upon her.\n\n\n_THE MAIDENS OF TRACHIN_ OF SOPHOCLES, AND THE _HERCULES OETAEUS_ OF\nSENECA\n\n_Prologue._--In the courtyard of her palace in Trachin, Deianira\nrecounts to her attendants and the chorus of Trachinian maidens how her\nhusband had won her from the river god, Achelo\u00fcs, and how, during all\nthese years, she has lived in fear and longing for her husband, who has\nbeen kept constantly wandering over the earth by those who hold him in\ntheir power; and even now he has been for many months absent, she knows\nnot where.\n\nAn old servant proposes that she send her son, Hyllus, abroad to seek\nout his father. This the youth, who enters at this juncture, readily\npromises to do, especially on hearing from his mother that the oracle\ndeclares this is the year in which his father shall end his life,\n\n Or, having this his task accomplished,\n Shall, through the coming years of all his life,\n Rejoice and prosper.\n\n _Prologue._--Hercules, about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove after\n having conquered Eurytus, king of Oechalia, recounts at length his\n mighty toils on earth, and prays that now at last he may be given\n his proper place in heaven. He dispatches his herald, Lichas, home\n to Trachin, to tell the news of his triumph, and to conduct the\n train of captives thither.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus prays to Helios, the bright\nsun-god, for tidings of Hercules, for Deianira longs for him, and\n\"ever nurses unforgetting dread as to her husband's paths.\" Hercules\nis tossed upon the stormy sea of life, now up, now down, but ever\nkept from death by some god's hands. Deianira should, therefore, be\ncomforted:\n\n For who hath known in Zeus forgetfulness\n Of those he children calls?\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--The place of the chorus entry, which\n should be filled by the chorus proper, composed of Aetolian\n maidens, is taken by the band of captive Oechalian maidens. They\n bewail their lot and long for death; they dwell upon the utter\n desolation of their fatherland, and upon the hard-heartedness of\n Hercules who has laid it waste.\n\n Iole, their princess, joins in their lamentations, recalls the\n horrors of her native city's overthrow, and looks forward with\n dread to her captivity.\n\n_First episode._--Deianira confides to the chorus her special cause for\ngrief: she feels a strong presentiment that Hercules is dead; for, when\nhe last left home, he left a tablet, as it were a will, disposing of\nhis chattels and his lands,\n\n and fixed a time,\n That when for one whole year and three months more\n He from his land was absent, then 'twas his\n Or in that self-same hour to die, or else,\n Escaping that one crisis, thenceforth live with life unvexed.\n\nAt this moment, however, a messenger enters and announces the near\napproach of Hercules accompanied by his spoils of victory.\n\n _First episode._--During the interval just preceding this episode,\n the captives have been led to Trachin, Deianira has seen the beauty\n of Iole, and learned of Hercules' infatuation for her. She has by\n this news been thrown into a mad rage of jealousy, and counsels\n with her nurse as to how she may take vengeance upon her faithless\n husband, while the nurse vainly advises moderation.\n\n The nurse at last suggests recourse to magic, professing herself\n to be proficient in these arts. This suggests to Deianira the use\n of that blood of Nessus which the dying centaur had commended to\n her as an infallible love-charm. She takes occasion to relate at\n length the Nessus incident. She at once acts upon her decision to\n use the charm; and speedily, with the nurse's aid, a gorgeous robe\n is anointed with the blood, and this is sent by Lichas' hand to\n Hercules.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus voices its exultant joy over this\nglad and unexpected news.\n\n _First choral interlude._--The chorus of Aetolian women, who\n have followed Deianira from her girlhood's home to this refuge\n in Trachin, now tender to her their sympathy in her present\n sufferings. They recall all their past intercourse with her, and\n assure her of their undying fidelity.\n\n This suggests the rarity of such fidelity especially in the courts\n of kings, and they discourse at large upon the sordidness and\n selfishness of courtiers in general. The moral of their discourse\n is that men should not aspire to great wealth and power, but should\n choose a middle course in life, which only can bring happiness.\n\n_Second episode._--Lichas, the personal herald of Hercules, now enters,\nfollowed by Iole and a company of captive women. He explains to\nDeianira how Hercules had been driven on by petty persecutions to slay\nIphitus, the son of Eurytus, treacherously; how he had for this been\ndoomed by Zeus to serve Omphale, queen of Lydia, for a year; and how in\nrevenge he has now slain Eurytus, and even now is sending home these\nOechalian captives as spoil; Hercules himself is delaying yet a little\nwhile in Euboea, until he has sacrificed to Cenaean Jove.\n\nDeianira looks in pity upon the captives praying that their lot may\nnever come to her or hers; and is especially drawn in sympathy to one\nbeautiful girl, who, however, will answer no word as to her name and\nstate.\n\nAs all are passing into the palace, the messenger detains Deianira and\ntells her the real truth which Lichas has withheld: that this seemingly\nunknown girl is Iole, daughter of Eurytus; that it was not in revenge\nbut for love of Iole that Hercules destroyed her father's house, and\nthat he is now sending her to his own home not as his slave, but\nmistress, and rival of his wife.\n\nLichas, returning from the palace, on being challenged by the messenger\nand urged by Deianira to speak the whole truth, tells all concerning\nHercules' love for Iole.\n\nDeianira receives this revelation with seeming equanimity and\nacquiescence.\n\n _Second episode._--Deianira comes hurrying distractedly out of the\n palace, and relates her discovery as to the horrible and deadly\n power of the charm which she has sent to her husband.\n\n While she is still speaking, Hyllus rushes in and cries out to\n his mother to flee from the wrath of Hercules, whose dreadful\n sufferings, after putting on the robe which his wife had sent to\n him, the youth describes at length. He narrates also the death\n of Lichas. The suffering hero is even now on his way by sea from\n Euboea, in a death-like swoon, and will soon arrive at Trachin.\n\n Deianira, smitten with quick repentance, begs Jupiter to destroy\n her with his wrathful thunderbolts. She resolves on instant\n self-destruction, though Hyllus and the nurse vainly try to\n dissuade her, and to belittle her responsibility for the disaster;\n and in the end she rushes from the scene, Hyllus following.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The chorus briefly reverts to the battle of\nAchelo\u00fcs and Hercules for the hand of Deianira.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus, contemplating the changing\n fates of their prince's house, is reminded of the saying of\n Orpheus, \"that naught for endless life is made.\" This leads to an\n extended description of Orpheus' sweet music and its power over all\n things, both animate and inanimate, and suggests the story of his\n unsuccessful attempt to regain Eurydice.\n\n Returning to the original theme, the chorus speculates upon the\n time when all things shall fall into death, and chaos resume her\n primeval sway.\n\n It is startled out of these thoughts by loud groans, which prove to\n be the outcries of Hercules, borne home to Trachin.\n\n_Third episode._--Deianira tells to the chorus the story of how Nessus,\nthe centaur, had once insulted her, and for this had been slain by\nHercules with one of his poisoned arrows; how, also, the centaur in\ndying had given her a portion of his blood, saying this would be a\ncharm able to restore to her her husband's wandering love. She now\nresolves to use this charm. She anoints a gorgeous robe with the blood\nwhich she has preserved through all these years, and bids Lichas carry\nthis to her lord as a special gift from her. He is to wear it as he\noffers his sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, Lichas departs upon this mission.\n\n _Third episode._--Hercules in his ravings warns Jove to look well\n to his heavens, since now their defender is perishing. The giants\n will be sure to rise again and make another attempt upon the skies.\n He bitterly laments that he, who has overcome so many monsters,\n must die at last, slain by a woman's hand, and that woman not Juno,\n nor even an Amazon:\n\n Ah, woe is me,\n How often have I 'scaped a glorious death!\n What honor comes from such an end as this?\n\n His burning pains coming on again, he cries out in agony, and\n describes the abject misery and weakness that have come upon him.\n Are these the shoulders, the hands, the feet, that were once so\n strong to bear, so terrible to strike, so swift to go? He strives\n to apprehend and tear away the pest that is devouring him, but it\n is too deep-hidden in his frame. He curses the day that has seen\n him weep and beseeches Jove to smite him dead with a thunderbolt.\n\n Alcmena enters, and, while she herself is full of grief, she\n strives to soothe and comfort her suffering son. He falls into a\n delirium, and thinks that he is in the heavens, looking down upon\n Trachin. But soon he awakes, and, realizing his pains once more,\n calls for the author of his misery, that he may slay her with his\n own hands.\n\n Hyllus, who has just entered from the palace, now informs his\n father that Deianira is already dead, and by her own hand; that\n it was not her fault, moreover, but by the guile of Nessus, that\n Hercules is being done to death. The hero recognizes in this the\n fulfilment of an oracle once delivered to him:\n\n By the hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day,\n Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low.\n\n And he comforts himself with the reflection that such an end as\n this is meet, for\n\n Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules\n Survive to tell the tale.\n\n He now bids Philoctetes prepare a mighty pyre on neighboring Mount\n Oeta, and there take and burn his body, still in life. Hyllus he\n bids to take the captive princess, Iole, to wife. He calls upon his\n mother, Alcmena, to comfort her grief by pride in her great son's\n deeds on earth, and the noble fame which he has gained thereby.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The chorus prays for the early and safe\nreturn of Hercules from where he lingers:\n\n Thence may lie come, yea, come with strong desire,\n Tempered by suasive spell\n Of that rich unguent, as the monster spake.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus bids all nature mourn the\n death of Hercules. Verily the earth is bereft of her defender, and\n there is no one left to whom she may turn if again harassed by\n monsters. They speculate upon the place of the departed Hercules.\n Shall he sit in judgment among the pious kings of Crete in hades,\n or shall he be given a place in heaven? At least on earth he shall\n live in deathless gratitude and fame.\n\n_Fourth episode._--Deianira discovers by experiment, now that it is too\nlate, the destructive and terrible power of the charm which she has\nsent, and is filled with dire forebodings as to the result.\n\nHer lamentations are interrupted by Hyllus, who comes hurrying in; he\ncharges his mother with the murder of his father, and curses her. He\nthen describes the terrible sufferings that have come upon the hero\nthrough the magic robe, and how Hercules, in the madness of pain, has\nslain Lichas, as the immediate cause of his sufferings. He has brought\nhis father with him from Euboea to Trachin. Deianira withdraws into the\npalace, without a word, in an agony of grief.\n\n_Fourth choral interlude._--The chorus recalls the old oracle that\nafter twelve years the son of Zeus should gain rest from toil, and sees\nin his impending death the fulfilment of this oracle. They picture the\ngrief of Deianira over her act, and foresee the great changes that are\ncoming upon their prince's house.\n\n_Fifth episode._--The nurse rushes in from the palace, and tells how\nDeianira has slain herself with the sword, bewailing the while the\nsufferings which she has unwittingly brought on Hercules; and how\nHyllus repents him of his harshness toward his mother, realizing that\nshe was not to blame.\n\n_Fifth choral interlude._--The chorus pours out its grief for the\ndouble tragedy. And now it sees Hyllus and attendants bearing in the\ndying Hercules.\n\n_Exode._--Hercules, awaking from troubled sleep, laments the calamity\nthat has befallen him; he chides the lands which he has helped, that\nnow they do not hasten to his aid; and prays Hyllus to kill him with\nthe sword, and so put him out of his misery.\n\nHe denounces Deianira because she has brought suffering and destruction\nupon him which no foe, man or beast, has ever been able to bring. He\ncurses his own weakness, and laments that he must weep and groan like a\nwoman.\n\nHe marvels that his mighty frame, which for years has withstood so many\nmonsters, which he recounts at length, can now be so weak and wasted.\nReverting to his wife, he bids that she be brought to him that he may\nvisit punishment upon her.\n\nHyllus informs his father that Deianira has died by her own hand, for\ngrief at what she has unwittingly brought upon her dear lord. It was,\nindeed, through Nessus' guile that the deed was done.\n\nHercules, on hearing this, recognizes the fulfilment of the oracle;\n\n Long since it was reveal\u00e9d of my sire\n That I should die by hand of none that live,\n But one who, dead, had dwelt in hades dark.\n\nHe exacts an oath of obedience from Hyllus, and then bids him bring\nhis father to Mount Oeta, and there place him upon a pyre for burning.\nHyllus reluctantly consents in all but the actual firing of the pyre.\nThe next request is concerning Iole, that Hyllus should take her as his\nwife. This mandate he indignantly refuses to obey, but finally yields\nassent. And in the end Hercules is borne away to his burning, while the\nchorus mournfully chants its concluding comment:\n\n What cometh no man may know;\n What is, is piteous for us,\n Base and shameful for them;\n And for him who endureth this woe,\n Above all that live hard to bear.\n\n _Exode._--Philoctetes enters, and, in response to the questions of\n the nurse, describes the final scene on Oeta's top. There a mighty\n pyre is built, on which Hercules joyfully takes his place. There he\n reclines, gazing at the heavens, and praying his father, Jupiter,\n to take him thither, in compensation for his service on the earth.\n His prayer seems to be answered, and he cries aloud:\n\n \"But lo, my father calls me from the sky,\n And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!\"\n And as he spake his face was glorified.\n\n He presents his famous bow and arrows to Philoctetes, bidding him\n for this prize apply the torch and light the pyre, which his friend\n most reluctantly does. The hero courts the flames, and eagerly\n presses into the very heart of the burning mass.\n\n In the midst of this narrative, Alcmena enters, bearing in her\n bosom an urn containing the ashes of Hercules. The burden of her\n lament is that so small a compass and so pitiful estate have come\n to the mighty body of her son, which one small urn can hold. But\n when she thinks upon his deeds, her thoughts fly to the opposite\n pole:\n\n What sepulcher, O son, what tomb for thee\n Is great enough? Naught save the world itself.\n\n Then she takes up in quickened measures her funeral song of\n mourning in the midst of which the deified Hercules, taking shape\n in the air above, speaks to his mother, bidding her no longer\n mourn, for he has at last gained his place in heaven.\n\n The chorus strikes a fitting final note, that the truly brave are\n not destined to the world below:\n\n But when life's days are all consumed,\n And comes the final hour, for them\n A pathway to the gods is spread\n By glory.\n\n\nTHE _TROADES_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _TROADES_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--Neptune appearing from the depths of the sea, briefly\nrecounts the story of the overthrow of Troy, which he laments, states\nthe present situation of the Trojan women, dwells upon the especial\ngrief of Hecuba, and places the blame for all this ruin upon Minerva:\n\n But, oh my town, once flourishing, once crowned\n With beauteous-structured battlements, farewell!\n Had not Minerva sunk thee in the dust,\n On thy firm base e'en now thou mightst have stood.\n\nTo him appears Minerva, who, though she had indeed helped the Greeks\nto their final triumph over Troy, had been turned against them by the\noutrage of Cassandra on the night of Troy's overthrow. She now makes\ncommon cause with Neptune, and plans for the harassing of the Greek\nfleet by storm and flood on the homeward voyage. The Greeks are to be\ntaught a lesson of reverence:\n\n Unwise is he, whoe'er of mortals storms\n Beleaguered towns, and crushed in ruins wastes\n The temples of the gods, the hallowed tombs\n Where sleep the dead; for he shall perish soon.\n\n[The two gods disappear.]\n\nHecuba, lying prone upon the ground before Agamemnon's tent, gives\nvoice to her sufferings of body and of spirit; laments her accumulated\nlosses of home, friends, station, liberty; blames Helen for all, and\ncalls upon the chorus of captive women to join her in lamentation.\n\n _Prologue._--Hecuba bewails the fall of Troy, and draws from it a\n warning to all who are high in power:\n\n For of a truth did fortune never show\n In plainer wise the frailty of the prop\n That doth support a king.\n\n She graphically describes the mighty power and mighty fall of her\n husband's kingdom, and portrays the awe with which the Greeks\n behold even their fallen foe. She asserts that the fire by which\n her city has been consumed sprang from her, the brand that she\n had dreamed of in her dream before the birth of Paris. She dwells\n horribly upon the death of Priam which she had herself witnessed.\n\n But still the heavenly powers are not appeased.\n\n The captives are to be allotted to the Greek chiefs, and even now\n the urn stands ready for the lots.\n\n Hecuba next calls upon the chorus of Trojan women to join her in\n lamenting their fallen heroes, Hector and Priam.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus with Hecuba indulges in\nspeculation as to the place of their future home, speaking with hope of\nsome Greek lands, and deprecating others.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus, under the direction of\n Hecuba as chorus leader, in true oriental fashion, bewails the\n downfall of Troy, and in particular the death of Priam and Hector.\n\n_First episode._--Talthybius, the herald, enters and announces that the\nlots have been drawn, and reveals to each captive her destined lord:\nthat Cassandra has fallen to Agamemnon, Andromache to Pyrrhus, Hecuba\nto Ulysses. At news of this her fate, Hecuba is filled with fresh\nlamentations, counting it an especial hardship that she should fall\nto the arch-enemy of her race. The herald also darkly alludes to the\nalready accomplished fate of Polyxena,\n\n At the tomb raised to Achilles doomed to serve.\n\nHecuba does not as yet catch the import of these words.\n\nCassandra now enters, waving a torch, and celebrates in a mad refrain\nher approaching union with Agamemnon. Hecuba remonstrates with her for\nher unseemly joy; whereupon Cassandra declares that she rejoices in the\nprospect of the vengeance upon Agamemnon which is to be wrought out\nthrough this union. She contrasts the lot of the Greeks and Trojans\nduring the past ten years, and finds that the latter have been far\nhappier; and even in her fall, the woes of Troy are far less than\nthose that await the Greek chieftains. She then prophesies in detail\nthe trials that await Ulysses, and the dire result of her union with\nAgamemnon:\n\n Thou shalt bear me\n A fury, an Erinys from this land.\n\nHecuba here falls in a faint, and, upon being revived, again recounts\nher former high estate, sadly contrasts with that her present\ncondition, and shudders at the lot of the slave which awaits her:\n\n Then deem not of the great\n Now flourishing as happy, ere they die.\n\n _First episode._--Talthybius announces that the shade of Achilles\n has appeared with the demand that Polyxena be sacrificed upon the\n hero's tomb.\n\n Enter Pyrrhus and Agamemnon, the former demanding that his father's\n request be carried out, the latter resisting the demand as too\n barbarous to be entertained. It is finally agreed to leave the\n decision to Calchas. He is accordingly summoned, and at once\n declares that only by the death of the maiden can the Greeks be\n allowed to set sail for home. And not this alone, but Astyanax also\n must be sacrificed--hurled from the lofty Scaean tower of Troy.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus graphically describes the wooden\nhorse, its joyful reception by the Trojans into the city, their sense\nof relief from danger, and their holiday spirit; and at last their\nhorrible awakening to death at the hands of the Greeks within the walls.\n\n _First choral interlude._--The chorus maintains that all perishes\n with the body; the soul goes out into nothingness:\n\n For when within the tomb we're laid,\n No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.\n Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast,\n This animating spirit soon has passed.\n\n The evident purpose of these considerations is to discount the\n story that Achilles' shade could have appeared with its demand for\n the death of Polyxena.\n\n_Second episode._--The appearance of Andromache with Astyanax in her\narms, borne captive on a Grecian car, is a signal for general mourning.\nShe announces her own chief cause of woe:\n\n I, with my child, am led away, the spoil\n Of war; th' illustrious progeny of kings,\n Oh, fatal change, is sunk to slavery.\n\nHer next announcement comes as a still heavier blow to Hecuba:\n\n Polyxena, thy daughter, is no more;\n Devoted to Achilles, on his tomb,\n An offering to the lifeless dead, she fell.\n\nAndromache insists that Polyxena's fate is happier than her own; argues\nthat in death there is no sense of misery:\n\n Polyxena is dead, and of her ills\n Knows nothing;\n\nwhile Andromache still lives to feel the keen contrast between her\nformer and her present lot.\n\nHecuba is so sunk in woe that she can make no protest, but advises\nAndromache to forget the past and\n\n honor thy present lord,\n And with thy gentle manners win his soul;\n\nthis with the hope that she may be the better able to rear up Astyanax\nto establish once more some day the walls and power of Troy.\n\nBut the heaviest stroke is yet to fall. Talthybius now enters and\nannounces with much reluctance that Ulysses has prevailed upon the\nGreeks to demand the death of Astyanax for the very reason that he may\ngrow up to renew the Trojan war. The lad is to be hurled from a still\nstanding tower of Troy. The herald warns Andromache that if she resist\nthis mandate she may be endangering the boy's funeral rites. She yields\nto fate, passionately caressing the boy, who clings fearfully to her,\npartly realizing his terrible situation. The emotional climax of the\nplay is reached, as she says to the clinging, frightened lad:\n\n Why dost thou clasp me with thy hands, why hold\n My robes, and shelter thee beneath my wings\n Like a young bird?\n\nShe bitterly upbraids the Greeks for their cruelty, and curses Helen as\nthe cause of all her woe, and then gives the boy up in an abandonment\nof defiant grief:\n\n Here, take him, bear him, hurl him from the height,\n If ye must hurl him; feast upon his flesh:\n For from the gods hath ruin fall'n on us.\n\nAnd now what more can happen? Surely the depth of misfortune has been\nsounded. In the voice of Hecuba:\n\n Is there an ill\n We have not? What is wanting to the woes\n Which all the dreadful band of ruin brings?\n\n _Second episode._--Andromache appears with Astyanax and recounts a\n vision of Hector which she has had, in which her dead husband has\n warned her to hide the boy away beyond the reach of threatening\n danger. After discussion with an old man as to the best place of\n concealment, she hides Astyanax in Hector's tomb which is in the\n near background.\n\n Enter Ulysses, who reluctantly announces that Calchas has warned\n the Greeks that they must not allow the son of Hector to grow to\n manhood; for if they do so, the reopening of the Trojan war will\n be only a matter of time, and the work will have to be done all\n over again. He therefore asks Andromache to give up the boy to\n him. Then ensues a war of wits between the desperate mother and\n the crafty Greek. She affects not to know where the boy is--he is\n lost. But if she knew, no power on earth should take him from her.\n Ulysses threatens death, which she welcomes; he threatens torture,\n which she scorns. She at last states that her son is \"among the\n dead.\" Ulysses, taking these words at their face meaning, starts\n off gladly to tell the news to the Greeks, but suddenly reflects\n that he has no proof but the mother's word. He therefore begins to\n watch Andromache more narrowly, and discovers that her bearing is\n not that of one who has put her grief behind her, but of one who is\n still in suspense and fear. To test her, he suddenly calls to his\n attendants to hunt out the boy. Looking beyond her he cries: \"Good!\n he's found! bring him to me.\" Whereat Andromache's agitation proves\n that the boy is indeed not dead but in hiding. Where is he hid?\n Ulysses forces her to choose between the living boy and the dead\n husband; for, unless her son is forthcoming, Hector's tomb will be\n invaded and his ashes scattered upon the sea. To her frantic prayer\n for mercy he says:\n\n Bring forth the boy--and pray.\n\n Follows a _canticum_, in which Andromache brings Astyanax out of\n the tomb and sets him in Ulysses' sight:\n\n Here, here's the terror of a thousand ships!\n\n and prays him to spare the child. Ulysses refuses, and, after\n allowing the mother time for a passionate and pathetic farewell to\n her son, he leads the boy away to his death.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The chorus first tells of the former fall\nof Troy under Hercules and Telamon; and then refers to the high honors\nthat had come to the city through the translation of Ganymede to be the\ncupbearer of Jove, and through the special grace of Venus. But these\nhave not availed to save the city from its present destruction.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--The chorus discusses the various places\n to which it may be its misfortune to be carried into captivity. It\n professes a willingness to go anywhere but to the homes of Helen,\n Agamemnon, and Ulysses.\n\n_Third episode._--Menela\u00fcs appears, announcing that the Greeks have\nalotted to him Helen, his former wife, the cause of all this strife, to\ndo with as he will. He declares his intention to take her to Greece,\nand there destroy her as a warning to faithless wives.\n\nHecuba applauds this decision, and thinks that at last heaven has sent\njustice to the earth:\n\n Dark thy ways\n And silent are thy steps to mortal man;\n Yet thou with justice all things dost ordain.\n\nHelen, dragged forth from the tent at the command of Menela\u00fcs, pleads\nher cause. She lays the blame for all upon Hecuba and Priam:\n\n She first, then, to these ills\n Gave birth, when she gave Paris birth; and next\n The ag\u00e9d Priam ruined Troy and thee,\n The infant not destroying, at his birth\n Denounced a baleful firebrand.\n\nBlame should also fall upon Venus, since through her influence Helen\ncame into the power of Paris.\n\nHecuba refutes the excuses of Helen. She scouts the idea that Venus\nbrought Paris to Sparta. The only Venus that had influenced Helen was\nher own passion inflamed by the beauty of Paris:\n\n My son was with surpassing beauty graced;\n And thy fond passion, when he struck thy sight,\n Became a Venus.\n\nAs for the excuse that she was borne away by force, no Spartan was\naware of that, no cries were heard. Hecuba ends by urging Menela\u00fcs to\ncarry out his threat. This, he repeats, it is his purpose to do.\n\n _Third episode._--Helen approaches the Trojan women, saying that\n she has been sent by the Greeks to deck Polyxena for marriage with\n Pyrrhus, this being a ruse to trick the girl into an unresisting\n preparation for her death. This news Polyxena, though mute,\n receives with horror.\n\n Andromache bitterly cries out upon Helen and her marriages as the\n cause of all their woe. But Helen puts the whole matter to this\n test:\n\n Count this true,\n If 'twas a Spartan vessel brought me here.\n\n Under the pointed questions of Andromache she gives up deception,\n and frankly states the impending doom of Polyxena to be slaughtered\n on Achilles' tomb, and so to be that hero's spirit bride. At this\n the girl shows signs of joy, and eagerly submits herself to Helen's\n hands to be decked for the sacrificial rite.\n\n Hecuba cries out at this, and laments her almost utter\n childlessness; but Andromache envies the doomed girl her fate.\n\n Helen then informs the women that the lots have been drawn and\n their future lords determined; Andromache is to be given to\n Pyrrhus, Cassandra to Agamemnon, Hecuba to Ulysses.\n\n Pyrrhus now appears to conduct Polyxena to her death, and is\n bitterly scorned and cursed by Hecuba.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The chorus sadly recalls the sacred rites in\nTroy and within the forests of Mount Ida, and grieves that these shall\nbe no more. They lament the untimely death of their warrior husbands,\nwhose bodies have not received proper burial rites, and whose souls\nare wandering in the spirit-world, while they, the hapless wives, must\nwander over sea to foreign homes. They pray that storms may come and\noverwhelm the ships, and especially that Helen may not live to reach\nthe land again.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--The chorus enlarges upon the comfort of\n company to those in grief. Hitherto they have had this comfort; but\n now they are to be scattered, and each must suffer alone. And soon,\n as they sail away, they must take their last, sad view of Troy, now\n but a smouldering heap; and mother to child will say, as she points\n back to the shore:\n\n See, there's our Troy, where smoke curls high in air,\n And thick, dark clouds obscure the distant sky.\n\n_Exode._--Enter Talthybius, with the dead body of Astyanax borne upon\nthe shield of Hector. He explains that Pyrrhus has hastened home,\nsummoned by news of insurrection in his own kingdom, and has taken\nAndromache with him. He delivers Andromache's request to Hecuba that\nshe give the boy proper burial, and use the hollow shield as a casket\nfor the dead.\n\nHecuba and the chorus together weep over the shield, which recalls\nHector in his days of might, and over the poor, bruised body of the\ndead boy, sadly contrasting his former beauty with this mangled form.\nThey then wrap it in such costly wrappings as their state allows, place\nhim upon the shield, and consign him to the tomb.\n\nTalthybius then orders bands of men with torches to burn the remaining\nbuildings of Troy; and in the light of its glaring flames and with\nthe crashing sound of its falling walls in their ears, Hecuba and her\ncompanions make their way to the waiting ships, while the messenger\nurges on their lagging steps.\n\n _Exode._--The messenger relates with much detail to Hecuba,\n Andromache and the rest, the circumstances of the death of Astyanax\n and Polyxena: how crowds of Greeks and Trojans witnessed both\n tragedies, how both sides were moved to tears at the sad sight, and\n how both victims met their death as became their noble birth.\n\n Andromache bewails and denounces the cruel death of her son, and\n sadly asks that his body be given her for burial; but she is told\n that this is mangled past recognition.\n\n But Hecuba, having now drained her cup of sorrow to the dregs, has\n no more wild cries to utter; she almost calmly bids the Grecians\n now set sail, since nothing bars their way. She longs for death,\n complaining that it ever flees from her, though she has often been\n so near its grasp.\n\n The messenger interrupts, and bids them hasten to the shore and\n board the ships, which wait only their coming to set sail.\n\n\nTHE _AGAMEMNON_ OF AESCHYLUS, AND THE _AGAMEMNON_ OF SENECA\n\n_Prologue._--A watchman, stationed upon the palace roof at Argos,\nlaments the tedium of his long and solitary task; and prays for the\ntime to come when, through the darkness of the night, he shall see the\ndistant flashing of the beacon fire, and by this sign know that Troy\nhas fallen and that Agamemnon is returning home. And suddenly he sees\nthe gleam for which so long he has been waiting. He springs up with\nshouts of joy and hastens to tell the queen. At the same time he makes\ndark reference to that which has been going on within the palace, and\nwhich must now be hushed up.\n\n _Prologue._--The ghost of Thyestes coming from the lower regions\n recites the _motif_ of the play: how he had been most foully dealt\n with by Agamemnon's father, Atreus, and how he had been promised\n revenge by the oracle of Apollo through his son Aegisthus, begotten\n of an incestuous union with his daughter. The ghost announces that\n the time for his revenge is come with the return of Agamemnon from\n the Trojan war, and urges Aegisthus to perform his fated part.\n\n_Parode, or chorus entry._--A chorus of twelve Argive elders sings of\nthe Trojan War, describing the omens with which the Greeks started on\ntheir mission of vengeance. They dwell especially upon the hard fate\nwhich forced Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter. And in this they\nunconsciously voice one of the motives which led to the king's own\ndeath.\n\n _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Argive women complains\n of the uncertain condition of exalted fortune, and recommends the\n golden mean in preference to this.\n\n_First episode._--Clytemnestra appears with a stately procession\nof torch-bearers, having set the whole city in gala attire, with\nsacrificial incense burning on all the altars. The chorus asks the\nmeaning of this. Has she had news from Troy? The queen replies that\nthis very night she has had news, and describes at length how the\nsignal fires had gleamed, and thus the news had leaped from height to\nheight, all the long way from Troy to Argos.\n\n And this sure proof and token now I tell thee,\n Seeing that my lord hath sent it me from Troy.\n\nShe expresses the hope that the victors in their joy will do nothing to\noffend the gods and so prevent their safe return:\n\n May good prevail beyond all doubtful chance!\n For I have got the blessing of great joy.\n\nWith these words she covers up the real desires of her own false heart,\nwhile at the same time voicing the principle on which doom was to\novertake the Greeks.\n\nThe chorus receives Clytemnestra's news with joy and prepares to sing\npraises to the gods, as the queen with her train leaves the stage.\n\n _First episode._--Clytemnestra, conscious of guilt, and fearing\n that her returning husband will severely punish her on account of\n her adulterous life with Aegisthus, resolves to add crime to crime\n and murder Agamemnon as soon as he comes back to his home. She is\n further impelled to this action by his conduct in the matter of her\n daughter, Iphigenia, and by his own unfaithfulness to her during\n his long absence. Throughout this scene the nurse vainly tries to\n dissuade her.\n\n Clytemnestra is either influenced to recede from her purpose by\n the nurse, or else pretends to be resolved to draw back in order\n to test Aegisthus who now enters. In the end, the two conspirators\n withdraw to plan their intended crime.\n\n_First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of Zeus, who has\nsignally disproved the skeptic's claim that\n\n The gods deign not to care for mortal men\n By whom the grace of things inviolable\n Is trampled under foot.\n\nThe shameful guilt of Paris is described, the woe of the wronged\nMenela\u00fcs, and the response of all Greece to his cry for vengeance. But,\nafter all, the chorus is in doubt as to whether the good news can be\ntrue--when a herald enters with fresh news.\n\n _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of Apollo\n for the victory over Troy. To this are added the praises of Juno,\n Minerva, and Jove. In the end the chorus hails the approach of the\n herald Eurybates.\n\n_Second episode._--The herald describes to the chorus the complete\ndownfall of Troy, which came as a punishment for the sin of Paris and\nof the nation which upheld him in it. At the same time the sufferings\nof the Greeks during the progress of the war are not forgotten.\nClytemnestra, entering, prompted by her own guilty conscience, bids\nthe herald tell Agamemnon to hasten home, and take to him her own\nprotestation of absolute faithfulness to him:\n\n who has not broken\n One seal of his in all this length of time.\n\nThe herald, in response to further questions of the chorus, describes\nthe great storm which wrecked the Greek fleet upon their homeward\nvoyage.\n\n _Second episode._--Eurybates announces to Clytemnestra the return\n and approach of Agamemnon, and describes the terrible storm which\n overtook the Greeks upon their homeward voyage. At the command of\n the queen victims are prepared for sacrifice to the gods, and a\n banquet for the victorious Agamemnon. At last the captive Trojan\n women headed by Cassandra are seen approaching.\n\n_Second choral interlude._--The chorus sings of Helen as the bane of\nthe Trojans:\n\n Dire cause of strife with bloodshed in her train.\n\nAnd now\n\n The penalty of foul dishonor done\n To friendship's board and Zeus\n\nhas been paid by Troy, which is likened to a man who fosters a lion's\ncub, which is harmless while still young, but when full grown \"it shows\nthe nature of its sires,\" and brings destruction to the house that\nsheltered it.\n\n _Second choral interlude._--A chorus of captive Trojan women sings\n the fate and fall of Troy; while Cassandra, seized with fits of\n prophetic fury, prophesies the doom that hangs over Agamemnon.\n\n_Third episode._--Agamemnon is seen approaching in his chariot,\nfollowed by his train of soldiers and captives. The chorus welcomes\nhim, but with a veiled hint that all is not well in Argos. Agamemnon\nfittingly thanks the gods for his success and for his safe return, and\npromises in due time to investigate affairs at home.\n\nClytemnestra, now entering, in a long speech of fulsome welcome,\ndescribes the grief which she has endured for her lord's long absence\nin the midst of perils, and protests her own absolute faithfulness\nto him. She explains the absence of Orestes by saying that she has\nintrusted him to Strophius, king of Phocis, to be cared for in the\nmidst of the troublous times. She concludes with the ambiguous prayer:\n\n Ah Zeus, work out for me\n All that I pray for; let it be thy care\n To look to that thou purposest to work.\n\nAgamemnon, after briefly referring to Cassandra and bespeaking kindly\ntreatment for her, goes into the palace, accompanied by Clytemnestra.\n\n _Third episode._--Agamemnon comes upon the scene, and, meeting\n Cassandra, is warned by her of the fate that hangs over him; but\n she is not believed.\n\n_Third choral interlude._--The chorus, though it sees with its own eyes\nthat all is well with Agamemnon, that he is returned in safety to his\nown home, is filled with sad forebodings of some hovering evil which it\ncannot dispel.\n\n _Third choral interlude._--Apropos of the fall of Troy, the chorus\n of Argive women sings the praises of Hercules whose arrows had been\n required by fate for the destruction of Troy.\n\n_Exode._--Clytemnestra returns and bids Cassandra, who still remains\nstanding in her chariot, to join the other slaves in ministering at the\naltar. But Cassandra stands motionless, paying no heed to the words of\nthe queen, who leaves the scene saying:\n\n I will not bear the shame of uttering more.\n\nCassandra now descends from her chariot and bursts into wild and\nwoeful lamentations. By her peculiar clairvoyant power she foresees\nand declares to the chorus the death of Agamemnon at the hands of\nClytemnestra and Aegisthus, as well as the manner of it; she also\nforetells the vengeance which Orestes is destined to work upon the\nmurderers. Her own fate is as clearly seen and announced, as she passes\nthrough the door into the palace.\n\nSoon the chorus hears the death cry of Agamemnon, that he is\n\"struck down with deadly stroke.\" They are faint-heartedly and with\na multiplicity of counsel discussing what it is best to do when\nClytemnestra, with blood-stained garments and followed by a guard of\nsoldiers, enters to them from the palace. The corpses of Agamemnon\nand Cassandra are seen through the door within the palace. The queen\nconfesses, describes, and exults in the murder of her husband. The\nchorus makes elaborate lamentation for Agamemnon, and prophesies that\nvengeance will light on Clytemnestra. But she scorns their threatening\nprophecies. In the end Aegisthus enters, avowing that he has plotted\nthis murder and has at last avenged his father, Thyestes, upon the\nfather of Agamemnon, Atreus, who had so foully wronged Thyestes. The\nchorus curses him and reminds him that Orestes still lives and will\nsurely avenge his father.\n\n _Exode._--Cassandra, either standing where she can see within\n the palace, or else by clairvoyant power, reports the murder of\n Agamemnon, which is being done within.\n\n Electra urges Orestes to flee before his mother and Aegisthus shall\n murder him also. Very opportunely, Strophius comes in his chariot,\n just returning as victor from the Olympic games. Electra intrusts\n her brother to his care, and betakes her own self to the altar for\n protection.\n\n Electra, after defying and denouncing her mother and Aegisthus, is\n dragged away to prison and torture, and Cassandra is led out to her\n death.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF MYTHOLOGICAL SUBJECTS\n\n[References are to the lines of the Latin text. If the passage is\nlonger than one line, only the first line is cited. Line citations to\npassages of especial importance to the subject under discussion are\nstarred. A few historical characters from the _Octavia_ are included in\nthe Index. The names of the characters appearing in these tragedies are\nprinted in large capitals, with the name of the tragedy in which the\ncharacter occurs following in parentheses.]\n\n\nABSYRTUS, a son of Ae\u00ebtes, and brother of Medea. Medea, fleeing with\nJason from Colchis, slew her brother and scattered his mangled remains\nbehind her, in order to retard her father's pursuit, _Med._ 121, 125,\n*131, 452, 473, 911; his dismembered ghost appears to the distracted\nMedea, _ibid._ 963.\n\nABYLA, see CALPE.\n\nACASTUS, son of Pelias, king of Thessaly. He demands Jason and Medea\nfrom Creon, king of Corinth, for vengeance on account of the murder of\nhis father through the machinations of Medea, _Med._ 257, 415, 521, 526.\n\nACHEL\u014cUS, the river-god of the river of the same name. He fought with\nHercules for the possession of Deianira, changing himself into various\nforms, _H. Oet._ *299; defeated by Hercules, _ibid._ *495.\n\nACHERON, one of the rivers of hades, _Thy._ 17; described by Theseus,\n_H. Fur._ 715.\n\nACHILLES, son of Peleus and Thetis, and one of the celebrated Greek\nheroes in the Trojan War. He was connected by birth with heaven\n(Jupiter), the sea (Thetis), and the lower world (Aeacus), _Tro._ 344;\neducated by Chiron, the centaur, _ibid._ 832 hidden by his mother in\nthe court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, in the disguise of a girl's\ngarments, in order to keep him from the war, _ibid._ 213; while there,\nbecame the father of Pyrrhus by De\u00efdamia, daughter of the king, _ibid._\n342; his activities in the early period of the Trojan War, _ibid._\n182; wounds and cures Telephus, _ibid._ *215; overthrows Lyrnessus and\nChrysa, taking captive Brise\u00efs and Chryse\u00efs, _ibid._ 220; effect of\nhis anger on account of the loss of Brise\u00efs, _ibid._ 194 318; example\nof the taming power of love, _Oct._ 814; slays Memnon and trembles at\nhis own victory, _Tro._ *239; slays Penthesilea, the Amazon, _ibid._\n243; works dire havoc among Trojans in revenge for death of Patroclus,\n_Agam._ 619; slays Hector and drags his dead body around walls of Troy,\n_Tro._ 189; is slain by Paris, _ibid._ 347; his ghost appears to the\nGreeks on the eve of their homeward voyage, and demands the sacrifice\nof Polyxena upon his tomb, _ibid._ *170.\n\nACTAEON, a grandson of Cadmus, who accidentally saw Diana bathing in a\npool near Mt. Cithaeron. For this he was changed by the angry goddess\ninto a stag, and in this form was pursued and slain by his own dogs,\n_Oed._ *751; _Phoen._, 14.\n\nACTE, the mistress of Nero who displaced Poppaea, _Oct._ 195.\n\nADM\u0112TUS, see ALCESTIS.\n\nADRASTUS, king of Argos. He received the fugitive Polynices at his\ncourt, gave him his daughter in marriage, and headed the expedition of\nthe Seven against Thebes, in order to reinstate his son-in-law upon the\nthrone, _Phoen._ 374.\n\nAEACUS, son of Jupiter and Europa, father of Peleus; on account of his\njust government on earth he was made one of the judges of spirits in\nhades, _H. Oet._ 1558; _H. Fur._ 734. See under JUDGES IN HADES.\n\nAE\u0112TES, king of Colchis, son of Phoebus and Persa, and father of Medea,\n_Med._ 210; grandeur, extent, and situation of kingdom described,\n_ibid._ 209; wealth of his kingdom, _ibid._ 483; had received a\nwonderful gold-wrought robe from Phoebus as proof of fatherhood; this\nMedea anoints with magic poison, and sends to Cre\u00fcsa, _ibid._ 570; he\nwas despoiled of his realm through the theft of the golden fleece,\n_ibid._ 913.\n\nAEGEUS, see THESEUS.\n\nAEGISTHUS (_Agamemnon_), son of an incestuous union between Thyestes\nand his daughter. His birth was the result of Apollo's advice to\nThyestes, that only thus could he secure vengeance upon the house of\nAtreus, _Agam._ 48, 294; at opening of play he recognizes that the\nfatal day is come for which he was born, _ibid._ 226; lived in guilty\nunion with Clytemnestra, wife of Agamemnon, _ibid. passim._\n\nAEGOCEROS, a poetic expression for the more usual _Capricornus_, the\nzodiacal constellation of the Goat, _Thy._ 864.\n\nAEGYPTUS, see DANA\u00cfDES.\n\nAESCULAPIUS, son of Apollo and the nymph Coronis; he was versed in\nthe knowledge of medicine, was deified, and had the chief seat of his\nworship at Epidaurus, _Hip._ 1022.\n\nAETNA, a volcano in Sicily, _Phoen._ 314; its fires were used as a\ntype of raging heat, _Hip._ 102; _H. Oet._ 285; considered as the seat\nof the forge of Vulcan, _H. Fur._ 106; supposed to be heaped upon the\nburied Titan's breast, _Med._ 410.\n\nAGAMEMNON (_Troades_, _Agamemnon_), king of Mycenae, son of Atreus,\nbrother of Menela\u00fcs, commander of the Greek forces at Troy. He and\nMenela\u00fcs used by Atreus to entrap Thyestes, _Thy._ 325; tamed by the\npower of love, _Oct._ 815; took captive Chryse\u00efs, daughter of the\npriest of Apollo, _Agam._ 175; compelled to give her up, he took from\nAchilles by force his maiden Brise\u00efs, _ibid._ 186; attempts to dissuade\nPyrrhus from the sacrifice of Polyxena to Achilles' ghost, _Tro._ *203;\ninflamed by love for Cassandra, _Agam._ 188, 255; his power magnified\nas the great king who has come unscathed out of a thousand perils,\n_ibid._ 204; his homeward voyage and wreck of his fleet described,\n_ibid._ *421; returns to Mycenae and hails his native land, _ibid._\n782; his murder described by Cassandra who either beholds it through\nthe palace door, or sees it by clairvoyant power, _ibid._ *867. See\nCASSANDRA, CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENIA, PYRRHUS.\n\nAG\u0100VE, a daughter of Cadmus and Harmonia, mother of Pentheus, king\nof Thebes. She, with her sisters, in a fit of Bacchic frenzy, slew\nPentheus on Mt. Cithaeron, rent away his head, and bore it back to\nThebes, _Oed._ 1006; _Phoen._ 15, 363; her shade appears from hades,\nraging still, _Oed._ 616. See PENTHEUS.\n\nAGRIPPINA I, daughter of M. Vipsanius Agrippa and Julia, the daughter\nof Augustus, mother of the emperor Caligula. She died in exile at\nPandataria, _Oct._ *932.\n\nAGRIPPINA II (_Octavia_), daughter of the preceding, wife of Cn.\nDomitius Ahenobarbus, and mother of Nero. She married the emperor\nClaudius, whom she murdered by poison, _Oct._ 26, 45, 165, 340; she\nwas the stepmother of Octavia, and the cause of all her woes, _ibid._\n22; plotted the murder of Silanus, the betrothed lover of Octavia, and\nforced the latter into marriage with Nero, _ibid._ 150; she sought in\nall this her own power and world-wide sway, _ibid._ 155, 612; murdered\nby her own son, Nero, _ibid._ 46, 95, 165; her murder briefly\ndescribed and attributed to Poppaea's influence, _ibid._ 126; described\nin full detail, _ibid._ *310, *600; former high estate and pitiable\ndeath contrasted, _ibid._ 952; her ghost appears to curse Nero for his\nimpieties, _ibid._ *593.\n\nAJAX, son of O\u00efleus, called simply O\u00efleus; his death described, _Med._\n660; for his blasphemous defiance of the gods he was destroyed by\nPallas and Neptune in the great storm which wrecked the Greek fleet on\nits homeward voyage, _Agam._ *532.\n\nAJAX, son of Telamon, crazed with rage because the armor of the dead\nAchilles was awarded to Ulysses, _Agam._ 210.\n\nALCESTIS, wife of Admetus, king of Pherae, for the preservation of\nwhose life she resigned her own, _Med._ 662.\n\nALC\u012aDES, see HERCULES.\n\nALCM\u0112NA (_Hercules Oetaeus_), wife of Amphitryon, a Theban prince,\nbeloved of Jupiter, and mother by him of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 22, 490.\nSee HERCULES.\n\nALCYONE, see CEYX.\n\nALTHAEA, wife of Oeneus, king of Calydonia, and mother of Meleager. In\nrevenge for the latter's slaughter of her two brothers, she burned the\ncharmed billet of wood on which her son's life depended, and so brought\nto pass his death, _Med._ 779; on this account considered as a type of\nunnatural woman, _H. Oet._ 954.\n\nAMALTH\u0112A, the goat of Olenus which fed with its milk the infant Jove,\nand was set as constellation in the sky; not yet known as such in the\ngolden age, _Med._ 313. See OLENUS.\n\nAMAZONS, a race of warlike women who dwelt on the river Thermodon,\n_Med._ 215; even they have felt the influence of love, _Hip._ 575;\nconquered by Bacchus, _Oed._ 479; Clytemnestra compared to them,\n_Agam._ 736; allies of Troy, _Tro._ 12; their queen, Penthesilea, slain\nby Achilles, _ibid._ 243; Hercules laments that if he was fated to die\nby a woman's hand he had not been slain by the Amazon, Hippolyte, _H.\nOet._ 1183. See ANTIOPE, PENTHESILEA, HIPPOLYTE.\n\nAMPH\u012aON, son of Antiope by Jupiter, king of Thebes, and husband of\nNiobe; renowned for his music; built the walls of Thebes by the magic\nof his lyre, _Phoen._ 566; _H. Fur._ 262; his hounds are heard baying\nat the time of the great plague at Thebes, _Oed._ 179; his shade arises\nfrom hades holding still in his hand the wonderful lyre, _ibid._ 612.\n\nAMPHITRYON (_Hercules Furens_), a Theban prince, husband of Alcmena,\nthe mother of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 309; he proves that not he but\nJupiter is the father of Hercules, _ibid._ 440; welcomes Hercules upon\nhis return from hades, _ibid._ 618.\n\nANCAEUS, an Arcadian hero, one of the Argonauts, slain by the\nCalydonian boar, _Med._ 643.\n\nANDROMACHE (_Troades_), wife of Hector and mother of Astyanax; attempts\nto hide and save her son from Ulysses, _Tro._ *430; given by lot to\nPyrrhus, _ibid._ 976. See ASTYANAX.\n\nANTAEUS, a Libyan giant, son of Neptune and Terra, a famous wrestler,\nwho gained new strength by being thrown to mother earth; strangled by\nHercules, who held him aloft in the air, _H. Fur._ 482, 1171; _H. Oet._\n24, 1899; Alcmena fears that a possible son of his may come to vex the\nearth, _H. Oet._ 1788. See HERCULES.\n\nANTIGONE (_Phoenissae_), the daughter of Oedipus and Jocasta; she\nrefuses to desert her father in his blindness and exile, _Phoen._ 51;\nOedipus wonders that such a pure girl should have sprung from so vile a\nhouse, _ibid._ 80; she argues her father's innocence, _ibid._ 203.\n\nANTIOPE, an Amazon, wife of Theseus and slain by him, _Hip._ 226,\n927, 1167; mother of Hippolytus by Theseus, _ibid._ 398; her personal\nappearance and dress described, _ibid._ *398; her stern and lofty\nbeauty inherited by Hippolytus, _ibid._ 659.\n\nANTONIUS (Marc Antony), a great Roman general, defeated by Octavianus\nat the battle of Actium; fled with Cleopatra to Egypt, _Oct._ 518.\n\nAPOLLO, son of Jupiter and Latona, born in Delos, a \"roving land,\" _H.\nFur._ 453; twin brother of Diana, _Med._ 87; the laurel his sacred\ntree, _Agam._ 588; god of the prophetic tripod, _Med._ 86; inspirer\nof priestess at his oracle, _Oed._ 269; god of the bow, is himself\npierced by the arrows of Cupid, _Hip._ 192; killed the dragon Python,\n_H. Fur._ 455; exiled from heaven and doomed to serve a mortal for\nkilling the Cyclopes, he came to earth and kept the flocks of Admetus,\nking of Pherae, _ibid._ 451; _Hip._ 296; hymn in praise of, _Agam._\n310; worshiped as the sun, lord of the sky, under the name of Phoebus\nApollo. See PHOEBUS.\n\nAQUARIUS, the zodiacal constellation, known as the Water-bearer, _Thy._\n865.\n\nARABES, the inhabitants of Arabia, famed for their spice groves, _Oed._\n117; sun-worshipers, _H. Oet._ 793; use poisoned darts, _Med._ 711.\n\nARCTOPHYLAX, the Bear-keeper, a northern constellation, called also\nBo\u00f6tes, according as the two adjacent constellations are called\nthe Bears (_Arctos_, _Ursae_), or the Wagons (_Plaustra_). By a\nstrange mixture of the two conceptions, this constellation is called\n_Arctophylax_ and _custos plaustri_ (\"the wagon's guardian\") in the\nsame connection, _Thy._ 874. See BO\u00d6TES.\n\nARCADIANS, the most ancient race of men, older than the moon, _H. Oet._\n1883; _Hip._ 786.\n\nARCADIAN BEARS, the constellations of the Great and Little Bears, which\nwheel round their course in the northern sky, but do not set, _H. Fur._\n129. See ARCTOS, BEARS, and CALLISTO.\n\nARCADIAN BOAR, captured by Hercules and brought alive to Eurystheus\nas his fourth labor, _Agam._ 832; _H. Fur._ 229; _H. Oet._ 1536. See\nHERCULES.\n\nARCADIAN STAG, captured by Hercules, _H. Fur._ 222. See HERCULES.\n\nARCTOS, a name given to the double constellation of the Great and\nLittle Bears, _Oed._ 507; called also Arcadian stars, _ibid._ 478. See\nBEARS and CALLISTO.\n\nARGO, the name of the ship in which the Greek heroes under Jason sailed\nto Colchis in quest of the golden fleece, _Med._ 361; chorus comments\nupon the rashness of the man who first intrusted his life to a ship,\nand recalls the adventure of the Argonautic heroes, _ibid._ *301; this\nvoyage was impious, since it broke the law of the golden age, that\nthe lands should be severed, not connected by the seas, _ibid._ 335;\nTiphys was the builder and the pilot of the Argo, _ibid._ 3, 318; he\nwas instructed by Minerva, patron goddess of the arts and crafts,\n_ibid._ 3, 365; the Argo had its keel made of wood from the talking oak\nof Dodona, _ibid._ 349; the sailing of the new ship described, _ibid._\n*318; how it escaped the Symplegades, _ibid._ *341; the roll of the\nArgonautic heroes, \"the bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the\ngods,\" _ibid._ *227; nearly all came to a violent death, _ibid._ *607.\n\nARGOS, the capital of Argolis, sacred to Juno, the home of heroes,\n_Agam._ 808; paid homage to Bacchus, after the favor of Juno had been\nwon by him, _Oed._ 486.\n\nARIADNE, daughter of Minos, king of Crete; she fell in love with\nTheseus, and supplied him with a thread by which to find his way out\nof the labyrinth, _Hip._ 662; she fled with Theseus, but was ruined\nand deserted by him on the island of Naxos, _ibid._ 665; and there\nfound and beloved by Bacchus, _Oed._ 448; who made her his wife and\nimmortalized her by setting her as a constellation in the heavens,\n_ibid._ 497; _H. Fur._ 18; _Hip._ 663; pardoned by her father for her\nlove of Theseus, _ibid._ 245.\n\nARIES, the golden-fleeced ram which bore Phrixus and Helle through the\nair, and which was afterward set in the heavens as one of the zodiacal\nconstellations, _Thy._ 850.\n\nASTRAEA, the goddess of Justice, who lived among men during the golden\nage, but finally left the earth because of the sins of man, _Oct_.\n424; she is the zodiacal constellation, Virgo, _H. Oet._ 69; called,\nincorrectly and perhaps figuratively, the mother of Somnus, _H. Fur._\n1068. See JUSTICE.\n\nASTYANAX (_Troades_), the young son of Hector and Andromache, pictured\nas leading his youthful playmates in joyful dance around the wooden\nhorse, _Agam._ 634; compared with his father, Tro. 464; his death\ndemanded by the Greeks, as announced by Calchas, _ibid._ 369; reasons\nfor his death from the standpoint of the Greeks, _ibid._ 526; the doom\nof Astyanax announced to his mother, _ibid._ 620; she pathetically\nrecounts all the activities into which he would have grown, but which\nmust now be given up, _ibid._ *770; his death described by messenger,\n_ibid._ *1068.\n\nATLANTIADES, see PLEIADES.\n\nATLAS, a high mountain in the north-west of Libya, conceived as a giant\nupon whose head the heavens rested, _H. Oet._ 12, 1599; eased awhile of\nhis burden by Hercules, _ibid._ 1905.\n\nATREUS (_Thyestes_), a son of Pelops, father of Agamemnon and Menela\u00fcs,\nand brother of Thyestes, between whom and himself existed a deadly\nfeud. He plans how he will avenge himself upon his brother, _Thy._ 176;\ndescribes his brother's sins against himself, _ibid._ 220; his revenge\ntakes shape and expression, _ibid._ 260; the place and scene of his\nmurder of the sons of Thyestes described at length, _ibid._ *650; he\ngloats over the horrible agony of his brother, _ibid._ 1057.\n\nATTIS, a young Phrygian shepherd, mourned by the priests of Cybele,\n_Agam._ 686.\n\nAUGE, an Arcadian maiden, loved by Hercules, and mother by him of\nTelephus, _H. Oet._ 367.\n\nAUG\u0112AN STABLES, the stables of Augeas, king of Elis, containing three\nthousand head of cattle, and uncleansed for thirty years; they were\ncleaned by Hercules in a single day, _H. Fur._ 247.\n\nAUGUSTUS, the first emperor of Rome; his rule cited by Seneca to Nero\nas a model of strong but merciful sway, _Oct._ *477; his bloody path to\npower described by Nero, _ibid._ *505; deified at death, _ibid._ 528.\n\nAULIS, a seaport of Boeotia, the rendezvous of the Greek fleet, whence\nthey sailed to Troy. Here they were stayed by adverse winds until they\nwere appeased by the sacrifice of Iphigenia, _Agam._ 567; Tro. 164; the\nhostility of Aulis to all ships because her king, Tiphys, had met death\non the Argonautic expedition, assigned as a reason for her detention of\nthe Greek fleet, _Med._ 622. See IPHIGENIA.\n\n\nB\n\nBACCHUS, son of Jupiter and Semele, the daughter of Cadmus. The unborn\ninfant was saved from his dying mother who had been blasted by the\nlightnings of her lover, _Oed._ 502; _Med._ 84; _H. Fur._ 457; to\nescape the wrath of Juno, he was hid in Arabian (or Indian) Nysa,\nwhere, disguised as a girl, he was nourished by the nymphs, _Oed._\n418; in childhood captured by Tyrian pirates, who, frightened by\nmarvelous manifestations of divine power on board their ship, leaped\noverboard and were changed into dolphins, _ibid._ *449; visited\nIndia, accompanied by Theban heroes, _ibid._ *113; _H. Fur._ 903;\nvisited Lydia and sailed on the Pactolus, _Oed._ 467; conquered the\nAmazons and many other savage peoples, _ibid._ 469; god of the flowing\nlocks, crowned with ivy, carrying the thyrsus, _ibid._ 403; _H. Fur._\n472; _Hip._ *753; marvelous powers of the thyrsus described, _Oed._\n*491; attended by his foster father Silenus, _ibid._ 429; called\nBassareus, _Oed._ 432; Bromius, _Hip._ 760; Ogygian Iacchus, _Oed._\n437; Nyctelius, _ibid._ 492; destroyed Lycurgus, king of Thrace,\nbecause of that king's opposition to him, _H. Fur._ 903; inspired his\nmaddened worshipers, the women of Thebes, to rend Pentheus in pieces,\n_Oed._ 441, 483; helped Jupiter in war against the giants, _H. Fur._\n458; found Ariadne on island of Naxos, where she had been deserted\nby Theseus, made her his wife, and set her as a constellation in the\nheavens, _Oed._ 488, 497; _Hip._ 760; _H. Fur._ 18; dithyrambic chorus\nin his praise, giving numerous incidents in his career, _Oed._ **403;\nwon the favor of Juno and the homage of her city of Argos, _ibid._\n486; gained a place in heaven, _H. Oet._ 94. See ARIADNE, BASSARIDES,\nBROMIUS, NYCTELIUS, OGYGES, PENTHEUS, PROETIDES, SEMELE, SILENUS.\n\nBASSARIDES, female worshipers of Bacchus, so called because they were\nclad in fox skins, _Oed._ 432. Hence Bacchus was called _Bassareus_.\n\nBEARS, the northern constellations of the Great and Little Bears;\nthey were forbidden by the jealous Juno to bathe in the ocean (an\nexplanation of the fact that these constellations never set), _H. Oet._\n281, 1585; _Thy._ 477; _Med._ 405; have plunged into the sea under\nthe influence of magic, _ibid._ 758; shall some day, by a reversal of\nnature's laws, plunge beneath the sea, _Thy._ 867; the Great Bear used\nfor steering ships by the Greeks, the Little Bear by the Phoenicians,\n_Med._ 694. See ARCADIAN BEARS, ARCTOS, CALLISTO.\n\nBELIAS, one of the Belides, or grand-daughters of Belus, the same as\nthe Dana\u00efdes, since Dana\u00fcs was the son of Belus, _H. Oet._ 960.\n\nBELLONA, the bloody goddess of war, conceived of as dwelling in hell,\n_H. Oet._ 1312; haunts the palace of kings, _Agam._ 82.\n\nBOEOTIA, land named from the heifer which guided Cadmus to the place\nwhere he should found his city, _Oed._ 722.\n\nBO\u014cTES, the northern constellation of the Wagoner, driving his wagons,\nunder which form also the two Bears are conceived, _Oct._ 233; _Agam._\n70; unable to set beneath the sea, _ibid._ 69; not yet known as a\nconstellation in the golden age, _Med._ 315.\n\nBRIAREUS, one of the giants pictured as storming heaven, _H. Oet._ 167.\n\nBRIS\u0112IS, a captive maiden, beloved by her captor, Achilles, from whom\nshe was taken by Agamemnon, _Tro._ 194, 220, 318.\n\n_Britannicus_, son of the emperor Claudius and Messalina, brother\nof Octavia, and stepbrother of Nero, by whom, at the instigation of\nAgrippina, the mother of Nero, he was murdered, in order that Nero\nmight have undisputed succession to the throne, _Oct._ 47, 67, *166,\n242, 269.\n\nBROMIUS (the \"noisy one\"), an epithet of Bacchus, on account of the\nnoisy celebration of his festivals, _Hip._ 760.\n\nBRUTUS, the friend of Julius Caesar, and yet the leader of the\nconspirators against him, _Oct._ 498.\n\nBUS\u012aRIS, a king of Egypt who sacrificed strangers upon his altars, and\nwas himself slain by Hercules, _Tro._ 1106, _H. Fur._ 483; _H. Oet._\n26; Alcmena fears that a possible son of his may come to vex the earth\nnow that Hercules is dead, _ibid._ 1787.\n\n\nC\n\nCADME\u00cfDES, daughters of Cadmus, e. g., Agave, Autono\u00eb, Ino, who in\ntheir madness tore Pentheus in pieces, _H. Fur._ 758.\n\nCADMUS, son of Agenor, the king of Phoenicia. Being sent by his father\nto find his lost sister, Europa, with the command not to return unless\nsuccessful, he wandered over the earth in vain, and at last founded a\nland of his own (Boeotia), guided thither by a heifer sent by Apollo.\nHere he kills the great serpent sacred to Mars, sows its teeth in the\nearth from which armed men spring up, _Oed._ **712; _H. Fur._ 917;\n_Phoen._ 125; he was at last himself changed to a serpent, _H. Fur._\n392; his house was cursed, so that no king of Thebes from Cadmus on\nheld the throne in peace and happiness, _Phoen._ 644.\n\nCAESAR, Julius, quoted as a mighty general, unconquered in war, but\nslain by the hands of citizens, _Oct._ 500.\n\nCALCHAS (_Troades_), a distinguished seer among the Greeks before Troy;\nhis prophetic power described, _Tro._ *353; he decides that Polyxena\nmust be sacrificed, _ibid._ 360.\n\nCALLISTO, a nymph of Arcadia, beloved of Jove, changed into a bear by\nJuno, and set in the heavens by her lover as the constellation of the\nGreat Bear, while her son Arcas was made the Little Bear, _H. Fur._ 6;\nis the constellation by which the Greek sailors guided their ships,\n_ibid._ 7; called the frozen Bear, _ibid._ 1139. See JUPITER, ARCTOS,\nBEARS.\n\nCALPE, one side of a rocky passage rent by Hercules, thus letting the\nMediterranean Sea into the outer ocean. Calpe was one of the so-called\n\"pillars of Hercules,\" or Gibraltar, while the opposite mass in Africa\nfrom which it was rent was called Abyla, _H. Fur._ 237; _H. Oet._ 1240,\n1253, 1569.\n\nCANCER, the zodiacal constellation of the Crab, in which the sun is\nfound in the summer solstice, _Thy._ 854; _Hip._ 287; _H. Oet._ 41, 67,\n1219, 1573.\n\nCAPHEREUS, a cliff on the coast of Euboea, where Nauplius lured the\nGreek fleet to destruction by displaying false fires, _Agam._ 560. See\nNAUPLIUS.\n\nCAPNOMANT\u012aA, a method of divining by observation of the smoke of the\nsacrifice, described, _Oed._ *325.\n\nCASSANDRA (_Agamemnon_), beloved by Apollo, but false to him; for\nthis, the gift of prophecy bestowed by him was made of no avail by\nhis decree that she should never be believed, _Tro._ 34; _Agam._ 255,\n588; given by lot to Agamemnon in the distribution of the captives,\n_Tro._ 978; raves in prophetic frenzy and describes the murder of\nAgamemnon in progress, _Agam._ *720; is led away to death, rejoicing in\nthe prospect, and predicting the death of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus,\n_ibid._ 1004.\n\nCASTOR, one of the twin sons of Jupiter and Leda, wife of Tyndarus,\nking of Sparta; his brother was Pollux, _Phoen._ 128; Castor was the\nrider of the famous horse, Cyllarus, given to him by Juno, _Hip._ 810;\nthe twins were members of the Argonautic expedition, _Med._ 230; called\nTyndaridae, from the name of their reputed father, _H. Fur._ 14; Castor\na famous horseman, Pollux, a famous boxer, _Med._ 89; the two were set\nas constellations in the sky to the grief of Juno, _Oct._ 208.\n\nCAUCASUS, a rough mountain range between the Black and Caspian Seas,\n_Thy._ 1048; here Prometheus was chained, _H. Oet._ 1378; _Med._ 709.\nSee PROMETHEUS.\n\nCECROPS, the mythical founder and first king of Athens; hence the\nAthenians were called Cecropians, _Med._ 76; _Thy._ 1049.\n\nCENAEUM, a promontory on the north-west point of the island of Euboea;\nhere Hercules sacrificed to Jove, who was called Cenaean Jove from\nthe position of his temple, after his victory over Eurytus, _H. Oet._\n102; while sacrificing here, Hercules donned the poisoned robe sent by\nDeianira, _ibid._ 782.\n\nCENTAURS, a race of wild people in Thessaly, half man, half horse, _H.\nOet._ 1049, 1195, 1925; fight of, with the Lapithae, _H. Fur._ 778; the\ncentaur, Nessus, killed by Hercules, _H. Oet._ *503 See CHIRON, NESSUS.\n\nCERBERUS, the monstrous three-headed dog, guardian of hades, _Thy._ 16;\n_H. Oet._ 23; _H. Fur._ 1107; his existence denied, _Tro._ 404; said\nto have broken out of hades, and to be wandering abroad in the Theban\nland, _Oed._ 171; his clanking chains heard on earth, _ibid._ 581;\nHercules, in the accomplishment of his twelfth labor, brought the dog\nin chains to the upper world, _H. Oet._ 1245; _Agam._ 859; _H. Fur._\n*50, 547; Theseus describes the dog in great detail, and how he was\nbrought to the upper world by Hercules, _ibid._ *760; his actions in\nthe light of day, _ibid._ *813. See HERCULES.\n\nCERES, the daughter of Saturn, sister of Jupiter, mother of Proserpina,\nand goddess of agriculture; her vain and anxious search for her\ndaughter, _H. Fur._ 659; taught Triptolemus the science of agriculture,\n_Hip._ 838; the mystic rites of her worship, _H. Fur._ 845. Her name\nused frequently by metonymy for grain. See ELEUSIN, PROSERPINA,\nTRIPTOLEMUS.\n\nCEYX, king of Trachin who suffered death by shipwreck. His wife\nAlcyone, mourned him incessantly, until finally both he and she were\nchanged into kingfishers, _H. Oet._ 197; _Agam._ 681; _Oct._ 7.\n\nCHAONIAN OAKS, a sacred grove in Chaonia of Epirus containing a temple\nand oracle of Jupiter, said to be the oldest oracle in Greece; the\noracle was supposed to be given out by the oaks themselves, which were\nendowed with the miraculous power of speech, or by the doves which\nresorted there. These great \"Chaonian trees\" are used as a type of tall\ntrees in general, _Oed._ 728; the \"talking oak\" of Chaonia, _H. Oet._\n1623. See DODONA.\n\nCHARON, the aged man who ferries souls across the river Styx, _H. Fur._\n555; his personal appearance described by Theseus, _ibid._ *764; forced\nby Hercules to bear him across the Lethe (not Styx), _ibid._ *770;\noverwearied by his toil of transporting such throngs of Theban dead,\n_Oed._ 166; charmed by the music of Orpheus, _H. Oet._ 1072; Cassandra\nprophesies that his skiff shall on that day carry two royal souls\nacross the river of death, _Agam._ 752.\n\nCHARYBDIS, a whirlpool between Italy and Sicily, opposite to Scylla,\nalternately sucking in and vomiting up the sea, _Med._ 408; _H. Oet_.\n235; _Thy._ 581. See SCYLLA.\n\nCHIMAERA, a monster combining a lion, a dragon, and a goat, which\nvomited forth fire, _Med._ 828.\n\nCHIRON, a centaur dwelling in a cavern on Mt. Pelion, famous for his\nknowledge of plants, medicine, and divination. To his training was\nintrusted the young Jason, Hercules, Aesculapius, and Achilles, _H.\nFur._ 971; _Tro._ 832; set in the sky as the zodiacal constellation of\nSagittarius, the \"Archer,\" _Thy._ 860.\n\nCHRYS\u0112IS, the daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo at Chrysa. She\nwas taken captive by the Greeks and fell to the lot of Agamemnon, who,\nbeing forced by a pestilence sent by Apollo to give her up, claimed\nBrise\u00efs, the captive maid of Achilles. Hence arose a deadly strife\nbetween the two, _Tro._ 223. See ACHILLES.\n\nCIRRHA, a very ancient town in Phocis, near Delphi, where were the\nfamous temple and oracle of Apollo, _Oed._ 269; _H. Oet._ 92, 1475.\n\nCITHAERON, a mountain near Thebes where the infant Oedipus had been\nexposed, _Phoen._ 13; the scene of many wild and tragic deeds. See\nACTAEON, AGAVE, DIRCE, PENTHEUS.\n\nCLAUDIUS, the fourth Roman emperor, father of Octavia, murdered by his\nsecond wife, Agrippina, _Oct._ 26, 45, 269.\n\nCLOTHO, one of the three fates or Parcae, supposed to hold the distaff\nand spin the thread of life, _H. Oet._ 768; _Oct._ 16; _Thy._ 617.\n\nCLYTEMNESTRA (_Agamemnon_), the daughter of Tyndarus and Leda, wife\nof Agamemnon, mother of Orestes, Iphigenia, and Electra. During the\nabsence of her husband at the Trojan War, she engaged in a guilty\nconspiracy with Aegisthus to murder Agamemnon. She deliberates whether\nshe shall give up her course of crime or carry it out to the end,\n_Agam._ 108; tests the courage and determination of Aegisthus _ibid._\n239; her murder of Agamemnon prophesied and described by Cassandra,\n_ibid._ *734. See AGAMEMNON and AEGISTHUS.\n\nCOC\u0232TUS, \"the river of lamentation,\" a gloomy, repulsive river of\nhades, _H. Oet._ 1963; \"sluggish, vile,\" _H. Fur._ 686; conceived as\nthe river over which spirits cross to the land of the dead, _ibid._ 870.\n\nCOLCHIAN BULL, the fire-breathing monster which Jason was set to tame\nand yoke to the plow; Medea claims to have preserved some of his fiery\nbreath for her magic uses, _Med._ 829.\n\nCOLCHIAN WOMAN, See MEDEA.\n\nCREON (_Medea_), king of Corinth, to whose court Jason and Medea fled\nafter they were driven out of Thessaly; father of Cre\u00fcsa, for whom\nhe selected Jason as a husband, decreeing the banishment of Medea;\nheadstrong and arbitrary, he breaks the most sacred ties to work his\nown will, _Med._ 143; after a stormy interview with Medea, he finally\nallows her a single day of respite from exile, _ibid._ *190; called the\nson of Sisyphus, _ibid._ 512; his death and that of his daughter by\nmeans of magic fire announced and described, _ibid._ *879.\n\nCREON (_Oedipus_), a Theban prince, brother of Queen Jocasta, _Oed._\n210; sent by Oedipus to consult the oracle as to the cause of the\nplague at Thebes, he reports that it is because of the unavenged murder\nof their former king, La\u00efus, _ibid._ *210; he returns from necromantic\nrites which Tiresias had performed, and announces that Oedipus himself\nis guilty of the murder of La\u00efus. He is thereupon thrown into prison by\nOedipus on the charge of conspiracy with Tiresias, _ibid._ *509; slain\nby the usurper, Lycus, as described by his daughter, Megara, who had\nbeen given as wife to Hercules, _H. Fur._ 254.\n\nCRETAN BULL, a wild bull of prodigious size, which laid waste the\nisland of Crete; caught and taken alive to Eurystheus by Hercules as\nhis seventh labor, _H. Fur._ 230; _Agam._ 833; See HERCULES.\n\nCRE\u016aSA (_Medea_), daughter of Creon, king of Corinth, for whom Creon\nchose Jason as husband, _Med._ 105; Jason's wife, Medea, bitterly\nprotests that Cre\u00fcsa shall not bear brothers to her children, _ibid._\n509; Jason is charged by his wife with love for Cre\u00fcsa, _ibid._ 495;\nMedea prepares a magic robe as a present for Cre\u00fcsa by which she\nshall be burned to death, _ibid._ *816; Cre\u00fcsa's death announced and\ndescribed, _ibid._ 879.\n\nCRISP\u012aNUS, a Roman knight, the husband of Poppaea, _Oct._ 731.\n\nCUPID, the god of love, son of Venus; addressed and characterized by\nDeianira, _H. Oet._ *541; all powerful over the hearts of gods and men,\n_Hip._ *185; hymn recounting his wide sway, with special instances of\nhis irresistible power, _ibid._ **275; his dire power, _Oct._ 806;\nthere is no such god; he is created by the error of men, who seek to\nhide their own lustful passions behind such a being, _ibid._ **557;\n_Hip._ **275.\n\nCYBELE, a goddess worshiped in the Phrygian groves, _Hip._ 1135; the\npines of Ida were sacred to her, _Tro._ 72; crowned with a turreted\ncrown, her worship described, _Agam._ 686.\n\nCYCLOPES, a fabulous race of giants on the coast of Sicily, having each\nbut one eye in the middle of the forehead; they are said to have built\nthe walls of Mycenae, _H. Fur._ 997; _Thy._ 407; Polyphemus, one of the\nCyclopes, is pictured as sitting on a crag of Mt. Aetna, _ibid._ 582.\n\nCYCNUS, a son of Mars, slain by Hercules, _H. Fur._ 485.\n\nCYCNUS, a son of Neptune, slain by Achilles and changed at the moment\nof death into a swan, _Agam._ 215; _Tro._ 184.\n\nCYLLARUS, a famous horse which Juno received from Neptune and presented\nto Castor, _Hip._ 811.\n\nCYNOS\u016aRA, the constellation of the Lesser Bear, _Thy._ 872.\n\n\nD\n\nDAEDALUS, an Athenian architect, the father of Icarus, in the time of\nTheseus and Minos. He helped Pasipha\u00eb, wife of Minos, to accomplish her\nunnatural desires, _Hip._ 120; built the labyrinth for the Minotaur,\n_ibid._ 122, 1171; story of his escape from Crete on wings which he\nhimself had constructed _Oed._ *822; safe because he pursued a middle\ncourse, _H. Oet._ 683.\n\nDANA\u00cb, daughter of Acrisius, and mother of Perseus by Jupiter who\napproached her in the form of a golden shower, _Oct._ 207, 772. See\nPERSEUS.\n\nDANA\u00cfDES, the fifty daughters of Dana\u00fcs, brother of Aegyptus. These\nfifty daughters, being forced to marry the fifty sons of Aegyptus,\nslew their husbands on their wedding night, with the single exception\nof Hypermnestra, _H. Fur._ 498; their punishment in hades for this\ncrime was the task of filling a bottomless cistern with water carried\nin sieves, _ibid._ 757; Medea summons these to her aid in getting\nvengeance upon her own husband, _Med._ 749; Deianira would fill up the\nvacant place in their number left by the absence of Hypermnestra, _H.\nOet._ 948; called also Belides, _ibid._ 960. See BELIAS, HYPERMNESTRA.\n\nDARDANUS, the son of Jupiter and Electra, one of the ancestors of the\nroyal house of Troy. He is represented as exulting in hades over the\nimpending doom of Agamemnon, the enemy of his house, _Agam._ 773.\n\nDAULIAN BIRD, i. e., Philomela, who was changed into a nightingale\nafter the sad tragedy connected with her name, which was enacted at\nDaulis, a city of Phocis. She mourns continually, in her bird form, for\nItys, _H. Oet._ 192. See PHILOMELA and ITYS.\n\nDEIAN\u012aRA (_Hercules Oetaeus_), the daughter of Oeneus, king of\nCalydonia, sister of Meleager, wife of Hercules, and mother of Hyllus,\npictured as playing with her maidens on the banks of the Achelo\u00fcs, _H.\nOet._ 586; relates to her nurse the affair of her abduction by Nessus,\n_ibid._ *500; her wild rage when she hears of Hercules' infatuation for\nIole, _ibid._ 237; ignorant of its real power, she prepares to send the\ncharmed robe to Hercules, _ibid._ *535; she gives it to Lichas to bear\nto his master, _ibid._ 569; makes test of the remnant of the poisoned\nblood of Nessus after the anointed robe has been sent away and is\nhorrified to discover its terrible power, _ibid._ *716; later learns\nfrom Hyllus the terrible effects of the poison on Hercules, _ibid._\n*742; she prays for death, _ibid._ 842; begs Hyllus to slay her,\n_ibid._ 984; goes distracted and seems to see the furies approaching,\n_ibid._ 1002; her death by her own hand reported by Hyllus, _ibid._\n1420.\n\nDE\u00cfDAM\u012aA, daughter of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, and mother of Pyrrhus\nby Achilles while the latter was hiding in the disguise of maidens'\ngarments at that court, _Tro._ 342.\n\nDE\u00cfPHOBUS, a son of Priam and Hecuba and husband of Helen after the\ndeath of Paris; slain and mangled by the Greeks through the treachery\nof his wife, _Agam._ 749.\n\nDELOS, a small island in the Aegean Sea, formerly floating about from\nplace to place, in which condition it became the birthplace of Apollo\nand Diana, _H. Fur._ 453; made firm at the command of Diana, _Agam._\n384.\n\nDELPHIC ORACLE, the famous oracle of Apollo at Delphi in Phocis;\nexpressed in enigmatic form, _Oed._ 214; the giving-out of an oracle\ndescribed, _ibid._ *225.\n\nDEUCALION, son of Prometheus, husband of Pyrrha; this pair were alone\nsaved of all mankind from the flood, _Tro._ 1039. See PYRRHA.\n\nDI\u0100NA, daughter of Jupiter and Latona; twin sister of Apollo, _H.\nFur._ 905; hymn in praise of, _Agam._ *367; caused her native Delos\nto be a firm island, _ibid._ 369; punished Niobe for her impiety,\n_ibid._ 375; conceived as in triple manifestation, _Luna_ or _Phoebe_\nin heaven, _Diana_ on earth, and _Hecate_ in hades, _Hip._ 412; hence\ncalled _Trivia_ and worshiped where three ways meet, _Agam._ 367;\nHippolytus prays to her as goddess of the chase, _Hip._ 54; her wide\nsway described, ibid. *54; nurse of Phaedra prays that she may turn\nHippolytus to love, _ibid._ 406; in form of Luna, an object of attack\nby Thessalian witchcraft, _ibid._ 421; being slighted by Oeneus, king\nof Aetolia or Calydon, she sent a huge boar to ravage the country.\nHence Pleuron, a city of Aetolia, is said to be hostile to her, _Tro._\n827.\n\nDICTYNNA, \"goddess of the nets,\" an epithet applied to Diana, _Med._\n795; assumed from Britomartys, a Cretan nymph, sometimes called the\nCretan Diana, who, to escape from the pursuit of her lover, leaped over\na cliff into the sea, where she fell into a fishing-net.\n\nDIOM\u0112DES, a bloody king of the Bistones, in Thrace, who fed his\ncaptives to fierce, man-eating horses which he kept in his stalls, _H.\nOet._ 1538; _Tro._ 1108; Hercules, as his eighth labor, captured these\nhorses, having previously fed their master to them, _Agam._ 842; _H.\nFur._ 226, 1170; Alomena fears that she may be given to these horses\nnow that Hercules is dead, _H. Oet._ 1790. See HERCULES.\n\nDIRCE, the wife of Lycus, king of Thebes, who, on account of her\ncruelty to Antiope, was tied by her sons, Zethus and Amphion, by the\nhair to a wild bull, and so dragged to death on Mt. Cithaeron, _Phoen._\n19; changed to a fountain of the same name, _ibid._ 126; _H. Fur._ 916;\nthe water of this fountain was said to flow with blood at the time of\nthe great plague at Thebes, _Oed._ 177.\n\nDISCORD, one of the furies, summoned by Juno from hades to drive\nHercules to madness, _H. Fur._ 93; her abode described, _ibid._ *93.\n\nDOD\u014cNA, a city of Chaonia in Epirus, famous for its ancient oracle of\nJupiter, situated in a grove of oaks. The oracle was given in some\nmysterious way as if by the talking of these sacred oaks, _H. Oet._\n1473; Minerva aided in the construction of the Argo, and set in the\nprow a piece of timber cut from the speaking oak of Dodona, and this\npiece had itself the power of giving oracles; hence the \"voice\" which\nit is said that the Argo lost through fear of the clashing Symplegades,\n_Med._ 349. See CHAONIAN OAKS.\n\nDOMITIUS, the father of Nero, _Oct._ 249.\n\nDRAGON, (1) the guardian of the apples of the Hesperides, slain by\nHercules, and afterward set in the heavens as the constellation, Draco,\nlying between the two Bears, _Thy._ 870; _Med._ 694; (2) the dragon\nof Colchis, guardian of the Golden Fleece, put to sleep by the magic\nof Medea, _Med._ 703; (3) dragon sacred to Mars killed by Cadmus near\nthe site of his destined city of Thebes. The teeth of this dragon were\nsown in the earth by Cadmus, and from these armed men sprung up, _Oed._\n**725; _H. Fur._ 260; a part of these same teeth were sown by Jason in\nColchis with a similar result, _Med._ 469; the brothers who sprang up\nagainst Cadmus are described as living in hades, _Oed._ 586.\n\nDRUSUS, Livius, the fate of, _Oct._ 887, 942.\n\nDRYADS, a race of wood-nymphs, _H. Oet._ 1053; _Hip._ 784.\n\n\nE\n\nECHO, a nymph who pined away to a mere voice for unrequited love of\nNarcissus. She dwells in mountain caves, and repeats the last words of\nall that is said in her hearing, _Tro._ 109.\n\nELECTRA (_Agamemnon_), daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, and\nsister of Orestes; gives her brother to Strophius, king of Phocis,\nthat he may be rescued from death at the hands of Clytemnestra and\nAegisthus, _Agam._ 910; defies her mother, and scorns both her threats\nand those of Aegisthus, _ibid._ 953; is taken away to imprisonment,\n_ibid._ 1000; Octavia compares her woes with Electra's, to the\nadvantage of the latter, _Oct._ 60.\n\nELEUSIN, an ancient city of Attica, famous for its mysteries of Ceres,\n_H. Oet._ 599; _Tro._ 843; _H. Fur._ 300; _Hip._ 838; the celebration\nof the mysteries described, _H. Fur._ *842. See CERES, TRIPTOLEMUS.\n\nELYSIUM, the abode of the blest in the spirit world, _Tro._ 159, 944;\n_H. Oet._ 1916; _H. Fur._ 744; Deianira thinks that she should be\nexpelled from Elysium by all faithful wives, _H. Oet._ 956.\n\nENCELADUS, one of the giant Titans who attempted to dethrone Jove,\noverthrown and buried under Sicily, _H. Fur._ 79; _H. Oet._ 1140, 1145,\n1159, 1735.\n\nERIDANUS, the mythical and poetical name of the river Po, _H. Oet._\n186. See PHA\u00cbTHONTIADES.\n\nERINYES, the furies, _H. Fur._ 982; _Med._ 952; _Oed._ 590; _Agam._\n83; _Thy._ 251; _H. Oet._ 609, 671; _Oet._ 23, 161, 263, 619, 913. See\nFURIES.\n\nERYX, the son of Butes and Venus, a famous boxer, overcome by Hercules,\n_H. Fur._ 481; a mountain in Sicily, said to have been named from the\npreceding, _Oed._ 600.\n\nETEOCLES (_Phoenissae_), one of the two sons of Oedipus and Jocasta.\nAfter Oedipus went into voluntary banishment, abandoning the throne\nof Thebes (_Phoen._ 104), Eteocles and Polynices agreed to reign\nalternately, each a year. Eteocles, the elder, first ascended the\nthrone, but when his year was up refused to give way to his brother,\n_Phoen._ 55, 280, 389. See POLYNICES.\n\nEUMENIDES (\"the gracious ones\"), a euphemistic name for the furies, _H.\nFur._ 87; _H. Oet._ 1002.\n\nEUR\u014cPA, daughter of Agenor, king of Tyre, beloved of Jupiter, who, in\nthe form of a bull, carried her away to Crete, _Oct._ 206, 766; _H.\nOet._ 550; this episode is immortalized by the constellation of Taurus,\nwhich rises in April, _H. Fur._ 9; sought in vain by her brother\nCadmus, _Oed._ 715; the continent of Europe named after her, _Agam._\n205, 274; _Tro._ 896.\n\nEURYBATES (_Agamemnon_), a messenger of Agamemnon who announces the\nvictory of the Greeks over Troy, and the near approach of the hero to\nMycenae, _Agam._ 392; he relates at great length the sufferings of the\nGreek fleet by storm and shipwreck on the homeward voyage, _ibid._ *421.\n\nEURYDICE, the wife of Orpheus, slain by a serpent's sting on her\nwedding day; story of Orpheus' quest for her in hades, _H. Fur._ *569;\nrescued by Orpheus from the lower world, but lost again, _H. Oet._\n*1084. See ORPHEUS.\n\nEURYSTHEUS, the son of Sthenelus and grandson of Perseus, who, by a\ntrick of Juno, was given power over Hercules, and, at Juno's instance,\nset to Hercules his various labors, _H. Oet._ 403; _H. Fur._ 78, 479,\n526, 830; lord of Argos and Mycenae, _ibid._ 1180; _H. Oet._ 1800; his\ntime of punishment will come, _ibid._ 1973.\n\nEURYTUS, king of Oechalia and father of Iole, _H. Oet._ 1490; he and\nhis house destroyed by Hercules because he refused the latter's suit\nfor Iole, _ibid._ 100, 207, 221; _H. Fur._ 477. See HERCULES.\n\n\nF\n\nFESCENNINE, of Fescennia, an ancient town of Etruria, famous for a\nspecies of coarse, jeering dialogues in verse which bear its name,\n_Med._ 113.\n\nFORTUNE, the goddess of fate, ruling over the affairs of men, _H. Fur._\n326, 524; _Tro._ *1, *259, 269, 697, 735; _Phoen._ 82, 308, 452; _Med._\n159, 176, 287; _Hip._ 979, 1124, 1143; _Oed._ 11, 86, 674, 786, 825,\n934; _Agam._ 28, 58, 72, 89, 101, 248, 594, 698; _H. Oet._ 697; _Oet._\n36, 377, 479, 563, 888, 898, 931, 962; _Thy._ 618.\n\nFURIES, avenging goddesses, dwelling in hades, set to punish and\ntorment men both on earth and in the lower world; described and\nappealed to for aid in punishment of Jason, _Med._ 13; Juno plots to\nsummon them from hades in order to drive Hercules to madness, _H.\nFur._ 86; described as to their horrible physical aspect, _ibid._ 87;\ndescribed in clairvoyant vision by Cassandra, _Agam._ *759; moving\nin bands, _Thy._ 78, 250; _Med._ 958; one of the furies used as a\ncharacter in dramatic prologue, driving the ghost of Thyestes on to\nperform his mission, _Thy._ *23. See EUMENIDES, ERINYES, MEGAERA,\nTISIPHONE.\n\n\nG\n\nGEMINI, the zodiacal constellation of the Twins, Castor and Pollux,\n_Thy._ 853.\n\nGERYON, a mythical king in Spain having three bodies; Hercules slew\nhim and brought his famous cattle to Eurystheus as his tenth labor,\n_H. Fur._ 231, 487, 1170; _Agam._ 837; _H. Oet._ 26, 1204, 1900. See\nHERCULES.\n\nGHOSTS. The ghost appears as a _dramatis persona_ in the following\nplays: _Agamemnon_, in which the ghost of Thyestes appears in the\nprologue to urge Aegisthus on to fulfil his mission; _Thyestes_,\nin which the ghost of Tantalus similarly appears in the prologue;\n_Octavia_, in which the ghost of Agrippina appears. In the following\nplays the ghost affects the action though not actually appearing upon\nthe stage: _Troades_, in which the ghost of Achilles is reported to\nhave appeared to the Greeks and demanded the sacrifice of Polyxena, 168\nff.; Andromache also claims to have seen the ghost of Hector warning\nher of the impending fate of Astyanax, 443 ff.; _Oedipus_, in which the\nghost of La\u00efus and other departed spirits are described as set free\nby the necromancy of Tiresias, 582 ff.; _Medea_, in which the mangled\nghost of Absyrtus seems to appear to the distracted Medea, 963; ghosts\nappear larger than mortal forms, _Oed._ 175.\n\nGIANTS, monstrous sons of Earth, fabled to have made war upon the gods,\nscaling heaven by piling mountains (Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus) one on\nanother, _Tro._ 829; _Thy._ 804, 810, 1084; _H. Fur._ 445; they were\noverthrown by the thunderbolt of Jupiter, _H. Oet._ 1302; _Oed._ 91;\nwith the help of Hercules, _H. Oet._ 1215; buried under Sicily, _ibid._\n1309; seem to the mad Hercules to be again in arms, and to be hurling\nmountains, _H. Fur._ 976; after death of Hercules there is danger that\nthey will again pile up mountains and scale heaven, _H. Oet._ 1139,\n*1151. See BRIAREUS, ENCELADUS, GYAS, MIMAS, OTHRYS, TYPHOEUS, TITANS.\n\nGOLDEN AGE, the first age of mankind, when peace and innocence reigned\non the earth; described, _Hip._ *525; _Oet._ *395; _Med._ *329.\n\nGOLDEN-FLEECED RAM, (1) the ram on which Phrixus and his sister, Helle,\nescaped from Boeotia; as they fled through the air Helle fell off into\nthe sea, _Tro._ 1035; on arrival at Colchis Phrixus sacrificed the ram\nand gave his wonderful fleece to King Ae\u00ebtes, who hung it in a tree\nsacred to Mars. This fleece was the prize sought by the Argonauts under\nJason, _Med._ 361, 471. See PHRIXUS, HELLE, ARGONAUTS. (2) The emblem\nand pledge of sovereignty in the house of Pelops, _Thy._ *225.\n\nGORGON, Medusa, one of the three daughters of Phorcys, whose head was\ncovered with snaky locks, and sight of whom had power to turn to stone.\nShe was killed by Perseus, and her head presented to Minerva who fixed\nit upon her shield, _H. Oet._ 96; _Agam._ 530. See PERSEUS.\n\nGRACCHI, two popular leaders of the Sempronian gens, quoted as examples\nof men brought to ruin by popular renown, _Oet._ 882.\n\nGRAD\u012aVUS, a surname of Mars, _H. Fur._ 1342.\n\nGYAS, one of the giants who sought to dethrone Jove, _H. Oet._ 167,\n1139.\n\n\nH\n\nHADES, the place of departed spirits, situated in the under world;\nthe upper world entrance to, and downward-leading passage, _H. Fur._\n662; description of, _ibid._ 547; Theseus, returned with Hercules\nfrom hades, describes in great detail the places and persons of the\nlower world, _ibid._ **658; chorus sings of the world of the dead and\nof the thronging peoples who constantly pour into its all-holding\ndepths, _ibid._ *830; its torments and personages described by ghost of\nTantalus, _Thy._ 1; its regions and inhabitants seen by Creon through\nthe yawning chasm in the earth made by Tiresias' incantations, _Oed._\n*582.\n\nHARPIES, mythical monsters, half woman and half bird; driven from\nPhineus by Zetes and Cala\u00efs, _Med._ 782; still torment Phineus in hades\nas upon earth, _H. Fur._ 759; used as type of winged speed, _Phoen._\n424.\n\nHEBE, the daughter of Juno, cupbearer to the gods, and given as bride\nto the deified Hercules, _Oct._ 211.\n\nHECATE, daughter of Perses, presider over enchantments; often\nidentified with Proserpina as the underworld manifestation of the\ndeity seen in Diana on earth and Luna in heaven, _H. Oet._ 1519; _Med._\n6, 577, 833, 841; _Tro._ 389; _Hip._ 412; _Oed._ 569.\n\nHECTOR, the son of Priam and Hecuba, husband of Andromache, the\nbravest warrior and chief support of Troy, _Tro._ 125; burns the Greek\nfleet, _ibid._ 444; _Agam._ 743; slays Patroclus, _Tro._ 446; slain by\nAchilles and his body dragged around the walls of Troy, _ibid._ *413;\n_Agam._ 743; his body ransomed by Priam, _ibid._ 447; lamented by the\nband of captive Trojan women, _Tro._ 98; his ghost warns Andromache in\na dream of the danger of their son Astyanax, _ibid._ 443; she hides the\nboy in Hector's tomb, _ibid._ 498; she loves Astyanax for the boy's\nresemblance to his father, _ibid._ 646.\n\nHECUBA (_Troades_), the wife of Priam, unhappily survives Troy; as\none of the captive Trojan women, leads them in a lament for Troy's\ndownfall, for Hector and Priam, _Tro._ *1; before the birth of Paris,\ndreamed that she had given birth to a firebrand, _ibid._ 36; her once\nhappy estate described, and contrasted with her present wretchedness,\n_ibid._ *958; given to Ulysses by lot, _ibid._ 980; having suffered the\nloss of all her loved ones she is at last changed into a dog, _Agam._\n*705; rejoices for the first time after Hector's death on occasion of\nwooden horse being taken into Troy, _ibid._ 648.\n\nHELEN (_Troades_), daughter of Jupiter and Leda, sister of\nClytemnestra, wife of Menela\u00fcs, reputed the most beautiful woman in\nGreece; given by Venus to Paris as a reward for his judgment in her\nfavor, _Oct._ 773; fled from her husband for love of Paris, _Agam._\n123; afterward pardoned by Agamemnon and returned home with Menela\u00fcs,\n_ibid._ 273; sent by Greeks to deceive Polyxena and prepare her for\nsacrifice on tomb of Achilles, _Tro._ 861; cursed by Andromache as\nthe common scourge of Greeks and Trojans, _ibid._ *892; bewails and\ndescribes her own hard lot, _ibid._ 905; she is not to blame for the\nwoes of Troy, _ibid._ 917.\n\nHELLE, sister of Phrixus, who fled with him on the golden-fleeced ram,\nand fell off into the sea which thereafter bore her name (Hellespont),\n_Tro._ 1034; _Thy._ 851. See PHRIXUS.\n\nHERC\u0112AN JOVE, an epithet of Jupiter as the protector of the house; it\nwas at his altar in the courtyard of his own palace that Priam was\nslain, _Tro._ 140; _Agam._ 448, 793.\n\nHERCULES (_Hercules Furens_, _Hercules Oetaeus_), the son of Jupiter\nand Alcmena, _H. Fur._ 20; _H. Oet._ 7 and _passim_; night unnaturally\nprolonged at his conception, _Agam._ 814; _H. Fur._ 24, 1158; _H. Oet._\n147, 1500, 1697, 1864; in his infancy he strangled the two serpents\nwhich Juno sent against him in his cradle, _H. Fur._ *214; _H. Oet._\n1205; by a trick of Juno who hastened the birth of Eurystheus, made\nsubject to Eurystheus who set him various labors, _H. Oet._ 403; _H.\nFur._ 78, 524, *830. These twelve labors are as follows: (1) The\nkilling of the Nemean lion, _H. Fur._ 46, 224; _H. Oet._ 16, 411,\n1192, 1235, 1885; _Agam._ 829; (2) the destruction of the hydra of\nLerna, _Agam._ 835; _Med._ 701; _H. Fur._ 46, 241, 529, 780, 1195; _H.\nOet._ 19, 918, 1193, 1534, 1813; (3) the capture alive of the Arcadian\nstag, famous for its fleetness and its golden antlers, _H. Fur._ 222;\n_H. Oet._ 17, 1238; _Agam._ 831; (4) the capture of the wild boar of\nErymanthus, _H. Fur._ 228; _H. Oet._ 1536, 1888; _Agam._ 832; (5) the\ncleansing of the Augean stables, _H. Fur._ 247; (6) the killing of\nthe Stymphalian birds, _H. Fur._ 244; _H. Oet._ 17, 1237, 1813, 1889;\n_Agam._ 850; (7) the capture of the Cretan bull, _H. Fur._ 230; _H.\nOet._ 27; _Agam._ 834; (8) the obtaining of the mares of Diomedes which\nfed on human flesh and the slaying of Diomedes himself, _H. Fur._ 226;\n _H. Oet._ 20, 1538, 1814, 1894; _Agam._ 842; (9) the securing of the\ngirdle of Hippolyte, _H. Fur._ 245, 542; _H. Oet._ 21, 1183, 1450;\n_Agam._ 848; (10) the killing of Geryon and the capture of his oxen,\n_H. Fur._ 231, 487; _H. Oet._ 26, 1204, 1900; _Agam._ 837; (11) the\nsecuring of the golden apples of the Hesperides, _H. Fur._ 239, 530;\nH. Oet. 18; _Phoen._ 316; _Agam._ *852; (12) the descent to hades and\nbringing to the upper world of the dog Cerberus, _H. Fur._ *46, **760;\n_H. Oet._ 23, 1162, 1244; _Agam._ 859. Other heroic deeds done by\nHercules are as follows: he bore up the heavens upon his shoulders in\nplace of Atlas, _H. Fur._ *69, 528, 1101; _H. Oet._ 282, 1241, 1764,\n1905; burst a passage for the river Peneus between Ossa and Olympus,\n_H. Fur._ *283; rent Calpe and Abyla (the \"Pillars of Hercules\") apart\nand made a passage for the Mediterranean Sea into the ocean, _H. Fur._\n237; _H. Oet._ 1240, 1253, 1569; fought with and overcame the Centaurs,\n_ibid._ 1195; fought with Achelo\u00fcs for the possession of Deianira,\n_ibid._ 299, 495; slew the centaur Nessus who was carrying off his\nbride, _ibid._ *500, 921; overcame Eryx, the famous boxer, _H. Fur._\n481; slew Antaeus, _H. Fur._ 482, 1171; _H. Oet._ 24, 1899; killed\nBusiris, _H. Fur._ 483; _H. Oet._ 26; _Tro._ 1106; slew Cycnus, son\nof Mars, _H. Fur._ 485; killed Zetes and Cala\u00efs, _Med._ 634; killed\nPericlymenus, _ibid._ 635; wounded Pluto, who was going to the aid of\nthe Pylians, _H. Fur._ 560; wrecked off the African coast, he made\nhis way on foot to the shore, _ibid._ 319; assisted the gods in their\nfight against the giants, _ibid._ 444; capured Troy with aid of Telamon\nduring the reign of Laomedon, _Tro._ 136, 719; his arrows said to be\ntwice fated for the destruction of Troy, _ibid._ 825; _Agam._ 863;\nforced Charon to bear him across the Lethe (not Styx), _H. Fur._ *762;\n_H. Oet._ 1556; rescued Theseus from hades, _Hip._ 843; _H. Fur._ 806;\n_H. Oet._ 1197, 1768; overcame Eurytus, king of Oechalia, _H. Fur._\n477; _H. Oet._ 422. More or less extended recapitulations of the deeds\nof Hercules are found in the following passages: _Agam._ 808-866; _H.\nFur._ 205-308, 481-487, 524-560; _H. Oet._ 1-98, 410-435, 1161-1206,\n1218-1257, 1518-1606, 1810-1830, 1872-1939. The loves of Hercules\nare as follows: Hesione, daughter of Laomedon, rescued from the\nsea-monster, and made captive to Hercules with the first fall of Troy;\nhe afterward gave her to Telamon, _H. Oet._ 363; Auge, daughter of\nAleus, king of Tegea, _ibid._ 367; the Thespiades, the fifty daughters\nof Thespius, _ibid._ 369; Omphale, queen of Lydia, to whom Hercules,\nin expiation of an act of sacrilege, went into voluntary servitude\nfor three years, _ibid._ *371, 573; _H. Fur._ *465; _Hip._ 317; Iole,\ndaughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia, whom Hercules destroyed because\nIole was denied to him, _H. Oet._ 100, 207, 221; _H. Fur._ 477. His\nwives were (1) Megara daughter of Creon, king of Thebes; Hercules, in a\nfit of madness, brought upon him by Juno's machinations, slew her and\nhis children by her, _H. Fur._ *987, *1010; _H. Oet._ 429, 903; when\nhis sanity returned, Theseus promised him cleansing for his crime by\nMars at Athens, _H. Fur._ 1341; elsewhere said to have been cleansed by\nwashing in the Cinyps, a river in Africa, _H. Oet._ 907; (2) Deianira,\ndaughter of Oeneus, king of Calydonia. See DEIANIRA and ACHELO\u00dcS. The\nfavorite tree of Hercules was the poplar, _H. Fur._ 894, 912; _H. Oet._\n1641. Hercules himself was destined to come to a tragic end after a\nlife of great deeds, _Med._ 637; his death was in accordance with an\noracle which declared that he should die by the hand of one whom he\nhad slain, _H. Oet._ 1473; Deianira, ignorantly seeking to regain her\nhusband's love from Iole, sends him a robe anointed with the poisoned\nblood of Nessus, _ibid._ 535; Lichas bears the robe to his master,\n_ibid._ 569; Hercules was worshiping Cenaean Jove in Euboea when the\nrobe was brought to him, _ibid._ 775; his sufferings caused by the\nterrible burning poison described, _ibid._ *749, 1218; hurls Lichas,\nthe innocent cause of his pains, over a cliff, _ibid._ 809; after dire\nsuffering, is borne by boat from Euboea to Mt. Oeta where he was to\nperish, _ibid._ 839; he orders a funeral pyre to be built for him on\nthe top of the mountain, _ibid._ 1483; speculation upon his probable\nplace in heaven after death, _ibid._ 1565; his glorious and triumphant\ndeath in the midst of the flames described, _ibid._ **1610, 1726; his\nfated bow is presented by the dying hero to his friend Philoctetes,\n_ibid._ 1648; his ashes are collected into an urn by his mother,\nAlcmena, _ibid._ 1758; Medea was said to have in her magical store some\nof the ashes of Oeta's pyre soaked with the dying (poisoned) blood\nof Hercules, _Med._ 777; the voice of the hero is heard from heaven,\ndeclaring that he has been deified, _H. Oet._ *1940; now received into\nheaven as a god, in spite of Juno's opposition, he is given Hebe as his\nwife, _Oct._ 210.\n\nHERMIONE, daughter of Menela\u00fcs and Helen; the Trojans pray that she may\nsuffer the same doom as Polyxena, _Tro._ 1134.\n\nHESIONE, daughter of Laomedon, exposed to a sea-monster sent by Neptune\nto punish the perfidy of Laomedon. She was rescued by Hercules and\ncaptured by him when he with Telamon's aid took Troy, _H. Oet._ 363.\n\nHESPERIDES, APPLES OF, golden apples on certain islands far in the\nwest, watched over by three nymphs, and guarded by a sleepless dragon;\nit was the eleventh labor of Hercules to get these apples and take them\nto Eurystheus, _Agam._ 852; _Phoen._ 316; _H. Fur._ 239, 530.\n\nHESPERUS, the evening star, messenger of night, _Med._ 878; _Hip._ 750;\n_H. Fur._ 883; impatiently awaited by lovers, _Med._ 72; as example\nof perverted nature, Hesperus will bring in the day, _Phoen._ 87;\nfunctions of evening and morning stars interchanged at the conception\nof Hercules, _H. Fur._ 821; _H. Oet._ 149.\n\nHIEROSCOP\u00cfA (_extispicium_), a method of prophesying by inspecting the\nviscera of a newly slain sacrificial victim practiced by Tiresias in\nhis effort to discover the murderer of Laius, _Oed._ *353.\n\nHIPPODAM\u012aA, daughter of Oenoma\u00fcs, king of Pisa. See MYRTILUS.\n\nHIPPOLYTE, a queen of the Amazons, possessed of the belt of Mars;\nEurystheus imposed upon Hercules as his ninth labor that he should\nsecure and bring this belt, or girdle, to him; this the hero\naccomplished, _Agam._ 848; _H. Fur._ 245, 542; _H. Oet._ 21, 1183, 1450.\n\nHIPPOLYTUS (_Hippolytus_), son of Theseus and Hippolyte, or, according\nto others, of Theseus and Antiope; represented as devoted to the\nhunt, and to Diana, the goddess of the hunt, _Hip._ 1; the object of\nthe guilty love of Phaedra, his father's wife, _ibid._ *99; he hates\nand avoids all womankind, _ibid._ 230; his severe life as a recluse\ndescribed, _ibid._ 435; sings the praises of the simple life in the\nwoods and fields, and contrasts this with city life, _ibid._ *483; is\ncharged with a criminal attack upon Phaedra, _ibid._ 725; his death\ncaused by a monster sent by Neptune in response to the prayer of\nTheseus, _ibid._ 1000; his innocence discovered, _ibid._ 1191.\n\nHYADES, daughters of Atlas and sisters of the Pleiades; a constellation\nseemingly borne on the horns of Taurus, _Thy._ 852; a storm-bringing\nconstellation, but not yet recognized as such in the golden age, _Med._\n311; disturbed by the magic power of Medea, _ibid._ 769.\n\nHYDRA, a monster which infested the marsh of Lerna; it had eight heads,\nand one besides which was immortal. When any one of the eight heads was\nsevered there sprang forth two in its stead. After a desperate struggle\nwith this creature, Hercules killed it as his second labor assigned by\nEurystheus, _Agam._ 835; _Med._ 701; _H. Fur._ 46, 241, 529, 780, 1195;\n_H. Oet._ 19, 94, 851, 914, 918, 1193, 1534, 1650, 1813, 1927.\n\nHYLAS, a beautiful youth, beloved by Hercules, who accompanied that\nhero on the Argonautic expedition; while stopping on the coast of Mysia\nfor water, the boy was seized and kept by the water-nymphs of a stream\ninto which he had dipped his urn, _Hip._ 780, _Med._ *647.\n\nHYLLUS (_Hercules Oetaeus_), son of Hercules and Deianira; describes\nto his mother the terrible sufferings of Hercules after putting on the\npoisoned robe, _H. Oet._ 742; called the grandson of Jove, _ibid._\n1421; Iole is consigned to him as his wife by the dying Hercules,\n_ibid._ 1490.\n\nHYMEN, the god of marriage, _Tro._ 861, 895; _Med._ *66, 110, 116, 300.\n\nHYPERMNESTRA, one of the fifty daughters of Dana\u00fcs, who refused to\nmurder her husband at her father's command, _H. Fur._ 500; for this act\nof mercy, she is not suffering among her sisters in hades, _H. Oet._\n948. See DANA\u00cfDES.\n\n\nI\n\nICARUS, the son of Daedalus, who, attempting to escape from Crete on\nwings which his father had made, melted the wax of his wings by a\nflight too near the sun, and so fell into the sea which took its name\nfrom him, _Agam._ 506; _Oed._ *892; _H. Oet._ 686. See DAEDALUS.\n\nIDMON, son of Apollo and Asteria, one of the Argonauts, with prophetic\npower; he died from the stroke of a wild boar, not, as Seneca says,\nfrom a serpent's bite, _Med._ 652.\n\nINO, daughter of Cadmus, sister of Semele, wife of Athamas, king of\nThebes. Her husband, driven mad by Juno, because Ino had nursed the\ninfant Bacchus, attempted to slay her, but she escaped him by leaping\noff a high cliff into the sea with her son Melicerta. They were both\nchanged into sea-divinities, _Phoen._ 22; _Oed._ 445. See PALAEMON.\n\nIOLE (_Hercules Oetaeus_), daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia. She\nwas sought in marriage by Hercules, who destroyed her father and all\nhis house because she was refused to him, _H. Oet._ 221; in captivity\nto Hercules, she mourns her fate, _ibid._ 173; sent as a captive to\nDeianira, _ibid._ 224; her reception by Deianira described, _ibid._\n237; is consigned to Hyllus as wife, by the dying Hercules, _ibid._\n1490.\n\nIPHIGEN\u012aA, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra; taken from her\nmother to be sacrificed at Aulis, on the pretext that she was to be\nmarried to Achilles, _Agam._ 158; sacrificed to appease Diana to the\nend that the Greek fleet might be allowed to sail from Aulis, _ibid._\n160; _Tro._ 249, 360; her sacrifice described, _Agam._ *164; rescued by\nDiana at the last moment and taken to serve in the goddess' temple at\nTauris, _Oct._ 972.\n\nIRIS, the messenger of Juno, and goddess of the rainbow, _Oed._ 315.\n\nITYS, son of Tereus, king of Thrace, and Procne, who, to punish her\nhusband for his outrage upon her sister, Philomela, slew the boy Itys\nand served him as a banquet to his father. The sisters, changed to\nbirds, ever bewail Itys, _H. Oet._ 192; _Agam._ 670.\n\nIX\u012aON, for his insult to Juno fixed to an ever-revolving wheel in\nhades, _Hip._ 1236; _Thy._ 8; _Agam._ 15; _Oct._ 623; _H. Fur._ 750;\n_H. Oet._ 945, 1011; his wheel stood still at the music of Orpheus,\n_ibid._ 1068; Medea prays that he may leave his wheel and come to\nCorinth, and that Creon may take his place upon the wheel, _Med._ 744.\nSee NEPHELE.\n\n\nJ\n\nJASON (_Medea_), son of Aeson, king of Thessaly, and nephew of the\nusurping king, Pelias. He was persuaded by Pelias to undertake the\nadventure of the Golden Fleece, for which he organized and led the\nArgonautic expedition. He was able to perform the hard tasks in Colchis\nwhich King Ae\u00ebtes set, through the aid of Medea: the taming of the\nfire-breathing bull, _Med._ 121, 241, 466; overcoming of the giants\nsprung from the sown serpents' teeth, _ibid._ 467; putting to sleep\nof the ever-watchful dragon, _ibid._ 471; he had had no part in the\nmurder of Pelias for which he and Medea were driven out of Thessaly,\n_ibid._ 262; but this and all Medea's crimes had been done for his\nsake, _ibid._ *275; living in exile in Corinth, he is forced by Creon\ninto a marriage with the king's daughter, Cre\u00fcsa, _ibid._ 137; Medea\nimprecates a dreadful curse upon him, _ibid._ 19; he laments the hard\ndilemma in which he finds himself placed, _ibid._ 431; and at last\ndecides to yield to Creon's demands for the sake of his children,\n_ibid._ 441.\n\nJOCASTA (_Oedipus, Phoenissae_), wife of La\u00efus, king of Thebes, mother\nand afterward wife of Oedipus; on learning that Oedipus is her son, she\nkills herself in an agony of grief and shame, _Oed._ 1024. According\nto another version of the story, she is still living after the events\nleading to the voluntary exile of Oedipus; she bewails the fratricidal\nstrife between her two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, and knows not with\nwhich she ought to side, _Phoen._ 377; rushing between the two hosts,\nshe pleads with her sons to be reconciled with each other, _ibid._ *443.\n\nJUDGES IN HADES, Aeacus, Minos, and Rhadamanthus, weep for the first\ntime on hearing Orpheus' plaintive strains, _H. Fur._ 579; Theseus\ndescribes at length their persons and their judgments, the moral law\nunder which the souls of men are judged, and the punishments and\nrewards meted out after judgment, _ibid._ **727.\n\nJULIA, daughter of Drusus and Livia Drusilla, exiled and afterward\nslain, _Oct._ 944.\n\nJUNO (_Hercules Furens_), speaks the prologue, revealing her motive\nin bringing about the catastrophe of the play; she recounts in order\nJove's infidelities with mortals whose constellations she points out,\nand relates especially her fruitless struggles with Hercules; she\ncannot overcome him by any toil which she can invent, _H. Fur._ *1;\nshe looks forward with hatred and dread to the time when Hercules will\nforce his entrance into heaven, _ibid._ 64; she is cited to Octavia\nby her nurse as a type of wife who, by wise management, finally won a\nwayward husband's love to herself again, _Oct._ *201; hymn in praise\nof, _Agam._ 340; Argos is dear to her, _ibid._ 809.\n\nJUPITER, lord of Olympus, ruler of the skies and seasons, _Hip._ *960;\nruler of heaven and earth, to whom victors consecrate their spoils,\n_Agam._ *802; his mother, Rhea, brought him forth in Crete and hid\nhim in a cave of Mount Ida, lest his father, Saturn, should discover\nand destroy him, _H. Fur._ 459; hymn in praise of, _Agam._ 381; his\nthunderbolts are forged in Aetna, _Hip._ 156; his amours with mortals\nare as follows: with Leda to whom he appeared in the form of a swan,\n_Hip._ 301; _H. Fur._ 14; with Europa, in form of a bull, _Hip._ 303;\n_H. Fur._ 9; _H. Oet._ 550; with Dana\u00eb, in form of a golden shower,\n_H. Fur._ 13; with Callisto, _ibid._ 6; the Pleiades (Electra, Maia,\nTa\u00ffgete), _ibid._ 10; Latona, _ibid._ 15; Semele, _ibid._ 16;\nAlcmena, _ibid._ 22. For his ancient oracle in Epirus, see DODONA; see\nalso HERCEAN JOVE and CENAEUM.\n\nJUSTICE (_Justitia_), the goddess Astraea, who once lived on earth\nduring the innocence of man in the golden age of Saturn, _Oct._ 398;\nshe fled the earth when sin became dominant, _ibid._ 424. See ASTRAEA.\n\n\nL\n\nLABDACIDAE, a name for the Thebans, derived from Labdacus, king of\nThebes, father of La\u00efus, _Oed._ 710; _Phoen._ 53; _H. Fur._ 495.\n\nLACHESIS, one of the three fates, or Parcae, who measured out the\nthread of human life, _Oed._ 985. The other two were Clotho and\nAtropos. See CLOTHO.\n\nLA\u00cbRTES, the father of Ulysses, dwelling in Ithaca, _Tro._ 700; \"feels\nthe shock of reeling Ithaca\" in a storm, _Thy._ 587.\n\nLA\u00cfUS, king of Thebes, husband of Jocasta, father of Oedipus, whom,\nfearing an oracle, he had exposed in infancy; at the time of the\nopening of the play of _Oedipus_, he had been murdered by an unknown\nman, and his murder must be avenged before the plague afflicting Thebes\ncan be relieved, _Oed._ *217; place and supposed manner of his death\ndescribed to Oedipus by Creon, _ibid._ *276; time and circumstances of\nhis murder described by Jocasta, _ibid._ 776; his shade is raised by\nTiresias and declares that Oedipus is his murderer, _ibid._ *619; his\nshade seems to appear to the blind Oedipus in exile and call him to\ndeath, _Phoen._ 39.\n\nLAOMEDON, king of Troy, father of Priam; he deceived Apollo and\nNeptune, who built the walls of Troy, and again cheated Hercules out of\nhis promised reward for delivering Hesione; hence his house is called a\n\"lying house,\" _Agam._ 864.\n\nLAPITHAE, a tribe of Thessaly, associated in story with the Centaurs,\nand both with a great struggle against Hercules in which they were\nworsted by that hero; in hades they still fear their great enemy when\nhe appears, _H. Fur._ 779.\n\nLAT\u014cNA, beloved of Jupiter, to whom she bore Apollo and Diana; hence\nthese gods are called the children of Latona, _Agam._ 324; the floating\nisland, Delos, was the only spot allowed her by the jealous Juno for\nthe birth of her children, _H. Fur._ 15.\n\nLEDA, the wife of Tyndarus, king of Sparta; she was beloved by Jupiter\nin the form of a swan, _Oct._ 205, 764; and became by him the mother of\nCastor and Pollux, who were falsely called Tyndaridae, and set in the\nheavens as constellations, _H. Fur._ 14; _Oct._ 208; Clytemnestra was\nthe daughter of Leda and Tyndarus, _Agam._ 125, 234.\n\nLEMNOS, an island in the Aegean Sea, the seat of fierce fires, as\nconnected with the fall of Vulcan on that island where he established\nhis forges, _H. Oet._ 1362; according to story all the Lemnian women at\none time, except Hypsipyle, murdered all their male relatives, _Agam._\n566.\n\nLEO, the zodiacal constellation of the Lion, representing the Nemean\nlion slain by Hercules, and set as a constellation in the sky, _H.\nFur._ 69, 945; _Thy._ 855; said to have fallen from the moon, where,\naccording to the opinion of the Pythagoreans, all monsters had their\norigin, _H. Fur._ 83.\n\nLETHE, a river of the lower world whose waters possessed the power of\ncausing those who drank of them to forget the past, _H. Oet._ 936; _H.\nFur._ 680; _Hip._ 1202; elsewhere it loses its distinctive meaning and\nis used as equivalent to Styx or the lower world in general, _ibid._\n147; _Oed._ 560; _H. Oet._ 1162, 1208, 1550, 1985; Charon even plies\nhis boat over this river, _H. Fur._ 777.\n\nLIBRA, the zodiacal constellation of the Scales, marking the autumnal\nequinox, _Hip._ 839; _Thy._ 858.\n\nLICHAS, the ill-fated bearer of the poisoned robe from Deianira to\nHercules, thrown over a cliff by the agonized hero, _H. Oet._ 567, 570,\n809, 814, 978, 1460; he had previously been sent home by Hercules to\nannounce the hero's triumph over Eurytus, _ibid._ 99.\n\nLIVIA, the wife of Drusus; her fate, _Oct._ 942.\n\nLUCIFER, the morning star, or \"light-bringer,\" the herald of the sun,\n_Hip._ 752; _Oed._ 507, 741; _H. Oet._ 149.\n\nLUC\u012aNA, the goddess who presides over child-birth, i. e., Diana or\nLuna, _Agam._ 385; _Med._ 2; or Juno, _ibid._ 61.\n\nLUCRETIA, daughter of Lucretius, wife of Collatinus, avenged by a\nbloody war for the outrage committed upon her by Sextus Tarquinius,\n_Oct._ 300.\n\nLUNA, the goddess of the moon, identified with Diana upon the earth,\ncalled also Phoebe as sister of Phoebus, _Oed._ 44; she reflects her\nbrother's fires, _ibid._ 253; and passes his car in shorter course,\n_Thy._ 838; in love with Endymion, she seeks the earth, _Hip._ 309,\n422, 785; and gives her chariot to her brother to drive, _ibid._ 310;\nsaved by the clashing of vessels from the influence of magic, _ibid._\n790.\n\nLYCURGUS, a king of Thrace, who, for his opposition to Bacchus, was\ndestroyed by that god, _H. Fur._ 903; _Oed._ 471.\n\nLYCUS (_Hercules Furens_), a usurper, who took advantage of the absence\nof Hercules in hades, and slew Creon and his sons, and is, at the\nopening of the play, ruler in Thebes, _H. Fur._ 270; he boasts that,\nthough low born, he has by conquest gained great power and wealth,\n_ibid._ 332; he desires to repair his fault of birth by a union with\nMegara, wife of the absent Hercules, and daughter of Creon, _ibid._\n345; proposes marriage to Megara, _ibid._ 360; is scorned by her,\n_ibid._ 372; is slain by Hercules, _ibid._ 895.\n\nLYNCEUS, one of the Argonautic heroes, renowned for his wonderful\nkeenness of vision, _Med._ 232.\n\n\nM\n\nMAEANDER, a river of Phrygia, celebrated for its exceedingly winding\ncourse, _Phoen._ 606; used to illustrate the windings of the river\nLethe, _H. Fur._ 684.\n\nMAENADS, female attendants and worshippers of Bacchus, _Oed._ 436;\ntheir bewildered madness while under the inspiration of Bacchus, _H.\nOet._ 243; their unconsciousness of pain, _Tro._ 674; they go wildly\nranging over the mountain tops, _Med._ 383.\n\nMAGIC ARTS, the powers of, as practiced by Medea, _Med._ 670-842; by\nTiresias, _Oed._ 548-625; by the nurse of Deianira, _H. Oet._ 452-64.\n\nMANTO (_Oedipus_), the prophetic daughter of the seer Tiresias, _Agam._\n22; she leads her blind old father into the presence of Oedipus, _Oed._\n290; describes the appearance of the sacrifices which he interprets,\n_ibid._ 303.\n\nMARS, the son of Jupiter and Juno, god of war, _Tro._ 185, 783, 1058;\n_Phoen._ 527, 626, 630; _Med._ 62; _Hip._ 465, 808; Oct. 293; _Agam._\n548; called also _Mavors, Hip._ 550; _Thy._ 557; _Oed._ 90; used of war\nor battle itself, _ibid._ 275, 646; _Agam._ 921; the amour of Mars and\nVenus was discovered by Phoebus, and by him with the aid of Vulcan they\ntwo were caught in a cunningly wrought net; for this reason Venus hates\nthe race of Phoebus, _Hip._ 125; Mars, summoned to judgment by Neptune\nfor the murder of his son, was tried and acquitted by the twelve\ngods sitting in judgment at Athens in the Areopagus (Mars Hill), _H.\nFur._1342; Mars is here called _Gradivus_.\n\nMED\u0112A (_Medea_), daughter of Ae\u00ebtes, king of Colchis, and granddaughter\nof Sol and Perse\u00efs, _Med._ 28, 210; the grandeur of her estate in her\nfather's kingdom, _ibid._ *209, 483; mistress of magic arts, _ibid._\n*750; by means of these arts she helped Jason perform the deadly tasks\nset him by her father, _ibid._ 169, 467, 471; helped Jason carry off\nthe golden fleece upon the possession of which her father's kingdom\ndepended, _ibid._ 130; left her father's realm through crime for love\nof Jason, _ibid._ 119; slew her brother, Absyrtus, and strewed his\ndismembered body upon the sea to retard her father's pursuit, _ibid._\n121; _H. Oet._ 950; tricked the daughters of Pelias into murdering\ntheir father, _Med._ 133, 201, *258; driven out of Thessaly and pursued\nby Acastus, she with Jason sought and received a place of safety in\nCorinth, _ibid._ 247, 257; did all her crimes not for her own but for\nJason's sake, _ibid._ 275; exiled now by Creon, she obtains one day of\nrespite, _ibid._ 295; prepares a deadly, enchanted robe for her rival,\nCre\u00fcsa, _ibid._ 570; her magic incantations described, _ibid._ *675;\nsends the robe to Cre\u00fcsa, _ibid._ 816; and rejoices in its terrible\neffect, _ibid._ 893; kills her two sons, _ibid._ 970, 1019; gloats over\nher husband's misery and vanishes in the air in a chariot drawn by\ndragons, _ibid._ 1025; goes to Athens and marries Aegeus; is a type of\nan evil woman, _Hip._ 563; the stepmother of Theseus, _ibid._ 697.\n\nMED\u016aSA, one of the three Gorgons, slain by Perseus. He cut off her head\nwhich had the power of petrifying whatever looked upon it, and gave it\nto Minerva who set it upon her aegis, _Agam._ 530; her gall used by\nMedea in magic, _Med._ 831.\n\nMEGAERA, one of the furies, summoned by Juno to drive Hercules to\nmadness, _H. Fur._ 102; appears to the maddened Medea with scourge of\nserpents, _Med._ 960; seems to appear to the distracted Deianira, _H.\nOet._ 1006, 1014; summoned by Atreus to assist him in his revenge upon\nhis brother, _Thy._ 252. See FURIES.\n\nMEGARA (_Hercules Furens_), the daughter of Creon, king of Thebes,\nand wife of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 202; laments the constant toils which\nhold her husband from his home, and keep her anxious for his life,\n_ibid._ *205; scorns the advances of Lycus who has usurped the throne\nof Thebes, _ibid._ *372; slain by her husband in his fit of madness\nbrought upon him by the jealous Juno, _ibid._ 1010; _H. Oet._ 429,\n*903, 1452.\n\nMELE\u0100GER, son of Oeneus, king of Calydon, and Althaea; his tragic\ndeath brought upon him by his mother's wrath because he had killed her\nbrothers, _Med._ 644, 779. See ALTHAEA.\n\nMELICERTA, see INO.\n\nMEMNON, the son of Aurora, slain by Achilles, _Tro._ 239; _Agam._ 212.\n\nMENEL\u0100US, son of Atreus, brother of Agamemnon, husband of Helen, king\nof Sparta, employed by his father to trick his uncle, Thyestes, _Thy._\n327; Helen looks forward with fear to his judgment, _Tro._ 923; he\npardoned Helen for her desertion of him for Paris, _Agam._ 273.\n\nMEROPE, the wife of Polybus, king of Corinth; she adopted the infant\nOedipus and brought him up to manhood as her own child, _Oed._ 272,\n661, 802.\n\nMESSAL\u012aNA, the wife of Claudius, and mother of Octavia, _Oct._ 10;\ncursed by Venus with insatiate lust, _ibid._ 258; openly married Silius\nin the absence of Claudius, _ibid._ *260; slain for this by the order\nof her husband, _ibid._ 265; her former proud estate, as the wife of\nClaudius, contrasted with her wretched fate; her death described,\n_ibid._ *974.\n\nMIMAS, one of the giants, _H. Fur._ 981. See GIANTS.\n\nMINOS, a son of Jupiter, king of Crete; father of Phaedra, _Hip._ 149;\nfather of Ariadne, _ibid._ 245; widely ruling and powerful monarch,\n_ibid._ 149; no daughter of Minos loved without sin, _ibid._ 127;\nbecause of his righteousness on earth made one of the judges in hades,\n_Agam._ 24; _Thy_. 23; _H. Fur._ 733. See JUDGES IN HADES.\n\nMINOTAUR, a hybrid monster, born of the union of Pasipha\u00eb, the wife of\nMinos, and a bull; called brother of Phaedra, _Hip._ 174; confined in\nthe labyrinth in Crete, _ibid._ 649, 1171.\n\nMOPSUS, a Thesalian soothsayer, one of the Argonauts, who died by the\nbite of a serpent in Libya, _Med._ 655.\n\nMULCIBER, one of the names of Vulcan. He gave to Medea the hidden fires\nof sulphur for her magic, _Med._ 824.\n\nMYCALE, a celebrated witch of Thessaly, _H. Oet._ 525.\n\nMYC\u00cbNAE, a city of Argolis, near Argos; its walls were built by the\nhands of the Cyclopes, _Thy._ 407; _H. Fur._ 997; ruled by the house of\nPelops, _Thy._ 188, 561, 1011; _Tro._ 855; the favorite city of Juno,\n_Agam._ 351; the home of Agamemnon, _ibid._ 121, 251, 757, 871, 967,\n998; _Tro._ 156, 245.\n\nMYRRHA, a daughter of Cinyras, who conceived an unnatural passion for\nher father. Pursued by him, she was changed into the myrrh tree, whose\nexuding gum resembles tears, _H. Oet._ 196.\n\nMYRTILUS, a son of Mercury, charioteer of Oenoma\u00fcs. Bribed by Pelops,\nsuitor for the hand of Hippodamia, daughter of Oenoma\u00fcs, he secretly\nwithdrew the linch-pins of his master's chariot, thus wrecking his\nmaster's car in the race which was to decide the success of Pelop's\nsuit. His sin and fate described, _Thy._ 140; the wrecked chariot\npreserved as a trophy in the palace of the Pelopidae, _ibid._ 660.\n\n\nN\n\nNA\u00cfDES, deities, generally conceived as young and beautiful maidens,\ninhabiting brooks and springs. _Hip._780. See HYLAS.\n\nNAUPLIUS, a son of Neptune and king of Euboea; to avenge the death\nof his son, Palamedes, he lured the Greek fleet to destruction by\ndisplaying false beacon fires off the rocky coast of Euboea, _Agam._\n*567; when, however, Ulysses, whom he hated most, escaped, he threw\nhimself headlong from the cliff, _Med._ 659. See PALAMEDES.\n\nNECROMANT\u012aA, necromancy, a raising of the dead for purposes of\nconsultation; practiced by Tiresias, in his effort to discover the\nmurderer of La\u00efus, _Oed._ **530.\n\nNEMEAN LION, the beast slain by Hercules near Nemea, a city of Argolis,\nas the first of his twelve labors, _Agam._ 830; _H. Fur._ 224: H. Oet.\n1193, 1235, 1665, 1885; set in the heavens as a zodiacal constellation,\n_Oed._ 40. See LEO.\n\nNEPHELE, the cloud form of Juno, devised by Jupiter, upon which Ixion\nbegot the centaur, Nessus, in the belief that it was Juno herself, _H.\nOet._ 492.\n\nNEPTUNE, son of Saturn, brother of Jupiter and Pluto, with whom, after\nthe dethronement of Saturn, he cast lots for the three great divisions\nof his father's realm: the second lot, giving him the sovereignty over\nthe sea, fell to Neptune, _Med._ 4, 597; _H. Fur._ 515, 599; _Oed._\n266; _Hip._ 904, 1159; rides over the surface of the deep in his car,\n_Oed._ 254; sends a monster out of the sea to destroy Hippolytus in\nanswer to the prayer of Theseus, _Hip._ 1015; assists Minerva in the\ndestruction of Ajax, the son of O\u00efleus, in the great storm which\nassailed the Greek fleet upon its homeward voyage, _Agam._ 554; bidden\nby Hercules to hide beneath his waves lest he behold Cerberus, _H.\nFur._ 600; is the father of Theseus, to whom he gave three wishes,\n_ibid._ 942; other sons were Cycnus, _Agam._ 215; _Tro._ 183; and\nPericlymenus, _Med._ 635.\n\nNEREUS, a sea-deity, used often, by metonymy, for the sea itself,\n_Oed._ 450, 508; _H. Oet._ 4; _Hip._ 88; he is the father by Doris of\nThetis and the other Nere\u00efds, _Tro._ 882; _Oed._ 446; even they feel\nthe fires of love, _Hip._ 336.\n\nNERO (_Octavia_), the son of Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus and Agrippina,\n_Oct._ 249; married his stepsister, Octavia, whom he treated with great\ncruelty; his character depicted by her, _ibid._ 86; emperor from A.D.\n54 until his death in 68; murdered his mother, _ibid._ 46, 95, 243;\nlauds the beauty of Poppaea and announces her as his next wife, _ibid._\n544; his death prophesied and described by the ghost of Agrippina,\n_ibid._ **618; decrees the banishment and death of Octavia, _ibid._ 861.\n\nNESSUS, a centaur, son of Ixion and Nephele, _H. Oet._ 492; insults\nDeianira, is slain by Hercules, and while dying gives a portion of his\nblood, reeking with the poison of the arrow of Hercules, to Deianira as\na charm which shall recall to her her husband's wandering affections,\nibid. *500; some of this blood is in Medea's collection of charms,\n_Med._ 775; the terrible power of this poisoned blood tested by\nDeianira after she has innocently sent the fatal robe to her husband,\n_H. Oet._ 716; Nessus declared to have been the one who conceived the\nplot against Hercules, while Deianira was but the innocent instrument,\n_ibid._ 1468.\n\nNIOBE, daughter of Tantalus, wife of Amphion, king of Thebes; punished\nby the loss of her seven sons and seven daughters by Diana for her\ndefiance of Latona, the mother of the goddess, _Agam._ 392; changed\nto stone, she still sits on the top of Mt. Sipylus and mourns for her\nlost children, Agam. 394; _H. Fur._ 390; _H. Oet._ 185, 1849; her shade\ncomes up from hades, still proudly counting her children's shades,\n_Oed._ 613.\n\nNYCTELIUS, an epithet of Bacchus, because his mysteries were celebrated\nat night, _Oed._ 492.\n\n\nO\n\nOCTAVIA (_Octavia_), the daughter of the Emperor Claudius and\nMessalina, the latter having been murdered by order of Claudius\nhimself, _Oct._ 10; and the former by his second wife, Agrippina,\n_ibid._ 26, 45; she became first the stepsister and then the wife of\nNero, _ibid._ 47; with whom she led a most wretched life, _ibid._ *100;\nshe had previously been betrothed to Silanus, _ibid._ 145; but he was\nmurdered to make way for Nero, _ibid._ 154; She was beloved by her\npeople, _ibid._ 183; is compared with Juno in that she is both sister\nand wife of her husband, _ibid._ 282; doomed by Nero to exile and\ndeath, _ibid._ 868; banished to Panditaria, _ibid._ 971.\n\nODRYSIAN HOUSE, that is, of the Thracian king, Tereus, whose house was\npolluted by a horrible banquet in which his own son was served up to\nhim, _Thy._ 273.\n\nOEDIPUS (_Oedipus, Phoenissae_), the son of Jocasta and of La\u00efus,\nking of Thebes. An oracle had declared that La\u00efus should meet death\nat the hands of his son. Oedipus was accordingly doomed before birth\nto be slain, Oed. 34, 235; _Phoen._ 243; at birth he was exposed upon\nMt. Cithaeron, _ibid._ 13, *27, with an iron rod through his ankles,\n_ibid._ 254; _Oed._ 857; carried by a shepherd and given to Merope,\nwife of the king of Corinth, by whom he was brought up as her own\nson, _ibid._ 806; grown to young manhood, he fled the kingdom of his\nsupposed parents that he might not fulfil an oracle that had come to\nhim, that he should kill his father and wed his mother, _ibid._ 12,\n263; in the course of his flight he met and killed La\u00efus, his real\nfather, _Phoen._ 166, 260; _Oed._ 768, 782; he answered the riddle of\nthe Sphinx, and so saved Thebes from that pest, _Phoen._ 120; _Oed._\n*92, 216; as a reward for this he gained the throne of Thebes, and\nJocasta (his real mother) as his wife, _Oed._ 104; _Phoen._ 50, 262;\n_Oed._ 386; _H. Fur._ 388; attempts to find out the murderer of King\nLa\u00efus, and utters a mighty curse upon the unknown criminal, _ibid._\n*257; declared by the ghost of La\u00efus, which Tiresias had raised, to\nbe his father's murderer and his mother's husband, _ibid._ *634; he\nrefutes this charge by the assertion that his father and mother are\nstill living in Corinth, _ibid._ 661; learns by messenger that Polybus\nand Merope are not his true parents, _ibid._ 784; rushes on his fate\nand forces old Phorbas to reveal the secret of his birth, _ibid._ *848;\nin a frenzy of grief, he digs out his eyes, _ibid._ 915; goes forth\ninto exile, thus lifting the curse from Thebes, _ibid._ 1042; _Phoen._\n104; he begs Antigone, who alone had followed him into exile, to leave\nhim, bewailing his fate and longing for death, _ibid._ 1.\n\nOGYGES, a mythical founder and king of Thebes; hence--\n\nOGYGIAN, i. e., Theban, an epithet of Bacchus, whose mother was a\nTheban princess, _Oed._ 437; an epithet of the Thebans, _ibid._ 589.\n\nO\u012aLEUS, used instead of his son, Ajax, _Med._ 662. See AJAX.\n\nOLENUS, a city in Aetolia, _Tro._ 826; _Oed._ 283; hence--\n\nOELENIAN GOAT, so called because it was nurtured in the vicinity of\nthis place. See AMALTHEA.\n\nOMPHALE, a queen of Lydia, to whose service Hercules submitted for\nthree years, _H. Oet._ *371, 573; _H. Fur._ 465; _Hip._ 317. See\nHERCULES.\n\nOPH\u012aON, one of the companions of Cadmus, sprung from the serpent's\nteeth; in adjectival form, it means simply Theban, _H. Fur._ 268;\nreferring to Pentheus, _Oed._ 485.\n\nOPHI\u00dcCHUS, the northern constellation of the \"Serpent Holder,\"\nrepresenting a man holding a serpent, _Med._ 698.\n\nOrestes (_Agamemnon_), son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, _Agam._ 196;\n_Tro._ 555; saved by his sister, through the agency of Strophius, king\nof Phocis, from death at the hands of his mother and Aegisthus, _Agam._\n910; avenged his father's murder, _Oct._ 62.\n\nOR\u012aON, said to have been miraculously generated by Jupiter, Neptune,\nand Mercury, out of an ox's hide; set as a constellation in the\nheavens, where his glittering sword menaces the heavenly ones, _H.\nFur._ 12.\n\nORPHEUS, the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope, _Med._ 625; king of\nThrace; one of the Argonauts; a sweet singer and harper, whose music\ncould draw to him the rocks and trees, _ibid._ 228; _H. Oet._ *1036;\ndropped his lyre in fear of the Symplegades, _Med._ 348; played so\nsweetly that the Argonauts were not enchanted by the Sirens, _ibid._\n*355; went to hades in search of his wife, Eurydice, and by the charm\nof his music persuaded the gods of the lower world to release her; but\nhe lost her again, because he did not keep the condition imposed upon\nhim, _H. Fur._ **569; _H. Oet._ *1061; _Med._ 632; he sang that nothing\nis everlasting, _H. Oet._ 1035, 1100; his tragic death at the hands of\nthe Thracian women, _Med._ *625.\n\n\nP\n\nPACT\u014cLUS, a river of Lydia, celebrated for its golden sands, _Phoen._\n604; _Oed._ 467.\n\nPAEAN, an appellation given to Apollo, who gained the oracle at Delphi\nand earned a place in heaven by slaying the Python, _H. Oet._ 92.\n\nPALAEMON, once a mortal, called Melicerta, son of Athamas and Ino, but\nchanged by Neptune into a sea divinity, _Oed._ 448. SEE INO.\n\nPALAM\u00cbDES, son of Nauplius, king of Euboea; he was put to death by the\nGreeks on false charges brought by Ulysses, and was avenged by his\nfather, who displayed false lights to the Greek fleet, _Agam._ 568.\n\nPALLAS, an appellation given to the goddess Minerva. She was the friend\nand helper of Hercules in his various labors, _H. Fur._ 900; the\nbearer of the terrible aegis upon which was set the horrible Medusa's\nhead, _ibid._ 902; _Agam._ 530; the patroness of woman's handicrafts,\n_Hip._ 103; the patron goddess of the Athenians, _ibid._ 1149; helps\nto overthrow Troy, _Agam._ 370; stirs up the storm at sea against the\nGreek ships, _ibid._ 529; wields the thunderbolts of Jove, with which\nshe destroys Ajax, the son of O\u00efleus, _ibid._ *532; hymn in praise of,\n_ibid._ 368-81; helped in the building of the Argo, _Med._ 2, 365.\n\nPANDATARIA, a lonely island off the coast of Italy, used as a place of\nexile under the Empire, _Oct._ 972.\n\nPAND\u012aON, a mythical king of Athens, father of Procne and Philomela,\nboth of whom were changed to birds. These \"Pandionian birds\" are cited\nas types of grief-stricken beings, _Oct._ 8.\n\nPARCAE, the three personified fates (\"harsh sisters\"), who spin out the\nthreads of human life, _H. Fur._ 181; represented with the distaff in\nhand, _ibid._ 559. SEE CLOTHO and LACHESIS.\n\nPARIS, son of Priam and Hecuba. He was doomed before birth to destroy\nhis native land, _Tro._ 36; exposed to die on Mount Ida, but preserved\nby shepherds and brought up in ignorance of his true parentage,\n_Agam._ 733; the famous \"judgment of Paris,\" _Tro._ 66; from Helen's\nstandpoint, _ibid._ 920; Cassandra, in her inspired ravings, describes\nthis scene, _Agam._ *730; goes to the court of Menela\u00fcs and abducts\nHelen, _Tro._ 70; slays Achilles, _ibid._ 347, 956.\n\nPARRHASIAN (i. e., Arcadian) hind, captured by Hercules as his third\nlabor, _Agam._ 831; bear, _Hip._ 288; axis (i. e., Northern), _H. Oet._\n1281.\n\nPASIPHA\u00cb, a daughter of the Sun and Perse\u00efs, and wife of Minos, king\nof Crete; conceived an unnatural passion for a bull, _Hip._ 113, 143;\nmother of the bull-man monster, the Minotaur, _ibid._ *688.\n\nPATR\u014cCLUS, one of the Grecian chiefs before Troy, beloved friend of\nAchilles; he fought in disguise in Achilles' armor, _Agam._ 617; was\nslain by Hector, _Tro._ 446.\n\nPEGASUS, a winged horse, offspring of Neptune and Medusa; used to\nillustrate extreme speed, _Tro._ 385.\n\nPELEUS, son of Aeacus, and king of Thessaly; married the sea-goddess,\nThetis, _Oct._ 708; _Med._ 657; father of Achilles, _Tro._ 247, 882;\n_Agam._ 616; one of the Argonauts, died in exile, _Med._ 657.\n\nPELIAS, the usurping king of Iolchos in Thessaly, whence he drove the\nrightful king, Aeson, the father of Jason. It was he who proposed the\nArgonautic expedition, and for this he was doomed to suffer a violent\ndeath, _Med._ 664; tricked by Medea, his daughters slew him, cut him in\npieces, and boiled these in a pot in the expectation that through the\nmagic of Medea Pelias would come forth rejuvenated, _Med._ 133, 201,\n258, 475. 913.\n\nPELION, a range of mountains in Thessaly whose principal summit rises\nnear Iolchos; the giants piled Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus, one on\nanother, in their attempt to scale the heavens, _H. Fur._ 971; _Tro._\n829; _Agam._ *346; _Thy._ 812; _H. Oet._ 1152; the home of the Centaur,\nChiron, who educated the young Achilles, _H. Fur._ 971; _Tro._ *830;\nfurnished the timbers for the Argo, _Med._ 609.\n\nPELOP\u012aA, a daughter of Thyestes, who became by him the mother of\nAegisthus, _Agam._ 30, 294.\n\nPELOPS, the son of Tantalus; he was slain by his father and served as\na banquet to the gods, _Thy._ *144; restored by the gods to life,\nand Tantalus punished (see TANTALUS); Tantalus and Pelops models for\noutrageous sin, _ibid._ 242; his house doomed to sin, _ibid._ 22;\ndegenerate and shameful, _ibid._ 625; supposed to have been the settler\nof the Peloponnesus (whence the name of the land), having come from\nPhrygia, _H. Fur._ 1165; _Tro._ 855; _Agam._ 563; his palace described\nat length, _Thy._ *641.\n\nPEL\u014cRUS, a promontory in Sicily opposite the coast of Italy; Sicilian\nPelorus shall be one land with Italy--stated as type of the last\nextreme of improbability, _H. Oet._ 81; the sea-monster Scylla was\nsupposed to dwell under this promontory, _Med._ 350.\n\nPENTHESIL\u0112A, a celebrated queen of the Amazons, who came to the aid of\nPriam; she was armed with battle-axe and moon-shaped shield, _Agam._\n217; her fierce struggles in battle described, _Tro._ 672; slain by\nAchilles, _ibid._ 243.\n\nPENTHEUS, a king of Thebes, son of Echion and Agave; he opposed the\nintroduction of the worship of Bacchus into his kingdom; while spying\non his mother and her sisters who were engaged in the worship of\nBacchus on Mt. Cithaeron, he was torn in pieces by them whom Bacchus\nhad driven to madness, _Phoen._ 15, 363; _Oed._ 441, 483; his shade\ncomes up from hades, torn and bleeding still, _ibid._ 618.\n\nPERICLYMENUS, a son of Neptune, who had power of changing into various\nforms; he was one of the Argonauts, and was slain by Hercules, _Med._\n635.\n\nPERSEUS, son of Dana\u00eb whom Jove approached in the form of a golden\nshower, _H. Fur._ 13; earned a place in heaven by slaying the Gorgon,\n_H. Oet._ 51, 94.\n\nPHAEDRA (_Hippolytus or Phaedra_), daughter of Minos, king of Crete,\nand Pasipha\u00eb, daughter of the Sun, _Hip._ 155, 156, 678, 688, 888; the\nMinotaur is her brother, _ibid._ 174; Ariadne was her sister, _ibid._\n760, 245; bewails her exile from Crete, and her marriage to a foreign\nand a hostile prince (Theseus), _ibid._ 85; confesses to her nurse that\nshe is swayed by an unnatural passion, _ibid._ 113; confesses her love\nto Hippolytus, _ibid._ 640; is scorned by him, _ibid._ *671; confesses\nher sin to her husband and slays herself, _ibid._ 1159.\n\nPHA\u00cbTHON, son of Clymene and Phoebus; desiring to prove his sonship to\nPhoebus, he claimed the privilege of driving his father's chariot for\none day; he was hurled from the car by the runaway steeds, _Hip._ 1090;\nand smitten to death by a thunderbolt of Jove, _H. Oet._ 854; he is a\nwarning against over-ambition and impious daring, _ibid._ 677; _Med._\n599; gave a magic fire to Medea, _ibid._ 826.\n\nPHA\u00cbTHONTIADES, the sisters of Pha\u00ebthon, who immoderately wept for his\ndeath where his charred body fell on the banks of the Po, and were\nchanged into poplar trees, _H. Oet._ 188.\n\nPHASIS, a river of Colchis, the country of Medea, _Med._ 44, 211, 451,\n762; _Hip._ 907; _Agam._ 120; Medea named from the river, _H. Oet._ 950.\n\nPHERAE, a city in Thessaly, ruled over by Admetus, husband of Alcestis,\nwho died herself that so she might redeem him from death, _Med._ 663;\nit was here that Apollo, being doomed to serve a mortal for a year,\nkept the flocks of Admetus, _H. Fur._ 451.\n\nPHILOCT\u0112TES (_Hercules Oetaeus_), a Thessalian prince, son of Poeas,\nand a friend of Hercules; he appears upon the scene of the death\nof Hercules, _H. Oet._ 1604; receives the famous bow and arrows of\nHercules, _ibid._ 1648; applies the torch to the pyre of his friend,\n_ibid._ 1727; describes in detail to the nurse the death of Hercules,\n_ibid._ *1610.\n\nPHILIPPI, a city of Thrace, celebrated by the victory gained there by\nAntony and Octavianus over the forces of Brutus and Cassius, _Oct._ 516.\n\nPHILOM\u0112LA, a daughter of Pandion, king of Athens, and sister of Procne,\nwho had married Tereus, king of Thrace; she suffered outrage at his\nhands, and, with her sister, punished him by slaying his son Itys and\nserving him to the father; she was changed into a nightingale, and ever\nmourns for Itys, _Agam._ 670; _H. Oet._ 199; described, except for her\nname (_Thracia pellex_), purely as a nightingale singing at sunrise and\nhovering over her young, _H. Fur._ 146.\n\nPHINEUS, king of Salmydessus on the coast of Thrace; blind and\ntormented by the Harpies, _Thy._ 154; still in hades, as on earth,\ntormented, _H. Fur._ 759.\n\nPHLEGETHON, a river in the lower world, flowing with streams as of\nfire, _Oed._ 162; _Thy._ 73, 1018; it encircles the guilty with its\nfiery streams, _Hip._ 1227; mentioned instead of the Styx, as the\nriver over which Charon rows his boat, _Agam._ 753; connotes hades in\ngeneral, _Hip._ 848.\n\nPHLEGRA, a vale in Thrace where the giants fought with the gods, _Thy._\n810; Hercules assisted the gods in this struggle, _H. Fur._ 444.\n\nPHOEBUS, one of the names of Apollo as the \"shining one.\" Under this\nname he is most frequently conceived of as the sun-god, driving his\nfiery chariot across the sky, seeing all things, darkening his face\nor withdrawing from the sky at sight of monstrous sin, lord of the\nchanging seasons, etc., _H. Fur._ 595, 607, 844, 940; _Phoen._ 87;\n_Med._ 728, 874; _Hip._ 889; _Oed._ 250; _Agam._ 42, 816; _Thy._ 776,\n789, 838; _H. Oet._ 2, 680, 792, 1387, 1439, 1442; his sister is Luna,\nor Phoebe, _H. Fur._ 905; _Med._ 86; _Hip._ 311; _Oed._ 44; the name,\nPhoebus, is frequently used merely of the sun, its bright light, its\nburning heat, etc., without personification, _H. Fur._ 25, 940; _Tro._\n1140; _Med._ 298, 768; _Oed._ 122, 540, 545; _Agam._ 463, 577; _Thy._\n602; _H. Oet._ 41, 337, 666, 688, 727, 1022, 1581, 1624, 1699; he is\nmore intimately concerned in the affairs of men, and appears on earth;\nhe is the grandfather of Medea, _Med._ 512; the father of Pasipha\u00eb,\n_Hip._ 126, 154, 654, 889; the lover and inspirer of Cassandra, _Tro._\n978; _Agam._ 255, 722; he is god of prophesy, giving oracles to\nmortals, _Med._ 86; _Oed._ 20, 34, 214, 222, 225, 231, 235, 269, 288,\n291, 296, 719, 1046; _Agam._ 255, 294, 295; he is god of the lyre, _H.\nFur._ 906; _Oed._ 498; _Agam._ 327; and of the bow, _H. Fur._ 454;\n_Hip._ 192; _Agam._ 327, 549; his tree is the laurel, _Oed._ 228, 453;\n_Agam._ 588; Cilla is dear to him, _Tro._ 227; he is the beautiful\ngod of the flowing locks, _Hip._ 800; worshiped under the name of\nSmintheus, _Agam._ 176; hymn in praise of, _ibid._ 310; slew the Python\nwith his arrows, _H. Fur._ 454; exposed the shame of Venus and for this\ncause Venus' wrath is upon his descendants, _Hip._ 126; he kept the\nflocks of Admetus, king of Pherae, for a year, _ibid._ 296.\n\nPHORBAS (_Oedipus_), an old man, head shepherd of the royal flocks,\nforced by Oedipus to tell the secret of the king's birth, _Oed._ 867.\n\nPHRIXUS, son of Athamas and Nephele, and brother of Helle; persecuted\nby his stepmother, Ino, he fled away through the air with his sister\nupon a golden-fleeced ram obtained from Mercury, _Tro._ 1034; on the\nway Helle fell into the sea, called Hellespont from this incident, _H.\nOet._ 776; for this same reason the Aegean Sea is called Phrixian Sea,\n_Agam._ 565; Phrixus fared on alone to Colchis, where he sacrificed the\nram and presented the golden fleece to Ae\u00ebtes; the golden fleece was\nthe object of the quest of the Argonauts, _Med._ 361, 471.\n\nPIRITHO\u00dcS, a son of Ixion, _Hip._ 1235; a close friendship existed\nbetween him and Theseus, and they shared all their adventures; when\nPiritho\u00fcs formed the mad project of stealing Proserpina from hades,\nTheseus accompanied him thither, _ibid._ 94, 244, 831.\n\nPISA, an ancient city of Elis where the Olympic games, sacred to Jove,\nwere held, _H. Fur._ 840; _Thy._ 123; _Agam._ 938.\n\nPISCES, the zodiacal constellation of the Fish, _Thy._ 866.\n\nPLE\u00cfADES, called also Atlantides, the seven daughters of Atlas and\nPleione, three of whom, Electra, Maia, and Ta\u00ffgete, were beloved of\nJove, _H. Fur._ 10; spoken of as a constellation which pales before the\nmoon, _Med._ 96.\n\nPLISTHENES, a son of Thyestes, slain by Atreus, _Thy._ 726.\n\nPLUTO, brother of Jupiter and Neptune, and lord of the under world of\nshades, _H. Fur._ 560, 658; _Oed._ 256, 869; _Med._ 11; _Hip._ 625,\n1240; _H. Oet._ 559, 935, 938, 1142, 1369, 1954; he is called the \"grim\nJove,\" _H. Fur._ 608, and the \"dark Jove,\" _H. Oet._ 1705; he obtained\nhis kingdom by drawing lots with his two brothers, _H. Fur._ 833; his\nwife is Proserpina, _ibid._ 658; Theseus and Piritho\u00fcs try to steal his\nwife, _Hip._ 95; they are punished by being placed upon an enchanted\nrock, _ibid._ 625; he is prevailed upon by Hercules to give up Cerberus\nto be led to the upper world, _H. Fur._ 805; _H. Oet._ 559; at the same\ntime he gives up Theseus to Hercules, _H. Fur._ 805; _Hip._ 1152; he\nis the uncle of Hercules, _H. Oet._ 328; and of Pallas, _Hip._ 1152;\nunmoved by tears, _H. Fur._ 578; conquered by the music of Orpheus,\n_ibid._ 582; his court and appearance described, _ibid._ *721.\n\nPOLLUX, see CASTOR.\n\nPOLYBUS, king of Corinth, who adopted and reared the exposed infant,\nOedipus, _Oed._ 12, 270; his peaceful death announced by messenger to\nOedipus, _ibid._ 784.\n\nPOLYN\u012aCES (_Phoenissae_), son of Oedipus and Jocasta; wronged by his\nbrother Eteocles in the matter of the kingdom of Thebes, he fled\nto Adrastus, king of Argos, who gave him refuge and made him his\nson-in-law. To avenge Polynices, Adrastus marched against Thebes\nwith an army headed by seven famous chiefs of Greece, _Phoen._ 58,\n320; Oedipus prophesies this fraternal strife and predicts that the\nbrothers will slay each other, _ibid._ 273, 334, 355; remains in exile\nat the court of Adrastus three years before returning against Thebes\nto enforce his rights, _ibid._ 370, *502; the hardships of his exile\ndescribed, _ibid._ *586; appears before the walls of Thebes at the head\nof an army, _ibid._ 387; the battle pauses while Jocasta appeals to her\nsons, _ibid._ 434. See ETEOCLES.\n\nPOLYXENA, a daughter of Priam and Hecuba, one of the captive Trojan\nwomen; the ghost of Achilles, who in life had been enamored of her,\nand with whom both Priam and Hector had had negotiations touching the\nmaiden, appears to the Greeks and demands that she be now sacrificed on\nthe tomb of Achilles, _Tro._ 170; Calchas ratifies her doom, _ibid._\n360; Helen announces this fate to her, and she receives it with joy,\n_ibid._ 945; her death described in detail by a messenger, _ibid._\n*1117; she is described as gaily leading the Trojan maidens in a dance\nabout the wooden horse, unconscious of the doom so soon to come to her,\n_Agam._ 641.\n\nPOPPAEA (_Octavia_), one of the most beautiful and unscrupulous women\nof her time; she was first married to Rufus Crispinus, a prefect of\npretorian cohorts under Claudius; she abandoned him for Otho, and him,\nin turn, she left to become the mistress of Nero, and the rival of\nNero's wife, Octavia, _Oct._ 125; in order to further her schemes she\ninfluenced Nero to murder his mother, _ibid._ 126; demanded the death\nof Octavia, _ibid._ 131; with child by Nero, _ibid._ 188, 591; her\nrejection by Nero prophesied, _ibid._ 193; her beauty lauded by Nero,\nwho announced her as his next wife, _ibid._ 544; her wedding with Nero\ncursed by the ghost of Agrippina, _ibid._ 595; her marriage described,\n_ibid._ *698; is terrified by strange dream of Agrippina's ghost, and\nof her former husband, Crispinus, _ibid._ *712.\n\nPRIAM, king of Troy; in his youth, at the first taking of Troy, he\nwas spared by Hercules and allowed to retain the throne, _Tro._ 719;\npictured as viewing the contending hosts from the battlements of Troy\nin company with his little grandson, Astyanax, _ibid._ *1068; sues\nto Achilles for the dead body of Hector, _ibid._ 315, 324; his city\ndestroyed through the baleful power of love, _Oct._ 817; description\nof his death at the hands of Pyrrhus, _Tro._ *44; _Agam._ 655; he fell\nbefore the altar of Hercean Jove, _Agam._ 448, 792; pathetic contrast\nof his death with his former greatness, _Tro._ 140.\n\nPROCNE, daughter of Pandion, and wife of Tereus, king of Thrace; she,\nin revenge for the outrage upon her sister, Philomela, committed by her\nhusband, served to him his own son, Itys, _H. Oet._ 953; _Agam._ 673;\n_Thy._ 275.\n\nPROCRUSTES, a famous robber of Attica, killed by Theseus, _Hip._ 1170;\n_Thy._ 1050.\n\nPROETIDES, daughters of Proetus, king of Argolis; they counted\nthemselves more beautiful than Juno, and also refused to worship\nBacchus. The god drove them to a madness in which they thought\nthemselves cows, and went wandering through the woods. This act won for\nhim the favor of Juno, _Oed._ 486.\n\nPROM\u0112THEUS, a son of Iapetus and Clymene; he gave the gift of fire to\nmortals, _Med._ 821; for this act he was bound by Jove's command to\na crag of Mount Caucasus, where an eagle fed upon his ever-renewed\nvitals, _H. Fur._ 1206; _Med._ 709; _H. Oet._ 1378.\n\nPROSERPINA, daughter of Ceres and Jupiter; stolen away by Pluto and\nmade his queen in hades, _Med._ 12; _H. Fur._ 1105; sought in vain by\nher mother over the whole world, _ibid._ 659; Piritho\u00fcs and Theseus\nattempted to steal her away from the lower world, _Hip._ 95.\n\nPROTEUS, son of Oceanus and Tethys, shepherd and guardian of the\nsea-calves, _Hip._ 1205.\n\nPYLADES, son of Strophius, king of Phocis, and one of the sisters of\nAgamemnon; he accompanied his father as charioteer on the occasion of\nStrophius' visit to Argos just after Agamemnon's murder; they take\nOrestes away and so save him from death, _Agam._ 940.\n\nPYROMANT\u012aA, soothsaying by means of fire, practiced by Tiresias in his\neffort to discover the murderer of La\u00efus, _Oed._ *307.\n\nPYRRHA, the sister of Deucalion, saved with him from the flood, _Tro._\n1038. See DEUCALION.\n\nPYRRHUS (_Troades_), a son of the young Achilles and De\u00efdamia, the\ndaughter of Lycomedes, king of Scyros; born on the island of Scyros,\n_Tro._ 339; quarreled with Ulysses inside the wooden horse, _Agam._\n635; slew old Priam, _Tro._ 44, 310.\n\nPYTHON, a huge serpent or dragon that sprang from the slime of the\nearth after the flood had subsided; slain by Apollo, _H. Oet._ 93;\n_Med._ 700.\n\n\nR\n\nRHADAMANTHUS, a son of Jupiter and Europa, and brother of Minos; he\nwas made one of three judges in hades, _H. Fur._ 734.\n\nRHESUS, a king of Thrace who came, late in the Trojan War, to the aid\nof Priam; there was an oracle that Troy could never be taken if the\nhorses of Rhesus should drink the waters of the Xanthus, and feed upon\nthe grass of the Trojan plain; this oracle was frustrated by Ulysses\nand Diomedes, _Agam._ 216.\n\n\nS\n\nSATURN, son of Coelus and Terra, who succeeded to his father's kingdom\nof the heavens and earth; the golden age was said to have been in his\nreign, _Oct._ 395; had been dethroned by his three sons, Jupiter,\nNeptune, and Pluto, who divided up his kingdom among themselves; he is\nconceived of as chained in hades by Pluto, _H. Oet._ 1141; Hercules\nthreatens to unchain him against Jove unless the latter grant him a\nplace in heaven, _H. Fur._ 965.\n\nSCALES (_Libra_), the zodiacal constellation marking the autumnal\nequinox, _H. Fur._ 842.\n\nSCIRON, a celebrated robber in Attica, who threw his victims over the\ncliffs into the sea; he was slain by Theseus, _Hip._ 1023, 1225.\n\nSCORPION, one of the zodiacal constellations, _Thy._ 859.\n\nSCYLLA, one of the two shipwrecking monsters in the Sicilian Strait,\n_H. Fur._ 376; _H. Oet._ 235; _Med._ 350, 407; _Thy._ 579. See\nCHARYBDIS.\n\nSCYTHIA, a name given by the ancients to a portion of northern Asia of\nindefinite extent; a description of its nomadic tribes, frozen streams,\nchanging aspect of the country with the changing seasons, _H. Fur._\n*533.\n\nSEMELE, a Theban princess, daughter of Cadmus, beloved of Jove by whom\nshe became the mother of Bacchus, _H. Fur._ 16; she was blasted by a\nthunderbolt while the child, Bacchus, was still unborn, _H. Fur._ 457;\n_H. Oet._ 1804. See BACCHUS.\n\nSENECA (_Octavia_), introduced into the play in the character of Nero's\ncounselor, _Oct._ 377; he recalls his life in exile in Corsica, and\nconsiders it far happier and safer than his present life, _ibid._ 381;\nhe strives in vain to prevent the marriage of Nero and Poppaea, _ibid._\n695.\n\nSERES, a nation of Asia, supposed to be identical with the Chinese;\nthey gather silken threads (spun by the silkworm) from trees, _H. Oet._\n666; _Hip._ 389.\n\nSIL\u0100NUS, L. Junius, praetor in A.D. 49; he was the betrothed husband of\nOctavia, but put out of the way by court intriguers that Octavia might\nmarry Nero, _Oct._ 145.\n\nSIL\u0112NUS, a demigod, the foster-father and constant attendant of\nBacchus, _Oed._ 429.\n\nSINIS, a giant robber of the Isthmus of Corinth, who bent down treetops\nand, fixing his victims to these, shot them through the air; he was\nslain by Theseus, _H. Oet._ 1393; _Hip._, 1169, 1223.\n\nSINON, a Greek warrior, who deceived the Trojans as to the character\nand purpose of the wooden horse, and so procured the downfall of Troy,\n_Tro._ 39; _Agam._ *626.\n\nSIPYLUS, a mountain in Phrygia, on whose top Niobe, changed to stone,\nwas said to sit and weep eternally over her lost children, _H. Oet._\n185; _Agam._ 394; _H. Fur._ 391. See NIOBE.\n\nSIRENS, mythical maidens dwelling on an island of the ocean, whose\nbeautiful singing lured sailors to destruction, _H. Oet._ 190; they\nwere passed in safety by the Argonauts because Orpheus played sweeter\nmusic, _Med._ 355.\n\nSISYPHUS, the son of Aeolus, was said to have been the founder of\nancient Corinth, and father of Creon, _Med._ 512, 776; _Oed._ 282; for\nhis disobedience to the gods he was set to rolling a huge stone up a\nhill in hades, which ever rolled back again and so renewed his toil,\n_Med._ 746; _Hip._ 1230; _Agam._ 16; _H. Fur._ 751; _Thy._ 6; _Oct._\n622; _H. Oet._ 942, 1010; the stone followed the magical music of\nOrpheus, _ibid._ 1081.\n\nSMINTHEUS, an epithet of Phoebus Apollo, _Agam._ 176.\n\nSOL, the sun personified as the sun-god, used with the same force as\nPhoebus, _H. Fur._ 37, 61; _Med._ 29, 210; _Thy._ 637, 776, 789, 822,\n990, 1035; _Hip._ 124, 1091; _H. Oet._ 150.\n\nSOMNUS, the god of sleep, brother of death, _H. Fur._ 1069; called the\nson of Astraea, _ibid._ 1068; characteristics, symbols, and powers\ndescribed at length, _ibid._ *1065.\n\nSPHINX, a fabulous monster with the face of a woman, the breast, feet,\nand tail of a lion, and the wings of a bird; sent to harass Thebes,\nslaying everyone who passed her and who could not answer her riddle,\n_Oed._ 246; _Phoen._ 120, 131; Oedipus' encounter with her described,\n_Oed._ *92; slain by Oedipus, _ibid._ 641; seen by Creon among the\nshapes in hades, called by him the \"Ogygian (i. e., Boeotian or Theban)\npest,\" _ibid._ 589; used as type of winged speed, _Phoen._ 422.\n\nSTROPHIUS (_Agamemnon_), see PYLADES.\n\nSTYMPHALIAN BIRDS, monstrous creatures haunting a pool near the town of\nStymphalus in Arcadia; they were killed by Hercules as his sixth labor,\n_H. Fur._ 244; _Med._ 783; _Agam._ 850; _H. Oet._ 1237, 1890; used as\ntype of winged speed, _Phoen._ 422.\n\nSTYX, a river of hades, _H. Fur._ 780; _Oed._ 162; over which\nspirits must pass into the world of the dead, the river of death; in\nSeneca, this conception is not confined to the Styx, but is used of\nthat river in common with the Acheron, _H. Fur._ *713; _Hip._ 1180;\n_Agam._ 608; the Lethe, _Hip._ 148; _H. Oet._ 1161, 1550; and the\nPhlegethon, _Agam._ *750; it is upon the Styx alone, however, that\nthe gods swear their inviolable oaths, _H. Fur._ 713; _Hip._ 944;\n_Thy._ 666; _H. Oet._ 1066; from meaning the river of death, it comes\nto mean death itself, _H. Fur._ 185, 558; in its most frequent use,\nthe river signifies the lower world in general, the land of the dead;\nso are found Stygian \"shades,\" \"homes,\" \"caverns,\" \"ports,\" \"gates,\"\n\"borders,\" \"torches,\" \"fires,\" etc., _H. Fur._ 54, 90, 104, 1131;\n_Tro._ 430; _Med._ 632, 804; _Hip._ 477, 625, 928, 1151; _Oed._ 396,\n401, 621; _Agam._ 493; _Thy._ 1007; _H. Oet._ 77, 560, 1014, 1145,\n1198, 1203, 1711, 1766, 1870, 1919, 1983; _Oct._ 24, 79, 135, 162, 263,\n594; Cerberus is the \"Stygian dog\" and \"Stygian guardian,\" _Agam._\n13; _Hip._ 223; _H. Oet._ 79, 1245; the \"deep embrace of Styx\" is the\npit which Andromache prays may open up beneath Hector's tomb and hide\nAstyanax, _Tro._ 520; the boat on which Agrippina was to meet her death\nis called the Stygian boat, _Oct._ 127.\n\nSYMPLEGADES (the \"clashers\"), two rocks or crags at the entrance of the\nEuxine Sea which, according to tradition, clashed together when any\nobject passed between them; escaped by the Argo, _Med._ 341, 456, 610;\nHercules prays that he may be crushed to death between these rocks, _H.\nFur._ 1210; used as a type of a hard crag, _H. Oet._ 1273, 1380.\n\n\nT\n\nTAENARUS (also written TAENARA), a promontory on the southernmost point\nof the Peloponnesus, near which was a cave, said to be the entrance\nto the lower world, _Tro._ 402; _H. Fur._ 587, *663, 813; _Oed._ 171;\n_Hip._ 1203; _H. Oet._ 1061, 1771.\n\nTAGUS, a river of Spain, celebrated for its golden sands, _H. Fur._\n1325; _Thy._ 354; _H. Oet._ 626.\n\nTANTALUS (_Thyestes_) (1), a king of Lydia, son of Jupiter and the\nnymph, Pluto, father of Pelops and of Niobe, _H. Fur._ 390; _Oed._ 613;\n_Med._ 954; _Agam._ 392; _H. Oet._ 198; because of his outrageous sin\nagainst the gods (see PELOPS) he was doomed to suffer in hades endless\npangs of hunger and thirst, with fruit and water almost within reach of\nhis lips, _H. Fur._ *752; _Hip._ 1232; _Agam._ 19; _Thy._ 1011; _Oct._\n621; his sin described and punishment portrayed in detail, _Thy._ *137;\nhis ghost appears, describes his sufferings in hades, and is incited\nby a fury to urge on his house to greater crimes, _ibid._ 1; Deianira\nprays that she may take his punishment upon herself, _H. Oet._ 943;\nMedea prays that he may come and drink of the waters of Corinth, and\nthat Creon may take his place in hades, _Med._ 745; used as type of\noutrageous sinner, _Thy._ 242; he forgets his thirst in his grief for\nthe disasters which threaten his house, _Agam._ 769; he forgets his\nthirst under the influence of Orpheus' music, _H. Oet._ 1075.\n\nTANTALUS (_Thyestes_) (2), one of the sons of Thyestes, great-grandson\nof Tantalus (1), encourages his father to hope for reconciliation with\nhis brother, Atreus, _Thy._ 421; slain by Atreus, _ibid._ 718.\n\nTARTARUS (also written TARTARA), in its strict sense, that portion of\nthe lower world devoted to the punishment of the wicked, hell, the\nabode of the furies and of those like Tantalus, Ixion, etc., who are\nsuffering torments, _H. Fur._ 86; _Oed._ 161; _Med._ 742; _Oct._ 965;\nin the great majority of cases, however, Tartarus is the lower world in\ngeneral, whence ghosts come back to earth, _Agam._ 2; _Oct._ 593; to\nwhich Orpheus went in search of his wife, _Med._ 632; _H. Oet._ 1064;\nto which Hercules went to bring thence Cerberus, _H. Oet._ 461; _Hip._\n844; where was the palace of Dis, _ibid._ 951; _Agam._ 751; where\nCerberus stands guard, _H. Fur._ 649; _H. Oet._ 1770; where are the\n\"Tartarian pools,\" _Hip._ 1179; and so in general, _H. Fur._ 436, 710,\n889, 1225; _Oed._ 869; _Phoen._ 144, 145; _Thy._ 1013, 1071; _H. Oet._\n1126, 1119, 1514, 1705, 1779; _Oct._ 223, 644.\n\nTAURUS, the second zodiacal constellation, the Bull, which poets feign\nwas the bull in the form of which Jupiter bore Europa from Phoenicia to\nCrete, _H. Fur._ 9, 952; _Thy._ 852.\n\nTELEPHUS, a king of Mysia, wounded by Achilles' spear, and afterward\ncured by application of the rust scraped from its point, _Tro._ 215.\n\nTEREUS, a king of Thrace, whose barbarous feast upon his own son, Itys,\nis called the \"Thracian crime,\" _Thy._ 56. See PHILOMELA and PROCNE.\n\nTETHYS, the goddess of the sea, used frequently for the sea itself, in\nwhich the sun sets and from which it rises, _Hip._ 571, 1161; _H. Fur._\n887, 1328; _Tro._ 879; _Med._ 378; _H. Oet._ 1252, 1902.\n\nTHEBES, the capital city of Boeotia, founded by Cadmus, _H. Fur._ 268;\nits walls built by the magic of Amphion's lyre, _ibid._ 262; famed\nfor frequent visits of the gods, especially of Jove, _ibid._ 265;\nplague-smitten under Oedipus, who laments the disaster, _Oed._ *37;\nplague described at length by the chorus, _ibid._ *125; a curse fell\nupon Thebes from the time of Cadmus, _ibid._ *709; conquered by Lycus,\nthe usurper, who slew King Creon, the father of Megara, _H. Fur._ 270;\nscene of the _Hercules Furens_, _Oedipus_, and _Phoenissae_ (in part).\n\nTHESEUS (_Hercules Furens_, _Hippolytus_), king of Athens, son of\nAegeus and Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, king of Troezene; according to\ntradition also reputed the son of Neptune, who had granted him three\nwishes, _Hip._ 942, 943, 1252; the last of which he used against his\nson, Hippolytus, _ibid._ 945; went to Crete to slay the Minotaur; his\nbeautiful appearance described, _ibid._ *646, 1067; finds his way out\nof the labyrinth by aid of a thread given him by Ariadne, _ibid._ 650,\n662; fled with Ariadne, but deserted her on Naxos, _Oed._ 488; was the\ncause of his father's death, since he did not display the white sail on\nhis return to Athens from slaying the Minotaur, _Hip._ 1165; married\nAntiope, the Amazon, who became the mother of Hippolytus, but afterward\nslew her, _ibid._ 226, 927, 1167; married Phaedra, _ibid. passim_;\nwent to hades with his bosom friend, Piritho\u00fcs, to assist the latter\nin carrying away Proserpina, _ibid._ 91, 627; the two were apprehended\nby Dis and set upon an enchanted rock which held them fast, _H. Fur._\n1339; Theseus was rescued by Hercules, _ibid._ 806; _H. Oet._ 1197,\n1768; _Hip._ 843; returns from hades, _ibid._ 829.\n\nTHESPIADES, the fifty daughters of Thespius, loved by Hercules, _H.\nOet._ 369.\n\nTHETIS, a sea-goddess, daughter of Nereus; she was given as wife\nto Peleus, _Med._ 657; _Oct._ 707; and became by him the mother of\nAchilles, _Tro._ 346, 880; _Agam._ 616; to keep her son from the Trojan\nWar she hid him disguised in garments of a girl at the court of King\nLycomedes, _Tro._ 213; but this ruse was discovered and exposed by\nUlysses, _ibid._ 569.\n\nTHULE, the farthest known land, differing with different stages of\ndevelopment of human knowledge; the time will come when all lands will\nbe known, and there will be no _ultima Thule_, _Med._ 379.\n\nTHYESTES (_Thyestes_, _Agamemnon_), see ATREUS.\n\nTIPHYS, the pilot of the Argo, _Med._ 3, 318; picture of his management\nof the vessel, _ibid._ *318; grew pale at sight of the Symplegades,\n_ibid._ 346; his tragic death, *617.\n\nTIRESIAS (_Oedipus_), a celebrated prophet of Thebes, father of\nManto; blind and old, he is led by his daughter into the presence\nof Oedipus, where he attempts by various processes to discover the\nmurderer of La\u00efus, _Oed._ 288; practices _pyromantia_, _capnomantia_,\n_hieroscopia_, and later _necromantia_, _ibid._ *307; discovers by the\nlast process that Oedipus himself slew La\u00efus, _ibid._ *530.\n\nTISIPHONE, one of the furies who seems to appear to the distracted\nDeianira, _H. Oet._ 1012; seems to appear to the mad Hercules, guarding\nthe door of hell since Cerberus has been removed, _H. Fur._ 984. See\nFURIES.\n\nTITANS, a name given to the sons of Coelus and Terra, one of whom was\nHyperion, identified by Homer with the sun. The Titans warred against\none of their own number, Saturn, who had succeeded to the throne of his\nfather. The word is, however, frequently confounded with the Giants,\nwho banded together to dethrone Jove; they piled up mountains in their\nattempt to scale heaven, but were overthrown by Jove's thunderbolt and\nburied under Sicily, _H. Fur._ 79, 967; _Med._ 410; _Agam._ 340; _H.\nOet._ 144, 1212, 1309; in all other passages in Seneca, Titan means\nthe sun, more or less completely personified as the sun-god, lord and\nruler of the day, _H. Fur._ 124, 133, 443, 1060, 1333; _Med._ 5; Tro.\n170; _Hip._ 678, 779; _Oed._ 1, 40; _Thy._ 120, 785, 1095; _Agam._ 460,\n908; _H. Oet._ 42, 291, 423, 488, 723, 781, 891, 968, 1111, 1131, 1163,\n1287, 1512, 1518, 1566, 1575, 1760; _Oct._ 2. See GIANTS, PHOEBUS.\n\nTITYUS, a giant, son of Earth, who offered violence to Latona; for\nthis he was punished in hades, where a vulture kept feeding upon his\never-renewed vitals, _H. Fur._ 756, 977; _H. Oet._ 947; _Hip._ 1233;\n_Agam._ 17; _Thy._ 9, 806; _Oct._ 622; relieved for a while by the\nmusic of Orpheus, _H. Oet._ 1070.\n\nTMOLUS, a mountain in Lydia, a favorite haunt of Bacchus, _Phoen._ 602.\n\nTOXEUS, a youth slain by Hercules, _H. Oet._ 214.\n\nTRIPTOLEMUS, son of the king of Eleusis, through whom Ceres gave the\narts of agriculture to mankind, _Hip._ 838.\n\nTRITONS, sea-deities; they sung the marriage chorus of Achilles, _Tro._\n202.\n\nTRIVIA, an epithet of Diana, because she presided over places where\nthree roads meet, _Agam._ 382; _Oct._ 978; applied by association to\nLuna, the heavenly manifestation of Diana, _Med._ *787.\n\nTRO\u00cfLUS, a son of Priam, slain by Achilles, _Agam._ 748.\n\nTROY, an ancient city of Troas, whose walls were built by Neptune and\nApollo, _Tro._ 7; it was first destroyed under the reign of Laomedon,\nfather of Priam, by Hercules and Telamon, because of the perfidy of\nLaomedon, _Agam._ 614, 862; _Tro._ 135, *719; its second fall was after\nten years of siege by the Greeks, _Tro._ 74; her festal day turned\nout to be a day of doom, _Agam._ 791; it is not the Greek heroes who\ndestroyed Troy, but the lying traitor, Sinon, who deceived the Trojans\nabout the wooden horse, _ibid._ 615; mourning for the fall of Troy,\n_ibid._ 589; distant view of the smouldering ruins as seen by the Greek\nvessels from the sea on their homeward voyage, _ibid._ 456.\n\nTULLIA, a daughter of Servius Tullius, king of Rome; her impious sin\nand its punishment, _Oct._ 304.\n\nTYNDARIDAE, Castor and Pollux, the sons of Jupiter and Leda, but\nfalsely named from Tyndarus, the mortal husband of Leda; their stars\ngive help to sailors, _H. Fur._ 14, 552; _Oct._ 208. See CASTOR, LEDA.\n\nTYPHOEUS, one of the Giants who fought against Jove, _Med._ 773; _Thy._\n809.\n\nTYPHON, a giant, apparently the same as Typhoeus, _H. Oet._ 1733;\n_Oct._ 238.\n\nTYRRHENE, an epithet applied to the band of Phoenician pirates who\nattempted to kidnap Bacchus, _Oed._ 249; to the dolphin, in reference\nto the story of how these pirates were changed into dolphins by the\npower of Bacchus, _Agam._ 451; to the Tuscan Sea, because the Etrurians\nwere supposed to have been of Tyrrhenian stock, _Oct._ 311; and to\nInarime, an island, possibly to be identified with Ischia, lying in the\nTyrrhene sea off the coast of Campania, _H. Oet._ 1156.\n\n\nU\n\nULYSSES (_Troades_), _Tro. passim._\n\n\nV\n\nVENUS, a goddess, sprung from the foam of the sea, _Hip._ 274; she is\nthe goddess of love, _ibid._ 417, 576, 910; _Oct._ 545; the mother of\nCupid, the god of love, _Hip._ 275; _H. Oet._ 543; _Oct._ 697; called\nErycina, because Mt. Eryx in Sicily was sacred to her, _Hip._ 199; she\npersecuted the stock of Phoebus (i. e., Pasipha\u00eb and Phaedra), because\nthat god had published her amours with Mars, _ibid._ 124; cursed\nMessalina with insatiate lust, _Oct._ 258; the effect upon the world\nwhich the cessation of the power of Venus would produce, _Hip._ **469;\nshe has no existence, but is feigned by men as a goddess in order to\nexcuse their own lusts, _ibid._ 203; used frequently by metonymy for\nthe passion of love, either lawful or unlawful, _ibid._ 211, 237, 339,\n447, 462, 721, 913; _Agam._ 183, 275, 927; _Oct._ 191, 433.\n\nVIRGINIA, the daughter of Virginius, slain by her father to save her\nfrom the lust of Appius Claudius the decemvir, _Oct._ 296.\n\nVIRGO, the zodiacal constellation of the Virgin, Astraea, the daughter\nof Jove and Themis, who left the earth last of all the gods on account\nof man's sin, _Thy._ 857.\n\nVULCAN, the god of fire; forges the thunderbolts of Jove, _Hip._ 190;\nis pierced by Cupid's darts, _ibid._ 193; is called the father of Cupid\nand husband of Venus, _Oct._ 560.\n\n\nZ\n\nZETES, a winged son of Boreas, who, together with his brother Cala\u00efs,\nwas a member of the Argonautic expedition; they were slain by Hercules,\n_Med._ 634; they had previously driven away the harpies from Phineus,\nking of Thrace, _ibid._ 782.\n\nZETHUS, a Theban prince, son of Antiope, the niece of Lycus, king of\nThebes; he and his twin brother, Amphion, were exposed in infancy on\nMt. Cithaeron, but were saved and brought up by shepherds. Arrived at\nmanhood they killed Lycus and Dirce, his wife, on account of their\ncruelties to Antiope, and together reigned in Thebes. Reference is\nmade to their rustic life in _H. Fur._ 916; the shade of Zethus comes\nup from hades, still holding by the horn the wild bull to which he had\ntied Dirce, _Oed._ 610. See DIRCE.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nVariable spelling and hyphenation have been retained.\n\nMinor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently corrected.\n\nCorrections:\n\nThe first line indicates the original, the second the correction.\n\np. 31\n\n Hating his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.\n Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.\n\np. 38\n\n And not on thy acocunt hath fate\n And not on thy account hath fate\n\np. 49\n\n Whose hearts are fainting in your breats, behold,\n Whose hearts are fainting in your breasts, behold,\n\np. 105\n\n With serpent vernom, mixing all; and in the broth\n With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth\n\np. 258\n\n What honor comes from such an end at this?\n What honor comes from such an end as this?\n\np. 263\n\n _Hercules:_ Whate're is great enough for woman's wrath.\n _Hercules:_ Whate'er is great enough for woman's wrath.\n\np. 338\n\n _Atreus:_ Because they were thy chidlren.\n _Atreus:_ Because they were thy children.\n\np. 501\n\n See ASYTANAX.\n See ASTYANAX.\n\np. 517\n\n He was pursuaded by Pelias\n He was persuaded by Pelias\n\n\nErratum\n\np. 512\n\nThere is no entry for _Othrys_ in the Index","title":"The Tragedies of Seneca: Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a Mythological Index","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":162102}