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THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA


[Illustration: DOUBLE HERMES OF SENECA AND SOCRATES.

Now in the Old Museum at Berlin]


THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA

Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative
Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a
Mythological Index

by

FRANK JUSTUS MILLER


Introduced by an Essay on the Influence of the Tragedies of Seneca upon
Early English Drama

by

John Matthews Manly






Chicago
The University of Chicago Press
London
T. Fisher Unwin, 1 Adelphi Terrace
1907

Copyright 1907 by
The University of Chicago

Published December 1907


Composed and Printed By
The University of Chicago Press
Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.




                                  TO
                          FRANK FROST ABBOTT
                                  AND
                             EDWARD CAPPS
                       MY FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES
                       THROUGH A SCORE OF YEARS




PREFACE


The place of the tragedies of Seneca in literature is unique. They
stand as the sole surviving representatives, barring a few fragments,
of an extensive Roman product in the tragic drama. They therefore serve
as the only connecting link between ancient and modern tragedy. They
are, moreover, modeled more or less closely after the tragedies of
Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; and the Greek and Roman product
in literature along parallel lines cannot be better studied than by
a comparison of these Senecan plays with their Greek prototypes--a
comparison which is not possible in comedy, since, unfortunately, the
Greek originals of Plautus and Terence have not come down to us.

These plays are of great value and interest in themselves, first, as
independent dramatic literature of no small merit; and second, as an
illustration of the literary characteristics of the age of Nero: the
florid, rhetorical style, the long, didactic speeches, the tendency to
philosophize, the frequent epigram, the pride of mythologic lore.

Popular interest in the tragedies of Seneca has been growing to
a considerable extent during the last generation. This has been
stimulated in part by Leo's excellent text edition, and by the
researches of German and English scholars into Senecan questions,
more especially into the influence of Seneca upon the pre-Elizabethan
drama; in part also by the fact that courses in the tragedies have been
regaining their place, long lost, in college curricula.

The present edition seeks still further to bring Seneca back to the
notice of classical scholars, and at the same time to present to the
English reader all of the values accruing from a study of these plays,
with the single exception of the benefit to be derived from a reading
of the original. The influence which the tragedies have had in English
literature is brought out in the introduction, which Professor Manly
has kindly contributed; the relation of Seneca to the Greek dramatists
is shown by comparative analyses of the corresponding plays, so
arranged that the reader may easily observe their resemblances and
differences; the wealth of mythological material is at once displayed
and made available by an index of mythological characters; finally, it
is hoped that the translation itself will prove to be as faithful a
reproduction of the original as is possible in a translation, and at
the same time to have sufficient literary merit of its own to claim the
interest of the general reader.

The text used is that of Leo (Weidmann, Berlin, 1878), except in
the instances noted. The line numbers as printed in the translation
are identical with those of the original text. The meter employed
in the spoken parts is the English blank verse, with the exception
of the _Medea_, in which the experiment was tried, not altogether
successfully, of reproducing the iambic trimeter of the original. In
the lyric parts, the original meters are sometimes used; and, where
these did not seem suitable in English, appropriate substitutes have
been attempted.

                                                    FRANK JUSTUS MILLER

  CHICAGO, ILL.
  October 25, 1907




TABLE OF CONTENTS

                                                                    PAGE
  I. THE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA 1

  II. THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA TRANSLATED
    OEDIPUS                                                           11
    PHOENISSAE                                                        51
    MEDEA                                                             79
    HERCULES FURENS                                                  115
    PHAEDRA OR HIPPOLYTUS                                            165
    HERCULES OETAEUS                                                 213
    THYESTES                                                         287
    TROADES                                                          333
    AGAMEMNON                                                        379
    OCTAVIA, WITH A REVIEW OF THE ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA             415

  III. COMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING
       GREEK DRAMAS                                                  453

  IV. MYTHOLOGICAL INDEX                                             497




INTRODUCTORY ESSAY




THE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA

To appreciate fully the nature and the extent of the influence of
Seneca upon English tragedy in the days of Shakespeare and his
immediate predecessors, we must bear in mind that the public theaters
were not the only places at which plays were then produced. At the
universities, at the inns of court (which may be roughly described as
combinations of a law school and a very exclusive social club), and
at the Court itself plays were an important feature of almost every
festival. Even those of us who know these facts are very likely to
fail to realize the full meaning of them. We are likely to regard
the non-professional performances as having no more significance for
the history of the drama than amateur performances at the present
day by dramatic clubs and college societies. We are apt to forget
that, in the spacious days of great Elizabeth, learning, especially
classical learning, had a value, an importance, a dignity, which not
even the most academic of us now feels it to have. Our generation,
busied above all things with making a living or with accumulating
wealth, regards the scholar as, with the poet and the artist, the most
unpractical and useless of men at best, tolerated as an ornamental
creature whom society can afford to keep if it does not have to pay
him more than it pays a butler or a chauffeur. To the men of the
Renaissance, scholarship and the scholar had a unique and inestimable
value. Ordinary business, in their view, enabled man to provide a
living; religion taught him how to save his soul; scholarship, the
knowledge of the literature and life of the Greeks and the Romans,
enabled him to distinguish his life as a man from that of a beast, to
approach as nearly as possible to that ideal type toward which they
strove, the _uomo universale_, the perfect gentleman, complete master
of his body, of his mind, of his passions. To men of these views
and this temper, literature--first, classical literature and then
the vernacular literature produced under the stimulus of it--was of
supreme importance, and the drama was perhaps the most important form
of literature. The value of literature for those who were then trying
to transform the world, to rebuild it and themselves nearer to the
heart's desire, was of course best recognized by the finest spirits of
the age, men like Erasmus, Thomas More, Walter Raleigh, Edmund Spenser,
Philip Sidney. But it seems to have been felt, though in cruder ways,
even by the vulgar. An amusing illustration of this is the little
record kept by old Simon Forman, a noted mountebank and quack doctor,
in 1610 and 1611. It has preserved for us our earliest notices of
performances of _Macbeth_, _Cymbeline_, and _A Winter's Tale_; but
this is accidental. The doctor's intention was merely to note for his
own guidance such lessons as he learned from the plays presented on
the stage. Such benefits were, according to the views of wiser men,
to be gained chiefly from comedies; tragedy, and classical tragedy in
particular, had a finer, a more permanent value. Tragedy was the voice
of the wisest men of the world, the ancients, upon the most serious
themes of human life; it not only, as Aristotle had said, purified the
mind through pity and terror, it fortified the inner life, and both by
example and by sententious maxim prepared man to meet the most subtle
attacks of fate, the temptations of success, or the discouragements of
failure. Tragedy therefore had a unique value for the Elizabethans, and
the performances of classical plays, or those written in imitation of
the classics, by the universities or the inns of court, did not fall
into the abyss which now receives amateur theatricals.

Failure to take account of the value attached to the lessons and the
examples of tragedy may perhaps account for the misunderstanding which
exists so widely, even among scholars, in regard to the first tragedy
in English, _Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex_. Everyone knows that this
was written in direct imitation of Seneca, and everyone discusses
glibly its Senecan features, the bloody theme, the division into five
acts, the use of the chorus, the removal of the action from the view of
the spectators, the long speeches; but critics are, without exception,
offended to the heart by the fifth act, and especially by the two long
disquisitions of Arostus and Eubulus. It is, however, no exaggeration
to say that the play exists solely for the sake of these speeches. This
was not a mere academic exercise. It was a serious attempt by some of
the most thoughtful men of England to move the queen, Elizabeth, to a
course of action which they regarded as absolutely essential to the
welfare of the realm. Other attempts to secure the same end were made
by her best statesmen throughout the reign. The failure of this effort
was not due to the weakness of the tragedy, but, like the failure
of all the rest, to some feature of Elizabeth's character or some
circumstance in her life which has not yet been fully and convincingly
explained. The purpose of the writers is clear. They wished to persuade
Elizabeth to marry and settle once for all the succession to the
throne of England. They, in common with all thoughtful and patriotic
Englishmen, feared the horrors of an unsettled succession or a divided
rule. These they tried to impress upon her mind and heart by examples
drawn from the history of Gorboduc and his sons, and by maxims and
exhortations presented in the most authoritative form known to them,
the form of Senecan tragedy. The occasion chosen was a great festival
given by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple, one of the most important
and influential of the inns of court referred to above.

Classical tragedy had, then, as we can readily see, a prestige to
which hardly anything in literature corresponds at the present day.
The statesman who should today wish to influence his sovereign to an
important course of action would doubtless be puzzled to find any form
of literature--academic or unacademic--appropriate to the task in
dignity and authority.

It is not strange, therefore, that classical tragedy, the tragedy
of the schools and the learned societies, must be taken seriously
into account in estimating the forces which shaped the drama of the
popular stage. It is true that the English tragedies in classical or
Senecan form were none of them written for the public stage. It is even
probable that they would not have been successful upon it. It is a
mistake to treat them historically and critically, as if they belonged
to the direct line of development which resulted in _Faustus_ and _The
Spanish Tragedy_ and _Macbeth_ and _Lear_ and _Othello_. But none the
less the influence of these academic plays was very real and very
important.

The ways in which this influence was exercised may be noted, as having
some bearing upon the nature and extent of the influence. In the
first place, there was in the early days no very rigid line between
the academic and the popular performers. The Children of the Chapel
Royal were at one time the leading theatrical company in London. When
the queen visited Oxford in 1566, there were among the several plays
presented by the university, not only the Latin tragedy, _Progne_,
of Dr. James Calfhill, but also the English _Palamon and Arcite_ of
Richard Edwards, Master of Her Majesty's Children and the most popular
dramatist of his day. Edwards himself trained the students who produced
his play, and it was a great success; according to a contemporary
report, "certain courtiers said that it far surpassed _Damon and
Pythias_, than which they thought nothing could be better; likewise
some said that if the author did any more before his death, he would
run mad." Any impressions made upon Edwards by Dr. Calfhill's _Progne_
were doubtless lost to art, as Edwards died before the end of the year;
but this was probably not the first occasion on which the Master of
the Chapel Children had visited the university in behalf of the drama,
and Edwards himself had been both a scholar and a probationary fellow
there. Certainly his famous _Damon and Pythias_ shows some evidences of
the influence of Seneca.

It is well known also that the most successful writers for the public
stage in the years just preceding Shakespeare's advent, the years
that determined the forms and the methods of the popular drama, were
educated at the universities, and, however clearly they may have
recognized the necessity of supplying to the populace story, action,
the raw material of life and philosophy, cherished as an ideal the
Senecan interest in situation, the Senecan love for broad description,
for introspection and reflection, for elaborate monologue, and catchy
sententiousness. Such were Greene and Peele and Marlowe; and Thomas
Kyd, author of that most popular of plays, _The Spanish Tragedy_, and
probable author of the version of _Hamlet_ which held the stage for
fourteen years before Shakespeare revised it and gave it a new and a
different life, though not bred in either university, was more zealous
about his Latin and apparently more influenced by Seneca than the
university men themselves.

But, says some modern classical scholar, granting that these early
dramatists were university men or men, like Kyd and Shakespeare, not
trained in the universities but all the more zealous to match their
productions with those which bore the official mark of classical
scholarship, why should Seneca, a second-rate Roman tragedian, be
continually cited in connection with classical influence instead of
Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides, the supreme masters of ancient
tragedy, and Aristotle, the unique expositor of the theory of the
drama? The men of the Renaissance would have had a ready answer. In
the first place, they knew very little about the Greek tragedians,
or, for that matter, about Greek literature in general; for although
the rediscovery of Greek literature was undoubtedly one of the events
of that remarkable spurt of the human intellect and spirit which we
call the Renaissance, Greek literature and life were, after all, in
every country of Europe, far less important than Latin, as models for
imitation, as sources of inspiration, as objects which engaged the
attention of the moderns and set the pace which they tried to follow.
As for tragedy, a few scholars in Italy and France and Germany and
England knew Sophocles and Euripides--Aeschylus was almost unknown--but
the theory and the practice of tragedy among the classicists were based
almost exclusively upon the example of Seneca and the precepts of
Horace. Aristotle is, indeed, often cited as the ultimate authority,
but, although the voice may be the voice of Aristotle, the opinions are
usually those of Scaliger or Minturno or Robortelli or Castelvetro,
opinions which reduced to inviolable laws what Aristotle had merely
stated as observed practices, and which supplemented these rules by
others drawn from the plays of Seneca, who was, according to these
critics, the most majestic, the most tragic, the most perfect of the
ancient tragedians. That Seneca's majesty seems to critics of today
bombast, that his triumph in tragic quality consists in an accumulation
of horrors and a consistently unfortunate ending, that his perfection
of form is no more than a formal schematism, clear because it is simple
and lifeless--all this may be true but is beside the mark. To the best
spirits of the Renaissance, whether critical or creative, the ten
tragedies which bore the name of Seneca presented the ideal of tragic
art toward which modern writers should strive if they would be perfect.

What, then, was the influence of Seneca in England? Two excellent
studies of different phases of it have been published, both,
unfortunately, less known than they should be.

The purely formal influence, the influence upon dramatic technique
and upon composition in the large sense of the term, is the subject
of Rudolf Fischer's _Die Kunstentwicklung der englischen Tragödie_,
perhaps the most ingenious and adequate scheme ever devised for the
analysis of the technical and compositional features of any form of
art. Fischer sees in the history of English tragedy before Shakespeare
a steady approximation to the Senecan type. His argument is open to
several objections. In the first place, he treats as if they belonged
to the same simple line of development plays written for the public
stage and the popular taste and those written for special audiences
dominated by scholastic ideals. In the second place, as Professor Luick
has pointed out, he has disregarded the influence exercised by the
original form of the story dramatized upon the dramatic presentation of
it. And, furthermore, he, in common with other students of the subject,
has proceeded upon the assumption that only tragedy could have had any
influence upon tragedy. He has neglected that remark of Ben Jonson's,
which phrases the view not of his own time only but of all ages, "The
parts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy," and has failed to see
that for the structure of English tragedy, Roman comedy and the serious
imitations of it by the men of the Renaissance--such as Gnapheus'
_Acolastus_, Macropedius' _Asotus_ and _Rebelles_, and their anonymous
English offspring, _The Nice Wanton_--are no less important than the
example of Seneca himself. But his book is interesting and enlightening
as few books on any subject are.

Entirely different problems are dealt with in J.W. Cunliffe's little
volume on _The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy_, a book
which, to the regret of many scholars, has long been out of print, and
which the author ought to reprint with such additions as his continued
study of the subject may suggest. Mr. Cunliffe is mainly concerned with
showing why Seneca appealed to the Elizabethans and with pointing out
certain details of theme, of situation, of theatrical effects, and of
expression, which the popular playwrights owed to Seneca.

To Seneca and the false Aristotle created by the humanists from the
_Poetics_, the precepts of Horace, the definitions and maxims which
sifted down through the encyclopaedists of the Middle Ages, and the
example of Seneca, not only the men of the Renaissance but even we of
today owe some of our most cherished ideas concerning tragedy. First
of all, perhaps, is the belief that tragedy must end unhappily. The
Greeks--whether creators or critics--had no such theory. It was enough
for Sophocles and Aristotle that tragedy should be serious in theme
and dignified in characters and in language. In the second place, we
ordinarily believe that a tragedy should have five acts, and many of
us can draw a diagram to prove it. Shakespeare and his fellows seem to
have been dominated by the same theory, difficult as they sometimes
found it to observe. The sacred unities, dominant so long in Italian
and French tragedy, though never observed in any English play more
notable than Addison's _Cato_, we have learned to disregard and even
to decry, though such an attitude in the Elizabethan age awakened
the censure of Philip Sidney and doubtless required some hardihood
or even recklessness. The chorus also we have long since abandoned,
but Greene and Peele and Kyd and Marlowe and Shakespeare and others
of their time used it more than once and with good effect. They even,
in some instances, combined with it the ghosts and infernal spirits,
which beyond a doubt they owed to Seneca, and made this unearthly
chorus, not only the commentator, but in some sense the subtle director
of the action. Perhaps the most refined form of this is to be seen
in the Ghost in _Hamlet_, who, though he does not appear technically
as Chorus, yet recalls by his original incitement of the action and
his later intervention to renew and direct it, as well as by his
language and his attitude, the ghosts of Tantalus, Thyestes, Laius,
and Agrippina in Seneca, and the spirits of Andrea and Revenge in
_The Spanish Tragedy_. It is perhaps not going too far to find in the
dream-setting of Hauptmann's _Elga_ some reminiscence of Shakespeare's
_Taming of the Shrew_ and Greene's _James IV_, and consequently, in a
remote sense, of Seneca's introductory figures, Tantalus, Thyestes, and
the rest.

But these matters and the striking resemblances in situation and in
utterance cited so abundantly by Cunliffe and by Munroe (_Journal of
Philology_, Vol. VI, pp. 70-79), though they could be increased by many
passages in _Macbeth_ and _King Lear_ as well as in the plays of other
dramatists than Shakespeare, are after all not fundamental. Some other
features that seem fundamental may be noted.

In the first place, although it is doubtless true that the scanty
scenery of the Elizabethan stage is largely the excuse and the reason
for the long descriptive passages with which the dramatists of that
time delighted themselves and delight us, their modern readers,
this is perhaps not the whole of the story. There are passages of
exposition, of reflection, of pure declamation, equally long as well
as equally beautiful. The Renaissance love of talk, of fine language,
of _eloquentia_, may explain this in part; but it is doubtless due in
part also to the example of Seneca, who never loses an opportunity for
a long passage of description or introspection or reflection or mere
declamation--making them indeed for the Chorus when the situation does
not allow them to the ordinary _dramatis personae_.

Then we may note that the thoroughly melodramatic character of
Elizabethan tragedy is a natural inheritance from Seneca. Greek tragedy
had, to be sure, many melodramatic situations, along with others of
a milder type. But the religious element in the tragedy of Aeschylus
and Sophocles radically modifies the character and tone of the most
poignant and repulsive themes and situations. When Seneca took the most
difficult of Greek themes and, following the lead of Euripides, cast
away the over-ruling, compulsive dominance of the Greek theocracy, he
produced melodrama. Most moderns have been either content to follow
him or compelled to do so for lack of the ability to create striking
situations without the aid of villains of melodramatic criminality.
A few of the French tragedians have had recourse to the method of
the Greeks either by reviving the Greek mythology and theocracy or
by resorting to Hebrew history for characters whose deeds, however
criminal, were necessary parts of a divine plan. Shakespeare, almost
alone, has at his best succeeded in substituting for the gods and
fate the inevitable results of human character and the moral law, in
presenting the worst deeds of his leading figures as less the results
of free intention than of futile efforts to deliver themselves from
the web of circumstance which their first crimes or follies have
woven about them--the whole career of Macbeth, for example, being the
necessary outcome of his attempt to get free of the difficulties and
dangers brought upon him by the murder of Duncan.

Speculation as to what the English drama might have been if Sophocles
instead of Seneca had been its inspiration and its model is idle. The
men of the Renaissance did not understand Sophocles; his stage, the
mode of production of his plays, his aim, the whole nature of his art,
were beyond the scholarship of their day. And it is doubtful whether
they could in any event have made so successful a combination of the
Greek and the national or mediaeval drama as they made of Senecan
tragedy and the dramatic forms they already possessed.

In one thing, at any rate, the English drama was especially fortunate,
that is, in the fact that its form and its content were so largely
determined by two such remarkable men as Marlowe and Shakespeare. The
conditions in France in the sixteenth century were strikingly similar
to those in England, except for the number of public theaters. M. Petit
de Julleville points out that France as well as England possessed every
item of the motley list of dramatic types enumerated by Polonius;
and he continues: "Rien n'empêchait alors qu'un Shakespeare naquit
en France; les circonstances n'étaient-elles pas merveilleusement
favorables? Mais, en dépit de certaines théories, les grands hommes ne
paraissent pas tout juste au moment où ils sont nécessaires. Il nous
fallait un Shakespeare; il naquit un Alexandre Hardy!"




OEDIPUS




OEDIPUS


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

OEDIPUS King of Thebes; the son, as he supposed, of Polybus, king of
Corinth, and Merope, his wife, but found to be the son of Laius and
Jocasta.

_Jocasta_ Wife and, as the play develops, found to be also the mother
of Oedipus.

_Creon_ Theban prince, brother of Jocasta.

_Tiresias_ A celebrated prophet of Thebes, now old and blind.

_Manto_ His daughter.

_Old Man_ Sent from Corinth to announce to Oedipus the death of Polybus.

_Phorbas_ Head-shepherd of the royal flocks of Thebes.

_Messenger_ Who announces the self-inflicted blindness of Oedipus and
the suicide of Jocasta.

_Chorus_ Of Theban elders.

THE SCENE is laid before the royal palace of Thebes; the play opens in
the early morning of the day within which the tragedy is consummated.


_An oracle once came to Laius, king of Thebes, that he should perish by
his own son's hands. When, therefore, a son was born to him, he gave
the infant to his chief of shepherds to expose on Mount Cithaeron. But
the tenderhearted rustic gave the babe instead to a wandering herdsman
of Polybus, the king of Corinth._

_Years later, a reputed son of Polybus, Oedipus by name, fearing an
oracle which doomed him to slay his father and wed his mother, fled
from Corinth, that so he might escape this dreadful fate. As he fared
northward, he met and slew an old man who imperiously disputed the
narrow way with him. Upon arriving at the Theban land, he read the
riddle of the Sphinx, and so destroyed that monster which Juno had
sent to harass the land which she hated; and for this service, Oedipus
was made the husband of Jocasta, the widowed queen of Laius (who had
recently been slain upon the road), and set upon the vacant throne._

_Now other years have passed, and sons and daughters have been born
to the royal pair. But now a dreadful pestilence afflicts the state.
Oedipus has sent Creon to consult the oracle, to learn the cause and
seek the means of deliverance from the scourge. And while he waits his
messenger's return, the murky dawn still finds him grieving for his
kingdom's wretched plight._


ACT I

  _Oedipus_: Now night has fled; and with a wavering gleam
  Returns the sun; all wrapped in murky clouds
  His beams arise, and with their baleful light
  Shall soon look forth upon our stricken homes,
  And day reveal the havoc of the night.                               5
  Oh, who in all this realm is glad? O fate,
  That seemest good, how many ills lie hid
  Behind thy smiling face! As lofty peaks
  Most feel the winds' abuse; and as the cliff,
  That with its rocky front divides the deep,
  The waves of e'en a quiet sea assail;                               10
  So is the loftiest power the most exposed
  To hostile fate's assaults.
                            'Twas well conceived
  That I should flee the kingdom of my sire,
  Old Polybus, and from my fears be freed,
  A homeless exile, dauntless, wandering.
  Be heaven and all the gods my witnesses,
  I chanced upon this realm. Yet even now
  The dreadful fear remains that by my hand                           15
  My sire shall die. Thus spoke the Delphic god.
  And still another, greater sin he showed.
  And can there be a blacker crime than this,
  A father slain? Oh, cursed impiety!
  'Twere shame to tell the hideous oracle:
  For Phoebus warned me of my father's couch,                         20
  And impious wedlock. 'Twas the fear of this
  That drove me headlong from my father's realm,
  And for no sin I left my native land.
  All self-distrustful did I well secure
  Thy sacred laws, O mother Nature; still,                            25
  When in the heart a mighty dread abides,
  Though well assured it cannot be fulfilled,
  The fear remains. I fear exceedingly,
  Nor can I trust myself unto myself.
  And even now the fates are aimed at me.
  For what am I to think, when this fell pest,
  Although it lays its blighting hand on all,                         30
  Spares me alone? For what new horror now
  Am I reserved? Amidst my city's woes,
  'Mid funeral pyres that ever must be wet
  With tears of grief afresh, 'mid heaps of slain,
  I stand unscathed. And couldst thou hope that thou,
  A culprit at the bar of God, shouldst gain                          35
  For guilt a wholesome kingdom in return?
  Nay, rather, I myself infect the air.
  For now no breeze with its soft breath relieves
  Our spirits suffocating with the heat;
  No gentle zephyrs breathe upon the land;
  But Titan with the dog-star's scorching fires
  Doth parch us, pressing hard upon the back                          40
  Of Nemea's lion. From their wonted streams
  The waters all have fled, and from the herbs
  Their accustomed green. Now Dirce's fount is dry;
  While to a trickling rill Ismenus' flood
  Hath shrunk, and barely laves the naked sands.
  Athwart the sky doth Phoebus' sister glide
  With paling light, and, 'mid the lowering clouds,                   45
  The darkling heavens fade. No starlight gleams
  Amid the gloomy silence of the night,
  But heavy mists brood low upon the earth;
  And those bright mansions of the heavenly gods
  Are sicklied over with the hues of hell.
  The full-grown harvest doth withhold its fruit;
  And, though the yellow fields stand thick with corn,                50
  Upon the stalk the shriveled grain is dead.
  No class is free from this destructive plague,
  But every age and sex falls equally;
  Where youth with age, and sire with son are joined,
  And wife and husband are together burned.                           55
  Now funerals claim no more their wonted grief;
  The magnitude of woe hath dried our eyes;
  And tears, the last resource of woeful hearts,
  Have perished utterly. The stricken sire
  Here bears his son unto the funeral flames;                         60
  And there the mother lays her dead child down,
  And hastes to bring another to the pyre.
  Nay, in the midst of grief a new woe springs;
  For, while they minister unto the dead,
  Themselves need funeral rites. Anon they burn
  With others' fires the bodies of their friends.
  The fire is stol'n, for in their wretchedness                       65
  No shame remains. No separate tombs receive
  The hallowed bones; mere burning is enough.
  How small a covering their ashes need!
  And yet the land does not suffice for all;
  And now the very woods have failed the pyre.
  Nor prayers nor skill avail to serve the sick,
  For even they who own the healing art
  Are smitten down. The baleful pestilence
  Removes the check that would restrain its force.                    70
      So, prostrate at the altar, do I fall
  And, stretching suppliant hands, I pray the gods
  To grant a speedy end; that in my death
  I may anticipate my falling throne,
  Nor be myself the last of all to die,
  The sole surviving remnant of my realm.
  O gods of heaven, too hard! O heavy fate!                           75
  Is death to be denied to me alone,
  So easy for all else? Come, fly the land
  Thy baleful touch has tainted. Leave thou here
  The grief, the death, the pestilential air,
  Which with thyself thou bring'st. Go speed thy flight
  To any land, e'en to thy parents' realm.                            80

  _Jocasta_
  [_who has entered in time to hear her husband's last words_]: What
  boots it, husband, to augment thy woes
  With lamentations? For I think, indeed,
  This very thing is regal, to endure
  Adversity, and all the more to stand,
  With heart more valiant and with foot more sure,
  When the weight of empire totters to its fall.                      85
  For 'tis not manly to present thy back
  To fortunes's darts.

  _Oedipus_:     Not mine the guilt of fear;
  My valor feels no such ignoble throes.
  Should swords be drawn against me, should the power,
  The dreadful power of Mars upon me rush,                            90
  Against the very giants would I stand.
  The Sphinx I fled not when she wove her words
  In mystic measures, but I bore to look
  Upon the bloody jaws of that fell bard,
  And on the ground, all white with scattered bones.
  But when, from a lofty cliff, with threatening mien,                95
  The baleful creature poised her wings to strike,
  And, like a savage lion, lashed her tail,[1]
  In act to spring; still did I dare my fate
  And ask her riddle. Then with horrid sound
  Of deadly jaws together crashed, she spake;
  The while her claws, impatient of delay,
  And eager for my vitals, rent the rock.                            100
  But the close-wrought words of fate with guile entwined,
  And that dark riddle of the wingéd beast
  Did I resolve.

  _Jocasta_:     What meant'st then thou by these
  Thy maddened prayers for death? Thou mightst have died.
  But no; the very scepter in thy hand
  Is thy reward for that fell Sphinx destroyed.                      105

  _Oedipus_: Yea that, the artful monster's cruel shade,
  Doth war against me still. Now she alone,
  In vengeance for her death, is wasting Thebes.
  But now, one only way of safety still is left,
  If Phoebus show us not of safety all bereft.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter the_ Chorus of Theban elders, _deploring the violence of the
plague._]

  _Chorus_: How art thou fall'n, O glorious stock                    110
    Of Cadmus, thou and Thebes in one!
    How dost thou see, poor ruined Thebes,
    Thy lands laid waste and tenantless.
    And thou, O Theban Bacchus, hear:
    That hardy soldiery of thine,
    Thy comrades to the farthest Ind,
    Who dared invade the Eastern plains,                             115
    And plant thy banners at the gates of dawn--
    Behold, destruction feeds on them.
    They saw the blessed Arabes,
    'Mid spicy groves; and the fleeing steeds
    Of the Parthian, deadliest when he flees;
    They trod the marge of the ruddy sea,                            120
    Where Phoebus his rising beams displays,
    And the day reveals; where his nearer fires
    Darken the naked Indians.
    Yea we, that race invincible,
    Beneath the hand of greedy fate                                  125
    Are falling fast.
    The gloomy retinue of death
    In march unceasing hurries on;
    The grieving line unending hastes
    To the place of death. Space fails the throng.
    For, though seven gates stand open wide,                         130
    Still for the crowding funerals
    'Tis not enough; for everywhere
    Is carnage seen, and death treads hard
    Upon the heels of death.
    The sluggish ewes first felt the blight,
    For the woolly flock the rich grass cropped
    To its own doom. At the victim's neck                            135
    The priest stood still, in act to strike;
    But while his hand still poised the blow,
    Behold, the bull, with gilded horns,
    Fell heavily; whereat his neck,
    Beneath the shock of his huge weight,
    Was broken and asunder yawned.
    No blood the sacred weapon stained,                              140
    But from the wound dark gore oozed forth.
    The steed a sudden languor feels,
    And stumbles in his circling course,
    While from his downward-sinking side
    His rider falls.
    The abandoned flocks lie in the fields;                          145
    The bull amid his dying herd
    Is pining; and the shepherd fails
    His scanty flock, for he himself
    'Mid his wasting kine is perishing.
    The stag no more fears the ravenous wolf;
    No longer the lion's roar is heard;                              150
    The shaggy bear has lost her rage,
    And the lurking serpent his deadly sting;
    For parched and dying now he lies,
    With venom dried.
    No more do the woods, with leafage crowned,
    Spread out their shade in the mountain glens;                    155
    No more are fields with verdure clad;
    No vines bend low with laden arms;
    For the very earth has felt the breath
    Of our dire pestilence.
    Through the riven bars of Erebus,                                160
    With torches lit in Tartara,
    The raging band of the Furies troop;
    Dark Phlegethon has changed his course,
    And forced the waters of the Styx
    To mingle with our Theban streams.
    Grim Death opes wide his greedy jaws,                            165
    And all his baleful wings outspreads.
    And he who plies that swollen stream
    In his roomy skiff, though his age is fresh
    And hardy, scarce can raise his arms,
    O'erwearied with his constant toil
    And the passage of the endless throng.                           170
    'Tis even rumored that the dog
    Hath burst the chains of Taenara,
    And through our fields is wandering.
    Now dreadful prodigies appear:
    The earth gives out a rumbling sound,
    And ghosts go stealing through the groves,
    Larger than mortal forms; and twice                              175
    The trees of our Cadmean woods
    Have trembled sore and shed their snows;
    Twice Dirce flowed with streams of blood;
    And in the stilly night we heard
    The baying of Amphion's hounds.
    Oh, cruel, strange new form of death,                            180
    And worse than death! The sluggish limbs
    Are with a weary languor seized;
    The sickly cheek with fever burns,
    And all the head with loathsome sores
    Is blotched. Now heated vapors rise
    And scorch with fever's flames the brain
    Within the body's citadel,
    And the throbbing temples swell with blood.                      185
    The eyeballs start; the accurséd fire
    Devours the limbs; the ears resound,
    And from the nostrils dark blood drips
    And strains apart the swelling veins.                            190
    Now quick convulsions rend and tear
    The inmost vitals.
    Now to their burning hearts they strain
    Cold stones to soothe their agony;
    And they, whom laxer care permits,
    Since they who should control are dead,
    The fountains seek, and feed their thirst                        195
    With copious draughts. The smitten throng
    All prostrate at the altars lie
    And pray for death; and this alone
    The gods, compliant, grant to them.
    Men seek the sacred fanes, and pray,
    Not that the gods may be appeased,
    But glutted with their feast of death.                           200
                                         [Creon _is seen approaching_.]
  But who with hasty step the palace seeks?
  Is this our Creon, high in birth and deed,
  Or does my sickened soul see false for true?
  'Tis Creon's self, in answer to our prayer.                        205


FOOTNOTES:

[1] Reading, _caudam_.


ACT II

[_Enter_ Creon.]

  _Oedipus_: I quake with horror, and I fear to know
  The tendency of fate. My trembling soul
  Strives 'neath a double load; for joy and grief
  Lie mingled still in dark obscurity.
  I shrink from knowing what I long to know.
  Wherefore, O brother of my consort, speak;                         210
  And if to weary hearts thou bring'st relief,
  With quickened utterance thy news proclaim.

  _Creon_: In dark obscurity the answer lies.

  _Oedipus_: Who gives me doubtful succor grants me none.

  _Creon_: It is the custom of the Delphic god
  In dark enigmas to conceal the fates.                              215

  _Oedipus_: Yet speak; however dark the riddle be
  'Tis given to Oedipus alone to solve.

  _Creon_: Apollo doth ordain that banishment
  Be meted out to him who slew our king,
  And so our murdered Laius be avenged;
  For only thus shall we again behold
  The day's clear light, and drink safe draughts of air.             220

  _Oedipus_: Who was the slayer of the noble king?
  Tell who is designated by the god,
  That he th' allotted punishment may pay.

  _Creon_: May it be granted me to tell the things
    To sight and hearing dreadful. At the thought,
    Numb horror holds my limbs, my blood runs cold.
    When to Apollo's hallowed shrine I came                          225
    With reverent feet, and pious hands upraised,
    Parnassus' double-crested, snowy peak
    Gave forth a fearful crash, the laurels shook,
    And fair Castalia's waters ceased to flow.
    The priestess of the son of Lato then                            230
    Began to spread her bristling locks abroad,
    And felt the inspiration of the god.
    Scarce had she reached the sacred inner shrine,
    When with a roar, beyond the voice of man,
    There sounded forth this doubtful oracle:
  "Kind shall the stars return to the Theban city of Cadmus,
  If, O fugitive guest, Ismenian Dirce thou leavest,
  Stained with the blood of a king, from infancy known to Apollo.    235
  Brief shall be thy joys, the impious joys of slaughter.
  With thee war thou bringest, and war to thy children thou leavest,
  Foul returned once more to the impious arms of thy mother."

  _Oedipus_: What I at heaven's command now meditate,
  Long since should have been rendered to the king,                  240
  That none by craft might violate the throne.
  And most doth it become a sceptered king
  To guard the life of kings; for none lament
  The death of him whose safety breedeth fear.

  _Creon_: Our care for him a greater fear removed.

  _Oedipus_: What fear so great that duty to prevent?                245

  _Creon_: The Sphinx and her accurséd riddle's threats.

  _Oedipus_: Then now at heaven's command shall be atoned
  That impious deed.
                     Whoever of the gods
  Dost look with kindly eye upon our realm;
  And thou, whose hand doth guide the rolling sphere;
  And thou, O glory of the smiling sky,                              250
  Who in thy wandering course dost rule the stars,
  And with thy flying wheels dost measure out
  The slow procession of the centuries;
  Thou sister of the sun, night-wanderer,
  Who ever dost reflect thy brother's fires;
  And thou, great ruler of the boisterous winds,
  Who o'er the level deep dost drive thy car;                        255
  And thou, who dost allot the sunless homes:
  May he, by whose right hand king Laius fell,
  No peaceful home, no trusty lares find;
  And may no land in hospitality
  Receive his cheerless, exiled wanderings.
  O'er shameful marriage may he live to grieve,                      260
  And monstrous progeny. May he his sire
  By his own hand destroy; and may he do
  (What doom more dreadful can I imprecate?)
  The deed which by my flight I did not do.
  No room for pardon shall be given him;
  By this my regal scepter do I swear,
  Both by the sway which I as stranger hold,
  And that I left behind; by my household gods,                      265
  And thee, O Neptune, who with shorter waves
  And twofold current dost disport thyself
  Upon my native Corinth's double shores.
  And thou thyself be witness to my words,
  Who dost inspire the fate-revealing lips
  Of Cirrha's priestess: so may Polybus,                             270
  My royal father, spend a quiet age,
  And end his days in peace upon the throne;
  And so may Merope, my mother, know
  The marriage of her Polybus alone,
  As from my grasp no favoring power shall snatch
  That guilty one, who basely slew the king.
  But tell me, where was that foul murder done?
  In open fight, or was he basely snared?                            275

  _Creon_: In quest of cool Castalia's sacred fount
  And leafy woods, along the way he fared,
  On either side with tangled thickets hedged.
  'Twas where the road, three-forked, spreads to the plain.
  One leads through Phocian land, to Bacchus dear,
  Where high Parnassus, by a gentle <DW72>                            280
  The lowlands leaving, lifts his double peak
  Into the heavens; and one leads off to where
  Two oceans bathe the land of Sisyphus;
  A third path, passing through Olenian fields,
  Along a hollow valley's winding way,
  Attains the vagrant waters and divides
  The chilling current of the Elean stream.                          285
  'Twas here he journeyed, safe 'mid general peace,
  When on a sudden, lo, a robber band
  Fell on him with the sword and slew him there.
                                      [Tiresias _is seen approaching_.]
  But in the nick of time, by Phoebus roused,
  Tiresias, agéd and with trembling limbs,
  Hastes to our presence with what speed he may;
  And, as his faithful comrade, Manto comes,                         290
  Her sightless father leading by the hand.

[_Enter_ Tiresias, _led by his daughter_ Manto.]

  _Oedipus_: O priest of heaven, thou next to Phoebus' self,
  Explain the oracle which he hath sent,
  And tell on whom the penalty is laid.

  _Tiresias_: Because my tongue is slow and seeks delay,
  Thou shouldst not wonder, great-souled Oedipus;
  Much truth is hidden when the eye is dimmed.                       295
  But when my country, when Apollo calls,
  I will obey. Then let me search the fates.
  If in my veins still flowed the blood of youth,
  I would myself sustain the god and speak.
  Now to the altar drive a pure-white bull,
  A heifer, too, upon whose tender neck                              300
  The curvéd yoke of toil hath never pressed.
  And thou, my child, who guid'st my darkened steps,
  Describe the omens which Apollo sends.

[_The victims are stationed before the altar as directed._]

  _Manto_: A perfect victim at the altar stands.

  _Tiresias_: With prayer invoke the presence of the gods,
  And heap the altar high with frankincense.                         305

  _Manto_: Lo, on the sacred fire the spice is heaped.

  _Tiresias_: What of the flame? Did it with vigor seize
  The generous feast?

  _Manto_:             With sudden gleam it leaped
  Into the air, and quickly fell again.

  _Tiresias_: And did the sacred fire burn bright and clear,
  And point its gleaming summit straight to heaven,                  310
  And, spreading outward, to the breeze unfold;
  Or crawl, with course uncertain, near the ground,
  And, flickering, die away in gloomy smoke?

  _Manto_: Not one appearance only had the flame.
  As when the tempest-bringing Iris spreads
  Her varying colors on the vault of heaven,                         315
  And with her painted bow adorns the sky;
  So to the sacred fire thou wouldst not tell
  What hue is wanting there and what prevails.
  Dark blue it flickered first, with yellow spots;
  Then bloody red, and then it vanished quite.                       320
  But see! the flame is rent in rival parts,
  And the glowing embers of one sacred pile
  Are cleft in double heaps and fall apart!
  O father, horror fills me as I gaze;
  For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth,
  It changes straight to blood--Oh, horrible!                        325
  And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head.
  And now in denser gloom it settles down
  Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud,
  It shuts away from him the fading light.
  Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend.

  _Tiresias_: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed
  Amid conflicting voices of the soul?
  What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed,
  But hidden yet in deepest mystery.                                 330
  With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wont
  To be made manifest: but what is that
  Which now they would disclose, and then, again,
  With changing and destructive purpose hide?
  Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell.
  But quickly set the chosen victims here,
  And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads.                         335
  With peaceful face do they endure the rites,
  And hands outstretched to smite?

  _Manto_:                          His lofty head
  The bull uplifted to the eastern sky,
  Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turned
  In terror from the newly risen sun.

  _Tiresias_: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth?         340

  _Manto_: The heifer threw herself upon the steel,
  And with one blow has fallen; but the bull,
  Though smitten by a double deadly blow,
  Distracted wanders here and there in pain,
  And scarce can force his struggling life away.

  _Tiresias_: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood,      345
  Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds?

  _Manto_: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust,
  Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull,
  Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops,
  While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouth
  The plenteous current flows.                                       350

  _Tiresias_:                    These unblest rites
  Some dreadful ills portend. But come, describe
  The trusty markings of the viscera.

  _Manto_: Oh, what is this? For not, as is their wont,
  With gentle motion do the entrails quake,
  But, rather, strongly throb beneath the touch,
  While from the veins the blood leaps forth anew.                   355
  The sickly heart is shriveled up and lies
  Deep hidden in the breast; the veins appear
  Of livid hue. The entrails suffer lack;
  And from the wasting liver oozes slow
  A stream of black corruption. Nay, behold
  (A sign of dark foreboding to a king
  Who holdeth single sway), two swelling points
  Of equal elevation rise to view;                                   360
  But both are lopped and covered with a veil.
  Refusing lurking-place to things unseen,
  The hostile side uprears itself with strength
  And shows seven swelling veins; but these, again,
  An intersecting line cuts straight across,
  Preventing their return. The natural law                           365
  And order of the parts has been reversed,
  And nothing lies within its proper place.
  All on the right the blood-filled lungs appear,
  Incapable of air; the heart no more
  Is found upon the left, its 'customed place.
  The fatty walls, with their soft covering,
  No longer richly fold the entrails in.                             370
  The ways of nature are in all things changed;
  The womb itself is most unnatural.
  Look close, and see what impious thing is this:
  Oh, monstrous! 'tis the unborn progeny
  Of a heifer still unmated! stranger still,
  It lies not in the wonted place, assigned
  By nature's laws, but fills its mother's side.                     375
  It moves its members with a feeble groan;
  Its unformed limbs with trembling rigors twitch.
  Black blood has stained the darkened entrails all;
  The mangled bodies strive e'en yet to move,
  Make show to rise, and menace with their horns
  The priestly hands. The entrails shun the touch.                   380
  Nor is that lowing which has frightened thee
  The deep-voiced roar of bulls, nor do the calls
  Of frightened cattle sound upon our ears:
  It is the lowing of the altar fires,
  It is the frightened muttering of the shrine!

  _Oedipus_: What meaning have these monstrous signs? Declare;
  And with no timid ears will I attend.                              385
  For he who has the dregs of fortune drained
  Fears nothing more.

  _Tiresias_:       The time will come to thee,
  When these thy ills, for which thou seekest aid,
  Will blessings seem.

  _Oedipus_:        But tell me then, I pray,
  The one thing which the gods would have me know:
  Whose hands are stained with murder of the king?

  _Tiresias_: Neither the birds can summon up the name,              390
  Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing,
  Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts.
  But we must seek it in another way:
  The murdered king himself must be recalled
  From realms of everlasting night, that thus,
  Released from Erebus, he may declare
  His murderer. The earth must be unsealed;                          395
  The pitiless divinity of Dis
  Must be implored, and hither brought the shades
  Who live beyond the Styx.
                            Now do thou tell
  To whom thou giv'st the sacred embassy;
  For 'tis not right for thee who hold'st the reins
  Of government to seek the gloomy shades.

  _Oedipus_: O Creon, thee this task demands, to whom,
  As next in power, my kingdom looks for aid.                        400

  _Tiresias_: And while we loose the bars of deepest hell,
  Do ye the praises of our Bacchus tell.

[_Exeunt_ Creon, Tiresias, _and_ Manto.]

  _The Chorus_ [_in dithyrambic strain sings in praise of_ Bacchus]:
    Bind ye now your flowing locks with the swaying ivy,
  Brandish aloft with your languishing arms the Nysaean thyrsus!
      O glorious light of heaven, attend the prayers                 405
      Which noble Thebes, thy Thebes, O beautiful Bacchus,
      With suppliant hands outstretched here offers thee.
          Turn hither thy smiling virgin face,
        Dispel the clouds with thy starry glance,                    410
        The gloomy threats of Erebus,
            And ravenous fate.
      Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime,
      Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet;
      Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries,
          Softly to wreathe thy brow;                                415
      Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion,
      Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it;
      Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno,
      Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens.
      Virgin, too, thou seemedst with golden ringlets,               420
      Binding up thy robe with a saffron girdle.
      So the softer graces of living please thee,
      Robes ungirt and flowing in long profusion.
      When in thy golden car thou wast drawn by lions,
      Clad in flowing garments, the East beheld thee,                425
      All the vast expanse of the Indian country,
      They who drink the Ganges and cleave the surface
            Of snowy Araxes.
  Seated on humble beast the old Silenus attends thee,
  Binding his throbbing brows with a waving garland of ivy;          430
  While the wanton priests lead on the mysterious revels.
          And then a troop of Bassarids
          With dancing step conducted thee,
          Now ranging o'er Pangaeus' foot,
          And now on Thracian Pindus' top.                           435
          Soon, 'mid the noble dames of Thebes,
        A furious Maenad, the comrade of Bacchus,
        In garment of fawn-skin, conducted the god.
        The Theban dames, by Bacchus excited,
        With streaming locks and thyrsus uplifted                    440
        In high-waving hands, now join in the revels,
        And wild in their madness they rend Pentheus
            Limb from limb.
        Their fury spent, with weary frame,
        They look upon their impious deed,
            And know it not.
    Into the sea realms holds, the foster-mother of Bacchus;         445
    Round her the daughters of Nereus dance, Leucothoë singing;
    Over the mighty deep, though new to its waves, Palaemon,
    Brother of Bacchus, rules, a mortal changed to a sea-god.
        When in childhood a band of robbers assailing
        Bore thee away in their flying vessel a captive,
        Nereus quickly calmed the billowy ocean;                     450
        When lo! to rolling meadows the dark sea changes;
        Here stands in vernal green the flourishing plane-tree,
        There the groves of laurel dear to Apollo;
        While resounds the chatter of birds in the branches.
        Now are the oars enwreathed with the living ivy,
        While at the masthead hang the clustering grape vines;       455
        There on the prow loud roars a lion of Ida,
        At the stern appears a terrible tiger of Ganges.
        Filled with terror the pirates leap in the ocean.
        Straight in their plunging forms new changes appear;         460
        For first their arms are seen to shrink and fall,
        Their bodies' length to shorten; and on their sides
        The hands appear as fins; with curving back
        They skim the waves, and, lashing their crescent tails,
            They dash through the water.                             465
  Changed to a school of dolphins now, they follow the vessel.
  Soon did the Lydian stream with its precious waters receive thee,
  Pouring down its golden waves in a billowy current.
  Loosed was the vanquished bow and Scythian darts of the savage
  Massagetan who mingles blood in his milky goblets.                 470
  The realm of Lycurgus, bearer of axes, submitted to Bacchus;
        The land of the Dacians[2] untamable felt his dominion,
        The wandering tribes of the north by Boreas smitten,
        And whom the Maeotis bathes with its frozen waters.          475
        Where the Arcadian star looks down from the zenith,
        Even there the power of Bacchus extended;
        Conquered too the scattered Gelonian peoples.
        From the warlike maidens their arms he wrested;
        Down to the earth they fell in desperate conflict,           480
        The hardy bands of Amazonian maidens.
        Now, at last, their arrows swift are abandoned,
        And Maenads have they become.
      Holy Cithaeron too has streamed with slaughter,
      Where was spilt the noble blood of Ophion.                     485
      Proetus' daughters the forests sought; and Argos,
      Juno at last consenting, paid homage to Bacchus.
      The island of Naxos, girt by the broad Aegean,
      Gave to Bacchus the maid whom Theseus abandoned,
      Compensating her loss by a better husband.                     490
      Out of the rock there gushed Nyctelian liquor;
      Babbling streams at his word clove the grassy meadows;
      Deep the earth drank in the nectarean juices;
      Streams of snowy milk burst forth from the fountains,          495
      Mingled with Lesbian wine all fragrant with spices.
      Now is the bride to her place in the heavens conducted;
      Phoebus, with flowing locks, sings a stately anthem;
      Love, in honor of both, bears the wedding torches;             500
      Jove lays down the deadly darts of his lightning,
      Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.
  While the gleaming stars in their boundless pasturage wander,
  While the sea shall gird th' imprisoned earth with its waters,     505
  While the full-orb'd moon shall gather her lost refulgence,
  While the morning star shall herald the coming of Phoebus,
  While in the north the Bear shall fear the cerulean ocean,
  Still shall we worship the shining face of the beautiful Bacchus.


FOOTNOTES:

[2] Reading, _te Dacûm_.


ACT III

[_Enter_ Creon, _returned from the rites of necromancy_.]

  _Oedipus_: Although thy face displays the marks of grief,
  Declare whose death an angry heaven demands.                       510

  _Creon_: Thou bid'st me speak where fear would silence keep.

  _Oedipus_: If Thebes, to ruin falling, move thee not,
  Regard the scepter of thy kindred house.

  _Creon_: Thou wilt repent the knowledge which thou seek'st.

  _Oedipus_: A useless cure for ills is ignorance.                   515
  And wilt thou still obstruct the public weal?

  _Creon_: Where foul the cure, 'tis grievous to be cured.

  _Oedipus_: Thy tidings speak; or, by thy pains subdued,
  Thou soon shalt know what angered kings can do.

  _Creon_: Kings hate the words whose speech they would compel.      520

  _Oedipus_: In hades shalt thou pay thy life for all,
  Unless thou tell the secrets of the fates.

  _Creon_: Nay, let me hold my peace. No smaller boon
  Was ever sought.

  _Oedipus_: More often than by speech,
  Have kingdoms by the boon of silence fall'n.                       525

  _Creon_: When silence is denied what can be given?

  _Oedipus_: He sins who silence holds when speech is best.

  _Creon_: Then hear in peace the words which I must speak.

  _Oedipus_: Was ever punishment for speech compelled?

  _Creon_: Afar from Thebes there is a frowning grove                530
  Near the well-watered vale of Dirce's fount.
  And there a cypress lifts its giant head
  And holds within its evergreen embrace
  The trees around. Here stands an ancient oak
  And spreads its branches dark with clustering mould.
  One side is torn by time's destructive hand;                       535
  The rest, with roots decayed and falling, hangs
  Supported on a neighbor's trunk. Here stand
  The bitter laurel, rustling linden trees,
  The myrtle, and the alder destined soon
  To sweep its oarage on the boundless sea.
  Midway, a mighty pine its smooth trunk lifts                       540
  Against the rays of Phoebus and the winds,
  And with its heavy shade it overwhelms
  The lesser trees; for, with its spreading boughs,
  It stands, the giant guardian of the wood.
  Beneath this pine there springs a gloomy pool                      545
  That never saw the sun nor light of day.
  An oozy swamp surrounds the sluggish pool.
  Here did the agéd priest direct his steps;
  Nor was there need to wait; the gloomy spot
  Supplied the shades of night. A trench is dug,
  Where brands are kindled, pluck'd from funeral pyres.              550
  The priest is shrouded in a mourning pall,
  And waves the bough; his dark robe sweeps the earth.
  And now, in squalid garb and wrapped in gloom,
  The priest advances, with his hoary locks                          555
  Encircled by the yew-tree's deadly leaves.
  Black sheep and sable oxen, backward driven,[3]
  Are sacrificed. The fire devours the food,
  And the living entrails quiver in the flames.
  The shades he calls, and him who rules the shades,
  And him who guards the dark Lethaean stream.                       560
  A magic rune he mutters o'er and o'er
  And fiercely chants the charm which either lures
  The shifting ghosts, or forces them to come.
  He burns the victims whole, and fills the trench
  With sacrificial blood, and snowy milk,                            565
  And, with his left hand pouring, mingles wine;
  Again he chants, and, bending to the earth,
  With stronger words and frantic, summons up
  The manes. Loudly bayed the hounds of hell;
  And thrice the hollows gave a mournful sound;                      570
  The whole earth trembled and the solid ground
  Was rent asunder. Then the priest exclaimed:
  "I have prevailed, for strong the words I spoke;
  The deep and gloomy realm of chaos yawns,
  And for the dwellers in the home of Dis
  A way is opened to the world of light."
  The whole wood shrank away; its leaves erect
  In horror stood, the mighty trunks were split,                     575
  And all the grove was smitten with amaze.
  The frightened earth crouched back with hollow groans,
  As if unwillingly she saw the deeps
  Of Acheron assailed; or else herself,
  That back to life the dead might find a way,
  With crashing sound her close-wrought barriers burst;              580
  Or threefold Cerberus in angry rage
  Clanked loud his heavy chains. Then suddenly
  The earth yawned wide, and at our very feet
  A deep abyss appeared. I saw, myself,
  The sluggish pools amidst the dusky shades;
  I saw the shadowy gods, and that black gloom
  No earthly night can give. At that dread sight
  My blood ran cold and froze within my veins.                       585
  And then there hurried forth a dreadful band,
  And stood in armed array, that viper brood,
  The troop of brothers sprung from dragon's teeth;
  And that fell pestilence, the curse of Thebes.
  Then grim Erinys raised her piercing cry,
  Blind Fury, Dread, and all the ghastly forms                       590
  Which spawn and lurk within the endless shades:
  Grief, in her madness, tearing out her hair;
  Disease, scarce holding up her weary head;
  Age, burdened with itself, and brooding Fear.
  Our spirits died within us at the sight.                           595
  Even the prophet's daughter stood amazed,
  Though well she knew her father's mystic arts.
  But he, undaunted, since he saw them not,
  Convoked the bloodless throng of gloomy Dis.
  Like clouds the shadowy forms come trooping up,
  And snuff the air of unrestricted heaven.
  Not lofty Eryx in his mountain glades                              600
  As many falling leaves, nor Hybla's <DW72>s
  As many flowers produce, in sunny spring,
  When greedy bees in teeming bunches swarm;
  As many waves break not upon the shore;
  As many birds deserting Strymon's streams,
  Exchange not wintry blasts and Arctic snows,                       605
  And seek the milder valley of the Nile;
  As were the shades the prophet summoned forth.
  In eager haste the shivering spirits seek
  The hiding-places of the leafy grove.
  From out the cave, his right hand by the horns                     610
  A raging bull restraining, Zethus came,
  And next Amphion, with that famous shell
  Whose magic strains insensate rocks allured.
  Here haughty Niobe, in safety now,
  Amongst her children lifts her head in scorn
  And proudly counts her shades. And worse than she,                 615
  That mother, mad Agave, next appears,
  With all the impious band who rent the king.
  Then Pentheus' self, all torn and bleeding, comes,
  In rage pursuing those wild Bacchanals.
  At length, when often summoned, Laius comes
  In shame, and, skulking, flees the shadowy throng,                 620
  And hides himself away; but still the seer,
  With unrelenting purpose pressing on,
  Repeats his strong compelling exorcisms,
  Until he brings the ghost to open view.
  I shudder as I tell it. There he stood,
  A fearful sight, his body drenched with blood,
  His matted locks o'erspread with horrid filth.                     625
  And now, with raging tongue, the specter spoke:
  "O wild and savage house of Cadmus, thou
  Who ever dost rejoice in brother's blood!
  The thyrsus wave, in madness rend thy sons.
  The greatest crime of Thebes is mother's love.
  O fatherland, 'tis not the wrath of heaven,                        630
  But sin of man by which thou art undone.
  No plague-fraught south wind with its deadly blast,
  Nor yet the parchéd earth with its dry breath,
  Is harming thee; but 'tis thy bloody king,
  Who, as the prize of savage murder done,
  Hath seized his father's scepter and his bed.                      635
  An impious son (but far more impious,
  The mother who in most unhallowed womb
  Bore children once again), he forced his way
  Back to his source of life, and there begot
  Upon his mother offspring horrible,
  Got brothers to himself, a custom base,
  Whence e'en the very beasts of prey are free.                      640
  Oh, base entanglement, more monstrous far
  Than that fell Sphinx which he himself hath slain.
  Thee, thee, who dost the bloody scepter hold,
  Thee will thy sire, still unavenged, pursue,
  With all thy town; and with me will I bring
  Th' attendant fury of my wedding night--
  I'll bring her with her loud-resounding[4] lash!                   645
  Thy house, polluted, will I overthrow,
  And thy Penates will I trample down
  In fratricidal strife! Then quickly drive
  Thy king, O Thebes, from out thy boundaries!
  For when his baleful step shall leave the land,
  In vernal green shall it renew itself,                             650
  The air shall give again pure springs of life,
  And to the woods their beauty shall return.
  Destruction, Pestilence and Death, Distress,
  Disease, Despair--his fitting company--
  Shall all depart with him. And he, indeed,
  Will seek with eager haste to flee his realm,
  But him will I hedge round with barriers,                          655
  And hold him back. Uncertain of his way,
  And with his staff to guide his faltering steps,
  He'll creep along his sad and darkened path.
  Do ye the land deny him; I, his sire,
  Will take away from him the light of heaven."

  _Oedipus:_ A chilling tremor penetrates my bones;
  The very thing which I have feared to do,                          660
  They say that I have done it. But the charge
  That in unholy wedlock I am joined,
  My mother Merope refutes, for she
  To Polybus, my sire, is wedded still;
  And my hands from stain of father's blood are clean,
  Since Polybus in safety lives and reigns.
  Since both my parents free me from the guilt
  Of murder and that base, incestuous crime,
  What room is there for accusation more?
  And as for Laius, Thebes his death deplored                        665
  Long 'ere I set my feet upon her soil.
  What shall we say then? Was the seer deceived,
  Or does the hand of God afflict the state?
  No! now we see these two confederates
  Deep in a crafty plot: that priest of thine
  With lying tongue pretends the will of heaven,
  And promises my sovereignty to thee.                               670

  _Creon:_ Would I expel my sister from the throne?
  But if that sacred fealty which I owe
  Unto my kindred house restrained me not,
  Yet fortune would herself affright me sore,
  For with care and danger is she ever fraught.
  But be thyself content to lay aside,
  While still thou safely mayst, the cares of state,                 675
  Lest,[5] borne too long, they may o'erwhelm thee quite.
  In a humbler state more safely shalt thou dwell.

  _Oedipus:_ And dost thou bid me, then, of mine own will
  To lay aside the heavy cares of state?

  _Creon:_ Thus would I counsel those to whom the way
  Is open yet to choose the path he will.                            680
  But the lot that fortune sends thee thou must bear.

  _Oedipus:_ When one desires to reign, 'tis ever thus,
  That humble life he praises, and the joys
  Of ease and sleep are ever in his mouth.
  A peaceful face oft hides a restless heart.

  _Creon:_ Does my long loyalty defend me not?                       685

  _Oedipus:_ To traitors, loyalty's a cloak to crime.

  _Creon:_ Free from the burdens of a kingly state,
  I still enjoy the fruits of royalty;
  My house is honored by our citizens;
  And day by day thy royal gifts o'erflow,
  And fill my kindred home with luxury.                              690
  Rich food and clothing, gifts of every sort,
  And safety flow to many through my aid.
  Why should I think aught lacking to my lot?

  _Oedipus:_ Because there is a lack. Prosperity
  Ne'er halts at any bounds.

  _Creon:_              And shall I fall,                            695
  Prejudged, and have no right to plead my cause?

  _Oedipus:_ Hadst thou consideration for _my_ life?
  Did old Tiresias listen to my cause?
  And yet I am condemned. My pattern, thou;
  I do but follow in the way thou lead'st.

  _Creon:_ But what if I am guiltless?

  _Oedipus:_                                 Kings are wont
  To fear alike the doubtful and the true.

  _Creon:_ Who quakes at empty fears, hath true in store.            700

  _Oedipus_ Who in a fault is taken, and forgiven,
  Is filled with hate. Let all such dubious faith
  Be far from me.

  _Creon:_       But thus is hatred bred.

  _Oedipus:_ Nay, he who feareth hatred overmuch,
  Knows not the art of ruling like a king;
  For 'tis by fear that kings are guarded most.

  _Creon:_ Who holds the scepter with tyrannic sway,                 705
  Doth live in fear of those who fear his power;
  For terror ever doth return to him
  Who doth inspire it.

  _Oedipus_ [_to attendants_]: Hence, away with him;
  Deep in some rocky dungeon let him stay,
  While I unto the palace take my way.

[Creon _is led away by the attendants, while_ Oedipus _retires into the
palace._]

  _Chorus:_ Not thou the cause of these our ills;
      And not on thy account hath fate
      Attacked the house of Labdacus;                                710
      But 'tis the ancient wrath of heaven
      That still pursues our race.
      Castalia's grove once lent its shade
      Unto the Tyrian wanderer,
      And Dirce gave her cooling waves,
      What time the great Agenor's son,                              715
      O'er all the earth the stolen prey
      Of Jove pursuing, worn and spent,
      Within these forests knelt him down
      And adored the heavenly ravisher.
      Then by Apollo's bidding led,
      A wandering heifer following,                                  720
      Upon whose neck the dragging plow,
      Nor the plodding wagon's curving yoke
      Had never rested, he his quest
      At last gave over, and his race
      From that ill-omened heifer named.
      From that time forth, the land of Thebes
      Strange monsters hath engendered: first,                       725
      That serpent, sprung from the valley's depths,
      Hissing, o'ertopped the agéd oaks
      And lofty pines; and higher still,
      Above Chaonia's woods, he reared
      His gleaming head, though on the ground                        730
      His body lay in many coils.
      And next the teeming earth produced
      An impious brood of arméd men.
      The battle call resounded loud
      From the curving horn, and the piercing notes
      Of the brazen trumpet shrill were heard.
      Their new-created, nimble tongues,                             735
      And voices strange, they first employ
      In hostile clamor; and the fields,
      The plains, their kindred soil, they fill.
      This monster brood, consorting well
      With that dire seed from which they sprung,
      Their life within a day's brief span                           740
      Enjoyed; for after Phoebus rose
      They had their birth, but ere he set
      They perished. At the dreadful sight
      Great terror seized the wanderer;
      And much he feared to face in war
      His new-born foes. Until, at length
      The savage youth in mutual strife                              745
      Fell down, and mother earth
      Beheld her sons, but now produced,
      Returned again to her embrace.
      And Oh, that with their fall might end
      All impious strife within the state!
      May Thebes, the land of Hercules,
      Such fratricidal strife behold
      No more!                                                       750
               Why sing Actaeon's fate,
      Whose brow the new-sprung antlers crowned
      Of the long-lived stag, and whom his hounds,
      Though their hapless master still, pursued?
      In headlong haste through the mountains and woods,
      He flees in fear, and with nimble feet                         755
      He scours the glades and rocky passes,
      In fear of the wind-tossed feathers hung
      Among the trees; but most he shuns
      The snares which he himself has set;
      Until at last in the still, smooth pool                        760
      He sees his horns and his features wild,
      The pool where the goddess, too sternly chaste,
      Had bathed her virgin limbs.


FOOTNOTES:

[3] Reading, _retro_.

[4] Reading, _sonantem_.

[5] Reading, _ne_.


ACT IV

  _Oedipus:_ My soul is filled with dark, foreboding fear;
  For the gods in heaven and hades join the charge                   765
  That by my guilty hand King Laius fell.
  And yet my soul, in conscious innocence,
  And knowing better than the gods themselves
  Its secret deeds, denies the charge.
                                        But now,
  Along the shadowy vistas of the past,
  My memory beholds an agéd man who fell
  Beneath the heavy stroke of my stout staff.
  But first the elder strove with haughty words                      770
  To drive the younger traveler from the path.
  But that was far from Thebes, in Phocis' realm,
  Where the forkéd road in three directions leads.
  But thou, my faithful wife, dispel my care:
  What span of life had Laius at his death?
  Fell he in manhood's bloom, or spent with age?                     775

  _Jocasta:_ Midway 'twixt youth and age, but nearer age.

  _Oedipus:_ Did courtiers, thronging round, protect his course?

  _Jocasta:_ The many lost him on the winding way;
  A few by faithful toil kept near his side.

  _Oedipus:_ Did any fall as comrade of his fate?                    780

  _Jocasta:_ One comrade in his death did valor give.

  _Oedipus:_ Alas, I stand convicted, for the place
  And number tally. Tell me now the time.

  _Jocasta:_ Since Laius fell, ten harvests have been reaped.

[_Enter an old Corinthian man, a messenger from_ Merope.]

  _Old Man_ [_to_ Oedipus]: The state of Corinth calls thee to
    the throne,
  For Polybus has gained his lasting rest.                           785

  _Oedipus:_ See how a heartless fate doth compass me!
  But tell me how my father met his end.

  _Old Man:_ In gentle sleep he breathed his life away.

  _Oedipus:_ My sire is dead, and not by violence!
  I call the gods to witness that to heaven
  I now in piety may lift my hands,                                  790
  And fear no stain of impious slaughter more.
  And yet a still more fearful fate remains.

  _Old Man:_ Thy father's kingdom will dispel thy fears.

  _Oedipus:_ My father's kingdom would I seek, but still
  I fear my mother.

  _Old Man:_           Fear'st thou her who waits.                   795
  With anxious heart, imploring thy return?

  _Oedipus:_ 'Tis piety itself that bids me flee.

  _Old Man:_ And wouldst thou leave her in her widowhood?

  _Oedipus:_ Thou speak'st the very essence of my fears.

  _Old Man:_ Speak out the fear that doth oppress thy soul;
  For 'tis my wont in trusty confidence
  To counsel kings.

  _Oedipus:_           By Phoebus' word forewarned,                  800
  From wedlock with my mother do I flee.

  _Old Man:_ Then cease thy empty fears, and lay aside
  Thy base forebodings; for I tell thee here
  That thou art not the son of Merope.

  _Oedipus:_ Why did she wish to rear a spurious son?

  _Old Man:_ Because the proud security of kings
  Is by a son established.

  _Oedipus:_      Tell me now.                                       805
  How thou dost know the secrets of the court.

  _Old Man:_ With my own hands I gave thee to the king.

  _Oedipus:_ Thou gavest me? But who gave me to thee?

  _Old Man:_ A shepherd on Cithaeron's snowy <DW72>s.

  _Oedipus:_ How camest thou within that sacred wood?

  _Old Man:_ My sheep upon that mountain did I seek.                 810

  _Oedipus:_ Now on my body name some well-known mark.

  _Old Man:_ Behold, thy feet in infancy were pierced,
  And from thy swollen ankles art thou named.

  _Oedipus:_ Who was the man who gave me as a gift
  Into thy hands?

  _Old Man:_ He fed the royal flocks,                                815
  And under him the hireling shepherds served.

  _Oedipus:_ But tell his name.

  _Old Man:_ An old man's memory
  Grows faint and weakly falters with disuse.

  _Oedipus:_ But wouldst thou know the features of the man?

  _Old Man:_ I might recall him, for a slender clue                  820
  Ofttimes awakens memory of things
  Long buried and forgot.

  _Oedipus:_         Then hasten, slaves,
  Let all the master-shepherds drive their flocks
  Before the altar here, yea, summon all
  On whom depends the guidance of the flocks.

  _Old Man:_ Or chance or providence has kept thy fate               825
  In darkness hid. What long hath lain concealed,
  I bid thee suffer to remain in doubt.
  For often truth, when brought into the light,
  Becomes the bane of him who seeks for her.

  _Oedipus:_ Can any ills be worse than those I fear?

  _Old Man:_ Oh, be thou sure the truth is big with fate,
  Whose meaning must be sought with toil and pain.
  The public weal calls there, and here thine own,                   830
  And both with equal voice. Direct thy steps
  Along a middle course! provoke not fate;
  Permit thy fortune to unfold itself.
  It profits naught to change a happy state.

  _Oedipus:_ A change is well when all is at the worst.

  _Old Man:_ What better canst thou ask than royal birth?            835
  No further seek, lest thou thy sire repent.

  _Oedipus:_ Though I should prove to be of shameful blood,
  My purpose still is fixed to know the truth.
                                [_Enter_ Phorbas, _the head-shepherd._]
  But see, the agéd man, old Phorbas, comes,
  'Neath whose control the royal flocks are kept.
  Dost thou remember still his face or name?                         840

  _Old Man:_ His form eludes my mind; not fully known,
  And yet again not all unknown his face.
                                                        [_To_ Phorbas.]
  Old man, while Laius still was king, didst thou,
  His shepherd, ever drive the royal flocks
  To pasture here upon Cithaeron's <DW72>s?

  _Phorbas:_ On fair Cithaeron's sunny <DW72>s my flocks              845
  Have ever found the greenest pasturage.

  _Old Man:_ Dost thou know me?

  _Phorbas:_                   But dim and indistinct
  My memory.

  _Oedipus:_ Didst thou at any time
  An infant boy deliver to this man?
                                    [Phorbas _falters and turns pale_.]
  Come then, speak out! why dost thou hesitate?
  And why does pallor overspread thy cheeks?
  Why seek for words? The truth no respite needs.                    850

  _Phorbas:_ Thou speak'st of things long buried and forgot.

  _Oedipus:_ But speak, or pain shall drive thee to confess.

  _Phorbas:_ I gave a boy to him, a useless gift;
  He never could have lived or known the light.

  _Old Man:_ The gods forbid! The child is living still;             855
  And may his life be long on earth, I pray.

  _Oedipus:_ Why dost thou think the child did not survive?

  _Phorbas:_ A slender rod of iron his ankles pierced,
  And bound his limbs. This wound produced a sore,
  Which by contagion spread o'er all his frame.

  _Old Man:_ Why question more? The fatal truth draws near.          860
  Who was that infant boy?

  _Phorbas:_                My lips are sealed.

  _Oedipus:_ Bring hither fire! Its flames shall loose thy speech.

  _Phorbas:_ Must truth be sought along such cruel paths?
  I pray thy grace.

  _Oedipus:_      If I seem harsh to thee,
  Or headstrong, thy revenge is in thy hand--                        865
  The truth revealed. Then speak: who was the child?
  Of what sire gotten? Of what mother born?

  _Phorbas: He was the son of her who is thy--wife_.

  _Oedipus:_ Then yawn, O earth! and thou, O king of shades,
  Into the lowest depths of hades hurl
  This vile confounder of the son and sire!                          870
  Ye citizens, on my incestuous head
  Heap crushing rocks! with weapons slaughter me!
  Let husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers--all
  Whose name I have defiled, against me arm!
  And let the poor, plague-smitten populace
  Hurl blazing brands from off their funeral pyres!
  The plague spot of the age, I wander here,                         875
  Heaven-cursed pollutor of all sacred ties;
  Who, in the day when first I breathed the air,
  Was doomed to death.
                                                        [_To himself._]
                                Call up thy courage now,
  And dare some deed befitting these thy crimes.
  Haste to thy palace and congratulate                               880
  Thy mother's house increased by children's sons.

[_Exit._]

  _Chorus:_ If it were mine to choose my fate
        And fashion as I would,
    I'd trim my sails to the gentle breeze,
    Lest, by the raging blasts o'erwhelmed,                          885
        My spars should broken be.
    May soft and gently blowing winds
        My dauntless bark lead on;
    And ever on the middle course,
    Where safely runs the path of life,                              890
        May I be traveling.
    Fearing the Cretan king, 'tis said,
        And trusting in strange arts,
    Young Icarus essayed the stars,
    And strove to conquer birds in flight,                           895
        On false wings balancing.
    He fell into the raging sea
        And his name alone survived.
    But, wiser far, old Daedalus                                     900
    A safer course midst the clouds pursued,
        Awaiting his wingéd son.
    As the timid bird flees the threat'ning hawk,
        And collects her scattered young;                            905
    So the father watched till he saw his son
    Plying his hands in the gulfing sea,
        Enmeshed in his useless wings.
    So does he stand in treacherous ways,
    Whoever goes beyond the bounds
        Ordained by nature's law.                                    910
                          [_Enter_ Messenger _from within the palace._]
  But what is this? The palace gates resound;
  Behold, it is the royal messenger.
  With wild and woeful mien he seems to come.
  Speak out, and tell us what the news thou bring'st.


ACT V

  _Messenger:_ When Oedipus his impious race perceived,              915
  And saw the warning fates had been fulfilled;
  When on a hideous charge he stood condemned;
  Then, with a deadly purpose in his breast,
  Did he approach his palace, and in haste
  Beneath those hated battlements he went.
  And as a lion rages o'er the sands,
  And, threat'ning, tosses back his tawny mane;                      920
  So Oedipus advanced with blazing eyes,
  And stern, mad face, while hollow groans burst forth,
  And from his limbs there dripped a chilling sweat.
  He foams and vents a stream of threat'ning words,
  And from his heart his mighty grief o'erflows.
  He in his madness seeks against himself                            925
  Some heavy penalty and like his fate.
  "Why do I wait for punishment?" he cries;
  "Let my guilty heart with hostile sword be pierced,
  Or overwhelmed with flames or crushing rocks!
  Oh, for a tiger or some bird of prey,
  To rend my tender flesh! Do thou thyself,
  Who hast beheld full many deeds of blood,                          930
  O cursed Cithaeron, from thy forests send
  Thy wild beasts 'gainst me or thy greedy dogs.
  Oh, that Agave were returned to earth!
  But thou, my soul, why dost thou shrink from death?
  For death alone can make thee innocent."
  So spake he, and his impious hand he laid                          935
  Upon the hilt and drew his glittering sword.
  "And dost thou, then, with this brief punishment
  Expect to pay thy mighty debt of guilt,
  And with one blow wilt balance all thy sins?
  Thy death would satisfy thy murdered sire;
  But what to appease thy mother wilt thou do,
  And those thy children, shamefully begot?
  What recompense canst make unto thy land,                          940
  Which for thy sin is smit with pestilence?
  Such debts as these thou canst not pay by death.
  Let Nature, who, in Oedipus alone,
  Strange births devising, hath her laws o'erturned,
  Subvert herself again to punish him.
  Let it be mine, in never-ending round,                             945
  To live and die, and to be born again,
  That for my crimes by never-ending pain
  I may atone. Now use thy wit, poor soul.
  Since by repeated death thou canst not die,
  Choose then some form of lingering death in life,
  Some way by which, not numbered with the dead,
  Nor yet the living, thou mayst linger on.                          950
  So die, that in thy death thou mayst remain
  Without the land wherein thy father dwells.
  O soul, why dost thou hesitate?" And then
  A sudden stream of tears o'erspread his face,
  And wet his cheeks. "And can my tears suffice?
  Too long my eyes these useless showers have poured;                955
  Nay, let them follow where the tears have flowed,
  From out their sockets driven. O gods of wedlock,
  Is this enough? These eyes must be removed."
  He spoke with frenzied rage; and all the while
  His cheeks were flaming with a dangerous light,
  And his starting eyeballs strained to leave their seats.
  His face was full of passion, fierce resolve.                      960
  Groaning he thrust his hands into his eyes;
  And those fierce eyes stood forth to meet his hands,
  And eager followed of their own accord
  Their kindred hands, as courting that deep wound.
  Deep in with hookéd fingers he explores,                           965
  And rends his eyeballs from their deepest roots.
  Still stays his hands within those empty seats,
  And tears the hollow sockets with his nails,
  With savage joy, with vain and endless rage;                       970
  So great[6] his fear and hatred of the light.
  He lifts his head, and with those empty eyes
  The heavens surveying, tests his darkened sight.
  Whatever from his mangled eyes still hangs,
  He tears away, and now in triumph cries
  To all the gods: "Oh, spare my country now,                        975
  I pray; for I have done what must be done,
  And I have paid the penalty I owed.
  Now have I found at last a fitting night
  To match my impious wedlock." As he speaks,
  His face is watered by a hideous shower,
  As the blood flows streaming from his ruptured veins.

  _Chorus:_ By fate we're driven; then yield to fate.                980
      No anxious, brooding care can change
      The thread of destiny that falls
      From that grim spindle of the Fates.
      Whate'er we mortals suffer here,
      Whate'er we do, all hath its birth
      In that deep realm of mystery.
      Stern Lachesis her distaff whirls,                             985
      Spinning the threads of mortal men,
      But with no backward-turning hand.
      All things in ordered pathways go;
      And on our natal day was fixed
      Our day of death. Not God himself
      Can change the current of our lives,
      Which bears its own compelling force                           990
      Within itself. Each life goes on
      In order fixed and absolute,
      Unmoved by prayer. Nay fear itself
      Has been by many found a bane;
      For, while they sought to shun their fate,
      They came upon it in their flight.
  But now the palace gates resound, and see,                         995
  The sightless king himself, with none to guide,
  Takes hitherward his blind and groping way.

[_Enter_ Oedipus.]

  _Oedipus:_ Now all is well and finished; to my sire
  I've paid the debt I owed. How sweet these shades!
  What god, at length appeased, hath wrapped my head
  In a pall of darkness, and my crimes forgiven?                    1000
  Now have I 'scaped the conscious eye of day;
  And nothing dost thou owe, O parricide,
  To thine avenging hand. Thy sight is gone,
  And such a countenance becomes thee well.

[_Enter_ Jocasta.]

  _Chorus:_ See where with hurried step Jocasta comes,
  Beside herself and overcome with grief;                           1005
  As when in maddened rage that Theban dame
  Her son's head tore away and realized
  What she had done. She wavers, longs to speak
  To that afflicted one, and fears to speak.
  Now shame at last has yielded to her grief,
  And with a faltering tongue she speaks to him.

  _Jocasta:_ What shall I call thee? Son? Dost shun that name?
  Thou art my son; thy shame confesseth it.                         1010
  And yet, O son, though all unwilling, speak.
  Why dost thou turn away thy sightless face?

  _Oedipus:_ Who now forbids me to enjoy my night?
  Who gives me back mine eyes? My mother's voice!
  Oh, awful sound! Now is my labor vain.
  Stay where thou art! Each step is impious.
  Let boundless seas our guilty souls divide,                       1015
  And lands remote; and if beneath this land
  Some other hangs, beholding other stars,
  May that far country one of us receive.

  _Jocasta:_ What thou deplorest is the fault of fate.
  A fated crime can leave no stain of sin.

  _Oedipus:_ Now cease thy words, O mother, spare my ears,          1020
  By these poor remnants of my mangled form,
  By that unhallowed offspring of my blood,
  And all that in the double names we bear
  Is right and wrong!

  _Jocasta [to herself]:_            Why art thou listless now,
  O soul of mine? Since thou hast shared his guilt,
  Why hesitate to share his punishment?                             1025
  The beauty of all human intercourse
  Has fallen into ruin for thy sake,
  Confused and lost, O wretch incestuous.
  Not if the father of the gods himself
  Should hurl at me his glittering thunderbolts,
  Could I for my foul crimes atonement make,                        1030
  Since I the name of mother have profaned.
  Now death is welcome, but the way of death
  Must I consider.
                                                        [_To_ Oedipus.]
                     Come, thou parricide,
  And lift thy hand against thy mother too.
  This act is wanting to complete thy work.
                                                        [_To herself._]
  Now let the sword be drawn. By this good blade
  Was Laius, my husband, slain--not so;                             1035
  My husband's father, by his rightful name!
  Shall I this weapon plunge into my breast,
  Or thrust it deep within my waiting neck?
  Nay, nay: thou know'st not how to choose a place.
  Strike here, O hand, through this capacious womb,
  Which (horrible!) the son and husband bore.

[_She stabs herself and falls dead._]

  _Chorus:_ She lies in death, her failing hand relaxed;            1040
  And spouting streams of blood drive out the sword.

  _Oedipus:_ O fate-revealer, thee do I upbraid,
  Thou god and guardian of the oracles.
  My father only was I doomed to slay;
  But now, twice parricide and past my fears,
  Have I been guilty, and my mother slain.
  For 'tis by sin of mine that she is dead.                         1045
  O lying Phoebus, now have I outdone
  The impious fates.
                   With apprehensive feet
  Let me go out upon my darkened way,
  Planting my footsteps with a faltering tread,
  And through the darkness grope with trembling hands.
  Stay not thy flight, speed thy uncertain steps--                  1050
  But hold! lest on thy mother's corse thou tread.
  O Thebans, weak and smitten sore with ills,
  Whose hearts are fainting in your breasts, behold,
  I flee, I go: lift up your drooping heads.
  A milder sky and sweeter air shall come
  When I am gone. Whoever still retains                             1055
  His feeble life may now inhale the air
  In deep, life-giving draughts. Go, lend your aid
  To those who were to certain death resigned;
  For with me in my exile do I bear
  All pestilential humors of the land.
  Then come, ye blasting Fates and mad Despair,
  Thou deadly Pestilence, come, come with me;                       1060
  With such a company 'tis sweet to flee!

[_Exit._]


FOOTNOTES:

[6] Reading, _tantum_.




PHOENISSAE, OR THEBAÏS

A FRAGMENT




PHOENISSAE, OR THEBAÏS

A FRAGMENT
DRAMATIS PERSONAE

_Oedipus_ Late king of Thebes.

_Antigone_ Daughter of Oedipus, constant to him in his misfortunes.

_Jocasta_ Wife and mother of Oedipus.

  _Polynices_ }
  _Eteocles_  }  Sons of Oedipus and rivals for the throne.

_Messenger_


THE SCENE is laid, first in the wild country to which Oedipus,
accompanied by Antigone, has betaken himself; then in Thebes, and
lastly in the plain before Thebes.

THE TIME is three years after the great tragedy of Oedipus.


_The stroke of fate, that has been threatening Oedipus since long
before his birth, has fallen at last, and he has done the thing he
feared to do. And now, self-blinded and self-exiled from his land, he
has for three years wandered in rough and trackless places, attended by
Antigone, his daughter, who, alone of all his friends, has condoned his
fated sins and remained attached to him._

_Meanwhile his sons, though they agreed to reign alternate years, are
soon to meet in deadly strife; for Eteocles, although his year of royal
power is at an end, refuses to give up the throne; and now Polynices,
who has in exile wed the daughter of Adrastus, king of Argos, is
marching against the gates of Thebes, with seven great armies, to
enforce his rights._

[_By a different version from the "Oedipus," Jocasta did not slay
herself at once as in that tale, but still is living on in grief and
shame, and strives to reconcile her sons._]


ACT I

  _Oedipus_ [_to_ Antigone, _who has followed him into exile_]: O thou,
  who guid'st thy blinded father's steps,
  Sole comfort of my weary heart, my child,
  Begotten at such heavy cost to me,
  Leave thou the unpropitious way I tread.
  Why shouldst thou seek to lead my feet aright
  Which fain would wander? Let me stumble on.                          5
  Far better shall I find my way, alone,
  The path that from the miseries of life
  Shall take me, and the face of heaven and earth
  Free from the sight of this ill-omened head.
  O hand of mine, how little hast thou done!
  For, though I do not see the light of day
  Which looked upon my crime, still am I seen.
  Unclasp thy clinging hand from mine; permit                         10
  My sightless feet to wander where they will.
  I go, I go where my Cithaeron lifts
  His rugged crags on high; where to his dogs
  Actaeon, speeding through the rocky ways,
  Became a booty strange and pitiful;
  Where through the dim old woods and dusky glades,                   15
  By Bacchic frenzy fired, the mother wild
  Her sisters led, rejoicing in the crime,
  When on the waving thyrsus' point she bore
  The gory head of Pentheus; where the bull
  Of Zethus rushed along, the mangled corpse
  Of Dirce dragging (through the thorny briars                        20
  The mad beast's flight was traceable in blood);
  Or where the cliff of Ino lifts its head
  High o'er the heaving sea, into whose depths
  The mother leaped, fleeing an unknown crime,
  Yet daring other crime, by terror driven
  To sink her son with her beneath the waves.                         25
  Oh, happy they whose better fortune gave
  Mothers like these! There is another place
  Within these woods--my place, which calls to me,
  To which I fain would haste; my eager feet
  Will not delay, and thither will I go,
  Unguided, all alone. Why hesitate                                   30
  To seek the place that most belongs to me?
  Give back that death, Cithaeron, give again
  That spot where once I lay upon thy breast,
  That, where I should in infancy have died,
  In age I may expire. Now let me pay
  The debt I long have owed. O mountain, fell
  And bloody, cruel, savage in thy rage,
  Both when thou spar'st and when thou dost destroy,                  35
  This body long ago was given to thee:
  Obey my father's and my mother's will.
  My soul is eager to receive at last
  Its punishment. Why, daughter, why dost thou
  With baleful love restrain me? Hold me not.
  My father calls, and I will follow, yea,
  Will follow him. Then cease to hold me back.                        40
  See where the royal Laius comes in rage,
  The blood-stained scepter of his ravished realm
  Within his grasp. See, with his angry hands
  He seeks to tear again my empty eyes.
  O daughter, dost thou see my father, too?
  I surely see him.
      [_To himself:_] Now, O coward soul,
  Brave but to mar a helpless part of thee,                           45
  At length spew out that hateful life of thine.
  Delay no more upon thy punishment,
  And give thyself entirely unto death.
  Why do I, sluggish, linger on in life?
  There is no further crime that I can do.
  Oh, my foreboding, wretched soul, there is!
                                                       [_To_ Antigone.]
  Flee from thy father, flee, while still a maid;
  My mother's fate makes me of all afraid.                            50

  _Antigone_: No power, my father, shall unloose my hold
  Of thee; no one shall force me from thy side.
  The illustrious, rich house of Labdacus,
  Let my two brothers seek with strife to gain:
  The greatest part of all my father's realm                          55
  Is mine--my father's self. Nor shall this share
  Be reft away from me by him who holds
  By stolen right the scepter over Thebes,
  Nor by that other brother who leads on
  Against his native land th' Argolic hosts;
  Though Jove himself should thunder out of heaven,
  And hurl his bolt against my clinging hands,                        60
  I would not let thee go. Though thou forbid,
  I'll guide thee, O my father, 'gainst thy will,
  And thy reluctant feet will I direct.
  Seek'st thou the level plain? There will I go.
  The rugged mountain heights? I'll not oppose,
  But will precede thy way. Use me as guide
  Wherever thou wouldst go; since for us both                         65
  Is every path selected that thou tread'st.
  With me, but not without me, canst thou die.
  There springs a lofty cliff, precipitous,
  And looks far out upon the sea below:
  Shall we seek this? There hangs a naked rock,
  There yawns the riven earth with gaping jaws:                       70
  Wouldst thou to these? And there a mountain stream
  In roaring torrent falls, and 'neath its waves
  Worn fragments of the mountain roll along:
  Shall we rush headlong in? Where thou wouldst go,
  I go, but always first. I'll not oppose
  Nor urge. Dost thou desire to be destroyed?
  Is death thy highest wish? If thou dost die,                        75
  I go before thee; if thou liv'st, I follow.
  But change thy mind, call up thine old-time strength,
  And with a mighty will thy sorrows curb.
  Resist, since in such ills defeat is death.

  _Oedipus:_ Whence springs so rare a spirit in a house               80
  So impious? Whence comes this noble maid,
  Unlike her race? Can it be true indeed?
  Has any pious thing been born of me?
  Ne'er would it be, for well I know my fates,
  Except for harmful ends. Nature herself
  Has changed her laws: now shall the stream, reversed,               85
  Bear back its whirling waters to their source;
  The torch of Phoebus shall bring in the night,
  And day be heralded by Hesperus;
  And, that I may but add unto my woe,
  I, too, shall pious be. Not to be saved--
  This is for Oedipus the only cure.
  Let me avenge my father, unavenged                                  90
  Till now. My hand, why dost thou hesitate
  To exact the penalty I owe to him?
  Whatever I have suffered hitherto
  Was for my mother's sake. Release my hand,
  Undaunted girl; thou but delay'st my death,
  And thy living father's funeral prolong'st.                         95
  Let earth conceal at last this hated form.
  Thou wrongest me, though with a kind intent,
  And deem'st it piety to keep thy sire
  From burial. But they are one in guilt,
  Both he who forces death upon a man
  Who fain would live, and he who holds him back
  Who longs to die. And yet they are not one;
  For surely is the last the worser sin.                             100
  To be condemned to death were better far
  For me than to be saved from death. Then cease,
  My child, from this attempt. I have reserved
  For my own will the right to live or die.
  Right gladly did I yield the sovereignty
  O'er all my realm; yet o'er myself alone
  I still am king. If thou in very truth                             105
  Art loyal to me, give me back my sword,
  That sword already with my father's blood
  Defiled. Wilt give it back? Or do my sons
  Retain my sword together with my throne?
  'Tis well. Wherever there is need of crime,
  There let it be; I gladly give it up.
  Let both my sons possess the sword. But thou,
  Flames, rather, and a heap of wood prepare;                        110
  Then will I fling myself upon the pyre,
  Cling in its hot embrace, and hide myself
  Within its deadly hold. There will I loose
  This stubborn soul, and give to mortal dust
  Whatever lives in me. Where is the sea?
  Come, lead me where some beetling crag juts out,                   115
  Or where Ismenus rolls his savage waves;
  Or thither would I go and end my life,
  Where once upon a jutting rock abode
  The hybrid Sphinx and wove her crafty speech.                      120
  Direct me thither, set thy father there.
  Let not that dreadful seat be empty long,
  But place me there, a greater monster still.
  There will I sit and of my fate propose
  A riddle dark which no man will resolve.
  Come listen, ye, who plow the Theban fields;
  Whoever worships in the sacred grove                               125
  Of Cadmus, for the deadly serpent famed,
  Where hallowed Dirce lies; whoever drinks
  Eurotas' stream; ye who in Sparta dwell,
  Illustrious for its heavenly brothers twain;
  And ye who reap Boeotia's fertile fields,
  The plains of Elis and Parnassus' <DW72>s:                          130
  What riddle like to this could she propose,
  That curse of Thebes, who wove destructive words
  In puzzling measures? What so dark as this?
  _He was his grandsire's son-in-law, and yet
  His father's rival; brother of his sons,                           135
  And father of his brothers; at one birth
  The granddame bore unto her husband sons,
  And grandson's to herself._ Who can unwind
  A tangle such as this? E'en I myself,
  Who bore the spoils of triumph o'er the Sphinx,
  Stand mute before the riddle of my fate.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Has a speech of_ Antigone _dropped out at this point, or does_
Oedipus _hark back to a previous thought after a dramatic pause?_]

  But why waste further words? Why dost thou try                     140
  To soften my determined heart with prayers?
  My will is fixed to pour this spirit forth
  Which now for long has struggled sore with death,
  And seek the world of shades; for blackest night
  Is still not black enough for this my crime.
  'Tis sweet in deepest Tartarus to hide;
  Or, if there yet is deeper pit than this,                          145
  There would I go. 'Tis well to do at last
  The thing which long ago should have been done.
  I cannot be prevented from my death.
  Wilt take away my sword? Wilt bar all paths
  That lead unto the fatal precipice?
  Wilt keep my neck free from the choking noose?
  Remove all poisonous herbs from me? Yet what,                      150
  Think'st thou, will all that care of thine avail?
  For death is everywhere. A kindly God
  Hath this great law with wisest care ordained:
  That anyone can take man's life away,
  But none can stay his death; for countless ways
  Are open unto him who seeks to die.
  I ask no aid of thine. Well am I used
  To employ this naked hand. Then come, my hand,                     155
  With all thy force, with all thy passion, come.
  And not one wound alone would I endure,
  For I have sinned in every part of me.
  Come, strike the mortal blow where'er thou wilt:
  Break through my breast and tear my heart away,
  So full of sin; lay bear my vitals all;                            160
  Rain blows upon my neck until it break,
  Or let thy gouging fingers tear my veins
  Until they flow with blood. Or, if thou wilt,
  Direct thine anger whither thou art wont:
  These healing wounds reopen; let them flow
  With streams of blood and loathsome gore again;
  And through this passage drag my life away,
  So stubborn in defeat, so hard to storm.                           165
  And thou, O father, wheresoe'er thou art,
  Who stand'st as judge upon my just deserts,
  I ne'er have thought that such a crime as mine
  Could ever be sufficiently atoned,
  Nor has this living death contented me;
  I have not bought my pardon with my eyes,
  But fain would perish for thee, limit by limb.                     170
  Exact at last the penalty I owe.
  Now I atone; then I but sacrificed
  Unto thy manes. Be thou here to aid,
  And my reluctant hand help me to plunge
  Deep down and deeper in my sightless eyes.
  A scant and timid offering I made,
  When first I plucked my eager eyeballs out.                        175
  And even now my trembling spirit halts,
  Yea, halts, though downward to my shrinking hands
  My face inclines. Now shalt thou hear the truth,
  O Oedipus: less boldly than thou plan'dst
  Did'st thou pluck out thine eyes. Let now thy brain                180
  Feel those avenging fingers; through this door
  Complete the death which has begun in me.

  _Antigone:_ O father, great of soul, I pray thee hear
  With quiet mind thy wretched daughter's words:
  I do not seek to lead thee back again
  Into the presence of thy former home,
  Nor to the illustrious splendor of thy realm;                      185
  I ask thee not with calm and peaceful soul
  To bear again that fearful shock of woe
  Which even yet the soothing hand of time
  Has not assuaged. And yet it is not meet
  That one so stout of heart should be o'ercome
  And to misfortune weakly turn his back.
  It is not valor, father, as thou think'st,                         190
  To shrink from life; but 'gainst the mightiest ills
  To stand opposed, and not to flinch or budge,
  That is the truest test of manly worth.
  Who tramples under foot his destiny,
  Who disregards and scorns the goods of life,
  And aggravates the evils of his lot,                               195
  Who has no further need of Providence:
  Wherefore should such a man desire to die,
  Or seek for death? Each is the coward's act.
  No one holds death in scorn who seeks to die.
  The man whose evils can no farther go
  Is safely lodged. Who of the gods, think'st thou,                  200
  Grant that he wills it so, can add one jot
  Unto thy sum of trouble? Nor canst thou,
  Save that thou deem'st thyself unfit to live.
  But thou art not unfit, for in thy breast
  No taint of sin has come. And all the more,
  My father, art thou free from taint of sin,
  Because, though heaven willed it otherwise,                        205
  Thou still art innocent. What is there now
  Which has so maddened thee, which goads thy heart
  To fresh outbursts of grief? What forces thee
  To seek the abodes of hell, and fly from these?
  Is't that thou wouldst avoid the light of day?
  Thou dost avoid the light. Or wouldst thou flee
  This noble palace and thy native land?
  Thy native land, although thou livest still,
  Is dead to thee. Wouldst from thy sons escape,                     210
  And from thy mother? From the sight of all
  Has fate removed thee; and whatever death
  From any man can take, thy life has taken.
  Art weary of the kingdom's press and stir?
  At thy command thy former courtier throng
  Has vanished.--Whom, O father, dost thou flee?                     215

  _Oedipus:_ Myself I flee, I flee this heart of mine,
  Full of all crimes; I flee this hand, this sky,
  These gods; I flee those dreadful sins which I,
  Though innocent, have done. And can it be
  That this fair world, whence bounteous harvests spring,
  Is trod by such as I? This wholesome air
  Do I with pestilential lips inhale,                                220
  With water quench my thirst, or any gift
  Of kindly earth enjoy? And do I dare,
  This impious, incestuous, curséd wretch,
  To touch thy maiden hand? Have I still ears
  To hear the name of parent or of son?                              225
  Oh, that with rending hands I might destroy
  These narrow ways of sound by which I hear
  The words of men. My child, all sense of thee,
  Who art a parcel of my impious deeds,
  In my unhappiness I would have fled.                               230
  But now my crime sticks fast within my heart,
  And threatens ever to break out afresh;
  For what my blinded eyes have spared to me,
  Is through my ears poured in upon my soul.
  Oh, why do I not plunge this darkened life
  Into the eternal shadow-world of Dis?
  Why do I longer hold my spirit here?                               235
  Why be a burden to the upper world,
  And wander still among the living men?
  What evil yet remains? My fatherland,
  My parents, children, valor--all are lost,
  And that illustrious glory of the mind;
  Yea, evil chance hath stripped me of my all.
  Tears yet remained, but these with my own hand                     240
  Have I destroyed. Then go thy ways, my child.
  My soul will not give ear to any prayers,
  And only seeks new punishment for crime,
  And equal to my sin--if that can be.
  While yet an infant was I doomed to death.
  What mortal ever drew so hard a fate?
  Ere I had seen the light, while still confined                     245
  Within the darksome prison of the womb,
  I was a thing of dread. The night of death
  Lays hold on many at the hour of birth,
  And snatches them away from dawning life;
  But death anticipated birth in me.
  Some are o'ertaken by untimely fate
  While still within the womb, yet without sin.                      250
  But I, yet hid within the hold of life,
  While yet my very being was in doubt,
  Was by the heavenly oracle compelled
  To answer to a charge unspeakable.
  My sire condemned me at Apollo's word,
  And through my tender ankles thrust a rod
  Still glowing from the forge; then sent his child
  Into the forest deep, a prey for beasts                            255
  And all the savage birds Cithaeron breeds,
  Accustomed to be stained with royal blood.
  Yet him, whom God condemned, who by his sire
  Was cast away to die, death also fled.
  And Delphi's oracle have I fulfilled:
  For I with impious hand assailed my sire,                          260
  And slew him.
  [_With bitter irony_] Yet, for this impiety,
  Perchance another act of piety
  Will make amends: I killed my father; true,
  But still I loved my mother.--Oh, 'tis shame
  To mention such a wedlock; yet I will,
  And force myself to bear this punishment,
  To tell abroad my more than bestial crime,
  So strange, that nations stand in dumb amaze,                      265
  So shameful, that no age will credit it,
  That e'en the shameless parricide is shocked:
  Into my father's bed I bore my hands
  Smeared with my father's blood, and there received
  The wages of my crime--a greater crime.
  My father's murder was a trivial thing;                            270
  But, that my sum of crime might be complete,
  My mother, to my marriage chamber led,
  Conceived--Oh, how could nature e'er endure
  A greater crime? And yet, if aught remains,
  I have begotten children vile enough
  To do this also. I have cast away
  The scepter which I won by parricide,                              275
  And with it other hands are armed for war.
  Full well do I my kingdom's fortune know,
  That never more shall any gain the throne
  Without the sacrifice of kindred blood.
  Dire evils doth my father-soul presage,
  For even now are sown the baleful seeds
  Of future strife; the plighted pact is spurned;                    280
  One will not yield the throne he hath usurped,
  The other claims his right, calls on the gods
  To witness of his bond, and, driven from home,
  Moves Argos and the towns of Greece to arms.
  No light destruction comes to weary Thebes;
  For weapons, flames, and wounds press hard on her,                 285
  And greater woes than these, if such there be,
  That all may know I have begotten sons.

  _Antigone:_ If thou no other cause for living hast,
  My father, this one reason is enough,
  That thou as father mayst restrain thy sons
  From deadly strife. Thou only canst avert                          290
  Their threats of impious war, curb their mad hearts,
  Give peace to citizens, to country rest,
  And to their broken treaty honest faith.
  To many men art thou refusing life,
  If for thyself thou dost refuse to live.

  _Oedipus:_ Think'st thou that such as they have aught of love      295
  For father or for right, whose hearts are filled
  With lust for blood and power and impious arms,
  Profane and cruel sons--in brief, my own?
  Toward every form of evil deed they strive,
  And have no scruples where their wrath impels.
  In shame begot, they have no sense of shame.                       300
  They have no feeling for their wretched sire,
  None for their country. Naught but lust of power
  Rules in their maddened breasts. I know full well
  To what dire ends they tend, what monstrous deeds
  They are prepared to do; and for this cause
  I seek to find destruction's shortest path,
  And haste to die, while yet within my house                        305
  There is no soul more steeped in guilt than I.
  O child, why dost thou weep about my knees,
  Why seek with prayer to soften my hard heart?
  This means alone my fortune has reserved
  By which I may be led, unconquered else;
  For thou alone canst soothe my stubborn soul,                      310
  Canst teach me piety. For naught is hard
  Or grievous in my sight, if I perceive
  That thou dost wish it. Do thou but command:
  Then will I swim the broad Aegean straits,
  Will drink the flames which from Sicilia's mount
  Earth belches forth in whirling, molten streams,                   315
  Will beard the savage dragon in his den,
  Still raging at the theft of Hercules;
  At thy command, to birds of prey will give
  My bleeding heart--at thy command will live.

[_The first act seems to be complete here, except for the commenting
chorus which would naturally follow._ Oedipus _has temporarily yielded
to his daughter's will._]


ACT II

[_The following passage fittingly opens the second act or episode.
Although some editors would assign it to_ Antigone, _it seems more
fittingly to belong to a messenger who has just arrived, for the double
reason that it gives fresher information from Thebes than_ Antigone
_would naturally possess; and that_ Oedipus, _after the speech to his
daughter with which the previous scene ended, would hardly address to
her as rough a reply as he uses in his next speech._]

  _Messenger:_ Thee, sprung from regal stock to be our guide,        320
  In fear of civil strife our Thebes invokes,
  And prays that thou wouldst save thy father's house
  From the flaming torch of war. No mere threats, these;
  For ever nearer does destruction come.
  One brother claims his share of royal power,
  His turn to rule according to the bond,
  And now is rousing all the tribes of Greece                        325
  To bloody war. Against the walls of Thebes
  Seven camps have set them down. Haste to our aid,
  And war and crime prohibit equally.

  _Oedipus:_ Do I seem one to stay the hand of crime,
  And teach it to refrain from kindred blood?
  Should I teach righteousness and filial love?                      330
  They take me as a model for their crimes,
  And follow me. I gladly recognize
  And praise them as my sons; I urge them on
  To do some outrage worthy of their sire.
  Then on, my worthy offspring; by your deeds
  Approve your noble birth; do ye surpass                            335
  My glory and my praises; do some deed
  Because of which your father will rejoice
  That he has lived till now. And well I know
  That you will do it; for to such an end
  Were ye brought forth. Such noble birth as yours
  Cannot be satisfied with common crime
  Or slight. Then forward with your impious arms!
  Attack your household gods with flaming brands;                    340
  With torches gather in the ripened grain
  Upon your native fields; confuse all things,
  And hurry all to ruin absolute;
  O'erthrow the city's walls, yea, lay them low,
  E'en to the level of the plain; the gods
  And temples in one common fall o'erwhelm;
  Destroy our lares, now so foully stained,
  And let our whole house perish utterly;                            345
  Let all the city be consumed with fire,
  And be my impious marriage chamber first
  To feel the flames.

  _Antigone:_         This raging storm of grief
  Give o'er; and let the sorrows of the state
  Prevail with thee to reconcile thy sons.

  _Oedipus:_ And dost thou think that thou dost see in me            350
  A mild old man given o'er to peaceful thoughts?
  And dost thou summon me unto thine aid,
  As one who loves to 'stablish peace? Not so:
  For even now my spirit swells with rage,
  My grief burns fiercely, and I long to see
  Some greater deed than chance or youthful wrath
  Would dare attempt. I am not satisfied
  With civil war: let brother brother slay.                          355
  Nor yet would this suffice. I wait to see
  Some evil done that shall be like my own,
  That shall be worthy of my marriage bed.
  Give deadly weapons to my mother's hand--
  But do not seek to drag me from these woods.
  Here will I hide within the rocky caves,
  Or hedge myself about with thickets dense.                         360
  Here will I catch at warlike rumor rife
  And hear what news I may of brothers' strife.


ACT III

[_It is possible that the following fragments belong to still another
play. The presence of_ Antigone _in Thebes, notwithstanding her resolve
to remain with her father, would strengthen this view_.]

  _Jocasta:_ Oh, fortunate Agave! for she bore,
  Within the hand which did the deed, the spoil,
  The horrid spoil of her dismembered son,                           365
  A raging Maenad. Yea, she did the deed;
  But naught in all her sinfulness did she
  Save that one crime.[7] It is my least of sins
  That I am guilty; this my greater crime,
  That I have made another sinful too.
  But even this seems light when I reflect
  That I have given birth to sinful sons.
  Till now 'twas wanting to my sum of woe
  That I should love my country's enemy.                             370
  Three times has winter put away his snows,
  And thrice have Ceres' golden harvests fall'n
  Beneath the sickle, since my hapless son
  In exile wanders, robbed of fatherland,
  And craves assistance from the Grecian kings.
  He has become Adrastus' son-in-law,
  Whose sway is o'er the waters of the sea
  Which Isthmus cleaves. Adrastus even now                           375
  Is leading on his tribes, and with him march
  Seven other royal hosts. Ah, woe is me,
  I know not what I ought to wish or say.
  My exiled son with justice claims his share
  Of empire, but he seeks it wrongfully.
  How shall I pray? I count them both my sons,                       380
  And yet, alas, without impiety,
  Can I for neither pray. If for one son
  I call a blessing down, 'tis but a curse
  Upon the other's head. Yet this I know:
  Although I love them both with equal love,
  My heart inclines toward the better cause,                         385
  The worser fortune, ever favoring him
  Who suffers more; for this is fortune's way
  To win the wretched to their own again.

[_Enter_ Messenger _in haste_.]

  _Messenger:_ O queen, while thou dost utter these complaints,
  And spend'st the precious time in useless tears,
  With weapons drawn the battle lines approach.
  The trumpet's blare incites to bloody war,
  And even now the eagles are advanced.                              390
  The kings in seven-fold battle are arrayed,
  While the sons of Thebes with equal spirit go
  To meet the enemy. With hurrying tread,
  Now here, now there, advance the soldiery.
  Behold, dark clouds of dust obscure the day,
  And from the plain dense, smokelike billows rise,                  395
  Which earth, beneath the tread of countless hoofs,
  Sends rolling heavenward. And through the dust,
  If terror-stricken eyes can see aright,
  The hostile standards shine; with lifted spears
  The foremost ranks advance; while banners gleam,
  Bearing the names of famous generals wrought                       400
  In golden characters.
                      Then haste, O queen:
  Unto the warring brothers love restore,
  Give peace to all, and by a mother's hands
  Prevent the conflict of these impious bands.

  _Antigone:_ O mother, haste thee, haste on flying feet;
  Hold back their weapons, from my brothers' hands
  Strike down the swords, and 'twixt their deadly points
  Thy bared breast interpose. Then, mother, haste;                   405
  Or stop the war, or be thou first to fall.

  _Jocasta:_ I go, I go, and 'twixt their swords will stand,
  And there unto their points expose my life.
  And he who shall his brother seek to slay
  Must slay his mother first. At my command
  The son whose heart is moved by piety
  Will lay aside his arms; the impious son                           410
  Must first make war on me. These fiery youths
  Will I, although a woman, old, restrain.
  Within my sight shall be no impious deed;
  Or, if within my sight one impious deed
  Can be committed--then shall two be done.

[_Exit toward the scene of conflict._]

  _Antigone:_ Now gleam the advancing standards, near at hand;
  And loud the hostile battle-cry resounds.                          415
  A moment, and the impious deed is done.
  O mother, speed thee with thy prayers. But see!
  You would suppose them by my weeping moved,
  So slowly do the arméd lines advance.

  _Messenger:_ The lines move slowly, but the leaders haste.

  _Jocasta_ [_hurrying onward_]: What wingéd wind will speed me through
   the air,                                                          420
  Bearing me onward with the storm's mad whirl?
  What monstrous Sphinx or dark Stymphalian bird,
  Whose spreading wings blot out the light of day,
  Will bear me on its space-consuming wings?
  What Harpy, hovering o'er the royal board
  Of that stern Thracian king, will catch me up
  Along the lofty highways of the air,                               425
  And cast me headlong 'twixt th' opposing lines?

  _Messenger_ [_looking after her_]: Like some wild creature reft of
    sense she goes.
  Swift as an arrow shot by Parthian hand,
  Or as a ship which boisterous winds impel,
  Or as the flight of falling star from heaven,                      430
  Which in unswerving course athwart the sky
  Darts on its fiery way: with maddened haste
  The queen has sped her flight, and even now
  Has ta'en her stand between th' opposing lines.
  The battle pauses yet a little while,
  O'ercome at sight of those maternal tears.
  And now the hosts, on mutual slaughter bent,                       435
  Stand with their weapons balanced in their hands:
  Peace wins the day; the threat'ning points are lowered;
  The swords are sheathed. But in the brothers' hands
  They still are poised. The frantic mother now,
  Her white hair torn with grieving, speaks to them,                 440
  Beseaches their reluctant, stubborn wills,
  And wets their knees with tears. Too long they bide:
  Such halting bodes the mother's prayers denied.


FOOTNOTES:

[7] Reading, _ultra suum scelus hoc cucurrit_.


ACT IV

[_On the field before Thebes, between the battle lines._]

  _Jocasta_ [_kneeling between her two hostile sons_]:
  'Gainst me your arms and blazing torches turn;
  'Gainst me alone let every warrior rush,
  Who comes from Argos thirsting for the fray,
  And they who from the citadel of Thebes                            445
  Come down to battle. Friend and foe, alike,
  Attack this womb of mine which brothers bore
  Unto my husband. Rend me limb from limb,
  And scatter me abroad upon the plain.
  I bore you both--will you lay down your arms?
  Or shall I say from whom I bore you, too?
  Give me your hands while still they are unstained.                 450
  'Till now 'twas all unwittingly you sinned;
  'Twas fortune's crime, who ever 'gainst our peace
  Delights to plot. But this impiety
  Is done with fullest knowledge of your sin.
  Within your power lies whichsoe'er you will:                       455
  If filial love, then grant your mother peace;
  If crime, then must you do a greater crime.
  Your mother stands between you, blocks your way;
  Have done with war or with the war's delay.
  To which of you in fond anxiety
  Shall I address my prayers? Whom first embrace?                    460
  My heart with equal love is drawn to both.
                                              [_Turning to_ Polynices.]
  This son has wandered far away from me;
  But if the compact of the brothers holds,
  This other son must wander too. Alas,
  And shall I never see you both again,
  Except in enmity? Do thou come first
  Into thy mother's arms, who hast endured
  So many toils, so many miseries,                                   465
  And, worn with weary exile, see'st at last
  Thy mother's face. Come nearer to me here.
  Now sheathe thine impious sword; and this thy spear,
  Which even now is quivering with hate
  And eager to be thrown, thrust in the ground.
  Put by thy shield as well; it keeps me off                         470
  From folding thee unto my mother-breast.
  Unbind thy brow, and from thy warlike head
  Thy helm remove and let me see thy face.
  Why dost thou turn away, and fix thine eyes
  With timid gaze upon thy brother's band?
  I'll throw my arms about thee for a shield,                        475
  That through my body only may the sword
  Find passage to thy blood. Why hesitate?
  Can it be that thou dost fear thy mother's pledge?

  _Polynices:_ I fear; for nature's laws no longer hold.
  Since I have known a brother's faithlessness,
  I scarce can trust my mother's plighted word.                      480

  _Jocasta:_ Then lay thy hand upon the sword again,
  Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield;
  And while thy brother doth his arms remove,
  Remain thou armed.
                                                       [_To_ Eteocles.]
                   Do thou lay by thy sword,
  Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn.
  If peace is hateful to thee, if in war
  Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce                         485
  Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons,
  Returned but now from exile, she may print
  A kiss of love, the first--perchance the last.
  While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed.
  Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn?
  But I do fear you both, and for you both.
  Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword?
  Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war,                             490
  Of which the best end is to be o'ercome.
  And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles?
  If one must on his brother work deceit
  Or suffer it himself, 'tis better far
  To be the victim of the treachery
  Than to perform the crime. But fear thou not;                      495
  For I will shield thee from all sudden snares.
  Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudge
  Thy father's blindness? Have I hither come
  To check an impious crime, or see it done
  Before my very eyes?
                                            [Eteocles _yields to her_.]
                     He sheathes his sword,
  And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans.
                                            [_She turns to_ Polynices.]
  And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns                           500
  With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face
  Which long have I desired and prayed to see.
  Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland,
  The household of a foreign king protects;
  O'er many seas, by many chances driven,
  Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mine
  With stately train to lead thee to thy bride,                      505
  With my own hand to deck the festal halls,
  And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch.
  The father of thy bride no wedding gifts,
  No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns;
  Thy only gift is war. A foeman's son                               510
  Hast thou become, far from thy native land,
  An alien household's guest, driven from thine own,
  Committed to another's interests,
  A sinless exile. That no element
  Might fail thee of thy father's hapless fate,
  Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice.
  O son, after so many years returned,                               515
  O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear,
  For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods;
  Though thy return was doomed to take from me
  As much as at thy coming it could give:
  "When shall I cease to fear for thee?" I said;                     520
  The mocking god replied: "Him shalt thou fear."
  I should not have thee near me now, indeed,
  Were there no war; and there would be no war,
  If thou wert not at hand. Oh, bitter price
  And hard, that I must pay for sight of thee.
  But still there's pleasure in't. These hostile hosts--             525
  Let them withdraw a little space from here,
  While yet stern Mars dares no impiety.
  Yet this as well is great impiety,
  That they have been so near. I am appalled,
  And tremble when I see two brothers stand,
  Each fronting each, upon the brink of crime.                       530
  My limbs do quake with fear. How near I came
  To seeing greater infamy than that
  Which thy poor father never could have seen!
  Though I am freed from fear of such a crime,
  Though I shall not behold such evil now,
  Still am I most unhappy when I think
  How nearly I beheld it. O my son,
  By the womb that bore thee through ten weary months,               535
  And by thy noble sister's piety;
  By thy unhappy father's sightless eyes,
  Which he, though innocent of any crime,
  Tore out, his fatal error to avenge:
  Turn from thy father's walls these impious brands,                 540
  Send back the standards of this warring host.
  Though thou shouldst yield, still is the greater part
  Of thy impiety already done:
  Thy fatherland has seen its fertile plains
  By hordes of hostile soldiery o'errun,
  The arméd legions gleaming from afar,                              545
  The broad Cadmean meadows trampled down
  By flying hoofs, the princes, insolent,
  High in their chariots dashing o'er the plain,
  The blazing torches threatening our homes
  With utter devastation, and, a crime
  Which even Thebes till now has never seen,
  A brother 'gainst his brother waging war.
  This crime was seen by all our Theban host;                        550
  The citizens and both thy sisters saw,
  And I thy mother; to himself is due
  That Oedipus, thy father, saw it not.
  Oh, do thou but compare thyself with him,
  By whose stern judgment fitting penalty
  E'en error pays. Do not with impious sword                         555
  Destroy thy city and thy father's house,
  Nor overthrow the city thou wouldst rule.
  What madness holds its sway within thy soul?
  Wouldst thou, by seeking to obtain the land,
  Destroy it? That it may become thine own,
  Dost thou intend to spoil it utterly?
  To thine own cause thou doest deadly wrong,
  In harrying this very soil of thine                                560
  With hostile arms, in laying low the crops,
  And spreading fear through all the country round.
  No one such devastation ever works
  Upon his own. What thou dost burn with fire,
  And reap with sword, 'tis plain that thou dost grant
  To be another's. Gain thou then the throne,
  Whichever of you will; but gain it so
  That 'twill not be the kingdom's overthrow.                        565
  Dost seek these homes with hostile sword and brand?
  Wilt thou avail to batter down these walls
  Which great Amphion built, these mighty walls,
  Whose stones no human hand e'er set in place,
  The huge weights moving by the creaking crane--
  But, marshaled by the strains of song and harp,
  The stones, e'en to the topmost turret's round,                    570
  Moved of their own accord--wouldst shatter these?
  As victor wilt thou bear away the spoils?
  And shall rough soldiery lead off in chains
  Thy father's noble friends and stately dames
  Torn from their grieving husbands' very arms?
  And, mingled with the wretched captive band,                       575
  Shall Theban maidens go as presents meet
  For wives of Argos? And shall I myself,
  My hands (disgraceful!) bound behind my back,
  The mother, be the booty of the son,
  In triumph borne? And canst thou bear to see
  On every hand thy fellow-citizens
  To dire destruction given? 'Gainst these dear walls                580
  Canst thou lead on the savage enemy,
  And fill thy native Thebes with blood and flame?
  Hast thou so wild a heart within thy breast,
  So hard and savage--and not yet a king?
  Then what will't be when thou the scepter wield'st?
  Oh, put aside thy spirit's swelling rage,
  And give thyself once more to piety.                               585

  _Polynices:_ That I may wander still a fugitive?
  That ever, banished from my native land,
  Upon a stranger's bounty I may live?
  What, think'st thou, could I suffer more than this,
  If I had broken faith or falsely sworn?
  Shall I be punished for another's sin,
  While he enjoys the profits of his crime?                          590
  Thou bid'st me go; and gladly would I yield
  Unto my mother's will. But whither, then,
  Shall I depart? "Let my proud brother dwell
  Within my royal halls, and some poor hut
  Be my abode": let such a boon be given
  Unto the exile; give him in exchange
  A hovel for a throne. And shall I, then,                           595
  A pensioner upon my wealthy bride,
  Be forced to yield to her unbending will,
  And to her father's domineering ways
  Submit like any slave? 'Tis hard, indeed,
  To fall from royalty to servitude.

  _Jocasta:_ If thou art eager for a royal throne,
  And if, without the scepter in thy hand,
  Thou canst not live, whatever land thou wilt                       600
  Will offer many kingdoms to thy hand.
  On this side Tmolus lifts his ridgy heights,
  Well known to Bacchus, where wide-spreading plains
  Stretch out upon the grain-producing earth;
  And where Pactolus' all-enriching stream
  O'erflows the country with its sands of gold.
  And there Maeander through the joyful fields                       605
  Directs his wandering waves; swift Hermus, too,
  Cleaves meadows rich. And there is Gargara,
  Beloved of Ceres, and the fertile plains
  Which Xanthus waters, fed by Ida's snows.
  And here, where ends the long Ionian sea,[8]                       610
  Across the narrows from Abydos stands
  The Thracian Sestos. Farther to the east,
  With safe and numerous harbors, lies the land
  Of Lycia. There realms seek with thy sword;
  Against these peoples let Adrastus fight,
  And to thy sceptered hand deliver them.                            615
  Consider that thy father still is king
  Within this realm of Thebes. Far better, then,
  Than such returns as this will exile seem.
  Thou liv'st in exile through another's sin;
  But thy return must be through thine alone.
  With those brave troops of thine 'twere better far
  To seek thee out new realms unstained by crime.                    620
  Nay, e'en thy brother's self will be thy aid,
  And fight for thee. Go, wage such warfare, then,
  That, as thou fight'st, thy mother and thy sire
  May pray for thy success. For, be assured,
  That kingdoms won by crime are heavier far
  Than any exile.                                                    625
                Now consider well
  The woes of war and war's uncertainties:
  Though thou dost bring with thee the flower of Greece,
  Though far and near thy arméd soldiery
  Is spread, still ever in the balance hangs
  The fate of war. 'Tis all as Mars decides.
  Though two may seem to be unmatched in strength,                   630
  The sword will make them equal; hope and fear
  Are subject to the blind caprice of fate.
  Uncertain is the prize of war thou seek'st,
  But sure the crime. Suppose that all the gods
  Have heard thy prayers; suppose the citizens,
  In panic fear, have turned their backs and fled;
  The soldiers' bloody corpses hide the plain:                       635
  Though in such victory thou shouldst exalt
  And bear thy murdered brother's spoils away,
  Thy victory is but a broken thing.
  What sort of warfare, think'st thou, that would be,
  In which the victor wins by curséd crime,
  And glories in it? Nay, thy brother's self,
  Whom thou, unhappy man, dost seek to slay,                         640
  When thou hast gained thy wish, thou wilt lament.
  Oh, then, forego this most unhallowed strife,
  And free at last thy fatherland from fear,
  Thy parents from their grief.

  _Polynices:_           Shall I do this,
  That so for all his treachery and crime
  My curséd brother be not recompensed?

  _Jocasta:_ Fear not. He shall indeed be recompensed,               645
  For he shall reign.

  _Polynices:_              Is that a punishment?

  _Jocasta:_ If thou believe me not, believe thy sire,
  Believe thy grandsire too. This truth to thee
  Will Cadmus and the house of Cadmus tell.
  Without disaster has no Theban king
  E'er held the scepter, nor will anyone
  Who wins the kingly power by broken faith
  Retain it long. And 'mongst those faithless ones                   650
  Count now thy brother.

  _Eteocles:_           Be it even so:
  If I must die, I count it worthy death,
  To die with kings.
                                                      [_To_ Polynices.]
                        Thee to the exiled band
  I doom.

  _Jocasta:_     Reign then, but hated by thy friends.

  _Eteocles:_ Who shrinks from hatred does not wish to reign.
  That great divinity who made the world                             655
  Made of one substance royalty and hate.
  For me, I count it worthy of a king
  To overcome this hate. By love of friends
  Too oft is royal power circumscribed.
  O'er those who hate him is the king more free
  To lord it as he will. Who would be loved,
  With but a weak and languid scepter reigns.

  _Jocasta:_ But hated empire never long endures.                    660

  _Eteocles:_ 'Tis for the king to speak of empire's rules.
  Do thou give laws for exiles. For the throne--

  _Jocasta:_ Wouldst burn thy native land, thy home and all?

  _Eteocles:_ A kingdom is well bought at any price.

       *       *       *       *       *


FOOTNOTES:

[8] The text is corrupt here. The Ionian Sea, situated to the west of
Greece, can have no possible connection with the region here described,
i. e., the Hellespont.




MEDEA




MEDEA

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


MEDEA Daughter of Aeëtes, King of Colchis, and wife of Jason.

_Jason_ Son of Aeson, and nephew of Pelias, the usurping king of
Thessaly; organizer and leader of the Argonautic expedition to Colchis
in quest of the golden fleece.

_Creon_ King of Corinth, who had received into his hospitable kingdom
Medea and Jason, fugitives from Thessaly, after Medea had plotted the
death of Pelias.

_Nurse_ Of Medea.

_Messenger_

_Two Sons_ Of Medea and Jason (_personae mutae_).

_Chorus of Corinthians_ Friendly to Jason and hostile to Medea.


THE TIME of the play is confined to the single day of the culmination
of the tragedy, the day proposed by Creon for the banishment of Medea
and marriage of Jason to Creüsa, daughter of Creon.

THE SCENE is in Corinth, in the court of the house of Jason.


_Although the play is confined in time to the final day of catastrophe
at Corinth, the background is the whole romantic story of the
Argonauts: how Jason and his hero-comrades, at the instigation of
Pelias, the usurping king of Thessalian Iolchos, undertook the first
voyage in quest of the golden fleece; how, after many adventures, these
first sailors reached the kingdom of Aeëtes who jealously guarded the
fleece, since upon its possession depended his own kingship; how the
three deadly labors were imposed upon Jason before the fleece could
be won--the yoking of the fiery bulls, the contest with the giants
that sprang from the sown serpent's teeth, and the overcoming of the
sleepless dragon that ever guarded the fleece; how, smitten by love of
him, the beautiful, barbaric Medea, daughter of the king, by the help
of her magic aided Jason in all these labors and accompanied him in his
flight; how, to <DW44> her father's pursuit she slew her brother and
scattered his mangled remains in the path as they fled; how again, for
love of Jason, she restored his father to youth and tricked Pelias' own
daughters into slaying their agéd sire; how, for this act, Medea with
her husband were exiled from Thessalia and dwelt in Corinth; how, for
ten happy years, she lived with her husband and two sons in this alien
land, her wild past almost forgotten, her magic untouched._

_But now, Jason has been gradually won away from his wife, and is about
to wed Creüsa, the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. The wedding
festivities have already begun when the play opens and reveals Medea
invoking all the powers of heaven and hell in punishment of her false
lord._


ACT I

  _Medea:_ Ye gods of wedlock, thou the nuptial couch's guard,
  Lucina, thou from whom that tamer of the deep,
  The Argo's pilot, learned to guide his pristine bark,
  And Neptune, thou stern ruler of the ocean's depths,
  And Titan, by whose rays the shining day is born,                    5
  Thou triformed maiden Hecate, whose conscious beams
  With splendor shine upon the mystic worshipers--
  Upon ye all I call, the powers of heaven, the gods
  By whose divinity false Jason swore; and ye
  Whose aid Medea may more boldly claim, thou world
  Of endless night, th' antipodes of heavenly realms,
  Ye damnéd ghosts, thou lord of hades' dark domain,                  10
  Whose mistress was with trustier pledge won to thy side--
  Before ye all this baleful prayer I bring: Be near!
  Be near! Ye crime-avenging furies, come and loose
  Your horrid locks with serpent coils entwined, and grasp
  With bloody hands the smoking torch; be near as once                15
  Ye stood in dread array beside my wedding couch.
  Upon this new-made bride destruction send, and death
  Upon the king and all the royal line! But he,
  My husband, may he live to meet some heavier doom;
  This curse I imprecate upon his head; may he,
  Through distant lands, in want, in exile wander, scorned            20
  And houseless. Nay, may he once more my favor woo;
  A stranger's threshold may he seek where now he walks
  A well-known guest; and--this the blackest curse I know--
  May children rise to him to emulate their sire,
  Their mother's image bear.--Now won is vengeance, won!
  For I have children borne.--Nay, nay, 'tis empty plaints            25
  And useless words I frame. Shall I not rather rush
  Against the foe and dash the torches from their hands,
  The light from heaven? Does Father Phoebus suffer this?
  Do men behold his face, as, seated in his car,
  He rolls along th' accustomed track of sky serene?                  30
  Why does he not return to morning's gates, the law
  Of heaven reversing? Grant that I be borne aloft
  In my ancestral car! Give me the reins, O sire,
  Thy fiery team grant me to guide with lines of flame.
  Then Corinth, though with double shore delaying fate,               35
  Herself consumed with fire, shall light two seas with flame.
  But no, this course alone remains, that I myself
  Should bear the wedding torch, with acquiescent prayers,
  And slay the victims on the altars consecrate.
  Thyself inspect the entrails, and seek there the way                40
  By prayer, if still, O soul, thou livest, if there still
  Remaineth aught of old-time strength in thee! Away
  With woman's fears! Put on thy heart a breast-plate hard
  And chill as Caucasus! Then all the wizard arts
  That Phasis knew, or Pontus, shall be seen again
  In Corinth. Now with mad, unheard of, dreadful deeds,               45
  Whereat high heaven and earth below shall pale and quake,
  My pregnant soul is teeming; and my heart is full
  Of pictured wounds and death and slaughter.--Ah, too long
  On trifling ills I dwell. These were my virgin deeds.
  Now that a mother's pains I've felt, my larger heart                50
  Must larger crimes conceive. Then passion, gird thyself,
  Put on thy strength, and for the issue now prepare!
  Let my rejection pay as dread a fee as when,
  Of old, through impious deeds of blood, I came to him.
  Come, break through slow delay, and let the home once won
  By crime, by equal deeds of crime be done away!                     55

  _Chorus_ [_chanting the epithalamium for the nuptials of_ Jason _and_
    Creüsa]:

    Now on our royal nuptials graciously smiling,
    Here may the lords of heaven and the deeps of the ocean
    Come while the people feast in pious rejoicing!

    First to the gods who sway the scepter of heaven,
    Pealing forth their will in the voice of thunder,
    Let the white bull his proud head bow in tribute.                 60

    Then to the fair Lucina, her gift we offer,
    White as the driven snow, this beautiful heifer,
    Still with her neck untouched by the yoke of bondage.

    Thou who alone canst rule the heart of the war-god,
    Thou who linkest in peace the opposing nations,
    Out of thy generous hand abundance pouring--                      65
    Thee we offer a daintier gift, O Concord!

    Thou who, on the marriage torches attending,
    Night's dark gloom with favoring hand dispellest,
    Hither come with languishing footstep drunken,
    Binding thy temples fair with garlands of roses!                  70

    Star of the evening, thou who to twilight leadest
    The day, and hailest again the dawn of the morning,
    All too slowly thou com'st for lovers impatient,
    Eager to see thy sign in the glow of the sunset.

                  The fairest of girls is she,                        75
                  The Athenian maids outshining,
              Or the Spartan maiden with armor laden,
                  No burden of war declining.

                  Not by Alpheus' sacred stream,
                  Nor Boeotia's musical water,
              Is there any fair who can compare                       80
                  With our lovely Corinthian daughter.

                  Our Thessalian prince excels,
                  In beauty of form and face,
              Even Bacchus, the son of the fierce-flaming one,
                  Who yokes the wild tigers in place.                 85

                  The murmuring tripod's lord,
                  Though the fairest in heavenly story,
              The twins with their star bright gleaming afar--
                  All yield to our Jason in glory.                    90

    When in her train of courtly maidens she mingles--
    Like the bright sunshine paling the starry splendor,              95
    Or the full moonlight quenching the Pleiads' brilliance,
    So does she shine, all peerless, of fair ones the fairest.

    Now, O Jason, freed from the hateful wedlock                     100
    That held thee bound to the barbarous Colchian woman,
    Joyfully wed the fair Corinthian maiden,
    While at last her parents' blessings attend thee.                105

      Ho then, youths, with licensed jest and rejoicing,
      Loud let the songs of gladness ring through the city;
      Rarely against our lords such freedom is given.

    Fair and noble band of Bacchus, the thyrsus-bearer,              110
    Now is the time to light the glittering torches of pinewood.
    Shake on high the festal fire with languishing fingers;

    Now let the bold and merry Fescennine laughter and jesting
    Sound through our ranks. Let Medea fare in silence and darkness,
    If perchance another lord she shall wed in her exile.            115


ACT II

  _Medea:_ We are undone! How harsh upon mine ears doth grate
  The song! and even now I cannot comprehend
  The vast extent of woe that hath befallen me.
  Could Jason prove so false? Bereft of native land,
  And home, and kingdom, could he leave me here alone
  On foreign shores? Oh, cruel, could he quite reject                120
  My sum of service, he who saw the fire and sea
  With crime o'ercome for his dear sake? And does he think
  That thus the fatal chapter can be ended? Wild,
  Devoid of reason, sick of soul, my swift mind darts
  In all directions seeking whence revenge may come!
  I would he had a brother! But his wife--'gainst her                125
  Be aimed the blow! Can thus my wrongs be satisfied?
  Nay, nay--to meet my sum of woe must be heaped high
  The crimes of Greece, of strange barbaric lands, and those
  Which even thy hands have not known. Now lash thy soul
  With memory's scourge, and call thy dark deeds in review:          130
  The glory of thy father's kingdom reft away;
  Thy brother, guiltless comrade of thy guilty flight,
  All hewn in pieces and his corpse strewn on the deep,
  To break his royal father's heart; and, last of crimes,
  Old Pelias by his daughters slain at thy command.                  135
  O impious one, what streams of blood have flowed to work
  Thy ends! And yet, not one of all my crimes by wrath
  Was prompted. Love, ill-omened love, suggested all.
  Yet, what could Jason else have done, compelled to serve
  Another's will, another's law? He should have died
  Before he yielded to the tyrant's will. Nay, nay,                  140
  Thou raging passion, speak not so! For, if he may,
  I would that Jason still may live and still be mine,
  As once he was; if not, yet may he still live on,
  And, mindful of my merits, live without my aid.
  The guilt is Creon's all, who with unbridled power
  Dissolves the marriage bond, my children separates                 145
  From me who bore them, yea, and makes the strongest pledge,
  Though ratified with straightest oath, of none effect.
  Let him alone sustain my wrath; let Creon pay
  The debt of guilt he owes! His palace will I bring
  To utter desolation; and the whirling fire
  To far-off Malea's crags shall send its lurid glare.               150

  _Nurse:_ Be silent now, I pray thee, and thy plaints confine
  To secret woe! The man who heavy blows can bear
  In silence, biding still his time with patient soul,
  Full oft his vengeance gains. 'Tis hidden wrath that harms;
  But hate proclaimed oft loses half its power to harm.

  _Medea:_ But small the grief is that can counsel take and hide
  Its head; great ills lie not in hiding, but must rush              155
  Abroad and work their will.

  _Nurse:_                 Oh, cease this mad complaint,
  My mistress; scarce can friendly silence help thee now.

  _Medea:_ But fortune fears the brave, the faint of heart o'erwhelms.

  _Nurse:_ Then valor be approved, if for it still there's room.     160

  _Medea:_ But it must always be that valor finds its place.

  _Nurse:_ No star of hope points out the way from these our woes.

  _Medea:_ The man who hopes for naught at least has naught to fear.

  _Nurse:_ The Colchians are thy foes; thy husband's vows have failed;
  Of all thy vast possessions not a jot is left.                     165

  _Medea:_ Yet I am left. There's left both sea and land and fire
  And sword and gods and hurtling thunderbolts.

  _Nurse:_ The king must be revered.

  _Medea:_                 My father was a king.

  _Nurse:_ Dost thou not fear?

  _Medea:_                 Not though the earth produced the foe.

  _Nurse:_ Thou'lt perish.                                           170

  _Medea:_           So I wish it.

  _Nurse:_                       Flee!

  _Medea:_               I'm done with flight.[9]
  Why should Medea flee?

  _Nurse:_          Thy children!

  _Medea:_                        Whose, thou know'st.

  _Nurse:_ And dost thou still delay?

  _Medea:_                            I go, but vengeance first.

  _Nurse:_ Th' avenger will pursue.

  _Medea:_                          Perchance I'll stop his course.

  _Nurse:_ Nay, hold thy words, and cease thy threats, O foolish one.
  Thy temper curb; 'tis well to yield to fate's decrees.             175

  _Medea:_ Though fate may strip me of all my, myself am left.
  But who flings wide the royal palace doors? Behold,
  'Tis Creon's self, exalted high in Grecian sway.

[Medea _retires to back of stage; exit_ Nurse; _enter_ Creon.]

  _Creon:_ Medea, baleful daughter of the Colchian king,
  Has not yet taken her hateful presence from our realm.             180
  On mischief is she bent. Well known her treach'rous power.
  For who escapes her? Who may pass his days in peace?
  This curséd pestilence at once would I have stayed
  By force of arms; but Jason's prayers prevailed. She still
  May live, but let her free my borders from the fear                185
  Her presence genders, and her safety gain by flight.
                                       [_He sees_ Medea _approaching_.]
  But lo, she comes, with fierce and threatening mien, to seek
  An audience with us.
                                                     [_To attendants._]
                      Slaves defend us from her touch
  And pestilential presence! Bid her silence keep,
  And learn to yield obedience to the king's commands.               190
                                                          [_To_ Medea.]
  Go, speed thy flight, thou thing of evil, fell, and monstrous!

  _Medea:_ But tell me what the crime, my lord, or what the guilt
  That merits exile?

  _Creon:_       Let the guiltless question thus.

  _Medea:_ If now thou judgest, hear me; if thou reign'st, command.[10]

  _Creon:_ The king's command thou must abide, nor question aught.   195

  _Medea:_ Unrighteous sovereignty has never long endured.

  _Creon:_ Go hence, and to the Colchians complain.

  _Medea:_                                          I go,
  But let him take me hence who brought me to thy shores.

  _Creon:_ Thy prayer has come too late, for fixed is my decree.

  _Medea:_ Who judges, and denies his ear to either side,
  Though right his judgment, still is he himself unjust.             200

  _Creon:_ Didst lend thine ear to Pelias, ere thou judgedst him?
  But come, I'll give thee grace to plead thy goodly cause.

  _Medea:_ How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once
  To wrath inclined; how 'tis the creed of sceptered kings
  To swerve not from the purposed course they once have taken,       205
  Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty.
  For, though by present storms of ill I'm overwhelmed,
  An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all forlorn,
  I once in happier times a royal princess shone,
  And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus' self.           210
  My father's realm extended wide o'er all the land
  Where Phasis' gentle waters flow, o'er Scythia's plains
  Whose rivers sweeten Pontus' briny waves; where, too,
  Thermodon's banks inclose the race of warlike maids,
  Whose gleaming shields strike terror to their foes. All this       215
  My father held in sway. And I, of noble birth,
  And blessed of heaven, in royal state was high upraised.
  Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,
  Who now must sue. O changeful fortune, thou my throne              220
  Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.
  Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew
  Their treasures to the winds. Lo, this is regal, this
  The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo:
  To succor the afflicted, to provide at need                        225
  A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone
  I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown,
  This very flower of fame,[11] that by my arts I saved
  The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods.
  My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard             230
  Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt
  The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' wingéd sons,
  And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he,
  Whose glance can pierce the distant view--yea, all the Greeks,
  Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings,
  The leader of the leaders; he is mine alone,
  My labor's recompense; the rest I give to you.                     235
  Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes.
  But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime
  Of which I stand accused is this--the Argo saved.
  Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed;
  Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand:
  Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate
  All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this, thy son-in-law,        240
  Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there.
  Nay, nay, let fortune, when she will, my doom decree;
  I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me.
  But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds
  Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin,                 245
  But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see,
  I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know,
  When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant,
  And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency.
  Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask,
  In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again,                   250
  Oh, let some nook remote within thy broad domain
  Be found for me!

  _Creon:_       That I my power in mercy wield,
  And spurn not those who seek my aid let Jason's self
  My witness be, who, exiled, overwhelmed by fate,                   255
  And smitten sore with fear, a refuge found with me.
  For Io, Thessalia's monarch, bent on vengeance dire,
  Seeks Jason at my hand. The cause, indeed, is just:
  For that his sire, o'erburdened with the weight of years,
  Was foully taken off, while by thy wicked guile                    260
  His guileless sisters' hands were nerved to do the deed.
  If now our Jason can unlink his cause from thine,
  'Tis easy his defense to make, for on his hands
  No stain of blood is found. His arm no sword upraised,
  And he has had no part nor lot in this thy crime.                  265
  No, thou and thou alone the arch contriver art,
  Uniting in thy person woman's fertile wit
  And man's effective strength; while in thy reckless heart
  No thought of reputation dwells to check thy hand.
  Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;
  Bear hence thy deadly poisons; free the citizens                   270
  From fear; abiding in some other land than this,
  Outwear the patience of the gods.

  _Medea:_                      Thou bid'st me flee?
  Then give me back my bark wherein to flee. Restore
  The partner of my flight! Why should I flee alone?
  I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st,
  Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me                  275
  From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome;
  For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm,
  My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,
  And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him.
  Deep dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul                       280
  The sin of profit lieth not.

  _Creon:_                 Why seek delay
  By speech? Too long thou tarriest.

  _Medea:_                     I go, but grant
  This last request: let not the mother's fall o'erwhelm
  Her hapless babes.

  _Creon:_       Then go in peace. For I to them
  A father's place will fill, and take them to my heart.

  _Medea:_ Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day,         285
  And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure
  From changeful fate's assault, I pray thee grant from flight
  A respite brief, while I upon my children's lips
  A mother's kiss imprint, perchance the last.

  _Creon:_                                A time
  Thou seek'st for treachery.                                        290

  _Medea:_ What fraud can be devised
  In one short hour?

  _Creon:_       To those on mischief bent, be sure,
  The briefest time is fraught with mischief's fatal power.

  _Medea:_ Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?

  _Creon:_ Though deep-ingrafted fear would fain resist thy plea,
  A single day I'll give thee ere my sentence holds.                 295

  _Medea:_ Too gracious thou. But let my respite further shrink,
  And I'll depart content.

  _Creon:_             Thy life shall surely pay
  The forfeit if tomorrow's sun beholds thee still
  In Corinth. But the voice of Hymen calls away
  To solemnize the rites of this his festal day.                     300

[_Exeunt._]

       *       *       *       *       *

    _Chorus:_ Too bold the man who first upon the seas,
    The treacherous seas, his fragile bark confided;
    Who, as the well-known shore behind him glided,
      His life intrusted to the fickle breeze;

      And, as his unknown seaward course he sped                     305
    Within his slender craft with foolish daring,
    Midway 'twixt life and death went onward faring,
      Along the perilous narrow margin led.

      Not yet were sparkling constellations known,
    Or sky, all spangled with the starry glory;                      310
    Not yet could sailors read the warning story
      By stormy Hyades upon the heavens thrown.

      Not yet was Zeus's foster-mother famed,
    Nor slow Boötes round the north star wheeling;                   315
    Nor Boreas nor Zephyr gently stealing,
      Each feared or welcomed, though as yet unnamed.

      First Tiphys dared to spread his venturous sail,
    The hidden lesson of the breezes learning,
    Now all his canvas to the Zephyrs turning,                       320
      Now shifting all to catch the changing gale.

      Now midway on the mast the yard remains,
    Now at the head with all its canvas drawing,
    While eager sailors lure the breezes blowing,
      And over all the gleaming topsail strains.                     325

      The guiltless golden age our fathers saw,
    When youth and age the same horizon bounded;
    No greed of gain their simple hearts confounded;
      Their native wealth enough, 'twas all they knew.               330

      But lo, the severed worlds have been brought near
    And linked in one by Argo's hand uniting;
    While seas endure the oar's unwonted smiting,                    335
      And add their fury to the primal fear.

      This impious bark its guilt in dread atoned                    340
    When clashing mountains were together driven,
    And sea, from sea in mighty conflict riven,
      The stars besprinkled with the leaping foam.                   345

      Amid these perils sturdy Tiphys paled,
    And from his nerveless hand the vessel bounded;
    While stricken Orpheus' lyre no more resounded,
      And tuneful Argo's warning message failed.

      What sinking terror filled each quaking breast,
    When near the borders of sea-girt Pelorus,                       350
    There smote upon their ears the horrid chorus
      Of Scylla's baying wolves around them pressed.

      What terror when they neared the Sirens' lair,                 355
    Who soothe the troubled waves with witching measures!
    But Orpheus filled their souls with nobler pleasures,
      And left the foe in impotent despair.                          360

      And of this wild adventure what the prize,
    That lured the daring bark with heroes laden?
    The fleece of gold, and this mad Colchian maiden,
      Well fit to be the first ship's merchandize.

      The sea, subdued, the victor's law obeys;                      365
    No vessel needs a goddess' art in framing,
    Nor oars in heroes' hands, the ocean taming:
      The frailest craft now dares the roughest waves.

      Now, every bound removed, new cities rise                      370
    In lands remote, their ancient walls removing;
    While men of Ind by Caspian shores are roving,
      And Persia's face now greets the western skies.                375

      The time will come, as lapsing ages flee,
    When every land shall yield its hidden treasure;
    When men no more shall unknown courses measure,
      For round the world no "farthest land" shall be.


FOOTNOTES:

[9] Reading, _Medea fugiam_, as a continuation of Medea's speech.

[10] Retaining _si regnas, iube_ in Medea's speech.

[11] Reading, _gloriae_.


ACT III

[Medea _is rushing out to seek vengeance, while the_ Nurse _tries in
vain to restrain her_.]

  _Nurse:_ My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad?         380
  Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.
      [Medea _hastens by without answering. The_ Nurse _soliloquizes_.]
  As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fire
  The god inflames, now roams distraught on Pindus' snows,
  And now on lofty Nysa's rugged <DW72>s; so she,                     385
  Now here, now there, with frenzied step is hurried on,
  Her face revealing every mark of stricken woe,
  With flushing cheek and sighs deep drawn, wild cries, and tears,
  And laughter worse than tears. In her a medley strange
  Of every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath,                   390
  Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tends
  This overburdened soul? What mean her frenzied threats?
  When will the foaming wave of fury spend itself?
  No common crime, I fear, no easy deed of ill
  She meditates. Herself she will outvie. For well
  I recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deed
  Is threatening, wild, profane, and hideous.                        395
                                                    [_Re-enter_ Medea.]
                                             Behold
  Her face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may these
  Our fears prove vain forebodings!

  _Medea_ [_not noticing the_ Nurse's _presence_]: For thy hate, poor
    soul,
  Dost thou a measure seek? Let it be deep as love.
  And shall I tamely view the wedding torches's glare?
  And shall this day go uneventful by, this day,
  So hardly won, so grudgingly bestowed? Nay, nay,                   400
  While, poised upon her heights, the central earth shall bear
  The heavens up; while seasons run their endless round,
  And sands unnumbered lie; while days, and nights, and sun,
  And stars in due procession pass; while round the pole
  The ocean-fearing bears revolve, and tumbling streams
  Flow downward to the sea; my grief shall never cease               405
  To seek revenge, and shall forever grow. What rage
  Of savage beast can equal mine? What Scylla famed?
  What sea-engulfing pool? What burning Aetna placed
  On impious Titan's heaving breast? No torrent stream,              410
  Nor storm-tossed sea, nor breath of flame fanned by the gale,
  Can check or equal my wild storm of rage. My will
  Is set on limitless revenge!
                                Will Jason say                       415
  He feared the power of Creon and Acastus' threats?
  True love is proof against the fear of man. But grant
  He was compelled to yield, and pledged his hand in fear:
  He might at least have sought his wife with one last word
  Of comfort and farewell. But this, though brave in heart,          420
  He feared to do. The cruel terms of banishment
  Could Creon's son-in-law not soften? No. One day
  Alone was giv'n for last farewell to both my babes.
  But time's short space I'll not bewail; though brief in hours,
  In consequence it stretches out eternally.
  This day shall see a deed that ne'er shall be forgot.
  But now I'll go and pray the gods, and move high heaven            425
  But I shall work my will!

  _Nurse:_    Thy heart all passion-tossed,
  I pray thee, mistress, soothe, and calm thy troubled soul.

  _Medea:_ My troubled soul can never know a time of rest
  Until it sees all things o'erwhelmed in common doom.
  All must go down with me! 'Tis sweet such death to die.

[_Exit_ Medea.]

  _Nurse_ [_calling after her_]: Oh, think what perils thou must meet
    if thou persist!                                                 430
  No one with safety may defy a sceptered king.

[_Enter_ Jason.]

  _Jason:_ O heartless fate, if frowns or smiles bedeck thy brow,
  How often are thy cures far worse than the disease
  They seek to cure! If, now, I wish to keep the troth               435
  I plighted to my lawful bride, my life must pay
  The forfeit; if I shrink from death, my guilty soul
  Must perjured be. I fear no power that man can wield;
  But in my heart paternal love unmans me quite;
  For well I know that in my death my children's fate
  Is sealed. O sacred Justice, if in heaven thou dwell'st,           440
  Be witness now, that for my children's sake I act.
  Nay, sure am I that even she, Medea's self,
  Though fierce she is of soul and brooking no restraint,
  Will see her children's good outweighing all her wrongs.
  With this good argument my purpose now is fixed,                   445
  In humble wise to brave her wrath.
                                                       [_Enter_ Medea.]
                                    At sight of me
  Her raging fury flames anew! Hate, like a shield,
  She bears, and in her face is pictured all her woe.

  _Medea:_ Thou see'st, Jason, that we flee. 'Tis no new thing
  To suffer exile, but the cause of flight is strange;
  For with thee I was wont to flee, not from thee. Yes,
  I go. But whither dost thou send me whom thou driv'st              450
  From out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,
  My royal father's realm, whose soil is steeped in blood
  My brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?
  What way by sea is open? Shall I fare again
  Where once I saved the noble kings of Greece, and thee,            455
  Thou wanton, through the threatening jaws of Pontus' strait,
  The blue Symplegades? Or shall I hie me back
  To fair Thessalia's realms? Lo, all the doors which I,
  For thee, have opened wide, I've closed upon myself.
  But whither dost thou send me now? Thou bid'st me flee,            460
  But show'st no way or means of flight.
                                        But 'tis enough:
  The king's own son-in-law commands and I obey.
  Come, heap thy torments on me; I deserve them all.
  Let royal wrath oppress me, wanton that I am,
  With cruel hand, and load my guilty limbs with chains;
  And let me be immured in dungeons black as night:                  465
  Still will my punishment be less than my offense.
  O ingrate! hast thou then forgot the brazen bull,
  And his consuming breath? the fear that smote thee, when,
  Upon the field of Mars, the earth-born brood stood forth
  To meet thy single sword? 'Twas by my arts that they,              470
  The monsters, fell by mutual blows. Remember, too,
  The long-sought fleece of gold I won for thee, whose guard,
  The dragon huge, was lulled to rest at my command;
  My brother slain for thee. For thee old Pelias fell,               475
  When, taken by my guile, his daughters slew their sire,
  Whose life could not return. All this I did for thee.
  In quest of thine advantage have I quite forgot
  Mine own.
           And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes,
  By thine established house, by all the monsters slain              480
  For thee, by these my hands which I have ever held
  To work thy will, by all the perils past, by heaven
  And sea that witnessed at my wedlock, pity me!
  Since thou art blessed, restore me what I lost for thee:
  That countless treasure plundered from the swarthy tribes
  Of India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth,              485
  And decked our very trees with gold. This costly store
  I left for thee, my native land, my brother, sire,
  My reputation--all; and with this dower I came.
  If now to homeless exile thou dost send me forth,
  Give back the countless treasures which I left for thee.           490

  _Jason:_ Though Creon in a vengeful mood would have thy life,
  I moved him by my tears to grant thee flight instead.

  _Medea:_ I thought my exile punishment; 'tis now, I see,
  A gracious boon!

  _Jason:_    Oh, flee while still the respite holds;
  Provoke him not, for deadly is the wrath of kings.                 495

  _Medea:_ Not so. 'Tis for Creüsa's love thou sayest this;
  Thou wouldst remove the hated wanton once thy wife.

  _Jason:_ Dost thou reproach me with a guilty love?

  _Medea:_                  Yea, that,
  And murder too, and treachery.

  _Jason:_                  But name me now,
  If so thou canst, the crimes that I have done.

  _Medea:_                  Thy crimes--
  Whatever I have done.

  _Jason:_               Why then, in truth, thy guilt
  Must all be mine, if all thy crimes are mine.                      500

  _Medea:_                           They are,
  They are all thine; for who by sin advantage gains,
  Commits the sin. All men proclaim thy wife defiled.
  Do thou thyself protect her, and condone her sin.
  Let her be guiltless in thine eyes who for thy gain
  Has sinned.

  _Jason:_         But gifts which sin has bought 'twere shame to take.

  _Medea:_ Why keep'st thou then the gifts which it were shame to
  take?                                                              505

  _Jason:_ Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children--for their sake
  Be calm.

  _Medea:_         My children! Them I do refuse, reject,
  Renounce! Shall then Creüsa brothers bear to these
  My children?

  _Jason:_         But the queen can aid thy wretched sons.

  _Medea:_ May that day never dawn, that day of shame and woe,       510
  When in one house are joined the low born and the high,
  The sons of that foul robber Sisyphus, and these,
  The sons of Phoebus.

  _Jason:_            Wretched one, and wilt thou then
  Involve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.

  _Medea:_ Creon hath heard my prayer.

  _Jason:_              What wouldst thou have me do?                515

  _Medea:_ For me? I'd have thee dare the law.

  _Jason:_              The royal power
  Doth compass me.

  _Medea:_         A greater than the king is here:
  Medea. Set us front to front and let us strive;
  And of this royal strife let Jason be the prize.

  _Jason:_ O'erwearied by my woes I yield. But be thou ware,
  Medea, lest too often thou shouldst tempt thy fate.                520

  _Medea:_ Yet fortune's mistress have I ever been.

  _Jason:_                       But see,
  With hostile front Acastus comes, on vengeance bent,
  While Creon threatens instant death.

  _Medea:_                       Then flee them both.
  I ask thee not to draw thy sword against the king
  Nor yet to stain thy pious hands with kindred blood.
  Come, flee with me.

  _Jason:_          But what resistance can we make,                 525
  If war with double visage rear his horrid front,
  If Creon and Acastus join in common cause?

  _Medea:_ Add, too, the Colchian armies with my father's self
  To lead them; join the Scythian and Pelasgian hordes:
  In one deep gulf of ruin will I whelm them all.

  _Jason:_ Yet on the scepter do I look with fear.

  _Medea:_                Beware,
  Lest not the fear, but lust of power prevail with thee.

  _Jason:_ Too long we strive: have done, lest we suspicion breed.   530

  _Medea:_ Now Jove, throughout thy heavens let the thunders roll!
  Thy mighty arm in wrath make bare! Thy darting flames
  Of vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmament
  With rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,
  Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim;
  That thus whoever falls may perish with the brand                  535
  Of guilt upon him; for thy hurtling darts can take
  No erring flight.

  _Jason:_      Recall thee and in calmness speak
  With words of peace and reason. Then if any gift
  From Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,
  Take that as solace of thy flight.

  _Medea:_              My soul doth scorn                           540
  The wealth of kings. But let me have my little ones
  As comrades of my flight, that in their childish breasts
  Their mother's tears may flow. New sons await thy home.

  _Jason:_ My heart inclines to yield to thee, but love forbids.
  For these my sons shall never from my arms be reft,                545
  Though Creon's self demand. My very spring of life,
  My sore heart's comfort, and my joy are these my sons;
  And sooner could I part with limbs or vital breath,
  Or light of life.

  _Medea_ [_aside_]: Doth he thus love his sons? 'Tis well;
  Then is he bound, and in his armored strength this flaw            550
  Reveals the place to strike.
                                                          [_To_ Jason.]
                              At least, ere I depart,
  Grant me this last request: let me once more embrace
  My sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.
  And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,
  My tongue was over bold, let not my words remain                   555
  To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things
  Of me and let my bitter words be straight forgot.

  _Jason:_ Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,
  Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.
  For resignation ever soothes the woeful soul.

[_Exit_ Jason.]

  _Medea:_ He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart,       560
  Forgetting me and all my service? Must I drop,
  Like some discarded toy, out of his faithless heart?
  It shall not be. Up then, and summon all thy strength
  And all thy skill! And, this the fruit of former crime,
  Count nothing criminal that works thy will. But lo,
  We're hedged about; scant room is left for our designs.            565
  Now must the attack be made where least suspicion wakes
  The least resistance. Now Medea, on! and do
  And dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thine utmost power!
                                                      [_To the_ Nurse.]
  Do thou, my faithful nurse, the comrade of my grief,
  And all the devious wanderings of my checkered course,
  Assist me now in these my plans. There is a robe,
  The glory of our Colchian realm, the precious gift                 570
  Of Phoebus' self to king Aeëtes as a proof
  Of fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wrought
  With threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'er
  With gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head.
  These treasures let Medea's children bear as gifts                 575
  To Jason's bride. But first infuse them with the power
  Of magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate;
  The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare,
  And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.

  _Chorus:_ No force of flame or raging gale,
    Or whizzing bolt so fearful is,                                  580
    As when a wife, by her lord betrayed,
        Burns hot with hate.

    Not such a force is Auster's blast,
    When he marshals forth the wintry storms;
    Nor Hister's headlong rushing stream,
    Which, wrecking bridges in its course,                           585
        Pours reckless on;

    Nor yet the Rhone, whose current strong
    Beats back the sea; nor when the snows,
    Beneath the lengthening days of spring
    And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams
        From Haemus' top.                                            590

    Blind is the rage of passion's fire,
    Will not be governed, brooks no reins,
    And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords
        It gladly courts.

    Spare, O ye gods, be merciful,                                   595
    That he who tamed the sea may live.
    But much we fear, for the lord of the deep
    Is wroth that his realm of the second lot
        Should be subdued.

    The thoughtless youth who dared to drive
    His father's sacred chariot,
    Was by those fires, which o'er the heavens                       600
    He scattered in his mad career,
       Himself consumed.

    The beaten path has never proved
    The way of danger. Walk ye then
    Where your forefathers safely trod,
    And keep great nature's holy laws                                605
        Inviolate.

    Whoever dipped the famous oars
    Of that bold bark in the rushing sea;
    Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion
    Of the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves;
    Whoever dared the clashing rocks,                                610
    And, after countless perils passed,
    His vessel moored on a barbarous shore,
    Hoping to fare on his homeward way
    The master of the golden fleece,
    All by a fearful end appeased                                    615
        The offended sea.

    First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,
    Abandoned to an untrained hand
    His vessel's helm. On a foreign shore,
    Far from his native land he died;
    And now within a common tomb,                                    620
    'Midst unknown ghosts, he lies at rest.
    In wrathful memory of her king
    Lost on the sea, did Aulis then
    Within her sluggish harbor hold
        The impatient ships.

    Then he, the tuneful Muse's son,                                 625
    At whose sweet strains the streams stood still,
    The winds were silent, and the birds,
    Their songs forgotten, flocked to him,[12]
    The whole wood following after--he,
    Over the Thracian fields was hurled                              630
    In scattered fragments; but his head
    Down Hebrus' grieving stream was borne.
    The well-remembered Styx he reached,
    And Tartarus, whence ne'er again
        Would he return.

    The wingéd sons of Boreas
    Alcides slew, and Neptune's son                                  635
    Who in a thousand changing forms
    Could clothe himself. But after peace
    On land and sea had been proclaimed,
    And after savage Pluto's realm
    Had been revealed to mortal eyes,
    Then did Alcides' self, alive,
    On burning Oeta's top lie down,
    And give his body to the flames;                                 640
    For sore distressed was he, consumed
    By Deianira's deadly gift,
        The double blood.

    A savage boar Ancaeus slew;
    Thou, Meleager, impiously
    Thy mother's brother in wrath didst slay,
    And by that angry mother's hand                                  645
    Didst die. All these deserved their death.
    But for what crime did Hylas die,
    A tender lad whom Hercules

    Long time but vainly sought? For he,
    'Mid waters safe was done to death.
    Go then, and fearlessly the deep
    Plow with your daring ships; but fear                            650
        The peaceful pools.

    Idmon, though well be knew the fates,
    A serpent slew on Afric sands;
    And Mopsus, to all others true,
    False to himself, died far from Thebes.                          655
    If he with truth the future sang,
    Then Nauplius, who strove to wreck
    The Argive ships by lying fires,
    Shall headlong fall into the sea.
    And for his father's daring crime                                660
    Shall Ajax, that Oïleus' son,
    Make full atonement, perishing
        'Midst flame and flood.[13]

    And thou, Admetus' faithful mate,
    Shalt[14] for thy husband pay thy life,
    Redeeming his from death. But he,
    Who bade the first ship sail in quest                            665
    Of the golden spoil, King Pelias,
    Seethed in a boiling cauldron, swam
    'Mid those restricted waves. Enough,
    O gods, have ye avenged the sea:
    Spare him, we pray, who did but go
        On ordered ways.


FOOTNOTES:

[12] Reading, _cui_.

[13] Reading, with a period after _profundum_ and after _Oïleus_.

[14] Reading, _impendes_.


ACT IV

  _Nurse_ [_alone_]: My spirit trembles, for I feel the near
    approach                                                         670
  Of some unseen disaster. Swiftly grows her grief,
  Its own fires kindling; and again her passion's force
  Hath leaped to life. I oft have seen her, with the fit
  Of inspiration in her soul, confront the gods
  And force the very heavens to her will. But now,
  A monstrous deed, of greater moment far than these,                675
  Medea is preparing. For, but now, did she
  With step of frenzy hurry off until she reached
  Her stricken home. There, in her chamber, all her stores
  Of magic wonders are revealed; once more she views
  The things herself hath held in fear these many years,
  Unloosing one by one her ministers of ill,
  Occult, unspeakable, and wrapt in mystery;
  And, grasping with her hand the sacred altar-horn,                 680
  With prayers, she straightly summons all destructive powers,
  The creatures bred in Libya's sands, and on the peaks
  Of frigid Taurus, clad in everlasting snows.
  Obedient to her potent charms, the scaly brood                     685
  Of serpents leave their darksome lairs and swarm to her;
  One savage creature rolls his monstrous length along,
  And darts his forkéd tongue with its envenomed sting,
  Death-dealing; at the charming sound he stops amazed,
  And fold on fold his body writhes in nerveless coils.              690
  "But these are petty ills; unworthy of my hand,"
  She cries, "are such weak, earth-born weapons. Potent charms
  Are bred in heaven. Now, now 'tis time to summon powers
  Transcending common magic. Down I'll draw from heaven
  That serpent huge whose body lies athwart the sky                  695
  Like some great ocean stream, in whose constricting folds
  The greater and the lesser Bears are held enthralled,
  The greater set as guide for Grecian ships, the less
  For Sidon's mariners! Let Ophiuchus loose
  His hand and pour forth venom from his captive thrall!
  And let the Python huge, that dared to rear its head               700
  Against the heavenly twins, be present at my prayer!
  Let Hydra's writhing heads, which by Alcides' hand
  Were severed, all return to life and give me aid!
  Thou too be near and leave thy ancient Colchian home,
  Thou watchful dragon, to whose eyes the first sleep came
  In answer to my incantations."
                                When she thus                        705
  Had summoned all the serpent brood, she cast her store
  Of baleful herbs together; all the poisons brewed
  Amid the rocky caves of trackless Eryx; plants
  That flourish on the snowy peaks of Caucasus,
  Whose crags were spattered with Prometheus' gore; the herbs        710
  Within whose deadly juice the Arab dips his darts,
  And the quiver-bearing Mede and fleeing Parthian;
  Those potent juices, too, which, near the shivering pole,
  The Suabian chieftains gather in Hyrcanian groves.
  The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores:
  Whatever earth produces in the nesting time,
  And when the stiff'ning hand of winter's frost has stripped        715
  The glory from the trees and fettered all the land
  With icy bonds; whatever flow'ring plant conceals
  Destruction in its bloom, or in its twisted roots
  Distils the juice of death, she gathers to her use.
  These pestilential herbs Haemonian Athos gave;                     720
  And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knife
  Clipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia's heights;
  Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling on
  His flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some;
  These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes' tepid stream;           725
  And these the Baetis bore, which gave the land its name,
  Displacing with its langourous tide, the western sea.
  These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break;
  The fruit of these was cut in midnight's gloomy hour;
  This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged.                730
  These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o'er
  With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth
  She mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech owl's heart,
  A ghastly vampire's vitals torn from living flesh.
  Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use.                      735
  The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these,
  While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost.
  Now magic runes she adds more potent far.
                                           But lo!
  Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes,
  She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock.

[_Enter_ Medea, _chanting her incantations_.]

  _Medea:_ I supplicate the silent throng, and you, the gods         740
  Of death's sad rites, and groping chaos, and the home
  Of gloomy Pluto, and the black abyss of death
  Girt by the banks of Tartarus! Ye storied shades,
  Your torments leave and haste to grace the festival
  At Hymen's call! Let stop the whirling wheel that holds
  Ixion's limbs and let him tread Corinthian ground;
  Let Tantalus unfrighted drink Pirene's stream.                     745
  On Creon's stock alone let heavier torments fall,
  And backward o'er the rocks let Sisyphus be hurled.
  You too, the seed of Danaüs, whose fruitless toil
  The ever-empty urns deride, I summon you;
  This day requires your helping hands. Thou radiant moon,           750
  Night's glorious orb, my supplications hear and come
  To aid; put on thy sternest guise, thou goddess dread
  Of triple form! Full oft have I with flowing locks,
  And feet unsandaled, wandered through thy darkling groves
  And by thy inspiration summoned forth the rain
  From cloudless skies; the heaving seas have I subdued,             755
  And sent the vanquished waves to ocean's lowest depths.
  At my command the sun and stars together shine,
  The heavenly law reversed; while in the Arctic sea
  The Bears have plunged. The seasons, too, obey my will:
  I've made the burning summer blossom as the spring,                760
  And hoary winter autumn's golden harvests bear.
  The Phasis sends his swirling waves to seek their source,
  And Ister, flowing to the sea with many mouths,
  His eager water checks and sluggish rolls along.
  The billows roar, the mad sea rages, though the winds              765
  All silent lie. At my command primeval groves
  Have lost their shade;[15] the sun, abandoning[16] the day,
  Has stood in middle heaven; while falling Hyades
  Attest my charms.
                    But now thy sacred hour is come,                 770
  O Phoebe. Thine these bonds with bloody hand entwined
  With ninefold serpent coils; these cords I offer thee,
  Which on his hybrid limbs Typhoeus bore, who shook
  The throne of Jove. This vessel holds the dying blood
  Of Nessus, faithless porter of Alcides' bride.                     775
  Here are the ashes of the pyre on Oeta's top
  Which drank the poisoned blood of dying Hercules;
  And here the fatal billet that Althaea burned
  In vengeance on her son. These plumes the Harpies left             780
  Within their caverned lair when Zetes drove them forth;
  And these the feathers of that vile Stymphalian bird
  Which arrows, dipped in Lerna's deadly poison, pierced.
    But lo! mine altar fires resound!
    While in the tripod's answering voice                            785
    Behold the present deity!
    I see the car of Trivia,
    Not full and clear as when she drives
    The livelong night to meet the dawn;
    But with a baleful, lurid glare,
    As, harried by Thessalian cries,                                 790
    She holds a more restricted course.
    Send such uncanny light abroad!
    Fill mortals with a dread unknown;
    And let our Corinth's priceless bronze
    Resound, Dictynna, for thy aid!                                  795
    To thee a solemn sacrifice
    On bloody altar do we pay!
    To thee, snatched from the mournful tomb,
    The blazing torch nocturnal burns;
    On thee I call with tossing head,                                800
    And many a frantic gesture make;
    Corpselike upon the bier I lie,
    My hair with priestly fillet bound;
    Before thy awful shrine is waved
    The branch in Stygian waters dipped.
  And, calling on thy name, with gleaming shoulders bared,           805
  Like Bacchus' mad adorers, will I lash my arms
  With sacrificial knife. Now let my life-blood flow!
  And let my hands be used to draw the deadly sword,
  And learn to shed belovéd blood!
           [_She cuts her arm and lets the blood flow upon the altar._]
  Behold, self-stricken have I poured the sacrifice!                 810
    But if too oft upon thy name I call,
    I pray forgive this importunity!
    The cause, O Hecate, of all my prayers
  Is ever Jason; this my constant care.                              815
                                                     [_To attendants._]
  Take now Creüsa's bridal robe, and steep in these,
  My potent drugs; and when she dons the clinging folds,
  Let subtle flames go stealing through her inmost heart.
  The fire that in this tawny golden circlet lurks                   820
  Prometheus gave, who, for his daring heavenly theft
  In human aid, endured an ever-living death.
  'Twas Vulcan showed the fires concealed in sulphur's veins;        825
  While from my brother Phaëthon I gained a flame
  That never dies; I have preserved Chimera's breath,
  And that fierce heat that parched the fiery, brazen bull
  Of Colchis. These dread fires commingled with the gall             830
  Of dire Medusa have I bidden keep the power
    Of lurking evil. Now, O Hecate,
    Give added force to these my deadly gifts.
    And strictly guard the hidden seeds of flame.
    Let them deceive the sight, endure the touch;                    835
    But through her veins let burning fever run;
    In fervent heat consume her very bones,
    And let her fiercely blazing locks outshine
    Her marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:
    Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate,                        840
    And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.
    Now all is ready: hither call my sons,
    And let them bear these presents to the bride.
                                                        [_Enter sons._]
    Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born,                         845
    And win with costly gifts and many prayers
    The favor of the queen, your father's wife.
    Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,
    That I may fold you in a last embrace.

[_Exeunt sons toward the palace_, Medea _in the opposite direction_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_ Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,
    All passion-swept? what evil deed                                850
    Does her unbridled rage prepare?
    Her features are congealed with rage,
    And with a queenly bearing, grand
    But terrible, she sets herself                                   855
    Against e'en Creon's royal power.
    An exile who would deem her now?
    Her cheeks anon with anger flush,
    And now a deadly pallor show;
    Each feeling quick succeeds to each,                             860
    While all the passions of her heart
    Her changing aspect testifies.
    She wanders restless here and there,
    As a tigress, of her young bereft,
    In frantic grief the jungle scours.                              865
    Medea knows not how in check
    To hold her wrath nor yet her love;
    If love and wrath make common cause,
    What dire results will come?
    When will this scourge of Corinth leave                          870
    Our Grecian shores for Colchis' strand,
    And free our kingdom from its fear?
    Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy course
    With no retarding rein.                                          875
  Let friendly darkness quickly veil the light,
  And this dread day be buried deep in night.


FOOTNOTES:

[15] Reading, with period after _meae_.

[16] Reading, _relicto_, and substituting comma for semicolon.


ACT V

  _Messenger_ [_comes running in from the direction of the palace_]: Lo,
      all is lost! the kingdom totters from its base!
  The daughter and the father lie in common dust!                    880

  _Chorus:_ By what snare taken?

  _Messenger:_                 By gifts the common snare of kings.

  _Chorus:_ What harm could lurk in them?

  _Messenger:_                 In equal doubt I stand;
  And, though my eyes proclaim the dreadful deed is done,
  I scarce can trust their witness.

  _Chorus:_                    What the mode of death?

  _Messenger:_ Devouring flames consume the palace at the will       885
  Of her who sent them; there complete destruction reigns,
  While men do tremble for the very city's doom.

  _Chorus:_ Let water quench the fire.

  _Messenger:_                 Nay here is added wonder:
  The copious streams of water feed the deadly flames;
  And opposition only fans their fiery rage
  To whiter heat. The very bulwarks feel their power.                890

[Medea _enters in time to hear that her magic has been successful_.]

  _Nurse_ [_to_ Medea]: Oh, haste thee, leave this land of Greece,
    in headlong flight!

  _Medea:_ Thou bid'st me speed my flight? Nay rather, had I fled
  I should return for this. Strange bridal rites I see!
                                   [_Absorbed in her own reflections._]
  Why dost thou falter, O my soul? 'Tis well begun;                  895
  But still how small a portion of thy just revenge
  Is that which gives thee present joy? Not yet has love
  Been banished from thy maddened heart if 'tis enough
  That Jason widowed be. Pursue thy vengeful quest
  To acts as yet unknown, and steel thyself for these.
  Away with every thought and fear of God and man;                   900
  Too lightly falls the rod that pious hands upbear.
  Give passion fullest sway; exhaust thy ancient powers;
  And let the worst thou yet hast done be innocent
  Beside thy present deeds. Come, let them know how slight
  Were those thy crimes already done; mere training they             905
  For greater deeds. For what could hands untrained in crime
  Accomplish? Or what mattered maiden rage? But now,
  I am Medea; in the bitter school of woe
  My powers have ripened.                                            910
                                          [_In an ecstacy of madness._]
                         Oh, the bliss of memory!
  My infant brother slain, his limbs asunder rent,
  My royal father spoiled of his ancestral realm,
  And Pelias' guiltless daughters lured to slay their sire!
  But here I must not rest; no untrained hand I bring                915
  To execute my deeds. But now, by what approach
  Or by what weapon wilt thou threat the treacherous foe?
  Deep hidden in my secret heart have I conceived
  A purpose which I dare not utter. Oh, I fear
  That in my foolish madness I have gone too far--
  I would that children had been born to him of this                 920
  My hated rival. Still, since she hath gained his heart,
  His children too are hers--
  That punishment would be most fitting and deserved.
  Yes, now I see the final deed of crime, and thou,
  My soul, must face it. You, who once were called my sons,
  Must pay the penalty of these your father's crimes--               925
  My heart with horror melts, a numbing chill pervades
  My limbs, and all my soul is filled with sinking fear.
  Now wrath gives place, and, heedless of my husband's sins,
  The tender mother-instinct quite possesses me.
  And could I shed my helpless children's blood? Not so,
  Oh, say not so, my maddened heart! Far from my hand                930
  And thought be that unnameable and hideous deed!
  What sin have they that shedding of their wretched blood
  Would wash away?
                  Their sin--that Jason is their sire,
  And, deeper guilt, that I have borne them. Let them die;
  They are not mine. Nay, nay! they are my own, my sons,
  And with no spot of guilt. Full innocent they are,                 935
  'Tis true--my brother, too, was innocent. O soul,
  Why dost thou hesitate? Why flow these streaming tears,
  While with contending thoughts my wavering heart is torn?
  As when conflicting winds contend in stubborn strife,
  And waves, to stormy waves opposed, the sea invade,                940
  And to their lowest sands the briny waters boil;
  With such a storm my heart is tossed. Hate conquers love,
  And love puts impious hate to flight. Oh, yield thee, grief,
  To love! Then come, my sons, sole comfort of my heart,             945
  Come, cling within your mother's close embrace. Unharmed
  Your sire may keep you, while your mother holds you too.
                                                 [_Embraces her sons._]
  But flight and exile drive me forth! And even now
  My children must be torn away with tears and cries.
  Then let them die to Jason since they're lost to me.               950
  Once more has hate resumed her sway, and passion's fire
  Is hot within my soul. Now fury, as of yore,
  Reseeks her own. Lead on, I follow to the end!
  I would that I had borne twice seven sons, the boast               955
  Of Niobe! But all too barren have I been.
  Still will my two sufficient be to satisfy
  My brother and my sire.
               [_Sees a vision of the furies and her brother's ghost._]
                          But whither hastes that throng
  Of furies? What their quest? What mean their brandished fires?
  Whom threats this hellish host with horrid, bloody brands?         960
  I hear the writhing lash resound of serpents huge.
  Whom seeks Megaera with her deadly torch? Whose shade
  Comes gibbering there with scattered limbs? It is my brother!
  Revenge he seeks, and we will grant his quest. Then come,
  Within my heart plunge all your torches, rend me, burn;            965
  For lo, my bosom open to your fury's stroke.
  O brother, bid these vengeful goddesses depart
  And go in peace down to the lowest shades of hell.
  And do thou leave me to myself, and let this hand
  That slew thee with the sword now offer sacrifice                  970
  Unto thy shade.
                                               [_Slays her first son._]
                 What sudden uproar meets my ear?
  'Tis Corinth's citizens on my destruction bent.
  Unto the palace roof I'll mount and there complete
  This bloody sacrifice.
                                              [_To her remaining son._]
                        Do thou come hence with me.
  But thee, poor senseless corse, within mine arms I'll bear.        975
  Now gird thyself, my heart, with strength. Nor must this deed
  Lose all its just renown because in secret done;
  But to the public eye my hand must be approved.

  _Jason [in the street below shouting to citizens_]: Ho, all ye loyal
    sons, who mourn the death of kings!
  Come, let us seize the worker of this hideous crime.               980
  Now ply your arms and raze her palace to the ground.

  _Medea [appearing on the housetop with her two sons_]: Now, now have
     I regained my regal state, my sire,
  My brother! Once again the Colchians hold the spoil
  Of precious gold! And by the magic of this hour
  I am a maid once more. O heavenly powers, appeased
  At length! O festal hour! O nuptial day! On, on!                   985
  Accomplished is the guilt, but not the recompense.
  Complete the task while yet thy hands are strong to act!
  Why dost thou linger still? why dost thou hesitate
  Upon the threshold of the deed? Thou canst perform it.
  Now wrath has died within me, and my soul is filled
  With shame and deep remorse. Ah me, what have I done,
  Wretch that I am? Wretch that thou art, well mayst thou mourn,     990
  For thou hast done it!
                       At that thought delirious joy
  O'ermasters me and fills my heart which fain would grieve.
  And yet, methinks, the act was almost meaningless,
  Since Jason saw it not; for naught has been performed
  If to his grief be added not the woe of sight.

  _Jason_ [_discovering her_]: Lo, there she stands upon the
    lofty battlements!                                               995
  Bring torches! fire the house, that she may fall ensnared
  By those devices she herself hath planned.

  _Medea_ [_derisively_]:    Not so,
  But rather build a lofty pyre for these thy sons;
  Their funeral rites prepare. Already for thy bride
  And father have I done the service due the dead;
  For in their ruined palace have I buried them.
  One son of thine has met his doom; and this shall die             1000
  Before his father's face.

  _Jason:_ By all the gods, and by the perils of our flight,
  And by our marriage bond which I have ne'er betrayed,
  I pray thee spare the boy, for he is innocent.
  If aught of sin there be, 'tis mine. Myself I give
  To be the victim. Take my guilty soul for his.                    1005

  _Medea:_ 'Tis for thy prayers and tears I draw, not sheathe the sword.
  Go now, and take thee maids for wives, thou faithless one;
  Abandon and betray the mother of thy sons.

  _Jason:_ And yet, I pray thee, let one sacrifice atone.

  _Medea:_ If in the blood of one my passion could be quenched,
  No vengeance had it sought. Though both my sons I slay,           1010
  The number still is all too small to satisfy
  My boundless grief.

  _Jason:_      Then finish what thou hast begun--
  I ask no more--and grant at least that no delay
  Prolong my helpless agony.                                        1015

  _Medea:_            Now hasten not,
  Relentless passion, but enjoy a slow revenge.
  This day is in thy hands; its fertile hours employ.

  _Jason:_ Oh, take my life, thou heartless one.

  _Medea:_                                    Thou bid'st me pity--
  Well! [_Slays the second child_.]--'Tis done!
  No more atonement, passion, can I offer thee.
  Now hither lift thy tearful eyes ungrateful one.                  1020
  Dost recognize thy wife? 'Twas thus of old I fled.
  The heavens themselves provide me with a safe retreat.
                     [_A chariot drawn by dragons appears in the air._]
  Twin serpents bow their necks submissive to the yoke.
  Now, father, take thy sons; while I, upon my car,
  With wingéd speed am borne aloft through realms of air.           1025

[_Mounts her car and is borne away._]

  _Jason [calling after her_]: Speed on through realms of air that
    mortals never see:
  But, witness heaven, where thou art gone no gods can be!




HERCULES FURENS




HERCULES FURENS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


HERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena, but the reputed son of Amphitryon.

_Juno_ Sister and wife of Jupiter, and queen of heaven.

_Amphitryon_ Husband of Alcmena.

_Theseus_ King of Athens and friend of Hercules.

_Lycus_ The usurping king of Thebes, who has, prior to the opening of
the play, slain king Creon in battle.

_Megara_ Wife of Hercules and daughter of Creon.

_Chorus_ Of Thebans.


THE SCENE is in the princely palace of Hercules at Thebes, on the day
of the return of the hero from the lower world.


_The jealous wrath of Juno, working through Eurystheus, has imposed
twelve mighty and destructive tasks on Hercules, her hated stepson.
But these, even to the last and worst, the bringing of Cerberus to the
upper world, he has triumphantly accomplished. Abandoning her plan
of crushing him by toils like these, she will turn his hand against
himself, and so accomplish his destruction. Upon the day of his return
from hell, she brings a madness on him, and so precipitates the tragedy
which forms the action of the play._


ACT I

  _Juno_ [_in soliloquy_]: Lo I, the sister of the Thunderer
  (For, save this name alone, I've nothing more),
  Have left my lord, so often false to me,
  Have left, in widowhood, the realms of heaven,
  And, banished from the sky, have given place
  Unto my hated rivals. Now must earth                                 5
  Be my abode, while they in heaven reign.
  Behold, the Bear, far in the frozen north,
  Is set on high to guide the Argive ships;
  Behold, in southern skies, where days grow long
  Beneath the warmth of spring, the Bull shines bright,
  Who once the Tyrian Europa bore.
  There gleam the wandering Atlantides,                               10
  A fearful band for ships and sea alike;
  And yonder fierce Orion with his sword
  The very gods affrights; his stars, as well,
  The golden Perseus boasts; while Leda's sons
  With shining banners glitter in the sky;
  And they, Latona's children, for whose birth                        15
  The floating land stood firm. And not alone
  Have Bacchus and his mother gained the heavens;
  But, that the infamy may be complete,
  The skies must needs the Cretan maiden's crown
  Endure. But these are ancient wrongs I tell:
  One wild and baneful land alone is full
  Of shameless mistresses--the Theban land,                           20
  Which all too oft has me a stepdame made.
  And though Alcmena scale the heights of heaven,
  And hold my place, victorious over me;
  And though her son his promised star obtain
  (Whose hateful getting cost the world a day,
  Since Phoebus, bidden to hold his shining car                       25
  In Ocean hid, with tardy light shone forth
  From eastern seas): still ever in my heart
  Shall hate relentless dwell. Undying wrath
  My outraged soul shall kindle; and my grief,
  All hope of truce denying, endless wars
  Shall fiercely wage. But what avail my wars?                        30
  Whatever savage things the hurtful earth,
  The sea or air produce, terrific shapes,
  Fierce, pestilential, horrible, and dire,
  The power of all is broken and subdued.
  Alcides towers above and thrives on woe;
  My wrath is his delight, and to his praise
  He turns my deadly hate. While I, too stern,                        35
  Impose his dreadful tasks, I do but prove
  His origin, and opportunity
  For glorious achievement render him.
  Where Phoebus with his neighboring torch illumes
  The east and western shores of Aethiop's land,
  Alcides' dauntless courage is adored;
  While all the world considers him a god.
  And now have I no monsters more to send;                            40
  And less his toil to do the tasks I bid,
  Than mine to set them. Joyfully he hears
  My several commands. But what dire tasks
  The tyrant may conceive can harm that youth
  Impetuous? His very arms, forsooth,
  Are torn from monsters which he feared--and slew;                   45
  With spoils of lion and of hydra armed,
  He walks abroad. Nor are the lands of earth
  Enough for him: behold, the doors of Dis
  Are burst, and to the upper world he brings
  The booty taken from the vanquished king.
  'Tis not enough that he returns alive:
  The law that binds the shades is set at naught.
  Myself I saw him, when he had o'ercome                              50
  The king of hades and escaped the night
  Of that deep underworld, display to Jove
  The spoils of Dis. But why does he not lead,
  Oppressed and overcome, the king himself
  Who gained by lot an equal realm with Jove?
  Why rules he not in conquered Erebus?
  Why bares he not the Styx? His upward way
  From deepest hell to earth he has retraced,                         55
  And all the sacred mysteries of death
  Lie open to the world. Not yet content,
  And proud that he has burst the bars of night,
  He triumphs over me, and, insolent,
  He leads through all the cities of the land
  That gruesome dog of hell. I saw, myself,
  The daylight pale at sight of Cerberus,                             60
  The sun start in affright. Nay, even I
  Was struck with terror; and, as I beheld
  That triple-headed beast in bondage led,
  I trembled at the thought that 'twas my will.
  But all too trivial ills do I lament;
  My fears must be aroused for heaven itself,
  Lest he who overcame the lowest depths
  Should scale the very skies, and from his sire                      65
  His scepter snatch away. Nor to the stars
  Will he, like Bacchus, by an easy path
  Ascend; through ruin would he make his way,
  And wish to rule an empty universe.
  He is inflamed with pride of tested strength;
  But he has learned by bearing up the heavens,
  That by his power the heavens can be subdued.                       70
  Upon his head he bore the universe,
  Nor did his shoulders bend beneath the weight
  Of that stupendous mass; the vault of heaven
  Upon his neck was poised, and steadily
  He bore the expanse of sky, the shining stars;
  And even me, down pressing, he endured.
  He seeks a place among the immortal gods.
  Then up, arouse thee to destructive wrath,                          75
  Destroy him meditating plans so great.
  Meet him in single strife; with thine own hands
  Asunder rend him. Why thy mighty hate
  Dost thou consign to others to appease?
  Enough of monsters; let Eurystheus rest,
  All weary with imposing thy commands.
  Though thou shouldst open wide Sicilia's vaults,
  And free the Titans who essayed to wrench                           80
  The scepter from the hand of mighty Jove;
  Though the Doric isle, which trembles with affright
  Whene'er the heaving giant turns himself,
  Should ease her weight upon the monster's head;
  Though in the moon another race of beasts
  Should be conceived: yet all of these, I know
  Alcides conquered and will conquer still.
  Seek'st thou his match? There is none save himself.                 85
  Then set him on to war against himself;
  Let furies from the lowest depths of hell
  Be roused and come to aid, their flaming locks
  Aglow with maddening fire, their savage hands
  The horrid snaky scourges brandishing.
  Go now, thou proud one, seek the seats of heaven,
  And scorn the lot of men. And dost thou think,                      90
  O hero brave, that thou hast fled the Styx
  And gloomy shades? Here will I show thee hell;
  Here will I summon up the goddess dire
  Of Discord, deep in darkness thick confined
  Far down below the abode of guilty souls.
  A cavern huge within a mountain's hold
  Is her dark prison. Her will I call forth,                          95
  And from the deepest realms of Dis bring up
  Whate'er thou hast escaped: base Crime shall come;
  Impiety that fiercely stains its hands
  In kindred blood; the shape of Error, too,
  And Fury ever armed against itself.
  This, this assistance shall my grief employ.
  Come then, ye ever-faithful slaves of Dis,                         100
  Begin your task. Shake high the blazing torch;
  And let Megaera lead her dreadful band
  Of sisters viperous. With deadly hand
  Let her from off the blazing funeral pyre
  A burning brand snatch up. Now to your task;
  Thus seek revenge for violated Styx:
  Distract his heart with madness; let his soul                      105
  More fiercely burn than that hot fire which glows
  On Aetna's forge. But first, that Hercules
  May be to madness driven, smitten through
  With mighty passion, I must be insane.
  Why rav'st thou not, O Juno? Me, Oh, me,                           110
  Ye sisters, first of sanity deprive,
  That something worthy of a stepdame's wrath
  I may prepare. Let all my hate be changed
  To favor. Now I pray that he may come
  To earth again, and see his sons unharmed;
  May he return with all his old-time strength.
  Now have I found a day when Hercules
  May help me with his strength that I deplore.                      115
  Now let him equally o'ercome himself
  And me; and let him, late escaped from death,
  Desire to die. Now let it profit me
  That he is born of Jove. I'll stand by him
  And nicely poise his hand, that so his darts
  May with more deadly aim be hurled. I'll guide
  The madman's arms. And so at last I help                           120
  Alcides in his wars. The crime complete,
  Then let his father to the heavens admit
  Those guilty hands. Now must the attack begin.
  The day is breaking, and with saffron light
  The rising sun dispels the gloom of night.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_ Now scattered and with paling light                      125
    The stars gleam in the sinking west;
    Now vanquished night collects her fires,
    Whose shining band at the day's return
    The star of morning drives away.
    High up in the frozen northern sky,
    The Arcadian Bears with their seven-fold stars,                  130
    Their course completed, hail the dawn.
    Now borne along by his azure steeds
    The sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge;
    With whose light suffused, the clustering grapes
    In the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dear
    Flush rosy red. The waning moon                                  135
    Fades out of sight, to return again.
    Hard Toil awakens, at whose knock
    The doors of men are opened wide,
    And daily cares resumed.
    The shepherd sends his flock afield,
    And plucks, himself, the tender grass                            140
    Still sparkling with the frosty rime.
    The young bull sports among the fields
    At liberty; the dams refill
    Their empty udders; sportive kids
    Leap lightly o'er the tender grass                               145
    In aimless course. On the topmost branch
    The Thracian Philomela sings
    Her strident song, and near her nest
    Of chattering young she spreads her wings
    To the morning sun; while all around                             150
    The throng of birds with united songs
    Announce the day.
    The daring sailor spreads his sails
    To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill
    Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks
    The fisher leans and baits anew
    His cunning hook; he feels his line                              155
    A-tremble with the struggling fish,
    Or weighs his prize with practiced hand
    And eager eye.
    Such are the joys of him who lives                               160
    In tranquil and unworried peace;
    Whose pleasure is a humble house,
    His own, though small; whose simple hopes
    Are in the open fields.[17]
    But worried hopes in cities dwell,
    And trembling fears. There some would haunt
    The rich man's haughty vestibules,
    Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors,                            165
    Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth,
    Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze
    In admiration at their heaps;
    And yet, with all their gold, are poor.
    Some strain for the applause of men,
    The vulgar throng, whose fickle will
    Is shifting as the sea, and swell                                170
    With empty pride. The noisy mart
    Still others claim, who meanly deal
    In quarrelsome suits, and profit make
    Of wrath and empty words.
    Few know untroubled peace, the men
    Who, heeding time's swift flight, hold fast                      175
    The years that never will return.
    While fate permits, live happily;
    For life runs on with rapid pace,
    And with headlong speed the year's swift wheel                   180
    With winged hours is turned.
    The cruel sisters urge their task,
    Nor backward turn the threads of life.
    But the race of men is hurried on
    To meet the quick approaching fates,
    Uncertain of their own.
    Of our own will we haste to cross                                185
    The Stygian waves. Thou, Hercules,
    With heart too brave, before thy time
    Didst see the grieving shades. The fates
    In pre-established order come;
    And none may stay when they command,
    None may put off the appointed day.                              190
    The swiftly whirling urn of fate
    Contains all mortal men.
    Let glory then to many lands
    Proclaim some names, and chattering fame
    Through every city sing their praise,
    And raise them to the stars. Sublime                             195
    In triumph let another ride.
    Me let my native land conceal
    Within a safe and humble home.
    'Tis unambitious souls who come
    To hoary-headed age at last.
    If humble, still the lot is sure
    Of lowly homes. Souls lifted high,                               200
    For this to greater depths must fall.
  But see, sad Megara comes with flowing hair,
  Her little children closely pressing round;
  And with her, with the tardy step of age,
  The sire of Hercules, Amphitryon.


FOOTNOTES:

[17] Reading, _et in agris_.


ACT II

  _Megara:_ O mighty ruler of Olympus' heights,                      205
  Thou judge of all the world, now set at length
  A limit to my cares, and make an end
  Of my disasters. No untroubled day
  Doth dawn for me; but one misfortune's end
  Marks but the starting-point of future woes.
  Fresh foes are ready for my Hercules
  Straightway on his return; ere he can reach                        210
  His happy home, another warfare bids
  That he set forth again. No time for rest
  Is given, save while he waits a fresh command.
  'Twas ever thus: from earliest infancy
  Unfriendly Juno follows on his track.
  Was e'en his cradle free from her assaults?
  He conquered monsters ere he learned to know                       215
  What monsters were. Two crested serpents huge
  Against him reared their heads; the dauntless child
  Crawled forth to meet them, and, with placid gaze
  Intently fixed upon their fiery eyes,
  With fearless look he raised their close-coiled folds,             220
  And crushed their swollen necks with tender hand.
  And thus he practiced for the hydra's death.
  He caught the nimble stag of Maenalus,
  Its beauteous head adorned with horns of gold.
  The lion, terror of Nemean woods,
  Groaned out his life beneath the mighty arms                       225
  Of Hercules. Why should I call to mind
  The stables dire of that Bistonian herd,
  And the king as food to his own horses given?
  The rough Maenalian boar, which, from his lair
  On Erymanthus' thickly wooded heights,
  Filled all the groves of Arcady with dread?
  Or that fell Cretan bull whose terror filled                       230
  A hundred towns? Among his herds remote,
  The three-formed shepherd by Tartessus' shore
  Was slain, and from the farthest west his herds
  Were driven as booty. Now Cithaeron feeds
  The cattle once to Ocean known. Again,
  When bidden to penetrate the sultry zone                           235
  Of summer's burning sun, those scorchéd realms
  Which midday parches with its piercing rays,
  He clove the ponderous mountain barriers,
  And made a pathway for the rushing sea.
  He next assailed the rich Hesperides,
  And bore therefrom the watchful dragon's spoil                     240
  Of golden fruit. Then Lerna's savage beast,
  An evil creature constantly renewed,
  Did he not overcome by fire at last,
  And teach it how to die? Did he not seek
  Within the clouds the dire Stymphalian birds,
  Whose spreading wings were wont to obscure the day?
  He was not conquered by the maiden queen                           245
  Who ruled the Amazons and ever kept
  Her couch in virgin state. Nor did his hands,
  Courageous to attempt all glorious deeds,
  Disdain to cleanse the vile Augean stalls.
  But what avail these toils? For he alone
  Cannot enjoy the world he saved. And now
  The world perceives the giver of its peace                         250
  Is absent from its sight. Now prosperous crime
  Is called by virtue's name; good men obey
  The guilty, might is counted right, and fear
  O'ershadows law. Before my eyes I saw
  The sons who dared defend their father's throne
  Fall dead beneath the tyrant's murderous hand;                     255
  I saw King Creon's self by death o'ercome,
  The latest son of Cadmus' noble line;
  And with his head the royal diadem
  Was reft away. Who now could weep enough
  For Thebes? Proud land and mother of the gods,
  What master fears she now, she, from whose fields                  260
  And fertile bosom sprang that band of youth
  With swords all ready drawn; whose mighty walls
  Amphion, son of Jove, once built, its stones
  Compelling by the magic of his lyre;
  Down to whose citadel not once alone
  The father of the gods from heaven came?
  This royal city which the immortals oft
  Has entertained, which has divinities                              265
  Produced, and (heaven forgive the boastful word)
  Perchance will yet produce, is now oppressed
  Beneath a shameful yoke. O royal race
  Of Cadmus, noble state Amphion ruled,
  Low hast thou fallen indeed! Dost thou obey
  A low-born exile, driven from his land                             270
  And yet oppressing ours? And now, alas,
  He, who on land and sea doth punish crime,
  Who breaks all cruel rule with righteous hand,
  Far off obeys another, and himself
  Endures those ills from which he others saved;
  And Lycus rules the Thebes of Hercules!
  But not for long; he soon will come again,                         275
  And punish all the wrongs; he suddenly
  Will to the upper world emerge; a way
  He'll find--or make. Oh, come unharmed, I pray;
  As victor come at last unto thy home
  Which now in ruins lies. O husband, come,
  With thy strong hand break through the shades of hell.             280
  And if no way is open, if the road
  Is closely barred, then rend the earth and come;
  And all that lies in keep of dismal night
  Bring forth with thee. As once, through riven hills
  A passage seeking for a headlong stream,
  Thou stood'st, and, with thy strength gigantic cleft,              285
  The vale of Tempe opened wide; as then,
  Impelled by might of thy resistless breast,
  The mountains fell away from either side,
  And through the broken masses poured the stream
  Of Thessaly along a channel new:
  So now to parents, children, native land,
  A passage burst. And bring away with thee                          290
  The shapes of death, and all that greedy time
  Through countless rounds of years has hidden away;
  Those nations who have drunk forgetfulness,
  Drive out before thee, fearful of the light.
  The spoils are all unworthy of thy fame,
  If thou shouldst bring from hades only that                        295
  Which was commanded. But too bold my words,
  And thoughtless of my present lot I speak.
  Oh, when will come at last that day for me
  When I shall clasp my husband once again,
  And weep no more his long-delayed return,
  His long forgetfulness of me? To thee,
  O ruler of the gods, a hundred bulls
  Shall bleed; to thee, thou goddess of the fruits,                  300
  Thy secret rites I'll pay: for thee shall blaze
  Upon Eleusin's shrine the sacred torch
  In celebration of thy mysteries.
  Then shall I think my brothers' lives restored,
  My father once again upon his throne.                              305
  But if some power more potent than thine own
  Holds thee in durance, we shall come to thee.
  Return in safety and protect us all,
  Or drag us down with thee. This wilt thou do;
  No god will e'er our broken fortunes mend.

  _Amphitr.:_ O ally of my house, with wifely faith
  Preserving for the great-souled Hercules                           310
  His couch and children, be of better mind.
  Take heart again, for surely he will come,
  Increased in fame by this, as is his wont
  By other tasks.

  _Megara:_      What wretched men desire
  They readily believe.

  _Amphitryon:_      Nay, what they fear
  They think can never be escaped or borne.                          315
  For fear is prone to see the darker side.

  _Megara:_ Submerged, deep buried, crushed beneath the world,
  What chance has he to reach the upper realms?

  _Amphitr.:_ The same he had, when, through the arid plain,
  And sands that billowed like the stormy sea,                       320
  Those twice receding, twice returning gulfs,
  He made his way; when on the dangerous shoals
  Of Syrtes he was wrecked, he left his ship
  A helpless hulk and crossed the sea on foot.

  _Megara:_ Unjust is fortune, rarely does she spare                 325
  The bravest souls. No one with safety long
  Can brave so frequent perils; he who oft
  Has shunned misfortune meets at last his fate.
  But see, with threatening looks fierce Lycus comes,
  His hateful soul in hateful bearing shown,                         330
  And bears the stolen scepter in his hand.

[_Enter_ Lycus.]

  _Lycus:_ The rich domain of this proud town of Thebes,
  With all the fertile soil which Phocis bounds
  Within its winding borders, all the land
  Ismenus waters; all Cithaeron sees                                 335
  From his high top; the narrow Isthmus, too,
  Two seas asunder cleaving: all I own,
  Not by prerogative of long descent,
  A worthless heir. No noble ancestors,
  Nor family adorned with lofty names
  Have I; but splendid valor. He who boasts                          340
  His noble ancestry exalts a thing
  Which is not his to boast. But power usurped
  Is held with anxious hands; the sword alone
  Can guard it. All thou hold'st against the will
  Of citizens the sword must hold for thee.
  No kingdom built upon a foreign soil                               345
  Is safe for long. One thing alone I see
  Which can our power establish--Megara,
  By ties of royal marriage bound to me.
  From her illustrious line my humble blood
  Shall a richer hue derive. Nor do I think
  That she will scorn me and refuse my suit.
  But should she with a blind and stubborn soul                      350
  Refuse my proffered hand, my mind is fixed
  To give to utter ruin all the house
  Of Hercules. Will such a deed arouse
  A storm of scandal and the people's hate?
  The art of ruling chiefly lies in this:
  The power to bear the people's hate unmoved.
  Let me make trial then. Occasion smiles,
  For she herself, in mourning vestments clad,                       355
  Stands by the altars of her guardian gods,
  While near at hand Alcides' father waits.

  _Megara_ [_seeing_ Lycus, _aside_]: What new outrage does yonder
    wretch prepare,
  The pestilent destroyer of our race?

  _Lycus:_ O thou, who bear'st a name illustrious                    360
  From royal stock, with patient ear awhile
  Receive my words. If everlasting hate
  The hearts of men should feel, if fury dire,
  Once in the heart conceived, should never cease;
  If prosperous men must ever fight to rule,
  And those who fail obey because they must:
  Then never-ending wars would nothing leave,                        365
  And all the fields would be a barren waste;
  Homes would be burned, and 'neath their ashes deep
  All nations of the earth would be o'erwhelmed.
  The victor's profit is in peace restored,
  But for the vanquished 'tis their direful need.
  Come, share my throne; let us unite our wills.                     370
  And, as my pledge of faith, receive my hand.
  But why dost thou in scornful silence wait?

  _Megara:_ And dost thou think that I would touch the hand
  That is besprinkled with my father's gore,
  And my two brothers' blood? Oh, sooner far
  Shall day's last beams go out in eastern skies,
  And dawn break in the west; sooner shall peace                     375
  Be made 'twixt snow and flame, and Scylla join
  Sicilia's shores with those of Italy;
  And sooner shall Euripus' rushing waves
  Lap peacefully upon Euboea's shores.
  My father and my brothers hast thou slain,
  My kingdom ruined, home and native land.
  What still is left? One thing remains to me,                       380
  That's dearer than my father, brother, home,
  And kingdom: 'tis my deadly hate of thee.
  That I must share this with the land at large
  Is grief to me. For in their cause for hate
  How small a share have I? Thou, swollen with pride,
  Rule on, and let thy soul exalt itself;
  But know that evermore the avenging god
  Pursues the proud of heart. Well do I know                         385
  The history of Thebes. Why need I tell
  Of matrons who have dared and suffered wrong?
  Why name the double crime, the mingled names
  Of husband, father, son, the opposing camps
  Of brothers? Why describe the funeral pyres?
  The haughty mother, child of Tantalus,                             390
  Still sits in stony grief; the mourning rock
  On Phrygian Sipylus still drips with tears.
  Nay, Cadmus' self, in form of serpent, still
  Flees through Illyria's realm with crested head,
  And leaves behind his dragging body's trail.
  Such fates admonish thee. Rule as thou wilt:                       395
  But may the accustomed doom of Thebes be thine.

  _Lycus:_ Come then, have done with this wild talk of thine,
  And learn from Hercules to obey the will
  Of kings. Although by right of victory
  I wield this scepter, though I reign supreme                       400
  Without the fear of laws which arms annul,
  Still will I briefly speak in my defense.
  And did thy father fall in bloody war?
  Thy brothers too? But arms no limit know,
  Cannot be checked with ease, nor can the sword,
  Once drawn, restrain its wrath. War will have blood.               405
  But (you will say), he fought to save his state,
  While I was prompted by the lust of power.
  Still we should look, not at the cause of war,
  But at its outcome. Now let memory
  Of all the former wrongs pass from thy heart.
  When the victor lays aside his arms, 'tis meet
  The vanquished should abandon hatred too.                          410
  I ask thee not upon thy bended knees
  To acknowledge me as king; for it is well
  That thou shouldst meet thy ruin dauntlessly.
  Lo, thou art worthy of a royal mate:
  Be then my wife and not my enemy.

  _Megara:_ Cold horror creeps throughout my lifeless limbs.
  What shameful proposition do I hear?                               415
  I did not shrink when loud alarms of war
  Rang round our city's walls; and all my woes
  I've bravely borne. But marriage--and with him!
  Now do I think myself indeed a slave.
  Load down my tender frame with heavy chains;
  Be lingering death by long starvation sought;                      420
  Still shall no power o'ercome my wifely faith.
  I shall be thine, Alcides, to the death.

  _Lycus:_ Such spirits does a buried husband give?

  _Megara:_ He went below that he might reach the heavens.

  _Lycus:_ The boundless weight of earth oppresses him.

  _Megara:_ No weight of earth can overwhelm the man                 425
  Who bore the heavens up.

  _Lycus:_                Thou shalt be forced.

  _Megara:_ He can be forced who knows not how to die.

  _Lycus:_ Tell me what gift I could bestow more rich
  Than royal wedlock?

  _Megara:_        Grant thy death, or mine.

  _Lycus:_ Then die, thou fool.

  _Megara:_      'Tis thus I'll meet my lord.

  _Lycus:_ Is that slave more to thee, than I, a king?               430

  _Megara:_ How many kings has that slave given to death!

  _Lycus:_ Why does he serve a king, and bear the yoke?

  _Megara:_ Remove hard tasks, and where would valor be?

  _Lycus:_ To conquer monsters call'st thou valor then?

  _Megara:_ 'Tis valor to subdue what all men fear.                  435

  _Lycus:_ The shades of hades hold that boaster fast.

  _Megara:_ No easy way leads from the earth to heaven.

  _Lycus:_ Who is his father, that he hopes for heaven?

  _Amphitr.:_ Unhappy wife of mighty Hercules,
  Be silent now, for 'tis my part to tell                            440
  Alcides' parentage. After his deeds,
  So many and so great; after the world,
  From rising unto setting of the sun,
  Has been subdued, so many monsters tamed;
  After the giants' impious blood was spilled
  In Phlegra's vale, and gods were reinforced,                       445
  What need we yet to prove his parentage?
  Do we make false pretense of Jupiter?
  Then Juno's hate believe.

  _Lycus:_              Why blaspheme Jove?
  The race of mortals cannot mate with gods.

  _Amphitr.:_ Such is the origin of many gods.

  _Lycus:_ But were they slaves before their heaven was gained?      450

  _Amphitr.:_ The Delian at Pherae kept the flocks.

  _Lycus:_ But he did not in exile roam the world.

  _Amphitr.:_ His mother bore him in a roaming land,
  Herself a fugitive.

  _Lycus:_              Did Phoebus fear
  Wild beasts and monsters?

  _Amphitr.:_                Yes, in dragon's blood                  455
  His earliest shafts were stained.

  _Lycus:_                      Thou knowest not
  What heavy ills the young Alcides bore.

  _Amphitr.:_ But Bacchus by a thunderbolt was ripped
  From out his mother's womb; and yet he stood
  In after time beside the Thunderer,
  His sire. Nay, Jove himself, who rules the stars
  And drives the clouds, did he not lie concealed,                   460
  In helpless infancy in Ida's cave?
  A heavy price must so high lineage pay,
  And suffering is the birthright of a god.

  _Lycus:_ Whoe'er is wretched, thou wouldst mortal know.

  _Amphitr.:_ Whoe'er is brave, thou wouldst not wretched call.

  _Lycus:_ But is he brave, from whose broad shoulders fell          465
  The lion's skin and club, that they might be
  A maiden's plaything? Who himself shone bright
  In Tyrian vestments? Should we call him brave,
  Whose bristling locks were wet with fragrant nard,
  Whose famous hands in woman's wise essayed
  To play the tambour; on whose frowning brow                        470
  The Phrygian turban shamelessly was worn?

  _Amphitr.:_ But youthful Bacchus did not blush to wear
  His locks in flowing ringlets, in his hand
  The thyrsus light to brandish, as he walked
  With steps unsteady, clad in trailing robes
  Bright with barbaric gold. 'Tis virtue's right                     475
  In foolishness to ease the strain of toil.

  _Lycus:_ 'Twas for this cause the house of Eurytus
  Was overthrown, and troops of maidens slain
  Like helpless sheep! No Juno ordered this,
  Nor yet Eurystheus: these his works alone.                         480

  _Amphitr.:_ Thou know'st not all his deeds: it was his work
  That Eryx fell, by his own gauntlets slain;
  That in his death Antaeus, too, was joined;
  That those foul altars, dripping with the blood
  Of hapless strangers, drank the blood at last
  Of murderous Busiris. 'Twas his work
  That Cycnus, proof against the sword, was slain,                   485
  Though still unwounded; by his hand alone
  The threefold Geryon fell. And thou shalt be
  As one of these, though they ne'er basely sinned
  Against the rites of marriage.

  _Lycus:_                    What to Jove
  Is lawful, is my kingly right as well.
  A wife thou gav'st to him; so for thy king
  Shalt thou a mate provide. Now Megara                              490
  From thine example shall the lesson learn,
  Not new, that wives may yield to better men,
  When husbands give consent. But if, self-willed,
  She still refuse to take me for her lord,
  I'll force her will to bear me noble seed.

  _Megara:_ Ye shades of Creon, and ye household gods                495
  Of Labdacus, ye impious nuptial fires
  Of Oedipus, your wonted fortune give
  To this our union! O ye savage wives
  Of king Aegyptus' sons, be present now,
  With blood-stained hands. Your count is incomplete.
  I gladly will that impious number fill.                            500

  _Lycus:_ Since thou dost stubbornly refuse my suit,
  And striv'st to fright the king, now shalt thou feel
  The strength of royal power. Cling as thou mayst
  To altar horns: no god shall save thee now
  From me; not though the earth itself be rent,
  And Hercules victorious come again
  Unto the upper world.                                              505
                                                         [_To slaves._]
                        Heap high the logs,
  And let the sacred temple blazing fall
  Upon its suppliants. Now let the wife
  And all her brood upon the funeral pyre
  Be burned to ashes in the kindling flames.

  _Amphitr.:_ This boon Alcides' father asks of thee,
  Which fits me well, that I be first to die.                        510

  _Lycus:_ Who bids all men meet punishment with death
  Knows not the ruler's art. Seek varied pains;
  Forbid the wretch to die, the happy slay.
  Now, while the pyre is growing for the flames,
  I'll pay my vows unto the ocean's god.                             515

[_Exit._]

  _Amphitr.:_ O god of gods, O ruler of the skies,
  Whose hurtling bolts make mortals quake with fear,
  Check thou the impious hand of this dire king.
  Why do I vainly importune the gods?
  Where'er thou art, hear thou and answer, son.                      520
  But why this sudden rocking of the shrine?
  Why groans the earth? Far in her lowest hold
  A crashing deep resounds. Our prayer is heard!
  It is, it is the step of Hercules!

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_ O Fortune, envious of the brave,
    Unjustly are thy prizes given!                                   525
    Behold Eurystheus reigns at ease,
    While our Alcmena's noble son,
    With hands which could the heavens uplift,
    Must endless wars with monsters wage;
    Must sever the hydra's teeming necks,
    And from the cheated sisters bear                                530
    The apples, when the dragon huge,
    The guardian of the golden fruit,
    Had given to sleep his watchful eyes.
    To the wandering homes of Scythia,
    Where tribes in their ancestral seats
    As strangers dwell, he made his way.
    He trod the frozen ocean's crust,                                535
    A still sea hemmed by silent shores;
    There no waves beat on the rigid plains,
    And where but now full swelling sails
    Had sped their barks, a path is worn
    By the long-haired Sarmatae.
    There the waters change with the changing year,                  540
    Now ships, now horses bearing up.
    From the queen who rules o'er virgin tribes,
    With golden girdles on their loins,
    He took her body's noble spoil,
    Her shield and her snowy bosom's guard.                          545
    On bended knee she acknowledged him victor.
    With what hope, driven to the depths of hell,
    Bold to tread irretraceable ways,
    Didst thou behold the dusky realms
    Of Proserpine of Sicily?
    There Notus and Favonius lash                                    550
    No seas to rage with swelling floods;
    There do no frightened vessels find
    Help from the twin Tyndaridae.
    Those waters lie in stagnant pools
    And black; and when, with greedy teeth,                          555
    Pale Death bears off uncounted tribes
    Unto the shades, one oarsman grim
    Bears all across their gloomy depths.
    Oh, that the laws of cruel Styx
    Thou mightst annul, and the distaff break,
    Relentless, of the fates. And lo,                                560
    Thou canst avail, for he who rules
    O'er many nations once with thee
    His deadly hands in battle joined,
    When thou didst wage 'gainst Nestor's land
    A mighty war. A three-pronged spear
    He bore; but soon, by but a wound
    O'ercome, he fled. He feared to die,                             565
    Though lord of death. Burst with thy hands
    The bonds of fate. To those sad souls
    In hell let in the light of day,
    And to the upper world reveal
    An easy path. Once, by his songs
    And suppliant prayers, did Orpheus bend
    The stubborn lords of hell, when he                              570
    His lost Eurydice would seek.
    That art which drew the forest trees,
    Which held the birds and rocks enthralled,
    Which stopped the river's headlong race,
    And tamed the hearts of savage beasts,
    Soothed with its strains ne'er heard before                      575
    Those darksome realms, and clear and fine
    Resounded through that silent land.
    Eurydice the Thracian dames
    Bewailed; Eurydice, the gods,
    Who ne'er had wept before; and they
    Who with forbidding, awful brows,
    In judgment sit and hear the crimes                              580
    Long since committed, unconfessed,
    They sat and wept Eurydice,
    Until the lord of death exclaimed:
    "We grant thy prayer. Away to earth;
    But on this sole condition go:
    Do thou behind thy husband fare;
    And look thou not upon thy wife,                                 585
    Until the light of day thou see,
    And Spartan Taenarus appear."
    Love hates delay, nor suffers it:
    He hasted to behold his wife--
    And she again was lost to him.
  So, then, the fortress that could yield to song,                   590
  Be sure that fortress shall to strength belong.


ACT III

[_Enter_ Hercules, _just returned from the lower world, accompanied by_
Theseus.]

  _Hercules:_ O kindly lord of light, heaven's ornament,
  Who circlest all the spaces of the sky
  With thy flame-bearing car, and thy bright head
  Dost lift to glad a new-awakened earth:
  Thy pardon, O Apollo, do I crave,                                  595
  If aught unlawful thou dost see in me;
  For by another's will have I revealed
  The hidden things of earth. Thou lord of heaven,
  And sire, behind thy flaming thunderbolt
  Conceal thy face; and thou who rul'st the seas
  By second lot, seek thou their lowest depths.                      600
  Whoever from on high beholds the earth,
  And would not by strange sights be vision-stained,
  To heaven look and so these portents shun.
  Two only may behold this horrid sight:
  The one who brought and she who ordered it.
  To work my punishment and fated toils                              605
  The earth was not enough. Through Juno's hate
  Have I seen regions unapproachable,
  Unknown to Phoebus' rays; yea, I have seen
  Those gloomy spaces which the nether pole
  Has yielded to the dusky Jove's domain.
  And had the regions of the final lot
  Been pleasing, there could I myself have reigned.                  610
  That seething chaos of eternal night,
  And, what is worse than night, the gloomy gods,
  And fates I conquered; and in scorn of death
  I have come back again. What else remains?
  I've seen and shown the lower world to men.
  If aught beyond is left to do, command.
  Why dost thou for so long allow these hands,
  O Juno, to remain in idleness?                                     615
  What conquest still dost thou command? But why
  Do soldiers hold the temple walls in siege,
  And fear of arms beset their sacred doors?

[_Enter_ Amphitryon.]

  _Amphitr.:_ Now do my fervent hopes deceive my sight,
  Or is this he, the tamer of the world,
  The pride of Greece, from that sad, silent land                    620
  Returned? Is this my son? My agéd limbs
  Give way through utter joy. O son, of Thebes
  The sure though long-delayed preserver thou!
  And do I hold thee sent to earth again,
  Or does some empty shadow mock my joy?
  And art thou he indeed? I recognize
  Thy arms and shoulders and the mighty club
  Within thy hands renowned.                                         625

  _Hercules:_               O father, whence
  These marks of grief, and why do I behold
  My wife in dusky mourning garments clad,
  My children garbed in these vile signs of woe?
  What fell disaster hath o'erwhelmed my house?

  _Amphitr.:_ Thy father-in-law is slain, his kingdom gone,
  For Lycus hath usurped it; now he seeks
  Thy children, father, wife, to bring to death.                     630

  _Hercules:_ Ungrateful land! did no one come to aid
  The home of Hercules? Did all the world,
  Defended by my arm, look on this deed
  And suffer it? But why waste time in grief?
  My enemy must die.

  _Theseus_ [_seeking to detain him_]: O Hercules,
  Let not thy mighty courage bear this stain,
  And such a foe as Lycus be thy last.                               635
  I go myself to drink his hateful blood.

  _Hercules:_ My Theseus, stay thou here, lest violence
  From some new source arise. This war is mine.
  Let thy embraces wait awhile, my sire,
  And thine, my wife. Let Lycus first announce
  To Dis that I have safe returned to earth.                         640

[_Exit._]

  _Theseus:_ Now let thy face give o'er its grief, my queen;
  And thou, O father, check thy falling tears,
  Since this thy son is safe returned to thee.
  If I know Hercules, for Creon's death
  This Lycus soon shall pay the penalty.
  "Shall pay" is slow; he pays; nay more, has paid.

  _Amphitr.:_ Now may some favoring god our prayers fulfil,          645
  And help us in our need. O trusty friend
  Of our great son, his deeds in order tell:
  How long the way that leads to the sorrowing shades;
  How bore the dog of hell his heavy chains.

  _Theseus:_ Thou bid'st me call to memory such deeds                650
  As e'en in safety make me tremble still.
  For I can scarce believe that even yet
  I breathe the vital air. My eye's clear sight
  Is blinded, and, by that thick darkness dimmed,
  Can scarce endure the unaccustomed light.

  _Amphitr.:_ But conquer thou the fear that still remains
  Deep in thy heart; and do not rob thyself                          665
  Of the best fruit of toil. For what was hard
  To bear becomes most sweet in memory.
  Go on, and tell us all thy sufferings.

  _Theseus:_ O god of heaven, and thou who holdest sway
  In that deep, all-embracing realm of death,
  And thou whose mother sought thee (but in vain)
  Through all the world: your powers I supplicate
  That I may speak with boldness of the things                       660
  Concealed and buried in the hold of earth.
  The Spartan land lifts high a famous cliff
  Where Taenarus juts out upon the sea,
  Dense wooded. Here the realm of hated Dis
  Opes wide its mouth; the high cliff spreads apart,                 665
  And in a mighty cavern yawns a pit
  With jaws portentous, huge, precipitous;
  And for all nations ample passage gives.
  The way begins, not dark with heavy shades.
  A watery gleam of daylight follows in,
  And doubtful light, as of the sun eclipsed,                        670
  Falls there and mocks the eye. Such light the day,
  While mingled still with night, at early dawn
  Or in its waning hour, is wont to give.
  The way then broadens into spaces vast
  And empty, where the human race entire
  Might plunge and perish. 'Tis no labor here                        675
  To travel, for the road itself draws down.
  As often whirlpools suck unwilling ships,
  So does the air, down streaming, urge us on,
  And hungry chaos. Here the clutching shades
  Permit no backward step. Deep in the abyss,
  With peaceful shallows gentle Lethe glides,                        680
  And by its draughts removes all mortal care
  And, that no backward way may be allowed,
  With many folds it wraps the stream of death;
  Just as the wandering Maeander sports
  With waves uncertain, now upon itself
  Retreats, now halts in hesitation slow,                            685
  Whether it shall its fountain seek again,
  Or journey to the sea. Here lies the marsh
  Of sluggish, vile Cocytus; here, behold,
  The vulture, there the doleful owl laments,
  And through the air the fearsome screech-owl sends
  Its sad, foreboding cry. There stands the yew,
  Its black leaves shuddering on the gloomy boughs;                  690
  And 'neath its shelter hover sluggish Sleep,
  And mournful Famine with her wasting jaws,
  And Shame, at last her guilty face concealed.
  Here quaking Fear, and Murder, desperate Grief,
  Black Mourning, tottering Disease, and War
  With weapons girded on, lie hid; and last                          695
  Comes feeble Age upon his staff upheld.

  _Amphitr.:_ Are there no fruitful fields of corn or wine?

  _Theseus:_ Not so: no joyful fields with verdure shine,
  No ripening grain waves gently in the breeze,
  No stately trees bear apple-laden boughs;                          700
  But sterile wastes defile those lonely depths,
  And in eternal sloth the foul earth lies.
  Here lie the lonesome remnants of the world.
  The air hangs motionless; and thick night broods
  Upon a sluggish, horror-stricken land.                             705
  The place of death is worse than death itself.

  _Amphitr.:_ And what of him who rules those dusky realms?
  Where sits he as he rules his shadowy folk?

  _Theseus:_ There is a place in an obscure recess
  Of Tartarus, which, with its heavy shades,                         710
  Dense vapor shrouds. Hence, from a single source,
  Two different rivers flow: with silent stream
  One bears along the sacred Stygian waves
  On which the gods take oath; with mighty roar
  The other fiercely rolls the rocks along
  Within its flood, the raging Acheron,                              715
  Which may not be recrossed. Set opposite,
  By these two streams encircled, stands the hall
  Of royal Dis; and by a shading grove
  The mighty house is hid. A spacious cave
  Of overhanging rock the threshold forms.
  This is the path of souls; here is the door                        720
  Of Pluto's realm; and, round about, there spreads
  The plain wherein the frowning monarch sits
  And new-come souls reviews. Of lowering brow
  And awful majesty the god appears;
  Yet in his face his brother's likeness bears,
  And proves his noble birth. Jove's face is his,
  But thundering Jove's. And of that savage realm                    725
  The master's self makes up the largest part,
  For every fearful thing holds him in fear.

  _Amphitr.:_ And is the story true that down below
  Stern justice is at last administered,
  And guilty souls, who have their crimes forgot,
  At last atone for sin? Who is he, then,                            730
  Who searches out the truth, and justice gives?

  _Theseus:_ There is not one inquisitor alone
  Who sits in judgment on the lofty seat,
  And tries the trembling culprits: in that hall
  Sit Cretan Minos, Rhadamanthus too,
  And Aeacus. Each for his sins of earth                             735
  Must suffer here; the crime returns to him
  Who did it, and the guilty soul is crushed
  By its own precedents. There, deep immured
  In prison, bloody leaders have I seen,
  And bleeding backs of heartless tyrants, scourged
  By base plebeian hands. Who mildly reigns,
  And, though the lord of life, restrains his hands;                 740
  Who mercifully rules a bloodless realm,
  And spares the lives of men: he shall enjoy
  Long years of happy life, and, at the end,
  Attain to heaven, or to those regions blest
  Of the Elysian fields, himself a judge.
  Refrain from human blood, all ye who rule:                         745
  Your sins with heavier judgment shall be judged.

  _Amphitr.:_ Does any certain place inclose the lost,
  And do, as rumor says, the impious
  Sharp punishments in endless chains endure?

  _Theseus:_ On swiftly flying wheel Ixion turns;                    750
  And on the neck of Sisyphus a stone
  Weighs heavily. There stands in middle stream,
  With throat thirst-parched, the poor old man, and seeks
  To catch the cooling waves which wash his chin.
  He, oft deceived, hopes now at last to drink;
  As often fails the water at his lips.                              755
  So also do the fruits his hunger fail.
  There Tityos eternal banquets gives
  Unto the greedy vulture; and in vain
  Do Danaüs' daughters bear their brimming urns.
  There wander, raging still, the Cadmeids;
  And greedy birds still fright old Phineus.

  _Amphitr.:_ Now tell the noble struggle of my son.                 760
  Does he bring back his uncle's willing gift,
  Or does he lead the dog as spoil of war?

  _Theseus:_ A gloomy cliff o'erhangs the sluggish shoals,
  Whose waves are dead, and waters motionless.
  This stream is guarded by a grim old man,
  Of squalid garb and aspect hideous,
  Who carries o'er the pool the quaking shades.                      765
  His long beard hangs unkempt; his shapeless robe
  Is knotted into place; his fierce eyes gleam
  From sunken cheeks; and he, as ferryman,
  With his long pole propels his bark across.
  He now his empty boat unto the shore
  Was turning to receive the waiting souls,                          770
  When Hercules requested to be borne
  Across the stream. The throng of shades give way;
  But fiercely Charon cries: "Whither so bold
  Dost thou haste on? Stay there thy hurrying steps."
  Alcmena's son would no delay endure,
  But with the pole itself the boatman tamed,
  And climbed aboard the boat. The roomy craft,                      775
  For nations ample, groaned beneath his weight;
  And as he sat, the heavy-weighted skiff
  With rocking sides drank in the Lethe stream.
  Then quaked the conquered monsters at the sight:
  The Centaurs, fierce and wild, the Lapithae,
  Inflamed to strife by copious draughts of wine;
  And, seeking out the farthest pools of Styx,                       780
  The beast of Lerna hid his fertile heads.
  Soon there appeared the home of greedy Dis,
  Where the fierce Stygian dog affrights the shades,
  Who, tossing back and forth his triple heads,
  With mighty bayings watches o'er the realm.
  Around his head with damp corruption foul,                         785
  Writhe deadly serpents, and his shaggy mane
  With vipers bristles; while a twisting snake
  Forms his long, hissing tail. His wrath and form
  Are both alike terrific. When he heard
  The sound of coming feet, straightway he raised
  His hackles, bristling with their darting snakes,
  And with erected ears caught at the sound                          790
  (For even noiseless spirits can he hear).
  When Jove's son nearer came, within his cave
  The dog stood hesitant, and nameless fear
  Each of the other felt. Then suddenly
  The silence shudders with his bayings deep,
  And threatening snakes along his shoulders hiss.
  The clamor of his dreadful voice, sent forth                       795
  Three-throated, even happy shades dismayed.
  Then did the hero from his left arm loose
  The lion's skin with head and grinning jaws,
  And 'neath this mighty shield opposed the dog.
  Then in his right all conquering, he raised                        800
  His mighty club, and with a rain of blows,
  Now here, now there, he drove the frightened beast.
  The conquered dog at last gave o'er his threats,
  And, spent with fighting, lowered all his heads,
  And left the entrance free. Then did the king
  And queen of hell sit trembling on their thrones,                  805
  And bade the dog be led away. Me, too,
  Did Dis at Hercules' request release,
  A royal gift. Then with his soothing hand
  Alcides stroked the monster's massive necks,
  And bound him with an adamantine chain.
  The watchful guardian of the dusky world
  Forgot his wonted fierceness, and his ears
  Drooped timidly. He let himself be led,                            810
  Confessed his master, and, with muzzle low,
  Submissively he went, his snaky tail
  Beating his sides the while. But when he came
  To Taenarus, and in his eyes there smote
  The gleam of unknown light, though strongly bound,                 815
  His courage he regained and madly shook
  His mighty chains. Even his conqueror
  Was backward borne and forced to yield his stand.
  Then even my aid did the hero seek;
  And with united strength we dragged the dog,
  Still mad with rage, attempting fruitless war,                     820
  Into the upper world. But when he saw
  The gleaming spaces of the shining sky,
  The light of day, thick darkness blinded him;
  He turned his gaze to earth, and closed his eyes,
  Expelled the hated light, looked backward, sought                  825
  With all his necks the sheltering earth; and last,
  He hid his head within Alcides' shade.
  But see, a mighty throng with shouts of joy
  Comes yonder, wearing laurel on their brows,
  Who chant the well-earned praise of Hercules.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   Eurystheus, brought untimely forth,                    830
    Had bidden Hercules to pierce
    The depths of earth. This task alone
    Of all his labors yet remained--
    To rob the dusky king of hell.
    He dared to enter that dark way
    Which to the distant manes leads,                                835
    Dismal, with gloomy forests set,
    Yet crowded with the thronging souls.
    As when the eager people haste
    Throughout the city to behold
    The play in some new theater;
    As when they crowd the Pisan fields                              840
    When the fifth summer brings again
    The Elean Thunderer's sacred games;
    As, when the lengthening nights return,
    And the balanced Scales the sun's bright car
    Detain, to gentle sleep inclined,
    The people throng the mysteries                                  845
    Of Ceres, while the Attic priests
    Lead through the fields with hurried steps
    The worshipers: such thronging hordes
    Are driven through those silent plains.
    A part goes slow with steps of age,
    Sadly, and sated with the years;                                 850
    Some, in the earlier flush of life,
    Advance with the sprightly step of youth,
    Young maids not yet in wedlock joined,
    And boys with flowing ringlets, babes,
    Who have not yet learned to repeat
    Their mother's name. To these alone                              855
    'Tis given to dispel the night
    With torches, and their fears relieve.
    The rest in utter darkness fare,
    And sadness. So our spirits mourn,
    When each one, grieving o'er his fate,
    Feels crushed in darkness 'neath the weight                      860
    Of all the world. There chaos reigns,
    Repulsive glooms, the hateful dark
    Of night, the empty veil of clouds,
    The weary inactivity
    Of that still, empty universe.
    Oh, may the time far distant be
    When old age bears us to that land.
    None come too late, and ne'er can he,                            865
    Who once has come, return again.
    What need to hasten cruel fate?
    For all the wandering tribes of earth
    Shall surely seek the land of shades,
    And on the still Cocytus spread
    Their sails; all things the sun beholds,                         870
    In rising and in setting, grow
    But to decay. Then spare, O death,
    Those who are doomed to come to thee.
    Life is but practicing for death;
    Though thou be slow in coming, still
    We hasten of ourselves. The hour
    Which gave us life begins our death.
    The joyful day of Thebes is here;                                875
    Now at the altars sacrifice,
    And let the choicest victims fall.
    Ye maids and men, in mingled bands
    Begin the stately choral dance;
    And let the cattle of the fields                                 880
    Put off their yokes and be glad today;
    For by the hand of Hercules
    Has peace from east to west been won,
    And in that land where the sun rides high
    In middle heaven, and the shadows fail.                          885
    Whatever region Tethys laves
    In her long reach has been o'ercome
    By great Alcides' toils. Borne now
    Across the shoals of Tartarus,
    With hell subdued, he comes again.                               890
    No room is left for fear; for what
    Beyond the world of death remains?
  And now ye priests, adorn your bristling hair
  With poplar which Alcides loves to wear.


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Hercules, _fresh from the slaying of_ Lycus, _intending to
offer sacrifices to the gods_.]

  _Hercules:_ By my avenging hand lies Lycus slain;                  895
  And all, who in his life the tyrant claimed
  As comrades, now by death are comrades still
  In punishment. Now will I offerings pay
  Unto my father and the gods of heaven
  For victory, and heap the altars high
  With bleeding victims to their kindness due.                       900
  Thee, thee, O friend and helper in my toils,
  O warlike Pallas, unto thee I pray,
  Upon whose left the petrifying shield
  Makes direful threats. And be thou here I pray,
  Thou tamer of Lycurgus, who didst cross
  The ruddy sea, who in thy hand dost bear
  The thyrsus, ivy-wreathed; and ye twin gods,
  Apollo and Diana, hear my prayer.                                  905
  (Her hand the bow adorns, but his, the lyre.)
  Ye, too, I worship, all ye brothers mine,
  Who dwell in heaven; but not my stepdame's sons.
                                                 [_To his attendants._]
  And do ye hither drive my richest flocks;
  Whatever fragrant spices India bears                               910
  And far Arabia, to the altars bring,
  And let the savory smoke of sacrifice
  To heaven ascend. Now let us crown our locks
  With wreaths of poplar; but the olive leaves,
  Thy nation's symbol, should adorn thy head,
  O Theseus. Now in prayer we lift our hands
  To Jove the Thunderer: do thou protect                             915
  The founders of our state, the wooded caves
  Of savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount,
  And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king.
                                                 [_To the attendants._]
  Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames.

  _Amphitr.:_ O son, thy hands, all dripping with the blood
  Of thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify.

  _Hercules:_ Would that his hateful blood I might pour out          920
  Unto the gods; for no libation poured
  Could stain the altars more acceptably.
  No ampler, richer victim could be paid
  To mighty Jove, than this unrighteous king.

  _Amphitr.:_ Beseech thy father that he end thy tasks;
  Pray that at last he give surcease of toil,                        925
  And to the wearied rest.

  _Hercules:_             I shall myself
  Frame prayers more worthy Jupiter and me:
  May heaven, earth, and air their order keep,
  And the everlasting stars wheel on their way,
  Unchanged; may peace profound brood o'er the world;
  May iron be used for harmless toil alone,                          930
  And deadly weapons vanish from the earth;
  May no unbridled tempest lash the sea;
  May angry Jove send forth no lightning bolts;
  And may no river, fed by winter's snows,
  O'erflow the troubled fields; may venom fail;
  And may no noxious herb its fruitage bear;                         935
  May fierce and cruel tyrants rule no more.
  If the pregnant earth still foster any crime,
  Let her make haste to bring it to the light;
  And if she still another monster bear,
  Let it be mine to meet.
             [_The madness planned by_ Juno _begins to come upon him_.]
                        But what is this?
  The day's bright noon is by dark shadows dimmed,                   940
  And, though the sky be cloudless, Phoebus fares
  With face obscured. Who puts the day to flight,
  And drives it back to seek the dawn again?
  Whence rears unheard-of night its gloomy head?
  Why do so many stars the heavens fill
  In daylight hours? See where the Lion fierce,
  My earliest labor, glitters in the sky,                            945
  Inflamed with wrath, and threatens with his fangs.
  Now, surely, will he some bright star devour.
  With gaping jaws and menacing he stands;
  He breathes out fire, and on his flaming neck
  His mane he tosses. Soon will he o'erleap
  With one huge bound the fruitful autumn's stars,
  And those which frozen winter brings to view,                      950
  And slay with savage lunge the vernal Bull.

  _Amphitr.:_ What sudden ill is this? Why dost thou turn
  Now here now there thy burning eyes? And why
  Dost thou so falsely see the heavens?

  _Hercules:_ Now is the whole round earth at last subdued;          955
  The swollen seas give place, and e'en the realms
  Infernal have our toils heroic known.
  The heavens alone remain untried, a task
  Well worth the struggles of a Hercules.
  Now shall I soar aloft to those far heights,
  And seek the heavenly spaces; for a star
  Has Jupiter, my father, promised me.
  What if he should refuse? Nay, but the earth                       960
  No longer can Alcides hold, and now
  Returns him to the heavens whence he came.
  Behold, the whole assembly of the gods
  Invite me to their midst, and open wide
  The doors of heaven--with one dissenting voice.
                                          [_To_ Juno, _in apostrophe_.]
  And wilt thou not receive me into heaven?
  Wilt not unbar the gates? Wouldst have me rend
  The portals of the stubborn sky away?
  And dost doubt thou my power? Nay, Saturn's chains                 965
  Will I unbind, and loose my grandsire's might
  Against his impious son's unbridled sway.
  I'll stir the Titans up to war again,
  And lead them on; great rocks and trees I'll bring,
  And with my strong right hand I'll snatch and hurl
  The ridges where the Centaurs have their home.                     970
  Two mountains, one on other, will I pile
  And so construct a highway to the skies.
  Then shall old Chiron see Mount Ossa placed
  Upon his Pelion; and if to heaven
  Olympus reach not, third in order set,
  I'll hurl it there.

  _Amphitryon:_      Such thought be far from thee!
  Check this mad impulse of a heart insane,                          975
  Though great.

  _Hercules:_      But what is this? With dire intent
  The giants are in arms. Great Tityus
  Has fled the shades, and, towering aloft
  With torn and empty breast, has almost gained
  The heavens. Cithaeron totters to his base,
  Pallene trembles, Tempe faints in fear.                            980
  One has Mount Pindus snatched away, and one
  Mount Oeta. Mimas rages horribly.
  Now comes Erinnys with her flaming torch,
  And shakes her hissing scourge; my face she seeks
  Nearer and nearer with ill-omened brands
  On funeral pyres enkindled. There I see
  Tisiphone with snake-encircled head;                               985
  With brandished torch she guards the gate of hell,
  Now that their watch-dog has been stolen away.
                                  [_He catches sight of his children._]
  But see where lurk the children of the king,
  The impious spawn of Lycus whom I hate.
  To your detested sire I'll send you now.
  Let darting arrows from my bowstring fly;                          990
  Such errands fit my noble weapons well.

[_He aims an arrow at one of the children._]

  _Amphitr.:_ What will he do in his blind passion's rage?
  Now he has bent his mighty bow, and now
  His quiver loosed. The hissing dart is sped.
  Straight through the neck it flies, and leaves the wound.

  _Hercules:_ The rest will I hunt out, yea, all that lurk           995
  Within this city's walls, without delay.
  A greater war against Mycenae waits,
  That by my hands those Cyclopean walls
  May be o'erthrown; and that the royal hall,
  Its high walls shattered, noble roof in-fall'n,
  Doors burst, may be to utter ruin brought,                        1000
  And all its royal secrets be revealed.
                                     [_He sees his second son hiding._]
  Ah, here I see another hiding son
  Of that most wicked sire.

[_He seizes the child and drags him from the scene._]

  _Amphitryon_ [_standing where he can see what is being done behind the
    scenes_]:                   Behold the child,
  His coaxing hands stretched out to clasp the knees
  Of his mad father, begs with piteous tones.
  Oh, crime unspeakable, pathetic, grim:
  For by his pleading hand the child is caught,                     1005
  And, madly whirled again and yet again,
  Sent headlong through the air. A sickening sound--
  And with his scattered brains the roof is wet.
  But wretched Megara, her little son
  Protecting in her arms, flees madly forth.

  _Hercules_ [_behind the scenes, to_ Megara _also behind the scenes_]:
  Though thou shouldst hide thee in the Thunderer's arms,           1010
  This hand of mine will seek and snatch thee forth.

  _Amphitryon_ [_standing throughout this scene as above_]: Oh, whither,
    wretched woman dost thou flee?
  What flight, what hiding-places dost thou seek?
  No place is safe from angry Hercules.
  Embrace his knees the rather, and with prayer
  Attempt to soothe his wrath.                                      1015

  _The voice of Megara:_       O husband, spare;
  Thy Megara behold and recognize;
  This son of thine thy face and manner bears.
  See how he stretches out his hands to thee.

  _The voice of Hercules:_ At last I have thee, stepdame, in my power.
  Come thou with me, and pay full penalty
  For all my wrongs; free thy poor, troubled lord
  From his base yoke. But ere the mother dies,                      1020
  This little monster must be put to death.

  _The voice of Megara:_ What wouldst thou, madman? Shed thine
    infant's blood?

  _Amphitr.:_ The child, in terror of his father's face,
  Died ere he felt the blow. 'Twas fear that snatched
  His spirit forth. Now 'gainst his trembling wife,
  His mighty club is raised--her bones are crushed,
  Her head is stricken from the mangled trunk                       1025
  And may no more be seen.
                                                        [_To himself._]
                          O stubborn age,
  Too long enduring, canst thou bide this sight?
  But if thy grief is irksome, death is near.
                                                       [_To_ Hercules.]
  Impale me on thy darts; that club of thine,
  With blood of monsters smeared, raise to my death.
  Come, slay me who am falsely called thy sire,                     1030
  And so remove this blot upon thy name,
  That I no longer may thy fame obscure.

  _Theseus:_ Why shouldst thou wantonly provoke thy death,
  Old man? Why this mad haste to die? Away,
  And hide. From this one crime spare Hercules.

[_Enter_ Hercules.]

  _Hercules:_ 'Tis well; the household of the shameless king        1035
  Is utterly destroyed. To thee, O wife
  Of mighty Jove, this promised sacrifice
  Have I performed; my vows I've gladly paid;
  And other victims shall thine Argos give.

  _Amphitr.:_ Thou hast not yet enough atonement made,
  O son. Complete the sacrifice. Behold,                            1040
  A victim at the altar stands, and waits,
  With willing neck, thy hand. I offer here
  My life, and eagerly; I seek to die.
  Slay me.
                                   [Hercules _appears to be fainting_.]
          But what is this? His eye's keen glance
  Cannot maintain its gaze; grief dims his sight;
  And do I see the hands of Hercules
  A-tremble? Now his eyelids fall in sleep,
  His head sinks down upon his weary breast,                        1045
  His knees give way, and down upon the earth
  His whole great body falls; as when some ash
  Is felled in forest glades, or when some cliff
  Falls down and makes a harbor in the sea.
                                                       [_To_ Hercules.]
  Dost thou yet live? Or has thy furious rage,
  Which sent thy friends to death, slain thee as well?
                                    [_He examines the prostrate body._]
  He slumbers; this his measured breathing proves.                  1050
  Let him have time for rest, that heavy sleep
  May break his madness' force, and so relieve
  His troubled heart.
                                                     [_To attendants._]
                      Ye slaves, his arms remove,
  Lest, waking, he again his madness prove.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   Let heaven and heaven's creator mourn,
    The fertile earth, the wandering wave                           1055
    Upon the restless sea. And thou,
    Who over lands and ocean's plains
    Dost shed thy light, whose beauteous face
    Drives night away, O glowing Sun,
    Grieve more than all. For equally                               1060
    Thy risings had Alcides seen,
    And eke thy settings; both thy homes
    Were known to him. His spirit loose
    From monstrous madness; loose him, ye
    Who rule above. His mind restore
    To sanity again. And thou,                                      1065
    O Sleep, subduer of our ills,
    The spirit's rest, thou better part
    Of human life, swift-wingéd one,
    Astraea's child, of cruel Death
    The sluggish brother, mixing false                              1070
    With true, prescient of future things,
    But oftenest of misery;
    O sire of all things, gate of life,
    Day's respite and the comrade true
    Of night, who com'st impartially
    To king and slaves, with gentle hand
    The wearied spirit comforting;                                  1075
    Thou who dost force the race of men
    Who quail at mortal doom, to gain
    A foretaste of the sleep of death:
    Subdue and overwhelm him quite
    With heavy stupor; let his limbs,
    Unconquered hitherto, be held
    Fast bound in chains of deepest sleep;
    Take not the spell from his fierce heart,                       1080
    Until his former mind return
    To its accustomed course.
    But see, prone on the ground he lies,
    His savage dreams in his fierce heart
    Still hold their sway. Not yet, alas,
    Is his dire madness overcome.
    Accustomed to recline his head                                  1085
    Upon his heavy club, see now,
    He feels about with empty hand
    To find the ponderous trunk, his arms
    With fruitless motion tossed. Not yet
    Has all the fever from his veins
    Been driven out, but rages on;
    As waves, by mighty tempests vexed,                             1090
    Toss wildly on and swell with rage,
    Although the winds have ceased to blow.
    Oh, calm this tempest in his soul;
    Let piety and manly strength
    Return; or, rather, let his mind                                1095
    Be still by mad impulses stirred,
    And his blind error go the way
    It has begun. For madness now
    Alone can make him innocent.
    To have the hands unstained by guilt
    Is best, but next to this is sin
    Done in unconsciousness.
    Now let thy breast resound with blows,                          1100
    And let those arms which once have borne
    The heavens up be smitten now
    By thy victorious hands; thy cries
    Be heard throughout the realms of air,
    By her who rules the world of night,                            1105
    And Cerberus crouching in his cave,
    His neck still burdened with thy chains.
    Let Chaos with the dolorous sound
    Re-echo, and the widespread waves
    Of ocean, and the air above                                     1110
    Which had thy darts in better use
    Beheld. Thy breast, with ills beset
    So mighty, must with no light blow
    Be smitten. With one great sound of grief
    Let heaven, sea, and hell be filled.
    And thou, brave shaft, above his neck                           1115
    So long suspended, armament
    And weapon too, thou quiver huge,
    Smite heavily his savage back.
    Thou sturdy club of oak, come beat
    His mighty shoulders, and oppress                               1120
    His breast with thy hard-knotted stock.
    Let all his weapons worthily
    Of so great grief lament with him.
                                              [_To the dead children._]
    But you, who in your father's praise
    Can never share, who ne'er from kings
    Have taken deadly recompense,
    Who never in the Argive games
    Have learned to bend your youthful limbs,
    In wrestling and in boxing strong                               1125
    To strive; who have but dared as yet
    To poise the slender Scythian dart
    With steady hand, and pierce the stag
    Who safety seeks in flight, but not
    The lion fierce with tawny mane:                                1130
    Go to your Stygian refuge, go,
    Ye guiltless shades, who on life's verge
    Have by your father's mad assault
    Been overwhelmed. Poor children, born
    Of an ill-omened, luckless race,                                1135
  Fare on along your father's toilsome path,
  To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath!


ACT V

  _Hercules_ [_waking up in his right mind_]: What place is this? What
    quarter of the world?
  Where am I? 'Neath the rising sun, or where
  The frozen Bear wheels slowly overhead?
  Or in that farthest land whose shores are washed                  1140
  By the Hesperian sea? What air is this
  I breathe? What soil supports my weary frame?
  For surely have I come again to earth.
                            [_His eyes fall on his murdered children._]
  Whence came those bloody corpses in my house?
  Do I behold them, or not even yet
  Have those infernal visions left my mind?                         1145
  Even on earth the ghostly shapes of death
  Still flit before mine eyes. I speak with shame:
  I am afraid. Some great calamity,
  Some hidden ill my prescient soul forebodes.
  Where is my father? Where my faithful wife,
  Proud of that troop of children at her side?                      1150
  Why does my left side miss the lion's skin,
  My shield in danger and my couch in sleep?
  Where is my bow, my darts? Who, while I live
  Has dared remove my arms? Who so great spoils
  Has gained? Who then so bold as not to fear                       1155
  The very slumber of a Hercules?
  'Twould please me well to see my victor--well.
  Arise, thou victor, whom my sire begot,
  A later wonder, leaving heaven behind;
  At whose begetting, longer than at mine,
  The night stood waiting.
                          [_He recognizes his dead wife and children._]
                          Oh, what sight is this?
  My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood;                   1160
  My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?
  Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes,
  And Hercules returned? Whoever dwells
  Along Ismenus' stream, in Attic plains,
  Or in the land Dardanian Pelops rules,                            1165
  By two seas lapped, come to my aid, and tell
  The name of him who has this murder done.
  If not, my wrath will turn against you all;
  For he's my foe who shows me not my foe.
  Why dost thou hide, Alcides' vanquisher?
  I care not whether thou dost vengeance seek
  For those wild horses of the Thracian king,                       1170
  Or Geryon's flock, or Libya's vanquished lords;
  I do not shun the fight; see, here I stand,
  Defenseless, even though with my own arms
  Thou com'st against me, armorless. But why
  Do Theseus and my father shun my glance?
  Why do they turn away? Postpone your tears,                       1175
  And tell me who has given my loved ones all
  To death. What, father, art thou silent still?
  Then do thou tell me, Theseus, faithful friend.
  Each turns away in silence, and his face,
  As if in shame, conceals; while down his cheeks
  The tears flow stealthily. In so great ills
  What cause for shame can be? Is this the work                     1180
  Of him who ruthlessly at Argos rules?
  Has dying Lycus' hostile soldiery
  With such disaster overwhelmed our house?
  O father, by the praises of my deeds,
  By thine own name which ever was to me
  Propitious, tell, I pray thee, who it is
  Who hath o'erthrown my house. Whose prey am I?                    1185

  _Amphitr.:_ Let ills like these in silence pass away.

  _Hercules:_ And I be unavenged?

  _Amphitryon:_                  But vengeance hurts.

  _Hercules:_ Who has, inactive, ever borne such wrongs?

  _Amphitr.:_ He who feared greater wrongs.

  _Hercules:_                              Than these my wrongs
  Can any greater, heavier be feared?                               1190

  _Amphitr.:_ The part thou knowest of thy woes is least.

  _Hercules:_ Have pity. See, I stretch my suppliant hands.
  But what is this? He will not touch my hands.
  In these must be the sin.
                            But whence this blood?
  Why is that shaft, once dipped in Hydra's gall,                   1195
  Now wet with infant gore? They are my own,
  These arrows that I see; the guilty hand
  I need no longer seek; for who but me
  Could bend that mighty bow, or whose right hand
  Could draw the string that scarcely yields to me?
                                       [_To_ Amphitryon _and_ Theseus.]
  To you I turn again. O father, tell:
  Is this my deed?                                                  1200
                                      [_Both men hesitate in silence._]
                  They hesitate--'tis mine.

  _Amphitr.:_ Thine is the grief; thy stepdame's is the crime.
  From fault of thine this sad mischance is free.

  _Hercules:_ Now hurl thy wrathful bolts from all the heavens,
  O sire, who hast forgotten me, thy son;
  Avenge at least, though with a tardy hand,
  Thy grandsons. Let the star-set heavens resound,
  And darting lightnings leap from pole to pole.                    1205
  Let me be bound upon the Caspian rocks,
  And let the birds of prey devour my flesh.
  Why lacks Prometheus' cliff a prisoner?
  Prepare for me the bare, steep mountain side
  Of Caucasus, that, on his towering peak,
  The birds and beasts of prey may feed on me.
  Or let the blue Symplegades, which hedge                          1210
  The Scythian deep, stretch out my fettered hands
  This way and that; and, when with rhythmic change
  The rocks together clash, which fling to heaven
  The sea that lies between the rushing cliffs,
  May I lie there, the mountains' restless check.                   1215
  Or why not heap a mighty pyre of wood,
  And burn my body stained with impious blood?
  Thus, thus it must be done; so Hercules
  Shall to the lower world return again.

  _Amphitr.:_ Not yet has madness ceased to vex his heart.
  But now his wrath has changed, and, fury's sign,                  1220
  He rages 'gainst himself.

  _Hercules:_                          Ye dire abodes
  Of fiends, ye prison-house of damnéd shades,
  Ye regions set apart for guilty throngs,
  If any place of exile lie beyond
  Deep Erebus, unknown to Cerberus
  And me, there hide ye me. I'll go and dwell                       1225
  Upon the farthest bound of Tartarus.
  O heart, too hard! Who worthily will weep
  For you, my children, scattered through my house?
  This face, woe-hardened, knows not how to weep.
  Bring me my sword, and give me here my darts,                     1230
  My mighty club.
                            [_He addresses the four corpses in order._]
                  For thee, poor murdered boy,
  I'll break my shafts; for thee my mighty bow
  Shall be asunder riven; to thy shades
  My heavy club shall burn; and on thy pyre
  My quiver, full of venomed darts, shall lie.
  My arms shall pay their penalty for sin.                          1235
  You, too, my guilty hands, with these shall burn,
  Too prompt to work a cruel stepdame's will.

  _Theseus:_ Who ever called an act of madness crime?

  _Hercules:_ Unbridled madness often ends in crime.

  _Amphitr.:_ Now is there need of Hercules to bear
  This greatest weight of woe.

  _Hercules:_              Not yet is shame                         1240
  So utterly extinguished in my heart,
  That I can bear to see all people flee
  My impious presence. Arms, my Theseus, arms!
  I pray you give them quickly back to me.
  If I am sane, trust weapons to my hands;
  If madness still remains, O father, fly;
  For I shall quickly find the road to death.                       1245

  _Amphitr.:_ By holy ties of birth, and by the name
  That makes us one, be it of father true,
  Or foster-father; by these hoary locks
  Which pious souls revere: I pray thee spare
  My lonely age and my enfeebled years.
  Spare thou thyself to me, the only prop                           1250
  Of this my falling house, the only light
  That's left to cheer my woeful heart. No fruit
  Of all thy toils have I as yet enjoyed;
  But ever either stormy seas I've feared,
  Or monsters. Every savage king who raves
  In all the world, for impious altars famed,                       1255
  Is cause of dread to me. Thy father longs
  For joy of thee, to feel and see thee near.

  _Hercules:_ Why I should longer keep my soul in life,
  And linger on the earth, there is no cause;
  For I have lost my all: my balanced mind,                         1260
  My arms, my reputation, children, wife,
  The glory of my strength--my madness too.
  There is no remedy for tainted souls;
  But death alone can cure me of my sin.

  _Amphitr.:_ And wilt thou slay thy father?

  _Hercules:_                                   Lest I do,
  I'll kill myself.

  _Amphitryon:_           Before thy father's face?

  _Hercules:_ Such impious sights I've taught him to behold.

  _Amphitr.:_ Nay, rather think upon thy worthy deeds,              1265
  And grant thyself remission of one sin.

  _Hercules:_ Shall he give absolution to himself,
  Who granted none to other men? My deeds
  Which have deserved the praise of men, I did
  Because another bade. This is my own.
  Then help me, father, whether piety
  Or my sad fortune move thee to my aid,                            1270
  Or the glory of my manhood, now profaned.
  Give me my arms again, that my right hand
  May vanquish fate.

  _Theseus:_            Thy father's prayers, indeed,
  Are strong enough; but by my pleadings, too,
  Be moved. Rise up, and meet adversity
  With thine accustomed force. Thy strength of mind                 1275
  Recall, which no misfortune ever yet
  Has daunted. Now must thou with all thy might
  Contend, and curb the wrath of Hercules.

  _Hercules:_ If yet I live, I have committed wrong;
  But if I die, then have I suffered it.
  I haste to purge the earth of such as I.
  Now long enough has there been hovering
  Before my eyes that monstrous shape of sin,                       1280
  So impious, savage, merciless, and wild.
  Then come, my hand, attempt this mighty task,
  Far greater than the last. Dost hesitate
  Through cowardice? Or art thou brave alone
  'Gainst boys and trembling mothers?
                                       Give my arms,
  Or else I shall from Thracian Pindus strip                        1285
  The woods, the groves of Bacchus, and shall burn
  Cithaeron's ridgy heights along with me.
  The homes of Thebes together with their lords,
  The temples with their gods, will I o'erthrow,
  And 'neath a ruined city will I lie.                              1290
  And if this weight of walls should prove too light
  For these strong shoulders, and the seven gates
  Be not enough to crush me to the earth,
  The mighty mass of earth which separates
  The upper from the nether skies I'll take,
  And hurl its crushing weight upon my head.

  _Amphitr.:_ Lo, I return thine arms.                              1295

  _Hercules:_                 Now are thy words
  More worthy of the sire of Hercules.
  See, by this arrow pierced, my child was slain.

  _Amphitr.:_ 'Tis true, but Juno shot it by thy hand.

  _Hercules:_ Then I myself shall use it now.

  _Amphitryon:_                                 Behold,
  How throbs his heart within his anxious breast.

  _Hercules:_ The shaft is ready.                                   1300

  _Amphitryon:_                     Ah now wilt thou sin,
  Of thine own will and with full consciousness.
  Have then thy will; we make no further prayer.
  For now my grief has gained a safe retreat.
  Thou only canst preserve my son to me;
  Thou canst not take him from me. For my fear
  I've sounded to the depths and feel no more.
  Thou canst no longer give me any pain,                            1305
  Though happy thou canst make me even yet.
  Decide then as thou wilt decide: but know
  That here thy cause and reputation stand
  In doubtful balance. Either thou dost live,
  Or thou dost kill thy sire. This fleeting soul,
  Now worn with age and shattered by its grief,
  Is trembling on my lips in act to go.                             1310
  Art thou so slow to grant thy father life?
  I can no longer brook delay, nor wait
  To thrust the fatal sword into my breast.
  And this shall be a sane Alcides' crime.

  _Hercules:_ Now stay, my father, stay; withhold thy hand.
  Yield thee, my manhood; do a father's will.                       1315
  Add this task also to thy former toils--
  And live! Lift up my father's fainting form,
  O Theseus, friend; for these my guilty hands
  That pious duty shun.

  _Amphitryon:_                But I with joy
  Will clasp this hand, with its support I'll walk,                 1320
  And to my aching heart I'll clasp it close,
  And banish all my woes.

  _Hercules:_                    Where shall I flee?
  Where hide myself? What land shall bury me
  From human sight? What Tanaïs or Nile,
  What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad,
  What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full                        1325
  And turgid with Iberia's golden sands,
  Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains?
  Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods
  Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour
  Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be
  Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself,
  Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west?                        1330
  Known everywhere, I have no place of flight.
  The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars
  Avert their courses from me, and the sun
  Saw even Cerberus with milder face.
  O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place,                     1335
  Far off from here, where I may hide myself.
  Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins
  Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me.
  Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg,
  And load me with the chains thou once didst wear.                 1340
  That place will hide me--but it knows me too!

  _Theseus:_ My land awaits thy coming; there will[18] Mars
  Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms.
  That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,
  Which even gods from sin is wont to free.


FOOTNOTES:

[18] Reading, _restituet_.




HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA




HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


HIPPOLYTUS Son of Theseus and Antiope, an Amazon.

_Phaedra_ Wife of Theseus and stepmother of Hippolytus.

_Theseus_ King of Athens.

_Nurse_ Of Phaedra.

_Messenger._

_Slaves and attendants._

_Chorus_ Of Athenian citizens.


THE SCENE is laid throughout in the court in front of the royal palace
at Athens; and the action is confined to the space of one day.


_Theseus had wed Antiope, the Amazon, and of their union had been
born Hippolytus. This youth grew up to love the chase, austere and
beautiful, shunning the haunts of men, and scorning the love of women.
Theseus had meanwhile slain Antiope, and married Phaedra, Cretan Minos'
child._

_And now, for four years past, the king has not been seen upon the
earth, for, following the mad adventure of his bosom friend, Pirithoüs,
he has descended into Tartara, and thence, men think, he never will
return._

_Deserted by her lord, the hapless Phaedra has conceived a hopeless
passion for Hippolytus; for Venus, mindful of that ancient shame, which
Phaedra's ancestor, Apollo, had exposed, has sent this madness on her,
even as Pasiphaë, her mother, had been cursed with a most mad and fatal
malady._


ACT I

  _Hippolytus_ [_in hunting costume, assigning duties and places to
  his servants and companions of the hunt_]:
  Up comrades, and the shadowy groves
  With nets encircle; swiftly range
  The heights of our Cecropian hills;
  Scour well those coverts on the <DW72>s
  Of Parnes, or in Thria's vale                                        5
  Whose chattering streamlet roars along
  In rapid course; go climb the hills
  Whose peaks are ever white with snows
  Of Scythia. Let others go
  Where woods with lofty alders stand                                 10
  In dense array; where pastures lie
  Whose springing grass is waked to life
  By Zephyr's breath, dew laden. Go,
  Where calm Ilissus flows along
  The level fields, a sluggish stream,                                15
  Whose winding course the barren sands
  With niggard water laps. Go ye
  Along the leftward-leading way,
  Where Marathon her forest glades
  Reveals, where nightly with their young
  The suckling mothers feed. Do you,                                  20
  Where, softened by the warming winds
  From southern lands, Acharnae melts
  His snows, repair; let others seek
  Hymettus' rocky <DW72>s, far famed
  For honey; others still the glades
  Of small Aphidnae. All too long
  That region has unharried lain                                      25
  Where Sunium with its jutting shore
  Thrusts out the curving sea.
  If any feels the forest's lure,
  Him Phlye calls, where dwells the boar
  Now scarred and known by many a wound,
  The farmers' fear.                                                  30
  Now free the dogs from straining leash,
  That hunt in silence; but the hounds
  Of keen Molossian breed hold fast
  In check; let the savage Cretans strain
  With chaffing necks upon their chains;
  The Spartans hold in strongest curb,                                35
  With caution bind, for bold their breed,
  And eager for the prey.
  The time will come when their baying loud
  Through the hollow rocks shall echo; now
  Let them snuff the air with nostrils keen,
  And with lowered muzzles seek the tracks                            40
  Of beasts, while yet the dawn is dim,
  And while the dewy earth still holds
  The marks of treading feet. Let some
  On burdened necks the wide nets bear,
  And others haste to bring the snares                                45
  Of smooth-wrought cords. Let feathers, dyed
  With crimson, hedge the timid deer
  With terrors vain. Do thou use darts
  Of Crete, and thou the heavy spear
  By both hands wielded. Thou shalt sit                               50
  In hiding and with clamors loud
  Drive out the frightened beasts; and thou,
  When all is done, with curving blade
  Shalt break the victims.
  And thou, be with thy worshiper,
  O goddess of the chase, whose rule                                  55
  Extends o'er all the secret haunts
  Of earth; whose darts unerring pierce
  The flying prey; whose thirst is quenched
  By cool Araxes' distant stream,
  Or for whose sport the Ister spreads
  His frozen waves. Thy hand pursues                                  60
  Gaetulian lions, Cretan deer;
  And now the swiftly fleeing does
  With lighter stroke are pierced. To thee
  The spotted tigers yield, to thee
  The bisons, shaggy backed, and the wild,
  Broad-hornéd oxen of the woods.                                     65
  Whatever feeds upon the plains
  In desert pasture lands; whate'er
  The needy Garamantian knows,
  Whate'er the Arab rich in woods,
  Or wild Sarmatian, wandering free
  Across the lonely wilderness;                                       70
  Whate'er the rugged Pyrenees
  Or deep Hyrcanian glades conceal:
  All fear thy bow, thou huntress queen.
  If any worshiper of thine
  Takes to the hunt thy favoring will,
  His nets hold fast the struggling prey;                             75
  No birds break from his snares; for him
  The groaning wagons homeward come
  With booty rich; the hounds come back
  With muzzles deeply dyed in blood,
  And all the rustic throng returns
  In shouting triumph home.                                           80
  But lo, the goddess hears. The hounds
  Are baying loud and clear to announce
  The start. I'm summoned to the woods.
  Here, here I'll hasten where the road
  Most quickly leads away.

[_Exit._]

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Phaedra:_ O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep,               85
  Whose ships uncounted sail through every sea
  Wherever Nereus shows their beaks the way,
  E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou here
  Compel me thus in woe and tears to live,
  A hostage given to the hated foe,                                   90
  And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord,
  Deserting me, his bride, is far away,
  And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deep
  Of that dark pool which may not be recrossed,
  This doughty follower of a madcap prince
  Has gone, that from the very throne of Dis                          95
  He might seduce and bear away his queen.
  With such mad folly linked he went away,
  Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so,
  In deepest Acheron, illicit love
  This father of Hippolytus desires.
  But other, greater griefs than this oppress
  My sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night,                         100
  No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares;
  But woe is fed and grows within my heart,
  And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires.
  My loom stands empty and my listless hands
  Drop idly from their tasks. No more I care                         105
  To make my votive offerings to the gods,
  Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, dance
  Around their sacred shrines, and conscious brands
  Toss high in secret rites. I have no heart
  With chaste and pious prayers to worship her,
  That mighty goddess who was set to guard
  This Attic land. My only joy is found                              110
  In swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey,
  My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear.
  But what will come of this? Why do I love
  The forest glades so madly? Ah, I feel
  The fatal malady my mother felt;
  For both have learned within the forest depths
  To sin in love. O mother, now my heart                             115
  Doth ache for thee; for, swept away by sin
  Unspeakable, thou boldly didst conceive
  A shameful passion for the savage lord
  Of the wild herd. Untamable was he,
  That stern and lustful leader of the flock;
  And yet he loved. But in my passion's need                         120
  What god can help me? Where the Daedalus
  Who can my love relieve? Should he return
  Who shut our monster in the labyrinth,
  He could not by his well-known Attic skill
  Avail to save me from this dire mischance.
  For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us,
  The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avenge                   125
  The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars,
  And all our house with direful love she fills.
  No princess of our race has ever loved
  In modest wise, but always monstrously.

  _Nurse:_ O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove,
  Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts.              130
  Put out these flames; and give thyself no hope
  Of such dire love as this. Whoe'er at first
  Has set himself to fight and conquer love,
  A safe and easy victory finds. But he,
  Who dallies with its evil sweets, too late
  Refuses to endure the galling yoke                                 135
  Which he himself has placed upon his neck.
  I know full well how scornful of the truth,
  How harsh the swollen pride of princesses,
  How it refuses to be bent aright.
  Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear;
  For dawning freedom makes the agéd brave.
  To will to live uprightly nor to fall                              140
  From virtue's ways is best; but next to this
  Is sense of shame, the knowing when to stop
  A sinful course. What, pray, will be the end
  For thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy house
  With further infamy? Wouldst thou outsin
  Thy mother? For thy impious love is worse
  Than her unnatural and monstrous love.
  The first you would impute to character,
  The last to fate. If, since thy husband sees                       145
  No more the realms of earth, thou dost believe
  That this thy sin is safe and free from fear,
  Thou art in error. Grant that he is held
  Imprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths,
  And must forever feel the bonds of Styx:
  Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading sway
  Encroaches on the sea, who gives their laws                        150
  Unto a hundred peoples, e'er permit
  So great a crime as this to lie unknown?
  Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet,
  Suppose that by our craft and guile we hide
  This crime from him: what of thy mother's sire,
  Who floods the earth with his illuming rays?                       155
  And what of him who makes the earth to quake,
  The bolts of Aetna flashing in his hand,
  The father of the gods? And dost thou think
  That it can be that thou couldst hide thy sin
  From these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones?
  But even should the favor of the gods,
  Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world;                    160
  Though to thy lust alone should fall that grace
  Denied to other crimes: still must thou fear.
  What of that ever-present punishment,
  The terror of the soul that knows its guilt,
  Is stained with crime and fearful of itself?
  Some women have with safety sinned, but none
  With peace of soul. Then quench these flames, I pray,              165
  Of impious love, and shun this monstrous crime
  Which no barbaric land has ever done,
  No Getan wandering on his lonely plains,
  No savage Taurian, no Scythian.
  Expel from thy chaste soul this hideous thing,
  And, mindful of thy mother's sin, avoid                            170
  Such monstrous unions. Wouldst in marriage give
  Thyself to son and father? Wouldst thou take
  In thine incestuous womb a progeny
  So basely mixed? Then go the length of sin:
  O'erthrow all nature with thy shameful fires.
  Why should the monsters cease? Why empty stands
  Thy brother's labyrinth? Shall all the world                       175
  Be shocked with prodigies, shall nature's laws
  Be scorned, whene'er a Cretan woman loves?

  _Phaedra:_ I know that what thou say'st is true, dear nurse;
  But raging passion forces me to take
  The path of sin. Full consciously my soul
  Goes headlong on its downward way, ofttimes
  With backward glance, sane counsel seeking still,
  Without avail. So, when the mariner                                180
  Would sail his ship against the boisterous waves,
  His toil is all in vain, and, vanquished quite,
  The ship drifts onward with the hurrying tide.
  For what can reason do when passion rules,
  When love, almighty, dominates the soul?                           185
  The wingéd god is lord through all the earth,
  And with his flames unquenchable the heart
  Of Jove himself is burned. The god of war
  Has felt his fire; and Vulcan too, that god
  Who forges Jove's three-forkéd thunderbolts;
  Yea, he, who in the hold of Aetna huge                             190
  Is lord of ever-blazing furnaces,
  By this small spark is burned. Apollo, too,
  Who sends his arrows with unerring aim,
  Was pierced by Cupid's still more certain darts.
  For equally in heaven and earth the god
  Is powerful.

  _Nurse:_        The god! 'Tis vicious lust                         195
  That hath his godhead framed; and, that its ends
  More fully may be gained, it has assigned
  To its unbridled love the specious name,
  Divinity! 'Tis Venus' son, in sooth,
  Sent wandering through all the earth! He flies
  Through empty air and in his boyish hands                          200
  His deadly weapon bears! Though least of gods,
  He holds the widest sway! Such vain conceits
  The love-mad soul adopts, love's goddess feigns,
  And Cupid's bow. Whoe'er too much enjoys
  The smiles of fortune and in ease is lapped,
  Is ever seeking unaccustomed joys.                                 205
  Then that dire comrade of a high estate,
  Inordinate desire, comes in. The feast
  Of yesterday no longer pleases; now
  A home of sane and simple living, food[19]
  Of humble sort, are odious. Oh, why
  Does this destructive pest so rarely come
  To lowly homes, but chooses rather homes                           210
  Of luxury? And why does modest love
  Beneath the humble roof abide, and bless
  With wholesome intercourse the common throng?
  Why do the poor restrain their appetites,
  Whereas the rich, on empire propped, desire
  More than is right. Who wields too much of power                   215
  Desires to gain what is beyond his power.
  What is befitting to thy high estate
  Thou knowest well. Then fitting reverence show
  To thy returning husband's sovereignty.

  _Phaedra:_ The sovereignty of love is over me,
  The highest rule of all. My lord's return,
  I fear it not; for never more has he,
  Who once within the silent depths of night                         220
  Has plunged, beheld again the light of day.

  _Nurse:_ Trust not the power of Dis; for though his realm
  He closely bar, and though the Stygian dog
  Keep watch and ward upon the baleful doors,
  Theseus can always walk forbidden ways.

  _Phaedra:_ Perchance he'll give indulgence to my love.             225

  _Nurse:_ But he was harsh e'en to a modest wife;
  His heavy hand Antiope has known.
  But grant that thou canst bend thy angry lord:
  Canst bend as well the stubborn soul of him,
  Hippolytus, who hates the very name                                230
  Of womankind? Inexorable his resolve
  To spend his life unwedded. He so shuns
  The sacred rites of marriage, thou wouldst know
  That he of Amazonian stock was born.

  _Phaedra:_ Though on the tops of snowy hills he hide,
  Or swiftly course along the ragged cliffs,
  Through forests deep, o'er mountains, 'tis my will                 235
  To follow him.

  _Nurse:_              And will he turn again,
  And yield himself unto thy sweet caress?
  Or will he lay aside his modesty
  At thy vile love's behest? Will he give o'er
  His hate of womankind for thee alone,
  On whose account, perchance, he hates them all?

  _Phaedra:_ Can he not be by any prayers o'ercome?

  _Nurse:_ He's wild.                                                240

  _Phaedra:_ Yes, but the beasts are tamed by love.

  _Nurse:_ He'll flee.

  _Phaedra:_             Through Ocean's self I'll follow him.

  _Nurse:_ Thy sire remember.

  _Phaedra:_                     And my mother too.

  _Nurse:_ Women he hates.

  _Phaedra:_                  Then I'll no rival fear.

  _Nurse:_ Thy husband comes.

  _Phaedra:_                    With him Pirithoüs!

  _Nurse:_ Thy sire!                                                 245

  _Phaedra:_           To Ariadne he was kind.

  _Nurse:_ O child, by these white locks of age, I pray,
  This care-filled heart, these breasts that suckled thee,
  Put off this rage; to thine own rescue come.
  The greater part of life is will to live.

  _Phaedra:_ Shame has not wholly fled my noble soul.                250
  I yield: let love, which will not be controlled,
  Be conquered. Nor shalt thou, fair fame, be stained.
  This way alone is left, sole hope of woe:
  Theseus I'll follow, and by death shun sin.

  _Nurse:_ Oh, check, my child, this wild, impetuous thought;        255
  Be calm. For now I think thee worthy life,
  Because thou hast condemned thyself to death.

  _Phaedra:_ I am resolved to die, and only seek
  The mode of death. Shall I my spirit free
  By twisted rope, or fall upon the sword,
  Or shall I leap from yonder citadel?                               260

  _Nurse:_ Shall my old age permit thee thus to die
  Self-slain? Thy deadly, raging purpose stay.
  No one may easily come back to life.

  _Phaedra:_ No argument can stay the will of one                    265
  Who has resolved to die, and ought to die.
  Quick, let me arm myself in honor's cause.

  _Nurse:_ Sole comfort of my weary age, my child,
  If such unruly passion sways thy heart,
  Away with reputation! 'Tis a thing
  Which rarely with reality agrees;
  It smiles upon the ill-deserving man,                              270
  And from the good withholds his meed of praise.
  Let us make trial of that stubborn soul.
  Mine be the task to approach the savage youth,
  And bend his will relentless to our own.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_    Thou goddess, child of the foaming sea,
    Thou mother of love, how fierce are the flames,                  275
    And how sharp are the darts of thy petulant boy;
    How deadly of aim his bow.
    Deep to the heart the poison sinks
    When the veins are imbued with his hidden flame;                 280
    No gaping wound upon the breast
    Does his arrow leave; but far within
    It burns with consuming fire.
    No peace or rest does he give; world wide
    Are his flying weapons sown abroad:
    The shores that see the rising sun,                              285
    And the land that lies at the goal of the west;
    The south where raging Cancer glows,
    And the land of the cold Arcadian Bear
    With its ever-wandering tribes--all know
    And have felt the fires of love.                                 290
    The hot blood of youth he rouses to madness,
    The smouldering embers of age he rekindles,
    And even the innocent breasts of maids
    Are stirred by passion unknown.
    He bids the immortals desert the skies
    And dwell on the earth in forms assumed.                         295
    For love, Apollo kept the herds
    Of Thessaly's king, and, his lyre unused,
    He called to his bulls on the gentle pipe.
    How oft has Jove himself put on
    The lower forms of life, who rules
    The sky and the clouds. Now a bird he seems,                     300
    With white wings hovering, with voice
    More sweet than the song of the dying swan;
    Now with lowering front, as a wanton bull,
    He offers his back to the sport of maids;
    And soon through his brother's waves he floats,                  305
    With his hoofs like sturdy oars, and his breast
    Stoutly opposing the waves, in fear
    For the captured maid he bears. For love,
    The shining goddess of the night
    Her dim skies left, and her glittering car                       310
    To her brother allotted to guide. Untrained
    In managing the dusky steeds,
    Within a shorter circuit now
    He learns to direct his course. Meanwhile
    The nights no more their accustomed space
    Retained, and the dawn came slowly back,                         315
    Since 'neath a heavier burden now
    The axle trembled. Love compelled
    Alcmena's son to lay aside
    His quiver and the threat'ning spoil
    Of that great lion's skin he bore,
    And have his fingers set with gems,
    His shaggy locks in order dressed.                               320
    His limbs were wrapped in cloth of gold,
    His feet with yellow sandals bound;
    And with that hand which bore but now
    The mighty club, he wound the thread
    Which from his mistress' spindle fell.
    The sight all Persia saw, and they                               325
    Who dwell in Lydia's fertile realm--
    The savage lion's skin laid by,
    And on those shoulders, once the prop
    For heaven's vast dome, a gauzy cloak
    Of Tyrian manufacture spread.
    Accursed is love, its victims know,                              330
    And all too strong. In every land,
    In the all-encircling briny deep,
    In the airy heavens where the bright stars course,
    There pitiless love holds sway.
    The sea-green band of the Nereids                                335
    Have felt his darts in their deepest waves,
    And the waters of ocean cannot quench
    Their flames. The birds know the passion of love,
    And mighty bulls, with its fire inflamed,
    Wage furious battle, while the herd                              340
    Look on in wonder. Even stags,
    Though timorous of heart, will fight
    If for their mates they fear, while loud
    Resound the snortings of their wrath.
    When with love the striped tigers burn,
    The swarthy Indian cowers in fear.                               345
    For love the boar whets his deadly tusks
    And his huge mouth is white with foam.
    The African lions toss their manes
    When love inflames their hearts, and the woods
    Resound with their savage roars.                                 350
    The monsters of the raging deep,
    And those great beasts, the elephants,
    Feel the sway of love; since nature's power
    Claims everything, and nothing spares.
    Hate perishes when love commands,
    And ancient feuds yield to his touch.                            355
    Why need I more his sway approve,
    When even stepdames yield to love?


FOOTNOTES:

[19] Reading, _cibus_.


ACT II

[_Enter_ Nurse _from the palace_.]

  _Chorus:_ Speak, nurse, the news thou bring'st. How fares the queen?
  Do her fierce fires of love know any end?

  _Nurse:_ I have no hope that such a malady                         360
  Can be relieved; her maddened passion's flames
  Will endless burn. A hidden, silent fire
  Consumes her, and her raging love, though shut
  Within her heart, is by her face betrayed.
  Her eyes dart fire; anon, her sunken gaze
  Avoids the light of day. Her restless soul                         365
  Can find no pleasure long in anything.
  Her aimless love allows her limbs no rest.
  Now, as with dying, tottering steps, she goes,
  And scarce can hold her nodding head erect;
  And now lies down to sleep. But, sleepless quite,
  She spends the night in tears. Now does she bid
  Me lift her up, and straight to lay her down;                      370
  To loose her locks, and bind them up again.
  In restless mood she constantly demands
  Fresh robes. She has no care for food or health.
  With failing strength she walks, with aimless feet.                375
  Her old-time strength is gone; no longer shines
  The ruddy glow of health upon her face.
  Care feeds upon her limbs; her trembling steps
  Betray her weakness, and the tender grace
  Of her once blooming beauty is no more.
  Her eyes, which once with Phoebus' brilliance shone,
  No longer gleam with their ancestral fires.                        380
  Her tears flow ever, and her cheeks are wet
  With constant rain; as when, on Taurus' top,
  The snows are melted by a warming shower.
  But look, the palace doors are opening,
  And she, reclining on her couch of gold,                           385
  And sick of soul, refuses one by one
  The customary garments of her state.

  _Phaedra:_ Remove, ye slaves, those bright and gold-wrought robes;
  Away with Tyrian purple, and the webs
  Of silk whose threads the far-off eastern tribes
  From leaves of trees collect. Gird high my robes;                  390
  I'll wear no necklace, nor shall snowy pearls,
  The gift of Indian seas, weigh down my ears.
  No nard from far Assyria shall scent
  My locks; thus loosely tossing let them fall
  Around my neck and shoulders; let them stream
  Upon the wind, by my swift running stirred.                        395
  Upon my left I'll wear a quiver girt,
  And in my right hand will I brandish free
  A hunting-spear of Thessaly; for thus
  The mother of Hippolytus was clad.
  So did she lead her hosts from the frozen shores
  Of Pontus, when to Attica she came,                                400
  From distant Tanaïs or Maeotis' banks,
  Her comely locks down flowing from a knot,
  Her side protected by a crescent shield.
  Like her would I betake me to the woods.

  _Chorus:_ Cease thy laments, for grief will not avail
  The wretched. Rather seek to appease the will                      405
  Of that wild virgin goddess of the woods.

  _Nurse_ [_to_ Diana]: O queen of forests, thou who dwell'st alone
  On mountain tops, and thou who only art
  Within their desert haunts adored, convert,
  We pray, to better issue these sad fears.
  O mighty goddess of the woods and groves,
  Bright star of heaven, thou glory of the night,                    410
  Whose torch, alternate with the sun, illumes
  The sky, thou three-formed Hecate--Oh, smile,
  We pray, on these our hopes; the unbending soul
  Of stern Hippolytus subdue for us.
  Teach him to love; our passion's mutual flame
  May he endure. May he give ready ear
  To our request. His hard and stubborn heart                        415
  Do thou make soft to us. Enthral his mind.
  Though stern of soul, averse to love, and fierce,
  May he yet yield himself to Venus' laws.
  Bend all thy powers to this. So may thy face
  Be ever clear, and through the rifted clouds
  Mayst thou sail on with crescent shining bright;
  So, when thou driv'st thy chariot through the sky,                 420
  May no Thessalian mummeries prevail
  To draw thee from thy nightly journey down;
  And may no shepherd boast himself of thee.
  Lo, thou art here in answer to our prayer;
                                    [Hippolytus _is seen approaching_.]
  I see Hippolytus himself, alone,
  Approaching to perform the yearly rites
  To Dian due.                                                       425
                                                        [_To herself._]
            Why dost thou hesitate?
  Both time and place are given by fortune's lot.
  Use all thy arts. Why do I quake with fear?
  It is no easy task to do the deed
  Enjoined on me. Yet she, who serves a queen,
  Must banish from her heart all thought of right;
  For sense of shame ill serves a royal will.                        430

[_Enter_ Hippolytus.]

  _Hippolytus:_ Why dost thou hither turn thine agéd feet,
  O faithful nurse? Why is thy face so sad,
  Thy brow so troubled? Truly is my sire
  In safety, Phaedra safe, and their two sons.

  _Nurse:_ Thou need'st not fear for them; the kingdom stands        435
  In prosperous estate, and all thy house
  Rejoices in the blessings of the gods.
  But Oh, do thou with greater kindness look
  Upon thy fortune. For my heart is vexed
  And anxious for thy sake; for thou thyself
  With grievous sufferings dost bruise thy soul.
  If fate compels it, one may be forgiven                            440
  For wretchedness; but if, of his own will,
  A man prefers to live in misery,
  Brings tortures on himself, then he deserves
  To lose those gifts he knows not how to use.
  Be mindful of thy youth; relax thy mind.
  Lift high the blazing torch on festal nights;
  Let Bacchus free thee from thy weighty cares;                      445
  Enjoy this time which speeds so swiftly by.
  Now is the time when love comes easily,
  And smiles on youth. Come, let thy soul rejoice.
  Why dost thou lie upon a lonely couch?
  Dissolve in pleasures that grim mood of thine,
  And snatch the passing joys;[20] let loose the reins.              450
  Forbid that these, the best days of thy life,
  Should vanish unenjoyed. Its proper hue
  Has God allotted to each time of life,
  And leads from step to step the age of man.
  So joy becomes the young, a face severe
  The agéd. Why dost thou restrain thyself,
  And strangle at their birth the joys of life?
  That crop rewards the farmer's labor most                          455
  Which in the young and tender sprouting-time
  Runs riot in the fields. With lofty top
  That tree will overspread the neighboring grove,
  Which no begrudging hand cuts back or prunes.
  So do our inborn powers a richer fruit
  Of praise and glory bear, if liberty,
  Unchecked and boundless, feed the noble soul.                      460
  Thou, harsh, uncouth, and ignorant of life,
  Dost spend thy youth to joy and love unknown.
  Think'st thou that this is man's allotted task,
  To suffer hardships, curb the rushing steeds,
  And fight like savage beasts in bloody war?                        465
  When he beheld the boundless greed of death,
  The mighty father of the world ordained
  A means by which the race might be renewed.
  Suppose the power of Venus over men
  Should cease, who doth supply and still renew                      470
  The stream of life, then would this lovely world
  Become a foul, unsightly thing indeed:
  The sea would bear no fish within its waves,
  The woods no beasts of prey, the air no birds;
  But through its empty space the winds alone
  Would rove. How various the forms of death                         475
  That seize and feed upon our mortal race:
  The wrecking sea, the sword, and treachery!
  But say that these are lacking: still we fall
  Of our own gravity to gloomy Styx.
  Suppose our youth should choose a mateless life,
  And live in childless state: then all this world
  Of teeming life which thou dost see, would live
  This generation only, and would fall                               480
  In ruins on itself. Then spend thy life
  As nature doth direct; frequent the town,
  And live in friendly union with thy kind.

  _Hippolytus:_ There is no life so free, so innocent,
  Which better cherishes the ancient rites,
  Than that which spurns the crowded ways of men
  And seeks the silent places of the woods.                          485
  His soul no maddening greed of gain inflames
  Who on the lofty levels of the hills
  His blameless pleasures finds. No fickle breath
  Of passing favor frets him here, no sting
  Of base ingratitude, no poisonous hate.
  He fears no kingdom's laws; nor, in the quest                      490
  Of power, does he pursue the phantom shapes
  Of fame and wealth. From hope and fear alike
  Is he removed. No black and biting spite
  With base, malicious tooth preys on him here.
  He never hears of those base, shameful things
  That spawn amid the city's teeming throngs.
  It is not his with guilty heart to quake
  At every sound; he need not hide his thoughts                      495
  With guileful words; in pride of sinful wealth
  He seeks to own no lordly palace propped
  Upon a thousand pillars, with its beams
  In flaunting arrogance incased with gold.
  No streams of blood his pious altars drench;
  No hecatombs of snowy bullocks stand                               500
  Foredoomed to death, their foreheads sprinkled o'er
  With sacred meal; but in the spacious fields,
  Beneath the sky, in fearless innocence,
  He wanders lord of all. His only guile,
  To set the cunning snare for beasts of pray;
  And, when o'erspent with labors of the chase,
  He soothes his body in the shining stream
  Of cool Ilissus. Now swift Alpheus' banks                          505
  He skirts, and now the lofty forest's deep,
  Dense places treads, where Lerna, clear and cool,
  Pours forth her glimmering streams.
  Here twittering birds make all the woods resound,
  And through the branches of the ancient beech
  The leaves are all a-flutter in the breeze.                        510
  How sweet upon some vagrant river's bank,
  Or on the verdant turf, to lie at length,
  And quaff one's fill of deep, delicious sleep,
  Whether in hurrying floods some copious stream
  Pours down its waves, or through the vernal flowers
  Some murmuring brook sings sweetly as it flows.
  The windfall apples of the wood appease                            515
  His hunger, while the ripening berries plucked
  From wayside thickets grant an easy meal.
  He gladly shuns the luxuries of kings.
  Let mighty lords from anxious cups of gold
  Their nectar quaff; for him how sweet to catch
  With naked hand the water of the spring!                           520
  More certain slumber soothes him, though his couch
  Be hard, if free from care he lay him down.
  With guilty soul he seeks no shameful deeds
  In nooks remote upon some hidden couch,
  Nor timorous hides in labyrinthine cell;
  He courts the open air and light of day,
  And lives before the conscious eye of heaven.                      525
  Such was the life, I think, the ancients lived,
  Those primal men who mingled with the gods.
  They were not blinded by the love of gold;
  No sacred stone divided off the fields
  And lotted each his own in judgment there.
  Nor yet did vessels rashly plow the seas;                          530
  But each his native waters knew alone.
  Then cities were not girt with massive walls,
  With frequent towers set; no soldier there
  To savage arms his hands applied, nor burst
  The close-barred gates with huge and heavy stones
  From ponderous engines hurled. As yet the earth                    535
  Endured no master's rule, nor felt the sway
  Of laboring oxen yoked in common toil;
  But all the fields, self-fruitful, fed mankind,
  Who took and asked no more. The woods gave wealth,
  And shady grottoes natural homes supplied.
  Unholy greed first broke these peaceful bonds,                     540
  And headlong wrath, and lust which sets aflame
  The hearts of men. Then came the cruel thirst
  For empire; and the weak became the prey
  Of strong, and might was counted right. At first
  Men fought with naked fists, but soon they turned                  545
  Rough clubs and stones to use of arms. Not yet
  Were cornel spears with slender points of iron,
  And long, sharp-pointed swords, and crested helms.
  Such weapons wrath invented. Warlike Mars
  Produced new arts of strife, and forms of death                    550
  In countless numbers made. Thence streams of gore
  Stained every land, and reddened every sea.
  Then crime, o'erleaping every bound, ran wild;
  Invaded every home. No hideous deed
  Was left undone: but brothers by the hand                          555
  Of brothers fell, parents by children's hands,
  Husbands by wives', and impious mothers killed
  Their helpless babes. Stepmothers need no words;
  The very beasts are kind compared with them.
  Of all these evils woman was the cause,
  The leader she. She with her wicked arts
  Besets the minds of men; and all for her                           560
  And her vile, lustful ways, unnumbered towns
  Lie low in smoking heaps; whole nations rush
  To arms; and kingdoms, utterly o'erthrown,
  Drag down their ruined peoples in their fall.
  Though I should name no other, Aegeus' wife
  Would prove all womankind a curséd race.

  _Nurse:_ Why blame all women for the crimes of few?                565

  _Hippolytus:_ I hate them all. I dread and shun and curse
  Them all. Whether from reason, instinct, blind
  And causeless madness, this I know--I hate.
  And sooner shall you fire and water wed;
  Sooner shall dangerous quicksands friendly turn
  And give safe anchorage; and sooner far                            570
  Shall Tethys from her utmost western bounds
  Bring forth the shining day, and savage wolves
  Smile kindly on the timid does, than I,
  O'ercome, feel ought but hate to womankind.

  _Nurse:_ But oft doth love put reins on stubborn souls,
  And all their hatred to affection turns.                           575
  Behold thy mother's realm of warlike dames;
  Yet even they the sway of passion know.
  Of this thy birth itself is proof enough.

  _Hippolytus:_ My comfort for my mother's loss is this,
  That now I'm free to hate all womankind.

  _Nurse:_ As some hard crag, on every side unmoved,                 580
  Resists the waves, and dashes backward far
  The opposing floods, so he doth spurn my words.
  But hither Phaedra comes with hasty step,
  Impatient of delay. What fate is hers?
  Or to what action doth her madness tend?
                    [Phaedra _enters and falls fainting to the earth_.]
  But see, in sudden fainting fit she falls,                         585
  And deathlike pallor overspreads her face.
                    [Hippolytus _hastens to raise her up in his arms_.]
  Lift up thy face, speak out, my daughter, see,
  Thine own Hippolytus embraces thee.

  _Phaedra_ [_recovering from her faint_]: Who gives me back to griefs,
    and floods again
  My soul with heavy care? How well for me
  Had I sunk down to death!                                          590

  _Hippolytus:_              But why, poor soul,
  Dost thou lament the gift of life restored?

  _Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Come dare, attempt, fulfil thine own command.
  Speak out, and fearlessly. Who asks in fear
  Suggests a prompt refusal. Even now
  The greater part of my offense is done.
  Too late my present modesty. My love,                              595
  I know, is base; but if I persevere,
  Perchance the marriage torch will hide my sin.
  Success makes certain sins respectable.
  Come now, begin.
                                                     [_To_ Hippolytus].
                  Bend lower down thine ear,
  I pray; if any comrade be at hand,
  Let him depart, that we may speak alone.                           600

  _Hippolytus:_ Behold, the place is free from witnesses.

  _Phaedra:_ My lips refuse to speak my waiting words;
  A mighty force compels my utterance,
  A mightier holds it back. Ye heavenly powers,
  I call ye all to witness, what I wish--                            605

  _Hippolytus:_ Thy heart desires and cannot tell its wish?

  _Phaedra:_ Light cares speak out, the weighty have no words.

  _Hippolytus:_ Into my ears, my mother, tell thy cares.

  _Phaedra:_ The name of mother is too proud and high;
  My heart dictates some humbler name than that.                     610
  Pray call me sister--slave, Hippolytus.
  Yes, slave I'd be. I'll bear all servitude;
  And shouldst thou bid me tread the driven snows,
  To walk along high Pindus' frozen peaks,
  I'd not refuse; no, not if thou shouldst bid
  Me go through fire, and serried ranks of foes,                     615
  I would not hesitate to bare my breast
  Unto the naked swords. Take thou the power
  Which was consigned to me. Make me thy slave.
  Rule thou the state, and let me subject be.
  It is no woman's task to guard this realm
  Of many towns. Do thou, who in the flower                          620
  Of youth rejoicest, rule the citizens
  With strong paternal sway. But me receive
  Into thy arms, and there protect thy slave
  And suppliant. My widowhood relieve.

  _Hippolytus:_ May God on high this omen dark avert!
  My father will in safety soon return.

  _Phaedra:_ Not so: the king of that fast-holding realm             625
  And silent Styx has never opened back
  The doors of earth to those who once have left
  The realms above. Think'st thou that he will loose
  The ravisher of his couch? Unless, indeed,
  Grim Pluto has at last grown mild to love.

  _Hippolytus:_ The righteous gods of heaven will bring him back.
  But while the gods still hold our prayers in doubt,                630
  My brothers will I make my pious care,
  And thee as well. Think not thou art bereft;
  For I will fill for thee my father's place.

  _Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Oh, hope of lovers, easily beguiled!
  Deceitful love! Has he[21] not said enough?                        635
  I'll ply him now with prayers.
                                                     [_To_ Hippolytus.]
                               Oh, pity me.
  Hear thou the prayers which I must only think.
  I long to utter them, but am ashamed.

  _Hippolytus:_ What is thy trouble then?

  _Phaedra:_           A trouble mine,
  Which thou wouldst scarce believe could vex the soul
  Of any stepdame.

  _Hippolytus:_           Speak more openly;
  In doubtful words thy meaning thou dost wrap.

  _Phaedra:_ My maddened heart with burning love is scorched;        640
  My inmost marrow is devoured with love;
  And through my veins and vitals steals the fire,
  As when the flames through roomy holds of ships
  Run darting.                                                       645

  _Hippolytus:_      Surely with a modest love
  For Theseus thou dost burn.

  _Phaedra:_             Hippolytus,
  'Tis thus with me: I love those former looks
  Of Theseus, which in early manhood once
  He wore, when first a beard began to show
  Upon his modest cheeks, what time he saw
  The Cretan monster's hidden lurking-place,
  And by a thread his labyrinthine way                               650
  Retraced. Oh, what a glorious sight he was!
  Soft fillets held in check his flowing locks,
  And modesty upon his tender face
  Glowed blushing red. His soft-appearing arms
  But half concealed his muscles' manly strength.
  His face was like thy heavenly Phoebe's face,
  Or my Apollo's, or 'twas like thine own.                           655
  Like thee, like thee he was when first he pleased
  His enemy. Just so he proudly held
  His head erect; still more in thee shines out
  That beauty unadorned; in thee I find
  Thy father all. And yet thy mother's stern
  And lofty beauty has some share in thee;
  Her Scythian firmness tempers Grecian grace.                       660
  If with thy father thou hadst sailed to Crete,
  My sister would have spun the thread for thee
  And not for him. O sister, wheresoe'er
  In heaven's starry vault thou shinest, thee,
  Oh, thee I call to aid my hapless cause,
  So like thine own. One house has overthrown                        665
  Two sisters, thee the father, me the son.
                                                     [_To_ Hippolytus.]
  Behold, as suppliant, fallen to thy knees,
  A royal princess kneels. Without a spot
  Of sin, unstained and innocent, was I;
  And thou alone hast wrought the change in me.
  See at thy feet I kneel and pray, resolved
  This day shall end my misery or life.                              670
  Oh, pity her who loves thee--

  _Hippolytus:_              God in heaven,
  Great ruler of all gods, dost thou this sin
  So calmly hear, so calmly see? If now
  Thou hurlest not thy bolt with deadly hand,
  What shameful cause will ever send it forth?
  Let all the sky in shattered ruins fall,
  And hide the light of day in murky clouds.                         675
  Let stars turn back, and trace again their course
  Athwart their proper ways. And thou, great star
  Of stars, thou radiant Sun, let not thine eyes
  Behold the impious shame of this thy stock;
  But hide thy face, and to the darkness flee
  Why is thy hand, O king of gods and men,                           680
  Inactive? Why by forkéd lightning's brands
  Is not the world in flames? Direct thy bolts
  At me; pierce me. Let that fierce darting flame
  Consume me quite, for mine is all the blame.
  I ought to die, for I have favor found
  In my stepmother's eyes.
                                                        [_To_ Phaedra.]
                            Did I seem one
  To thee to do this vile and shameful thing?
  Did I seem easy fuel to thy fire,                                  685
  I only? Has my virtuous life deserved
  Such estimate? Thou, worse than all thy kind!
  Thou woman, who hast in thy heart conceived
  A deed more shameful than thy mother's sin,
  Whose womb gave monstrous birth; thou worse than she!
  She stained herself with vilest lust, and long                     690
  Concealed the deed. But all in vain: at last,
  Her two-formed child revealed his mother's crime,
  And by his fierce bull-visage proved her guilt.
  Of such a womb and mother art thou born.
  Oh, thrice and four times blesséd is their lot
  Whom hate and treachery give o'er and doom                         695
  To death. O father, how I envy thee!
  Thy stepdame was the Colchian; but this,
  This woman is a greater curse than she.

  _Phaedra:_ I clearly see the destiny of my house:
  We follow ever what we should avoid.
  But I have given over self-control;
  I'll follow thee through fire, through raging sea,                 700
  O'er ragged cliffs, through roaring torrents wild--
  Wherever thou dost go, in mad pursuit
  I shall be borne. Again, O haughty one,
  I fall in suppliance and embrace thy knees.

  _Hippolytus:_ Away from my chaste body with thy touch
  Impure! What more? She falls upon my breast!                       705
  I'll draw my sword and smite as she deserves.
  See, by her twisted locks, I backward bend
  Her shameless head. No blood more worthily
  Was ever spilled, O goddess of the bow,
  Upon thy altars.

  _Phaedra:_         Now, Hippolytus,                                710
  Thou dost fulfil the fondest wish of mine;
  Thou sav'st me from my madness; greater far
  Than all my hopes, that by the hands I love,
  By thine own hands, I perish ere I sin.

  _Hippolytus:_ Then live, be gone! Thou shalt gain naught from me.
  And this my sword, defiled by thy base touch,
  No more shall hang upon my modest side.
                                      [_He throws his sword from him._]
  What Tanaïs will make me clean again?                              715
  Or what Maeotis rushing to the sea,
  With its barbaric waves? Not Neptune's self,
  With all his ocean's waters could avail
  To cleanse so foul a stain. O woods! O beasts!

[_He rushes off into the depths of the forest._]

  _Nurse_ [_in soliloquy, while_ Phaedra _seems to have fallen in a
  fainting fit_]:
  Now is her fault discovered. Soul of mine,
  Why dost thou stand in dumb amaze? This crime
  We must throw back upon the man himself,                           720
  And charge him with a guilty love, ourselves.
  Sin must be hid by sin. The safest way
  Is to go straight forward on the course you fear.
  Who is to know, since no one saw the deed,
  Whether we dared, ourselves, or suffered ill?
                                   [_Raising her voice in a loud cry._]
  Help! Help! ye dames of Athens! Faithful band                      725
  Of slaves, bring aid! Behold Hippolytus,
  With vile adultery, attacks the queen!
  He has her in his power! He threatens death!
  At point of sword he storms her chastity!
  There, he has gone in haste, and left behind
  His sword in trembling, panic-stricken flight.
  This proof of guilt we'll keep. But first restore                  730
  The stricken queen to life. Let all remain
  Just as they are, her locks disheveled, torn,
  To show how great a wrong she has endured.
  Back to the city bear her now. Revive,
  My mistress. Why dost seek to harm thyself
  And shun thy comrades' eyes. For be thou sure
  Not circumstance but will can make impure.                         735

[_Exeunt._]

  _Chorus:_   He fled away like the storm-blast wild,
    More swift than cloud-compelling winds;
    And swifter than the comet's torch,
    When, driven before the wind, it speeds
    With long-drawn, trailing fires.                                 740
    Let fame, that boasts of her olden times,
    Compare with thine all ancient charms:
    Beyond compare does thy beauty shine,
    Clear and bright as the full-orbed moon,
    When, with waxing hours in splendor joined,                      745
    Night long she speeds her shining car,
    And her ruddy face so brightly gleams,
    That the fires of the lesser stars are dimmed.
    He is fair as the messenger of night,
    When he leads the evening shadows in,
    Himself new bathed in the ocean's foam;                          750
    Or when, the darkness put to flight,
    He heralds the dawn--bright Lucifer.
    And thou of the thyrsus, Indian Bacchus,
    With the flowing locks of endless youth,
    With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving,                    755
    And thy turban set on thy hornéd head:
    Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine
    The unadorned hair of Hippolytus.
    And admire not thy beauty over much,
    For fame has spread the story far,
    How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee,                          760
    O Bromius, a mortal man.
    Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou,
    The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift
    On flying feet thou glidest away!
    So flowery meadows of the spring
    The summer's burning heat devours,                               765
    When midday's raging sun rides high,
    And night's brief round is hurried through.
    As the lilies languish on their stems,
    So pleasing tresses fail the head;
    And swiftly is the radiance dimmed                               770
    Which gleams from the tender cheeks of youth!
    Each day hath its spoil from the lovely form;
    For beauty flees and soon is gone.
    Who then would trust a gift so frail?
    Nay, use its joys, while still thou mayst;
    For silent time will soon destroy thee,                          775
    And hours to baser hours steal on.
    Why seek the desert wilds? Thy form
    Is no more safe in pathless ways.
    If in the forest's depths thou hide,
    When Titan brings the noonday heat,
    The saucy Naïds will surround thee,                              780
    Who are wont in their clear springs to snare
    The lovely youth; and 'gainst thy sleep
    The wanton goddesses of groves,
    The Dryads, who the roving Pans
    Drive in pursuit, will mischief plot.
    Or else that glowing star, whose birth                           785
    The old Arcadians beheld,
    Will see thee from the spangled sky,
    And straight forget to drive her car.
    Of late she blushed a fiery red,
    And yet no staining cloud obscured
    Her shining disk. But we, in fear
    For her troubled face, clashed cymbals loud,                     790
    Deeming her harried by the charms
    Of Thessaly. But for thee alone
    Was all her toil; thou wast the cause
    Of her long delay; for, seeing thee,
    The night's fair goddess checked her course.
    If only winter's blasts would beat                               795
    Less fiercely on that face of thine;
    If less it felt the sun's hot rays,
    More bright than Parian marble's gleam
    Would it appear. How beautiful
    The manly sternness in thy face,
    Thy brow's dark frowning majesty!
    Compare with Phoebus' that fair neck.                            800
    His hair o'er his shoulders flowing free,
    Unbound by fillet, ornaments
    And shelters him. A shaggy brow
    Becomes thee best; thee, shorter locks,
    In tossing disarray. 'Tis thine
    The rough and warlike gods to meet                               805
    In strife, and by thy mighty strength
    To overcome them. Even now,
    The muscles of a Hercules
    Thy youthful arms can match. Thy breast
    Is broader than the breast of Mars.
    If on a horny-footed steed
    Thou'rt pleased to mount, not Castor's self                      810
    More easily could hold in check
    The Spartan Cyllarus.
    Take thong in hand; with all thy strength
    Discharge the javelin: not so far,
    Though they be trained to hurl the dart,
    Will Cretans send the slender reed.                              815
    Or if it please thee into air,
    In Parthian style, to shoot thy darts,
    None will descend without its bird,
    Fixed deep within the throbbing breast;
    From out the very clouds thy prey
    Thou wilt regain.
    By few has beauty been possessed
    (The voice of history proclaims)                                 820
    Without some loss or suffering.
    But thee, unharmed, may God pass by
    More merciful, and may thy form,
    Now famous for its beauty, show
    At last the marks of ugly age.
  What crime would woman's fury leave undared?
  She plans against this harmless youth some fraud.                  825
  Behold her scheme! For by her tumbled hair,
  All torn, she seeks sure credence for her tale.
  She wets her cheeks with tears; and every art
  That woman's shrewdness knows, does she employ.
               [_A man is seen approaching, who proves to be_ Theseus.]
  But who is that who comes with grace of kings
  Displayed upon his face, his lofty head                            830
  Held high in kingly pride? In countenance,
  How like the young Pirithoüs he seems,
  Were not his cheeks too deadly pale and wan,
  And if his hair fell not in locks unkempt.
  Behold, 'tis Theseus' self returned to earth.


FOOTNOTES:

[20] Reading, _luxus_.

[21] Reading, _dixit_.


ACT III

  _Theseus:_ At last have I escaped from endless night,              835
  That shadowy realm which close confines the dead.
  And now my eyes can scarce endure the light
  Which I have long desired. Eleusin now
  Has four times reaped her ripened grain, the gift
  Triptolemus bestowed; thrice and again
  Has Libra measured equal day and night,
  Since dubious battling with an unknown fate
  Has held me in the toils of life and death.                        840
  To me, though dead to all things else, one part
  Of life remained, the consciousness of ill.
  Alcides was the end. When he came down
  To bring the dog by force from Tartarus,
  He brought me also to the upper world.                             845
  But ah, my wearied frame has lost the strength
  It had of old; I walk with faltering steps.
  Alas! how great a task it was to reach
  The world of light from lower Phlegethon,
  To flee from death and follow Hercules!
      But why this sound of wailing in my ears?                      850
  Let someone tell; for agonies of woe
  And grief and lamentations sad I meet
  Upon the very threshold of my home--
  A fitting welcome to a guest from hell.

  _Nurse:_ The queen is obstinately bent on death,
  And scorns the strong remonstrance of our tears.                   855

  _Theseus:_ Why should she die, her husband safe returned?

  _Nurse:_ That very cause compels her speedy death.

  _Theseus:_ Thy words are dark and hide some weighty truth.
  Speak out and tell what grief weighs down her soul.

  _Nurse:_ She tells her grief to none. Some secret woe              860
  She hides within her heart, and is resolved
  To take her secret with her to the grave.
  But speed thee to her; there is need of haste.

  _Theseus:_ Unbar the close-shut portals of my house.

[_The doors are opened and_ Theseus _encounters his wife just within_.]

  _Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: My queen, is't thus thou dost receive thy
    lord,
  And welcome back thy husband long desired?                         865
  Nay, put away the sword from thy right hand,
  And give me heart again. Reveal to me
  The cause that forces thee to flee from life.

  _Phaedra:_ Alas, great Theseus, by thy kingly power,
  And by thy children's souls, by thy return,                        870
  And by my ashes, suffer me to die.

  _Theseus:_ What cause compels thy death?

  _Phaedra:_                               The fruit of death
  Would perish if I let its cause be known.

  _Theseus:_ None else shall hear it save myself alone.

  _Phaedra:_ A chaste wife fears her husband most of all.

  _Theseus:_ Speak out; I'll hide thy secret in my heart.            875

  _Phaedra:_ The secret thou wouldst have another guard,
  First guard thyself.

  _Theseus:_ No chance of death thou'lt find.

  _Phaedra:_ Death cannot fail the heart that's bent on death.

  _Theseus:_ Confess what sin must be atoned by death.

  _Phaedra:_ My life.

  _Theseus:_          Will not my tears avail with thee?             880

  _Phaedra:_ That death is best which one's own friends lament.

  _Theseus:_ She still persists in silence. By the lash
  And chains shall her old nurse be forced to tell
  What she will not declare. Put her in chains.
  Now let the lash lay bare her hidden thoughts.

  _Phaedra:_ Hold, stay thy hand, for I myself will speak.           885

  _Theseus:_ Why dost thou turn thy grieving face away,
  And hide the quickly rising shower of tears
  Behind thy robe?

  _Phaedra:_                Thee, thee do I invoke,
  O father of the gods, and thee, O Sun,
  Thou shining glory of the heavenly dome,
  On whom as founder doth our house depend,                          890
  I call ye both to witness that I strove
  Against his prayers, though sorely tried. To threats
  Of death my spirit did not yield; but force
  O'ercame my body. This the shameful stain
  Upon my honor which my blood must cleanse.

  _Theseus:_ Come, tell, who hath defiled our honor so?

  _Phaedra:_ Whom thou wouldst least expect.                         895

  _Theseus:_                                But who is he?
  I wait to hear his name.

  _Phaedra:_                        This sword shall tell,
  Which in his terror at our loud laments,
  The adulterer left, fearing the citizens.

  _Theseus:_ Ah me! What villainy do I behold?
  What monstrous deed is this? The royal sword,
  Its ivory hilt with tiny signs engraved,
  Shines out, the glory of the Athenian race.                        900
  But he--where has he gone?

  _Phaedra:_                          These slaves have seen
  How, borne on speeding feet, he fled away.

  _Theseus:_ Oh, holy piety! O thou who reign'st
  In heaven, and thou who rulest in the seas,
  Whence came this base infection of our race?                       905
  Was he of Grecian birth, or did he spring
  From Scythian Taurus or some Colchian stream?
  The type reverts to its ancestral stock,
  And blood ignoble but repeats its source.
  This is the madness of that savage race,
  To scorn all lawful love, and prostitute                           910
  At last the long-chaste body to the crowd.
  Oh, loathsome race, restrained by no good laws
  Which milder climes revere! The very beasts
  Shun love incestuous, and keep the laws
  Of nature with instinctive chastity.
  Where is that face, that feigned austerity,                        915
  That rough and careless garb that sought to ape
  The ancient customs? Where that aspect stern,
  That sour severity which age assumes?
  O life, two-faced! How thou dost hide thy thoughts!
  For fairest faces cover foulest hearts;
  The chaste demeanor hides inchastity;                              920
  The gentle, boldness; seeming goodness, sin.
  False men approve the truth; the faint of heart
  Affect a blustering mood. O thou, of woods
  Enamored, savage, rough and virgin pure,
  Didst thou reserve thyself for me alone?
  On my couch first and with so fell a crime                         925
  Wast thou inclined to try thy manly powers?
  Now, now I thank the kindly gods of heaven
  That long ago I slew Antiope;
  That, when I went below to Stygian caves,
  I did not leave thy mother for thy lust.
  Go, get thee far away to unknown lands;
  And there, though to her utmost bounds removed,                    930
  The earth should hem thee off by ocean's wastes;
  Though thou shouldst dwell at the Antipodes;
  Though to the frigid northern realms thou go,
  And deep within her farthest caverns hide;
  Or, though beyond the reach of winter placed,                      935
  And drifting snows, thou leave the boisterous threats
  Of frosty Boreas in mad pursuit:
  Thou still shalt meet thy fitting punishment.
  Persistent shall I chase thee in thy flight
  Through all thy hiding-places. Ways remote,
  Hemmed in, secluded, hard and trackless ways,
  I'll traverse in pursuit. No obstacle                              940
  Shall block my way. Thou know'st whence I return.
  And whither spears cannot be hurled at thee
  I'll hurl my prayers. My father of the sea
  Once promised me that thrice I might prevail
  With him in prayer, and ratified the boon
  By oath upon the inviolable Styx.
                                                        [_To_ Neptune.]
      Thou ruler of the sea, the boon bestow,                        945
  And grant my prayer: let not Hippolytus
  Live to behold another sun's bright rays,
  But may he go to meet those shades of hell
  Enraged at my escape. O father, now
  I pray that aid which still I deprecate.
  This last of thy three boons I would not use,                      950
  If I were not beset by grievous ills.
  Amidst the depths of hell and dreadful Dis,
  Amidst the infernal king's pursuing threats,
  I did not call on thee. But now I claim
  Thy promise, father. Why delay thine aid?
  Why are thy waves inactive? Let the winds                          955
  That drive the blackening clouds bring darkness on;
  Snatch stars and sky from sight; pour forth the sea;
  Arouse thy watery monsters, and let loose
  On him from ocean's depths thy swelling waves.

[_Exit_ Theseus.]

  _Chorus_: Great nature, mother of the gods,
    And thou, fire-girt Olympus' lord,                               960
    Who speedest through the flying skies
    The scattered stars, the wandering ways
    Of constellations, and the heavens
    Upon their whirling axes turn'st:
    Why is thy care so great to keep
    The annual highways of the air,                                  965
    That now the hoary frosts may strip
    The woods of leaves, and now the trees
    May spread once more their pleasant shade;
    That now the summer's fervent heat
    May ripen Ceres' gift, and soon                                  970
    Her strength the Autumn may subdue?
    But why, though thou dost rule so wide,
    Though in thy hand the ponderous worlds
    Are poised, and calmly wheel along
    Their appointed ways, why dost thou shun
    The affairs of men and have no care
    For them? Art not solicitous                                     975
    That good should prosper, and that sin
    Receive its just deserts? But no:
    Blind Fortune rules the affairs of men,
    Dispensing with unthinking hand
    Her gifts, oft favoring the worst.                               980
    And so the violent oppress
    The innocent; and fraud holds sway
    In highest places. To the hands
    Of brutish men the rabble most
    Rejoice to trust their government;
    The same they honor and they hate,
    With fickle will. Sad virtue finds
    Her recompense for righteousness
    All gone away; and poverty,                                      985
    Relentless, follows innocence;
    While, deep intrenched in wickedness,
    The adulterer sits secure, and reigns.
    O modesty--an empty name!
    And worth--a glorious cheat!
  But what would yonder messenger announce,
  Who comes in haste, with woeful countenance?                       990


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Messenger.]

  _Messenger:_ O slavery, thou hard and bitter lot,
  Why must I voice these woes unspeakable?

  _Theseus:_ Fear not, but boldly tell the worst mischance;
  For mine a heart not unprepared for grief.
  _Messenger:_ My tongue can find no words to voice its woe.         955

  _Theseus:_ But speak, what evil fortune still besets
  My shattered house?

  _Messenger:_                    Hippolytus is dead!

  _Theseus:_ The father knew long since his son had died;
  But now the adulterer has met his end.
  Tell me, I pray, the manner of his death.

  _Messenger:_ When, fleeing forth, he left the city's walls,       1000
  With maddened speed he hurried on his way,
  And quickly yoked his chargers to his car,
  And curbed them to his will with close-drawn reins.
  And then, with much wild speech, and cursing loud
  His native land, oft calling on his sire,                         1005
  He fiercely shook the reins above his steeds;
  When suddenly, far out the vast sea roared,
  And heaved itself to heaven. No wind was there
  To stir the sea, no quarter of the sky
  Broke in upon its peace; the rising waves
  Were by their own peculiar tempest raised.                        1010
  No blast so great had ever stirred the straits
  Of Sicily, nor had the deep e'er swelled
  With such wild rage before the north wind's breath,
  When high cliffs trembled with the shock of waves,
  And hoary foam smote high Leucate's top.
  The sea then rose into a mighty heap,                             1015
  And, big with monstrous birth, was landward borne.
  For no ship's wrecking was this swelling pest
  Intended; landward was its aim. The flood
  Rolled shoreward heavily, something unknown
  Within its laden bosom carrying.
  What land, new born, will lift its head aloft?                    1020
  Is some new island of the Cyclades
  Arising? Now the rocky heights are hid,
  Held sacred to the Epidaurian god,
  And those high crags well known for Sciron's crime;
  No longer can be seen that land whose shores
  Are washed by double seas. While in amaze                         1025
  We look in fear and wonder, suddenly
  The whole sea bellows, and on every side
  The towering cliffs re-echo with the roar;
  While all their tops the leaping spray bedews.
  The deep spouts forth and vomits up its waves
  In alternating streams, like some huge whale                      1030
  Which roves the ocean, spouting up the floods.
  Then did that mound of waters strongly heave
  And break itself, and threw upon the shore
  A thing more terrible than all our fears.
  The sea itself rushed landward, following
  That monstrous thing. I shudder at the thought.
  What form and bearing had the monster huge!                       1035
  A bull it was in form, with dark-green neck
  Uplifted high, its lofty front adorned
  With verdant mane. Its ears with shaggy hair
  Were rough; its horns with changing color flashed,
  Such as the lord of some fierce herd would have,
  Both earth and ocean-born. He vomits flames;                      1040
  With flames his fierce eyes gleam. His glossy neck
  Great couch-like muscles shows, and as he breathes,
  His spreading nostrils quiver with the blast
  Of his deep panting. Breast and dewlap hang
  All green with clinging moss; and on his sides
  Red lichens cling. His hinder parts appear                        1045
  In monstrous shape, and like some scaly fish
  His vast and shapeless members drag along;
  As are those monsters of the distant seas
  Which swallow ships, and spout[22] them forth again.
  The country-side was panic stricken; herds                        1050
  In frenzied terror scattered through the fields;
  Nor did the herdsmen think to follow them.
  The wild beasts in the forest pastures fled
  In all directions, and the hunters shook
  With deadly fear. Hippolytus alone
  Was not afraid, but curbed his frantic steeds                     1055
  With close-drawn reins, and with his well-known voice
  He cheered them on. The road to Argos[23] runs
  Precipitous along the broken hills,
  On one side bordered by the roaring sea.
  Here does that massive monster whet himself
  And kindle hot his wrath; then, when he felt
  His courage strong within his breast, and when
  His power to attempt the strife he had rehearsed,                 1060
  He charged Hippolytus with headlong course,
  The ground scarce touching with his bounding feet;
  And, fearful, stopped before the trembling steeds.
  But this thy son, with savage countenance,
  Stood steadfast, threatening, before the foe.
  His features changed not, while he thundered loud:                1065
  "This empty terror cannot daunt my soul,
  For 'twas my father's task to vanquish bulls."
  But straightway, disobedient to the reins,
  The horses hurried off the car. And now,
  The highway leaving, maddened by their fear,
  They plunged along where'er their terror led,                     1070
  And took their way among the rocky fields.
  But he, their driver, as some captain strong
  Holds straight his bark upon the boisterous sea,
  Lest she oppose her side against the waves,
  And by his art escapes the yawning floods;
  Not otherwise he guides the whirling car.                         1075
  For now with tight-drawn reins he curbs his steeds,
  And now upon their backs he plies the lash.
  But doggedly that monster kept along,
  Now running by their side, now leaping straight
  Upon them as they came, from every hand
  Great fear inspiring. Soon all further flight                     1080
  Was checked; for that dread, hornéd, ocean beast
  With lowering front charged full against their course.
  Then, truly, did the horses, wild with fear,
  Break loose from all control; and from the yoke
  They madly struggled to withdraw their necks,
  Their master hurling to their stamping feet.
  Headlong among the lossened reins he fell,                        1085
  His form all tangled in their clinging strands.
  The more he struggled to release himself
  The tighter those relentless fetters bound.
  The steeds perceived what they had done, and now,
  With empty car, and no one mastering them,
  They ran where terror bade. Just so, of old,
  Not recognizing their accustomed load,                            1090
  And hot with anger that the car of day
  Had been entrusted to a spurious sun,
  The steeds of Phoebus hurled young Phaëthon
  Far through the airs of heaven in wandering course.
  Now far and wide he stains the fields with blood,
  His head rebounding from the smitten rocks.
  The bramble thickets pluck away his hair,                         1095
  And that fair face is bruised upon the stones.
  His fatal beauty which had been his bane,
  Is ruined now by many a wound. His limbs
  Are dragged along upon the flying wheels.
  At last, his bleeding trunk upon a charred
  And pointed stake is caught, pierced through the groin;
  And for a little, by its master held,                             1100
  The car stood still. The horses by that wound
  Were held awhile, but soon they break delay--
  And break their master too. While on they rush,
  The whipping branches cut his dying form,
  The rough and thorny brambles tear his flesh,
  And every bush retains its part of him.
  Now bands of servants scour those woeful fields,                  1105
  Those places where Hippolytus was dragged,
  And where his bloody trail directs the way;
  And sorrowing dogs trace out their master's limbs.
  But not as yet has all this careful toil
  Of grieving friends sufficed to gather all.                       1110
  And has it come to this, that glorious form?
  But now the partner of his father's realm,
  And his acknowledged heir, illustrious youth,
  Who shone refulgent like the stars--behold
  His scattered fragments for the funeral pile
  They gather up and heap them on the bier!

  _Theseus:_ O mother Nature, all too potent thou!
  How firmly dost thou hold me by the ties                          1115
  Of blood! How thou dost force me to obey
  Thy will! I wished to slay my guilty son,
  While yet he lived; but now I mourn his loss.

  _Messenger:_ One may not rightly mourn what he has willed.[24]

  _Theseus:_ This is indeed the crowning woe, I think,
  When chance fulfils the prayers we should not make.               1120

  _Messenger:_ If still you hate your son, why weep for him?

  _Theseus:_ Because I slew, not lost my son, I weep.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   How on the wheel of circumstance
    We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk
    Does fate more gently rage, and God
    More lightly smites the lightly blest.                          1125
    A life in dim retirement spent
    Insures a peaceful soul; and he
    Who in a lowly cottage dwells
    May live to tranquil age at last.
    The mountain tops that pierce the skies,
    Feel all the stormy winds that blow,
    Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats
    Of Boreas, and Corus too,                                       1130
        Storm bringer.
    The vale low lying seldom feels
    The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus,
    The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves
    Of mother Cybele have felt
    The bolts of Jove the Thunderer.                                1135
    For Jupiter in jealousy
    Attacks the heights too near his skies;
    But never is the humble roof
    Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults.
    Round mighty kings and homes of kings                           1140
        He thunders.
    The passing hour on doubtful wings
    Flits ever; nor may any claim
    Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king,
    Who sees at last the glowing stars
    And light of day, the gloom of hell
    Behind him left, a sad return                                   1145
    Laments; for this his welcome home
    He finds more sorrowful by far
    Than dismal, dark Avernus' self.
    O Pallas, by the Athenian race
    In reverence held, that once again
    Thy Theseus sees the light of day,                              1150
    And has escaped the pools of Styx,
    Thou owest naught to greedy Dis;
    For still the number of the shades
    Within the infernal tyrant's power
        Remains the same.
  But why the sounds of wailing that we hear?
  And what would Phaedra with her naked sword?                      1155


FOOTNOTES:

[22] Reading, _reddit_.

[23] Reading, _Argos_.

[24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_.


ACT V

[_Enter_ Phaedra _with a drawn sword in her hand_.]

  _Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: What madness pricks thee on, all wild
    with grief?
  What means that sword? or why these loud laments?
  Why weepest thou above the hated corpse?

  _Phaedra:_ Me, me, O savage ruler of the deep,
  Attack; against me send the monstrous shapes                      1160
  That breed within the caverns of the sea,
  Whatever Tethys in her heart conceals,
  And ocean hides within his wandering waves.
  O Theseus, always ill of omen thou!
  Oh, never to thy loved ones safe returned,
  Since son and father by their death have paid                     1165
  For thy home-coming. Thou of thine own house
  Art the destroyer; ever baneful thou,
  Whether in love or hatred of thy wives.
                                     [_Turning to the mangled corpse._]
  Hippolytus, is this thy face I see?
  Have I brought thee to this? What Sinis wild,
  What pitiless Procrustes mangled thee?                            1170
  What Cretan bull-man, filling all the cave
  Of Daedalus with his vast bellowings,
  Has rent thee thus upon his savage horns?
  Ah me! where now is fled thy beauty bright,
  Thy eyes, my stars? Dost thou all lifeless lie?
  Come back a little while and hear my words.                       1175
  'Tis nothing base I speak. With my own hand
  I'll make thee full atonement, and will plunge
  The avenging sword within my sinful breast,
  And so be free from life and guilt at once.
  Thee will I follow through Tartarean pools.
  Across the Styx, through streams of liquid fire.                  1180
  Let me appease the spirit of the dead.
  Accept the spoils I offer, take this lock
  Torn from my bleeding forehead. 'Twas not right
  To join our souls in life; but surely now
  We may by death unite our fates.
                                                        [_To herself._]
                                    Now die,
  If thou art undefiled, to appease thy lord;
  But if defiled, die for thy lover's sake.                         1185
  Is't meet that I should live and seek again
  My husband's couch, by such foul incest stained?
  This wrong was lacking still, that, as if pure,
  Thou shouldst enjoy that union, justified.
  O death, thou only cure for evil love,
  For injured chastity the last resort:
  I fly to thee; spread wide thy soothing arms.                     1190
  Hear me, O Athens; thou, O father, hear,
  Thou worse than stepdame: I have falsely sworn.
  The crime, which I myself within my heart,
  With passion mad, conceived, I basely charged
  To him. An empty vengeance hast thou wrought
  Upon thy son; for he in chastity,                                 1195
  Through fault of the unchaste, lies there, unstained
  And innocent.
                                                     [_To_ Hippolytus.]
              Regain thine honor now;
  Behold my impious breast awaits the stroke
  Of justice, and my blood makes sacrifice
  Unto the spirit of a guiltless man.
                                                        [_To_ Theseus.]
  How thou mayst recompense thy murdered son,
  Learn now from me--and seek the Acheron.                          1200

[_She falls upon her sword and dies._]

  _Theseus:_ Ye jaws of wan Avernus, and ye caves
  Of Taenara, ye floods of Lethe's stream,
  A soothing balm to hearts o'ercome with grief,
  Ye sluggish pools: take ye my impious soul
  And plunge me deep in your eternal woes.
  Now come, ye savage monsters of the deep,
  Whatever Proteus hides within his caves,                          1205
  And drown me in your pools, me who rejoice
  In crime so hideous. O father, thou
  Who ever dost too readily assent
  Unto my wrathful prayers, I merit not
  An easy death, who on my son have brought
  A death so strange, and scattered through the fields
  His mangled limbs; who, while, as austere judge,
  I sought to punish evil falsely charged,                          1210
  Have fallen myself into the pit of crime.
  For heaven, hell, and seas have by my sins
  Been peopled; now no further lot remains;
  Three kingdoms know me now. Was it for this
  That I returned? Was heaven's light restored
  To me that I might see two funerals,
  A double death? That I, bereft of wife                            1215
  And son, should with one torch upon the pyre
  Consume them both? Thou giver of the light
  Which has so baleful proved, O, Hercules,
  Take back thy boon, and give me up again
  To Dis; restore me to the curséd shades
  Whom I escaped. Oh, impious, in vain
  I call upon that death I left behind.                             1220
  Thou bloody man, well skilled in deadly arts,
  Who hast contrived unwonted ways of death
  And terrible, now deal unto thyself
  The fitting punishment. Let some great pine
  Be bent to earth and hurl thee high in air;
  Or let me headlong leap from Sciron's cliff.                      1225
  More dreadful punishments have I beheld,
  Which Phlegethon upon the guilty souls
  Encircled by his fiery stream inflicts.
  What suffering awaits me, and what place,
  Full well I know. Make room, ye guilty shades;
  On me, me only, let that rock be placed,
  The everlasting toil of Sisyphus,                                 1230
  And let these wearied hands upbear its weight;
  Let cooling waters lap and mock my lips;
  Let that fell vulture fly from Tityos,
  And let my vitals ever living be
  For punishment. And thou, Ixion, sire                             1235
  Of my Pirithoüs, take rest awhile,
  And let the wheel that never stops its flight
  Bear these my limbs upon its whirling rim.
  Now yawn, O earth, and chaos dire, receive,
  I pray, receive me to your depths; for thus
  'Tis fitting that I journey to the shades.
  I go to meet my son. And fear thou not,                           1240
  Thou king of dead men's souls; I come in peace
  To that eternal home, whence ne'er again
  Shall I come forth.
                      My prayers move not the gods.
  But if some impious plea I made to them,
  How ready would they be to grant my prayer!

  _Chorus:_ Theseus, thou hast unending time to mourn.
  Now pay the funeral honors due thy son,                           1245
  And bury these poor torn and scattered limbs.

  _Theseus:_ Then hither bring the pitiful remains
  Of that dear corpse, and heap together here
  That shapeless mass of flesh, those mangled limbs.
  Is this Hippolytus? I realize
  My depth of crime, for I have murdered thee.                      1250
  And lest but once and I alone should sin,
  A parent, bent to do an impious thing,
  My father did I summon to my aid.
  Behold, my father's boon do I enjoy.
  O childlessness, a bitter loss art thou
  For broken age! But come, embrace his limbs,
  Whatever of thy hapless son is left,
  And clasp them, wretched father, to thy breast.                   1255
  Arrange in order those dismembered parts,
  And to their proper place restore them. Here
  His brave right hand should be. Place here the left,
  Well trained to curb his horses with the reins.
  The marks of his left side I recognize;                           1260
  And yet how large a part is lacking still
  Unto our tears. Be firm, ye trembling hands,
  To do the last sad offices of grief;
  Be dry, my cheeks, and stay your flowing tears,
  While I count o'er the members of my son,
  And lay his body out for burial.                                  1265
  What is this shapeless piece, on all sides torn
  With many a wound? I know not what it is,
  Save that 'tis part of thee. Here lay it down.
  Not in its own, but in an empty place.
  That face, that once with starry splendor gleamed,
  That softened by its grace e'en foemen's eyes,                    1270
  Has that bright beauty come to this? O fate,
  How bitter! Deadly favor of the gods!
  And is it thus my son comes back to me
  In answer to my prayers? These final rites
  Thy father pays, receive, O thou my son,
  Who often to thy funeral must be borne.
  And now let fires consume these dear remains.
  Throw open wide my palace, dark with death,                       1275
  And let all Athens ring with loud laments.
  Do some of you prepare the royal pyre,
  And others seek yet farther in the fields
  His scattered parts.
                                    [_Pointing to_ Phaedra's _corpse_.]
                        Let earth on her be spread,
  And may it heavy rest upon her head.                              1280




HERCULES OETAEUS




HERCULES OETAEUS


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena.

_Hyllus_ Son of Hercules and Deianira.

_Alcmena_ Daughter of Electryon, king of Mycenae.

_Deianira_ Daughter of Oeneus, king of Aetolia, and wife of Hercules.

_Iole_ Daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia.

_Nurse_ Of Deianira.

_Philoctetes_ A prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, and the faithful
friend of Hercules.

_Lichas_ The messenger (_persona muta_) of Deianira to Hercules.

_Chorus_ Of Aetolian women, faithful to Deianira.

_Band_ Of Oechalian maidens, suffering captivity in company with Iole.


THE SCENE is laid, first in Euboea, and later at the home of Hercules
in Trachin.


_The long, heroic life of Hercules has neared its end. His twelve great
tasks, assigned him by Eurystheus through Juno's hatred, have been
done. His latest victory was over Eurytus, king of Oechalia. Him he
slew and overthrew his house, because the monarch would not give him
Iole to wife._

_And now the hero, having overcome the world, and Pluto's realm beneath
the earth, aspires to heaven. He sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, and prays
at last to be received into his proper home._


ACT I

[_On the Cenaean promontory of the island of Euboea._]

  _Hercules_ [_about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove_]: O sire of gods,
    from whose almighty hand
  Both homes of Phoebus feel thy darting bolt:
  Rule now serene, for I have 'stablished peace
  Wherever Nereus checks the spreading lands.
  Now let thy thunders rest; for treacherous kings                     5
  And savage tyrants are in ruin laid.
  Whatever merited thy blasting darts
  Have I o'erthrown and crushed. But, father, why
  Is heaven still denied to me, thy son?
  For surely have I ever shown myself
  A worthy child of Jove; and Juno's self,
  My hard task-mistress, testifies to this,
  That I am born of thee. Why dost thou still                         10
  Contrive delays? Am I thy cause of fear?
  Will Atlas not avail to prop the skies
  If to their bulk the weight of Hercules
  Be superadded? Why, O father, why
  Dost thou deny the stars to me? To thee
  Did death restore me; every monstrous shape
  Which had its source in earth or sea or air,
  Or hell itself, has yielded to my arms.                             15
  No lion treads the Arcadian cities now;
  Stymphalus fears no more its noxious birds;
  The wondrous stag of Maenalus is dead;
  The watchful dragon spattered with its blood
  The golden grove; the hydra's force is gone;
  Those famous horses to the Hebrus known,
  Which fattened on the blood of murdered guests,                     20
  Have I destroyed, and spoils of war obtained
  In victory o'er my Amazonian foe.
  I saw the silent realms; nor all alone
  Did I return, but shuddering day beheld
  Dark Cerberus, and he beheld the sun.
  No more Antaeus, Libya's monarch huge,
  His strength renews; before his bloody shrines                      25
  Busiris lies o'erthrown; by my sole hand
  The threefold Geryon was o'ercome and slain,
  And that dread terror of a hundred tribes,
  The Cretan bull, yea all the monstrous things
  To which the hostile world has given birth,
  Have fallen in utter ruin by my hand.
  If now the earth can show no monsters more,                         30
  If now my stepdame has her wrath fulfilled,
  Restore the father to his son; yea, more--
  Admit the hero to his proper skies.
  I ask not that thou point the way to me;
  Permit it only, father, and the way
  I'll find. Or, if thou fearest that the earth
  Shall to the light new shapes of terror bring,
  Let them make haste to come, whate'er they be,                      35
  While still the earth beholds her Hercules.
  For who will e'er again these fearsome things
  Attack, or who, throughout the towns of Greece,
  Will e'er be worthy of great Juno's hate?
  In truth, my praises have I safe bestowed,
  Since now there is no land but sings of me.
  The Scythian, dwelling in the frozen North,                         40
  The Indian, smitten by the burning rays
  Of Phoebus, and the tropic African:
  All know my fame. O glowing Sun, I thee
  As witness call: I have encountered thee
  Where'er thou shin'st; nor have thy darting beams
  Availed to follow my triumphant course.
  I've gone beyond the reaches of the sun,
  And daylight halted far within my bounds.                           45
  The world of nature yielded; for my steps
  No earth remained. She was exhausted first.
  But night and utter chaos met me there.
  From that dark realm whence no one e'er returns,
  Have I come back to earth. Old Ocean's threats
  Have I endured; no raging storm of his                              50
  Has e'er prevailed to overcome the bark
  In which I fared. How small a part I tell![25]
  Exhausted is the air and can no more
  Suffice to feed the hatred of thy wife;
  The earth in fear brings forth no monster more
  For me to conquer, no wild beasts of prey.
  These are denied to me, and in the stead                            55
  Of monster have I come myself to be.
  How many evils have I overcome,
  Though all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing
  Opposed, these empty hands have overthrown;
  Nor did there ever live a savage beast
  Which I as boy or infant feared to meet.
  My bidden labors have seemed always light,
  And no day ever dawned that brought to me                           60
  No strenuous toil. How many monstrous tasks
  Have I fulfilled which no king set to me!
  A harder master has my courage been
  Than ever Juno was. But what avails
  That I have saved the human race from fear?
  The gods in consequence have lost their peace.
  The freed earth sees whatever she has feared                        65
  Now set in heaven; for Juno thitherward
  Hath borne the beasts I slew. Restored to life,
  The Crab fares safely in his torrid path,
  A constellation now in southern skies,
  And ripens Libya's waving fields of grain.
  The Lion to the heavenly Virgin gives
  The flying year; but he, with beaming mane                          70
  Upon his wild neck tossing, dries the winds
  Which drip with moisture, and the clouds devours.
  Behold, the beasts have all invaded heaven,
  Forestalling me. Though victor, here I stand
  Upon the earth, and view my labors there.
  For Juno to the monsters and the beasts
  Has given stars, that so the heavenly realm                         75
  Might be for me a place of terror made.
  But no! Though in her wrath she fill the skies
  With monsters, though she make the heavens worse
  Than earth and hell, yet shall a place be given
  To Hercules. If, after beasts and wars,
  If, after I subdued the Stygian dog,
  I have not earned a place among the stars,                          80
  Then shall Sicilian Pelorus touch
  Hesperia's shores, and both shall be one land.
  I'll put the intervening sea to flight;
  Or, if thou wilt that severed seas be joined,
  Then Isthmus shall give passage to the waves,
  And Attic vessels by a new-found way
  Shall sail united seas. I'll change the world.                      85
  Along new channels shall the Hister flow,
  And Tanaïs find new passage to the sea.
  Grant, grant, O Jupiter, this boon to me,
  That I at least may shield the gods from harm.
  There mayst thou lay aside thy thunderbolts,
  Where I stand guard against thy enemies.
  Whether thou bid'st me guard the icy pole,
  Or o'er the torrid regions watch, be sure                           90
  That on that side the gods may be at rest.
  Apollo earned the shrine of Pythia
  And heaven, because he slew the Python huge;
  But Oh, how many Pythons did I slay
  In that dire hydra! Bacchus, Perseus, too,
  Have found a place among the heavenly gods.                         95
  How small that eastern portion of the earth
  Which he subdued! How meager is the spoil
  Which Perseus in the stony Gorgon gained!
  What son of thine from Juno born has earned
  A place in heaven because of his renown?
  I seek the skies which I myself have borne.
                                                 [_Turning to_ Lichas.]
  But thou, O Lichas, comrade of my toils,
  Go tell my triumphs over Eurytus,                                  100
  His lares conquered and his realm o'erthrown.
                                                 [_To his attendants._]
  Do you with speed the victims hurry on
  To where the temple of Cenaean Jove
  Looks off upon the wild Euboean sea.

  _Band of captive Oechalian maidens:_ The mate of the immortals he,
  Whose life and fortune hand in hand
  Go on apace. But worse than death                                  105
  Is life, dragged on with many groans.
  Whoe'er has trodden under foot
  The greedy fates, and can disdain
  The boat that plies on death's dark stream,
  Will never feel the galling chains
  Upon his captive arms; nor grace,
  As noble spoil, the victor's train.                                110
  For he who faces death with joy
  Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark
  Be wrecked upon the stormy sea
  Where Africus with Boreas,
  And Zephyrus with Eurus strive,
  And rend the seas; he does not seek
  To gather up the broken parts                                      115
  Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea,
  He still may cherish hopes of land.
  For he, who ever ready stands
  To give his life, alone is safe
  From all the perils of the storm.
  But we are held by shameful grief,
  The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears,
  By the ashes of our fatherland
  Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame,                                 120
  Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms.
  Thou dost pursue the fortunate,
  O death, but fleest from wretched souls.
  Behold, we live: but Oh, no more,
  Our country's walls[26] remain; their place
  Shall soon be hidden by the woods,
  And all our temples fall away
  To squalid hovels. Even now                                        125
  The cold Dolopian will come
  And o'er the ashes, glowing yet,
  Sad remnants of Oechalia,
  Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas,
  Within our walls, the shepherd rude
  Shall sing upon his rustic pipes,
  With doleful voice, our history.                                   130
  And when the hand of God shall speed
  A few more generations on,
  The very place where once we dwelt
  Will be forgotten. Happy once,
  I kept no barren hearth at home;
  Not mine the hungry acres then
  Of Thessaly. But now I'm called
  To Trachin's rough and stony land,                                 135
  To ridges parched and jungle-set,
  To groves which e'en the mountain goat
  Would not inhabit. But, perchance,
  Some milder fate the captives calls.
  Then will they see the Inachus,
  Whose rapid waves shall bear them on,
  Or dwell within Dircaean walls                                     140
  Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream--
  And where was once the mother wed
  Of mighty Hercules.
  False is that tale of doubled night,
  When overlong the stars delayed
  Within the skies, and Hesperus
  In place of Lucifer arose,
  And Delia with tardy car                                           145
  Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag
  Begot thee, or what stony mount?
  Like some wild Titan wast thou born
  On Rhodope, or Athos rough?
  What savage beast on Caspian shores,
  What spotted tigress, suckled thee?                                150
  Impervious to wounds is he.
  Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent
  Against his heart; and glittering swords,
  Upon his naked members struck,
  In broken fragment drop apart;
  Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound.
  And so he scorns the deadly fates,                                 155
  And, all invincible, provokes
  His death. No spears can pierce his heart,
  No arrow shot from Scythian bow,
  No darts which cold Sarmatians bear,
  Or they who dwell beneath the dawn,
  The Parthians, whose fatal shafts
  More deadly than the Cretan dart,                                  160
  The neighboring Nabathaeans wound.
  Oechalia's walls he overthrew
  With his bare hands. Naught can withstand
  His onslaught. For whate'er he plans
  To overcome, is by that fact
  Already overcome. How few
  The foes who by his wounds have fallen!
  His angry countenance means death;                                 165
  And to have met his threatening gaze
  Is worse than death. What Gyas huge,
  What vast Briareus, who stood
  Upon Thessalia's mountain heap
  And clutched at heaven with snaky hands,
  Would not have frozen at the glance
  Of that dread face? But mighty ills                                170
  Have mighty recompense: no more
  Is left to suffer--we have seen,
  Oh, woe! the angry Hercules!

  _Iole:_ But I, unhappy one, must mourn,
  Not temples with their gods o'erthrown,
  Not scattered hearths and burning homes,
  Where lie in common ruin mixed
  Fathers with sons, and gods with men,                              175
  Temples and towns--the common woe;
  But fortune calls my tears away
  To other grief. Fate bids me weep
  O'er other ruins. What lament                                      180
  Shall I make first? What greatest ill
  Shall I bewail? All equally
  I'll weep. Ah me, that mother earth
  Hath not more bosoms given me,
  That worthily they might resound
  Unto my grief. But, O ye gods,
  Transform me to a weeping rock
  On Sipylus; or set me where,                                       185
  Between its grassy banks, the Po
  Glides on, where grieving woods respond
  To the mourning of the sisters sad
  Of Phaëthon; or to the shores
  Of Sicily transport me. There,
  Another Siren, let me mourn                                        190
  The woeful fate of Thessaly.
  Or bear me to the Thracian woods,
  Where, underneath Ismarian shade,
  The Daulian bird bewails her son.
  Give me a form to fit my tears,
  And let rough Trachin echo back                                    195
  My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid
  Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;
  Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans
  Her vanished lord; and Niobe,
  Surviving life and grief, weeps on;
  Her human form has Philomel
  Escaped, and now with doleful notes
  The Attic maid bewails her dead.                                   200
  Oh, that my arms were feathered wings!
  Oh, then, how happy would I be,
  When, hidden in the forest depths,
  I might lament in plaintive strain,                                205
  And live in fame as Iole,
  The maiden bird. I saw, alas,
  I saw my father's dreadful fate,
  When, smitten with that deadly club,
  He fell, in mangled fragments dashed                               210
  Throughout the palace hall. If then
  His fate had granted burial,
  How often had I searched, O sire,
  For all thy parts!
  How could I look upon thy death,
  O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks
  Unbearded yet, thy boyish veins
  Not yet with manhood's vigor filled?
  But why do I bewail your fates,                                    215
  O parents, whom to safety now
  Kind death has borne? My fortune bids
  That I bewail myself instead.
  Soon, ah too soon, in captive state,
  Shall I the flying spindle turn
  For some proud mistress in her hall.
  O cruel beauty, how hast thou                                      220
  Decreed my death! For thee alone
  Am I and all my house undone,
  Since when my sire to Hercules
  Refused my hand, because he feared
  Great Hercules as son-in-law.
  And now, not wife, but captive maid,
  I seek my haughty mistress' home.

  _Chorus:_ Why dost thou, foolish, ever dwell                       225
  Upon thy sire's illustrious realm,
  And on thy own unhappy fate?
  Forget thy former station now;
  For only is he happy who,
  As king or slave, knows how to bear
  His lot, and fit his countenance
  To changing circumstance. For he                                   230
  Who bears his ills with steadfast soul
  Has from misfortune reft away
  Its strength and heaviness.


FOOTNOTES:

[25] Reading, _quam prosequor_.

[26] Reading, _patriae moenibus_.


ACT II

[_In the palace of_ Deianira _at Trachin_.]

  _Nurse of_ Deianira: Oh, bitter is the rage a woman feels,
  When in one house both wife and mistress dwell!
  No wrecking Scylla, no Charybdis dire,                             235
  The wild upheavers of Sicilia's waves,
  No savage beast, is more untamed than she.
  For when the maiden's beauty was revealed,
  And Iole shone like the cloudless sky,
  Or gleaming stars within the heavens serene,
  Then did Alcides' bride like one distraught                        240
  Stand gazing fiercely on the captive maid;
  As when a tigress, lying with her young
  Beneath some rock in far Armenia,
  Leaps up to meet an enemy's approach;
  Or as a Maenad, by the god inspired,
  And bidden shake the thyrsus, stands awhile
  In wonder whither she shall take her way.
  Then she throughout the house of Hercules                          245
  Goes madly rushing; nor does all the house
  Give space enough. Now here, now there she runs,
  At random wandering; and now she stands,
  Her face reflecting woe in every line,
  The inmost feelings of her heart revealed.
  She threatens fiercely, then a flood of tears
  Succeeds to threats. No mood for long endures,                     250
  Nor can one form of rage content her long.
  Now flame her cheeks with wrath; pale terror now
  Drives out the flush of anger, and her grief
  Takes every form that maddened sorrow knows:
  Complainings, prayers, and groans. But now the doors
  Are creaking: see, she comes in frenzied haste,
  With words confused revealing all her heart.                       255

[_Enter_ Deianira.]

  _Deianira:_ O wife of Jove, where'er in heaven thou dwell'st,
  Against Alcides send some raging beast
  That shall be dire enough to sate my wrath.
  If any hydra rears its fertile head
  Too vast to be contained in any pool,
  Impossible of conquest, send it forth.
  If anything is worse than other beasts,                            260
  Enormous, unrelenting, horrible,
  From which the eye of even Hercules
  Would turn in fear, let such an one come out
  From its huge den. But if no beasts avail,
  This heart of mine into some monster change;
  For of my hate can any shape be made
  That thou desir'st. Oh, mould my woman's form                      265
  To match my grief. My breast cannot contain
  Its rage. Why dost thou search the farthest bounds
  Of earth, and overturn the world? Or why
  Dost thou demand of hell its evil shapes?
  This breast of mine will furnish for thy use
  All fearful things. To work thy deadly hate                        270
  Use me as tool. Thou canst destroy him quite.
  Do thou but use these hands for what thou will.
  Why dost thou hesitate, O goddess? See,
  Use me, the raging one. What impious deed
  Dost thou command? Decide. Why doubtful stand?
  Now mayst thou rest awhile from all thy toils,
  For my rage is enough.                                             275

  _Nurse:_                  O child of mine,
  These sad outpourings of thy maddened heart
  Restrain, quench passion's fire, and curb thy grief.
  Show now that thou art wife of Hercules.

  _Deianira:_ Shall captive Iole unto my sons
  Give brothers, and a lowly slave become
  The daughter-in-law of Jove? In common course
  Will fire and rushing torrent never run;                           280
  The thirsty Bear will never taste the sea--
  And never shall my woes go unavenged.
  Though thou didst bear the vasty heavens up,
  Though all the world is debtor unto thee,
  'Twill not avail thee now, for thou shalt find
  A monster greater far than Hydra's rage,
  An angry wife's revenge, awaiting thee.
  The flames that leap from Aetna's top to heaven                    285
  Burn not so fiercely as my passion's fire
  Which shall outvie whate'er thou hast o'ercome.
  Shall then a captive slave usurp my bed?
  Before, I feared the monsters dire; but now,
  Those pests have vanished quite, and in their stead
  This hated rival comes. O mighty God,                              290
  Of all gods ruler, O thou lustrous Sun,
  'Tis only in his perils, then, it seems,
  Have I been wife to Hercules. The gods
  Have granted to the captive all my prayers;
  For her behoof have I been fortunate.
  Ye heard, indeed, my prayers, O gods of heaven,
  And Hercules is safe returned--for her!                            295
  O grief, that no revenge can satisfy,
  Seek out some dreadful means of punishment,
  By man unthought of and unspeakable.
  Teach Juno's self how slight her hatred is.
  She knows not how to rage. O Hercules,
  For me didst thou thy mighty battles wage;
  For me did Acheloüs dye his waves                                  300
  With his own blood in mortal strife with thee,
  When now a writhing serpent he became,
  Now to a threatening bull he turned himself,
  And thou a thousand beasts didst overcome
  In one sole enemy. But now, alas,
  Am I no longer pleasing in thy sight,
  And this base captive is preferred to me.
  But this she shall not be. For that same day                       305
  Which ends our married joys shall end thy life.
  But what is this? My rage begins to fail
  And moderate its threats. My anger's gone.
  Why dost thou languish thus, O wretched grief?
  Wilt thou give o'er thy passion, be again
  The faithful, uncomplaining wife? Ah no!
  Why dost thou strive to check the flames of wrath?                 310
  Why quench its fire? Let me but keep my rage,
  And I shall be the peer of Hercules,
  And I shall need to seek no heavenly aid.
  But still, though all uncalled, will Juno come
  To guide my hands.

  _Nurse:_ What crime dost thou intend,
  O foolish one? Wilt slay thy noble lord,                           315
  Whose praises from the east to west are known,
  Whose fame extends from earth to highest heaven?
  For all the earth will rise to avenge his death;
  And this thy father's house and all thy race
  Will be the first to fall. Soon rocks and brands                   320
  Will be against thee hurled, since every land
  Will its protector shield; and thou alone
  Wilt suffer many, many penalties.
  Suppose thou canst escape the world of men;
  Still must thou face the thunderbolts of Jove,
  The father of Alcides. Even now
  His threat'ning torches gleam athwart the sky,                     325
  And all the heavens tremble with the shock.
  Nay, death itself, wherein thou hop'st to find
  A place of safe retreat--fear that as well;
  For there Alcides' uncle reigns supreme.
  Turn where thou wilt, O wretched woman; there
  Shalt thou behold thy husband's kindred gods.                      330

  _Deianira:_ A fearful crime it is, I do confess;
  But Oh, my passion bids me do it still.

  _Nurse:_ Thou'lt die.

  _Deianira:_           But as the wife of Hercules
  I'll die; no night shall ever bring the day
  That shall behold me cheated of my own,
  Nor shall a captive mistress have my bed.
  Sooner shall western skies give birth to day;                      335
  Sooner shall men of India make their home
  Beneath the icy pole, and Phoebus tan
  With his hot rays the shivering Scythians,
  Than shall the dames of Thessaly behold
  My downfall. For with my own blood I'll quench
  The marriage torches. Either he shall die,
  Or slay me with his hand. To all the beasts                        340
  Whom he has slaughtered let him add his wife;
  Let me be numbered 'mongst his mighty deeds;
  But in my death my body still shall claim
  The couch of Hercules. Oh, sweet, 'tis sweet
  To fare to Hades as Alcides' bride,
  And not without my vengeance. If, indeed,                          345
  From Hercules my rival has conceived,
  With my own hands I'll tear the child away
  Untimely, and that shameless harlot face
  Within her very wedding torches' glare.
  And though in wrath upon his nuptial day
  He slay me as a victim at the shrine,
  Let me but fall upon my rival's corse,
  And I shall die content. For happy he
  Who drags with him his enemy to death.                             350

  _Nurse:_ Why dost thou feed thy passion's flames, poor child,
  And nurse thy grief? Why cherish needless fear?
  He did feel love for Iole, 'tis true;
  But in the time while yet her father reigned,
  And while she was a haughty monarch's child.
  The princess now has fallen to the place
  Of slave, and love has lost its power to charm,                    355
  Since her unhappy state has stol'n from her
  Her loveliness. The unattainable
  Is ever sought in love. But from the thing
  That is within his reach love turns away.

  _Deianira:_ Nay: fallen fortunes fan the flames of love;
  And for this very reason does he love,
  Because her home is lost, and from her head
  The crown of gleaming gold and gems has fallen.                    360
  For these her woes he pities her--and loves.
  'Twas e'er his wont to love his captive maids.

  _Nurse:_ 'Tis true, he loved the captive Trojan maid,
  Young Priam's sister; but he gave her up.
  Recall how many dames, how many maids
  Aforetime he has loved, this wandering swain.                      365
  The Arcadian maiden Auge, while she led
  The choral dance of Pallas, roused his love
  And suffered straight his passionate embrace.
  But from his heart she quickly fell away,
  And now retains no traces of his love.
  Why mention others? The Thespiades
  Enjoyed the passing love of Hercules,                              370
  But are forgotten. Soon, a wanderer
  Upon Timolus, he caressed the queen
  Of Lydia, and, smitten by her love,
  He sat beside the whirling distaff there,
  His doughty fingers on the moistened thread.
  His neck no longer bears the lion's spoil;
  But there he sits, a languid, love-sick slave,
  His shaggy locks with Phrygian turban bound,                       375
  And dripping with the costly oil of myrrh.
  Yes, everywhere he feels the fires of love,
  But always does he glow with transient flame.

  _Deianira:_ But lovers after many transient flames,
  Are wont at last to choose a single love.

  _Nurse:_ And could Alcides choose instead of thee
  A slave, the daughter of his enemy?                                380

  _Deianira:_ As budding groves put on a joyous form
  When spring's warm breezes clothe the naked boughs;
  But, when the northwind rages in their stead,
  And savage winter strips the leaves away,
  Thou seest naught but bare and shapeless trunks:
  So this my beauty, which has traveled far                          385
  Along the road of life, has lost its bloom,
  And gleams less brightly than in former years.
  Behold that loveliness--but Oh, whate'er
  Was once by many suitors sought in me,
  Has vanished quite; for toils of motherhood
  Have stolen my beauty, and with speeding foot
  Advancing age has hurried it away.                                 390
  But, as thou seest, this slave has not yet lost
  Her glorious charms. Her queenly robes, 'tis true,
  Have yielded to the garb of poverty;
  Still, through her very grief her beauty shines,
  And nothing save her kingdom has she lost
  By this hard stroke of fate. This fear of her                      395
  Doth vex my heart and take away my sleep.
  I once was in the eyes of all the world
  The wife most to be praised; and every bride
  Longed for a mate like mine with envious prayers;
  And every soul that asked the gods for aught,
  Took me as type and measure of her vows.                           400
  What father shall I ever find, O nurse,
  To equal Jove? What husband like to mine
  In all the world? Though he, Eurystheus' self,
  Beneath whose power my Hercules is placed,
  Should take me for his wife, 'twould not suffice.
  A trifling thing, to miss a royal couch;                           405
  But far she falls who loses Hercules.

  _Nurse:_ But children often win a husband's love.

  _Deianira:_ My rival's child perchance will win him too.

  _Nurse:_ I think that slave is but a gift for thee.

  _Deianira:_ This fellow whom thou seest wandering                  410
  Throughout our Grecian cities, big with fame,
  A tawny lion's spoils upon his back,
  And in his dreadful hand a massive club;
  Who takes their realms away from haughty kings,
  And gives them to the weak; whose praise is sung
  By men of every land throughout the world:                         415
  This man is but a trifler, without thought
  Of winning deathless glory for himself.
  He wanders through the earth, not in the hope
  That he may rival Jupiter, or go
  With great renown throughout the towns of Greece;
  His quest is ever love, the maiden's couch.
  He takes by force what is refused to him;                          420
  He rages 'gainst the nations, seeks his brides
  Amidst the ruins of a people's hopes.
  And this wild carnival of lustful crime
  Is by the honored name, heroic, called.
  But now, illustrious Oechalia fell;
  One sun, one day beheld it stand--and fall.
  And of the strife the only cause was love.
  As often as a father shall refuse                                  425
  To give his daughter unto Hercules,
  And be the father of his enemy,
  So often need he be in mortal fear.
  If he is not accepted as a son,
  He smites in rage. Why then do I preserve
  In harmless inactivity these hands,
  Until he feign another fit of rage,
  And stretch his bow with deadly aim at me,
  And slaughter both his wife and child at once?                     430
  Thus 'tis his wont to put away his wives;
  And such his cruel method of divorce.
  But he cannot be held the guilty one!
  For he contrives to make the world believe
  That Juno is the cause of all his crimes.
  O sluggish passion, why inactive stand?
  Anticipate his crime, and act at once
  While still thy hands are burning for the deed.                    435

  _Nurse:_    Wilt kill thy husband?

  _Deianira:_                        And my rival's too.

  _Nurse:_    The son of Jove?

  _Deianira:_                  Alcmena's son as well.

  _Nurse:_ With the sword?

  _Deianira:_              The sword.

  _Nurse:_                           If not?

  _Deianira:_                                  With guile I'll slay.

  _Nurse:_    What madness this?

  _Deianira:_                    That which I learned of him.

  _Nurse:_ Whom Juno could not harm wilt thou destroy?               440

  _Deianira:_ Celestial anger only wretched makes
  Those whom it touches; mortal wrath destroys.

  _Nurse:_ Oh, spare thy husband, wretched one, and fear.

  _Deianira:_ The one who first has learned the scorn of death,
  Scorns everything. 'Tis sweet to meet the sword.

  _Nurse:_ Thy grief is all too great, my foster-child;
  Let not his fault claim more than equal hate.                      445
  Why dost so sternly judge a light offense?
  Nay, suit thy grieving to thine injury.

  _Deianira:_ But dost thou call a mistress light offense?
  Of all that feeds my grief, count this the worst.

  _Nurse:_    And has thy love for great Alcides fled?

  _Deianira:_ Not fled, dear nurse, believe me; still it lies        450
  Securely fixed within my inmost heart.
  But outraged love is poignant misery.

  _Nurse:_ By magic arts united to their prayers
  Do wives full oft their wandering husbands bind.
  I have myself in midst of winter's cold
  Commanded trees to clothe themselves in green,
  The thunderbolt to stop; I've roused the sea                       455
  When no wind blew, and calmed the swollen waves;
  The thirsty plain has opened at my touch
  To springs of water; rocks give way to me,
  And doors fly open; when I bid them stand
  The shades of hell obey, and talk with me;
  The infernal dog is still at my command;                           460
  Midnight has seen the sun, midday the night.
  For sea, land, heaven, and hell obey my will,
  And nothing can withstand my potent charms.
  Then let us bend him; charms will find the way.

  _Deianira:_ What magic herbs does distant Pontus yield,            465
  Or Pindus 'neath the rocks of Thessaly,
  Where I may find a charm to bend his will?
  Though Luna leave the stars and fall to earth,
  Obedient to thy magic; though the crops
  In winter ripen; though the hurtling bolt
  Stand still at thy command; though all the laws                    470
  Of nature be reversed, and stars shine out
  Upon the noonday skies--he would not yield.

  _Nurse:_ But Love has conquered e'en the heavenly gods.

  _Deianira:_ Perhaps by one alone he will himself
  Be conquered, and give spoils of war to him,
  And so become Alcides' latest task.
  But by each separate god of heaven I pray,                         475
  By this my fear: what secret I disclose
  Keep hidden thou and close within thy breast.

  _Nurse:_ What secret wouldst thou then so closely guard?

  _Deianira:_ I mean no weapons, arms, or threatening flames.

  _Nurse:_ I can give pledge of faith, if it be free                 480
  From sin; for sometimes faith itself is sin.

  _Deianira:_ Lest someone hear my secret, look about;
  In all directions turn thy watchful gaze.

  _Nurse:_ Behold, the place is free from curious eyes.

  _Deianira:_ Deep hidden, far within this royal pile,               485
  There is a cave that guards my secret well.
  Neither the rising sun can reach the spot
  With its fresh beams; nor can its latest rays,
  When Titan leads the weary day to rest,
  And plunges 'neath the ruddy ocean's waves.
  There lies a charm that can restore to me                          490
  The love of Hercules. I'll tell thee all.
  The giver of the charm was Nessus, he
  Whom Nephele to bold Ixion bore,
  Where lofty[27] Pindus towers to the skies,
  And high above the clouds cold Othrys stands.
  For when, compelled by dread Alcides' club                         495
  To shift with ready ease from form to form
  Of beasts, and, overcome in every form,
  At last bold Acheloüs bowed his head
  With its one horn defiled; then Hercules,
  Exulting in his triumph, claimed his bride
  And bore me off to Argos. Then, it chanced,                        500
  Evenus' stream that wanders through the plain,
  Its whirling waters bearing to the sea,
  Was swollen beyond its banks[28] with turbid flood.
  Here Nessus, well accustomed to the stream,
  Required a price for bearing me across;                            505
  And on his back, where beast and human join,
  He took me, boldly stemming every wave.
  Now was fierce Nessus well across the stream,
  And still in middle flood Alcides fared,
  Breasting with mighty strides the eager waves;
  When he, beholding Hercules afar,                                  510
  Cried, "Thou shalt be my wife, my booty thou,
  For Hercules is held within the stream;"
  And clasping me was galloping away.
  But now the waves could not thwart Hercules.
  "O faithless ferryman," he shouted out,
  "Though Ganges and the Ister join their floods,                    515
  I shall o'ercome them both and check thy flight."
  His arrow sped before his words were done,
  Transfixing Nessus with a mortal wound,
  And stayed his flight. Then he, with dying eyes
  Seeking the light, within his hand caught up                       520
  The flowing[29] gore; and in his hollow hoof,
  Which he with savage hand had wrenched away,
  He poured and handed it to me, and said:
  "This blood, magicians say, contains a charm,
  Which can a wavering love restore; for so
  Thessalian dames by Mycale were taught,                            525
  Who only, 'midst all wonder-working crones,
  Could lure the moon from out the starry skies.
  A garment well anointed with this gore
  Shalt thou present to him," the centaur said,
  "If e'er a hated rival steal thy couch,
  If e'er thy husband in a fickle mood
  To heavenly Jove another daughter give.                            530
  Let not the light of day shine on the charm,
  But in the thickest darkness let it lie.
  So shall the blood its magic power retain."
  So spake he; o'er his words a silence fell,
  And the sleep of death upon his weary limbs.
  Do thou, who knowest now my secret plans,                          535
  Make haste and bring this charm to me, that so
  Its force, imparted to a gleaming robe,
  May at the touch dart through his soul, his limbs,
  And through the very marrow of his bones.

  _Nurse:_ With speed will I thy bidding do, dear child.
  And do thou call upon the god of love,
  Invincible, who with his tender hand                               540
  Doth speed his arrows with unerring aim.

[_Exit_ Nurse.]

  _Deianira_ [_invoking_ Cupid]: O wingéd boy, by earth and heaven
    feared,
  By creatures of the sea, and him who wields
  The bolts in Aetna forged; and dreaded too
  By thy relentless mother, queen of love:
  Aim with unerring hand thy swiftest dart.
  Not harmless be the shaft, but choose, I pray                      545
  One of thy keenest arrows, which thy hand
  Has never used; for such must be thy dart
  If mighty Hercules be forced to love.
  Make firm thy hands and strongly bend thy bow;
  Now, now that shaft let loose which once thou aim'dst              550
  At Jove the terrible, what time the god
  Laid down his thunderbolts, and as a bull
  With swelling forehead clove the boisterous sea,
  And bore the Assyrian maiden as his prize.
  Now fill his heart with love; let him surpass
  All who have ever felt thy passion's power--
  And learn to love his wife. If Iole                                555
  Has kindled flames of love within his heart,
  Extinguish them, and let him dream alone
  Of me. Thou who hast often conquered Jove,
  The Thunderer, and him whose scepter dark
  Holds sway within the gloomy underworld,
  The king of countless throngs, the lord of Styx;                   560
  Whom angry Juno cannot quell: win thou
  Alone this triumph over Hercules.

  _Nurse_ [_returning with robe and charm ready_]: The charm from its
    dark hiding-place is brought,
  And that fair robe upon whose cunning web
  Thy maidens all have wrought with wearied hands.
  Now bring the poisoned blood and let the robe                      565
  Drink in its magic power, while by my prayers
  Will I the charm augment.
                                                      [_Enter_ Lichas.]
                            But at the word
  The faithful Lichas comes. Quick! hide the charm,
  Lest by his mouth our plot may be revealed.

  _Deianira_ [_to_ Lichas]: O Lichas, ever faithful to thy lord,
  A name which mighty houses may not boast:                          570
  Take thou this garment woven by my hands,
  While Hercules was wandering o'er the earth,
  Or, spent with wine, was holding in his arms
  The Lydian queen, or calling Iole.
  And yet, perchance, I still may turn his heart
  To me again by wifely service. Thus
  Have evil men full often been reclaimed.                           575
  Before my husband puts this tunic on,
  Bid him burn incense and appease the gods,
  His rough locks wreathed with hoary poplar leaves.
  [Lichas _takes the robe and departs upon his mission_.]
  I will myself within the palace go
  And pray the mother of relentless love.                            580
                                        [_To her Aetolian attendants._]
  Do ye, who from my father's house have come,
  Bewail the sad misfortunes of your queen.

[_Exit._]

  _Chorus of Aetolian women:_ We weep for thee, O lady dear,
    And for thy couch dishonored--we,
    The comrades of thy earliest years,
    Weep and lament thy fate.                                        585
    How often have we played with thee
    In Acheloüs' shallow pools,
    When now the swollen floods of spring
    Had passed away, and gently now,
    With graceful sweep, the river ran;
    When mad Lycormas ceased to roll                                 590
    His headlong waters on.
    How oft have we, a choral band,
    To Pallas' altars gone with thee;
    How oft in Theban baskets borne                                  595
    The sacred Bacchic mysteries,
    When now the wintry stars have fled,
    When each third summer calls the sun;
    And when, the sacred rites complete
    To Ceres, queen of golden grain,
    Eleusin hides her worshipers
    Within her mystic cave.
    Now too, whatever fate thou fear'st,                             600
    Accept us as thy trusted friends;
    For rare is such fidelity
    When better fortune fails.
    O thou, who wield'st the scepter's power,
    Whoe'er thou art, though eagerly
    The people throng within thy courts,                             605
    And press for entrance at thy doors;
    And though the crowds press thick about
    Where'er thou tak'st thy way: be sure
    That in so many seeming friends,
    Scarce one is true.
    Erinys keeps the gilded gate;
    And when the great doors swing apart,                            610
    Then cunning treachery creeps in
    And fraud, and murderous dagger points.
    Whene'er thou think'st to walk abroad,
    Base envy as thy comrade goes.
    As often as the morning dawns
    Be sure a king from fear of death                                615
    Has been delivered. Few there are
    Who love the king, and not his power.
    For 'tis the glitter of the throne
    That fires most hearts to loyalty.
    Now one is eager next the king
    To walk before the gaze of men,
    And so gain luster for himself;
    For greed of glory burns his heart.                              620
    Another from the royal stores
    Seeks to supply his own desires;
    And yet not all the precious sands
    Of Hister's streams could satisfy,
    Nor Lydia sate his thirst for gold;
    Nor that far land where Zephyr blows,
    Which looks in wonder on the gleam                               625
    Of Tagus' golden sands.
    Were all the wealth of Hebrus his;
    If rich Hydaspes were his own;
    If through his fields, with all its stream,
    He saw the Ganges flowing: still                                 630
    For greed, base greed 'twould not suffice.
    One honors kings and courts of kings,
    Not that his careful husbandmen
    Forever stooping o'er the plow
    May never cease their toil for him;
    Or that his peasantry may till                                   635
    His thousand fields: but wealth alone,
    Which he may hoard away, he seeks.
    Another worships kings, that so
    All other men he may oppress,
    May ruin many, none assist;
    And with this sole aim covets power,
    That he may use it ill.
    How few live out their fated span!                               640
    Whom yesternight saw radiant
    With joy, the newborn day beholds
    In wretched case. How rare it is
    To find old age and happiness
    Combined. More soft than Tyrian couch,
    The greensward soothes to fearless sleep;                        645
    But gilded ceilings break our rest,
    And sleepless through the night we lie
    On beds of luxury.
    Oh, should the rich lay bare their hearts,
    What fears which lofty fortune breeds
    Would be revealed! The Bruttian coast                            650
    When Corus lashes up the sea
    Is calmer far. Not so the poor:
    His heart is ever full of peace.
    From shallow beechen cups he drinks,
    But not with trembling hands; his food
    Is cheap and common, but he sees                                 655
    No naked sword above his head.
    'Tis in the cup of gold alone
    That blood is mingled with the wine.
    The poor man's wife no necklace wrought
    Of costly pearls, the red sea's gift,                            660
    May wear; no gems from eastern shores
    Weigh down her ears; nor does she wear
    Soft scarlet wools in Tyrian dye
    Twice dipped; not hers with Lydian art
    To 'broider costly silks whose threads                           665
    The Serians under sunlit skies
    From orient treetops gather; she
    With common herbs must dye the web
    Which she with unskilled hands has wov'n:
    But still her husband is her own,                                670
    Her couch by rivals undisturbed.
    But favored brides, whose wedding day
    The thronging people celebrate,
    Fate with her cruel torch pursues.
    The poor no happiness can know
    Unless he sees the fortunate
    From their high station fallen.
    Whoever shuns the middle course                                  675
    Can never in safe pathways go.
    When once bold Phaëthon essayed
    Within his father's car to stand
    And give the day, and did not fare
    Along the accustomed track, but sought
    With wandering wheels to make his way                            680
    With Phoebus' torch 'midst unknown stars--
    Himself he ruined and the earth
    In one destruction. Daedalus
    The middle course of heaven pursued,
    And so to peaceful shores attained
    And gave no sea its name. His son,                               685
    Young Icarus, dared rival birds
    In flight, despised his father's wings,
    And soared high up into the realm
    Of Phoebus' rays: headlong he fell
    And to an unknown sea his name
    He gave. So are great fortunes joined                            690
    To mighty ills.
    Let others then as fortunate
    And great be hailed; I wish no share
    Of popular renown. My boat
    Is frail and needs must hug the shore.
    And let no strong wind force my bark                             695
    Far out to sea; for fortune spares
    Safe-harbored boats, but seeks the ships
    In mid sea proudly sailing on,
    Their topsails in the clouds.
    But why with pallid face, in fear,                               700
    Like some Bacchante smitten sore
    With madness, comes our princess forth?
    What new reverse of fortune's wheel
    Has come to vex thy tortured soul?
  For though thou speakest ne'er a word, poor queen,
  Whate'er thou hidest, in thy face is seen.


FOOTNOTES:

[27] Reading, _celsus_.

[28] Reading, _ripis_.

[29] Reading, _fluentem_.


ACT III

  _Deianira_ [_hurrying distractedly out of the palace_]: A nameless
    terror fills my stricken limbs,                                  705
  My hair stands up in horror, and my soul,
  But now so passion tossed, is dumb with fear;
  My heart beats wildly, and my liver throbs
  With pulsing veins. As when the storm-tossed sea                   710
  Still heaves and swells, although the skies are clear
  And winds have died away; so is my mind
  Still tossed and restless, though my fear is stayed.
  When once the fortunate begin to feel
  The wrath of god, their sorrows never cease.
  For so does fortune ever end in woe.

  _Nurse:_ What new distress, poor soul, has come to thee?           715

  _Deianira:_ But now, when I had sent away the robe
  With Nessus' poisoned blood besmeared, and I,
  With sad forebodings, to my chamber went,
  Some nameless fear oppressed my anxious heart,
  A fear of treachery. I thought to prove
  The charm. Fierce Nessus, I bethought me then,
  Had bidden me to keep the blood from flame;                        720
  And this advice itself foreboded fraud.
  It chanced the sun was shining, bright and warm,
  Undimmed by clouds. As I recall it now,
  My fear scarce suffers me to tell the tale.[30]
  Into the blazing radiance of the sun                               725
  I cast the blood-stained remnant of the cloth
  With which the fatal garment had been smeared.
  The thing writhed horribly, and burst aflame
  As soon as Phoebus warmed it with his rays.
  Oh, 'tis a dreadful portent that I tell!
  As when the snows on Mimas' sparkling sides
  Are melted by the genial breath of spring;                         730
  As on Leucadia's crags the heaving waves
  Are dashed and break in foam upon the beach;
  Or as the incense on the holy shrines
  Is melted by the warming altar fires:
  So did the woolen fragment melt away.                              735
  And while in wonder and amaze I looked,
  The object of my wonder disappeared.
  Nay, e'en the ground itself began to foam,
  And what the poison touched to shrink away.
                                        [Hyllus _is seen approaching_.]
  But hither comes my son with face of fear,                         740
  And hurrying feet.
                                                         [_To_ Hyllus.]
                     What tidings dost thou bear?

  _Hyllus:_ Oh, speed thee, mother, to whatever place
  On land or sea, among the stars of heaven,
  Or in the depths of hell, can keep thee safe
  Beyond the deadly reach of Hercules.

  _Deianira:_ Some great disaster doth my mind presage.              745

  _Hyllus:_ Hie thee to Juno's shrine, the victor's realm;
  This refuge waits thee 'midst the loss of all.

  _Deianira:_ Tell what disaster hath o'erta'en me now.

  _Hyllus:_ That glory and sole bulwark of the world,
  Whom in the place of Jove the fates had given                      750
  To bless the earth, O mother, is no more.
  A strange infection wastes Alcides' limbs;
  And he who conquered every form of beast,
  He, he, the victor is o'ercome with woe.
  What wouldst thou further hear?

  _Deianira:_                All wretched souls
  Are e'er in haste to know their miseries.
  Come, tell, what present fate o'erhangs our house?                 755
  O wretched, wretched house! Now, now indeed,
  Am I a widow, exiled, fate-o'ercome.

  _Hyllus:_ Not thou alone dost weep for Hercules;
  For in his fall the universe laments.
  Think not on private griefs; the human race
  Lifts up the voice of mourning. All the world                      760
  Is grieving with the selfsame grief thou feel'st.
  Thou shar'st thy misery with every land.
  Thou hast, indeed, forestalled their grief, poor soul;
  Thou first, but not alone, dost weep for him.

  _Deianira:_ Yet tell me, tell, I pray, how near to death           765
  Lies my Alcides now.

  _Hyllus:_        Death flees his grasp,
  Death whom he conquered once in its own realm;
  Nor will the fates permit so great a crime.
  Perchance dread Clotho from her trembling hand
  Has thrown aside her distaff, and in fear
  Refuses to complete Alcides' fate.                                 770
  O day, O awful day! and must this be
  The final day for mighty Hercules?

  _Deianira:_ To death and the world of shades, to that dark realm,
  Dost say that he has gone already? Why,
  Oh, why may I not be the first to go?
  But tell me truly, if he still doth live.

  _Hyllus:_ Euboea stands with high uplifted head,                   775
  On every side lashed by the tossing waves.
  Here high Caphereus faces Phrixus' sea,
  And here rough Auster blows. But on the side
  Which feels the blast of snowy Aquilo,
  Euripus restless leads his wandering waves;
  Seven times his heaving tides he lifts on high,                    780
  Seven times they sink again, before the sun
  His weary horses plunges in the sea.
  Here on a lofty cliff, 'midst drifting clouds,
  An ancient temple of Cenaean Jove
  Gleams far and wide. When at the altars stood
  The votive herd, and all the grove was full
  Of hollow bellowings of the gilded bulls;                          785
  Then Hercules put off his lion's skin
  With gore besmeared, his heavy club laid down,
  And freed his shoulders of the quiver's weight.
  Then, gleaming brightly in the robe thou gav'st,
  His shaggy locks with hoary poplar wreathed,
  He lit the altar fires, and prayed: "O Jove,                       790
  Not falsely called my father, take these gifts
  And let the sacred fire blaze brightly up
  With copious incense, which the Arab rich
  From Saba's trees in worship of the sun
  Collects. All monsters of the earth, the sea,
  The sky have been subdued at last, and I,
  As victor over all, am home returned.                              795
  Lay down thy thunderbolt." So prayed he then.
  But even as he prayed a heavy groan
  Fell from his lips, and he was horror struck
  And mute awhile. And then with dreadful cries
  He filled the air. As when a votive bull
  Feels in his wounded neck the deep-driven ax,
  And flees away, retaining still the steel,
  And fills with loud uproar the spacious hall;                      800
  Or as the thunder rumbles round the sky:
  So did Alcides smite the very stars
  And sea with his loud roarings. Chalcis heard,
  The Cyclades re-echoed with the sound,
  Caphereus' rocky crags and all the grove
  Resounded with the groans of Hercules.                             805
  We saw him weep. The common people deemed
  His former madness had come back to him.
  His servants fled away in fear. But he,
  With burning gaze, seeks one among them all,
  Ill-fated Lichas, who, with trembling hands                        810
  Upon the altar, even then forestalled
  Through deadly fear the bitter pangs of death,
  And so left meager food for punishment.
  Then did Alcides grasp the quivering corpse
  And cried: "By such a hand as this, ye fates,
  Shall it be said that I was overcome?
  Has Lichas conquered Hercules? See then
  Another slaughter: Hercules in turn                                815
  Slays Lichas. Be my noble deeds by this
  Dishonored; let this be my crowning task."
  He spake, and high in air the wretched boy
  Was hurled, the very heavens with his gore
  Besprinkling. So the Getan arrow flies,
  Far leaping from the bowman's hand; so flies
  The Cretan dart, but far within the mark.                          820
  His head against the jagged rocks is dashed,
  His headless body falls into the sea,
  Death[31] claiming both. "But hold," Alcides said,
  "No madness steals my reason as of yore;
  This is an evil greater far than rage
  Of madness; 'gainst myself alone I turn."                          825
  He stays him not to tell his cause of woe,
  But rages wildly, tearing at his flesh,
  His huge limbs rending with his savage hands.
  He strove to tear away the fatal robe;
  But this alone of all his mighty deeds
  Alcides could not do. Yet striving still
  To tear the garment off, he tore the flesh.
  The robe seemed part of that gigantic form,                        830
  Yea, part and parcel of the flesh itself.
  The cause of this dire suffering is hid,
  But yet there is a cause. His pain at length
  Unable to endure, prone on the earth
  He grovels; now for cooling water calls.
  But water has no power to soothe his pain.                         835
  He seeks the shore and plunges in the sea,
  The while his servant's hands direct his steps.
  Oh, bitter lot, that mighty Hercules
  Should come to be the mate of common men!
  And now a vessel from Euboea's shore
  Bears off the ponderous bulk of Hercules,
  The gentle southwind wafting it along.                             840
  His spirit from his mighty frame has fled,
  And o'er his eyes have fall'n the shades of night.

  _Deianira:_ Why dost thou hesitate? why stand amazed,
  O soul, that thus at last the deed is done?[32]
  But Jove demands again his son of thee;
  Juno, her rival; yea, to all the world
  Must he be given back. Vain such appeal.
  Make then what reparation[33] yet thou mayst:
  Through this my guilty body let the sword                          845
  Be driven. Thus, thus, 'tis well that it be done.
  But can this puny hand of mine atone
  For crime so great? O sire of Hercules,
  Destroy me with thy hurtling thunderbolt,
  Thy guilty daughter. With no common dart
  Arm thine avenging hand; but use that shaft
  With which, had Hercules ne'er sprung from thee,                   850
  Thou wouldst have scorched the hydra. As a pest
  Unprecedented smite me, as a scourge
  Far worse to bear than any stepdame's wrath.
  Such bolt as once at wandering Phaëthon
  Thou hurledst, aim at me. For I myself
  Have ruined all mankind in Hercules.                               855
  But why demand a weapon of the gods?
  For 'tis her shame that great Alcides' wife
  Should pray for death. Let prayers give way to deeds,
  And from myself let me demand my death.
  Take then the sword in haste. But why the sword?
  Whate'er can work my death is sword enough.
  From some heaven-piercing cliff I'll cast me down.                 860
  Yea, let our neighboring Oeta be my choice,
  Whose top is first to greet the newborn day.
  From its high peak I'll hurl me down to death.
  May I be rent asunder on its crags,
  And every rock demand some part of me;
  Let sharp projections pierce my mangled hands,
  And all the rugged mountainside be red                             865
  With blood. One death is not enough, 'tis true;
  But still its agony can be prolonged.
  O hesitating soul, thou canst not choose
  What form of death to die. Oh, that the sword
  Of Hercules within my chamber hung!
  How fitting 'twere by such a sword to die!
  But is't enough that by one hand I fall?                           870
  Assemble, all ye nations of the world,
  And hurl upon me rocks and blazing brands;
  Let no hand shirk its task of punishment,
  For your avenger have I done to death.
  Now with impunity shall cruel kings
  Their scepters wield; and monstrous ills shall rise                875
  With none to let; again shall shrines be sought,
  Where worshiper and victim are alike
  In human form. A broad highway for crime
  Have I prepared; and, by removing him
  Who was their bulwark, have exposed mankind
  To every form of monstrous man and beast
  And savage god. Why dost thou cease thy work,                      880
  O wife of thundering Jove? Why dost thou not,
  In imitation of thy brother, snatch
  From his own hand the fiery thunderbolt,
  And slay me here thyself? For thou hast lost
  Great praise and mighty triumph by my act:
  I have forestalled thee, Juno, in the death
  Of this thy rival.

  _Hyllus:_                  Wouldst to ruin doom
  Thy house already tottering? This crime,
  Whate'er it is, is all from error sprung.                          885
  He is not guilty who unwitting sins.

  _Deianira:_ Whoe'er ignores his fate and spares himself,
  Deservedly has erred, deserves to die.

  _Hyllus:_ He must be guilty who desires to die.

  _Deianira:_ Death, only, makes the erring innocent.                890

  _Hyllus:_ Fleeing the sun--

  _Deianira:_                The sun himself flees me.

  _Hyllus:_ Wouldst leave thy life?

  _Deianira:_                    A wretched life indeed;
  I long to go where Hercules has gone.

  _Hyllus:_ He still survives, and breathes the air of heaven.

  _Deianira:_ Alcides died when first he was o'ercome.

  _Hyllus:_ Wilt leave thy son behind? forestall thy fates?          895

  _Deianira:_ She whom her own son buries has lived long.

  _Hyllus:_ Follow thy husband.

  _Deianira:_                  Chaste wives go before.

  _Hyllus:_ Who dooms himself to death confesses sin.

  _Deianira:_ No sinner seeks to shirk his punishment.

  _Hyllus:_ The life of many a man has been restored                 900
  Whose guilt in judgment not in action lay.
  Who blames the lot by fate assigned to him?

  _Deianira:_ He blames it to whom fate has been unkind.

  _Hyllus:_ But Hercules himself killed Megara,
  And by his raging hands with deadly darts                          905
  Transfixed his sons. Still, though a parricide,
  Thrice guilty, he forgave himself the deed,
  Blaming his madness. In Cinyphian waves
  In Libya's land he washed his sin away,
  And cleansed his hands. Then why, poor soul, shouldst thou
  So hastily condemn thine own misdeeds?

  _Deianira:_ The fact that I have ruined Hercules                   910
  Condemns my deeds. I welcome punishment.

  _Hyllus:_ If I know Hercules, he soon will come
  Victorious over all his deadly woe;
  And agony, o'ercome, will yield to him.

  _Deianira:_ The hydra's venom preys upon his frame;
  A boundless pestilence consumes his limbs. 915

  _Hyllus:_ Think'st thou the poison of that serpent, slain,
  Cannot be overcome by that brave man
  Who met the living foe and conquered it?
  He slew the hydra, and victorious stood,
  Though in his flesh the poisonous fangs were fixed,
  And o'er his limbs the deadly venom flowed. 920
  Shall he, who overcame dread Nessus' self,
  By this same Nessus' blood be overcome?

  _Deianira:_ 'Tis vain to stay one who is bent on death.
  It is my will at once to flee the light.
  Who dies with Hercules has lived enough.

  _Nurse:_ Now by these hoary locks, as suppliant, 925
  And by these breasts which suckled thee, I beg:
  Abate thy wounded heart's wild threatenings,
  Give o'er thy dread resolve for cruel death.

  _Deianira:_ Whoe'er persuades the wretched not to die
  Is cruel. Death is sometimes punishment, 930
  But oft a boon, and brings forgiveness oft.

  _Nurse:_ Restrain at least thy hand, unhappy child,
  That he may know the deed was born of fraud,
  And was not purposed by his wife's design.

  _Deianira:_ I'll plead my cause before the bar of hell,
  Whose gods, I think, will free me from my guilt,
  Though I am self-condemned; these guilty hands 935
  Will Pluto cleanse for me. Then, on thy banks,
  O Lethe, with my memory clean I'll stand,
  A grieving shade, awaiting him I love.
  But thou, who rulest o'er the world of gloom,
  Prepare some toil for me, some dreadful toil;
  For this my fault outweighs all other sins
  That heart of man has ever dared to do.
  Nay, Juno's self was never bold enough 940
  To rob the grieving world of Hercules.
  Let Sisyphus from his hard labor cease,
  And let his stone upon my shoulders press;
  Let vagrant waves flee from my eager lips,
  And that elusive water mock my thirst.
  Upon thy whirling spokes have I deserved                           945
  To be stretched out, O king of Thessaly.
  Let greedy vultures feed upon my flesh.
  One from the tale of the Danaïdes
  Is lacking[34] yet; let me the number fill.
  Ye shades, make room for me; O Colchian wife,
  Receive me as thy comrade there below.                             950
  My deed is worse, far worse than both thy crimes,
  Though thou as mother and as sister, too,
  Hast sinned. Thou also, cruel queen of Thrace,
  Take me as comrade of thy crimes. And thou,
  Althaea, take thy daughter, for indeed
  Thou shalt discern in me thy daughter true.
  And yet not one of you has ever done                               955
  Such deed as mine. O all ye faithful wives,
  Who have your seats within the sacred groves,
  Expel me from Elysium's blessed fields.
  But faithless wives, who with their husbands' blood
  Have stained their hands, who have forgotten quite
  Their marriage vows and stood with naked sword                     960
  Like Belus' bloody daughters, they will know
  My deeds for theirs and praise them as their own.
  To such a company of wives 'tis meet
  That I betake myself; but even they
  Will shun such dire companionship as mine.
  O husband, strong, invincible, believe
  My soul is innocent, although my hands
  Are criminal. O mind too credulous!                                965
  O Nessus, false and skilled in bestial guile!
  Striving my hated rival to remove,
  I have destroyed myself. O beaming sun,
  And thou, O life, that by thy coaxing arts
  Dost strive to hold the wretched in the light,
  Begone! for every day is vile to me
  That shineth not upon my Hercules.                                 970
  Oh, let me bear, myself, thy sufferings
  And give my life for thee. Or shall I wait
  And keep myself for death at thy right hand?
  Hast still some strength in thee, and can thy hands
  Still bend the bow and speed the fatal shaft?
  Or do thy weapons lie unused, thy bow                              975
  No more obedient to thy nerveless hand?
  But if, perchance, thou still art strong to slay,
  Undaunted husband, I await thy hand;
  Yea, for this cause will I postpone my death.
  As thou didst Lichas crush, though innocent,
  Crush me, to other cities scatter me,
  Yea, hurl me to a land to thee unknown.                            980
  Destroy me as thou didst the Arcadian boar,
  And every monster that resisted[35] thee.
  But Oh, from them, my husband, thou didst come
  Victorious and safe.

  _Hyllus:_        Give o'er, I pray,
  My mother; cease to blame thy guiltless fates.
  Thy deed was but an error, not a fault.

  _Deianira:_ My son, if thou wouldst truly filial be,
  Come, slay thy mother. Why with trembling hand                     985
  Dost thou stand there? Why turn away thy face?
  Such crime as this is truest piety.
  Still dost thou lack incentive for the deed?
  Behold, this hand took Hercules from thee,
  Took that great sire through whom thou dost derive
  Thy blood from thundering Jove. I've stolen from thee
  A greater glory than the life I gave                               990
  At birth. If thou art all unskilled in crime,
  Learn from thy mother; wouldst thou thrust the sword
  Into my neck, or sheath it in my womb,
  I'll make thy soul courageous for the deed.
  Thou wilt not be the doer of this crime;
  For though 'tis by thy hand that I shall fall,                     995
  'Twill be my will. O son of Hercules,
  Art thou afraid? Wilt thou not be like him,
  Perform thy bidden tasks, the monsters slay?
  Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,
  So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke.                        1000
  Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,
  The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.
  But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.
  See! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,
  And at her ugly temples brandishes
  Two deadly[36] darts? Why dost thou follow me,                    1005
  O dire Megaera, with thy blazing brand?
  Dost thou seek penalty for Hercules?
  I will discharge it. O thou dreadful one,
  Already have the arbiters of hell
  Passed judgment on me? Lo, I see the doors
  Of that sad prison-house unfold for me.
  Who is that ancient man who on his back,
  Worn with the toil, the stone's huge burden heaves?               1010
  And even as I look the conquered stone
  Rolls back again. Who on the whirling wheel
  Is racked? And see! There stands Tisiphone,
  With ghastly, cruel face; she seeks revenge.
  Oh, spare thy scourge, Megaera, spare, I pray,
  Thy Stygian brands. 'Twas love that prompted me.                  1015
  But what is this? The earth is tottering,
  The palace roof is crashing to its fall.
  Whence comes that threatening throng? Against me comes
  The whole world rushing; see, on every side
  The nations gnash at me, demanding back
  Their savior. O ye cities, spare, I pray.                         1020
  Oh, whither shall I hide me from their rage?
  Death is the only haven left to me.
  By gleaming Phoebus' fiery disk I swear,
  By all the gods of heaven: I go to death,
  But leave Alcides still upon the earth.

  [_She rushes from the scene._]

  _Hyllus:_ Ah me, in mood of frenzy has she fled.
  My mother's part in this sad tragedy                              1025
  Is self-assigned; she is resolved to die.
  My part remains to thwart her dread resolve.
  O wretched piety! O filial love!
  If now my mother's death I should prevent,
  I wrong my father; if I let her die,
  'Gainst her I sin. Crime stands on either hand;
  Yet must I check her and true crime withstand.                    1030

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_ The sacred singer's word was true
    Which once on Thracian Rhodope,
    Orpheus, the heavenly Muse's son,
    Sang to his lute Pierian:
    That naught for endless life is made.                           1035
    At his sweet strains the rushing stream
    Its uproar stilled, and all its waves
    Paused in forgetfulness of flight;
    And while the waters stayed to hear,                            1040
    The tribes far down the Hebrus' stream
    Deemed that their river was no more.
    All wingéd creatures of the wood
    And e'en the woods themselves came near
    To listen; or, if far on high
    Some bird was wheeling through the air,                         1045
    To that sweet music swift he fell
    On drooping wings. The mountains came:
    Rough Athos with its Centaur herd,
    And Rhodope, its drifted snows
    Loosed by the magic of that song,                               1050
    Stood by to hear. The Dryads left
    The shelter of their oaken trunks
    And gathered round the tuneful bard.
    The beasts came, too, and with them came                        1055
    Their lairs; hard by the fearless flocks
    The tawny Afric lion crouched;
    The timid does feared not the wolves;
    And serpents crawled forth to the light,
    Their venom quite forgot.                                       1060
    When through the doors of Taenara
    He made his way to the silent land,
    Sounding his mournful lyre the while,
    The glooms of Tartara were filled
    With his sad song; and the sullen gods
    Of Erebus were moved to tears.                                  1065
    He feared not the pool of the Stygian stream
    By whose dread waves the heavenly gods
    Make oath unbreakable.
    The whirling rim of the restless wheel
    Stood still, its breathless speed at rest.                      1070
    The immortal liver of Tityos
    Grew, undevoured, while at the song
    The spellbound birds forgot their greed.
    Thou, too, didst hear, O boatman grim,
    And thy bark that plies the infernal stream
    With oars all motionless came on.
    Then first the hoary Phrygian                                   1075
    Forgot his thirst, although no more
    The mocking waters fled his lips
    But stood enchanted; now no more
    He reaches hungry hands to grasp
    The luscious fruit.
    When thus through that dark world of souls
    Sweet Orpheus poured such heavenly strains                      1080
    That the impious rock of Sisyphus
    Was moved to follow him;
    Then did the goddesses of fate
    Renew the exhausted thread of life
    For fair Eurydice. But when,
    Unmindful of the law they gave,                                 1085
    And scarce believing that his wife
    Was following, the hapless man
    Looked back, he lost his prize of song;
    For she, who to the very verge
    Of life had come again, fell back
    And died again.
    Then, seeking solace still in song,                             1090
    Orpheus unto the Getans sang:

         *       *       *       *       *

    The gods themselves are under law,
    Yea he, who through the changing year
    Directs the seasons in their course.                            1095

           *       *       *       *       *

    Dead Hercules bids us believe
    The bard, that not for any man
    The fates reweave the broken web;
    And that all things which have been born,                       1100
    And shall be, are but born to die.
    When to the world the day shall come
    On which the reign of law shall cease,
    Then shall the southern heavens fall,
    And overwhelm broad Africa                                      1105
    With all her tribes; the northern skies
    Shall fall upon those barren plains
    Where sweep the blasts of Boreas.
    Then from the shattered heaven the sun
    Shall fall, and day shall be no more.                           1110
    The palace of the heavenly ones
    Shall sink in ruins, dragging down
    The east and western skies. Then death
    And chaos shall o'erwhelm the gods                              1115
    In common ruin; and at last,
    When all things else have been destroyed,
    Death shall bring death unto itself.
    Where shall the earth find haven then?
    Will hades open wide her doors
    To let the shattered heavens in?                                1120
    Or is the space 'twixt heaven and earth
    Not great enough (perchance too great)
    For all the evils of the world?
    What place is great enough to hold
    Such monstrous ills of fate?[37] What place
    Will hold the gods? Shall one place then                        1125
    Contain three kingdoms--sea and sky
    And Tartara?--
    But what outrageous clamor this
    That fills our frightened ears? Behold,
    It is the voice of Hercules.                                    1130


FOOTNOTES:

[30] Lines 725-28 follow the text of Schroeder.

[31] Reading, _funus_.

[32] Reading, _quid stupes factum scelus?_

[33] Reading, _reddi_.

[34] Reading, _vacat_.

[35] Reading, _restitit_.

[36] Reading, _atras_.

[37] Reading, _fati_.


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Hercules _in the extremity of suffering_.]

  _Hercules:_ Turn back thy panting steeds, thou shining sun,
  And bid the night come forth. Blot out the day,
  And let the heavens, with pitchy darkness filled,
  Conceal my dying pains from Juno's eyes.
  Now, father, were it fitting to recall
  Dark chaos; now the joinings of the skies                         1135
  Should be asunder rent, and pole from pole
  Be cleft. Why, father, dost thou spare the stars?
  Thy Hercules is lost. Now, Jupiter,
  Look well to every region of the heavens,
  Lest any Gyas hurl again the crags
  Of Thessaly, and Othrys be again                                  1140
  An easy missile for Enceladus.
  Now, even now will haughty Pluto loose
  The gates of hell, strike off his father's chains,
  And give him back to heaven. Since Hercules,
  Who on the earth has seen thy thunderbolt
  And lightning flash, must turn him back to Styx;
  Enceladus the fierce will rise again,                             1145
  And hurl against the gods that mighty weight
  Which now oppresses him. O Jupiter,
  My death throughout the kingdom of the sky
  Shall shake thy sovereignty. Then, ere thy throne
  Become the giants' spoil, give burial
  Beneath the ruined universe to me;
  Oh, rend thy kingdom ere 'tis rent from thee.                     1150

  _Chorus:_   No empty fears, O Thunderer's son,
    Dost thou express: for soon again
    Shall Pelion on Ossa rest;
    And Athos, heaped on Pindus, thrust
    Its woods amidst the stars of heaven.
    Then shall Typhoeus heave aside                                 1155
    The crags of Tuscan Ischia;
    Enceladus, not yet o'ercome
    By thunderbolts, shall bear aloft
    The huge Aetnaean furnaces,
    And rend the gaping mountain side.
    So shall it be; for even now
    The skies are tottering with thy fall.                          1160

  _Hercules:_ Lo I, who have escaped the hands of death,
  Who scorned the Styx, and thence through Lethe's pool
  Returned with spoil so grim and terrible,
  That Titan from his reeling chariot
  Was well-nigh thrown; I, whom three realms have felt:
  I feel the pangs of death, and yet no sword                       1165
  Has pierced my side, nor has some mighty crag,
  All Othrys, been the weapon of my death;
  No giant with his fierce and gaping jaws
  Has heaped high Pindus on my lifeless corpse.
  Without an enemy am I o'erwhelmed;                                1170
  And, what brings greater anguish to my soul
  (Shame to my manhood!), this my final day
  Has seen no monster slain. Ah, woe is me!
  My life is squandered--and for no return.
  O thou, whose rule is over all the world;
  Ye gods of heaven who have beheld my deeds;
  O earth, is't fitting that your Hercules                          1175
  Should die by such a death? Oh, cruel shame!
  Oh, base and bitter end--that fame should say
  Great Hercules was by a woman slain,
  He who in mortal combat has o'ercome[38]
  So many men and beasts! If changeless fate
  Had willed that I by woman's hand should die,                     1180
  And if to such base end my thread of life,
  Alas, must lead, Oh, that I might have fallen
  By Juno's hate. 'Twould be by woman's hand,
  But one who holds the heavens in her sway.
  If that, ye gods, were more than I should ask,
  The Amazon, beneath the Scythian skies
  Brought forth, might better have o'ercome my strength.
  But by what woman's hand shall I be said,                         1185
  Great Juno's enemy, to have been slain?
  This is for thee, my stepdame, deeper shame.
  Why shouldst thou call this day a day of joy?
  What baleful thing like this has earth produced
  To sate thy wrath? A mortal woman's hate
  Has far excelled thine own. 'Twas late thy shame,                 1190
  To feel thyself by Hercules alone
  Outmatched; but now must thou confess thyself
  By two o'ercome. Shame on such heavenly wrath!
  Oh, that the Nemean lion of my blood
  Had drunk his fill, and Oh, that I had fed
  The hydra with his hundred snaky heads
  Upon my gore! Oh, that the centaurs fierce                        1195
  Had made a prey of me; or 'midst the shades
  I, bound upon the everlasting rock,
  Were sitting, lost in misery! But no:
  From every distant land I've taken spoil,
  While fate looked on amazed; from hellish Styx
  Have I come back to earth; the bonds of Dis
  I have o'ercome. Death shunned me everywhere,                     1200
  That I might lack at last a glorious end.
  Alas for all the monsters I have slain!
  Oh, why did not three-headed Cerberus,
  When he had seen the sunlight, drag me back
  To hell? Why, far away 'neath western skies,
  Did not the monstrous shepherd lay me low?
  And those twin serpents huge--ah, woe is me,
  How often have I 'scaped a glorious death!                        1205
  What honor comes from such an end as this?

  _Chorus:_   Dost see how, conscious of his fame,
    He does not shrink from Lethe's stream?
    Not grief for death, but shame he feels
    At this his cause of death; he longs
    Beneath some giant's vasty bulk                                 1210
    To draw his final breath, to feel
    Some mountain-heaving Titan's weight
    Oppressing him, to owe his death
    To some wild, raging beast. But no,
    Poor soul, because of thine own hand
    There is no deadly monster more.                                1215
    What worthy author of thy death,
    Save that right hand of thine, is left?

  _Hercules:_ Alas, what Scorpion, what Cancer, torn
  From Summer's burning zone, inflames my breast?
  My lungs, once filled with pulsing streams of blood,              1220
  Are dry and empty now; my liver burns,
  Its healthy juices parched and dried away;
  And all my blood is by slow creeping fires
  Consumed. Destruction on my skin feeds first,
  Then deep within my flesh it eats its way,                        1225
  Devours my sides, my limbs and breast consumes,
  Dries up the very marrow of my bones.
  There in my empty bones the pest remains;
  Nor can my massive frame for long endure,
  But even now, with broken, crumbling joints,
  Begins to fall away. My strength is gone,                         1230
  And e'en the limbs of mighty Hercules
  Are not enough to satisfy this pest.
  Alas, how mighty must that evil be,
  When I confess it great! Oh, cruel wrong!
  Now see, ye cities, see what now remains
  Of famous Hercules. Dost know thy son,
  O father Jove? Was't with such arms as these                      1235
  That I crushed out the Nemean monster's life?
  Did this hand stretch that mighty bow of mine
  Which brought to earth from out the very stars
  The vile Stymphalian birds? These sluggish feet--
  Did they outstrip the swiftly fleeing stag,
  With golden antlers gleaming on his head?
  Did rocky Calpe, shattered by these hands,                        1240
  Let out the sea? So many monstrous beasts,
  So many cruel men, so many kings--
  Did these poor hands of mine destroy them all?
  Upon these shoulders did the heavens rest?
  Is this my mighty frame? Is this my neck?
  Are these the hands which once the tottering skies
  Upheld? Oh, can it be that ever I
  The Stygian watchdog dragged into the light?                      1245
  Where are those powers, which ere their proper time
  Are dead and buried? Why on Jupiter
  As father do I call? Why, wretched one,
  Do I lay claim to heaven by right of him?
  For now, Oh, now will I be thought the son
  Of old Amphitryon. O deadly pest,
  Whate'er thou art which in my vitals lurk'st,
  Come forth. Why with a hidden agony                               1250
  Dost thou afflict my heart? What Scythian sea
  Beneath the frozen north, what Tethys slow,
  What Spanish Calpe nigh the Moorish shore
  Begot and brought thee forth? O evil dire!
  Art thou some crested serpent brandishing
  Its hideous head; or some fell thing of ill                       1255
  As yet unknown to me, produced perchance
  From Hydra's poisonous gore, or left on earth
  By Cerberus, the deadly dog of Styx?
  Oh, every ill art thou, and yet no ill.
  What are thy form and features? Grant at least
  That I may know the thing by which I die.
  Whate'er thy name, whatever monster thou,                         1260
  Come out, and show thy terror to my face.
  What enemy has made a way for thee
  Unto my inmost heart? Behold my hands
  Have torn aside my burning skin and so
  My bleeding flesh disclosed. But deeper yet
  Its hiding-place. Oh, woe invincible
  As Hercules! But whence these grievous cries?                     1265
  And whence these tears which trickle down my cheeks?
  My face, unmoved by grief, has never yet
  Been wet with tears; but now, Oh, shame to me,
  Has learned to weep. Where is the day, the land,
  That has beheld the tears of Hercules?
  Dry-eyed have I my troubles ever borne.
  To thee alone, dire pest, to thee alone                           1270
  That strength has yielded which so many ills
  Has overcome. Thou first, yea, first of all
  Hast forced the tear-drops from these stubborn eyes.
  For, harder than the bristling crag, or steel,
  Or than the wandering Symplegades,
  Hast thou my stern face softened, and my tears,
  Unwilling, forced to flow. And now the world,                     1275
  O thou most mighty ruler of the skies,
  Has seen me giving way to tears and groans;
  And, that which brings me greater anguish still,
  My stepdame too has seen. But lo, again
  The scorching heat flames up and burns my heart.
  Oh, slay me, father, with thy heavenly dart.

  _Chorus:_   Where is the strength that can withstand
    The power of suffering? But now
    More hard than Thracian Haemus' crags,                          1280
    Sterner than savage northern skies,
    He is by agony subdued.
    His fainting head upon his breast
    Falls low; his massive frame he shifts
    From side to side; now and again
    His manly courage dries his tears.                              1285
    So, with however warm a flame
    Bright Titan labors to dissolve
    The arctic snows, still are his fires
    By those bright, icy rays outshone.

  _Hercules:_ O father, turn and look upon my woes.                 1290
  Never till now has great Alcides fled
  To thee for aid; not when around my limbs
  The deadly hydra, fertile in its death,
  Its writhing serpents folded. 'Mid the pools
  Of hell, by that thick pall of death I stood
  Surrounded close; and yet I called thee not.
  How many dreadful beasts have I o'ercome,                         1295
  How many kings and tyrants; yet my face
  Have I ne'er turned in suppliance to the sky.
  This hand of mine alone has been the god
  Who heard my prayers. No gleaming thunderbolts
  Have ever flashed from heaven on my account.
  But now at last has come a woeful time
  Which bids me ask for aid. This day, the first                    1300
  And last, shall hear the prayers of Hercules.
  One thunderbolt I ask, and only one.
  Consider me a giant storming heaven.
  Yea, heaven I might have stormed in very truth;
  But, since I deemed thee sire, I spared the skies.
  Oh, whether thou be harsh or merciful,                            1305
  Stretch forth thy hand and grant me speedy death,
  And gain this great renown unto thy name.
  Or, if thy righteous hand refuse a task
  So impious, send forth from Sicily
  Those burning Titans, who with giant hands
  May Pindus huge upheave, and Ossa too,                            1310
  And overwhelm me with their crushing weight.
  Let dire Bellona burst the bars of hell,
  And with her gleaming weapon pierce my heart;
  Or let fierce Mars be arméd for my death;
  He is my brother; true, but Juno's son.
  Thou also, sprung from father Jove, and so
  Alcides' sister, bright Athene, come,                             1315
  And hurl thy spear against thy brother's breast.
  And e'en to thee I stretch my suppliant hands,
  O cruel stepdame; thou at least, I pray,
  Let fly thy dart (so by a woman's hand
  I may be slain), thine anger soothed at last,
  Thy thirst for vengeance sated. Why dost thou
  Still nurse thy wrath? Why further seek revenge?                  1320
  Behold Alcides suppliant to thee,
  Which no wild beast, no land has ever seen.
  But now, O Juno, when I need thy wrath,
  Is now thine anger cooled, thy hate forgot?
  Thou giv'st me life when 'tis for death I pray.
  O lands, and countless cities of the earth,                       1325
  Is there no one among you all to bring
  A blazing torch for mighty Hercules?
  Will no one give me arms? Why take away
  My weapons from my hands? Then let no land
  Bring forth dire monsters more when I am dead,
  And let the world not ask for aid of mine.
  If other ills are born into the world,
  Then must another savior come as well.                            1330
  Oh, bring ye heavy stones from every side
  And hurl them at my wretched head; and so
  O'erwhelm at last my woes. Ungrateful world,
  Dost thou refuse? Hast thou forgot me quite?
  Thou wouldst thyself have been a helpless prey
  To evil monsters, had not I been born.
  Then, O ye peoples, rescue me from ill,                           1335
  Your champion. This chance is given you,
  By slaying me to cancel all you owe.

[_Enter_ Alcmena.]

  _Alcmena:_ Where shall Alcides' wretched mother go?
  Where is my son? Lo, if I see aright,
  Yonder he lies with burning fever tossed
  And throbbing heart. I hear his groans of pain.                   1340
  Ah me, his life is at an end. My son,
  Come, let me fold thee in a last embrace,
  And catch thy parting spirit in my mouth;
  These arms of mine upon thine own I'll lay.
  But where are they? Where is that sturdy neck
  Which bore the burden of the starry heavens?
  What cause has left to thee so small a part
  Of thy once massive frame?                                        1345

  _Hercules:_            Thou seest, indeed,
  The shadow and the piteous counterfeit
  Of thine Alcides. Come, behold thy son.
  But why dost turn away and hide thy face?
  Art thou ashamed that such as I am called
  Thy son?

  _Alcmena:_        What land, what world has given birth
  To this new monster? What so dire a thing                         1350
  Has triumphed over mighty Hercules?

  _Hercules:_ By my own wife's deceits am I undone.

  _Alcmena:_ What fraud is great enough to conquer thee?

  _Hercules:_ Whate'er is great enough for woman's wrath.

  _Alcmena:_ How got the pest so deep within thy frame?             1355

  _Hercules:_ Through a poisoned robe sent by a woman's hands.

  _Alcmena:_ Where is the robe? I see thy limbs are bare.

  _Hercules:_ With me 'tis all consumed.

  _Alcmena:_                             How can it be?

  _Hercules:_ I tell thee, mother, through my vitals roam
  The hydra and a thousand poisonous beasts.                        1360
  What flames as hot as these invade the clouds
  O'er Aetna's top? What glowing Lemnian fires,
  What torrid radiance of the burning heavens,
  Within whose scorching zone the day comes not?
  O comrades, take and throw me in the sea,
  Or in the river's rushing stream--alas,                           1365
  Where is the stream that will suffice for me?
  Though greater than all lands, not ocean's self
  Can cool my burning pains. To ease my woe
  All streams were not enough, all springs would fail.
  Why, O thou lord of Erebus, didst thou
  To Jove return me? Better had it been
  To hold me fast. Oh, take me back again,                          1370
  And show me as I am to those fell shades
  Whom I subdued. Naught will I take away.
  Thou hast no need to fear Alcides more.
  Come death, attack me; have no fear of me;
  For I at length am fain to welcome thee.

  _Alcmena:_ Restrain thy tears at least; subdue thy pains.
  Come, show thyself unconquered still by woe;                      1375
  And death and hell, as is thy wont, defy.

  _Hercules:_ If on the heights of Caucasus I lay
  In chains, to greedy birds of prey exposed,
  While Scythia wailed in sympathy with me,
  No sound of woe should issue from my lips;
  Or should the huge, unfixed Symplegades                           1380
  Together clash and threaten me with death,
  I'd bear unmoved the threatened agony.
  Should Pindus fall upon me, Haemus too,
  Tall Athos which defies the Thracian seas,
  And Mimas at whose towering peaks are hurled
  The bolts of Jove--if e'en the sky itself                         1385
  Should fall upon my head, and Phoebus' car
  In blazing torture on my shoulders lie:
  No coward cry of pain would ever show
  The mind of Hercules subdued. Nay more:
  Although a thousand monstrous beasts at once
  Should rush upon and rend me limb from limb;
  Though here Stymphalus' bird with clangor wild,                   1390
  And there with all his strength the threat'ning bull,
  And all fierce, monstrous things, should press me hard;
  Nay, though the very soil of earth should rise
  And shriek[39] its rage at me from every side;
  Though Sinis dire should hurl me through the air:
  Though sore bestead and mangled, still would I
  In silence bear it all. No beasts, no arms,
  No weapon wielded by the hand of man,
  Could force from me a single word of pain.                        1395

  _Alcmena:_ No woman's poison burns thy limbs, my son;
  But thy long years of work, thy constant toils,
  Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.

  _Hercules:_ Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be?
  Does any evil still upon the earth
  Exist, with me alive? But let it come.
  Let someone quickly bring my bow to me--                          1400
  But no: my naked hands will be enough.
  Now bid the monster come.

  _Alcmena:_            Alas, his pains,
  Too great, have reft his senses quite away.
  Remove his weapons, take those deadly shafts
  Out of his reach, I pray. His burning cheeks                      1405
  Some violence portend. Oh, where shall I,
  A helpless, agéd woman hide myself?
  That grief of his has changed to maddened rage,
  And that alone is master of him now.
  Why should I, therefore, foolish that I am,
  Seek hiding-place or flight? By some brave hand
  Alcmena has deserved to meet her death.
  So let me perish even impiously,                                  1410
  Before some craven soul command my death,
  Or some base creature triumph over me.
  But see, outworn by woe, his weary heart
  Is in the soothing bonds of slumber bound;
  His panting chest with labored breathing heaves.
  Have mercy, O ye gods. If ye from me                              1415
  Have willed to take my glorious son, at least
  Spare to the world, I pray, its champion.
  Let all his pains depart, and once again
  Let great Alcides' frame renew its strength.

[_Enter_ Hyllus.]

  _Hyllus:_ O bitter light, O day with evil filled!
  Dead is the Thunderer's daughter, and his son                     1420
  Lies dying. I alone of all survive.
  By my own mother's crime my father dies,
  But she by guile was snared. What agéd man,
  Throughout the round of years, in all his life,
  Will e'er be able to recount such woes?
  One day has snatched away my parents both.                        1425
  But though I say naught of my other ills,
  And cease to blame the fates, still must I say:
  My sire, the mighty Hercules, is gone.

  _Alcmena:_ Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire,
  And matched with sad Alcmena in her grief;
  Perchance long slumber will assuage his pain.
  But see, repose deserts his weary heart,                          1430
  And gives him back to suffering, me to grief.

  _Hercules_ [_awakening in delirium_]: Why, what is this? Do I with
    waking eyes
  See little Trachin on her craggy seat,
  Or, set amongst the stars, have I at length
  Escaped the race of men? Who opes for me
  The gate of heaven? Thee, father, now I see,                      1435
  Thee, and my stepdame too at last appeased.
  What heavenly sound is this that fills my ears?
  Great Juno calls me son! Now I behold
  The gleaming palace of the heavenly world,
  And Phoebus' path worn by his burning wheels.
                             [_Beginning to come out of his delirium._]
  I see night's couch; her shadows call me hence.                   1440
  But what is this? who shuts me out of heaven,
  And from the stars, O father, leads me down?
  I felt the glow of Phoebus on my face,
  So near to heaven was I; but now, alas,
  'Tis Trachin that I see. Oh, who to earth
  Has given me back again? A moment since,                          1445
  And Oeta's lofty peak stood far below,
  And all the world was lying at my feet.
  How sweet the respite that I had from thee,
  O grief. Thou mak'st me to confess--but stay,
  Let not such shameful words escape thy lips.
                                                         [_To_ Hyllus.]
  This woe, my son, is of thy mother's gift.
  Oh, that I might crush out her guilty life
  With my great club, as once the Amazons                           1450
  I smote upon the snowy Caucasus.
  O well-loved Megara, to think that thou
  Wast wife of mine when in that fit I fell
  Of maddened rage! Give me my club and bow;
  Let my hand be disgraced, and with a blot
  Let me destroy the luster of my praise--
  My latest conquest on a woman gained!                             1455

  _Hyllus:_ Now curb the dreadful threatenings of thy wrath;
  She has her wound--'tis over--and has paid
  The penalty which thou wouldst have her pay:
  For now, self-slain, my mother lies in death.

  _Hercules:_ O grief, still with me! She deserved to die
  Beneath the hands of angry Hercules.                              1460
  O Lichas, thou hast lost thy mate in death.
  So hot my wrath, against her helpless corpse
  I still would rage. Why does her body lie
  Secure from my assaults? Go cast it out
  To be a banquet for the birds of prey.

  _Hyllus:_ She suffered more than even thou wouldst wish.
  Self-slain, and grieving sore for thee, she died.                 1465
  But 'tis not by a cruel wife's deceit,
  Nor by my mother's guile, thou liest low.
  By Nessus was this deadly plot conceived,
  Who, smitten by thine arrow, lost his life.
  'Twas in the centaur's gore the robe was dipped,                  1470
  And by thy pains he doth requite his own.

  _Hercules:_ Then truly are his pains well recompensed,
  And my own doubtful oracles explained.
  This fate the talking oak foretold to me,
  And Delphi's oracle, whose sacred voice
  Shook Cirrha's temples and Parnassus' <DW72>s:                     1475
  "By hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day,
  Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low.
  This end, when thou hast traversed sea and land,
  And the realm of spirits, is reserved for thee."
  Now will we grieve no more; such end is meet;
  Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules                               1480
  Survive to tell the tale. Now shall my death
  Be glorious, illustrious, renowned,
  And worthy of myself. This final day
  Will I make famous in the ears of men.
  Go, cut down all the woods, and Oeta's groves
  Bring hither, that a mighty funeral pyre
  May hold great Hercules before he dies.
  And thee, dear son of Poeas, thee I ask                           1485
  To do this last, sad office for thy friend,
  And all the sky illumine with the flames
  Of Hercules. And now to thee this prayer,
  This last request, Hyllus, my son, I make:
  Among my captives is a beauteous maid,
  Of noble breeding and of royal birth.
  'Tis Iole, the child of Eurytus.                                  1490
  Her would I have thee to thy chamber lead
  With fitting marriage rites; for, stained with blood,
  Victorious, I robbed her of her home
  And fatherland; and in return, poor girl,
  Naught save Alcides have I given her;
  And he is gone. Then let her soothe her woes
  In the embrace of him who boasts the blood                        1495
  Of Jove and Hercules. Whatever seed
  She has conceived of me let her to thee
  Bring forth.
                                                        [_To_ Alcmena.]
              And do thou cease thy plaints, I pray,
  For me, great mother; thy Alcides lives;
  And by my might have I my stepdame made
  To seem but as the concubine of Jove.                             1500
  Whether the story of the night prolonged
  At Hercules' begetting be the truth,
  Or whether I was got of mortal sire--
  Though I be falsely called the son of Jove,
  I have indeed deserved to be his son;
  For I have honored him, and to his praise                         1505
  My mother brought me forth. Nay, Jove himself
  Is proud that he is held to be my sire.
  Then cease thy tears, O mother; thou shalt be
  Of high degree among Argolic dames.
  For no such son as thine has Juno borne,
  Though she may wield the scepter of the skies,                    1510
  The Thunderer's bride. And yet, though holding heaven,
  She grudged Alcides to a mortal birth,
  And wished that she might call him son of hers.
  Now, Titan, must thou go thy way alone;
  For I, who have thy constant comrade been,
  Am bound for Tartara, the world of shades.
  Yet down to hell I bear this noble praise:                        1515
  That openly no monster conquered me,
  But that I conquered all--and openly.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   Bright sun, thou glory of the world,
    At whose first rays wan Hecate
    Unyokes the weary steeds of night,                              1520
    To east and west the message tell;
    To those who suffer 'neath the Bear,
    And who, beneath thy burning car
    Are tortured: Hercules prepares
    To speed him to the world of shades,                            1525
    The realm of sleepless Cerberus,
    Whence he will[40] ne'er again return.
    Let thy bright rays be overcast
    With clouds; gaze on the mourning world
    With pallid face; and let thy head
    In thick and murky mists be veiled.                             1530
    When, Titan, where, beneath what sky,
    Shalt thou behold upon the earth
    Another such as Hercules?
    Whom shall the wretched land invoke,
    If any hundred-headed pest,
    In Lerna born, spring up anew                                   1535
    And spread destruction; if again
    Some boar in ancient Arcady
    Infest the woods; or if again
    Some son of Thracian Rhodope,
    With heart more hard than the frozen lands
    That lie 'neath snowy Helice,
    Should stain his stalls with human gore?                        1540
    Who will give peace to the trembling folk
    If angry gods with monstrous birth
    Should curse the world again? Behold,
    The mate for common man he lies,
    Whom earth produced a mate for Jove.
    Let lamentations loud resound                                   1545
    Through all the world; with streaming hair
    Let women smite their naked arms;
    Let all the temples of the gods
    Be closed save Juno's; she alone
    Is free from care.
    To Lethe and the Stygian shore                                  1550
    Now art thou going, whence no keel
    Will ever bring thee back. Thou goest,
    Lamented one, unto the shades,
    Whence, death o'ercome, thou once return'dst
    In triumph with thy prize; but now,
    An empty shade, with fleshless arms,
    Wan face, and slender, drooping neck,                           1555
    Thou goest back. Nor will the skiff
    (Which once bore only thee and feared
    That even so 'twould be o'erturned)
    Bear thee alone across the stream.
    But not with common shades shalt thou
    Be herded. Thou with Aeacus[41]
    And pious kings of Crete shalt sit
    In judgment on the deeds of men,
    And punish tyrants. O ye kings,                                 1560
    Be merciful, restrain your hands.
    'Tis worthy praise to keep the sword
    Unstained with blood; while thou didst reign,
    Upon thy realm to have allowed
    Least privilege to bloody[42] fate.
    But place among the stars is given
    To manly virtue. Shalt thou hold                                1565
    Thy seat within the northern skies,
    Or where his fiercest rays the sun
    Sends forth? Or in the balmy west
    Wilt shine, where thou mayst hear the waves
    On Calpe's shore resound? What place
    In heaven serene shalt thou obtain?                             1570
    When great Alcides is received
    Among the stars, who will be free
    From fear? May Jove assign thy place
    Far from the raging Lion's seat,
    And burning Crab, lest at sight of thee
    The frightened stars confuse their laws
    And Titan quake with fear.                                      1575
    So long as blooming flowers shall come
    With wakening spring; while winter's frosts
    Strip bare the trees, and summer suns
    Reclothe them with their wonted green;
    While in the autumn ripened fruits
    Fall to the ground: no lapse of time                            1580
    Shall e'er destroy thy memory
    Upon the earth. For thou shalt live
    As comrade of the sun and stars.
    Sooner shall wheat grow in the sea,
    Or stormy straits with gentle waves
    Beat on the shore; sooner descend
    The Bear from out his frozen sky
    And bathe him in forbidden waves:                               1585
    Than shall the thankful people cease
    To sing thy praise.
                        And now to thee,
    O father of the world, we pray:
    Let no dread beast be born on earth,
    No monstrous pest; keep this poor world
    From abject fear of heartless kings;
    Let no one hold the reins of power                              1590
    Who deems his kingdom's glory lies
    In the terror of his naked sword.
    But if again some thing of dread
    Appear upon the earth, Oh, give,
    We pray, another champion.
    But what is this? The heavens resound.                          1595
    Behold Alcides' father mourns,
    He mourns his son. Or is't the sound
    Of grieving gods, or the cry of fear
    Of the timid stepdame? Can it be
    That at the sight of Hercules
    Great Juno flees the stars? Perchance
    Beneath the added weight of heaven
    Tall Atlas reels. Or do the shades                              1600
    Cry out in fear of Hercules,
    While Cerberus with broken chains
    In panic flees the sight? Not so:
    Behold, 'tis Poeas' son, who comes
    With looks of gladness. See, he bears
    The well-known quiver and the shafts                            1605
    Of Hercules.


FOOTNOTES:

[38] Reading, _auctor_.

[39] Reading, _fremens_.

[40] Reading, _remeabit_.

[41] Reading, _Aeacon_.

[42] Reading, _minimum cruentis_.


ACT V

[_Enter_ Philoctetes.]

  _Nurse:_ Speak out, good youth, and tell the end, I pray,
  Of Hercules. How did he meet his death?

  _Philoctetes:_ More gladly than another meets his life.

  _Nurse:_ What? Did he then rejoice him in the fire?

  _Philoctetes:_ He showed that burning flames were naught to him.  1610
  What is there in the world which Hercules
  Has left unconquered? He has vanquished all.

  _Nurse:_ What chance for glory on the funeral pyre?

  _Philoctetes:_ One evil thing remained upon the earth
  Which he had not o'ercome--the power of fire.                     1615
  But this has now been added to the beasts,
  And fire is one of great Alcides' toils.

  _Nurse:_ But tell us in what way he conquered fire.

  _Philoctetes:_ When all his sorrowing friends began to fell
  The trees on Oeta's <DW72>s, beneath one hand
  The beech-tree lost its foliage and lay,
  Its mighty trunk prone on the ground. One hand
  With deadly stroke attacked the towering pine,                    1620
  Which lifted to the stars its threatening top,
  And called it from the clouds. In act to fall,
  It shook its rocky crag, and with a crash
  Whelmed all the lesser forest in its fall.
  Within the forest was a certain oak,
  Wide-spreading, vast, like that Chaonian tree
  Of prophecy, whose shade shuts out the sun,
  Embracing all the grove[43] within its arms.                      1625
  By many a blow beset, it groans at first
  In threatening wise, and all the wedges breaks;
  The smiting axe bounds back, its edges dulled,
  Too soft for such a task. At length the tree,
  Long wavering, falls with widespread ruin down.
  Straightway the place admits the sun's bright rays;               1630
  The birds, their tree o'erthrown, fly twittering round,
  And seek their vanished homes on wearied wing.
  Now every tree resounds; even the oaks
  Feel in their sacred sides the piercing steel,
  Nor does its ancient sanctity protect                             1635
  The grove. The wood into a pile is heaped;
  Its logs alternate rising high aloft,
  Make all too small a pyre for Hercules:
  The pine inflammable, tough-fibered oak,
  The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees,                       1640
  Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow,
  Fill up the space and make the pyre complete.
  But he, like some great lion in the woods
  Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain,
  Is borne along--but who would e'er believe
  That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre?
  His gaze was fixed upon the stars of heaven,                      1645
  Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came
  And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre.
  The great beams groaned and broke beneath his weight.
  Now he demands his bow. "Take this," he said,
  "O son of Poeas, take this as the gift
  And pledge of love from Hercules to thee.
  These deadly shafts the poisonous hydra felt;                     1650
  With these the vile Stymphalian birds lie low;
  And every other monster which I slew
  With distant aim. O noble youth, go on
  In victory, for never 'gainst thy foes
  Shalt thou send these in vain. Wouldst wish to bring
  Birds from the very clouds? Down shall they fall,
  And with them come thine arrows sure of prey.                     1655
  This bow shall never disappoint thy hand.
  Well has it learned to poise the feathered shaft
  And send it flying in unerring course.
  The shafts themselves as well, loosed from the string,
  Have never failed to find their destined mark.
  But do thou in return, my only prayer,
  Bring now the funeral torch and light the pyre.                   1660
  This club," he said, "which never hand but mine
  Has wielded, shall the flames consume with me.
  This weapon, only, shall to Hercules
  Belong. But this, too, thou shouldst have from me
  If thou couldst bear its weight. But let it serve
  To aid its master's pyre." Then he required                       1665
  The shaggy spoil of the dire Nemean beast
  To burn with him. The huge skin hid the pyre.
  Now all the gazing crowd begin to groan,
  And tears of woe to fall from every eye.
  His mother bares her breast in eager grief
  And smites her body stripped e'en to the loins                    1670
  For unrestrained lament; then all the gods
  And Jupiter himself she supplicates,
  While all the place re-echoes with her shrieks.
  "Thou dost disgrace the death of Hercules,
  O mother, check thy tears," Alcides said;
  "Within thy heart thy woman's grief confine.
  Why shouldst thou make this day a time of joy                     1675
  For Juno with thy tears? For she, be sure,
  Rejoices to behold her rival weep.
  Then this unworthy grief, my mother, check.
  It is not meet to abuse the breast that nursed,
  And the womb that bore Alcides." Thus he spake;
  Then with a dreadful cry, as when he led                          1680
  The awful dog throughout the towns of Greece,
  Returned triumphant o'er the shades of hell,
  Scorning the lord of death and death itself,
  So did he lay him down upon the pyre.
  What victor in his chariot ever shone
  With such triumphant joy? What tyrant king
  With such a countenance e'er uttered laws
  Unto his subject tribes? So deep his calm                         1685
  Of soul. All tears were dried, our sorrows shamed
  To silence, and we groaned no more to think
  That he must perish. E'en Alcmena's self,
  Whose sex is prone to mourn, now tearless stood,
  A worthy mother of her noble son.                                 1690

  _Nurse:_ But did he, on the verge of death, no prayer
  To heaven breathe, no aid from Jove implore?

  _Philoctetes:_ With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies,
  As searching from what quarter of the heavens
  His sire would look on him, and thus he spake,                    1695
  With hands outstretched: "O father, whencesoe'er
  From heaven thou lookest down upon thy son--
  He truly is my father for whose sake
  One day of old was swallowed up in night--
  If both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise,
  If Scythia, and all the sun-parched lands;                        1700
  If peace fills all the world; if cities groan
  Beneath no tyrant's hand, and no one stains
  With blood of guests his impious altar stones;
  If horrid crimes have ceased: then, take, I pray,
  My spirit to the skies. I have no fear
  Of death, nor do the gloomy realms of Dis                         1705
  Affright my soul; but Oh, I blush with shame
  To go, a naked shade, unto those gods
  Whom I myself aforetime overcame.
  Dispel the clouds and ope the gates of heaven,
  That all the gods may see Alcides burn.
  Though thou refuse me place among the stars,
  Thou shalt be forced to grant my prayer. Ah no:                   1710
  If grief can palliate my impious words,
  Forgive; spread wide the Stygian pools for me,
  And give me up to death. But first, O sire,
  Approve thy son. This day at least shall show
  That I am worthy of the skies. All deeds
  Which I have done before seem worthless now;                      1715
  This day shall prove me worthy, or condemn."
  When he had spoken thus he called for fire:
  "Come hither now, comrade of Hercules,
  With willing hand take up the funeral torch.
  Why dost thou tremble? Does thy timid hand
  Shrink from the deed as from an impious crime?
  Then give me back my quiver, coward, weak.                        1720
  Is that the hand which fain would bend my bow?
  Why does such pallor sit upon thy cheeks?
  Come, ply the torch with that same fortitude
  That thou dost see in me. Thy pattern take,
  Poor soul, from him who faces fiery death.
  But lo, my father calls me from the sky
  And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!"                        1725
  And as he spake his face was glorified.
  Then did I with my trembling hand apply
  The blazing torch. But see, the flames leap back,
  And will not touch his limbs. But Hercules
  Pursues the fleeing fires. You would suppose
  That Caucasus or Pindus was ablaze,                               1730
  Or lofty Athos. Still no sound was heard
  Save only that the flames made loud lament.
  O stubborn heart! Had Typhon huge been placed
  Upon that pyre, or bold Enceladus,
  Who bore uprooted Ossa on his back,
  He would have groaned aloud in agony.                             1735
  But Hercules amidst the roaring flames
  Stood up, all charred and torn, with dauntless gaze,
  And said: "O mother, thus 'tis meet for thee
  Beside the pyre of Hercules to stand.
  Such mourning fits him well. Now dost thou seem
  In very truth Alcides' mother." There,                            1740
  'Midst scorching heat and roaring flames he stood,
  Unmoved, unshaken, showing naught of pain,
  Encouraging, advising, active still.
  His own brave spirit animated all.
  You would have thought him burning with desire
  To burn. The crowd looked on in speechless awe,
  And scarce believed the flames to be true fire,                   1745
  So calm and so majestic was his mien.
  Nor did he hasten to consume himself;
  But when he deemed that fortitude enough
  Was shown in death, from every hand he dragged
  The burning logs which with least ardor glowed,
  Piled them together in a mighty fire,                             1750
  And to the very center of the blaze
  The dauntless hero went. Awhile he stood
  And feasted on the flames his eager eyes.
  Then from his heavy beard leaped gleaming fire.
  But even when the flames assailed his face,
  And licked his head with their hot, fiery tongues,
  He did not close his eyes.                                        1755
                            But what is this?
  'Tis sad Alcmena. With what signs of woe
  She makes her way, while in her breast she bears
  The pitiful remains of Hercules.

[_Enter_ Alcmena, _carrying in her bosom a funeral urn_.]

  _Alcmena:_ Ye powers of heaven, I bid you fear the fates.
                                                [_Holding up the urn._]
  How small a space Alcides' ashes fill!
  To this small compass has that giant come!
  O shining sun, how great a man has gone                           1760
  To nothingness. Alas, this agéd breast
  Is large enough to be Alcides' tomb.
  Behold, his ashes scarce can fill the urn.
  How small his weight, upon whose shoulders once
  The dome of heaven lay, a burden light.
  Thou once didst go, my son, to Tartara,                           1765
  The farthest realms of death--and come again.
  Oh, when wilt thou a second time return
  From that infernal stream? I ask thee not
  To come again with spoil, nor bring again
  Imprisoned Theseus to the light of day;
  But only that thou come again--alone.
  Will all the world, heaped on thee, hold thy shade,               1770
  Or Cerberus avail to keep thee back?
  When wilt thou batter down the gates of hell,
  Or to what portals shall thy mother go?
  Where is the highway that leads down to death?
  E'en now thou tak'st thy journey to the shades,
  Which thou wilt ne'er retrace. Why waste the hours
  In vain complaints? And why, O wretched life,                     1775
  Dost thou endure? Why dost thou cling to day?
  What Hercules can I again bring forth
  To Jupiter? What son so great as he
  Will ever call Alcmena mother? Oh,
  Too happy thou, my Theban husband, thou
  Who didst to gloomy Tartara descend
  While still Alcides lived; at thine approach                      1780
  The infernal deities were filled with fear
  Of thee, though only the reputed sire
  Of Hercules. What land will welcome me,
  Now old and hated by all cruel kings
  (If any cruel king remains alive)?
  Oh, woe is me! Whatever orphaned son
  Laments his sire will strive to seek revenge                      1785
  From me, and I shall be the prey of all.
  If any young Busiris or the son
  Of dread Antaeus terrifies the land,
  His booty shall I be. If anyone
  Would make reprisal for the Thracian steeds
  Of bloody Diomede, I shall be given                               1790
  To feed those cruel herds. Juno perchance
  Will be by passion pricked to seek revenge.
  Now all her anger will be turned on me;
  For, though her soul no longer is disturbed
  Because of Hercules, I still am left,
  Her hated rival. Ah, what punishment
  Will she inflict, in fear lest I bring forth                      1795
  Another son! The mighty Hercules
  Has made my womb a thing of terror still.
  Where shall Alcmena take herself? What place,
  What region of the universe will keep,
  What hiding-place conceal thy mother now,
  Since she is known through thee in every land?
  Shall I return unto my native shores,
  My wretched lares? There Eurystheus reigns.                       1800
  Shall I seek out my husband's city, Thebes,
  Ismenus' stream, and my own bridal bed
  Where once, beloved, I saw great Jupiter?
  Oh, happy, far too happy had I been,
  If I myself, like Semele, had felt
  The blasting presence of the thundering Jove!
  Oh, would that from my womb Alcides, too,                         1805
  Untimely had been torn! But now 'tis given,
  'Tis given to see my son with mighty Jove
  Vying in praise; would that this might be given,
  To know from what fate he could rescue me.
  What people now will live remembering thee,
  O son? Ungrateful are they all alike.                             1810
  Cleonae shall I seek? the Arcadians,
  And the lands ennobled by thy mighty deeds?
  Here fell the serpent dire, here monstrous birds,
  Here fell the bloody king; and here, subdued
  By thy right hand, the lion, who in heaven
  Is given a place, whilst thou in earth remain'st.                 1815
  If earth is grateful, then let every race
  Defend Alcmena for thy sake. Shall I
  To Thracian peoples go, to Hebrus' tribes?
  For this land, too, was by thy mighty works
  Defended. Low the bloody stables lie,
  And low the kingdom; peace was granted it,                        1820
  What time the cruel king was overthrown.
  What land, indeed, has not gained peace through thee?
  Where shall I seek for thee a sepulcher,
  Unhappy, agéd woman that I am?
  Let all the world contend for these remains
  Collected from the pyre of Hercules.
  What race, what temples, or what nations ask
  For them? Who asks to have Alcmena's load?                        1825
  What sepulcher, O son, what tomb for thee
  Is great enough? Naught save the world itself;
  And lasting fame shall be thine epitaph.
  But why, O soul of mine, art thou in fear?
  Thou hast the ashes of thy Hercules.
  Embrace his bones, and they will give thee help,
  Will be thy sure defense. For e'en the shade                      1830
  Of great Alcides will make kings afraid.

  _Philoctetes:_ O mother of illustrious Hercules,
  Restrain the tears thou deemest due thy son;
  For neither grieving tears nor mournful prayers
  Should follow him who by his noble worth
  Has forced his way to heaven in spite of fate.
  Alcides' deathless valor checks your tears.                       1835

  _Alcmena:_ Why should I bate my grief? For I have lost
  My savior,[44] yea, the savior of the land
  And sea,[45] and wheresoe'er the shining day
  From his resplendent car, in east or west,
  Looks down upon the earth. How many sons
  In him, O wretched mother, have I lost!                           1840
  Without a kingdom, I could kingdoms give.
  I only, 'midst all mothers of the earth,
  Had never need of prayer; naught from the gods
  I asked, while Hercules remained alive;
  For what could his devotion not bestow?
  What god in heaven could e'er deny me aught?                      1845
  In my own hands was answer of my prayer;
  For what great Jove denied, Alcides gave.
  What mortal mother e'er bore such a son?
  A mother once with grief was turned to stone,
  When, 'midst her brood of fourteen children slain,
  She stood, one mother, and bewailed them all.                     1850
  To many families like hers my son
  Could be compared. Till now for mother's grief
  A measure vast enough could not be found;
  But now will I, Alcmena, furnish it.
  Then cease, ye mothers, though persistent grief
  Till now has bidden you weep; though heavy woe                    1855
  Has turned your hearts to stone; and yield you all
  Unto my woes.
                Then come, ye wretched hands,
  And beat this agéd breast. But can it be
  That thou alone canst for so great a loss
  Lament, so old and worn, which[46] all the world                  1860
  Will presently attempt? Yet raise thy arms,
  However weary, to their mournful task.
  And to thy wailing summon all the earth,
  And so excite the envy of the gods.

[_Here follows_ Alcmena's _formal song of mourning, accompanied by the
usual Oriental gestures of grief_.]

    Bewail Alcmena's son, the seed
    Of Jove, for whose conception, long,                            1865
    Day perished and the lingering dawn
    Combined two nights in one. But now
    A greater than the day is dead.
    Ye nations, join in common grief,
    Whose cruel lords he bade descend
    To Stygian realms, and lay aside                                1870
    Their red swords reeking with the blood
    Of subject peoples. With your tears
    Repay his services; let earth,
    The whole round earth, with woe resound.
    Let sea-girt Crete bewail him, Crete,
    The Thunderer's belovéd land;                                   1875
    Beat, beat your breasts, ye hundred tribes;
    Ye Cretans, Corybantes, now
    Clash Ida's cymbals; for 'tis meet
    To mourn him thus. Now, now lament
    His funeral; for low he lies,                                   1880
    A mate, O Crete, for Jove himself.
    Bewail the death of Hercules,
    Ye sons of Arcady, whose race
    Is older than Diana's birth.
    Let your cries from high Parthenius
    And Nemea's halls resound afar;                                 1885
    Let Maenala re-echo loud
    Your sounds of woe. The bristly boar
    Within your borders overthrown
    Demands lament for Hercules;
    And the monster of Stymphalus' pool,
    Whose spreading wings shut out the day,
    By great Alcides' arrows slain.                                 1890
    Weep thou, Cleonae, weep and wail
    For him; for once the lion huge
    Which held your walls in terror, he,
    By his strong hand, o'ercame and slew.
    Ye Thracian matrons, beat your breasts,
    And let cold Hebrus resound to your beating.                    1895
    Lament for Alcides: no longer your children
    Are born for the stables; no longer your vitals
    Wild horses devour. O ye African lands,
    From Antaeus delivered, ye regions of Spain
    From Geryon saved, come, weep for your hero.                    1900
    Yea, all ye wretched nations, weep
    With me and smite your breasts in woe,
    And let your blows be heard afar,
    By eastern and by western shores.
    Ye dwellers in the whirling sky,
    Ye gods above, do ye, too, weep
    The fate of Hercules; for he                                    1905
    Your heavens upon his shoulders bore,
    When Atlas, who was wont to bear
    The spangled skies, was eased awhile
    Of his vast load. Where now, O Jove,
    Is the promised palace of the sky,                              1910
    Those heavenly heights? Alcides dies
    And is entombed--the common lot.
    How often has he spared for thee
    The deadly thunderbolt of wrath!
    How seldom wast thou forced to hurl
    Thy fires! But hurl 'gainst me at least
    One shaft, and think me Semele.                                 1915
    And now, O son, hast thou obtained
    The fields Elysian, the shore
    To which the voice of nature calls
    All nations? Or has gloomy Styx
    Hemmed in thy way in vengeful wrath
    Because of stolen Cerberus,
    And in the outer court of Dis                                   1920
    Do jealous fates detain thee still?
    Oh what a rout among the shades
    And frightened manes must there be!
    Does Charon flee in his ghostly skiff?
    With flying hoofs do the Centaurs rush                          1925
    Through the wandering shades? Does the hydra seek
    In fear to plunge his snaky heads
    'Neath the murky waves? Do all thy tasks
    Hold thee in fear?
                      Ah me! Ah me!
    What foolish, raving madness this!
    I am mistaken quite. I know                                     1930
    The shades and manes fear thee not;
    For neither does the tawny skin
    Stripped from the fierce Argolic beast
    Protect thy left with its streaming mane,
    Nor do its savage teeth surround                                1935
    Thy head. Thy quiver with its darts
    Thou hast given away, and a weaker hand
    Will aim thy bow. Alas, my son,
    Unarmed through the shades thou tak'st thy way;
    And with the shades shalt thou dwell for aye.

  _The Voice of Hercules_ [_sounding from heaven_]: Why, since I hold
    the starry realms of sky,                                       1940
  And have at last attained a heavenly seat,
  Dost thou by wailing bid me feel again
  Mortality? Give o'er, since valor now
  Has made for me a passage to the gods.

  _Alcmena_ [_bewildered_]: Whence fall upon my startled ears
    These sounds? Whence come these thunder tones
    That bid me check my tears? Ah, now                             1945
    I know that chaos is o'ercome.
    From Styx art thou once more returned,
    O son? And hast thou once again
    Vanquished the grizzly power of death?
    Hast thou escaped the grim abode
    Of death once more, the gloomy pools
    Where sailed the dark infernal skiff?                           1950
    Does Acheron's wan stream allow
    To thee alone a backward way?
    And after death has greedy fate
    No hold upon thy dauntless soul?
    Perchance thy way to hell was barred
    By Pluto's self, who trembled sore
    For his own realm? Upon the pyre                                1955
    Of blazing woods I saw thee lie;
    While to the stars the raging flames
    Shot up. Thou wast indeed consumed.
    Then why does not the far abode
    Of death retain thy spirit still?                               1960
  What part of thee do trembling manes fear?
  Is e'en thy shade too terrible for Dis?

  _Hercules_ [_his form now taking shape in the air above_]: The pools
    of grim Cocytus hold me not,
  Nor has the dusky skiff contained my ghost.
  Then cease thy mourning, mother; once for all
  Have I beheld the manes and the shades.                           1965
  The mortal part of me, the part thou gav'st,
  Was by the overmastering flames consumed;
  Thy part to fire, my father's part to heaven
  Has been consigned. Then cease thy loud laments,
  Which it were fitting to a worthless son
  To give. To inglorious souls such grief is due;                   1970
  For courage heavenward tends; base fear, to death.
  Hear now, as from the stars I prophesy:
  Soon shall the bloody king, Eurystheus, pay
  Fit penalty to thee for all his deeds;
  For over his proud head shalt thou be borne
  In thy triumphant car. But now 'tis meet
  That I return to the celestial realms;                            1975
  Alcides once again has conquered hell.

[_He vanishes from sight._]

  _Alcmena:_ Stay but a little--ah, from my fond eyes
  He has departed, gone again to heaven.
  Am I deceived, and do my eyes but dream
  They saw my son? My soul for very grief
  Is faithless still. Not so, thou art a god,                       1980
  And holdest even now the immortal skies.
  I trust thy triumph still. But quickly now
  Unto the realm of Thebes will I repair,
  And proudly tell thy new-made godhead there.

[_Exit._]

  _Chorus:_   Never is glorious manhood borne
    To Stygian shades. The brave live on,
    Nor over Lethe's silent stream                                  1985
    Shall they by cruel fate be drawn.
    But when life's days are all consumed,
    And comes the final hour, for them
    A pathway to the gods is spread
    By glory.
              Be thou with us yet,
    O mighty conqueror of beasts,                                   1990
    Subduer of the world. Oh, still
    Have thought unto this earth of ours.
    And if some strange, new monster come
    And fill the nations with his dread,
    Do thou with forkéd lightnings crush
    The beast; yea, hurl thy thunderbolts                           1995
    More mightily than Jove himself.


FOOTNOTES:

[43] Reading, _nemus_.

[44] Reading, _vindicem amisi_.

[45] Reading, _terrae atque pelagi_.

[46] Reading, _quod_.




THYESTES




THYESTES

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


THYESTES Brother of Atreus, in exile from his fatherland.

_The Ghost of Tantalus._ Doomed for his sins to come back to earth and
inspire his house to greater sin.

_The Fury_ Who drives the ghost on to do his allotted part.

_Atreus_ King of Argos, grandson of Tantalus, who has quarreled with
his brother and driven him into exile.

_An Attendant of Atreus._

_Three sons of Thyestes:_ Only one of whom, Tantalus, takes part in
the dialogue.

_A Messenger._

_Chorus_ Citizens of Mycenae.


THE SCENE is laid partly without the city of Argos, and partly within
the royal palace.


_Pelops, the son of Tantalus, had banished his sons for the murder of
their half-brother, Crysippus, with a curse upon them, that they and
their posterity might perish by each others' hands. Upon the death of
Pelops, Atreus returned and took possession of his father's throne.
Thyestes, also, claimed the throne, and sought to gain it by the
foulest means. For he seduced his brother's wife, Aërope, and stole by
her assistance the magical, gold-fleeced ram from Atreus' flocks, upon
the possession of which the right to rule was said to rest. For this
act he was banished by the king._

_But Atreus has long been meditating a more complete revenge upon
his brother; and now in pretended friendship has recalled him from
banishment, offering him a place beside himself upon the throne, that
thus he may have Thyestes entirely in his power._


ACT I

  _The Ghost of Tantalus:_ Who from th' accurséd regions of the dead,
  Hath haled me forth, where greedily I strive
  To snatch the food that ever doth escape
  My hungry lips? Who now to Tantalus
  Doth show those heavenly seats which once before
  I saw to my undoing? Can it be
  That some more fearful suffering than thirst
  In sight of water, worse than gaping want,                           5
  Hath been devised? Must I the slippery stone
  Of Sisyphus upon my shoulders bear?
  Must I be stretched upon the whirling wheel,
  Or suffer Tityus' pangs, who, lying prone
  Within a huge recess, the grewsome birds                            10
  Doth with his quivering, torn-out vitals feed?
  By night renewing what the day hath lost,
  He lies, an undiminished feast for all.
  For what new evil am I now reserved?
  O thou grim judge of shades, who'er thou art
  Who to the dead doth mete new punishments!
  If thou canst still some suffering devise                           15
  Whereat grim Cerberus himself would quake,
  And gloomy Acheron be seized with fear,
  At whose dread sight e'en I would tremble sore:
  Seek such a punishment; for from my seed
  Is sprung a race which shall their house outvie                     20
  In sin, shall make me innocent appear,
  And dare to do what I have never dared.
  Whatever space within the impious realms
  Remains unoccupied, my house shall fill.
  While lives the race of Pelops on the earth,
  No rest shall Minos know.

  _The Fury:_                Thou curséd shade,
  Be gone, and to the verge of madness drive
  Thine impious house. Be drawn the deadly sword                      25
  To every crime upraised, by every hand;
  Of angry passions let there be no end,
  No shame of strife; let blinded fury's sting
  Prick on their souls; seared by the breath of rage
  May parents' hearts grow hard, and endless crime
  To childrens' children drag its impious trail.
  No time be given to hate their former crimes;
  But let the new in quick succession rise,                           30
  Not one alone in each; and may their crimes,
  E'en while they suffer punishment, increase.
  Let the throne fall from the haughty brothers' grasp,
  And call them back from exiled wanderings.
  Let the tottering fortune of this bloody house,
  Amid its changing kings in ruins fall.
  Bring him of high estate to wretchedness,                           35
  The wretched raise; and let the kingdom toss
  Upon the seething tide of circumstance.
  By crime driven out, when God shall bring them home,
  May they return but to still other crimes,
  And by all men as by themselves be loathed.
  Let nothing be which wrath deems unallowed:
  Let brother brother fear, and parent child;                         40
  Let son fear father; let the children die
  An evil death--by doubly evil birth
  Be born. Let wives against their husbands lift
  Their murderous hands. Let wars pass over seas,
  And every land be drenched with streams of blood.
  Triumphant o'er the mighty kings of earth,
  Let Lust exult; and in thy sinful house,                            45
  Let vile, incestuous deeds seem trivial.
  Let justice, faith, fraternal amity
  Be trampled underfoot; and of our sins
  Let not the heavens themselves escape the taint.
  Why gleam the constellations in the sky,
  And flash their wonted glories to the world?                        50
  Be pitchy black the night, and let the day
  Fall fainting from the heavens and be no more.
  Embroil thy household gods, rouse murderous hate,
  And all the palace fill with Tantalus.
  Adorn the lofty columns; let the doors,
  With verdant laural decked, proclaim their joy;
  Let torches gleam in celebration meet                               55
  Of thy return--then let the Thracian crime
  Be done again, but triply hideous.
  Why stays the uncle's hand in idleness?
  Not yet Thyestes weeps his murdered sons.
  When will he act? The kettles o'er the fires
  Should even now be boiling, severed limbs                           60
  Be broken up, the father's hearth be stained
  With children's blood, the festal tables spread.
  But at no untried carnival of crime
  Wilt thou sit down as guest. This day be free,
  And sate thy hunger at that festal board;
  Go eat thy fill, and drink the blood and wine                       65
  Commingled in thy sight. A banquet this,
  Which thou thyself wouldst look in horror on.--
  But stay thee. Whither dost thou rush away?

  _Tantalus:_ Back to my pools and streams and ebbing waves,
  Back to that tree whose ever-mocking fruit
  Eludes my lips. Oh, let me seek again
  The gloomy couch of my old prison-house;                            70
  And if too little wretched I appear,
  Bid me my river change. Within thy stream,
  O Phlegethon, hemmed round with waves of fire,
  Let me be left to suffer.
                            Ye, whoe'er
  By fate's decrees are doomed to punishment,
  Whoe'er thou art who 'neath the hollowed cave                       75
  Dost lie, in constant fear lest even now
  The cavern's mass shall fall upon thy head;
  Whoever fears the gaping, greedy jaws
  Of lions, and in helpless horror looks
  Upon the advancing furies' cruel lines;
  Whoe'er, half burned, their threat'ning torches shuns:
  Oh, listen to the voice of Tantalus                                 80
  Fast speeding to your realm; believe the words
  Of one who knows, and love your punishment.
  But now--Oh, when shall it be mine to flee
  This upper world?

  _The Fury:_            First must thou plunge thy house
  In dire disorders, stir up deadly feuds,
  Awake the kings to evil lust for blood,
  And rouse to wild amaze their maddened hearts.

  _Tantalus:_ 'Tis fit that I should suffer, not bestow,              85
  The punishment. But thou wouldst have me go,
  Like deadly vapor from the riven earth,
  Or like the plague amongst the people spread,
  And lead my grandsons into crime most foul.
  O mighty sire of gods, my sire as well,
  Although 'tis shame to thee to own me son,                          90
  Though cruel tortures seize my tattling tongue,
  I will not hold my peace:
                                   [_He cries aloud as to his family._]
                            I warn ye all,
  Stain not your kindred hands with sacred blood,
  And with no madman's gifts pollute the shrines.
  Lo, here I stand, and shall avert the deed.                         95
                                                       [_To the_ Fury.]
  Why dost thou fright me with thy brandished scourge,
  And shake thy writhing serpents in my face?
  Why in mine inmost marrow dost thou rouse
  These gnawing hunger pangs? My very heart
  Is parched with burning thirst, and leaping flames
  Dart scorching through my vitals--Oh, desist;
  I yield me to thy will.                                            100

  _The Fury:_              Then fix this thirst,
  This maddening thirst in all thy kindred here;
  So, e'en as thou, may they be driven on
  To quench their thirst each in the others' blood.
  But lo, thy house perceives thy near approach,
  And shrinks in horror from thy loathsome touch.
  But now enough. Do thou go back again                              105
  To thine infernal caves and 'customed stream;
  For here the sad earth groans beneath thy feet.
  Dost thou not see how, driven far within,
  The waters flee their springs? how river banks
  Are empty, and the fiery wind drives on
  The scattered clouds? The trees grow sickly pale,
  Their branches hang denuded of their fruits;                       110
  And where but late the Isthmus echoed back
  The loud resounding waters near at hand,
  Their neighboring waves by but a narrow span
  Dividing, now have all the waves withdrawn
  Far seaward, and their voice is faintly heard
  Upon the shore. Now Lerna backward shrinks,                        115
  The streams of Inachus have hidden away,
  The sacred Alpheus sends his waters forth
  No longer, and Cithaeron lifts no more
  Its hoary head, for all its snows are gone;
  While they who dwell in noble Argos fear
  Their ancient thirst again. E'en Titan's self
  Stands doubtful whether he shall bid his steeds                    120
  Run their accustomed course and bring the day,
  Foredoomed by thee to perish on the way.

[_They vanish._]

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   If any god for Argos cares,
    And Pisa's realm for chariots famed;
    If any loves the Isthmian state
    Of Corinth, with its double ports,
    And two opposing seas;                                           125
    If any joys in the far-seen snows
    Of Mount Taygetus, which lie
    Heaped on his loftiest peaks what time
    The wintry blasts of Boreas blow,
    But which the summer melts again
    When breathe the soft Etesian winds,
    Sail filling; if the Alpheus bright
    With its cool, clear stream moves any god,                       130
    Far famed for its Olympic course--
    Let him his peaceful godhead turn
    To our affairs; let him avert
    This dread inheritance of crime;
    Forbid that in his grandsire's steps
    The grandson follow, worse than he;
    And let not worse monstrosities
    Please generations yet to be.                                    135
    Oh, may at last the impious race
    Of thirsty Tantalus give o'er
    In utter weariness its lust
    For savage deeds. Enough of sin!
    No longer does the right prevail,
    And wrong is general. Behold,
    As Myrtilus his lord betrayed,
    He, too, was treacherously slain;
    For by that selfsame broken faith                                140
    Which he had shown, himself o'ercome,[47]
    He fell into the sea and changed
    Its name for his. Amidst the ships
    That sail the Ionian sea, no tale
    Is better known.
    See now, while runs the little son
    To meet his father's kiss, he falls                              145
    By that accurséd sword transfixed,
    Untimely victim at thy hearth,
    And carved, O Tantalus, by thee,
    That so thou mightest grace the board
    Of friendly gods. That impious feast
    Eternal hunger, endless thirst
    Rewarded; penalty more fit                                       150
    For such a crime could not be found.
    See where, with gaping throat, forespent,
    Stands Tantalus; above his head
    Hang many luscious fruits; but, swift
    As Phineus' birds, they flee his grasp;
    On every side the tree droops low,
    With heavy-laden boughs, o'erweighed                             155
    By its own fruit, and mockingly
    Sways to his straining lips. Yet he,
    Though with impatient longing filled,
    As often mocked, so often fails
    To grasp the prize; he turns away                                160
    His longing gaze, strains close his lips,
    And grimly bars his hunger fast
    Behind his teeth. But still again
    The whole grove lets its riches down,
    And flaunts them in his face, soft fruits
    On drooping boughs, and whets once more
    His hunger, bidding stretch again                                165
    His hands--but all in vain. For now,
    When it has lured him on to hope,
    And mocked its fill, the boughs recede,
    And the whole ripe harvest of the wood
    Is snatched far out of reach.
    Then comes a raging thirst more fierce
    Than hunger, which inflames his blood,                           170
    And with its parching fires burns up
    Its moisture. There the poor wretch stands,
    Striving to quaff the nearby waves;
    But the fleeing waters whirl away,
    And leave but the empty bed to him
    Who seeks to follow. Quick he quaffs
    At that swift stream, but to drink--the dust.                    175


FOOTNOTES:

[47] Reading, _vectus_.


ACT II

  _Atreus_ [_in soliloquy_]: O soul, so sluggish, spiritless, and weak,
  And (what in kings I deem the last reproach)
  Still unavenged, after so many crimes,
  Thy brother's treacheries, and every law
  Of nature set at naught, canst vent thy wrath
  In vain and meaningless complaints? By now
  The whole wide world should be astir with arms,                    180
  Thy arms, and on both seas thy ships of war
  Should swarm; the fields and town's should be ablaze,
  And gleaming swords should everywhere be seen.
  Beneath our charging squadrons' thundering tread
  Let Greece resound; let this my enemy
  Within no forest's depths a hiding find.                           185
  No citadel upon the mountain heights
  Shall shelter him. Let all the citizens,
  Mycenae leaving, sound the trump of war.
  Whoe'er grants refuge to that curséd head,
  Shall die a dreadful death. This noble pile,
  The home of our illustrious Pelops' line,                          190
  I would might fall on me, if only thus
  It might destroy my hated brother too.
  But come, my soul, do what no coming age
  Shall e'er approve--or e'er forget; some deed
  Must be attempted, impious, bloody, dire,
  Such as my brother's self might claim as his.
  No crime's avenged save by a greater crime.                        195
  But where the crime that can surpass his deeds?
  Is he yet crushed in spirit? Does he show
  In prosperous circumstances self-control,
  Contentment in defeat? Full well I know
  His tameless spirit; it can ne'er be bent--
  But can be broken. Then, before his force                          200
  He strengthens and opposing powers prepares,
  We must the attack begin, lest, while we wait,
  He strike us unprepared. For well I know
  That he must either slay me or be slain
  By me. There lies the crime between us two:
  Who leaps to grasp it first, the crime shall do.

  _Attendant:_ But does the evil fame of such a deed
  Deter you not?

  _Atreus:_              The greatest blessing this
  Of royal power, that men are forced to praise                      205
  Their monarchs' deeds as well as bear them.

  _Attendant:_                              Yea,
  But they whose praise is forced by fear become
  By that same fear in turn the bitterest foes.
  But he who seeks the people's heartfelt praise,
  Will wish their hearts and not their tongues to speak.             210

  _Atreus:_ True praise may often fall to humble men,
  But false alone to kings. Let subjects learn
  To want what they would not.

  _Attendant:_                   Let monarchs learn
  To choose the right; then all will choose the same.

  _Atreus:_ When kings are forced to choose the right alone,
  Their rule is insecure.

  _Attendant:_              Where is no shame,
  No thought of righteousness, no piety,                             215
  No faith, no purity, Oh, then indeed
  That rule is insecure.

  _Atreus:_                        But purity,
  Faith, piety, are private virtues all;
  With kings, their will is law.

  _Attendant:_                   Oh, count it wrong
  To harm thy brother, though he basest be.

  _Atreus:_ Whatever may not lawfully be done                        220
  To brothers, may with perfect right be done
  To him. What is there left me now unstained
  By crime of his? Where has he failed to sin?
  My wife has he debauched, my kingdom stolen,
  The ancient emblem of our dynasty
  By fraud obtained, and all our royal house
  By that same fraud in dire confusion plunged.
  There is a flock within our royal stalls,                          225
  Rich fleeced and nobly bred, and with the flock
  A ram, their leader, wondrous, magical;
  For from his body thickly hangs a fleece
  Of fine-spun gold, with which the new-crowned kings
  Of Pelops' line are wont t' adorn their scepters.
  Who owns the ram is king, for with his fate                        230
  The fortunes of our noble house are linked.
  This sacred ram in safety feeds apart
  Within a mead whose fateful bounds are fenced
  By stony walls, and kept with gate of stone.
  Him, greatly daring, did my brother steal,
  Perfidious, with my wife in secret league                          235
  Of crime. And this has been the fountain spring
  Of all my woes; throughout my kingdom's length
  Have I a trembling exile wandered long,
  And found no place of safety from his snares;
  My wife has he defiled, my subjects' faith
  And loyalty destroyed, my house o'erthrown,
  All ties of kinship broken, and nothing left                       240
  Of which I may be sure save only this--
  My brother's enmity. Why do I stand
  In stupid inactivity? At length
  Bestir thyself, and gird thy courage up.
  Think thou on Pelops and on Tantalus;
  Such deeds as theirs must by my hands be done.

  [_To_ Attendant.]

  Tell thou me then how vengeance may be won.

  _Attendant:_ Drive out his hostile spirit with the sword.          245

  _Atreus:_ Thou speakest of the end of punishment,
  But I the punishment itself desire.
  Let easy-going rulers slay their foes;
  In my domain death is a longed-for boon.

  _Attendant:_ Do pious motives stir thee not at all?

  _Atreus:_ Away, O Piety, if ever thou
  Didst dwell within my house, and in thy stead
  Let come dire furies' cohorts, fiends at war,                      250
  Megaera holding high in either hand
  Her flaming torch; for with a mighty rage
  'Tis not enough my heart should be inflamed:
  I fain would be by greater horrors filled.

  _Attendant:_ What new design does thy mad soul conceive?

  _Atreus:_ No deed within the accustomed bounds of grief.           255
  I'll leave no crime undone; and yet no crime
  Is bad enough for me.

  _Attendant:_            Wilt use the sword?

  _Atreus:_ 'Tis not enough.

  _Attendant:_              The flames?

  _Atreus:_                             Still not enough.

  _Attendant:_ What weapon then will thy mad passion use?

  _Atreus:_ Thyestes' self.

  _Attendant:_              Far worse than madness this.

  _Atreus:_ I do confess it. Deep within my heart,                   260
  A fearful tumult rages unrestrained,
  And I am hurried on, I know not where;
  I only know that I am hurried on.
  From lowest depths a moaning sound is heard,
  And thunders rumble in the cloudless skies;
  A crashing noise resounds throughout the house
  As though 'twere rent in twain; upon my hearth
  The frightened Lares turn their gaze from me.                      265
  Yet this shall be, this awful thing shall be,
  Ye gods, which ye do fear to think upon.

  _Attendant:_ What then is this which thou dost meditate?

  _Atreus:_ Some greater evil lurks within my soul,
  And, monstrous, swells beyond all human bounds,
  My sluggish hands impelling to the deed.
  I know not what it is; but this I know,
  That 'tis some monstrous deed. So let it be.                       270
  Haste thee and do this deed, O soul of mine!
  'Tis worthy of Thyestes--and of me.
  Let both perform it then. The Odrysian house
  Was wont to look on feasts unspeakable--
  monstrous thing, 'tis true, but long ago
  Performed. This grief of mine some greater sin                     275
  Must find to feed upon. Do thou inspire
  My heart, O Daulian Procne, who didst know
  A mother's and a sister's feelings too.
  Our cause is similar. Assist thou then,
  And nerve my hand to act. Let once again
  A sire with joyous greed his children rend,
  And hungrily devour their flesh. 'Tis good,
  'Tis quite enough. This mode of punishment
  So far doth please me well. But where is he?                       280
  Why do the hands of Atreus rest so long
  Inactive? Even now before mine eyes
  The perfect image of the slaughter comes;
  I seem to see the murdered children heaped
  Before their father's face. O timid soul,
  Why dost thou fear? Why droops thy courage now
  Before the deed is done? Then up, and dare.
  Of this mad crime the most revolting part                          285
  Thyestes' self shall do.

  _Attendant:_             But by what wiles
  Shall we unto our snares entice his feet?
  For he doth count us all his enemies.

  _Atreus:_ He never could be taken, were his will
  Not bent on taking too. E'en now he hopes
  To take my kingdom from me. In this hope,
  He'll rush against the bolts of threat'ning Jove;                  290
  This hope will make him brave the whirlpools' wrath,
  And sail within the treacherous Libyan shoals;
  On this hope stayed, the greatest ill of all
  Will he have strength to bear--the sight of me.

  _Attendant:_ But who will give him confidence in peace?
  To whom will he such weighty credence give?                        295

  _Atreus:_ His wicked hope is ready to believe.
  Yet shall my sons this message bear from me:
  Now let the wretched exile roam no more,
  But leave his homeless state for royal halls,
  And rule at Argos, sharer of my throne.
  But if Thyestes harshly spurn my prayer,
  His guileless children, overspent with woes                        300
  And easily beguiled, will bend his will
  Unto their prayers. His ancient thirst for power,
  Together with his present poverty,
  And harsh demands of toil will move the man,
  However stubborn, by their weight of woes.

  _Attendant:_ But time by now has made his troubles light.          305

  _Atreus:_ Nay; sense of wrong increases day by day.
  'Tis easy to bear hardship for a time;
  But to endure it long, an irksome task.

  _Attendant:_ Choose other servants of thy grim design.

  _Atreus:_ Young men lend ready ear to base commands.

  _Attendant:_ Beware, lest what against their uncle now             310
  Thou teachest them, they turn against their sire
  In time to come. Full oft do crimes recoil
  Upon the man who instigated them.

  _Atreus:_ Though none should teach them fraud and ways of crime,
  The throne itself would teach them. Dost thou fear
  Lest they grow evil? Evil were they born.
  What thou dost savage, cruel call in me,
  Dost deem impossible and impious,                                  315
  Perchance my brother even now doth plot
  Against myself.

  _Attendant:_          Shall then thy children know
  What crime they do?

  _Atreus:_                    Not so, for youthful years
  Cannot keep silent faith. They might perchance
  Betray the trick. The art of secrecy
  Is mastered only by the ills of life.

  _Attendant:_ And wilt thou then deceive the very ones              320
  Through whom thou plann'st another to deceive?

  _Atreus:_ That so they may themselves be free from guilt.
  For what the need of implicating them
  In crimes of mine? Nay, through my acts alone
  My hate shall work its ends. But hold, my soul,
  Thou doest ill, thou shrinkest from the task.
  If thou dost spare thine own, thou sparest his                     325
  As well. So then let Agamemnon be
  The conscious minister of my designs,
  And wittingly let Menelaüs help
  His father's plans. And by this test of crime,
  Let their uncertain birth be put to proof:
  If they refuse to wage this deadly war,
  And will not serve my hatred; if they plead
  He is their uncle--then is he their sire.
  So let them go. But no! a look of fear                             330
  Has oft revealed the heart. And weighty plans,
  E'en 'gainst the stoutest will, betray themselves.
  They shall not know of how great consequence
  Their mission is.
                                                      [_To_ Attendant.]
                    And do thou hide it too.

  _Attendant:_ No warning do I need, for in my breast
  It shall be hid by fear and loyalty.
  But more shall loyalty prevail with me.                            335

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   At last our royal family,
    The race of ancient Inachus,
    Hath quelled the brothers' deadly strife
    What fatal madness drives you on
    To shed by turns each other's blood,                             340
    And gain the throne through paths of crime?
    O ye who lust for regal state,
    Ye know not where true power is found;
    For riches cannot make a king,
    Nor Tyrian garments richly dyed,                                 345
    Nor royal crowns upon the brow,
    Nor portals glittering with gold.
    But he is king who knows no fear,
    Whose heart is free from mad desires;
    Whom vain ambition moveth not,                                   350
    Nor fickle favor of the mob.
    The hidden treasures of the west
    Move not his heart, nor sands of gold
    Which Tagus' waters sweep along
    Within their shining bed;                                        355
    Nor yet the garnered wealth of grain
    Trod out on Libyan threshing-floors.
    He fears no hurtling thunderbolt
    In zig-zag course athwart the sky;
    No Eurus ruffling up the sea,                                    360
    Nor the heaving Adriatic's waves,
    Windswept and mad before the blast;
    No hostile spear, nor keen, bare sword
    Can master him; but, set on high,
    In calm serenity he sees                                         365
    All things of earth beneath his feet.
    And so with joy he goes to meet
    His fate, and welcomes death.
    In vain 'gainst him would kings contend,
    Though from all lands they congregate--
    They who the scattered Dacians lead;                             370
    Who dwell upon the red sea's marge
    Whose depths are set with gleaming pearls;
    Or who, secure on Caspian heights,
    Leave all unclosed their mountain ways
    Against the bold Sarmatians;                                     375
    They who through Danube's swelling waves
    Dare make their way with fearless feet,
    And, wheresoe'er they dwell, despoil
    The famed and far-off Serians:
    In vain all these, for 'tis the soul                             380
    That makes the king. He needs no arms,
    No steeds, no ineffectual darts
    Such as the Parthian hurls from far
    In simulated flight; for him
    No engines huge with far-hurled rocks                            385
    Lay waste the hostile city's walls.
    But he is king who knows no fear,
    And he is king who has no lust;
    And on his throne secure he sits
    Who is self-crowned by conscious worth.                          390
    Let him who will, in pride of power,
    Upon the brink of empire stand:
    For me, be sweet repose enough;
    In humble station fixed, would I
    My life in gentle leisure spend,                                 395
    In silence, all unknown to fame.
    So when my days have passed away
    From noisy, restless tumult free,
    May I, in meek obscurity                                         400
    And full of years, decline in death.
    But death lies heavily on him
    Who, though to all the world well known,
    Is stranger to himself alone.


ACT III

[_Enter_ Thyestes _returning from banishment, accompanied by his three
sons_.]

  _Thyestes:_    At last do I behold the welcome roofs
  Of this my fatherland, the teeming wealth
  Of Argos, and, the greatest and the best
  Of sights to weary exiles, here I see                              405
  My native soil and my ancestral gods
  (If gods indeed there be). And there, behold,
  The sacred towers by hands of Cyclops reared,
  In beauty far excelling human art;
  The race-course thronged with youth, where oftentimes
  Have I within my father's chariot
  Sped on to victory and fair renown.                                410
  Now will all Argos come to welcome me;
  The thronging folk will come--and Atreus too!
  Oh, better far reseek thy wooded haunts,
  Thy glades remote, and, mingled with the brutes,
  Live e'en as they. Why should this splendid realm
  With its fair-seeming glitter blind my eyes?                       415
  When thou dost look upon the goodly gift,
  Scan well the giver too. Of late I lived
  With bold and joyous spirit, though my lot
  All men considered hard to bear. But now
  My heart is filled with fears, my courage fails;
  And, bent on flight, my feet unwilling move.                       420

  _Tantalus_ [_one of_ Thyestes' _sons_]: Why, O my father,
    dost thou falter so
  With steps uncertain, turn away thy face,
  And hold thyself as on a doubtful course?

  _Thyestes_ [_in soliloquy_]: Why hesitate, my soul, or why so long
  Deliberate upon a point so clear?
  To such uncertain things dost thou intrust
  Thyself as throne and brother? And fearest thou
  Those ills already conquered and found mild?                       425
  Dost flee those cares which thou hast well bestowed?
  Oh, now my former wretchedness is joy.
  Turn back, while still thou mayst, and save thyself.

  _Tantalus:_ What cause, O father, forces thee to leave
  Thy native land at last regained? Why now,                         430
  When richest gifts are falling in thy lap,
  Dost turn away? Thy brother's wrath is o'er;
  And he has turned himself once more to thee,
  Has given thee back thy share of sovereignty,
  Restored our shattered house to harmony,
  And made thee master of thyself again.

  _Thyestes:_ Thou askest why I fear--I cannot tell.
  No cause for fear I see, but still I fear. 435
  I long to go, and yet my trembling limbs
  Go on with faltering steps, and I am borne
  Where I most stoutly struggle not to go.
  So, when a ship by oar and sail is driven,
  The tide, resisting both, bears it away.

  _Tantalus:_ But thou must overcome whate'er it be                  440
  That doth oppose and hold thy soul in check;
  And see how great rewards await thee here:
  Thou canst be king.

  _Thyestes:_          Since I have power to die.

  _Tantalus:_ But royal power is--

  _Thyestes:_          Naught, if only thou
  No power dost covet.

  _Tantalus:_                    Leave it to thy sons.

  _Thyestes:_ No realm on earth can stand divided power.

  _Tantalus:_ Should he, who can be happy, still be sad?             445

  _Thyestes:_ Believe me, son, 'tis by their lying names
  That things seem great, while others harsh appear
  Which are not truly so. When high in power
  I stood, I never ceased to be in fear;
  Yea, even did I fear the very sword
  Upon my thigh. Oh, what a boon it is
  To be at feud with none, to eat one's bread                        450
  Without a trace of care, upon the ground!
  Crime enters not the poor man's humble cot;
  And all in safety may one take his food
  From slender boards; for 'tis in cups of gold
  That poison lurks--I speak what I do know.
  Ill fortune is to be preferred to good.
  For since my palace does not threatening stand                     455
  In pride upon some lofty mountain top,
  The people fear me not; my towering roofs
  Gleam not with ivory, nor do I need
  A watchful guard to keep me while I sleep.
  I do not fish with fleets, nor drive the sea
  With massive <DW18>s back from its natural shore;                    460
  I do not gorge me at the world's expense;
  For me no fields remote are harvested
  Beyond the Getae and the Parthians;
  No incense burns for me, nor are my shrines
  Adorned in impious neglect of Jove;
  No forests wave upon my battlements,
  No vast pools steam for my delight; my days                        465
  Are not to slumber given, nor do I spend
  The livelong night in drunken revelry.
  No one feels fear of me, and so my home,
  Though all unguarded, is from danger free;
  For poverty alone may be at peace.
  And this I hold: the mightiest king is he,
  Who from the lust of sovereignty is free.                          470

  _Tantalus:_ But if some god a kingdom should bestow,
  It is not meet for mortal to refuse:
  Behold, thy brother bids thee to the throne.

  _Thyestes:_ He bids? 'Tis but a cloak for treachery.

  _Tantalus:_ But brotherly regard ofttimes returns
  Unto the heart from which it has been driven;
  And righteous love regains its former strength.

  _Thyestes:_ And dost thou speak of brother's love to me?           475
  Sooner shall ocean bathe the heavenly Bears,
  The raging waves of Sicily be still;
  And sooner shall the Ionian waters yield
  Ripe fields of grain; black night illume the earth;
  And fire shall mate with water, life with death, 480
  And winds shall make a treaty with the sea:
  Than shall Thyestes know a brother's love.

  _Tantalus:_ What treachery dost thou fear?

  _Thyestes:_               All treachery.
  What proper limit shall I give my fear?
  My brother's power is boundless as his hate.

  _Tantalus:_ How can he harm thee?

  _Thyestes:_         For myself alone                               485
  I have no fears; but 'tis for you, my sons,
  That Atreus must be held in fear by me.

  _Tantalus:_ But canst thou be o'ercome, if on thy guard?

  _Thyestes:_ Too late one guards when in the midst of ills.
  But let us on. In this one thing I show
  My fatherhood: I do not lead to ill,
  But follow you.

  _Tantalus:_      If well we heed our ways,
  God will protect us. Come with courage on.                         490

  _Atreus_ [_coming upon the scene, sees_ Thyestes _and his three sons,
    and gloats over the fact that his brother is at last in his power.
    He speaks aside_]: Now is the prey fast caught within my toils.
  I see the father and his hated brood,
  And here my vengeful hate is safe bestowed;
  For now at last he's come into my hands;
  He's come, Thyestes and his children--all!                         495
  When I see him I scarce can curb my grief,
  And keep my soul from breaking madly forth.
  So when the Umbrian hound pursues the prey,
  Keen scented, on the long leash held, he goes
  With lowered muzzle questing on the trail.
  While distant still the game and faint the scent,
  Obedient to the leash, with silent tongue                          500
  He goes along; but when the prey is near,
  With straining neck he struggles to be free,
  Bays loud against the cautious hunter's check,
  And bursts from all restraint.
                                When, near at hand,
  Hot wrath perceives the blood for which it thirsts,
  It cannot be restrained. Yet must it be.
  See how his unkempt, matted hair conceals                          505
  His woeful countenance; how foul his beard.
                                         [_He now addresses_ Thyestes.]
  My promised faith, my brother, will I keep;
  'Tis a delight to see thee once again.
  Come to my arms in mutual embrace;
  For all the anger which I felt for thee
  Has melted clean away. From this time forth
  Let ties of blood be cherished, love and faith;                    510
  And let that hatred which has cursed us both
  Forever vanish from our kindred souls.

  _Thyestes:_ I should attempt to palliate my sins,
  Hadst thou not shown me such fraternal love;
  But now I own, my brother, now I own
  That I have sinned against thee past belief.
  Thy faithful piety has made my case
  Seem blacker still. A double sinner he                             515
  Who sins against a brother such as thou.
  Now let my tears my penitence approve.
  Thou, first of all mankind, beholdest me
  A suppliant; these hands, which never yet
  Have touched the feet of man, are laid on thine.
  Let all thy wrathful feelings be forgot,
  Be utterly erased from off thy soul;                               520
  And take, O brother, as my pledge of faith
  These guiltless sons of mine.

  _Atreus:_                     Lay not thy hands
  Upon my knees. Come, rather, to my arms.
  And you, dear youths, the comforters of age,
  Come cling about my neck. Those rags of woe,
  My brother, lay aside, and spare mine eyes;
  And clothe thyself more fittingly in these,                        525
  The equal of my own. And, last of all,
  Accept thine equal share of this our realm.
  'Twill bring a greater meed of praise to me,
  To restore thee safely to thy father's throne.
  For chance may put the scepter in our hands;
  But only virtue seeks to give it up.

  _Thyestes:_ May heaven, my brother, worthily repay                 530
  These deeds of thine. But this my wretched head
  Will not consent to wear a diadem,
  Nor my ill-omened hand to hold the staff
  Of power. Nay, rather, let me hide myself
  Among the throng.

  _Atreus:_                  There's room upon the throne.

  _Thyestes:_ But I shall know that all of thine is mine.            535

  _Atreus:_ But who would throw away good fortune's gifts?

  _Thyestes:_ Whoe'er has found how easily they fail.

  _Atreus:_ And wouldst thou thwart thy brother's great renown?

  _Thyestes:_ Thy glory is attained; mine bides its time.
  My mind is resolute to shun the crown.                             540

  _Atreus:_ Then I refuse my share of power as well.

  _Thyestes:_ Nay then, I yield. The name of king I'll wear,
  But laws and arms--and I, are thine to sway.

  _Atreus_ [_placing the crown on his brother's head_]: I'll place this
    crown upon thy reverend head,
  And pay the destined victims to the gods.                          545

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   The sight is past belief. Behold,
    This Atreus, fierce and bold of soul,
    By every cruel passion swayed,
    When first he saw his brother's face
    Was held in dumb amaze.
    No force is greater than the power
    Of Nature's ties of love. 'Tis true
    That wars with foreign foes endure;                              550
    But they whom true love once has bound
    Will ever feel its ties.
    When wrath, by some great cause aroused,
    Hath burst the bonds of amity,
    And raised the dreadful cry of war;
    When gleaming squadrons thunder down
    With champing steeds; when flashing swords,                      555
    By carnage-maddened Mars upreared,
    Gleam with a deadly rain of blows:
    E'en then for sacred piety
    Those warring hands will sheathe the sword
    And join in the clasp of peace.
    What god has given this sudden lull                              560
    In the midst of loud alarms? But now
    Throughout Mycenae's borders rang
    The noisy prelude of a strife
    'Twixt brothers' arms. Here mothers pale
    Embraced their sons, and the trembling wife
    Looked on her arméd lord in fear,
    While the sword to his hand reluctant came,                      565
    Foul with the rust of peace.
    One strove to renew the tottering walls,
    And one to strengthen the shattered towers,
    And close the gates with iron bars;
    While on the battlements the guard                               570
    His anxious nightly vigils kept.
    The daily fear of war is worse
    Than war itself.
    But fallen now are the sword's dire threats,
    The deep-voiced trumpet-blare is still,
    And the shrill, harsh notes of the clarion                       575
    Are heard no more. While peace profound
    Broods once again o'er the happy state.
    So when, beneath the storm blast's lash,
    The heaving waves break on the shore
    Of Bruttium, and Scylla roars
    Responsive from her cavern's depths;
    Then, even within their sheltered port,                          580
    The sailors fear the foaming sea
    Which greedy Charybdis vomits up;
    And Cyclops dreads his father's rage
    Where he sits on burning Aetna's crag,
    Lest the deathless flames on his roaring forge                   585
    Be quenched by the overwhelming floods;
    When poor Laërtes feels the shock
    Of reeling Ithaca, and thinks
    That his island realm will be swallowed up:
    Then, if the fierce winds die away,
    The waves sink back in their quiet depths;
    And the sea, which of late the vessels feared,                   590
    Now far and wide with swelling sails
    Is overspread, while tiny skiffs
    Skim safely o'er its harmless breast;
    And one may count the very fish
    Deep down within the peaceful caves,
    Where but now, beneath the raging blast,
    The battered islands feared the sea.                             595
    No lot endureth long. For grief
    And pleasure, each in turn, depart;
    But pleasure has a briefer reign.
    From lowest to the highest state
    A fleeting hour may bring us. He,
    Who wears a crown upon his brow,
    To whom the trembling nations kneel,                             600
    Before whose nod the barbarous Medes
    Lay down their arms, the Indians too,
    Who dwell beneath the nearer sun,
    And Dacians, who the Parthian horse
    Are ever threat'ning: he, the king,
    With anxious mind the scepter bears,
    Foresees and fears the fickle chance                             605
    And shifting time which soon or late
    Shall all his power overthrow.
    Ye, whom the ruler of the land
    And sea has given o'er subject men
    The fearful power of life and death,
    Abate your overweening pride.
    For whatsoever fear of you                                       610
    Your weaker subjects feel today,
    Tomorrow shall a stronger lord
    Inspire in you. For every power
    Is subject to a greater power.
    Him, whom the dawning day beholds
    In proud estate, the setting sun
    Sees lying in the dust.
    Let no one then trust overmuch                                 615
    To favoring fate; and when she frowns,
    Let no one utterly despair
    Of better fortune yet to come.
    For Clotho mingles good and ill;
    She whirls the wheel of fate around,
    Nor suffers it to stand.
    To no one are the gods so good
    That he may safely call his own                                  620
  Tomorrow's dawn; for on the whirling wheel
  Has God our fortunes placed for good or ill.


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Messenger _breathlessly announcing the horror which has just
been enacted behind the scenes_.]

  _Messenger:_ Oh, for some raging blast to carry me
  With headlong speed through distant realms of air,
  And wrap me in the darkness of the clouds;
  That so I might this monstrous horror tear
  From my remembrance. Oh, thou house of shame                       625
  To Pelops even and to Tantalus!

  _Chorus:_ What is the news thou bring'st?

  _Messenger:_                              What realm is this?
  Argos and Sparta, once the noble home
  Of pious brothers? Corinth, on whose shores
  Two rival oceans beat? Or do I see
  The barbarous Danube on whose frozen stream
  The savage Alani make swift retreat?                               630
  Hyrcania beneath eternal snows?
  Or those wide plains of wandering Scythians?
  What place is this that knows such hideous crime?

  _Chorus:_ But tell thy tidings, whatsoe'er they be.

  _Messenger:_ When I my scattered senses gather up,
  And horrid fear lets go its numbing hold
  Upon my limbs. Oh, but I see it still,
  The ghastly picture of that dreadful deed!                         635
  Oh, come, ye whirlwinds wild, and bear me far,
  Far distant, where the vanished day is borne.

  _Chorus:_ Thou hold'st our minds in dire uncertainty.
  Speak out and tell us what this horror is,
  And who its author. Yet would I inquire
  Not who, but which he is. Speak quickly, then.                     640

  _Messenger:_ There is upon the lofty citadel
  A part of Pelops' house that fronts the south,
  Whose farther side lifts up its massive walls
  To mountain heights; for so the reigning king
  May better sway the town, and hold in check
  The common rabble when it scorns the throne.
  Within this palace is a gleaming hall,                             645
  So huge, it may a multitude contain;
  Whose golden architraves are high upborne
  By stately columns of a varied hue.
  Behind this public hall where people throng,
  The palace stretches off in spacious rooms;
  And, deep withdrawn, the royal sanctum lies,                       650
  Far from the vulgar gaze. This sacred spot
  An ancient grove within a dale confines,
  Wherein no tree its cheerful shade affords,
  Or by the knife is pruned; but cypress trees
  And yews, and woods of gloomy ilex wave
  Their melancholy boughs. Above them all                            655
  A towering oak looks down and spreads abroad,
  O'ershadowing all the grove. Within this place
  The royal sons of Tantalus are wont
  To ask consent of heaven to their rule,
  And here to seek its aid when fortune frowns.
  Here hang their consecrated offerings:
  Sonorous trumpets, broken chariots,
  Those famous spoils of the Myrtoan sea;                            660
  Still hang upon the treacherous axle-trees
  The conquered chariot-wheels--mementoes grim
  Of every crime this sinful race has done.
  Here also is the Phrygian turban hung
  Of Pelops' self; and here the spoil of foes,
  A rich embroidered robe, the prize of war.
  An oozy stream springs there beneath the shade,                    665
  And sluggish creeps along within the swamp,
  Just like the ugly waters of the Styx
  Which bind the oaths of heaven. 'Tis said that here
  At dead of night the hellish gods make moan,
  And all the grove resounds with clanking chains,
  And mournful howl of ghosts. Here may be seen                      670
  Whatever, but to hear of, causes fear.
  The spirits of the ancient dead come forth
  From old, decaying tombs, and walk abroad;
  While monsters, greater than the world has known,
  Go leaping round, grotesque and terrible.
  The whole wood gleams with an uncanny light,
  And without sign of fire the palace glows.
  Ofttimes the grove re-echoes with the sound                        675
  Of threefold bayings of the dogs of hell,
  And oft do mighty shapes affright the house.
  Nor are these fears allayed by light of day;
  For night reigns ever here, and e'en at noon
  The horror of the underworld abides.
  From this dread spot are sure responses given                      680
  To those who seek the oracle; the fates
  With mighty sound from out the grot are told,
  And all the cavern thunders with the god.
  'Twas to this spot that maddened Atreus came,
  His brother's children dragging in his train.
  The sacrificial altars are adorned--
  Oh, who can worthily describe the deed?
  Behind their backs the noble captives' hands                       685
  Are bound, and purple fillets wreathe their brows.
  All things are ready, incense, sacred wine,
  The sacrificial meal, and fatal knife.
  The last detail is properly observed,
  That this outrageous murder may be done
  In strict observance of the ritual!

  _Chorus:_ Who lays his hand unto the fatal steel?                  690

  _Messenger:_ He is himself the priest; the baleful prayer
  He makes, and chants the sacrificial song
  With wild and boisterous words; before the shrine
  He takes his place; the victims doomed to death
  He sets in order, and prepares the sword.
  He gives the closest heed to all details
  And misses no least portion of the rite.                           695
  The grove begins to tremble, earth to quake,
  And all the palace totters with the shock,
  And seems to hesitate in conscious doubt
  Where it shall throw its ponderous masses down.
  High on the left a star with darkling train
  Shoots swift athwart the sky; the sacred wine
  Poured at the altar fires, with horrid change,                     700
  Turns bloody as it flows. The royal crown
  Fell twice and yet again from Atreus' head,
  And the ivory statues in the temple wept.
  These monstrous portents moved all others sore;
  But Atreus, only, held himself unmoved,
  And even set the threat'ning gods at naught.
  And now delay is at an end. He stands                              705
  Before the shrine with lowering, sidelong gaze.
  As in the jungle by the Ganges stream
  A hungry tigress stands between two bulls,
  Eager for both, but yet in doubtful mood
  Which first shall feel her fangs (to this she turns                710
  With gaping jaws, then back to that again,
  And holds her raging hunger in suspense):
  So cruel Atreus eyes the victims doomed
  To sate his curséd wrath; and hesitates
  Who first shall feel the knife, and who shall die
  The next in order. 'Tis of no concern,
  But still he hesitates, and gloats awhile                          715
  In planning how to do the horrid deed.

  _Chorus:_ Who then is first to die?

  _Messenger:_                        First place he gives
  (Lest you should think him lacking in respect)
  Unto his grandsire's namesake, Tantalus.

  _Chorus:_ What spirit, what demeanor showed the youth?

  _Messenger:_ He stood quite unconcerned, nor strove to plead,      720
  Knowing such prayer were vain. But in his neck
  That savage butcher plunged his gleaming sword
  Clear to the hilt and drew it forth again.
  Still stood the corpse upright, and, wavering long,
  As 'twere in doubt or here or there to fall,                       725
  At last prone on the uncle hurled itself.
  Then he, his rancor unabated still,
  Dragged youthful Plisthenes before the shrine,
  And quickly meted him his brother's fate.
  With one keen blow he smote him on the neck,
  Whereat his bleeding body fell to earth;
  While with a murmur inarticulate,
  His head with look complaining rolled away.

  _Chorus:_ What did he then, this twofold murder done?              730
  The last one spare, or heap up crime on crime?

  _Messenger:_ As when some manéd lion in the woods
  Victorious attacks the Armenian herds--
  (His jaws are smeared with blood, his hunger gone;
  And yet he does not lay aside his wrath;                           735
  Now here, now there he charges on the bulls,
  And now the calves he worries, though his teeth
  Are weary with their work)--so Atreus raves;
  He swells with wrath; and, grasping in his hand
  The sword with double slaughter dripping yet,
  By fury blinded but with deadly stroke,
  He drives clean through the body of the boy.                       740
  And so, from breast to back transfixed, he falls
  By double wound, and with his streaming blood
  Extinguishes the baleful altar fires.

  _Chorus:_ Oh, horrid deed!

  _Messenger:_                What! horrid call ye that?
  If only there the course of crime had stopped,
  'Twould pious seem.                                                745

  _Chorus:_                  What more atrocious crime,
  What greater sin could human heart conceive?

  _Messenger:_ And do ye think his crime was ended here?
  'Twas just begun.

  _Chorus:_                What further could there be?
  Perchance he threw the corpses to be torn
  By raving beasts, and kept them from the fire?

  _Messenger:_ Would that he had! I do not pray for this,
  That friendly earth may give them burial,
  Or funeral fires consume; but only this,                           750
  That as a ghastly meal they may be thrown
  To birds and savage beasts. Such is my prayer,
  Which otherwise were direful punishment.
  Oh, that the father might their corpses see
  Denied to sepulture! Oh, crime of crimes,
  Incredible in any age; a crime
  Which coming generations will refuse
  To hear! Behold, from breasts yet warm with life,                  755
  The exta, plucked away, lie quivering,
  The lungs still breathe, the timid heart still beats.
  But he the organs with a practiced hand
  Turns deftly over, and inquires the fates,
  Observing carefully the viscera.
  With this inspection satisfied at length,
  With mind at ease, he now is free to plan                          760
  His brother's awful feast. With his own hand
  The bodies he dismembers, carving off
  The arms and shoulders, laying bare the bones,
  And all with savage joy. He only saves
  The heads and hands, those hands which he himself
  Had clasped in friendly faith. Some of the flesh
  Is placed on spits and by the roasting fires                       765
  Hangs dripping; other parts into a pot
  Are thrown, where on the water's seething stream
  They leap about. The fire in horror shrinks
  From the polluting touch of such a feast,
  Recoils upon the shuddering altar-hearth
  Twice and again, until at last constrained,
  Though with repugnance strong, it fiercely burns.
  The liver sputters strangely on the spits;                         770
  Nor could I say whether the flesh or flames
  Groan more. The fitful flames die out in smoke
  Of pitchy blackness; and the smoke itself,
  A heavy mournful cloud, mounts not aloft
  In upward-shooting columns, straight and high,
  But settles down like a disfiguring shroud
  Upon the very statues of the gods.                                 775
  O all-enduring sun, though thou didst flee
  In horror from the sight, and the radiant noon
  Didst into darkness plunge; 'twas all too late.
  The father tears his sons, and impiously feasts
  On his own flesh. See, there in state he sits,
  His hair anointed with the dripping nard,                          780
  His senses dulled with wine. And oft the food,
  As if in horror held, sticks in his throat.
  In this thine evil hour one good remains,
  One only, O Thyestes: that to know
  Thy depth of suffering is spared to thee.
  But even this will perish. Though the sun
  Should turn his chariot backward on its course,                    785
  And night, at noon arising from the earth,
  Should quite obscure this foul and ghastly crime
  With shades unknown, it could not be concealed;
  For every evil deed shall be revealed.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Unnatural darkness has come over the world at midday._]

  _Chorus:_   O father of the earth and sky,
    Before whose rising beams the night                              790
    With all her glories flees away;
    Oh, whither dost thou turn thy course,
    And why, midway of heaven, does day
    To darkness turn? O Phoebus, why
    Dost turn away thy shining face?
    Not yet has evening's messenger
    Called forth the nightly stars; not yet                          795
    The rounding of thy western goal
    Bids loose thy horses from their toil;
    Not yet, as day fades into night,
    Sounds forth the trumpets' evening call.
    The plowman stands in dumb amaze,                                800
    With oxen still unspent with toil,
    To see the welcome supper hour
    So quickly come. But what, O sun,
    Has driven thee from thy heavenly course?
    What cause from their accustomed way
    Has turned thy steeds? Is war essayed
    Once more by giants, bursting forth
    From out the riven gates of Dis?                                 805
    Does Tityos, though wounded sore,
    Renew his ancient, deadly wrath?
    Perchance Typhoeus has thrown off
    His mountain, and is free once more;
    Perchance once more a way to heaven                              810
    Those giants, felled in Phlegra's vale,
    Are building, and on Pelion's top
    Are piling Thracian Ossa high.
    The accustomed changes of the heavens
    Are gone to come no more. No more
    The rising and the setting sun
    Shall we behold. Aurora bright,                                  815
    The herald of the dewy morn,
    Whose wont it is to speed the sun
    Upon his way, now stands amazed
    To see her kingdom overturned.
    She is not skilled to bathe his steeds,
    A-weary with their rapid course,
    Nor in the cooling sea to plunge                                 820
    Their reeking manes. The sun himself,
    In setting, sees the place of dawn,
    And bids the darkness fill the sky
    Without the aid of night. No stars
    Come out, nor do the heavens gleam
    With any fires; no moon dispels                                  825
    The darkness' black and heavy pall.
    Oh, that the night itself were here,
    Whatever this portends! Our hearts
    Are trembling, yea, are trembling sore,
    And smitten with a boding fear
    Lest all the world in ruins fall,                                830
    And formless chaos as of yore
    O'erwhelm us, gods and men; lest land,
    And all-encircling sea, and stars
    That wander in the spangled heavens,
    Be buried in the general doom.
    No more with gleaming, deathless torch,                          835
    Shall Phoebus, lord of all the stars,
    Lead the procession of the years
    And mark the seasons; nevermore
    Shall Luna, flashing back his rays,
    Dispel the fears of night; and pass
    In shorter course her brother's car.                             840
    The throng of heavenly beings soon
    Shall in one vast abyss be heaped.
    That shining path of sacred stars,
    Which cuts obliquely 'thwart the zones,                          845
    The standard-bearer of the years,
    Shall see the stars in ruin fall,
    Itself in ruin falling. He,
    The Ram, who, in the early spring,
    Restores the sails to the warming breeze,
    Shall headlong plunge into those waves                           850
    Through which the trembling maid of Greece
    He bore of old. And Taurus, who
    Upon his horns like a garland wears
    The Hyades, shall drag with him
    The sacred Twins, and the stretched-out claws
    Of the curving Crab. With heat inflamed,
    Alcides' Lion once again                                         855
    Shall fall from heaven; the Virgin, too,
    Back to the earth she left shall fall;
    And the righteous Scales with their mighty weights,
    Shall drag in their fall the Scorpion.
    And he, old Chiron, skilled to hold                              860
    Upon his bow of Thessaly
    The feathered dart, shall lose his shafts
    And break his bow. Cold Capricorn,
    Who ushers sluggish winter in,
    Shall fall from heaven, and break thy urn,
    Whoe'er thou art, O Waterman.                                    865
    And with thee shall the Fish depart
    Remotest of the stars of heaven;
    And those monsters[48] huge which never yet
    Were in the ocean plunged, shall soon
    Within the all-engulfing sea
    Be swallowed up. And that huge Snake,
    Which like a winding river glides                                870
    Between the Bears, shall fall from heaven;[49]
    United with that serpent huge,
    The Lesser Bear, congealed with cold,
    And that slow driver of the Wain
    No longer stable in its course,
    Shall all in common ruin fall.
    Have we, of all the race of men,                                 875
    Been worthy deemed to be o'erwhelmed
    And buried 'neath a riven earth?
    Is this our age the end of all?
    Alas, in evil hour of fate
    Were we begotten, wretched still,
    Whether the sun is lost to us                                    880
    Or banished by our impious sins!
    But away with vain complaints and fear:
  Eager for life is he who would not die,
  Though all the world in death around him lie.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] Reading, _monstra_.

[49] Reading, with a semicolon after _Anguis_.


ACT V

  _Atreus_ [_entering exultingly_]: The peer of stars I move, high over
    all,                                                             885
  And with exalted head attain the heavens!
  Now are the reins of power within my hands,
  And I am master of my father's throne.
  I here renounce the gods, for I have gained
  The height of my desires. It is enough,
  And even I am satisfied. But why?
  Nay, rather, will I finish my revenge,
  And glut the father with his feast of death.                       890
  The day has fled, lest shame should hold me back;
  Act then, while yet the darkness veils the sky.
  Oh, that I might restrain the fleeing gods,
  And force them to behold the avenging feast!
  But 'tis enough, if but the father sees.                           895
  Though daylight aid me not, yet will I snatch
  The shrouding darkness from thy miseries.
  Too long with care-free, cheerful countenance
  Thou liest at the feast. Now food enough,
  And wine enough. For so great ills as these,                       900
  Thyestes must his sober senses keep.
                                                     [_To the slaves._]
  Ye menial throng, spread wide the temple doors,
  The festal hall reveal. 'Tis sweet to note
  The father's frantic grief when first he sees
  His children's gory heads; to catch his words,
  To watch his color change; to see him sit,
  All breathless with the shock, in dumb amaze,
  In frozen horror at the gruesome sight.                            905
  This is the sweet reward of all my toil--
  To see his misery, e'en as it grows
  Upon his soul.
[_The doors are thrown open, showing_ Thyestes _at the banquet table_.]
                  Now gleams with many a torch
  The spacious banquet hall. See, there he lies
  Upon his golden couch all richly decked
  With tapestry, his wine-befuddled head
  Upstayed upon his hand. Oh, happy me!                              910
  The mightiest of the heavenly gods am I,
  And king of kings! The fondest of my hopes
  Is more than realized. His meal is done;
  Now raises he his silver cup to drink.
  Spare not the wine; there still remains the blood
  Of thy three sons, and 'twill be well disguised                    915
  With old red wine. Now be the revel done.
  Now let the father drink the mingled blood
  Of his own offspring; mine he would have drunk.
  But see, he starts to sing a festal song,
  With mind uncertain and with senses dim.

  _Thyestes_ [_sits alone at the banquet table, half overcome with wine;
      he tries to sing and be gay, but in spite of this, some
      vague premonition of evil weighs upon his spirit_]:
      O heart, long dulled with wretchedness,                        920
  Put by at last thine anxious cares.
  Oh, now let grief and fear depart;
  Let haunting hunger flee away,
  The grim companion of the lot
  Of trembling exiles; and disgrace,
  A heavy load for mourning souls.                                   925
  More boots it from what height thou fall'st,
  Than to what depth. How noble is't,
  When fallen from the pinnacle,
  With dauntless step and firm, to tread
  The lowly plain; and noble too,
  Though by a mass of cares o'erwhelmed,
  To bolster up the shattered throne                                 930
  With neck unbending; and with soul
  Heroic, undismayed by ills,
  To stand erect beneath the weight
  Of ruined fortunes.
                      But away,
  Ye gloomy clouds of fate; ye marks
  Of former misery, depart.                                          935
  Thy happy fortune greet with face
  Of joy, and utterly forget
  The old Thyestes. But alas!
  This fault is linked with wretchedness,
  That never can the woeful soul
  Accept returned prosperity.
  Though kindly fortune smile again,                                 940
  He who has suffered finds it hard
  To give himself to joy. But why
  Dost thou restrain me? Why forbid
  To celebrate this festal day?
  Why wouldst thou have me weep, O grief,
  For no cause rising? Why with flowers,                             945
  Dost thou forbid to wreathe my hair?
  It does, it does forbid! For see,
  Upon my head the flowers of spring
  Have withered; and my festal locks,
  Though dripping with the precious nard,
  Stand up in sudden dread; my cheeks,
  That have no cause to weep, are wet                                950
  With tears; and in the midst of speech
  I groan aloud. No doubt 'tis true,
  That grief, well trained in weeping, loves
  To melt away in tears; and oft
  The wretched feel a strong desire
  To weep their fill. E'en so I long
  To cry aloud my wretchedness,
  To rend these gorgeous Tyrian robes,                               955
  And shriek my misery to heaven.
  My mind gives intimation dark
  Of coming grief, its own distress
  Foreboding. So the sailor fears
  The raging tempest's near approach,
  When tranquil waters heave and swell,                              960
  Without a breath of wind. Thou fool,
  What grief, what rising storm of fate
  Dost thou imagine nigh? Nay, nay,
  Believe thy brother; for thy fear--
  'Tis groundless, whatsoe'er it be,
  Or thou dost fear too late. Ah me,
  I would not be unhappy now;                                        965
  But in my soul dim terror stalks,
  Nor can my eyes withhold their tears;
  And all for naught. What can it be?
  Am I possessed by grief or fear?
  Or can this some great rapture be,
  That weeps for joy?

  _Atreus_ [_greeting his brother with effusive affection_]:
  With one consent, my brother, let us keep                          970
  This festal day. For this the happy day
  Which shall the scepter 'stablish in thy hand,
  And link our family in the bonds of peace.

  _Thyestes_ [_pushing the remains of the feast from him_]:
  Enough of food and wine! One thing alone
  Can swell my generous sum of happiness--
  If with my children I may share my joy.                            975

  _Atreus:_ Believe that in the father's bosom rest
  The sons; both now and ever shall they be
  With thee. No single part of these thy sons
  Shall e'er be taken from thee. Make request:
  What thou desirest will I freely give,
  And fill thee with thy loving family.
  Thou shalt be satisfied; be not afraid.                            980
  E'en now thy children, mingled with my own,
  Enjoy alone their youthful festival.
  They shall be summoned hither. Now behold
  This ancient cup, an heirloom of our house.
  Take thou and drink the wine which it contains.

  [_He hands_ Thyestes _the cup filled with mingled blood and wine_.]

  _Thyestes:_ I take my brother's proffered gift. But first
  Unto our father's gods we'll pour a share,
  And then will drink the cup.                                       985
                              But what is this?
  My hands will not obey my will; the cup--
  How heavy it has grown, how it resists
  My grasp! And see how now the wine itself,
  Though lifted to my mouth, avoids the touch,
  And flees my disappointed lips. Behold,
  The table totters on the trembling floor;
  The lights burn dim; the very air is thick,                        990
  And, by the natural fires deserted, stands
  All dull and lifeless 'twixt the day and night.
  What can it all portend? Now more and more
  The shattered heavens seem tottering to their fall;
  The darkness deepens, and the gloomy night
  In blacker night is plunged. And all the stars
  Have disappeared. Whatever this may mean,                          995
  Oh, spare my children, brother, spare, I pray;
  And let this gathering storm of evil burst
  Upon my head. Oh, give me back my sons!

  _Atreus:_ Yes, I will give them back, and never more
  Shall they be taken from thy fond embrace.

[_Exit._]

  _Thyestes:_ What is this tumult rising in my breast?
  Why do my vitals quake? I feel a load                             1000
  Unbearable, and from my inmost heart
  Come groans of agony that are not mine.
  My children, come! your wretched father calls.
  Oh come! For when mine eyes behold you here,
  Perchance this care will pass away.--But whence
  Those answering calls?

  _Atreus_ [_returning, with a covered platter in his hands_]:
                        Now spread thy loving arms.
  See, here they are.
    [_He uncovers the platter revealing the severed heads of_ Thyestes'
                                                               _sons_.]
                      Dost recognize thy sons?                      1005

  _Thyestes:_ I recognize my brother! How, O Earth,
  Canst thou endure such monstrous crime as this?
  Why dost thou not to everlasting shade
  And Styx infernal cleave a yawning gulf,
  And sweep away to empty nothingness
  This guilty king with all his realm? And why
  Dost thou not raze, and utterly destroy                           1010
  The city of Mycenae? Both of us
  Should stand with Tantalus in punishment.
  If, far below the depths of Tartarus,
  There is a deeper hell, O Mother Earth,
  Thy strong foundations rend asunder wide,
  And send us thither to that lowest pit.                           1015
  There let us hide beneath all Acheron;
  Let damnéd shades above our guilty heads
  Go wandering; let fiery Phlegethon
  In raging torrent pour his burning sands
  Above our place of exile.
                            But the earth
  Insensate lies, and utterly unmoved.                              1020
  The gods have fled.

  _Atreus:_                    Nay, come with thankful heart
  Receive thy sons whom thou hast long desired.
  Enjoy them, kiss them, share among the three
  Thy fond embraces.

  _Thyestes:_                  And is this thy bond?
  Is this thy grace, thy fond fraternal faith?
  So dost thou cease to hate? I do not ask                          1025
  That I may have my sons again unharmed;
  But what in crime and hatred may be given,
  This I, a brother, from a brother ask:
  That I may bury them. Restore my sons,
  And thou shalt see their corpses burned at once.
  The father begs for naught that he may keep,
  But utterly destroy.                                              1030

  _Atreus:_                    Thou hast thy sons,
  Whate'er of them remains; thou also hast
  Whate'er does not remain.

  _Thyestes:_                          What hast thou done?
  Hast fed them to the savage, greedy birds?
  Have beasts of prey devoured their tender flesh?

  _Atreus:_ _Thou hast thyself that impious banquet made._

  _Thyestes:_ Oh, then, 'twas this that shamed the gods of heaven,  1035
  And drove the day in horror back to dawn!
  Ah me, what cries shall voice, what plaints express
  My wretchedness? Where can I find the words
  That can describe my woe? The severed heads
  And hands and mangled feet are there; for these
  Their sire, for all his greed, could not devour.                  1040
  But Oh, I feel within my vitals now
  That horrid thing which struggles to be free,
  But can no exit find. Give me the sword,
  Which even now is reeking with my blood,
  That it may set my children free from me.
  Thou wilt not give it me? Then let my breast                      1045
  Resound with crushing blows--but hold thy hand,
  Unhappy one, and spare the imprisoned shades.
  Oh, who has ever seen such crime as this?
  What dweller on the rough and hostile crags
  Of Caucasus, or what Procrustes dire,
  The terror of the land of Attica?
  Lo I, the father, overwhelm my sons,                              1050
  And by those very sons am overwhelmed.
  Is there no limit to this crime of thine?

  _Atreus:_ When one for its own sake commits a crime,
  There is a proper limit; but no end
  Is possible when vengeance through the crime
  Is sought. E'en as it is, this deed of mine
  Is all too mild. I should have poured their blood
  Straight from their gaping wounds into thy mouth,                 1055
  That thou mightst drink their very streams of life.
  But there my wrath was cheated of its due
  By overhaste.
                I smote them with the sword,
  I slaughtered them before the sacred shrine,
  And with their blood appeased our household gods;
  I hewed their lifeless bodies limb from limb;
  I carved them into bits, and part I seethed                       1060
  In brazen kettles, part before the fire
  On spits I roasted. From their living limbs
  I carved the tender flesh, and saw it hiss
  And sputter on the slender spit, the while
  With my own hands I kept the fire a-blaze.                        1065
  But all these things the father should have done.
  In this my vengeful grief has fallen short.
  With impious teeth he tore his slaughtered sons;
  But still in merciful unconsciousness
  The deed was done and suffered.

  _Thyestes:_                O ye seas,
  Hemmed round by curving shores, give ear to this!
  Hear too, ye gods, wherever ye have fled.                         1070
  Ye lords of hades, hear; hear, O ye lands;
  And Night, all black and heavy with the pall
  Of Tartarus, attend unto my cry;
  For I am left to thee, and thou alone
  Doth look in pity on my wretchedness,
  Thou, too, forsaken of the friendly stars;
  For I will raise no wicked prayers to thee,
  Naught for myself implore--what could I ask?                      1075
  For you, ye heavenly gods, be all my prayers.
  O thou, almighty ruler of the sky,
  Who sitt'st as lord upon the throne of heaven,
  Enwrap the universe in dismal clouds,
  Incite the winds to war on every side,
  And let thy thunders crash from pole to pole;                     1080
  Not with such lesser bolts as thou dost use
  Against the guiltless homes of common men,
  But those which overthrew the triple mass
  Of heaped-up mountains, and those giant forms,
  Themselves like mountains huge: such arms employ;
  Hurl down such fires. Avenge the banished day;                    1085
  With thy consuming flames supply the light
  Which has been snatched from out the darkened heaven.
  Select us both as objects of thy wrath;
  Or if not both, then me; aim thou at me.
  With that three-forkéd bolt of thine transfix                     1090
  My guilty breast. If I would give my sons
  To burning and to fitting burial,
  I must myself be burned. But if my prayers
  Do not with heaven prevail, and if no god
  Aims at the impious his fatal shaft;
  Then may eternal night brood o'er the earth,
  And hide these boundless crimes in endless shade.
  If thou, O sun, dost to thy purpose hold,                         1095
  And cease to shine, I supplicate no more.

  _Atreus:_ Now do I praise my handiwork indeed;
  Now have I gained the palm of victory.
  My deed had failed entirely of its aim,
  Didst thou not suffer thus. Now may I trust
  That those I call my sons are truly so,
  And faith that once my marriage bed was pure
  Has come again.

  _Thyestes:_ What was my children's sin?                           1100

  _Atreus:_ Because they were thy children.


  _Thyestes:_                                 But to think
  That children to the father--

  _Atreus:_               That indeed,
  I do confess it, gives me greatest joy:
  That thou art well assured they were thy sons.

  _Thyestes:_ I call upon the gods of innocence--

  _Atreus:_ Why not upon the gods of marriage call?

  _Thyestes:_ Why dost thou seek to punish crime with crime?

  _Atreus:_ Well do I know the cause of thy complaint:
  Because I have forestalled thee in the deed.
  Thou grievest, not because thou hast consumed                     1105
  This horrid feast, but that thou wast not first
  To set it forth. This was thy fell intent,
  To arrange a feast like this unknown to me,
  And with their mother's aid attack my sons,
  And with a like destruction lay them low.
  But this one thing opposed--thou thought'st them thine.

  _Thyestes:_ The gods will grant me vengeance. Unto them           1110
  Do I intrust thy fitting penalty.

  _Atreus:_ And to thy sons do I deliver thee.




TROADES




TROADES


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

_Agamemnon_ King of the Greek forces in the war against Troy.

_Pyrrhus_ Son of Achilles, one of the active leaders in the final
events of the war.

_Ulysses_ King of Ithaca, one of the most powerful and crafty of the
Greek chiefs before Troy.

_Calchas_ A priest and prophet among the Greeks.

_Talthybius_ A Greek messenger.

_An Old Man_ Faithful to Andromache.

_Astyanax_ Little son of Hector and Andromache.

_Hecuba_ Widow of Priam, one of the Trojan captives.

_Andromache_ Widow of Hector, a Trojan captive.

_Helena_ Wife of Menelaüs, king of Sparta, and afterward of Paris, a
prince of Troy; the exciting cause of the Trojan war.

_Polyxena_ Daughter of Hecuba and Priam (_persona muta_).

_Chorus_ Of captive Trojan women.


THE SCENE is laid on the seashore, with the smouldering ruins of Troy
in the background. The time is the day before the embarkation of the
Greeks on their homeward journey.


_The long and toilsome siege of Troy is done. Her stately palaces and
massive walls have been overthrown and lie darkening the sky with their
still smouldering ruins. Her heroic defenders are either slain or
scattered seeking other homes in distant lands. The victorious Greeks
have gathered the rich spoils of Troy upon the shore, among these, the
Trojan women who have suffered the usual fate of women when a city is
sacked. They await the lot which shall assign them to their Grecian
lords and scatter them among the cities of their foes. All things are
ready for the start._

_But now the ghost of Achilles has risen from the tomb, and demanded
that Polyxena be sacrificed to him before the Greeks shall be allowed
to sail away. And Calchas, also, bids that Astyanax be slain, for only
thus can Greece be safe from any future Trojan war. And thus the Trojan
captives who have so long endured the pains of war, must suffer still
this double tragedy._


ACT I

  _Hecuba:_ Whoe'er in royal power has put his trust,
  And proudly lords it in his princely halls;
  Who fears no shifting of the winds of fate,
  But fondly gives his soul to present joys:
  Let him my lot and thine, O Troy, behold.
  For of a truth did fortune never show
  In plainer wise the frailty of the prop                              5
  That doth support a king; since by her hand
  Brought low, behold, proud Asia's capitol,
  The work of heavenly hands, lies desolate.
  From many lands the warring princes came
  To aid her cause: from where the Tanaïs
  His frigid waves in seven-fold channel pours;
  And that far land which greets the newborn day,                     10
  Where Tigris mingles with the ruddy sea
  His tepid waves; and where the Amazon,
  Within the view of wandering Scythia
  Arrays her virgin ranks by Pontus' shores.
  Yet here, o'erthrown, our ancient city lies,
  Herself upon herself in ruins laid;
  Her once proud walls in smouldering heaps recline,                  15
  Mingling their ashes with our fallen homes.
  The palace flames on high, while far and near
  The stately city of Assaracus
  Is wrapped in gloomy smoke. Yet e'en the flames
  Keep not the victor's greedy hands from spoil;
  And Troy, though in the grasp of fiery death,
  Is pillaged still. The face of heaven is hid
  By that dense, wreathing smoke; the shining day,
  As if o'erspread by some thick, lowering cloud,                     20
  Grows black and foul beneath the ashy storm.
  The victor stands with still unsated wrath,
  Eyeing that stubborn town of Ilium,
  And scarce at last forgives those ten long years
  Of bloody strife. Anon, as he beholds
  That mighty city, though in ruins laid,
  He starts with fear; and though he plainly sees
  His foe o'ercome, he scarce can comprehend                          25
  That she could be o'ercome. The Dardan spoil
  Is heaped on high, a booty vast, which Greece,
  In all her thousand ships, can scarce bestow.
    Now witness, ye divinities whose face
  Was set against our state, my fatherland
  In ashes laid; and thou, proud king of Troy,
  Who in thy city's overthrow hast found
  A fitting tomb; thou shade of mighty Hector,
  In whose proud strength abiding, Ilium stood;                       30
  Likewise ye thronging ghosts, my children all,
  But lesser shades: whatever ill has come;
  Whatever Phoebus' bride with frenzied speech,
  Though all discredited, hath prophesied;                            35
  I, Hecuba, myself foresaw, what time,
  With unborn child o'erweighed, I dreamed a dream
  That I had borne a flaming brand. And though,
  Cassandra-like, I told my fears, my warnings,
  Like our Cassandra's words in after time,
  Were all in vain. 'Tis not the Ithacan,
  Nor yet his trusty comrade of the night,
  Nor that false traitor, Sinon, who has cast
  The flaming brands that wrought our overthrow:
  Mine is the fire--'tis by my brands ye burn.                        40
  But why dost thou bewail the city's fall,
  With ancient gossip's prattle? Turn thy mind,
  Unhappy one, to nearer woes than these.
  Troy's fall, though sad, is ancient story now.
  I saw the horrid slaughter of the king,
  Defiling the holy altar with its stain,                             45
  When bold Aeacides, with savage hand
  Entwined in helpless Priam's hoary locks,
  Drew back his sacred head, and thrust the sword
  Hilt-buried in his unresisting side.
  And when he plucked the deep-driven weapon back,
  So weak and bloodless was our agéd king,
  The deadly blade came almost stainless forth.                       50
  Whose thirst for blood had not been satisfied
  By that old man just slipping o'er the verge
  Of life? Whom would not heavenly witnesses
  Restrain from crime? Who would not stay his hand
  Before the sacred altar, last resort
  Of fallen thrones? Yet he, our noble Priam,
  The king, and father of so many kings,
  Lies like the merest peasant unentombed;                            55
  And, though all Troy's aflame, there's not a brand
  To light his pyre and give him sepulture.
  And still the heavenly powers are not appeased.
  Behold the urn; and, subject to its lot,
  The maids and matrons of our princely line,
  Who wait their future lords. To whom shall I,
  An agéd and unprized allotment, fall?
  One Grecian lord has fixed his longing eyes
  On Hector's queen; another prays the lot
  To grant to him the bride of Helenus;                               60
  Antenor's spouse is object of desire,
  And e'en thy hand, Cassandra, hath its suitor:
  My lot alone they deprecate and fear.
  And can ye cease your plaints? O captive throng,
  Come beat upon your breasts, and let the sound
  Of your loud lamentations rise anew,
  The while we celebrate in fitting wise
  Troy's funeral; let fatal Ida, seat                                 65
  Of that ill-omened judgment, straight resound
  With echoes of our pitiful refrain.

  _Chorus:_   Not an untrained band, to tears unknown,
    Thou callest to grief, for our tears have rained
    In streams unending through the years,
    Since the time when the Phrygian guest arrived
    At the friendly court of Tyndarus,                                70
    Sailing the sea in his vessel framed
    From the sacred pines of Cybele.
    Ten winters have whitened Ida's <DW72>s,
    So often stripped for our funeral pyres;
    Ten years have ripened the waving grain
    Which the trembling reaper has garnered in
  From wide Sigean harvest-fields:                                    75
  But never a day was without its grief,
  Never a night but renewed our woe.
  Then on with the wailing and on with the blows;
  And thou, poor fate-smitten queen, be our guide,                    80
  Our mistress in mourning; we'll obey thy commands,
  Well trained in the wild liturgy of despair.

  _Hecuba:_ Then, trusty comrades of our fate,
  Unbind your tresses and let them flow
  Over your shoulders bent with grief,
  The while with Troy's slow-cooling dust                             85
  Ye sprinkle them. Lay bare your arms,
  Strip from your breasts their covering;
  Why veil your beauty? Shame itself                                  90
  Is held in captive bonds. And now
  Let your hands wave free to the quickening blows
  That resound to your wailings. So, now are ye ready,
  And thus it is well. I behold once more
  My old-time Trojan band. Now stoop
  And fill your hands; 'tis right to take
  Her dust at least from fallen Troy.
  Now let the long-pent grief leap forth,                             95
  And surpass your accustomed bounds of woe.
  _Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep._

  _Chorus:_ Our hair, in many a funeral torn,                        100
  We loose; and o'er our streaming locks
  Troy's glowing ashes lie bestrewn.
  From our shoulders the veiling garments fall,                      105
  And our breasts invite the smiting hands.
  Now, now, O grief, put forth thy strength.
  Let the distant shores resound with our mournings;
  And let Echo who dwells in the <DW72>s of the mountains
  Repeat all our wailings, not, after her wont,                      110
  With curt iteration returning the end.
  Let earth hear and heed; let the sea and the sky
  Record all our grief. Then smite, O ye hands,
  With the strength of frenzy batter and bruise.
  With crying and blows and the pain of the smiting--                115
  _Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep_.

  _Hecuba:_ Our hero, for thee the blows are descending,
  On arms and shoulders that stream with our blood;
  For thee our brows endure rough strokes,
  And our breasts are mangled with pitiless hands.                   120
  Now flow the old wounds, reopened anew,
  That bled at thy death, the chief cause of our sorrow.
  O prop of our country, delayer of fate,
  Our Ilium's bulwark, our mighty defender,                          125
  Our strong tower wast thou; secure on thy shoulders,
  Our city stood leaning through ten weary years.
  By thy power supported, with thee has she fallen,
  Our country and Hector united in doom.
  Now turn to another the tide of your mourning;                     130
  Let Priam receive his due meed of your tears.

  _Chorus:_ Receive our lamentings, O Phrygia's ruler;
  We weep for thy death, who wast twice overcome.
  Naught once did Troy suffer while thou didst rule o'er her:
  Twice fell her proud walls from the blows of the Grecians,         135
  And twice was she pierced by great Hercules' darts.
  Now all of our Hecuba's offspring have perished,
  And the proud band of kings who came to our aid;
  Thy death is the last--our father, our ruler--
  Struck down as a victim to Jove the Almighty,                      140
  All helpless and lone, a mute corpse on the ground.

  _Hecuba:_ Nay, give to another your tears and your mourning,
  And weep not the death of Priam our king.
  But call ye him blessed the rather; for free,
  To the deep world of shadows he travels, and never                 145
  Upon his bowed neck the base yoke shall he bear.
  No proud sons of Atreus shall call him their captive,
  No crafty Ulysses his eyes shall behold;
  As boast of their triumphs he shall not bear onward                150
  In humble submission their prizes of war.
  Those free, royal hands to the scepter accustomed,
  Shall never be bound at his back like a slave,
  As he follows the car of the triumphing chieftain,
  A king led in fetters, the gaze of the town.                       155

  _Chorus:_   Hail! Priam the blessed we all do proclaim him;
    For himself and his kingdom he rules yet below;
    Now through the still depths of Elysium's shadows
    'Midst calm, happy spirits he seeks the great Hector.            160
    Then hail, happy Priam! Hail all who in battle
    Have lost life and country, but liberty gained.


ACT II

  _Talthybius:_ Alas, 'tis thus the Greeks are ever doomed
  To lie impatient of the winds' delay,
  Whether on war or homeward journey bent.                           165

  _Chorus:_ Tell thou the cause of this the Greeks' delay.
  What god obstructs the homeward-leading paths?

  _Talthybius:_ My soul doth quake, and all my limbs with fear
  Do tremble. Scarce is credence given to tales
  That do transcend the truth. And yet I swear,
  With my own eyes I saw what I relate.
  Now with his level rays the morning sun                            170
  Just grazed the summits of the hills, and day
  Had vanquished night; when suddenly the earth,
  'Mid rumblings hidden deep and terrible,
  To her profoundest depths convulsive rocked.
  The tree-tops trembled, and the lofty groves
  Gave forth a thunderous sound of crashing boughs;
  While down from Ida's rent and rugged <DW72>s                       175
  The loosened bowlders rolled. And not alone
  The earth did quake: behold, the swelling sea
  Perceived its own Achilles drawing near,
  And spread its waves abroad. Then did the ground
  Asunder yawn, revealing mighty caves,
  And gave a path from Erebus to earth.
  And then the high-heaped sepulcher was rent,                       180
  From which there sprang Achilles' mighty shade,
  In guise as when, in practice for thy fates,
  O Troy, he prostrate laid the Thracian arms,
  Or slew the son of Neptune, doomed to wear
  The swan's white plumes; or when, amidst the ranks
  In furious battle raging, he the streams                           185
  Did choke with corpses of the slain, and Xanthus
  Crept sluggishly along with bloody waves;
  Or when he stood as victor in his car,
  Plying the reins and dragging in the dust
  Great Hector's body and the Trojan state.
  So there he stood and filled the spreading shore                   190
  With wrathful words: "Go, get you gone, ye race
  Of weaklings, bear away the honors due
  My manes; loose your thankless ships, and sail
  Across my seas. By no slight offering
  Did ye aforetime stay Achilles' wrath;
  And now a greater shall ye pay. Behold,
  Polyxena, once pledged to me in life,                              195
  Must by the hand of Pyrrhus to my shade
  Be led, and with her blood my tomb bedew."
  So spake Achilles and the realms of day
  He left for night profound, reseeking Dis;
  And as he plunged within the depths of earth,
  The yawning chasm closed and left no trace.
  The sea lies tranquil, motionless; the wind
  Its boisterous threats abates, and where but now                   200
  The storm-tossed waters raged in angry mood,
  The gentle waves lap harmless on the shore;
  While from afar the band of Tritons sounds
  The marriage chorus of their kindred lord.

[_Exit._]

[_Enter_ Pyrrhus _and_ Agamemnon.]

  _Pyrrhus:_ Now that you homeward fare, and on the sea
  Your joyful sails would spread, my noble sire
  Is quite forgot, though by his single hand
  Was mighty Troy o'erthrown; for, though his death                  205
  Some respite granted to the stricken town,
  She stood but as some sorely smitten tree,
  That sways uncertain, choosing where to fall.
  Though even now ye seek to make amends
  For your neglect, and haste to grant the thing
  He asks, 'tis but a tardy recompense.
  Long since, the other chieftains of the Greeks
  Have gained their just reward. What lesser prize
  Should his great valor claim? Or is it naught                      210
  That, though his mother bade him shun the war,
  And spend his life in long, inglorious ease,
  Surpassing even Pylian Nestor's years,
  He cast his mother's shamming garments off,
  Confessing him the hero that he was?
  When Telephus, in pride of royal power,                            215
  Forbade our progress through his kingdom's bounds,
  He stained with royal blood the untried hand
  That young Achilles raised. Yet once again
  He felt that selfsame hand in mercy laid
  Upon his wound to heal him of its smart.
  Then did Eëtion, smitten sore, behold
  His city taken and his realm o'erthrown;
  By equal fortune fell Lyrnessus' walls,                            220
  For safety perched upon a ridgy height,
  Whence came that captive maid, Briseïs fair;
  And Chrysa, too, lies low, the destined cause
  Of royal strife; and Tenedos, and the land
  Which on its spreading pastures feeds the flocks                   225
  Of Thracian shepherds, Scyros; <DW26>s too,
  Upon whose rocky shore the sea in twain
  Is cleft; and Cilla, which Apollo loved.
  All these my father took, and eke the towns
  Whose walls Caÿcus with his vernal flood
  Doth wash against. This widespread overthrow
  Of tribes, this fearful and destructive scourge,
  That swept through many towns with whirlwind power--               230
  This had been glory and the height of fame
  For other chiefs; 'twas but an incident
  In great Achilles' journey to the war.
  So came my father and such wars he waged
  While but preparing war. And though I pass
  In silence all his other merits, still
  Would mighty Hector's death be praise enough.                      235
  My father conquered Troy; the lesser task
  Of pillage and destruction is your own.
  'Tis pleasant thus to laud my noble sire
  And all his glorious deeds pass in review:
  Before his father's eyes did Hector lie,
  Of life despoiled; and Memnon, swarthy son
  Of bright Aurora, goddess of the dawn,
  For whose untimely death his mother's face
  Was sicklied o'er with grief, while day was veiled                 240
  In darkness. When the heaven-born Memnon fell,
  Achilles trembled at his victory;
  For in that fall he learned the bitter truth
  That even sons of goddesses may die.
  Then, 'mongst our latest foes, the Amazons,
  Fierce maidens, felt my father's deadly power.
  So, if thou rightly estimate his deeds,
  Thou ow'st Achilles all that he can ask,
  E'en though he seek from Argos or Mycenae                          245
  Some high-born maid. And dost thou hesitate
  And haggle now, inventing scruples new,
  And deem it barbarous to sacrifice
  This captive maid of Troy to Peleus' son?
  But yet for Helen's sake didst thou devote
  Thy daughter to the sacrificial knife.
  I make in this no new or strange request,
  But only urge a customary rite.

  _Agamemnon:_ 'Tis the common fault of youth to have no check       250
  On passion's force; while others feel alone
  The sweeping rush of this first fire of youth,
  His father's spirit urges Pyrrhus on.
  I once endured unmoved the blustering threats
  Of proud Achilles, swoll'n with power; and now,
  My patience is sufficient still to bear
  His son's abuse. Why do you seek to smirch                         255
  With cruel murder the illustrious shade
  Of that famed chief? 'Tis fitting first to learn
  Within what bounds the victor may command,
  The vanquished suffer. Never has for long
  Unbridled power been able to endure,
  But lasting sway the self-controlled enjoy.
  The higher fortune raises human hopes,                             260
  The more should fortune's favorite control
  His vaulting pride, and tremble as he views
  The changing fates of life, and fear the gods
  Who have uplifted him above his mates.
  By my own course of conquest have I learned
  That mighty kings can straightway come to naught.
  Should Troy o'erthrown exalt us overmuch?
  Behold, we stand today whence she has fallen.                      265
  I own that in the past too haughtily
  Have I my sway o'er fallen chieftains borne;
  But thought of fortune's gift has checked my pride,
  Since she unto another might have given
  These selfsame gifts. O fallen king of Troy,
  Thou mak'st me proud of conquest over thee,
  Thou mak'st me fear that I may share thy fate.                     270
  Why should I count the scepter anything
  But empty honor and a tinsel show?
  This scepter one short hour can take away,
  Without the aid, perchance, of countless ships
  And ten long years of war. The steps of fate
  Do not for all advance with pace so slow.                          275
  For me, I will confess ('tis with thy grace,
  O land of Greece, I speak) I have desired
  To see the pride and power of Troy brought low;
  But that her walls and homes should be o'erthrown
  In utter ruin have I never wished.
  But a wrathful foe, by greedy passion driven,
  And heated by the glow of victory,
  Within the shrouding darkness of the night,                        280
  Cannot be held in check. If any act
  Upon that fatal night unworthy seemed
  Or cruel, 'twas the deed of heedless wrath,
  And darkness which is ever fury's spur,
  And the victorious sword, whose lust for blood,
  When once in blood imbued, is limitless.
  Since Troy has lost her all, seek not to grasp                     285
  The last poor fragments that remain. Enough,
  And more has she endured of punishment.
  But that a maid of royal birth should fall
  An offering upon Achilles' tomb,
  Bedewing his harsh ashes with her blood,
  While that foul murder gains the honored name
  Of wedlock, I shall not permit. On me
  The blame of all will come; for he who sin                         290
  Forbids not when he can, commits the sin.

  _Pyrrhus:_ Shall no reward Achilles' shade obtain?

  _Agamemnon:_ Yea, truly; all the Greeks shall sing his praise,
  And unknown lands shall hear his mighty name.
  But if his shade demand a sacrifice                                295
  Of out-poured blood, go take our richest flocks,
  And shed their blood upon thy father's tomb;
  But let no mother's tears pollute the rite.
  What barbarous custom this, that living man
  Should to the dead be slain in sacrifice?
  Then spare thy father's name the hate and scorn
  Which by such cruel worship it must gain.                          300

  _Pyrrhus:_ Thou, swoll'n with pride so long as happy fate
  Uplifts thy soul, but weak and spent with fear
  When fortune frowns; O hateful king of kings,
  Is now thy heart once more with sudden love
  Of this new maid inflamed? Shalt thou alone
  So often bear away my father's spoils?                             305
  By this right hand he shall receive his own.
  And if thou dost refuse, and keep the maid,
  A greater victim will I slay, and one
  More worthy Pyrrhus' gift; for all too long
  From royal slaughter hath my hand been free,
  And Priam asks an equal sacrifice.                                 310

  _Agamemnon:_ Far be it from my wish to dim the praise
  That thou dost claim for this most glorious deed--
  Old Priam slain by thy barbaric sword,
  Thy father's suppliant.

  _Pyrrhus:_                        I know full well
  My father's suppliants--and well I know
  His enemies. Yet royal Priam came,
  And made his plea before my father's face;                         315
  But thou, o'ercome with fear, not brave enough
  Thyself to make request, within thy tent
  Didst trembling hide, and thy desires consign
  To braver men, that they might plead for thee.

  _Agamemnon:_ But, of a truth, no fear thy father felt;
  But while our Greece lay bleeding, and her ships
  With hostile fire were threatened, there he lay
  Supine and thoughtless of his warlike arms,                        320
  And idly strumming on his tuneful lyre.

  _Pyrrhus:_ Then mighty Hector, scornful of thy arms,
  Yet felt such wholesome fear of that same lyre,
  That our Thessalian ships were left in peace.

  _Agamemnon:_ An equal peace did Hector's father find
  When he betook him to Achilles' ships.                             325

  _Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis regal thus to spare a kingly life.

  _Agamemnon:_ Why then didst thou a kingly life despoil?

  _Pyrrhus:_ But mercy oft doth offer death for life.

  _Agamemnon:_ Doth mercy now demand a maiden's blood?               330

  _Pyrrhus:_ Canst _thou_ proclaim such sacrifice a sin?

  _Agamemnon:_ A king must love his country more than child.

  _Pyrrhus:_ No law the wretched captive's life doth spare.

  _Agamemnon:_ What law forbids not, this let shame forbid.

  _Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis victor's right to do whate'er he will.             335

  _Agamemnon:_ Then should he will the least who most can do.

  _Pyrrhus:_ Dost thou boast thus, from whose tyrannic reign
  Of ten long years but now the Greeks I freed?

  _Agamemnon:_ Such airs from Scyros!

  _Pyrrhus:_                          Thence no brother's blood.

  _Agamemnon:_ Hemmed by the sea!

  _Pyrrhus:_                      Yet that same sea is ours.         340
  But as for Pelops' house, I know it well.

  _Agamemnon:_ Thou base-born son of maiden's secret sin,
  And young Achilles, scarce of man's estate--

  _Pyrrhus:_ Yea, that Achilles who, by right of birth,
  Claims equal sovereignty of triple realms:                         345
  His mother rules the sea, to Aeacus
  The shades submit, to mighty Jove the heavens.

  _Agamemnon:_ Yet that Achilles lies by Paris slain!

  _Pyrrhus:_ But by Apollo's aid, who aimed the dart;
  For no god dared to meet him face to face.

  _Agamemnon:_ I could have checked thy words, and curbed thy tongue,
  Too bold in evil speech; but this my sword                         350
  Knows how to spare. But rather let them call
  The prophet Calchas, who the will of heaven
  Can tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.
                                                     [_Enter_ Calchas.]
  Thou who from bonds didst loose the Grecian ships,
  And bring to end the slow delays of war;
  Who by thy mystic art canst open heaven,
  And read with vision clear the awful truths
  Which sacrificial viscera proclaim;
  To whom the thunder's roll, the long, bright trail                 355
  Of stars that flash across the sky, reveal
  The hidden things of fate; whose every word
  Is uttered at a heavy cost to me:
  What is the will of heaven, O Calchas; speak,
  And rule us with the mastery of fate.

  _Calchas:_ The Greeks must pay th' accustomed price to death,      360
  Ere on the homeward seas they take their way.
  The maiden must be slaughtered on the tomb
  Of great Achilles. Thus the rite perform:
  As Grecian maidens are in marriage led
  By other hands unto the bridegroom's home,
  So Pyrrhus to his father's shade must lead
  His promised bride.                                                365
                      But not this cause alone
  Delays our ships: a nobler blood than thine,
  Polyxena, is due unto the fates;
  For from yon lofty tower must Hector's son,
  Astyanax, be hurled to certain death.
  Then shall our vessels hasten to the sea,
  And fill the waters with their thousand sails.                     370

[_Exeunt._]

  _Chorus:_   When in the tomb the dead is laid,
    When the last rites of love are paid;
    When eyes no more behold the light,
    Closed in the sleep of endless night;
    Survives there aught, can we believe?
    Or does an idle tale deceive?                                    375
    What boots it, then, to yield the breath
    A willing sacrifice to death,
    If still we gain no dreamless peace,
    And find from living no release?
    Say, do we, dying, end all pain?
    Does no least part of us remain?
    When from this perishable clay
    The flitting breath has sped away;
  Does then the soul that dissolution share
  And vanish into elemental air?                                     380
    Whate'er the morning sunbeam knows,
    Whate'er his setting rays disclose;
    Whate'er is bathed by Ocean wide,
    In ebbing or in flowing tide:
    Time all shall snatch with hungry greed,
    With mythic Pegasean speed.                                      385
    Swift is the course of stars in flight,
    Swiftly the moon repairs her light;
    Swiftly the changing seasons go,
    While time speeds on with endless flow:
    But than all these, with speed more swift,
    Toward fated nothingness we drift.                               390
    For when within the tomb we're laid,
    No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.
  Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast,
  This animating spirit soon has passed.                             395
    Since naught remains, and death is naught
    But life's last goal, so swiftly sought;
    Let those who cling to life abate
    Their fond desires, and yield to fate;
    And those who fear death's fabled gloom,
    Bury their cares within the tomb.
    Soon shall grim time and yawning night
    In their vast depths engulf us quite;                            400
    Impartial death demands the whole--
    The body slays nor spares the soul.
    Dark Taenara and Pluto fell,
    And Cerberus, grim guard of hell--
    All these but empty rumors seem,                                 405
    The pictures of a troubled dream.
  Where then will the departed spirit dwell?
  Let those who never came to being tell.


ACT III

[_Enter_ Andromache, _leading the little_ Astyanax.]

  _Andromache:_ What do ye here, sad throng of Phrygian dames?
  Why tear your hair and beat your wretched breasts?                 410
  Why stream your cheeks with tears? Our ills are light
  If we endure a grief that tears can soothe.
  You mourn a Troy whose walls but now have fall'n;
  Troy fell for me long since, when that dread car
  Of Peleus' son, urged on at cruel speed,
  With doleful groanings 'neath his massive weight,
  Dragged round the walls my Hector's mangled corse.                 415
  Since then, o'erwhelmed and utterly undone,
  With stony resignation do I bear
  Whatever ills may come. But for this child,
  Long since would I have saved me from the Greeks
  And followed my dear lord; but thought of him
  Doth check my purpose and forbid my death.
  For his dear sake there still remaineth cause                      420
  To supplicate the gods, an added care.
  Through him the richest fruit of woe is lost--
  The fear of naught; and now all hope of rest
  From further ills is gone, for cruel fate
  Hath still an entrance to my grieving heart.
  Most sad his fear, who fears in hopelessness.                      425

  _An Old Man:_ What sudden cause of fear hath moved thee so?

  _Andromache:_ Some greater ill from mighty ills doth rise.
  The fate of fallen Troy is not yet stayed.

  _Old Man:_ What new disasters can the fates invent?

  _Andromache:_ The gates of deepest Styx, those darksome realms
  (Lest fear be wanting to our overthrow),                           430
  Are opened wide, and forth from lowest Dis
  The spirit of our buried foeman comes.
  (May Greeks alone retrace their steps to earth?
  For death at least doth come to all alike.)
  That terror doth invade the hearts of all;
  But what I now relate is mine alone--                              435
  A terrifying vision of the night.

  _Old Man:_ What was this vision? Speak and share thy fears.

  _Andromache:_ Now kindly night had passed her middle goal,
  And their bright zenith had the Bears o'ercome.
  Then came to my afflicted soul a calm                              440
  Long since unknown, and o'er my weary eyes,
  For one brief hour did drowsy slumber steal
  If that be sleep--the stupor of a soul
  Forespent with ills: when suddenly I saw
  Before mine eyes the shade of Hector stand;
  Not in such guise as when, with blazing torch
  He strove in war against the Grecian ships,                        445
  Nor when, all stained with blood, in battle fierce
  Against the Danai, he gained true spoil
  From that feigned Peleus' son; not such his face
  All flaming with the eager battle light;
  But weary, downcast, tear-stained, like my own,
  All covered o'er with tangled, bloody locks.                       450
  Still did my joy leap up at sight of him;
  And then he sadly shook his head and said:
  "Awake from sleep and save our son from death,
  O faithful wife. In hiding let him lie;
  Thus only can he life and safety find.
  Away with tears--why dost thou mourning make
  For fallen Troy? I would that all had fall'n.                      455
  Then haste thee, and to safety bear our son,
  The stripling hope of this our vanquished home,
  Wherever safety lies."
                        So did he speak,
  And chilling terror roused me from my sleep.
  Now here, now there I turned my fearful eyes.
  Forgetful of my son, I sought the arms
  Of Hector, there to lay my grief. In vain:
  For that elusive shade, though closely pressed,                    460
  Did ever mock my clinging, fond embrace.
  O son, true offspring of thy mighty sire,
  Sole hope of Troy, sole comfort of our house,
  Child of a stock of too illustrious blood,
  Too like thy father, thou: such countenance
  My Hector had, with such a tread he walked,
  With such a motion did he lift his hands,
  Thus stood he straight with shoulders proudly set,
  And thus he oft from that high, noble brow
  Would backward toss his flowing locks.--But thou,
  O son, who cam'st too late for Phrygia's help,
  Too soon for me, will that time ever come,
  That happy day, when thou, the sole defense,                       470
  And sole avenger of our conquered Troy,
  Shalt raise again her fallen citadel,
  Recall her scattered citizens from flight,
  And give to fatherland and Phrygians
  Their name and fame again?--Alas, my son,
  Such hopes consort not with our present state.
  Let the humble captive's fitter prayer be mine--                   475
  The prayer for life.
                      Ah me, what spot remote
  Can hold thee safe? In what dark lurking-place
  Can I bestow thee and abate my fears?
  Our city, once in pride of wealth secure,
  And stayed on walls the gods themselves had built,
  Well known of all, the envy of the world,
  Now deep in ashes lies, by flames laid low;                        480
  And from her vast extent of temples, walls
  And towers, no part, no lurking-place remains,
  Wherein a child might hide. Where shall I choose
  A covert safe? Behold the mighty tomb
  Wherein his father's sacred ashes lie,
  Whose massive pile the enemy has spared.
  This did old Priam rear in days of power,                          485
  Whose grief no stinted sepulture bestowed.
  Then to his father let me trust the child.--
  But at the very thought a chilling sweat
  Invades my trembling limbs, for much I fear
  The gruesome omen of the place of death.                           490

  _Old Man:_ In danger, haste to shelter where ye may;
  In safety, choose.

  _Andromache:_                  What hiding-place is safe
  From traitor's eyes?

  _Old Man:_                    All witnesses remove.

  _Andromache:_ What if the foe inquire?

  _Old Man:_                        Then answer thus:
  "He perished in the city's overthrow."
  This cause alone ere now hath safety found
  For many from the stroke of death--belief
  That they have died.

  _Andromache:_                    But scanty hope is left;
  Too huge a weight of race doth press him down.
  Besides, what can it profit him to hide                            495
  Who must his shelter leave and face the foe?

  _Old Man:_ The victor's deadliest purposes are first.

  _Andromache:_ What trackless region, what obscure retreat
  Shall hold thee safe? Oh, who will bring us aid
  In our distress and doubt? Who will defend?
  O thou, who always didst protect thine own,                        500
  My Hector, guard us still. Accept the trust
  Which I in pious confidence impose;
  And in the faithful keeping of thy dust
  May he in safety dwell, to live again.
  Then son, betake thee hither to the tomb.
  Why backward strain, and shun that safe retreat?
  I read thy nature right: thou scornest fear.                       505
  But curb thy native pride, thy dauntless soul,
  And bear thee as thine altered fates direct.
  For see what feeble forces now are left:
  A sepulcher, a boy, a captive band.
  We cannot choose but yield us to our woes.
  Then come, make bold to enter the abode,
  The sacred dwelling of thy buried sire.
  If fate assist us in our wretchedness,                             510
  'Twill be to thee a safe retreat; if life
  The fates deny, thou hast a sepulcher.

[_The boy enters the tomb, and the gates are closed and barred behind
him._]

  _Old Man:_ Now do the bolted gates protect their charge.
  But thou, lest any sign of fear proclaim
  Where thou hast hid the boy, come far away.

  _Andromache:_ Who fears from near at hand, hath less of fear;      515
  But, if thou wilt, take we our steps away.

[Ulysses _is seen approaching._]

  _Old Man_: Now check thy words awhile, thy mourning cease;
  For hither bends the Ithacan his course.

  _Andromache_ [_with a final appealing look toward the tomb_]:
  Yawn deep, O earth, and thou, my husband, rend
  To even greater depths thy tomb's deep cave,                       520
  And hide the sacred trust I gave to thee
  Within the very bosom of the pit.
  Now comes Ulysses, grave and slow of tread;
  Methinks he plotteth mischief in his heart.

[_Enter_ Ulysses.]

  _Ulysses:_ As harsh fate's minister, I first implore
  That, though the words are uttered by my lips,                     525
  Thou count them not my own. They are the voice
  Of all the Grecian chiefs, whom Hector's son
  Doth still prohibit from that homeward voyage
  So long delayed. And him the fates demand.
  A peace secure the Greeks can never feel,
  And ever will the backward-glancing fear                           530
  Compel them on defensive arms to lean,
  While on thy living son, Andromache,
  The conquered Phrygians shall rest their hopes.
  So doth the augur, Calchas, prophesy.
  Yet, even if our Calchas spake no word,
  Thy Hector once declared it, and I fear
  Lest in his son a second Hector dwell;                             535
  For ever doth a noble scion grow
  Into the stature of his noble sire.
  Behold the little comrade of the herd,
  His budding horns still hidden from the sight:
  Full soon with arching neck and lofty front,
  He doth command and lead his father's flock.                       540
  The slender twig, just lopped from parent bough,
  Its mother's height and girth surpasses soon,
  And casts its shade abroad to earth and sky.
  So doth a spark within the ashes left,
  Leap into flame again before the wind.
  Thy grief, I know, must partial judgment give;                     545
  Still, if thou weigh the matter, thou wilt grant
  That after ten long years of grievous war.
  A veteran soldier doeth well to fear
  Still other years of slaughter, and thy Troy
  Still unsubdued. This fear one cause alone                         550
  Doth raise--another Hector. Free the Greeks
  From dread of war. For this and this alone
  Our idle ships still wait along the shore.
  And let me not seem cruel in thy sight,
  For that, compelled of fate, I seek thy son:
  I should have sought our chieftain's son as well.
  Then gently suffer what the victor bids.                           555

  _Andromache:_ Oh, that thou wert within my power to give,
  My son, and that I knew what cruel fate
  Doth hold thee now, snatched from my eager arms--
  Where thou dost lie; then, though my breast were pierced
  With hostile spears, and though my hands with chains
  Were bound, and scorching flames begirt my sides,                  560
  Thy mother's faith would ne'er betray her child.
  O son, what place, what lot doth hold thee now?
  Dost thou with wandering footsteps roam the fields?
  Wast thou consumed amid the raging flames?
  Hath some rude victor reveled in thy blood?                        565
  Or, by some ravening beast hast thou been slain,
  And liest now a prey for savage birds?

  _Ulysses:_ Away with feignéd speech; no easy task
  For thee to catch Ulysses: 'tis my boast
  That mother's snares, and even goddesses'
  I have o'ercome. Have done with vain deceit.                       570
  Where is thy son?

  _Andromache:_                  And where is Hector too?
  Where agéd Priam and the Phrygians?
  _Thou_ seekest one; _my_ quest includes them all.

  _Ulysses:_ By stern necessity thou soon shalt speak
  What thy free will withholds.

  _Andromache:_                              But safe is she,
  Who can face death, who ought and longs to die.

  _Ulysses:_ But death brought near would still thy haughty words.

  _Andromache:_ If 'tis thy will, Ulysses, to inspire                575
  Andromache with fear, then threaten life;
  For death has long been object of my prayer.

  _Ulysses:_ With stripes, with flames, with lingering pains of death
  Shalt thou be forced to speak, against thy will,
  What now thou dost conceal, and from thy heart
  Its inmost secrets bring. Necessity                                580
  Doth often prove more strong than piety.

  _Andromache:_ Prepare thy flames, thy blows, and all the arts
  Devised for cruel punishment: dire thirst,
  Starvation, every form of suffering;
  Come, rend my vitals with the sword's deep thrust;
  In dungeon, foul and dark, immure; do all                          585
  A victor, full of wrath and fear, can do
  Or dare; still will my mother heart, inspired
  With high and dauntless courage, scorn thy threats.

  _Ulysses:_ This very love of thine, which makes thee bold,
  Doth warn the Greeks to counsel for their sons.                    590
  This strife, from home remote, these ten long years
  Of war, and all the ills which Calchas dreads,
  Would slight appear to me, if for myself
  I feared: but thou dost threat Telemachus.

  _Andromache:_ Unwillingly, Ulysses, do I give
  To thee, or any Grecian, cause of joy;
  Yet must I give it, and speak out the woe,
  The secret grief that doth oppress my soul.                        595
  Rejoice, O sons of Atreus, and do thou,
  According to thy wont, glad tidings bear
  To thy companions: _Hector's son is dead_.

  _Ulysses:_ What proof have we that this thy word is true?

  _Andromache:_ May thy proud victor's strongest threat befall,
  And bring my death with quick and easy stroke;                     600
  May I be buried in my native soil,
  May earth press lightly on my Hector's bones:
  According as my son, deprived of light,
  Amidst the dead doth lie, and, to the tomb
  Consigned, hath known the funeral honors due
  To those who live no more.                                         605

  _Ulysses_ [_joyfully_]:           Then are the fates
  Indeed fulfilled, since Hector's son is dead,
  And I with joy unto the Greeks will go,
  With grateful tale of peace at last secure.
                                                             [_Aside._]
  But stay, Ulysses, this rash joy of thine!
  The Greeks will readily believe _thy_ word;
  But what dost thou believe?--his mother's oath.
  Would then a mother feign her offspring's death,
  And fear no baleful omens of that word?
  They omens fear who have no greater dread.                         610
  Her truth hath she upheld by straightest oath.
  If that she perjured be, what greater fear
  Doth vex her soul? Now have I urgent need
  Of all my skill and cunning, all my arts,
  By which so oft Ulysses hath prevailed;
  For truth, though long concealed, can never die.
  Now watch the mother; note her grief, her tears,                   615
  Her sighs; with restless step, now here, now there,
  She wanders, and she strains her anxious ears
  To catch some whispered word. 'Tis evident,
  She more by present fear than grief is swayed.
  So must I ply her with the subtlest art.
                                                     [_To_ Andromache.]
  When others mourn, 'tis fit in sympathy
  To speak with kindred grief; but thou, poor soul,
  I bid rejoice that thou hast lost thy son,                         620
  Whom cruel fate awaited; for 'twas willed
  That from the lofty tower that doth remain
  Alone of Troy's proud walls, he should be dashed,
  And headlong fall to quick and certain death.

  _Andromache_ [_aside_]: My soul is faint within me, and my limbs
  Do quake; while chilling fear congeals my blood.                   625

  _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: She trembles; here must I pursue my quest.
  Her fear betrayeth her; wherefore this fear
  Will I redouble.--
                                                     [_To attendants._]
                    Go in haste, my men,
  And find this foe of Greece, the last defense
  Of Troy, who by his mother's cunning hand
  Is safe bestowed, and set him in our midst.
                             [_Pretending that the boy is discovered._]
  'Tis well! He's found. Now bring him here with haste.              630
                                                     [_To_ Andromache.]
  Why dost thou start, and tremble? Of a truth
  Thy son is dead, for so hast thou declared.

  _Andromache:_ Oh, that I had just cause of dread. But now,
  My old habitual fear instinctive starts;
  The mind ofttimes forgets a well-conned woe.

  _Ulysses:_ Now since thy boy hath shunned the sacrifice
  That to the walls was due, and hath escaped                        635
  By grace of better fate, our priest declares
  That only can our homeward way be won
  If Hector's ashes, scattered o'er the waves,
  Appease the sea, and this his sepulcher
  Be leveled with the ground. Since Hector's son
  Has failed to pay the debt he owed to fate,                        640
  Then Hector's sacred dust must be despoiled.

  _Andromache_ [_aside_]: Ah me, a double fear distracts my soul!
  Here calls my son, and here my husband's dust.
  Which shall prevail? Attest, ye heartless gods,
  And ye, my husband's shades, true deities:                         645
  Naught else, O Hector, pleased me in my son,
  Save only thee; then may he still survive
  To bring thine image back to life and me.--
  Shall then my husband's ashes be defiled?
  Shall I permit his bones to be the sport
  Of waves, and lie unburied in the sea?
  Oh, rather, let my only son be slain!--                            650
  And canst thou, mother, see thy helpless child
  To awful death given up? Canst thou behold
  His body whirling from the battlements?
  I can, I shall endure and suffer this,
  Provided only, by his death appeased,
  The victor's hand shall spare my Hector's bones.--
  But he can suffer yet, while kindly fate                           655
  Hath placed his sire beyond the reach of harm.
  Why dost thou hesitate? Thou must decide
  Whom thou wilt designate for punishment.
  What doubts harass thy troubled soul? No more
  Is Hector here.--Oh, say not so; I feel
  He is both here and there. But sure am I
  That this my child is still in life, perchance
  To be the avenger of his father's death.
  But both I cannot spare. What then? O soul,                        660
  Save of the two, whom most the Greeks do fear.

  _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: Now must I force her answer.
                                                     [_To_ Andromache.]
                                           From its base
  Will I this tomb destroy.

  _Andromache:_                   The tomb of him
  Whose body thou didst ransom for a price?

  _Ulysses:_ I will destroy it, and the sepulcher
  From its high mound will utterly remove.                           665

  _Andromache:_ The sacred faith of heaven do I invoke,
  And just Achilles' plighted word: do thou,
  O Pyrrhus, keep thy father's sacred oath.

  _Ulysses:_ This tomb shall soon lie level with the plain.

  _Andromache:_ Such sacrilege the Greeks, though impious,
  Have never dared. 'Tis true the sacred fanes,
  E'en of your favoring gods, ye have defiled;                       670
  But still your wildest rage hath spared our tombs.
  I will resist, and match your warriors' arms
  With my weak woman's hands. Despairing wrath
  Will nerve my arm. Like that fierce Amazon,
  Who wrought dire havoc in the Grecian ranks;
  Or some wild Maenad by the god o'ercome,
  Who, thrysus-armed, doth roam the trackless glades
  With frenzied step, and, clean of sense bereft,                    675
  Strikes deadly blows but feels no counter-stroke:
  So will I rush against ye in defense
  Of Hector's tomb, and perish, if I must,
  An ally of his shade.

  _Ulysses_ [_to attendants_]:           Do ye delay,
  And do a woman's tears and empty threats
  And outcry move you? Speed the task I bid.                         680

  _Andromache_ [_struggling with attendants_]:
  Destroy me first! Oh, take my life instead!
                            [_The attendants roughly thrust her away._]
  Alas, they thrust me back! O Hector, come,
  Break through the bands of fate, upheave the earth,
  That thou mayst stay Ulysses' lawless hand.
  Thy spirit will suffice.--Behold he comes!
  His arms he brandishes, and firebrands hurls.
  Ye Greeks, do ye behold him, or do I,
  With solitary sight, alone behold?                                 685

  _Ulysses:_ This tomb and all it holds will I destroy.

  _Andromache_ [_aside, while the attendants begin to demolish the
    tomb_]: Ah me, can I permit the son and sire
  To be in common ruin overwhelmed?
  Perchance I may prevail upon the Greeks
  By prayer.--But even now those massive stones
  Will crush my hidden child.--Oh, let him die,
  In any other way, and anywhere,                                    690
  If only father crush not son, and son
  No desecration bring to father's dust.
                              [_Casts herself at the feet of_ Ulysses.]
      A humble suppliant at thy knees I fall,
  Ulysses; I, who never yet to man
  Have bent the knee in prayer, thy feet embrace.
  By all the gods, have pity on my woes,
  And with a calm and patient heart receive
  My pious prayers. And as the heavenly powers                       695
  Have high exalted thee in pride and might,
  The greater mercy show thy fallen foes.
  Whate'er is given to wretched suppliant
  Is loaned to fate. So mayst thou see again
  Thy faithful wife; so may Laërtes live
  To greet thee yet again; so may thy son
  Behold thy face, and, more than that thou canst pray,              700
  Excel his father's valor and the years
  Of old Laërtes. Pity my distress:
  The only comfort left me in my woe,
  Is this my son.

  _Ulysses:_                Produce the boy--and pray.

  _Andromache_ [_goes to the tomb and calls to_ Astyanax]:
  Come forth, my son, from the place of thy hiding                   705
  Where thy mother bestowed thee with weeping and fear.

[Astyanax _appears from the tomb_. Andromache _presents him to_
Ulysses.]

  Here, here is the lad, Ulysses, behold him;
  The fear of thy armies, the dread of thy fleet!
                                                       [_To_ Astyanax.]
  My son, thy suppliant hands upraise,
  And at the feet of this proud lord,
  Bend low in prayer, nor think it base                              710
  To suffer the lot which our fortune appoints.
  Put out of mind thy regal birth,
  Thy agéd grandsire's glorious rule
  Of wide domain; and think no more
  Of Hector, thy illustrious sire.
  Be captive alone--bend the suppliant knee;                         715
  And if thine own fate move thee not,
  Then weep by thy mother's woe inspired.
                                                        [_To_ Ulysses.]
  That older Troy beheld the tears
  Of its youthful king, and those tears prevailed
  To stay the fierce threats of the victor's wrath,                  720
  The mighty Hercules. Yea he,
  To whose vast strength all monsters had yielded,
  Who burst the stubborn gates of hell,
  And o'er that murky way returned,
  Even he was o'ercome by the tears of a boy.                        725
  "Take the reins of the state," to the prince he said;
  "Reign thou on thy father's lofty throne,
  But reign with the scepter of power--and truth."
  Thus did that hero subdue his foes.
  And thus do thou temper thy wrath with forbearance.                730
  And let not the power of great Hercules, only,
  Be model to thee. Behold at thy feet,
  As noble a prince as Priam of old
  Pleads only for life! The kingdom of Troy
  Let fortune bestow where she will.                                 735

  _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: This woe-struck mother's grief doth move me sore;
  But still the Grecian dames must more prevail,
  Unto whose grief this lad is growing up.

  _Andromache_ [_hearing him_]: What? These vast ruins of our fallen
    town,
  To very ashes brought, shall he uprear?
  Shall these poor boyish hands build Troy again?                    740
  No hopes indeed hath Troy, if such her hopes.
  So low the Trojans lie, there's none so weak
  That he need fear our power. Doth lofty thought
  Of mighty Hector nerve his boyish heart?
  What valor can a fallen Hector stir?
  When this our Troy was lost, his father's self
  Would then have bowed his lofty spirit's pride;
  For woe can bend and break the proudest soul.                      745
  If punishment be sought, some heavier fate
  Let him endure; upon his royal neck
  Let him support the yoke of servitude.
  Must princes sue in vain for this poor boon?

  _Ulysses:_ Not I, but Calchas doth refuse thy prayer.

  _Andromache:_ O man of lies, artificer of crime,                   750
  By whom in open fight no foe is slain,
  But by whose tricks and cunning, evil mind
  The very chiefs of Greece are overthrown,
  Dost thou now seek to hide thy dark intent
  Behind a priest and guiltless gods? Nay, nay:
  This deed within thy sinful heart was born.
  Thou midnight prowler, brave to work the death                     755
  Of this poor boy, dost dare at length alone
  To do a deed, and that in open day?

  _Ulysses:_ Ulysses' valor do the Grecians know
  Full well, and all too well the Phrygians.
  But we are wasting time with empty words.
  The impatient ships are tugging at their chains.

  _Andromache:_ But grant a brief delay, while to my son             760
  I pay the rites of woe, and sate my grief
  With tears and last embrace.

  _Ulysses:_                  I would 'twere mine
  To spare thy tears; but what alone I may,
  I'll give thee respite and a time for grief.
  Then weep thy fill, for tears do soften woe.                       765

  _Andromache_ [_to_ Astyanax]: O darling pledge of love, thou only stay
  Of our poor fallen house, last pang of Troy;
  O thou whom Grecians fear, O mother's hope,
  Alas too vain, for whom, with folly blind,
  I prayed the war-earned praises of his sire,
  His royal grandsire's prime of years and strength:
  But God hath scorned my prayers.                                   770
                                  Thou shalt not live
  To wield the scepter in the royal courts
  Of ancient Troy, to make thy people's laws,
  And send beneath thy yoke the conquered tribes;
  Thou shalt not fiercely slay the fleeing Greeks,
  Nor from thy car in retribution drag
  Achilles' son; the dart from thy small hand                        775
  Thou ne'er shalt hurl, nor boldly press the chase
  Of scattered beasts throughout the forest glades;
  And when the sacred lustral day is come,
  Troy's yearly ritual of festal games,
  The charging squadrons of the noble youth
  Thou shalt not lead, thyself the noblest born;
  Nor yet among the blazing altar fires,                             780
  With nimble feet the ancient sacred dance
  At some barbaric temple celebrate,
  While horns swell forth swift-moving melodies.
  Oh, mode of death, far worse than bloody war!
  More tearful sight than mighty Hector's end
  The walls of Troy must see.                                        785

  _Ulysses:_                    Now stay thy tears,
  For mighty grief no bound or respite finds.

  _Andromache:_ Small space for tears, Ulysses, do I ask;
  Some scanty moments yet, I pray thee, grant,
  That I may close his eyes though living still,
  And do a mother's part.
                                                       [_To_ Astyanax.]
                           Lo, thou must die,
  For, though a child, thou art too greatly feared.
  Thy Troy awaits thee: go, in freedom's pride,                      790
  And see our Trojans, dead yet unenslaved.

  _Astyanax:_ O mother, mother, pity me and save!

  _Andromache:_ My son, why dost thou cling upon my robes,
  And seek the vain protection of my hand?
  As when the hungry lion's roar is heard,
  The frightened calf for safety presses close                       795
  Its mother's side; but that remorseless beast,
  Thrusting away the mother's timid form,
  With ravenous jaws doth grasp the lesser prey,
  And, crushing, drag it hence: so shalt thou, too,
  Be snatched away from me by heartless foes.
  Then take my tears and kisses, O my son,
  Take these poor locks, and, full of mother love,                   800
  Go speed thee to thy sire; and in his ear
  Speak these, thy grieving mother's parting words:
  "If still thy manes feel their former cares,
  And on the pyre thy love was not consumed,
  Why dost thou suffer thy Andromache
  To serve a Grecian lord, O cruel Hector?
  Why dost thou lie in careless indolence?                           805
  Achilles has returned."
                          Take once again
  These hairs, these flowing tears, which still remain
  From Hector's piteous death; this fond caress
  And rain of parting kisses take for him.
  But leave this cloak to comfort my distress,
  For it, within his tomb and near his shade,
  Hath lain enwrapping thee. If to its folds                         810
  One tiny mote of his dear ashes clings,
  My eager lips shall seek it till they find.

  _Ulysses:_ Thy grief is limitless. Come, break away,
  And end our Grecian fleet's too long delay.

[_He leads the boy away with him._]

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_ Where lies the home of our captivity?
    On Thessaly's famed mountain heights?
    Where Tempe's dusky shade invites?                               815
    Or Phthia, sturdy warriors' home,
    Or where rough Trachin's cattle roam?
    Iolchos, mistress of the main,
    Or Crete, whose cities crowd the plain?                          820
    Where frequent flow Mothone's rills,
    Beneath the shade of Oete's hills,
    Whence came Alcides' fatal bow
    Twice destined for our overthrow?                                825
  But whither shall our alien course be sped?
    Perchance to Pleuron's gates we go,
    Where Dian's self was counted foe;
    Perchance to Troezen's winding shore,
    The land which mighty Theseus bore;
    Or Pelion, by whose rugged side
    Their mad ascent the giants tried.
    Here, stretched within his mountain cave,                        830
    Once Chiron to Achilles gave
    The lyre, whose stirring strains attest
    The warlike passions of his breast.                              835
  What foreign shore our homeless band invites?
    Must we our native country deem
    Where bright Carystos' marbles gleam?
    Where Chalcis breasts the heaving tide,
    And swift Euripus' waters glide?
    Perchance unhappy fortune calls                                  840
    To bleak Gonoëssa's windswept walls;
    Perchance our wondering eyes shall see
    Eleusin's awful mystery;                                         845
    Or Elis, where great heroes strove
    To win the Olympic crown of Jove.                                850
  Then welcome, stranger lands beyond the sea!
    Let breezes waft our wretched band,
    Where'er they list, to any land;
    If only Sparta's curséd state
    (To Greeks and Trojans common fate)
    And Argos, never meet our view,
    And bloody Pelops' city too;                                     855
    May we ne'er see Ulysses' isle,
    Whose borders share their master's guile.
    But thee, O Hecuba, what fate,
    What land, what Grecian lord await?                              860


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Helen.]

  _Helen_ [_aside_]: Whatever wedlock, bred of evil fate,
  Is full of joyless omens, blood and tears,
  Is worthy Helen's baleful auspices.
  And now must I still further harm inflict
  Upon the prostrate Trojans: 'tis my part
  To feign Polyxena, the royal maid,
  Is bid to be our Grecian Pyrrhus' wife,                            865
  And deck her in the garb of Grecian brides.
  So by my artful words shall she be snared,
  And by my craft shall Paris' sister fall.
  But let her be deceived; 'tis better so;
  To die without the shrinking fear of death
  Is joy indeed. But why dost thou delay
  Thy bidden task? If aught of sin there be,                         870
  'Tis his who doth command thee to the deed.
                                                       [_To_ Polyxena.]
  O maiden, born of Priam's noble stock,
  The gods begin to look upon thy house
  In kinder mood, and even now prepare
  To grant thee happy marriage; such a mate
  As neither Troy herself in all her power
  Nor royal Priam could have found for thee.                         875
  For lo, the flower of the Pelasgian lords,
  Whose sway Thessalia's far-extending plains
  Acknowledge, seeks thy hand in lawful wedlock.
  Great Tethys waits to claim thee for her own,
  And Thetis, whose majestic deity
  Doth rule the swelling sea, and all the nymphs
  Who dwell within its depths. As Pyrrhus' bride                     880
  Thou shalt be called the child of Peleus old,
  And Nereus the divine.
                        Then change the garb
  Of thy captivity for festal robes,
  And straight forget that thou wast e'er a slave.
  Thy wild, disheveled locks confine; permit
  That I, with skilful hands, adorn thy head.                        885
  This chance, mayhap, shall place thee on a throne
  More lofty far than ever Priam saw.
  The captive's lot full oft a blessing proves.

  _Andromache:_ This was the one thing lacking to our woes--
  That they should bid us smile when we would weep.
  See there! Our city lies in smouldering heaps;
  A fitting time to talk of marriages!                               890
  But who would dare refuse? When Helen bids,
  Who would not hasten to the wedding rites?
  Thou common curse of Greeks and Trojans too,
  Thou fatal scourge, thou wasting pestilence,
  Dost thou behold where buried heroes lie?
  And dost thou see these poor unburied bones
  That everywhere lie whitening on the plain?
  This desolation hath thy marriage wrought.                         895
  For thee the blood of Asia flowed; for thee
  Did Europe's heroes bleed, whilst thou, well pleased,
  Didst look abroad upon the warring kings,
  Who perished in thy cause, thou faithless jade!
  There! get thee gone! prepare thy marriages!
  What need of torches for the solemn rites?
  What need of fire? Troy's self shall furnish forth                 900
  The ruddy flames to light her latest bride.
  Then come, my sisters, come and celebrate
  Lord Pyrrhus' nuptial day in fitting wise:
  With groans and wailing let the scene resound.

  _Helen:_ Though mighty grief is ne'er by reason swayed,
  And oft the very comrades of its woe,
  Unreasoning, hates; yet can I bear to stand                        905
  And plead my cause before a hostile judge,
  For I have suffered heavier ills than these.
  Behold, Andromache doth Hector mourn,
  And Hecuba her Priam; each may claim
  The public sympathy; but Helena
  Alone must weep for Paris secretly.
  Is slavery's yoke so heavy and so hard                             910
  To bear? This grievous yoke have I endured,
  Ten years a captive. Doth your Ilium lie
  In dust, your gods o'erthrown? I know 'tis hard
  To lose one's native land, but harder still
  To fear the land that gave you birth. Your woes
  Are lightened by community of grief;
  But friend and foe are foes alike to me.
  Long since, the fated lot has hung in doubt                        915
  That sorts you to your lords; but I alone,
  Without the hand of fate am claimed at once.
  Think you that I have been the cause of war,
  And Troy's great overthrow? Believe it true
  If in a Spartan vessel I approached
  Your land; but if, sped on by Phrygian oars,                       920
  I came a helpless prey; if to the judge
  Of beauty's rival claims I fell the prize
  By conquering Venus' gift, then pity me,
  The plaything of the fates. An angry judge
  Full soon my cause shall have--my Grecian lord.
  Then leave to him the question of my guilt,
  And judge me not.
                    But now forget thy woes
  A little space, Andromache, and bid                                925
  This royal maid--but as I think on her
  My tears unbidden flow.

[_She stops, overcome by emotion._]

  _Andromache_ [_in scorn_]:            Now great indeed
  Must be the evil when our Helen weeps!
  But dry thy tears, and tell what Ithacus
  Is plotting now, what latest deed of shame?
  Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,
  Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?
  Must she be flung into the cruel sea                               930
  That roars beneath this lofty precipice,
  Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?
  Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.
  In all our ills there's none so great as this,
  That any princess of our royal house
  Should wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;                    935
  What further suffering remains to bear?
  To compensate our woes, this grace impart,
  That we may know the worst that can befall.
  Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.

  _Helen:_ Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bonds
  Which bind me to this life I hate; to die
  By Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb                               940
  Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,
  O poor Polyxena. For even now,
  The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,
  And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;
  That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,
  Within the borders of Elysium.

  _Andromache_ [_observing the joy with which_ Polyxena _receives these
    tidings_]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy             945
  At thought of death; she seeks the festal robes
  Wherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,
  And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.
  Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,
  Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.
                                                  [_Observing_ Hecuba.]
  But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,
  Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate.                     950
                                                         [_To_ Hecuba.]
  Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,
  And gird thy fainting spirit up.
                                             [Hecuba _falls fainting_.]
                                  Behold,
  By what a slender thread her feeble life
  Is held to earth. How slight the barrier now
  That doth remove our Hecuba from joy.
  But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,
  For from the wretched, death is first to flee.

  _Hecuba_ [_reviving_]: Still dost thou live, Achilles,
    for our bane?                                                    955
  Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,
  Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.
  For see, the very ashes and the tomb
  Of that insatiate chieftain still do thirst
  For Trojan blood. But lately did a throng
  Of happy children press me round; and I,
  With fond endearment and the sweet caress
  That mother love would shower upon them all,
  Was oft forespent. But now this child alone                        960
  Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,
  For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.
  Hers are the only lips still left to me
  To call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,
  Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?
  Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,
  The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;
  And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy,                     965
  A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.

  _Andromache:_ We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,
  Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea;                    970
  While _she_ shall rest beneath the soil she loves.

  _Helen:_ Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,
  If thou didst know thine own.

  _Andromache:_                              Remains there still
  Some punishment that I must undergo?

  _Helen:_ The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.

  _Andromache:_ To whom hath fate allotted me a slave?               975
  Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.

  _Helen:_ To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.

  _Andromache:_ O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,
  For by thy madness art thou held exempt
  From fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.

  _Helen:_ Not so, for even now the Grecian king
  Doth hold her as his prize.

  _Hecuba_ [_to_ Polyxena]:                Rejoice, my child.
  How gladly would thy sisters change their lot
  For thy death-dooming marriage.
                                                          [_To_ Helen.]
                                  Tell me now,
  Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?

  _Helen:_ The Ithacan, though much against his will,                980
  Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.

  _Hecuba:_ What cruel, ruthless providence hath given
  A royal slave to serve unkingly[50] men?
  What hostile god divides our captive band?
  What heartless arbiter of destiny
  So carelessly allots our future lords,
  That Hector's mother is assigned to him                            985
  Who hath by favor gained th' accursed arms
  Which laid my Hector low? And must I then
  Obey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,
  Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,
  And sore beset by all my woes at once.
  Now must I blush, not for my slavery,                              990
  But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,
  That barren land by savage seas beset,
  Shall not receive my bones.
                              Then up, Ulysses,
  And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuse
  To follow thee as lord; for well I know
  That my untoward fates shall follow me.
  No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails,                     995
  But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,
  And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,
  Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,
  While yet those ills delay, hast thou received
  Some punishment. For I usurped thy lot,
  And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.
                                                     [_Enter_ Pyrrhus.]
  But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,
  Stern Pyrrhus comes.                                              1000
                                                        [_To_ Pyrrhus.]
                      Why dost thou hesitate?
  Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,
  And join the parents of Achilles' bride.
  Make haste, thou murderer of agéd men,
  My blood befits thee too.
                                              [_Pointing to_ Polyxena.]
                            Away with her;
  Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,
  Defile the shades.--But why make prayer to you?                   1005
  I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rage
  Befits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,
  Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,
  May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,
  And so may evil fate engulf them all.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus:_   'Tis sweet for one in grief to know
    That he but feels a common woe;                                 1010
    And lighter falls the stroke of care
    Which all with equal sorrow bear;
  For selfish and malign is human grief                             1015
  Which in the tears of others finds relief.

    Remove all men to fortune born,
    And none will think himself forlorn;
    Remove rich acres spreading wide,                               1020
    With grazing herds on every side:
  Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,
  For none are poor if all in common thrive.                        1025

    The mariner his fate bewails,
    Who in a lonely vessel sails,
    And, losing all his scanty store,
    With life alone attains the shore;
  But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,
  That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves.                    1030

    When Phrixus fled in days of old
    Upon the ram with fleece of gold,
    His sister Helle with him fared
    And all his exiled wanderings shared;
  But when she fell and left him quite alone,
  Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone.                        1035

    Not so they wept, that fabled pair,
    Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,
    When 'midst the boundless sea they stood
    The sole survivors of the flood;
  For though their lot was hard and desolate,
  They shared their sorrow--'twas a common fate.                    1040

    Too soon our grieving company
    Shall scatter on the rolling sea,
    Where swelling sails and bending oars                           1045
    Shall speed us on to distant shores.
  Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,
    When far away our country lies,
    And round us heaving billows rise,
  And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.

    Then mother shall her child embrace,                            1050
    And point with straining eyes the place
    Where Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,
    Far off beneath the eastern sky:
  "See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,
    Where wreathing smoke in murky clouds
    The distant, dim horizon shrouds;
  And by that sign alone our land we know."                         1055


FOOTNOTES:

[50] Reading, _haud regibus_.


ACT V

  _Messenger_ [_entering_]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!
  What sight so fell and bloody have we seen
  In ten long years of war? Between thy woes,
  Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,
  I halt, and know not which to weep the more.

  _Hecuba:_ Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt--thou weepest mine.          1060
  While others bow beneath their single cares,
  I feel the weight of all. All die to me;
  Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.

  _Messenger:_ The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.
  But each has met his death with royal soul.

  _Andromache:_ Expound the deed in order, and display              1065
  The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fain
  To hear the gruesome narrative entire.
  Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.

  _Messenger:_ One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,
  Well known to Priam, on whose battlements
  He used to sit and view his warring hosts.                        1070
  Here in his arms his grandson he would hold
  With kind embrace, and bid the lad admire
  His father's warlike deeds upon the field,
  Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursued
  The frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower                    1075
  Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,
  But now a lonely crag, the people pour,
  A motley, curious throng of high and low.
  For some, a distant hill gives open view;
  While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge                        1080
  The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.
  The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;
  The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.
  One climbs a smouldering roof; unto another
  A crumbling wall precarious footing gives;                        1085
  While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.
  Now through the thronging crowd with stately tread
  Ulysses makes his way, and by the hand
  He leads the little prince of Ilium.
  With equal pace the lad approached the wall;                      1090
  But when he reached the lofty battlement,
  He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.
  And as the savage lion's tender young,
  Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,
  Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;               1095
  So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,
  Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,
  And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.
  But he alone wept not of all the throng
  Who wept for him. And now Ulysses spake
  In priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,                   1100
  And summoned to the rite the savage gods;
  When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,
  The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plunged
  Into the depths below.--

  _Andromache:_ What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,
  What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea                     1105
  Could do or dare a crime so hideous?
  No blood of helpless children ever stained
  Busiris' altars, monster though he was;
  Nor did the horses of the Thracian king
  E'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?
  Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?                        1110

  _Messenger:_ Alas, my lady, how can aught remain
  From such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,
  Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signs
  In face and feature of his royal birth,
  Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?
  Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.                       1115

  _Andromache:_ Thus also is he like his noble sire.

  _Messenger:_ When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,
  And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crime
  Which it had seen and done; that selfsame throng
  Returned to witness yet another crime                             1120
  Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward side
  Is beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;
  While on the other sides a level space,
  And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,
  Encompass it, and make a theater.
  Here rush the multitude and fill the place                        1125
  With eager throngs. A few rejoice that now
  Their homeward journey's long delay will end,
  And that another prop of fallen Troy
  Is stricken down. But all the common herd
  Look on in silence at the crime they hate.
  The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,                           1130
  And wait with quaking hearts the final scene
  Of Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shone
  The gleaming torches of the wedding march;
  And, as the bride's attendant, Helen came
  With drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:
  "Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,                               1135
  With bloody rites; like this may Helena
  Return unto her lord." Then numbing dread
  Seized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheld
  The maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,
  But on her face a wondrous beauty glowed
  In flaming splendor, as the setting sun
  Lights up the sky with beams more beautiful,                      1140
  When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.
  All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,
  And some her tender age and hapless fate;
  But all, her dauntless courage in the face                        1145
  Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;
  And as they looked, the souls of all were filled
  With quaking terror, pity, and amaze.
  But when she reached the summit of the mound
  And stood upon the lofty sepulcher,                               1150
  Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.
  And now she turned her to the stroke of death
  With eyes so fierce and fearless that she smote
  The hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,
  E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.
  But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,                    1155
  He drove the weapon deep within her breast;
  And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forth
  In sudden streams. But still the noble maid
  Did not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,
  Though in the act of death. For in her fall
  She smote the earth with angry violence,
  As if to make it heavy for the dead.
  Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned                 1160
  With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;
  But openly the victors voiced their grief.
  And now the savage rite was done. The blood
  Stood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;
  But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,
  As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.

  _Hecuba:_ Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.        1165
  With spreading sails your fleet in safety now
  May cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boy
  Are slain, the war is done. Oh, whither now
  Shall I betake me in my wretchedness?
  Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?
  My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,                         1170
  My husband, country--or myself alone?
  O death, my sole desire, for boys and maids
  Thou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;
  But me alone of mortals dost thou fear
  And shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,
  I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,               1175
  But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,
  Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could give
  The death I sought. And yet how near I stood
  To agéd Priam's side when he was slain!

  _Messenger:_ Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;
  The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.




AGAMEMNON




AGAMEMNON

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


_Agamemnon_ King of Argos, and leader of all the Greeks in their war
against Troy.

_Ghost of Thyestes_ Returned to earth to urge on his son to the
vengeance which he was born to accomplish.

_Aegisthus_ Son of Thyestes by an incestuous union with his daughter;
paramour of Clytemnestra.

_Clytemnestra_ Wife of Agamemnon, who has been plotting with Aegisthus
against her husband, in his absence at Troy.

_Chorus_ Of Argive women.

_Eurybates_ Messenger of Agamemnon.

_Cassandra_ Daughter of Priam, captive of Agamemnon.

_Electra_ Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.

_Strophius_ King of Phocis.

_Orestes_ Son of Agamemnon (_persona muta_).

_Pylades_ Son of Strophius (_persona muta_).

_Band_ Of captive Trojan women.


THE SCENE is laid partly within and partly without the palace of
Agamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king
from his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just
preceding the dawn.


_The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the
terrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in
fate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son,
Aegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the
great Atrides, Agamemnon._

_The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious
king, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been
announced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning.
For Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her
daughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy
because he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the
long-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own
guilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay Agamemnon on his
return, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath._


ACT I

  _Ghost of Thyestes:_ Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm
  And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,
  All doubting which abode I hate the more;
  That world I flee, but this I put to flight.
  My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear.                   5
  I see my father's house--my brother's too!
  Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;
  In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont
  To crown their kings; here sit those overlords
  Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield;                    10
  Here is their council chamber--here they feast!
  Let me go hence. Were it not better far
  To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,
  And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?
  Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel,                        15
  Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil
  Is mocked forever by the rolling stone;
  Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,
  Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,
  By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain                          20
  To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment
  For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.
  But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!
  Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth
  Make them to tremble at the bar of hell:
  By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;--                         25
  But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine
  Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh
  Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot
  With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;
  But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek
  (Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms.                             30
  Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,
  And so fearful cycle was complete:
  As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.
  Then were the laws of nature backward turned:
  I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;
  Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join,                      35
  And drove the day back to the shades of night.
  But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,
  Hath had regard unto my evil plight,
  And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,
  This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,
  This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag                              40
  A thousand Grecian vessels following
  Once filled the Trojan waters with their sails.
  Now ten bright suns have run their course, and Troy
  Has been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand--
  To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.
  Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,
  But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts                      45
  I see, and that proud head with murderous stroke
  Asunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,
  Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.
  The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,
  Is come at last. But why hangs down thy head
  In shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand                          50
  And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel take
  Within thy heart, and turn away, and ask
  Whether this deed become thee? Do but think
  Upon thy mother; then wilt thou confess
  It doth become thee well. But what drags out
  In long delay this summer night's brief span
  To winter's hours of darkness? And what cause
  Prevents the stars from sinking in the sky?                         55
  The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,
  That so he may bring back the light of day.

[_Exit._]

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus of Argive women:_ On fortune's headlong brink they stand
    Who hold the scepter in their hand;
    No safe assurance can they know                                   60
    Who on too lofty pathways go:
  But care on care pursues them to the last,
  Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.

    As seas on Libya's sandy shore
    Their waves in ceaseless billows pour;                            65
    As Euxine's swelling waters rise
    Beneath the lowering northern skies,
    Where bright Boötes wheels his team
    High o'er the ocean's darksome stream:                            70
  With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,
  Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!

    Who would be feared, in fear must live.
    No kindly night can refuge give;
    Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,                            75
    Can bring care-freedom to his breast.
  What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,
  That may not be destroyed by impious hands?

    For justice, shame, the virtues all,
    E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall                             80
    Where courtiers dwell. Within, there stands
    Bellona dire with bloody hands;
    Erinys too, the dogging fate,
    Of them who hold too high estate,
  Which any hour from high to low may bring.                          85
    Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,
    Still is the will of fortune done:
  By force of his own greatness falls the king.

    'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail                                 90
    Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;
    The tower feels rainy Auster's dread
    If to the clouds it rear its head;
    Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;                         95
    High mountains most with thunder crash;
  And while the common herd in safety feeds,
  Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.                 100

    Fate places us on high, that so
    To surer ruin we may go.
  The meanest things in longest fortune live.
    Then happy he whose modest soul
    In safety seeks a nearer goal;                                   105
    Fearing to leave the friendly shore,
    He rows with unambitious oar,
  Content in low security to thrive.


ACT II

  _Clytemnestra:_ Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?
  Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.
  Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch,                110
  And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;
  But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,
  The homely virtues, honor, piety,
  And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.
  Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;
  The safest way through crime is by the path                        115
  Of greater crime. Consider in thy heart
  All woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,
  Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;
  What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;
  Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,
  Who left her father's realm for Thessaly:                          120
  Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flight
  Must thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.
  But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?
  Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,
  Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.

  _Nurse:_ O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,                125
  What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?
  Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,
  By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?
  Though thou be silent, yet thy face declares
  Thy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.
  Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.
  Time often cures what reason cannot heal.                          130

  _Clytemnestra:_ Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.
  My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:
  I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,
  The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,
  Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke                         135
  Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.
  And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,
  Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,
  Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:
  As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,
  The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.                 140
  And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.
  Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,
  There will I speed my course; my helmless ship
  I've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.
  Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.

  _Nurse:_ Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance.          145

  _Clytemnestra:_ Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?

  _Nurse:_ Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.

  _Nurse:_ Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?

  _Clytemnestra:_ To stop midway in sin is foolishness.              150

  _Nurse:_ His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.

  _Clytemnestra:_ But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.

  _Nurse:_ Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.

  _Clytemnestra:_ The path of sin is headlong from the first.

  _Nurse:_ Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back.                 155

  _Clytemnestra:_ What long-deserted wife regards her lord?

  _Nurse:_ Your common children--hast no thought of them?

  _Clytemnestra:_ I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,
  High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.

  _Nurse:_ She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,              160
  And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born child
  Of Tyndarus, should give my daughter up
  To save the Grecian fleet! I see once more
  In memory my daughter's wedding day,
  Which _he_ made worthy of base Pelops' house,                      165
  When, with his pious face, this father stood
  Before the altar fires--Oh, monstrous rites!
  E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread words
  And backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,
  That ever wades through crime to other crime!
  With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.                 170

  _Nurse:_ Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.

  _Clytemnestra:_ But not with favoring omens did they sail;
  The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.
  So launched in war, he still no better fared.
  Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,                     175
  He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,
  E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.
  Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,
  Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates
  (A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),                         180
  Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.
  When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,
  This man with passion pined, had time for love,
  Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch
  Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft,                             185
  He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,
  Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.
  Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,
  And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.
  And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,                    190
  A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!
  Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;
  Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, wait
  Till Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?
  Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,                          195
  Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?
  Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,
  Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,
  A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.
  Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepare
  To drive the sword, and so slay two in one.                        200
  Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.
  For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.

  _Nurse:_ My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,
  And think how great thy task. Atrides comes
  Wild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;                           205
  He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.
  'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,
  Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,
  Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;
  Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;                             210
  Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;
  Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;
  Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;
  Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;
  Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;                            215
  Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;
  Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,
  Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?
  This hero, home returned, dost thou prepare
  To slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?
  Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?                  220
  Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,
  The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,
  The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,
  Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:
  Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,
  And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.                        225

[_Exit._]

[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]

  _Aegisthus:_ The fatal day which I was born to see,
  Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.
  Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,
  And turn away from action scarce begun?
  Be sure that not thy hand is ordering
  These dire events, but the relentless gods.                        230
  Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fate
  And let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.
  To one of shameful birth death is a boon.
                                                [_Enter_ Clytemnestra.]
  Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,
  Be with me still in this; and thy false lord,                      235
  This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.
  But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?
  What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?

  _Clytemnestra:_ My husband's love has met and conquered me.
  Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,                240
  To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;
  Let even now fair fame be sought again;
  For never is it over late to mend.
  Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.

  _Aegisthus:_ What madness this? Dost thou believe or hope
  That Agamemnon will be true to thee?                               245
  Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,
  Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;
  Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,
  Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.
  Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;
  How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on                250
  His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?
  Mycenae's king he went; he will return
  Her tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.
  With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!
  But one of these, surpassing all the rest,
  Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.                      255
  And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?
  But she will not. A wife's last infamy--
  To see her rival ruling in her stead.
  No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,          260
  And fan to flames again my dying wrath?
  For if the victor has his right employed,
  To work his will upon a captive maid,
  His wife should not complain or reck of this.
  The law that binds the man fits not the king.
  And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,                       265
  Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?
  Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.

  _Aegisthus:_ In very truth there's room for mutual grace.
  But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.
  Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself                       270
  A milder law in gentler mood apply.
  And this they deem the highest pledge of power,
  If, what to common mortals is denied,
  Is given by general will to them alone.

  _Clytemnestra:_ He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,
  To Menelaüs joined, though East and West
  Have been engulfed for her in common woe.

  _Aegisthus:_ But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,                   275
  Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.
  Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.
  Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:
  What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,
  When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?                          280
  Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and return
  Unto thy father's house? No shelter waits
  The scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.

  _Clytemnestra:_ None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.

  _Aegisthus:_ In vain: no faith is found in royal courts.           285

  _Clytemnestra:_ But surely gifts will buy fidelity.

  _Aegisthus:_ Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.

  _Clytemnestra:_ My strength and purity of soul revive.
  Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,
  Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?                       290
  Dost think that I would leave a king of kings
  And stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?

  _Aegisthus:_ What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,
  Who am Thyestes' son?

  _Clytemnestra:_      Why, so thou art,
  And grandson too.

  _Aegisthus:_        My getting shames me not;
  For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,      295
  Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,
  Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he behold
  Thy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,
  Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?
  Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes                     300
  Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;
  This home is waiting for its king and lord.

  _Aegisthus:_ Exile is naught to me, for I am used
  To woe. At thy command I'll farther flee
  Than from this house: I but await thy word
  To plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.                         305

  _Clytemnestra_ [_aside_]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?
  Who sin in company should suffer so.
                                                      [_To_ Aegisthus.]
  Nay, come with me; we will together wait
  The issue of our dark and dangerous fate.

[_Exeunt into the palace._]

  _Chorus:_[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned;               310
    With festal laurel wreathe your heads;
    And let your virgin locks flow free,
        Ye Argive maids.
    And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,
    Who dwell by Eurotas,                                            315
    Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus
    Come join in our singing;
    And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,
    Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,
    Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.                      320
        Now peace has come:
    Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,
    Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,
    And let thy tuneful lyre resound
    To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.                        325
    No lofty strain be thine today,
    But such as on thy milder lyre
    Thou art wont to sound when the learnéd muse
        Surveys thy sports.
    And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain,                 330
    As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome
      By Jupiter's hurtling bolts;
    When mountain on lofty mountain piled,
    Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,
    Built high to the sky for the impious monsters                   335
      Their ladder's rocky rounds.
    Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,
    Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord.                         340
    Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.
      Thou alone dost protect us,
      Anxious and suppliant;
    Thou art the goddess of peace,
    And the issues of war are thine;                                 345
  And thine are the laurels of victory twined
  On the brow of our king Agamemnon.
  To thee the boxwood flute resounds
    In solemn festival;
  To thee the maidens strike the harp                                350
      In sweetest song;
  To thee the votive torch is tossed;
  The gleaming heifer, all unmarred
    By the plow's rough touch
      Falls at thy shrine.                                           355
  And thou, child of the Thunderer,
    Pallas illustrious, hear;
  Before whose might the Dardanian walls
    Have trembled and fallen to dust.
  Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united                          360
  Exalt and adore; at thy approach
  Thy temple doors swing open wide,
  While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,
    Rejoice at thy coming;
  And feeble, tottering elders come
  To pay their vows of thanks and praise,                            365
  And pour their offerings of wine
      With trembling hands.
  And to thee with mindful lips we pray,
  Bright Trivia, Lucina called.
  Thy native Delos didst thou bid
  Stand fast upon the sea, and float                                 370
  No more, the wandering mock of winds.
  And now, with firmly fixéd root,
  It stands secure, defies the gale,
  And, wont of old to follow ships,
    Now gives them anchorage.
  Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt                                     375
  Who thy divinity defied.
  Now, high on lonely Sipylus,
  She sits and weeps in stony grief;
  Though to insensate marble turned,
      Her tears flow fresh forevermore.
      And now both men and women join                                380
      In praise to the twin divinities.
      But thee, above all gods, we praise;
      Our father and our ruler thou,
      Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,
      At whose dread nod the farthest poles
        Do quake and tremble.
      O Jove, thou founder of our race,                              385
      Accept our gifts, and have regard
      Unto thy faithful progeny.
  But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,
  With wonted signs of victory displayed;
  For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears--                        390
  Eurybates, our king's own messenger.


FOOTNOTES:

[51] The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.


ACT III

[_Enter_ Eurybates _with laurel-wreathed spear_.]

  _Eurybates:_ Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,
  Ye Lares of my fathers, after long
  And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet
  My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.
  Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,
  Ye Argive people; for behold, your king,                           395
  The pride and glory of this land of Greece,
  Back to his father's house as victor comes.

[_Enter_ Clytemnestra _in time to hear the concluding words of the
herald_.]

  _Clytemnestra:_ Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!
  But where delays my lord, whom I with grief
  For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea
  Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?

  _Eurybates:_ Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise,      400
  He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Then hail this day with joy, and thank the gods
  Who, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,
  At last have smiled propitious on our cause.
  But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?
  Say, too, how fares my sister Helena?                              405

  _Eurybates:_ If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;
  No surer tidings is it given to speak
  Of those who wander on the stormy sea.
  Scarce had the swollen highways of the deep
  Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship
  Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.
  E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear                            410
  Went wandering upon the trackless waste,
  And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings
  Than he had e'er endured in bloody war.
  And now, a humble victor, home he comes,
  With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.

  _Clytemnestra:_ But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,
  And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea?                   415

  _Eurybates:_ A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix
  The bitter message with the sweet. But I,
  Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell
  For very horror our most woeful tale.

  _Clytemnestra:_ But tell it even so; for he who shrinks
  From knowledge of his woe has greater fear.
  And ills half seen are worse than certainty.                       420

  _Eurybates:_ When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian fires
  We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea
  In eager haste. And now our weary sides
  Are easéd of the falchion's wonted load;
  Our shields along the vessels' lofty sterns
  Unheeded hang, and once again our hands,
  Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar;                        425
  And all impatiently we wait the word.
  Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign
  That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud
  The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;
  The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,
  The course directing for a thousand ships.                         430
  A kindly breeze first stole into our sails
  And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves
  Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;
  The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet
  Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way.
  'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,                        435
  The broad plains left in lonely solitude.
  The eager sailors ply the bending oars,
  Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms
  With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,
  And sing along the sides, while rushing prows                      440
  Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.
  When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,
  We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,
  We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,
  Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare;                          445
  Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,
  His corpse dishonored, and again restored
  To purchased honors of the funeral pyre;
  And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood
  The sacred altar of Hercean Jove.
  Then to and fro amid the briny sea
  The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves                     450
  With arching backs; now race in circles wide,
  Now swim beside us in a friendly band,
  Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;
  Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,
  And so our thousand rushing barks surround.                        455
  Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;
  And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.
  And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,
  Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.
  The sun was bringing weary mortals rest,                           460
  And waning day was giving place to night;
  When clouds began to fill the western sky,
  And dim the luster of the sinking sun--
  The grim prognostic of a rising gale.
  Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,                   465
  And empty sails hung languid on the masts;
  When low, foreboding sighings of the wind
  Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore
  Resounds afar with warning mutterings;
  The rising waves anticipate the storm;                             470
  The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,
  The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.
  Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;
  For blinding mists add blackness to the night,
  And murky waves with murky sky contend.
  Then in concerted rush from every hand
  The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,
  And heave its boiling billows from the depths;                     475
  While east with west wind struggles, south with north.
  Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:
  The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail
  Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves
  Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone                           480
  Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first
  Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;
  And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,
  The far Arabian realms and morning seas.
  What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,
  His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?
  We thought the very heavens would be rent,                         485
  The gods fall down from out the riven sky,
  And all revert to chaos as of old.
  The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn
  Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea
  Within itself contained; but, lifted high,
  It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven.                    490
  Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight
  By open view and knowledge of our ills;
  For darkness like the murky night of Styx
  Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,
  When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds                     495
  With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam
  Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is
  To those in evil plight to see their ills.
  The fleet assists its own destruction, too,
  Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;
  Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,
  And now, belched forth, it sees the air again.                     500
  One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;
  Another, through its gaping side, invites
  Destruction from the raging floods; a third
  Is smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.
  Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,
  Of all its boastful decoration shorn;
  And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.
  No lofty mast with hanging spars remains,                          505
  But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels drift
  Upon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,
  Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?
  Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors stand
  In dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;
  While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,
  And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid.                   510
  Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vows
  The Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.
  Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;
  Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;
  And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:
  Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,
  Whose lot it was to die by human hand,
  Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame,                       515
  For they rest safely in the land they won.
  "Shall winds and waves engulf in common fate
  The faint of heart who nothing noble dare,
  And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?
  Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?
  O thou of gods who art not even yet
  With these our evil fortunes satisfied,                            520
  At last have pity on our woeful plight,
  Which Ilium itself would weep to see.
  If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreed
  That we of Greece must perish utterly,
  Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,
  To share our fate? Allay the raging sea:                           525
  For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."
  So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant words
  Were swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,
  Another shape of death! For Pallas, armed
  With those swift bolts her angry father wields,
  Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,
  Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head,                            530
  And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.
  Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,
  Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sail
  With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt
  Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt                      535
  With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,
  And hurled it true with shock impetuous.
  Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,
  It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.
  Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,
  All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff,                    540
  And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.
  Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,
  He shines amid the blackness like a torch
  Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep.
  At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts
  In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea,                          545
  The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,
  The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.
  I've braved the terrors of the god of war;
  With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,
  Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.
  Those gods, together with their Phrygians,                         550
  I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?
  Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:
  But what if Jove himself--"
  When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,
  Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,
  And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea.                    555
  So, falling with its fall, the madman lies
  By earth and fire and billows overcome.
      But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,
  A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,
  Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,
  Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot
  Beneath the whirling waters of the sea.                            560
  Above this reef the billows heave and dash,
  And madly seethe with each recurring wave.
  High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,
  Which views on either side the spreading sea.
  There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,
  And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,
  Shielding the broad Aegean from the west.                          565
  There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies;
  And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.
  This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,
  With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.
  There his accurséd hand a beacon raised
  And lured us onward to the fatal spot.                             570
  Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,
  Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;
  And where but now our vessels sought to land,
  They flee the land and choose the angry waves.                     575
  With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,
  And full atonement had been made to Troy.
  Then came the sun again; and brightening day
  Revealed the awful havoc of the night.

  _Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy.
  I do rejoice to see my lord again,                                 580
  And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.
  O father Jove, at whose august command
  The sounding heavens quake, regard our race,
  And bid the angry gods be merciful.
  Let every head be decked with festal wreath,
  The flute resound, and at the stately shrine
  Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice.                               585
      But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,
  The Trojan women come; and at their head,
  With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,
  Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.

[_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]

  _Band of Trojan women:_ Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,
  This love of life we mortals cherish so!
  What madness, when the door stands open wide                       590
  That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud
  And welcomes us to everlasting rest!
    Who finds that refuge, fears no more
    These nameless terrors, these assaults,
    These insolent assaults of fate,
    And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove.                             595
      Deep peace of death!
    No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,
    No victor's threatening madness here;
    No wild seas ruffled by the blast;
    No hosts in serried battle massed,
    Where whirling clouds of dust disclose                           600
    The savage riders to their foes;
  No nation falling with its city's fall,
  'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;
        No wasting fires,
        No burning pyres,
  And all the horrors impious war inspires.
    They from the servile bonds of fate                              605
    This human life emancipate,
    Who fickle fortune dare to brave,
    And face the terrors of the grave;
    Who joyful view the joyless Styx,
    And dare their mortal span to fix.
  How like a king, how like a god on high
  Is he who faces death nor fears to die!                            610
  In one dark night we saw our city doomed,
  When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;
  But not in battle, not by warlike arts,
  As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.
    No son of Thetis dealt the blow                                  615
    Which wrought our final overthrow,
    Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,
    When once, in borrowed armor dight,
    He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;
    Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er                                 620
    The fierce resentment that he bore,
    And sped him forth on vengeance bent--
    Not even in such evils pent,
    Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,
    But struggled bravely to the end.
  Her bitter fate--for ten long years to stand,
  And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand.                     625
  In memory still we see the monstrous bulk
  Of that pretended and most fatal gift,
  The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,
  With our own hands into our city led.
  The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft                              630
  Upon the threshold of the city gate,
  While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.
  And we might well have turned their crafty arts
  To work their own destruction. But alas,
  We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes
  The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,
  And low and angry mutterings within                                635
  Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.
    Now free from fear our Trojan youth
    Crowd round to touch the sacred cords
    With joyous hands. Astyanax
    Here leads his youthful playmates on,
    While 'midst the maidens gaily comes
    The maid Polyxena, foredoomed
    To bleed upon Achilles' tomb.                                    640
    Mothers in festal garments bring
    Their votive offerings to the gods,
    And sires press gaily round the shrines.                         645
    Throughout the town all faces tell
    One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,
    Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,
    Had never ceased her tears, was glad.
    But now, unhappy grief, what first,
    What last, dost thou prepare to weep?                            650
    Our city walls in ruin laid,
    Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines
    Upon their very gods consumed?
    Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes
    Have dried their tears for these. But now
    We weep, O father, king, for thee.                               655
    We saw, with our own eyes we saw,
  The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,
  Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.

  _Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,
  Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine.                         660
  Let each bewail her several woes; but I
  For my own heavy grief have tears enough.

  _Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know
    That our own tears with others' flow;
    More sharply gnaws the hidden care                               665
    Which we with others may not share:
  And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,
  Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.
    Though Philomel for Itys sing                                    670
    Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;
    Though Procne, with insistent din,
    Bewail her husband's hidden sin;                                 675
  Not these, with all their passionate lament,
  Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.
    Let Cycnus raise his dying song,
    And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;
    Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave,                                680
    A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;
    Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele                              685
    Their tears for Attis share with thee:
  Still would our tears in no such measure flow,                     690
  For sufferings like these no limits know.

  [Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.]

  But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?
  Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.

  _Cassandra:_ But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear.       695
  I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,
  For now am I beyond their power to harm,
  And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.
  No country have I left, no sister, sire;
  For tombs and altars have my blood consumed.                       700
  Where is that happy throng of brothers now?
  Departed all! And only weak old men
  Remain within the lonely palace walls
  To serve the wretched king; and these, alas,
  Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,
  Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.
  And Hecuba, proud mother of a race                                 705
  Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,
  Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock
  Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form,
  Barks madly round the ruins of her home,
  Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.

  _Band:_ Why falls this sudden silence on her? See                  710
  Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear
  Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise,
  And we can hear, though pent within her breast,
  The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.
  Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon
  Her eyes seem backward turned into herself,                        715
  Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.
  Now higher than her wont she lifts her head
  And walks with stately step; and now she strives
  To open her reluctant lips. At last,
  Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,
  The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.

  _Cassandra:_ Why prick me on with fury's goads anew,               720
  Ye sacred <DW72>s of high Parnassus? Why
  Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh?
  Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.
  Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.
  Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?
  Now Troy is fallen--must I still rave on,                          725
  And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?
  The kindly light has fled, and deepest night
  Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped
  In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,
  The day shines forth again; and doubled homes
  In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again
  I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits                        730
  Amid those awful goddesses to judge
  (Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.
  Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit
  Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon
  Shall overthrow your house.
                            Beware the queen!
  Why does she madly in her woman's hand
  Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek                       735
  With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,
  Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?
  What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?
  A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,
  Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;
  While at his mangled[53] neck a low-born beast                     740
  Gnaws greedily.
                Why do ye summon me,
  Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?
  I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54] deep
  Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop
  Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,
  I see, though not in brave and fair array,
  As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow                  745
  Of burning ships; but with thy members torn
  And foully mangled by the dragging thongs.
  And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,
  Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!
  I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,
  Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift
  Of thy new wife?                                                   750
                    Ah me, 'tis sweet to go
  Along the borders of the Stygian pool;
  To see the savage hound of Tartarus,
  The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,
  Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls
  Across the murky Phlegethon today,
  The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,
  And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven                755
  Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:
  Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,
  That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians
  May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,
  Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.
    See, see! the squalid sisters come,                              760
    Their bloody lashes brandishing,
    And smoking torches half consumed.
    A sickly pallor overspreads
    Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes
    Of death begird their hollow loins.
    The gloomy night with fearsome cries                             765
    Resounds, and to my startled eyes
    Dread sights appear: there lie the bones
    Of that huge giant, far outstretched,
    Upon a slimy marsh's brink
    All white and rotting. Now I see
    That old man, wan with suffering,
    Forget awhile the mocking waves,                                 770
    Forget his burning thirst, to grieve
    For this disaster hovering
    About his house;
    But Dardanus exults to see
    His foeman's baleful destiny.

  _Band:_ Now has her rage prophetic spent itself,                   775
  And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,
  Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine
  Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.
  Let us support her ere she faint and fall.
  But see, our Agamemnon comes at last
  To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;
  And, all in festal garb, with glad accord,                         780
  His consort welcomes her returning lord.


FOOTNOTES:

[52] Reading, _hinc et Chalcida_.

[53] Reading, _vexatus_.

[54] Reading, _totâ Troiâ sepulte_.


ACT IV

[_Enter_ Agamemnon. _He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns
into the palace._]

  _Agamemnon:_ At last in safety am I home returned.
  Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoil
  From many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,
  So long the mistress of the haughty east,                          785
  Submits herself as suppliant to thee.
  But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling falls
  With nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;
  Revive her drooping spirits with the chill
  Of water on her face. Her languid eyes
  Again behold the light of day. Arise,
  Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.
  That shelter from our woes, so long desired,                       790
  Is here at last. This is a festal day.

  _Cassandra:_ Remember Ilium's festal day.

  _Agamemnon:_                       But come,
  We'll kneel before the shrine.

  _Cassandra:_                       Before the shrine
  My father fell.

  _Agamemnon:_            We will together pray
  In thankfulness to Jove.

  _Cassandra:_                        Hercean Jove?

  _Agamemnon:_ Thou think'st of Ilium?

  _Cassandra:_                        And Priam too.

  _Agamemnon:_ This is not Troy.                                     795

  _Cassandra:_                  Where a Helen is, is Troy.

  _Agamemnon:_ Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.

  _Cassandra:_ But freedom is at hand.

  _Agamemnon:_                        Live on secure.

  _Cassandra:_ I think that death is my security.

  _Agamemnon:_ For thee there's naught to fear.

  _Cassandra:_                                  But much for thee.

  _Agamemnon:_ What can a victor fear?

  _Cassandra:_                        What least he fears.

  _Agamemnon:_ Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard,       800
  Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,
  Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.
  To thee, O father, who the blinding bolt
  Dost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,
  Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,
  To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;
  And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord,                             805
  Argolic Juno, here I offer now
  All fitting gifts--and so fulfil my vow.

[_Exit into the palace._]

  _Chorus of Argive women:_ O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,
    And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,
    How mighty the children who feed at thy breast!                  810
  Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;
  For Alcides has won by his labors heroic
  The right to be named with the lords of the sky.
  Alcides the great! at his birth were the laws
  Of the universe broken; for Jove bade the night
  To double the dew-laden hours of the darkness.                     815
  At his command did the god of the sun
  To a sluggish pace restrain his car;
  And slow of foot around their course,
  O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.
  He also checked his feet, the star,
  Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft                             820
  In the evening sky; and he marveled that he
  Should be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that Aurora
  Roused to her wonted task, but again
  Sank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:
  For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,
  That waits for the birth of a hero divine.                         825
  The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood still
  To greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.
  Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy hand
  Has the terrible lion of Nemea felt,                               830
  The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boar
  That Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bull
      When torn from the fields of Crete;
  Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction,            835
  And severed the last of its multiplied heads.
  The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,
  Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;
  But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,
  Were driven away as the spoils of the east.                        840
  The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,
  Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,
  Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,
  With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them),                   845
  These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,
  As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.
  The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte saw
        A-gleam on her conqueror's breast.
    The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds                   850
        By his arrows death-smitten,
    And the tree which bears the fruit of gold
    Feared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,
    Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.
    Forth from the ravished grove he strode                          855
    With its golden fruit full laden; in vain
    Did the deadly, sleepless dragon guard
    Hear the sound of the musical metal.
    By triple chains to the upper world
    The hound of hell was meekly dragged;                            860
    His three great mouths in silence gaped,
        Amazed by the light of day.
    And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,
    The lying house of Dardanus
    Was overthrown, and felt the force
    Of that dread bow which it was doomed
    In far-off time to feel again.
  Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow;                      865
  As many years her second ruins know.


ACT V

  _Cassandra_ [_alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the
  interior of the palace, describes what is going on there;
  or else she sees it by clairvoyant power_]:
  Great deeds are done within, the cruel match
  For ten long years of suffering at Troy.
  Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,
  And take reward for thy mad prophecies.
  The conquered Phrygians are victors now.
  'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,                      870
  For thou hast now to equal ruin brought
  Mycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.
  Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soul
  So clearly seen the things of which it raved.
  I see, and no false image cheats my sight,
  I see it plainly, there, within the hall,                          875
  A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,
  Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.
  The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;
  Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of gold
  That once cheered great Assaracus; and see,
  The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,
  Sits high in triumph at the table's head,                          880
  With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.
  Now comes his queen and bids him put away
  The garment which his enemy has worn,
  And don instead the robe which she has made
  With loving thoughts of him.
                                Oh, horrid deed!
  I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,
  That exile, smite a king? the paramour
  The husband slay? The fatal hour has come.                         885
  The second course shall flow with royal blood,
  And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.
  And now the king has donned the deadly robe,
  Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.
  His hands no outlet find; the clinging gown
  Enwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.
  With trembling hand the coward paramour                            890
  Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;
  For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.
  But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,
  Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strives
  And strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:
  So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside                                  895
  The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,
  Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.
  Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches up
  A two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,
  Before he smites the sacrificial bull,
  Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:
  So she her impious weapon balances.                                900
  He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed head
  Hangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.
  Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:
  The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,
  While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.                      905
  So each responds to each in infamy.
  Thyestes' son in very truth is he,
  While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.
  The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;
  Shall he go on or backward bend his way?

[_Remains beside the altar._]

[_Enter_ Electra, _leading her little brother_, Orestes.]

  _Electra:_ Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,                910
  Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.
  Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,
  Our kingdom gone.
                    But see, a stranger comes,
  His horses driven to their utmost speed;
  Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.
  But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?                      915
  A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.
  Put off thy fears, for close at hand I see
  The timely shelter of a faithful friend.

[_Enter_ Strophius _in a chariot, accompanied by his son_ Pylades.]

  _Strophius:_ I, Strophius, had left my Phocian realm,
  And now, illustrious with th' Olympic palm,
  I home return. My hither course is bent
  To 'gratulate my friend, by whose assault                          920
  Has Ilium fallen after years of war.
                                     [_Noticing_ Electra's _distress_.]
  But why these flowing tears and looks of woe?
  And why these marks of fear? I recognize
  In thee the royal house. Electra! Why,
  When all is joyful here, dost thou lament?

  _Electra:_ My father lies within the palace, slain                 925
  By Clytemnestra's hand. His son is doomed
  To share his father's death. Aegisthus holds
  The throne which he through guilty love has gained.

  _Strophius:_ Oh, happiness that never long endures!

  _Electra:_ By all thy kindly memories of my sire,
  By his proud scepter, known to all the earth,                      930
  And by the fickle gods, I pray thee take
  My brother hence, and hide him from his foes.

  _Strophius:_ Although dead Agamemnon bids me fear,
  I'll brave the danger and thy brother save.
  Good fortune asks for faith; adversity
  Compels us to be true.
                                  [_Takes_ Orestes _into the chariot_.]
                        My lad, attend:
  Wear this wild-olive wreath upon thy brow,                         935
  The noble prize I won on Pisa's plain;
  And hold above thy head this leafy branch,
  The palm of victory, that it may be
  A shield and omen of success to thee.
  And do thou too, O Pylades, my son,                                940
  Who dost as comrade guide thy father's car,
  From my example faith in friendship learn.
  Do you, swift steeds, before the eyes of Greece
  Speed on in flight, and leave this faithless land.

[_Exeunt at great speed._]

  _Electra_ [_looking after them_]: So is he gone. His car at reckless
    pace
  Fast vanishes from sight. And now my foes,                         945
  With heart released from care, will I await,
  And willingly submit my head to death.
  Here comes the bloody conqueror of her lord,
  And bears upon her robes the stains of blood.
  Her hands still reek with gore, and in her face
  She bears the witness of her impious crime.                        950
  I'll hie me to the shrine; and, kneeling here,
  I'll join Cassandra in our common fear.

[_Enter_ Clytemnestra, _fresh from the murder of her husband_.]

  _Clytemnestra_ [_to_ Electra]: Thou base, unfilial, and froward girl,
  Thy mother's foe, by what authority
  Dost thou, a virgin, seek the public gaze?

  _Electra:_ Because I am a virgin have I left                       955
  The tainted home of vile adulterers.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Who would believe thee chaste?

  _Electra:_                              I am thy child.

  _Clytemnestra:_ Thou shouldst thy mother speak with gentler tongue.

  _Electra:_ Shall I learn filial piety of thee?

  _Clytemnestra:_ Thou hast a mannish soul, too puffed with pride;
  But tamed by suffering thou soon shalt learn
  To play a woman's part.

  _Electra:_                        A woman's part!
  Yea, truly, 'tis to wield the battle-ax.                           960

  _Clytemnestra:_ Thou fool, dost think thyself a match for us?

  _Electra:_ "For us?" Hast thou another husband then?
  Speak thou as widow, for thy lord is dead.

  _Clytemnestra:_ As queen I soon shall curb thy saucy tongue,
  And break thy pride. But meanwhile quickly tell,                   965
  Where is my son, where is thy brother hid?

  _Electra:_ Far from Mycenae fled.

  _Clytemnestra:_                      Then bring him back.

  _Electra:_ Bring back my father too.

  _Clytemnestra:_                          Where lurks the boy?

  _Electra:_ In safety, where he fears no rival's power.
  This will content a loving mother.

  _Clytemnestra:_                                Yes,
  But not an angry one. Thou diest today.                            970

  _Electra:_ Oh, let me perish by thy practiced hand!
  Behold, I leave the altar's sheltering side;
  Wilt plunge the knife into my tender throat?
  I yield me to thy will. Or dost prefer
  At one fell stroke to smite away my head?
  My neck awaits thy deadly aim. Let crime                           975
  By other crime be purged. Thy hands are stained
  And reeking with thy murdered husband's blood:
  Come, cleanse them in the fresher stream of mine.

[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]

  _Clytemnestra:_ Thou partner of my perils and my throne,
  Aegisthus, come; this most unnatural child
  Assails her mother and her brother hides.                          980

  _Aegisthus:_ Thou mad and foolish girl, restrain thy tongue,
  For such wild words offend thy mother's ears.

  _Electra:_ Thou arch contriver of most impious crime,
  Wilt thou admonish me? Thou base-born wretch,
  Thou sister's son, and grandson of thy sire!                       985

  _Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, how canst thou restrain thy hand
  From smiting off her head? But hear my word:
  Let her give up her brother or her life.

  _Aegisthus:_ Nay, rather, in some dark and stony cell
  Let her be straight confined; and there, perchance,
  By cruel tortures racked, will she give up                         990
  Whom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there,
  In dank and loathsome solitude immured,
  Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all--
  Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.

  _Electra:_ Oh, grant me death.

  _Aegisthus:_                  If thou shouldst plead for life,
  I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he,                          995
  Who balances by death the score of sin.

  _Electra:_ Can any punishment be worse than death?

  _Aegisthus:_ Yes! Life for those who wish to die. Away,
  Ye slaves, seek out some dark and lonely cave,
  Far from Mycenae's bounds; and there in chains,
  Confine this bold, unmanageable maid,
  If haply prison walls may curb her will.                          1000

[Electra _is led away_.]

  _Clytemnestra_ [_indicating_ Cassandra]:
  But she shall die, that rival of my couch,
  That captive bride. Go, drag her hence at once,
  That she may follow him she stole from me.

  _Cassandra:_ Nay, drag me not; for I with joy will go,
  Outstripping your desire. How eagerly
  I hasten to my Phrygians, to tell                                 1005
  The news: the ocean covered with the wrecks
  Of Argive ships; Mycenae overthrown;
  The leader of a thousand leaders slain
  (And thus atoning for the woes of Troy)
  By woman's gift of wantonness and guile.
  Make haste! I falter not, but thank the gods,                     1010
  That I have lived to see my land avenged.

  _Clytemnestra:_ O maddened wretch, thy death I wait to see.

  _Cassandra:_ A fateful madness waits as well for thee.




OCTAVIA




OCTAVIA

A FABULA PRAETEXTA

THE ONLY EXTANT ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA


INTRODUCTION

The Roman historical drama had a place among the earliest products of
Roman literature, and seems to have enjoyed a degree of popularity
through all succeeding periods. That Roman literary genius did not find
a much fuller expression through this channel was not due to a lack
of national pride and patriotism, nor yet to a dearth of interesting
and inspiring subjects in Roman history. The true reason is probably
to be found in the fact that by the time national conditions were
ripe for the development of any form of literature, the Greeks had
already worked, and well worked, nearly all available fields, and had
produced a mass of literature which dazzled the Roman mind when at last
circumstances brought these two nations into closer contact.

The natural and immediate result was an attempt on the part of the
Romans to imitate these great models. And hence we have in drama, both
in tragedy and comedy, a wholesale imitation of the Greek dramas,
oftentimes nothing more than a translation of these, with only here and
there an attempt to produce something of a strictly native character,
entirely independent of the Greek influence.

This imitative impulse was augmented by the fact that the Romans were
following the line of least resistance, since it is always easier
to imitate than to create. Furthermore, they had as yet developed
no national pride of literature to hold them to their own lines
of national development; they had no forms of their own so well
established that the mere force of literary momentum would carry them
steadily on toward a fuller development, in spite of the disturbing
influences of the influx of other and better models. They had, indeed,
developed a native Saturnian verse which, had it been allowed a free
field, might have reached a high pitch of literary excellence. But it
speedily gave way at the approach of the more elegant imported forms.

The overwhelming influence of Greek tragedy upon the Roman dramatists
can be seen at a glance as we review the dramatic product of the
Roman tragedians. We have titles and fragments of nine tragedies by
Livius Andronicus, seven by Naevius, twenty-two by Ennius, thirteen
by Pacuvius, forty-six by Accius, and many unassignable fragments
from each of these which indicate numerous other plays of the same
character. To these should be added scattering additions from nearly
a score more of Roman writers during the next two hundred years after
Accius. All the above-mentioned plays are on Greek subjects; and most
of those whose fragments are sufficiently extensive to allow us to
form an opinion of their character are either translations or close
imitations of the Greeks, or are so influenced by these as to be
decidedly Greek rather than Roman in character.

And what of the genuine Roman dramatic product? Speaking for the
_fabula praetexta_, or Roman historical drama, alone, the entire
output, so far as our records go, is contained in the following list of
authors and titles.

From Naevius (265-204 B.C.) we have the _Clastidium_, written in
celebration of the victory of Marcellus over Vidumarus, king of the
Transpadane Gauls, whom Marcellus slew and stripped of his armor,
thus gaining the rare _spolia opima_; this at Clastidium in 222 B.C.
The play was probably written for the especial occasion either of the
triumph of Marcellus or of the celebration of his funeral.

We have also from Naevius a play variously entitled _Lupus_ or
_Romulus_ or _Alimonium Remi et Romuli_, evidently one of those
dramatic reproductions of scenes in the life of a god, enacted as a
part of the ceremonies of his worship. These are comparable to similar
dramatic representations among the Greeks in the worship of Dionysus.

The _Ambracia_ and the _Sabinae_ of Ennius (239-169 B.C.) are
ordinarily classed as _fabulae praetextae_, although Lucian Müller
classes the fragments of the _Ambracia_ among the _Saturae_ of Ennius;
while Vahlen puts the _Ambracia_ under the heading _Comoediarum et
ceterorum carminum reliquiae_, and classifies the fragments of the
_Sabinae_ under _ex incertis saturarum libris_. The _Ambracia_ is
evidently called after the city of that name in Epirus, celebrated for
the long and remarkable siege which it sustained against the Romans
under M. Fulvius Nobilior. That general finally captured the city in
189 B.C. If the piece is to be considered as a play, it was, like the
_Clastidium_, written in honor of a Roman general, and acted on the
occasion either of his triumph or of his funeral.

We have four short fragments from the _Paulus_ of Pacuvius (220-130
B.C.), written in celebration of the exploits of L. Aemilius Paulus who
conquered Perseus, king of Macedonia, in the battle of Pydna, 168 B.C.

The fragments of the plays already mentioned are too brief to afford
any adequate idea of the character or content of the plays. But in the
_Brutus_ of Accius (b. 170 B.C.), which centers around the expulsion of
the Tarquins and the establishment of the Republic, we have a larger
glimpse into the play through two most interesting fragments consisting
of twelve iambic trimeters and ten trochaic tetrameters, respectively.
In the first, King Tarquin relates to his seer an ill-ominous dream
which he has had; the second is the seer's interpretation of this
dream, pointing to Tarquin's dethronement by Brutus. Other short
fragments give glimpses of the outrage of Lucretia by Sextus at
Collatia, and the scene in the forum where Brutus takes his oath of
office as first consul. This play, unlike its predecessors, was not
written at the time of the events which it portrays, but may still
be classed with them, so far as its object is concerned, since it is
generally thought to have been written in honor of D. Junius Brutus
who was consul in 138 B.C., and with whom the poet enjoyed an intimate
friendship.

Another _praetexta_ of Accius is preserved, the _Decius_, of which
eleven short fragments remain. This play celebrates the victory
of Quintus Fabius Maximus and P. Decius Mus over the Samnites and
Gauls at Sentinum in 295 B.C. The climax of the play would be the
self-immolation of Decius after the example of his father in the Latin
war of 340 B.C.

In addition to these plays of the Roman dramatists of the Republic,
we have knowledge of a few which date from later times. There was
a historical drama entitled _Iter_, by L. Cornelius Balbus, who
dramatized the incidents of a journey which he made to Pompey's camp
at Dyrrachium at the opening of civil war in 49 B.C. Balbus was under
commission from Caesar to treat with the consul, L. Cornelius Lentulus,
and other optimates who had fled from Rome, concerning their return to
the city. The journey was a complete fiasco, so far as results were
concerned; but the vanity of Balbus was so flattered by his (to him)
important mission that he must needs dramatize his experiences and
present the play under his own direction in his native city of Gades.

We have mention also of an _Aeneas_ by Pomponius Secundus, and of two
_praetextae_ by Curiatius Maternus, entitled _Domitius_ and _Cato_.

These eleven historical plays are, as we have seen, for the most part,
plays of occasion, and would be at best of but temporary interest,
born of the special circumstances which inspired them. They are in
no way comparable with such historical dramas on Roman subjects as
Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ or _Coriolanus_, whose interest is for
all times.

We have still a twelfth play of this class, which enjoys the unique
distinction of being the only Roman historical drama which has come
down to us--the _Octavia_. Its authorship is unknown, although
tradition gives it a place among the tragedies of Seneca, the
philosopher. The general opinion of modern critics, however, is against
this tradition, chiefly because one passage in the play, in the form
of a prophecy, too circumstantially describes the death of Nero, which
occurred three years after the death of Seneca. It is generally agreed
that the play must have been written soon after the death of Nero, and
by some one, possibly Maternus, who had been an eye-witness of the
events, and who had been inspired by his sympathies for the unfortunate
Octavia to write this story of her sufferings.




OCTAVIA


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

OCTAVIA Stepsister and wife of Nero.

_Nurse_ of Octavia.

_Poppaea_ Mistress and afterward wife of Nero.

_Ghost of Agrippina_ Mother of Nero, slain by him.

_Nero_ Emperor of Rome.

_Seneca_ Former tutor of Nero, and later one of his chief counselors.

_Prefect of Roman Soldiers._

_Messenger._

_Chorus of Romans_ Sympathetic with Octavia.

_Chorus_ Attached to the interests of the court.


THE SCENE is laid throughout in different apartments of the palace of
Nero, and is concerned with the events of the year 62 A.D.


ACT I

  _Octavia:_ Now doth the flushing dawn from heaven drive
  The wandering stars; the sun mounts into sight
  With radiant beams, and brings the world once more
  The light of day. Up, then, my heavy soul,
  With grievous cares o'erburdened, and resume                         5
  Thy woe; out-wail the sea-bred Halcyons,
  And those sad birds of old Pandion's house;
  For this thy lot is heavier far than theirs.
  O mother, constant source of tears to me,                           10
  Hear now thy woeful daughter's sad complaints,
  If aught of sense remains among the shades.
  Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,
  With her own hand had clipt my thread of life!                      15
  Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,
  Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.
  Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!
  From that dread hour I hate the day's pure light                    20
  More than the night's dark gloom; for daily now
  Must I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,
  Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.
  She, she the baleful fury fiend it was
  Who at my marriage rites bore torches lit                           25
  With hellish fires; 'twas she who wrought thy death,
  O wretched father, whom but yesterday
  The whole world owned as lord on land and sea;
  To whom the Britain bowed, though ne'er before
  Had he a Roman master known or owned.                               30
  Alas, my father, by thy wife's fell plots
  Thou liest low, and I and all thy house
  Like captives groan beneath the tyrant's sway.

[_Exit to her chamber._]

  _Nurse_ [_entering_]: Who stands in wonder, smitten by the gloss    35
  And splendor of a princely court, amazed
  At sight of easy-won prosperity,
  Let him behold how, at the stroke of fate,
  The house of Claudius is overthrown,
  To whose control the world was subjugate,                           40
  Whose rule an ocean, long to sway unknown,
  Obeyed, and bore our ships with subject will.
  Lo, he, who first the savage Britains curbed,
  And filled an unknown ocean with his fleet,
  And passed in safety 'mid barbaric tribes--
  By his own wife's impiety was slain.                                45
  And she is destined by her son to fall,
  Whose hapless brother lies already slain
  By poison's hand, whose sister-wife alone
  Is left to mourn. Nor may she hide her grief,
  By bitter wrath impelled to speak. She shuns
  Her cruel lord's society, and, fired                                50
  With equal hate, with mutual[55] loathing burns.
  Our pious faithfulness in vain consoles
  Her grieving heart; her cruel woes reject
  Our aid; the noble passion of her soul
  Will not be ruled, but grows on ills renewed.
  Alas, my fears forebode some desperate deed,                        55
  Which may the gods forbid!

  _Octavia_ [_heard speaking from within her chamber_]: O fate of mine,
    that can no equal know!
  Thy woes, Electra, were no match for these;
  For thou couldst soothe with tears the grief thou hadst             60
  For thy dear father's fall; thou couldst avenge
  The murder by thy brother's ready hand,
  Who by thy piety was saved from death,
  And whom thy faith concealed. But me base fear
  Forbids to weep my parents reft away                                65
  By cruel fate; forbids to weep the death
  Of him, my brother, who my sole hope was,
  My fleeting comfort of so many woes.
  And now, surviving but to suffer still,
  I live, the shadow of a noble name.                                 70

  _Nurse:_ Behold, the voice of my sad foster-child
  Falls on my list'ning ears. Slow steps of age,
  Why haste ye not within her chamber there?

[_Starts to enter the chamber, but is met by_ Octavia _coming forth_.]

  _Octavia:_ Within thy bosom let me weep, dear nurse,
  Thou ever trusty witness of my grief.                               75

  _Nurse:_ What day shall free thee from thy woes, poor child?

  _Octavia:_ The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.

  _Nurse:_ May heaven keep such dark omens far away!                  80

  _Octavia:_ 'Tis not thy prayers, but fate that shapes my life.

  _Nurse:_ But God will bring thy life to better days.
  Do thou but be appeased, and win thy lord
  With mild obedience.                                                85

  _Octavia:_                  I'll sooner tame
  The savage lion's heart, the tiger's rage,
  Than curb that brutal tyrant's cruel soul.
  He hates all sons of noble blood, and gods
  And men he sets at naught; nor can he bear                          90
  That high estate to which along the paths
  Of shameful crime his impious mother led;
  For though it shames him now, ungrateful one,
  To hold the scepter which his mother gave;
  And though by death he has requited her:                            95
  Still will the glory of the empire won
  Belong to her for centuries to come.

  _Nurse:_ Restrain these words that voice thy raging heart,
  And check thy tongue's too rash and thoughtless speech.

  _Octavia:_ Though I should bear what may be borne, my woes,        100
  Save by a cruel death, could not be ended.
  For, since my mother was by murder slain,
  And my father taken off by crime most foul,
  Robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with woe,
  Oppressed with sadness, by my husband scorned,
  Degraded to the level of my slave,                                 105
  I find this life no more endurable.
  My heart doth tremble, not with fear of death,
  But slander base, employed to work my death.
  Far from my name and fate be that foul blot.
  For death itself--Oh, 'twould be sweet to die;
  For 'tis a punishment far worse than death,
  To live in contact with the man I loathe,
  To see the tyrant's face all passion puffed,                       110
  And fierce with rage, to kiss my deadliest foe.
  That I should fear his nod, obey his will,
  My grief, resentful, will not suffer me,
  Since by his hand my brother was destroyed,
  Whose kingdom he usurps, and boasts himself
  The author of that shameful deed. How oft                          115
  Before my eyes does that sad image come,
  My brother's ghost, when I have gone to rest,
  And sleep has closed my eyelids faint with tears!
  Now in his weakling hand he brandishes
  The smoking torch, and violently assails
  His brother to his face; now, trembling sore,
  He flees for refuge to my sheltering arms.                         120
  His foe pursues, and, as his victim clings
  Convulsively to me, he thrusts his sword
  With murderous intent through both our sides.
  Then, all a-tremble, do I start awake,
  And in my waking sense renew my fear.
  Add to these cares a rival, arrogant,                              125
  Who queens it in the spoils of this our house;
  At whose behest the mother was enticed
  To that fell ship which should have carried her
  To Orcus' depths; but when o'er ocean's waves
  She triumphed, he, than ocean's waves more harsh
  And pitiless, despatched her with the sword.
  Amid such deeds, what hopes of peace have I?                       130
  O'erblown with hate, triumphant, doth my rival
  Within my very chamber's hold defy me;
  With deadly malice doth she blaze against me,
  And as the price of her adulterous sweets,
  Doth she demand that he, my husband, give
  My life, his lawful wife's, in sacrifice.
  Oh, rise thou, father, from the gloomy shades,
  And help thy daughter who invokes thine aid;                       135
  Or else cleave wide the earth to Stygian depths,
  And let me plunge at last to shelter there.

  _Nurse:_ In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul,
  Poor child, in vain; for there among the shades
  He little thinks upon his offspring here;
  Who, when in life, unto his own true son
  Preferred the offspring of another's blood,                        140
  And to himself in most incestuous bonds
  And rites unhallowed joined his brother's child.
  From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime:
  Of murder, treachery, the lust of power,
  The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell,
  A victim slain to grace that wedding feast,                        145
  Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow.
  Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime,
  Was slain to make a bridal offering,
  And stained the household gods with guiltless blood.
  And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me,                          150
  And by his mother's wiles usurps the house,
  Made son-in-law and son to the emperor,
  A youth of temper most unnatural,
  To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flame
  His mother fanned, and forced thee at the last
  In hated wedlock into his embrace.
  Emboldened by this notable success,                                155
  She dared to dream of wider sovereignty.
  What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime,
  Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries,
  Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin?
  Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew,                          160
  And Fury through the empty palace halls
  With baleful tread resounded, and defiled
  The sacred images with Stygian brands.
  All holy laws of nature and of heaven
  In mad abandon did she set at naught.
  She mingled deadly poison for her lord,                            165
  And she herself by the impious mandate fell
  Of her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie,
  Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us,
  Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life,
  The brightest star of this our firmament,
  The prop and stay of our imperial house;
  But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust,
  Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade.                           170
  Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeks
  Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre
  She placed thy form and saw the flames consume
  Thy limbs and face fair as the wingéd god's.

  _Octavia:_ Me, too, he must destroy--or fall by me.

  _Nurse:_ But nature has not given thee strength to slay.           175

  _Octavia:_ Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,
  The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.

  _Nurse:_ Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.

  _Octavia:_ That thus he may restore my brother slain?

  _Nurse:_ That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;
  That thou by thine own offspring mayst restore
  Thy father's falling house.                                        180

  _Octavia:_              This princely house
  Expects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me,
  For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.

  _Nurse:_ Console thy heart with this, that thou art dear
  Unto the populace, who love thee well.

  _Octavia:_ That thought doth soothe, but cannot cure my grief.

  _Nurse:_ Their power availeth much.                                185

  _Octavia:_                           The prince's more.

  _Nurse:_ He will regard his wife.

  _Octavia:_                         My foe forbids.

  _Nurse:_ But she is scorned by all.

  _Octavia:_                         Yet loved by him.

  _Nurse:_ She is not yet his wife.

  _Octavia:_                       But soon will be,
  And mother of his child, his kingdom's heir.

  _Nurse:_ The fire of youthful passion glows at first
  With heat impetuous; but soon abates,                              190
  And vanishes like flickering tongues of flame.
  Unhallowed love cannot for long endure;
  But pure and lasting is the love inspired
  By chaste and wifely faith. She who has dared
  To violate thy bed, and hold so long
  Thy husband's heart in thrall, herself a slave,
  Already trembles lest his fickle love                              195
  Shall thrust her forth and set a rival there.
  Subdued and humble, even now she shows
  How deep and real her fear; for her, indeed,
  Shall wingéd Cupid, false and fickle god,
  Abandon and betray. Though face and form
  Be passing fair, though beauty vaunt herself,
  And boast her power, still are her triumphs brief,                 200
  Her joys a passing dream.
                            Nay, Juno's self,
  Though queen of heaven, endured such grief as thine,
  When he, her lord, and father of the gods,
  Stole from her side to seek in mortal forms
  The love of mortal maids. Now, in his need,                        205
  He dons the snowy plumage of a swan;
  Now hornéd seems, like a Sidonian bull;
  And now a glorious, golden shower he falls,
  And rests within the arms of Danaë.
  Nor yet is Juno's sum of woe complete:
  The sons of Leda glitter in the sky
  In starry splendor; Bacchus proudly stands
  Beside his father on Olympus' height;
  Divine Alcides hath to Hebe's charms                               210
  Attained, and fears stern Juno's wrath no more.
  Her very son-in-law hath he become
  Whom once she hated most. Yet in her heart
  Deep down she pressed her grief, and wisely won,
  By mild compliance to his wayward will,
  Her husband's love again. And now the queen,                       215
  Secure at last from rivalry, holds sway
  Alone, within the Thunderer's heart. No more,
  By mortal beauty smitten, does he leave
  His royal chambers in the vaulted sky.
  Thou, too, on earth, another Juno art,                             220
  The wife and sister of our mighty lord.
  Then be thou wise as she, make show of love,
  And hide thy crushing sorrows with a smile.

  _Octavia:_ The savage seas shall sooner mate with stars,
  And fire with water, heav'n with gloomy hell,
  Glad light with shades, and day with dewy night,
  Than shall my soul in amity consort                                225
  With his black heart, most foul and impious:
  Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost.
  And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds,
  Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts,
  And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds,
  Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince.                  230
  Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire,
  Shining with baleful light, his glowing train
  Far gleaming in the distant northern sky,
  Where slow Boötes, numb with arctic frosts,
  Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds.
  The very air is tainted by the breath                              235
  Of this destructive prince; and for his sake
  The stars, resentful, threaten to destroy
  The nations which so dire a tyrant rules.
  Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge,
  Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced.
  This scourge is more destructive far than he.                      240
  He is the bitter foe of gods and men,
  Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines,
  And from their native land the citizens;
  Who from his brother took the breath of life,
  And drained his mother's blood.
                                And does he live,
  This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath?
  O Jove, thou high-exalted father, why                              245
  Dost thou so oft with thine imperial hand
  Thy darts invincible at random hurl?
  Why from his guilty head dost thou withhold
  Thy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might pay
  For all his crimes the fitting penalty,
  This son of deified Domitius,
  This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world,                          250
  Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds,
  This moral blot upon a noble name!

  _Nurse:_ Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know;
  But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield,
  Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath.
  Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs,                  255
  And on thy life some happier day will dawn.

  _Octavia:_ That may not be. Long since, our ill-starred house
  Has groaned beneath the heavy wrath of heaven.
  That wrath at first my hapless mother felt,
  Whom Venus cursed with lust insatiate;
  For she, with heedless, impious passion fired,                     260
  Unmindful of her absent lord, of us,
  Her guiltless children, and the law's restraints,
  In open day another husband wed.
  To that fell couch avenging Fury came
  With streaming locks and serpents intertwined,
  And quenched those stolen wedding fires in blood.
  For with destructive rage, on murder bent,                         265
  She fired the prince's heart; and at his word,
  Ah, woe is me, my ill-starred mother fell,
  And, dying, doomed me to perpetual grief.
  For after her in quick succession came
  Her husband and her son; and this our house,
  Already falling, was to ruin plunged.

  _Nurse:_ Forbear with pious tears to renew thy grief,              270
  And do not so disturb thy father's shade,
  Who for his rage has bitterly atoned.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Chorus_ [_sympathetic with_ Octavia]: False prove the rumor that of
    late
  To our ears has come! May its vaunted threats
  Fall fruitless out and of no avail!                                275
  May no new wife invade the bed
  Of our royal prince; may Octavia, born
  Of the Claudian race, maintain her right
  And bear us a son, the pledge of peace,
  In which the joyful world shall rest,                              280
  And Rome preserve her glorious name.
  Most mighty Juno holds the lot
  By fate assigned--her brother's mate;
  But this our Juno, sister, wife
  Of our august prince, why is she driven                            285
  From her father's court? Of what avail
  Her faith, her father deified,
  Her love and spotless chastity?
  We, too, of our former master's fame
  Have been unmindful, and his child
  At the hest of cringing[56] fear betrayed.                         290
  Not so of old: then Rome could boast
  Of manly virtue, martial blood.
  There lived a race of heroes then
  Who curbed the power of haughty kings
  And drove them forth from Rome; and thee,
  O maiden, slain by thy father's hand,                              295
  Lest thou shouldst in slavery's bonds be held,
  And lest foul lust its victorious will
  Should work on thee, did well avenge.
  Thee, too, a bloody war avenged,
  O chaste Lucretia; for thou,                                       300
  By the lust of an impious tyrant stained,
  With wretched hand didst seek to cleanse
  Those stains by thy innocent blood.
  Then Tullia with her guilty lord,
  Base Tarquin, dared an impious deed,
  Whose penalty they paid; for she                                   305
  Over the limbs of her murdered sire,
  A heartless child, drove cruel wheels,
  And left his corpse unburied there.
  Such deeds of dire impiety
  Our age has known, our eyes have seen,
  When the prince on the mighty Tyrrhene deep                        310
  In a fatal bark his mother sent,
  By guile ensnared.
  The sailors at his bidding haste
  To leave the peaceful harbor's arms;
  And soon the rougher waves resound                                 315
  Beneath their oars, and far away
  Upon the deep the vessel glides;
  When suddenly the reeling bark
  With loosened beams yawns open wide,
  And drinks the briny sea.
  A mighty shout to heaven goes,                                     320
  With women's lamentations filled,
  And death stalks dire before the eyes
  Of all. Each seeks to save himself.
  Some naked cling upon the planks
  Of the broken ship and fight the floods,                           325
  While others swimming seek the shore.
  But most, alas! a watery death
  By fate awaits. Then did the queen
  In mad despair her garments rend;
  Her comely locks she tore, and tears
  Fell streaming down her grieving cheeks.                           330
  At last, with hope of safety gone,
  With wrath inflamed, by woes o'ercome,
  "Dost thou, O son, make this return,"
  She cried, "for that great boon I gave?
  Such death I merit, I confess,                                     335
  Who bore such monstrous child as thou,
  Who gave to thee the light of day,
  And in my madness raised thee high
  To Caesar's name and Caesar's throne.
  Oh, rise from deepest Acheron,
  My murdered husband, feast thine eyes                              340
  Upon my righteous punishment;
  For I brought death to thee, poor soul,
  And to thy son. See, see, I come,
  Deep down to meet thy grieving shade;
  And there, as I have merited,
  Shall I unburied lie, o'erwhelmed                                  345
  By the raging sea." E'en as she spoke,
  The lapping waves broke o'er her lips,
  And deep she plunged below. Anon
  She rises from the briny depths,
  And, stung by fear of death, she strives
  With frenzied hands to conquer fate;
  But, spent with fruitless toil at last,                            350
  She yields and waits the end. But lo,
  In hearts which in trembling silence watch,
  Faith triumphs over deadly fear,
  And to their mistress, spent and wan
  With fruitless buffetings, they dare
  To lend their aid with cheering words                              355
  And helping hands.
                    But what avails
  To escape the grasp of the savage sea?
  By the sword of the son is she doomed to die,
  Whose monstrous deed posterity
  Will scarce believe. With rage and grief                           360
  Inflamed, he raves that still she lives,
  His mother, snatched from the wild sea's jaws,
  And doubles crime on impious crime.
  Bent on his wretched mother's death,
  He brooks no tarrying of fate.                                     365
  His willing creatures work his will,
  And in the hapless woman's breast
  The fatal sword is plunged; but she
  To that fell minister of death
  Appeals with dying tongue: "Nay here,
  Here rather strike the murderous blow,
  Here sheathe thy sword, deep in the womb                           370
  Which such a monster bore."
  So spake the dying queen, her words
  And groans commingling. So at last
  Through gaping wounds her spirit fled                              375
  In grief and agony.


FOOTNOTES:

[55] Reading, _mariti mutua_.

[56] Reading, _saevo_.


ACT II

  _Seneca_ [_alone_]: Why hast thou, potent Fate, with flattering looks,
  Exalted me, contented with my lot,
  That so from this great height I might descend
  With heavier fall, and wider prospect see                          380
  Of deadly fears? Ah, better was I, hid
  Far from the stinging lash of envy's tongue,
  Amid the lonely crags of Corsica.
  There was my spirit free to act at will,
  Was master of itself, had time to think
  And meditate at length each favorite theme.
  Oh, what delight, than which none greater is,                      385
  Of all that mother nature hath produced,
  To watch the heavens, the bright sun's sacred rounds,
  The heavenly movements and the changing night,
  The moon's full orb with wandering stars begirt,
  The far-effulgent glory of the sky!                                390
  And is it growing old, this structure vast,
  Doomed to return to groping nothingness?
  Then must that final doomsday be at hand,
  That shall by heaven's fall o'erwhelm a race
  So impious, that thus the world may see
  A newer race of men, a better stock,                               395
  Which once the golden reign of Saturn knew.
  Then virgin Justice, holy child of heaven,
  In mercy ruled the world; the race of men
  Knew naught of war, the trumpet's savage blare,                    400
  The clang of arms; not yet were cities hedged
  With ponderous walls; the way was free to all,
  And free to all the use of everything.
  The earth, untilled, spread wide her fertile lap,                  405
  The happy mother of a pious stock.
  Then rose another race of sterner mold;
  Another yet to curious arts inclined,
  But pious still; a fourth of restless mood,
  Which lusted to pursue the savage beasts,                          410
  To draw the fishes from their sheltering waves
  With net or slender pole, to snare the birds,
  To force the headstrong bullocks to endure
  The bondage of the yoke, to plow the earth
  Which never yet had felt the share's deep wound,
  And which in pain and grief now hid her fruits
  Within her sacred bosom's safer hold.                              415
  Now deep within the bowels of the earth
  Did that debased, unfilial age intrude;
  And thence it dug the deadly iron and gold,
  And soon it armed its savage hands for war.
  It fixed the bounds of realms, constructed towns,                  420
  Fought for its own abodes, or threat'ning strove
  To plunder those of others as a prize.
  Then did abandoned Justice, heavenly maid,
  In terror flee the earth, the bestial ways
  Of men, their hands with bloody slaughter stained,
  And, fixed in heaven, now shines among the stars.                  425
  Then lust of war increased, and greed for gold,
  Throughout the world; and luxury arose,
  That deadliest of evils, luring pest,
  To whose fell powers new strength and force were given
  By custom long observed, and precedent
  Of evil into worser evil led.
  This flood of vice, through many ages dammed,                      430
  In ours has burst its bounds and overflowed.
  By this dire age we're fairly overwhelmed--
  An age when crime sits regnant on the throne,
  Impiety stalks raging, unrestrained;
  Foul lust, with all unbridled power, is queen,
  And luxury long since with greedy hands
  Has snatched the boundless riches of the world,                    435
  That she with equal greed may squander them.
                               [_Enter_ Nero, _followed by a_ Prefect.]
  But see, with frenzied step and savage mien,
  The prince approaches. How I fear his will.

  _Nero_ [_to_ Prefect]: Speed my commands: send forth a messenger
  Who straight shall bring me here the severed heads
  Of Plautus and of Sulla.

  _Prefect:_                         Good, my lord;
  Without delay I'll speed me to the camp.

[_Exit._]

  _Seneca:_ One should not rashly judge against his friends.         440

  _Nero:_ Let him be just whose heart is free from fear.

  _Seneca:_ But mercy is a sovereign cure for fear.

  _Nero:_ A ruler's part is to destroy his foes.

  _Seneca:_ A ruler's better part, to save his friends.

  _Nero:_ A mild old man's advice is fit for boys.                   445

  _Seneca:_ Still more does hot young manhood need the rein--

  _Nero:_ I deem that at this age we're wise enough.

  _Seneca:_ That on thy deed the heavenly gods may smile.

  _Nero:_ Thou fool, shall I fear gods myself can make?

  _Seneca:_ Fear this the more, that so great power is thine.        450

  _Nero:_ My royal fortune grants all things to me.

  _Seneca:_ But trust her cautiously; she may deceive.

  _Nero:_ A fool is he who does not what he may.

  _Seneca:_ To do, not what he may, but ought, wins praise.

  _Nero:_ The crowd spurns sluggish men.                             455

  _Seneca:_                            The hated, slays.

  _Nero:_ Yet swords protect a prince.

  _Seneca:_                          Still better, faith.

  _Nero:_ A Caesar should be feared.

  _Seneca:_                         And more be loved.

  _Nero:_ But men must fear.

  _Seneca:_                 Enforced commands are hard.

  _Nero:_ Let them obey our laws.

  _Seneca:_                     Make better laws--

  _Nero:_ I'll be the judge.                                         460

  _Seneca:_                 Which all men may approve.

  _Nero:_ The sword shall force respect.

  _Seneca:_                         May heaven forbid!

  _Nero:_ Shall I then tamely let them seek my blood,
  That suddenly despised and unavenged,
  I may be taken off? Though exiled far,
  The stubborn spirits are not broken yet
  Of Plautus and of Sulla. Still their rage                          465
  Persistent spurs their friends to seek my death;
  For still have they the people's love in Rome,
  Which ever nourishes the exile's hopes.
  Then let the sword remove my enemies;                              470
  My hateful wife shall die, and follow him,
  That brother whom she loves. The high must fall.

  _Seneca:_ How fair a thing it is to be the first
  Among great men, to think for fatherland,
  To spare the weak, to hold the hand of power
  From deeds of blood, to give wrath time to think,
  Give rest to a weary world, peace to the age.                      475
  This is the noblest part; by this high path
  Is heaven sought. So did Augustus first,
  The father of his country, gain the stars,
  And as a god is worshiped at the shrines.
  Yet he was long by adverse fortune tossed
  On land and sea, in battle's deadly chance,                        480
  Until his father's foes he recompensed.
  But fortune hath to thee in peaceful guise
  Bent her divinity; with unstained hand
  Hath she the reins of government bestowed,
  And given world-dominion to thy nod.
  Sour hate is overcome, and in its stead                            485
  Is filial harmony; the senate, knights,
  All orders yield obedience to thy will;
  For in the fathers' judgment and the prayers
  Of humbler folk, thou art the arbiter
  Of peace, the god of human destinies,
  Ordained to rule the world by right divine.
  Thy country's father thou. This sacred name                        490
  Doth suppliant Rome beseech thee to preserve,
  And doth commend her citizens to thee.

  _Nero:_ It is the gift of heaven that haughty Rome,
  Her people, and her senate bow to me,
  And that my terror doth extort those prayers
  And servile words from their unwilling lips.
  To save the citizens! seditious men,
  Who ever 'gainst their land and prince conspire,                   495
  Puffed up with pride of race--sheer madness that,
  When all my enemies one word of mine
  Can doom to death. Base Brutus raised his hand
  To slay that prince from whom he had his all;
  And he, who never 'mid the shock of arms
  Had been o'ercome, the world's great conqueror,                    500
  Who trod, a very Jove, the lofty paths
  Of honor, he was slain by impious hands--
  Of _citizens_! What streams of blood hath Rome,
  So often rent by civil strife, beheld!
  That very saint of thine, Augustus' self,                          505
  Who, as thou said'st but now, did merit heaven
  By piety--how many noble men
  Did he destroy, in lusty youth, in age,
  At home, abroad, when, spurred by mortal fear,
  They fled their household gods and that fell sword
  Of the Triumvirate, consigned to death
  Upon those mindful tablets' fatal lists.
  The grieving parents saw their severed heads                       510
  Upon the rostra set, but dared not weep
  Their hapless sons; the forum reeked with blood,
  And gore down all those rotting faces dripped.
  Nor this the end of slaughter and of death:
  Long did the plains of grim Philippi feed                          515
  The ravenous birds and prowling beasts of prey;
  While ships and men, in deadly conflict met,
  Beneath Sicilia's waters were engulfed.
  The whole world trembled with the shock of arms;
  And now, when all was lost, with fleeing ships,                    520
  That mighty leader sought the distant Nile,
  Doomed soon himself to perish there. And thus,
  Once more incestuous Egypt drank the blood
  Of Rome's great captains. Now his flitting shade
  Is hovering there; and there is civil strife,
  So long and impious, at last interred.
  Now did the weary victor sheathe his sword,
  All blunted with the savage blows he gave,                         525
  And held his empire with the rein of fear.
  He lived in safety 'neath the ample shield
  Of loyal guards; and when his end was come,
  The pious mandate of his son proclaimed
  Him god, and at the temples' sacred shrines
  Was he adored. So shall the stars expect
  My godhead too, if first I seize and slay                          530
  With sword relentless all who bear me hate,
  And on a worthy offspring found my house.

  _Seneca:_ But she will fill thy house with noble sons,
  That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock,
  Who by the will of fate was wed to thee,
  As Juno to her brother Jove was given.                             535

  _Nero:_ A child of hers would stain my noble line,
  For she herself was of a harlot born;
  And more--her heart was never linked to me.

  _Seneca:_ In tender years is faith not manifest,
  When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.

  _Nero:_ This I myself long trusted, but in vain,                   540
  Though she was clearly of unloving heart,
  And every look betrayed her hate of me.
  At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;
  And I have now a worthy wife obtained,
  In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms                    545
  Minerva, Venus, Juno--all would bow.

  _Seneca:_ But honor, wifely faith, and modesty--
  These should the husband seek, for these alone,
  The priceless treasures of the heart and soul,
  Remain perpetual; but beauty's flower
  Doth fade and languish with each passing day.                      550

  _Nero:_ On her has heaven all its charms bestowed,
  And fate has given her from her birth to me.

  _Seneca:_ But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.

  _Nero:_ Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies,
  Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove,
  Who lords it over savage seas, the realms                          555
  Of gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?

  _Seneca:_ 'Tis by our human error that we paint
  Love as a god, wingéd, implacable,
  And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow,
  Assign him blazing torches, count him son
  Of fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay,                             560
  But love is of the heart's compelling power,
  A fond and cozening passion of the soul;
  Of hot youth is it born, and in the lap
  Of ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys,
  Is fostered. But it sickens straight and dies
  When you no longer feed and fondle it.                             565

  _Nero:_ I deem the primal source of life is this,
  The joy of love; and it can never die,
  Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts,
  The human race is evermore renewed.
  This god shall bear for me the wedding torch,                      570
  And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.

  _Seneca:_ The people's grief could scarce endure to see
  That marriage, nor would piety permit.

  _Nero:_ Shall I alone avoid what all may do?

  _Seneca:_ The state from loftiest souls expects the best.          575

  _Nero:_ I fain would see if, broken by my power,
  This rashly cherished favor will not yield.

  _Seneca:_ 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.

  _Nero:_ Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.
  _Seneca:_ They justly chafe who pray without avail.                580

  _Nero:_ When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?

  _Seneca:_ Rebuffs are hard.

  _Nero:_                     'Tis wrong to force a prince.

  _Seneca:_ He should give way.

  _Nero:_                       Then rumor counts him forced.

  _Seneca:_ Rumor's an empty thing.

  _Nero:_                           But harmful too.

  _Seneca:_ She fears the strong.                                    585

  _Nero:_                         But none the less maligns.

  _Seneca:_ She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth,
  The faith and chastity of this thy wife,
  The merits of her sainted sire prevail
  To turn thee from thy will.

  _Nero:_            Have done at last,
  For wearisome has thy insistence grown;
  One still may do what Seneca comdemns.
  And I myself have now too long delayed                             590
  The people's prayers for offspring to the throne.
  Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove,
  Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.

[_Exeunt._]


ACT III

  _Ghost of Agrippina_ [_bearing a flaming torch_]: Through cloven
    earth from Tartarus I come,
  To bring in bloody hands this torch of hell
  To light these curséd rites; with such dire flames                 595
  Let this Poppaea wed my son, which soon
  His mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turn
  To funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shades
  My impious murder in my memory dwells,
  A heavy weight upon my grieving soul
  Still unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitude
  He gave me in return for all my gifts,                             600
  E'en for the gift of empire did he give
  A murderous ship designed to work my death.
  I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more,
  My son's most cruel deed: no time for tears
  Was given, but even higher did he heap                             605
  His sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea,
  I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my blood
  The very gods defiling, poured my soul
  In anguish forth. But even yet his hate
  Was not appeased. Against my very name
  The tyrant raged; my merits he obscured;                           610
  My statues, my inscriptions, honors--all,
  On pain of death he bade to be destroyed
  Throughout the world--that world my hapless love,
  To my own direful punishment, had given
  To be by him, an untried boy, controlled.
  And now my murdered husband's angry ghost
  Shakes vengeful torches in my guilty face,                         615
  Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me,
  His murdered son, and loud demands that now
  The guilty cause be given up. Have done:
  He shall be given, and that right speedily.
  Avenging furies for his impious head
  Are planning even now a worthy fate:                               620
  Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings,
  By which the raging thirst of Tantalus
  He shall surpass; the cruel, endless toil
  Of Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels,
  And the dread, racking anguish of the wheel
  On which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.
  Let gold and marble deck his palace walls;
  Let arméd guards protect him; let the world                        625
  Be beggared that its treasures vast may flow
  Into his lap; let suppliant Parthians bend
  To kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings:
  The day and hour will come when for his crimes
  His guilty soul shall full atonement make,                         630
  When to his enemies he shall be given,
  Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.
  Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?
  Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son,
  And fate impel thee to such depths of crime
  That e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay,                635
  Is all too small to match her sufferings?
  Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light,
  And suckled thee, my vitals had been rent
  By savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent,
  And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to me
  Wouldst thou forever see the quiet seats                           640
  Of this abode of souls, thy mighty sire,
  And grandsires too, those men of glorious name,
  Whom now perpetual shame and grief await
  Because of thee, thou monster, and of me.
  But why delay in hell to hide my face,
  Since I have proved a curse to all my race?                        645

[_Vanishes._]

  _Octavia_ [_to the_ Chorus _in deprecation of their grief because
  of her divorce_]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy,
  As on a festal day, lest this your love
  And care for me should stir the royal wrath,
  And I be cause of suffering to you.                                650
  This wound is not the first my heart has felt;
  Far worse have I endured; but all shall end,
  Perchance in death, before this day is done.
  No more upon my brutal husband's face
  Shall I be forced to look; that hateful couch,                     655
  Long since consigned to slavish uses, base,
  I shall behold no more.
  For now Augustus' sister shall I be,
  And not his wife. But Oh, be far from me
  All cruel punishments and fear of death.                           660
  Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?
  Bethink thee of his former sins--and hope.
  Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now,
  That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.
  But why so often turn thy streaming eyes                           665
  Upon thy home? Now speed thy steps away,
  And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.

  _Chorus:_ Now dawns at last the day we long have feared
  And talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forth                       670
  By cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abode
  Which even now Poppaea calls her own;
  While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe,
  By heavy fear oppressed.                                           675
  Where is that Roman people's manhood now,
  Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed,
  Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land,
  Gave powers at will to worthy citizens,
  Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame,                       680
  And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?
  Behold, on every side our eyes are grieved
  By this Poppaea's gleaming statues joined
  With Nero's images--a shameful sight.                              685
  Come, overturn them with indignant hands,
  Too like in feature to her living face.
  And her we'll drag from off that royal couch;
  And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword,
  Attack the princely palace of her lord.


ACT IV

  _Nurse_
 [_to_ Poppaea, _who appears, distraught, coming out of her chamber_]:
  Why dost thou from thy husband's chamber come,                     690
  Dear child, with hurried step and troubled face?
  Why dost thou seek a lonely place to weep?
  For surely has the day we long have sought
  With prayers and promised victims come at last.
  Thou hast thy Caesar, firmly joined to thee
  By ties of marriage, whom thy beauty won,                          695
  Whom Venus gave to thee in bonds of love,
  Though Seneca despised and flouted her.
  How beautiful, upon the banquet couch
  Reclining in the palace, didst thou seem!
  The senate viewed thy beauty in amaze
  When thou didst offer incense to the gods,                         700
  And sprinkle wine upon the sacred shrines,
  Thy head the while with gauzy purple veiled.
  And close beside thee was thy lord himself;
  Amid the favoring plaudits of the crowd
  He walked majestic, in his look and mien
  Proclaiming all his pride and joy in thee.                         705
  So did the noble Peleus lead his bride
  Emerging from the ocean's snowy foam,
  Whose wedding feast the heavenly gods adorned,
  With equal joy the sea divinities.
  What sudden cause has clouded o'er thy face?                       710
  Tell me, what mean thy pallor and thy tears!

  _Poppaea:_ Dear nurse, this night I had a dreadful dream;
  And even now, as I remember it,
  My mind is troubled and my senses fail.
  For when the joyful day had sunk to rest,
  And in the darkened sky the stars appeared,                        715
  I lay asleep within my Nero's arms.
  But that sweet sleep I could not long enjoy;
  For suddenly a grieving crowd appeared
  To throng my chamber--Roman matrons they,
  With hair disheveled and loud cries of woe.                        720
  Then 'midst the oft-repeated, strident blasts
  Of trumpets, there appeared my husband's mother,
  And shook before my face with threat'ning mien
  A bloody torch. Compelled by present fear,
  I followed her; when suddenly the earth                            725
  Seemed rent asunder to its lowest depths.
  Headlong to these I plunged, and even there
  In wonder I beheld my wedding couch,
  Whereon I sank in utter weariness.
  Then with a throng of followers I saw
  My son and former husband drawing near.
  Straightway Crispinus hastened to my arms,                         730
  And on my lips his eager kisses fell:
  When suddenly within that chamber burst
  My lord the king with frantic, hurrying steps,
  And plunged his sword into that other's throat.
  A mighty terror siezed me, and at last
  It roused me from my sleep. I started up
  With trembling limbs and wildly beating heart.                     735
  Long was I speechless from that haunting fear,
  Until thy fond affection gave me tongue.
  Why do the ghosts of hades threaten me?
  Or why did I behold my husband's blood?

  _Nurse:_ All things which occupy the waking[57] mind,              740
  Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again
  Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then,
  Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds
  And husbands, when thy newly mated lord
  Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange
  That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe,                 745
  Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?
  Octavia's departure did they mourn
  Within her brother's and her father's house.
  The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft
  By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign
  That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.
  Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen,                       750
  Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.
  Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed,
  Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage,
  But hide his sword within the breast of peace.
  Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray,
  Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return.                      755

  _Poppaea:_ Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines,
  And there make sacrifice unto the gods,
  That they avert these threats of night and sleep,
  And turn my terrors all upon my foes.
  Do thou pray for me and the gods implore                           760
  That in this happy state I may endure.

[_Exeunt_ Poppaea _and_ Nurse.]

  _Chorus_ [_of Roman women in sympathy with_ Poppaea]:
  If babbling rumor's tales of Jove,
    His secret joys in mortal love,
    Are true, he once, in plumage dressed,
    Was to the lovely Leda pressed;                                  765
    And as a savage bull he bore
    Europa from her native shore:
  But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see,
  He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.
    For thou than Leda many fold                                     770
    Art fairer, or that maid of old
    Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.
    Let Sparta boast her lovely dame,
    Who, as his prize, to Paris came:
  Though Helen's beauty drove the world to arms,                     775
  She still must yield to our Poppaea's charms.
                                                   [_Enter_ Messenger.]
  But who comes here with hurried step and wild?
  What tidings bears he in his heaving breast?

  _Messenger:_ Whoever guards our noble prince's house,              780
  Let him defend it from the people's rage.
  Behold, the prefects lead their men in haste,
  To save the city from the furious mob
  Whose reckless passion grows, unchecked by fear.

  _Chorus:_ What is the madness that inflames their hearts?          785

  _Messenger:_ The people for their loved Octavia
  Are wild with rage and grief; and now in throngs
  Are rushing forth in mood for any deed.

  _Chorus:_ What are they bent to do, or with what plan?

  _Messenger:_ To give Octavia back her father's house,
  Her brother's bed, and her due share of empire.                    790

  _Chorus:_ But these Poppaea holds as Nero's wife.

  _Messenger:_ 'Tis even she 'gainst whom the people's rage
  Burns most persistent, and to reckless deeds
  Is driven headlong on. Whate'er they see,
  Of noble marble wrought, or gleaming bronze,
  The hated image of Poppaea's face,                                 795
  They cast it to the earth with wanton hands
  And crushing bars. The shattered parts they drag
  Along the streets, and with insulting heel
  Deep in the filthy mud they trample them.
  These savage deeds are mingled with such words
  As I should fear to utter in your ears.                            800
  Soon will they hedge the royal house with flames,
  Unless the prince his new-made wife give up
  To sate the people's wrath, and then restore
  To noble Claudia her father's house.
  That he himself may know these threatened deeds,
  I'll haste to tell him as the prefect bade.                        805

[_Exit._]

  _Chorus:_ Why vainly strive against the powers above?
  For Cupid's weapons are invincible.
  Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim
  By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove,
  And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky.                    810
  For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay,
  E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he,
  And may not be o'ercome. At his command
  Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre;
  He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud                           815
  To do his will. Illustrious cities, too,
  And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed.
  And now my mind in fear awaits to see
  What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.


FOOTNOTES:

[57] Reading, _intentus_.


ACT V

  _Nero_ [_seated in a room of his palace_]: Too slow my soldiers'
    hands, too mild my wrath,                                        820
  When citizens have dared such crimes as these.
  Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince
  Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men,
  Shall be bespattered with her people's gore.
  Yet death is far too light a punishment                            825
  For such atrocities; this impious mob
  Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife
  And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear,
  For whose sole sake the people rage at me,
  Shall give her life at last to sate my grief,
  And quench my anger in her flowing blood.                          830
  Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls,
  And in the ruins of her falling homes
  The people shall be buried; squalid want,
  Dire hunger, grief-all these shall they endure.
  Too fat upon the blessings of our age
  Has this vile mob become, and know not how                         835
  To bear our clemency and relish peace;
  But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne
  By shifting tides of passion to their hurt.
  They must be held in check by suffering,
  Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke,
  Lest once again they dare assail the throne,                       840
  And to the august features of my wife
  Dare lift again their vulgar eyes. O'erawed
  By fear of punishment must they be taught
  To yield obedience to their prince's nod.
  But here I see the man whose loyalty
  Has made him captain of my royal guards.                           845

[_Enter_ Prefect.]

  _Prefect:_ The people's rage by slaughter of a few,
  Who most resistance made is overcome.

  _Nero:_ Is that enough? Was that my word to thee?
  "Is overcome?" Where then is my revenge?

  _Prefect:_ The guilty leaders of the mob are dead.                 850

  _Nero:_ Nay, but the mob itself, which dared to assail
  My house with flames, to dictate laws to me,
  To drag my noble wife from off my bed,
  And with unhallowed hands and angry threats
  To affront her majesty--are they unscathed?                        855

  _Prefect:_ Shall angry grief decide their punishment?

  _Nero:_ It shall--whose fame no future age shall dim.

  _Prefect:_ Which neither wrath nor fear shall moderate?[58]

  _Nero:_ She first shall feel my wrath who merits it.

  _Prefect:_ Tell whom thou mean'st. My hand shall spare her not.    860

  _Nero:_ My wrath demands my guilty sister's death.

  _Prefect:_ Benumbing horror holds me in its grasp.

  _Nero:_ Wilt not obey my word?

  _Prefect:_                   Why question that?

  _Nero:_ Because thou spar'st my foe.

  _Prefect:_                          A woman, foe?

  _Nero:_ If she be criminal.                                        865

  _Prefect:_                But what her crime?

  _Nero:_ The people's rage.

  _Prefect:_                But who can check their rage?

  _Nero:_ The one who fanned its flame.

  _Prefect:_                          But who that one?

  _Nero:_ A woman she, to whom an evil heart
  Hath nature given, a soul to fraud inclined.

  _Prefect:_ But not the power to act.                               870

  _Nero:_                            That she may be
  Without the power to act, that present fear
  May break her strength, let punishment at once,
  Too long delayed, crush out her guilty life.
  Have done at once with arguments and prayers,
  And do my royal bidding: let her sail
  To some far distant shore and there be slain,                      875
  That thus at last my fears may be at rest.

[_Exeunt._]

  _Chorus_ [_attached to_ Octavia]: Oh, dire and deadly has the people's
    love
  To many proved, which fills their swelling sails
  With favoring breeze, and bears them out to sea;
  But soon its vigor languishes and dies,                            880
  And leaves them to the mercy of the deep.
  The wretched mother of the Gracchi wept
  Her murdered sons, who, though of noble blood,
  Far famed for eloquence and piety,                                 885
  Stout-hearted, learnéd in defense of law,
  Were brought to ruin by the people's love
  And popular renown. And Livius, thee
  To equal fate did fickle fortune give,
  Who found no safety in thy lictors' rods,
  No refuge in thy home. But grief forbids
  To tell more instances. This hapless girl,                         890
  To whom but now the citizens decreed
  The restoration of her fatherland,
  Her home, her brother's couch, is dragged away
  In tears and misery to punishment,
  With citizens consenting to her death!                             895
  Oh, blesséd poverty, content to hide
  Beneath the refuge of a lowly roof!
  For lofty homes, to fame and fortune known,
  By storms are blasted and by fate o'erthrown!

[_Enter_ Octavia _in the custody of the palace guards, who are dragging
her roughly out into the street_.]

  _Octavia:_ Oh, whither do ye hurry me? What fate
  Has that vile tyrant or his queen ordained?                        900
  Does she, subdued and softened by my woes,
  Grant me to live in exile? Or, if not,
  If she intends to crown my sufferings
  With death, why does her savage heart begrudge
  That I should die at home? But now, alas,                          905
  I can no longer hope for life; behold,
  My brother's bark, within whose treacherous hold
  His mother once was borne; and now for me,
  Poor wretch, his slighted sister-wife, it waits.                   910
  No more has right a place upon the earth,
  Nor heavenly gods. Grim Fury reigns supreme.
  Oh, who can fitly weep my evil plight?
  What nightingale has tongue to sing my woes?                       915
  Would that the fates would grant her wings to me!
  Then would I speed away on pinions swift,
  And leave my grievous troubles far behind,
  Leave these unholy haunts of savage men.                           920
  There, all alone, within some forest wide,
  Among the swaying branches would I sit,
  And let my grieving spirit weep its fill.

  _Chorus:_ The race of men is by the fates controlled,
  And none may hope to make his own secure;                          925
  And o'er the ever-shifting ways of life
  The day which most we fear shall come to us.
  But comfort now thy heart with thought of those
  Of thine own house who suffered ill, and ask:                      930
  In what has fortune been more harsh to thee?
  Thee first I name, Agrippa's noble child,
  The famous mother of so many sons,
  Great Caesar's wife, whose name throughout the world               935
  In flaming glory shone, whose teeming womb
  Brought forth so many hostages of peace:
  E'en thee did exile wait, and cruel chains,
  Blows, bitter anguish, and at last a death                         940
  Of lingering agony. And Livia, thou,
  Though fortunate in husband and in sons,
  Didst walk the way of sin--and punishment.
  And Julia, too, endured her mother's fate;
  For, though no evil deed was charged to her,                       945
  She fell a victim to the sword at last.
  What could not once thy mighty mother do
  Who ruled supreme the house of Claudius,
  By him beloved, and in her son secure?
  Yet she at last was subject to a slave,                            950
  And fell beneath a brutal soldier's sword.
  For what exalted heights of royalty
  Might not our Nero's mother once have hoped?
  Mishandled first by vulgar sailors' hands,                         955
  Then slain and mangled by the bungling sword,
  She lay the victim of her cruel son.

  _Octavia:_ Me, too, the tyrant to the world of shades
  Is sending. Why delay? Then speed my death,                        960
  For fate hath made me subject to your power.
  I pray the heavenly gods--what wouldst thou, fool?
  Pray not to gods who show their scorn of thee.
  But, O ye gods of hell, ye furies dire,                            965
  Who work your vengeance on the crimes of men,
  And thou, my father's restless spirit, come
  And bring this tyrant fitting punishment.
                                                     [_To her guards._]
  The death you threaten has no terrors now
  For me. Go, set your ship in readiness,                            970
  Unfurl your sails, and let your pilot seek
  The barren shores of Pandataria.

[_Exit_ Octavia _with guards_.]

  _Chorus:_ Ye gentle breezes and ye zephyrs mild,
  Which once from savage Dian's altar bore                           975
  Atrides' daughter in a cloud concealed,
  This child of ours, Octavia too, we pray,
  Bear far away from these too cruel woes,
  And set her in the fane of Trivia.
  For Aulis is more merciful than Rome,
  The savage Taurian land more mild than this:                       980
  There hapless strangers to their gods they feed,
  But Rome delights to see her children bleed.


FOOTNOTES:

[58] Reading, _quam temperet non ira_, etc.




COMPARATIVE ANALYSES




COMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING GREEK
DRAMAS


The _Phoenissae_, if, indeed, these fragments are to be considered as
belonging to one play, has no direct correspondent in Greek drama;
although, in the general situations and in some details, it is similar
to parts of three plays: _The Seven Against Thebes_ of Aeschylus, the
_Oedipus at Colonus_ of Sophocles, and the _Phoenician Damsels_ of
Euripides. The _Thyestes_ is without a parallel in extant Greek drama;
and the _Octavia_, of course, stands alone.

The other seven tragedies attributed by tradition to Seneca, together
with their Greek correspondents, are here presented in comparative
analyses in order that the reader may be enabled easily to compare, at
least so far as subject-matter and dramatic structure are concerned,
the Roman tragedies and their Greek originals.

Although the traditional division into acts is followed in the English
version of the several plays, it seems wise in these comparisons to
give the more minute division into prologue, episodes, and choral
interludes.


THE _OEDIPUS_ OF SOPHOCLES, AND THE _OEDIPUS_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--Dialogue between Oedipus and the priest of Zeus, who
discloses the present plague-smitten condition of the people, and prays
the king for aid since he is so wise. The fatherly regard of Oedipus
for his people, in that he has already sent a messenger to ask the aid
of the oracle, is portrayed.

The answer of the oracle: first reference to an unexpiated sin. Short
question and answer between Oedipus and Creon, the messenger, bringing
out the facts of Laïus' death.

The irony of fate: Oedipus proposes, partly in his own interest, to
seek out the murderer. As yet there is no foreshadowing of evil in the
king's mind. At the end of the prologue Oedipus remains alone upon the
stage.

    _Prologue._--In the early morning Oedipus is seen lamenting the
    plague-smitten condition of his people. He narrates how he had fled
    from Corinth to avoid the fulfilment of a dreadful oracle, that he
    should kill his father and wed his mother. Even here he cannot feel
    safe, but still fears some dreadful fate that seems threatening. He
    describes with minute detail the terrors of the pestilence which
    has smitten man and beast and even the vegetable world. He prays
    for death that he may not survive his stricken people. Jocasta
    remonstrates with him for his despair and reminds him that it is a
    king's duty to bear reverses with cheerfulness.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus enlarges upon the distresses of
the city, and appeals to the gods for aid.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus appeals to Bacchus, relating
    how the descendants of his old Theban comrades are perishing. It
    enlarges upon the distresses of the city, and deplores the violence
    of the plague. The sufferings of the people are described in minute
    detail.

_First episode._--The curse of Oedipus upon the unknown murderer is
pronounced, and the charge is made by Tiresias (who long refuses to
speak but is forced to do so by Oedipus), "Thou art the man." Oedipus'
explanation of Tiresias' charge; it is a plot between the latter and
Creon. The facts of Oedipus' birth are hinted at. Tiresias prophesies
the after-life of the king, with the name but thinly veiled.

    _First episode._--Creon, returned from the consultation of the
    oracle at Delphi, announces that the plague is caused by the
    unatoned murder of Laïus, former king of Thebes. Oedipus anxiously
    inquires who the murderer is, but is told that this is still a
    mystery. Creon describes the scene at Delphi in the giving of the
    oracle. Oedipus declares himself eager to hunt out the murderer and
    inquires why the matter has been left so long uninvestigated. He is
    told that the terrors of the Sphinx had driven all other thoughts
    out of the people's mind.

    The irony of fate: Oedipus pronounces a dreadful curse upon the
    murderer of Laïus and vows not to rest until he finds him. He
    inquires where the murder took place and how. At this moment the
    blind old Tiresias enters, led by his daughter, Manto. Tiresias
    tries by the arts of divination (which are described with the
    greatest elaboration) to ascertain the name of the murderer, but
    without avail; and says that recourse must be had to necromancy, or
    the raising of the dead.

_First choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the oracle and the
certain discovery of the guilty one. Ideal picture of the flight of the
murderer. While troubled by the charge of Tiresias, the chorus still
refuses to give it credence. After all, the seer is only a man and
liable to be mistaken. Oedipus has shown himself a wiser man by solving
the riddle of the Sphinx.

    _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings a dithyrambic strain in
    praise of the wonderful works of Bacchus. No reference is made to
    the tragedy which is in progress.

_Second episode._--Quarrel of Oedipus and Creon based upon the charges
of the former. Oedipus' argument: The deed was done long ago, and
Tiresias, though then also a seer, made no charge. Now, when forced
by the recent oracle, the seer comes forward with Creon. This looks
like a conspiracy. Creon pleads for a fair and complete investigation.
Jocasta tries to reconcile the two, but in vain, and Creon is driven
out. Jocasta relates the circumstances of Laïus' death, which tally in
all details but one with the death of one slain by Oedipus. A terrible
conclusion begins to dawn upon the king. He tells his queen the story
of his life and the dreadful oracle, the fear of the fulfilment of
which drove him from Corinth. At the end of this episode the death
of Laïus at the hands of Oedipus is all but proved, but the relation
between the two is not yet hinted at.

    _Second episode._--Creon returns from the rites of necromancy in
    which he had accompanied Tiresias, and strives to avoid telling
    the result of the investigation to the king. Being at last forced
    to reveal all that he knows, he describes with great vividness of
    detail how Tiresias has summoned up the spirits of the dead, and
    among them Laïus. The latter declares that Oedipus himself is the
    murderer, having slain his father and married his mother. Oedipus,
    strong in the belief that Polybus and Merope of Corinth are his
    parents, denies the charge, and after a hot dispute orders Creon to
    be cast into prison, on suspicion of a conspiracy with Tiresias to
    deprive Oedipus of the scepter.

_Second choral interlude._--Prayer for a life in accordance with the
will of heaven. Under the shadow of impending ill, the chorus seeks the
aid of God, meditates upon the doom of the unrighteous, and considers
the seeming fallibility of the oracle.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus refuses to believe the
    charge against Oedipus, but lays the blame of all these ills upon
    the evil fate of Thebes which has pursued the Thebans from the
    first.

_Third episode._--A messenger from Corinth brings the news of Polybus'
death, the supposed father of Oedipus. The irony of fate: the king is
lifted up with joy that now the oracle cannot be fulfilled that he
should kill his own father. Step by step the details of the king's
infancy come out, which reveal the awful truth to Jocasta. To Oedipus
the only result of the present revelation is that he is probably
base-born. Jocasta tries to deter Oedipus from further investigation.

    _Third episode._--Oedipus, remembering that he had slain a man
    on his way to Thebes, questions Jocasta more closely as to the
    circumstances of Laïus' death, and finding these circumstances to
    tally with his own experience, is convinced that he was indeed the
    slayer of Laïus.

    At this point a messenger from Corinth, an old man, announces to
    Oedipus the death of Polybus, the king of Corinth, and the supposed
    father of Oedipus. The latter is summoned to the empty throne of
    Corinth. A quick succession of questions and answers brings to
    light the fact that Oedipus is not the child of Polybus and Merope,
    but that the messenger himself had given him when an infant to the
    Corinthian pair. This announcement removes the chief support of
    Oedipus against the charges of Tiresias, and now he rushes blindly
    on to know the rest of the fatal truth. The shepherd is summoned
    who had given the baby to the old Corinthian. He strives to avoid
    answering, but, driven on by the threats of Oedipus, he at last
    states that he had received the child from the royal household of
    Thebes, and that it was in fact the son of Jocasta. At this last
    and awful disclosure, Oedipus goes off the stage in a fit of raving
    madness.

_Strophe and antistrophe._--A partial interlude, while they wait for
the shepherd who is to furnish the last link in the chain of evidence.
The chorus conjectures as to the wonderful birth of Oedipus; possibly
his father is Pan, or Apollo, or Mercury, or Bacchus.

The shepherd, arriving, also seeks to keep the dreadful truth from the
king, but a second time the passion of Oedipus forces the truth from
an unwilling witness. At last the whole story comes out, and Oedipus
realizes that he has slain his father and wed his mother.

_Third choral interlude._--The utter nothingness of human life, judged
by the fate of Oedipus, who above all men was successful, wise, and
good. It is inscrutable; why should such a fate come to him? The chorus
laments the doom of the king as its own.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the dangerous
    position of the man who is unduly exalted, and illustrates this
    principle by the case of Icarus.

_Exode._--The catastrophe in its final manifestations. A messenger
describes the lamentations and suicide of Jocasta, the despair of
Oedipus, and the wild mood in which he inflicts blindness upon himself.
He comes upon the stage piteously wailing and groping his way. He prays
for death or banishment at the hands of Creon, who is now king. He
takes a tender farewell of his daughters and consigns them to Creon's
care.

The play ends with the solemn warning of the chorus "to reckon no man
happy till ye witness the closing day; until he pass the border which
severs life from death, unscathed by sorrow."

    _Exode._--Although there is a short chorus interjected here (lines
    980-97) on the inevitableness of fate, all the remainder of the
    play is really the exode, showing the catastrophe in its final
    manifestation. A messenger describes with horrible minuteness how
    Oedipus in his ravings has dug out his eyes. At this point Oedipus
    himself comes upon the stage, rejoicing in his blindness, since
    now he can never look upon his shame. And now Jocasta appears,
    having heard strange rumors. On learning the whole truth, she slays
    herself on the stage with Oedipus' sword. The play ends as the
    blind old king goes groping his way out into darkness and exile.


THE _MEDEA_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _MEDEA_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--The old nurse of Medea, alone upon the stage, laments that
the Argo was ever framed and that Medea had ever fled from Colchis.
Then had she never been here in Corinth an exile and now deserted even
by her husband, Jason. In describing Medea's distracted condition,
the nurse first voices the fear of that violence which forms the
catastrophe of the play. Enter an old attendant with the two sons of
Medea, who announces a new woe--that Creon, the king, has decreed the
banishment of Medea and her children. The nurse repeats her warning
note, and urges the attendant to keep the children out of the sight of
their mother, who even now can be heard raving within, and vowing the
destruction of her children and her husband. The attendant retires with
the children.

    _Prologue._--Medea, finding herself deserted by Jason, calls upon
    gods and furies to grant her vengeance. She prays for destruction
    to light upon her rival, and imprecates curses upon Jason. She
    thinks it monstrous that the sun can still hold on his way, and
    prays for power to subvert the whole course of nature. She finally
    realizes that she is impotent save as she has recourse to her old
    sorceries which she has long since laid aside, and resolves upon
    them as a means of revenge.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Corinthian women comes to
the front of the palace to inquire the cause of Medea's cries, which
they have heard, and to profess their attachment to her. From time to
time Medea's voice can be heard from within as she prays for death and
imprecates curses upon Jason. The nurse at the suggestion of the chorus
undertakes to induce her mistress to come forth, that converse with her
friends may soothe her grief. The nurse goes within, leaving the chorus
alone upon the stage.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--A chorus of Corinthians chants an
    epithalamium for the nuptials of Jason and Creüsa. First, in
    Asclepiadean strains, they invoke the gods to be present and bless
    the nuptials. The strain then changes to quick, joyful Glyconics
    in praise of the surpassing beauty of the married pair. Changing
    back to Asclepiads, the chorus continues in extravagant praise of
    Jason and his bride, congratulates him on his exchange from Medea
    to Creüsa, and finally, in six lines of hexameter, exults in the
    license of the hour.

_First episode._--Medea comes forth from the palace to explain to the
chorus her position and unhappy condition. She deplores the lot of
women in general, and especially in relation to marriage, and enlists
the sympathy of the chorus in her attempt to secure some revenge for
her wrongs. They confess the justice of her cause and promise to keep
her secret.

Creon announces to Medea that she must leave his realm at once, for
much he fears that she will take her revenge upon him and upon his
house. She pleads for grace, and bewails her reputation for magic
power; she assures the king that he has nothing to fear from her, and
affects compliance with all that has taken place. Creon, while still
protesting that she cannot be trusted, yields in so far that he grants
her a single day's delay.

Medea tells the chorus that her recent compliance was only feigned, and
openly announces her intention before the day is done of slaying Creon,
his daughter, and Jason. She debates the various methods by which this
may be accomplished, and decides, for her own greater safety, upon the
help of magic.

    _First episode._--Hearing the epithalamium, Medea goes into a
    passion of rage. She recounts all that she has done for Jason, and
    exclaims against his ingratitude. Again, with shifting feelings she
    pleads Jason's cause to herself and strives to excuse him, blaming
    all upon Creon. Upon him she vows the direst vengeance. Meanwhile
    the nurse in vain urges prudence.

    Creon now enters, manifesting in his words a fear of Medea, and
    bent upon her immediate banishment. Medea pleads her innocence,
    and begs to know the reason for her exile. She reviews at length
    her former regal estate and contrasts with this her present
    forlorn condition. She claims the credit for the preservation of
    all the Argonautic heroes. Upon this ground she claims that Jason
    is hers. She begs of Creon some small corner in his kingdom for
    her dwelling, but the king remains obdurate. She then prays for a
    single day's delay in which to say farewell to her children, who
    are to remain, the wards of the king. This prayer Creon reluctantly
    grants.

_First choral interlude._--The course of nature is subverted. No longer
let woman alone have the reputation for falsehood; man's insincerity
equals hers. In poetry the fickleness of both should be sung, just as
in history it is seen. Though Medea, for her love of Jason, left her
native land and braved all the terrors of the deep, she is now left all
forsaken and alone. Verily truth and honor have departed from the earth.

    _First choral interlude._--Apropos of Medea's reference to the
    Argonautic heroes the chorus sings of the dangers which those first
    voyagers upon the sea endured; how the natural bounds which the
    gods set to separate the lands have now been removed--and all this
    for gold and this barbarian woman. (The chorus is nowhere friendly
    to Medea, as in Euripides.) The ode ends with a prophecy of the
    time when all the earth shall be revealed, and there shall be no
    "Ultima Thule."

_Second episode._--Jason reproaches Medea for her intemperate speech
against the king, which has resulted in her banishment, and shows
her that he is still concerned for her interests. She retorts with
reproaches because of his ingratitude, and proceeds to recount all that
she had done for him and given up in his behalf. Jason replies that it
was not through her help but that of Venus that he had escaped all the
perils of the past, and reminds her of the advantages which she herself
had gained by leaving her barbarous land for Greece. He even holds that
his marriage into the royal family of Corinth is in her interest and
that of her children, since by this means their common fortunes will be
mended. He offers her from his new resources assistance for her exile,
which she indignantly refuses, and Jason retires from her bitter taunts.

    _Second episode._--Medea is rushing out to seek vengeance, while
    the nurse tries in vain to restrain her. The nurse soliloquizes,
    describing the wild frenzy of her mistress, and expressing grave
    fears for the result. Medea, not noticing the nurse's presence,
    reflects upon the day that has been granted her by Creon, and
    vows that her terrible vengeance shall be commensurate with her
    sufferings. She rushes off the stage, while the nurse calls after
    her a last warning.

    Jason now enters, lamenting the difficult position in which he
    finds himself. He asserts that it is for his children's sake that
    he has done all, and hopes to be able to persuade Medea herself
    to take this view. Medea comes back, and at sight of Jason her
    fury is still further inflamed. She announces her intended flight.
    But whither shall she flee? For his sake she has closed all lands
    against herself. In bitter sarcasm she accepts all these sufferings
    as her just punishment. Then in a flash of fury she recalls all her
    services to him and contrasts his ingratitude. She shifts suddenly
    to passionate entreaty, and prays him to pity her, to give back all
    that she gave up for him, if she must needs flee; she begs him to
    brave the wrath of Creon and flee with her, and promises him her
    protection as of old. In a long series of quick, short passages
    they shift from phase to phase of feeling, and finally Medea prays
    that in her flight she may have her children as her comrades.
    Jason's refusal shows how deeply he loves his sons, and here is
    suggested to Medea for the first time the method of her direst
    revenge. Jason now yields to her assumed penitence and grants her
    the custody of the children for this day alone. When Jason has
    withdrawn, she bids the nurse prepare the fatal robe which she
    proposes to send to her rival by the hands of her children.

_Second choral interlude._--The chorus prays to be delivered from the
pangs of immoderate love and jealousy, from exile, and the ingratitude
of friends.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus opens on the text, "Hell
    hath no fury like a woman scorned," and continues with a prayer
    for Jason's safety. It then recounts the subsequent history of the
    individual Argonauts, showing how almost all came to some untimely
    end. They might indeed be said to deserve this fate, for they
    volunteered to assist in that first impious voyage in quest of the
    golden fleece; but Jason should be spared the general doom, for the
    task had been imposed upon him by his usurping uncle, Pelias.

_Third, episode._--Aegeus, in Corinth by accident, recognizes Medea,
and learns from her her present grievous condition and imminent exile.
She begs that he receive her into his kingdom as a friend under his
protection. This he promises with a mighty oath to do.

Medea, left alone with the chorus, explains to it still more in detail
her plans. She will send her sons with gifts to the new bride, which,
by their magic power, will destroy her and all who touch her. She
adds that she will also slay her two sons, the more to injure Jason.
The chorus, while protesting against this last proposal, offers no
resistance.

    _Third episode._--The nurse in a long monologue recites Medea's
    magic wonders of the past, and all her present preparations. Then
    Medea's voice is heard, and presently she comes upon the stage
    chanting her incantations. She summons up the gods of Tartara to
    aid her task; recounts all the wonders which her charms can work;
    describes her store of magic fires and other potent objects. Then
    breaking into quicker measure, as if filled with a fuller frenzy,
    she continues her incantations accompanied by wild cries and
    gestures. She finally dispatches her sons to Jason's bride with the
    robe she has anointed with her magic drugs and charged with her
    curses. She hastens out in the opposite direction.

_Third choral interlude._--The chorus, dwelling upon Medea's proposed
place of refuge, sings the praises of Athens, sacred to the Muses. It
contrasts with this holy city the dreadful deed which Medea intends,
and again vainly strives to dissuade her.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus notes and describes Medea's
    wild bearing, and prays for her speedy departure from their city.

_Fourth episode._--Medea, sending for Jason, with feigned humility
reproaches herself for her former intemperate words to him, and begs
only that he use his influence for the reprieve of their children
from exile. To assist him in this, she proposes to send the children
themselves, bearing a gorgeous robe of golden tissue (which she has
anointed with magic poison) as a wedding present to the bride. Upon
this errand Jason retires attended by his little sons.

_Fourth choral interlude._--The chorus, with full knowledge of the
fatal robe, pictures the delight of the bride at its reception, and
laments her fearful doom.

_Fifth episode._--This episode is in four parts.

The attendant returns with the children and announces to Medea that
her gifts have prevailed for their reprieve. (The attendant retires.)

Medea contrasts the assured career of her children with her own hapless
condition; then remembers her resolve and with softening heart laments
their dreadful fate. She hastily sends them within the palace. Left
alone, she again struggles between her mother-love and her resolve
not to leave her children subject to the scorn of her foes. (She here
leaves the stage to wait for tidings from the royal house.)

Then follows a monologue by the chorus leader discussing the advantages
of childlessness. No reference is made to the passing events.

Medea returns just in time to meet a messenger who breathlessly
announces the death of Creon and his daughter. At the request of Medea
he gives a detailed account of the reception of the magic robe and
crown, the bride's delight, and her sudden and awful death, in which
her father also was involved. He urges Medea to fly at once. She
announces her intention to do so as soon as she has slain her children;
and then rushes into the house.

_Fifth choral interlude._--This consists of a single strophe and
antistrophe in which the chorus calls upon the gods to restrain Medea's
mad act. Then are heard within the house the shrieks first of the
two children, then of one, then silence, the chorus meanwhile wildly
shouting to Medea to desist from her deadly work.

_The exode._--Jason appears in search of Medea that he may avenge on
her the death of the royal pair; but most he fears for his children.
The chorus informs him that they are already slain within the palace by
their mother's hand. He prepares to force an entrance into the house.

But now Medea appears in a chariot drawn by dragons. She defies Jason's
power to harm her. Jason replies by reproaching her with all the
murderous deeds of her life, which have culminated in this crowning
deed of blood. She in turn reproaches him and his ingratitude as
the cause of all. A storm of mutual imprecations follows, and Medea
disappears with the bodies of her two sons, denying to Jason even the
comfort of weeping over their remains.

    _The exode._--A messenger comes running in from the direction
    of the palace, and announces that the king and his daughter are
    dead. The eager questions of the chorus bring out the strange
    circumstances attending this catastrophe. Medea enters in time to
    hear that her magic has been successful, and ignoring the nurse's
    entreaties to flee at once, she becomes absorbed in her own
    reflections. And now in her words may be seen the inward struggle
    between maternal love and jealous hate as she nerves herself for
    the final act of vengeance. The purpose to kill her children grows
    upon her, resist it as she may, until in an ecstasy of madness,
    urged on by a vision of her murdered brother, she slays her first
    son; and then, bearing the corpse of one and leading the other
    by the hand, she mounts to the turret of her house. Here with a
    refinement of cruelty she slays the second son in Jason's sight,
    disregarding his abject prayers for the boy's life. Now a chariot
    drawn by dragons appears in the air. This Medea mounts and is borne
    away, while Jason shouts his impotent curses after her.


THE _HERCULES FURENS_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _HERCULES FURENS_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--The old Amphitryon, before the altar of Jupiter, at the
entrance of the house of Hercules in Thebes, relates how Hercules
has gone to the lower world to bring thence to the realms of day the
triple-headed Cerberus. Meanwhile, Lycus, taking advantage of the
hero's absence, has slain king Creon and usurped his throne. The
father, wife, and children of Hercules he has reduced to poverty, and
holds them in durance here in Thebes, threatening to slay the sons,

    Lest, when the boys attain maturer age,
    They should avenge their grandsire, Creon's, death.

Amphitryon condoles with Megara, and counsels with her how they may
escape the dangers of their present lot.

    _Prologue._--Juno complains that she is fairly driven out of
    heaven by her numerous rivals, mortal women who have been deified
    and set in the sky, either they or their offspring, by Jupiter.
    Especially is her wrath hot against Hercules, against whom she has
    waged fruitless war from his infancy until now. But he thrives on
    hardship, and scorns her opposition. She passes in review the hard
    tasks which she has set him, and all of which he has triumphantly
    performed. Already is he claiming a place in heaven. He can be
    conquered only by his own hand. Yes, this shall be turned against
    him, for a fury shall be summoned up from hell who shall fill his
    heart with madness; and in this madness shall he do deeds which
    shall make him long for death.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Theban elders, feeble,
tottering old men, enters and bemoans the wretched fate that has
befallen their city and the household of their prince.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--A vivid picture of the dawning day,
    when the stars and waning moon fade out before the rising sun; when
    Toil wakes up and resumes its daily cares; when through the fields
    the animals and birds are all astir with glad, new life.

    But in the cities men awaken to repeat the sordid round of toil,
    the greedy quest for gold and power. But, whether happily or
    unhappily, all are speeding down to the world of shades. Even
    before his time has Hercules gone down to Pluto's realm, and has
    not yet returned.

_First episode_.--Now enters Lycus, the usurper. He insolently taunts
his victims on their helplessness, tells them that Hercules will never
return, belittles and scorns the hero's mighty deeds, and announces his
intention of killing the sons.

Amphitryon answers the slanders of Lycus against Hercules, and protests
against the proposed barbarous treatment of the children, who are
innocent of any harm. He reproaches Thebes and all the land of Greece,
because they have so ill repaid the services of their deliverer in not
coming to the rescue of his wife and children. Lycus gives orders to
burn the hated race of Hercules, even where they kneel for refuge at
the altar-side; and threatens the elders who would thwart his will,
bidding them remember that they are but as slaves in his sight. Yet the
old men valiantly defy him, and warn him that they will withstand his
attacks upon the children.

But Megara shows them how foolish it is to contend against the king's
unbounded power. Let them rather entreat his mercy. Could not exile be
substituted for death? But no, for this is worse than death. Rather,
let them all die together. Perhaps Lycus will allow her to go into
the palace and deck her children in funeral garments? This prayer is
granted, though Lycus warns them that they are to die at once. Left
alone, Amphitryon chides Jupiter because he does not care for the
children of his son:

          Thou know'st not how
    To save thy friends. Thou surely art a god,
    Either devoid of wisdom, or unjust.

    _First episode._--Megara enters and bewails the fresh woes that
    are ever ready to meet her husband's home-coming. She recounts the
    incidents of his long and difficult career, his heroic suffering at
    Juno's bidding.

    And now base Lycus has taken advantage of her husband's absence in
    the lower world to kill her father, Creon, king of Thebes, and all
    his sons, and to usurp the throne--

    And Lycus rules the Thebes of Hercules!

    She prays her husband soon to come and right these wrongs, though
    in her heart she fears that he will never come again.

    Old Amphitryon tries to reassure her by recalling the superhuman
    valor and strength of Hercules, but without success.

    Now Lycus appears, boasting of the power which he has gained, not
    by long descent from a noble line, but by his own valor. But his
    house cannot stand by valor alone. He must strengthen his power by
    union with some princely house--he will marry Megara! Should she
    refuse, he will give to utter ruin all the house of Hercules.

    Meeting her at the moment, he attempts with specious arguments
    to persuade her to his plan. But Megara repulses his monstrous
    proposition with indignant scorn. Lycus attempts to defend his
    slaughter of her father and brother as done through the exigency of
    war, and pleads with her to put away her wrath; but all in vain,
    and in the end he bids his attendants heap high a funeral pyre on
    which to burn the woman and all her brood.

    When Lycus has retired, Amphitryon in his extremity prays to heaven
    for aid; but suddenly checks himself with incredulous joy, for he
    hears approaching the well-known step of Hercules!

_First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of the mighty
works of Hercules, describing these in picturesque detail, from the
destruction of the Nemean lion to his last adventure which has taken
him to the world of shades, whence, alas, he will never more return.
And meanwhile, lacking his protection, his friends and family are
plunged in hopeless misery.

    _First choral interlude._--Verily fortune is unjust, for while
    Eurystheus sits at ease, the nobler Hercules must suffer unending
    hardships. His labors are briefly recapitulated. Now has he gone to
    hell to bring back Cerberus. Oh, that he may conquer death as all
    things else, and come back again, as did Orpheus by the charm of
    his lyre.

_Second episode._--Forth from the palace, all dressed in the garb of
death, come Megara and her children. She is ready for the doom which
has been pronounced upon them. She sadly recalls the fond hopes that
she and her husband had cherished for these sons. But these bright
prospects have vanished now, for death is waiting to claim them all,
herself as well. She will fold them in a last motherly embrace, and
pour out her grief:

    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!

But perhaps even yet her absent lord has power to intervene in her
behalf, though he be but a ghost. She prays despairingly that he will
come to aid. Amphitryon would try the favor of Jove once more in this
extremity:

    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.

But at this juncture, when no help seems possible from heaven or hell,
to their amazed joy, Hercules himself appears, and in the flesh. He
perceives the mourning garments of his family, and the grief-stricken
faces of the chorus, and quickly learns the cause of all this woe. He
at once plans vengeance upon the wretch who has wrought it all. He has,
himself, forewarned by a "bird of evil omen perched aloft," entered
Thebes in secret; and now he will hide within his own palace and wait
until Lycus comes to fetch the victims whom he has doomed to death. But
first he briefly replies to Amphitryon's questions as to the success of
his errand to the lower world.

    _Second episode._--Hercules enters, fresh from the lower world,
    rejoicing that he again beholds the light of day, and exulting
    in the accomplishment of his latest and most difficult task;
    when suddenly he notices soldiers on guard, and his wife and
    children dressed in mourning garments. He asks what these things
    mean. Amphitryon answers briefly that Lycus has killed Creon and
    his sons, usurped the throne, and now has doomed Megara and her
    children to death.

    Hercules leaves his home at once to find, and take vengeance on,
    his enemy, though Theseus, whom he has rescued from the world of
    shades, begs for the privilege himself of slaying Lycus. Left with
    Amphitryon, in reply to the latter's questions, Theseus gives in
    great detail an account of the lower world, its way of approach,
    its topography, and the various creatures who dwell within its
    bounds. After describing in particular the operations of justice
    and the punishment of the condemned, he tells how Hercules overcame
    Cerberus and brought him to the upper world.

_Second choral interlude._--The old men sing in envy of youth and
complaint of old age:

          But now a burden on my head
    Heavier than Aetna's rock, old age, I bear.

They hold that had the gods been wiser they would have given renewed
youth as a reward to the virtuous, leaving the degenerate to fall
asleep and wake no more. And yet, though oppressed by age, they still
may "breathe the strain Mnemosyne inspires," and sing unceasingly the
deeds of Hercules:

    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.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus, with Theseus' words in
    mind, dwell in fancy still upon the lower world. They follow
    Hercules along "that dark way, which to the distant manes leads,"
    and picture the thronging shades, the "repulsive glooms," and the
    "weary inactivity of that still, empty universe." They pray that it
    may be long ere they must go to that dread world, to which all the
    wandering tribes of earth must surely come. But away with gloomy
    thoughts! Now is the time for joy, for Hercules is come again. Let
    animals and men make holiday, and fitly celebrate their prince's
    world-wide victories, and their own deliverance from their recent
    woes.

_Third episode._--Lycus enters and encounters Amphitryon without the
palace. Him he bids to go within and bring out the victims to their
death. To this Amphitryon objects on the ground that it would make him
an accomplice in their murder. Whereupon Lycus enters the palace to do
his own errand. The old man, looking after him, exclaims:

    Depart; for to that place the fates ordain
    You now are on the road;

while the chorus rejoices that now the oppressor is so soon to meet his
just punishment. Now the despairing cries of Lycus are heard within and
then--silence.

    _Third episode._--Hercules returns to his house, fresh from the
    slaying of Lycus, and proceeds to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving
    to Jupiter. But in the midst of the sacrifice the madness planned
    by Juno begins to come upon him. His sight is darkened, and his
    reason changed to delirium. Now he catches sight of his children,
    cowering in fright; he thinks they are the children of Lycus,
    immediately lets fly an arrow at one of them, and seizes a second,
    whom he drags from the scene. Amphitryon, standing where he can see
    all that takes place, describes the wretched death of the second,
    and then the third, though Megara tries to save her last remaining
    child. She also falls before the blow of her husband, who thinks
    in his madness that she is his cruel stepmother, Juno. Hercules,
    re-entering, exults in his supposed victory over his enemies, and
    then sinks down in a deep faint.

_Third choral interlude._--All is now joy and exultation. Fear has
departed, hope has come back again, and faith in the protecting care of
the gods is restored. Therefore, let all Thebes give herself up to the
rapture and triumph of this hour.

But now two specters are seen hovering over the palace, one of whom
introduces herself to the chorus as Iris, the ambassadress of Juno, and
announces that her companion is a fiend, daughter of the night. Their
mission hither is, at the command of Juno, to drive Hercules into a
madness in which he shall slay his children. The fiend, indeed, makes
a weak protest against such a mission, but speedily yields and goes
darting into the palace, where we know that she begins at once her
deadly work within the breast of Hercules.

The chorus bemoans the city's short-lived joy, and the new and terrible
disaster that has fallen upon their hero's house. Soon they hear the
mad shouts of Hercules, and know by these that the fiend has already
done her fatal work.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus calls upon heaven, earth, and
    sea to mourn for Hercules in this new disaster that has befallen
    him. They pray that he may be restored to sanity. In a long
    apostrophe to Sleep they pray that the soothing influences of this
    god may hold and subdue him until his former mind returns to its
    accustomed course. They watch his feverish tossings, and suffer
    with him in the grief which he so soon must realize. They close
    with a pathetic lament over the dead children.

_Exode._--A messenger hurries out of the palace, and describes the
dreadful scenes that have just been enacted there. Hercules was
offering sacrifices of purification before Jove's altar, with his three
sons and Megara beside him. All was propitious, when suddenly a madness
seized on Hercules. He ceased his present sacrifice, declaring that
he must first go to Mycenae and kill Eurystheus and his sons, and so
make an end of all his enemies at once. In fancy he mounted a chariot
and speedily arrived at Mycenae. His own sons seemed to his disordered
vision to be Eurystheus' sons; and, rushing savagely upon them, he
soon had slain them all, and Megara herself. Then did he fall into a
deep, swoonlike slumber, prostrate beside a mighty column, to which the
attendants tied him securely with cords, lest he awake and do further
mischief.

The palace doors are now thrown open, and the prostrate, sleeping
Hercules is seen. Amphitryon warns the chorus not to wake him lest they
restore him to his miseries. Soon Hercules awakes, and in his right
mind. He seems to himself to have had a dreadful dream. He looks in
wonder at the cords which bind his arms, at the fresh-slain corpses
lying near, at his own arrows scattered on the floor. He calls aloud
for someone to explain these things to him. Amphitryon advances and
informs him that in his madness, sent by Juno's hate, he has destroyed
his wife and all his sons.

And now Theseus, having heard that Lycus has usurped the throne of
Thebes, and grateful for his own deliverance from the world of shades
by Hercules, has come with an army of Athenian youth to aid his friend.
He is shocked to find the hero sitting in deepest dejection, with head
bowed low, and covered with a mourning-veil. Quickly he inquires and
learns the truth from Amphitryon. With noble and unselfish friendship,
he offers his sympathy and help to Hercules, although the latter warns
him to avoid the contagion which his own guilty presence engenders. He
bids Hercules be a man, and give over his threats of self-destruction.

Hercules gives the reasons why it is impossible for him to live. First,
Juno's inveterate hate, which attacked him in his very cradle, pursues
him still, relentlessly; but, most and worst of all, he has incurred
such odium because of the murder of his wife and children, that he will
be henceforth an outcast on the earth. No land will give him refuge
now. Why should he live? Let him die; and let Juno's cup of happiness
be full.

Theseus reminds him that no man escapes unscathed by fate. Nay, even
the gods themselves have done unlawful things, and yet live on and
do not feel the obloquy their deeds should cause. As for a place of
refuge, Athens shall be his home. There shall he obtain full cleansing
for his crimes, a place of honor, and ample provision for his wants.
All that a generous and grateful friend can give shall be his own.

Hercules accepts this offer of Theseus, reflecting also that he might
be charged with cowardice should he give up to his troubles and seek
refuge in death. He accordingly takes a mournful farewell of his dead
wife and children, commends their bodies to Amphitryon for burial,
which it is not lawful for him to give, and so commits himself to the
hands of his faithful friend:

          I will follow Theseus,
    Towed like a battered skiff. Whoe'er prefers
    Wealth or dominion to a steadfast friend
          Judges amiss.

    _Exode._--Hercules wakes up in his right mind, bewildered and
    uncertain where he is. His eyes fall on the murdered children,
    though he does not as yet recognize them as his own. He misses
    his familiar club and bow, and wonders who has been bold enough
    to remove these and not to fear even a sleeping Hercules. Now he
    recognizes in the corpses his own wife and children:

            Oh, what sight is this?
      My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood;
      My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?
      Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes,
      And Hercules returned?

    He notices that Theseus and Amphitryon turn away and will not meet
    his gaze. He asks them who has slain his family. At last, partly
    through their half-admissions, and partly through his own surmise,
    it comes to him that this dreadful deed is his own. His soul reels
    with the shock, and he prays wildly for death. No attempts of his
    two friends to palliate his deed can soothe his grief and shame.
    At last the threat of old Amphitryon instantly to anticipate the
    death of Hercules by his own leads the hero to give over his deadly
    purpose.

    He consents to live--but where? What land will receive a polluted
    wretch like him? He appeals to Theseus:

      O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place,
      Far off from here where I may hide myself.

    Theseus offers his own Athens as a place of refuge, where his
    friend may find at once asylum and cleansing from his sin:

      My land awaits thy coming; there will Mars
      Wash clean thy hands and give thee back thy arms.
      That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,
      Which even gods from sin is wont to free.


THE _HIPPOLYTUS_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _HIPPOLYTUS_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--Venus complains that Hippolytus alone of all men sets her
power at naught and owns allegiance to her rival, Diana. She announces
her plan of revenge: that Phaedra shall become enamored of her stepson,
that Theseus shall be made aware of this and in his rage be led to slay
his son. If Phaedra perish too, it will but add to the triumph of the
goddess' slighted power.

Hippolytus comes in from the chase and renders marked homage to Diana.
He is warned by an aged officer of the palace "to loathe that pride
which studies not to please." Inquiring the meaning of this warning, he
is told to recognize the presence of Venus, too, and to include her in
his devotions; but from this advice he turns away in scorn.

    _Prologue._--Hippolytus, in hunting-costume, appears in the court
    of the palace, which is filled with huntsmen bearing nets and all
    sorts of hunting-weapons, and leading dogs in leash. The young
    prince, in a long, rambling speech, assigns places for the hunt,
    and their duties to his various servants and companions. He ends
    with an elaborate ascription of praise to his patroness Diana, as
    goddess of the chase, and with a prayer to her for success in his
    own present undertaking. The whole speech is in lyric strain, the
    anapestic measure, most commonly employed by Seneca.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Troezenian women deplores the
strange malady that has befallen the young queen. They relate how

    This is the third revolving day,
      Since, o'erpowered by lingering pains,
      She from all nourishment abstains,
    Wasting that lovely frame with slow decay.

At the conclusion of the lyric part of the chorus, the queen, closely
veiled, in company with her aged nurse, is seen coming from the palace
gates.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--The technical chorus entry is entirely
    lacking in this play. While the chorus may be assumed to have
    entered and to have been present during the long interview between
    Phaedra and her nurse, which forms the first episode, still its
    presence is in no way manifested until the end of this interview.

_First episode._--Full of anxiety, the nurse strives to indulge her
mistress' every whim. Phaedra answers feebly at first, but suddenly,
to the amazement of her companion, her speech is filled with language
of the chase, and she again relapses into her mute lethargy. At last,
under the insistence of the nurse to probe her mystery, Phaedra
confesses that the wretched fate of her house pursues her, too, and
that she now feels the torments of love; and, though she does not speak
his name, the truth at last is clear that Hippolytus is the object of
her passion. The nurse recoils in horror and shame from this confession.

Phaedra describes how she has struggled against her unhappy love, but
in vain, and is now resolved on death in order to save her honor. At
this the nurse throws all her influence in the opposite scale, arguing
that, after all, the sway of Venus is universal, that it is only human
to love, and that this is no reason why one should cast his life away.
She even proposes to acquaint Hippolytus with her mistress' feelings,
and strive to win his love in return. This proposal Phaedra indignantly
rejects. The nurse then offers to fetch from the house certain philters
which will cure the queen of her malady. The queen reluctantly consents
to this, and the nurse retires into the palace.

    _First episode._--Phaedra bewails her present lot, in that she has
    been forced to leave her native Crete, and live in wedlock with
    her father's enemy. And even he has now deserted her, gone to the
    very realms of Dis, in company with a madcap friend, to seduce and
    bear away the gloomy monarch's queen. But a worse grief than this
    is preying on her soul. She feels in her own heart the devastating
    power of unlawful love, which has already destroyed all the natural
    interests of her life. She recalls her mother's unhappy passion;
    but this was bearable compared with her own. For Venus has, from
    deadly hatred of her family, filled her with a far more hopeless
    love. She does not name the object of her passion, but, from her
    guarded references, it is clear that Hippolytus, her stepson, is
    meant.

    The nurse urges her mistress to drive this passion from her breast,
    moralizing upon the danger of delay. Has not her house already
    known sinful love enough? Such love is dangerous for it cannot long
    be hid. Granting that Theseus may never return to earth, can her
    sin be concealed from her father? from her grandsires, both gods of
    heaven? And what of her own conscience? Can she ever be happy or
    at peace with such a sin upon her soul? She pictures her mistress'
    passion in all its hideousness. Besides, it is most hopeless, since
    Hippolytus, woman-hater that he is, can never be brought to respond
    to it. Phaedra yields to these arguments and entreaties of the
    nurse, and says that now she is resolved upon death as her only
    refuge. Hereupon the nurse (the usual rôle) begs her not to take
    this desperate course, and undertakes to bend Hippolytus to their
    will.

_First choral interlude._--The chorus prays that love may never come
upon its breast with immoderate power, and relates instances of the
resistless sway of Venus and her son.

    _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings at length upon the
    universal and irresistible sway of love.

_Second episode._--Phaedra, standing near the doors of the palace,
suddenly becomes agitated, and utters despairing cries. The chorus,
inquiring the cause of these, is told to listen. At first there is
only a confused murmur from within; but this soon resolves itself into
the angry denunciations of Hippolytus and the pleading tones of the
nurse. By these Phaedra learns that the nurse has indeed revealed the
fatal secret to Hippolytus under an oath that he will not betray the
truth to anyone, and that the youth has received the announcement with
horror and scorn. He breaks forth into bitter reproaches against all
womankind. He regrets that his lips are sealed by his oath, else would
he straightway reveal to Theseus all his wife's unfaithfulness.

Phaedra, on her side, reproaches the nurse for betraying her secret.
She angrily dismisses her, and, after exacting an oath of silence from
the chorus, goes out, reiterating her resolve to die, and suggests that
she has one expedient left by which her name may be preserved from
infamy, and her sons from dishonor.

    _Second episode._--On the inquiry of the chorus as to how the queen
    is faring, the nurse describes the dreadful effect which this
    malady of love has already produced upon her. Then the palace doors
    open, and Phaedra is seen reclining upon a couch, attended by her
    tiring-women. She rejects all the beautiful robes and jewels which
    they offer, and desires to be dressed as a huntress, ready for the
    chase.

    The nurse prays to Diana to conquer the stubborn soul of Hippolytus
    and bend his heart toward her mistress. At this moment the youth
    himself enters and inquires the cause of the nurse's distress.

    Thereupon ensues a long debate, in which the nurse chides
    Hippolytus for his austere life and argues that the pleasures of
    life were meant to be enjoyed, and that no life comes to its full
    fruition unless youth is given free rein. The young man replies by
    a rhapsody on the life of the woods, so full of simple, wholesome
    joys, and so free from all the cares of life at court and among
    men. He compares this with the Golden Age, and traces the gradual
    fall from the innocence of that time to the abandoned sin of the
    present. He concludes with laying all the blame for this upon woman.

    Phaedra now comes forth, and, seeing Hippolytus, falls fainting,
    but is caught in the young man's arms. He attempts to reassure her
    and inquires the cause of her evident grief. After much hesitation,
    she at last confesses her love for him and begs him to pity her.
    With scorn and horror he repulses her and starts to kill her with
    his sword; but, deciding not so to stain his sword, he throws the
    weapon away and makes off toward the forest.

    The nurse now plans to save her mistress by inculpating Hippolytus.
    She accordingly calls loudly for help, and tells the attendants who
    come rushing in that the youth has attempted an assault upon the
    queen, and shows his sword in evidence.

_Second choral interlude._--The chorus prays to be wafted far away from
these scenes of woe; and laments that the hapless queen had ever come
from Crete, for then she would not now be doomed by hopeless love to
self-inflicted death.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus dwells upon and praises the
    beauty of Hippolytus, and discourses upon the theme that beauty has
    always been a dangerous possession, citing various mythological
    instances in proof of this.

_Third episode._--A messenger hurriedly enters with the announcement
that the queen has destroyed herself by the noose. The chorus,
though grieved, manifests no surprise at this, and is divided as to
a plan of action. And now enters Theseus, who demands the cause of
the lamentations of the servants, which may be heard from within the
palace. He learns from the chorus the fact and manner, but not the
cause, of Phaedra's death.

The palace doors are now thrown open and the shrouded body of the queen
is discovered within. Theseus, in an agony of lamentations, seeks to
know the cause of his queen's death. He at length discovers a letter
clasped in her dead hand, by which he is informed that Phaedra has
slain herself in grief and shame because her honor has been violated
by the king's own son, Hippolytus. Thereupon Theseus curses his son,
and calls on Neptune to destroy him, offering this as one of the three
requests which, in accordance with the promise of the god, should not
be denied.

Here enters Hippolytus, hearing the sound of his father's voice. He
looks in amazement upon the corpse of Phaedra, and begs his father
to explain her death. Theseus, supposing that his son conceals a
guilty conscience, makes no direct answer, but inveighs against the
specious arts of man. This strange speech, and still more the manner
of his father, now show Hippolytus that he himself is connected in his
father's mind with Phaedra's death; and he seeks to know who has thus
calumniated him. The wrath of Theseus now breaks over all bounds. He
charges his son with the dishonor and murder of his wife, and with
withering scorn taunts him with his former professions of purity.
Hippolytus protests his innocence, but Theseus continues obdurate, and
produces the fatal letter in proof of his statements. Then the youth
realizes the terrible mesh of circumstances in which he is taken; but,
bound by his oath of secrecy, he endures in silence. After Theseus has
pronounced the doom of exile upon him, and retired within the gates, he
himself goes forth to seek his comrades and acquaint them with his fate.

    _Third episode._--Theseus, just returned to earth from hades, and
    with all the horrors of the lower world still upon him, briefly
    refers to his dreadful experiences and his escape by the aid of
    Hercules. Then, hearing the sounds of lamentation, he asks the
    cause. He is told by the nurse that Phaedra, for some reason which
    she will not disclose, has resolved on immediate self-destruction.
    Rushing into the palace, he encounters Phaedra just within. After
    urgent entreaties and threats from Theseus, she confesses that she
    is determined to die in order to remove the stain upon her honor;
    and without mentioning the name of him who has ruined her, she
    shows the sword which Hippolytus has left behind in his flight.
    This is at once recognized by Theseus, who flies into a wild
    passion of horror, rage, and bitter scorn. He vows dire vengeance
    upon his son, which shall reach him wherever he may flee; and ends
    by claiming from Neptune, as the third of the boons once granted
    him, that the god will destroy Hippolytus.

_Third choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the precarious life
of man, lauds the golden mean, and prays for the blessings of life
without conspicuous fame. No man can hope for continued security in
life, when such a youth as Hippolytus is driven off by Theseus' ire. It
laments that no longer will his steeds, his lyre, his wonted woodland
haunts know the well-loved youth; and reproaches the gods that they did
not better screen their guiltless votary.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus complains that while nature
    is so careful to maintain the order of the heavenly bodies, the
    atmospheric phenomena, the seasons, and the productiveness of
    wealth, for the affairs of men alone she has no care. These go all
    awry. Sin prospers and righteousness is in distress. Verily, it
    does not at all profit a man to strive to live uprightly, since all
    the rewards of life go to the vain and profligate. While the case
    of Hippolytus is not mentioned, it is clearly in mind throughout.

_Exode._--The last words of the chorus are interrupted by the approach
of a messenger who hastily inquires for the king. As the latter comes
forth from the palace, the messenger announces the death of his son.
At the king's request he gives a detailed account of the disaster: how
Hippolytus was driving his fiery coursers along the shore, when Neptune
sent a monstrous bull from out the sea, which drove the horses to a
panic of fear; how the car was at length dashed against a ragged cliff,
and Hippolytus dragged, bruised and bleeding, by the maddened horses;
how, though yet living, he could not long survive. Theseus expresses
pleasure at his son's sufferings, and bids that he be brought into his
presence that he may behold his punishment.

The chorus interjects a single strophe, acknowledging Venus as the
unrivaled queen of heaven and earth.

Diana now appears to Theseus and reveals to him the whole truth,
explaining the infatuation of the queen, the fatal letter, and the
wiles of Venus. The father is filled with horror and remorse. Diana
tells him that he may yet hope for pardon for his sin, since through
the wiles of Venus, which she herself could not frustrate, the deed was
done.

Here the dying Hippolytus is borne in by his friends. In his agony he
prays for death; but by the voice of his loved goddess he is soothed
and comforted. After a touching scene of reconciliation between the
dying prince and his father, the youth perishes, leaving Theseus
overcome with grief.

    _Exode._--A messenger, hurrying in, announces to Theseus the
    death of his son. Theseus receives the news calmly and asks for a
    detailed account. The messenger relates how Hippolytus had yoked
    his horses to his car and was driving madly along the highway by
    the sea, when suddenly the waves swelled up and launched a strange
    monster in the form of a bull upon the land. This monster charged
    upon Hippolytus, who fronted the beast with unshaken courage. But
    in the end the horses became unmanageable through fright, and
    dragged their master to his death among the rocks. The body of the
    hapless Hippolytus has been torn in pieces and scattered far and
    wide through the fields; and even now attendants are bringing these
    in for burning on the pyre. Theseus laments, not because his son is
    dead, but because it is through his, the father's, act.

    The chorus expatiates upon the fact that the blows of fate fall
    heavily upon men of exalted condition, but spare the humble. The
    great Theseus, once so mighty a monarch, but now so full of woe, is
    an example of this truth. It has not profited him to escape from
    hades, since now his son has hastened thither.

    But now their attention is turned to Phaedra who appears, wailing
    aloud, and with a drawn sword in hand. She rails at Theseus as
    the destroyer of his house, weeps over the mangled remains of
    Hippolytus, confesses to Theseus that her charge against his son
    was false, and ends by falling upon the sword.

    Theseus, utterly crushed by the weight of woe that has fallen upon
    him, prays only that he may return to the dark world from which he
    has just escaped.

    The chorus reminds him that he will find ample time for mourning,
    and that he should now pay due funeral honors to his son. Whereat
    Theseus bids all the fragments be hunted out and brought before
    him. These he fits together as best he can, lamenting bitterly as
    each new gory part is brought to him.

    He ends by giving curt command for the burial of Phaedra, with a
    prayer that the earth may rest heavily upon her.


_THE MAIDENS OF TRACHIN_ OF SOPHOCLES, AND THE _HERCULES OETAEUS_ OF
SENECA

_Prologue._--In the courtyard of her palace in Trachin, Deianira
recounts to her attendants and the chorus of Trachinian maidens how her
husband had won her from the river god, Acheloüs, and how, during all
these years, she has lived in fear and longing for her husband, who has
been kept constantly wandering over the earth by those who hold him in
their power; and even now he has been for many months absent, she knows
not where.

An old servant proposes that she send her son, Hyllus, abroad to seek
out his father. This the youth, who enters at this juncture, readily
promises to do, especially on hearing from his mother that the oracle
declares this is the year in which his father shall end his life,

    Or, having this his task accomplished,
    Shall, through the coming years of all his life,
    Rejoice and prosper.

    _Prologue._--Hercules, about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove after
    having conquered Eurytus, king of Oechalia, recounts at length his
    mighty toils on earth, and prays that now at last he may be given
    his proper place in heaven. He dispatches his herald, Lichas, home
    to Trachin, to tell the news of his triumph, and to conduct the
    train of captives thither.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus prays to Helios, the bright
sun-god, for tidings of Hercules, for Deianira longs for him, and
"ever nurses unforgetting dread as to her husband's paths." Hercules
is tossed upon the stormy sea of life, now up, now down, but ever
kept from death by some god's hands. Deianira should, therefore, be
comforted:

  For who hath known in Zeus forgetfulness
  Of those he children calls?

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--The place of the chorus entry, which
    should be filled by the chorus proper, composed of Aetolian
    maidens, is taken by the band of captive Oechalian maidens. They
    bewail their lot and long for death; they dwell upon the utter
    desolation of their fatherland, and upon the hard-heartedness of
    Hercules who has laid it waste.

    Iole, their princess, joins in their lamentations, recalls the
    horrors of her native city's overthrow, and looks forward with
    dread to her captivity.

_First episode._--Deianira confides to the chorus her special cause for
grief: she feels a strong presentiment that Hercules is dead; for, when
he last left home, he left a tablet, as it were a will, disposing of
his chattels and his lands,

          and fixed a time,
    That when for one whole year and three months more
    He from his land was absent, then 'twas his
    Or in that self-same hour to die, or else,
    Escaping that one crisis, thenceforth live with life unvexed.

At this moment, however, a messenger enters and announces the near
approach of Hercules accompanied by his spoils of victory.

    _First episode._--During the interval just preceding this episode,
    the captives have been led to Trachin, Deianira has seen the beauty
    of Iole, and learned of Hercules' infatuation for her. She has by
    this news been thrown into a mad rage of jealousy, and counsels
    with her nurse as to how she may take vengeance upon her faithless
    husband, while the nurse vainly advises moderation.

    The nurse at last suggests recourse to magic, professing herself
    to be proficient in these arts. This suggests to Deianira the use
    of that blood of Nessus which the dying centaur had commended to
    her as an infallible love-charm. She takes occasion to relate at
    length the Nessus incident. She at once acts upon her decision to
    use the charm; and speedily, with the nurse's aid, a gorgeous robe
    is anointed with the blood, and this is sent by Lichas' hand to
    Hercules.

_First choral interlude._--The chorus voices its exultant joy over this
glad and unexpected news.

    _First choral interlude._--The chorus of Aetolian women, who
    have followed Deianira from her girlhood's home to this refuge
    in Trachin, now tender to her their sympathy in her present
    sufferings. They recall all their past intercourse with her, and
    assure her of their undying fidelity.

    This suggests the rarity of such fidelity especially in the courts
    of kings, and they discourse at large upon the sordidness and
    selfishness of courtiers in general. The moral of their discourse
    is that men should not aspire to great wealth and power, but should
    choose a middle course in life, which only can bring happiness.

_Second episode._--Lichas, the personal herald of Hercules, now enters,
followed by Iole and a company of captive women. He explains to
Deianira how Hercules had been driven on by petty persecutions to slay
Iphitus, the son of Eurytus, treacherously; how he had for this been
doomed by Zeus to serve Omphale, queen of Lydia, for a year; and how in
revenge he has now slain Eurytus, and even now is sending home these
Oechalian captives as spoil; Hercules himself is delaying yet a little
while in Euboea, until he has sacrificed to Cenaean Jove.

Deianira looks in pity upon the captives praying that their lot may
never come to her or hers; and is especially drawn in sympathy to one
beautiful girl, who, however, will answer no word as to her name and
state.

As all are passing into the palace, the messenger detains Deianira and
tells her the real truth which Lichas has withheld: that this seemingly
unknown girl is Iole, daughter of Eurytus; that it was not in revenge
but for love of Iole that Hercules destroyed her father's house, and
that he is now sending her to his own home not as his slave, but
mistress, and rival of his wife.

Lichas, returning from the palace, on being challenged by the messenger
and urged by Deianira to speak the whole truth, tells all concerning
Hercules' love for Iole.

Deianira receives this revelation with seeming equanimity and
acquiescence.

    _Second episode._--Deianira comes hurrying distractedly out of the
    palace, and relates her discovery as to the horrible and deadly
    power of the charm which she has sent to her husband.

    While she is still speaking, Hyllus rushes in and cries out to
    his mother to flee from the wrath of Hercules, whose dreadful
    sufferings, after putting on the robe which his wife had sent to
    him, the youth describes at length. He narrates also the death
    of Lichas. The suffering hero is even now on his way by sea from
    Euboea, in a death-like swoon, and will soon arrive at Trachin.

    Deianira, smitten with quick repentance, begs Jupiter to destroy
    her with his wrathful thunderbolts. She resolves on instant
    self-destruction, though Hyllus and the nurse vainly try to
    dissuade her, and to belittle her responsibility for the disaster;
    and in the end she rushes from the scene, Hyllus following.

_Second choral interlude._--The chorus briefly reverts to the battle of
Acheloüs and Hercules for the hand of Deianira.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus, contemplating the changing
    fates of their prince's house, is reminded of the saying of
    Orpheus, "that naught for endless life is made." This leads to an
    extended description of Orpheus' sweet music and its power over all
    things, both animate and inanimate, and suggests the story of his
    unsuccessful attempt to regain Eurydice.

    Returning to the original theme, the chorus speculates upon the
    time when all things shall fall into death, and chaos resume her
    primeval sway.

    It is startled out of these thoughts by loud groans, which prove to
    be the outcries of Hercules, borne home to Trachin.

_Third episode._--Deianira tells to the chorus the story of how Nessus,
the centaur, had once insulted her, and for this had been slain by
Hercules with one of his poisoned arrows; how, also, the centaur in
dying had given her a portion of his blood, saying this would be a
charm able to restore to her her husband's wandering love. She now
resolves to use this charm. She anoints a gorgeous robe with the blood
which she has preserved through all these years, and bids Lichas carry
this to her lord as a special gift from her. He is to wear it as he
offers his sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, Lichas departs upon this mission.

    _Third episode._--Hercules in his ravings warns Jove to look well
    to his heavens, since now their defender is perishing. The giants
    will be sure to rise again and make another attempt upon the skies.
    He bitterly laments that he, who has overcome so many monsters,
    must die at last, slain by a woman's hand, and that woman not Juno,
    nor even an Amazon:

            Ah, woe is me,
      How often have I 'scaped a glorious death!
      What honor comes from such an end as this?

    His burning pains coming on again, he cries out in agony, and
    describes the abject misery and weakness that have come upon him.
    Are these the shoulders, the hands, the feet, that were once so
    strong to bear, so terrible to strike, so swift to go? He strives
    to apprehend and tear away the pest that is devouring him, but it
    is too deep-hidden in his frame. He curses the day that has seen
    him weep and beseeches Jove to smite him dead with a thunderbolt.

    Alcmena enters, and, while she herself is full of grief, she
    strives to soothe and comfort her suffering son. He falls into a
    delirium, and thinks that he is in the heavens, looking down upon
    Trachin. But soon he awakes, and, realizing his pains once more,
    calls for the author of his misery, that he may slay her with his
    own hands.

    Hyllus, who has just entered from the palace, now informs his
    father that Deianira is already dead, and by her own hand; that
    it was not her fault, moreover, but by the guile of Nessus, that
    Hercules is being done to death. The hero recognizes in this the
    fulfilment of an oracle once delivered to him:

      By the hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day,
      Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low.

    And he comforts himself with the reflection that such an end as
    this is meet, for

      Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules
      Survive to tell the tale.

    He now bids Philoctetes prepare a mighty pyre on neighboring Mount
    Oeta, and there take and burn his body, still in life. Hyllus he
    bids to take the captive princess, Iole, to wife. He calls upon his
    mother, Alcmena, to comfort her grief by pride in her great son's
    deeds on earth, and the noble fame which he has gained thereby.

_Third choral interlude._--The chorus prays for the early and safe
return of Hercules from where he lingers:

  Thence may lie come, yea, come with strong desire,
      Tempered by suasive spell
  Of that rich unguent, as the monster spake.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus bids all nature mourn the
    death of Hercules. Verily the earth is bereft of her defender, and
    there is no one left to whom she may turn if again harassed by
    monsters. They speculate upon the place of the departed Hercules.
    Shall he sit in judgment among the pious kings of Crete in hades,
    or shall he be given a place in heaven? At least on earth he shall
    live in deathless gratitude and fame.

_Fourth episode._--Deianira discovers by experiment, now that it is too
late, the destructive and terrible power of the charm which she has
sent, and is filled with dire forebodings as to the result.

Her lamentations are interrupted by Hyllus, who comes hurrying in; he
charges his mother with the murder of his father, and curses her. He
then describes the terrible sufferings that have come upon the hero
through the magic robe, and how Hercules, in the madness of pain, has
slain Lichas, as the immediate cause of his sufferings. He has brought
his father with him from Euboea to Trachin. Deianira withdraws into the
palace, without a word, in an agony of grief.

_Fourth choral interlude._--The chorus recalls the old oracle that
after twelve years the son of Zeus should gain rest from toil, and sees
in his impending death the fulfilment of this oracle. They picture the
grief of Deianira over her act, and foresee the great changes that are
coming upon their prince's house.

_Fifth episode._--The nurse rushes in from the palace, and tells how
Deianira has slain herself with the sword, bewailing the while the
sufferings which she has unwittingly brought on Hercules; and how
Hyllus repents him of his harshness toward his mother, realizing that
she was not to blame.

_Fifth choral interlude._--The chorus pours out its grief for the
double tragedy. And now it sees Hyllus and attendants bearing in the
dying Hercules.

_Exode._--Hercules, awaking from troubled sleep, laments the calamity
that has befallen him; he chides the lands which he has helped, that
now they do not hasten to his aid; and prays Hyllus to kill him with
the sword, and so put him out of his misery.

He denounces Deianira because she has brought suffering and destruction
upon him which no foe, man or beast, has ever been able to bring. He
curses his own weakness, and laments that he must weep and groan like a
woman.

He marvels that his mighty frame, which for years has withstood so many
monsters, which he recounts at length, can now be so weak and wasted.
Reverting to his wife, he bids that she be brought to him that he may
visit punishment upon her.

Hyllus informs his father that Deianira has died by her own hand, for
grief at what she has unwittingly brought upon her dear lord. It was,
indeed, through Nessus' guile that the deed was done.

Hercules, on hearing this, recognizes the fulfilment of the oracle;

    Long since it was revealéd of my sire
    That I should die by hand of none that live,
    But one who, dead, had dwelt in hades dark.

He exacts an oath of obedience from Hyllus, and then bids him bring
his father to Mount Oeta, and there place him upon a pyre for burning.
Hyllus reluctantly consents in all but the actual firing of the pyre.
The next request is concerning Iole, that Hyllus should take her as his
wife. This mandate he indignantly refuses to obey, but finally yields
assent. And in the end Hercules is borne away to his burning, while the
chorus mournfully chants its concluding comment:

    What cometh no man may know;
        What is, is piteous for us,
        Base and shameful for them;
    And for him who endureth this woe,
        Above all that live hard to bear.

    _Exode._--Philoctetes enters, and, in response to the questions of
    the nurse, describes the final scene on Oeta's top. There a mighty
    pyre is built, on which Hercules joyfully takes his place. There he
    reclines, gazing at the heavens, and praying his father, Jupiter,
    to take him thither, in compensation for his service on the earth.
    His prayer seems to be answered, and he cries aloud:

      "But lo, my father calls me from the sky,
      And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!"
      And as he spake his face was glorified.

    He presents his famous bow and arrows to Philoctetes, bidding him
    for this prize apply the torch and light the pyre, which his friend
    most reluctantly does. The hero courts the flames, and eagerly
    presses into the very heart of the burning mass.

    In the midst of this narrative, Alcmena enters, bearing in her
    bosom an urn containing the ashes of Hercules. The burden of her
    lament is that so small a compass and so pitiful estate have come
    to the mighty body of her son, which one small urn can hold. But
    when she thinks upon his deeds, her thoughts fly to the opposite
    pole:

      What sepulcher, O son, what tomb for thee
      Is great enough? Naught save the world itself.

    Then she takes up in quickened measures her funeral song of
    mourning in the midst of which the deified Hercules, taking shape
    in the air above, speaks to his mother, bidding her no longer
    mourn, for he has at last gained his place in heaven.

    The chorus strikes a fitting final note, that the truly brave are
    not destined to the world below:

      But when life's days are all consumed,
      And comes the final hour, for them
      A pathway to the gods is spread
          By glory.


THE _TROADES_ OF EURIPIDES, AND THE _TROADES_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--Neptune appearing from the depths of the sea, briefly
recounts the story of the overthrow of Troy, which he laments, states
the present situation of the Trojan women, dwells upon the especial
grief of Hecuba, and places the blame for all this ruin upon Minerva:

    But, oh my town, once flourishing, once crowned
    With beauteous-structured battlements, farewell!
    Had not Minerva sunk thee in the dust,
    On thy firm base e'en now thou mightst have stood.

To him appears Minerva, who, though she had indeed helped the Greeks
to their final triumph over Troy, had been turned against them by the
outrage of Cassandra on the night of Troy's overthrow. She now makes
common cause with Neptune, and plans for the harassing of the Greek
fleet by storm and flood on the homeward voyage. The Greeks are to be
taught a lesson of reverence:

    Unwise is he, whoe'er of mortals storms
    Beleaguered towns, and crushed in ruins wastes
    The temples of the gods, the hallowed tombs
    Where sleep the dead; for he shall perish soon.

[The two gods disappear.]

Hecuba, lying prone upon the ground before Agamemnon's tent, gives
voice to her sufferings of body and of spirit; laments her accumulated
losses of home, friends, station, liberty; blames Helen for all, and
calls upon the chorus of captive women to join her in lamentation.

    _Prologue._--Hecuba bewails the fall of Troy, and draws from it a
    warning to all who are high in power:

      For of a truth did fortune never show
      In plainer wise the frailty of the prop
      That doth support a king.

    She graphically describes the mighty power and mighty fall of her
    husband's kingdom, and portrays the awe with which the Greeks
    behold even their fallen foe. She asserts that the fire by which
    her city has been consumed sprang from her, the brand that she
    had dreamed of in her dream before the birth of Paris. She dwells
    horribly upon the death of Priam which she had herself witnessed.

      But still the heavenly powers are not appeased.

    The captives are to be allotted to the Greek chiefs, and even now
    the urn stands ready for the lots.

    Hecuba next calls upon the chorus of Trojan women to join her in
    lamenting their fallen heroes, Hector and Priam.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus with Hecuba indulges in
speculation as to the place of their future home, speaking with hope of
some Greek lands, and deprecating others.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus, under the direction of
    Hecuba as chorus leader, in true oriental fashion, bewails the
    downfall of Troy, and in particular the death of Priam and Hector.

_First episode._--Talthybius, the herald, enters and announces that the
lots have been drawn, and reveals to each captive her destined lord:
that Cassandra has fallen to Agamemnon, Andromache to Pyrrhus, Hecuba
to Ulysses. At news of this her fate, Hecuba is filled with fresh
lamentations, counting it an especial hardship that she should fall
to the arch-enemy of her race. The herald also darkly alludes to the
already accomplished fate of Polyxena,

    At the tomb raised to Achilles doomed to serve.

Hecuba does not as yet catch the import of these words.

Cassandra now enters, waving a torch, and celebrates in a mad refrain
her approaching union with Agamemnon. Hecuba remonstrates with her for
her unseemly joy; whereupon Cassandra declares that she rejoices in the
prospect of the vengeance upon Agamemnon which is to be wrought out
through this union. She contrasts the lot of the Greeks and Trojans
during the past ten years, and finds that the latter have been far
happier; and even in her fall, the woes of Troy are far less than
those that await the Greek chieftains. She then prophesies in detail
the trials that await Ulysses, and the dire result of her union with
Agamemnon:

                Thou shalt bear me
    A fury, an Erinys from this land.

Hecuba here falls in a faint, and, upon being revived, again recounts
her former high estate, sadly contrasts with that her present
condition, and shudders at the lot of the slave which awaits her:

              Then deem not of the great
    Now flourishing as happy, ere they die.

    _First episode._--Talthybius announces that the shade of Achilles
    has appeared with the demand that Polyxena be sacrificed upon the
    hero's tomb.

    Enter Pyrrhus and Agamemnon, the former demanding that his father's
    request be carried out, the latter resisting the demand as too
    barbarous to be entertained. It is finally agreed to leave the
    decision to Calchas. He is accordingly summoned, and at once
    declares that only by the death of the maiden can the Greeks be
    allowed to set sail for home. And not this alone, but Astyanax also
    must be sacrificed--hurled from the lofty Scaean tower of Troy.

_First choral interlude._--The chorus graphically describes the wooden
horse, its joyful reception by the Trojans into the city, their sense
of relief from danger, and their holiday spirit; and at last their
horrible awakening to death at the hands of the Greeks within the walls.

    _First choral interlude._--The chorus maintains that all perishes
    with the body; the soul goes out into nothingness:

      For when within the tomb we're laid,
      No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.
      Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast,
      This animating spirit soon has passed.

    The evident purpose of these considerations is to discount the
    story that Achilles' shade could have appeared with its demand for
    the death of Polyxena.

_Second episode._--The appearance of Andromache with Astyanax in her
arms, borne captive on a Grecian car, is a signal for general mourning.
She announces her own chief cause of woe:

    I, with my child, am led away, the spoil
    Of war; th' illustrious progeny of kings,
    Oh, fatal change, is sunk to slavery.

Her next announcement comes as a still heavier blow to Hecuba:

    Polyxena, thy daughter, is no more;
    Devoted to Achilles, on his tomb,
    An offering to the lifeless dead, she fell.

Andromache insists that Polyxena's fate is happier than her own; argues
that in death there is no sense of misery:

    Polyxena is dead, and of her ills
    Knows nothing;

while Andromache still lives to feel the keen contrast between her
former and her present lot.

Hecuba is so sunk in woe that she can make no protest, but advises
Andromache to forget the past and

                    honor thy present lord,
    And with thy gentle manners win his soul;

this with the hope that she may be the better able to rear up Astyanax
to establish once more some day the walls and power of Troy.

But the heaviest stroke is yet to fall. Talthybius now enters and
announces with much reluctance that Ulysses has prevailed upon the
Greeks to demand the death of Astyanax for the very reason that he may
grow up to renew the Trojan war. The lad is to be hurled from a still
standing tower of Troy. The herald warns Andromache that if she resist
this mandate she may be endangering the boy's funeral rites. She yields
to fate, passionately caressing the boy, who clings fearfully to her,
partly realizing his terrible situation. The emotional climax of the
play is reached, as she says to the clinging, frightened lad:

    Why dost thou clasp me with thy hands, why hold
    My robes, and shelter thee beneath my wings
    Like a young bird?

She bitterly upbraids the Greeks for their cruelty, and curses Helen as
the cause of all her woe, and then gives the boy up in an abandonment
of defiant grief:

    Here, take him, bear him, hurl him from the height,
    If ye must hurl him; feast upon his flesh:
    For from the gods hath ruin fall'n on us.

And now what more can happen? Surely the depth of misfortune has been
sounded. In the voice of Hecuba:

                            Is there an ill
    We have not? What is wanting to the woes
    Which all the dreadful band of ruin brings?

    _Second episode._--Andromache appears with Astyanax and recounts a
    vision of Hector which she has had, in which her dead husband has
    warned her to hide the boy away beyond the reach of threatening
    danger. After discussion with an old man as to the best place of
    concealment, she hides Astyanax in Hector's tomb which is in the
    near background.

    Enter Ulysses, who reluctantly announces that Calchas has warned
    the Greeks that they must not allow the son of Hector to grow to
    manhood; for if they do so, the reopening of the Trojan war will
    be only a matter of time, and the work will have to be done all
    over again. He therefore asks Andromache to give up the boy to
    him. Then ensues a war of wits between the desperate mother and
    the crafty Greek. She affects not to know where the boy is--he is
    lost. But if she knew, no power on earth should take him from her.
    Ulysses threatens death, which she welcomes; he threatens torture,
    which she scorns. She at last states that her son is "among the
    dead." Ulysses, taking these words at their face meaning, starts
    off gladly to tell the news to the Greeks, but suddenly reflects
    that he has no proof but the mother's word. He therefore begins to
    watch Andromache more narrowly, and discovers that her bearing is
    not that of one who has put her grief behind her, but of one who is
    still in suspense and fear. To test her, he suddenly calls to his
    attendants to hunt out the boy. Looking beyond her he cries: "Good!
    he's found! bring him to me." Whereat Andromache's agitation proves
    that the boy is indeed not dead but in hiding. Where is he hid?
    Ulysses forces her to choose between the living boy and the dead
    husband; for, unless her son is forthcoming, Hector's tomb will be
    invaded and his ashes scattered upon the sea. To her frantic prayer
    for mercy he says:

      Bring forth the boy--and pray.

    Follows a _canticum_, in which Andromache brings Astyanax out of
    the tomb and sets him in Ulysses' sight:

      Here, here's the terror of a thousand ships!

    and prays him to spare the child. Ulysses refuses, and, after
    allowing the mother time for a passionate and pathetic farewell to
    her son, he leads the boy away to his death.

_Second choral interlude._--The chorus first tells of the former fall
of Troy under Hercules and Telamon; and then refers to the high honors
that had come to the city through the translation of Ganymede to be the
cupbearer of Jove, and through the special grace of Venus. But these
have not availed to save the city from its present destruction.

    _Second choral interlude._--The chorus discusses the various places
    to which it may be its misfortune to be carried into captivity. It
    professes a willingness to go anywhere but to the homes of Helen,
    Agamemnon, and Ulysses.

_Third episode._--Menelaüs appears, announcing that the Greeks have
alotted to him Helen, his former wife, the cause of all this strife, to
do with as he will. He declares his intention to take her to Greece,
and there destroy her as a warning to faithless wives.

Hecuba applauds this decision, and thinks that at last heaven has sent
justice to the earth:

                                Dark thy ways
    And silent are thy steps to mortal man;
    Yet thou with justice all things dost ordain.

Helen, dragged forth from the tent at the command of Menelaüs, pleads
her cause. She lays the blame for all upon Hecuba and Priam:

                  She first, then, to these ills
    Gave birth, when she gave Paris birth; and next
    The agéd Priam ruined Troy and thee,
    The infant not destroying, at his birth
    Denounced a baleful firebrand.

Blame should also fall upon Venus, since through her influence Helen
came into the power of Paris.

Hecuba refutes the excuses of Helen. She scouts the idea that Venus
brought Paris to Sparta. The only Venus that had influenced Helen was
her own passion inflamed by the beauty of Paris:

    My son was with surpassing beauty graced;
    And thy fond passion, when he struck thy sight,
    Became a Venus.

As for the excuse that she was borne away by force, no Spartan was
aware of that, no cries were heard. Hecuba ends by urging Menelaüs to
carry out his threat. This, he repeats, it is his purpose to do.

    _Third episode._--Helen approaches the Trojan women, saying that
    she has been sent by the Greeks to deck Polyxena for marriage with
    Pyrrhus, this being a ruse to trick the girl into an unresisting
    preparation for her death. This news Polyxena, though mute,
    receives with horror.

    Andromache bitterly cries out upon Helen and her marriages as the
    cause of all their woe. But Helen puts the whole matter to this
    test:

                              Count this true,
      If 'twas a Spartan vessel brought me here.

    Under the pointed questions of Andromache she gives up deception,
    and frankly states the impending doom of Polyxena to be slaughtered
    on Achilles' tomb, and so to be that hero's spirit bride. At this
    the girl shows signs of joy, and eagerly submits herself to Helen's
    hands to be decked for the sacrificial rite.

    Hecuba cries out at this, and laments her almost utter
    childlessness; but Andromache envies the doomed girl her fate.

    Helen then informs the women that the lots have been drawn and
    their future lords determined; Andromache is to be given to
    Pyrrhus, Cassandra to Agamemnon, Hecuba to Ulysses.

    Pyrrhus now appears to conduct Polyxena to her death, and is
    bitterly scorned and cursed by Hecuba.

_Third choral interlude._--The chorus sadly recalls the sacred rites in
Troy and within the forests of Mount Ida, and grieves that these shall
be no more. They lament the untimely death of their warrior husbands,
whose bodies have not received proper burial rites, and whose souls
are wandering in the spirit-world, while they, the hapless wives, must
wander over sea to foreign homes. They pray that storms may come and
overwhelm the ships, and especially that Helen may not live to reach
the land again.

    _Third choral interlude._--The chorus enlarges upon the comfort of
    company to those in grief. Hitherto they have had this comfort; but
    now they are to be scattered, and each must suffer alone. And soon,
    as they sail away, they must take their last, sad view of Troy, now
    but a smouldering heap; and mother to child will say, as she points
    back to the shore:

      See, there's our Troy, where smoke curls high in air,
      And thick, dark clouds obscure the distant sky.

_Exode._--Enter Talthybius, with the dead body of Astyanax borne upon
the shield of Hector. He explains that Pyrrhus has hastened home,
summoned by news of insurrection in his own kingdom, and has taken
Andromache with him. He delivers Andromache's request to Hecuba that
she give the boy proper burial, and use the hollow shield as a casket
for the dead.

Hecuba and the chorus together weep over the shield, which recalls
Hector in his days of might, and over the poor, bruised body of the
dead boy, sadly contrasting his former beauty with this mangled form.
They then wrap it in such costly wrappings as their state allows, place
him upon the shield, and consign him to the tomb.

Talthybius then orders bands of men with torches to burn the remaining
buildings of Troy; and in the light of its glaring flames and with
the crashing sound of its falling walls in their ears, Hecuba and her
companions make their way to the waiting ships, while the messenger
urges on their lagging steps.

    _Exode._--The messenger relates with much detail to Hecuba,
    Andromache and the rest, the circumstances of the death of Astyanax
    and Polyxena: how crowds of Greeks and Trojans witnessed both
    tragedies, how both sides were moved to tears at the sad sight, and
    how both victims met their death as became their noble birth.

    Andromache bewails and denounces the cruel death of her son, and
    sadly asks that his body be given her for burial; but she is told
    that this is mangled past recognition.

    But Hecuba, having now drained her cup of sorrow to the dregs, has
    no more wild cries to utter; she almost calmly bids the Grecians
    now set sail, since nothing bars their way. She longs for death,
    complaining that it ever flees from her, though she has often been
    so near its grasp.

    The messenger interrupts, and bids them hasten to the shore and
    board the ships, which wait only their coming to set sail.


THE _AGAMEMNON_ OF AESCHYLUS, AND THE _AGAMEMNON_ OF SENECA

_Prologue._--A watchman, stationed upon the palace roof at Argos,
laments the tedium of his long and solitary task; and prays for the
time to come when, through the darkness of the night, he shall see the
distant flashing of the beacon fire, and by this sign know that Troy
has fallen and that Agamemnon is returning home. And suddenly he sees
the gleam for which so long he has been waiting. He springs up with
shouts of joy and hastens to tell the queen. At the same time he makes
dark reference to that which has been going on within the palace, and
which must now be hushed up.

    _Prologue._--The ghost of Thyestes coming from the lower regions
    recites the _motif_ of the play: how he had been most foully dealt
    with by Agamemnon's father, Atreus, and how he had been promised
    revenge by the oracle of Apollo through his son Aegisthus, begotten
    of an incestuous union with his daughter. The ghost announces that
    the time for his revenge is come with the return of Agamemnon from
    the Trojan war, and urges Aegisthus to perform his fated part.

_Parode, or chorus entry._--A chorus of twelve Argive elders sings of
the Trojan War, describing the omens with which the Greeks started on
their mission of vengeance. They dwell especially upon the hard fate
which forced Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter. And in this they
unconsciously voice one of the motives which led to the king's own
death.

    _Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus of Argive women complains
    of the uncertain condition of exalted fortune, and recommends the
    golden mean in preference to this.

_First episode._--Clytemnestra appears with a stately procession
of torch-bearers, having set the whole city in gala attire, with
sacrificial incense burning on all the altars. The chorus asks the
meaning of this. Has she had news from Troy? The queen replies that
this very night she has had news, and describes at length how the
signal fires had gleamed, and thus the news had leaped from height to
height, all the long way from Troy to Argos.

    And this sure proof and token now I tell thee,
    Seeing that my lord hath sent it me from Troy.

She expresses the hope that the victors in their joy will do nothing to
offend the gods and so prevent their safe return:

    May good prevail beyond all doubtful chance!
    For I have got the blessing of great joy.

With these words she covers up the real desires of her own false heart,
while at the same time voicing the principle on which doom was to
overtake the Greeks.

The chorus receives Clytemnestra's news with joy and prepares to sing
praises to the gods, as the queen with her train leaves the stage.

    _First episode._--Clytemnestra, conscious of guilt, and fearing
    that her returning husband will severely punish her on account of
    her adulterous life with Aegisthus, resolves to add crime to crime
    and murder Agamemnon as soon as he comes back to his home. She is
    further impelled to this action by his conduct in the matter of her
    daughter, Iphigenia, and by his own unfaithfulness to her during
    his long absence. Throughout this scene the nurse vainly tries to
    dissuade her.

    Clytemnestra is either influenced to recede from her purpose by
    the nurse, or else pretends to be resolved to draw back in order
    to test Aegisthus who now enters. In the end, the two conspirators
    withdraw to plan their intended crime.

_First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of Zeus, who has
signally disproved the skeptic's claim that

    The gods deign not to care for mortal men
    By whom the grace of things inviolable
    Is trampled under foot.

The shameful guilt of Paris is described, the woe of the wronged
Menelaüs, and the response of all Greece to his cry for vengeance. But,
after all, the chorus is in doubt as to whether the good news can be
true--when a herald enters with fresh news.

    _First choral interlude._--The chorus sings in praise of Apollo
    for the victory over Troy. To this are added the praises of Juno,
    Minerva, and Jove. In the end the chorus hails the approach of the
    herald Eurybates.

_Second episode._--The herald describes to the chorus the complete
downfall of Troy, which came as a punishment for the sin of Paris and
of the nation which upheld him in it. At the same time the sufferings
of the Greeks during the progress of the war are not forgotten.
Clytemnestra, entering, prompted by her own guilty conscience, bids
the herald tell Agamemnon to hasten home, and take to him her own
protestation of absolute faithfulness to him:

                      who has not broken
    One seal of his in all this length of time.

The herald, in response to further questions of the chorus, describes
the great storm which wrecked the Greek fleet upon their homeward
voyage.

    _Second episode._--Eurybates announces to Clytemnestra the return
    and approach of Agamemnon, and describes the terrible storm which
    overtook the Greeks upon their homeward voyage. At the command of
    the queen victims are prepared for sacrifice to the gods, and a
    banquet for the victorious Agamemnon. At last the captive Trojan
    women headed by Cassandra are seen approaching.

_Second choral interlude._--The chorus sings of Helen as the bane of
the Trojans:

    Dire cause of strife with bloodshed in her train.

And now

    The penalty of foul dishonor done
    To friendship's board and Zeus

has been paid by Troy, which is likened to a man who fosters a lion's
cub, which is harmless while still young, but when full grown "it shows
the nature of its sires," and brings destruction to the house that
sheltered it.

    _Second choral interlude._--A chorus of captive Trojan women sings
    the fate and fall of Troy; while Cassandra, seized with fits of
    prophetic fury, prophesies the doom that hangs over Agamemnon.

_Third episode._--Agamemnon is seen approaching in his chariot,
followed by his train of soldiers and captives. The chorus welcomes
him, but with a veiled hint that all is not well in Argos. Agamemnon
fittingly thanks the gods for his success and for his safe return, and
promises in due time to investigate affairs at home.

Clytemnestra, now entering, in a long speech of fulsome welcome,
describes the grief which she has endured for her lord's long absence
in the midst of perils, and protests her own absolute faithfulness
to him. She explains the absence of Orestes by saying that she has
intrusted him to Strophius, king of Phocis, to be cared for in the
midst of the troublous times. She concludes with the ambiguous prayer:

              Ah Zeus, work out for me
    All that I pray for; let it be thy care
    To look to that thou purposest to work.

Agamemnon, after briefly referring to Cassandra and bespeaking kindly
treatment for her, goes into the palace, accompanied by Clytemnestra.

    _Third episode._--Agamemnon comes upon the scene, and, meeting
    Cassandra, is warned by her of the fate that hangs over him; but
    she is not believed.

_Third choral interlude._--The chorus, though it sees with its own eyes
that all is well with Agamemnon, that he is returned in safety to his
own home, is filled with sad forebodings of some hovering evil which it
cannot dispel.

    _Third choral interlude._--Apropos of the fall of Troy, the chorus
    of Argive women sings the praises of Hercules whose arrows had been
    required by fate for the destruction of Troy.

_Exode._--Clytemnestra returns and bids Cassandra, who still remains
standing in her chariot, to join the other slaves in ministering at the
altar. But Cassandra stands motionless, paying no heed to the words of
the queen, who leaves the scene saying:

    I will not bear the shame of uttering more.

Cassandra now descends from her chariot and bursts into wild and
woeful lamentations. By her peculiar clairvoyant power she foresees
and declares to the chorus the death of Agamemnon at the hands of
Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, as well as the manner of it; she also
foretells the vengeance which Orestes is destined to work upon the
murderers. Her own fate is as clearly seen and announced, as she passes
through the door into the palace.

Soon the chorus hears the death cry of Agamemnon, that he is
"struck down with deadly stroke." They are faint-heartedly and with
a multiplicity of counsel discussing what it is best to do when
Clytemnestra, with blood-stained garments and followed by a guard of
soldiers, enters to them from the palace. The corpses of Agamemnon
and Cassandra are seen through the door within the palace. The queen
confesses, describes, and exults in the murder of her husband. The
chorus makes elaborate lamentation for Agamemnon, and prophesies that
vengeance will light on Clytemnestra. But she scorns their threatening
prophecies. In the end Aegisthus enters, avowing that he has plotted
this murder and has at last avenged his father, Thyestes, upon the
father of Agamemnon, Atreus, who had so foully wronged Thyestes. The
chorus curses him and reminds him that Orestes still lives and will
surely avenge his father.

    _Exode._--Cassandra, either standing where she can see within
    the palace, or else by clairvoyant power, reports the murder of
    Agamemnon, which is being done within.

    Electra urges Orestes to flee before his mother and Aegisthus shall
    murder him also. Very opportunely, Strophius comes in his chariot,
    just returning as victor from the Olympic games. Electra intrusts
    her brother to his care, and betakes her own self to the altar for
    protection.

    Electra, after defying and denouncing her mother and Aegisthus, is
    dragged away to prison and torture, and Cassandra is led out to her
    death.




INDEX




INDEX OF MYTHOLOGICAL SUBJECTS

[References are to the lines of the Latin text. If the passage is
longer than one line, only the first line is cited. Line citations to
passages of especial importance to the subject under discussion are
starred. A few historical characters from the _Octavia_ are included in
the Index. The names of the characters appearing in these tragedies are
printed in large capitals, with the name of the tragedy in which the
character occurs following in parentheses.]


ABSYRTUS, a son of Aeëtes, and brother of Medea. Medea, fleeing with
Jason from Colchis, slew her brother and scattered his mangled remains
behind her, in order to <DW44> her father's pursuit, _Med._ 121, 125,
*131, 452, 473, 911; his dismembered ghost appears to the distracted
Medea, _ibid._ 963.

ABYLA, see CALPE.

ACASTUS, son of Pelias, king of Thessaly. He demands Jason and Medea
from Creon, king of Corinth, for vengeance on account of the murder of
his father through the machinations of Medea, _Med._ 257, 415, 521, 526.

ACHELŌUS, the river-god of the river of the same name. He fought with
Hercules for the possession of Deianira, changing himself into various
forms, _H. Oet._ *299; defeated by Hercules, _ibid._ *495.

ACHERON, one of the rivers of hades, _Thy._ 17; described by Theseus,
_H. Fur._ 715.

ACHILLES, son of Peleus and Thetis, and one of the celebrated Greek
heroes in the Trojan War. He was connected by birth with heaven
(Jupiter), the sea (Thetis), and the lower world (Aeacus), _Tro._ 344;
educated by Chiron, the centaur, _ibid._ 832 hidden by his mother in
the court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, in the disguise of a girl's
garments, in order to keep him from the war, _ibid._ 213; while there,
became the father of Pyrrhus by Deïdamia, daughter of the king, _ibid._
342; his activities in the early period of the Trojan War, _ibid._
182; wounds and cures Telephus, _ibid._ *215; overthrows Lyrnessus and
Chrysa, taking captive Briseïs and Chryseïs, _ibid._ 220; effect of
his anger on account of the loss of Briseïs, _ibid._ 194 318; example
of the taming power of love, _Oct._ 814; slays Memnon and trembles at
his own victory, _Tro._ *239; slays Penthesilea, the Amazon, _ibid._
243; works dire havoc among Trojans in revenge for death of Patroclus,
_Agam._ 619; slays Hector and drags his dead body around walls of Troy,
_Tro._ 189; is slain by Paris, _ibid._ 347; his ghost appears to the
Greeks on the eve of their homeward voyage, and demands the sacrifice
of Polyxena upon his tomb, _ibid._ *170.

ACTAEON, a grandson of Cadmus, who accidentally saw Diana bathing in a
pool near Mt. Cithaeron. For this he was changed by the angry goddess
into a stag, and in this form was pursued and slain by his own dogs,
_Oed._ *751; _Phoen._, 14.

ACTE, the mistress of Nero who displaced Poppaea, _Oct._ 195.

ADMĒTUS, see ALCESTIS.

ADRASTUS, king of Argos. He received the fugitive Polynices at his
court, gave him his daughter in marriage, and headed the expedition of
the Seven against Thebes, in order to reinstate his son-in-law upon the
throne, _Phoen._ 374.

AEACUS, son of Jupiter and Europa, father of Peleus; on account of his
just government on earth he was made one of the judges of spirits in
hades, _H. Oet._ 1558; _H. Fur._ 734. See under JUDGES IN HADES.

AEĒTES, king of Colchis, son of Phoebus and Persa, and father of Medea,
_Med._ 210; grandeur, extent, and situation of kingdom described,
_ibid._ 209; wealth of his kingdom, _ibid._ 483; had received a
wonderful gold-wrought robe from Phoebus as proof of fatherhood; this
Medea anoints with magic poison, and sends to Creüsa, _ibid._ 570; he
was despoiled of his realm through the theft of the golden fleece,
_ibid._ 913.

AEGEUS, see THESEUS.

AEGISTHUS (_Agamemnon_), son of an incestuous union between Thyestes
and his daughter. His birth was the result of Apollo's advice to
Thyestes, that only thus could he secure vengeance upon the house of
Atreus, _Agam._ 48, 294; at opening of play he recognizes that the
fatal day is come for which he was born, _ibid._ 226; lived in guilty
union with Clytemnestra, wife of Agamemnon, _ibid. passim._

AEGOCEROS, a poetic expression for the more usual _Capricornus_, the
zodiacal constellation of the Goat, _Thy._ 864.

AEGYPTUS, see DANAÏDES.

AESCULAPIUS, son of Apollo and the nymph Coronis; he was versed in
the knowledge of medicine, was deified, and had the chief seat of his
worship at Epidaurus, _Hip._ 1022.

AETNA, a volcano in Sicily, _Phoen._ 314; its fires were used as a
type of raging heat, _Hip._ 102; _H. Oet._ 285; considered as the seat
of the forge of Vulcan, _H. Fur._ 106; supposed to be heaped upon the
buried Titan's breast, _Med._ 410.

AGAMEMNON (_Troades_, _Agamemnon_), king of Mycenae, son of Atreus,
brother of Menelaüs, commander of the Greek forces at Troy. He and
Menelaüs used by Atreus to entrap Thyestes, _Thy._ 325; tamed by the
power of love, _Oct._ 815; took captive Chryseïs, daughter of the
priest of Apollo, _Agam._ 175; compelled to give her up, he took from
Achilles by force his maiden Briseïs, _ibid._ 186; attempts to dissuade
Pyrrhus from the sacrifice of Polyxena to Achilles' ghost, _Tro._ *203;
inflamed by love for Cassandra, _Agam._ 188, 255; his power magnified
as the great king who has come unscathed out of a thousand perils,
_ibid._ 204; his homeward voyage and wreck of his fleet described,
_ibid._ *421; returns to Mycenae and hails his native land, _ibid._
782; his murder described by Cassandra who either beholds it through
the palace door, or sees it by clairvoyant power, _ibid._ *867. See
CASSANDRA, CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENIA, PYRRHUS.

AGĀVE, a daughter of Cadmus and Harmonia, mother of Pentheus, king
of Thebes. She, with her sisters, in a fit of Bacchic frenzy, slew
Pentheus on Mt. Cithaeron, rent away his head, and bore it back to
Thebes, _Oed._ 1006; _Phoen._ 15, 363; her shade appears from hades,
raging still, _Oed._ 616. See PENTHEUS.

AGRIPPINA I, daughter of M. Vipsanius Agrippa and Julia, the daughter
of Augustus, mother of the emperor Caligula. She died in exile at
Pandataria, _Oct._ *932.

AGRIPPINA II (_Octavia_), daughter of the preceding, wife of Cn.
Domitius Ahenobarbus, and mother of Nero. She married the emperor
Claudius, whom she murdered by poison, _Oct._ 26, 45, 165, 340; she
was the stepmother of Octavia, and the cause of all her woes, _ibid._
22; plotted the murder of Silanus, the betrothed lover of Octavia, and
forced the latter into marriage with Nero, _ibid._ 150; she sought in
all this her own power and world-wide sway, _ibid._ 155, 612; murdered
by her own son, Nero, _ibid._ 46, 95, 165; her murder briefly
described and attributed to Poppaea's influence, _ibid._ 126; described
in full detail, _ibid._ *310, *600; former high estate and pitiable
death contrasted, _ibid._ 952; her ghost appears to curse Nero for his
impieties, _ibid._ *593.

AJAX, son of Oïleus, called simply Oïleus; his death described, _Med._
660; for his blasphemous defiance of the gods he was destroyed by
Pallas and Neptune in the great storm which wrecked the Greek fleet on
its homeward voyage, _Agam._ *532.

AJAX, son of Telamon, crazed with rage because the armor of the dead
Achilles was awarded to Ulysses, _Agam._ 210.

ALCESTIS, wife of Admetus, king of Pherae, for the preservation of
whose life she resigned her own, _Med._ 662.

ALCĪDES, see HERCULES.

ALCMĒNA (_Hercules Oetaeus_), wife of Amphitryon, a Theban prince,
beloved of Jupiter, and mother by him of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 22, 490.
See HERCULES.

ALCYONE, see CEYX.

ALTHAEA, wife of Oeneus, king of Calydonia, and mother of Meleager. In
revenge for the latter's slaughter of her two brothers, she burned the
charmed billet of wood on which her son's life depended, and so brought
to pass his death, _Med._ 779; on this account considered as a type of
unnatural woman, _H. Oet._ 954.

AMALTHĒA, the goat of Olenus which fed with its milk the infant Jove,
and was set as constellation in the sky; not yet known as such in the
golden age, _Med._ 313. See OLENUS.

AMAZONS, a race of warlike women who dwelt on the river Thermodon,
_Med._ 215; even they have felt the influence of love, _Hip._ 575;
conquered by Bacchus, _Oed._ 479; Clytemnestra compared to them,
_Agam._ 736; allies of Troy, _Tro._ 12; their queen, Penthesilea, slain
by Achilles, _ibid._ 243; Hercules laments that if he was fated to die
by a woman's hand he had not been slain by the Amazon, Hippolyte, _H.
Oet._ 1183. See ANTIOPE, PENTHESILEA, HIPPOLYTE.

AMPHĪON, son of Antiope by Jupiter, king of Thebes, and husband of
Niobe; renowned for his music; built the walls of Thebes by the magic
of his lyre, _Phoen._ 566; _H. Fur._ 262; his hounds are heard baying
at the time of the great plague at Thebes, _Oed._ 179; his shade arises
from hades holding still in his hand the wonderful lyre, _ibid._ 612.

AMPHITRYON (_Hercules Furens_), a Theban prince, husband of Alcmena,
the mother of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 309; he proves that not he but
Jupiter is the father of Hercules, _ibid._ 440; welcomes Hercules upon
his return from hades, _ibid._ 618.

ANCAEUS, an Arcadian hero, one of the Argonauts, slain by the
Calydonian boar, _Med._ 643.

ANDROMACHE (_Troades_), wife of Hector and mother of Astyanax; attempts
to hide and save her son from Ulysses, _Tro._ *430; given by lot to
Pyrrhus, _ibid._ 976. See ASTYANAX.

ANTAEUS, a Libyan giant, son of Neptune and Terra, a famous wrestler,
who gained new strength by being thrown to mother earth; strangled by
Hercules, who held him aloft in the air, _H. Fur._ 482, 1171; _H. Oet._
24, 1899; Alcmena fears that a possible son of his may come to vex the
earth, _H. Oet._ 1788. See HERCULES.

ANTIGONE (_Phoenissae_), the daughter of Oedipus and Jocasta; she
refuses to desert her father in his blindness and exile, _Phoen._ 51;
Oedipus wonders that such a pure girl should have sprung from so vile a
house, _ibid._ 80; she argues her father's innocence, _ibid._ 203.

ANTIOPE, an Amazon, wife of Theseus and slain by him, _Hip._ 226,
927, 1167; mother of Hippolytus by Theseus, _ibid._ 398; her personal
appearance and dress described, _ibid._ *398; her stern and lofty
beauty inherited by Hippolytus, _ibid._ 659.

ANTONIUS (Marc Antony), a great Roman general, defeated by Octavianus
at the battle of Actium; fled with Cleopatra to Egypt, _Oct._ 518.

APOLLO, son of Jupiter and Latona, born in Delos, a "roving land," _H.
Fur._ 453; twin brother of Diana, _Med._ 87; the laurel his sacred
tree, _Agam._ 588; god of the prophetic tripod, _Med._ 86; inspirer
of priestess at his oracle, _Oed._ 269; god of the bow, is himself
pierced by the arrows of Cupid, _Hip._ 192; killed the dragon Python,
_H. Fur._ 455; exiled from heaven and doomed to serve a mortal for
killing the Cyclopes, he came to earth and kept the flocks of Admetus,
king of Pherae, _ibid._ 451; _Hip._ 296; hymn in praise of, _Agam._
310; worshiped as the sun, lord of the sky, under the name of Phoebus
Apollo. See PHOEBUS.

AQUARIUS, the zodiacal constellation, known as the Water-bearer, _Thy._
865.

ARABES, the inhabitants of Arabia, famed for their spice groves, _Oed._
117; sun-worshipers, _H. Oet._ 793; use poisoned darts, _Med._ 711.

ARCTOPHYLAX, the Bear-keeper, a northern constellation, called also
Boötes, according as the two adjacent constellations are called
the Bears (_Arctos_, _Ursae_), or the Wagons (_Plaustra_). By a
strange mixture of the two conceptions, this constellation is called
_Arctophylax_ and _custos plaustri_ ("the wagon's guardian") in the
same connection, _Thy._ 874. See BOÖTES.

ARCADIANS, the most ancient race of men, older than the moon, _H. Oet._
1883; _Hip._ 786.

ARCADIAN BEARS, the constellations of the Great and Little Bears, which
wheel round their course in the northern sky, but do not set, _H. Fur._
129. See ARCTOS, BEARS, and CALLISTO.

ARCADIAN BOAR, captured by Hercules and brought alive to Eurystheus
as his fourth labor, _Agam._ 832; _H. Fur._ 229; _H. Oet._ 1536. See
HERCULES.

ARCADIAN STAG, captured by Hercules, _H. Fur._ 222. See HERCULES.

ARCTOS, a name given to the double constellation of the Great and
Little Bears, _Oed._ 507; called also Arcadian stars, _ibid._ 478. See
BEARS and CALLISTO.

ARGO, the name of the ship in which the Greek heroes under Jason sailed
to Colchis in quest of the golden fleece, _Med._ 361; chorus comments
upon the rashness of the man who first intrusted his life to a ship,
and recalls the adventure of the Argonautic heroes, _ibid._ *301; this
voyage was impious, since it broke the law of the golden age, that
the lands should be severed, not connected by the seas, _ibid._ 335;
Tiphys was the builder and the pilot of the Argo, _ibid._ 3, 318; he
was instructed by Minerva, patron goddess of the arts and crafts,
_ibid._ 3, 365; the Argo had its keel made of wood from the talking oak
of Dodona, _ibid._ 349; the sailing of the new ship described, _ibid._
*318; how it escaped the Symplegades, _ibid._ *341; the roll of the
Argonautic heroes, "the bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the
gods," _ibid._ *227; nearly all came to a violent death, _ibid._ *607.

ARGOS, the capital of Argolis, sacred to Juno, the home of heroes,
_Agam._ 808; paid homage to Bacchus, after the favor of Juno had been
won by him, _Oed._ 486.

ARIADNE, daughter of Minos, king of Crete; she fell in love with
Theseus, and supplied him with a thread by which to find his way out
of the labyrinth, _Hip._ 662; she fled with Theseus, but was ruined
and deserted by him on the island of Naxos, _ibid._ 665; and there
found and beloved by Bacchus, _Oed._ 448; who made her his wife and
immortalized her by setting her as a constellation in the heavens,
_ibid._ 497; _H. Fur._ 18; _Hip._ 663; pardoned by her father for her
love of Theseus, _ibid._ 245.

ARIES, the golden-fleeced ram which bore Phrixus and Helle through the
air, and which was afterward set in the heavens as one of the zodiacal
constellations, _Thy._ 850.

ASTRAEA, the goddess of Justice, who lived among men during the golden
age, but finally left the earth because of the sins of man, _Oct_.
424; she is the zodiacal constellation, Virgo, _H. Oet._ 69; called,
incorrectly and perhaps figuratively, the mother of Somnus, _H. Fur._
1068. See JUSTICE.

ASTYANAX (_Troades_), the young son of Hector and Andromache, pictured
as leading his youthful playmates in joyful dance around the wooden
horse, _Agam._ 634; compared with his father, Tro. 464; his death
demanded by the Greeks, as announced by Calchas, _ibid._ 369; reasons
for his death from the standpoint of the Greeks, _ibid._ 526; the doom
of Astyanax announced to his mother, _ibid._ 620; she pathetically
recounts all the activities into which he would have grown, but which
must now be given up, _ibid._ *770; his death described by messenger,
_ibid._ *1068.

ATLANTIADES, see PLEIADES.

ATLAS, a high mountain in the north-west of Libya, conceived as a giant
upon whose head the heavens rested, _H. Oet._ 12, 1599; eased awhile of
his burden by Hercules, _ibid._ 1905.

ATREUS (_Thyestes_), a son of Pelops, father of Agamemnon and Menelaüs,
and brother of Thyestes, between whom and himself existed a deadly
feud. He plans how he will avenge himself upon his brother, _Thy._ 176;
describes his brother's sins against himself, _ibid._ 220; his revenge
takes shape and expression, _ibid._ 260; the place and scene of his
murder of the sons of Thyestes described at length, _ibid._ *650; he
gloats over the horrible agony of his brother, _ibid._ 1057.

ATTIS, a young Phrygian shepherd, mourned by the priests of Cybele,
_Agam._ 686.

AUGE, an Arcadian maiden, loved by Hercules, and mother by him of
Telephus, _H. Oet._ 367.

AUGĒAN STABLES, the stables of Augeas, king of Elis, containing three
thousand head of cattle, and uncleansed for thirty years; they were
cleaned by Hercules in a single day, _H. Fur._ 247.

AUGUSTUS, the first emperor of Rome; his rule cited by Seneca to Nero
as a model of strong but merciful sway, _Oct._ *477; his bloody path to
power described by Nero, _ibid._ *505; deified at death, _ibid._ 528.

AULIS, a seaport of Boeotia, the rendezvous of the Greek fleet, whence
they sailed to Troy. Here they were stayed by adverse winds until they
were appeased by the sacrifice of Iphigenia, _Agam._ 567; Tro. 164; the
hostility of Aulis to all ships because her king, Tiphys, had met death
on the Argonautic expedition, assigned as a reason for her detention of
the Greek fleet, _Med._ 622. See IPHIGENIA.


B

BACCHUS, son of Jupiter and Semele, the daughter of Cadmus. The unborn
infant was saved from his dying mother who had been blasted by the
lightnings of her lover, _Oed._ 502; _Med._ 84; _H. Fur._ 457; to
escape the wrath of Juno, he was hid in Arabian (or Indian) Nysa,
where, disguised as a girl, he was nourished by the nymphs, _Oed._
418; in childhood captured by Tyrian pirates, who, frightened by
marvelous manifestations of divine power on board their ship, leaped
overboard and were changed into dolphins, _ibid._ *449; visited
India, accompanied by Theban heroes, _ibid._ *113; _H. Fur._ 903;
visited Lydia and sailed on the Pactolus, _Oed._ 467; conquered the
Amazons and many other savage peoples, _ibid._ 469; god of the flowing
locks, crowned with ivy, carrying the thyrsus, _ibid._ 403; _H. Fur._
472; _Hip._ *753; marvelous powers of the thyrsus described, _Oed._
*491; attended by his foster father Silenus, _ibid._ 429; called
Bassareus, _Oed._ 432; Bromius, _Hip._ 760; Ogygian Iacchus, _Oed._
437; Nyctelius, _ibid._ 492; destroyed Lycurgus, king of Thrace,
because of that king's opposition to him, _H. Fur._ 903; inspired his
maddened worshipers, the women of Thebes, to rend Pentheus in pieces,
_Oed._ 441, 483; helped Jupiter in war against the giants, _H. Fur._
458; found Ariadne on island of Naxos, where she had been deserted
by Theseus, made her his wife, and set her as a constellation in the
heavens, _Oed._ 488, 497; _Hip._ 760; _H. Fur._ 18; dithyrambic chorus
in his praise, giving numerous incidents in his career, _Oed._ **403;
won the favor of Juno and the homage of her city of Argos, _ibid._
486; gained a place in heaven, _H. Oet._ 94. See ARIADNE, BASSARIDES,
BROMIUS, NYCTELIUS, OGYGES, PENTHEUS, PROETIDES, SEMELE, SILENUS.

BASSARIDES, female worshipers of Bacchus, so called because they were
clad in fox skins, _Oed._ 432. Hence Bacchus was called _Bassareus_.

BEARS, the northern constellations of the Great and Little Bears;
they were forbidden by the jealous Juno to bathe in the ocean (an
explanation of the fact that these constellations never set), _H. Oet._
281, 1585; _Thy._ 477; _Med._ 405; have plunged into the sea under
the influence of magic, _ibid._ 758; shall some day, by a reversal of
nature's laws, plunge beneath the sea, _Thy._ 867; the Great Bear used
for steering ships by the Greeks, the Little Bear by the Phoenicians,
_Med._ 694. See ARCADIAN BEARS, ARCTOS, CALLISTO.

BELIAS, one of the Belides, or grand-daughters of Belus, the same as
the Danaïdes, since Danaüs was the son of Belus, _H. Oet._ 960.

BELLONA, the bloody goddess of war, conceived of as dwelling in hell,
_H. Oet._ 1312; haunts the palace of kings, _Agam._ 82.

BOEOTIA, land named from the heifer which guided Cadmus to the place
where he should found his city, _Oed._ 722.

BOŌTES, the northern constellation of the Wagoner, driving his wagons,
under which form also the two Bears are conceived, _Oct._ 233; _Agam._
70; unable to set beneath the sea, _ibid._ 69; not yet known as a
constellation in the golden age, _Med._ 315.

BRIAREUS, one of the giants pictured as storming heaven, _H. Oet._ 167.

BRISĒIS, a captive maiden, beloved by her captor, Achilles, from whom
she was taken by Agamemnon, _Tro._ 194, 220, 318.

_Britannicus_, son of the emperor Claudius and Messalina, brother
of Octavia, and stepbrother of Nero, by whom, at the instigation of
Agrippina, the mother of Nero, he was murdered, in order that Nero
might have undisputed succession to the throne, _Oct._ 47, 67, *166,
242, 269.

BROMIUS (the "noisy one"), an epithet of Bacchus, on account of the
noisy celebration of his festivals, _Hip._ 760.

BRUTUS, the friend of Julius Caesar, and yet the leader of the
conspirators against him, _Oct._ 498.

BUSĪRIS, a king of Egypt who sacrificed strangers upon his altars, and
was himself slain by Hercules, _Tro._ 1106, _H. Fur._ 483; _H. Oet._
26; Alcmena fears that a possible son of his may come to vex the earth
now that Hercules is dead, _ibid._ 1787.


C

CADMEÏDES, daughters of Cadmus, e. g., Agave, Autonoë, Ino, who in
their madness tore Pentheus in pieces, _H. Fur._ 758.

CADMUS, son of Agenor, the king of Phoenicia. Being sent by his father
to find his lost sister, Europa, with the command not to return unless
successful, he wandered over the earth in vain, and at last founded a
land of his own (Boeotia), guided thither by a heifer sent by Apollo.
Here he kills the great serpent sacred to Mars, sows its teeth in the
earth from which armed men spring up, _Oed._ **712; _H. Fur._ 917;
_Phoen._ 125; he was at last himself changed to a serpent, _H. Fur._
392; his house was cursed, so that no king of Thebes from Cadmus on
held the throne in peace and happiness, _Phoen._ 644.

CAESAR, Julius, quoted as a mighty general, unconquered in war, but
slain by the hands of citizens, _Oct._ 500.

CALCHAS (_Troades_), a distinguished seer among the Greeks before Troy;
his prophetic power described, _Tro._ *353; he decides that Polyxena
must be sacrificed, _ibid._ 360.

CALLISTO, a nymph of Arcadia, beloved of Jove, changed into a bear by
Juno, and set in the heavens by her lover as the constellation of the
Great Bear, while her son Arcas was made the Little Bear, _H. Fur._ 6;
is the constellation by which the Greek sailors guided their ships,
_ibid._ 7; called the frozen Bear, _ibid._ 1139. See JUPITER, ARCTOS,
BEARS.

CALPE, one side of a rocky passage rent by Hercules, thus letting the
Mediterranean Sea into the outer ocean. Calpe was one of the so-called
"pillars of Hercules," or Gibraltar, while the opposite mass in Africa
from which it was rent was called Abyla, _H. Fur._ 237; _H. Oet._ 1240,
1253, 1569.

CANCER, the zodiacal constellation of the Crab, in which the sun is
found in the summer solstice, _Thy._ 854; _Hip._ 287; _H. Oet._ 41, 67,
1219, 1573.

CAPHEREUS, a cliff on the coast of Euboea, where Nauplius lured the
Greek fleet to destruction by displaying false fires, _Agam._ 560. See
NAUPLIUS.

CAPNOMANTĪA, a method of divining by observation of the smoke of the
sacrifice, described, _Oed._ *325.

CASSANDRA (_Agamemnon_), beloved by Apollo, but false to him; for
this, the gift of prophecy bestowed by him was made of no avail by
his decree that she should never be believed, _Tro._ 34; _Agam._ 255,
588; given by lot to Agamemnon in the distribution of the captives,
_Tro._ 978; raves in prophetic frenzy and describes the murder of
Agamemnon in progress, _Agam._ *720; is led away to death, rejoicing in
the prospect, and predicting the death of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus,
_ibid._ 1004.

CASTOR, one of the twin sons of Jupiter and Leda, wife of Tyndarus,
king of Sparta; his brother was Pollux, _Phoen._ 128; Castor was the
rider of the famous horse, Cyllarus, given to him by Juno, _Hip._ 810;
the twins were members of the Argonautic expedition, _Med._ 230; called
Tyndaridae, from the name of their reputed father, _H. Fur._ 14; Castor
a famous horseman, Pollux, a famous boxer, _Med._ 89; the two were set
as constellations in the sky to the grief of Juno, _Oct._ 208.

CAUCASUS, a rough mountain range between the Black and Caspian Seas,
_Thy._ 1048; here Prometheus was chained, _H. Oet._ 1378; _Med._ 709.
See PROMETHEUS.

CECROPS, the mythical founder and first king of Athens; hence the
Athenians were called Cecropians, _Med._ 76; _Thy._ 1049.

CENAEUM, a promontory on the north-west point of the island of Euboea;
here Hercules sacrificed to Jove, who was called Cenaean Jove from
the position of his temple, after his victory over Eurytus, _H. Oet._
102; while sacrificing here, Hercules donned the poisoned robe sent by
Deianira, _ibid._ 782.

CENTAURS, a race of wild people in Thessaly, half man, half horse, _H.
Oet._ 1049, 1195, 1925; fight of, with the Lapithae, _H. Fur._ 778; the
centaur, Nessus, killed by Hercules, _H. Oet._ *503 See CHIRON, NESSUS.

CERBERUS, the monstrous three-headed dog, guardian of hades, _Thy._ 16;
_H. Oet._ 23; _H. Fur._ 1107; his existence denied, _Tro._ 404; said
to have broken out of hades, and to be wandering abroad in the Theban
land, _Oed._ 171; his clanking chains heard on earth, _ibid._ 581;
Hercules, in the accomplishment of his twelfth labor, brought the dog
in chains to the upper world, _H. Oet._ 1245; _Agam._ 859; _H. Fur._
*50, 547; Theseus describes the dog in great detail, and how he was
brought to the upper world by Hercules, _ibid._ *760; his actions in
the light of day, _ibid._ *813. See HERCULES.

CERES, the daughter of Saturn, sister of Jupiter, mother of Proserpina,
and goddess of agriculture; her vain and anxious search for her
daughter, _H. Fur._ 659; taught Triptolemus the science of agriculture,
_Hip._ 838; the mystic rites of her worship, _H. Fur._ 845. Her name
used frequently by metonymy for grain. See ELEUSIN, PROSERPINA,
TRIPTOLEMUS.

CEYX, king of Trachin who suffered death by shipwreck. His wife
Alcyone, mourned him incessantly, until finally both he and she were
changed into kingfishers, _H. Oet._ 197; _Agam._ 681; _Oct._ 7.

CHAONIAN OAKS, a sacred grove in Chaonia of Epirus containing a temple
and oracle of Jupiter, said to be the oldest oracle in Greece; the
oracle was supposed to be given out by the oaks themselves, which were
endowed with the miraculous power of speech, or by the doves which
resorted there. These great "Chaonian trees" are used as a type of tall
trees in general, _Oed._ 728; the "talking oak" of Chaonia, _H. Oet._
1623. See DODONA.

CHARON, the aged man who ferries souls across the river Styx, _H. Fur._
555; his personal appearance described by Theseus, _ibid._ *764; forced
by Hercules to bear him across the Lethe (not Styx), _ibid._ *770;
overwearied by his toil of transporting such throngs of Theban dead,
_Oed._ 166; charmed by the music of Orpheus, _H. Oet._ 1072; Cassandra
prophesies that his skiff shall on that day carry two royal souls
across the river of death, _Agam._ 752.

CHARYBDIS, a whirlpool between Italy and Sicily, opposite to Scylla,
alternately sucking in and vomiting up the sea, _Med._ 408; _H. Oet_.
235; _Thy._ 581. See SCYLLA.

CHIMAERA, a monster combining a lion, a dragon, and a goat, which
vomited forth fire, _Med._ 828.

CHIRON, a centaur dwelling in a cavern on Mt. Pelion, famous for his
knowledge of plants, medicine, and divination. To his training was
intrusted the young Jason, Hercules, Aesculapius, and Achilles, _H.
Fur._ 971; _Tro._ 832; set in the sky as the zodiacal constellation of
Sagittarius, the "Archer," _Thy._ 860.

CHRYSĒIS, the daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo at Chrysa. She
was taken captive by the Greeks and fell to the lot of Agamemnon, who,
being forced by a pestilence sent by Apollo to give her up, claimed
Briseïs, the captive maid of Achilles. Hence arose a deadly strife
between the two, _Tro._ 223. See ACHILLES.

CIRRHA, a very ancient town in Phocis, near Delphi, where were the
famous temple and oracle of Apollo, _Oed._ 269; _H. Oet._ 92, 1475.

CITHAERON, a mountain near Thebes where the infant Oedipus had been
exposed, _Phoen._ 13; the scene of many wild and tragic deeds. See
ACTAEON, AGAVE, DIRCE, PENTHEUS.

CLAUDIUS, the fourth Roman emperor, father of Octavia, murdered by his
second wife, Agrippina, _Oct._ 26, 45, 269.

CLOTHO, one of the three fates or Parcae, supposed to hold the distaff
and spin the thread of life, _H. Oet._ 768; _Oct._ 16; _Thy._ 617.

CLYTEMNESTRA (_Agamemnon_), the daughter of Tyndarus and Leda, wife
of Agamemnon, mother of Orestes, Iphigenia, and Electra. During the
absence of her husband at the Trojan War, she engaged in a guilty
conspiracy with Aegisthus to murder Agamemnon. She deliberates whether
she shall give up her course of crime or carry it out to the end,
_Agam._ 108; tests the courage and determination of Aegisthus _ibid._
239; her murder of Agamemnon prophesied and described by Cassandra,
_ibid._ *734. See AGAMEMNON and AEGISTHUS.

COCȲTUS, "the river of lamentation," a gloomy, repulsive river of
hades, _H. Oet._ 1963; "sluggish, vile," _H. Fur._ 686; conceived as
the river over which spirits cross to the land of the dead, _ibid._ 870.

COLCHIAN BULL, the fire-breathing monster which Jason was set to tame
and yoke to the plow; Medea claims to have preserved some of his fiery
breath for her magic uses, _Med._ 829.

COLCHIAN WOMAN, See MEDEA.

CREON (_Medea_), king of Corinth, to whose court Jason and Medea fled
after they were driven out of Thessaly; father of Creüsa, for whom
he selected Jason as a husband, decreeing the banishment of Medea;
headstrong and arbitrary, he breaks the most sacred ties to work his
own will, _Med._ 143; after a stormy interview with Medea, he finally
allows her a single day of respite from exile, _ibid._ *190; called the
son of Sisyphus, _ibid._ 512; his death and that of his daughter by
means of magic fire announced and described, _ibid._ *879.

CREON (_Oedipus_), a Theban prince, brother of Queen Jocasta, _Oed._
210; sent by Oedipus to consult the oracle as to the cause of the
plague at Thebes, he reports that it is because of the unavenged murder
of their former king, Laïus, _ibid._ *210; he returns from necromantic
rites which Tiresias had performed, and announces that Oedipus himself
is guilty of the murder of Laïus. He is thereupon thrown into prison by
Oedipus on the charge of conspiracy with Tiresias, _ibid._ *509; slain
by the usurper, Lycus, as described by his daughter, Megara, who had
been given as wife to Hercules, _H. Fur._ 254.

CRETAN BULL, a wild bull of prodigious size, which laid waste the
island of Crete; caught and taken alive to Eurystheus by Hercules as
his seventh labor, _H. Fur._ 230; _Agam._ 833; See HERCULES.

CREŪSA (_Medea_), daughter of Creon, king of Corinth, for whom Creon
chose Jason as husband, _Med._ 105; Jason's wife, Medea, bitterly
protests that Creüsa shall not bear brothers to her children, _ibid._
509; Jason is charged by his wife with love for Creüsa, _ibid._ 495;
Medea prepares a magic robe as a present for Creüsa by which she
shall be burned to death, _ibid._ *816; Creüsa's death announced and
described, _ibid._ 879.

CRISPĪNUS, a Roman knight, the husband of Poppaea, _Oct._ 731.

CUPID, the god of love, son of Venus; addressed and characterized by
Deianira, _H. Oet._ *541; all powerful over the hearts of gods and men,
_Hip._ *185; hymn recounting his wide sway, with special instances of
his irresistible power, _ibid._ **275; his dire power, _Oct._ 806;
there is no such god; he is created by the error of men, who seek to
hide their own lustful passions behind such a being, _ibid._ **557;
_Hip._ **275.

CYBELE, a goddess worshiped in the Phrygian groves, _Hip._ 1135; the
pines of Ida were sacred to her, _Tro._ 72; crowned with a turreted
crown, her worship described, _Agam._ 686.

CYCLOPES, a fabulous race of giants on the coast of Sicily, having each
but one eye in the middle of the forehead; they are said to have built
the walls of Mycenae, _H. Fur._ 997; _Thy._ 407; Polyphemus, one of the
Cyclopes, is pictured as sitting on a crag of Mt. Aetna, _ibid._ 582.

CYCNUS, a son of Mars, slain by Hercules, _H. Fur._ 485.

CYCNUS, a son of Neptune, slain by Achilles and changed at the moment
of death into a swan, _Agam._ 215; _Tro._ 184.

CYLLARUS, a famous horse which Juno received from Neptune and presented
to Castor, _Hip._ 811.

CYNOSŪRA, the constellation of the Lesser Bear, _Thy._ 872.


D

DAEDALUS, an Athenian architect, the father of Icarus, in the time of
Theseus and Minos. He helped Pasiphaë, wife of Minos, to accomplish her
unnatural desires, _Hip._ 120; built the labyrinth for the Minotaur,
_ibid._ 122, 1171; story of his escape from Crete on wings which he
himself had constructed _Oed._ *822; safe because he pursued a middle
course, _H. Oet._ 683.

DANAË, daughter of Acrisius, and mother of Perseus by Jupiter who
approached her in the form of a golden shower, _Oct._ 207, 772. See
PERSEUS.

DANAÏDES, the fifty daughters of Danaüs, brother of Aegyptus. These
fifty daughters, being forced to marry the fifty sons of Aegyptus,
slew their husbands on their wedding night, with the single exception
of Hypermnestra, _H. Fur._ 498; their punishment in hades for this
crime was the task of filling a bottomless cistern with water carried
in sieves, _ibid._ 757; Medea summons these to her aid in getting
vengeance upon her own husband, _Med._ 749; Deianira would fill up the
vacant place in their number left by the absence of Hypermnestra, _H.
Oet._ 948; called also Belides, _ibid._ 960. See BELIAS, HYPERMNESTRA.

DARDANUS, the son of Jupiter and Electra, one of the ancestors of the
royal house of Troy. He is represented as exulting in hades over the
impending doom of Agamemnon, the enemy of his house, _Agam._ 773.

DAULIAN BIRD, i. e., Philomela, who was changed into a nightingale
after the sad tragedy connected with her name, which was enacted at
Daulis, a city of Phocis. She mourns continually, in her bird form, for
Itys, _H. Oet._ 192. See PHILOMELA and ITYS.

DEIANĪRA (_Hercules Oetaeus_), the daughter of Oeneus, king of
Calydonia, sister of Meleager, wife of Hercules, and mother of Hyllus,
pictured as playing with her maidens on the banks of the Acheloüs, _H.
Oet._ 586; relates to her nurse the affair of her abduction by Nessus,
_ibid._ *500; her wild rage when she hears of Hercules' infatuation for
Iole, _ibid._ 237; ignorant of its real power, she prepares to send the
charmed robe to Hercules, _ibid._ *535; she gives it to Lichas to bear
to his master, _ibid._ 569; makes test of the remnant of the poisoned
blood of Nessus after the anointed robe has been sent away and is
horrified to discover its terrible power, _ibid._ *716; later learns
from Hyllus the terrible effects of the poison on Hercules, _ibid._
*742; she prays for death, _ibid._ 842; begs Hyllus to slay her,
_ibid._ 984; goes distracted and seems to see the furies approaching,
_ibid._ 1002; her death by her own hand reported by Hyllus, _ibid._
1420.

DEÏDAMĪA, daughter of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, and mother of Pyrrhus
by Achilles while the latter was hiding in the disguise of maidens'
garments at that court, _Tro._ 342.

DEÏPHOBUS, a son of Priam and Hecuba and husband of Helen after the
death of Paris; slain and mangled by the Greeks through the treachery
of his wife, _Agam._ 749.

DELOS, a small island in the Aegean Sea, formerly floating about from
place to place, in which condition it became the birthplace of Apollo
and Diana, _H. Fur._ 453; made firm at the command of Diana, _Agam._
384.

DELPHIC ORACLE, the famous oracle of Apollo at Delphi in Phocis;
expressed in enigmatic form, _Oed._ 214; the giving-out of an oracle
described, _ibid._ *225.

DEUCALION, son of Prometheus, husband of Pyrrha; this pair were alone
saved of all mankind from the flood, _Tro._ 1039. See PYRRHA.

DIĀNA, daughter of Jupiter and Latona; twin sister of Apollo, _H.
Fur._ 905; hymn in praise of, _Agam._ *367; caused her native Delos
to be a firm island, _ibid._ 369; punished Niobe for her impiety,
_ibid._ 375; conceived as in triple manifestation, _Luna_ or _Phoebe_
in heaven, _Diana_ on earth, and _Hecate_ in hades, _Hip._ 412; hence
called _Trivia_ and worshiped where three ways meet, _Agam._ 367;
Hippolytus prays to her as goddess of the chase, _Hip._ 54; her wide
sway described, ibid. *54; nurse of Phaedra prays that she may turn
Hippolytus to love, _ibid._ 406; in form of Luna, an object of attack
by Thessalian witchcraft, _ibid._ 421; being slighted by Oeneus, king
of Aetolia or Calydon, she sent a huge boar to ravage the country.
Hence Pleuron, a city of Aetolia, is said to be hostile to her, _Tro._
827.

DICTYNNA, "goddess of the nets," an epithet applied to Diana, _Med._
795; assumed from Britomartys, a Cretan nymph, sometimes called the
Cretan Diana, who, to escape from the pursuit of her lover, leaped over
a cliff into the sea, where she fell into a fishing-net.

DIOMĒDES, a bloody king of the Bistones, in Thrace, who fed his
captives to fierce, man-eating horses which he kept in his stalls, _H.
Oet._ 1538; _Tro._ 1108; Hercules, as his eighth labor, captured these
horses, having previously fed their master to them, _Agam._ 842; _H.
Fur._ 226, 1170; Alomena fears that she may be given to these horses
now that Hercules is dead, _H. Oet._ 1790. See HERCULES.

DIRCE, the wife of Lycus, king of Thebes, who, on account of her
cruelty to Antiope, was tied by her sons, Zethus and Amphion, by the
hair to a wild bull, and so dragged to death on Mt. Cithaeron, _Phoen._
19; changed to a fountain of the same name, _ibid._ 126; _H. Fur._ 916;
the water of this fountain was said to flow with blood at the time of
the great plague at Thebes, _Oed._ 177.

DISCORD, one of the furies, summoned by Juno from hades to drive
Hercules to madness, _H. Fur._ 93; her abode described, _ibid._ *93.

DODŌNA, a city of Chaonia in Epirus, famous for its ancient oracle of
Jupiter, situated in a grove of oaks. The oracle was given in some
mysterious way as if by the talking of these sacred oaks, _H. Oet._
1473; Minerva aided in the construction of the Argo, and set in the
prow a piece of timber cut from the speaking oak of Dodona, and this
piece had itself the power of giving oracles; hence the "voice" which
it is said that the Argo lost through fear of the clashing Symplegades,
_Med._ 349. See CHAONIAN OAKS.

DOMITIUS, the father of Nero, _Oct._ 249.

DRAGON, (1) the guardian of the apples of the Hesperides, slain by
Hercules, and afterward set in the heavens as the constellation, Draco,
lying between the two Bears, _Thy._ 870; _Med._ 694; (2) the dragon
of Colchis, guardian of the Golden Fleece, put to sleep by the magic
of Medea, _Med._ 703; (3) dragon sacred to Mars killed by Cadmus near
the site of his destined city of Thebes. The teeth of this dragon were
sown in the earth by Cadmus, and from these armed men sprung up, _Oed._
**725; _H. Fur._ 260; a part of these same teeth were sown by Jason in
Colchis with a similar result, _Med._ 469; the brothers who sprang up
against Cadmus are described as living in hades, _Oed._ 586.

DRUSUS, Livius, the fate of, _Oct._ 887, 942.

DRYADS, a race of wood-nymphs, _H. Oet._ 1053; _Hip._ 784.


E

ECHO, a nymph who pined away to a mere voice for unrequited love of
Narcissus. She dwells in mountain caves, and repeats the last words of
all that is said in her hearing, _Tro._ 109.

ELECTRA (_Agamemnon_), daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, and
sister of Orestes; gives her brother to Strophius, king of Phocis,
that he may be rescued from death at the hands of Clytemnestra and
Aegisthus, _Agam._ 910; defies her mother, and scorns both her threats
and those of Aegisthus, _ibid._ 953; is taken away to imprisonment,
_ibid._ 1000; Octavia compares her woes with Electra's, to the
advantage of the latter, _Oct._ 60.

ELEUSIN, an ancient city of Attica, famous for its mysteries of Ceres,
_H. Oet._ 599; _Tro._ 843; _H. Fur._ 300; _Hip._ 838; the celebration
of the mysteries described, _H. Fur._ *842. See CERES, TRIPTOLEMUS.

ELYSIUM, the abode of the blest in the spirit world, _Tro._ 159, 944;
_H. Oet._ 1916; _H. Fur._ 744; Deianira thinks that she should be
expelled from Elysium by all faithful wives, _H. Oet._ 956.

ENCELADUS, one of the giant Titans who attempted to dethrone Jove,
overthrown and buried under Sicily, _H. Fur._ 79; _H. Oet._ 1140, 1145,
1159, 1735.

ERIDANUS, the mythical and poetical name of the river Po, _H. Oet._
186. See PHAËTHONTIADES.

ERINYES, the furies, _H. Fur._ 982; _Med._ 952; _Oed._ 590; _Agam._
83; _Thy._ 251; _H. Oet._ 609, 671; _Oet._ 23, 161, 263, 619, 913. See
FURIES.

ERYX, the son of Butes and Venus, a famous boxer, overcome by Hercules,
_H. Fur._ 481; a mountain in Sicily, said to have been named from the
preceding, _Oed._ 600.

ETEOCLES (_Phoenissae_), one of the two sons of Oedipus and Jocasta.
After Oedipus went into voluntary banishment, abandoning the throne
of Thebes (_Phoen._ 104), Eteocles and Polynices agreed to reign
alternately, each a year. Eteocles, the elder, first ascended the
throne, but when his year was up refused to give way to his brother,
_Phoen._ 55, 280, 389. See POLYNICES.

EUMENIDES ("the gracious ones"), a euphemistic name for the furies, _H.
Fur._ 87; _H. Oet._ 1002.

EURŌPA, daughter of Agenor, king of Tyre, beloved of Jupiter, who, in
the form of a bull, carried her away to Crete, _Oct._ 206, 766; _H.
Oet._ 550; this episode is immortalized by the constellation of Taurus,
which rises in April, _H. Fur._ 9; sought in vain by her brother
Cadmus, _Oed._ 715; the continent of Europe named after her, _Agam._
205, 274; _Tro._ 896.

EURYBATES (_Agamemnon_), a messenger of Agamemnon who announces the
victory of the Greeks over Troy, and the near approach of the hero to
Mycenae, _Agam._ 392; he relates at great length the sufferings of the
Greek fleet by storm and shipwreck on the homeward voyage, _ibid._ *421.

EURYDICE, the wife of Orpheus, slain by a serpent's sting on her
wedding day; story of Orpheus' quest for her in hades, _H. Fur._ *569;
rescued by Orpheus from the lower world, but lost again, _H. Oet._
*1084. See ORPHEUS.

EURYSTHEUS, the son of Sthenelus and grandson of Perseus, who, by a
trick of Juno, was given power over Hercules, and, at Juno's instance,
set to Hercules his various labors, _H. Oet._ 403; _H. Fur._ 78, 479,
526, 830; lord of Argos and Mycenae, _ibid._ 1180; _H. Oet._ 1800; his
time of punishment will come, _ibid._ 1973.

EURYTUS, king of Oechalia and father of Iole, _H. Oet._ 1490; he and
his house destroyed by Hercules because he refused the latter's suit
for Iole, _ibid._ 100, 207, 221; _H. Fur._ 477. See HERCULES.


F

FESCENNINE, of Fescennia, an ancient town of Etruria, famous for a
species of coarse, jeering dialogues in verse which bear its name,
_Med._ 113.

FORTUNE, the goddess of fate, ruling over the affairs of men, _H. Fur._
326, 524; _Tro._ *1, *259, 269, 697, 735; _Phoen._ 82, 308, 452; _Med._
159, 176, 287; _Hip._ 979, 1124, 1143; _Oed._ 11, 86, 674, 786, 825,
934; _Agam._ 28, 58, 72, 89, 101, 248, 594, 698; _H. Oet._ 697; _Oet._
36, 377, 479, 563, 888, 898, 931, 962; _Thy._ 618.

FURIES, avenging goddesses, dwelling in hades, set to punish and
torment men both on earth and in the lower world; described and
appealed to for aid in punishment of Jason, _Med._ 13; Juno plots to
summon them from hades in order to drive Hercules to madness, _H.
Fur._ 86; described as to their horrible physical aspect, _ibid._ 87;
described in clairvoyant vision by Cassandra, _Agam._ *759; moving
in bands, _Thy._ 78, 250; _Med._ 958; one of the furies used as a
character in dramatic prologue, driving the ghost of Thyestes on to
perform his mission, _Thy._ *23. See EUMENIDES, ERINYES, MEGAERA,
TISIPHONE.


G

GEMINI, the zodiacal constellation of the Twins, Castor and Pollux,
_Thy._ 853.

GERYON, a mythical king in Spain having three bodies; Hercules slew
him and brought his famous cattle to Eurystheus as his tenth labor,
_H. Fur._ 231, 487, 1170; _Agam._ 837; _H. Oet._ 26, 1204, 1900. See
HERCULES.

GHOSTS. The ghost appears as a _dramatis persona_ in the following
plays: _Agamemnon_, in which the ghost of Thyestes appears in the
prologue to urge Aegisthus on to fulfil his mission; _Thyestes_,
in which the ghost of Tantalus similarly appears in the prologue;
_Octavia_, in which the ghost of Agrippina appears. In the following
plays the ghost affects the action though not actually appearing upon
the stage: _Troades_, in which the ghost of Achilles is reported to
have appeared to the Greeks and demanded the sacrifice of Polyxena, 168
ff.; Andromache also claims to have seen the ghost of Hector warning
her of the impending fate of Astyanax, 443 ff.; _Oedipus_, in which the
ghost of Laïus and other departed spirits are described as set free
by the necromancy of Tiresias, 582 ff.; _Medea_, in which the mangled
ghost of Absyrtus seems to appear to the distracted Medea, 963; ghosts
appear larger than mortal forms, _Oed._ 175.

GIANTS, monstrous sons of Earth, fabled to have made war upon the gods,
scaling heaven by piling mountains (Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus) one on
another, _Tro._ 829; _Thy._ 804, 810, 1084; _H. Fur._ 445; they were
overthrown by the thunderbolt of Jupiter, _H. Oet._ 1302; _Oed._ 91;
with the help of Hercules, _H. Oet._ 1215; buried under Sicily, _ibid._
1309; seem to the mad Hercules to be again in arms, and to be hurling
mountains, _H. Fur._ 976; after death of Hercules there is danger that
they will again pile up mountains and scale heaven, _H. Oet._ 1139,
*1151. See BRIAREUS, ENCELADUS, GYAS, MIMAS, OTHRYS, TYPHOEUS, TITANS.

GOLDEN AGE, the first age of mankind, when peace and innocence reigned
on the earth; described, _Hip._ *525; _Oet._ *395; _Med._ *329.

GOLDEN-FLEECED RAM, (1) the ram on which Phrixus and his sister, Helle,
escaped from Boeotia; as they fled through the air Helle fell off into
the sea, _Tro._ 1035; on arrival at Colchis Phrixus sacrificed the ram
and gave his wonderful fleece to King Aeëtes, who hung it in a tree
sacred to Mars. This fleece was the prize sought by the Argonauts under
Jason, _Med._ 361, 471. See PHRIXUS, HELLE, ARGONAUTS. (2) The emblem
and pledge of sovereignty in the house of Pelops, _Thy._ *225.

GORGON, Medusa, one of the three daughters of Phorcys, whose head was
covered with snaky locks, and sight of whom had power to turn to stone.
She was killed by Perseus, and her head presented to Minerva who fixed
it upon her shield, _H. Oet._ 96; _Agam._ 530. See PERSEUS.

GRACCHI, two popular leaders of the Sempronian gens, quoted as examples
of men brought to ruin by popular renown, _Oet._ 882.

GRADĪVUS, a surname of Mars, _H. Fur._ 1342.

GYAS, one of the giants who sought to dethrone Jove, _H. Oet._ 167,
1139.


H

HADES, the place of departed spirits, situated in the under world;
the upper world entrance to, and downward-leading passage, _H. Fur._
662; description of, _ibid._ 547; Theseus, returned with Hercules
from hades, describes in great detail the places and persons of the
lower world, _ibid._ **658; chorus sings of the world of the dead and
of the thronging peoples who constantly pour into its all-holding
depths, _ibid._ *830; its torments and personages described by ghost of
Tantalus, _Thy._ 1; its regions and inhabitants seen by Creon through
the yawning chasm in the earth made by Tiresias' incantations, _Oed._
*582.

HARPIES, mythical monsters, half woman and half bird; driven from
Phineus by Zetes and Calaïs, _Med._ 782; still torment Phineus in hades
as upon earth, _H. Fur._ 759; used as type of winged speed, _Phoen._
424.

HEBE, the daughter of Juno, cupbearer to the gods, and given as bride
to the deified Hercules, _Oct._ 211.

HECATE, daughter of Perses, presider over enchantments; often
identified with Proserpina as the underworld manifestation of the
deity seen in Diana on earth and Luna in heaven, _H. Oet._ 1519; _Med._
6, 577, 833, 841; _Tro._ 389; _Hip._ 412; _Oed._ 569.

HECTOR, the son of Priam and Hecuba, husband of Andromache, the
bravest warrior and chief support of Troy, _Tro._ 125; burns the Greek
fleet, _ibid._ 444; _Agam._ 743; slays Patroclus, _Tro._ 446; slain by
Achilles and his body dragged around the walls of Troy, _ibid._ *413;
_Agam._ 743; his body ransomed by Priam, _ibid._ 447; lamented by the
band of captive Trojan women, _Tro._ 98; his ghost warns Andromache in
a dream of the danger of their son Astyanax, _ibid._ 443; she hides the
boy in Hector's tomb, _ibid._ 498; she loves Astyanax for the boy's
resemblance to his father, _ibid._ 646.

HECUBA (_Troades_), the wife of Priam, unhappily survives Troy; as
one of the captive Trojan women, leads them in a lament for Troy's
downfall, for Hector and Priam, _Tro._ *1; before the birth of Paris,
dreamed that she had given birth to a firebrand, _ibid._ 36; her once
happy estate described, and contrasted with her present wretchedness,
_ibid._ *958; given to Ulysses by lot, _ibid._ 980; having suffered the
loss of all her loved ones she is at last changed into a dog, _Agam._
*705; rejoices for the first time after Hector's death on occasion of
wooden horse being taken into Troy, _ibid._ 648.

HELEN (_Troades_), daughter of Jupiter and Leda, sister of
Clytemnestra, wife of Menelaüs, reputed the most beautiful woman in
Greece; given by Venus to Paris as a reward for his judgment in her
favor, _Oct._ 773; fled from her husband for love of Paris, _Agam._
123; afterward pardoned by Agamemnon and returned home with Menelaüs,
_ibid._ 273; sent by Greeks to deceive Polyxena and prepare her for
sacrifice on tomb of Achilles, _Tro._ 861; cursed by Andromache as
the common scourge of Greeks and Trojans, _ibid._ *892; bewails and
describes her own hard lot, _ibid._ 905; she is not to blame for the
woes of Troy, _ibid._ 917.

HELLE, sister of Phrixus, who fled with him on the golden-fleeced ram,
and fell off into the sea which thereafter bore her name (Hellespont),
_Tro._ 1034; _Thy._ 851. See PHRIXUS.

HERCĒAN JOVE, an epithet of Jupiter as the protector of the house; it
was at his altar in the courtyard of his own palace that Priam was
slain, _Tro._ 140; _Agam._ 448, 793.

HERCULES (_Hercules Furens_, _Hercules Oetaeus_), the son of Jupiter
and Alcmena, _H. Fur._ 20; _H. Oet._ 7 and _passim_; night unnaturally
prolonged at his conception, _Agam._ 814; _H. Fur._ 24, 1158; _H. Oet._
147, 1500, 1697, 1864; in his infancy he strangled the two serpents
which Juno sent against him in his cradle, _H. Fur._ *214; _H. Oet._
1205; by a trick of Juno who hastened the birth of Eurystheus, made
subject to Eurystheus who set him various labors, _H. Oet._ 403; _H.
Fur._ 78, 524, *830. These twelve labors are as follows: (1) The
killing of the Nemean lion, _H. Fur._ 46, 224; _H. Oet._ 16, 411,
1192, 1235, 1885; _Agam._ 829; (2) the destruction of the hydra of
Lerna, _Agam._ 835; _Med._ 701; _H. Fur._ 46, 241, 529, 780, 1195; _H.
Oet._ 19, 918, 1193, 1534, 1813; (3) the capture alive of the Arcadian
stag, famous for its fleetness and its golden antlers, _H. Fur._ 222;
_H. Oet._ 17, 1238; _Agam._ 831; (4) the capture of the wild boar of
Erymanthus, _H. Fur._ 228; _H. Oet._ 1536, 1888; _Agam._ 832; (5) the
cleansing of the Augean stables, _H. Fur._ 247; (6) the killing of
the Stymphalian birds, _H. Fur._ 244; _H. Oet._ 17, 1237, 1813, 1889;
_Agam._ 850; (7) the capture of the Cretan bull, _H. Fur._ 230; _H.
Oet._ 27; _Agam._ 834; (8) the obtaining of the mares of Diomedes which
fed on human flesh and the slaying of Diomedes himself, _H. Fur._ 226;
 _H. Oet._ 20, 1538, 1814, 1894; _Agam._ 842; (9) the securing of the
girdle of Hippolyte, _H. Fur._ 245, 542; _H. Oet._ 21, 1183, 1450;
_Agam._ 848; (10) the killing of Geryon and the capture of his oxen,
_H. Fur._ 231, 487; _H. Oet._ 26, 1204, 1900; _Agam._ 837; (11) the
securing of the golden apples of the Hesperides, _H. Fur._ 239, 530;
H. Oet. 18; _Phoen._ 316; _Agam._ *852; (12) the descent to hades and
bringing to the upper world of the dog Cerberus, _H. Fur._ *46, **760;
_H. Oet._ 23, 1162, 1244; _Agam._ 859. Other heroic deeds done by
Hercules are as follows: he bore up the heavens upon his shoulders in
place of Atlas, _H. Fur._ *69, 528, 1101; _H. Oet._ 282, 1241, 1764,
1905; burst a passage for the river Peneus between Ossa and Olympus,
_H. Fur._ *283; rent Calpe and Abyla (the "Pillars of Hercules") apart
and made a passage for the Mediterranean Sea into the ocean, _H. Fur._
237; _H. Oet._ 1240, 1253, 1569; fought with and overcame the Centaurs,
_ibid._ 1195; fought with Acheloüs for the possession of Deianira,
_ibid._ 299, 495; slew the centaur Nessus who was carrying off his
bride, _ibid._ *500, 921; overcame Eryx, the famous boxer, _H. Fur._
481; slew Antaeus, _H. Fur._ 482, 1171; _H. Oet._ 24, 1899; killed
Busiris, _H. Fur._ 483; _H. Oet._ 26; _Tro._ 1106; slew Cycnus, son
of Mars, _H. Fur._ 485; killed Zetes and Calaïs, _Med._ 634; killed
Periclymenus, _ibid._ 635; wounded Pluto, who was going to the aid of
the Pylians, _H. Fur._ 560; wrecked off the African coast, he made
his way on foot to the shore, _ibid._ 319; assisted the gods in their
fight against the giants, _ibid._ 444; capured Troy with aid of Telamon
during the reign of Laomedon, _Tro._ 136, 719; his arrows said to be
twice fated for the destruction of Troy, _ibid._ 825; _Agam._ 863;
forced Charon to bear him across the Lethe (not Styx), _H. Fur._ *762;
_H. Oet._ 1556; rescued Theseus from hades, _Hip._ 843; _H. Fur._ 806;
_H. Oet._ 1197, 1768; overcame Eurytus, king of Oechalia, _H. Fur._
477; _H. Oet._ 422. More or less extended recapitulations of the deeds
of Hercules are found in the following passages: _Agam._ 808-866; _H.
Fur._ 205-308, 481-487, 524-560; _H. Oet._ 1-98, 410-435, 1161-1206,
1218-1257, 1518-1606, 1810-1830, 1872-1939. The loves of Hercules
are as follows: Hesione, daughter of Laomedon, rescued from the
sea-monster, and made captive to Hercules with the first fall of Troy;
he afterward gave her to Telamon, _H. Oet._ 363; Auge, daughter of
Aleus, king of Tegea, _ibid._ 367; the Thespiades, the fifty daughters
of Thespius, _ibid._ 369; Omphale, queen of Lydia, to whom Hercules,
in expiation of an act of sacrilege, went into voluntary servitude
for three years, _ibid._ *371, 573; _H. Fur._ *465; _Hip._ 317; Iole,
daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia, whom Hercules destroyed because
Iole was denied to him, _H. Oet._ 100, 207, 221; _H. Fur._ 477. His
wives were (1) Megara daughter of Creon, king of Thebes; Hercules, in a
fit of madness, brought upon him by Juno's machinations, slew her and
his children by her, _H. Fur._ *987, *1010; _H. Oet._ 429, 903; when
his sanity returned, Theseus promised him cleansing for his crime by
Mars at Athens, _H. Fur._ 1341; elsewhere said to have been cleansed by
washing in the Cinyps, a river in Africa, _H. Oet._ 907; (2) Deianira,
daughter of Oeneus, king of Calydonia. See DEIANIRA and ACHELOÜS. The
favorite tree of Hercules was the poplar, _H. Fur._ 894, 912; _H. Oet._
1641. Hercules himself was destined to come to a tragic end after a
life of great deeds, _Med._ 637; his death was in accordance with an
oracle which declared that he should die by the hand of one whom he
had slain, _H. Oet._ 1473; Deianira, ignorantly seeking to regain her
husband's love from Iole, sends him a robe anointed with the poisoned
blood of Nessus, _ibid._ 535; Lichas bears the robe to his master,
_ibid._ 569; Hercules was worshiping Cenaean Jove in Euboea when the
robe was brought to him, _ibid._ 775; his sufferings caused by the
terrible burning poison described, _ibid._ *749, 1218; hurls Lichas,
the innocent cause of his pains, over a cliff, _ibid._ 809; after dire
suffering, is borne by boat from Euboea to Mt. Oeta where he was to
perish, _ibid._ 839; he orders a funeral pyre to be built for him on
the top of the mountain, _ibid._ 1483; speculation upon his probable
place in heaven after death, _ibid._ 1565; his glorious and triumphant
death in the midst of the flames described, _ibid._ **1610, 1726; his
fated bow is presented by the dying hero to his friend Philoctetes,
_ibid._ 1648; his ashes are collected into an urn by his mother,
Alcmena, _ibid._ 1758; Medea was said to have in her magical store some
of the ashes of Oeta's pyre soaked with the dying (poisoned) blood
of Hercules, _Med._ 777; the voice of the hero is heard from heaven,
declaring that he has been deified, _H. Oet._ *1940; now received into
heaven as a god, in spite of Juno's opposition, he is given Hebe as his
wife, _Oct._ 210.

HERMIONE, daughter of Menelaüs and Helen; the Trojans pray that she may
suffer the same doom as Polyxena, _Tro._ 1134.

HESIONE, daughter of Laomedon, exposed to a sea-monster sent by Neptune
to punish the perfidy of Laomedon. She was rescued by Hercules and
captured by him when he with Telamon's aid took Troy, _H. Oet._ 363.

HESPERIDES, APPLES OF, golden apples on certain islands far in the
west, watched over by three nymphs, and guarded by a sleepless dragon;
it was the eleventh labor of Hercules to get these apples and take them
to Eurystheus, _Agam._ 852; _Phoen._ 316; _H. Fur._ 239, 530.

HESPERUS, the evening star, messenger of night, _Med._ 878; _Hip._ 750;
_H. Fur._ 883; impatiently awaited by lovers, _Med._ 72; as example
of perverted nature, Hesperus will bring in the day, _Phoen._ 87;
functions of evening and morning stars interchanged at the conception
of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 821; _H. Oet._ 149.

HIEROSCOPÏA (_extispicium_), a method of prophesying by inspecting the
viscera of a newly slain sacrificial victim practiced by Tiresias in
his effort to discover the murderer of Laius, _Oed._ *353.

HIPPODAMĪA, daughter of Oenomaüs, king of Pisa. See MYRTILUS.

HIPPOLYTE, a queen of the Amazons, possessed of the belt of Mars;
Eurystheus imposed upon Hercules as his ninth labor that he should
secure and bring this belt, or girdle, to him; this the hero
accomplished, _Agam._ 848; _H. Fur._ 245, 542; _H. Oet._ 21, 1183, 1450.

HIPPOLYTUS (_Hippolytus_), son of Theseus and Hippolyte, or, according
to others, of Theseus and Antiope; represented as devoted to the
hunt, and to Diana, the goddess of the hunt, _Hip._ 1; the object of
the guilty love of Phaedra, his father's wife, _ibid._ *99; he hates
and avoids all womankind, _ibid._ 230; his severe life as a recluse
described, _ibid._ 435; sings the praises of the simple life in the
woods and fields, and contrasts this with city life, _ibid._ *483; is
charged with a criminal attack upon Phaedra, _ibid._ 725; his death
caused by a monster sent by Neptune in response to the prayer of
Theseus, _ibid._ 1000; his innocence discovered, _ibid._ 1191.

HYADES, daughters of Atlas and sisters of the Pleiades; a constellation
seemingly borne on the horns of Taurus, _Thy._ 852; a storm-bringing
constellation, but not yet recognized as such in the golden age, _Med._
311; disturbed by the magic power of Medea, _ibid._ 769.

HYDRA, a monster which infested the marsh of Lerna; it had eight heads,
and one besides which was immortal. When any one of the eight heads was
severed there sprang forth two in its stead. After a desperate struggle
with this creature, Hercules killed it as his second labor assigned by
Eurystheus, _Agam._ 835; _Med._ 701; _H. Fur._ 46, 241, 529, 780, 1195;
_H. Oet._ 19, 94, 851, 914, 918, 1193, 1534, 1650, 1813, 1927.

HYLAS, a beautiful youth, beloved by Hercules, who accompanied that
hero on the Argonautic expedition; while stopping on the coast of Mysia
for water, the boy was seized and kept by the water-nymphs of a stream
into which he had dipped his urn, _Hip._ 780, _Med._ *647.

HYLLUS (_Hercules Oetaeus_), son of Hercules and Deianira; describes
to his mother the terrible sufferings of Hercules after putting on the
poisoned robe, _H. Oet._ 742; called the grandson of Jove, _ibid._
1421; Iole is consigned to him as his wife by the dying Hercules,
_ibid._ 1490.

HYMEN, the god of marriage, _Tro._ 861, 895; _Med._ *66, 110, 116, 300.

HYPERMNESTRA, one of the fifty daughters of Danaüs, who refused to
murder her husband at her father's command, _H. Fur._ 500; for this act
of mercy, she is not suffering among her sisters in hades, _H. Oet._
948. See DANAÏDES.


I

ICARUS, the son of Daedalus, who, attempting to escape from Crete on
wings which his father had made, melted the wax of his wings by a
flight too near the sun, and so fell into the sea which took its name
from him, _Agam._ 506; _Oed._ *892; _H. Oet._ 686. See DAEDALUS.

IDMON, son of Apollo and Asteria, one of the Argonauts, with prophetic
power; he died from the stroke of a wild boar, not, as Seneca says,
from a serpent's bite, _Med._ 652.

INO, daughter of Cadmus, sister of Semele, wife of Athamas, king of
Thebes. Her husband, driven mad by Juno, because Ino had nursed the
infant Bacchus, attempted to slay her, but she escaped him by leaping
off a high cliff into the sea with her son Melicerta. They were both
changed into sea-divinities, _Phoen._ 22; _Oed._ 445. See PALAEMON.

IOLE (_Hercules Oetaeus_), daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia. She
was sought in marriage by Hercules, who destroyed her father and all
his house because she was refused to him, _H. Oet._ 221; in captivity
to Hercules, she mourns her fate, _ibid._ 173; sent as a captive to
Deianira, _ibid._ 224; her reception by Deianira described, _ibid._
237; is consigned to Hyllus as wife, by the dying Hercules, _ibid._
1490.

IPHIGENĪA, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra; taken from her
mother to be sacrificed at Aulis, on the pretext that she was to be
married to Achilles, _Agam._ 158; sacrificed to appease Diana to the
end that the Greek fleet might be allowed to sail from Aulis, _ibid._
160; _Tro._ 249, 360; her sacrifice described, _Agam._ *164; rescued by
Diana at the last moment and taken to serve in the goddess' temple at
Tauris, _Oct._ 972.

IRIS, the messenger of Juno, and goddess of the rainbow, _Oed._ 315.

ITYS, son of Tereus, king of Thrace, and Procne, who, to punish her
husband for his outrage upon her sister, Philomela, slew the boy Itys
and served him as a banquet to his father. The sisters, changed to
birds, ever bewail Itys, _H. Oet._ 192; _Agam._ 670.

IXĪON, for his insult to Juno fixed to an ever-revolving wheel in
hades, _Hip._ 1236; _Thy._ 8; _Agam._ 15; _Oct._ 623; _H. Fur._ 750;
_H. Oet._ 945, 1011; his wheel stood still at the music of Orpheus,
_ibid._ 1068; Medea prays that he may leave his wheel and come to
Corinth, and that Creon may take his place upon the wheel, _Med._ 744.
See NEPHELE.


J

JASON (_Medea_), son of Aeson, king of Thessaly, and nephew of the
usurping king, Pelias. He was persuaded by Pelias to undertake the
adventure of the Golden Fleece, for which he organized and led the
Argonautic expedition. He was able to perform the hard tasks in Colchis
which King Aeëtes set, through the aid of Medea: the taming of the
fire-breathing bull, _Med._ 121, 241, 466; overcoming of the giants
sprung from the sown serpents' teeth, _ibid._ 467; putting to sleep
of the ever-watchful dragon, _ibid._ 471; he had had no part in the
murder of Pelias for which he and Medea were driven out of Thessaly,
_ibid._ 262; but this and all Medea's crimes had been done for his
sake, _ibid._ *275; living in exile in Corinth, he is forced by Creon
into a marriage with the king's daughter, Creüsa, _ibid._ 137; Medea
imprecates a dreadful curse upon him, _ibid._ 19; he laments the hard
dilemma in which he finds himself placed, _ibid._ 431; and at last
decides to yield to Creon's demands for the sake of his children,
_ibid._ 441.

JOCASTA (_Oedipus, Phoenissae_), wife of Laïus, king of Thebes, mother
and afterward wife of Oedipus; on learning that Oedipus is her son, she
kills herself in an agony of grief and shame, _Oed._ 1024. According
to another version of the story, she is still living after the events
leading to the voluntary exile of Oedipus; she bewails the fratricidal
strife between her two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, and knows not with
which she ought to side, _Phoen._ 377; rushing between the two hosts,
she pleads with her sons to be reconciled with each other, _ibid._ *443.

JUDGES IN HADES, Aeacus, Minos, and Rhadamanthus, weep for the first
time on hearing Orpheus' plaintive strains, _H. Fur._ 579; Theseus
describes at length their persons and their judgments, the moral law
under which the souls of men are judged, and the punishments and
rewards meted out after judgment, _ibid._ **727.

JULIA, daughter of Drusus and Livia Drusilla, exiled and afterward
slain, _Oct._ 944.

JUNO (_Hercules Furens_), speaks the prologue, revealing her motive
in bringing about the catastrophe of the play; she recounts in order
Jove's infidelities with mortals whose constellations she points out,
and relates especially her fruitless struggles with Hercules; she
cannot overcome him by any toil which she can invent, _H. Fur._ *1;
she looks forward with hatred and dread to the time when Hercules will
force his entrance into heaven, _ibid._ 64; she is cited to Octavia
by her nurse as a type of wife who, by wise management, finally won a
wayward husband's love to herself again, _Oct._ *201; hymn in praise
of, _Agam._ 340; Argos is dear to her, _ibid._ 809.

JUPITER, lord of Olympus, ruler of the skies and seasons, _Hip._ *960;
ruler of heaven and earth, to whom victors consecrate their spoils,
_Agam._ *802; his mother, Rhea, brought him forth in Crete and hid
him in a cave of Mount Ida, lest his father, Saturn, should discover
and destroy him, _H. Fur._ 459; hymn in praise of, _Agam._ 381; his
thunderbolts are forged in Aetna, _Hip._ 156; his amours with mortals
are as follows: with Leda to whom he appeared in the form of a swan,
_Hip._ 301; _H. Fur._ 14; with Europa, in form of a bull, _Hip._ 303;
_H. Fur._ 9; _H. Oet._ 550; with Danaë, in form of a golden shower,
_H. Fur._ 13; with Callisto, _ibid._ 6; the Pleiades (Electra, Maia,
Taÿgete), _ibid._ 10; Latona, _ibid._ 15; Semele, _ibid._ 16;
Alcmena, _ibid._ 22. For his ancient oracle in Epirus, see DODONA; see
also HERCEAN JOVE and CENAEUM.

JUSTICE (_Justitia_), the goddess Astraea, who once lived on earth
during the innocence of man in the golden age of Saturn, _Oct._ 398;
she fled the earth when sin became dominant, _ibid._ 424. See ASTRAEA.


L

LABDACIDAE, a name for the Thebans, derived from Labdacus, king of
Thebes, father of Laïus, _Oed._ 710; _Phoen._ 53; _H. Fur._ 495.

LACHESIS, one of the three fates, or Parcae, who measured out the
thread of human life, _Oed._ 985. The other two were Clotho and
Atropos. See CLOTHO.

LAËRTES, the father of Ulysses, dwelling in Ithaca, _Tro._ 700; "feels
the shock of reeling Ithaca" in a storm, _Thy._ 587.

LAÏUS, king of Thebes, husband of Jocasta, father of Oedipus, whom,
fearing an oracle, he had exposed in infancy; at the time of the
opening of the play of _Oedipus_, he had been murdered by an unknown
man, and his murder must be avenged before the plague afflicting Thebes
can be relieved, _Oed._ *217; place and supposed manner of his death
described to Oedipus by Creon, _ibid._ *276; time and circumstances of
his murder described by Jocasta, _ibid._ 776; his shade is raised by
Tiresias and declares that Oedipus is his murderer, _ibid._ *619; his
shade seems to appear to the blind Oedipus in exile and call him to
death, _Phoen._ 39.

LAOMEDON, king of Troy, father of Priam; he deceived Apollo and
Neptune, who built the walls of Troy, and again cheated Hercules out of
his promised reward for delivering Hesione; hence his house is called a
"lying house," _Agam._ 864.

LAPITHAE, a tribe of Thessaly, associated in story with the Centaurs,
and both with a great struggle against Hercules in which they were
worsted by that hero; in hades they still fear their great enemy when
he appears, _H. Fur._ 779.

LATŌNA, beloved of Jupiter, to whom she bore Apollo and Diana; hence
these gods are called the children of Latona, _Agam._ 324; the floating
island, Delos, was the only spot allowed her by the jealous Juno for
the birth of her children, _H. Fur._ 15.

LEDA, the wife of Tyndarus, king of Sparta; she was beloved by Jupiter
in the form of a swan, _Oct._ 205, 764; and became by him the mother of
Castor and Pollux, who were falsely called Tyndaridae, and set in the
heavens as constellations, _H. Fur._ 14; _Oct._ 208; Clytemnestra was
the daughter of Leda and Tyndarus, _Agam._ 125, 234.

LEMNOS, an island in the Aegean Sea, the seat of fierce fires, as
connected with the fall of Vulcan on that island where he established
his forges, _H. Oet._ 1362; according to story all the Lemnian women at
one time, except Hypsipyle, murdered all their male relatives, _Agam._
566.

LEO, the zodiacal constellation of the Lion, representing the Nemean
lion slain by Hercules, and set as a constellation in the sky, _H.
Fur._ 69, 945; _Thy._ 855; said to have fallen from the moon, where,
according to the opinion of the Pythagoreans, all monsters had their
origin, _H. Fur._ 83.

LETHE, a river of the lower world whose waters possessed the power of
causing those who drank of them to forget the past, _H. Oet._ 936; _H.
Fur._ 680; _Hip._ 1202; elsewhere it loses its distinctive meaning and
is used as equivalent to Styx or the lower world in general, _ibid._
147; _Oed._ 560; _H. Oet._ 1162, 1208, 1550, 1985; Charon even plies
his boat over this river, _H. Fur._ 777.

LIBRA, the zodiacal constellation of the Scales, marking the autumnal
equinox, _Hip._ 839; _Thy._ 858.

LICHAS, the ill-fated bearer of the poisoned robe from Deianira to
Hercules, thrown over a cliff by the agonized hero, _H. Oet._ 567, 570,
809, 814, 978, 1460; he had previously been sent home by Hercules to
announce the hero's triumph over Eurytus, _ibid._ 99.

LIVIA, the wife of Drusus; her fate, _Oct._ 942.

LUCIFER, the morning star, or "light-bringer," the herald of the sun,
_Hip._ 752; _Oed._ 507, 741; _H. Oet._ 149.

LUCĪNA, the goddess who presides over child-birth, i. e., Diana or
Luna, _Agam._ 385; _Med._ 2; or Juno, _ibid._ 61.

LUCRETIA, daughter of Lucretius, wife of Collatinus, avenged by a
bloody war for the outrage committed upon her by Sextus Tarquinius,
_Oct._ 300.

LUNA, the goddess of the moon, identified with Diana upon the earth,
called also Phoebe as sister of Phoebus, _Oed._ 44; she reflects her
brother's fires, _ibid._ 253; and passes his car in shorter course,
_Thy._ 838; in love with Endymion, she seeks the earth, _Hip._ 309,
422, 785; and gives her chariot to her brother to drive, _ibid._ 310;
saved by the clashing of vessels from the influence of magic, _ibid._
790.

LYCURGUS, a king of Thrace, who, for his opposition to Bacchus, was
destroyed by that god, _H. Fur._ 903; _Oed._ 471.

LYCUS (_Hercules Furens_), a usurper, who took advantage of the absence
of Hercules in hades, and slew Creon and his sons, and is, at the
opening of the play, ruler in Thebes, _H. Fur._ 270; he boasts that,
though low born, he has by conquest gained great power and wealth,
_ibid._ 332; he desires to repair his fault of birth by a union with
Megara, wife of the absent Hercules, and daughter of Creon, _ibid._
345; proposes marriage to Megara, _ibid._ 360; is scorned by her,
_ibid._ 372; is slain by Hercules, _ibid._ 895.

LYNCEUS, one of the Argonautic heroes, renowned for his wonderful
keenness of vision, _Med._ 232.


M

MAEANDER, a river of Phrygia, celebrated for its exceedingly winding
course, _Phoen._ 606; used to illustrate the windings of the river
Lethe, _H. Fur._ 684.

MAENADS, female attendants and worshippers of Bacchus, _Oed._ 436;
their bewildered madness while under the inspiration of Bacchus, _H.
Oet._ 243; their unconsciousness of pain, _Tro._ 674; they go wildly
ranging over the mountain tops, _Med._ 383.

MAGIC ARTS, the powers of, as practiced by Medea, _Med._ 670-842; by
Tiresias, _Oed._ 548-625; by the nurse of Deianira, _H. Oet._ 452-64.

MANTO (_Oedipus_), the prophetic daughter of the seer Tiresias, _Agam._
22; she leads her blind old father into the presence of Oedipus, _Oed._
290; describes the appearance of the sacrifices which he interprets,
_ibid._ 303.

MARS, the son of Jupiter and Juno, god of war, _Tro._ 185, 783, 1058;
_Phoen._ 527, 626, 630; _Med._ 62; _Hip._ 465, 808; Oct. 293; _Agam._
548; called also _Mavors, Hip._ 550; _Thy._ 557; _Oed._ 90; used of war
or battle itself, _ibid._ 275, 646; _Agam._ 921; the amour of Mars and
Venus was discovered by Phoebus, and by him with the aid of Vulcan they
two were caught in a cunningly wrought net; for this reason Venus hates
the race of Phoebus, _Hip._ 125; Mars, summoned to judgment by Neptune
for the murder of his son, was tried and acquitted by the twelve
gods sitting in judgment at Athens in the Areopagus (Mars Hill), _H.
Fur._1342; Mars is here called _Gradivus_.

MEDĒA (_Medea_), daughter of Aeëtes, king of Colchis, and granddaughter
of Sol and Perseïs, _Med._ 28, 210; the grandeur of her estate in her
father's kingdom, _ibid._ *209, 483; mistress of magic arts, _ibid._
*750; by means of these arts she helped Jason perform the deadly tasks
set him by her father, _ibid._ 169, 467, 471; helped Jason carry off
the golden fleece upon the possession of which her father's kingdom
depended, _ibid._ 130; left her father's realm through crime for love
of Jason, _ibid._ 119; slew her brother, Absyrtus, and strewed his
dismembered body upon the sea to <DW44> her father's pursuit, _ibid._
121; _H. Oet._ 950; tricked the daughters of Pelias into murdering
their father, _Med._ 133, 201, *258; driven out of Thessaly and pursued
by Acastus, she with Jason sought and received a place of safety in
Corinth, _ibid._ 247, 257; did all her crimes not for her own but for
Jason's sake, _ibid._ 275; exiled now by Creon, she obtains one day of
respite, _ibid._ 295; prepares a deadly, enchanted robe for her rival,
Creüsa, _ibid._ 570; her magic incantations described, _ibid._ *675;
sends the robe to Creüsa, _ibid._ 816; and rejoices in its terrible
effect, _ibid._ 893; kills her two sons, _ibid._ 970, 1019; gloats over
her husband's misery and vanishes in the air in a chariot drawn by
dragons, _ibid._ 1025; goes to Athens and marries Aegeus; is a type of
an evil woman, _Hip._ 563; the stepmother of Theseus, _ibid._ 697.

MEDŪSA, one of the three Gorgons, slain by Perseus. He cut off her head
which had the power of petrifying whatever looked upon it, and gave it
to Minerva who set it upon her aegis, _Agam._ 530; her gall used by
Medea in magic, _Med._ 831.

MEGAERA, one of the furies, summoned by Juno to drive Hercules to
madness, _H. Fur._ 102; appears to the maddened Medea with scourge of
serpents, _Med._ 960; seems to appear to the distracted Deianira, _H.
Oet._ 1006, 1014; summoned by Atreus to assist him in his revenge upon
his brother, _Thy._ 252. See FURIES.

MEGARA (_Hercules Furens_), the daughter of Creon, king of Thebes,
and wife of Hercules, _H. Fur._ 202; laments the constant toils which
hold her husband from his home, and keep her anxious for his life,
_ibid._ *205; scorns the advances of Lycus who has usurped the throne
of Thebes, _ibid._ *372; slain by her husband in his fit of madness
brought upon him by the jealous Juno, _ibid._ 1010; _H. Oet._ 429,
*903, 1452.

MELEĀGER, son of Oeneus, king of Calydon, and Althaea; his tragic
death brought upon him by his mother's wrath because he had killed her
brothers, _Med._ 644, 779. See ALTHAEA.

MELICERTA, see INO.

MEMNON, the son of Aurora, slain by Achilles, _Tro._ 239; _Agam._ 212.

MENELĀUS, son of Atreus, brother of Agamemnon, husband of Helen, king
of Sparta, employed by his father to trick his uncle, Thyestes, _Thy._
327; Helen looks forward with fear to his judgment, _Tro._ 923; he
pardoned Helen for her desertion of him for Paris, _Agam._ 273.

MEROPE, the wife of Polybus, king of Corinth; she adopted the infant
Oedipus and brought him up to manhood as her own child, _Oed._ 272,
661, 802.

MESSALĪNA, the wife of Claudius, and mother of Octavia, _Oct._ 10;
cursed by Venus with insatiate lust, _ibid._ 258; openly married Silius
in the absence of Claudius, _ibid._ *260; slain for this by the order
of her husband, _ibid._ 265; her former proud estate, as the wife of
Claudius, contrasted with her wretched fate; her death described,
_ibid._ *974.

MIMAS, one of the giants, _H. Fur._ 981. See GIANTS.

MINOS, a son of Jupiter, king of Crete; father of Phaedra, _Hip._ 149;
father of Ariadne, _ibid._ 245; widely ruling and powerful monarch,
_ibid._ 149; no daughter of Minos loved without sin, _ibid._ 127;
because of his righteousness on earth made one of the judges in hades,
_Agam._ 24; _Thy_. 23; _H. Fur._ 733. See JUDGES IN HADES.

MINOTAUR, a hybrid monster, born of the union of Pasiphaë, the wife of
Minos, and a bull; called brother of Phaedra, _Hip._ 174; confined in
the labyrinth in Crete, _ibid._ 649, 1171.

MOPSUS, a Thesalian soothsayer, one of the Argonauts, who died by the
bite of a serpent in Libya, _Med._ 655.

MULCIBER, one of the names of Vulcan. He gave to Medea the hidden fires
of sulphur for her magic, _Med._ 824.

MYCALE, a celebrated witch of Thessaly, _H. Oet._ 525.

MYCËNAE, a city of Argolis, near Argos; its walls were built by the
hands of the Cyclopes, _Thy._ 407; _H. Fur._ 997; ruled by the house of
Pelops, _Thy._ 188, 561, 1011; _Tro._ 855; the favorite city of Juno,
_Agam._ 351; the home of Agamemnon, _ibid._ 121, 251, 757, 871, 967,
998; _Tro._ 156, 245.

MYRRHA, a daughter of Cinyras, who conceived an unnatural passion for
her father. Pursued by him, she was changed into the myrrh tree, whose
exuding gum resembles tears, _H. Oet._ 196.

MYRTILUS, a son of Mercury, charioteer of Oenomaüs. Bribed by Pelops,
suitor for the hand of Hippodamia, daughter of Oenomaüs, he secretly
withdrew the linch-pins of his master's chariot, thus wrecking his
master's car in the race which was to decide the success of Pelop's
suit. His sin and fate described, _Thy._ 140; the wrecked chariot
preserved as a trophy in the palace of the Pelopidae, _ibid._ 660.


N

NAÏDES, deities, generally conceived as young and beautiful maidens,
inhabiting brooks and springs. _Hip._780. See HYLAS.

NAUPLIUS, a son of Neptune and king of Euboea; to avenge the death
of his son, Palamedes, he lured the Greek fleet to destruction by
displaying false beacon fires off the rocky coast of Euboea, _Agam._
*567; when, however, Ulysses, whom he hated most, escaped, he threw
himself headlong from the cliff, _Med._ 659. See PALAMEDES.

NECROMANTĪA, necromancy, a raising of the dead for purposes of
consultation; practiced by Tiresias, in his effort to discover the
murderer of Laïus, _Oed._ **530.

NEMEAN LION, the beast slain by Hercules near Nemea, a city of Argolis,
as the first of his twelve labors, _Agam._ 830; _H. Fur._ 224: H. Oet.
1193, 1235, 1665, 1885; set in the heavens as a zodiacal constellation,
_Oed._ 40. See LEO.

NEPHELE, the cloud form of Juno, devised by Jupiter, upon which Ixion
begot the centaur, Nessus, in the belief that it was Juno herself, _H.
Oet._ 492.

NEPTUNE, son of Saturn, brother of Jupiter and Pluto, with whom, after
the dethronement of Saturn, he cast lots for the three great divisions
of his father's realm: the second lot, giving him the sovereignty over
the sea, fell to Neptune, _Med._ 4, 597; _H. Fur._ 515, 599; _Oed._
266; _Hip._ 904, 1159; rides over the surface of the deep in his car,
_Oed._ 254; sends a monster out of the sea to destroy Hippolytus in
answer to the prayer of Theseus, _Hip._ 1015; assists Minerva in the
destruction of Ajax, the son of Oïleus, in the great storm which
assailed the Greek fleet upon its homeward voyage, _Agam._ 554; bidden
by Hercules to hide beneath his waves lest he behold Cerberus, _H.
Fur._ 600; is the father of Theseus, to whom he gave three wishes,
_ibid._ 942; other sons were Cycnus, _Agam._ 215; _Tro._ 183; and
Periclymenus, _Med._ 635.

NEREUS, a sea-deity, used often, by metonymy, for the sea itself,
_Oed._ 450, 508; _H. Oet._ 4; _Hip._ 88; he is the father by Doris of
Thetis and the other Nereïds, _Tro._ 882; _Oed._ 446; even they feel
the fires of love, _Hip._ 336.

NERO (_Octavia_), the son of Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus and Agrippina,
_Oct._ 249; married his stepsister, Octavia, whom he treated with great
cruelty; his character depicted by her, _ibid._ 86; emperor from A.D.
54 until his death in 68; murdered his mother, _ibid._ 46, 95, 243;
lauds the beauty of Poppaea and announces her as his next wife, _ibid._
544; his death prophesied and described by the ghost of Agrippina,
_ibid._ **618; decrees the banishment and death of Octavia, _ibid._ 861.

NESSUS, a centaur, son of Ixion and Nephele, _H. Oet._ 492; insults
Deianira, is slain by Hercules, and while dying gives a portion of his
blood, reeking with the poison of the arrow of Hercules, to Deianira as
a charm which shall recall to her her husband's wandering affections,
ibid. *500; some of this blood is in Medea's collection of charms,
_Med._ 775; the terrible power of this poisoned blood tested by
Deianira after she has innocently sent the fatal robe to her husband,
_H. Oet._ 716; Nessus declared to have been the one who conceived the
plot against Hercules, while Deianira was but the innocent instrument,
_ibid._ 1468.

NIOBE, daughter of Tantalus, wife of Amphion, king of Thebes; punished
by the loss of her seven sons and seven daughters by Diana for her
defiance of Latona, the mother of the goddess, _Agam._ 392; changed
to stone, she still sits on the top of Mt. Sipylus and mourns for her
lost children, Agam. 394; _H. Fur._ 390; _H. Oet._ 185, 1849; her shade
comes up from hades, still proudly counting her children's shades,
_Oed._ 613.

NYCTELIUS, an epithet of Bacchus, because his mysteries were celebrated
at night, _Oed._ 492.


O

OCTAVIA (_Octavia_), the daughter of the Emperor Claudius and
Messalina, the latter having been murdered by order of Claudius
himself, _Oct._ 10; and the former by his second wife, Agrippina,
_ibid._ 26, 45; she became first the stepsister and then the wife of
Nero, _ibid._ 47; with whom she led a most wretched life, _ibid._ *100;
she had previously been betrothed to Silanus, _ibid._ 145; but he was
murdered to make way for Nero, _ibid._ 154; She was beloved by her
people, _ibid._ 183; is compared with Juno in that she is both sister
and wife of her husband, _ibid._ 282; doomed by Nero to exile and
death, _ibid._ 868; banished to Panditaria, _ibid._ 971.

ODRYSIAN HOUSE, that is, of the Thracian king, Tereus, whose house was
polluted by a horrible banquet in which his own son was served up to
him, _Thy._ 273.

OEDIPUS (_Oedipus, Phoenissae_), the son of Jocasta and of Laïus,
king of Thebes. An oracle had declared that Laïus should meet death
at the hands of his son. Oedipus was accordingly doomed before birth
to be slain, Oed. 34, 235; _Phoen._ 243; at birth he was exposed upon
Mt. Cithaeron, _ibid._ 13, *27, with an iron rod through his ankles,
_ibid._ 254; _Oed._ 857; carried by a shepherd and given to Merope,
wife of the king of Corinth, by whom he was brought up as her own
son, _ibid._ 806; grown to young manhood, he fled the kingdom of his
supposed parents that he might not fulfil an oracle that had come to
him, that he should kill his father and wed his mother, _ibid._ 12,
263; in the course of his flight he met and killed Laïus, his real
father, _Phoen._ 166, 260; _Oed._ 768, 782; he answered the riddle of
the Sphinx, and so saved Thebes from that pest, _Phoen._ 120; _Oed._
*92, 216; as a reward for this he gained the throne of Thebes, and
Jocasta (his real mother) as his wife, _Oed._ 104; _Phoen._ 50, 262;
_Oed._ 386; _H. Fur._ 388; attempts to find out the murderer of King
Laïus, and utters a mighty curse upon the unknown criminal, _ibid._
*257; declared by the ghost of Laïus, which Tiresias had raised, to
be his father's murderer and his mother's husband, _ibid._ *634; he
refutes this charge by the assertion that his father and mother are
still living in Corinth, _ibid._ 661; learns by messenger that Polybus
and Merope are not his true parents, _ibid._ 784; rushes on his fate
and forces old Phorbas to reveal the secret of his birth, _ibid._ *848;
in a frenzy of grief, he digs out his eyes, _ibid._ 915; goes forth
into exile, thus lifting the curse from Thebes, _ibid._ 1042; _Phoen._
104; he begs Antigone, who alone had followed him into exile, to leave
him, bewailing his fate and longing for death, _ibid._ 1.

OGYGES, a mythical founder and king of Thebes; hence--

OGYGIAN, i. e., Theban, an epithet of Bacchus, whose mother was a
Theban princess, _Oed._ 437; an epithet of the Thebans, _ibid._ 589.

OĪLEUS, used instead of his son, Ajax, _Med._ 662. See AJAX.

OLENUS, a city in Aetolia, _Tro._ 826; _Oed._ 283; hence--

OELENIAN GOAT, so called because it was nurtured in the vicinity of
this place. See AMALTHEA.

OMPHALE, a queen of Lydia, to whose service Hercules submitted for
three years, _H. Oet._ *371, 573; _H. Fur._ 465; _Hip._ 317. See
HERCULES.

OPHĪON, one of the companions of Cadmus, sprung from the serpent's
teeth; in adjectival form, it means simply Theban, _H. Fur._ 268;
referring to Pentheus, _Oed._ 485.

OPHIÜCHUS, the northern constellation of the "Serpent Holder,"
representing a man holding a serpent, _Med._ 698.

Orestes (_Agamemnon_), son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, _Agam._ 196;
_Tro._ 555; saved by his sister, through the agency of Strophius, king
of Phocis, from death at the hands of his mother and Aegisthus, _Agam._
910; avenged his father's murder, _Oct._ 62.

ORĪON, said to have been miraculously generated by Jupiter, Neptune,
and Mercury, out of an ox's hide; set as a constellation in the
heavens, where his glittering sword menaces the heavenly ones, _H.
Fur._ 12.

ORPHEUS, the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope, _Med._ 625; king of
Thrace; one of the Argonauts; a sweet singer and harper, whose music
could draw to him the rocks and trees, _ibid._ 228; _H. Oet._ *1036;
dropped his lyre in fear of the Symplegades, _Med._ 348; played so
sweetly that the Argonauts were not enchanted by the Sirens, _ibid._
*355; went to hades in search of his wife, Eurydice, and by the charm
of his music persuaded the gods of the lower world to release her; but
he lost her again, because he did not keep the condition imposed upon
him, _H. Fur._ **569; _H. Oet._ *1061; _Med._ 632; he sang that nothing
is everlasting, _H. Oet._ 1035, 1100; his tragic death at the hands of
the Thracian women, _Med._ *625.


P

PACTŌLUS, a river of Lydia, celebrated for its golden sands, _Phoen._
604; _Oed._ 467.

PAEAN, an appellation given to Apollo, who gained the oracle at Delphi
and earned a place in heaven by slaying the Python, _H. Oet._ 92.

PALAEMON, once a mortal, called Melicerta, son of Athamas and Ino, but
changed by Neptune into a sea divinity, _Oed._ 448. SEE INO.

PALAMËDES, son of Nauplius, king of Euboea; he was put to death by the
Greeks on false charges brought by Ulysses, and was avenged by his
father, who displayed false lights to the Greek fleet, _Agam._ 568.

PALLAS, an appellation given to the goddess Minerva. She was the friend
and helper of Hercules in his various labors, _H. Fur._ 900; the
bearer of the terrible aegis upon which was set the horrible Medusa's
head, _ibid._ 902; _Agam._ 530; the patroness of woman's handicrafts,
_Hip._ 103; the patron goddess of the Athenians, _ibid._ 1149; helps
to overthrow Troy, _Agam._ 370; stirs up the storm at sea against the
Greek ships, _ibid._ 529; wields the thunderbolts of Jove, with which
she destroys Ajax, the son of Oïleus, _ibid._ *532; hymn in praise of,
_ibid._ 368-81; helped in the building of the Argo, _Med._ 2, 365.

PANDATARIA, a lonely island off the coast of Italy, used as a place of
exile under the Empire, _Oct._ 972.

PANDĪON, a mythical king of Athens, father of Procne and Philomela,
both of whom were changed to birds. These "Pandionian birds" are cited
as types of grief-stricken beings, _Oct._ 8.

PARCAE, the three personified fates ("harsh sisters"), who spin out the
threads of human life, _H. Fur._ 181; represented with the distaff in
hand, _ibid._ 559. SEE CLOTHO and LACHESIS.

PARIS, son of Priam and Hecuba. He was doomed before birth to destroy
his native land, _Tro._ 36; exposed to die on Mount Ida, but preserved
by shepherds and brought up in ignorance of his true parentage,
_Agam._ 733; the famous "judgment of Paris," _Tro._ 66; from Helen's
standpoint, _ibid._ 920; Cassandra, in her inspired ravings, describes
this scene, _Agam._ *730; goes to the court of Menelaüs and abducts
Helen, _Tro._ 70; slays Achilles, _ibid._ 347, 956.

PARRHASIAN (i. e., Arcadian) hind, captured by Hercules as his third
labor, _Agam._ 831; bear, _Hip._ 288; axis (i. e., Northern), _H. Oet._
1281.

PASIPHAË, a daughter of the Sun and Perseïs, and wife of Minos, king
of Crete; conceived an unnatural passion for a bull, _Hip._ 113, 143;
mother of the bull-man monster, the Minotaur, _ibid._ *688.

PATRŌCLUS, one of the Grecian chiefs before Troy, beloved friend of
Achilles; he fought in disguise in Achilles' armor, _Agam._ 617; was
slain by Hector, _Tro._ 446.

PEGASUS, a winged horse, offspring of Neptune and Medusa; used to
illustrate extreme speed, _Tro._ 385.

PELEUS, son of Aeacus, and king of Thessaly; married the sea-goddess,
Thetis, _Oct._ 708; _Med._ 657; father of Achilles, _Tro._ 247, 882;
_Agam._ 616; one of the Argonauts, died in exile, _Med._ 657.

PELIAS, the usurping king of Iolchos in Thessaly, whence he drove the
rightful king, Aeson, the father of Jason. It was he who proposed the
Argonautic expedition, and for this he was doomed to suffer a violent
death, _Med._ 664; tricked by Medea, his daughters slew him, cut him in
pieces, and boiled these in a pot in the expectation that through the
magic of Medea Pelias would come forth rejuvenated, _Med._ 133, 201,
258, 475. 913.

PELION, a range of mountains in Thessaly whose principal summit rises
near Iolchos; the giants piled Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus, one on
another, in their attempt to scale the heavens, _H. Fur._ 971; _Tro._
829; _Agam._ *346; _Thy._ 812; _H. Oet._ 1152; the home of the Centaur,
Chiron, who educated the young Achilles, _H. Fur._ 971; _Tro._ *830;
furnished the timbers for the Argo, _Med._ 609.

PELOPĪA, a daughter of Thyestes, who became by him the mother of
Aegisthus, _Agam._ 30, 294.

PELOPS, the son of Tantalus; he was slain by his father and served as
a banquet to the gods, _Thy._ *144; restored by the gods to life,
and Tantalus punished (see TANTALUS); Tantalus and Pelops models for
outrageous sin, _ibid._ 242; his house doomed to sin, _ibid._ 22;
degenerate and shameful, _ibid._ 625; supposed to have been the settler
of the Peloponnesus (whence the name of the land), having come from
Phrygia, _H. Fur._ 1165; _Tro._ 855; _Agam._ 563; his palace described
at length, _Thy._ *641.

PELŌRUS, a promontory in Sicily opposite the coast of Italy; Sicilian
Pelorus shall be one land with Italy--stated as type of the last
extreme of improbability, _H. Oet._ 81; the sea-monster Scylla was
supposed to dwell under this promontory, _Med._ 350.

PENTHESILĒA, a celebrated queen of the Amazons, who came to the aid of
Priam; she was armed with battle-axe and moon-shaped shield, _Agam._
217; her fierce struggles in battle described, _Tro._ 672; slain by
Achilles, _ibid._ 243.

PENTHEUS, a king of Thebes, son of Echion and Agave; he opposed the
introduction of the worship of Bacchus into his kingdom; while spying
on his mother and her sisters who were engaged in the worship of
Bacchus on Mt. Cithaeron, he was torn in pieces by them whom Bacchus
had driven to madness, _Phoen._ 15, 363; _Oed._ 441, 483; his shade
comes up from hades, torn and bleeding still, _ibid._ 618.

PERICLYMENUS, a son of Neptune, who had power of changing into various
forms; he was one of the Argonauts, and was slain by Hercules, _Med._
635.

PERSEUS, son of Danaë whom Jove approached in the form of a golden
shower, _H. Fur._ 13; earned a place in heaven by slaying the Gorgon,
_H. Oet._ 51, 94.

PHAEDRA (_Hippolytus or Phaedra_), daughter of Minos, king of Crete,
and Pasiphaë, daughter of the Sun, _Hip._ 155, 156, 678, 688, 888; the
Minotaur is her brother, _ibid._ 174; Ariadne was her sister, _ibid._
760, 245; bewails her exile from Crete, and her marriage to a foreign
and a hostile prince (Theseus), _ibid._ 85; confesses to her nurse that
she is swayed by an unnatural passion, _ibid._ 113; confesses her love
to Hippolytus, _ibid._ 640; is scorned by him, _ibid._ *671; confesses
her sin to her husband and slays herself, _ibid._ 1159.

PHAËTHON, son of Clymene and Phoebus; desiring to prove his sonship to
Phoebus, he claimed the privilege of driving his father's chariot for
one day; he was hurled from the car by the runaway steeds, _Hip._ 1090;
and smitten to death by a thunderbolt of Jove, _H. Oet._ 854; he is a
warning against over-ambition and impious daring, _ibid._ 677; _Med._
599; gave a magic fire to Medea, _ibid._ 826.

PHAËTHONTIADES, the sisters of Phaëthon, who immoderately wept for his
death where his charred body fell on the banks of the Po, and were
changed into poplar trees, _H. Oet._ 188.

PHASIS, a river of Colchis, the country of Medea, _Med._ 44, 211, 451,
762; _Hip._ 907; _Agam._ 120; Medea named from the river, _H. Oet._ 950.

PHERAE, a city in Thessaly, ruled over by Admetus, husband of Alcestis,
who died herself that so she might redeem him from death, _Med._ 663;
it was here that Apollo, being doomed to serve a mortal for a year,
kept the flocks of Admetus, _H. Fur._ 451.

PHILOCTĒTES (_Hercules Oetaeus_), a Thessalian prince, son of Poeas,
and a friend of Hercules; he appears upon the scene of the death
of Hercules, _H. Oet._ 1604; receives the famous bow and arrows of
Hercules, _ibid._ 1648; applies the torch to the pyre of his friend,
_ibid._ 1727; describes in detail to the nurse the death of Hercules,
_ibid._ *1610.

PHILIPPI, a city of Thrace, celebrated by the victory gained there by
Antony and Octavianus over the forces of Brutus and Cassius, _Oct._ 516.

PHILOMĒLA, a daughter of Pandion, king of Athens, and sister of Procne,
who had married Tereus, king of Thrace; she suffered outrage at his
hands, and, with her sister, punished him by slaying his son Itys and
serving him to the father; she was changed into a nightingale, and ever
mourns for Itys, _Agam._ 670; _H. Oet._ 199; described, except for her
name (_Thracia pellex_), purely as a nightingale singing at sunrise and
hovering over her young, _H. Fur._ 146.

PHINEUS, king of Salmydessus on the coast of Thrace; blind and
tormented by the Harpies, _Thy._ 154; still in hades, as on earth,
tormented, _H. Fur._ 759.

PHLEGETHON, a river in the lower world, flowing with streams as of
fire, _Oed._ 162; _Thy._ 73, 1018; it encircles the guilty with its
fiery streams, _Hip._ 1227; mentioned instead of the Styx, as the
river over which Charon rows his boat, _Agam._ 753; connotes hades in
general, _Hip._ 848.

PHLEGRA, a vale in Thrace where the giants fought with the gods, _Thy._
810; Hercules assisted the gods in this struggle, _H. Fur._ 444.

PHOEBUS, one of the names of Apollo as the "shining one." Under this
name he is most frequently conceived of as the sun-god, driving his
fiery chariot across the sky, seeing all things, darkening his face
or withdrawing from the sky at sight of monstrous sin, lord of the
changing seasons, etc., _H. Fur._ 595, 607, 844, 940; _Phoen._ 87;
_Med._ 728, 874; _Hip._ 889; _Oed._ 250; _Agam._ 42, 816; _Thy._ 776,
789, 838; _H. Oet._ 2, 680, 792, 1387, 1439, 1442; his sister is Luna,
or Phoebe, _H. Fur._ 905; _Med._ 86; _Hip._ 311; _Oed._ 44; the name,
Phoebus, is frequently used merely of the sun, its bright light, its
burning heat, etc., without personification, _H. Fur._ 25, 940; _Tro._
1140; _Med._ 298, 768; _Oed._ 122, 540, 545; _Agam._ 463, 577; _Thy._
602; _H. Oet._ 41, 337, 666, 688, 727, 1022, 1581, 1624, 1699; he is
more intimately concerned in the affairs of men, and appears on earth;
he is the grandfather of Medea, _Med._ 512; the father of Pasiphaë,
_Hip._ 126, 154, 654, 889; the lover and inspirer of Cassandra, _Tro._
978; _Agam._ 255, 722; he is god of prophesy, giving oracles to
mortals, _Med._ 86; _Oed._ 20, 34, 214, 222, 225, 231, 235, 269, 288,
291, 296, 719, 1046; _Agam._ 255, 294, 295; he is god of the lyre, _H.
Fur._ 906; _Oed._ 498; _Agam._ 327; and of the bow, _H. Fur._ 454;
_Hip._ 192; _Agam._ 327, 549; his tree is the laurel, _Oed._ 228, 453;
_Agam._ 588; Cilla is dear to him, _Tro._ 227; he is the beautiful
god of the flowing locks, _Hip._ 800; worshiped under the name of
Smintheus, _Agam._ 176; hymn in praise of, _ibid._ 310; slew the Python
with his arrows, _H. Fur._ 454; exposed the shame of Venus and for this
cause Venus' wrath is upon his descendants, _Hip._ 126; he kept the
flocks of Admetus, king of Pherae, for a year, _ibid._ 296.

PHORBAS (_Oedipus_), an old man, head shepherd of the royal flocks,
forced by Oedipus to tell the secret of the king's birth, _Oed._ 867.

PHRIXUS, son of Athamas and Nephele, and brother of Helle; persecuted
by his stepmother, Ino, he fled away through the air with his sister
upon a golden-fleeced ram obtained from Mercury, _Tro._ 1034; on the
way Helle fell into the sea, called Hellespont from this incident, _H.
Oet._ 776; for this same reason the Aegean Sea is called Phrixian Sea,
_Agam._ 565; Phrixus fared on alone to Colchis, where he sacrificed the
ram and presented the golden fleece to Aeëtes; the golden fleece was
the object of the quest of the Argonauts, _Med._ 361, 471.

PIRITHOÜS, a son of Ixion, _Hip._ 1235; a close friendship existed
between him and Theseus, and they shared all their adventures; when
Pirithoüs formed the mad project of stealing Proserpina from hades,
Theseus accompanied him thither, _ibid._ 94, 244, 831.

PISA, an ancient city of Elis where the Olympic games, sacred to Jove,
were held, _H. Fur._ 840; _Thy._ 123; _Agam._ 938.

PISCES, the zodiacal constellation of the Fish, _Thy._ 866.

PLEÏADES, called also Atlantides, the seven daughters of Atlas and
Pleione, three of whom, Electra, Maia, and Taÿgete, were beloved of
Jove, _H. Fur._ 10; spoken of as a constellation which pales before the
moon, _Med._ 96.

PLISTHENES, a son of Thyestes, slain by Atreus, _Thy._ 726.

PLUTO, brother of Jupiter and Neptune, and lord of the under world of
shades, _H. Fur._ 560, 658; _Oed._ 256, 869; _Med._ 11; _Hip._ 625,
1240; _H. Oet._ 559, 935, 938, 1142, 1369, 1954; he is called the "grim
Jove," _H. Fur._ 608, and the "dark Jove," _H. Oet._ 1705; he obtained
his kingdom by drawing lots with his two brothers, _H. Fur._ 833; his
wife is Proserpina, _ibid._ 658; Theseus and Pirithoüs try to steal his
wife, _Hip._ 95; they are punished by being placed upon an enchanted
rock, _ibid._ 625; he is prevailed upon by Hercules to give up Cerberus
to be led to the upper world, _H. Fur._ 805; _H. Oet._ 559; at the same
time he gives up Theseus to Hercules, _H. Fur._ 805; _Hip._ 1152; he
is the uncle of Hercules, _H. Oet._ 328; and of Pallas, _Hip._ 1152;
unmoved by tears, _H. Fur._ 578; conquered by the music of Orpheus,
_ibid._ 582; his court and appearance described, _ibid._ *721.

POLLUX, see CASTOR.

POLYBUS, king of Corinth, who adopted and reared the exposed infant,
Oedipus, _Oed._ 12, 270; his peaceful death announced by messenger to
Oedipus, _ibid._ 784.

POLYNĪCES (_Phoenissae_), son of Oedipus and Jocasta; wronged by his
brother Eteocles in the matter of the kingdom of Thebes, he fled
to Adrastus, king of Argos, who gave him refuge and made him his
son-in-law. To avenge Polynices, Adrastus marched against Thebes
with an army headed by seven famous chiefs of Greece, _Phoen._ 58,
320; Oedipus prophesies this fraternal strife and predicts that the
brothers will slay each other, _ibid._ 273, 334, 355; remains in exile
at the court of Adrastus three years before returning against Thebes
to enforce his rights, _ibid._ 370, *502; the hardships of his exile
described, _ibid._ *586; appears before the walls of Thebes at the head
of an army, _ibid._ 387; the battle pauses while Jocasta appeals to her
sons, _ibid._ 434. See ETEOCLES.

POLYXENA, a daughter of Priam and Hecuba, one of the captive Trojan
women; the ghost of Achilles, who in life had been enamored of her,
and with whom both Priam and Hector had had negotiations touching the
maiden, appears to the Greeks and demands that she be now sacrificed on
the tomb of Achilles, _Tro._ 170; Calchas ratifies her doom, _ibid._
360; Helen announces this fate to her, and she receives it with joy,
_ibid._ 945; her death described in detail by a messenger, _ibid._
*1117; she is described as gaily leading the Trojan maidens in a dance
about the wooden horse, unconscious of the doom so soon to come to her,
_Agam._ 641.

POPPAEA (_Octavia_), one of the most beautiful and unscrupulous women
of her time; she was first married to Rufus Crispinus, a prefect of
pretorian cohorts under Claudius; she abandoned him for Otho, and him,
in turn, she left to become the mistress of Nero, and the rival of
Nero's wife, Octavia, _Oct._ 125; in order to further her schemes she
influenced Nero to murder his mother, _ibid._ 126; demanded the death
of Octavia, _ibid._ 131; with child by Nero, _ibid._ 188, 591; her
rejection by Nero prophesied, _ibid._ 193; her beauty lauded by Nero,
who announced her as his next wife, _ibid._ 544; her wedding with Nero
cursed by the ghost of Agrippina, _ibid._ 595; her marriage described,
_ibid._ *698; is terrified by strange dream of Agrippina's ghost, and
of her former husband, Crispinus, _ibid._ *712.

PRIAM, king of Troy; in his youth, at the first taking of Troy, he
was spared by Hercules and allowed to retain the throne, _Tro._ 719;
pictured as viewing the contending hosts from the battlements of Troy
in company with his little grandson, Astyanax, _ibid._ *1068; sues
to Achilles for the dead body of Hector, _ibid._ 315, 324; his city
destroyed through the baleful power of love, _Oct._ 817; description
of his death at the hands of Pyrrhus, _Tro._ *44; _Agam._ 655; he fell
before the altar of Hercean Jove, _Agam._ 448, 792; pathetic contrast
of his death with his former greatness, _Tro._ 140.

PROCNE, daughter of Pandion, and wife of Tereus, king of Thrace; she,
in revenge for the outrage upon her sister, Philomela, committed by her
husband, served to him his own son, Itys, _H. Oet._ 953; _Agam._ 673;
_Thy._ 275.

PROCRUSTES, a famous robber of Attica, killed by Theseus, _Hip._ 1170;
_Thy._ 1050.

PROETIDES, daughters of Proetus, king of Argolis; they counted
themselves more beautiful than Juno, and also refused to worship
Bacchus. The god drove them to a madness in which they thought
themselves cows, and went wandering through the woods. This act won for
him the favor of Juno, _Oed._ 486.

PROMĒTHEUS, a son of Iapetus and Clymene; he gave the gift of fire to
mortals, _Med._ 821; for this act he was bound by Jove's command to
a crag of Mount Caucasus, where an eagle fed upon his ever-renewed
vitals, _H. Fur._ 1206; _Med._ 709; _H. Oet._ 1378.

PROSERPINA, daughter of Ceres and Jupiter; stolen away by Pluto and
made his queen in hades, _Med._ 12; _H. Fur._ 1105; sought in vain by
her mother over the whole world, _ibid._ 659; Pirithoüs and Theseus
attempted to steal her away from the lower world, _Hip._ 95.

PROTEUS, son of Oceanus and Tethys, shepherd and guardian of the
sea-calves, _Hip._ 1205.

PYLADES, son of Strophius, king of Phocis, and one of the sisters of
Agamemnon; he accompanied his father as charioteer on the occasion of
Strophius' visit to Argos just after Agamemnon's murder; they take
Orestes away and so save him from death, _Agam._ 940.

PYROMANTĪA, soothsaying by means of fire, practiced by Tiresias in his
effort to discover the murderer of Laïus, _Oed._ *307.

PYRRHA, the sister of Deucalion, saved with him from the flood, _Tro._
1038. See DEUCALION.

PYRRHUS (_Troades_), a son of the young Achilles and Deïdamia, the
daughter of Lycomedes, king of Scyros; born on the island of Scyros,
_Tro._ 339; quarreled with Ulysses inside the wooden horse, _Agam._
635; slew old Priam, _Tro._ 44, 310.

PYTHON, a huge serpent or dragon that sprang from the slime of the
earth after the flood had subsided; slain by Apollo, _H. Oet._ 93;
_Med._ 700.


R

RHADAMANTHUS, a son of Jupiter and Europa, and brother of Minos; he
was made one of three judges in hades, _H. Fur._ 734.

RHESUS, a king of Thrace who came, late in the Trojan War, to the aid
of Priam; there was an oracle that Troy could never be taken if the
horses of Rhesus should drink the waters of the Xanthus, and feed upon
the grass of the Trojan plain; this oracle was frustrated by Ulysses
and Diomedes, _Agam._ 216.


S

SATURN, son of Coelus and Terra, who succeeded to his father's kingdom
of the heavens and earth; the golden age was said to have been in his
reign, _Oct._ 395; had been dethroned by his three sons, Jupiter,
Neptune, and Pluto, who divided up his kingdom among themselves; he is
conceived of as chained in hades by Pluto, _H. Oet._ 1141; Hercules
threatens to unchain him against Jove unless the latter grant him a
place in heaven, _H. Fur._ 965.

SCALES (_Libra_), the zodiacal constellation marking the autumnal
equinox, _H. Fur._ 842.

SCIRON, a celebrated robber in Attica, who threw his victims over the
cliffs into the sea; he was slain by Theseus, _Hip._ 1023, 1225.

SCORPION, one of the zodiacal constellations, _Thy._ 859.

SCYLLA, one of the two shipwrecking monsters in the Sicilian Strait,
_H. Fur._ 376; _H. Oet._ 235; _Med._ 350, 407; _Thy._ 579. See
CHARYBDIS.

SCYTHIA, a name given by the ancients to a portion of northern Asia of
indefinite extent; a description of its nomadic tribes, frozen streams,
changing aspect of the country with the changing seasons, _H. Fur._
*533.

SEMELE, a Theban princess, daughter of Cadmus, beloved of Jove by whom
she became the mother of Bacchus, _H. Fur._ 16; she was blasted by a
thunderbolt while the child, Bacchus, was still unborn, _H. Fur._ 457;
_H. Oet._ 1804. See BACCHUS.

SENECA (_Octavia_), introduced into the play in the character of Nero's
counselor, _Oct._ 377; he recalls his life in exile in Corsica, and
considers it far happier and safer than his present life, _ibid._ 381;
he strives in vain to prevent the marriage of Nero and Poppaea, _ibid._
695.

SERES, a nation of Asia, supposed to be identical with the Chinese;
they gather silken threads (spun by the silkworm) from trees, _H. Oet._
666; _Hip._ 389.

SILĀNUS, L. Junius, praetor in A.D. 49; he was the betrothed husband of
Octavia, but put out of the way by court intriguers that Octavia might
marry Nero, _Oct._ 145.

SILĒNUS, a demigod, the foster-father and constant attendant of
Bacchus, _Oed._ 429.

SINIS, a giant robber of the Isthmus of Corinth, who bent down treetops
and, fixing his victims to these, shot them through the air; he was
slain by Theseus, _H. Oet._ 1393; _Hip._, 1169, 1223.

SINON, a Greek warrior, who deceived the Trojans as to the character
and purpose of the wooden horse, and so procured the downfall of Troy,
_Tro._ 39; _Agam._ *626.

SIPYLUS, a mountain in Phrygia, on whose top Niobe, changed to stone,
was said to sit and weep eternally over her lost children, _H. Oet._
185; _Agam._ 394; _H. Fur._ 391. See NIOBE.

SIRENS, mythical maidens dwelling on an island of the ocean, whose
beautiful singing lured sailors to destruction, _H. Oet._ 190; they
were passed in safety by the Argonauts because Orpheus played sweeter
music, _Med._ 355.

SISYPHUS, the son of Aeolus, was said to have been the founder of
ancient Corinth, and father of Creon, _Med._ 512, 776; _Oed._ 282; for
his disobedience to the gods he was set to rolling a huge stone up a
hill in hades, which ever rolled back again and so renewed his toil,
_Med._ 746; _Hip._ 1230; _Agam._ 16; _H. Fur._ 751; _Thy._ 6; _Oct._
622; _H. Oet._ 942, 1010; the stone followed the magical music of
Orpheus, _ibid._ 1081.

SMINTHEUS, an epithet of Phoebus Apollo, _Agam._ 176.

SOL, the sun personified as the sun-god, used with the same force as
Phoebus, _H. Fur._ 37, 61; _Med._ 29, 210; _Thy._ 637, 776, 789, 822,
990, 1035; _Hip._ 124, 1091; _H. Oet._ 150.

SOMNUS, the god of sleep, brother of death, _H. Fur._ 1069; called the
son of Astraea, _ibid._ 1068; characteristics, symbols, and powers
described at length, _ibid._ *1065.

SPHINX, a fabulous monster with the face of a woman, the breast, feet,
and tail of a lion, and the wings of a bird; sent to harass Thebes,
slaying everyone who passed her and who could not answer her riddle,
_Oed._ 246; _Phoen._ 120, 131; Oedipus' encounter with her described,
_Oed._ *92; slain by Oedipus, _ibid._ 641; seen by Creon among the
shapes in hades, called by him the "Ogygian (i. e., Boeotian or Theban)
pest," _ibid._ 589; used as type of winged speed, _Phoen._ 422.

STROPHIUS (_Agamemnon_), see PYLADES.

STYMPHALIAN BIRDS, monstrous creatures haunting a pool near the town of
Stymphalus in Arcadia; they were killed by Hercules as his sixth labor,
_H. Fur._ 244; _Med._ 783; _Agam._ 850; _H. Oet._ 1237, 1890; used as
type of winged speed, _Phoen._ 422.

STYX, a river of hades, _H. Fur._ 780; _Oed._ 162; over which
spirits must pass into the world of the dead, the river of death; in
Seneca, this conception is not confined to the Styx, but is used of
that river in common with the Acheron, _H. Fur._ *713; _Hip._ 1180;
_Agam._ 608; the Lethe, _Hip._ 148; _H. Oet._ 1161, 1550; and the
Phlegethon, _Agam._ *750; it is upon the Styx alone, however, that
the gods swear their inviolable oaths, _H. Fur._ 713; _Hip._ 944;
_Thy._ 666; _H. Oet._ 1066; from meaning the river of death, it comes
to mean death itself, _H. Fur._ 185, 558; in its most frequent use,
the river signifies the lower world in general, the land of the dead;
so are found Stygian "shades," "homes," "caverns," "ports," "gates,"
"borders," "torches," "fires," etc., _H. Fur._ 54, 90, 104, 1131;
_Tro._ 430; _Med._ 632, 804; _Hip._ 477, 625, 928, 1151; _Oed._ 396,
401, 621; _Agam._ 493; _Thy._ 1007; _H. Oet._ 77, 560, 1014, 1145,
1198, 1203, 1711, 1766, 1870, 1919, 1983; _Oct._ 24, 79, 135, 162, 263,
594; Cerberus is the "Stygian dog" and "Stygian guardian," _Agam._
13; _Hip._ 223; _H. Oet._ 79, 1245; the "deep embrace of Styx" is the
pit which Andromache prays may open up beneath Hector's tomb and hide
Astyanax, _Tro._ 520; the boat on which Agrippina was to meet her death
is called the Stygian boat, _Oct._ 127.

SYMPLEGADES (the "clashers"), two rocks or crags at the entrance of the
Euxine Sea which, according to tradition, clashed together when any
object passed between them; escaped by the Argo, _Med._ 341, 456, 610;
Hercules prays that he may be crushed to death between these rocks, _H.
Fur._ 1210; used as a type of a hard crag, _H. Oet._ 1273, 1380.


T

TAENARUS (also written TAENARA), a promontory on the southernmost point
of the Peloponnesus, near which was a cave, said to be the entrance
to the lower world, _Tro._ 402; _H. Fur._ 587, *663, 813; _Oed._ 171;
_Hip._ 1203; _H. Oet._ 1061, 1771.

TAGUS, a river of Spain, celebrated for its golden sands, _H. Fur._
1325; _Thy._ 354; _H. Oet._ 626.

TANTALUS (_Thyestes_) (1), a king of Lydia, son of Jupiter and the
nymph, Pluto, father of Pelops and of Niobe, _H. Fur._ 390; _Oed._ 613;
_Med._ 954; _Agam._ 392; _H. Oet._ 198; because of his outrageous sin
against the gods (see PELOPS) he was doomed to suffer in hades endless
pangs of hunger and thirst, with fruit and water almost within reach of
his lips, _H. Fur._ *752; _Hip._ 1232; _Agam._ 19; _Thy._ 1011; _Oct._
621; his sin described and punishment portrayed in detail, _Thy._ *137;
his ghost appears, describes his sufferings in hades, and is incited
by a fury to urge on his house to greater crimes, _ibid._ 1; Deianira
prays that she may take his punishment upon herself, _H. Oet._ 943;
Medea prays that he may come and drink of the waters of Corinth, and
that Creon may take his place in hades, _Med._ 745; used as type of
outrageous sinner, _Thy._ 242; he forgets his thirst in his grief for
the disasters which threaten his house, _Agam._ 769; he forgets his
thirst under the influence of Orpheus' music, _H. Oet._ 1075.

TANTALUS (_Thyestes_) (2), one of the sons of Thyestes, great-grandson
of Tantalus (1), encourages his father to hope for reconciliation with
his brother, Atreus, _Thy._ 421; slain by Atreus, _ibid._ 718.

TARTARUS (also written TARTARA), in its strict sense, that portion of
the lower world devoted to the punishment of the wicked, hell, the
abode of the furies and of those like Tantalus, Ixion, etc., who are
suffering torments, _H. Fur._ 86; _Oed._ 161; _Med._ 742; _Oct._ 965;
in the great majority of cases, however, Tartarus is the lower world in
general, whence ghosts come back to earth, _Agam._ 2; _Oct._ 593; to
which Orpheus went in search of his wife, _Med._ 632; _H. Oet._ 1064;
to which Hercules went to bring thence Cerberus, _H. Oet._ 461; _Hip._
844; where was the palace of Dis, _ibid._ 951; _Agam._ 751; where
Cerberus stands guard, _H. Fur._ 649; _H. Oet._ 1770; where are the
"Tartarian pools," _Hip._ 1179; and so in general, _H. Fur._ 436, 710,
889, 1225; _Oed._ 869; _Phoen._ 144, 145; _Thy._ 1013, 1071; _H. Oet._
1126, 1119, 1514, 1705, 1779; _Oct._ 223, 644.

TAURUS, the second zodiacal constellation, the Bull, which poets feign
was the bull in the form of which Jupiter bore Europa from Phoenicia to
Crete, _H. Fur._ 9, 952; _Thy._ 852.

TELEPHUS, a king of Mysia, wounded by Achilles' spear, and afterward
cured by application of the rust scraped from its point, _Tro._ 215.

TEREUS, a king of Thrace, whose barbarous feast upon his own son, Itys,
is called the "Thracian crime," _Thy._ 56. See PHILOMELA and PROCNE.

TETHYS, the goddess of the sea, used frequently for the sea itself, in
which the sun sets and from which it rises, _Hip._ 571, 1161; _H. Fur._
887, 1328; _Tro._ 879; _Med._ 378; _H. Oet._ 1252, 1902.

THEBES, the capital city of Boeotia, founded by Cadmus, _H. Fur._ 268;
its walls built by the magic of Amphion's lyre, _ibid._ 262; famed
for frequent visits of the gods, especially of Jove, _ibid._ 265;
plague-smitten under Oedipus, who laments the disaster, _Oed._ *37;
plague described at length by the chorus, _ibid._ *125; a curse fell
upon Thebes from the time of Cadmus, _ibid._ *709; conquered by Lycus,
the usurper, who slew King Creon, the father of Megara, _H. Fur._ 270;
scene of the _Hercules Furens_, _Oedipus_, and _Phoenissae_ (in part).

THESEUS (_Hercules Furens_, _Hippolytus_), king of Athens, son of
Aegeus and Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, king of Troezene; according to
tradition also reputed the son of Neptune, who had granted him three
wishes, _Hip._ 942, 943, 1252; the last of which he used against his
son, Hippolytus, _ibid._ 945; went to Crete to slay the Minotaur; his
beautiful appearance described, _ibid._ *646, 1067; finds his way out
of the labyrinth by aid of a thread given him by Ariadne, _ibid._ 650,
662; fled with Ariadne, but deserted her on Naxos, _Oed._ 488; was the
cause of his father's death, since he did not display the white sail on
his return to Athens from slaying the Minotaur, _Hip._ 1165; married
Antiope, the Amazon, who became the mother of Hippolytus, but afterward
slew her, _ibid._ 226, 927, 1167; married Phaedra, _ibid. passim_;
went to hades with his bosom friend, Pirithoüs, to assist the latter
in carrying away Proserpina, _ibid._ 91, 627; the two were apprehended
by Dis and set upon an enchanted rock which held them fast, _H. Fur._
1339; Theseus was rescued by Hercules, _ibid._ 806; _H. Oet._ 1197,
1768; _Hip._ 843; returns from hades, _ibid._ 829.

THESPIADES, the fifty daughters of Thespius, loved by Hercules, _H.
Oet._ 369.

THETIS, a sea-goddess, daughter of Nereus; she was given as wife
to Peleus, _Med._ 657; _Oct._ 707; and became by him the mother of
Achilles, _Tro._ 346, 880; _Agam._ 616; to keep her son from the Trojan
War she hid him disguised in garments of a girl at the court of King
Lycomedes, _Tro._ 213; but this ruse was discovered and exposed by
Ulysses, _ibid._ 569.

THULE, the farthest known land, differing with different stages of
development of human knowledge; the time will come when all lands will
be known, and there will be no _ultima Thule_, _Med._ 379.

THYESTES (_Thyestes_, _Agamemnon_), see ATREUS.

TIPHYS, the pilot of the Argo, _Med._ 3, 318; picture of his management
of the vessel, _ibid._ *318; grew pale at sight of the Symplegades,
_ibid._ 346; his tragic death, *617.

TIRESIAS (_Oedipus_), a celebrated prophet of Thebes, father of
Manto; blind and old, he is led by his daughter into the presence
of Oedipus, where he attempts by various processes to discover the
murderer of Laïus, _Oed._ 288; practices _pyromantia_, _capnomantia_,
_hieroscopia_, and later _necromantia_, _ibid._ *307; discovers by the
last process that Oedipus himself slew Laïus, _ibid._ *530.

TISIPHONE, one of the furies who seems to appear to the distracted
Deianira, _H. Oet._ 1012; seems to appear to the mad Hercules, guarding
the door of hell since Cerberus has been removed, _H. Fur._ 984. See
FURIES.

TITANS, a name given to the sons of Coelus and Terra, one of whom was
Hyperion, identified by Homer with the sun. The Titans warred against
one of their own number, Saturn, who had succeeded to the throne of his
father. The word is, however, frequently confounded with the Giants,
who banded together to dethrone Jove; they piled up mountains in their
attempt to scale heaven, but were overthrown by Jove's thunderbolt and
buried under Sicily, _H. Fur._ 79, 967; _Med._ 410; _Agam._ 340; _H.
Oet._ 144, 1212, 1309; in all other passages in Seneca, Titan means
the sun, more or less completely personified as the sun-god, lord and
ruler of the day, _H. Fur._ 124, 133, 443, 1060, 1333; _Med._ 5; Tro.
170; _Hip._ 678, 779; _Oed._ 1, 40; _Thy._ 120, 785, 1095; _Agam._ 460,
908; _H. Oet._ 42, 291, 423, 488, 723, 781, 891, 968, 1111, 1131, 1163,
1287, 1512, 1518, 1566, 1575, 1760; _Oct._ 2. See GIANTS, PHOEBUS.

TITYUS, a giant, son of Earth, who offered violence to Latona; for
this he was punished in hades, where a vulture kept feeding upon his
ever-renewed vitals, _H. Fur._ 756, 977; _H. Oet._ 947; _Hip._ 1233;
_Agam._ 17; _Thy._ 9, 806; _Oct._ 622; relieved for a while by the
music of Orpheus, _H. Oet._ 1070.

TMOLUS, a mountain in Lydia, a favorite haunt of Bacchus, _Phoen._ 602.

TOXEUS, a youth slain by Hercules, _H. Oet._ 214.

TRIPTOLEMUS, son of the king of Eleusis, through whom Ceres gave the
arts of agriculture to mankind, _Hip._ 838.

TRITONS, sea-deities; they sung the marriage chorus of Achilles, _Tro._
202.

TRIVIA, an epithet of Diana, because she presided over places where
three roads meet, _Agam._ 382; _Oct._ 978; applied by association to
Luna, the heavenly manifestation of Diana, _Med._ *787.

TROÏLUS, a son of Priam, slain by Achilles, _Agam._ 748.

TROY, an ancient city of Troas, whose walls were built by Neptune and
Apollo, _Tro._ 7; it was first destroyed under the reign of Laomedon,
father of Priam, by Hercules and Telamon, because of the perfidy of
Laomedon, _Agam._ 614, 862; _Tro._ 135, *719; its second fall was after
ten years of siege by the Greeks, _Tro._ 74; her festal day turned
out to be a day of doom, _Agam._ 791; it is not the Greek heroes who
destroyed Troy, but the lying traitor, Sinon, who deceived the Trojans
about the wooden horse, _ibid._ 615; mourning for the fall of Troy,
_ibid._ 589; distant view of the smouldering ruins as seen by the Greek
vessels from the sea on their homeward voyage, _ibid._ 456.

TULLIA, a daughter of Servius Tullius, king of Rome; her impious sin
and its punishment, _Oct._ 304.

TYNDARIDAE, Castor and Pollux, the sons of Jupiter and Leda, but
falsely named from Tyndarus, the mortal husband of Leda; their stars
give help to sailors, _H. Fur._ 14, 552; _Oct._ 208. See CASTOR, LEDA.

TYPHOEUS, one of the Giants who fought against Jove, _Med._ 773; _Thy._
809.

TYPHON, a giant, apparently the same as Typhoeus, _H. Oet._ 1733;
_Oct._ 238.

TYRRHENE, an epithet applied to the band of Phoenician pirates who
attempted to kidnap Bacchus, _Oed._ 249; to the dolphin, in reference
to the story of how these pirates were changed into dolphins by the
power of Bacchus, _Agam._ 451; to the Tuscan Sea, because the Etrurians
were supposed to have been of Tyrrhenian stock, _Oct._ 311; and to
Inarime, an island, possibly to be identified with Ischia, lying in the
Tyrrhene sea off the coast of Campania, _H. Oet._ 1156.


U

ULYSSES (_Troades_), _Tro. passim._


V

VENUS, a goddess, sprung from the foam of the sea, _Hip._ 274; she is
the goddess of love, _ibid._ 417, 576, 910; _Oct._ 545; the mother of
Cupid, the god of love, _Hip._ 275; _H. Oet._ 543; _Oct._ 697; called
Erycina, because Mt. Eryx in Sicily was sacred to her, _Hip._ 199; she
persecuted the stock of Phoebus (i. e., Pasiphaë and Phaedra), because
that god had published her amours with Mars, _ibid._ 124; cursed
Messalina with insatiate lust, _Oct._ 258; the effect upon the world
which the cessation of the power of Venus would produce, _Hip._ **469;
she has no existence, but is feigned by men as a goddess in order to
excuse their own lusts, _ibid._ 203; used frequently by metonymy for
the passion of love, either lawful or unlawful, _ibid._ 211, 237, 339,
447, 462, 721, 913; _Agam._ 183, 275, 927; _Oct._ 191, 433.

VIRGINIA, the daughter of Virginius, slain by her father to save her
from the lust of Appius Claudius the decemvir, _Oct._ 296.

VIRGO, the zodiacal constellation of the Virgin, Astraea, the daughter
of Jove and Themis, who left the earth last of all the gods on account
of man's sin, _Thy._ 857.

VULCAN, the god of fire; forges the thunderbolts of Jove, _Hip._ 190;
is pierced by Cupid's darts, _ibid._ 193; is called the father of Cupid
and husband of Venus, _Oct._ 560.


Z

ZETES, a winged son of Boreas, who, together with his brother Calaïs,
was a member of the Argonautic expedition; they were slain by Hercules,
_Med._ 634; they had previously driven away the harpies from Phineus,
king of Thrace, _ibid._ 782.

ZETHUS, a Theban prince, son of Antiope, the niece of Lycus, king of
Thebes; he and his twin brother, Amphion, were exposed in infancy on
Mt. Cithaeron, but were saved and brought up by shepherds. Arrived at
manhood they killed Lycus and Dirce, his wife, on account of their
cruelties to Antiope, and together reigned in Thebes. Reference is
made to their rustic life in _H. Fur._ 916; the shade of Zethus comes
up from hades, still holding by the horn the wild bull to which he had
tied Dirce, _Oed._ 610. See DIRCE.




      *      *      *      *      *      *




Transcriber's note:

Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained.

Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently corrected.

Corrections:

The first line indicates the original, the second the correction.

p. 31

  Hating his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.
  Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.

p. 38

  And not on thy acocunt hath fate
  And not on thy account hath fate

p. 49

  Whose hearts are fainting in your breats, behold,
  Whose hearts are fainting in your breasts, behold,

p. 105

  With serpent vernom, mixing all; and in the broth
  With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth

p. 258

  What honor comes from such an end at this?
  What honor comes from such an end as this?

p. 263

  _Hercules:_ Whate're is great enough for woman's wrath.
  _Hercules:_ Whate'er is great enough for woman's wrath.

p. 338

  _Atreus:_ Because they were thy chidlren.
  _Atreus:_ Because they were thy children.

p. 501

  See ASYTANAX.
  See ASTYANAX.

p. 517

  He was pursuaded by Pelias
  He was persuaded by Pelias


Erratum

p. 512

There is no entry for _Othrys_ in the Index



***