Hecuba

Name: Hecuba
Author: Euripides

Euripides

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INTRODUCTION.

We left the history of the House of Tantalus with a reference to Helen, as we find her in the translated play which is among those which here complete the collection of the extant works of Euripides.

Menelaus sent ambassadors to Troy to demand back Helen, his wife, whom Paris had carried off. The counsels of Antenor were set aside at Troy, by the persuasions of Paris that gave occasion to the Siege of Troy. Agamemnon, on the throne of the deposed Thyestes, had extended his dominion. Homer gave him command over a hundred ships in the expedition against Troy. Some were from Mycene, which although but six or seven miles from Argos had been capital of a separate kingdom until it was reunited to Argos after the defeat and death of Eurystheus; and when Agamemnon succeeded his father Atreus, he enlarged and beautified Mycene. Twenty-eight unsuccessful suitors of Helen were summoned by Menelaus to contribute aid, and under command of the strongest of the confederates, Agamemnon—who was the brother of Menelaus, and who then had by his wife Clytemnestra three daughters, Iphigenia, Chrysothemis, and Electra, also one son, Orestes, then an infant—the expedition sailed for Troy.

But first, when the confederate fleets met as agreed, in the haven of Aulis they were stayed by a dead calm. Guidance was sought from the Oracle, and the soothsayer Calchas reminded Agamemnon of a vow made in the year of Iphigenia’s birth that he would sacrifice to Diana the most beautiful production of the year. That was his daughter, Iphigenia, whom now Diana claimed. The fleet would remain bound in Aulis until the sacrifice of Iphigenia. The story of the sacrifice, of the anger of the maiden’s mother Clytemnestra, and her lover Achilles, is told by Euripides in his “Iphigenia in Aulis.” The Goddess in the act of sacrifice miraculously substituted a hind for the daughter, whom she wafted in a cloud to her temple among the Scythians at Tauris, where she became a Priestess, and where it was the custom of the barbarous people to sacrifice every Greek who landed on their shores.

In the siege of Troy, Paris was slain by the arrows of Philoctetes. Helen then married his brother Deiphobus, whom she betrayed to the Greeks. When she came again into the hands of Menelaus, he was soon reconciled to her. In returning from the ten years’ siege of Troy, many of the companions of Agamemnon were lost by wreck on the coast of Eubœa, where the father of Palamedes, to avenge the unjust killing of his son in the camp of the Greeks, had set up false lights. Agamemnon came safely to Argos with the captive prophetess Cassandra, whom he intended for himself. This was a new affront to Clytemnestra; who remembered the murder of her first husband Tantalus and her first infant, who remembered also the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and who had found a paramour in Ægisthus, son of Thyestes. Clytemnestra murdered Agamemnon with an axe as he was coming out of the bath, and then married Ægisthus, who took Agamemnon’s throne.

The young Orestes was saved from his stepfather by a faithful servant, who carried him to Phocis, and there put him under the protection of Strophius. Electra remained at Argos and was married to a peasant, lest a husband powerful in the State should help to restore to their birthrights the children of Agamemnon.

When Orestes had passed out of childhood, he went for guidance to the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi, and was directed to avenge the murder of his father. He went then, with his inseparable friend Pylades, in disguise to Argos, and was received in a cottage on the boundary of Argos, by Electra and her peasant husband. He learnt that the peasant, strongly attached to the family of Agamemnon, had cancelled the wrong intended by Ægisthus, and had never claimed rights of a husband. Electra was still a maiden princess. Brother and sister then devised and carried out a plan for the killing of their mother Clytemnestra and Ægisthus.

But when the hands of Orestes were stained with his mother’s blood, the Furies rose from Hell, and drove him to distraction. Six days after the murder of Clytemnestra, the citizens of Argos met to pass sentence on Orestes and Electra. Menelaus after a voyage from Troy of seven years’ long delays, then landed at Nauplia near Argos, and would have helped his nephew Orestes; but he gave up Orestes and Electra to the people of Argos upon being told by Tyndarus that if he interfered he should never return to Sparta. The Council of Argos gave leave to Orestes and Electra to carry out upon themselves its sentence of death. After consulting with Pylades they resolved to kill Helen and seize their uncle’s one daughter, Hermione, as hostage. Helen had vanished; Menelaus breathed revenge; Apollo descended to save Orestes from his uncle, and from the people, by declaring that Orestes had done what the gods required. But Apollo bade him cleanse away pollution of his mother’s blood by a year’s banishment, after which he was to submit himself to the judgment of the Areopagus at Athens.

Before the Areopagus one of the Furies was his accuser, Apollo witnessed in his favour. The votes of the Court were equal, and Athené gave the casting vote for his acquittal. But still the Furies were implacable, and Orestes, again appealing to Apollo’s Oracle, was ordered to bring the statue of Diana from Tauris to Athens. Orestes sailed upon this mission with Pylades, whom he had affianced to his sister Electra. When the friends landed on the coast of Tauris, the barbarous people seized them and they were carried to Iphigenia to be sacrificed according to the custom of the land. When on the point of being sacrificed, discovery was made, and, with help of Minerva, not only the image of the goddess Diana, but also Iphigenia her priestess, was conveyed to Athens, in whose territories, at Brauronia, Iphigenia remained priestess until her death.

Meanwhile Menelaus had married his only daughter, Hermione, to Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles. Neoptolemus, who had offended Apollo by making the god answerable for the death of Achilles, went to Delphi to appease his wrath. Orestes, who sought Hermione for wife, went also to Delphi and persuaded the people there that Neoptolemus sought plunder of the temple. Neoptolemus was, therefore, murdered by the people of Delphi, as he was going unarmed to the temple to propitiate the god. Then Orestes carried off Hermione, and married her, at the same time when his sister Electra was married to Pylades. The plays of Euripides here leave Orestes; ruler on the throne of Agamemnon, reconciled to Menelaus, and married to Hermione, through whom, by right of her mother Helen and her father Menelaus, he may hope to bring also under his rule the dominions of Sparta.

Here ends an abstract of an abstract of the History of the House of Tantalus, as given by Michael Wodhull, Esq., to show the relations to each other of the stories upon which Euripides based many of his plays.

This volume completes our set of English versions of all extant plays of Euripides.

H. M.

April 1888

TO THE READERS OF THE UNIVERSAL LIBRARY.

The next volume of this Library, published in May 1888, will complete our household edition of Rabelais with the Sequel to Pantagruel. This will be followed in June by “A Miscellany” of short works of special interest taken from different periods of English life. The sixty-three volumes of the Universal Library, re-arranged in historical order, will then form a completed series, and the supply of standard literature in shilling monthly volumes will be left to other editors whose good work in this direction has been called into existence by the success of the Universal Library, which on its first appearance broke new ground.

The work done in these volumes will be continued, without change of aim, in a new series that has been planned to permit issue of large books without the crowding of type which, in this series, has been now and then found necessary. In the New Series, there will be a complete change of form. Substantial and handsome volumes of the best literature will be published in alternate months at a price that will add not more than three shillings to the present annual cost of “The Universal Library.” The name of the new Library will change from the Universal to the Particular. Its books may be named from their habitat, and they will usually be edited where the eye raised from the paper and ink rests upon Carisbrooke Castle.

THE FIRST VOLUME OF
Morley’s Carisbrooke Library
Will be published on the First of October, 1888.

H. M.

EURIPIDES.

Hecuba.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Polydore’s Ghost.
Hecuba.
Chorus of Captive Trojan Dames.
Polyxena.
Ulysses.
Female Attendant of Hecuba.
Agamemnon.
Polymestor.
Talthybius.

SCENE.—The Thracian Chersonesus.

The Ghost of Polydore.

Leaving the cavern of the dead, and gates

Of darkness, where from all the gods apart

Dwells Pluto, come I Polydore, the son

Of Hecuba from royal Cisseus sprung,

And Priam, who, when danger threatened Troy,

Fearing his city by the Grecian arms

Would be laid low in dust, from Phrygia’s realm

In privacy conveyed me to the house

Of Polymestor, of his Thracian friend,

Who tills the Chersonesus’ fruitful soil,

Ruling a nation famed for generous steeds;

But secretly, with me, abundant gold

My father sent, that his surviving children

Might lack no sustenance, if Ilion’s walls

Should by the foe be levelled with the ground.

I was the youngest of all Priam’s sons,

By stealth he therefore sent me from the realm;

Nor could my feeble arm sustain the shield,

Or launch the javelin; but while yet entire

Each ancient landmark on our frontiers stood,

The turrets of the Phrygian state remained

Unshaken, and my brother Hector’s spear

Prospered in battle; nurtured by the man

Of Thrace, my father’s friend, I, wretched youth,

Grew like a vigorous scion. But when Troy,

When Hector failed, when my paternal dome

Was from its basis rent, and Priam’s self,

My aged father, at the altar bled

Which to the gods his pious hands had reared,

Butchered by curst Achilles’ ruthless son;

Me, his unhappy guest, my father’s friend

Slew for the sake of gold, and having slain,

Plunged me into the sea, that he might keep

Those treasures in his house. My breathless corse,

In various eddies by the rising waves

Of ocean tost, lies on the craggy shore,

Unwept, unburied. But by filial love

For Hecuba now prompted, I ascend

A disembodied ghost, and thrice have seen

The morning dawn, to Chersonesus land,

Since my unhappy mother came from Troy.

But all the Grecian army, in their ships,

Here anchoring on this coast of Thrace remain

Inactive; for appearing on his tomb

Achilles, Peleus’ son, restrained the troops,

Who homeward else had steered their barks, and claims

Polyxena my sister, as a victim

Most precious at his sepulchre to bleed;

And her will he obtain, nor will his friends

Withhold the gift; for fate this day decrees

That she shall die: my mother must behold

Two of her slaughtered children’s corses, mine,

And this unhappy maid’s—that in a tomb

I may be lodged, where the firm beach resists

The waves, I to her servant will appear,

Since from the powers of hell I have obtained

The privilege of honourable interment,

And that a mother’s hand these rites perform:

I shall accomplish what my soul desired.

But on the aged Hecuba’s approach,

Far hence must I retreat; for from the tent

Of Agamemnon she comes forth, alarmed

By my pale spectre. O my wretched mother,

How art thou torn from princely roofs to view

This hour of servitude! what sad reverse

Of fortune! some malignant god hath balanced

Thy present misery ’gainst thy former bliss.

[Exit.

Hecuba, attended by Trojan Damsels.

Hec. Forth from these doors, ye gentle virgins, lead me,

A weak old woman: O ye nymphs of Troy,

Support your fellow-servant, once your queen

Bear me along, uphold my tottering frame,

And take me by this aged hand; your arm

Shall be my staff to lean on, while I strive

My tardy pace to quicken. O ye lightnings

Of Jove, O Night in tenfold darkness wrapt,

By such terrific phantoms from my couch

Why am I scared? Thou venerable earth,

Parent of dreams that flit on raven wing;

The vision I abhor, which I in sleep

This night have seen, relating to my son,

Who here is fostered in the Thracian realm,

And to Polyxena my dearest daughter;

For I too clearly saw and understood

The meaning of that dreadful apparition;

Ye tutelary gods of this domain,

Preserve the only anchor of our house,

My son, who dwells in Thracian fields, o’erspread

With snow, protected by his father’s friend.

Some fresh event awaits us, and ere long

By accents most unwelcome shall the ear

Of wretchedness be wounded: till this hour,

By such incessant horrors, such alarms,

My soul was never seized. Where shall I view

The soul of Helenus, on whom the god

Bestowed prophetic gifts, ye Phrygian maids?

Where my Cassandra to unfold the dream?

With bloody fangs I saw a wolf, who slew

A dappled hind, which forcibly he tore

From these reluctant arms, and what increased

My fears, was this—Achilles’ spectre stalked

Upon the summit of his tomb, and claimed

A gift, some miserable Trojan captive.

You therefore I implore, ye gods, avert

Such doom from my loved daughter.

Chorus, Hecuba.

Chor. I to thee,

To thee, O Hecuba, with breathless speed,

Fly from the tents of our imperious lords,

Where I by lot have been assigned, and doomed

To be a slave, driven by the pointed spear

From Troy; by their victorious arms the Greeks

Have made me captive: nothing can I bring,

Thy sorrows to alleviate; but to thee

Laden with heaviest tidings am I come

The herald of affliction. For ’tis said,

Greece in full council hath resolved thy daughter

A victim to Achilles shall be given.

The warrior mounting on his tomb, thou know’st,

Appeared in golden armour, and restrained

The fleet just ready to unfurl its sails,

Exclaiming, “Whither would ye steer your course,

Ye Greeks, and leave no offering on my grave?”

A storm of violent contention rose,

And two opinions in the martial synod

Of Greece went forth; the victim, some maintained,

Ought on the sepulchre to bleed, and some

Such offering disapproved. But Agamemnon,

Who shares the bed of the Prophetic Dame,

Espoused thy interest; while the sons of Theseus,

Branches from the Athenian root, discussed

The question largely in each point of view,

But in the same opinion both concurred,

And said that never should Cassandra’s love

To great Achilles’ valour be preferred:

Equally balanced the debate still hung,

When he, that crafty orator, endued

With sweetest voice, the favourite of the crowd,

Laertes’ son, persuaded all the host,

Not to reject the first of Grecian chiefs,

And yield the preference to a victim slave:

Lest some vindictive ghost, before the throne

Of Proserpine arising, might relate

How Greece, unmindful of her generous sons,

Who nobly perished for their native land,

From Ilion’s fields departed. In a moment

Ulysses will come hither, from thy breast,

And aged arms to drag the tender maid.

But to the temples, to the altars, go,

In suppliant posture clasp Atrides’ knees,

Invoke the gods of heaven and hell beneath,

For either thou wilt by thy prayers avert

Thy daughter’s fate, else must thou at the tomb

Behold the virgin fall distained with gore,

And gushing from her neck a crimson stream.

Hec. Wretch that I am! ah me! what clamorous sounds,

What words, what plaints, what dirges shall I find,

Expressive of the anguish which I feel?

Opprest by miserable old age, bowed down

Under a load of servitude too heavy

To be endured: what sanctuary remains,

What valiant race, what city will protect me?

The hoary Priam is no more, my sons

Are now no more. Or to this path, or that,

Shall I direct my steps? or whither go?

Where shall I find some tutelary god?

Ye Phrygian captives, messengers of ill,

O ye who with unwelcome tidings fraught,

Come hither, ye have ruined me. The orb

Of day shall never rise to fill this breast

With any comfort more. Ye luckless feet,

Bear an infirm old woman to the tent

Of our captivity. Come forth, my daughter,

Come forth and listen to thy mother’voice,

That thou may’st know the rumour I have heard,

In which thy life is interested.

Polyxena, Hecuba, Chorus.

Polyx. O mother,

What mean you by those shrieks? what fresh event

Proclaiming, from my chamber, like a bird,

Have you constrained me, urged by fear, to speed

My flight?

Hec. Ah, daughter!

Polyx. With foreboding voice,

Why do you call me? these are evil omens.

Hec. Alas! thy life, Polyxena.

Polyx. Speak out,

Nor aggravate the horrors yet untold

By long suspense. I fear, O mother, much

I fear. What mean those oft repeated groans?

Hec. Thou child of a most miserable mother!

Polyx. Why speak you thus?

Hec. The Greeks, with one consent,

Resolve that on the tomb of Peleus’ son

Thou shalt be sacrificed.

Polyx. What boundless woes

Are these which to your daughter you announce!

Yet, O my mother, with the tale proceed.

Hec. Of a most horrible report I speak,

Which says, that, by the suffrage of the Greeks,

It is resolved to take away thy life.

Polyx. O, my unhappy mother, doomed to suffer

Wrongs the most dreadful, doomed to lead a life

Of utter wretchedness: what grievous curse,

Such as no language can express, on you

Hath some malignant demon hurled! no more

Can I, your daughter, share the galling yoke

Of servitude with your forlorn old age;

For like some lion’s whelp, or heifer bred

Upon the mountains, hurried from your arms

Shall you behold me, and with severed head

Consigned to Pluto’s subterraneous realms

Of darkness, there among the silent dead,

Wretch that I am, shall I be laid. These tears

Of bitter lamentation I for you,

For you, O mother, shed; but my own life

I heed not, nor the shame, nor fatal stroke,

For I in death a happier lot obtain.

Chor. To thee, O Hecuba, with hasty step

Behold Ulysses some new message brings.

Ulysses, Hecuba, Polyxena, Chorus.

Uly. Though I presume the counsels of our troops

And their decision are already known

To thee, O woman, yet must I repeat

Th’ unwelcome tidings; at Achilles’ tomb,

Polyxena, thy daughter, have the Greeks

Resolved to slay; me to attend the virgin

Have they commanded: but Achilles’ son

Is at the altar destined to preside,

And be the priest. Know’st thou thy duty then?

Constrain us not to drag her from those arms

With violence, nor strive with me; but learn

The force of thy inevitable woes:

For there is wisdom, e’en when we are wretched,

In following reason’s dictates.

Hec. Now, alas!

It seems a dreadful struggle is at hand,

With groans abounding and unnumbered tears.

I died not at the time I ought to die,

Neither did Jove destroy me; he still spares

My life, that I may view fresh woes, yet greater,

Wretch that I am, than all my former woes.

But if a slave, who not with bitter taunt,

Or keen reproach, her questions doth propose,

Might speak to freemen, now ’tis time for you

To cease, and give me audience while I ask——

Uly. Allowed, proceed; for I without reluctance

Will grant thee time.

Hec. Remember you when erst

You came to Troy a spy, in tattered garb

Disguised, and from your eyes upon your beard

Fell tears extorted by the dread of death?

Uly. I well remember: for by that event

My inmost heart was touched.

Hec. But Helen knew you,

And told me only.

Uly. I can ne’er forget

Into what danger I was fallen.

Hec. My knees

You in a lowly posture did embrace.

Uly. And to thy garment clung with faltering hand.

Hec. At length I saved and from our land dismissed you.

Uly. Hence I the solar beams yet view.

Hec. What language

Did you then hold, when subject to my power?

Uly. Full many were the words which I devised

To save my life.

Hec. Doth not your guilt appear

From your own counsels? Though your tongue avows

The generous treatment you from me received

No benefit on me do you confer,

But strive to harm me. O ungrateful race

Of men, who aim at popular applause

By your smooth speeches; would to Heaven I ne’er

Had known you, for ye heed not how ye wound

Your friends, whene’er ye can say ought to win

The crowd. But what pretence could they devise

For sentencing this virgin to be slain?

Are they constrained by fate, with human victims,

To drench the tomb on which they rather ought

To sacrifice the steer? or doth Achilles

Demand her life with justice, to retaliate

Slaughter on them who slaughtered? But to him

Hath she done nought injurious. He should claim

Helen as victim at his tomb, for she

His ruin caused by leading him to Troy.

If it was needful that some chosen captive

Distinguished by transcendent charms should die,

We were not meant; for the perfidious daughter

Of Tyndarus is most beauteous, and her crimes

To ours at least are equal. Justice only

In this debate supports me: hear how large

The debt which ’tis your duty to repay

On my petition: you confess you touched

My hand, and these my aged cheeks, in dust

Grovelling a suppliant; yours I now embrace,

From you the kindness which I erst bestowed

Again implore, and sue to you: O tear not

My daughter from these arms, nor slay the maid:

Sufficient is the number of the slain.

In her I yet rejoice, in her forget

My woes; she, for the loss of many children,

Consoles me, I in her a country find,

A nurse, a staff, a guide. The mighty ought not

To issue lawless mandates, nor should they,

On whom propitious fortunes now attend,

Think that their triumphs will for ever last:

For I was happy once, but am no more,

My bliss all vanished in a single day.

Yet, O my friend, revere and pity me,

Go to the Grecian host, admonish them

How horrible an action ’twere to slay

These captive women whom at first ye spared,

And pitied when ye dragged them from the altars.

For by your laws ’tis equally forbidden

To spill the blood of freemen, or of slave.

Although you weakly argue, will your rank

Convince them: for the self-same speech, when uttered

By the ignoble, and men well esteemed,

Comes not with equal force.

Chor. The human soul

Is not so flinty as to hear the woes

And plaintive strains thou lengthen’st out, nor shed

The sympathizing tear.

Uly. To me attend,

O Hecuba, nor through resentment deem

That from a foe such counsels can proceed:

I am disposed to save thee, and now hold

No other language: but will not deny

What I to all have said; since Troy is taken,

On the first warrior of the host who asks

A victim, should thy daughter be bestowed.

The cause why many cities are diseased

Is this: the brave and generous man obtains

No honourable distinction to exalt him

Above the coward. But from us, O woman,

Achilles claims such homage, who for Greece

Died nobly. Is not this a foul reproach,

If, while our friends yet live, we seek their aid,

But after death ungratefully forget

Past services? Should armed bands once more

Assemble, and renew the bloody strife,

Will not some hardy veteran thus exclaim:

“Shall we go forth to battle, or indulge

The love of life, now we have seen the dead

Obtain no honours?” While from day to day

I live, though I have little, yet that little

For every needful purpose will suffice.

But may conspicuous trophies o’er my grave

Be planted, for such tribute to my name

Will last to after-ages. If thou call

Thy sufferings piteous, hear what in reply

We have to urge; amidst the Grecian camp

Are many aged dames, as miserable

As thou art, with full many a hoary sire,

And weeping bride, torn from her valiant lord,

O’er whose remains hath Ida’s dust been strewn.

Support thy woes: if with mistaken zeal

We have resolved to honour the deceased,

Our crime is ignorance: but ye barbarians

Pay no distinction to your friends, no homage

To the illustrious dead; hence Greece prevails;

But ye from your pernicious counsels reap

The bitter fruits they merit.

Chor. Ah, what ills

Ever attend the captive state, subdued

By brutal violence, and forced t’ endure

Unseemly wrongs.

Hec. Those words I vainly spoke

Thy slaughter to avert, in air were lavished;

But, O my daughter, if thy power exceed

Thy mother’s, like the nightingale send forth

Each warbled note, to save thy life, excite,

By falling at his knees, Ulysses’ pity,

And on this ground, because he too hath children,

Entreat him to compassionate thy doom.

Polyx. I see thee, O Ulysses, thy right hand

Beneath thy robe concealing, see thee turn

Thy face away, lest I should touch thy beard.

Be of good cheer; I’ll not call down the wrath

Of Jove who guards the suppliant, but will follow

Thy steps, because necessity ordains

And ’tis my wish to die; if I were loth,

I should appear to be an abject woman,

And fond of life: but what could lengthened life

Avail to me, whose father erst was lord

Of the whole Phrygian realm? Thus first I drew

My breath beneath the roofs of regal domes;

Then was I nurtured with the flattering hope

That I should wed a monarch, and arrive

At the proud mansion of some happy youth.

Ill-fated princess, thus I stood conspicuous

Amid the dames and brightest nymphs of Troy,

In all but immortality a goddess;

But now am I a slave, and the first cause

Which makes me wish to die, is that abhorred

Unwonted name; else some inhuman lord

With gold perchance might purchase me, the sister

Of Hector, and full many a valiant chief,

Might make me knead the bread, and sweep the floor,

And ply the loom, and pass my abject days

In bitterness of woe: some servile mate

Might bring dishonour to my bed, though erst

I was deemed worthy of a sceptred king:

Not thus. These eyes shall to the last behold

The light of freedom. O ye shades receive

A princess. Lead me on then, O Ulysses,

And as thou lead’st despatch me, for no hope,

No ground for thinking, I shall e’er be happy,

Can I discern: yet hinder not by word

Or deed the steadfast purpose I have formed;

But, O my mother, in this wish concur

With me, that I may die ere I endure

Such wrongs as suit not my exalted rank.

For whosoe’er hath not been used to taste

Of sorrow, bears indeed the galling yoke,

Yet is he grieved, when he to such constraint

Submits his neck: but they who die may find

A bliss beyond the living; for to live

Ignobly were the utmost pitch of shame.

Chor. A great distinction, and among mankind

The most conspicuous, is to spring from sires

Renowned for virtue; generous souls hence raise

To heights sublimer an ennobled name.

Hec. Thou, O my daughter, well indeed hast spoken;

Yet these exalted sentiments of thine

To me will cause fresh grief; but, if the son

Of Peleus must be gratified, and Greece

Avoid reproach, Ulysses, slay not her,

But me, conducting to Achilles’ tomb,

Transpierce with unrelenting hand. I bore

Paris, whose shafts the son of Thetis slew.

Uly. Not thee for victim, O thou aged dame,

But her, Achilles’ spectre hath demanded.

Hec. Yet slay me with my daughter; so shall earth,

And the deceased who claims these hateful rites,

A twofold portion drink of human gore.

Uly. Enough in her of victims; let no more

Be added: would to Heaven we were not bound

To offer up this one!

Hec. The dread behests

Of absolute necessity require,

That with my daughter I should die.

Uly. What mean’st thou?

I know no lord to counteract my will.

Hec. Her, as the ivy clings around the oak,

Will I embrace.

Uly. Not if to wiser counsels

Thou yield just deference.

Hec. I will ne’er consent

My daughter to release.

Uly. Nor will I go,

And leave her here.

Polyx. Attend to me, my mother,

And, O thou offspring of Laertes, treat

The just emotions of parental wrath

With greater mildness. But, O hapless woman,

Contend not with our conquerors. Would you fall

Upon the earth and wound your aged limbs,

Thrust from me forcibly, by youthful arms

Torn with disgrace away? Provoke not wrongs

Unseemly; O, my dearest mother, give

That much-loved hand, and let me join my cheek

To yours; for I no longer shall behold

The radiant orb of yonder sun. Now take

A last farewell, O you who gave me birth;

I to the shades descend.

Hec. But I the light

Am doomed to view, and still remain a slave.

Polyx. Unwedded, reft of promised bridal joys.

Hec. Thou, O my daughter, claim’st the pitying tear:

But I am a most miserable woman.

Polyx. There shall I sleep among the realms beneath,

From you secluded.

Hec. What resource, alas!

For me, the wretched Hecuba is left?

Where shall I finish this detested life?

Polyx. Born free, I die a slave.

Hec. I too, bereft

Of all my children.

Polyx. What commands to Hector,

Or to your aged husband, shall I bear?

Hec. Tell them I of all women am most wretched.

Polyx. Ye paps which sweetly nourished me——

Hec. Alas!

My child’s untimely miserable fate.

Polyx. Farewell, my mother, and my dear Cassandra.

Hec. To others in that language speak; be theirs

The happiness thy mother cannot taste.

Polyx. And thou, my brother Polydore, who dwell’st

Among the Thracians, famed for generous steeds——

Hec. If yet he live; but this I greatly doubt,

Because I am in all respects so wretched.

Polyx. He lives, and when the hour of death is come,

Will close your eyes.

Hec. I’m prematurely dead

While yet alive, bowed down to earth by woe.

Polyx. Now bear me hence, Ulysses, o’er my face

Casting a veil: for ere I at the altar

Am slain, this heart is melted by the plaints

Of my dear mother, and my tears augment

Her sorrows. O thou radiant light; for still

Am I permitted to invoke thy name,

But can enjoy thee only till I meet

The lifted sword, and reach Achilles’ tomb.

[Exeunt Ulysses and Polyxena.

Hec. I faint, my limbs are all unnerved; return,

My daughter, let me touch that hand once more,

Leave me not childless. O, my friends, I perish;

Ah, would to Heaven I could see Spartan Helen,

In the same state, that sister to the sons

Of Jove, for by her beauteous eyes was Troy,

That prosperous city, with disgrace o’erthrown.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

Ye breezes, who the ships convey,

That long becalmed at anchor lay,

Nor dared to quit the strand;

As the swift keel divides the wave,

Say whither am I borne a slave,

Ordained to tread the Doric land,

Or Phthia, where beset with reeds,

Apidanus, the sire of limpid rills,

Winding a-down the channelled hills,

Waters the fruitful meads?

I. 2.

Or to that isle, with dashing oar

Impelled, shall I my woes deplore,

And on the sacred earth,

Where first the palm and laurel rose,

Memorials of Latona’s throes,

Which to the twins divine gave birth,

Teach the harmonious strain to flow;

With Delos’ nymphs Diana’s praise resound,

Her hair with golden fillet bound,

And never-erring bow?

II. 1.

Or, pent in some Athenian tower,

Devoted to Minerva’s power,

On the robe’s tissued ground

While, shadowed by my needle, spread

Expressive forms, in vivid thread,

Picture the goddess whirling round

Her chariot with unrivalled speed;

Or represent the Titan’s impious crew,

Whom Jove’s red lightnings overthrew,

Those monsters doomed to bleed?

II. 2.

Alas! my sons, a valiant band,

My fathers, and my native land,

Ye shared the general fate.

Sacked by the Greeks, Troy’s bulwarks smoke,

But I, constrained to bear the yoke,

Shall soon behold some foreign state,

To ignominious bondage led;

And leaving vanquished Asia Europe’s slave,

Debarred an honourable grave,

Ascend the victor’s bed.

Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.

Tal. Where, O ye Phrygian damsels, shall I find

The wretched Hecuba, who erst was queen

Of Ilion?

Chor. Prostrate near you on the ground,

Wrapt in her mantle, there she lies.

Tal. Great Jove!

What shall I say? that thou from Heaven look’st down

Upon mankind, or have they rashly formed

A vain opinion, deeming that the race

Of gods exist, though fortune governs all?

Ha! was not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia,

And was not she the happy Priam’s wife?

But her whole city by the hostile spear

Is now destroyed, while she a slave, bowed down

By age, and childless, stretched upon the ground,

Defiles with dust her miserable head.

Old as I am, yet gladly would I die

Rather than sink into abhorred disgrace.

Arise, unhappy woman, O lift up

That feeble body, and that hoary head.

Hec. Away! O suffer this decrepit frame

To rest. Why move me! Whosoe’er thou art,

What mean’st thou? why dost thou molest th’ afflicted?

Tal. Talthybius: me, the herald of the Greeks,

O woman, Agamemnon hath despatched

To fetch you.

Hec. Com’st thou, by the Greeks ordained,

My friend, to slay me also at the tomb?

How welcome were such tidings; let us go,

With speed conduct me thither.

Tal. To inter

Your daughter, I invite you; both the sons

Of Atreus, and the assembled Grecian host,

Have sent me for that purpose.

Hec. Ah! what say’st thou?

Thou com’st not to inform me I must die,

But to unfold the most disastrous tidings.

Then art thou lost, my daughter, from the arms

Of thy fond mother torn; of thee, my child

Am I bereft. But how did ye destroy her,

Respectfully, or with the ruthless hand

Of hostile rage? Speak, though it wound my soul.

Tal. A second time, in pity to your daughter,

You make me weep; for now while I relate

Her sufferings, tears bedew these swimming eyes,

Such as I shed when at the tomb she perished.

To view the sacrifice the Grecian host

Were all assembled: taking by the hand

Polyxena, on the sepulchral hillock

Achilles’ son then placed her: I drew near,

Attended by the chosen youths of Greece,

To hold the tender victim, and prevent

Her struggles. But Achilles’ son, uplifting

With both his hands a cup of massive gold,

Poured forth libations to his breathless sire;

And gave a sign to me, through the whole camp

Strict silence to proclaim. I in the midst

Stood up and cried: “Be mute, ye Greeks, let none

Presume to speak, observe a general silence.”

The troops obeyed, and through their crowded ranks

Not e’en a breath was heard, while in these words

The chief expressed his purpose: “Son of Peleus,

My father, the propitiatory drops

Of these libations which invite the dead

Accept; O come and quaff the crimson blood

Of this pure virgin, whom to thee all Greece

And I devote; be thou benign, O grant us

Securely to weigh anchor, to unbind

Our halsers, and on all of us bestow

A happy voyage to our native land

From vanquished Troy.” He ceased, and in his prayer

Joined the whole army, when the chief unsheathed

His golden-hilted sword, and gave a sign

To chosen youths of Greece to hold the virgin,

Which she perceived, and in these words addressed

The warriors: “O ye Argives, who laid waste

My city, willingly I die, let no man

Confine these arms, I with undaunted breast

Will meet the stroke. I by the gods conjure you

Release, and slay me as my rank demands

Like one born free; for I from mighty kings

Descend, and in the shades beneath should blush

To be accounted an ignoble slave.”

Through all the host ran murmurs of assent,

And royal Agamemnon bade the youths

Release the virgin; they their monarch’s voice,

Soon as they heard, obeyed; our lord’s behests

The princess too revering, from her shoulder

Down to her waist rent off the purple robe,

Displayed her bosom like some statue formed

In exquisite proportion, and to earth

Bending her knee, in these affecting words

Expressed herself: “If at my breast thou aim

The wound, strike here; if at my neck, that neck

Is ready bared.” Half willing, and half loth,

Through pity for the maid, he with keen steel

Severed the arteries; streams of blood gushed forth:

Yet even thus, though at her latest gasp,

She showed a strong solicitude to fall

With decency, while stood the gazing host

Around her: soon as through the ghastly wound

Her soul had issued, every Greek was busied

In various labours; o’er the corse some strewed

The verdant foliage, others reared a pyre

With trunks of fir: but he who nothing brought,

From him who with funereal ornament

Was laden, heard these taunts: “O slothful wretch,

Bear’st thou no robe, no garland, hast thou nought

To give in honour of this generous maid?”

Such their encomiums on thy breathless daughter.

You, of all women, who in such a child

Were happiest, now most wretched I behold.

Chor. Fate, the behests of the immortal gods

Accomplishing, with tenfold weight hath caused

This dreadful curse to fall on Priam’s house,

And on our city.

Hec. ’Midst unnumbered ills

I know not, O my daughter, whither first

To turn my eyes, for if on one I touch,

Another hinders me, and I again,

By a long train of woes succeeding woes,

To some fresh object am from thence called off;

Nor can I from my tortured soul efface

The grief thy fate occasions; yet the tale

Of thy exalted courage checks my groans,

Which else had been immoderate. No just cause

Have we for wonder, if the barren land

Cheered by Heaven’s influence, with benignant suns

Yields plenteous harvests, while a richer soil

Deprived of every necessary aid

Bears weeds alone. But ’midst the human race

The wicked man is uniformly wicked,

The good still virtuous, nor doth evil fortune

Corrupt his soul; the same unsullied worth

He still retains. Is this great difference owing

To birth, or education? We are taught

What virtue is, by being nurtured well,

And he who thoroughly hath learnt this lesson,

Guided by the unerring rule of right,

Can thence discern what’s base.—My soul in vain

Hath hazarded these incoherent thoughts.

But, O Talthybius, to the Greeks repair,

And strict injunctions give, that no man touch

My daughter’s corse, but let the gazing crowd

Be driven away. For in a numerous host

Its multitudes break loose from all restraints,

The outrages of mariners exceed

Devouring flame, and whosoe’er abstains

From mischief, by his comrades is despised.

But, O my aged servant, take and dip

That urn in ocean’s waves, and hither bring,

Filled with its water, that the last sad rites

To my departed daughter I may pay,

And lave the corse of that unwedded bride,

Of that affianced virgin: but alas!

Whence with such costly gifts as she deserves,

Her tomb can I adorn? My present state

Affords them not, but what it doth afford

Will I bestow, and from the captive dames

Appointed to attend me, who reside

Within these tents, some ornaments collect.

If, unobserved by their new masters, aught

They have secreted. O ye splendid domes,

Ye palaces once happy, which contained

All that was rich and fair; O Priam thou

The sire, and I who was the aged mother

Of an illustrious race, how are we dwindled

To nothing, stripped of all our ancient pride!

Yet do we glory, some in mansions stored

With gold abundant, others when distinguished

Among the citizens by sounding titles.

Vain are the schemes which with incessant care

We frame, and all our boastful words are vain.

The happiest man is he who, by no ill

O’ertaken, passes through life’s fleeting day.

[Exit Hecuba.

Chorus.

ODE.

By Heaven was my devoted head

Menaced with impending ill,

What time the pines, whose branches spread

Their tutelary shade o’er Ida’s hill,

Were laid by Phrygian Paris low,

That his adventurous bark might stem the tide,

From Sparta’s coast to waft the fairest bride

On whom the solar beams their golden radiance throw.

II.

Surrounding labours were at hand

Leagued with the behests of fate;

Then did such madness seize the land,

As called down vengeance from a foreign state.

The royal swain with dazzled eyes

Gave that decree, the source of all our woes,

When from three rival goddesses he chose

Bright Venus, and pronounced that she deserved the prize.

III.

The spear and death hence raged around,

Hence were my mansions levelled with the ground;

Staining with tears Eurotas’ tide,

Too deeply grieved to share the victor’s pride,

The Spartan virgin too in vain

Bewails her favoured youth untimely slain,

While, sprinkling ashes o’er their vest

And hoary head, the matrons bend

O’er their sons’ urns; their groans to Heaven ascend,

They tear their cheeks, and beat their miserable breast.

Attendant, Chorus.

Att. Where is the wretched Hecuba, my friends,

Who in her woes surpasses all, or male,

Or of the female race? her none can rob

Of her just claim, pre-eminence in grief.

Chor. With the harsh sounds of that ill-boding tongue,

O wretch, what mean’st thou? wilt thou never cease

To be th’ unwelcome herald of affliction?

Att. Most grievous are the tidings which I bring

To Hecuba, nor easy were the task

In words auspicious to make known to mortals

Such dire calamities.

Chor. From her apartment

She seasonably comes forth to give thee audience.

Hecuba, Attendant, Chorus.

Att. O most unfortunate, whose woes exceed

All that the power of language can express,

My queen, you perish, doomed no more to view

The blessed light; of children, husband, city,

Bereft and ruined.

Hec. Nothing hast thou told

But what I knew, thou only com’st t’ insult me:

Yet wherefore dost thou bring to me this corse

Of my Polyxena, o’er whom ’twas said

The Grecian host with pious zeal all vied

To heap a tomb?

Att. She knows not, but laments

For the deceased Polyxena alone,

And to her recent woes is yet a stranger.

Hec. Ah, bring’st thou the inspired prophetic head,

And the dishevelled tresses of Cassandra?

Att. You speak of one yet living, but bewail not

This the deceased: survey the naked corse

Of him whose death to you will seem most strange

And most unlocked for.

Hec. Ha, I see my son,

My dearest Polydore, whom he of Thrace

Beneath his roof protected. I am ruined;

Now utterly I perish. O my son,

For thee, for thee I wake the frantic dirge,

By that malignant demon which assumed

Thy voice, thy semblance, recently apprized

Of this calamity.

Att. O wretched mother,

Know you then what was your son’s fate?

Hec. A sight

Incredible and new to me is that

Which I behold: for from my former woes

Spring woes in long succession, and the day

When I shall cease to weep, shall cease to groan,

Will never come.

Chor. The woes which we endure

Alas! are dreadful.

Hec. O my son, thou son

Of an ill fated mother, by what death

Didst thou expire? through what disastrous cause

Here liest thou prostrate? ah, what bloody hand——

Att. I know not; on the shore his corse I found.

Hec. Cast up by the impetuous waves, or pierced

With murderous spear?

Att. The surges of the deep

Had thrown it on the sand.

Hec. Alas! too well

I comprehend the meaning of the dream

Which to these eyes appeared: the spectre borne

On sable pinions no illusion proved,

When, O my son, thee, thee it represented

No longer dwelling in the realms of light.

Chor. Instructed by that vision, canst thou name

The murderer?

Hec. ’Twas my friend, the Thracian king,

With whom in secrecy his aged sire

Had placed him.

Chor. Ha! what mean’st thou? to possess

That gold by slaying him?

Hec. O, ’twas a deed

Unutterable, a deed without a name,

Surpassing all astonishment, unholy,

And not to be endured. Where now the laws

Of hospitality? Accursed man,

How cruelly hast thou with reeking sword

Transpierced this unresisting boy, nor heard

The gentle voice of pity!

Chor. Hapless queen,

How hath some demon, thy malignant foe,

Rendered thee of all mortals the most wretched:

But I behold great Agamemnon come,

And therefore, O my friends, let us be silent.

Agamemnon, Hecuba, Chorus.

Aga. Whence this delay? why go you not t’ inter,

O Hecuba, your daughter, whom Talthybius

Directed that no Greek might be allowed

To touch? We therefore have with your request

Complied, nor moved the corse. But you remain

Inactive, which I wonder at, and come

To fetch you, for each previous solemn rite

That best might please, if aught such rites can please,

Have we performed. But ah, what Trojan youth

Do I behold lie breathless in the tent?

For that he was no Greek, the garb informs me

In which he’s clad.

Hec. Thou wretch, for of myself

I speak, when thee, O Hecuba, I name;

What shall I do, at Agamemnon’s knees

Fall prostrate, or in silence bear my woes?

Aga. Why weep, with face averted, yet refuse

T’ inform me what hath happened? who is he?

Hec. But from his knees, if, deeming me a slave

And enemy, the monarch should repel me,

This would but make my sorrows yet more poignant.

Aga. I am no seer, nor can I uninformed

Trace out the secret purpose of your soul.

Hec. Am I mistaken then, while I suppose

A foe in him who doth not mean me ill?

Aga. If ’tis your wish I should not be apprized,

We both are of one mind; you will not speak,

And I as little am disposed to hear.

Hec. Without his aid no vengeance for my child

Can I obtain: yet why deliberate thus?

Prosper or fail I must take courage now.

O royal Agamemnon, by those knees

A suppliant I conjure you, by that beard,

And that right hand, victorious o’er your foes.

Aga. What do you wish for? To obtain your freedom?

This were not difficult.

Hec. No, give me vengeance

On yonder guilty wretch, and I am willing

To linger out the remnant of my life

In servitude.

Aga. Then why implore our aid?

Hec. For reasons you suspect not. Do you see

That breathless corse o’er which my tears I shed?

Aga. The corse I see; but cannot comprehend

What follows next.

Hec. Him erst I bore and nurtured.

Aga. Is the deceased, O miserable dame,

One of your children?

Hec. Not of those who fell

Beneath Troy’s walls.

Aga. What! had you other sons?

Hec. Yes, him you see, born in an evil hour.

Aga. But where was he when Ilion was destroyed?

Hec. His father, apprehensive of his death,

Conveyed him thence.

Aga. From all the other children

Which then he had, where placed he this apart?

Hec. In this same region where his corse was found.

Aga. With Polymestor, sovereign of the land?

Hec. He, to preserve that execrable gold,

Was hither sent.

Aga. But, by what ruthless hand,

And how, was he despatched?

Hec. By whom beside?

The murderer was his friend, the Thracian king.

Aga. Was he thus eager? O abandoned wretch,

To seize the gold!

Hec. E’en thus; soon as he knew

Troy was o’erthrown.

Aga. But where did you discover

The body, or who brought it?

Hec. On the shore

This servant found it.

Aga. Or in quest of him

Or other task then busied?

Hec. To fetch water

To lave Polyxena’s remains she went.

Aga. When he had slain him, it appears, his friend

Did cast him forth.

Hec. He to the waves consigned

The stripling’s mangled corse.

Aga. O wretched woman,

Surrounded by immeasurable woes.

Hec. I am undone; no farther ill remains

For me t’ experience.

Aga. Ah! what woman e’er

Was born to such calamities?

Hec. Not one

Exists, whose sorrows equal mine, unless

You of Calamity herself would speak.

Yet hear the motive why I clasp your knees.

If I appear to merit what I suffer,

I must be patient; but if not, avenge

My wrongs upon the man who ’gainst his guest

Such treachery could commit, who, nor the gods

Of Erebus beneath, nor those who rule

In Heaven above regarding, this vile deed,

Did perpetrate, e’en he with whom I oft

Partook the feast, on whom I showered each bounty,

Esteeming him the first of all my friends;

Yet, when at Ilion’s palace with respect

He had been treated, a deliberate scheme

Of murder forming, he destroyed my son,

On whom he deigned not to bestow a tomb,

But threw his corse into the briny deep.

Though I indeed am feeble, and a slave,

Yet mighty are the gods, and by their law

The world is ruled: for by that law we learn

That there are gods, and can mark out the bounds

Of justice and injustice; if such law

To you transmitted, be infringed, if they

Who kill their guests, or dare with impious hand

To violate the altars of the gods,

Unpunished ’scape, no equity is left

Among mankind. Deeming such base connivance

Unworthy of yourself, revere my woes,

Have pity on me, like a painter take

Your stand to view me, and observe the number

Of my afflictions; once was I a queen,

But now am I a slave; in many a son

I once was rich, but now am I both old

And of my children reft, without a city,

Forlorn, and of all mortals the most wretched.

But whither would you go? With you I seem

To have no interest. Miserable me!

Why do we mortals by assiduous toil,

And such a painful search as their importance

Makes requisite, all other arts attain,

Yet not enough intent on the due knowledge

Of that sole empress of the human soul

Persuasion, no rewards bestow on those

Who teach us by insinuating words

How to procure our wishes? who can trust

Hereafter in prosperity? That band

Of my heroic sons is now no more,

Myself a captive, am led forth to tasks

Unseemly, and e’en now these eyes behold

The air obscured by Ilion’s rising smoke.

It might be vain perhaps, were I to found

A claim to your assistance on your love:

Yet must I speak: my daughter, who in Troy

Was called Cassandra, the prophetic dame,

Partakes your bed; and how those rapturous nights

Will you acknowledge, or to her how show

Your gratitude for all the fond embraces

Which she bestows, O king, or in her stead

To me her mother? In the soul of man

Th’ endearments of the night, by darkness veiled,

Create the strongest interest. To my tale

Now listen: do you see that breathless corse?

Each act of kindness which to him is shown,

Upon a kinsman of the dame you love

Will be conferred. But, in one point my speech

Is yet deficient. By the wondrous arts

Of Dædalus, or some benignant god,

Could I give voice to each arm, hand, and hair,

And each extremest joint, they round your knees

Should cling together, and together weep,

At once combining with a thousand tongues.

O monarch, O thou light of Greece, comply,

And stretch forth that avenging arm to aid

An aged woman, though she be a thing

Of nought, O succour: for the good man’s duty

Is to obey the dread behests of justice,

And ever punish those who act amiss.

Chor. ’Tis wonderful, indeed, how all events

Happen to mortals, and the dread behests

Of fate, uncircumscribed by human laws,

Constrain us to form amities with those

To whom the most inveterate hate we bore,

And into foes convert our former friends.

Aga. To you, O Hecuba, your son, your fortunes,

And your entreaties, is my pity due.

I in obedience to the gods and justice

Wish to avenge you on this impious friend,

Could I appear your interests to espouse,

Without the troops suspecting that I slay

The Thracian monarch for Cassandra’s sake:

My terrors hence arise; the host esteem

Him our ally, and the deceased a foe:

What though you held him dear, his fate, the loss

Of you alone, affects not the whole camp.

Reflect too, that you find me well disposed

To share your toils, and in your cause exert

My utmost vigour; but, what makes me slow,

Is a well-grounded fear of blame from Greece.

Hec. Alas! there’s no man free: for some are slaves

To gold, to fortune others, and the rest,

The multitude or written laws restrain

From acting as their better judgment dictates.

But since you are alarmed, and to the rabble

Yield an implicit deference, from that fear

I will release you; only to my schemes

Be privy, if some mischief I contrive

Against the murderer of my son: but take

No active part. If, when the Thracian suffers,

As he shall suffer, ’mongst the Greeks a tumult

Break forth, or they attempt to succour him,

Restrain them, without seeming to befriend

My interests. As for what remains, rely

On me, and I will manage all things well.

Aga. How then? what mean you? With that aged hand

To wield a sword, and take away the life

Of that barbarian, or by drugs endued

With magic power? the help you need, what arts

Can furnish? what strong arm have you to fight

Your battles? whence will you procure allies?

Hec. These tents conceal a group of Trojan dames.

Aga. Mean you those captives whom the Greeks have seized.

Hec. With them I on the murderer will inflict

Due punishment.

Aga. How can the female sex

O’er men obtain a conquest?

Hec. Numbers strike

A foe with terror, and the wiles of women

Are hard to be withstood.

Aga. They may strike terror,

But in their courage I no trust can place.

Hec. What? did not women slay Ægyptus’ sons,

And in their rage exterminate each male

From Lemnos? But leave me to find out means

How to effect my purpose. Through the camp

In safety this my faithful servant send;

And thou, when to my Thracian friend thou com’st,

Say, “Hecuba, erst Queen of Troy, invites

Thee and thy children, on thy own account,

No less than hers, because she to thy sons

And thee the self-same message must deliver.”

The newly slain Polyxena’s interment

Defer, O Agamemnon; in one flame

That when their kindred corses are consumed;

The brother with the sister, who demand

A twofold portion of their mother’s grief

Together may be buried in one grave.

Aga. These rites shall be performed, which could the troops

Set sail, I needs must have denied: but now,

Since Neptune sends not an auspicious breeze,

Expecting a more seasonable voyage,

Here must we wait. But may success attend you;

For ’tis the common interest of mankind,

Of every individual, every state,

That he who hath transgressed should suffer ill.

And fortune crown the efforts of the virtuous.

[Exit Agamemnon.

Chorus.

I. 1.

No more, O Troy, thy dreaded name

Conspicuous in the lists of fame,

’Midst fortresses impregnable shall stand,

In such thick clouds an armed host

Pours terrors from the Grecian coast.

And wastes thy vanquished land:

Shorn from thy rampired brow the crown

Of turrets fell; thy palaces o’erspread

With smoke lie waste, no more I tread

Thy wonted streets, my native town.

I. 2.

I perished at the midnight hour,

When, aided by the banquet’s power,

Sleep o’er my eyes his earliest influence shed;

Retiring from the choral song,

The sacrifice and festive throng,

Stretched on the downy bed

The bridegroom indolently lay,

His massive spear suspended on the beam,

No more he saw the helmets gleam.

Or nautic troops in dread array.

II. 1.

While me the golden mirror’s aid,

My flowing tresses taught to braid

In graceful ringlets with a fillet bound,

Just as I cast my robe aside,

And sought the couch; extending wide

Through every street this sound

Was heard; “O when, ye sons of Greece,

This nest of robbers levelled with the plain,

Will ye behold your homes again?

When shall these tedious labours cease?”

II. 2.

Then from my couch up starting, drest

Like Spartan nymph in zoneless vest,

At Dian’s shrine an ineffectual prayer

Did I address; for hither led,

First having viewed my husband dead,

Full oft I in despair,

As the proud vessel sailed from land,

Looked back, and saw my native walls laid low,

Then fainting with excess of woe

At length lost sight of Ilion’s strand.

III.

Helen that sister to the sons of Jove,

And Paris Ida’s swain,

With my curses still pursuing,

For to them I owe my ruin,

Me they from my country drove,

Never to return again,

By that detested spousal rite

On which Hymen never smiled,

No, ’twas some demon who with lewd delight

Their frantic souls beguiled:

Her may ocean’s waves no more

Waft to her paternal shore.

Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.

Polym. For thee, O Priam, my unhappy friend,

And you, my dearest Hecuba, I weep,

Beholding your distress, your city taken,

Your daughter newly slain: alas! there’s nought

To be relied on; fame is insecure,

Nor can the prosperous their enjoyments guard

Against a change of Fortune, for the gods

Backward and forward turn her wavering wheel,

And introduce confusion in the world,

That we, because we know not will happen,

May worship them. But of what use are plaints

Which have no virtue to remove our woes?

If you my absence censure, be appeased,

For in the midst of Thracia’s wide domains

I from these coasts was distant at the time

Of your arrival: soon as I returned,

When from the palace I was issuing forth,

This your attendant met me, and delivered

The message, hearing which, I hither came.

Hec. O Polymestor, wretched as I am,

I blush to see thy face; because thou erst

In happier days didst know me, I with shame

Appear before thee in my present fortunes.

Nor can I look at thee with steadfast eyes:

But this thou wilt not deem to be a mark

Of enmity: the cause of such behaviour

Is only custom, which forbids our sex

To gaze on men.

Polym. No wonder you thus act

Under such circumstances. But what need

Have you of me, and wherefore did you send

To fetch me from the palace?

Hec. I in private

A secret of importance would disclose

To thee and to thy children. From these tents

Give orders for thy followers to depart.

Polym. [to his attendants, who retire.]

Withdraw; this solitary spot is safe.

For you and the confederate Grecian host

Are all attached to me. But ’tis incumbent

On you t’ inform me what my prosperous fortunes

Can yield to succour my unhappy friends!

For this is what I wish to do.

Hec. Say first,

If he, my son, whom this maternal hand

And his fond father in thy mansions placed,

My Polydore, yet live. I’ll then pursue

My questions.

Polym. Yes, in him you still are blest.

Hec. How kind, how worthy of thyself that speech,

My dearest friend!

Polym. What farther would you know?

Hec. If haply yet the youth remember aught

Of me his mother.

Polym. Much he wished to come

And visit you in private.

Hec. Is the gold

He brought from Troy preserved?

Polym. I keep it safe

In my own palace.

Hec. Keep it if thou wilt:

But covet not the treasures of thy friends.

Polym. I do not covet them; my utmost wish

Is to enjoy, O woman, what I have.

Hec. Know’st thou then, what to thee and to thy sons

I want to say?

Polym. I know not; till in words

Your thoughts are signified.

Hec. Bestow such love

On Polydore as thou receiv’st from me.

Polym. What is it that to me and to my children

You would disclose?

Hec. The spot, where deep in earth,

The ancient treasures of all Priam’s house

Lie buried.

Polym. Is this secret what you wish

Should to your son be mentioned?

Hec. Yes, by thee,

Because thou art a virtuous man!

Polym. But wherefore

Did you require these children should be present?

Hec. For them to know the secret, if thou die,

Will be of great advantage.

Polym. You have spoken

Well and discreetly.

Hec. Know’st thou where at Troy

Minerva’s temple stands?

Polym. Is the gold there?

But by what mark shall I the spot distinguish?

Hec. Above the surface rises a black stone.

Polym. Will you describe the place yet more minutely?

Hec. The gold I in thy custody would place,

Which I from Ilion hither bring.

Polym. Where is it?

Concealed beneath your garment?

Hec. ’Midst a heap

Of spoils laid up within yon tents.

Polym. Where mean you?

These are the Grecian mariners’ abode.

Hec. In separate dwellings have they placed the captives?

Polym. But how can we rely upon the faith

Of those within? doth no man thither come?

Hec. There’s not a Greek within; we are alone:

But enter thou these doors: for now the host,

Impatient to weigh anchor, would return

From Ilion to their homes. Thou with thy children

T’ accomplish all the dread behests of fate,

Shalt thither go where thou hast lodged my son.

[Exeunt Hecuba and Polymestor.

Chor. Thou hast not yet received the blow,

But justice sure will lay thee low.

Like him who headlong from on high

Falls where no friendly haven’s nigh,

Into the ocean’s stormy wave,

Here shalt thou find a certain grave:

For twofold ruin doth impend

O’er him who human laws pursue,

And righteous gods indignant view:

Thee shall the hope of gain mislead,

Which prompts thee to advance with speed,

And Pluto’s loathed abode descend:

Soon shalt thou press th’ ensanguined strand,

Slain by a woman’s feeble hand.

Polym. [within.] Ah me, the light that visited these eyes

is darkened.

Semichor. Heard ye, O my friends, the shriek

Of yonder Thracian?

Polym. [within.] Yet again, alas,

My children’s foul and execrable murder!

Semichor. My friends, some recent mischief hath within

Been perpetrated.

Polym. [within.] Though your feet are swift,

Ye shall not ’scape, for through the walls I’ll burst

My passage.

Semichor. With a forceful hand, behold

He brandishes the javelin. Shall we rush

To seize him? This important crisis bids us

Assist our queen and Phrygia’s valiant dames.

Hec. Now do thy worst, and from their hinges rend

Yon massive gates; no more canst thou impart

To those lost eyes their visual orbs, nor see

Thy sons, whom I have slain, to life restored.

Hecuba, Chorus.

Chor. Hast thou, my honoured mistress, caught the Thracian,

Over this treacherous friend hast thou prevailed,

And all thy threats accomplished?

Hec. Ye shall see him

Before the tent, without delay, deprived

Of sight, advancing with unsteady foot,

And the two breathless corses of his sons,

Whom I, assisted by the noblest matrons

Of Troy, have slain. Th’ atonement he hath paid

To my revenge, is just. But now behold

He issues forth: I will retire and shun

The Thracian chief’s unconquerable rage.

Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.

Polym. Ah, whither am I going? wretched me!

Where am I? what supports me? With these hands

Groping my way like some four-footed beast,

How shall I turn me, to the right or left,

That I those murderous Phrygian dames may seize

Who have destroyed me? Impious and accurst

Daughters of Ilion, in what dark recess

Do they escape me? Would to heaven, O Sun,

Thou to these bleeding eyeballs could’st afford

A cure, that thou my blindness could’st remove.

But hush, I hear those women’s cautious tread.

How shall I leap upon them? with their flesh

How shall I glut my rage, and for a feast

To hungry tigers cast their mangled bones,

In just requital of the horrid wrongs,

Which I from them, ah wretched me, have suffered?

But whither, by what impulse am I borne,

Leaving the corses of my sons exposed

To hellish Bacchanalians, as they lie

Torn by the dogs, and on the mountain’s ridge

Cast forth unburied! Where shall I stand still?

Or whither shall I go? Like some proud bark

Towed into harbour, which contracts its sails;

I to that fatal chamber which contains

The corses of my murdered sons rush onward

With speed involuntary.

Chor. Hapless man,

How art thou visited by woes too grievous

To be endured! but by dread Jove thy foe,

On him whose deeds are base, it is ordained

That the severest punishments await.

Polym. Rouse, O ye Thracians, armed with ponderous spears,

Arrayed in mail, for generous steeds renowned,

A hardy race, whom Mars himself inspires.

To you, O Grecian troops, and both the sons

Of Atreus, I with clamorous voice appeal:

Come hither, I implore you by the gods.

Do any of you hear me? Is there none

Who will assist? Why loiter ye? Those women,

Those captives have destroyed me. Horrid wrongs

Have I endured; ah me, the foul reproach!

But whither shall I turn, or whither go?

Through the aërial regions shall I wing

My swift career to that sublime abode

Where Sirius or Orion from his eyes

Darts radiant flames? or, to perdition doomed,

Shall I descend to Pluto’s sable flood?

Chor. He merits pardon, whosoe’er assailed

By ills too grievous to be borne, shakes off

The loathed encumbrance of a wretched life.

Agamemnon, Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.

Aga. Hearing thy shrieks I came. For Echo, child

Of craggy mountains, in no gentle note

Wafted those sounds tumultuous through the host.

Had we not known that by the Grecian spear

The towers of vanquished Phrygia are o’erthrown,

Such uproar would have caused no small alarm.

Polym. My dearest friend, soon as I heard your voice,

I instantly perceived ’twas Agamemnon.

See you my sufferings?

Aga. Wretched Polymestor!

Who hath destroyed thee? who bereaved of sight

Thy bleeding orbs, and those thy children slew?

Whoe’er the author of such deeds, his rage

Was dreadful sure ’gainst thee and ’gainst thy sons.

Polym. With the assistance of those captive dames,

Me Hecuba hath murdered, more than murdered.

Aga. What mean’st thou? Are you guilty of the crime

With which he charges you? and have you dared

To perpetrate an action thus audacious?

Polym. Ah me! what said you? Is she near at hand?

Inform me where to find, that I may seize her,

And scatter wide to all the fowls of heaven

Her mangled corse.

Aga. Ha! what is thy design?

Polym. Allow me, I conjure you by the gods,

To grasp her with this frantic arm.

Aga. Desist,

And casting forth all rancour from thy heart,

Now plead thy cause; that, hearing both apart,

I with unbiassed justice may decide,

If thou these sufferings merit’st.

Polym. I will speak.

There was one Polydore, the youngest son

Of those whom Hecuba to Priam bore;

Him erst removing from the Phrygian realm,

His sire to me consigned, that in my palace

He might be nurtured, when that hoary king

The fall of Troy suspected: him I slew:

But hear my motives for the deed, to prove

How justly and how prudently I acted.

Your enemy, that boy, if he survived

The ruin of his country, might, I feared,

Collect the scattered citizens of Troy,

And there again reside. I also feared,

That when the Greeks knew one of Priam’s line

Was living, with a second fleet invading

The shores of Phrygia, they again might drain

Of their inhabitants our Thracian fields,

Involving us, their neighbours, in the vengeance

They on their foes at Ilion wreak. To us

Already hath such neighbourhood, O king,

Proved baneful. But, apprized of her son’s fate,

Hecuba drew me hither, on pretence

She would inform me where in massive gold

The hidden treasures of old Priam’s race

Beneath Troy’s ruins were secured. Alone,

She with my children brought me to this tent,

That none beside might know. With bended knee,

While on a couch I sat, some on my left,

And others on my right, as with a friend,

Full many of the Trojan damsels took

Their places, holding up against the sun

My robe, the woof of an Edonian loom:

Some feigned t’ admire it, others viewed my spear,

And stripped me of them both. From hand to hand

The matrons, seeming to caress my children,

Removed them far from their unhappy sire:

And after their fond speeches, in an instant,

(Could you believe it?) snatching up the swords,

Which they beneath their garments had concealed,

They stabbed my sons, whom while I strove to aid,

In hostile guise their comrades held my arms

And feet: if I looked up, they by the hair

Confined me; if I moved my hands, my struggles

Proved ineffectual, through the numerous band

Of women who assailed me, and to close

The scene of my calamity, accomplished

A deed with more than common horror fraught,

For they tore out my bleeding eyes, and fled.

But, like a tiger starting up, I chased

These ruthless fiends, and with a hunter’s speed

Each wall examined, dashing to the ground,

And breaking what I seized. These cruel wrongs,

While I your interests study to maintain,

O Agamemnon, and despatch your foe,

Have I endured. To spare a long harangue,

The whole of what ’gainst woman hath been said

By those of ancient times, is saying now,

Or shall be said hereafter, in few words

Will I comprise; nor ocean’s waves, nor earth,

Nurture so vile a race, as he who most

Hath with the sex conversed, but knows too well.

Chor. Curb that audacious virulence of speech,

Nor, by thy woes embittered, thus revile

All womankind; the number of our sex

Is great, and some there are, whom as a mark

To envy, their distinguished worth holds forth,

Though some are justly numbered with the wicked.

Hec. O Agamemnon, never ought the tongue

To have a greater influence o’er mankind

Than actions; but whoever hath done well,

Ought to speak well; and he, whose deeds are base,

To use unseemly language, nor find means

By specious words to colour o’er injustice.

Full wise indeed are they to whom such art

Is most familiar: but to stand the test

Of time not wise enough; for they all perish,

Not one of them e’er ’scapes. These previous thoughts

To you, O mighty king, have I addressed.

But now to him I turn, and will refute

The fallacies he uttered. What pretence

Hast thou for saying, that to free the Greeks

From such a second war, and for the sake

Of Agamemnon, thou didst slay my son?

For first, O villain, the barbarian race

With Greece, nor will, nor ever can be friends.

What interest roused thy zeal? Didst thou expect

To form a nuptial union? Wert thou moved

By kindred ties, or any secret cause?

Greece with a fleet forsooth would have returned

To lay thy country waste. Who, canst thou think,

Will credit such assertions? If the truth

Thou wilt confess, gold and thy thirst of gain

Were my son’s murderers. Why, when Troy yet flourished,

Why, when the city was on every side

Fenced by strong bulwarks, why, when Priam lived,

And Hector wielded a victorious spear,

Didst thou not, if thou hadst designed to act

In Agamemnon’s favour, at the time

When thou didst nurture my unhappy son,

And in thy palace shelter, either slay,

Or to the Greeks surrender up the youth

A living prisoner? But when Ilion’s light

Was utterly extinguished, when the smoke

Declared the city subject to our foes,

The stranger thou didst murder, at thy hearth

Who sought protection. To confirm thy guilt,

Now hear this farther charge: if thou to Greece

Hadst been a friend indeed, thou should’st have given

The gold thou say’st thou keep’st, not for thine own,

But Agamemnon’s sake, among the troops

Who suffer want, and from their native land

Have for a tedious season been detained.

But thou from those rapacious hands e’en now

Canst not endure to part with it, but hoard’st it

Still buried in thy coffers: as became thee,

Hadst thou trained up my son, hadst thou to him

Been a protector, great is the renown

Thou would’st have gained; for in distress the good

Are steadfast; but our prosperous fortunes swarm

With friends unbidden. Hadst thou been in want,

And Polydore abounded, a sure treasure

To thee would he have proved: but now no longer

In him hast thou a friend; thou of thy gold

Hast lost th’ enjoyment, thou thy sons hast lost,

And art thyself thus wretched. But to you,

O Agamemnon, now again I speak:

If you assist him, you will seem corrupt;

For you will benefit a man devoid

Of honour, justice, piety, or truth;

It might be said that you delight in evil;

But, I presume not to reproach my lords.

Chor. How doth a virtuous cause inspire the tongue

With virtuous language!

Aga. On a stranger’s woes

Reluctant I pronounce, but am constrained;

For shame attends the man who takes in hand

Some great affair, and leaves it undecided.

Know then, to me thou seem’st not to have slain

Thy guest through an attachment to my cause,

Nor yet to that of Greece, but that his gold

Thou might’st retain: though in this wretched state

Thou speak to serve thy interests. Among you

Perhaps the murder of your guests seems light;

We Greeks esteem it base. If I acquit thee

How shall I ’scape reproach? Indeed I cannot:

Since thou hast dared to perpetrate the crime,

Endure the consequence.

Polym. Too plain it seems,

Ah me! that, vanquished by a female slave,

Here shall I perish by ignoble hands.

Hec. Is not this just for the atrocious deed

Which thou hast wrought?

Polym. My children, wretched me!

And these quenched orbs.

Hec. Griev’st thou, yet think’st thou not

That I lament my son?

Polym. Malignant woman,

Do you rejoice in taunting my distress?

Hec. In such revenge have not I cause for joy?

Polym. Yet not so hastily, when ocean’s wave——

Hec. Shall in a bark convey me to the shores

Of Greece?

Polym. Shall whelm you in its vast abyss

Fall’n from the shrouds.

Hec. Raised thither by what impulse?

Polym. Up the tall mast you with swift foot shall climb.

Hec. On feathered pinions borne, or how?

Polym. With form

Canine endued, and eyeballs glaring fire.

Hec. Whence didst thou learn that I such wondrous change

Shall undergo?

Polym. Bacchus, the Thracian seer,

Gave this response.

Hec. To thee did he unfold

Nought of the grievous sufferings thou endur’st?

Polym. Then could you ne’er have caught me by your wiles.

Hec. But on this change of being, after death,

Or while I yet am living, shall I enter?

Polym. After your death, and men shall call your tomb——

Hec. By my new form, or what is it thou mean’st?

Polym. The sepulchre of that vile brute, an object

Conspicuous to the mariner.

Hec. I care not;

My vengeance is complete.

Polym. Cassandra too,

Your daughter, must inevitably bleed.

Hec. Abomination! On thy guilty head

These curses I retort.

Polym. Her shall the wife

Of Agamemnon slay, who sternly guards

His royal mansion.

Hec. Such a frantic deed

As this may Tyndarus’ daughter ne’er commit!

Polym. She next uplifting the remorseless axe

Shall smite her lord.

Aga. Ha! madman, dost thou court

Thy ruin?

Polym. Slay me; for the murderous bath

Awaits you, when to Argos you return.

Aga. Will ye not drag him from my sight by force?

Polym. Hear you with grief what I announce?

Aga. My followers,

Why stop ye not the miscreant’s boding mouth?

Polym. This mouth be closed for ever: I have spoken.

Aga. Will ye not cast him with the utmost speed

Upon some desert island, since he dares

To speak with such licentiousness? Depart,

O wretched Hecuba, and both those corses

Deposit in the grave. But, as for you,

Ye to your lord’s pavilions must repair,

O Phrygian dames: for I perceive the gales

Rising to waft us homeward; may success

Attend the voyage to our native land!

And in our mansions may we find all well,

Freed from these dangers!

Chor. To the haven go,

And to the tents, my friends, t’ endure the toils

Our lords impose: for thus harsh fate enjoins.

Hercules Distracted.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Amphitryon.
Megara.
Chorus of Theban Old Men.
Hercules.
Lycus.
Iris.
A Fiend.
Messenger.
Theseus.

SCENE.—Before the Altar of Jupiter, at the Entrance of the House of Hercules in Thebes.

Amphitryon, Megara.

Amp. Is there on earth, a stranger to the man

Who shared the same auspicious nuptial bed

With Jove, Amphitryon born at Argos, sprung

From Perseus’ son Alcæus, me the sire

Of Hercules? He in these regions dwelt,

Where from the soil a helmed crop arose;

Mars, a small number of that race, preserved,

Whose children’s children people Cadmus’ city.

Hence Creon king of Thebes, Menæceus’ son,

Derives his birth, and Creon is the sire

Of this unhappy Megara, to grace

Whose hymeneal pomp, each Theban erst

Attuned the jocund lute, into my house

When Hercules conducted her. But leaving

This realm where I resided, and his consort

And kindred, my son chose to fix his seat

Within the walls of Argos, of that city

Erected by the Cyclops, whence I fled

Stained with Electryon’s gore: but to alleviate

My woes, and in his native land obtain

A quiet residence, this great reward

He on Eurystheus promised to bestow,

That he would rid the world of every pest:

Harassed by Juno’s stings, or envious fate,

With her conspiring: but, his other labours

Accomplished, he through Tænarus’ jaws at length

Went to the house of Pluto, to drag forth

Into the realms of day hell’s triple hound:

He thence returns not. But an old tradition

Among the race of Cadmus hath prevailed,

That Lycus, Dirce’s husband, erst bore rule

Over this city, till Jove’s sons, Amphion

And Zethus, who on milk-white coursers rode,

Became its sovereigns. Lycus’ son who bears

His father’s name, no Theban, but arriving

From the Eubœan state, slew royal Creon,

And having slain him, seized the throne, invading

The city with tumultuous broils convulsed.

But the affinity which we have formed

With Creon, seems to be my greatest curse:

For while my son stays in the realms beneath,

Lycus th’ egregious monarch of this land

Would with the children of Alcides kill

His consort, by fresh murders to extinguish

The past, and kill me too (if one through age

So useless may be numbered among men),

Lest when the boys attain maturer age,

They should avenge their grandsire Creon’s death.

But I (for my son left me here to tend

His children, and direct the house, since he

Entered the subterraneous realms of night),

With their afflicted mother, lest the race

Of Hercules should bleed, for an asylum

Have chosen this altar of protecting Jove,

Which my illustrious son for a memorial

Of his victorious arms did here erect,

When he in battle had subdued the Minyans.

But we, though destitute of every comfort,

Of food, drink, clothing, though constrained to lie

On the bare pavement, here maintain our seat,

For every hospitable door is barred

Against us, and we have no other hope

Of being saved. Some of our friends I see

Are faithless, and the few who prove sincere,

Too weak to aid us. Such is the effect

Of adverse fortune o’er the race of men;

May he to whom I bear the least attachment,

Never experience that unerring test

Of friendship.

Meg. Thou old man, who erst didst storm

The Taphian ramparts, when thou with renown

Didst lead the host of Thebes; the secret will

Of Heaven, how little can frail mortals know!

For to me too of no avail have proved

The fortunes of my father, who elate

With wealth and regal power (whence at the breasts

Of its possessors spears are hurled by those

Whose souls the lust of mad ambition fires),

And having children, gave me to thy son,

Joining a noble consort in the bonds

Of wedlock with Alcides, through whose death

These blessings are all fled. Now I, and thou,

Old man, are doomed to perish with the sons

Of Hercules, whom, as the bird extends

Her sheltering wings over her callow brood,

I guard. By turns they come and question me:

“O mother, whither is my father gone?

What is he doing? when will he return?”

Though now too young sufficiently to feel

How great their loss, thus ask they for their sire.

I change the theme, and forge a soothing tale,

But am with wonder smitten when the doors

Creak on their massive hinges, and at once

They all start up, that at their father’s knees

They may fall prostrate. But what hope hast thou

Of saving us, or what support, old man?

For I to thee look up. We from the bounds

Of these domains unnoticed cannot ’scape;

Mightier than us, a watchful guard is placed

At every avenue, and in our friends

No longer for protection can we trust.

Explain thyself, if thou hast any scheme,

By which thou from impending death canst save us;

But let us strive to lengthen out the time,

Since we are feeble.

Amp. ’Tis no easy task

In such a situation, O my daughter,

To form a sure and instantaneous judgment.

Meg. What is there wanting to complete thy woes,

Or why art thou so fond of life?

Amp. That blessing

I still enjoy, still cherish pleasing hopes.

Meg. I also hope, old man: but it is folly

To look for what we never can attain.

Amp. We by delaying might avert our fate.

Meg. But I in this sad interval of time

Feel piercing anguish.

Amp. The auspicious gales

Of fortune, O my daughter, yet may waft

Both you and me out of our present troubles,

If e’er my son your valiant lord return.

But O be pacified yourself, and cause

Your children to dry up their streaming tears;

With gentle language and delusive tales

Beguile them, though all fraudful arts are wretched.

For the disasters which afflict mankind

Are wearied out; the stormy winds retain not

Their undiminished force; nor are the blest

Perpetually blest: for all things change,

And widely differ from their former state.

The valiant man is he who still holds fast

His hopes; but to despair bespeaks the coward.

Chorus, Amphitryon, Megara.

Chor. Propped on my faithful staff, from home,

And from the couch of palsied age,

In melancholy guise I roam,

Constrained to chaunt funereal strains,

As the expiring swan complains,

A war of words alone I wage,

In semblance, but a flitting sprite,

An airy vision of the night.

I totter; yet doth active zeal

This faithful bosom still inspire.

Ye children who have lost your sire,

Thou veteran, and thou aged dame,

Doomed for thy lord these griefs to feel,

Whose Pluto’s dreary mansions claim;

O weary not your tender feet.

Like steeds by galling harness bound,

To turn the ponderous mill around,

I would advance my friends to meet,

Yet are my utmost efforts vain,

This shattered frame I scarce sustain:

Draw near, O take this trembling hand,

And holding fast my robe, support

My steps, thy needful aid I court,

Because I am too weak to stand.

Lead on the chief, though now by years

Bowed down, who marshalled on the strand,

His comrades erst a hardy band;

With him in youth we launched our spears,

Nor then belied our native land.

See how their eyes dart liquid fire,

Those children emulate their sire;

But still hereditary fate,

Pursues with unrelenting hate

Their tender years, nor can their charms

Redeem them from impending harms.

What valiant champions of thy cause,

O Greece, thy violated laws,

When these thy great supports shall fail,

Torn from thy fostering land wilt thou bewail.

But I behold the monarch of the realm,

Tyrannic Lycus, who these doors approaches.

Lycus, Amphitryon, Megara, Chorus.

Lyc. This question (if I may) I to the sire

And consort of Alcides would propose

(But, as your king, I have a right to make

Any inquiries I think fit): How long

Seek ye to spin out life? What farther hope

Have ye in view, what succour to ward off

The stroke of death? Expect ye that the father

Of these deserted children, who lies stretched

Amid the realms beneath will thence return,

That ye bely your rank, and meanly utter

These clamorous plaints on being doomed to die?

Through Greece hast thou diffused an idle boast,

That Jove enjoyed thy consort, and begot

An offspring like himself; while you exulted

In being called wife to the first of heroes.

But what great action hath your lord performed,

In having slain that hydra at the lake,

Or the Nemæan lion whom with snares

He caught, and then did arrogantly boast

That he had strangled in his nervous arms?

Will these exploits enable you to vie

With me? and for such merit am I bound

To spare the sons of Hercules, who gained

A name which he deserved not? He was brave

In waging war with beasts, in nought beside,

With his left hand he never did sustain

The shield, nor faced he the protended spear,

But with his bow, that weapon of a dastard,

Was still prepared for flight: such arms afford

No proof of courage; but the truly brave

Is he who in the ranks where he is stationed

Maintains his ground, and sees with steadfast eye

Those ghastly wounds the missile javelin gives.

Old man, I act not thus through cruelty,

But caution; for I know that I have slain

Creon her father, and possess his throne.

These children therefore will not I allow

To live till they attain maturer years,

Lest they should punish me for such a deed.

Amp. Jove will assert the cause of his own son.

But as for me, O Hercules, my care

Shall be to prove the folly of this tyrant:

For thy illustrious name I will not suffer

To be reproached. First from a hateful charge

(And that of cowardice I deem most hateful),

Calling the gods to witness, am I bound

To vindicate thy honour. I appeal

To Jove’s own thunder, and th’ impetuous steeds,

Which drew Alcides’ chariot when he sped

Those winged arrows to transpierce the flanks

Of earth-born giants, and among the gods

Triumphant revelled at the genial board.

Go next to Pholoe’s realm, thou worst of kings,

And ask the Centaurs’ monstrous brood, what man

They judge to be most brave, whether that title

Belongs not to my son, who only bears,

As you assert, the semblance of a hero?

But should you question the Eubœan mount

Of Dirphys, where your infancy was nurtured,

It cannot sound your praise: you have performed

No glorious action for your native land

To testify, yet scorn that wise invention

The quiver fraught with shafts: attend to me

And I will teach you wisdom. By his arms

Encumbered, stands the warrior who is sheathed

In ponderous mail, and through the fears of those

Who fight in the same rank, if they want courage,

Loses his life; nor, if his spear be broken,

Furnished with nought but courage, from his breast

Can he repel the wound; but he who bends

With skilful hand the bow, hath this advantage,

Which never fails him: with a thousand shafts

He smites the foe, no danger to himself

Incurring, but securely stands aloof,

And wreaks his vengeance while they gaze around,

Without perceiving whence the weapon comes:

His person he exposes not, but takes

A guarded post: for what in war displays

The greatest prudence, is to vex the foe,

Nor rush at random on their pointed spears.

Such reasoning on the subject in debate

With yours indeed agrees not: but what cause

Have you for wishing to destroy these children?

How have they injured you? In one respect

I deem you wise, because you dread the race

Of valiant men, and feel yourself a coward:

Yet is it hard on us, if we must bleed

Your apprehensions to remove; you ought

To suffer all we would inflict, from us

Whose merit is superior far to yours,

Were Jove impartial. Would you therefore wield

The sceptre of this land, let us depart

As exiles from the realm, or you shall meet

With strict retaliation, when the gales

Of wavering fortune alter. O thou land

Of Cadmus (for to thee I now will speak,

But in reproachful accents), such protection

Afford’st thou to the sons of Hercules,

Who singly warring with the numerous host

Of Minyæ, caused the Thebans to lift up

Their free-born eyes undaunted? I on Greece

No praises can bestow, nor will pass over

In silence its base treatment of my son,

For ’twas its duty in these children’s cause,

Bearing flames, pointed spears, and glittering mail,

To have marched forth, and recompensed the toils

Of their great father, who hath purged the sea

And land from all its monsters. Such protection

Nor doth the Theban city, O my children,

Nor Greece afford you; but ye now look up

To me a feeble friend who can do nought,

But plead for you with unavailing words.

For all the vigour which I once possessed

Hath now deserted me; old age assails

My trembling limbs and this decrepit frame.

Were I again endued with youthful strength,

I would snatch up my javelin, and defile

With gore the yellow ringlets on the head

Of that oppressor, whom his fear should drive

Beyond the most remote Atlantic bounds.

Chor. Are there not causes such as may provoke

Those who are virtuous to express their thoughts,

Though destitute of eloquence?

Lyc. ’Gainst me

Speak what thou wilt, for thou art armed with words,

But for injurious language by my deeds

Will I requite thee. Go, send woodmen, some

To Helicon, some to Parnassus’ vale,

Bid them fell knotted oaks, and having borne them

Into the city, heap their ponderous trunks

Around the altar, and with kindled flames

Consume the bodies of this hated race;

So shall they learn that Creon the deceased

No longer is the ruler of this land,

But that I wield the sceptre. As for you

Who thwart my counsels, O ye aged men,

Not for the sons of Hercules alone

Shall ye lament, but for those evil fortunes

Which ye and your own house are doomed to suffer:

But this shall ye remember, that to me,

Your monarch, ye are slaves.

Chor. O ye the race

Of earth, whom Mars erst sowed, when he had torn

From the huge dragon’s jaws th’ envenomed teeth,

With those right hands why will ye not uplift

The staves on which ye lean, and with his gore

Defile the head of this unrighteous man,

Not born at Thebes, but in a foreign realm,

From inconsiderate youths who gains that homage

Which he deserves not? but in evil hour

O’er me shalt thou bear rule, nor shall my wealth

Acquired by many toils be ever thine:

Go, act the tyrant in Eubœa’s land,

From whence thou hither cam’st: for while I live,

The sons of Hercules thou ne’er shalt slay,

Nor is their mighty father plunged so deep

Beneath earth’s surface, that he cannot hear

His children’s outcries. Thou to whom this land

Owes its destruction dost possess the throne:

But he its benefactor is deprived

Of the rewards he merits. Me thou deem’st

Officious, for protecting those I love

E’en in the grave, where friends are needed most.

O my right arm, how dost thou wish to wield

The spear, but through enfeebling age hast lost

Thy vigour: else would I have quelled thy pride

Who dar’st to call me slave, and in this Thebes,

Where thou exult’st, with glory dwelt. A city

Diseased through mutiny and evil counsels

Is void of wisdom, or would ne’er have chosen

Thee for its lord.

Meg. Ye veterans, I applaud

Your zeal; for indignation at the wrongs

His friends endure becomes the virtuous friend.

But let not anger ’gainst your lord expose you

To suffer in our cause. My judgment hear,

Amphitryon, if to thee in aught I seem

To speak discreetly. I these children love

(And how can I help loving those I bore?)

For whom I have endured the painful throes

Of childbirth. And to die is what I think of

As of a thing most dreadful; but the man

Who with necessity contends I hold

An idiot. But let us, since die we must,

Not perish in the flames to furnish scope

Of laughter to our foes, which I esteem

An ill beyond e’en death: for much is due

To the unsullied honour of our house,

For thee who erst in arms hast gained renown,

To die with cowardice, were a reproach

Not to be borne. My lord, though I forbear

To dwell on his just praises, is so noble,

He would not wish these children saved, to bear

The imputation of an evil name:

For through the conduct of degenerate sons

Reproach oft falls on their illustrious sires;

And the examples which my husband gave me,

I ought not to reject. But view what grounds

Thou hast for hope, that I of these may form

A proper estimate. Dost thou expect

Thy son to issue from the realms beneath?

What chief deceased from Pluto’s loathed abode

Did e’er return? Can we by gentle words

Appease this tyrant? No: we ought to fly

From fools who are our foes: but to the wise

And generous yield; for we with greater ease

May make a friend of him in whom we find

A sense of virtuous shame. But to my soul

This thought occurs, that we, the children’s sentence,

By our entreaties, haply might obtain

Converted into exile: yet this too

Is wretched, at th’ expense of piteous need

To compass our deliverance. For their friends

Avoid the face of guests like these, and look

No longer kindly on the banished man

After one day is over. Rouse thy courage,

And bleed with us, thee too, since death awaits.

By thy great soul, O veteran, I conjure thee.

Although the man who labours to repel

Evils inflicted by Heaven’s wrath, is brave,

Yet doth such courage border upon frenzy:

For what the fates ordain, no god can frustrate.

Chor. While yet these arms retained their youthful strength,

Had any one insulted thee, with ease

Could I have quelled him; but I now am nothing:

On thee, Amphytrion, therefore ’tis incumbent

To think how best thou may’st henceforth ward off

Th’ assaults of fortune.

Amp. No unmanly fear,

No wish to lengthen out this life, prevents

My voluntary death: but I would save

The children of my son, though I appear

To grasp at things impossible. Behold

I bare my bosom to the sword; pierce, slay,

Or cast me from the rock. But I, O king,

For this one favour sue to you; despatch

Me and this hapless dame before the children,

Lest them we view, most execrable sight,

In death’s convulsive pangs, to her who bore them,

And me their grandsire, shrieking out for aid.

But as for all beside, do what you list,

For we have now no bulwark which from death

Can save us.

Meg. I entreat one favour more,

Which to us both will equally be grateful.

Permit me in funereal robes to dress

My children; for that purpose be the gates

Thrown open (for the palace now is closed

Against us) that they from their father’s house

This small advantage may obtain.

Lyc. Your wishes

Shall be complied with. I my servants bid

Unbar the gates. Go in, bedeck yourselves;

The costly robes I grudge not: but no sooner

Shall ye have put them on, than I to you

Will come, and plunge you in the shades beneath.

[Exit Lycus.

Meg. Follow your hapless mother, O my children,

To your paternal house, where, though our wealth

Be in the hands of others, our great name

We still preserve.

Amp. O Jove, ’twas then in vain

That thou didst deign to share my nuptial couch,

In vain too, of thy son have I been styled

The father, for thou hast not proved the friend

Thou didst appear to be. I, though a man,

Exceed in virtue thee a mighty god;

Because I to their foes have not betrayed

The sons of Hercules: but thou, by stealth,

Entering my chamber, to another’s wife

Without permission cam’st; yet know’st not how

To save thy friends; thou surely art a god

Either devoid of wisdom, or unjust.

[Exeunt Amphitryon and Megara.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

For Linus’ death, by all the tuneful Nine

Bewailed, doth Phœbus’ self complain,

And loudly uttering his auspicious strain,

Smite with a golden quill the lyre; but mine

Shall be the task, while songs of praise

I chaunt and twine the laureate wreath,

His matchless fortitude t’ emblaze,

Who sought hell’s inmost gloom, the dreary shades beneath;

Whether I call the hero son of Jove,

Or of Amphitryon; for the fame

To which his labours have so just a claim,

Must e’en in death attract the public love:

In the Nemæan forest first he slew

That lion huge, whose tawny hide

And grinning jaws extended wide,

He o’er his shoulders threw.

I. 2.

The winged arrows whizzing from his bow,

Did on their native hills confound

The Centaurs’ race with many a deadly wound:

Alcides’ matchless strength doth Peneus know,

Distinguished by his limpid waves,

The fields laid waste of wide extent,

With Pelion, and the neighbouring caves

Of Homoles, uprooting from whose steep ascent,

Tall pines that cast a venerable shade,

The monsters armed their forceful hands,

And strode terrific o’er Thessalia’s lands:

Then breathless on th’ ensanguined plain he laid

That hind distinguished by her golden horns,

And still in Dian’s temple seen

His prize, to glad the huntress queen,

Oenöe’s walls adorns.

II. 1.

The chariot with triumphal ensigns graced

Ascending, to his stronger yoke

He Diomedes’ furious coursers broke,

Scorning the bit, in hateful stalls who placed

By their fell lord, the flesh of man

Raging devoured, accursed food;

A stream from their foul mangers ran,

Filled with unholy gore, and many a gobbet crude.

O’er Hebrus’ silver tide at the command

Of Argos’ unrelenting king

Eurystheus, he these captive steeds did bring,

Close to Anauros’ mouth on Pelion’s strand.

Inhuman Cycnus, son of Mars, next felt

The force of his resounding bow,

Unsocial wretch, the stranger’s foe,

Who in Amphanea dwelt.

II. 2.

Then came he to th’ harmonious nymphs, that band

Who in Hesperian gardens hold

Their station, where the vegetative gold

Glows in the fruitage; with resistless hand

To snatch the apple from its height;

The dragon wreathed his folds around

The tree’s huge trunk, portentous sight,

In vain; that monster fell transfixed with many a wound.

Into those straits of the unfathomed main

He entered, with auspicious gales,

Where feared the mariner t’ unfurl his sails,

And fixing limits to the watery plain

His columns reared: then from the heavens’ huge load

The wearied Atlas he relieved,

His arm the starry realms upheaved,

And propped the gods’ abode.

III. 1.

Foe to the Amazons’ equestrian race

He crossed the boisterous Euxine tide,

And gave them battle by Mæotis’ side.

What friends through Greece collected he to face

Hippolita, th’ intrepid maid,

That he the belt of Mars might gain,

And tissued robe with golden braid.

Still doth exulting Greece the virgin’s spoils retain,

Lodged in Mycene’s shrine, with gore imbrued,

The dog of Lerna’s marshy plain,

Who unresisting multitudes had slain,

The hundred-headed hydra, he subdued,

Aided by fire, and winged shafts combined,

These from his well-stored quiver flew,

And triple-formed Geryon slew,

Fierce Erythræa’s hind.

III. 2.

But having finished each adventurous strife,

At length in evil hour he steers

To Pluto’s mansion, to the house of tears,

The goal of labour, there to end his life,

Thence never, never to return;

His friends dismayed forsake these gates,

In hopeless solitude we mourn.

Hell’s stern award is passed, the boat of Charon waits

To their eternal home his sons to bear,

Most impious lawless homicide!

For thee, O Hercules, thee erst his pride,

Thy sire now looks with impotent despair.

Had I the strength which I possessed of yore,

I with my Theban friends, arrayed

In brazen arms, thy sons would aid:

But youth’s blest days are o’er.

Clad in funereal vestments I behold

The children of Alcides erst the great,

With his loved wife and his decrepit sire

Conducting them. O wretched me! no longer

Can I restrain the fountain of these tears

Which gush incessant from my aged eyes.

Megara, Amphitryon, Chorus.

Meg. Come on. What priest, what butcher is at hand

To slay these wretched children, or transpierce

My bosom? Now the victims stand prepared

For their descent to Pluto’s loathed abode.

By force, my children, are we borne along

United in th’ unseemly bands of death;

Decrepit age with helpless infancy

And intermingled matrons. O dire fate

Of me and of my sons, whom these sad eyes

Shall never more behold! Alas! I bore,

I nurtured you, to be the scorn, the sport,

Of our inveterate foes, and by their hands

To perish. Each fond hope, which from the words

Of your departed father erst I formed,

Hath proved fallacious. The deceased to thee

Allotted Argos, in Eurystheus’ palace

Wert thou to dwell a mighty king, and wield

The sceptre of Pelasgia’s fruitful land,

Then with the lion’s hide himself had worn

Thy front he covered: you were to ascend

The throne of Thebes for brazen chariots famed,

Possessing my hereditary fields,

Such were the hopes of your exulting sire,

Who to your hand consigned that ponderous mace

Deceitful gift of Dædalus: on thee,

Thou little one, he promised to bestow

Oecalia, which his shafts had erst laid waste:

To you all three, these realms in threefold portions

Did he distribute; for your father’s views

Were all magnanimous: but I marked out

Selected consorts for you, and formed schemes

Of new affinities, from the domains

Of Athens, Sparta, and the Theban city;

That binding up your cables, and secure

From the tempestuous deep, ye might enjoy

A happy life: these prospects now are vanished:

For to your arms hath changeful Fortune given

The Destinies to be your brides, while tears

Are your unhappy mother’s lustral drops.

Your grandsire celebrates the nuptial feast,

O’er which he summons Pluto to preside,

The father of your consorts. But, alas!

Whom first of you my children, or whom last

To this fond bosom shall I clasp, on whom

Bestow a kiss, whom in my arms sustain?

How like the bee with variegated wings

Shall I collect the sorrows of you all,

And blend the whole together in a flood

Of tears exhaustless? O my dearest lord,

If any of those spirits who reside

In Pluto’s realms beneath, can hear the voice

Of mortals, in these words to thee I speak:

O Hercules, thy father and thy sons

Are doomed to bleed; I perish too who erst

On thy account was by the world called happy.

Protect us, come, and to these eyes appear,

Though but a ghost; thy presence will suffice:

For these thy children’s murderers, when with thee

Compared, are dastards.

Amp. To appease the powers

Of hell beneath, O woman, be thy care.

But lifting to the skies my suppliant hands,

I call on thee, O Jove, that, if thou mean

To be a friend to these deserted children,

Thou interpose without delay and save them,

For soon ’twill be no longer in thy power:

Thou oft hast been invoked; but all my prayers

Are ineffectual; die, it seems, we must.

But, O ye aged men, the bliss which life

Can yield is small, contrive then how to pass

As sweetly as is possible the hours

Which fate allots you, e’en from morn till night

Shaking off every grief: for Time preserves not

Our hopes entire, but on his own pursuits

Intent, deserts us, borne on rapid wings.

Look but on me, amid the sons of men

Conspicuous erst performing glorious deeds;

And yet hath Fortune in one single day

Taken all from me, like a feather wafted

Into the trackless air. I know not him

To whom collected stores of wealth or fame

Are durable. Farewell, for this, my comrades,

Is the last time ye shall behold your friend.

Hercules, Megara, Amphitryon, Chorus.

Meg. Ha! O thou aged man, do I behold

My dearest husband? How shall I find utterance?

Amp. I know not, O my daughter; for I too

Am with amazement seized.

Meg. This sure is he

Who as we heard was in the realms beneath;

Else doth some vision in the noontide glare

Delude our senses. But what frantic words

Were those I spoke as if ’twas all a dream?

This is no other than thy real son,

Thou aged man. Come hither, O my children,

Cling to your father’s robe, with speed advance,

Quit not your hold, for ye in him shall find

An equal to our great protector Jove.

Her. All hail, thou mansion, and thou vestibule

Of my abode; thee with what joy once more

Do I behold, revisiting the light.

Ha! what hath happened? I my children see

With garlands on their temples, and my wife

Amidst a throng of men, my father too

Weeping for some mischance. I’ll go to them,

And ask the cause. What recent ill, O woman,

Hath happened to this house?

Meg. My dearest lord,

O thou who to thy aged father com’st

A radiant light, in safety hast thou reached,

At this important crisis, the abodes

Of those thou lov’st.

Her. What mean you by these words?

What tumults, O my sire, are we involved in?

Meg. We are undone; but, O thou aged man,

Forgive, if I’ve anticipated that

Thou would’st have said to him: for in some points

Our sex are greater objects of compassion

Than males. I deem my children dead; I too

Am perishing.

Her. O Phœbus! with what preludes

Do you begin your speech?

Meg. My valiant brothers,

And aged sire, alas! are now no more.

Her. Who slew them, how, or with what weapon?

Meg. Lycus,

The monarch of this city, was their murderer.

Her. With arms did he oppose them, or prevail,

When foul sedition through the land diffused

Its pestilent contagion?

Meg. By revolt

He holds the sceptre of the Theban realm.

Her. But wherefore hath this sudden panic reached

You and my aged sire?

Meg. He would have slain

Thy father, me, and these defenceless children.

Her. What mean you? could he fear my orphan race?

Meg. Lest they hereafter might avenge the death

Of Creon.

Her. But what garb is this they wear,

Which suits some corse?

Meg. Already in these vestments

For our funereal rites are we arrayed.

Her. And were ye on the point of perishing

By violence? Ah me!

Meg. Our friends desert us;

For we have heard that thou wert dead.

Her. Whence rose

This comfortless depression of the soul?

Meg. Eurystheus’ heralds the sad tidings bore.

Her. But for what cause did ye forsake my house,

My sacred Lares?

Meg. From his bed thy sire

Was forcibly dragged forth.

Her. So void of shame

Was Lycus as to treat his age with scorn?

Meg. Shame dwells not near the shrine of brutal force.

Her. Were we thus destitute of friends when absent?

Meg. What friends abide with him who is unhappy?

Her. But did they scorn the battles which I fought

Against the Minyans?

Meg. I to thee repeat it,

Calamity is friendless and forlorn.

Her. Will ye not cast from your dishevelled hair

These wreaths of Pluto? will ye not look up

To yon bright sun, and ope your eyes to view

Scenes far more pleasing than the loathsome shades

Of hell beneath? But I, for wrongs like these

Demand my vengeful arm, with speed will go

And overturn the house of that new king,

His impious head I to the ravenous hounds

Lopped from his trunk will cast, and each base Theban

Who with ingratitude repays my kindness

With this victorious weapon smite: my shafts

The rest shall scatter, till Ismenos’ channel

Be choked up with the corses of the slain,

And Dirce’s limpid fountain stream with gore.

For whom, in preference to my wife, my children,

And aged father, shall I aid? Farewell,

Ye labours which unwittingly I strove

T’ accomplish, mindless of these dearest pledges;

In their defence I equally am bound

To yield up life, if for their father they

Were doomed to bleed. What! shall we call it noble

To war against the hydra or the lion,

And execute the mandates of Eurystheus,

If I avert not my own children’s death?

No longer else shall I, as erst, be styled

Alcides the victorious.

Chor. It is just

Parents should aid their sons, their aged sire,

And the dear partner of the nuptial bed.

Amp. My son, this mighty privilege is yours,

To be the best of friends to those you love,

And a determined foe to those you hate.

But be not too impetuous.

Her. In what instance

Have I been hastier, O my honoured sire,

Than it becomes me?

Amp. To support his cause,

The king hath many, who in fact are poor,

Though fame accounts them rich; they raised a tumult,

And caused the ruin of the state, to plunder

Their neighbours; for the fortunes they possessed

Are through their own extravagance and sloth

Reduced to nothing. As the gates you entered,

These could not fail to see you: O beware

Lest since you by your foes have been perceived,

You perish when you least foresee your danger,

Oppressed by numbers.

Her. Though all Thebes beheld me,

I care not. But when I descried a bird

Of evil omen perched aloof, I knew

That there had some calamity befallen

My house, and therefore with presaging soul

In secrecy I entered these domains.

Amp. Draw near with pious awe, my son, salute

The Lares, and display that welcome face

In your paternal mansions. For to drag

Your wife and children forth, with me your sire

To murder us, the king himself will come.

But all will prosper, if you here remain,

And a secure asylum will you find,

Nor through the city spread a loud alarm

Ere your designs succeed.

Her. Thus will I act,

For thou hast rightly spoken; I am entering

The palace. From the sunless caves beneath

Of Proserpine, after a long delay

Returning, first to our domestic gods

Will I be mindful to address my vows.

Amp. Have you indeed then visited the house

Of Pluto, O my son?

Her. And thence the dog

With triple-head brought to these realms of light.

Amp. Conquered in battle, or on you bestowed

By hell’s indulgent goddess?

Her. I prevailed

O’er him in combat, and have been so happy

As to behold the far-famed mystic orgies.

Amp. But is the beast lodged in Eurystheus’ palace?

Her. Him Cthonia’s groves and Hermion’s walls

confine.

Amp. Knows not Eurystheus that you are returned

Into this upper world?

Her. He doth not know:

For I came first to learn what passes here.

Amp. But wherefore in the realms beneath, so long

Did you remain?

Her. I there prolonged may stay,

My sire, to bring back Theseus from the shades.

Amp. And where is he, gone to his native land?

Her. He went to Athens, pleased with his escape

From the infernal regions. But attend

Your father to the palace, O my sons,

Which now ye enter in a happier state

Than when ye left it: but take courage, cease

To pour forth floods of tears; and, O my wife,

Collect thyself, let all thy terrors cease,

And loose my garments; for I have not wings,

Nor would I vanish from my friends. Alas!

Their hold they quit not, but cling faster still,

And faster to my vest. Because ye stand

Upon the verge of ruin, I will take

And bear you hence, as by the ship light boats

Are guided o’er the deep: for I refuse not

The care my children claim. Here all mankind

Are on a level, they of nobler rank

And mean condition, to their progeny

Bear equal love. The gifts of fortune vary,

Some have abundant wealth, and some are poor;

But the whole human race feels this attachment.

[Exeunt Hercules and Megara, with the children.

Chorus.

ODE.

Youth is light, and free from care

But now a burden on my head

Heavier than Ætna’s rock, old age, I bear.

Before these eyes its sable veil is spread.

Not for the wealth of Asiatic kings,

Or heaps of gold that touched yon roof sublime,

Ere would I barter life’s enchanting prime;

Hence wealth a brighter radiance flings,

And poverty itself can charm:

But thou, curst dotage, art the sum

Of every fancied, every real harm;

May’st thou be plunged beneath the deep, nor come

To peopled town, or civilized abode,

Go wing thy distant flight along th’ aërial road.

I. 2.

Did the gods with sapient care

Mete out their bounty to mankind,

The good, the gift of twofold youth should share

Unquestioned token of a virtuous mind,

Behold life’s son its blest career renew,

While the degenerate sleep to wake no more.

We by these means distinctly might explore

Their merits with as clear a view,

As sailors, who each starry spark

Enumerate that adorns the skies.

But now the gods have by no certain mark

Directed whom we for their worth should prize,

Whom shun as wicked: uninformed we live,

Revolving time hath nought but plenteous wealth to give.

II. 1.

Mindful of its ancient themes,

This faltering tongue shall ne’er refuse,

Oft as I wander by their haunted streams,

To blend each gentle grace and tuneful muse:

O may I dwell among the harmonious choirs,

My brows still circled with a laureate wreath!

Still shall the bard, a hoary veteran, breathe

The strains Mnemosuné inspires:

While memory wakes, I ne’er will cease

Th’ exploits of Hercules to sing;

Where Bromius yields the purple vine’s increase,

Where Libyan pipes and the lute’s sevenfold string

Are heard in dulcet unison; to praise

The Nine who aid the dance, I’ll wake my choral lays.

II. 2.

Delian virgins at the gate

Assembled, festive pæans sing,

The triumphs of Latona’s son relate,

And nimbly vaulting form their beauteous ring.

Into thy temple, by devotion led,

O Phœbus, will I raise my parting breath;

The swan thus warbles at the hour of death:

Though hoary hairs my cheeks o’erspread.

How great the hero’s generous love,

Whose merits aid our votive song,

Alcides the resistless son of Jove;

Those trophies, which to noble birth belong

By him are all surpassed, his forceful hand

Restoring peace, hath cleansed this monster-teeming land.

Lycus, Amphitryon, Chorus.

Lyc. Forth from the portals at due season comes

Amphitryon; for ’tis long since ye were decked

In robes and trappings such as suit the dead.

But go, command the children and the wife

Of Hercules without these gates t’ appear,

Because ye have engaged that ye will die

By your own hands.

Amp. You persecute, O king,

Me whom already fortune hath made wretched,

And with sharp taunts insult my dying race:

Although in power supreme, you ought to act

With moderation; but since you impose

This harsh necessity, we must submit,

And execute your will.

Lyc. Where’s Megara?

Where are the children of Alcmena’s son?

Amp. To me she seems, as far as I can guess,

From looking through the door——

Lyc. What grounds hast thou

For this opinion?

Amp. In a suppliant posture

To sit before the Lares.

Lyc. And implore them

With unavailing plaints to save her life.

Amp. In vain too calls she on her lord deceased.

Lyc. But he is absent, he can ne’er return.

Amp. Unless some god should raise him up again.

Lyc. Go thou, and from the palace lead her hither.

Amp. ’Twould make me an accomplice in the murder,

If this I acted.

Lyc. Since thy soul recoils,

I, whom such idle scruples cannot move,

Will with their mother bring the children forth.

Follow my steps, my servants, that at length

We may behold sweet peace succeed our toils.

[Exit Lycus.

Amp. Depart: for to that place the Fates ordain

You now are on the road; perhaps the sequel

Will be another’s province: but expect,

Since you have done amiss, to suffer vengeance.

He, O ye veterans, at a lucky hour

Enters the palace, for on ambushed swords

His feet will stumble, while the villain hopes

Those he would murder are too near at hand

To ’scape: but I will go to see him fall

A breathless corse: for when our foe endures

The just requital of his impious deeds,

There is a joy resulting from his death.

[Exit Amphitryon.

Chor. Changed are our evil fortunes. To the shades

He who was erst a mighty king descends.

O justice, and ye dread vicissitudes

Of fate, ordained by Heaven!

1st Semichor. Thou art at length

Gone thither, where by death thou for those taunts,

With which thou o’er the virtuous didst exult,

Shalt make atonement.

2nd Semichor. My delight bursts forth

In floods of tears: for now is come that day

The tyrant deemed would never visit him.

1st Semichor. But let us also look into the palace,

My aged friend, and mark if yonder miscreant

Be punished as I wish.

Lyc. [within.] Ah me! ah me!

Chor. That melody most grateful to mine ear

Beneath yon roofs commences; nor is death

Far distant; for these cries the monarch utters

Are but a prelude to the fatal stroke.

Lyc. [within.] Ye realms of Cadmus, I through treachery perish!

2nd Semichor. Others have perished by that bloody hand.

Since then the retribution thou endur’st

Is just, endure it bravely.

1st Semichor. Where is he

Who uttered ’gainst the blest immortal powers

His foolish blasphemies, and called the gods

Too weak to punish him?

2nd Semichor. That impious man

Is now no more. Yon vaulted roofs are silent,

Let us begin the harmonious choral lay;

For, as I wished, our comrades prove victorious.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

The sumptuous banquet, with th’ enlivening dance

Now every Theban shall employ;

Dried are our tears, and past mischance

Yields to the lyre abundant themes of joy:

Stretched low in dust the tyrant lies;

But he, who by an ancient right

Obtains the sceptre, is our king;

From Acheron’s loathed stream behold him rise,

Revisiting the cheerful realms of light,

And hope, unlooked for, doth fresh transports bring.

I. 2.

The gods take cognizance of broken trust,

Nor are they deaf to holy prayer.

On gold and fortune, power unjust

Attends; man’s reason is too weak to bear

The joint temptations. Heaven at length,

Whose kind protection we invoke,

Deigning with pity to behold

Our woes, to the neglected laws their strength

Restoring, with vindictive fury broke

The sable car which bore the god of gold.

II. 1.

Now let the flowery wreath, the victor’s pride,

Adorn Ismenos; let each street employ

The hours in dance and social joy;

Let Dirce from the silver wave arise,

And old Asopus’ daughters by her side,

Forsaking their paternal stream,

Conspire to aid our rapturous theme,

And for Alcides claim the victor’s prize.

Ye Pythian rocks, with waving forests crowned,

And seats of Helicon’s melodious choir,

Come every nymph, with cheerful sound,

Visit these walls which to the clouds aspire;

In helmed crop here warriors filled the plains.

Whose lineage undecayed from age to age remains.

II. 2.

O ye, the partners of one nuptial bed,

Happy Amphitryon, sprung from mortal race,

And Jove, who rushed to the embrace

Of bright Alcmena; for of thee aright,

Though erst, O Jove, I doubted, was it said

Thou didst enjoy that beauteous dame;

With the renown his triumphs claim,

Time through the world displays Alcides’ might,

Emerged from grisly Pluto’s realms abhorred,

Who quits the darksome caverns of the earth,

To me a far more welcome lord,

Than yon vile tyrant of ignoble birth.

Now to the bloody strife we lift our eyes;

The vengeful sword is bared, if Justice haunt the skies.

Semichor. Ha! are we all by the same panic seized?

My aged friends, what spectre, hovering o’er

The palace, do I see? Those tardy feet

Raise from the ground, precipitate thy flight,

Be gone.—From me, O Pæan, mighty king,

Avert these evils.

Iris, a Fiend, Chorus.

Iris. O, ye aged men,

Be not dismayed: the fiend whom ye behold

Is daughter of old Night, and I am Iris,

The gods’ ambassadress. We are not come

To harm your city; for we only war

Against one man, who, sprung ’tis said from Jove

And from Alcmena: till he had performed

Severest labours, fate preserved his life;

Nor did his father Jove permit, or me,

Or Juno, e’er to hurt him: but, each toil

Eurystheus’ hate enjoined, now he hath finished,

Those oft-polluted hands with recent gore

Will Juno stain, by urging him to slay

His children: in this scheme I too conspire.

Come on then, armed with a relentless heart,

Unwedded daughter of the pitchy Night;

Instil into that hero’s breast such frenzy

As shall o’erturn his reason, and constrain him

To perpetrate this murder; his wild steps

Goad onward, throw the bloody cable forth,

That having sent this band of graceful sons,

Slain by their father’s arm, adown the gulf

Of Acheron, th’ effects of Juno’s wrath

And mine, he may experience; for the gods

Would be mere things of no account, but great

Would be the power of man, if he escaped

Unpunished.

Fiend. I from noble parents spring,

Night is my mother; and that blood which streamed

From the foul wound of Ouranus, my sire:

To me belongs this praise, I ’gainst my friend

No envious rancour feel, nor with delight

Invade them; but this counsel would suggest

To you and Juno, ere I see you rush

Into a fatal error, if my words

Can move you: he into whose house you send me

Is not obscure, or in the realms beneath,

Or yet among the gods: for when o’er lands,

Impervious erst, and o’er the stormy waves,

He had established peace, he to the gods

Their ancient honours, which by impious men

Had been abolished, singly did restore.

I therefore would dissuade you from contriving

’Gainst him these mischiefs.

Iris. Blame not thou the schemes

Devised by Juno and by me.

Fiend. Your steps

Into a better path, from that which leads

To evil, would I turn.

Iris. The wife of Jove

Sent thee not hither to act thus discreetly.

Fiend. Witness, thou sun, reluctant I obey.

But if constrained to be the instrument

Of Juno’s wrath and yours, I with such speed

As when the hounds obey the huntsman’s voice,

Your signal will attend; nor shall the deep

Upheaving with a groan its troubled waves,

The earthquake, or the thunderbolt, whose blast

Is winged with fate, outstrip me, when I rush

Into the breast of Hercules: the gates

Will I burst open, and assail the house,

First causing his devoted sons to bleed;

Nor shall their murderer know that his own hand

Slew those whom he begot, till he is rescued

From the distraction I inspire. Behold

He at the barrier stands, and shakes his head,

And rolls in silence his distorted eyes,

Flaming with anger. To contain his breath

No longer able, like a bull, prepared

To make the terrible assault, he bellows,

And calls the Furies from the dire abyss

Of Tartarus. Thee I to a greater height

Of frenzy soon will rouse, and through thy soul

Cause my terrific clarion to resound.

O noble Iris, to Olympus’ height

Now wing your swift career, while I, unseen,

Will enter the abodes of Hercules.

[Exeunt Iris and the Fiend.

Chor. Thou city, groan; thy choicest flower,

The son of Jove, is cropped: O Greece,

Thy benefactor’s fatal hour

Impends. To thee for ever lost,

Assailed by that infernal pest,

The dauntless chief, deprived of peace,

Shall feel his agonizing breast

With horrible distraction tossed.

Hence in her brazen chariot went

The raging fiend, on mischief bent;

She urges with a scorpion goad

Her steeds along th’ ethereal road.

That hundred-headed child of Night.

With all those hissing snakes around,

From her envenomed eyeballs bright

The Gorgon thus directs the wound.

Soon changed by Heaven’s supreme decree,

Is man’s short-lived felicity.

Ye infants, soon shall ye expire,

Slain by your own distracted sire.

Ah me! thy son, without delay,

Shall be left childless, mighty Jove;

For on his tortured soul shall prey

Yon fiend, and by the powers above

Vengeance commissioned to destroy.

O mansion erst the scene of joy!

To form a prelude to this dance,

Neither the cheering timbrel’s sound,

Nor sportive Menades advance;

Here human gore shall stream around,

Instead of that refreshing juice,

Which Bacchus’ purple grapes produce.

Away, ye children, danger’s nigh,

For he who wakes this hostile strain,

Traces your footsteps as ye fly;

Nor will the fiend with fruitless rage,

A war beneath those mansions wage.

Alas! we sink o’erwhelmed with woe,

My tears shall never cease to flow.

I wail the grandsire hoar with age,

The mother too who bore that train

Of lovely children, but in vain.

Lo, what a tempest shakes the wall,

And makes th’ uprooted mansion fall!

What mean’st thou, frantic son of Jove?

The hellish uproar thou dost raise,

Filling the palace with amaze,

Is such as vexed the realms above,

Till issuing with victorious might,

Pallas invincible in fight

The huge Enceladus oppressed,

And piled all Ætna on his breast.

Messenger, Chorus.

Mes. O ye whose heads are whitened o’er with age!

Chor. Why dost thou call me with so loud a voice?

Mes. Atrocious are the mischiefs which have happened

Within the palace.

Chor. I need now call in

No other seer. The boys are slain. Ah me!

Mes. Indulge your groans, for such events as these

Demand them.

Chor. By a foe, e’en by the hand

Of their own sire, in whom that foe they found.

Mes. No tongue can utter woes beyond what we

Have suffered.

Chor. What account hast thou to give

Of the dire fate the father on his sons

Inflicted? Sent by the avenging gods,

Say why such mischiefs visited this house,

And how the children miserably fell.

Mes. To purify the house were victims brought

Before Jove’s altar, after Hercules

Had slain and cast the monarch of this land

Forth from these doors. Beside the victor stood

His band of graceful children, with his sire

And Megara. The sacred vase was borne

Around the altar: from ill-omened words

We all abstained. But while Alcmena’s son

In his right hand a kindled torch sustained,

Ready to dip it in the lustral water,

He made a silent stand; on this delay

The children steadfastly observed their sire,

But he no longer was the same; his eyes

Were seized with strong convulsions, from their fibres

Blood started forth, his bearded cheeks with foam

Were covered: he midst bursts of laughter wild

Cried: “Wherefore need I kindle, O my father,

The fire for sacrifice, ere I have slain

Eurystheus, in a double toil engaged,

When I at once might better finish all?

Soon as I hither bring Eurystheus’ head,

These hands which reek already with the gore

Of Lycus, will I cleanse. Pour forth those waters

Upon the ground, and cast your urns away.

Who brings my bow, my club? I to Mycene

Will go: let spades and levers be prepared,

That I from their foundations may o’erturn

Those walls which with the plummet and the line

The Cyclops reared.” Then eager to depart,

Although he had no chariot, yet he talked

As if he had one, fancying that he mounted

The seat, and with his hand as with a thong

Drove the ideal steeds. His servants laughed,

And at the same time trembled; till one cried

(As on each other they with eager eyes

Were gazing), “Doth my master sport with us,

Or is he frantic?” Meanwhile through the palace

Backward and forward he with hasty step

Was walking: but no sooner did he reach

That spacious hall, where at the genial board

The men are wont t’ assemble, than he said

That he was come to Nisus’ ancient city,

And to th’ imperial dome: and on the floor,

As if reclining at the genial board,

Bade us set forth the banquet. But the pause

Which intervened was short, ere he exclaimed,

That he was traversing the Isthmian rocks

O’ergrown with woods; then casting off his mantle

He strove though there was no antagonist

With whom to strive, proclaimed himself the victor,

The name of that imaginary foe

Announcing, over whom he had prevailed:

But ’gainst Eurystheus he anon did utter

Menaces the most horrible, and talk

As if he at Mycene had been present.

His father strove to hold his vigorous arm,

And said to him; “What mean you, O my son?

What wanderings into distant realms are these?

Hath not the blood of him you have just slain

Distracted you?” Then for Eurystheus’ sire

Mistaking his own father, as he strove

To touch his hand, repelled the trembling suppliant:

Against his sons, the quiver and the bow,

Thinking to slay the children of Eurystheus,

He next made ready; they with terror smitten

Ran different ways; the first beneath the robes

Of his unhappy mother skulked; a second

Flew to the shade the lofty column formed:

Under the altar quivering like a bird,

The last concealed himself: their mother cried,

“What mean’st thou, O thou father, would’st thou slay

Thy sons?” Amphitryon too, that aged man,

And all the servants shrieked. But round the pillar

The boy pursuing, he at length turned short,

And meeting him, as foot to foot they stood,

Transfixed his liver with a deadly shaft;

Supine he fell, and with his streaming gore

Distained the sculptured pillars, at whose base

He breathed his last. But, with a shout, Alcides

Uttered these boasts: “One of Eurystheus’ brood

Slain by this arm, for the inveterate hate

His father bore me, to atone, here lies

A breathless corse.” Against another then,

Who to the basis of the altar fled,

And hoped to ’scape unseen, he bent his bow;

But ere he gave the wound, the wretched youth

Fell at his father’s knees, stretched forth his hands

To touch his chin, or twine around his neck,

And cried: “O spare my life, my dearest sire,

Yours, I am yours indeed; nor will you slay

Eurystheus’ son.” But he with glaring eyes

Looked like a Gorgon, while the boy pressed on

So close, he had no scope to aim the shaft,

But as the smith the glowing anvil smites,

Full on his auburn tresses he discharged

The ponderous mace, the crashing bones gave way.

Scarce had he slain the second, when he ran

To butcher his third son o’er both their corses:

But the unhappy mother in her arms

Caught up, into an inner chamber bore

The child, and closed the doors: but he, as if

He had indeed been at the Cyclops’ city,

With levers from their hinges forced them, pierced

His wife and offspring with a single shaft,

And then to slay his aged father rushed

With speed impetuous: but a spectre came,

Which to our eyes the awful semblance bore

Of Pallas brandishing her pointed spear,

And threw a rocky fragment at the breast

Of Hercules, which checked his murderous frenzy,

And plunged him into sleep. Upon the ground

Headlong he fell, where ’midst the ruins lay,

Rent from its pedestal a broken column:

But rallying from our flight, we, by his sire

Assisted, to the pillar bound him fast

With thongs, that on his wakening from this trance

He might commit no more atrocious deeds.

There doth he taste an inauspicious sleep,

First having slain his children and his consort.

I know no mortal more completely wretched.

[Exit Messenger.

Chor. There was a murder in the Argive land

Most wondrous and unparalleled through Greece

In days of yore, which the confederate daughters

Of Danaus perpetrated; but their crimes

By the dire fate of Progne’s only son

Were far surpassed. I of a bloody deed

Now speak which they committed, they whose voice

Equals the Muses’ choir; but thou who spring’st

From Jove himself, hast in thy frenzy slain

All thy three sons; for them what groans, what tears,

What invocations to the shades beneath,

Or songs shall I prepare to soothe the rage

Of grisly Pluto? Shivered on the ground

The portals of that lofty mansion view,

Behold the corses of the children stretcht

Before their miserable sire, whose senses,

Since he hath slain them, in profoundest sleep

Are buried. Mark those knotty cords around

The brawny limbs of Hercules, entwined

And to the columns in the palace fixed.

But old Amphitryon, like a bird who wails

Over its callow brood, with tardy step

Comes hither in the bitterness of grief.

Amphitryon, Chorus.

The Palace gates thrown open, discover Hercules
stretched on the ground and sleeping.

Amp. Ye aged Thebans, will ye not be silent,

Will ye not suffer him dissolved in sleep

His miseries to forget?

Chor. These tears, these groans,

To you, O venerable man, I pay,

To those slain children, and the chief renowned

For his victorious conflicts.

Amp. Farther still

Retire; forbear, forbear those clamorous sounds,

Lest his repose ye break, and from a trance

The sleeper rouse.

Chor. How dreadful was this slaughter!

Amp. Ha! ha! begone, for he in wild confusion

Is starting up. Why will ye not lament,

Ye aged men, in a more gentle tone?

Lest roused from sleep he burst his chains, destroy

The city, smite his sire, and with the ground

Lay these proud mansions level.

Chor. This I hold

Impossible.

Amp. Be silent, I will mark

Whether he breathe: O let me place my ear

Still closer.

Chor. Sleeps he?

Amp. An accursed repose,

Alas! he tastes, who hath his consort slain,

And slain his sons with that resounding bow.

Chor. Now wail.

Amp. I wail those children’s fate.

Chor. Your son,

Alas! old man, our equal pity claims.

Amp. Observe strict silence, for again he rises

And turns around: I will conceal myself

Beneath that roof.

Chor. Be of good cheer: night seals

The eyelids of your son.

Amp. Mark, mark me well,

I am so wretched that without reluctance

I can bid life adieu: but if he kill

Me too who am his father, guilt on guilt

Shall he accumulate, and join the stings

Of parricide to those which from the Furies

Who haunt him, he already doth endure.

Chor. Better you then had died, when you prepared

T’ avenge the slaughtered brothers of Alcmena,

And stormed the fortress of the Taphian isle.

Amp. Fly, leave the palace instantly; avoid

That frantic man, who from his sleep is roused,

For adding soon fresh slaughter to the past,

With Bacchanalian transport shall he range

Through Cadmus’ city.

Chor. Why hast thou, O Jove,

Hated thy son so bitterly, and plunged him

Into this sea of troubles?

Her. [waking.] Ha! I breathe,

And view each wonted object, air, and earth,

And these bright solar beams. Into what storm,

What dreadful perturbation of the soul

Have I been plunged! all heated I transpire,

Not from my lungs, but from my feverish heart.

Behold me! wherefore am I bound with chains,

Like a disabled ship towed into haven,

And by this youthful chest and nervous arm

Joined to a broken pillar? Here I sit

Contiguous to the corses of the slain;

My winged shafts lie scattered on the ground,

With that unerring bow which erst I bore

In war to guard me, and with care preserved.

Sent by Eurystheus, am I then arrived

A second time at the drear shades beneath?

Neither the rock of Sisyphus, nor Pluto,

Nor Ceres’ sceptred daughter, do I see.

I sure am stricken senseless with amazement,

And know not where I am. But ho! what friend

Is near, or at a distance, who will come

To give me information? For each object

Which I was erst acquainted with seems strange.

Amp. Shall I approach this scene of my afflictions

Ye aged men?

Chor. I will attend your steps,

Nor meanly in calamity betray you.

Her. Why dost thou weep, my sire, and veil those eyes,

Retiring far from thy beloved son?

Amp. My son—for though unhappy, you are mine.

Her. But what calamity do I endure

That causes thee to shed these tears?

Amp. Your woes

Are such, that any god, if he endured

The same, would groan.

Her. This hath a dreadful sound:

But you, my fortunes have not yet explained.

Amp. Because if you your senses have recovered,

Yourself behold them.

Her. Tell me what thou mean’st—

If to my charge thou lay’st some recent crime.

Amp. If you no longer to the powers of hell

Are subjected, the truth will I unfold.

Her. Alas! how darkly thou again allud’st

To what my soul suspects.

Amp. Your looks I watch

To see if reason wholly be restored.

Her. I recollect not that I e’er was frantic.

Amp. [to the Chorus.]

Shall I unbind the shackles of my son,

Or how must we proceed?

Her. Say who was he

That bound me? for with scorn have I been treated.

Amp. Thus much of your afflictions may you know:

Forbear all farther questions.

Her. Is thy silence

Sufficient then to teach me what I wish

To learn?

Amp. O Jove, dost thou behold the curses

Hurled on thy son from envious Juno’s throne?

Her. What dire effects of her inveterate rage

Have I endured?

Amp. Of that vindictive goddess

No longer think: but to your own afflictions

Attend.

Her. Alas! I utterly am ruined!

What farther ill wouldst thou disclose?

Amp. See there

The corses of your murdered children lie.

Her. Alas! what dreadful objects strike these eyes!

Amp. My son, against your progeny you waged

An inauspicious war.

Her. Why talk of war?

Who slew them?

Amp. You, your arrows, and the cause

Of all these mischiefs, that remorseless goddess.

Her. What mean’st thou, or what crime have I committed,

My father, O thou messenger of ill?

Amp. By frenzy urged. But you such questions ask,

As I with grief must answer.

Her. Have I murdered

My consort also?

Amp. All these deeds of horror

That single arm did perpetrate.

Her. Alas!

A cloud of griefs surrounds me.

Amp. For this cause

Your fortunes I lament.

Her. Have I demolished

My own house too, with Bacchanalian rage

Inspired?

Amp. The whole of what I know amounts

To this, that you are most completely wretched.

Her. Where did this fatal madness seize me first?

Amp. As round the altar, you, a flaming brand,

To expiate the foul murder which distains

Your hands, were bearing.

Her. Ah! why lengthen out

A guilty life, when of my dearest children

I am become the murderer? Why delay

To leap from the high rock, or with a sword

Transpierce this bosom, on myself their blood

Avenging? or t’ avert that infamy

Which waits me, shall I rush into the flames?

But Theseus comes to bar these desperate counsels,

My kinsman and my friend; in a true light

To him shall I appear, and the pollution

I have incurred by slaying my own sons

Will be conspicuous to my dearest comrade.

What shall I do? or where can I find out

A solitude impervious to my woes?

On rapid wings, O could I mount, or plunge

Into the nether regions of the earth?

Give me a veil to darken o’er my head.

For ’tis with shame I think on the offence

Caused by this deed: but to myself alone

Ascribing the defilement of their blood,

I wish not to contaminate the guiltless.

Theseus, Amphitryon, Hercules, Chorus.

The. An armed squadron of Athenian youths

I hither bring, who near Asopus’ stream

Are stationed to assist your son in battle.

For to the city of Erectheus’ race

A rumour came, that Lycus, having seized

The sceptre of this land, is waging war

’Gainst you. O aged man, I to repay

The benefits which Hercules conferred

On me, whom from the deary shades beneath

In safety he redeemed, on your behalf

Attend, if of this arm, or of my troops,

Ye need the help. But, ha, what means the floor

With weltering corses heaped? hath my design

Proved ineffectual? am I then arrived

Too late to remedy the dreadful mischiefs

Which have already ta’en effect? who slew

Those children, or whose consort was the dame

Whom I behold? for where the boys are laid,

No signs appear of any battle fought:

But sure I of some other recent ill

Now make discovery.

Amp. O thou goddess, throned

Upon that hill where verdant olives spring.

The. Why speak you to me in this piteous tone,

And with such prelude?

Amp. Grievous are the ills

Which we endure through Heaven’s severe behest.

The. What boys are they o’er whose remains you weep?

Amp. Them did my miserable son beget,

And when begotten slay, this impious murder

He dared to perpetrate.

The. Express yourself

In more auspicious terms.

Amp. I wish t’ obey

Th’ injunctions thou hast given.

The. What dreadful words

Are these which you have uttered?

Amp. In a moment

Were we undone.

The. What mean you, what hath happened?

Amp. This frenzy seized him sprinkled with the venom,

Which from the hundred-headed hydra flowed.

The. Such Juno’s wrath. But who, O aged man,

Stands ’mong the dead?

Amp. My son, my valiant son,

Inured to many toils, who in that war

Where earth’s gigantic brood were slain, advanced

Among the gods to the Phlegræan field

Armed with his buckler.

The. Ah, what mighty chief

Was e’er so wretched?

Amp. Scarcely shalt thou know

A man with greater labours vexed, and doomed

To wander through more regions.

The. But why veils he

Beneath that robe his miserable head?

Amp. Because thy presence, friendship’s sacred ties

Added to those of kindred, and the gore

Of his slain children, fill his soul with shame.

The. I with his griefs am come to sympathize;

Uncover him.

Amp. That garment from your eyes

Remove, display your visage to the sun.

It ill becomes my dignity to weep:

Yet I a suppliant strive to touch your beard,

Your knees, your hand, and shed these hoary tears.

O curb your soul, my son, whose fierceness equals

That of the lion, else ’twill hurry you

To bloody impious rage, and make you add

Mischiefs to mischiefs.

The. Ho! on thee I call,

On thee, who to that seat of misery seem’st

Fast riveted; permit thy friends to see

Thy face: for darkness hath no cloud so black

As to conceal thy woes. Why dost thou wave

Thy hand and point to those whom thou hast slain,

Lest by this converse I pollute myself?

I am not loth to share thy woes; I erst

Was happy (which my soul is ever bound

To recollect with gratitude) when thou

From hell’s loathed gloom, the mansion of the dead,

Didst safely bear me to the realms of light.

For I abhor th’ attachment of those friends

Which time impairs, him too who would enjoy

Their better fortunes, but refuse to sail

In the same bark with those who prove unblest.

Rise up, unveil thy miserable head

And look on me. A noble mind sustains

Without reluctance what the gods inflict.

Her. Did you, O Theseus, see me slay my children?

The. I heard, and now behold the ills thou speak’st of.

Her. Then why didst thou uncover to the sun

My guilty head?

The. Why not? canst thou, a man,

Pollute the gods?

Her. Avaunt, O wretch, avaunt,

For I am all contagion.

The. To a friend

No mischief from his friend can be transmitted.

Her. Your conduct I applaud, nor will deny

That I have served you.

The. I who erst received

Those favours at thy hands, now pity thee.

Her. I am indeed an object of your pity,

From having slain my sons.

The. For thee I weep,

Because to me thou heretofore wert kind

When vexed by other ills.

Her. Did you e’er meet

With those who were more wretched?

The. Thy afflictions

Are of such giant bulk, that they to heaven

Reach from this nether world.

Her. Hence am I ready

For instant death.

The. Canst thou suppose the gods

Regard thy threats?

Her. Self-willed are they and cruel,

And I defy the gods.

The. Restrain thy tongue,

Lest thou by uttering such presumptuous words

Increase thy sufferings.

Her. I with woes am fraught

Already, nor remains there space for more.

The. But what design’st thou? whither art thou borne

With frantic rage?

Her. In death will I return

To those abodes beneath, whence late I came.

The. Thou speak’st the language of a vulgar man.

Her. Exempt from all calamity yourself,

On me these admonitions you bestow.

The. Are these fit words for Hercules to use,

Who many toils endured?

Her. I had not suffered

Thus much, if any bounds had circumscribed

My labours.

The. Benefactor of mankind,

And their great friend?

Her. From them no aid I find;

But Juno triumphs.

The. Greece will not permit thee

To perish unregarded.

Her. Hear me now,

That I with reason your advice may combat;

To you will I explain both why it is

And long hath been impossible for me

To live; and first, because from him, I spring,

Who, having slain the father of Alcmena,

Defiled with murder, wedded her who bore me.

When thus the basis of a family

Is laid in guilt, the children must be wretched.

But Jove (or some one who assumed the name

Of Jove) begot me; hence to Juno’s hate

Was I obnoxious. Yet, O let not this

Offend thine ear, old man, for thee, not Jove,

I deem my real sire. While yet I hung

An infant at the breast, Jove’s wife by stealth

Sent snakes into my cradle to destroy me.

But after I attained the bloom of manhood,

Of what avail were it, should I recount

The various labours I endured, what lions,

What typhons with a triple form, what giants,

Or what four-footed centaurs, who in crowds

Rushed to the battle, by this arm were slain?

How I despatched the hydra too, that monster

With heads surrounded, branching out anew,

And having suffered many toils beside,

Went to the mansions of the dead, to bring

Hell’s triple-headed dog into the realms

Of light, for thus Eurystheus had enjoined?

But I at last, wretch that I am, this murder

Did perpetrate, and my own children slay,

That to their utmost summit I might raise

The miseries of this house. My fate is such

That in my native Thebes I must not dwell:

But if I here continue, to what temple

Or friends can I repair? for by such curses

I now am visited, that none will dare

To speak to me. To Argos shall I go?

How can I, when my country drives me forth?

To any other city should I fly,

The consequence were this: with looks askance

I should be viewed as one well known, and harassed

With these reproaches by malignant tongues:

“Is not this he, the son of Jove, who murdered

His children and his consort? from this land

Shall not th’ accursed miscreant be expelled?”

To him who was called happy once, such change

Is bitterness indeed: as for the man

Whose sufferings are perpetual, him, when wretched,

No kinsman pities. I to such a pitch

Of woe shall come, I deem, at length, that earth,

Uttering a voice indignant, will forbid me

To touch its surface, ocean, o’er its waves,

And every river, o’er its streams, to pass.

I shall be like Ixion then, with chains

Fixed to the wheel. ’Twere better that no Greek

With whom I in my happier days conversed

Should see me more. What motive can I have

For living? or to me of what avail

Were it to keep possession of this useless

And this unholy being? flushed with joy,

Let Jove’s illustrious consort, in the dance,

Strike with her sandals the resplendent floor

Of high Olympus: for she now hath gained

Her utmost wish, and from his basis torn

The first of Grecian warriors. Who can pray

To such a goddess, who, with envy stung,

Because Jove loved a woman, hath destroyed

The benefactors of the Grecian realm,

Those blameless objects of her hate?

The. This mischief

Springs from no god except the wife of Jove.

Well dost thou judge, in saying that ’tis easier

To give thee wholesome counsel, than endure

Such agonies. But no man ’scapes unwounded

By fortune, and no god; unless the songs

Of ancient bards mislead. Have not the gods

Among themselves formed lawless marriages?

Have they not bound in ignominious chains

Their fathers, to obtain a throne? In heaven

Yet dwell they, and bear up beneath the load

Of all their crimes. But what canst thou allege,

If thou, frail mortal as thou art, those ills

Immoderately bewail’st to which the gods

Without reluctance yield? from Thebes retire,

Since thus the laws ordain; and follow me

To Pallas’ city: when thy hands are there

Cleansed from pollution, I to thee will give

A palace, and with thee divide my wealth.

The presents which the citizens to me

Appropriated, when twice seven blooming victims

I by the slaughter of the Cretan bull

Redeemed, on thee will I bestow. For portions

Of land are through the realm to me assigned:

These, while thou liv’st henceforth shall by thy name

Be called: but after death, when to the shades

Of Pluto thou descend’st, with sacrifice

And with the sculptured tomb, shall Athens grace

Thy memory. For her citizens have gained

This fairest wreath from every Grecian state,

By yielding succour to the virtuous man

Their glories are augmented: and to thee

Will I repay with gratitude the kindness

Which thou deserv’st for saving me; for thou

Hast need of friends at present: but no friend

Is wanted when the gods confer renown;

For, if he wills, Jove’s aid is all-sufficient.

Her. You hold a language foreign to my griefs.

But I suppose not that the gods delight

In lawless nuptials, that their hands are bound

With galling chains, nor did I e’er believe,

Nor can I be convinced, that one bears rule

Over another. For a deity

If he be truly such, can stand in need

Of no support. But by some lying bard

Those miserable fables were devised.

Although I am most wretched, yet I thought

I might be charged with cowardice for leaving

These realms of light. For he who bears not up

’Gainst adverse fortune, never can withstand

The weapon of his foe. I am resolved

To wait for death with firmness: to your city

Meantime will I retreat, and am most grateful

For your unnumbered gifts. Unnumbered labours

Have I been erst acquainted with; from none

Did I e’er shrink, these eyes did never stream

With tears, nor thought I that I e’er should come

To such a pitch of meanness as to weep:

But now, it seems, must Fortune be obeyed.

I am content. Thou, O my aged sire,

Behold’st my exile, thou in me behold’st

The murderer of my children: to the tomb

Consign their corses with funereal pomp,

And o’er them shed the tributary tear:

For me the laws allow not to perform

This office. Let their mother, e’en in death,

Clasp to her breast, and in her arms sustain,

Our wretched offspring, whom in evil hour

I slew reluctant. But when thou with earth

Hast covered them, thy residence still keep

Here in this city, miserably indeed,

Yet on thy soul lay this constraint, to bear

With me the woes which I most deeply feel.

The very sire, ye children, who begot,

Murdered you; no advantage ye derive

From what this arm by all my labours gained,

And from your father’s triumphs no renown.

Have not I slain thee too who didst preserve

My bed inviolate, and o’er my house

Long watch with patient care? Ah me! my wife,

My sons: but how much more to be lamented

Am I myself, from them for ever torn?

Ye melancholy joys of kisses lavished

On their remains, and ye my loathed companions,

The weapons which I still retain, but doubt

Whether to keep or dash them to the ground;

For they, while at my side they hang, will seem

To utter these reproachful words: “With us

Thy consort and thy children hast thou slain,

Yet thou the very instruments preserv’st

Which were their murderers.” After such a charge

Can I still bear them? what can I allege?

But stripping off those arms with which through Greece

I have achieved full many glorious deeds,

Shall I expose myself to those who hate me,

And die ignobly? I must not abandon

But keep them still, though sorrowing. Aid me, Theseus,

In this one enterprise; to Argos go

And for your friend obtain the great reward

Promised for dragging from the shades of hell

That execrable hound: lest if by you

Deserted, I through grief for my slain children

Should come to some calamitous end. Thou realm

Of Cadmus, and ye citizens of Thebes,

With tresses shorn, in concert weep; the tomb

Of my slain children visit, there bewail,

In one funereal dirge, the dead, and me;

For smitten with the same dire scourge of fate

By Juno, we all perish.

The. Hapless man,

Arise; enough of tears.

Her. I cannot rise,

These limbs are now grown stiff.

The. Calamity

Subdues the valiant.

Her. Would I were a stone,

Insensible to sufferings!

The. Cease these plaints;

And to the friend who comes to serve thee, give

Thy hand.

Her. But let me not wipe off the blood

Upon your garments.

The. Wipe it off, nor scruple,

For I object not.

Her. Of my sons bereft,

In you the likeness of a son I find.

The. Fling round my neck thine arm: I’ll lead the way.

Her. A pair of friends: though one of us be wretched.

Such, O my aged father, is the man

We ought to make a friend.

The. His native realm

Produces an illustrious progeny.

Her. Turn me around, that I may see my sons.

The. Hoping such philtre may thy griefs appease.

Her. This earnestly I wish for, and would clasp

My father to this bosom.

Amp. Here, lo, here!

For what my son desires, to me is grateful.

The. Of all the labours thou didst erst achieve,

Hast thou thus lost the memory?

Her. All those ills

Were less severe than what I now experience.

The. Should any one behold thee grown unmanly,

He could not praise thee.

Her. Though to you I seem

Degraded to an abject life, I trust

That I my former courage shall resume.

The. Where now is the illustrious Hercules?

Her. What had you been, if still you in the shades

Had miserably dwelt?

The. Then sunk my courage

Beneath the meanest of the human race.

Her. Why then persist in saying that my woes

Have quite subdued me?

The. Onward!

Her. Good old man,

Farewell.

Amp. Farewell too, O my son.

Her. My children

Inter as I directed.

Amp. O, my son,

But who will bury me?

Her. I.

Amp. When will you

Come hither?

Her. After thou hast for my children

Performed that pious office.

Amp. How?

Her. I’ll fetch thee

From Thebes to Athens.—Bear into the palace

My children’s corses which pollute the ground.

But as for me, who have disgraced and plunged

My house in ruin, I will follow Theseus,

Towed like a battered skiff. Whoe’er prefers

Wealth or dominion to a steadfast friend,

Judges amiss.

Chor. Most wretched, drowned in tears,

Reft of our great protector, we depart.

The Children of Hercules.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Iolaus.
Copreus.
Chorus of Athenian Old Men.
Demophoon.
Macaria.
Alcmena.
Messenger.
Eurystheus.

SCENE.—Before the Altar of Jupiter, in the Forum at Marathon, a City in the Athenian Dominions.

Iolaus.

Long have I held this sentiment: the just

Are born the streams of bounty to diffuse

On all around them; while the man whose soul

Is warped by interest, useless in the State,

Untractable and harsh to every friend,

Lives only for himself; in words alone

This doctrine I imbibed not. Through a sense

Of virtuous shame and reverence for my kindred

When I in peace at Argos might have dwelt,

I singly shared the toils of Hercules,

While he on earth remained; but now he dwells

In heaven, I guard his children, though protection

Be what I need myself. For when their sire

Forsook this nether world, Eurystheus strove

Immediately to slay us; but I ’scaped

From that oppressor’s fangs, and though to me

Lost is my country, I have saved my life.

But we poor vagabonds, from city fly

To some fresh city, ever forced to change

Our dwelling; for Eurystheus deems it meet

To add this wrong to former wrongs, he sends

His heralds wheresoe’er he hears we settle,

And claims and drives us forth from every land;

No slight resentment from the Argive realm

Against our friends denouncing, he reminds them

Of his own prosperous fortunes; when they see

My weakness, and these little ones bereft

Of their great father, to superior might

They crouch, and force the suppliant to depart.

But with the exiled race of Hercules

A voluntary exile, I partake

Their evil fortunes, steadfastly resolved

Not to betray them; by malignant tongues

It never shall be said, “Oh, mark these orphans!

Since their sire’s death their kinsman Iolaus

Protects them not.” But, exiled from all Greece,

On reaching Marathon and the domain

Subject to the same rulers, here we sit

Before the altars of the gods, and sue

For their assistance. In this region dwell

Two sons of Theseus, I am told, by lot

Who portion out this realm, they from Pandion

Descend, and to these children are allied.

We therefore undertook our present journey

To the Athenian realm; two aged guides

Conduct the hapless wanderers; my attention

Is to the boys devoted; but Alcmena,

Entering the adjacent temple, in her arms

Tenderly clasps the female progeny

Of her departed son. Amid the crowd

We fear to introduce these tender virgins,

Or place them at the altars of the gods.

But Hyllus and his brothers, more mature

In years, inquire in what far distant land

A fortress for our future residence

We yet can find, if we from these domains

By force should be expelled. My sons, come hither,

Cling to this garment; for to us I see

Eurystheus’ herald coming, by whose hate,

We wanderers, banished from each friendly realm,

Are still pursued. Thou, execrable miscreant,

Perish thyself, and perish he who sent thee:

For to the noble father of these children

Oft hath that tongue enjoined severest toils.

Copreus, Iolaus.

Cop. What, think’st thou unmolested to enjoy

This pleasant seat, and have thy vagrant steps

Entered at length a city prompt to fight

Thy battles? for the man who will prefer

Thy feeble arm to that of great Eurystheus,

Exists not. Hence! why in these useless toils

Dost thou persist? thou must return to Argos

Where they have doomed thee to be stoned.

Iol. Not thus:

For in this altar shall I find protection,

And this free country on whose soil we tread.

Cop. Wilt thou constrain me then to have recourse

To violence?

Iol. With forceful hand, nor me

Nor these poor children shalt thou hence expel.

Cop. Ere long shalt thou perceive that thou hast uttered

Erroneous prophesies.

Iol. This ne’er shall be

Long as I live.

Cop. Depart, for I will seize them

’Gainst thy consent, and to Eurystheus’ power

Surrender up, for they to him belong.

Iol. Aid me, ye ancient citizens of Athens,

For we, though suppliants, forcibly are torn

E’en from Jove’s public altar, and the wreaths

Twined round our sacred branches are polluted;

Shame to your city, insult to the gods.

Chorus, Iolaus, Copreus.

Chor. What clamorous voices from yon altars rise?

What mischiefs are impending?

Iol. See a man

Burdened with age, wretch that I am! lie prostrate.

Chor. Who threw thee down? what execrable hand——

Iol. ’Tis he, O stranger, he who to your gods

Yielding no reverence, strives with impious force

E’en now, to drag me from this hallowed seat

Before Jove’s altar.

Chor. He! But from what land

Cam’st thou, old man, to this confederate state

Formed of four cities? From the distant coast

Of steep Eubœa did ye ply your oars?

Iol. The life I lead, O stranger, is not that

Of vagrant islanders; but in your realm

From famed Mycene’s bulwarks I arrive.

Chor. Among thy countrymen, old man, what name

Thou bear’st, inform me.

Iol. Ye perchance knew somewhat

Of Iolaus, great Alcides’ comrade,

A name not quite unnoticed by renown.

Chor. I formerly have heard of him: but say

Who is the father of that infant race,

Whom with thy arm thou guid’st?

Iol. These are the sons

Of Hercules, O strangers, they, to you,

And to your city, humble suppliants come.

Chor. On what account, inform me; to demand

An audience of the state?

Iol. That to their foes

They may not be surrendered up, nor torn

Forcibly from the altars of your gods,

And carried back to Argos.

Cop. But thy lords

Who bear rule over thee, and hither trace

Thy steps, will ne’er be satisfied with this.

Chor. O stranger, ’tis our duty to revere

The suppliants of the gods: with forceful hand

Shall no man drag thee from this holy spot,

This seat of the immortal powers; dread justice

Shall guard thee from the wrong.

Cop. Out of your land

The vagrant subjects of Eurystheus drive,

As I admonish; and this hand shall use

No violence.

Chor. How impious is that city

Which disregards the helpless stranger’s prayer!

Cop. ’Twere best to interfere not in these broils,

And to adopt some more expedient counsels.

Chor. You, therefore, to the monarch of this realm

Should have declared your errand, ere thus far

You had proceeded: but with brutal force

These strangers from the altars of the gods

Presume not to convey, and to this land

Of freedom yield due reverence.

Cop. But what king

Rules this domain and city?

Chor. Theseus’ son,

Renowned Demophoon.

Cop. Better I with him

This contest could decide: for all I yet

Have spoken, is but a mere waste of words.

Chor. Behold, he hither comes in haste, and with him,

To hear this cause, his brother Acamas.

Demophoon, Iolaus, Copreus, Chorus.

Dem. Since by thy speed, old man, thou hast outstripped

Thy juniors, and already reached the shrine

Of Jove, inform me what event hath caused

This multitude t’ assemble.

Chor. There the sons

Of Hercules in suppliant posture sit,

And with their wreaths, as you behold, O king,

Adorn the altar; that is Iolaus,

The faithful comrade of their valiant sire.

Dem. How needed their distress these clamorous shrieks?

Chor. [turning towards Copreus.]

He raised the uproar, when by force he strove

To bear them hence, and on his knees, to earth

Threw the old man, till I for pity wept.

Dem. Although he in the habit which he wears

Adopts the mode of Greece, such deeds as these

Speak the barbarian. But without delay

On thee it is incumbent now to tell me

The country whence thou cam’st.

Cop. I am an Argive;

Thus far to solve your question: but from whence

I come, and on what errand, will I add;

Mycene’s king, Eurystheus, sends me hither

To fetch these vagrants home: yet I, O stranger,

Will with abundant justice, in my actions,

As well as words, proceed; myself an Argive,

I bear away these Argives, I but seize

The fugitives who from my native land

Escaped, when by the laws which there prevail

They were ordained to bleed. We have a right,

Because we are the rulers of the city,

To execute the sentence we enact

’Gainst our own subjects. To the sacred hearths

Of many other states when they repaired,

We urged the self-same reasons, and none ventured

To be the authors of their own destruction.

But haply they in you may have perceived

A foolish tenderness, and hither come,

Desperate themselves, you also to involve

In the same perils, whether they succeed

Or fail in the emprise: for they no hope

Can cherish, while you yet retain your reason,

That you alone, in all the wide extent

Of Greece, whose various regions they have traversed,

Should pity those calamities which rise

But from their own imprudence. Now compare

Th’ alternative proposed; by sheltering them

In these dominions, or allowing us

To bear them hence, what gain may you expect?

Side but with us, these benefits are yours:

Eurystheus’ self, and Argos’ numerous troops,

Will aid this city with their utmost might;

But if, by their seducing language moved,

Ye harbour groundless pity for their woes,

Arms must decide the strife. Nor vainly think

We will desist till we have fully tried

The temper of our swords. But what excuse

Have ye to plead? Of what domains bereft

Are ye provoked to wage a desperate war

With the Tirynthian Argives? What allies

Will aid you? What pretext can ye allege

To claim funereal honours for the slain?

The curses of your city will await

Such conduct; for the sake of that old man,

Whom I may justly call a tomb, a shadow,

And those unfriended children, should you step

Into the yawning gulf. Suppose the best

Which possibly can happen, that a prospect

Of future good hence rises; distant hopes

Fall short of present gain. In riper years

Ill can these youths be qualified to fight

Against the Argive host (if this elate

Your soul with hope), and ere that wished event

There is a length of intermediate time

In which ye may be ruined; but comply

With my advice; on me no gift bestow,

Let me but take what to ourselves belongs,

Mycene shall be yours. But oh, forbear

To act as ye are wont, nor form a league

With those of no account, when mightier friends

May be procured.

Dem. Who can decide a cause

Or ascertain its merits till he hear

Both sides distinctly?

Iol. In your land, O king,

This great advantage, freedom of reply

To the malignant charge against me urged,

I find, and no man, as from other cities,

Shall drive me hence. But we have nothing left

For which it now behoves us to contend

With him, nor aught, since that decree hath passed,

To do with Argos; from our native land

We are cast forth. In this distressful state,

How can he drag us back again with justice

As subjects of Mycene, to that realm

Which hath already banished us? We there

Are only foreigners. But why should he

Whom Argos dooms to exile, by all Greece

Be also exiled? Not by Athens sure;

For ne’er will Athens from its blest domains

Expel the race of Hercules, appalled

By Argos’ menaced wrath. For neither Trachis,

Nor is that city of Achaia here,

Whence thou by boasting of the might of Argos

In words like those which thou hast uttered now,

These suppliants didst unjustly drive away

Though seated at the altars. If thy threats

Here too prevail, no longer shall we find

Freedom, not e’en in Athens; but I know

Full well the generous temper of its sons,

And rather would they die. For to the brave

Shame is a load which renders life most hateful.

Enough of Athens—for immoderate praise

Becomes invidious; I remember too

How oft I have been heretofore distressed

By overstrained encomiums. But on you

How greatly ’tis incumbent to protect

These children will I show, since o’er this land

You rule; for Pittheus was the son of Pelops,

From Pittheus Æthra sprung, from Æthra Theseus

Your father; from your ancestors to those

Of your unhappy suppliants I proceed;

Alcides was the son of thundering Jove

And of Alcmena; from Lysidice,

Daughter of Pelops, did Alcmena spring,

One common grandsire gave your grandame birth,

And theirs; so near in blood are you to them;

But, O Demophoon, what beyond the ties

Of family you to these children owe

Will I inform you, and relate how erst

With Theseus in one bark I sailed, and bore

Their father’s shield, when we that belt, the cause

Of dreadful slaughter, sought; and from the caves

Of Pluto, Hercules led back your sire.

This truth all Greece attests. They in return

From you implore this boon, that to their foes

They may not be surrendered up, nor torn

By force from these your tutelary gods,

And banished from this realm. For to yourself

’Twere infamous and baneful to your city

Should suppliants, exiles, sprung from ancestors

The same with yours (ah, miserable me!

Behold, behold them!) with a forceful arm

Be dragged away. But to your hands, and beard,

Lifting these hallowed branches, I entreat you

Slight not Alcides’ children, undertake

Their cause; and, oh, to them become a kinsman,

Become a friend, a father, brother, lord,

For better were it to admit these claims,

Than suffer them to fall beneath the rage

Of Argive tyrants.

Chor. I with pity heard

Their woes, O king, but now I clearly see

How noble birth to adverse fortune yields;

For though they spring from an illustrious sire,

Yet meet they with afflictions they deserve not.

Dem. Three powerful motives urge me, while I view

The misery which attends you, not to spurn

These strangers; first dread Jove, before whose altars

You with these children sit; next kindred ties,

And services performed in ancient days,

Give them a claim to such relief from me

As from their godlike father mine obtained;

And last of all that infamy which most

I ought to loathe; for if I should permit

A foreigner this altar to despoil,

I in a land of freedom shall no longer

Appear to dwell, but to surrender up,

Through fear, the suppliants to their Argive lords,

In this extreme of danger. Would to heaven

You had arrived with happier auspices;

But tremble not lest any brutal hand

Should from this hallowed altar force away

You and the children. Therefore go thou back

To Argos, and this message to Eurystheus

Deliver; tell him too if there be aught

Which ’gainst our guests he can allege, the laws

Are open; but thou shalt not drag them hence.

Cop. Not if I prove that it is just, and bring

Prevailing reasons?

Dem. How can it be just

To drive away the suppliant?

Cop. Hence no shame

Shall light on me, but ruin on your head.

Dem. Should I permit thee to convey them hence

In me ’twere base indeed.

Cop. Let them be banished

From your domains, and I elsewhere will seize them.

Dem. Thou fool, who deem’st thyself more wise than

Jove!

Cop. All villains may, it seems, take refuge here.

Dem. This altar of the gods, to all affords

A sure asylum.

Cop. In a different light,

This to Mycene’s rulers will appear.

Dem. Am not I then the monarch of this realm?

Cop. Offer no wrong to them, if you are wise.

Dem. Do ye then suffer wrong when I refuse

To violate the temples of the gods?

Cop. I would not have you enter on a war

Against the Argives.

Dem. Equally inclined

Am I to peace, yet will not I yield up

These suppliants.

Cop. Hence am I resolved to drag

Those who belong to me.

Dem. Thou then to Argos

Shalt not with ease return.

Cop. Soon will I make

Th’ experiment and know.

Dem. If thou presume

To touch them, thou immediately shalt rue it.

Cop. I by the gods conjure you not to strike

A herald.

Dem. Strike I will, unless that herald

Learn to behave discreetly.

Chor. Go. And you,

O king, forbear to touch him.

Cop. I retire:

For weak in combat is a single arm.

But I again shall hither come, and bring

A host of Argives armed with brazen spears:

Unnumbered warriors wait for my return.

The king himself, Eurystheus, is their chief;

He on the borders of Alcathous’ realm

Waits for an answer. He in glittering mail,

Soon as he hears your arrogant reply,

To you, your subjects, this devoted realm,

And all its wasted forests will appear,

For we in vain at Argos should possess

A band so numerous of heroic youths,

If we chastised not your assuming pride.

[Exit Copreus.

Dem. Away, detested miscreant; for I fear not

Thy Argos: and thou ne’er, by dragging hence

These suppliants, shalt disgrace me: for this city

As an appendage to the Argive realm

I hold not, but its freedom will maintain.

Chor. ’Tis time each sage precaution to exert,

Ere to the confines of this land advance

The troops of Argos: for Mycene’s wrath

Is terrible in combat, and more fierce

Than heretofore will they invade us now.

For to exaggerate facts beyond the truth

Is every herald’s custom. To his king,

How many specious tales do you suppose

Of the atrocious insults he endured,

He will relate, and add how he the loss

Of life endangered?

Iol. To the sons devolve

No honours which exceed the being born

Of an illustrious and heroic sire,

And wedding into virtuous families.

But on that man no praise will I bestow,

Who by his lusts impelled, among the wicked

A nuptial union forms; hence to his sons

Disgrace, instead of pleasure, he bequeaths.

For noble birth repels adversity

Better than abject parentage. When sinking

Under the utmost pressure of our woes,

We find these friends and kinsmen, who alone

Amid the populous extent of Greece

Stand forth in our behalf. Ye generous youths,

Now give them your right hands, and in return

Take those of your protectors: O my sons,

Draw near: we have made trial of our friends.

If ye again behold your native walls,

Possess the self-same mansions, and the honours

Which your illustrious father erst enjoyed;

These deem your saviours and your friends, nor wield

Against their fostering land the hostile spear.

On your remembrance let these benefits

Be ever stamped, and hold this city dear;

For they deserve your reverence, who from us

Repel so great a nation, such a swarm

Of fierce Pelasgian troops: and, though they see

Our poverty and exile, have refused

To yield us up, or banish from their realm.

Both while I live, and after the cold grave

Receives me at the destined hour, my friend,

I with loud voice your merits will applaud,

Approaching mighty Theseus, and my words

Shall soothe your father’s ear when I recount

With what humanity you have received us,

And how protected the defenceless sons

Of Hercules: by your illustrious birth

Distinguished, you the glories of your sire

Through Greece maintain: sprung from a noble lineage

Yet are you one among that chosen few

Who in no instance deviate from the virtues

Of your great ancestry: although ’mid thousands

Scarce is a single instance to be found

Of those who emulate their father’s worth.

Chor. This country, in a just and honest cause,

Is ever prompt to succour the distressed.

Hence in its friends’ behalf hath it sustained

Unnumbered toils, and now another conflict

I see impending.

Dem. Rightly hast thou spoken,

And in such toils I feel a conscious pride.

These benefits shall never be forgotten;

But an assembly of the citizens

I instantly will summon, and arrange

A numerous squadron, to receive the onset

Of fierce Mycene’s host, first sending spies

To meet them, lest they unawares assail us.

For the bold warrior, who without delay

Goes forth to battle, keeps the foe aloof.

I also will collect the seers, and slay

The victims; but do you, old man, meanwhile

Enter the palace with these children, leaving

Jove’s altar: for my menial train are there,

Who will with fond solicitude attend you,

Although I am not present: but go in.

Iol. I will not leave the altar; on this seat

We supplicants will remain, and pray to Jove,

That prosperous fortunes may attend your city.

But when you from this conflict are with glory

Released, we to your palace will repair;

Nor are the gods, who war on our behalf,

O king, inferior to the gods of Argos.

For o’er that city, Jove’s majestic consort,

Juno, but here Minerva doth preside.

This I maintain, that nought ensures success

Beyond the aid of mightier deities,

Nor will imperial Pallas be subdued.

[Exit Demophoon.

Chorus.

ODE.

Boast as thou wilt, and urge thy proud demand,

This nation disregards thy ire,

Thou stranger from the Argive land.

Nor can thy sounding words control

The steadfast purpose of my soul:

Great Athens, by her lovely choir

Distinguished, shall unstained preserve

Her ancient glory, nor from virtue swerve;

But thou, devoid of wisdom, dost obey

The son of Sthenelus, the tyrant’s impious sway,

II.

Who com’st amidst an independent state,

In nought inferior to the strength

Of Argos, and with brutal hate

Dar’st, though a foreigner, to seize

The exiles, who our deities

Implore, and in these realms at length

From their distress obtain a shield:

Thou e’en to sceptred monarchs will not yield,

Yet no just plea thy subtle tongue hath found.

How can such conduct warp the man whose judgment’s sound?

III.

Peace is the object of my dear delight:

But thou, O tyrant, thou whose breast

Well may I deem by frenzy is possest,

If ’gainst this city thou exert thy might,

Pant’st after trophies which thou ne’er shalt gain.

Bearing targe and brazen lance

Others with equal arms advance.

O thou, who fondly seek’st th’ embattled plain,

Shake not these turrets, spare the haunt

Of every gentle grace.—Thou wretch, avaunt.

Demophoon, Iolaus, Chorus.

Iol. Why com’st thou hither, O my son, with eyes

Expressive of affliction? from the foe

What recent information canst thou give?

Do they delay their march, are they at hand,

Or bring’st thou any tidings? for the threats

That herald uttered sure will be accomplished.

Blest in the favour of the gods, the tyrant

Exults, I know, and arrogantly deems

That he o’er Athens shall prevail; but Jove

Chastises the presumptuous.

Dem. Argos comes

With numerous squadrons, and its king Eurystheus,

Myself beheld him. It behoves the man

Who claims the merit of an able chief,

Not to depend upon his spies alone

To mark the foe’s approach. But with his host

He hath not yet invaded these domains,

But halting on yon mountain’s topmost ridge

Observes (I from conjecture speak) the road

By which he may lead forth his troops to battle,

And where he in this realm with greatest safety

May station them. Already have I made

Each preparation to repel their onset.

The city is in arms, the victims stand

Before the altars, with their blood t’ appease

The wrath of every god, and due lustrations

Are sprinkled by the seers, that o’er our foes

We may obtain a triumph, and preserve

This country. Every prophet who expounds

The oracles, convening, have I searched

Into each sage response of ancient times,

Or public or concealed, on which depends

The welfare of the realm. In all beside

Differ Heaven’s mandates: but one dread behest

Runs through the several auspices, to Ceres

They bid me sacrifice some blooming maid

Who from a nobler sire derives her birth.

Zeal have I shown abundant in your cause,

But will not slay my daughter, nor constrain

Any Athenian citizen to make

Such an abhorred oblation: for the man

Exists not, who is so devoid of reason,

As willingly to yield his children up

With his own hands. But what afflicts me most

Is this: tumultuous crowds appear; some cry,

’Tis just that we the foreign suppliants aid,

But others blame my folly. If no means

Can be devised to satisfy them all,

Soon will a storm of civil war arise.

See thou to this, and think of some expedient,

How ye and how this country may be saved,

Without the citizens’ calumnious tongues

My fame assailing. For I rule not here

With boundless power, like a barbarian king;

Let but my deeds be just, and in return

Shall I experience justice.

Chor. Will not Jove

Suffer this city to exert its courage,

And aid these hapless strangers as we wish?

Iol. Our situation, O my sons, resembles

That of the mariners, who having ’scaped

The storm’s relentless fury, when in sight

Of land, are from the coast by adverse winds

Driven back into the deep. Thus from this realm

Just as we reach the shore, like shipwrecked men,

Are we expelled. O inauspicious Hope,

Why didst thou soothe me with ideal joy,

Although it was ordained that thou should’st leave

Thy favours incomplete? The king deserves

At least to be excused, if he consent not

To slay his subjects’ daughters; to this city

My praise is due, and if the gods would place me

In the same prosperous fortunes, from my soul

Your benefits should never be effaced.

But now, alas! no counsel can I give

To you, my children. Whither shall we turn?

What god have we neglected? To what land

Have we not fled for shelter? We must perish,

We shall be yielded up. My being doomed

To die, I heed but for this cause alone,

That by my death I shall afford delight

To our perfidious foes. But, O my sons.

For you I weep, I pity you, I pity

Alcmena, aged mother of your sire,

Oh, most unhappy in a life too long!

I too am wretched, who unnumbered toils

Have fruitlessly endured; it was ordained,

It was ordained, alas! that we should fall

Into the hands of our relentless foes,

And meet a shameful, miserable death.

Know you, what still remains for you to do,

On my behalf? For all my hopes of saving

The children are not vanished. In their stead

Me to the Argive host surrender up,

O king, and rush not into needless danger,

Yet save these children. To retain a love

Of life becomes me not; I yield it up

Without regret. It is Eurystheus’ wish

The rather to seize me, and to expose

To infamy, because I was the comrade

Of Hercules; for frenzy hath possessed

His soul. The wise man, e’en in those he hates,

Had rather find discretion than a want

Of understanding; for a foe endued

With sense will pay due reverence to the vanquished.

Chor. Forbear, old man, thus hastily to blame

This city; for to us though it might prove

More advantageous, yet to our disgrace

Would it redound, should we betray our guests.

Dem. A generous, but impracticable, scheme

Is that thou hast proposed: for Argos’ king

In quest of thee no squadrons hither leads.

What profit to Eurystheus from the death

Of one so old as thou art could arise?

He wants to murder these: for to their foes

The rising blossoms of a noble race,

To whom the memory of their father’s wrongs

Is present, must be dreadful: for all this

He cannot but foresee. But if thou know

Of any other counsel more expedient,

Adopt it; for my soul hath been perplexed,

Since that oracular response I heard

Which fills me with unwelcome apprehensions.

[Exit Demophoon.

Macaria, Iolaus, Chorus.

Mac. Deem not that I, O strangers, am too bold

Because I from my chamber venture forth;

This is my first request: for silence, joined

With modesty and a domestic life,

Is woman’s best accomplishment. I heard

Your groans, O Iolaus, and advanced

Though not appointed by our house to act

As their ambassadress; in some degree

Yet am I qualified for such an office,

I have so great an interest in the weal

Of these my brothers; on my own account

I also wish to hear if any ill,

Added to those you have already suffered,

Torture your soul.

Iol. Not now for the first time,

On thee, O daughter, most of all the children

Of Hercules my praise can I bestow:

But our ill-fated house, just as it seemed

Emerging from its past disgraces, sinks

Afresh into inextricable ruin.

The king informs us, that the seers, whose voice

Expounds the will of heaven, have signified

No bull nor heifer, but some blooming maid

Who from a noble sire derives her birth,

Must be the victim, if we would redeem

The city and ourselves from utter ruin;

Here then are we perplexed: for his own children

He says he will not sacrifice, nor those

Of any of his subjects. Though to me

Indeed he speaks not plainly, in some sort

He intimates, that if we by no means

Can extricate ourselves from these distresses,

We must find out some other land to flee to,

For he this realm would from destruction save.

Mac. May we indulge the hope of our escape

Upon these terms?

Iol. These only: in all else

With prosperous fortunes crowned.

Mac. No longer dread

The spear of Argos, for myself, old man,

Am ready, ere they doom me to be slain,

And here stand forth a voluntary victim.

For what could we allege on our behalf,

If Athens condescend to undergo

Dangers so great, while we who have imposed

These toils on others, though within our reach

Lie all the means of being saved, yet shrink

From death? Not thus: we should provoke the laugh

Of universal scorn, if, with loud groans,

We suppliants, at the altars of the gods,

Should take our seats, and prove devoid of courage,

From that illustrious father though we spring.

How can the virtuous reconcile such conduct?

This to our glory would forsooth redound

(O may it never happen!) when this city

Is taken, should we fall into the hands

Of our triumphant foes, when after all

Some noble maid reluctant must be dragged

To Pluto’s loathed embrace. But from these realms

Cast forth, should I become an abject vagrant,

Must I not blush when any one inquires,

“Why came ye hither with your suppliant branches

Too fond of life? Retreat from these domains,

For we no aid to cowards will afford.”

But if when these are dead, my single life

Be saved, I cannot entertain a hope

That I shall e’er be happy: through this motive

Have caused full many to betray their friends.

For who with a deserted maid will join,

Or in the bonds of wedlock, or desire

That I to him a race of sons should bear?

I therefore hold it better far to die,

Than to endure, without deserving them,

Such foul indignities, as can seem light

To her alone, who, from a noble race

Like mine, descends not: to the scene of death

Conduct, with garlands crown me, and prepare

If ye think fit, th’ initiatory rites;

Ye hence the foe shall conquer: for this soul

Shrinks not with mean reluctance. I engage

For these my brothers, and myself, to bleed

A willing victim; for with ease detached

From life, I have imbibed this best of lessons,

To die with firmness in a glorious cause.

Chor. Alas! what language shall I find, t’ express

My admiration of the lofty speech

I from this virgin hear, who for her brothers

Resolves to die? What tongue can utter words

More truly generous; or what man surpass

Such deeds as these?

Iol. Thou art no spurious child,

But from the godlike seed of Hercules,

O daughter, dost indeed derive thy birth.

Although thy words are such as cannot shame,

Thy fate afflicts me. Yet will I propose

What may with greater justice be performed.

Together call the sisters of this maid,

And to atone for the whole race, let her

On whom th’ impartial lot shall fall, be slain;

But without such decision ’tis not just

That thou should’st die.

Mac. I will not die as chance

The lot dispenses; for I hence should forfeit

All merit: name not such a scheme, old man.

If me ye will accept, and of my zeal

Avail yourselves, I gladly yield up life

Upon these terms, but stoop not to constraint.

Iol. The speech thou now hast uttered soars beyond

What thou at first didst say, though that was noble:

But thou thy former courage dost surpass

By this fresh instance of exalted courage,

The merit of thy former words, by words

More meritorious. Daughter, I command not,

Nor yet oppose thy death: for thou by dying

Wilt serve thy brothers.

Mac. You in cautious terms

Command me: fear not, lest on my account

You should contract pollution: for to die

Is my free choice. But follow me, old man,

For in your arms would I expire: attend,

And o’er my body cast the decent veil:

To dreadful slaughter dauntless I go forth,

Because I from that father spring, whose name

With pride I utter.

Iol. At the hour of death

I cannot stand beside thee.

Mac. Grant but this,

That when I breathe my last, I may be tended

By women, not by men.

Iol. It shall be thus,

O miserable virgin: for in me

’Twere base, if I neglected any rite

That decency enjoins, for many reasons;

Because thy soul is great, because ’tis just,

And of all women I have ever seen,

Because thou art most wretched. But from these

And from thy aged kinsman, if thou wish

For aught, to me thy last behests address.

Mac. Adieu, my venerable friend, adieu!

Instruct these boys in every branch of wisdom,

And make them like yourself, they can attain

No higher pitch; strive to protect them still,

And for their sake that valued life prolong;

Your children we, to you our nurture owe.

Me you behold, mature for bridal joys,

Dying to save them. But may ye, my band

Of brothers who are here, be blest, and gain

All those advantages, which to procure

For you, the falchion shall transpierce my breast.

Revere this good old man, revere Alcmena

Your father’s aged mother, and these strangers.

Should ye be ever rescued from your woes,

Should gracious Heaven permit you to revisit

Your native land, forget not to inter,

With such magnificence as I deserve,

Your benefactress, for I have not proved

Deficient in attention to your welfare,

But die to save our family. To me

These monumental honours shall suffice

Instead of children, or the virgin state,

If there be aught amid the realms beneath,

But ’tis my wish there may not: for if grief

On us frail mortals also there attend,

I know not whither any one can turn:

For by the wise hath death been ever deemed

The most effectual cure for every ill.

Iol. O thou, distinguished by thy lofty soul,

Be well assured thy glory shall outshine

That of all other women; both in life

And death, shalt thou be honoured by thy friends.

But ah, farewell! for with ill-omened words

I tremble lest we should provoke the goddess,

Dread Proserpine, to whom thou now art sacred.

[Exit Macaria.

My sons I perish: grief unnerves my frame;

Support and place me in the hallowed seat:

And, O my dearest children, o’er my face

Extend this garment: for I am not pleased

With what is done: yet, had not Heaven’s response

Found this completion, we must all have died;

For we must then have suffered greater ills

Than these, which are already most severe.

Chorus.

ODE.

In just proportion, as the gods ordain,

Is bliss diffused through life’s short span,

Or sorrow portioned out to man:

No favoured house can still maintain

From age to age its prosperous state,

For swift are the vicissitudes of fate,

Who now assails pride’s towering crest,

Now makes the drooping exile blest.

From destiny we cannot fly;

No wisdom can her shafts repel;

But he who vainly dares her power defy

Compassed with endless toils shall dwell.

Ask not from Heaven with impious prayer,

Blessings it cannot grant to man,

Nor waste in misery life’s short span

O’erwhelmed by querulous despair.

The nymph goes forth to meet a noble death,

Her brothers and this land to save,

And fame, with tributary breath

Shall sound her praises in the grave.

For dauntless virtue finds a way

Through labours which her progress would delay.

Such deeds as these, her father grace,

And add fresh splendour to her race,

But if with reverential awe thou shed

Over the virtuous dead

A tear of pity, in that tear I’ll join,

Inspired with sentiments like thine.

Servant, Iolaus, Chorus.

Ser. Ye children, hail! but where is Iolaus,

That aged man; and hath your grandame left

Her seat before the altar?

Iol. Here am I,

If aught my presence can avail.

Ser. On earth

Why art thou stretched, what means that downcast look?

Iol. Domestic cares have harrowed up my soul.

Ser. Lift up thy head, arise.

Iol. I am grown old,

And all my strength is vanished.

Ser. But to thee

I bring most joyful tidings.

Iol. Who art thou?

Where have I seen thee? I remember not.

Ser. Hyllus’ attendant, canst thou not distinguish

These features?

Iol. O my friend, art thou arrived

To snatch me from despair?

Ser. Most certainly:

Moreover the intelligence I bring

Will make thee happy.

Iol. Thee I call, come forth,

Alcmena, mother of a noble son,

And listen to these acceptable tidings:

Full long thy soul, for those who now approach,

Was torn with grief, lest they should ne’er return.

Alcmena, Servant, Iolaus, Chorus.

Alc. Whence with your voice resounds this echoing dome,

O Iolaus, is another herald

From Argos come, who forcibly assails you?

My strength indeed is small, yet be assured

Of this, presumptuous stranger, while I live

Thou shalt not bear them hence. May I no more

Be deemed the mother of that godlike son,

When I submit to this. But if thou dare

To touch the children, with two aged foes

Ignobly wilt thou strive.

Iol. Be of good cheer,

Thou hoary matron, banish these alarms;

No herald with a hostile message comes

From Argos.

Alc. Why then raised you that loud voice,

The harbinger of fear?

Iol. That from the temple

Thou might’st come forth, and join us.

Alc. What you mean

I comprehend not. Who is this?

Iol. He tells us

Thy grandson marches hither.

Alc. Hail, O thou

Who bear’st these welcome tidings? but what brings him

To these domains? Where is he? What affairs

Prevented him from coming hither with thee,

To fill my soul with transport?

Ser. He now marshals

The forces which attend him.

Alc. In this conference

Am I no longer then allowed to join?

Iol. Thou art: but ’tis my business to inquire

Into these matters.

Ser. Which of his transactions

Say art thou most solicitous to know?

Iol. The number of the troops he leads?

Ser. Is great,

I cannot count them.

Iol. The Athenian chiefs

Are sure apprized of this.

Ser. They are apprized,

And the left wing is formed.

Iol. Then the whole host

Arrayed in arms is ready for the battle.

Ser. The victims to a distance from the ranks

Already are removed.

Iol. But at what distance

Is the encampment of the Argive warriors?

Ser. So near that we their leader can distinguish.

Iol. What is he doing; marshalling our foes?

Ser. This we conjecture: for I could not hear

His voice: but I must go; for I my lord

Will not abandon when he nobly braves

The dangers of the field.

Iol. I too with thee

Will join him; for the same are our intentions,

As honour bids us, to assist our friends.

Ser. Unwisely hast thou spoken.

Iol. With my friends

Shall not I then the stubborn conflict share?

Ser. That strength which erst was thine is now no more.

Iol. Can I not pierce their shields?

Ser. Thou may’st: but first,

More likely, fall thyself.

Iol. No foe will dare

To meet me face to face.

Ser. By thy mere looks,

With that debilitated arm, no wound

Canst thou inflict.

Iol. My presence in the field

Will to our troops give courage, and augment

Their number.

Ser. Of small service to thy friends

Will thy appearance prove.

Iol. Detain me not:

I for some glorious action am prepared.

Ser. Thou hast the will to act, but not the power.

Iol. I will not be reproached for loitering here,

Say what thou wilt beside.

Ser. But without arms

How wilt thou face yon warriors sheathed in mail?

Iol. The various implements of war are lodged

Beneath these roofs; with freedom will I use,

And if I live, return them; if I die,

The god will not demand them back again.

Go then into the temple, and reach down

Those martial trappings from the golden nails

On which they hang, and bring them to me swiftly.

For this were infamous, while some are fighting,

If others loiter slothfully behind.

[Exit Servant.

Chor. Time hath not yet debased that lofty soul

’Tis vigorous, though thy body be decayed.

Why should’st thou enter on these fruitless toils,

Which only injure thee, and to our city

Can be of little service? on thy age

Should’st thou reflect, and lay aside attempts

That are impossible, for by no arts

The long-lost force of youth canst thou regain.

Alc. What schemes are these? distempered in your mind,

Me and my children mean you to abandon?

Iol. The battle is man’s province: to thy care

Them I consign.

Alc. But if you die, what means

Have I of being saved?

Iol. The tender care

Of the surviving children of thy son.

Alc. Should they too meet with some severe mishap,

Which may the gods forbid.

Iol. These generous strangers

Will not betray thee; banish every fear.

Alc. In them I trust: I have no other friend.

Iol. Jove too, I know, is mindful of thy toils.

Alc. I will not speak in disrespectful terms

Of Jove: but whether he his plighted troth

Have kept, full well he knows.

Ser. [returning.] Thou here behold’st

The brazen panoply, now haste to sheathe

Thy limbs in mail; the battle is at hand,

And Mars detests a loiterer: if thou fear

Accoutrements so ponderous, to the field

Advance disarmed, nor till thou join the ranks

Wear these unwieldy trappings; for meantime

I in my hands their burden will sustain.

Iol. Well hast thou spoken; with those arms attend me

Ready for the encounter, place a spear

In my right hand, and under my left arm

Hold me, and guide my steps.

Ser. Shall I conduct

A warrior like a child?

Iol. I must tread sure,

Else ’twere an evil omen.

Ser. Would thy power

Equalled thy zeal.

Iol. Haste: greatly ’twill afflict me

If, left behind, I cannot join the fray.

Ser. Slow are thy steps, and hence thou deem’st I move not.

Iol. Behold’st thou not the swiftness of my pace?

Ser. Thou to thyself I see appear’st to hasten,

Although thou gain’st no ground.

Iol. When in the field

Thou seest me, thou wilt own I speak the truth.

Ser. What great exploit achieving? I could wish

That thou might’st prove victorious.

Iol. Through his shield

Some foe transfixing.

Ser. We at length may reach

Th’ embattled plain, but this I greatly fear.

Iol. Ah, would to heaven, that thou, my withered arm,

Again wert vigorous, as in former days

Thee I remember, when thou didst lay waste

The Spartan realms with Hercules; thus fight

My battles now, and singly will I triumph

Over Eurystheus, for that dastard fears

To face the dangers of th’ embattled field:

Too apt in our ideas to unite

Valour with wealth, yet to the prosperous man

Superior wisdom falsely we ascribe.

[Exeunt Iolaus and Servant.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

O fostering Earth, resplendent Moon,

Who gladd’st the dreary shades of night,

And thou, enthroned at broadest noon,

Hyperion, ’midst exhaustless light,

To me propitious tidings bring,

Raise to the skies a festive sound,

And waft the gladsome notes around,

Till, from the palace of our king,

They echo through Minerva’s fane:

My house, my country, to maintain

Against the ruthless spoiler’s pride,

Menaced because this realm extends

Protection to its suppliant friends,

I with the sword our contest will decide.

I. 2.

Although there seem just cause for dread,

When cities like Mycene blest,

Whose triumphs fame hath widely spread

Enter this region to invest

Our bulwarks, harbouring ruthless hate.

Think, O my country, think what shame,

Should we reject the suppliant’s claim

Appalled by Argos’ haughty state.

Resistless Jove shall aid the spear

I brandish unappalled by fear;

The tribute of eternal praise

From all that breathe, to him is due:

Nor magnified by our weak view

Shall men above the gods their trophies raise.

II. 1.

Descend with venerable mien,

O thou our guardian and our queen,

For on thy fostering soil we stand,

These walls were reared by thy command,

Drive from our menaced gates the lawless host,

Suppress that Argive tyrant’s boast;

For if by you unaided, is this hand

Too weak their fury to withstand.

II. 2.

Thee, O Minerva, we adore,

Thy altar ever streams with gore:

We on each moon’s concluding day

To thee our public homage pay;

Through every fane harmonious numbers sound,

Sweet minstrelsy then breathes around,

And th’ echoing hills their nightly dance repeat

As the nymphs move with agile feet.

Servant, Alcmena, Chorus.

Ser. O royal dame, the message that to you

I bring, is both concise, and what reflects

On me abundant glory to relate,

In fight have we prevailed, and trophies reared

On which the armour of your foes is hung.

Alc. This day hath brought thee hither, O my friend,

Thy freedom for such tidings to receive:

But one anxiety there still remains

To which thou leav’st me subject; much I fear

For the important lives of those I love.

Ser. They live, and have obtained from all the host

The greatest fame.

Alc. And Iolaus too,

My aged friend?

Ser. Yet more, he hath performed

Through the peculiar favour of the gods

Exploits most memorable.

Alc. What glorious deed

Hath he achieved in fight?

Ser. From an old man,

He is grown young again.

Alc. Thou speak’st of things

Most wonderful. But first, how fought our friends

With such success, I wish thee to inform me.

Ser. All that hath passed, at once will I relate

When, to each other in the field opposed,

We had arranged both armies, and spread forth

The van of battle to its full extent,

Hyllus alighting from his chariot, stood

In the midway ’twixt either host, and cried:

“Thou leader of the Argive troops, who com’st

With hostile fury to invade this land,

Thy interests recommend what I propose,

Nor can Mycene suffer from the loss

If thou deprive her of a single warrior;

Therefore with me encounter hand to hand,

And if thou slay me, seize and bear away

The sons of Hercules; but if thou die,

My palace and hereditary rank

Permit me to enjoy.” The troops assented,

And praised what he had spoken as the means

Of finishing their labours, and a proof

Of his exalted courage. But Eurystheus

Unmoved by reverence for th’ assembled host

Who heard the challenge, and with terror smitten,

Forgot the general’s part, nor dared to face

The lifted spear, but acted like a dastard:

Yet he who was thus destitute of courage

Came to enslave the sons of Hercules.

Hyllus again retreated to his rank;

The prophets too, when they perceived no peace

Could be effected by a single combat,

Without delay the blooming virgin slew,

Auspicious victim, from whose pallid lips

Her trembling spirit fled. The lofty car

Some mounted, o’er their sides while others flung

Their bucklers to protect them. To his host,

Meantime the king of Athens, in a strain

Worthy of his exalted courage, spoke:

“Ye citizens, the land to which ye owe

Your nourishment and birth, now claims your aid.”

Equally loth to sully the renown

Of Argos and Mycene, in like terms

The foe besought his partners of the war

Their utmost vigour to exert. No sooner

Had the loud signal by Etruria’s trump

Been given, than they in thickest battle joined.

Think with what crash their brazen shields resounded,

What groans and intermingled shouts were heard!

First through our lines the host of Argos burst,

And in their turn gave way: then foot to foot,

And man to man opposed, in stubborn conflict

We all persisted: multitudes were slain;

But in this language either chief his troops

Encouraged: “O ye citizens of Athens,

O ye who till the fruitful Argive field,

Will ye not from your native land repel

The foul disgrace?” But with our utmost efforts

Scarce could we put to flight the Argive host.

When Iolaus saw young Hyllus break

The ranks of battle, he with lifted hands

Entreated him to place him in his car,

Then seized the reins, and onward in pursuit

Of the swift coursers of Eurystheus drove.

As to the sequel; from report alone

Let others speak, I tell what I have seen:

While through Pallenè’s streets he passed, where rise

Minerva’s altars, soon as he descried

The chariot of Eurystheus, he a prayer

Addressed to blooming Hebe, and to Jove,

That for that single day he might recover

The pristine vigour of his youth, and punish

His foes as they deserve. You now shall hear

What a miraculous event ensued;

Two stars ’bove Iolaus’ chariot stood,

And overshadowed it with gloomy clouds,

Which, by the wise ’tis said, were Hercules

Your son, and blooming Hebe: from that mist

Which veiled the skies, the chief grown young again,

Displayed his vigorous arms, and near the rocks

Of Scyron, seized Eurystheus in his car.

Binding his hands with chains, he hither brings

The Argive tyrant, a distinguished prize,

Who once was happy; but on all mankind

Loudly inculcates by his present fortunes

This lesson: not too rashly to ascribe

Felicity to him who in appearance

Is prosperous, but to wait till we behold

His close of life; for fortune day by day

Doth waver.

Chor. Thou great author of success,

O Jove, at length am I allowed to view

The day, by which my terrors are dispelled.

Alc. ’Twas late indeed, when thou, O Jove, didst look

On my afflictions; yet am I to thee

Most grateful for the kindness thou hast shown me.

And though I erst believed not that my son

Dwells with the gods, I clearly know it now.

Now, O my children, ye from all your toils

Shall be set free, and of Eurystheus, doomed

With shame to perish, burst the galling yoke,

Behold your father’s city, the rich fields

Of your inheritance again possess,

And sacrifice to your paternal gods,

From whom excluded, in a foreign land

Ye led a wandering miserable life.

But with what sage design yet undisclosed,

Hath Iolaus spared Eurystheus’ life,

Inform me: for to us it seems unwise

Not to avenge our wrongs when we have caught

Our enemies.

Ser. He through respect to you

Hath acted thus, that you might see the tyrant

Vanquished, and rendered subject to your power,

Not by his own consent, but in the yoke

Bound by necessity; for he was loth

To come into your presence, ere he bleed,

And suffer as he merits. But farewell,

O venerable matron, and remember

The promise you first made when I began

These tidings, and, oh, set me free: for nought

But truth should from ingenuous lips proceed.

[Exit Servant.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

To me the choral song is sweet,

When the shrill flute and genial banquet meet,

If Venus also grace the festive board:

I taste a more refined delight

Now I behold my friends (transporting sight!)

To unexpected happiness restored.

For in this nether world, eventful Fate,

And Saturn’s offspring Time, full many a change create.

I. 2.

Follow the plain and beaten way,

From Justice, O my country, never stray,

Nor cease the powers immortal to revere.

To heights scarce short of frenzy rise

The errors of that mortal, who denies

Assent to truths confirmed by proofs so clear.

Jove’s power by signal judgments is descried,

Oft as his vengeance blasts the towering crest of pride.

II. 1.

In heavenly mansions with the blest,

Thy son, O venerable dame, doth rest;

He hath confuted those invidious tales,

That to loathed Pluto’s house he came

Soon as he perished in that dreadful flame:

He under roofs of burnished gold regales,

On the soft couch of lovely Hebe placed;

Them two, both sprung from Jove, O Hymen, thou hast graced.

II. 2.

Events, which strike man’s wondering eyes,

From a variety of causes rise.

For fame relates how Pallas saved the sire,

And from her city far renowned,

Her race, protection have the children found;

She hath suppressed th’ o’erweening tyrant’s ire,

Whose violence no laws could ere control;

Curse on such boundless pride, that fever of the soul.

Messenger, Eurystheus, Alcmena, Chorus.

Mes. Your eyes indeed behold, O royal dame,

Yet shall this tongue declare that we have brought

Eurystheus hither, unexpected sight,

Reverse of fortune his presumptuous soul

Foresaw not, this oppressor little deemed

That he should ever fall into your hands,

When from Mycene, by the Cyclops’ toil

Erected, he those squadrons led, and hoped

With pride o’erweening to lay Athens waste;

But Heaven our situation hath reversed:

And therefore with exulting Hyllus joins

The valiant Iolaus, in erecting

Trophies to Jove the author of our conquest.

But they to you commanded me to lead

This captive, wishing to delight your soul:

For ’tis most grateful to behold a foe

Fall’n from the height of gay prosperity.

Alc. Com’st thou, detested wretch? at length hath Justice

O’ertaken thee? First hither turn thy head,

And dare to face thine enemies: for, dwindled

Into a vassal, thou no longer rul’st.

Art thou the man (for I would know the truth)

Who didst presume to heap unnumbered wrongs,

Thou author of all mischief, on my son

While yet he lived, wherever now resides

His dauntless spirit? For in what one instance

Didst thou not injure him? At thy command,

Alive he travelled to th’ infernal shades;

Thou sent’st, and didst commission him to slay

Hydras and lions. Various other mischiefs,

Which were by thee contrived, I mention not,

For an attempt to speak of them at large

Would be full tedious. Nor was it enough

For thee to venture on these wrongs alone,

But thou, moreover, from each Grecian state

Me and these children hast expelled, though seated

As suppliants at the altars of the gods,

Confounding those whose locks are grey through age

With tender infants. But thou here hast found

Those who were men indeed, and a free city

Which feared thee not. Thou wretchedly shalt perish,

And pay this bitter usury to atone

For all thy crimes, whose number is so great

That it were just thou more than once shouldst die.

Mes. You must not kill him.

Alc. Then have we in vain

Taken him captive. But what law forbids

His being slain?

Mes. The rulers of this land

Consent not.

Alc. Is it not by them esteemed

A glorious action to despatch our foes?

Mes. Not such as they have seized alive in battle.

Alc. Is Hyllus satisfied with this decree?

Mes. He, in my judgment, will forsooth act rightly,

If he oppose what Athens shall enjoin.

Alc. The captive tyrant ill deserves to live,

Or longer view the sun.

Mes. In this first instance

They did amiss, when by their swords he died not.

Alc. Is it not just that he should suffer still?

Mes. He who will slay him is not to be found.

Alc. What shall I say if some adventurous hand——

Mes. If you do this, you will incur great censure.

Alc. I love this city, I confess: but no man,

Since he is fall’n into my power, shall force

This prisoner from me: let them call me bold

And more presumptuous than becomes a woman,

I am resolved to execute my purpose.

Mes. Full well I know the hatred which you bear

To this unhappy man is terrible,

And such as merits pardon.

Eur. Be convinced

Of this, O woman, that I cannot flatter,

Nor to preserve this wretched life say aught,

Whence they may brand me with a dastard’s name.

For I with much reluctance undertook

This contest; near in blood am I to thee,

And of that race whence sprung thy son Alcides.

But whether I consented, or was loth,

Me Juno caused by her immortal power

To harbour this dire frenzy in my breast.

Since I became his foe, since I resolved

Upon this strife, much mischief I devised,

And brooded o’er it many a tedious night,

That after I had wearied out and slain

Those I abhorred, I might no longer lead

A life of fear: for well I knew thy son

Was no mere cipher, but a man indeed:

Though strong my hate, on him will I confer

The praise he merits from his valiant deeds.

But after he was dead, was I not forced,

Because I was a foe to these his sons,

And knew what bitter enmity ’gainst me

They from their sire inherited, to leave

No stone unturned, to slay, to banish them,

And plot their ruin? Could I have succeeded

In these designs, my throne had stood secure.

If thou my prosperous station hadst obtained,

Wouldst thou not have attempted to hunt down

The lion’s whelps, instead of suffering them

At Argos unmolested to reside?

Thou canst prevail on no man to give credit

To such assertions: therefore, since my foes

Forbore to slay me, when prepared to lose

My life in battle, by the laws of Greece,

If I now die, my blood will fix a stain

Of lasting guilt on him who murders me.

This city hath discreetly spared my life,

More influenced by its reverence for the gods

Than by the hatred which to me it bears.

My answer to the charges thou hast urged

Against me, having heard, esteem me now

A suppliant, and though wretched, still a king,

For such is my condition: though to die

I wish not, yet can I without regret

Surrender up my life.

Chor. To you, Alcmena,

A little wholesome counsel would I give,

This captive monarch to release, since such

The pleasure of the city.

Alc. If he die,

And to the mandates of th’ Athenian realm

I still submit, what mischief can ensue?

Chor. ’Twere best of all. But how can these two things

Be reconciled?

Alc. I will inform you how

This may with ease be done. I, to his friends,

When slain will yield him up, and with this land

Comply in the disposal of his corse:

But he shall die to sate my just revenge.

Eur. Destroy me if thou wilt; to thee I sue not:

But on this city, since it spared my life

Through pious reverence, and forbore to slay me,

Will I bestow an ancient oracle

Of Phœbus, which in future times shall prove

More advantageous than ye now suppose;

For after death, so have the Fates decreed,

My corse shall ye inter before the temple

Of the Pallenian maid: to you a friend

And guardian of your city, shall I rest

Beneath this soil for ever; but a foe

To those who spring from this detested race

When with their armies they invade this land

Requiting with ingratitude your kindness:

Such strangers ye protect. But thus forewarned,

Why came I hither? Through a fond belief

That Juno was with far superior power

To each oracular response endued,

And that my cause she ne’er would have betrayed.

On me waste no libations, nor let gore

Be poured forth on the spot of my interment,

For I to punish these their impious deeds,

Will cause them with dishonour to return:

From me shall ye receive a double gain,

For you I will assist, and prove to them

Most baneful e’en in death.

Alc. Why are ye loth

To slay this man, if what ye hear be true,

That welfare to this city hence will spring,

And your prosperity? For he points out

The safest road. Alive he is a foe,

But after he is dead will prove a friend.

Ye servants bear him hence, and to the dogs

Cast forth without delay his breathless corse:

Think not, presumptuous wretch, that thou shalt live

Again t’ expel me from my native land.

Chor. With this am I well pleased. My followers, go.

For hence in our king’s sight shall we stand guiltless.

Rhesus.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Chorus of Trojan Sentinels.
Hector.
Æneas.
Dolon.
A Shepherd.
Rhesus.
Ulysses.
Diomede.
Paris.
Minerva.
The Muse.
The Charioteer Of Rhesus.

SCENE.—Before Hector’s Tent at the Gates of Troy.

Chorus, Hector.

Chor. Let some swift sentinel to Hector’s tent

Go and inquire if any messenger

Be yet arrived, who recent tidings bears

From those, who during the fourth nightly watch

Are by the host deputed. On your arm

Sustain your head, unfold those low’ring eyelids,

And from your lowly couch of withered leaves,

O Hector, rise, for it is time to listen.

Hec. Who comes? art thou a friend? pronounce the watchword.

Who are ye, that by night approach my bed?

Speak out.

Chor. We guard the camp.

Hec. Why com’st thou hither

With this tumultuous haste?

Chor. Be of good cheer.

Hec. I am. Hast thou discovered in the camp

This night some treachery?

Chor. None.

Hec. Why then deserting

The post where thou art stationed, dost thou rouse

The troops, unless thou through this midnight gloom

Bring some important tidings? know’st thou not

That near the Argive host we under arms

Take our repose.

Chor. Prepare your brave allies:

Go to their chambers, bid them wield the spear,

Rouse them from slumber, and despatch your friends

To your own troop; caparison the steeds.

Who bears the swift alarm to Pantheus’ son?

Who to Europa’s offspring, Lycia’s chief?

Where are the priests who should inspect the victims?

Who leads the light-armed squadron to the field?

And where are Phrygia’s archers? Let each bow

Be strung.

Hec. Thy tidings are in part alarming,

In part thou giv’st us courage, though thou speak

Nought plainly. By the terrifying scourge

Of Pan hast thou been smitten, that thou leav’st

Thy station to alarm the host? Explain

These clamorous sounds. What tidings shall I say

Thou bring’st? Thy words are many, but their drift

I comprehend not.

Chor. All night long, O Hector,

The Grecian camp hath kindled fires, the torches

Amid their fleet are blazing, and the host

Tumultuous rush to Agamemnon’s tent,

At midnight calling on the king t’ assemble

A council: for the sailors never yet

Were thus alarmed. But I, because I fear

What may ensue, these tidings hither bring,

Lest you should charge me with a breach of duty.

Hec. Full seasonably thou com’st, although thou speak

Words fraught with terror: for these dastards hope

They in their barks shall from this shore escape

Ere I discover them: their kindled fires

Prove this suspicion. Thou, O partial Jove,

Hast robbed me of my triumph, like the prey

Torn from the lion, ere I have destroyed

With this avenging spear the Grecian host.

Had not the sun withdrawn his radiant beams,

I the successful battle had prolonged

Till I had burnt their ships, and hewn a way

Through their encampments, and in slaughter drenched

My bloody hand. I would have fought by night

And taken my advantage of the gales

Sent by auspicious fortune: but the wise,

And seers who knew the will of Heaven, advised me

To wait but till to-morrow’s dawn appeared,

And then sweep every Grecian from the land.

But now no longer will they stay to prove

The truth of what my prophets have foretold:

For cowards in the midnight gloom are brave.

Instantly therefore through the host proclaim

These orders: “Take up arms, and rouse from sleep;”

Pierced through the back as to the ships he flies,

So shall full many a dastard with his gore

Distain the steep ascent; the rest fast bound

In galling chains shall learn to till our fields.

Chor. O Hector, ere you learn the real fact,

You are too hasty: for we know not yet

That they are flying.

Hec. Wherefore then by night

Are those fires kindled through the Grecian camp?

Chor. I am not certain, though my soul full strongly

Suspects the cause.

Hec. If thou fear this, thou tremblest

At a mere shadow.

Chor. Such a light ne’er blazed

Before among the foes.

Hec. Nor such defeat

In battle, did they e’er till now experience.

Chor. This have you done; look now to what remains.

Hec. I give this short direction: take up arms

Against the foe.

Chor. Behold! Æneas comes:

Sure, from his haste, some tidings, which deserve

His friends’ attentive ear, the warrior brings.

Æneas, Hector, Chorus.

Æne. What mean the watch, O Hector, who by night

Were to their stations in the camp assigned,

That they, with terror smitten, at your chamber

In a nocturnal council have assembled?

And why is the whole army thus in motion?

Hec. Put on thy arms, Æneas.

Æne. What hath happened?

Are you informed that in this midnight gloom

The foe hath formed some stratagem?

Hec. They fly!

They mount their ships.

Æne. What proof have you of this?

Hec. All night their torches blaze; to me they seem

As if they would not wait to-morrow’s dawn:

But, kindling fires upon their lofty decks,

They sure fly homeward from this hostile land.

Æne. But why, if it be thus, prepare your troops

For battle?

Hec. As they mount the deck, this spear

Shall overtake the dastards; I their flight

Will harass: for ’twere base, and prejudicial

As well as base, when Heaven delivers up

The foe into our hands, to suffer those

Who wronged us to escape without a conflict.

Æne. Ah! would to Heaven you equally stood foremost

In wisdom, as in courage: but one man

By bounteous Nature never was endued

With knowledge universal: various gifts

Doth she dispense, to you the warrior’s palm,

To others sapient counsels: now you hear

Their torches blaze, you thence infer the Greeks

Are flying, and would lead the troops by night

Over the trenches: but when you have passed

The yawning fosse, should you perceive the foes

Instead of flying from the land, resist,

With dauntless courage, your protended spear,

If you are vanquished, to these sheltering walls

You never can return: for in their flight

How shall the troops o’er slanting palisades

Escape, or, how the charioteer direct

Over the narrow bridge his crashing wheels?

If you prevail, you have a foe at hand,

The son of Peleus, from your flaming torches

Who will protect the fleet, nor suffer you

Utterly to destroy the Grecian host

As you expect; for he is brave. Our troops

Let us then leave to rest from martial toils,

And sleep beside their shields. That we despatch

Amid the foe some voluntary spy,

Is my advice: if they prepare for flight,

Let us assail the Greeks; but if those fires

Are kindled to ensnare us, having learned

The enemy’s intentions, let us hold

A second council on this great emprise.

Illustrious chief, I have declared my thoughts.

Chorus.

These counsels I approve: thy wayward scheme,

O Hector, change, and think the same:

For perilous commands I deem,

Given by the headstrong chief, deserve our blame.

Why send not to the fleet a spy,

Who may approach the trenches, and descry

With what intent our foes upon the strand

Have kindled many a flaming brand?

Hec. Ye have prevailed, because ye all concur

In one opinion: but depart, prepare

Thy fellow-soldiers, for perhaps the host

May by the rumours of our nightly council

Be put in motion. I will send a spy

Among the Greeks; and if we learn what schemes

They have devised, the whole of my intentions

To thee will I immediately reveal

In person. With confusion and dismay

But if the foe precipitate their flight,

Give ear, and follow where the clanging trump

Summons thee forth, for then I cannot wait,

But will this night attack the Grecian host,

Storm their entrenchments, and destroy their fleet.

Æne. Despatch the messenger without delay.

For you now think discreetly, and in me

Shall find, when needed, in your bold emprise

A firm associate.

[Exit Æneas.

Hec. What brave Trojan, present

At this our conference, as a spy will go

T’ explore the Grecian navy? to this land

What generous benefactor will arise?

Who answers? for I singly cannot serve

The cause of Troy and its confederate bands

In every station.

Dol. For my native realm,

Facing this danger, to the fleet of Greece

I as a spy will go; and when I’ve searched

Into the progress of our foes, return:

But I on these conditions undertake

The toilsome enterprise——

Hec. Thou well deserv’st

Thy name, and to thy country art a friend,

O Dolon; for this day thy father’s house,

Which is already noble, thou exalt’st

With double fame.

Dol. I therefore ought to strive:

But after all my labours let me reap

A suitable reward. If gain arise

From the performance of the task enjoined,

We feel a twofold joy.

Hec. This were but just:

I contradict thee not: name thy reward;

Choose what thou wilt, except the rank I bear.

Dol. Your rich domains I wish not to possess.

Hec. To thee a daughter of imperial Priam

In marriage shall be given.

Dol. With my superiors

I will not wed.

Hec. Abundant gold is ours,

If thou prefer this stipend.

Dol. My own house

With wealth is furnished, I am far remote

From want.

Hec. What then dost thou desire that Troy

Contains?

Dol. When you have conquered the proud Greeks,

Promise to give me——

Hec. I will give thee all

That thou canst ask, except my royal captives.

Dol. Slay them; I seek not to withhold your arm

From cutting off the vanquished Menelaus.

Hec. Is it thy wish, Oileus’ son to thee

Should be consigned?

Dol. The hands of princes, nurtured

Effeminately, are not formed to till

The stubborn soil.

Hec. From which of all the Greeks

Taken alive wouldst thou receive his ransom?

Dol. Already have I told you, that at home

I have abundant riches.

Hec. Thou shalt choose

Among our spoils.

Dol. For offerings let them hang

High in the temples of the gods.

Hec. What gift

Greater than these canst thou from me require?

Dol. Achilles’ steeds: for when I stake my life

On Fortune’s die, ’twere reasonable to strive

For such an object as deserves my toils.

Hec. Although thou in thy wishes to possess

Those steeds hast interfered with me: for sprung

From an immortal race themselves immortal

They bear Pelides through the ranks of war,

Neptune, ’tis said, the king of ocean, tamed them

And gave to Peleus: I, who prompted thee

To this emprise, will not bely thy hopes,

But to adorn thy noble father’s house,

On thee Achilles’ generous steeds bestow.

Dol. This claims my gratitude: if I succeed,

My courage will for me obtain a palm,

Such as no Phrygian ever won before:

Nor should you envy me, for joys unnumbered

And the first station in the realm, are yours.

[Exit Hector.

Chorus.

II.

The danger’s great, but great rewards allure

Thee, generous youth, t’ assert thy claim,

Thrice blest if thou the gift procure,

Yet will thy toils deserve immortal fame:

Th’ allies of kings let grandeur tend,

May Heaven and Justice thy emprise befriend,

For thou already seem’st to have acquired

All that from man can be desired.

Dol. I am resolved to go: but my own doors

First must I enter, and myself attire

In such a garb as suits my present scheme,

Thence will I hasten to the Argive fleet.

Chor. What other dress intend’st thou to assume

Instead of that thou wear’st?

Dol. Such as befits

My errand and the stealth with which I travel.

Chor. We ought to gain instruction from the wise.

What covering hast thou chosen for thy body?

Dol. I to my back will fit the tawny hide

Of a slain wolf, will muffle up my front

With the beast’s hairy visage, fit my hands

To his fore-feet, thrust into those behind

My legs, and imitate his savage gait;

Approaching undiscovered by the foe,

The trenches and the ramparts that defend

The navy: but whenever I shall come

To desert places, on two feet I mean

To travel: such deception have I framed.

Chor. May Hermes, Maïa’s offspring, who presides

O’er well-conducted fallacies, assist

Thy journey thither, and with safety lead

Thy homeward steps! for well thou understand’st

The business; there is nought which yet thou need’st

But good success.

Dol. I shall return in safety,

And having slain Ulysses, or the son

Of Tydeus, bring to you their ghastly heads:

For omens of assured success are mine:

Then say that Dolon reached the Grecian fleet.

These hands distained with gore, my native walls

Will I revisit ere the sun arise.

[Exit Dolon.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

O thou, who issuing with majestic tread

From Delian, Lycian, or Thymbræan fanes,

Twang’st thy unerring bow; on Phrygia’s plains,

Apollo, thy celestial influence shed,

Hither come with nightly speed,

The enterprising chief to lead

Through mazes undiscovered by our foes;

Aid thy loved Dardanian line,

For matchless strength was ever thine,

Constructed by thy hand Troy’s ancient bulwarks rose.

I. 2.

Speed Dolon’s journey to the Grecian fleet,

Let him espy th’ entrenchments of their host;

Again in triumph from the stormy coast

Conduct the warrior to his native seat;

May he mount that chariot drawn

By steeds that browsed the Phthian lawn

When our brave lord, the Mars of Greece, hath slain;

Coursers of unrivalled speed,

Which erst to Eacus’ seed

To Peleus, Neptune gave who rules the billowy main.

II. 1.

His country, his paternal walls, to save,

The generous youth explores the anchored fleet:

From me such worth shall due encomiums meet.

How few with hardy bosoms stem the wave,

When Hyperion veils his face,

And cities tremble on their base!

At this dread crisis Phrygian heroes rise,

Mysian chiefs, uncurbed by fear,

Brandish with nervous arm the spear,

Curst be the lying tongue that slanders my allies.

II. 2.

In savage guise now Dolon stalks arrayed,

With step adventurous o’er the hostile ground:

What Grecian chief shall feel the deadly wound,

While the wolf’s hide conceals his glittering blade?

Weltering first in crimson gore,

May Menelaus rise no more;

Next may the victor, Agamemnon’s head

Bear to Helen, stung with grief

At her affinity to that famed chief

Who in a thousand ships to Troy his squadrons led.

A Shepherd, Hector, Chorus.

Shep. Most gracious monarch, may I ever greet

My lords with tidings such as now I bring!

Hec. Full oft misapprehension clouds the soul

Of simple rustics: to thy lord in arms

Thou of thy fleecy charge art come to speak

At this unseemly crisis: know’st thou not

My mansion, or the palace of my sire?

There ought’st thou to relate how fare thy flock.

Shep. We shepherds are, I own, a simple race,

Yet my intelligence deserves attention.

Hec. Such fortunes as befall the fold, to me

Relate not, for I carry in this hand

The battle and the spear.

Shep. I too am come

Such tidings to unfold; for a brave chief,

Your friend, the leader of a numerous host,

Marches to fight the battles of this realm.

Hec. But from what country?

Shep. Thrace, and he is called

The son of Strymon.

Hec. Didst thou say, that Rhesus

Hath entered Ilion’s fields?

Shep. You comprehend me,

And have anticipated half my speech.

Hec. Why doth he travel over Ida’s hill,

Deserting that broad path where loaded wains

With ease might move?

Shep. I have no certain knowledge;

Yet may we form conjectures; ’tis a scheme

Most prudent, with his host to march by night

Because he hears the plain with hostile bands

Is covered: but us rustics he alarmed,

Who dwell on Ida’s mount, the ancient seat

Of Ilion’s first inhabitants, by night

When through that wood, the haunt of savage beasts

The warrior trod: for with a mighty shout

The Thracian host rushed on, but we, our flocks,

With terror smitten, to the summit drove,

Lest any Greek should come to seize the prey,

And waste your crowded stalls: till we discovered

Voices so different from the Hellenian tribes,

That we no longer feared them. I advanced,

And in the Thracian language made inquiry

Of the king’s vanguard, as they moved along

To explore a passage for the host, what name

Their leader bore, sprung from what noble sire,

To Ilion’s walls he came, the friend of Priam.

When I had heard each circumstance I wished

To know, I for a time stood motionless,

And saw majestic Rhesus, like a god,

High in his chariot, drawn by Thracian steeds

Whiter than snow, a golden beam confined

Their necks, and o’er his shoulders hung a shield

Adorned with sculptures wrought in massive gold;

Like that which in Minerva’s Ægis flames,

Bound on the courser’s front, a brazen Gorgon

Tinkled incessant with alarming sound.

The numbers of an army so immense

I cannot calculate; the horse were many,

Many the ranks of troops with bucklers armed,

And archers; and a countless multitude,

Like infantry in Thracian vests arrayed

Brought up the rear. Such is th’ ally who comes

On Troy’s behalf to combat; nor by flight,

Nor by withstanding his protended spear,

Can Peleus’ son escape him.

Chor. When the gods

Are to a realm propitious, each event

Is easily converted into bliss.

Hec. Since I in battle prosper, and since Jove

Is on our side, I shall have many friends;

But those we need not who in former time

Our toils partook not, with malignant blast

When on the sails of Ilion Mars had breathed.

Rhesus hath shown too plainly what a friend

He is to Troy, for to the feast he comes,

Yet was he absent when the hunters seized

Their prey, nor did he share the toils of war.

Chor. You justly scorn such friends; yet, O receive

Those who would aid the city.

Hec. We who long

Have guarded Ilion can defend it now.

Chor. Are you persuaded you have gained already

A triumph o’er the foes?

Hec. I am persuaded,

And when to-morrow’s sun the heaven ascends

This shall be proved.

Chor. Beware of what may happen;

Jove oft o’erthrows the prosperous.

Hec. I abhor

These tardy succours.

Shep. O, my lord, ’twere odious,

Should you reject with scorn the proffered aid

Of our allies: the sight of such a host

Will strike the foe with terror.

Chor. Since he comes

But as a guest, not partner in the war,

Let him approach your hospitable board,

For little thanks are due from Priam’s sons

To such confederates.

Hec. Prudent are thy counsels,

Thou too hast rightly judged: and in compliance

With what the messenger hath said, let Rhesus

Refulgent in his golden arms draw near,

For Ilion shall receive him as her friend.

[Exit Shepherd.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

Daughter of Jove, forbear to wreak

Impending vengeance, though the tongue,

O Nemesis, its boastful strain prolong:

I the free dictates of my soul will speak.

Thou com’st, brave son of that illustrious spring,

Thou com’st thrice welcome to our social hall:

At length doth thy Pierian mother bring

Her favoured child, while ling’ring in his fall,

Adorned by many a bridge, thee with paternal call.

I. 2.

Doth Strymon summon to the field: of yore

When he the tuneful Muse addressed,

A gliding stream he sought her snowy breast,

Thee, lovely youth, the yielding goddess bore:

To us thou com’st a tutelary power

Yoking thy coursers to the fervid car:

O Phrygia! O my country! at this hour

Hastes thy deliverer glittering from afar,

Him may’st thou call thy Jove, thy thunderbolt of war.

II. 1.

While swiftly glides th’ unheeded day,

Again shall Troy without control

Chant the young loves, and o’er the foaming bowl

The sportive contest urge ’midst banquets gay;

But Atreus’ sons desponding cross the wave,

And sail from Ilion to the Spartan strand.

Accomplish what thy friends foretold, O save

These menaced walls by thy victorious hand,

Return with laurels crowned, and bless thy native land.

II. 2.

To dazzle fierce Pelides’ sight,

Before him wave thy golden shield

Obliquely raised, that meteor of the field,

Vault from thy chariot with unrivalled might,

And brandish with each dexterous hand a lance;

Whoever strives with thee shall ne’er return

To Argive fanes, and join Saturnia’s dance,

He by the spear of Thrace in combat slain,

Shall lie a breathless corse on Troy’s exulting plain.

Hail, mighty chief! ye Thracian realms, the mien

Of him ye bore speaks his exalted rank.

Observe those nervous limbs with plated gold

Incased, and hearken to those tinkling chains

Which on his shield are hung. A god, O Troy,

E’en Mars himself, from Strymon’s current sprung,

And from the Muse, brings this auspicious gale.

Rhesus, Hector, Chorus.

Rhe. Thou brave descendant of a noble sire,

Lord of this realm, O Hector, I accost thee

After a tedious absence, and rejoice

In thy success, for to the turrets reared

By Greece, thou now lay’st siege, and I am come

With thee those hostile bulwarks to o’erthrow,

And burn their fleet.

Hec. Son of the tuneful Muse,

And Thracian Strymon’s stream, I ever love

To speak the truth, for I am not a man

Versed in duplicity; long, long ago,

Should you have come to succour Troy, nor suffered,

Far as on you depended, by our foes

This city to be ta’en. You cannot say

That uninvited by your friends you came not,

Because you marked not our distress. What heralds,

What embassies to you did Phrygia send,

Beseeching you, the city to protect,

What sumptuous presents did she not bestow?

But you, our kinsman, who derive your birth

From a barbarian stem, to Greece betrayed

Us, a barbarian nation, though from ruling

Over a petty state, by this right arm

I raised you to the wide-extended throne,

When round Pangæum and Pæonia’s realm

Rushing upon the hardiest Thracian troops

I broke their ranks of battle, and subdued

The people to your empire: but you spurn

My benefits, nor come with speed to succour

Your friends in their distress. Though they who spring not

From the same ancestors, observed our summons;

Of whom full many in yon field of death

Have tombs heaped o’er them, a most glorious proof

Of faith unshaken; others under arms

Their chariots mount, and steadfastly endure

The wintry blasts, the parching flames of heaven,

Nor on a gay convivial couch reclined

Like you, O Rhesus, drain the frequent bowl.

That you may know I yet can stand alone,

Such conduct I resent; this to your face

I speak.

Rhe. I also am the same: my language

Is plain and honest; I am not a man

Of mean duplicity. My soul was tortured

With greater anguish far than thou couldst feel,

Because I was not present in this land;

But Scythia’s tribes who near our confines dwell

Made war against me just as I to Troy

Was journeying; I had reached the Euxine shore

To sail with Thracia’s host, the Scythian blood

There stained our spears, and my brave troops expired

’Midst intermingled slaughter: this event

Hindered my reaching Troy, and aiding thee

In battle. Having conquered them, and taken

For hostages their children, them I bound

To pay me annual tribute; with my fleet

Then crossed the Hellespont, and marched on foot

Through various realms, nor, as thou proudly say’st,

Drained the intoxicating bowl, nor slept

Beneath a gilded roof, but to such blasts

As cover with thick ice the Thracian wave,

Or through Pæonia howl, was I exposed

Wrapped in this mantle many a sleepless night.

But I, though late, am in due season come:

For this is the tenth year since thou hast waged

An ineffectual war, day after day

By thee is idly lavished, while the die

Of battle ’twixt the Argive host and thine

Spins doubtful ere it fall. But it for me

Will be sufficient that the sun once mount

The heavens, while I their bulwarks storm, invade

Their fleet, and slay the Greeks. To my own home

I the next day from Ilion will return,

Thy toils soon ending: let no Trojan bear

A shield: for with this spear will I subdue

The boasters, though ’twas late ere I arrived.

Chor. My soul this language doth approve,

Such friends as thou art sent by Jove,

But humbly I that god beseech,

To pardon thy presumptuous speech.

The navy launched from Argos’ strand,

Though freighted with a daring band,

Neither in former times, nor now

Contained a chief more brave than thou.

How shall Achilles’ self withstand,

Or Ajax meet, thy vengeful hand?

O may the morn with orient ray

Exhibit that auspicious day,

When thou the victor’s prize shalt gain

And dye with crimson gore the plain.

Rhe. Soon with exploits like these will I atone

For my long absence: but, with due submission

To Nemesis, I speak; when from the foe

We have delivered this beleaguered city

And seized their spoils for offerings to the gods;

With thee to Argos will I go, invade,

And ravage with victorious arms, all Greece,

To teach them in their turn what ’tis to suffer.

Hec. Could I escape from the impending stroke,

And with that safety which we erst enjoyed

These walls inhabit, I to Heaven should pay

Full many a grateful vow: but as for Argos,

As for the Grecian states, to lay them waste

By arms were far less easy than you speak of.

Rhe. Is it not said the bravest chiefs of Greece

Came hither?

Hec. Them I hold not in contempt,

But long have kept at bay.

Rhe. When these are slain,

We therefore each obstruction have removed.

Hec. Forbear to think of distant prospects now,

While our immediate interests lie neglected.

Rhe. Art thou so tame as to endure such wrongs

Without retorting them?

Hec. While I maintain

What I possess, my empire is sufficient.

But freely take your choice, or in the left

Or the right wing, or centre of our host

Display your shield, and range your troops around.

Rhe. I singly will encounter all our foes,

O Hector; but if thou esteem it base

Not to assist me when I burn their fleet,

Because thou hast already toiled so long,

Oppose me to Achilles in the front

Of battle.

Hec. We at him no spear must aim.

Rhe. Yet was I told he sailed for Troy.

Hec. He sailed,

And still is here, but angry with the chiefs,

Refuses to assist them.

Rhe. In the camp

Of Greece, say who is second in renown?

Hec. Ajax, I deem, and Tydeus’ son are equal

To any; but most fluent in his speech,

And with sufficient fortitude inspired,

Is that Ulysses, from whom Troy hath suffered

Insults the most atrocious; for by night,

Entering Minerva’s fane, he stole her image,

And bore it to the Grecian fleet: disguised

In tattered vest, that vile impostor next

Entered the gates, and cursed the Argive host,

Sent as a spy to Ilion; having slain

The sentinels, he through the gates escaped,

And in some fraudful scheme is ever found:

At the Thymbræan temple is he stationed

Hard by our ramparts, we in him contend

With a most grievous pest.

Rhe. The valiant man

Is never mean enough to slay his foes

By stealth, he loves to meet them face to face;

But, as for him, the recreant chief thou nam’st,

Who lurking with a thievish purpose frames

These dark contrivances, as through the gates

I sally forth to combat, I will seize him;

Driven through his back, my spear shall leave the miscreant

Food for the vultures, for the impious robber

Who spoils the temples of the gods deserves

No better fate.

Hec. Now choose, for it is night,

The spot for an encampment: I will show you

A separate quarter where your troops must sleep.

But mark me well, Apollo is the watchword;

In case of an emergency, announce

This signal to the Thracian host.

[Exit Rhesus.

Extend

The watch beyond the lines, and there receive

Dolon our spy, who sallied forth t’ explore

The navy of our foes; if he be safe

He, by this time, the trenches must approach.

[Exit Hector.

Chorus.

Who comes this rampart to defend?

The times assigned us sentinels is o’er;

Yon fading constellation shines no more

Now the seven Pleiades the heaven ascend,

In ether view the eagle glide.

Wake! what means this long delay?

Rise and watch; now dawns the day?

Saw ye the moon diffuse her radiance wide?

Aurora is at hand: but at the gate

(For Dolon sure returns) what faithful guard shall wait?

Semichor. To whom did the first watch belong?

Semichor. ’Tis said

Choræbus, son of Mygdon, is their chief.

Semichor. Who in his room was stationed?

Semichor. The Pæonians

Called from their tent Cilicia’s hardy troops.

Semichor. The Mysians summoned us.

Semichor. Haste, let us seek

The fifth division of the watch, and rouse

Lycia’s brave warriors as by lot ordained.

Chorus.

II.

Hark! couched on her ill-omened nest,

Fell murderess of her son, in varied strains

Near Simois’ banks the nightingale complains:

What sounds melodious heave her throbbing breast!

The flocks on Ida wont to feed

Still browse o’er that airy height,

Soothing the cold ear of night,

Hark to the murmurs of the pastoral reed.

Sleep on our closing eyelids gently steals;

Sweet are its dews when morn her earliest dawn reveals.

Semichor. But wherefore doth not he draw near whom Hector

Sent to explore the fleet?

Semichor. He hath so long

Been absent that I tremble.

Semichor. If he fell

Into some ambush, and is slain, we soon

Shall have sufficient cause for fear.

Semichor. But haste,

Rouse Lycia’s warriors as by lot ordained.

[Exit Chorus.

Ulysses, Diomede.

Uly. Heard’st thou, O Diomede, the sound of arms,

Or in these ears did empty murmurs ring?

Dio. No; but the steely trappings which are linked

To yonder chariots, rattled, and I too

With vain alarm was seized, till I perceived

The coursers, who their clanging harness shook.

Uly. Beware, lest in this gloom of night thou stumble

Upon the sentinels.

Dio. Though in the dark

We tread, I with such caution will direct

My steps as not to err.

Uly. But, should’st thou wake them,

Thou know’st the watchword of their host.

Dio. I know

It is Apollo; this I heard from Dolon.

Uly. Ha! I perceive our foes have left these chambers.

Dio. Here, Dolon told us, is the tent of Hector:

’Gainst him I wield this javelin.

Uly. What hath happened?

Is the whole squadron too elsewhere removed?

Dio. Perchance they too ’gainst us may have contrived

Some stratagem.

Uly. For Hector now is brave

Since he hath conquered.

Dio. How shall we proceed?

For in this chamber him we cannot find,

And all our hopes are vanished.

Uly. To the fleet

Let us in haste return: for him some god

Protects, and crowns him with triumphant wreaths:

We must not strive ’gainst Fortune’s dread behests.

Dio. Then to Æneas will we go, or Paris

That Phrygian most abhorred, and with our swords

Lop off their heads.

Uly. But how, in darkness wrapt,

Canst thou direct thy passage through the troops,

To slay them without danger?

Dio. Yet ’twere base,

Back to the Grecian fleet should we return,

No fresh exploit performing ’gainst the foe.

Uly. What means this language? hast thou not performed

A great exploit? have we not slain the spy

Who to our navy went, and are not these

The spoils of Dolon? how canst thou expect

To spread a general havoc through their troops?

Comply; let us retire: may Fortune speed

Our progress homeward.

Minerva, Ulysses, Diomede.

Min. With affliction stung,

Why from the Trojan camp do ye retire?

Although the gods forbid you to destroy

Hector or Paris, heard ye not that Rhesus,

A mighty chief, with numerous troops is come

To Troy? If he outlives this night, nor Ajax,

Nor can Achilles hinder him from wasting

The camp of Greece, demolishing your walls,

And forcing a wide passage through your gates

With his victorious spear: him slay, and all

Is yours; but go not to the couch of Hector,

Nor hope to leave that chief a weltering trunk,

For he must perish by another hand.

Uly. Dread goddess, O Minerva, I distinguished

Thy well-known voice: for midst unnumbered toils

Thou ever dost support me: but, oh say,

Where sleeps the mighty warrior thou hast named,

And in what part of the barbarian host

Have they assigned his station?

Min. Near at hand,

And separate from the Phrygian troops, he lies;

Hector hath placed him just without the lines

Till morn arise; conspicuous in the gloom

Of night, and close beside their sleeping lord,

Yoked to the car his Thracian coursers stand,

White as the glossy plumage of the swan:

Them bear away when ye have slain their lord,

A glorious prize, for the whole world can boast

No car beside drawn by such beauteous steeds.

Uly. Either do thou, O Diomede, transpierce

The Thracian soldiers, or to me consign

That task; meanwhile seize thou the steeds.

Dio. To slay

The foe be mine; do you the coursers guide,

For you are practised in each nicer art,

And quick of apprehension. To each man

Should that peculiar station be assigned

In which he can be useful.

Min. But to us

Paris I see is coming, who hath heard

A doubtful rumour from the watch, that foes

Enter the trenches.

Dio. Hath he any comrade,

Or marches he alone?

Min. Alone he seems

To go to Hector’s chamber, to announce

That there are foes discovered in the camp.

Dio. Is it not first ordained that he shall die?

Min. You can no more, the Destinies forbid:

For Hector must not perish by your hand;

But haste to him on whom ye came to wreak

Fate’s dreadful purposes: myself meanwhile

Assuming Venus’ form, who ’midst the toils

Of battle by her tutelary care

Protects him, will with empty words detain

Paris your foe. Thus much have I declared:

Yet he, whom you must smite, though near at hand,

Nor knows, nor hears, the words which I have uttered.

[Exeunt Ulysses and Diomede.

Paris, Minerva.

Par. General and brother, Hector, thee I call:

Yet sleep’st thou? doth not this important hour

Demand thy vigilance? some foes approach,

Robbers or spies.

Min. Be of good cheer; for Venus

Protects you: I in all your battles feel

An interest, mindful of the prize I gained

Favoured by you, and am for ever grateful:

Now to the host of Ilion I conduct

Your noble Thracian friend, who from the Muse,

Harmonious goddess, and from Strymon springs.

Par. To Troy and me thou ever art a friend.

In thy behalf when I that judgment gave,

I boast that for this city I obtained

The greatest treasure life affords. But hither,

Hearing an indistinct account, I come;

For ’mong the guards there hath prevailed a rumour,

That Grecian spies have entered Ilion’s walls:

Though the astonished messenger who bore

These tidings, saw them not himself, nor knows

Who saw them: I on this account am going

To Hector’s tent.

Min. Fear nought; for in the camp

No new event hath happened. To arrange

The Thracian troops is Hector gone.

Par. Thy words

Are most persuasive, and to them I yield

Implicit credence. From all fears released,

I to my former station will return.

Min. Go and depend upon my guardian care

To see my faithful votaries ever blest;

For you in me shall find a zealous friend.

[Exit Paris.

Ulysses, Diomede, Minerva.

Min. But now to you, my real friends, I speak.

Son of Laertes, O conceal your sword,

For we have slain the Thracian chief, and seized

His coursers, but our foes have ta’en th’ alarm

And rush upon you, therefore fly with speed,

Fly to the naval ramparts. Why delay

To save your lives when hostile throngs approach?

[Exit Minerva.

Chorus, Ulysses, Diomede.

Chor. Come on, strike, strike, destroy. Who marches yonder?

Look, look, ’tis him I mean! these are the robbers

Who in the dead of night alarmed our host.

Hither, my friends, haste hither; I have seized them.

What answer mak’st thou? tell me whence thou cam’st,

And who thou art.

Uly. No right hast thou to know;

Insult me, and this instant thou shalt die.

Chor. Wilt thou not, ere this lance transpierce thy breast,

Repeat the watchword?

Uly. That thou soon shalt hear;

Be satisfied.

1st Semichor. Come on, my friends, strike! strike!

2nd Semichor. Hast thou slain Rhesus?

Uly. I have slain the man

Who would have murdered thee: forbear.

1st Semichor. I will not.

2nd Semichor. Forbear to slay a friend.

1st Semichor. Pronounce the watchword.

Uly. Apollo.

2nd Semichor. Thou art right; let not a spear

Be lifted up against him.

1st Semichor. Know’st thou whither

Those men are gone?

2nd Semichor. We saw not.

1st Semichor. Follow close

Their steps, or we must call aloud for aid.

2nd Semichor. Yet were it most unseemly to disturb

Our valiant comrades with our nightly fears.

[Exeunt Ulysses and Diomede.

Chorus.

ODE.

What chief is he, who moved along;

What daring plunderer fleet and strong,

Shall boast he ’scaped my vengeful hand?

How overtake his rapid flight?

To whom compare him, who by night,

With dauntless step passed through our armed band

And slumbering guards? doth he reside

In Thessaly, near ocean’s boisterous tide

In Locris, or those islands scattered o’er

The waves? whence comes he to this fell debate?

What power supreme doth he adore?

1st Semichor. Was this Ulysses’ enterprise, or whose?

2nd Semichor. If we may form our judgment from the past,

Who but Ulysses——

1st Semichor. Think’st thou that it was?

2nd Semichor. Why not?

1st Semichor. He is an enterprising foe.

2nd Semichor. What bravery? whom do you applaud?

1st Semichor. Ulysses.

2nd Semichor. Praise not the treacherous weapon of a robber.

Chorus.

II.

He entered Ilion once before,

With foam his eyes were covered o’er,

In tatters hung his squalid vest;

He artfully concealed his sword,

And sued for fragments from our board;

Shorn was his head, and like a beggar dressed;

He cursed with simulated hate

Th’ Atrides, rulers of the Grecian state.

May just revenge his forfeit life demand:

Would he had perished as his crimes deserve,

Before he reached the Phrygian land.

1st Semichor. Whether this deed was by Ulysses wrought

It matters not, I shrink with fear, for Hector

Will to us guards impute the blame.

2nd Semichor. What charge

Can he allege?

1st Semichor. He will suspect.

2nd Semichor. Why shrink

With terror?

1st Semichor. ’Twixt our ranks they passed.

2nd Semichor. Who passed?

1st Semichor. They, who this night have entered Phrygia’s camp.

Charioteer of Rhesus, Chorus.

Cha. Alas! intolerable stroke of fate!

1st Semichor. Be silent.

2nd Semichor. Rouse! for some one may have fallen

Into the snare.

Cha. O dire calamity

Of Troy’s allies, the Thracians!

1st Semichor. Who is he

That groans?

Cha. Ah! wretched me, and O thou king

Of Thrace, who in an evil hour beheld’st

Accursed Ilion; what an end of life

Was thine!

Chor. But which of our allies art thou?

For o’er these eyes the gloom of night is spread,

And I discern thee not.

Cha. Where shall I find

Some of the Trojan chiefs? beneath his shield

O where doth Hector taste the charms of sleep?

To which of Ilion’s leaders shall I tell

All we have suffered? and what wounds unseen

Some stranger hath on us with ruthless hand

Inflicted? but he vanished and hath heaped

Conspicuous sorrows on the Thracian realm.

Chor. Some terrible disaster to the troops

Of Thrace it seems hath happened, if aright

I comprehend what I from him have heard.

Cha. Our host is utterly destroyed, our king

Hath been despatched by some foul secret stroke.

How am I tortured by a deadly wound,

Yet know not to what cause I must impute

My perishing! ’Twas by the Fates ordained,

That I, and Rhesus, who to Ilion led

Auxiliar troops, ingloriously should bleed.

Chor. He in no riddle hath expressed the tale

Of our misfortunes; he asserts too clearly

That our allies are slain.

Cha. We are most wretched,

And to our wretchedness have joined disgrace,

A twofold evil. For, to die with glory,

If glory must be purchased at the expense

Of life, is very bitterness I deem

To him who bleeds (for what can make amends

For such a loss as life); but to the living

Is he the source of pride, from him his house

Derives renown. But we, alas! like fools,

Ignobly perish. Hector in the camp

No sooner fixed our station, and pronounced

The watchword, than we slept upon the plain,

O’ercome with toil; no sentinels were stationed

To watch our troops by night, nor were our arms

Duly arranged, and to the harnessed steeds

Hung no alarm bell; for our monarch heard

That ye had proved victorious, and with ruin

Threatened the Grecian fleet. Immersed we lay

In luckless slumber; till disturbed in mind

I started up, and with a liberal hand

Measured the coursers’ food, resolved betimes

To yoke them for the battle. I beheld

Two men, who, in the midnight darkness, walked

Around our camp; but when I moved, they fled,

And disappeared immediately; with threats

I bade them keep aloof: ’twas my conjecture

That robbers, some of our own countrymen,

Approached: they answered not, nor know I more.

Returning to my tent, again I slept,

And forms tremendous hovered in my dream.

For near my royal master, as I stood,

I saw two visionary wolves ascend

Those coursers’ backs which I was wont to guide,

Oft lashing with their tails they forced them on,

Indignant breathing as they champed the bit,

And struggling with dismay; but in attempting

To drive away these ravenous beasts, I woke,

Roused by the terrors of the night, and heard,

Soon as I raised my head, expiring groans;

The tepid current of my master’s blood,

Yet gasping in the agonies of death,

Besprinkled me. As from the couch I leaped

Unarmed, and sought for weapons, some strong warrior

Smote with his sword my ribs; the ghastly wound

Displayed his might: prostrate I sunk to earth.

Bearing the steeds away, and glittering car,

They by the swiftness of their feet escaped,

Tortured with pain, too faint to stand, I know

Too well the dire calamity these eyes

Beheld; but cannot say, or through what means,

Or by the hand of whom, my lord was slain:

Yet can I guess that by our friends we suffer.

Chor. O charioteer of Thracia’s wretched king,

Be well assured this deed was by our foes

Committed. For lo! Hector’s self, apprized

Of this calamity, draws near; he feels

Such anguish as he ought for thy disasters.

Hector, Charioteer of Rhesus, Chorus.

Hec. O ye accursed authors of this mischief,

How did those spies, who by the foe were sent

Thus, to your infamy, escape, and spread

Dire havoc through the host; both as they entered

And as they left the camp? Yet, unmolested,

Ye suffered them to pass. Who should be punished

But you? for you, I say, were stationed here

To watch the camp; but they without a wound

Are vanished, laughing at the Phrygian troops

For their unmanly cowardice, and me

Their leader. Be assured, by Jove I swear,

All-gracious father, or the scourge or death

Shall wait you for such guilt, else deem that Hector

Is but a thing of nought, a very coward.

Chor. Great is, alas! my danger, mighty prince,

The foe stole in while I to you conveyed

Those tidings, that the Greeks around their ships

Had kindled fires: through all the live-long night

These watchful eyes have ne’er been sealed by sleep.

By Simois’ holy fountain I conjure you,

My royal lord, impute no blame to me,

For I am wholly guiltless. If you learn

That in my deeds or words I have offended,

Plunge me alive beneath earth’s deepest vault;

I ask no mercy.

Cha. Why dost thou upbraid

These for the guilt? by plausible harangues

Wouldst thou impose on thy barbarian friends;

O thou barbarian, thou the bloody deed

Didst perpetrate; nor can our slaughtered comrades,

Nor we who linger pierced with ghastly wounds,

Admit that ’twas another. There requires

A long and subtle speech to make me think

Thou didst not basely murder thy allies,

Because the beauty of our steeds attracted

Thy admiration, and on their account

Hast thou slain those who at thy earnest prayer

Landed on Ilion’s shore; they came, they died.

With greater decency than thou observ’st,

Who dost assassinate thy friends, did Paris

The rites of hospitality infringe.

Pretend not that some Grecian came unseen

And smote us. Who subdued the Phrygian host,

Who reached our quarters unobserved by Hector?

Thou with the Trojan army wert before us;

But who was wounded, who among thy troops

Expired, when through their ranks as thou pretend’st

The foe to us advanced? But I was wounded,

And they, whom a more grievous ill o’ertook,

No more behold the sun. To be explicit,

I charge no Greek: what foe could come by night

And find out Rhesus’ tent, unless some god

Had told the murderers, for they sure knew nought

Of his arrival? therefore all this mischief

Must be thy sole contrivance.

Hec. Our allies

Have long assisted us since first the Greeks

This realm invaded; and I never heard

They to my charge imputed any crime.

Could I begin with thee? by such desire

For beauteous steeds may I be never seized,

As to induce me to destroy my friends.

Ulysses was the author of this deed.

What Greek could have accomplished or contrived

Such an exploit, but he? Him much I fear:

My soul is also troubled lest he light

On Dolon too, and slay him, for ’tis long

Since he went forth, nor doth he yet return.

Cha. I know not that Ulysses whom thou nam’st,

Nor did a foe inflict this ghastly wound.

Hec. Therefore retain, since thus to thee it seems,

Thy own opinion.

Cha. O my native land,

Might I but die in thee!

Hec. Thou shalt not die:

For of the dead the number is sufficient.

Cha. Reft of my lord, but whither shall I turn?

Hec. Thou in my house shalt careful treatment find,

And healing balsams.

Cha. Shall the ruthless hands

Of murderers dress my wounds?

Hec. He will not cease

Alleging the same charge.

Cha. Perdition seize

The author of this bloody deed! my tongue

Has fixed no charge, as thou pretend’st, on thee;

But Justice knows.

Hec. Conduct him to my palace

With speed, that we may ’scape his clamorous plaints.

But you must go, and to the citizens

Proclaim, acquainting Priam, and the elders

Who sit in council, first, that I direct

The bodies of the slain shall be interred

With due respect beside the public road.

[Exit Charioteer, supported by one of Hector’s Attendants.

Chor. Why from the summit of exalted bliss

Into fresh woes hath some malignant god

Plunged Troy, why caused this sad reverse of fortune?

The Muse appears in the air, Hector, Chorus.

Chor. High o’er our heads what deity, O king,

Is hovering? in her hands a recent corse

She bears: I shudder at the dreadful sight.

Muse. Ye Trojans, mark me well: for I a Muse

Who by the wise am worshipped, hither come,

One of the nine famed sisters, having seen

The wretched fate of this my dearest son,

Who by the foe was slain: but he who smote

The generous youth, Ulysses, that dissembler,

At length shall suffer as his crimes deserve.

ODE.

Parental anguish rends my breast,

For thee my son, my son, I grieve,

Thy mother sinks with woes oppressed.

Why didst thou take this road, why leave

Thy home, and march to Ilion’s gate,

Where death did thy arrival wait?

Oft with maternal zeal I strove

Thy luckless courage to restrain,

And oft thy sire opposed in vain.

But now with ineffectual love,

My dearest son, thee now no more,

Thee, O my son, must I deplore.

Chor. As far as bosoms, by no kindred ties

United, can partake a mother’s grief,

Do I bewail thy son’s untimely fate.

Muse.

II.

On him your tenfold vengeance shed

From Oeneus who derives his birth,

Smite base Ulysses’ perjured head,

Ye fiends who desolate the earth;

Through them with agonizing pain

I mourn my valiant offspring slain;

May Helen too partake their doom,

Who from her bridal mansions fled,

And sought th’ adulterer’s Phrygian bed;

For thou in Troy art to the tomb

By her consigned; and many a state

Bewails its bravest warriors’ fate.

Much while on earth, and since thy murmuring ghost

Was plunged in Orcus’ dreary mansions more,

O offspring of Philammon, didst thou wound

My soul: that arrogance which caused thy ruin,

That contest with Pieria’s choir, gave birth

To this unhappy youth: for having passed

The rapid current, with incautious step

Approaching Strymon’s genial bed, we mounted

Pangæum’s summit, for its golden mines

Distinguished; each melodious instrument

Around us in full concert breathed; our strife

Was there decided with the Thracian minstrel;

That Thamyris who dared blaspheme our art,

We of his eyes deprived. But since I bore

Thee, O my son, through deference for my sisters,

And for my own reputed chastity,

Thee to the watery mansions of thy sire

I sent; and Strymon, to no human care,

But to the nymphs who haunt his limpid founts,

For nurture did consign thee; from those virgins

When, O my dearest son, thou hadst received

The best of educations, thou becam’st

Monarch of Thrace, the first of men. I felt

No boding apprehensions of thy death;

By thee, while marshalled on thy native ground,

Athirst for blood the dauntless squadrons moved.

But thee I cautioned, for I knew thy fate,

That thou to Troy shouldst never go; but thee

Th’ ambassadors of Hector and the Senate,

By oft repeated messages, persuaded

To come to the assistance of thy friends.

Yet think not, O Minerva, thou sole cause

Of my son’s fate, that thou these watchful eyes

Hast ’scaped; Ulysses and the son of Tydeus

Were not the authors of this bloody deed,

Although they gave the wound. We sister Muses

Honour thy city, in thy land we dwell.

Orpheus, the kinsman of this hapless youth

Whom thou hast slain, dark mysteries did unfold;

And by Apollo, and our sister choir,

Thy venerable citizen Musæus

Was taught to soar beyond each warbled strain

Of pristine melody: but in return

For all these favours, bearing in my arms

My son, I utter this funereal dirge;

But I no other minstrel will employ.

Chor. Falsely the wounded Thracian charioteer

Charged us with a conspiracy to slay him.

Hec. Full well I knew, there needed not a seer

T’ inform me, that he perished by the arts

Of Ithacus. But was it not my duty

When I my country saw by Grecian troops

Besieged, to send forth heralds to my friends,

Requesting them to aid us? I did send,

And Rhesus came, by gratitude constrained,

Illustrious partner of my toils. His death

Lamenting, will I raise a tomb to grace

The corse of my ally, and o’er the flame

Strew tissued vests: for with confederate arms

Dauntless he came, though piteous was his death.

Muse. They shall not plunge him in the yawning grave,

Such vows will I address to Pluto’s bride,

Daughter of fruitful Ceres, to release

His ghost from the drear shades beneath: she owes

To Orpheus’ friends such honours. But henceforth,

Dead as it were to me, will he no more

Behold the sun, we ne’er must meet again,

Nor shall he see his mother, but shall lie

Concealed beneath the caverns of that land

With silver mines abounding, from a man

Exalted to a god, restored to life,

The priest of Bacchus, and of him who dwells

Beneath Pangeum’s rock, a god adored

By those who haunt his orgies. But ere long

To yonder goddess of the briny waves

Shall I bear doleful tidings: for by fate

It is decreed, her offspring too shall die;

But first our sisterhood, in choral plaints,

Will sing of thee, O Rhesus, and hereafter

Achilles, son of Thetis, shall demand

Our elegiac strains, not she who slew

Thee, hapless youth, Minerva, can redeem him;

Such an inevitable shaft is stored

In Phœbus’ quiver. O ye pangs that rend

A mother’s breast, ye toils the lot of man;

They who behold you in your real light

Will live without a progeny, nor mourn

With hopeless anguish o’er their children’s tomb.

[Exit the Muse.

Chor. To bury the deceased with honours due,

Will be his mother’s care: but if, O Hector,

Thou mean’st to execute some great emprise,

’Tis now the time: for morn already dawns.

Hec. Go, and this instant bid our comrades arm,

Harness the steeds: but while ye in these toils

Are busied, ye the signal must await,

Th’ Etrurian trumpet’s clangour; for I trust

I first shall o’er the Grecian host prevail,

Shall storm their ramparts, and then burn their fleet,

And that Hyperion’s orient beams will bring

A day of freedom to Troy’s valiant race.

Chor. Obey the monarch: clad in glittering mail

Let us go forth, and his behests proclaim

To our associates; for that god who fights

Our battles, haply will bestow success.

The Trojan Captives.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Neptune.
Minerva.
Hecuba.
Chorus of Captive Trojan Dames.
Talthybius.
Cassandra.
Andromache.
Menelaus.
Helen.

SCENE.—Before the Entrance of Agamemnon’s Tent in the Grecian Camp near Troy.

Neptune.

From the Ægean deep, in mazy dance

Where Nereus’ daughters glide with agile feet,

I Neptune hither come. For round the fields

Of Ilion, since Apollo and myself

With symmetry exact reared many a tower

Hewn from the solid rock; the love I bore

The city where my Phrygian votaries dwelt,

Laid waste by Greece, where smoke e’en now ascends

The heavens, hath ne’er been rooted from this breast,

For on Parnassus bred, the Phocian chief

Epeus, by Minerva’s arts inspired,

Framed with a skilful hand, and through the gates

Sent that accursed machine, the horse which teemed

With ambushed javelins. Through forsaken groves,

Through the polluted temples of the gods,

Flow tides of crimson slaughter; at the base

Of altars sacred to Hercæan Jove,

Fell hoary Priam. But huge heaps of gold

And Phrygian plunder, to the fleet of Greece

Are sent: the leaders of the host that sacked

This city, wait but for a prosperous breeze,

That after ten years absence they their wives

And children may with joy behold. Subdued

By Juno, Argive goddess, and Minerva,

Who leagued in Phrygia’s overthrow, I leave

Troy the renowned, and my demolished shrines.

For when pernicious solitude extends

O’er cities her inexorable sway,

Abandoned are the temples of the gods,

None comes to worship there. Scamander’s banks

Re-echo many a shriek of captive dames

Distributed by lot; th’ Arcadians, some,

Some the Thessalians gain, and some the sons

Of Theseus leaders of th’ Athenian troops:

But they whom chance distributes not, remain

Beneath yon roof selected by the chiefs

Of the confederate army. Justly deemed

A captive, among them is Spartan Helen:

And if the stranger wishes to behold

That wretched woman, Hecuba lies stretched

Before the gate, full many are her tears,

And her afflictions many: at the tomb

Of stern Achilles her unhappy daughter

Polyxena died wretchedly, her lord

The royal Priam, and her sons are slain,

That spotless virgin too whom from his shrine

Apollo with prophetic gifts inspired,

Cassandra, spurning every sacred rite,

Did Agamemnon violently drag

To his adulterous bed. But, O farewell,

Thou city prosperous once; ye splendid towers,

Had not Minerva’s self ordained your fall,

Ye still on your firm basis might remain.

Minerva, Neptune.

Min. May I accost the god who to my sire

In blood is nearest, mighty, through high Heaven

Revered, and lay aside our ancient hate?

Nep. ’Tis well, thou royal maid: an interview

’Twixt those of the same house, is to the soul

An efficacious philtre.

Min. I applaud

Those who are temperate in their wrath, and bring

Such arguments, O monarch, as affect

Both you and me.

Nep. From all th’ assembled gods

Some new commission bear’st thou, or from Jove,

Or what celestial power?

Min. From none of these.

But in the cause of Troy, whose fields we tread,

I to your aid betake me, and would join

Our common strength.

Nep. Hast thou then laid aside

Thy former hate, to pity Troy, consumed

By the relentless flames?

Min. First, thither turn

Your views: to me will you unfold your counsels,

And aid the schemes I would effect?

Nep. With joy:

But I meanwhile would thy designs explore,

Whether thou com’st on the behalf of Greece,

Or Troy.

Min. The Trojans, erst my foes, I wish

To cheer, and to embitter the return

Of the victorious Grecian host.

Nep. What means

This change of temper? to excess thou hat’st

And lov’st at random.

Min. Know you not the insult

Which hath been shown to me, and to my temple?

Nep. I know that Ajax violently tore

Cassandra thence.

Min. Yet by the Greeks unpunished

He ’scaped, and e’en uncensured.

Nep. Though the Greeks

O’erthrew Troy’s walls through thy auxiliar might——

Min. And for this very cause will I conspire

With you to punish them.

Nep. I am prepared

For any enterprise thou wilt. What mean’st thou?

Min. Their journey home I am resolved to make

Most inauspicious.

Nep. While they yet remain

Upon the shore, or ’midst the briny waves?

Min. As to their homes from Ilion’s coast they sail.

For Jove will send down rain, immoderate hail,

And pitchy blasts of air: he promises

To give me too his thunderbolts to smite

The Greeks and fire their ships; but join your aid,

Cause the Ægean deep with threefold waves,

And ocean’s whirlpools horribly to rage,

Fill with their courses the unfathomed caves

Beneath Eubœa’s rocks, that Greece may learn

My shrines to reverence, nor provoke the gods.

Nep. It shall be done: there need not many words

To recommend thy suit. My storms shall rouse

Th’ Ægean deep; the shores of Myconè,

Scyros with Lemnos, all the Delian rocks,

And steep Caphareus with full many a corse

Will I o’erspread. But mount Olympus’ height,

And from the Thunderer’s hand his flaming shafts

Receiving, mark when the devoted host

Of Greece weigh anchor. Frantic is the man

Who dares to lay the peopled city waste,

Temples with tombs profaning, and bereaves

Of their inhabitants those sacred vaults

Where sleep the dead; at length shall vengeance smite

That hardened miscreant in his bold career.

[Exeunt.

The Scene opens, and discovers Hecuba on a couch.

Hec. Arise, thou wretch, and from the dust uplift

Thy drooping head; though Ilion be no more,

And thou a queen no longer, yet endure

With patience Fortune’s change, and as the tide

Or as capricious Fortune wills, direct

Thy sails, nor turn against the dashing wave

Life’s stubborn prow, for chance must guide thy voyage.

Alas! for what but groans belongs to me

Whose country, children, husband, are no more?

Oh, mighty splendour of my sires, now pent

In a small tomb, how art thou found a thing

Of no account! What portion of my woes

Shall I suppress, or what describe, how frame

A plaintive strain? Now fixed on this hard couch,

Wretch that I am, are my unwieldy limbs.

Ah me! my head, my temples, ah, my side!

Oh, how I wish to turn, and to stretch forth

These joints! My tears shall never cease to flow,

For like the Muse’s lyre, th’ affecting tale

Of their calamities consoles the wretched.

Ye prows of those swift barks which to the coast

Of fated Ilion, from the Grecian ports

Adventurous launched amid the purple wave,

Accompanied by inauspicious pæans

From pipes, and the shrill flute’s enlivening voice,

While from the mast devolved the twisted cordage

By Egypt first devised, ye to the bay

Of Troy did follow Menelaus’ wife,

Helen, abhorred adult’ress, who disgraced

Castor her brother, and Eurotas’ stream:

She murdered Priam, sire of fifty sons,

And me the wretched Hecuba hath plunged

Into this misery. Here, alas! I sit

In my loathed prison, Agamemnon’s tent;

From princely mansions dragged, an aged slave,

My hoary tresses shorn, this head deformed

With baldness. But, alas! ye hapless wives

Of Ilion’s dauntless warriors, blooming maids,

And brides affianced in an evil hour,

Together let us weep, for Ilion’s smoke

Ascends the skies. Like the maternal bird,

Who wails her callow brood, I now commence

A strain far different from what erst was heard

When I on mighty Priam’s sceptred state

Proudly relying, led the Phrygian dance

Before the hallowed temples of the gods.

[She rises, and comes forth from the tent.

Semichorus, Hecuba.

Semichor. O Hecuba, what mean these clamorous notes,

These shrieks of woe? for from the vaulted roof

Thy plaints re-echoing smite my distant ear,

And fresh alarms seize every Phrygian dame

Who in these tents enslaved deplores her fate.

Hec. E’en now, my daughter, at the Grecian fleet

Th’ exulting sailors ply their oars.

Semichor. Ah me!

What mean they? will they instantly convey me

Far from my ruined country?

Hec. By conjecture

Alone am I acquainted with our doom.

Semichor. Soon shall we hear this sentence: “From these doors

Come forth ye Trojan captives, for the Greeks

Are now preparing to return.”

Hec. O cease,

My friends, nor from her chambers hither bring

Cassandra, frantic prophetess, defiled

By Argive ruffians, for the sight of her

Would but increase my griefs.

Semichor. Troy, wretched Troy,

Thou art no more, they to whom fate ordains

No longer on thy fostering soil to dwell

Are wretched, both the living and the slain.

Chorus, Hecuba.

Chor. Trembling I come from Agamemnon’s tent,

Of thee my royal mistress to inquire

Whether the Greeks have doomed me to be slain,

And whether yet along the poop arranged

The mariners prepare to ply their oars.

Hec. Deprived of sleep through horror, O my daughter,

I hither came: but on the road I see

A Grecian herald.

Chor. Tell me to what lord

Am wretched I consigned.

Hec. E’en now the lot

Is casting to decide your fate.

Chor. What chief

To Argos, or to Phthia, me shall bear,

Or to some island, sorrowing, far from Troy?

Hec. To whom shall wretched I, and in what land

Become a slave, decrepit like the drone

Through age, mere semblance of a pallid corse,

Or flitting spectre from the realms beneath?

Shall I be stationed or to watch the door,

Or tend the children of a haughty lord,

Erst placed at Troy in rank supreme?

Chor. Alas!

Hec. With what loud plaints dost thou revive thy woes!

Chor. I never more through Ida’s loom shall dart

The shuttle, nor behold a blooming race

Of children, in those lighter tasks employed

Which suit the young and beauteous, to the couch

Of some illustrious Greek conveyed, the joys

Which night and fortune yields are lost to me;

Or filled with water, from Pirene’s spring

Shall I be doomed to bear the ponderous urn.

Hec. O could we reach the famed and happy realm

Of Theseus, distant from Eurotas’ tide,

And curst Therapne’s gates, where I should meet

Perfidious Helen, and remain a slave

To Menelaus, who demolished Troy.

Chor. By fame’s loud voice I am informed, the vale

Of Peneus, at Olympus base, abounds

With wealth and plenteous fruitage.

Hec. This I make

My second option, next the blest domain

Of Theseus.

Chor. I am told that Vulcan’s realm

Of Ætna, opposite Phœnicia’s coast

The mother of Sicilian hills, is famed

For palms obtained by valour. Through the realm

Adjacent, bordering on th’ Ionian deep,

Crathis the bright, for auburn hair renowned,

The tribute of its holy current pours,

And scatters blessings o’er a martial land.

But lo, with hasty step a herald comes

Bearing some message from the Grecian host!

What is his errand? for we now are slaves

To yon proud rulers of the Doric realm.

Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.

Tal. O Hecuba, full oft, you know, to Troy

I, as their herald, by the Grecian host

Have been despatched; you cannot be a stranger

To me, Talthybius, who to you, and all,

One message bring.

Hec. This, this, my dearest friends,

Is what I long have feared.

Tal. The lots are cast

Already, if your terrors thence arose.

Hec. Alas, to what Thessalian city saidst thou,

Or to the Phthian, or the Theban realm

Shall we be carried?

Tal. To a separate lord

Hath each of you distinctly been assigned.

Hec. To whom, alas, to whom am I allotted?

What Phrygian dames do happier fortunes wait?

Tal. I know; but be distinct in your inquiries,

Nor ask at once a multitude of questions.

Hec. Say who by lot hath gained my wretched daughter

Cassandra?

Tal. Her the royal Agamemnon

His chosen prize hath taken.

Hec. As a slave

To tend his Spartan wife? ah, me!

Tal. No slave,

But concubine.

Hec. What, Phœbus’ votive maid,

To whom the god with golden tresses gave

This privilege, that she should pass her life

In celibacy?

Tal. With the shafts of love

Hath the prophetic nymph transpierced his breast.

Hec. My daughter, cast the sacred keys away,

And rend the garlands thou with pride didst wear.

Tal. Is it not great for captives to ascend

The regal couch?

Hec. But where is she whom late

Ye took away, and whither have ye borne

That daughter?

Tal. Speak you of Polyxena,

Or for whom else would you inquire?

Hec. On whom

Hath chance bestowed her?

Tal. At Achilles’ tomb

It is decreed that she shall minister.

Hec. Wretch that I am! for his sepulchral rites

Have I then borne a priestess? but what law

Is this, what Grecian usage, O my friend?

Tal. Esteem your daughter happy; for with her

All now is well.

Hec. What saidst thou? doth she live?

Tal. ’Tis her peculiar fate to be released

From all affliction.

Hec. But, alas! what fortune

Attends the warlike Hector’s captive wife,

How fares it with the lost Andromache?

Tal. Her to Achilles’ son hath from the band

Of captives chosen.

Hec. As to me who need

For a third foot, the staff which in these hands

I hold, whose head is whitened o’er with age,

To whom am I a slave?

Tal. By lot the king

Of Ithaca Ulysses hath obtained you.

Hec. Alas! alas! let your shorn temples feel

The frequent blow; rend your discoloured cheeks.

Ah me! I am allotted for a slave

To a detestable and treacherous man,

Sworn foe of justice, to that lawless viper,

With double tongue confounding all, ’twixt friends

Exciting bitter hate. Ye Trojan dames,

O shed the sympathizing tear: I sink

Beneath the pressure of relentless fate.

Chor. Thy doom, O queen, thou know’st: but to what chief,

Hellenian or Achaian, I belong

Inform me.

Tal. Peace! Conduct Cassandra hither

With speed, ye guards, into our general’s hands

When I his captive have delivered up,

That we the rest may portion out. Why gleams

That blazing torch within? would Ilion’s dames

Their chambers fire? what mean they? doomed to leave

This land, and to be borne to Argive shores,

Are they resolved to perish in the flames?

The soul, inspired with an unbounded love

Of freedom, ill sustains such woes. Burst open

The doors, lest, to their honour and the shame

Of Greece, on me the censure fall.

Hec. They kindle

No conflagration, but, with frantic step,

My daughter, lo! Cassandra rushes hither.

Cassandra, Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.

Cas. Avaunt! the sacred flame I bring

With reverential awe profound,

And wave the kindled torch around,

O Hymen, thou benignant king.

The bridegroom comes with jocund pride,

I too am styled a happy bride,

My name through Argos’ streets shall ring,

O Hymen, thou benignant king!

While thou attend’st my father’s bier,

O Hecuba, with many a tear,

While Ilion’s ramparts overthrown

From thee demand th’ incessant groan,

Ere the bright sun withhold his ray,

E’en in the glaring front of day,

I bid the nuptial incense blaze

To thee, O Hymen, thee whose power

Invoking at her bridal hour

The bashful virgin comes. Yon maze

Encircling, ’mid the choral dance,

As ancient usage bids, advance,

And in thy hand a flaming pine,

O mother, brandish. God of wine,

Thy shouting votaries hither bring,

As if in Ilion thou hadst found

Old Priam still a happy king.

Range that holy group around,

O Phœbus, in thy laureate mead,

Thy temple, shall the victim bleed.

Let Hymen, Hymen, Hymen, sound.

My mother, for the dance prepare,

Vault nimbly, and our revels share.

At Hymen’s shrine, my friends, prolong

Your vows, awake th’ ecstatic song;

In honour of my bridal day,

Chant, Phrygian nymphs, the choral lay,

And celebrate the chief whom fate

Ordains to be Cassandra’s mate.

Chor. Wilt thou not stop the princess, lest she rush

With frantic step amid the Grecian host?

Hec. O Vulcan, wont to light the bridal torch,

Now dost thou brandish an accursed flame;

My soul foresaw not this. Alas! my daughter,

I little thought, that ’midst the din of arms,

Or while we crouch beneath the Argive spear,

Thou couldst have celebrated such espousals.

Give me the torch, for while with frantic speed

Thou rushest on, it trembles in thy hand.

Nor yet have thy afflictions, O my daughter,

Brought back thy wandering reason, thou remain’st

Disordered as before. Ye Trojan dames,

Remove yon blazing pines, and in the stead

Of these her bridal songs let tears express

The anguish of your souls.

Cas. O mother, place

A laureate wreath on my victorious brow,

Exulting lead me to the monarch’s bed.

And if for thee too slowly I advance,

Drag me along by force; for I am now

No more the spouse of Phœbus; but that king

Of Greece, famed Agamemnon, shall in me

Take to his arms a bride more inauspicious

Than even Helen’s self: him will I smite,

And lay his palace waste, in great revenge

For my slain sire and brothers. But I cease

These menaces, and speak not of the axe

Which shall smite me and others, or the conflict

My wedlock shall produce, whence by the hands

Of her own son a mother shall be slain,

And th’ overthrow of Atreus’ guilty house.

This city will I prove to have been happier

Than the victorious Greeks (for though the gods

Inspire, I curb the transports of my soul),

Who for one single woman, to regain

The beauteous Helen only, wasted lives

Unnumbered. Their wise leader, in the cause

Of those he hated, slew whom most he loved;

He to his brother yielded up his daughter,

Joy of his house, for that vile woman’s sake,

Who with her own consent, and not by force,

Was borne away. But at Scamander’s banks

When they arrived, they died, though not by exile

Torn from their country, or their native towers:

But them who in embattled fields were slain

Their children saw not, nor in decent shroud

Were they enwrapped by their loved consorts’ hands,

But lie deserted on a foreign coast:

Their sorrows also who remained at home

Are similar; in widowhood forlorn

Some die; and others, of their own brave sons

Deprived, breed up the children of a stranger;

Nor at their slighted tombs is blood poured forth

To drench the thirsty ground. Their host deserves

Praises like these. ’Tis better not to speak

Of what is infamous, nor shall my Muse

Record the shameful tale. But, first and greatest

Of glories, in their country’s cause expired

The Trojans; the remains of those who fell

In battle, by their friends borne home, obtained

Sepulchral honours in their native soil,

That duteous office kindred hands performed:

While every Phrygian who escaped the sword

Still with his wife and children did reside,

Joy to the Greeks unknown. Now hear the fate

Of Hector, him whom thou bewail’st, esteemed

The bravest of our heroes, by the Greeks

Landing on Ilion’s coast the warrior fell;

In their own country had the foe remained,

His valour ne’er had been displayed: but Paris

Wedded the daughter of imperial Jove,

In her possessing an illustrious bride.

It is the wise man’s duty to avoid

Perilous war. After the die is cast,

He who undaunted meets the fatal stroke,

Adds to his native city fair renown;

But the last moments of a coward shame

The land which gave him birth. Forbear to weep,

My mother, for thy ruined country’s fate;

Weep not because thou seest thy daughter borne

To Agamemnon’s bed, for by these spousals

Our most inveterate foes shall I destroy.

Chor. How sweetly ’midst the sorrows of thy house

Thou smil’st! ere long perchance wilt thou afford

A melancholy instance that thy strains

Are void of truth.

Tal. Had not Apollo fired

E’en to distraction thy perverted soul,

Thou on my honoured leader, ere he quit

The shores of Ilion, shouldst not unavenged

Pour forth these omens. But, alas! the great,

And they who in th’ opinion of mankind

Are wise, in no respect excel the vulgar.

For the dread chieftain of the Grecian host,

The son of Atreus, loves with boundless passion

This damsel frantic as the Mænades.

Myself am poor, yet would not I accept

A wife like her. Since thou hast lost thy reason,

I to the winds consign thy bitter taunts

’Gainst Argos, with the praises thou bestow’st

On Troy. Thou bride of Agamemnon, come,

Follow me to the fleet. But when Ulysses

Would bear you hence, O Hecuba, obey

The summons, you are destined to attend

A queen called virtuous by all those who come

To Ilion.

Cas. Arrogant, detested slave!

All heralds are like thee, the public scorn,

Crouching with abject deference to some king

Or city. Say’st thou, “To Ulysses’ house

My mother shall be borne?” Of what account

Were then the oracles Apollo gave

Uttered by me his priestess, which declare,

“She here shall die?” I spare the shameful tale.

He knows not, the unhappy Ithacus,

What evils yet await him, in the tears

Of me and every captive Phrygian maid,

While he exults, and deems our misery gain.

Ten more long years elapsed beyond the term

Spent in besieging Ilion, he alone

Shall reach his country; witness thou who dwell’st

’Midst ocean’s straits tempestuous, dire Charybdis,

Ye mountains where on human victims feast

The Cyclops, with Ligurian Circe’s isle,

Whose wand transforms to swine, the billowy deep,

Covered with shipwrecks, the bewitching Lotus,

The sacred Oxen of the Sun, whose flesh

Destined to utter a tremendous voice

The banquet shall embitter: he at length,

In a few words his history to comprise,

Alive must travel to the shades beneath,

And hardly ’scaping from a watery grave

In his own house find evils numberless.

But why do I recount Ulysses’ toils?

Lead on, that I the sooner in the realms

Of Pluto, with that bridegroom may consummate

My nuptials. Ruthless miscreant as thou art,

Thou in the tomb ignobly shalt be plunged

At midnight; nor shall the auspicious beams

Of day illumine thy funereal rites,

O leader of the Grecian host, who deem’st

That thou a mighty conquest hast achieved.

Near to my lord’s remains, and in that vale,

Where down a precipice the torrent foams,

My corse shall to the hungry wolves be thrown,

The corse of Phœbus’ priestess. O ye wreaths

Of him whom best of all the gods I loved,

Adieu, ye symbols of my holy office,

I leave those feasts the scenes of past delight,

Torn from my brows avaunt, for I retain

My chastity unsullied still; the winds

To thee shall waft them, O prophetic king.

Where is your general’s bark, which I am doomed

T’ ascend? the rising breezes shall unfurl

Your sails this instant; for in me ye bear

One of the three Eumenides from Troy.

Farewell, my mother, weep not for my fate,

O my dear country, my heroic brothers,

And aged father, in the realms beneath,

Ere long shall ye receive me: but victorious

Will I descend among the mighty dead,

When I have laid th’ accursed mansions waste

Of our destroyers, Atreus’ impious sons.

[Exeunt Cassandra and Talthybius.

Chor. Attendants of the aged Hecuba,

Behold ye not your mistress, how she falls

Upon the pavement speechless? Why neglect

To prop her sinking frame! Ye slothful nymphs,

Raise up this woman, whom a weight of years

Bows to the dust.

Hec. Away, and on this spot

Allow me, courteous damsels, to remain:

No longer welcome as in happier days

Are your kind offices; this humble posture,

This fall best suits my present lowly state,

Best suits what I already have endured

And still am doomed to suffer. O ye gods,

In you I call upon no firm allies,

Yet sure ’tis decent to invoke the gods

When we by adverse fortune are opprest.

First, therefore, all the blessings I enjoyed

Would I recount, hence shall my woes demand

The greater pity. Born to regal state,

And with a mighty king in wedlock joined,

A race of valiant sons did I produce;

I speak not of their numbers, but the noblest

Among the Phrygian youths, such as no Trojan,

Nor Grecian, nor barbarian dame could boast:

Them saw I fall beneath the hostile spear,

And at their tomb these tresses cut: their sire,

The venerable Priam, I bewailed not,

From being told of his calamitous fate

By others, but these eyes beheld him slain,

E’en at the altar of Hercæan Jove,

And Ilion taken. I those blooming maids

Have also lost, whom with maternal love

I nurtured for some noble husband’s bed;

They from these arms are torn: nor can I hope

Or to be seen by them, or e’er to see

My children more. But last of all, to crown

My woes, an aged slave, shall I be borne

To Greece; and in such tasks will they employ me

As are most grievous in the wane of life;

Me, who am Hector’s mother, at the door

Stationed to keep the keys, or knead the bread,

And on the pavement stretch my withered limbs,

Which erst reposed upon a regal couch,

And in such tattered vestments, as belie

My former rank, enwrap my wasted frame.

Wretch that I am, who, through one woman’s nuptials,

Have borne, and am hereafter doomed to bear,

Such dreadful ills. O my unhappy daughter,

Cassandra, whom the gods have rendered frantic,

With what sad omens hath thy virgin zone

Been loosed! and where, Polyxena, art thou,

O virgin most unfortunate? but none

Of all my numerous progeny, or male

Or female, comes to aid their wretched mother.

Why, therefore, would ye lift me up? what room

Is there for hope? me who with tender foot

Paced through the streets of Troy, but now a slave,

Drag from the palace to the rushy mat

And stony pillow, that where’er I fall

There may I die, through many, many tears

Exhausted. Of the prosperous and the great

Pronounce none happy till the hour of death.

Chorus.

ODE.

Prepare, O Muse, prepare a song

Expressive of the fall of Troy;

The sympathetic dirge prolong

And banish every note of joy.

I with loud voice of Ilion’s fate will speak,

Sing how the foe our ramparts stormed

Through the machine their treachery formed,

The vehicle of many a daring Greek,

Who burst like thunder from that wooden steed,

With gorgeous trappings graced, in mimic state,

Concealing armed bands, which passed the Scæan gate,

They whom such semblance could mislead,

The unsuspecting crowd,

As on Troy’s citadel they stood,

Exclaimed; “Henceforth our toils shall cease,

Come on, and to Minerva’s fane convey

This holy image, pledge of peace.”

What veteran paused? what youth but led the way?

Enlivening songs breathed round in notes so sweet,

That gladly they received the pestilential cheat.

II.

Then did all Phrygia’s race combine

Through their devoted gates to bear,

Enclosed in the stupendous pine

The fraud of Greece, that latent snare,

To glut Minerva with Dardanian blood,

To pacify th’ immortal maid,

They the huge mass with ropes conveyed:

Thus the tall bark, into the briny flood

Too ponderous to be borne, is rolled along:

Till they had lodged it in th’ ill-omened fane

Of her to whom we owe our ruined country’s bane.

After their toil and festive song,

The cloud-wrapped evening spread

Her veil o’er each devoted head,

Shrill Phrygian voices did resound,

And Libya’s flutes accompanied the choir,

While nymphs high vaulting from the ground,

Mixed their applauses with the chorded lyre,

And from each hearth the flames with radiance bright,

While heedless warriors slept, dispelled the shades of night.

III.

Then o’er the genial board, to her who reigns

In woodland heights, Diana, child of Jove,

I waked the choral strains.

But soon there flew a dismal sound

Pergamus’ wide streets around:

The shrieking infant fondly strove

To grasp the border of a mother’s vest,

And with uplifted hands its little fears expressed:

Mars from his ambush by Minerva’s aid

Conspicuous issued and the fray began,

Thick gore adown our altars ran,

And many a slaughtered youth was laid

A headless trunk on the disfigured bed,

That Greece might shine with laureate wreaths arrayed,

By Troy while fruitless tears are shed.

Andromache, Hecuba, Chorus.

Chor. Seest thou, Andromache, O queen, this way

Advancing, wafted in a foreign car?

Eager to cling to the maternal breast

Close follows her beloved Astyanax,

The son of Hector.

Hec. Whither art thou borne,

O wretched woman, on a chariot placed

’Midst Hector’s brazen armour, and those spoils

From captive Phrygian chiefs in combat torn,

With which Achilles’ son from Ilion’s siege

Triumphant, will the Phthian temples grace?

And. Our Grecian masters drag me hence.

Hec. Alas!

And. Why with your groans my anguish strive t’ assuage?

Hec. Oh!

And. I by griefs am compassed——

Hec. Mighty Jove!

And. And dread vicissitudes of fate.

Hec. My children.

And. We once were blest.

Hec. Now are those prosperous days

No more; and Ilion is no more.

And. Most wretched!

Hec. My noble sons.

And. Alas!

Hec. Alas my——

And. Woes.

Hec. O piteous fortune——

And. Of the city——

Hec. Wrapt

In smoke.

And. Return, my husband, O return.

Hec. In clamorous accents thou invok’st my son,

Whom Pluto’s realms detain, unhappy woman.

And. Thy consort’s tutelary power.

Hec. And thou,

Whose courage long withstood the Grecian host,

Thou aged father of our numerous race,

Lead me, O Priam, to the shades beneath.

And. Presumptuous are such wishes.

Hec. We endure

These grievous woes.

Chor. While ruin overwhelms

Our city, for on sorrows have been heaped

Fresh sorrows, through the will of angry Heaven,

Since in an evil hour thy son was snatched

From Pluto, who, determined to avenge

Those execrable nuptials, with the ground

Hath levelled Pergamus’ beleaguered towers.

Near Pallas’ shrine the corses of the slain

Weltering in gore to vultures lie exposed,

And Ilion droops beneath the servile yoke.

Thee, O my wretched country, I with tears

Forsake: e’en now thou view’st the piteous end

Of all thy woes, and my loved native house.

Hec. My children! O my desolated city!

Your mother is bereft of every joy.

Chor. What shrieks, what plaints resound! what floods of tears

Stream in our houses! but the dead forget

Their sorrows, and for ever cease to weep.

Hec. To those who suffer, what a sweet relief

Do tears afford! the sympathetic Muse

Inspires their plaints.

And. O mother of that chief,

Whose forceful javelin thinned the ranks of Greece,

Illustrious Hector, seest thou this?

Hec. I see

The gods delight in raising up the low,

And ruining the great.

And. Hence with my son,

A captive am I hurried; noble birth

Subject to these vicissitudes now sinks

Into degrading slavery.

Hec. Uncontrolled

The power of fate: Cassandra from these arms

But now with brutal violence was torn!

And. A second Ajax to thy daughter seems

To have appeared. Yet hast thou other griefs.

Hec. All bounds, all numbers they exceed; with ills

Fresh ills as for pre-eminence contend.

And. Polyxena, thy daughter, at the tomb

Of Peleus’ son hath breathed her last, a gift

To the deceased.

Hec. Wretch that I am, alas!

Too clearly now I understand the riddle

Which in obscurer terms Talthybius uttered.

And. I saw her bleed, and lighting from this car

Covered her with the decent shroud and wailed

O’er her remains.

Hec. Alas! alas! my child

To bloody altars dragged by impious hands,

Alas! alas! how basely wert thou slain!

And. Most dreadfully she perished; yet her lot

Who perished is more enviable than mine.

Hec. Far different, O my daughter, is the state

Of them who live, from them who breathe no more:

For the deceased are nothing: but fair hope,

While life remains, can never be extinct.

And. Thou whom, although I sprung not from thy womb,

I deem a mother, to my cheering words

With patience listen, they will yield delight

To thy afflicted soul. ’Tis the same thing

Ne’er to be born, or die; but better far

To die, than to live wretched: for no sorrow

Affects th’ unconscious tenant of the grave.

But he who once was happy, he who falls

From fortune’s summit down the vale of woe,

With an afflicted spirit wanders o’er

The scenes of past delight. In the cold grave,

Like one who never saw the blessed sun,

Polyxena remembers not her woes.

But I who aimed the dextrous shaft, and gained

An ample portion of renown, have missed

The mark of happiness. In Hector’s house

I acted as behoves each virtuous dame.

First, whether sland’rous tongues assail or spare

The matron’s chastity, an evil name,

Her who remains not at her home, pursues:

Such vain desires I therefore quelled, I stayed

In my own chamber, a domestic life

Preferring, and forbore to introduce

Vain sentimental language, such as gains

Too oft the ear of woman: ’twas enough

For me to yield obedience to the voice

Of virtue, that best monitor. My lord

With placid aspect and a silent tongue

I still received, for I that province knew

In which I ought to rule, and when to yield

Submission to a husband’s will. The fame

This conduct gained me, reached the Grecian camp,

And proved my ruin: for when I became

A captive, Neoptolemus resolved

To take me to his bed, and in the house

Of murderers I to slavery am consigned.

If shaking off my Hector’s loved remembrance

To this new husband I my soul incline,

I shall appear perfidious to the dead;

Or, if I hate Achilles’ son, become

Obnoxious to my lords; though some assert

That one short night can reconcile th’ aversion

Of any woman to the nuptial couch;

I scorn that widow, reft of her first lord,

Who listens to the voice of love, and weds

Another. From her comrade torn, the mare

Sustains the yoke reluctant, though a brute

Dumb and irrational, by nature formed

Subordinate to man: but I in thee

Possessed a husband, O my dearest Hector,

In wisdom, fortune, and illustrious birth,

For me sufficient, great in martial deeds:

A spotless virgin-bride, me from the house

Of my great father, didst thou first receive;

But thou art slain, and I to Greece must sail

A captive, and endure the servile yoke!

Is not the death of that Polyxena,

Whom thou, O Hecuba, bewail’st, an ill

More tolerable than those which I endure?

For hope, who visits every wretch beside,

To me ne’er comes; to me no promised joys

Afford a flattering prospect to deceive

This anxious bosom; for ’tis sweet to think

E’en of ideal bliss.

Chor. Thou art involved

In the same sufferings, and in plaintive notes

Bewailing thy calamity, inform’st me

What treatment to expect.

Hec. I ne’er did mount

A ship, yet I from pictures and report

These matters know: amidst a moderate storm,

Such as they hope to weather out, the sailors

To save themselves, exert a cheerful toil:

This to the rudder, to the shattered sails

That goes, a third laborious at the pump

Draws off the rising waters; but if vanquished

By the tempestuous ocean’s rage, they yield

To fortune, and consigning to the waves

Their vessel, are at random driven along.

Thus I am mute beneath unnumbered woes,

Nor can this tongue expatiate, for the gods

Such torrents pour as drown my feeble voice!

But, O my daughter, cease to name the fate

Of slaughtered Hector, whom no tears can save.

Pay due attention to thy present lord,

With amorous glances and a fond compliance

Receiving him; act thus, and thou wilt cheer

Our friends, and this my grandson educate

A bulwark to fallen Ilion, that his race

The city may rebuild, and dwell in Troy.

But a fresh topic of discourse ensues.

What servant of the Greeks do I behold

Again draw near, t’ announce some new design?

Talthybius, Andromache, Hecuba, Chorus.

Tal. O thou who erst wert Hector’s wife, that bravest

Of Phrygians, hate me not; for with reluctance

Will I the general sentence of the Greeks

And Pelops’ progeny, announce.

And. What means

This evil prelude.

Tal. ’Tis decreed thy son—

How shall I speak it?

And. To a separate lord

Shall be consigned?

Tal. None of the Grecian chiefs

Shall ever o’er Astyanax bear rule.

And. Must I leave here, him who alone remains

Of all that erst was dear to me in Troy?

Tal. Alas! I know not in what terms t’ express

The miseries that await thee?

And. I commend

Such modesty, provided thou canst speak

Aught to afford me comfort.

Tal. They resolve

To slay thy son; thou hear’st my dismal errand.

And. Ah me! thou hast unfolded to these ears

An evil, greater than my menaced spousals.

Tal. By his harangues to the assembled Greeks,

Ulysses hath prevailed.

And. Alas! alas!

Immoderate are the sorrows I endure.

Tal. Saying they ought not to train up the son

Of that heroic sire.

And. May he obtain

O’er his own children triumphs great as these!

Tal. He from the towers of Ilion must be thrown:

But I entreat thee, and thou hence shall seem

More prudent, strive not to withhold thy son,

But bear thy woes with firmness; nor, though weak,

Deem thyself strong; for thou hast no support,

And therefore must consider that thy city

Is overthrown, thy husband is no more,

Thou art reduced to servitude; and we

Are strong enough to combat with one woman:

O therefore brave not this unequal strife,

Stoop not to aught that’s base, nor yet revile,

Nor idly scatter curses on thy foes;

For if thou utter aught that may provoke

The anger of the host, thy son will bleed

Unburied and unwept: but if thou bear

With silence and composure thy misfortunes,

Funereal honours shall adorn his grave,

And Greece to thee her lenity extend.

And. Thee, O my dearest son, thy foes will slay;

Soon art thou doomed to leave thy wretched mother.

What saves the lives of others, the renown

Of an illustrious sire, to thee will prove

The cause of death: by this paternal fame

Art thou attended in an evil hour.

To me how luckless proved the genial bed,

And those espousals, that to Hector’s house

First brought me, when I trusted I should bear

A son, no victim to the ruthless Greeks,

But an illustrious Asiatic king.

Weep’st thou, my son? dost thou perceive thy woes?

Why cling to me with timid hands? Why seize

My garment? thus beneath its mother’s wings

The callow bird is sheltered. From the tomb,

No Hector brandishing his massive spear

Rushes to saves thee; no intrepid kinsman

Of thy departed father, nor the might

Of Phrygian hosts is here: but from aloof

Borne headlong by a miserable leap,

Shalt thou pour forth thy latest gasp of life

Unpitied. Tender burden in the arms

Of thy fond mother! what ambrosial odours

Breathed from thy lips? I swathed thee to my breast

In vain, I toiled in vain, and wore away

My strength with fruitless labours. Yet embrace

Thy mother once again; around my neck

Entwine thine arms, and give one parting kiss.

Ye Greeks, who studiously invent new modes

Of unexampled cruelty, why slay

This guiltless infant? Helen, O thou daughter

Of Tyndarus, never didst thou spring from Jove,

But I pronounce thee born of many sires,

An evil Genius, Envy, Slaughter, Death,

And every evil that from Earth receives

Its nourishment; nor dare I to assert

That Jove himself begot a pest like thee,

Fatal to Greece and each barbarian chief.

Perdition overtake thee! for those eyes

By their seducing glances have o’erthrown

The Phrygian empire. Bear this child away,

And cast him from the turrets if ye list,

Then banquet on his quivering flesh: the gods

Ordain that I shall perish: nor from him

Can I repel the stroke of death. Conceal

This wretched form from public view, and plunge me

In the ship’s hold; for I have lost my son,

Such the blest prelude to my nuptial rite.

Chor. Thy myriads, hapless Ilion, did expire

In combat for one woman, to maintain

Paris’ accursed espousals.

And. Cease, my child,

Fondly to lisp thy wretched mother’s name,

Ascend the height of thy paternal towers,

Whence ’tis by Greece decreed thy parting breath

Shall issue. Take him hence. Aloud proclaim

This deed ye merciless: that wretch alone

Who never knew the blush of virtuous shame,

Your sentence can applaud.

[Exeunt Andromache and Talthybius.

Hec. O child, thou son

Of my unhappy Hector, from thy mother

And me thou unexpectedly art torn.

What can I do, what help afford? for thee

I smite this head, this miserable breast;

Thus far my power extends. Alas! thou city,

And, O my grandson! is there yet a curse

Beyond what we have felt? remains there aught

To save us from the yawning gulf of ruin?

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

In Salamis’ profound retreat

Famed for the luscious treasures of the bee,

High raised above th’ encircling sea

Thou, Telamon, didst fix thy regal seat;

Near to those sacred hills, where spread

The olive first its fragrant sprays,

To form a garland for Minerva’s head,

And the Athenian splendor raise:

With the famed archer, with Alcmena’s son

Thou cam’st exulting with vindictive joy;

By your confederate arms was Ilion won,

When from thy Greece thou cam’st our city to destroy.

I. 2.

Repining for the promised steeds,

From Greece Alcides led a chosen band,

With hostile prows th’ indented strand

He reached, and anchored near fair Simois’ meads;

Selected from each ship, he led

Those who with dextrous hand could wing

Th’ unerring shaft, till slaughter reached thy head,

Laomedon, thou perjured king:

Those battlements which Phœbus’ self did rear

The victor wasted with devouring flame;

Twice o’er Troy’s walls hath waved the hostile spear,

Twice have insulting shouts announced Dardania’s shame.

II. 1.

Thou bear’st the sparkling wine in vain

With step effeminate, O Phrygian boy,

Erewhile didst thou approach with joy

To fill the goblet of imperial Jove;

For now thy Troy lies levelled with the plain,

And its thick smoke ascends the realms above.

On th’ echoing coast our plaints we vent,

As feathered songsters o’er their young bewail,

A child or husband these lament,

And those behold their captive mothers sail:

The founts where thou didst bathe, th’ athletic sports,

Are now no more. Each blooming grace

Sheds charms unheeded o’er thy placid face,

And thou frequent’st Heaven’s splendid courts.

Triumphant Greece hath levelled in the dust

The throne where Priam ruled the virtuous and the just.

II. 2.

With happier auspices, O love.

Erst didst thou hover o’er this fruitful plain,

Hence caught the gods thy thrilling pain;

By thee embellished, Troy’s resplendent towers

Reared their proud summits blest by thundering Jove,

For our allies were the celestial powers.

But I no longer will betray

Heaven’s ruler to reproach and biting shame.

The white-winged morn, blest source of day,

Who cheers the nations with her kindling flame,

Beheld these walls demolished, and th’ abode

Of that dear prince who shared her bed

In fragments o’er the wasted champaign spread:

While swift along the starry road,

Her golden car his country’s guardian bore:

False was each amorous god, and Ilion is no more.

Menelaus, Hecuba, Chorus.

Men. Hail, O ye solar beams, who on this day,

When I my consort Helen shall regain

Your radiance shed. For I am he who long

Endured the toils of battle, Menelaus,

Attended by the Grecian host. To Troy,

Not in a woman’s cause, as many deem,

I came, but came to punish him who broke

The laws of hospitality, and ravished

My consort from my palace. He hath suffered

As he deserved, such was the will of Heaven,

He and his country by the spear of Greece

Have been destroyed. But I am come to bear

That Spartan dame away, whom with regret

I term my consort, though she once was mine.

But she beneath these tents is with the rest

Of Phrygia’s captives numbered: for the troops

Whose arms redeemed her, have to me consigned

That I might either take away, or spare

Her life, and waft her to the Argive coast.

I am resolved that Helen shall not bleed

In Troy, but o’er the foaming waves to Greece

Will I convey her, and to them whose friends

Before yon walls were slain, surrender up

To perish by their vengeance. But with speed

Enter the tent, thence by that hair defiled

With murder, O my followers, drag her forth,

And hither bring: for when a prosperous breeze

Arises, her will I to Greece convey.

Hec. O thou who mov’st the world, and in this earth

Hast fixed thy station, whosoe’er thou art,

Impervious to our reason, whether thou,

O Jove, art dread necessity which rules

All nature, or that soul which animates

The breasts of mortals, thee do I adore,

For in a silent path thou tread’st and guid’st

With justice the affairs of man.

Men. What means

This innovation in the solemn prayer

You to the gods address?

Hec. I shall applaud

The stroke, O Menelaus, if thou slay

Thy wife; but soon as thou behold’st her, fly,

Lest she with love ensnare thee. For the eyes

Of men she captivates, o’erturns whole cities,

And fires the roofs of lofty palaces,

She is possessed of such resistless charms;

Both I and thou and thousands to their cost,

Alas! are sensible how great her power.

Helen, Menelaus, Hecuba, Chorus.

Hel. O Menelaus, this is sure a prelude

To greater horrors. For with brutal hands

I by your servants from these tents am dragged?

Too well I know you hate me, yet would learn,

How you and Greece have of my life disposed.

Men. Thou by the utmost rigour of the laws

Hast not been sentenced; but the host, to me

Whom thou hast wronged, consign thee to be slain.

Hel. May not I answer to these harsh resolves,

That if I bleed, unjustly shall I bleed?

Men. I came not hither to debate, but slay thee?

Hec. Hear her, nor let her die, O Menelaus,

Without this privilege. Me too allow

To make reply to her defence; for nought

Of the foul deeds, which she in Troy committed

Yet know’st thou: if united, the whole tale

Must force thee to destroy her, and preclude

All means of her escaping.

Men. An indulgence

Like this supposes leisure to attend;

However, if she have a wish to speak,

She may: but be assured, that my compliance

To your request is owing, for such favour

To her I would not grant.

Hel. Perhaps with me

Whom you account a foe, you will not deign,

Whether I seem to utter truth or falsehood,

To parley. But to each malignant charge

With which, O Hecuba, I know thou com’st

Prepared against me, will I make reply,

And to o’erbalance all that thou canst urge

Produce recriminations. First, she bore

Paris, the author of these mischiefs, next

Did aged Priam ruin Troy and me,

When erst that infant he forbore to slay,

That baleful semblance of a flaming torch!

Hear what ensued; by Paris were the claims

Of the three rival goddesses decided.

The gift Minerva proffered; that commanding

The Phrygians, he should conquer Greece; while Juno

Promised, that he his empire should extend

From Asia to remotest Europe’s bounds,

If he to her adjudged the golden prize;

But Venus, who in rapturous terms extolled

My charms, engaged that as the great reward

She would on him bestow me; to her beauty

If o’er each goddess he the preference gave.

Observe the sequel: Venus, o’er Minerva

And Juno, gained the triumph; and my nuptials

Thus far have been a benefit to Greece;

Ye are not subject to barbarian lords,

Crushed by invasion, or tyrannic power.

But I my ruin owe to what my country

Hath found thus advantageous, for my charms

To Paris sold, and branded with disgrace,

E’en for such deeds as merited a wreath

To crown these brows. But you may urge, that all

I have alleged is of no real weight,

Because by stealth I from your palace fled.

Accompanied by no mean goddess, came

That evil genius, sprung from Hecuba,

Distinguish him by either name you list,

Paris or Alexander, in your house,

Whom, O delirious, you behind you left,

And sailed from Sparta to the Cretan isle.

Well, be it so. Of my own heart, not you

I in regard to all that hence ensued

Will ask the question. What could have induced me,

Following that stranger, to forsake my home,

False to my native land? impute the guilt

To Venus, and assume a power, beyond

E’en that of Jove, who rules th’ inferior gods

But yields to her behests. My crime was venial;

Yet hence you may allege a specious charge

Against me; since to earth’s dark vaults the corse

Of Paris was consigned, no longer bound

Through Heaven’s supreme decree in nuptial chains,

I to the Grecian fleet should have escaped

From Ilion’s palace; such was my design:

This can the guards of Troy’s beleaguered towers,

And sentinels who on the walls were stationed,

Attest, that oft they caught me, as with ropes

By stealth I strove to light upon the ground;

But a new husband, fierce Deiphobus,

Obtained me for a wife by brutal force,

Though every Phrygian disapproved. What law

Can sentence me, whom ’gainst my will he wedded,

By you, my lord, with justice to be slain?

But for the benefits through me derived

To Greece, I in the stead of laureate wreaths

With slavery am requited. If you wish

To overcome the gods’ supreme behests,

That very wish were folly.

Chor. O my Queen,

Assert thy children’s and thy country’s cause,

’Gainst her persuasive language, for she speaks

With eloquence, though guilty: curst imposture!

Hec. I those three goddesses will first defend,

And prove that she has uttered vile untruths:

For of such madness ne’er can I suspect

Juno and Pallas that immortal maid,

As that the first should to barbarian tribes

Propose to sell her Argos, or Minerva

To make her Athens subject to the Phrygians:

Seeking in sportive strife the palm of beauty

They came to Ida’s mount. For through what motive

Could Juno with such eagerness have wished

Her charms might triumph? to obtain a husband

Greater than Jove? could Pallas, who besought

Her sire she ever might remain a virgin,

Propose to wed some deity? Forbear

To represent these goddesses as foolish,

That thy transgressions may by their example

Be justified: thou never canst persuade

The wise. Thou hast presumed t’ assert (but this

Was a ridiculous pretence) that Venus

Came with my son to Menelaus’ house.

Could she not calmly have abode in Heaven,

Yet wafted thee and all Amycla’s city

To Ilion? but the beauty of my son

Was great, and thy own heart, when thou beheld’st him

Became thy Venus: for whatever folly

Prevails, is th’ Aphrodite of mankind:

That of Love’s goddess, justly doth commence

With the same letters as an idiot’s name.

Him didst thou see in a barbaric vest

With gold refulgent, and thy wanton heart

Was thence inflamed with love, for thou wert poor

While yet thou didst reside in Greece; but leaving

The Spartan regions, thou didst hope, the city

Of Troy, with gold o’erflowing, could support

Thy prodigality; for the revenues

Of Menelaus far too scanty proved

For thy luxuriant appetites: but sayst thou

That Paris bore thee thence by force? what Spartan

Saw this? or, with what cries didst thou invoke

Castor or Pollux, thy immortal brothers,

Who yet on earth remained, nor had ascended

The starry height? But since thou cam’st to Troy,

And hither the confederate troops of Greece

Tracing thy steps, began the bloody strife,

Whene’er thou heard’st that Menelaus prospered

Him didst thou praise, and make my son to grieve

That such a mighty rival shared thy love:

But if the Trojan army proved victorious,

He shrunk into a thing of nought. On Fortune

Still didst thou look, still deaf to Virtue’s call

Follow her banners: yet dost thou assert

That thou by cords hast from the lofty towers

In secrecy attempted to descend,

As if thou here hadst been constrained to stay?

Where then wert thou surprised, or sharpened sword,

Or ropes preparing, as each generous dame

Who sought her former husband would have done?

Oft have I counselled thee in many words:

“Depart, O daughter, that my sons may take

Brides less obnoxious: thee aboard the ships

Of Greece, assisting in thy secret flight,

Will I convey. O end the war ’twixt Greece

And Ilion.” But to thee was such advice

Unwelcome; for with pride thou in the house

Of Paris didst behave thyself, and claim

The adoration of barbaric tribes,

For this was thy great object. But e’en now

Thy charms displaying, clad in gorgeous vest

Dost thou go forth, still daring to behold

That canopy of Heaven which o’erhangs

Thy injured husband; thou detested woman!

Whom it had suited, if in tattered vest

Shivering, with tresses shorn, in Scythian guise

Thou hadst appeared, and for transgressions past

Deep smitten with remorse, assumed the blush

Of virtuous matrons, not that frontless air.

O Menelaus! I will now conclude;

By slaying her, prepare for Greece the wreaths

It merits, and extend to the whole sex

This law, that every woman who betrays

Her lord shall die.

Chor. As that illustrious stem

Whence thou deriv’st thy birth, and as thy rank

Demand, on thy adulterous wife inflict

Just punishment, and purge this foul reproach,

This instance of a woman’s lust, from Greece:

So shall thy very enemies perceive

Thou art magnanimous.

Men. Your thoughts concur

With mine, that she a willing fugitive

My palace left and sought a foreign bed;

But speaks of Venus merely to disguise

Her infamy!—Away! thou shalt be stoned,

And in one instant for the tedious woes

Of Greece make full atonement; I will teach thee

That thou didst shame me in an evil hour.

Hel. I by those knees entreat you, O forbear

To slay me, that distraction sent by Heaven

To me imputing: but forgive me.

Hec. Wrong not

Thy partners in the war, whom she hath slain;

In theirs, and in my children’s cause, I sue.

Men. Desist, thou hoary matron: her entreaties

Move not this steadfast bosom. O my followers

Attend her, I command you, to the ships

Which shall convey her hence.

Hec. Let her not enter

Thy ship.

Men. Is she grown heavier than before?

Hec. He never loved who doth not always love,

Howe’er the inclinations of the dame

He loves may fluctuate.

Men. All shall be performed

According to thy wish; she shall not enter

My bark: for thou hast uttered wholesome counsels:

But soon as she in Argos’ lands, with shame,

As she deserves, shall she be slain, and warn

All women to be chaste. No easy task:

Yet shall her ruin startle every child

Of folly, though more vicious still than Helen.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

E’en thus by too severe a doom,

To Greece, O Jove, hast thou betrayed

Our shrines, our altars, dropping rich perfume,

The lambent flame that round the victims played,

Myrrh’s odorous smoke that mounts the skies,

Yon holy citadel, with Ida’s grove

Around whose oaks the clasping ivy plies,

Where rivulets meandering rove

Cold and translucent from the drifted snows;

On that high ridge with orient blaze

The sun first scatters his enlivening rays,

And with celestial flame th’ ecstatic priestess glows.

I. 2.

Each sacrifice, each pious rite,

Hence vanished, with th’ harmonious choirs

Whose accents soothed the languid ear of night,

While to the gods we waked our sounding lyres;

Their golden images no more

Twelve times each year, on that revolving eve

When shines the full-orbed moon, do we adore.

Harassed by anxious fears, I grieve,

Oft thinking whether thou, O Jove, wilt deign

To listen to our piteous moan,

High as thou sitt’st on thy celestial throne;

For Troy, by fire consumed, lies level with the plain.

II. 1.

Thou, O my husband, roam’st a flitting shade,

To thee are all funereal rites denied,

To thee no lustral drops supplied:

But I by the swift bark shall be conveyed

Where Argos’ cloud-capped fortress stands,

Erected by the Cyclops’ skilful hands.

Before our doors assembling children groan,

And oft repeat with clamorous moan

A mother’s name. Alone shall I be borne

Far from thy sight, by the victorious host

Of Greece, and leaving Ilion’s coast,

O’er ocean’s azure billows sail forlorn,

Either to Salamis, that sacred land,

Or where the Isthmian summit o’er two seas

A wide extended prospect doth command,

Seated in Pelops’ straits where Greece the prize decrees.

II. 2.

Its arduous voyage more than half complete,

In the Ægean deep, and near the land,

May the red lightning by Jove’s hand

Winged from the skies with tenfold ruin, meet

The bark that wafts me o’er the wave

From Troy to Greece a miserable slave.

Before the golden mirror wont to braid

Her tresses, like a sportive maid,

May Helen never reach the Spartan shore,

Those household gods to whom she proved untrue,

Nor her paternal mansions view,

Enter the streets of Pitane no more,

Nor Pallas’ temple with its brazen gate;

Because her nuptials teemed with foul disgrace

To mighty Greece through each confederate state;

And hence on Simois’ banks were slain Troy’s guiltless race.

But ha! on this devoted realm are hurled

Successive woes. Ye hapless Phrygian dames,

Behold the slain Astyanax, whom Greece

With rage inhuman from yon towers hath thrown.

Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.

The Body of Astyanax borne in upon a Shield.

Tal. O Hecuba, one ship is left behind

To carry the remainder of the spoils

Which to Achilles’ son have been adjudged,

To Phthia’s coast. For Neoptolemus,

Hearing that recent evils hath befall’n

His grandsire Peleus, and that Pelias’ son

Acastus hath expelled him from his realm,

Already hath departed with such speed

As would admit of no delay: with him

Andromache is gone, for whom I shed

A stream of tears, when from the land she went

Wailing her country, and to Hector’s tomb

Her plaints addressing: the victorious chief

Hath she entreated, to allow the corse

Of your unhappy Hector’s son, who perished

From Ilion’s ramparts thrown, to be interred,

Nor bear this shield, the terror of the Greeks,

With brass refulgent, which his father placed

Before his flank in battle, to the house

Of Peleus; nor to that ill-omened chamber

Where spousals dire on her arrival wait

The mother of the slain; for such an object

Must grieve her to behold: but in the stead

Of cedar and the monumental stone,

Bury the child in this: for she the corse

Hath to your arms consigned, that you may grace it

With many a fragrant garland, and with vests

Such as your present fortunes will afford.

For she has sailed, and through his haste her lord

Prevented her from lodging in the grave

Her son. While thus you his remains adorn

We will mark out the spot, and with our spears

Dig up the ground. Without delay perform

These duties: I one task to you most irksome

Have rendered needless: for I laved the body,

And cleansed the wounds as o’er Scamander’s stream

I passed. But to prepare for the deceased

A tomb, I go, that with united toil

When this we have accomplished, they may steer

Our vessel homeward.

[Exit Talthybius.

Hec. Place that orbed shield

Of Hector on the ground, a spectacle

Most piteous, and unwelcome to these eyes.

How, O ye Greeks, whose abject souls belie

Your brave achievements, trembling at a child,

Could ye commit this unexampled murder,

Lest at some future time he should rebuild

The walls of Ilion? Ye inhuman cowards!

Our ruin from that fatal hour we date

When Hector with unnumbered heroes fell.

But having sacked our city, and destroyed

Each Phrygian warrior, feared ye such an infant

The dastard I abhor who meanly shrinks

Through groundless panic. O for ever loved,

By what a piteous fate didst thou expire!

Hadst thou, the champion of thy country, died,

In riper years, when married, and endued

With power scarce second to th’ immortal gods,

Thou hadst been blest, if aught on earth deserves

The name of bliss. But thou, my son, beheld’st

And hadst a distant knowledge of these joys,

Which thou didst ne’er experience: for to thee

The treasures which the palaces of Troy

Contained, proved useless. O unhappy youth,

How wert thou hurled from thy paternal walls

Reared by Apollo’s hand; and through those ringlets,

Which oft thy mother smoothed and kissed, the gore

Bursts from thy fractured skull: but let me waive

So horrid a description. O ye hands,

How in your fingers do ye still retain

A pleasing sad remembrance of your sire,

Or why do ye lie motionless before me?

Dear mouth, full many a babbling accent wont

To utter, art thou closed by death? Thy voice

Deceived me erst, when clinging to these garments,

“O mother,” oft didst thou exclaim, “the hair

Shorn from my brows to thee I will devote,

Lead round thy tomb my comrades, and address

Thy hovering ghost in many a plaintive strain.”

Now not to me, alas! dost thou perform

These duteous offices, but I, bowed down

With age, an exile, of my children reft,

Must bury the disfigured corse of thee

A tender infant. These unnumbered kisses,

My cares in nurturing thee, and broken sleep,

Proved fruitless. What inscription can the bard

Place o’er thy sepulchre? “The Greeks who feared

This infant, slew him!” Such an epitaph

Would shame them. As for thee who hast obtained

Nought of thy wealth paternal, yet this shield

In which thou shalt be buried will be thine.

O brazen orb, which erst wert wont to guard

The nervous arm of Hector, thou hast lost

Thy best possessor: in thy concave circle

How is that hero’s shape impressed; it bears

Marks of that sweat which dropped from Hector’s brow,

Wearied with toil, when ’gainst thy edge he leaned

His cheek. Hence carry, to adorn the corse,

Whate’er our present station will afford,

For such the fortunes which Jove grants us now

As splendour suits not: yet accept these gifts

Out of the little I possess. An idiot

Is he, who thinking himself blest, exults

As if his joys were stable: like a man

Smitten with frenzy, changeful fortune bounds

Inconstant in her course, now here, now there,

Nor is there any one who leads a life

Of bliss uninterrupted.

Chor. All is ready:

For from the spoils yon Phrygian matrons bear

Trappings to grace the dead.

Hec. On thee, my son,

Not as a victor who with rapid steeds

Didst ever reach the goal, or wing the shaft

With surer aim, an exercise revered

By each unwearied Phrygian youth, thy grandame

Places these ornaments which erst were thine:

But now hath Helen, by the gods abhorred,

Stripped thee of all thou didst possess, and caused

Thy murder, and the ruin of our house.

Chor. Alas! thou hast transpierced my inmost soul,

O thou, whom I expected to have seen

Troy’s mighty ruler.

Hec. But I now enwrap

Thy body with the vest thou shouldst have worn

At Hymen’s festive rites, in wedlock joined

With Asia’s noblest princess. But, O source

Of triumphs numberless, dear shield of Hector,

Accept these laureate wreaths: for though by death

Thou canst not be affected, thou shalt lie

Joined with this corse in death; since thou deserv’st

More honourable treatment, than the arms

Of crafty and malignant Ithacus.

Chor. Thee, much lamented youth, shall earth receive.

Now groan, thou wretched mother.

Hec. Oh!

Chor. Commence

Those wailings which are uttered o’er the dead.

Hec. Ah me!

Chor. Alas! too grievous are thy woes

To be endured.

Hec. These fillets o’er thy wounds

I bind, and exercise the healing art

In name and semblance only, but, alas!

Not in reality. Whate’er remains

Unfinished, ’mid the shades beneath, to thee

With tender care thy father will supply.

Chor. Smite with thy hand thy miserable head

Till it resound. Alas!

Hec. My dearest comrades.

Chor. Speak to thy friends; O Hecuba, what plaints

Hast thou to utter?

Hec. Nought but woe for me

Was by the gods reserved; beyond all cities

To them hath Troy been odious. We in vain

Have offered sacrifice. But had not Jove

O’erthrown and plunged us in the shades beneath,

We had remained obscure, we by the Muse

Had ne’er been sung, nor ever furnished themes

To future bards. But for this hapless youth

Go and prepare a grave; for the deceased

Is with funereal wreaths already crowned:

Although these pomps, I deem, are to the dead

Of little consequence; an empty pride

They in the living serve but to display.

Chor. Thy wretched mother on thy vital thread

Had stretched forth mighty hopes: though styled most happy

From thy illustrious birth, thou by a death

Most horrid didst expire.

Hec. Ha! who are these

Whom I behold, in their victorious hands

Waving those torches o’er the roofs of Troy?

E’en now o’er Ilion some fresh woes impend.

Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.

Tal. To you I speak, O leaders of the troops

Who are ordained to burn this town of Priam.

No longer in your hands without effect

Reserve those blazing torches: but hurl flames

On this devoted city, for when Troy

Is utterly demolished, we shall leave

Its hated shores, exulting. But to you,

O Phrygians, I the same behests address;

When the shrill trumpet of our chief resounds,

Ye to the Grecian navy must repair

And from these regions sail. But as for thee,

Thou aged and most miserable dame,

Follow their steps who from Ulysses come.

To whom thy fate consigns thee for a slave

Far from thy country in a foreign land.

Hec. Ah, wretched me! this surely is the last,

The dire completion this, of all my woes.

I leave my country: Ilion’s bulwarks flame.

Yet, O decrepit feet, with painful haste

Bear me along, that I may bid adieu

To my unhappy city. Thou, O Troy,

Distinguished erst among barbarian tribes

By thy superior prowess, soon shalt lose

The most illustrious name thou didst acquire:

Thee will the flames consume, and us our foes

Drag from our home to slavery. O ye gods!

Upon the gods yet wherefore should I call?

For when we erst invoked them oft, they heard not.

Come on, and let us rush amid the flames:

For in the ruins of my blazing country

’Twill be to me most glorious to expire.

Tal. Thy griefs, O wretched woman, make thee frantic.

But lead her hence, neglect not. For Ulysses

Obtained this prize, and she to him must go.

Hec. O dread Saturnian king, from whom the Phrygians

Derive their origin, dost thou behold

Our sufferings, most unworthy of the race

Of Dardanus?

Chor. He surely doth behold:

But this great city, city now no more,

Is ruined: nought remains of Troy.

Hec. The blaze

Of Ilion glares, the fire hath caught the roofs,

The streets of Pergamus, and crashing towers.

Chor. As the light smoke on rapid wing ascends

To heaven, how swiftly vanishes fallen Troy!

Torrents of flame have laid the palace waste,

And o’er its summit waves the hostile spear.

Hec. O fostering soil, that gave my children birth.

Chor. Alas! alas!

Hec. Yet hear me, O my sons,

Your mother’s voice distinguish.

Chor. With loud plaints

Thou call’st upon the dead, those aged limbs

Stretched on the ground, and scraping up the dust

With either hand. I follow thy example

Kneeling on earth’s cold bosom, and invoke

My wretched husband in the shades beneath.

Hec. We forcibly are borne——

Chor. Most doleful sound!

Hec. To servile roofs.

Chor. From my dear native land.

Hec. Slain, uninterred, abandoned by thy friends,

Thou sure, O Priam, know’st not what I suffer.

For sable death hath closed thine eyes for ever;

Though pious, thou by impious hands wert murdered.

O ye polluted temples of the gods,

And thou my dearest city.

Chor. Ye, alas!

Are by the deadly flame and pointed spear

Now occupied, on this beloved soil

Soon shall you lie a heap of nameless ruins:

For dust, which mixed with smoke, to Heaven ascends,

No longer will permit me to discern

Where erst my habitation stood: the land

Loses its very name, and each memorial

Of pristine grandeur; wretched Troy’s no more.

Hec. Ye know the fatal truth, ye heard the crash

Of falling towers. Our city to its basis

Is shaken. O ye trembling, trembling limbs,

Support my steps!

Tal. Depart to end thy days

In servitude. Alas! thou wretched city!

Yet to the navy of the Greeks proceed.

The Cyclops.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Silenus.
Chorus of Satyrs.
Ulysses.
Polypheme the Cyclops.

SCENE.—The Mountain of Ætna in Sicily.

Silenus.

O Bacchus, for thy sake have I endured

Unnumbered toils, both at the present hour,

And when these nerves by vigorous youth were strung:

By Juno first with wild distraction fired,

Thou didst forsake the mountain nymphs whose care

Nurtured thy infancy. Next in that war

With the gigantic progeny of earth,

Stationed beside thee to sustain thy shield,

Piercing the buckler of Enceladus,

I slew him with my lance. Is this a dream?

By Jove it is not: for I showed his spoils

To Bacchus, and the labours I endure

At present, are so great that they exceed

E’en those. For since ’gainst thee Saturnia roused,

To bear thee far away, Etruria’s race

Of impious pirates, I soon caught th’ alarm,

And sailed in quest of thee with all my children:

Myself the stern ascended, to direct

The rudder, and each satyr plied an oar

Till ocean’s azure surface with white foam

Was covered; thee, O mighty King, they sought.

Near Malea’s harbour as the vessel rode,

An eastern blast arose, and to this rock

Of Ætna, drove us, where the sons of Neptune,

The one-eyed Cyclops, drenched with human gore,

Inhabit desert caves; by one of these

Were we made captives, and beneath his roof

To slavery are reduced. Our master’s name

Is Polypheme; instead of Bacchus’ orgies

We tend the flocks of an accursed Cyclops.

My blooming sons, on yonder distant cliffs,

Feed the young lambs; while I at home am stationed

The goblet to replenish, and to scrape

The rugged floor; to this unholy lord,

A minister of impious festivals:

And now must I perform the task assigned

Of cleansing with this rake the filthy ground,

So shall the cave be fit for his reception,

When with his flocks my absent lord returns.

But I already see my sons approach,

Their fleecy charge conducting. Ha! what means

This uproar? would ye now renew the dance

Of the Sicinnides, as when ye formed

The train of amorous Bacchus, and assembled,

Charmed by the lute, before Althæa’s gate?

Chorus, Silenus.

Chorus.

ODE.

Sprung from an untainted race,

Hardy father of the fold,

Why, bounding o’er that craggy space,

Roam’st thou desperately bold,

Far from the refreshing gale,

The verdant herbage of the mead,

And sloping channel wont to feed

Thy trough with springs that never fail?

Yon caves with bleating lambkins ring,

Come, depasture with the flock;

Leave, O leave the dewy rock,

Ere this ponderous stone I fling.

Thee with speeding horns I call

To the Cyclops’ lofty stall.

II.

Thou too those swollen udders yield,

That thy young ones may be fed,

Who, while thou browsest o’er the field,

Lie neglected in the shed;

Slumbering all the livelong day

At length with clamorous plaints they wake,

Thou t’ appease them wilt forsake

Ætna’s valleys ever gay.

Young Bromius and his jocund rout

Here their orgies ne’er repeat,

No thyrsus waves, no drums they beat;

Where the gurgling currents spout,

Here no vineyards yield delight,

Nor sport the nymphs on Nyssa’s height.

III.

Yet here I chaunt the strains which Bacchus taught,

To that Venus whom I sought

When with the Mænades I ranged.

Where, gentle Evan, dost thou tread

Alone, and from thy comrades far estranged,

Those auburn ringlets floating from thy head?

Thy votary once, but now a slave

To yonder one-eyed Cyclops, I abide

In this detested cave:

Covered with a goat’s vile hide,

Thy friend, alas! exposed to scorn

Wanders helpless and forlorn.

Sil. My sons, be silent: bid your followers drive

Their flocks into the stony cave.

Chor. Proceed.

But wherefore, O my father, in this haste?

Sil. A Grecian vessel, stranded on the coast,

I see, and to this cave the mariners

Attend their leader, on their heads they bear

Those empty vessels which express they want

Provisions, with fresh water too their urns

Would they replenish. O unhappy strangers!

Who are they? unapprised what lord here rules,

Dread Polypheme, they in an evil hour

Are entering this inhospitable threshold,

And rushing headlong e’en into the jaws

Of this fierce Cyclops, gorged with human flesh.

But interrupt me not; I will inquire

Whence to Sicilian Ætna’s mount they came.

Ulysses, Silenus, Chorus.

Uly. Can ye direct me, strangers, where to find

Fresh springs to slake our thirst; or who will sell

Food to the hungry sailor? But what means

That group of satyrs, whom before yon cave

I see assembled? we at Bacchus’ city

Seem to have landed. Thee, the elder-born,

Thee first I hail.

Sil. Hail! foreigner; acquaint us

Both who you are, and from what realm you came.

Uly. Ulysses, king of Ithaca, and th’ isle

Of Cephalenè.

Sil. That loquacious man,

The crafty brood of Sisyphus, full well

I know.

Uly. Reproach me not, for I am he.

Sil. Whence sailed you to Sicilia?

Uly. From the shores

Of blazing Ilion, from the war of Troy.

Sil. What, knew you not the way to your own country?

Uly. The tempests violently drove me hither.

Sil. By Heaven, your fortunes are the same with mine.

Uly. What cam’st thou hither too against thy will?

Sil. Yes, in pursuit of those accursed pirates

Who seized on Bromius.

Uly. But what land is this,

And by what men inhabitated?

Sil. This mountain,

Called Ætna, overlooks Sicilia’s plains.

Uly. Where are the fortresses and lofty towers

Which guard its peopled cities?

Sil. They exist not.

No men, O stranger, on these summits dwell.

Uly. But who possess the land, a savage race

Of beasts?

Sil. The Cyclops occupy these caves,

They have no houses.

Uly. Governed by what chief?

Is this a mere democracy?

Sil. They lead

The life of shepherds, and in no respect

Yield to each other.

Uly. Do they sow the grain

Of Ceres, or on what do they subsist?

Sil. On milk, on cheese, and on their sheep, they feed.

Uly. Affords the vine, nectareous juice, the drink

Bacchus invented?

Sil. No such thing: they dwell

In an ungrateful soil.

Uly. But do they practise

The rites of hospitality, and hold

The stranger sacred?

Sil. They aver the flesh

Of strangers is a most delicious food.

Uly. What saidst thou, banquet they on human flesh?

Sil. Here no man lands who is not doomed to bleed.

Uly. Where is this Cyclops, in the cave?

Sil. He went

To Ætna’s summit, with his hounds to trace

The savage beasts.

Uly. But know’st thou by what means

We from this region may escape?

Sil. I know not.

But, O Ulysses, I’ll do everything

To serve you.

Uly. Sell us bread, supply our want.

Sil. I told you we have nothing here but flesh.

Uly. By this, sharp hunger, which makes all things sweet,

May be assuaged.

Sil. Cheese from the press, and milk

Of heifers too.

Uly. Produce them: while the day

Yet lasts, should we conclude our merchandise.

Sil. With how much gold will you repay me? Speak.

Uly. No gold I bring, but Bacchus’ cheering juice.

Sil. My dearest friend, you mention what we long

Have stood in need of.

Uly. This enchanting liquor

Did Maron, offspring of the courteous god,

On us bestow.

Sil. Whom erst, while yet a boy

I in these arms sustained.

Uly. The son of Bacchus,

T’ inform thee more minutely who he is.

Sil. Aboard the ship, or have you hither brought it?

Uly. Here is the cask, old man, which thou perceiv’st

Contains the wine.

Sil. It hardly is a sup.

Uly. But we have twice as much as this will yield.

Sil. A most delicious spring is that you named.

Uly. Shall I first treat thee with some wine unmixed,

That thou may’st taste?

Sil. Well judged: this specimen

Soon will induce me to conclude the purchase.

Uly. A cup too I have brought as well as cask.

Sil. Pour forth, that I may drink, and recollect

The grateful taste of wine.

Uly. Look there!

Sil. Ye gods!

How beauteous is its odour!

Uly. Hast thou seen it?

Sil. By Jove I have not, but I smell its charms.

Uly. Taste, nor to words alone confine thy praise.

Sil. Ha! ha! now Bacchus to the choral dance

Invites me.

Uly. Hath it moistened well thy palate?

Sil. So well as e’en to reach my fingers’ ends.

Uly. Beside all this, shall money too be thine.

Sil. Empty the vessel, and reserve your gold.

Uly. Bring forth the cheese and lambs.

Sil. That will I do,

Regardless of my lord, because I wish

To drain one goblet of this wine, and give

The flocks of all the Cyclops in its stead.

I’d from Leucadè, when completely drunk,

Into the ocean take a lover’s leap,

Shutting my eyes. For he who, when he quaffs

The mantling bowl, exults not, is a madman.

Through wine new joys our wanton bosoms fire,

With eager arms we clasp the yielding fair,

And in the giddy dance forget each ill

That heretofore assailed us. So I kiss

The rich potation; let the stupid Cyclops

Weep with that central eye which in his front

Glares horribly.

[Exit Silenus.

Chor. Attend: for we must hold

A long confabulation, O Ulysses.

Uly. We meet each other like old friends.

Chor. Was Troy

By you subdued? was Helen taken captive?

Uly. And the whole house of Priam we laid waste.

Chor. When ye had seized on that transcendent fair,

Did ye then all enjoy her in your turn,

Because she loves variety of husbands?

False to her vows, when she the painted greaves

Around the legs of Paris, on his neck

The golden chain, beheld, with love deep smitten

From Menelaus, best of men, she fled.

Ah! would to Heaven no women had been born

But such as were reserved for my embraces.

Silenus returning, Ulysses, Chorus.

Sil. Here, King Ulysses, is the shepherd’s food:

Banquet on bleating lambs, and bear away

As many curdled cheeses as you can;

But from these caverns with your utmost speed

Depart, when ye have given me in return

The clustering vine’s rich juice which Bacchus loves.

Uly. The Cyclops comes. What shall we do? Old man,

We are undone. Ah, whither can we fly?

Sil. Ye may conceal yourselves beneath that rock.

Uly. Most dangerous is the scheme thou hast proposed,

To rush into the toils.

Sil. No danger truly;

For in this rock is many a hiding-place.

Uly. Not thus: indignant Troy might groan indeed

If from a single arm we basely fled.

Oft with my shield against a countless band

Of Phrygians have I fought. If we must die,

Let us die nobly: or with life maintain

The fame we erst in dubious fields acquired.

Polpyheme, Silenus, Chorus, Ulysses.

Pol. What mean these transports, this insensate uproar,

These Bacchanalian orgies? Nyssa’s god,

The brazen timbrel, and the rattling drum,

Are distant from these regions. In the cave

How fare the new-yeaned lambkins? do they suck,

Or follow they the ewes? have ye prepared

In wicker vats the cheeses? No reply?

This club shall make ye weep forthwith. Look up,

Not on the ground.

Chor. We lift our dazzled eyes

To Jove himself; I view the twinkling stars

And bright Orion.

Pol. Is my dinner ready?

Chor. It is. Prepare your jaws for mastication.

Pol. Are the bowls filled with milk?

Chor. They overflow,

And you may drink whole hogsheads if you will.

Pol. Of sheep, or cows, or mixed?

Chor. Whate’er you please;

But swallow not me too.

Pol. No certainly;

For ye would foot it in my tortured paunch,

And kill me with those antics. But what crowd

Behold I in the stalls? Some thieves or pirates

Are landed: at the mouth of yonder cave

The lambs are bound with osiers, on the floor

The cheese-press scattered lies, and the bald head

Of this old man is swoll’n with many bruises.

Sil. Ah me! into a fever I am beaten.

Pol. By whom, old man, who smote thy hoary head?

Sil. O Cyclops, by these ruffians whom I hindered

From carrying off their plunder.

Pol. Know they not

I am a god sprung from the blest immortals?

Sil. All this I told them, yet they seized your goods,

Eat up your cheese without my leave, dragged forth

The lambs, declared they would exhibit you

In a huge collar of three cubits long,

Closely imprisoned, and before that eye,

Which in the centre of your forehead glares,

Bore out your entrails, soundly scourge your hide,

Then throw you into their swift vessel’s hold

Tied hand and foot, and sell you, with a lever

To heave up ponderous stones, or to the ground

Level some door.

Pol. Indeed! go whet the knives

Without delay, collect a mighty pile

Of wood, and light it up with flaming brands,

They shall be slain immediately, and broiled

To satisfy my appetite with viands

Hot from the coals. The rest shall be well sodden;

For I am sated with unsavoury beasts,

Enough on lions have I banqueted

And stags that haunt this mountain: but ’tis long

Since human flesh I tasted.

Sil. My dread lord,

Variety is sweet: no other strangers

Have reached of late these solitary caves.

Uly. O Cyclops, hear the strangers also speak,

In their defence. We, wanting to buy food,

Came to your caverns from our anchored bark.

These lambs to us he bartered for our wine,

And of his own accord, when he had drank,

Yielded them up; no violence was used:

But the account he gives is utter falsehood,

Since he was caught without your privity

Vending your goods.

Sil. I? curses on your head!

Uly. If I have uttered an untruth.

Sil. By Neptune

Your sire, O Cyclops, by great Triton, Nereus,

Calypso, Nereus’ daughters, by the waves,

And all the race of fishes, I protest,

Most beauteous Cyclops, my dear little lord,

I sold not to the foreigners your goods;

May swift perdition, if I did, o’ertake

These sinners here, my children, whom I love

Beyond expression.

Chor. Curb thy tongue: I saw thee

Vending thy lord’s possessions to the strangers:

If I speak falsehood, may our father perish!

But injure not these foreigners.

Pol. Ye lie;

For I in him much rather would confide

Than Rhadamanthus, and pronounce that he

Is a more upright judge. But I to them

Some questions would propose. Whence sailed, strangers?

Where is your country and your native town?

Uly. We in the realms of Ithaca were born;

But after we had laid Troy’s bulwarks waste,

O Cyclops, by those howling winds which raise

The ocean’s boisterous surges, to your coast

Our vessel was impelled.

Pol. Are ye the men

Who worthless Helen’s ravisher pursued

To Ilion’s turrets on Scamander’s bank?

Uly. The same: most dreadful toils have we endured.

Pol. Dishonourable warfare; in the cause

Of one vile woman ye to Phrygia sailed.

Uly. Such was the will of Jove; on no man charge

The fault. But we to you, O generous son

Of ocean’s god, our earnest prayers address,

Nor fear with honest freedom to remonstrate

That we your hapless friends, who to these caves

For refuge fly, deserve not to be slain

To satiate with accursed human food

Your appetite: for to your sire, great king,

Full many a temple on the shores of Greece

Have we erected; Tænarus’ sacred haven

To him remains inviolate, the cliff

Of Malea, Sunium for its silver mines

Renowned, on whose steep promontory stands

Minerva’s fane, and the Gerastian bay.

But those intolerable wrongs which Greece

From Troy had suffered, could we not forgive.

Our triumph interests you, who in a land

With Greece connected, dwell, beneath the rock

Of flaming Ætna. Let those public laws

Which all mankind obey, on you prevail

To change your ruthless purpose, and admit

Your suppliants to a conference, who have long

Endured the perils of the billowy deep;

With hospitable gifts, and change of raiment

Assist us, nor affix our quivering limbs

On spits, to sate your gluttony. Enough

Hath Priam’s land depopulated Greece,

Whole myriads have in fighting fields been slain;

The widowed bride, the aged childless matron,

And hoary sire, hath Troy made ever wretched.

But if you burn, and at your hateful feasts

Devour the scattered relics of our host,

Whither shall any Grecian turn? but listen

To my persuasion, Cyclops, and control

Your gluttony. What piety enjoins,

Prefer to this defiance of the gods:

For ruin oft attends unrighteous gain.

Sil. Leave not the smallest morsel of his flesh;

Take my advice, and if you eat his tongue,

You certainly, O Cyclops, will become

A most accomplished orator.

Pol. Vile caitiff,

Wealth is the deity the wise adore,

But all things else are unsubstantial boasts,

And specious words alone. I nought regard

Those promontories sacred to my sire.

Why dost thou talk of them? I tremble not,

O stranger, at the thunderbolts of Jove,

Him I account not a more powerful god

Than I am, nor henceforth will heed him: hear

My reasons; when he from the skies sends down

The rain, secure from its inclemency

Beneath this rock I dwell, and make a feast

On roasted calves, or on the savage prey,

Stretched at my length supine, then drain a pitcher

Of milk, and emulate the thunder’s sound.

When Thracian Boreas pours his flaky showers,

In hides of beasts my body I enwrap,

Approach the fire, nor heed the pelting snows.

Compelled by strong necessity, the ground

Produces grass, and nourishes my herds,

Whom, to no other god except myself,

And to this belly, greatest of the gods,

I sacrifice. Because each day to eat,

To drink, and feel no grief, is bliss supreme,

The Heaven, the object of the wise man’s worship.

I leave those gloomy lawgivers to weep,

Who by their harsh impertinent restrictions

Have chequered human life; but will indulge

My genius, and devour thee. That my conduct

May be exempt from blame, thou shalt receive

As pledges of our hospitality

The fire, and that hereditary cauldron

Well heated, which shall boil thy flesh: walk in,

Ye shall adorn my table, and produce

Delicious meals to cheer my gloomy cave,

Such as a god can relish.

Uly. I have ’scaped,

Alas! each danger at the siege of Troy,

’Scaped the tempestuous ocean; but in vain

Attempt to soften the unpitying heart

Of him who spurns all laws. Now, sacred queen,

Daughter of Jove, now aid me, O Minerva,

For I such perils as far, far exceed

My Phrygian toils, encounter: and, O Jove,

Dread guardian of each hospitable rite,

Who sitt’st enthroned above the radiant stars,

Look down: for if thou view not this, though deemed

Omnipotent, thou art a thing of nought.

[Exeunt Polypheme, Ulysses, and Silenus.

1st Semichor. That insatiate throat expand,

Boiled and roast are now at hand

For thee, O Cyclops, to devour:

From the coals in evil hour

Yet reeking, shall thy teeth divide

The limbs of each unhappy guest,

To thy table served when dressed

In dishes formed of shaggy hide.

O betray me not, my friend,

For I on you alone depend:

Now approach the shades of night,

Launch the bark, and aid our flight.

2nd Semichor. Thou cave, and ye unholy rites,

Adieu, the Cyclops’ cursed delights,

Who on his prisoners wont to feed,

Hath banished pity from his breast.

Inhuman execrable deed!

On his own hearth, the suppliant guest,

Regardless of the Lares’ guardian powers,

Now he slays, and now devours:

Hot from the coals, with odious jaws,

Human flesh the miscreant gnaws.

Ulysses, Chorus.

Uly. How, mighty Jove! shall I express myself?

The dreadful scenes I in the cave have viewed

Are so astonishing, they more resemble

Some fable than the actions of a man.

Chor. What now, Ulysses, on your loved companions

Feasts this most impious Cyclops?

Uly. Two, the fattest,

Having well viewed and poised them in his hands——

Chor. How did you bear, O miserable man,

These cruel outrages?

Uly. Soon as we entered

The rocky cave, he lighted first the fire,

On the wide blaze heaped trunks of lofty oaks,

A load sufficient for three wains to bear;

Then near the flaming hearth, upon the ground,

Arranged his couch of pine leaves, filled a bowl,

Holding about ten firkins, with the milk

Of heifers, and beside it placed a jug

Adorned with ivy, the circumference seemed

Three spacious ells, the depth no less than four:

Then made his cauldron bubble, and reached down

Spits burnt at the extremities, and polished

Not with a knife, but hatchets; Ætna furnished

Such instruments for sacrifice, the stems

Of thorn. No sooner had the hellish cook

Finished his preparations, than he seized

Two of my valiant comrades, whom he slew

With calm deliberation; one he cast

Into the hollow cauldron; from the ground

Then lifting up his fellow by the foot

Dashed out his brains against the pointed rock;

Severing his flesh with an enormous knife,

Part at the fire he roasted, and to boil,

His other joints into the cauldron threw.

But I, though from these eyes full many a tear

Burst forth, approached the Cyclops, and on him

Attended, while my friends, like timorous birds

Lurked in the distant crannies of the rock,

And all the blood forsook their pallid frame.

When sated with his feast the monster lay

Supine, and snored, a thought by Heaven inspired

Entered this bosom; having filled a cup

With Maron’s juice unmingled, I to him

Bore it, that he might drink; and cried, “Behold,

O Cyclops, son of Neptune, how divine

The beverage which our Grecian vineyards yield

The stream of Bacchus.” But already glutted

With his abominable food, he seized

And emptied the whole bumper at one draught,

Then lifting up, in token of applause,

His hand: “O dearest stranger,” he exclaimed,

“To a delicious banquet thou hast added

Delicious wine.” Perceiving he grew merry

I plied him with a second cup, well knowing

That wine will stagger him: he soon shall feel

Such punishment as he deserves. He sung;

I poured forth more and more, to warm his bowels

With strong potations: ’midst my weeping crew

He makes the cave with unharmonious strains

Re-echo. But I silently came forth,

And, if ye give consent, design to save

You, and myself. Say, therefore, will ye fly

From this unsocial monster, and reside

With Grecian maids beneath the roofs of Bacchus?

Your sire within approves of these proposals:

But now grown feeble and o’ercharged with wine,

Attracted by the goblet, as if birdlime

Had smeared his wings, he wavers. But with me

Do thou preserve thyself, for thou art young:

And I to Bacchus, to thy ancient friend

Far different from this Cyclops, will restore thee.

Chor. My dearest friend, O could we see that day,

And ’scape yon impious monster! for we long

Have been deprived of the enlivening bowl,

Nor entertain a single hope of freedom.

Uly. Now hear the means by which I can requite

This odious savage, and thou too mayst ’scape

From servitude.

Chor. Speak, for we should not hear

The sound of Asia’s harp with more delight,

Than the glad tidings of the Cyclops’ death.

Uly. By wine enlivened, he resolves to go

And revel with his brethren.

Chor. I perceive

You mean to seize and kill him when alone,

By some enchantment, or to dash him headlong

From the steep rock.

Uly. I have no such design

As these: on craft alone my plan depends.

Chor. How then will you proceed? For we long since

Have heard that you for wisdom are renowned.

Uly. I will deter him from the feast, and say

He must not portion out among the Cyclops

This liquor, but reserve it for himself

And lead a joyous life: when overcome

By Bacchus’ gifts he sleeps, this sword shall point

An olive pole, which to my purpose suited

Lies in the cave: I in the fire will heat,

And, when it flames, direct the hissing brand

Full on the Cyclops’ forehead, to extinguish

The orb of sight. As when some artist frames

A nautic structure, he by thongs directs

The ponderous auger: thus will I whirl round

Within the Cyclops’ eye the kindled staff,

And scorch his visual nerve.

Chor. Ho! I rejoice;

This blest invention almost makes me frantic.

Uly. Thee, and thy friends, and thy decrepit sire,

This done, aboard my vessel will I place,

And from this region with a double tier

Of oars convey.

Chor. But is it possible

That I, as if dread Jove were my confederate,

Shall guide the well-poised brand, and of his eyesight

Deprive the monster? For I wish to share

In such assassination.

Uly. I expect

Your aid: the brand is weighty, and requires

Our social efforts.

Chor. I’d sustain a load

Equal to what a hundred teams convey,

Could I dash out the cursed Cyclops’ eye

E’en as a swarm of wasps.

Uly. Be silent now;

(Ye know my stratagem) and at my bidding

To those who o’er th’ adventurous scheme preside

Yield prompt obedience: for I scorn to leave

My friends within, and save this single life.

True, ’scape I might, already having passed

The cavern’s deep recess: but it were mean

If I should extricate myself alone,

False to the faithful partners of my voyage.

[Exit Ulysses.

Chor. Who first, who next, with steadfast hand

Ordained to guide the flaming brand,

The Cyclops’ radiant eye shall pierce?

1st Semichor. Silence! for from within a song

Bursts on my ear in tuneless verse,

Insensate minstrel, doomed ere long

This luxurious meal to rue,

He staggers from yon rocky cave.

Him let us teach who never knew

How at the banquet to behave,

Outrageous and unmannered hind,

Soon shall he totally be blind.

2nd Semichor. Thrice blest is he, in careless play

’Midst Bacchus’ orgies ever gay,

Stretched near the social board whence glides

The vine’s rich juice in purple tides,

Who fondly clasps with eager arms

The consenting virgin’s charms;

Rich perfumes conspire to shed

Sweetest odours on his head,

While enamoured of the fair

He wantons with her auburn hair.

But hark! for surely ’tis our mate

Exclaiming, “Who will ope the gate?”

Polypheme, Ulysses, Silenus, Chorus.

Pol. Ha! ha! I am replete with wine, the banquet

Hath cheered my soul: like a well-freighted ship

My stomach’s with abundant viands stowed

Up to my very chin. This smiling turf

Invites me to partake a vernal feast

With my Cyclopean brothers. Stranger, bring

That vessel from the cave.

[Exit Ulysses.

Chor. With bright-eyed grace

Our master issues from his spacious hall;

(Some god approves—the kindled torch—) that form

Equals the lustre of a blooming nymph

Fresh from the dripping caverns of the main.

Soon shall the variegated wreath adorn

Your temples.

Uly. [returning.] Hear me, Cyclops; well I know

Th’ effect of this potation, Bacchus’ gift,

Which I to you dispensed.

Pol. Yet say what sort

Of god is Bacchus by his votaries deemed?

Uly. The greatest source of pleasure to mankind.

Pol. I therefore to my palate find it sweet.

Uly. A god like this to no man will do wrong.

Pol. But in a bottle how can any god

Delight to dwell?

Uly. In whatsoever place

We lodge him, the benignant power resides.

Pol. The skins of goats are an unseemly lodging

For deities.

Uly. If you admire the wine,

Why quarrel with its case?

Pol. Those filthy hides

I utterly detest, but love the liquor.

Uly. Stay here; drink, drink, O Cyclops, and be gay.

Pol. This luscious beverage, must I not impart

To cheer my brothers?

Uly. Keep it to yourself

And you shall seem more honourable.

Pol. More useful,

If I distribute largely to my friends.

Uly. Broils, taunts, and discord from the banquet rise.

Pol. Though I am fuddled, no man dares to touch me.

Uly. He who hath drunk too freely, O my friend,

Ought to remain at home.

Pol. Devoid of reason

Is he who when he drinks pays no regard

To mirth and to good-fellowship.

Uly. More wise,

O’ercharged with wine, who ventures not abroad.

Pol. Shall we stay here? What think’st thou, O Silenus?

Sil. With all my heart. What need, for our carousals,

Of a more numerous company?

Pol. The ground

Beneath our feet, a flowery turf adorns.

Sil. O how delightful ’tis to drink, and bask

Here in the sunshine: on this grassy couch

Beside me take your seat.

Pol. Why dost thou place

The cup behind my elbow?

Sil. Lest some stranger

Should come and snatch the precious boon away.

Pol. Thou mean’st to tope clandestinely: between us

Here let it stand. O stranger, by what name

Say shall I call thee?

Uly. Noman is my name.

But for what favour shall I praise your kindness?

Pol. The last of all the crew will I devour.

Uly. A wondrous privilege is this, O Cyclops,

Which on the stranger you bestow.

Pol. What mean’st thou?

Ha! art thou drinking up the wine by stealth?

Sil. Only the gentle Bacchus gave that kiss,

Because I look so blooming.

Pol. Thou shalt weep,

Because thy lips were to the wine applied,

Nor did it seek thy mouth.

Sil. Not thus, by Jove;

I drank because the generous god of wine

Declared that he admired me for my beauty.

Pol. Pour forth; give me a bumper.

Sil. I must taste

To see what mixture it requires.

Pol. Damnation!

Give it me pure.

Sil. Not so, the heavens forbid!

Till you the wreath bind on your ample front,

And I again have tasted.

Pol. What a knave

Is this my cupbearer!

Sil. Accuse me not;

The wine is sweet: you ought to wipe your mouth

Before you drink.

Pol. My lips and beard are clean.

Sil. Loll thus upon your elbow with a grace,

Drink as you see me drink, and imitate

My every gesture.

Pol. What art thou about?

Sil. I swallowed then a most delicious bumper.

Pol. Take thou the cask, O stranger, and perform

The office of my cupbearer.

Uly. These hands

Have been accustomed to the pleasing office.

Pol. Now pour it forth.

Uly. Be silent: I obey.

Pol. Thou hast proposed a difficult restraint

To him who largely drinks.

Uly. Now drain the bowl;

Leave nought behind: the toper must not prate

Before his liquor’s ended.

Pol. In the vine

There’s wisdom.

Uly. When to plenteous food you add

An equal share of liquor, and well drench

The throat beyond what thirst demands, you sink

Into sweet sleep: but if you leave behind

Aught of th’ unfinished beverage in your cup,

Bacchus will scorch your entrails.

Pol. ’Tis a mercy

How I swam out; the very heavens whirl round

Mingled with earth. I view Jove’s throne sublime,

And the whole synod of encircling gods.

Were all the Graces to solicit me,

I would not kiss them: Ganymede himself

Appears in matchless beauty.

Sil. I, O Cyclops,

Am Jove’s own Ganymede.

Pol. By Heaven thou art!

Whom from the realms of Dardanus I bore.

[Exit Polypheme.

Sil. Ruin awaits me.

Chor. Dost thou loathe him now?

Sil. Ah me! I from this sleep shall soon behold

The most accursed effects.

[Exit Silenus.

Uly. Come on, ye sons

Of Bacchus, generous youths; for soon dissolved

In slumber shall the monster from those jaws

Vomit forth flesh, within the hall now smokes

The brand, and nought remains but to burn out

The Cyclops’ eye: act only like a man.

Chor. The firmness of my soul shall equal rocks

And adamant. But go into the cave

With speed, before tumultuous sounds assail

Our aged father’s ears; for to effect

Your purpose, all is ready.

Uly. Vulcan, king

Of Ætna, from this impious pest, who haunts

Thy sacred mountain, free thyself at once,

By burning out his glaring eye; and thou

Nurtured by sable night, O sleep, invade

With thy resistless force this beast abhorred

By Heaven; nor after all the glorious deeds

Achieved at Ilion, with his faithful sailors,

Destroy Ulysses’ self, by him who heeds

Nor god nor mortal. Else must we hold fortune

A goddess, and all other deities

Inferior to resistless fortune’s power.

[Exit Ulysses.

Chor. The neck of him who slays his guest,

With burning pincers shall be prest,

And fire bereaving him of sight

Soon shall destroy that orb of light.

Within the embers near at hand

Lies concealed a smoking brand,

Torn from its parental tree.

Maron, we depend on thee;

May th’ exasperated foe

With success direct the blow!

May the Cyclops lose his eye,

And curse his ill-timed jollity!

Thee, Bromius, how I long to meet

Thy front adorned with ivy twine;

Leaving this abhorred retreat.

Ah, when shall such delight be mine?

Ulysses, Chorus.

Uly. Be silent, O ye savages, restrain

Those clamorous tongues: by Heaven ye shall not breathe,

Nor wink your eyes, nor cough, lest ye awaken

This pest, the Cyclops, ere he of his eyesight

Is by the fire bereft.

Chor. We will be silent,

And in our jaws confine the very air.

Uly. The ponderous weapon seize with dauntless hands,

Entering the cavern; for ’tis fully heated.

Chor. Will you not give directions who shall first

Manage the glowing lever, and burn out

The Cyclops’ eye, that in one common fortune

We all may share.

1st Semichor. We who before the portals

Are stationed, are not tall enough to drive

Full on its destined mark the hissing brand.

2nd Semichor. But I am with a sudden lameness seized.

1st Semichor. The same calamity which you experience

To me hath also happened; for my feet

Are by convulsions tortured, though the cause

I know not.

Uly. If ye feel such dreadful spasms,

How can ye stand?

Chor. Our eyes are also filled

With dust or ashes.

Uly. These allies of mine

Are worthless cowards.

Chor. We forsooth want courage

Because we feel compassion for our shoulders,

Nor would be beaten till our teeth drop out.

But I a magic incantation know,

Devised by Orpheus, which hath such effect,

That of its own accord the brand shall pierce

The skull of him, the one-eyed son of earth.

Uly. Long have I known ye are by nature such;

But more than ever do I know you now.

On my own friends I therefore must rely.

Yet if thou hast no vigour in that arm,

Exhort my drooping friends to act with valour

And let thy counsels aid the bold emprise.

[Exit Ulysses.

Chor. Such be my province: we this Carian’s life

Will hazard. But my counsels shall induce them

To burn the Cyclops. Ho! with courage whirl

The brand, delay not to scorch out the eye

Of him who banquets on the stranger’s flesh.

With fire assail the savage, pierce the front

Of Ætna’s shepherd, lest, with anguish stung,

On you he perpetrate some deed of horror.

Pol. [within.] Ah me! by burning coals I am deprived

Of eyesight.

Chor. That was a melodious pæan:

To me, O Cyclops, sing th’ enchanting strain.

Polypheme, Chorus.

Pol. Ah, how am I insulted and destroyed!

Yet shall ye never from this hollow rock

Escape triumphant, O ye things of nought:

For in my station rooted, where this cleft

Opens a door, will I spread forth my hands

And stop your passage!

Chor. Ha! what means these outcries,

O Cyclops?

Pol. I am ruined.

Chor. You appear

To have much been abused.

Pol. Deplorably.

Chor. When fuddled, did you fall ’mid burning coals?

Pol. Noman hath ruined me.

Chor. To you then no one

Hath offered any wrong.

Pol. These lids hath Noman

Deprived of sight.

Chor. You therefore are not blind.

Pol. Would thou couldst see as little.

Chor. How can no man

Put out your eye?

Pol. Thou art disposed to jest.

But where is Noman?

Chor. He is nowhere, Cyclops.

Pol. That execrable stranger, mark me well,

Is author of my ruin, who produced

The fraudful draught, and burned my visual nerves.

Chor. Wine is invincible.

Pol. By all the gods,

Answer me I conjure you; did they fly,

Or are they here within?

Chor. They on the top

Of yonder rock which screens them from your reach,

In silence take their stand.

Pol. But on which side?

Chor. Your right.

Pol. Where, where?

Chor. Upon that very rock.

Have you yet caught them?

Pol. To mischance succeeds

Mischance; I have fallen down and cracked my skull.

Chor. They ’scape you now.

Pol. Ye misinformed me sure;

They are not here.

Chor. I say not that they are.

Pol. Where then?

Chor. They wheel around you on your left.

Pol. Ah me! I am derided, ye but mock

At my affliction.

Chor. They are there no longer:

But Noman stands before you.

Pol. O thou villain,

Where art thou?

Ulysses, Polypheme, Chorus.

Uly. Keeping cautiously aloof,

Thus I, Ulysses, guard my threatened life.

Pol. What saidst thou? Wherefore hast thou changed thy name

T’ assume a new one?

Uly. Me my father named

Ulysses. It was destined you should suffer

A just requital for your impious feast;

For I in vain had with consuming flames

Laid Ilion waste, had I forborne t’ avenge

On you the murder of my valiant friends.

Pol. Now is that ancient oracle, alas!

Accomplished, which foretold, that I by thee,

On thy return from Troy, should be deprived

Of sight: but that thou also for a deed

So cruel, shalt be punished, and full long

Endure the beating of tempestuous waves.

Uly. Go weep, my actions justify these words.

But to the shore I haste; and to my country

Will steer the vessel o’er Sicilia’s waves.

Pol. Thou shalt not; with this fragment of the rock

Hurled at thy head, thee and thy perjured crew

Will I demolish: for I yet, though blind,

Can mount the cliff which overhangs the port,

And in its wonted crannies fix my steps.

Chor. But we, blest partners in Ulysses’ voyage,

Henceforth the laws of Bacchus will obey.

Helen.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Helen.
Teucer.
Chorus of Grecian Dames (Helen’s Attendants).
Menelaus.
Female Servant.
Messenger.
Theoclymenus.
Theonoe.
Castor and Pollux.

SCENE.—Proteus’ Tomb, at the Entrance of Theoclymenus’ Palace in Pharos, an Island at the Mouth of the Nile.

Helen.

Bright are these virgin currents of the Nile

Which water Egypt’s soil, and are supplied,

Instead of drops from heaven, by molten snow.

But Proteus, while he lived, of these domains

Was lord, he in the isle of Pharos dwelt,

King of all Ægypt; for his wife he gained

One of the nymphs who haunt the briny deep,

Fair Psamathe, after she left the bed

Of Æacus; she in the palace bore

To him two children, one of them a son

Called Theoclymenus, because his life

Is passed in duteous homage to the gods;

A daughter also of majestic mien,

Her mother’s darling, in her infant years

(Eidothea called by her enraptured sire):

But when the blooming maid became mature

For nuptial joys, Theonoe was the name

They gave her; all the counsels of the gods,

The present and the future, well she knew,

Such privilege she from her grandsire Nereus

Inherited. But not to fame unknown

Are Sparta’s realm, whence I derive my birth,

And my sire, Tyndarus. There prevails a rumour

That to my mother Leda Jove was borne

On rapid wings, the figure of a swan

Assuming, and by treachery gained admission

To her embraces, flying from an eagle,

If we may credit such report. My name

Is Helen; but I also will recount

What woes I have endured; three goddesses,

For beauty’s prize contending, in the cave

Of Ida, came to Paris; Juno, Venus,

And Pallas, virgin progeny of Jove,

Requesting him to end their strife, and judge

Whose charms outshone her rivals. But proposing

For a reward, my beauty (if the name

Of beauty suit this inauspicious form)

And promising in marriage to bestow me

On Paris, Venus conquered: for the swain

Of Ida, leaving all his herds behind,

Expecting to receive me for his bride,

To Sparta came. But Juno, whose defeat

Fired with resentment her indignant soul,

Our nuptials frustrated; for to the arms

Of royal Priam’s son, she gave not me,

But in my semblance formed a living image

Composed of ether. Paris falsely deemed

That he possessed me; from that time these ills

Have been increased by the decrees of Jove,

For he with war hath visited the realms

Of Greece, and Phrygia’s miserable sons,

That he might lighten from th’ unrighteous swarms

Of its inhabitants the groaning earth,

And on the bravest of the Grecian chiefs

Confer renown. While in the Phrygian war,

As the reward of their victorious arms,

I to the host of Greece have been displayed,

Though absent, save in likeness and in name.

But Mercury, receiving me in folds

Of air, and covering with a cloud (for Jove

Was not unmindful of me), in this house

Of royal Proteus, who of all mankind

Was in his judgment the most virtuous, placed me,

That undefiled I might preserve the bed

Of Menelaus. I indeed am here;

But with collected troops my hapless lord

Pursues the ravisher to Ilion’s towers.

Beside Scamander’s stream hath many a chief

Died in my cause; but I, who have endured

All these afflictions, am a public curse;

For ’tis supposed, that treacherous to my lord,

I have through Greece blown up the flames of war.

Why then do I prolong my life? these words

I heard from Mercury: “That I again

In Sparta, with my husband shall reside,

When he discovers that I never went

To Troy:” he therefore counselled me to keep

A spotless chastity. While Proteus viewed

The solar beams, I from the nuptial yoke

Still lived exempt; but since the darksome grave

Hath covered his remains, the royal son

Of the deceased solicits me to wed him:

But honouring my first husband, at this tomb

Of Proteus, I a suppliant kneel, to him,

To him I sue, to guard my nuptial couch,

That if through Greece I bear a name assailed

By foul aspersions, no unseemly deed

May cover me with real infamy.

Teucer, Helen.

Teu. Who rules this fortress? such a splendid dome

With royal porticos and blazoned roofs

Seems worthy of a Plutus for its lord.

But, O ye gods, what vision! I behold

That hateful woman who hath ruined me,

And all the Greeks. Heaven’s vengeance on thy head!

Such a resemblance bear’st thou to that Helen,

That if I were not in a foreign land,

I with this stone would smite thee; thou shouldst bleed

For being like Jove’s daughter.

Hel. Wretched man,

Whoe’er you are, why do you hate me thus

Because of her misfortunes?

Teu. I have erred

In giving way to such unseemly rage.

All Greece abhors Jove’s daughter. But forgive me,

O woman, for the words which I have uttered.

Hel. Say who you are, and from what land you come?

Teu. One of that miserable race the Greeks.

Hel. No wonder is it then, if you detest

The Spartan Helen. But to me declare,

Who are you, whence, and from what father sprung?

Teu. My name is Teucer, Telamon my sire;

The land which nurtured me is Salamis.

Hel. But wherefore do you wander o’er these meads

Laved by the Nile?

Teu. I from my native land

Am banished.

Hel. You, alas! must needs be wretched.

Who drove you thence?

Teu. My father Telamon.

What friend canst thou hold dearer?

Hel. For what cause

Were you to exile doomed? your situation

Is most calamitous.

Teu. My brother Ajax,

Who died at Troy, was author of my ruin.

Hel. How? by your sword deprived of life?

Teu. He fell,

On his own blade, and perished.

Hel. Was he mad?

Who could act thus whose intellects are sound?

Teu. Know’st thou Achilles, Peleus’ son?

Hel. He erst,

I heard, to Helen as a suitor came.

Teu. He, at his death, his comrades left to strive

Which should obtain his arms.

Hel. But why was this

Hurtful to Ajax?

Teu. When another won

Those arms, he gave up life.

Hel. Do your afflictions

Rise from his fate?

Teu. Because I died not with him.

Hel. O stranger, went you then to Troy’s famed city?

Teu. And having shared in laying waste its bulwarks,

I also perished.

Hel. Have the flames consumed,

And utterly destroyed them?

Teu. Not a trace

Of those proud walls is now to be discerned.

Hel. Through thee, O Helen, do the Phrygians perish.

Teu. The Greeks too: for most grievous are the mischiefs

Which have been wrought.

Hel. What length of time’s elapsed

Since Troy was sacked?

Teu. Seven times the fruitful year

Hath almost turned around her lingering wheel.

Hel. But how much longer did your host remain

Before those bulwarks?

Teu. Many a tedious moon;

There full ten years were spent.

Hel. And have ye taken

That Spartan dame?

Teu. By her dishevelled hair,

Th’ adult’ress, Menelaus dragged away.

Hel. Did you behold that object of distress,

Or speak you from report?

Teu. These eyes as clearly

Witnessed the whole, as I now view thy face.

Hel. Be cautious, lest for her ye should mistake

Some well-formed semblance which the gods have sent.

Teu. Talk if thou wilt on any other subject;

No more of her.

Hel. Believe you this opinion

To be well-grounded?

Teu. With these eyes I saw her,

And she e’en now is present to my soul.

Hel. Have Menelaus and his consort reached

Their home.

Teu. They are not in the Argive land,

Nor on Eurotas’ banks.

Hel. Alas! alas!

The tale you have recounted, is to her

Who hears you, an event most inauspicious.

Teu. He and his consort, both they say are dead.

Hel. Did not the Greeks in one large squadron sail?

Teu. Yes; but a storm dispersed their shattered fleet.

Hel. Where were they, in what seas?

Teu. They at that time

Through the mid waves of the Ægean deep

Were passing.

Hel. Can none tell if Menelaus

Escaped this tempest?

Teu. No man; but through Greece

’Tis rumoured he is dead.

Hel. I am undone.

Is Thestius’ daughter living?

Teu. Mean’st thou Leda?

She with the dead is numbered.

Hel. Did the shame

Of Helen cause her wretched mother’s death?

Teu. Around her neck, ’tis said the noble dame

Entwined the gliding noose.

Hel. But live the sons

Of Tyndarus, or are they too now no more?

Teu. They are, and are not, dead; for two accounts

Are propagated.

Hel. Which is best confirmed?

O wretched me!

Teu. Some say that they are gods

Under the semblance of two radiant stars.

Hel. Well have you spoken. But what else is rumoured?

Teu. That on account of their lost sister’s guilt

They died by their own swords. But of these themes

Enough: I wish not to renew my sorrows.

But O assist me in the great affairs

On which I to these royal mansions came,

Wishing to see the prophetess Theonoe,

And learn, from Heaven’s oracular response,

How I may steer my vessel with success

To Cyprus’ isle, where Phœbus hath foretold

That I shall dwell, and on the walls I rear

Bestow the name of Salamis, yet mindful

Of that dear country I have left behind.

Hel. This will your voyage of itself explain:

But fly from these inhospitable shores,

Ere Proteus’ son, the ruler of this land,

Behold you: fly, for he is absent now

Pursuing with his hounds the savage prey.

He slays each Grecian stranger who becomes

His captive: ask not why, for I am silent;

And what could it avail you to be told?

Teu. O woman, most discreetly hast thou spoken;

Thy kindness may the righteous gods repay!

For though thy person so resemble Helen,

Thou hast a soul unlike that worthless dame.

Perdition seize her; never may she reach

The current of Eurotas: but mayst thou,

Most generous woman, be for ever blest.

[Exit Teucer.

Hel. Plunged as I am ’midst great and piteous woes,

How shall I frame the plaintive strain, what Muse

With tears, or doleful elegies, invoke?

ODE.

I. 1.

Ye syrens, winged daughters of the earth,

Come and attune the sympathetic string,

Expressive now no more of mirth,

To soothe my griefs, the flute of Libya bring;

Record the tortures which this bosom rend,

And echo back my elegiac strains:

Proserpine next will I invoke, to send

Numbers adapted to her votary’s pains;

So shall her dark abode, while many a tear I shed,

Waft the full dirge to soothe th’ illustrious dead.

Chorus, Helen.

Chorus.

I. 2.

Near the cerulean margin of our streams

I stood, and on the tufted herbage spread

My purple vestments in those beams

Which from his noontide orb Hyperion shed,

When on a sudden from the waving reeds

I heard a plaintive and unwelcome sound

Of bitter lamentation; o’er the meads

Groans inarticulate were poured around:

Beneath the rocky cave, dear scene of past delight,

Some Naiad thus bewails Pan’s hasty flight.

Helen.

II. 1.

Ye Grecian nymphs, whom those barbarians caught,

And from your native land reluctant bore,

The tidings which yon sailor brought

Call forth these tears; for Ilion is no more,

By him of Ida, that predicted flame

Destroyed; through me, alas! have myriads bled,

If not through me, through my detested name.

By th’ ignominious noose is Leda dead

Who my imaginary guilt deplored;

And doomed by the relentless Fates in vain

To tedious wanderings, my unhappy lord

At length hath perished ’midst the billowy main:

The twin protectors of their native land,

Castor and Pollux, from all human eyes

Are vanished, they have left Eurotas’ strand,

And fields, in playful strife where each young wrestler vies.

Chorus.

II. 2.

My royal mistress, your disastrous fate

With many a groan and fruitless tear I mourn.

I from that hour your sorrows date

When amorous Jove on snowy pinions borne,

In form a swan, by Leda was carest.

Is there an evil you have not endured?

Your mother is no more, through you unblest

Are Jove’s twin sons. Nor have your vows procured

Of your dear country the enchanting sight.

A rumour too through various realms hath spread,

Caught by the envious vulgar with delight,

Assigning you to the barbarian’s bed.

Amid the waves, far from the wished-for shore,

Your husband hath been buried in the main.

You shall behold your native walls no more

Nor under burnished roofs your wonted state maintain.

Helen.

III.

What Phrygian artist on the top of Ide,

Or vagrant of a Grecian line,

Felled that inauspicious pine,

To frame the bark which Paris o’er the tide

Dared with barbaric oars to guide,

When to my palace, in an evil hour

Caught by beauty’s magic power,

He came to seize me for his bride?

But crafty Venus, authoress of these broils,

Marched thither, leagued with death, t’ annoy

Triumphant Greece and vanquished Troy,

(Wretch that I am, consumed with endless toils!)

And Juno seated on her golden throne,

Consort of thundering Jove,

Sent Hermes from the realms above,

Who found me, when I carelessly had strewn

Leaves plucked from roses in my vest,

As Minerva’s votary drest;

He bore me through the paths of air

To this loathed, this dreary land,

Called Greece, and Priam’s friends the strife to share,

And roused to bloody deeds each rival band;

Where Simois’ current glides, my name

Hence is marked with groundless shame.

Chor. Your woes I know are grievous: but to bear

With tranquil mind the necessary ills

Of life, is most expedient.

Hel. To what ills

Have I been subject, O my dear companions!

Did not my mother, as a prodigy

Which wondering mortals gaze at, bring me forth?

For neither Grecian nor barbaric dame

Till then produced an egg, in which her children

Enveloped lay, as they report, from Jove

Leda engendered. My whole life and all

That hath befallen me, but conspires to form

One series of miraculous events;

To Juno some, and to my beauty some.

Are owing. Would to Heaven, that, like a tablet

Whose picture is effaced, I could exchange

This form for one less comely, since the Greeks

Forgetting those abundant gifts showered down

By prosperous Fortune which I now possess,

Think but of what redounds not to my honour,

And still remember my ideal shame.

Whoever therefore, with one single species

Of misery is afflicted by the gods,

Although the weight of Heaven’s chastising hand

Be grievous, may with fortitude endure

Such visitation: but by many woes

Am I oppressed, and first of all exposed

To slanderous tongues, although I ne’er have erred.

It were a lesser evil e’en to sin

Then be suspected falsely. Then the gods,

’Midst men of barbarous manners, placed me far

From my loved country: torn from every friend,

I languish here, to servitude consigned

Although of free born race: for ’midst barbarians

Are all enslaved but one, their haughty lord.

My fortunes had this single anchor left,

Perchance my husband might at length arrive

To snatch me from my woes; but he, alas!

Is now no more, my mother too is dead,

And I am deemed her murd’ress, though unjustly,

Yet am I branded with this foul reproach;

And she who was the glory of our house,

My daughter in the virgin state grown grey,

Still droops unwedded: my illustrious brothers,

Castor and Pollux, called the sons of Jove,

Are now no more. But I impute my death,

Crushed as I am by all these various woes,

Not to my own misdeeds, but to the power

Of adverse fortune only: this one danger

There yet remains, if at my native land

I should again arrive, they will confine me

In a close dungeon, thinking me that Helen

Who dwelt in Ilion, till she thence was borne

By Menelaus. Were my husband living,

We might have known each other, by producing

Those tokens to which none beside are privy:

But this will never be, nor can he e’er

Return in safety. To what purpose then

Do I still lengthen out this wretched being?

To what new fortunes am I still reserved?

Shall I select a husband, but to vary

My present ills, to dwell beneath the roof

Of a barbarian, at luxurious boards

With wealth abounding, seated? for the dame

Whom wedlock couples with the man she hates

Death is the best expedient. But with glory

How shall I die? the fatal noose appears

To be so base, that e’en in slaves ’tis held

Unseemly thus to perish; in the poniard

There’s somewhat great and generous. But to me

Delays are useless: welcome instant death:

Into such depth of misery am I plunged.

For beauty renders other women blest,

But hath to me the source of ruin proved.

Chor. O Helen, whosoe’er the stranger be

Who hither came, believe not that the whole

Of what he said, is truth.

Hel. But in plain terms

Hath he announced my dearest husband’s death.

Chor. The false assertions which prevail, are many.

Hel. Clear is the language in which honest Truth

Loves to express herself.

Chor. You are inclined

Rather to credit inauspicious tidings

Than those which are more favourable.

Hel. By fears

Encompassed, am I hurried to despair.

Chor. What hospitable treatment have you found

Beneath these roofs?

Hel. All here, except the man

Who seeks to wed me, are my friends.

Chor. You know

How then to act: leave this sepulchral gloom.

Hel. What are the counsels, or the cheering words

You wish to introduce?

Chor. Go in, and question

The daughter of the Nereid, her who knows

All hidden truths, Theonoe, if your lord

Yet live, or view the solar beams no more:

And when you have learnt this, as suit your fortunes

Indulge your joys, or pour forth all your tears:

But ere you know aught fully, what avail

Your sorrows? therefore listen to my words;

Leaving this tomb, attend the maid: from her

Shall you know all. But why should you look farther

When truth is in these mansions to be found?

With you the doors I’ll enter; we together

The royal virgin’s oracles will hear.

For ’tis a woman’s duty to exert

Her utmost efforts in a woman’s cause.

Hel. My friends, your wholesome counsels I approve:

But enter ye these doors, that ye, within

The palace, my calamities may hear.

Chor. You summon her who your commands obeys

Without reluctance.

Hel. Woeful day! ah me,

What lamentable tidings shall I hear?

Chor. Forbear these plaintive strains, my dearest queen,

Nor with presaging soul anticipate

Evils to come.

Hel. What hath my wretched lord

Endured? Doth he yet view the light, the sun

Borne in his radiant chariot, and the paths

Of all the starry train? Or hath he shared

The common lot of mortals, is he plunged

Among the dead, beneath th’ insatiate grave?

Chor. O construe what time yet may bring to pass

In the most favourable terms.

Hel. On thee

I call to testify, and thee adjure,

Eurotas, on whose verdant margin grow

The waving reeds: O tell me, if my lord

Be dead, as fame avers.

Chor. Why do you utter

These incoherent ditties?

Hel. Round my neck

The deadly noose will I entwine, or drive

With my own hand a poinard through my breast;

For I was erst the cause of bloody strife;

But now am I a victim, to appease

The wrath of those three goddesses who strove

On Ida’s mount, when ’midst the stalls where fed

His lowing herds, the son of Priam waked

The sylvan reed, to celebrate my beauty.

Chor. Cause these averted ills, ye gods, to light

On other heads; but, O my royal mistress,

May you be happy.

Hel. Thou, O wretched Troy,

To crimes which thou hast ne’er committed, ow’st

Thy ruin, and those horrible disasters

Thou hast endured. For as my nuptial gifts,

Hath Venus caused an intermingled stream

Of blood and tears to flow, she, griefs to griefs

And tears to tears hath added; all these sufferings

Have been the miserable Ilion’s lot.

Of their brave sons the mothers were bereft

The virgin sisters of the mighty dead

Strewed their shorn tresses on Scamander’s banks,

While, by repeated shrieks, victorious Greece

Her woes expressing, smote her laurelled head,

And with her nails deep furrowing tore her cheeks.

Happy Calisto, thou Arcadian nymph

Who didst ascend the couch of Jove, transformed

To a four-footed savage, far more blest

Art thou than she to whom I owe my birth:

For thou beneath the semblance of a beast,

Thy tender limbs with shaggy hide o’erspread,

And glaring with stern visage, by that change

Didst end thy griefs. She too whom Dian drove

Indignant from her choir, that hind whose horns

Were tipped with gold, the bright Titanian maid,

Daughter of Merops, to her beauty owed

That transformation: but my charms have ruined

Both Troy and the unhappy Grecian host.

[Exeunt Helen and Chorus.

Menelaus.

O Pelops, in the strife on Pisa’s field,

Who didst outstrip the fiery steeds that whirled

The chariot of Oenomaus, would to Heaven

That when thy severed limbs before the gods

Were at the banquet placed, thou then thy life

Amidst the blest immortal powers hadst closed,

Ere thou my father Atreus didst beget,

Whose issue by his consort Ærope

Were Agamemnon and myself, two chiefs

Of high renown. No ostentatious words

Are these; but such a numerous host, I deem,

As that which we to Ilion’s shore conveyed,

Ne’er stemmed the tide before; these troops their king

Led not by force to combat, but bore rule

O’er Grecian youths his voluntary subjects,

And among these, some heroes, now no more,

May we enumerate; others from the sea

Who ’scaped with joy, and to their homes returned,

E’en after fame had classed them with the dead.

But I, most wretched, o’er the briny waves

Of ocean wander, since I have o’erthrown

The battlements of Troy, and though I wish

Again to reach my country; by the gods

Am I esteemed unworthy of such bliss.

E’en to the Libyan deserts have I sailed,

And traversed each inhospitable scene

Of brutal outrage; still as I approach

My country, the tempestuous winds repel me,

Nor hath a prosperous breeze from Heaven yet filled

My sails, to waft me to the Spartan coast:

And now a shipwrecked, miserable man,

Reft of my friends, I on these shores am cast,

My vessel hath been shivered ’gainst the rocks

Into a thousand fragments: on the keel,

The only part which yet remains entire

Of all that fabric, scarce could I and Helen,

Whom I from Troy have borne, escape with life

Through fortunes unforeseen: but of this land

And its inhabitants, the name I know not:

For with the crowd I blushed to intermingle

Lest they my squalid garments should observe,

Through shame my wants concealing. For the man

Of an exalted station, when assailed

By adverse fortune, having never learned

How to endure calamity, is plunged

Into a state far worse than he whose woes

Have been of ancient date. But pinching need

Torments me: for I have not either food

Or raiment to protect my shivering frame,

Which may be guessed from these vile rags I wear

Cast up from my wrecked vessel: for the sea

Hath swallowed up my robes, my tissued vests,

And every ensign of my former state.

Within the dark recesses of a cave

Having concealed my wife, that guilty cause

Of all my woes, and my surviving friends

Enjoined to guard her, hither am I come.

Alone, in quest of necessary aid

For my brave comrades whom I there have left,

If by my search I haply can obtain it,

I roam; but when I viewed this house adorned

With gilded pinnacles, and gates that speak

The riches of their owner, I advanced:

For I have hopes that from this wealthy mansion

I, somewhat for my sailors, shall obtain.

But they who want the necessary comforts

Of life, although they are disposed to aid us,

Yet have not wherewithal. Ho! who comes forth

From yonder gate, my doleful tale to bear

Into the house?

Female Servant, Menelaus.

Female Ser. Who at the threshold stands?

Wilt thou not hence depart, lest thy appearance

Before these doors give umbrage to our lords?

Else shalt thou surely die, because thou cam’st

From Greece, whose sons shall never hence return.

Men. Well hast thou spoken, O thou aged dame.

Wilt thou permit me? For to thy behests

Must I submit: but suffer me to speak.

Female Ser. Depart: for ’tis my duty to permit

No Greek to enter this imperial dome.

Men. Lift not thy hand against me, nor attempt

To drive me hence by force.

Female Ser. Thou wilt not yield

To my advice, thou therefore art to blame.

Men. Carry my message to thy lords within.

Female Ser. I fear lest somewhat dreadful might ensue,

Should I repeat your words.

Men. I hither come

A shipwrecked man, a stranger, one of those

Whom all hold sacred.

Female Ser. To some other house,

Instead of this, repair.

Men. I am determined

To enter: but comply with my request.

Female Ser. Be well assured thou art unwelcome here,

And shalt ere long by force be driven away.

Men. Alas! alas! where are my valiant troops?

Female Ser. Elsewhere, perhaps, thou wert a mighty man;

But here art thou no longer such.

Men. O Fortune!

How am I galled with undeserved reproach!

Female Ser. Why are those eyelids moist with tears, why griev’st thou?

Men. Because I once was happy.

Female Ser. Then depart,

And mingle social tears with those thou lov’st.

Men. But what domain is this, to whom belong

These royal mansions?

Female Ser. Proteus here resides;

This land is Egypt.

Men. Egypt? wretched me!

Ah, whither have I sailed!

Female Ser. But for what cause

Scorn’st thou the race of Nile?

Men. I scorn them not:

My own disastrous fortunes I bewail.

Female Ser. Many are wretched, thou in this respect

Art nothing singular.

Men. Is he, the king

Thou speak’st of, here within?

Female Ser. To him belongs

This tomb; his son is ruler of this land.

Men. But where is he: abroad, or in the palace?

Female Ser. He’s not within; but to the Greeks he bears

The greatest enmity.

Men. Whence rose this hate,

Productive of such bitter fruits to me?

Female Ser. Beneath these roofs Jove’s daughter Helen dwells.

Men. What mean’st thou? Ha! what words with wonder fraught

Are these which thou hast uttered? O repeat them.

Female Ser. The child of Tyndarus, she who in the realm

Of Sparta erst abode.

Men. Whence came she hither?

How can this be?

Female Ser. From Lacedæmon’s realm.

Men. When? Hath my wife been torn from yonder cave?

Female Ser. Before the Greeks, O stranger, went to Troy

Retreat then from these mansions, for within

Hath happened a calamitous event,

By which the palace is disturbed. Thou com’st

Unseasonably, and if the king surprise thee,

Instead of hospitable treatment, death

Must be thy portion. To befriend the Greeks

Though well inclined, yet thee have I received

With these harsh words, because I fear the monarch.

[Exit Female Servant.

Men. What shall I say? For I, alas! am told

Of present sorrows added to the past.

Come I not hither, after having borne

From vanquished Troy my consort, whom I left

Within yon cave well guarded? Yet here dwells

Another Helen, whom that woman called

Jove’s daughter. Lives there on the banks of Nile

A man who bears the sacred name of Jove?

For in the heavens there’s only one. What country,

But that where glides Eurotas’ stream beset

With waving reeds, is Sparta? Tyndarus’ name

Suits him alone. But is there any land

Synonymous with Lacedæmon’s realm,

And that of Troy? I know not how to solve

This doubt; for there are many, it appears,

In various regions of the world, who bear

Like appellations; city corresponds

With city; woman borrows that of woman;

Nor must we therefore wonder. Yet again

Here will I stay, though danger be announced

By yonder aged servant at the door:

For there is no man so devoid of pity

As not to give me food, when he the name

Of Menelaus hears. That dreadful fire

By which the Phrygian bulwarks were consumed

Is memorable, and I who kindled it

Am known in every land. I’ll therefore wait

Until the master of this house return.

But I have two expedients, and will practise

That which my safety shall require; of soul

Obdurate, if he prove, in my wrecked bark

Can I conceal myself, but if the semblance

Which he puts on, be mild, I for relief

From these my present miseries, will apply.

But this of all the woes that I endure

Is the most grievous, that from other kings

I, though a king myself, should be reduced

To beg my food: but thus hath Fate ordained.

Nor is it my assertion, but a maxim

Among the wise established, that there’s nought

More powerful than the dread behests of Fate.

Helen, Chorus, Menelaus.

Chor. I heard what yon prophetic maid foretold,

Who in the palace did unfold

The oracles; that to the shades profound

Of Erebus, beneath the ground

Interred, not yet hath Menelaus ta’en

His passage: on the stormy main

Still tossed, he cannot yet approach the strand,

The haven of the Spartan land:

The chief, who now his vagrant life bewails,

Without a friend, unfurls his sails,

From Ilion’s realm to every distant shore

Borne o’er the deep with luckless oar.

Hel. I to this hallowed tomb again repair,

Now I have heard the grateful tidings uttered

By sage Theonoe, who distinctly knows

All that hath happened? for she says my lord

Is living, and yet views the solar beams:

But after passing o’er unnumbered straits

Of ocean, to a vagrant’s wretched life

Full long inured, on these Ægyptian coasts,

When he his toils hath finished, shall arrive.

Yet there is one thing more, which she hath left

Unmentioned, whether he shall come with safety.

This question I neglected to propose,

O’erjoyed when she informed me he yet lives;

She also adds, that he is near the land,

From his wrecked ship, with his few friends, cast forth,

O mayst thou come at length; for ever dear

To me wilt thou arrive. Ha! who is that?

Am not I caught, through some deceitful scheme

Of Proteus’ impious son, in hidden snares?

Like a swift courser, or the madding priestess

Of Bacchus, shall I not with hasty step

Enter the tomb, because his looks are fierce

Who rushes on, and strives to overtake me?

Men. On thee I call, who to the yawning trench

Around that tomb, and blazing altars hiest

Precipitate. Stay: wherefore dost thou fly?

With what amazement doth thy presence strike

And almost leave me speechless!

Hel. O my friends,

I suffer violence; for from the tomb

I by this man am dragged, who to the king

Will give me, from whose nuptial couch I fled.

Men. We are no pirates, nor the ministers

Of lustful villany.

Hel. Yet is the vest

You wear unseemly.

Men. Stay thy rapid flight,

Dismiss thy fears.

Hel. I stop, now I have reached

This hallowed spot.

Men. Say, woman, who thou art;

What face do I behold?

Hel. But who are you?

For I by the same reasons am induced

To ask this question.

Men. Never did I see

A greater likeness.

Hel. O ye righteous gods!

For ’tis a privilege the gods alone

Confer, to recognize our long-lost friends.

Men. Art thou a Grecian or a foreign dame?

Hel. Of Greece: but earnestly I wish to know

Whence you derive your origin.

Men. In thee

A wonderful resemblance I discern

Of Helen.

Hel. Menelaus’ very features

These eyes in you behold, still at a loss

Am I for words t’ express my thoughts.

Men. Full clearly

Hast thou discovered a most wretched man.

Hel. O to thy consort’s arms at length restored!

Men. To what a consort? O forbear to touch

My garment!

Hel. E’en the same, whom to your arms,

A noble bride, my father Tyndarus gave.

Men. Send forth, O Hecate, thou orb of light,

Some more benignant spectre.

Hel. You in me

Behold not one of those who minister

At Hecate’s abhorred nocturnal rites.

Men. Nor am I sure the husband of two wives.

Hel. Say, to whom else in wedlock are you joined?

Men. To her who lies concealed in yonder cave,

The prize I hither bring from vanquished Troy.

Hel. You have no wife but me.

Men. If I retain

My reason yet, these eyes are sure deceived.

Hel. Seem you not then, while me you thus behold,

To view your real consort?

Men. Though your person

Resemble hers, no positive decision

Can I presume to form.

Hel. Observe me well,

And mark wherein we differ. Who can judge

With greater certainty than you?

Men. Thou bear’st

Her semblance, I confess.

Hel. Who can inform you

Better than your own eyes?

Men. What makes me doubt

Is this; because I have another wife.

Hel. To the domains of Troy I never went:

It was my image only.

Men. Who can fashion

Such bodies, with the power of sight endued?

Hel. Composed of ether, you a consort have,

Heaven’s workmanship.

Men. Wrought by what plastic god?

For the events thou speak’st of are most wondrous.

Hel. Lest Paris should obtain me, this exchange

Was made by Juno.

Men. How couldst thou be here,

At the same time, and in the Phrygian realm?

Hel. The name, but not the body, can be present

At once in many places.

Men. O release me;

For I came hither in an evil hour.

Hel. Will you then leave me here, and bear away

That shadow of a wife?

Men. Yet, O farewell,

Because thou art like Helen.

Hel. I’m undone:

For though my husband I again have found,

Yet shall not I possess him.

Men. My conviction,

From all those grievous toils I have endured

At Ilion, I derive, and not from thee.

Hel. Ah, who is there more miserable than I am?

My dearest friends desert me: I, to Greece,

To my dear native land, shall ne’er return.

Messenger, Menelaus, Helen, Chorus.

Mes. After a tedious search, O Menelaus,

At length have I with difficulty found you,

But not till over all the wide extent

Of this barbaric region I had wandered;

Sent by the comrades whom you left behind.

Men. Have ye been plundered then by the barbarians?

Mes. A most miraculous event hath happened,

Yet less astonishing by far in name

Than in reality.

Men. Speak, for thou bring’st

Important tidings by this breathless haste.

Mes. My words are these: in vain have you endured

Unnumbered toils.

Men. Those thou bewail’st are ills

Of ancient date. But what hast thou to tell me?

Mes. Borne to the skies your consort from our sight

Hath vanished, in the heavens is she concealed,

Leaving the cave in which we guarded her,

When she these words had uttered: “O ye sons

Of hapless Phrygia, and of Greece: for me

Beside Scamander’s conscious stream ye died,

Through Juno’s arts, because ye falsely deemed

Helen by Phrygian Paris was possest:

But after having here remained on earth

My stated time, observing the decrees

Of Fate, I to my sire the liquid ether

Return: but Tyndarus’ miserable daughter,

Though guiltless, hath unjustly been accused.”

Daughter of Leda hail! wert thou then here?

While I as if thou to the starry paths

Hadst mounted, through my ignorance proclaimed

Thou from this world on rapid wings wert borne.

But I no longer will allow thee thus

To sport with the afflictions of thy friends;

For in thy cause thy lord and his brave troops

On Ilion’s coast already have endured

Abundant toils.

Men. These are the very words

She uttered; and by what ye both aver

The truth is ascertained. O happy day

Which gives thee to my arms!

Hel. My dearest lord,

O Menelaus, it is long indeed

Since I have seen you: but joy comes at last.

My friends, transported I receive my lord

Whom I once more with these fond arms enfold,

After the radiant chariot of the sun

Hath oft the world illumined.

Men. I embrace

Thee too: but having now so much to say

I know not with what subject to begin.

Hel. Joy raises my exulting crest, these tears

Are tears of ecstasy, around your neck

My arms I fling with transport, O my husband,

O sight most wished for!

Men. I acquit the Fates,

Since Jove’s and Leda’s daughter I possess,

On whom her brothers borne on milk-white steeds

Erst showered abundant blessings, when the torch

Was kindled at our jocund nuptial rite;

Though from my palace her the gods conveyed.

But evil now converted into good

To me thy husband hath at length restored

My long-lost consort: grant, O bounteous Heaven,

That I these gifts of fortune may enjoy.

Hel. May you enjoy them, for my vows concur

With yours; nor, of us two, can one be wretched

Without the other. O my friends, I groan

No longer, I no longer shed the tear

For my past woes: my husband I possess

Whom I from Troy expected to return

Full many, many years.

Men. I still am thine,

And thee with these fond arms again enfold.

But oft the chariot of the sun revolved

Through his diurnal orbit, ere the frauds

Of Juno I discerned. Yet more from joy

Than from affliction rise the tears I shed.

Hel. What shall I say? what mortal could presume

E’er to have hoped for such a blest event?

An unexpected visitant once more

I clasp you to my bosom.

Men. And I thee

Who didst appear to sail for Ida’s town,

And Ilion’s wretched turrets. By the gods,

Inform me, I conjure thee, by what means

Thou from my palace hither wert conveyed.

Hel. Alas! you to the source of all my woes

Ascend, and search into most bitter tidings.

Men. Speak: for whate’er hath been ordained by Heaven

Ought to be published.

Hel. I abhor the topic

On which I now am entering.

Men. Yet relate

All that thou know’st; for pleasing ’tis to hear

Of labours that are past.

Hel. I never went

To that barbarian youth’s adulterous couch

By the swift oar impelled: but winged love

Those hapless spousals formed.

Men. What god, what fate

Hath torn thee from thy country?

Hel. O my lord,

The son of Jove hath placed me on the banks

Of Nile.

Men. With what amazement do I hear

This wondrous tale of thy celestial guide!

Hel. Oft have I wept, and still the tear bedews

These eyes: to Juno, wife of Jove, I owe

My ruin.

Men. Wherefore wished she to have heaped

Mischiefs on thee?

Hel. Ye sources of whate’er

To me hath been most dreadful, O ye baths

And fountains, where those goddesses adorned

Their rival beauties, from whose influence rose

That judgment!

Men. Were those curses on thy head

By Juno showered, that judgment to requite?

Hel. To rescue me from Venus.

Men. What thou mean’st

Inform me.

Hel. Who to Paris had engaged——

Men. O wretched woman!

Hel. Wretched, wretched me!

Thus did she waft me to th’ Egyptian coast.

Men. Then in thy stead to him that image gave,

As thou inform’st me.

Hel. But alas! what woes

Thence visited our wretched house! ah mother!

Ah me!

Men. What sayst thou?

Hel. Leda is no more.

Around her neck she fixed the deadly noose

On my account, through my unhappy nuptials

O’erwhelmed with foul disgrace.

Men. Alas! But lives

Hermione our daughter?

Hel. Yet unwedded,

Yet childless, O my husband, she bewails

My miserable ’spousals, my disgrace.

Men. O Paris, who hast utterly o’erthrown

All my devoted house, these curst events,

Both thee, and myriads of the Grecian troops

With brazen arms refulgent, have destroyed.

Hel. But from my country in an evil hour,

From my loved native city, and from you,

Me hath the goddess driven, a wretch accursed

In that I left our home, and bridal bed,

Which yet I left not, for those base espousals.

Chor. If ye hereafter meet with happier fortune,

This may atone for all ye have endured

Already.

Mes. To me too, O Menelaus,

Communicate a portion of that joy

Which I perceive, but know not whence it springs.

Men. Thou too, old man, shalt in our conference share.

Mes. Was not she then the cause of all the woes

Endured at Troy?

Men. Not she: we were deceived

By those immortal Powers, whose plastic hand

Moulded a cloud into that baleful image.

Mes. What words are these you utter? have we toiled

In vain, and only for an empty cloud?

Men. These deeds were wrought by Juno, and the strife

’Twixt the three goddesses.

Mes. But is this woman

Indeed your wife?

Men. E’en she: and thou for this

On my assertion safely mayst depend.

Mes. My daughter, O how variable is Jove,

And how inscrutable! for he with ease

Whirls us around, now here, now there; one suffers

Full many toils; another, who ne’er knew

What sorrow was, is swallowed up at once

In swift perdition, nor in Fortune’s gifts

A firm and lasting tenure doth enjoy.

Thou and thy husband have endured a war,

Of slander thou, but he of pointed spears:

For by the tedious labours he endured

He nothing could obtain, but now obtains

The greatest and the happiest of all boons,

Which comes to him unsought. Thou hast not shamed

Thy aged father, and the sons of Jove,

Nor acted as malignant rumour speaks.

I now renew thy hymeneal rite,

And still am mindful of the torch I bore,

Running before the steeds, when in a car

Thou with this favoured bridegroom wert conveyed

From thy paternal mansion’s happy gates.

For worthless is that servant who neglects

His master’s interests, nor partakes their joys,

Nor feels for their afflictions. I was born

Indeed a slave, yet I with generous slaves

Would still be numbered, for although the name

I bear is abject, yet my soul is free.

Far better this, than if I had at once

Suffered two evils, a corrupted heart,

And vile subjection to another’s will.

Men. Courage, old man: for thou hast borne my shield,

And in my cause endured unnumbered toils,

Sharing my dangers: now partake my joys;

Go tell the friends I left, what thou hast seen,

And our auspicious fortunes: on the shore

Bid them remain, till our expected conflict

Is finished; and observe how we may sail

From this loathed coast; that, with our better fortune

Conspiring, we, if possible, may ’scape

From these barbarians.

Mes. Your commands, O king,

Shall be obeyed. But I perceive how vain

And how replete with falsehood is the voice

Of prophets: no dependence can be placed

Upon the flames that from the altar rise,

Or on the voices of the feathered choir.

It is the height of folly to suppose

That birds are able to instruct mankind.

For Calchas, to the host, nor by his words

Nor signs, declared, “I for a cloud behold

My friends in battle slain.” The seer was mute,

And Troy in vain was taken. But perhaps

You will rejoin, “’Twas not the will of Heaven

That he should speak.” Why then do we consult

These prophets? We by sacrifice should ask

For blessings from the gods, and lay aside

All auguries. This vain delusive bait

Was but invented to beguile mankind.

No sluggard e’er grew rich by divination,

The best of seers are Prudence and Discernment.

[Exit Messenger.

Chor. My sentiments on prophets well accord

With those of this old man. He whom the gods

Th’ immortal gods befriend, in his own house

Hath a response that never can mislead.

Hel. So be it. All thus far is well. But how

You came with safety, O unhappy man,

From Troy, ’twill nought avail for me to know;

Yet with the sorrows of their friends, have friends

A wish to be acquainted.

Men. Thou hast asked

A multitude of questions in one short

And blended sentence. Why should I recount

To thee our sufferings on the Ægean deep,

Those treacherous beacons, by the vengeful hand

Of Nauplius kindled on Eubœa’s rocks,

The towns of Crete, or in the Libyan realm,

Which I have visited, and the famed heights

Of Perseus? never could my words assuage

Thy curiosity, and, by repeating

My woes to thee, I should but grieve the more,

And yet a second time those sufferings feel.

Hel. You in your answer have been more discreet

Than I who such a question did propose.

But pass o’er all beside, and only tell me

How long you wandered o’er the briny main.

Men. Year after year, besides the ten at Troy,

Seven tedious revolutions of the sun.

Hel. The time you speak of, O unhappy man,

Is long indeed: but from those dangers saved

You hither come to bleed.

Men. What words are these?

What dost thou mean? O, how hast thou undone me!

Hel. Fly from these regions with your utmost speed:

Or he to whom this house belongs will slay you.

Men. What have I done that merits such a fate?

Hel. You hither come an unexpected guest,

And are a hindrance to my bridal rite.

Men. Is there a man then who presumes to wed

My consort?

Hel. And with arrogance to treat me,

Which I, alas! have hitherto endured.

Men. Of private rank, in his own strength alone

Doth he confide, or rules he o’er the land?

Hel. Lord of this region, royal Proteus’ son.

Men. This is the very riddle which I heard

From yonder female servant.

Hel. At which gate

Of this barbarian palace did you stand?

Men. Here, whence I like a beggar was repelled.

Hel. What, did you beg for food! ah wretched me!

Men. The fact was thus: though I that abject name

Assumed not.

Hel. You then know, it seems, the whole

About my nuptials.

Men. This I know: but whether

Thou has escaped th’ embraces of the king

I still am uninformed.

Hel. That I have kept

Your bed still spotless, may you rest assured.

Men. How canst thou prove the fact? if thou speak truth

To me, it will give pleasure.

Hel. Do you see,

Close to the tomb, my miserable seat?

Men. I on the ground behold a couch: but what

Hast thou to do with that, O wretched woman?

Hel. Here I a suppliant bowed, that I might ’scape

From those espousals.

Men. Couldst thou find no altar,

Or dost thou follow the barbarian mode?

Hel. Equally with the temples of the gods

Will this protect me.

Men. Is not then my bark

Allowed to waft thee to the Spartan shore?

Hel. Rather the sword than Helen’s bridal bed

Awaits you.

Men. Thus should I of all mankind

Be the most wretched.

Hel. Let not shame prevent

Your ’scaping from this land.

Men. And leaving thee,

For whom I laid the walls of Ilion waste?

Hel. ’Twere better than to perish in the cause

Of me your consort.

Men. Such unmanly deeds

As these thou speak’st of would disgrace the chief

Who conquered Troy.

Hel. You cannot slay the king,

Which is perhaps the project you have formed.

Men. Hath he then such a body as no steel

Can penetrate?

Hel. My reasons you shall know.

But it becomes not a wise man t’ attempt

What cannot be performed.

Men. Shall I submit

My hands in silence to the galling chain?

Hel. You know not how to act in these dire straits

To which we are reduced: but of some plot

Must we avail ourselves.

Men. ’Twere best to die

In some brave action than without a conflict.

Hel. One only hope of safety yet remains.

Men. By gold can it be purchased, or depends it

On dauntless courage, or persuasive words?

Hel. Of your arrival if the monarch hear not.

Men. Who can inform him? he will never sure

Know who I am.

Hel. He hath a sure associate,

Within his palace, equal to the gods.

Men. Some voice which from its inmost chambers sounds?

Hel. No: ’tis his sister, her they call Theonoe.

Men. She bears indeed a most prophetic name;

But say, what mighty deeds can she perform?

Hel. All things she knows, and will inform her brother

That you are here.

Men. We both, alas! must die,

Nor can I possibly conceal myself.

Hel. Could our united supplications move her?

Men. To do what action? Into what vain hope

Wouldst thou mislead me?

Hel. Not to tell her brother

That you are in the land.

Men. If we prevail

Thus far, can we escape from these domains?

Hel. With ease, if she concur in our design,

But not without her knowledge.

Men. This depends

On thee: for woman best prevails with woman.

Hel. Around her knees these suppliant hands I’ll twine.

Men. Go then; but what if she reject our prayer?

Hel. You certainly must die; and I by force

Shall to the king be wedded.

Men. Thou betray’st me;

That force thou talk’st of is but mere pretence.

Hel. But by your head that sacred oath I swear.

Men. What sayst thou, wilt thou die, and never change

Thy husband?

Hel. By the self-same sword: my corse

Shall lie beside you.

Men. To confirm the words

Which thou hast spoken, take my hand.

Hel. I take

Your hand, and swear that after you are dead

I will not live.

Men. And I will put an end

To my existence, if deprived of thee.

Hel. But how shall we die so as to procure

Immortal glory?

Men. Soon as on the tomb

Thee I have slain, myself will I destroy.

But first a mighty conflict shall decide

Our claims who to thy bridal bed aspire.

Let him who dares, draw near: for the renown

I won at Troy, I never will belie,

Nor yet returning to the Grecian shore

Suffer unnumbered taunts for having reft

Thetis of her Achilles, and beheld

Ajax the Telamonian hero slain,

With Neleus’ grandson, though I dare not bleed

To save my consort. Yet on thy behalf

Without regret, will I surrender up

This fleeting life: for if the gods are wise

They lightly scatter dust upon the tomb.

Of the brave man who by his foes is slain,

But pile whole mountains on the coward’s breast.

Chor. O may the race of Tantalus, ye gods,

At length be prosperous, may their sorrows cease!

Hel. Wretch that I am! for such is my hard fate:

O Menelaus, we are lost for ever.

The prophetess Theonoe, from the palace

Comes forth: I hear the sounding gates unbarred.

Fly from this spot. But whither can you fly?

For your arrival here, full well she knows,

Absent, or present. How, O wretched me,

Am I undone! in safety you return

From Troy, from a barbarian land, to rush

Again upon the swords of fresh barbarians.

Theonoe, Menelaus, Helen, Chorus.

Theon. [to one of her Attendants.]

Lead thou the way, sustaining in thy hand

The kindled torch, and fan the ambient air,

Observing every due and solemn rite,

That we may breathe the purest gales of Heaven.

Meanwhile do thou, if any impious foot

Have marked the path, with lustral flames efface

The taint, and wave the pitchy brand around,

That I may pass; and when we have performed

Our duteous homage to th’ immortal powers,

Into the palace let the flame be borne,

Restore it to the Lares. What opinion

Have you, O Helen, of th’ events foretold

By my prophetic voice? Your husband comes,

Your Menelaus in this land appears,

Reft of his ships, and of your image reft.

’Scaped from what dangers, O unhappy man,

Art thou arrived, although thou know’st not yet

Whether thou e’er shalt to thy home return,

Or here remain. For there is strife in Heaven;

And Jove on thy account this day will hold

A council; Juno who was erst thy foe,

Now grown benignant, with thy consort safe

To Sparta would convey thee, that all Greece

May understand that the fictitious nuptials

Of Paris, were the baleful gift of Venus.

But Venus wants to frustrate thy return,

Lest she should be convicted, or appear

At least the palm of beauty to have purchased

By vending Helen for a wife to Paris.

But this important question to decide,

On me depends; I either can destroy thee,

Which is the wish of Venus, by informing

My brother thou art here; or save thy life

By taking Juno’s side, and thy arrival

Concealing from my brother, who enjoined me

To inform him whensoe’er thou on these shores

Shouldst land. Who bears the tidings to my brother,

That Menelaus’ self is here, to save me

From his resentment?

Hel. At thy knees I fall,

O virgin, as a suppliant, and here take

My miserable seat, both for myself,

And him whom, scarce restored to me, I see

Now on the verge of death. Forbear t’ inform

Thy brother, that to these fond arms my lord

Again is come. O save him, I implore thee;

Nor gratify thy brother, by betraying

The feelings of humanity, to purchase

A wicked and unjust applause: for Jove

Detests all violence, he bids us use

What we possess, but not increase our stores

By rapine. It is better to be poor,

Than gain unrighteous wealth. For all mankind

Enjoy these common blessings, Air and Earth;

Nor ought we our own house with gold to fill,

By keeping fraudfully another’s right,

Or seizing it by violence. For Hermes,

Commissioned by the blest immortal powers,

Hath, at my cost, consigned me to thy sire,

To keep me for this husband, who is here

And claims me back again: but by what means

Can he receive me after he is dead?

Or how can the Ægyptian king restore me

A living consort to my breathless lord?

Consider therefore, both the will of Heaven

And that of thy great father. Would the god,

Would the deceased, surrender up or keep

Another’s right? I deem they would restore it.

Hence to thy foolish brother shouldst not thou

Pay more respect than to thy virtuous sire.

And sure if thou, a prophetess, who utter’st

Th’ oracular responses of the gods,

Break’st through thy father’s justice, to comply

With an unrighteous brother: it were base

In thee to understand each mystic truth

Revealed by the immortal powers, the things

That are, and those that are not; yet o’erlook

The rules of justice. But O stoop to save

Me, miserable me, from all those ills

In which I am involved; this great exertion

Of thy benignant aid, my fortunes claim.

For there is no man who abhors not Helen;

’Tis rumoured through all Greece that I betrayed

My husband, and abode beneath the roofs

Of wealthy Phrygia. But to Greece once more

Should I return, and to the Spartan realm;

When they are told, and see, how to the arts

Of these contending goddesses they owe

Their ruin; but that I have to my friends

Been ever true, they to the rank I held

’Midst chaste and virtuous matrons, will restore me:

My daughter too, whom no man dares to wed,

From me her bridal portion shall receive;

And I, no longer doomed to lead the life

Of an unhappy vagrant, shall enjoy

The treasures that our palaces contain.

Had Menelaus died, and been consumed

In the funereal pyre, I should have wept

For him far distant in a foreign realm;

But now shall I for ever be bereft

Of him who lives, and seem to have escaped

From every danger. Virgin, act not thus;

To thee I kneel a suppliant; O confer

On me this boon, and emulate the justice

Of your great sire. For fair renown attends

The children, from a virtuous father sprung,

Who equal their hereditary worth.

Theon. Most piteous are the words which you have spoken;

You also claim my pity: but I wish

To hear what Menelaus yet can plead

To save his life.

Men. I cannot at your knees

Fall prostrate, or with tears these eyelids stain:

For I should cover all the great exploits

Which I achieved at Ilion with disgrace,

If I became a dastard; though some hold

’Tis not unworthy of the brave to weep

When wretched. But this honourable part

(If such a part can e’er be honourable)

I will not act, because the prosperous fortunes

Which erst were mine, are present to my soul.

If then you haply are disposed to save

A foreigner who justly claims his wife,

Restore her, and protect us: if you spurn

Our suit, I am not now for the first time,

But have been often wretched, and your name

Shall be recorded as an impious woman.

These thoughts, which I hold worthy of myself,

And just, and such as greatly must affect

Your inmost heart, I at your father’s tomb

With energy will utter. Good old man,

Beneath this marble sepulchre who dwell’st,

To thee I sue, restore my wife, whom Jove

Sent hither to thy realm, that thou for me

Might’st guard her. Thou, I know, since thou art dead,

Canst ne’er have power to give her back again:

But she, this holy priestess, will not suffer

Reproach to fall on her illustrious sire,

Whom I invoke amid the shades beneath:

For this depends on her. Thee too I call,

O Pluto, to my aid, who hast received

Full many a corse, which fell in Helen’s cause

Beneath my sword, and still retain’st the prize:

Either restore them now to life, or force

Her who seems mightier than her pious father,

To give me back my wife. But of my consort

If ye resolve to rob me, I will urge

Those arguments which Helen hath omitted.

Know then, O virgin, first I by an oath

Have bound myself, your brother to encounter,

And he, or I, must perish; the plain truth

Is this. But foot to foot in equal combat.

If he refuse to meet me, and attempt

To drive us suppliants from the tomb by famine,

My consort will I slay, and with the sword

Here on this sepulchre my bosom pierce,

That the warm current of our blood may stream

Into the grave. Thus shall our corses lie

Close to each other on this polished marble:

To you eternal sorrow shall they cause,

And foul reproach to your great father’s name.

For neither shall your brother wed my Helen,

Nor any man beside: for I with me

Will bear her; if I cannot bear her home,

Yet will I bear her to the shades beneath.

But why complain? If I shed tears, and act

The woman’s part, I rather shall become

An object of compassion, than deserve

To be esteemed a warrior. If you list,

Slay me, for I can never fall inglorious.

But rather yield due credence to my words,

So will you act with justice, and my wife

Shall I recover.

Chor. To decide the cause

On which we speak, belongs to thee, O virgin:

But so decide as to please all.

Theon. By nature

And inclination am I formed to act

With piety, myself too I revere:

Nor will I e’er pollute my sire’s renown,

Or gratify my brother by such means

As might make me seem base. For from my birth,

Hath justice in this bosom fixed her shrine:

And since from Nereus I inherited

This temper, Menelaus will I strive

To save. But now since Juno is disposed

To be your friend, with her will I accord:

May Venus be propitious, though her rites

I never have partaken, and will strive

For ever to remain a spotless maid.

But I concur with thee, O Menelaus,

In all thou to my father at his tomb

Hast said: for with injustice should I act

If I restored not Helen: had he lived,

My sire on thee again would have bestowed

Thy consort, and her former lord on Helen.

For vengeance, in the shades of Hell beneath,

And among all that breathe the vital air,

Attends on those who break their plighted trust.

The soul of the deceased, although it live

Indeed no longer, yet doth still retain

A consciousness which lasts for ever, lodged

In the eternal scene of its abode,

The liquid ether. To express myself

Concisely, all that you requested me

Will I conceal, nor with my counsels aid

My brother’s folly; I to him shall show

A real friendship, though without the semblance,

If I his vicious manners can reform

And make him more religious. Therefore find

Means to escape yourselves; for I will hence

Depart in silence. First implore the gods;

To Venus sue, that she your safe return

Would suffer; and to Juno, not to change

The scheme which she hath formed, both to preserve

Your lord and you. O my departed sire,

For thee will I exert my utmost might,

That on thy honoured name no foul reproach

May ever rest.

[Exit Theonoe.

Chor. No impious man e’er prospered:

But fairest hopes attend an honest cause.

Hel. O Menelaus, as to what depends

Upon the royal maid, are we secure:

But next doth it become you to propose

Some means our safety to effect.

Men. Now listen

To me; thou in this palace long hast dwelt,

An inmate with the servants of the king.

Hel. Why speak you thus? for you raise hopes, as though

You could do somewhat for our common good.

Men. Canst thou prevail on any one of those

Who guide the harnessed steeds, to furnish us

With a swift car?

Hel. Perhaps I might succeed

In that attempt. But how shall we escape

Who to these fields and this barbarian land

Are strangers? An impracticable thing

Is this you speak of.

Men. Well, but in the palace

Concealed, if with this sword the king I slay.

Hel. His sister will not suffer this in silence

If you attempt aught ’gainst her brother’s life.

Men. We have no ship in which we can escape;

For that which we brought hither, by the waves

Is swallowed up.

Hel. Now hear what I propose;

From woman’s lips if wisdom ever flow.

Will you permit a rumour of your death

To be dispersed?

Men. This were an evil omen:

But I, if any benefit arise

From such report, consent to be called dead

While I yet live.

Hel. That impious tyrant’s pity

Our female choir shall move, with tresses shorn,

And chaunt funereal strains.

Men. What tendency

Can such a project have to our deliverance?

Hel. I will allege that ’tis an ancient custom;

And of the monarch his permission crave,

That I on you, as if you in the sea

Had perished, may bestow a vacant tomb.

Men. If he consent, how can this feigned interment

Enable us to fly without a ship?

Hel. I will command a bark to be prepared,

From whence into the bosom of the deep

Funereal trappings I may cast.

Men. How well

And wisely hast thou spoken! but the tomb

If he direct thee on the strand to raise,

Nought can this scheme avail.

Hel. But I will say

’Tis not the usage, in a Grecian realm,

With earth to cover the remains of those

Who perished in the waves.

Men. Thou hast again

Removed this obstacle: I then with thee

Will sail, and the funereal trappings place

In the same vessel.

Hel. ’Tis of great importance

That you, and all those mariners who ’scaped

The shipwreck, should be present.

Men. If we find

A bark at anchor, with our falchions armed

In one collected band will we assail

And board it.

Hel. To direct all this, belongs

To you; but may the prosperous breezes fill

Our sails, and guide us o’er the billowy deep.

Men. These vows shall be accomplished; for the gods

At length will cause my toils to cease: but whence

Wilt thou pretend thou heard’st that I was dead?

Hel. Yourself shall be the messenger; relate

How you alone escaped his piteous doom,

A partner of the voyage with the son

Of Atreus, and the witness of his death.

Men. This tattered vest will testify my shipwreck.

Hel. How seasonable was that which seemed at first

To be a grievous loss! but the misfortune

May end perhaps in bliss.

Men. Must I with thee

Enter the palace, or before this tomb

Sit motionless?

Hel. Here stay: for if the king

By force should strive to tear you hence, this tomb

And your drawn sword will save you. But I’ll go

To my apartment, shear my flowing hair,

For sable weeds this snowy vest exchange,

And rend with bloody nails these livid cheeks:

For ’tis a mighty conflict, and I see

These two alternatives: if in my plots

Detected, I must die; or to my country

I shall return, and save your life. O Juno,

Thou sacred queen, who shar’st the couch of Jove,

Relieve two wretches from their toils; to thee

Our suppliant arms uplifting high t’wards Heaven

With glittering stars adorned, thy blest abode,

We sue: and thou, O Venus, who didst gain

The palm of beauty through my promised ’spousals,

Spare me, thou daughter of Dione, spare;

For thou enough hast injured me already;

Exposing not my person, but my name,

To those barbarians; suffer me to die,

If thou wilt slay me, in my native land.

Why art thou still insatiably malignant?

Why dost thou harass me by love, by fraud,

By the invention of these new deceits,

And by thy magic philtres plunge in blood

Our miserable house? If thou hadst ruled

With mildness, thou to man hadst been most grateful

Of all the gods. I speak not this at random.

[Helen and Menelaus retire behind the tomb.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

On thee who build’st thy tuneful seat

Protected by the leafy groves, I call,

O nightingale, thy accents ever sweet

Their murmuring melancholy fall

Prolong! O come, and with thy plaintive strain

Aid me to utter my distress,

Thy woes, O Helen, let the song express,

And those of Troy now levelled with the plain

By Grecian might. From hospitable shores,

Relying on barbaric oars,

The spoiler Paris fled,

And o’er the deep to Priam’s realm with pride

Bore his imaginary bride,

Fancying that thou hadst graced his bed,

To nuptials fraught with shame by wanton Venus led.

I. 2.

Unnumbered Greeks, transpierced with spears,

Or crushed beneath the falling ramparts, bled:

Hence with her tresses shorn, immersed in tears

The matron wails her lonely bed,

But Nauplius, kindling near th’ Eubœan deep

Those torches, o’er our host prevailed;

Though with a single bark the traitor sailed,

He wrecked whole fleets against Caphareus’ steep,

And the Ægean coasts, the beacon seemed

A star, and through Heaven’s conclave gleamed,

Placed on the craggy height.

While flushed with conquest, from the Phrygian strand

They hastened to their native land,

Portentous source of bloody fight,

The cloud by Juno formed, beguiled their dazzled sight.

II. 1.

Whether the image was divine,

Drew from terrestrial particles its birth,

Or from the middle region, how define

By curious search, ye sons of earth?

Far from unravelling Heaven’s abstruse intents,

We view the world tost to and fro,

Mark strange vicissitudes of joy and woe,

Discordant and miraculous events.

Thou, Helen, art indeed the child of Jove.

The swan, thy sire, inflamed by love,

To Leda’s bosom flew:

Yet with imputed crimes malignant fame

Through Greece arraigns thy slandered name.

Of men I know not whom to trust,

But what the gods pronounce have I found ever just.

II. 2.

Frantic are ye who seek renown

Amid the horrors of th’ embattled field,

Who masking guilt beneath a laurel crown

With nervous arm the falchion wield,

Not slaughtered thousands can your fury sate.

If still success the judgment guide,

If bloody battle right and wrong decide,

Incessant strife must vex each rival state:

Hence from her home departs each Phrygian wife,

O Helen, when the cruel strife

Which from thy charms arose,

One conference might have closed: now myriads dwell

With Pluto in the shades of Hell,

And flames, as when Jove’s vengeance throws

The bolt, have caught her towers and finished Ilion’s woes.

Theoclymenus, Chorus (Helen and Menelaus behind the tomb).

Theoc. Hail, O thou tomb of my illustrious sire!

For thee have I interred before my gate,

That with thy shade I might hold frequent conference,

O Proteus; Theoclymenus thy son

Thee, O my father, oft as he goes forth,

Oft as he enters these abodes, accosts.

But to the palace now convey those hounds

And nets, my servants. I full many a time

Have blamed myself, because I never punished

With death such miscreants; now I am informed

That publicly some Greek to these domains

Is come unnoticed by my guards, a spy,

Or one who means to carry Helen off

By stealth: but if I seize him, he shall die.

Methinks I find all over: for the daughter

Of Tyndarus sits no longer at the tomb,

But from these shores hath fled, and now is crossing

The billowy deep. Unbar the gates, bring forth

My coursers from the stalls, and brazen cars;

Lest through my want of vigilance the dame

Whom I would make my consort, should escape me,

Borne from this land. Yet stay; for I behold

Those we pursue still here beneath this roof,

Nor are they fled. Ho! why in sable vest

Hast thou arrayed thyself, why cast aside

Thy robes of white, and from thy graceful head

With ruthless steel thy glowing ringlets shorn,

And wherefore bathed thy cheek with recent tears?

Groan’st thou, by visions of the night apprized

Of some calamity, or hast thou heard

Within, a rumour that afflicts thy soul?

Hel. My lord (for I already by that name

Accost you), I am utterly undone,

My former bliss is vanished, and I now

Am nothing.

Theoc. Art thou plunged into distress

So irretrievable? what cruel fate

Hath overtaken thee?

Hel. My Menelaus,

(Ah, how shall I express myself?) is dead.

Theoc. Although I must not triumph in th’ event

Thou speak’st of, yet to me ’tis most auspicious.

How know’st thou? Did Theonoe tell thee this?

Hel. She and this mariner, who when he perished

Was present, both concur in the same tale.

Theoc. Is there a man arrived, who for the truth

Of that account can vouch?

Hel. He is arrived:

And would to Heaven that such auspicious fortune

As I could wish attended him.

Theoc. Who is he?

Where is he? I would know the real fact.

Hel. ’Tis he who stupefied with sorrow sits

Upon the tomb.

Theoc. In what unseemly garb

Is he arrayed, O Phœbus!

Hel. In that dress,

Ah me! methinks my husband I behold.

Theoc. But in what country was the stranger born,

And whence did he come hither?

Hel. He’s a Greek,

One of those Greeks who with my husband sailed.

Theoc. How doth he say that Menelaus died?

Hel. Most wretchedly, engulfed amid the waves.

Theoc. Where? as he passed o’er the barbarian seas?

Hel. Dashed on the rocks of Libya, which affords

No haven.

Theoc. But whence happened it, that he

This partner of his voyage did not perish?

Hel. The worthless are more prosperous than the brave.

Theoc. Where left he the wrecked fragments of his ship

When he came hither?

Hel. There, where would to Heaven

Perdition had o’ertaken him, and spared

The life of Menelaus.

Theoc. He, it seems,

Is then no more: but in what bark arrived

This messenger?

Hel. Some sailors, as he says,

By chance passed by, and snatched him from the waves.

Theoc. But where’s that hateful pest which in thy stead

Was sent to Ilion?

Hel. Speak you of a cloud,

Resembling me? it mounted to the skies.

Theoc. O Priam, for how frivolous a cause

Thou with thy Troy didst perish!

Hel. In their woes

I too have been involved.

Theoc. But did he leave

Thy husband’s corse unburied, or strew dust

O’er his remains?

Hel. He left them uninterred,

Ah, wretched me!

Theoc. And didst thou for this cause

Sever the ringlets of thy auburn hair?

Hel. Still is he dear, lodged in this faithful breast

Theoc. Hast thou sufficient reason then to weep

For this calamity?

Hel. Could you bear lightly

Your sister’s death?

Theoc. No surely. But what means

Thy still residing at this marble tomb?

Hel. Why do you harass me with taunting words,

And why disturb the dead?

Theoc. Because, still constant

To thy first husband, from my love thou fliest.

Hel. But I will fly no longer: haste, begin

The nuptial rite.

Theoc. ’Twas long ere thou didst come

To this: but I such conduct must applaud.

Hel. Know you then how to act? let us forget

All that has passed.

Theoc. Upon what terms? with kindness

Should kindness be repaid.

Hel. Let us conclude

The peace, and O be reconciled.

Theoc. All strife

With thee I to the winds of heaven consign.

Hel. Now, since you are my friend, I by those knees

Conjure you.

Theoc. With what object in thy view,

To me an earnest suppliant dost thou bend?

Hel. I my departed husband would inter.

Theoc. What tomb can be bestowed upon the absent

Wouldst thou inter his shade?

Hel. There is a custom

Among the Greeks established, that the man

Who in the ocean perishes——

Theoc. What is it?

For in such matters Pelops’ race are wise.

Hel. To bury in their stead an empty vest.

Theoc. Perform funereal rites, and heap the tomb

On any ground thou wilt.

Hel. We in this fashion

Bury not the drowned mariner.

Theoc. How then?

I am a stranger to the Grecian customs.

Hel. Each pious gift due to our breathless friends

We cast into the sea.

Theoc. On the deceased

What presents for thy sake can I bestow?

Hel. I know not: for in offices like these

Am I unpractised, having erst been happy.

Theoc. An acceptable message have you brought,

O stranger.

Men. Most ungrateful to myself

And the deceased.

Theoc. What funereal rites on those

Ocean hath swallowed up, do ye bestow?

Men. Such honours as each individual’s wealth

Enables us to pay him.

Theoc. Name the cost,

And for her sake receive whate’er you will.

Men. Blood is our first libation to the dead.

Theoc. What blood? inform me, for with your instructions

I will comply.

Men. Determine that thyself,

For whatsoe’er thou giv’st will be sufficient.

Theoc. The customary victims ’mong barbarians

Are either horse or bull.

Men. Whate’er thou giv’st,

Let it be somewhat princely.

Theoc. My rich herds

With these are amply furnished.

Men. And the bier

Without the corse is borne in solemn state.

Theoc. It shall: but what is there beside which custom

Requires to grace the funeral.

Men. Brazen arms:

For war was what he loved.

Theoc. We will bestow

Such presents as are worthy of the race

Of mighty Pelops.

Men. And those budding flowers

Th’ exuberant soil produces.

Theoc. But say, how

And in what manner ye these offerings plunge

Into the ocean.

Men. We must have a bark

And mariners to ply the oars.

Theoc. How far

Will they launch forth the vessel from the strand?

Men. So far as from the shore thou scarce wilt see

The keel divide the waves.

Theoc. But why doth Greece

Observe this usage?

Men. ’Lest the rising billows

Cast back to land th’ ablutions.

Theoc. Ye shall have

A swift Phœnician vessel.

Men. This were kind,

And no small favour shown to Menelaus.

Theoc. Without her presence, cannot you perform

These rites alone?

Men. Such task or to a mother,

Or wife, or child, belongs.

Theoc. ’Tis then her duty,

You say, to bury her departed lord?

Men. Sure, piety instructs us not to rob

The dead of their accustomed dues.

Theoc. Enough:

On me it is incumbent to promote

Such virtue in my consort. I will enter

The palace, and from thence for the deceased

Bring forth rich ornaments; with empty hands

You from this region will not I send forth,

That you may execute what she desires.

But having brought me acceptable tidings,

Instead of these vile weeds shall you receive

A decent garb and food, that to your country

You may return: for clearly I perceive

That you are wretched now. But torture not

Thy bosom with unprofitable cares,

O hapless woman, for thy Menelaus

Is now no more, nor can the dead revive.

Men. Thee it behoves, O blooming dame, to love

Thy present husband, and to lay aside

The fond remembrance of thy breathless lord;

For such behaviour suits thy fortunes best.

But if to Greece with safety I return,

That infamy which erst pursued thy name

I’ll cause to cease, if thou acquit thyself

Of these great duties like a virtuous consort.

Hel. I will; nor shall my husband e’er have cause

To blame me: you too, who are here, shall witness

The truth of my assertions. But within

Go lave your wearied limbs, O wretched man,

And change your habit; for without delay

To you will I become a benefactress.

Hence too with greater zeal will you perform

The rites my dearest Menelaus claims,

If all due honours you from me receive.

[Exeunt Theoclymenus, Helen, and Menelaus.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

O’er mountains erst with hasty tread

Did the celestial mother stray,

Nor stop where branching thickets spread,

Where rapid torrents crossed her way,

Or on the margin of the billowy deep;

Her daughter whom we dread to name

She wept, while hailing that majestic dame,

Cymbals of Bacchus from the craggy steep

Sent forth their clear and piercing sound,

Her car the harnessed dragons drew;

Following the nymph torn from her virgin crew.

Amidst her maidens swift of foot were found

Diana skilled the bow to wield,

Minerva, who in glittering state

Brandished the spear and raised her Gorgon shield;

But Jove looked down from Heaven t’ award another fate.

I. 2.

Soon as the mother’s toils were o’er,

When she had finished her career,

And sought the ravished maid no more,

To caves where drifted snows appear,

By Ida’s nymphs frequented, did she pass,

And threw herself in sorrow lost,

On rocks and herbage crusted o’er with frost,

Despoiled the wasted champaign of its grass,

Rendered the peasant’s tillage vain,

Consuming a dispeopled land

With meagre famine; Spring at her command

Denied the flocks that sickened on the plain

The leafy tendrils of the vine;

Whole cities died, no victims bled,

No frankincense perfumed Heaven’s vacant shrine;

Nor burst the current from the Spring’s obstructed head.

II. 1.

Then ceased the banquet, wont to charm

Both gods above and men below:

The mother’s anger to disarm,

And mitigate the stings of woe,

Till in these words Jove uttered his behests:

“Let each benignant grace attend

Sweet music’s sympathizing aid to lend,

And drive corrosive grief from Ceres’ breast

Indignant for her ravished child:

Now, O ye Muses, with the lyre

Join the shrill hymns of your assembled choir,

The brazen trumpet fill with accents wild,

And beat the rattling drums amain.”

Then first of the immortal band,

Venus with lovely smile approved the strain,

And raised the deep-toned flute in her enchanting hand.

II. 2.

The laws reproved such foul desire,

Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed;

Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire,

And rushed to thy incestuous bed.

Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound,

Because, through thee, before her shrine

No victims slain appease the powers divine.

Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound

Upon a consecrated rod;

And youths, with virgins in a ring,

When high from earth with matchless force they spring,

Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god

The Bacchanalian votaries own,

And waste in dance the sleepless night.

But thou, confiding in thy charms alone,

Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.

Helen, Chorus.

Hel. Within the palace, O my friends, we prosper

For Proteus’ royal daughter, in our schemes

Conspiring when her brother questioned her

About my lord, no information gave

Of his arrival: to my interests true

She said, that cold in death he views no longer

The radiant sun. But now my lord hath seized

A vengeful falchion, in that mail designed

To have been plunged beneath the deep arrayed,

With nervous arm he lifts an orbed shield,

In his right hand protended gleams the spear,

As if with me he was prepared to pay

To the deceased due homage. Furnished thus

With brazen arms, he’s ready for the battle,

And numberless barbarians will subdue

Unaided, soon as we the ship ascend.

Exchanging those unseemly weeds which clothe

The shipwrecked mariner, in splendid robes

Have I arrayed him, from transparent springs

The laver filled, and bathed his wearied limbs

But I must now be silent, for the man

Who fancies I am ready to become

His consort, leaves the palace. O my friends,

In your attachment too I place my trust,

Restrain your tongues, for we, when saved ourselves,

If possible will save you from this thraldom.

Theoclymenus, Helen, Menelaus, Chorus.

Theoc. Go forth, in such procession as the stranger

Directs you, O my servants, and convey

These gifts funereal to the briny deep.

But if thou disapprove not what I say,

Do thou, O Helen, yield to my persuasions,

And here remain. For whether thou attend,

Or art not present at the obsequies

Of thy departed husband, thou to him

Wilt show an equal reverence. Much I dread

Lest hurried on by wild desire thou plunge

Into the foaming billows, for the sake

Of him on whom thou doat’st, thy former lord,

Since thou his doom immoderately bewail’st

Though he be lost, and never can return.

Hel. O my illustrious husband, I am bound

To pay due honours to the man whom first

I wedded, of our ancient nuptial joys

A memory still retaining, for so well

I loved my lord that I could even die

With him. But what advantage would result

To the deceased, should I lay down my life?

Yet let me go myself, and to his shade

Perform each solemn rite. But may the gods,

On you, and on the stranger who assists me

In this my pious task, with liberal hand

Confer the gifts I wish. But you in me

Shall such a consort to your palace bear

As you deserve, to recompense your kindness

To me and Menelaus. Such events

In some degree are measured by the will

Of Fortune: but give orders for a ship

To be prepared, these trappings to convey,

So shall your purposed bounty be complete.

Theoc. [to one of his Attendants.]

Go thou, and furnish them a Tyrian bark

Of fifty oars, with skilful sailors manned.

Hel. But may not he who decorates the tomb

Govern the ship?

Theoc. My sailors must to him

Yield an implicit deference.

Hel. This injunction

Repeat, that they may clearly understand it.

Theoc. A second time, will I, and yet a third,

Issue this self-same mandate, if to thee

This can give pleasure.

Hel. May the gods confer

Blessings on you, and prosper my designs!

Theo. Waste not thy bloom with unavailing tears.

Hel. To you this day my gratitude will prove.

Theoc. All these attentions to the dead are nought

But unavailing toil.

Hel. My pious care

Not to those only whom the silent grave

Contains, but to the living too extends.

Theoc. In me thou mayst expect to find a husband

Who yields not to the Spartan Menelaus.

Hel. I censure not your conduct, but bewail

My own harsh destiny.

Theoc. Bestow thy love

On me, and prosperous fortunes shall return.

Hel. It is a lesson I have practised long,

To love my friends.

Theoc. Shall I my navy launch,

To join in these funereal rites?

Hel. Dread lord,

Pay not unseemly homage to your vassals.

Theoc. Well! I each sacred usage will allow

Practised by Pelops’ race, for my abodes

Are undefiled with blood: thy Menelaus

In Ægypt died not. But let some one haste

And bid the nobles bear into my house

The bridal gifts: for the whole earth is bound

To celebrate in one consenting hymn

My blest espousals with the lovely Helen.

But go, embark upon the briny main,

O stranger, and as soon as ye have paid

All decent homage to her former lord

Bring back my consort hither: that with me

When you have feasted at our nuptial rite

You to your native mansion may return,

Or here continue in a happy state.

[Exit Theoclymenus.

Men. O Jove, thou mighty father, who art called

A god supreme in wisdom, from thy heaven

Look down, and save us from our woes: delay not

To aid us: for we drag the galling yoke

Of sorrow and mischance: if with thy finger

Thou do but touch us, we shall soon attain

The fortune which we wish for, since the toils

We have endured already are sufficient.

Ye gods, I now invoke you, from my mouth

So shall ye hear full many joyful accents

Mixed with these bitter plaints: for I deserve not

To be for ever wretched; but to tread

At length secure. O grant me this one favour,

And make my future life completely blest.

[Exeunt Menelaus and Helen.

Chorus.

ODE.

I. 1.

Swift bark of Sidon, by whose dashing oars

Divided oft, the frothy billows rise,

Propitious be thy voyage from these shores:

In thy train the dolphins play,

O’er the deep thou lead’st the way,

While motionless its placid surface lies.

Soon as Serenity the fair,

That azure daughter of the main,

Shall in this animating strain

Have spoken: “To the gentle breeze of air

Expand each undulating sail,

Row briskly on before the gale,

Ye mariners, in Perseus’ ancient seat

Till Helen rest her wearied feet.”

I. 2.

Those sacred nymphs shall welcome thy return

Who guard the portals of Minerva’s fane

Or speed the current from its murmuring urn:

Choral dances of delight

That prolong the jocund night,

At Hyacinthus’ banquet shalt thou join,

Fair stripling, whom with luckless hand

Unwitting did Apollo slay

At games that crowned the festive day,

Hurling his quoit on the Laconian strand;

To him Jove’s son due honours paid:

At Sparta too, that lovely maid

Shalt thou behold, whom there thou left’st behind,

Still to celibacy consigned.

II. 1.

O might we cleave the air, like Libyan cranes,

Who fly in ranks th’ impending wintry storm;

When their shrill leader bids them quit the plains,

They the veteran’s voice obey,

O’er rich harvests wing their way,

Or where parched wastes th’ unfruitful scene deform.

With lengthened neck, ye feathered race

Who skim the clouds in social band,

Where the seven Pleiades expand

Their radiance, and Orion heaves his mace,

This joyous embassy convey

As near Eurotas’ banks ye stray;

That Menelaus to his subject land

Victorious comes from Phrygia’s strand.

II. 2.

Borne in your chariot down th’ ethereal height,

At length, ye sons of Tyndarus, appear,

While vibrates o’er your heads the starry light:

Habitants of heaven above,

Now exert fraternal love,

If ever Helen to your souls was dear,

A calm o’er th’ azure ocean spread,

Bridle the tempests of the main,

Propitious gales from Jove obtain,

Your sister snatch from the barbarian’s bed:

Commenced on Ida’s hill, that strife,

Embittered with reproach her life,

Although she never viewed proud Ilion’s tower

Reared by Apollo’s matchless power.

Theoclymenus, Messenger, Chorus.

Mes. O king, I have discovered in the palace,

Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes

Is it my doleful office to relate!

Theoc. Say what hath happened?

Mes. Seek another wife,

For Helen hath departed from this realm.

Theoc. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot

Treading the ground?

Mes. Her o’er the briny main

From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted,

Who came in person with a feigned account

Of his own death.

Theoc. O dreadful tale! what ship

From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st

Tidings the most incredible.

Mes. The same

You to that stranger gave, and in one word

To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.

Theoc. How is that possible? I wish to know:

For such an apprehension never entered

My soul, as that one man could have subdued

The numerous band of mariners, with whom

Thou wert sent forth.

Mes. When from the royal mansion

Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod

With delicate and artful step, pretending

To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present,

And yet alive. But when we reached the haven,

Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth,

Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars;

But a fresh series of incessant toil

Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast,

Another ranged the oars, and with his hand

The signal gave, the sails were bound together,

Then was the rudder fastened to the stern

With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied

In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades

Of Menelaus to the shore advanced,

Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form

Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid:

But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach,

Under the semblance of a grief that masked

His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them:

“How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark

Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast

Are ye come hither? will ye join with us

In the funereal rites of Menelaus,

Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb

Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears

They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying

The presents to be cast into the sea

For Menelaus. But to us these things

Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks

Among ourselves upon the numerous band

Of our intruding passengers; but checked

Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference

To your commands. For when you to that stranger

Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused

This dire confusion. All beside, with ease

Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force

The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled

His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring

Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach

And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried:

“O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget

To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize

And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast

Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim

To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke,

The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed,

Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard:

But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck

And face, and with this gentle usage led him

Into the bark. At length when all its freight

The vessel had received, with graceful foot

Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat

On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her,

E’en he who they pretended was no more.

But some on the right side, and on the left

Others in equal numbers, man to man

Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing

Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard

The clamorous sailors animate each other

To undertake the voyage. But from land

When a convenient distance we had steered,

The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail,

O stranger, any farther from the coast,

Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide

The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.”

Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped

Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull

The victim (without mentioning the name

Of any chief deceased; but as he drove

The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune,

Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters

Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey

Me and my consort, from this hostile land,

In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood,

Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves;

And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage,

Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands,

And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus,

Who had just slain the bull, to his companions

Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower

Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians,

And cast them from the ship into the waves?”

But to your sailors our commander spoke

A different language: “Will not some of you

Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench,

Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads

Of those audacious foreigners our foes,

Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet

All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles

Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter

Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop

The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown

Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians

The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste

Full many fell, some rose again, the rest

Might you have seen stretched motionless in death.

But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail,

Wherever his confederates he descried

Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword,

Driving us headlong from the lofty deck

Into the waves, and forced your mariners

To quit their oars. But the victorious king

Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared

He would convey the ship: they hoisted up

The stately mast: propitious breezes came;

They left the land: but I from death escaping,

Let myself gently down into the waves

Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor;

My strength began to fail, when some kind hand

Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore,

That I to you these tidings might convey.

There’s nought more beneficial to mankind

Than wise distrust.

Chor. I never could have thought

That Menelaus who was here, O king,

Could have imposed so grossly or on you

Or upon us.

Theoc. Wretch that I am, ensnared

By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride

I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship

Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit,

My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand

To seize the strangers. But I now will punish

That sister who betrayed me; in my house

Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus,

Informed me not: she never shall deceive

Another man by her prophetic voice.

Chor. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go,

And for what bloody purpose?

Theoc. Where the voice

Of rigid justice summons me. Retire,

And stand aloof.

Chor. Yet will not I let loose

Your garment; for you hasten to commit

A deed most mischievous.

Theoc. Wouldst thou, a slave,

Govern thy lord?

Chor. Here reason’s on my side.

Theoc. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse

To quit thy hold.

Chor. I will not then release you.

Theoc. To slay that worst of sisters.

Chor. That most pious.

Theoc. Her who betrayed me.

Chor. Glorious was the fraud

That caused so just a deed.

Theoc. When she bestowed

My consort on another.

Chor. On the man

Who had a better claim——

Theoc. But who is lord

Of what belongs to me?

Chor. Who from her sire

Received her.

Theoc. She by Fortune was bestowed

On me.

Chor. But ta’en away again by Fate.

Theoc. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.

Chor. If I but speak to give you better counsels.

Theoc. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.

Chor. For having acted piously, your sister

I vindicate.

Theoc. Thou seem’st to wish for death.

Chor. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent

Shall never slay; I rather would yield up

My life on her behalf. It is most glorious

To generous servants for their lords to die.

Castor and Pollux, Theoclymenus, Chorus.

Cas. and Pol. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away

Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king

Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice

Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore

Together with that Helen who is fled

From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged

Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate

Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister

Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung,

To thee done any injury; she reveres

The gods, and her great father’s just behests.

For till the present hour, was it ordained

That Helen in thy palace should reside:

But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn,

And she had to the rival goddesses

Furnished her name, no longer was it fit

That she should for thy nuptials be detained,

But to her ancient home return, and dwell

With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast

Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced

That she in this affair hath acted wisely.

We long ere this our sister had preserved,

Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak

At once to combat the behests of Fate,

And the immortal powers, who had ordained

That these events should happen. This to thee,

O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words

Next to my lovely sister, I address;

Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze

Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors

And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne

Over the waves, will guide you to your country,

But after you have finished life’s career,

You shall be called a goddess, shall partake

With us the rich oblations, and receive

The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed.

But where the son of Maia placed you first,

When he had borne you from the Spartan realm,

And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions

An image of your person, to prevent

Paris from wedding you, there is an isle

Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call

Helen in future times, because that spot

Received you, when in secrecy conveyed

From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained

The wanderer Menelaus shall reside

Among the happy islands. For the gods

To those of nobler minds no hatred bear;

At their command though grievous toil await

The countless multitude.

Theoc. Ye sons of Jove

And Leda, I the contest will decline

Which I at first so violently urged,

Hoping your lovely sister to obtain,

And my own sister’s life resolve to spare:

Let Helen to her native shores return,

If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured,

The same high blood ye spring from with the best

And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake

Of Helen with a lofty soul endued,

Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.

Chor. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume

The gods perform what least we could expect,

And oft the things for which we fondly hoped

Come not to pass; but Heaven still finds a clue

To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze,

And thus doth this important business end.

fetching the rest…