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HE PLAYS OF SOPHOCLES 
 
 f GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 BROADWAY HOUSE, LUDGATE HILL, E.G. 
 NEW YORK : E. P. DUTTON & CO. 
 
\ 
 
 THE PLAYS 
 
 SOPHOCLES 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY 
 
 THOMAS FRANCKLIN 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY 
 
 LL.D., LATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT 
 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON 
 
 I 
 
 * ' ' ' - K o i T r ;> 
 
 Of / 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 BROADWAY HOUSE, LUDGATE HILL, E.G. 
 NEW YORK : E. P. BUTTON & CO. 
 
Cf 
 
 «£lL(FORtiL| 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The last of the Plays of Sophocles, brought out by his 
 grandson five years after his death, associates GEdipus with 
 the poet's birthplace, Colonus, on a little hill, with a temple 
 and grove sacred to the Furies, about a mile distant from 
 Athens. Here, in extreme old age, Sophocles, expecting his 
 own death, sang, with sympathy in every tone, tne death of 
 CEdipus. " Far as my eyes can reach," says Antigone to 
 her father, 
 
 " I see a city 
 With lofty turrets crowned, and, if I err not, 
 This place is sacred, by the laurel shade, 
 Olive and vine thick planted, and the songs 
 Of nightingales sweet-wai-bling through the grove." 
 
 Here, within sight of Athens, Sophocles was bom about 
 the year 495 before Christ, five years before the battle of 
 Marathon. He was about thirty years younger than 
 ^schj^lus, whose extant plays have already been given in 
 this Library, and fifteen years older than Enripi-des, whose 
 plays will hereafter be given. These are the three Greek 
 tragedians whose genius laid for all Europe the strong 
 foundation of the poetic drama. uEschylu^, whose fire 
 burned like that of an old Hebrew prophet, shaped his 
 conceptions broadly and grandly, with a force of nature that 
 creates the forms of art. Sophocles followed, and with 
 the fine touch of a poet working under influences of an art 
 already vigorous and true in aim, added new graces of his 
 own; in the clear light of his genius the Greek pla^ 
 ripened to the fulness of its beauty. Then followed Eun- 
 pides, perhaps more faulty than either of his predecessors, 
 but of the three most human, and to us moderns rich in 
 echoes of the thought of our own hearts ; therefore Milton 
 loved him. 
 
 Sophocles was the son of So^hilus. He was trained 
 liberally, and learned to so excel in music, dancing, and in 
 exercises of the body, that it was he who was chosen, as a 
 youth of fifteen, to lead, naked and lyre in hand, the song 
 and dance of triumph for the victory at Salamis. About 
 twelve years afterwards, at the age of twenty-seven, on a 
 
 -^ qnj^Q*^ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 conspicuous occasion, when accident made the leading men 
 iu Athens umpires, Sophocles competed with ^schylus and 
 won the prize, for a play which is now lost, ^schylas then 
 withdrew for a time to Sicily, as has been told in the 
 Introduction to the Plays of iEschylus. Sophocles remained 
 at Athens in highest favour, until it was his turn, when 
 veteran, to be overcome by a younj^er poet, and in the year 
 441 B.C. the first prize was won by Euripides. Of the Plays 
 produced by Sophocles during twenty-eight years, from the 
 time when he overcame ^schylus to the time when he was 
 overcome by Euripides, not one remains. 
 
 But in the next year (440), when his age was fifty-five, he 
 produced his Play of " Antigone," and for the wisdom in its 
 poetic counsels, which accorded with the policy of Pericles, 
 Sophocles was appointed one of the nine military leaders 
 who were associated with Pericles in the war against a fac- 
 tion at Samos Pericles said of him that he understood the 
 making of verses better than the marching of an army. 
 Military duty did not disturb his calm or spoil his dinners, 
 and even in camp he gave good dinners to his friends. 
 JEschylus had won special distinction as a soldier ; 
 Sophocles neither won it nor cared for it. 
 
 At Samos, Sophocles made acquaintance with Herodotus. 
 The poet and the historian met afterwards at Athens, and 
 were friends. For the last thirty-four years of his life 
 Sophocles was a patriot in troubled times, assenting often 
 to a next best policy where best was not attainable, and 
 putting his heart rather into his Plays than into the wars of 
 l)arty that beset him. He stayed by Athens and by Colonus, 
 with 
 
 the songs 
 Of nightingales sweet- warbling through the grove. 
 
 His Play of " Antigone " was followed by " Electra " ; next 
 came, probably, the '' Trachiniaa," " CEdipus Tyrannus," 
 " Ajax,'^ " Philoctetes," and " CEdipus Ooloneus." 
 
 Sophocles had two sons : one named lophon, whose 
 mother was a free Athenian woman ; the other, Ariston, 
 whose mother was of Sicyon. lophon was legal heir, but 
 Ariston had a son who was named Sophocles after his 
 grandfather, and lophon was joalous of the old man's 
 tenderness towards his grandson, fearing lest the boy might 
 get some part of lophon's inheritance. lophon therefore 
 jmblicly accused his father of imbecility — said that, his 
 mind being affected by his great age, he was not capable of 
 making a will. The old man replied: "If I am Sophocles, 
 1 am not beside myself; and if I am beside myself, I am 
 not Sophocles." He then read, as evidence of his sanity, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 a chorus in sweet praise of his native soil, from the 
 " CEdipus at Oolonus," which he had just written : 
 
 Thou art come in happy time, 
 Stranger, to this bhssful clime ; 
 Long for swiftest steeds renowned, 
 Fertil'st of the region round ; 
 Whei'e, beneath the ivy shade, 
 In the dew-besprinkh^d giude. 
 Many a love-lorn nightingale 
 Warbles sweet her plaintive tale. — &c. 
 
 The reader will find at p. 287 the chorus in the Play, which 
 caused the judges to dismiss the charge of imbecility with 
 acclamation of a genius still fresh. That Sophocles bore no 
 malice to his son is inferred from another passage in the 
 same swan song, where Antigone pleads to her father for 
 Polynices : 
 
 Remember, 'tis thy child — 
 Thou didst beget him ; though he were the worst 
 Of sons to thee, yet would it ill become 
 A father to return it. Let him come. 
 Others like thee have base, unworthy children, 
 And yet their minds are softened to forgiveness 
 By friends' advice, and all their wrath subdued." 
 
 Sophocles was about ninety years old when he died : he 
 was dead in the year 405. The enjoyment of his Plays will 
 be heightened to the reader who recalls to memory the 
 course of events in the history of Athens during the fifty 
 years after the battle of Salamis ; for a large part of a true 
 man's life, and all his work, lies in the world that is about 
 him. 
 
 Eobert Potter, the translator of ^schylus, also translated 
 the Plays of Euripides and Sophocles. He was born in and 
 graduated from Emmanuel College, Cambridge, took orders, 
 and was incumbent, first, of Scarning, and afterwards of 
 Lowestoft. He wrote poems of his own, which he collected 
 in 1774, and published, three years afterwards, in one quarto 
 volume, his translation of ^^schylas. This was received 
 with very great favour, and was often republished, with 
 addition of notes, in two volumes 8vo. In 1781 Potter's 
 ^schylus was followed by the first volume of his translation 
 of Euripides ; the second volume followed close upon the 
 first, in 1782. In 1783 Potter issued a pamphlet meant as 
 vindication of Gray in " An Enquiry into some Passages of 
 Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets," and in 1785 followed 
 a translation of the Oracle concerning Babylon, and the 
 Song of Exultation from Isaiah, chapters xiii. and xiv. In 
 1788 he completed his work on the Greek Tragedians by 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 publisnmg hi^ translation of Sophocles. He died in 1804. 
 Potter's work was at its best and freshest in his ^Eschy- 
 lus. His translation of Enripides was rivalled by that of 
 Woodhull, which appeared at the same time ; and his 
 Sophocles did not surpass the preceding translation of Dr. 
 Fra'icklin 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Thomas Francklin was an older man, whose 
 whole life was contemporary with Samuel Johnson's. He 
 was twelve years younger, but Johnson and he died in the 
 same year, 1784. He dedicated ta Johnson his translation of 
 Lucian, and caught Johnson's fancy by defining man as a 
 tool-making animal. Johnson he styled in his Dedication 
 " the Deraonax of the present age ; " Lucian having de- 
 scribed Demonax as "the best philosopher whom I have 
 ever seen or known." 
 
 Thomas Francklin (whose name was and is commonly 
 spelt Franklin) was born in London in 1720, son to Robert 
 Francklin, printer of The Craftsman, and educated at 
 Westminster School. He went on to Trinity College, 
 (/ambridge, graduated, and became a Fellow of his College ; 
 also Greek Professor in the University. In December 1758 
 he was instituted vicar of Ware and Thunderidge, and after- 
 wards rector of Braxted in Essex. He proceeded to the 
 degree of D.D., and he became chaplain in ordinary to King 
 George the Third. As a Greek scholar he translated Lucian 
 as well as Sophocles. His Sophocles, dedicated to the 
 Prince of Wales, appeared in 1759. Dr. Francklin wrote 
 also two tragedies : the " Earl of Ws.rwick," borrowed frotn 
 De la Harpe, acted with great success in 1767; and 
 "Matilda," acted in 1775, also with great applause, and 
 borrowed from Voltaire's " Due de Foix." Francklin pro- 
 duced also, without success, a two-act comedy called " The 
 Contract," founded on D'Eatouche's " L' Amour Us6." He 
 also edited, with Smollett, a translation of Voltaire, in 
 which his own part was only a translation of two of 
 Voltaire's tragedies: "Orestes," which was acted for Mrs. 
 Yates's benefit in March 1769; and " Electra," in 1774. 
 In his own day Dr. Francklin lost popularity by severities of 
 judgment as a writer in the Critical Review when Smollett 
 was its editor. This caused Churchill to say of him — 
 
 Others for Francklin voted, but 'twas known 
 He sickened .at all triumphs but his own. 
 
 He is chiefly known to us now as the best eighteenth- 
 century translator of the Plays of Sophocles. 
 
 H. M. 
 
 November 1886. 
 
A J AX. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Minerva. 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 Ajax. 
 
 Tecmessa, Wife of Ajax. 
 
 Teucer, Brother to Ajax. 
 
 Agamemnon. 
 Menelaus. 
 Messenger. 
 
 Chorus, composed of Ancient 
 Men of Salamis. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Field near the Tent of Ajax. 
 Minerva, Ulysses. 
 
 Minerva. Son of Laertes, thy unwearied spirit 
 Is ever watchful to surprise the foe ; 
 I have observed thee wandering midst the tents 
 In search of Ajax, where his station lies, 
 At th' utmost verge, and meas'ring o'er his steps 
 But late impressed ; like Sparta's hounds of scent 
 Sagacious dost thou trace him, nor in vain ; 
 For know, the man thou seekst is not far from thee : 
 Yonder he lies, with reeking brow and hands 
 Deep-stained with gore ; cease then thy search, and tell 
 
 me 
 Wherefore thou com'st, that so I may inform 
 Thy doubting mind, and best assist thy purpose. 
 
 Uly. Minerva, dearest of th' immortal powers, 
 
not, that well-known 
 Doth like the Tyrrhene trump awake my soul, 
 Right hast thou s£iid, I come to search my foe, 
 Sliiehl-bearing Ajax : him alone 1 seek : 
 A deed of horror hath he done this night, 
 If it be he, for yet we are to know 
 The certain proof, and therefoi'e came I here 
 A willing messenger : the cattle all, 
 Our flocks and herds, are with their shepherds slain. 
 To Ajax every tongue imputes the crime ; 
 One of our spies, who saw him on the plain, 
 His sword still reeking with fresh blood, confirmed it 
 Instant 1 fled to search him, and sometimes 
 I trace his footsteps, which again I lose 
 I know not how ; in happy hour thou com'st 
 To aid me, Goddess ; thy pi'otecting hand 
 Hath ruled me ever, and to thee I trust 
 My future fate. 
 
 'Min. I know it well, Ulysses, 
 
 And therefore come to guard and to assist thee 
 Propitious to thy purpose. 
 
 Uly. Do I right, 
 
 My much -loved mistress 1 
 
 Mix. Doubtless; his foul deed 
 
 Doth well deserve it. 
 
 Uly. What could prompt his hand 
 
 To such a desperate act 1 
 
 MiN. Achilles' arms ; 
 
 His rage for loss of them. 
 
 Uly. But wherefore thus 
 
 Destroy the flock ? 
 
 MiN. 'Twas in your blood he thought 
 
 His hands were stained. 
 
 Uly. Against the Grecians then 
 
 Was all his WTath ? 
 
 MiN. And fatal had it proved 
 
 To them, if I had not prevented it. 
 
 Uly. What darijig insolence could move his soul 
 To such a deed ? 
 
 MiN. Alone by night he wandered 
 
 In secret to attack you. 
 
Uly. Did he come 
 Close to our tents ? 
 
 MiN. Even to the double portal 
 
 Where rest your chiefs. 
 
 Uly. What power could then withhold 
 
 His mad'ning hand ? 
 
 MiN. I purposely deceived 
 
 His sight, and saved him from the guilty joy, 
 Turning his rage against the mingled flocks, 
 Your gathered spoil ; on these with violence 
 He rushed, and slaughtered many ; now he thought 
 That he had slain th' Atridse, now believed 
 Some other chiefs had perished by his hand, 
 I saw his madness and still urged him on, 
 That he might fall into the snare I laid : 
 Tired with his slaughter now he binds in chains 
 The living victim, drives the captive herd 
 Home to his tent, nor doubts but they are men : 
 There beats with many a stripe the helpless foe, 
 But I will show thee this most glaring frenzy, 
 That to the Grecians what thy eyes behold 
 Thou mayst report ; be confident, nor fear 
 His utmost malice ; I shall turn his sight 
 Askant from thee. Ajax, what ho ! come forth. 
 Thou who dost bind in chains thy captive foes ! 
 Ajax, I say, come forth before the portal. [him. 
 
 Uly. What wouldst thou do, Minerva ? Do not call 
 
 MiN. What should Ulysses fear 1 
 
 Uly. Oh ! by the gods 
 
 I do entreat thee, let him stay within. 
 
 MiN. But wherefore? Thou hast seen him here 
 before. 
 
 Uly. He ever was and is my deadliest foe. 
 
 MiN. Oh ! but to laugh an enemy to scorn 
 Is mirth most grateful. 
 
 Uly. I had rather still 
 
 He came not here. 
 
 MiN. And art thou then afraid 
 
 To see a madman 1 
 
 Uly. I should little dread 
 
 The sight of Ajax in his bettei' mind. 
 
MiN. He will not see tlieo be thou e'er so near, 
 
 Uly. Impossible I his eyes are still the same. 
 
 MiN. But I sliall throw a veil of darkness o'er them. 
 
 Uly. By powers immortal all things may be done. 
 
 MiN. Wait then in silence till he comes. 
 
 Uly. I will ; 
 
 And yet 'twere better to retire. 
 
 MiN. What ho ! 
 
 Ajax, again I call thee; wherefore payst thou 
 So little reverence to thy guardian power? 
 
 Scene II. 
 Ajax, Minerva, Ulysses. 
 
 Ajax. Hail to the daughter of great Jove ! to thee, 
 Minerva, hail ! Thou com'st in happy hour, 
 For I will crown thee with the golden spoils 
 Which I have gained by thy assisting hand. 
 
 MiN. Well hast thou spoke ; but say, has Ajax 
 dipped 
 His spear in Grecian blood ? 
 
 Ajax. It is my boast: 
 
 I'll not deny it. 
 
 MiN. Did th' Atridae feel 
 
 Thy vengeful arm ? 
 
 Ajax. They never will again 
 
 Dishonour Ajax. 
 
 MiN. If I understand thee, 
 
 They are both dead. 
 
 Ajax. They are ; now let them come, 
 
 And take my arms away. 
 
 MiN. But tell me, Ajax ; 
 
 Laertes' son, hath he escaped thy wrath ? 
 
 Ajax. Talkst thou of him, that fox accursed ? 
 
 MiN. I mean 
 
 Thy foe, Ulysses. 
 
 Ajax. Oh I he is my captive, 
 
 The fairest of my spoils ; I have him here ; 
 He shall not perish yet. 
 
MiN. What 'vantage then 
 
 M eanst thou to draw from his confinement ? 
 
 Ajax. First, 
 
 I'll have him bound to the pillar. 
 
 MiN. And what then 
 
 Wouldst thou inflict ? 
 
 Ajax. His limbs all purpled o'er 
 
 With many a bloody stripe, he shall be slain. 
 
 MiN. Do not torment him thus. 
 
 Ajax. In all things else, 
 
 Minerva, would I gratify thy will, 
 But this, and this alone must be his fate. 
 
 MiN. Since 'tis so pleasing to thee, be it so. 
 Nor quit thy purpose. 
 
 Ajax. I must to my work ; 
 
 Thus, great Minerva, mayst thou ever smile 
 Propitious on me, and assist thy Ajax ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Minerva, Ulysses. 
 
 MiN. Behold, Ulysses, here the mighty strength 
 Of power divine : lived there a man more wise, 
 More famed for noble deeds than Ajax was? 
 
 Uly. None, none indeed ; alas ! I pity him ; 
 E'en in a foe I pity such distress. 
 For he is wedded to the worst of woes : 
 His hapless state reminds me of my own. 
 And tells me that frail mortals are no more 
 Than a vain image and an empty shade. 
 
 MiN. Let such examples teach thee to beware 
 Against the gods thou utter aught profane ; 
 And if perchance in riches or in power 
 Thou shin'st superior, be not insolent ; 
 For, know, a day sufficeth to exalt 
 Or to depress the state of mortal man : 
 The wise and good are by the gods beloved, 
 But those who practise evil they abhor, [^Exeunt. 
 
»4 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 To thee, O Ajax ! valiant son 
 Of illustrious Telamon, 
 Monarch of the sea-girt isle, 
 I'^iiir Salamis, if fortune smile 
 C)n thee, I raise the tributary song, 
 For praise and virtue still to thee belong : 
 But when, inflicted by the wrath of Jove, 
 Grecian slander blasts thy fame, 
 And foul reproach attaints thy name, 
 Then do I tremble like the fearful dove. 
 
 80, the last unhappy night, 
 Glamours loud did reach mine ear 
 And filled my anxious heart with fear, 
 Which talked of Grecian cattle slain, 
 And Ajax maddening o'er the plain, 
 Pleased at his prey, rejoicing at the sight. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus false Ulysses can prevail, 
 
 Whisp'ring to all his artful tale. 
 His tale alas ! too willingly received ; 
 
 Whilst those who hear are glad to know 
 
 And happy to insult thy woe. 
 For who asperse the great are easily believed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The poor like us alone are free 
 From the darts of calumny. 
 
 Whilst envy still attends on high estate : 
 Small is the aid which we can lend, 
 Without the rich and powerful friend ; 
 
 Tlie great support the low, the low assist the great. 
 
 But 'tis a truth which fools will never know ; 
 From such alone the clamours came 
 Which strove to hurt thy spotless fame, 
 
 Whilst we can only weep, and not relieve thy woe. 
 
V. 
 
 Happy to 'scape thy piercing sight, 
 Behold them wing their rapid flight, 
 
 As trembling birds from hungry vultures fly, 
 Sudden again shouldst thou appear, 
 The cowards would be mute with fear. 
 
 And all their censures in a moment die. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Cynthia, goddess of the grove. 
 
 Daughter of immortal Jove, 
 To whom at Tauris frequent altars rise, 
 
 Indignant might inspire the deed, 
 
 And bid the guiltless cattle bleed, 
 Deprived of incense due, and wonted sacrifice. 
 Perhaps, sad cause of all our grief and shame ! 
 
 The god of war with brazen shield, 
 
 For fancied inj'ries in the field, 
 Might thus avenge the wrong, and brand thy name, 
 
 For never in his perfect mind 
 
 Had Ajax been to ill inclined. 
 On flocks and herds his rage had never spent ; 
 
 It was inflicted from above : 
 
 May Phoebus and all-powerful Jove 
 Avert the crime, or stop the punishment ! 
 If to th' Atridse the bold fiction came 
 
 From Sisyphus' detested race, 
 
 No longer, Ajax, hide thy face, 
 But from thy tents come forth, and vindicate thy 
 fame. 
 
 Vlll. 
 
 Ajax, thy too long repose 
 
 Adds new vigour to thy foes, 
 As flames from aiding winds still fiercer grow ; 
 
 Whilst the loose laugh, and shameless Ue, 
 
 And all their bitter calumny, 
 AVith double weight oppress and fill our hearts with 
 woe. 
 
i6 l^^B' AJTAX. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Tecmessa, Chorus. 
 
 Tecmessa. Sons of Erectheus, of Athenian race, 
 Ye brave companions of the vaUant Ajax, 
 Oppressed with grief behold a wretched woman, 
 Far from her native soil, appointed here 
 To watch your hapless lord, and mourn his fate. 
 
 CnoR What new misfortune hath the night brought 
 forth ? 
 Say, daughter of Teleutas, for with thee. 
 His captive bride, the noble Ajax deigns 
 To share the nuptial bed, and therefore thou 
 Canst best inform us. 
 
 Tec. How shall 1 declare 
 
 Sadder than death th' unutterable woe ! 
 This night, with madness seized, hath Ajax done 
 A dreadful deed ; within thou mayst behold 
 The tent 's o'erspread with bloody carcases 
 Of cattle slain, the victims of his rage. 
 
 Chor. Sad news indeed thou bringst of that brave 
 man : 
 A dire disease ! and not by human aid 
 To be removed ; already Greece hath heard 
 And wond'ring crowds repeat the dreadful tale ; 
 Alas ! I fear th' event ! I fear me much. 
 Lest, with their flocks and herds the shepherds slain, 
 Against himself he lift his murth'rous hand. 
 
 Tec. Alas ! this way he led his captive spoils. 
 And some he slew, and others tore in sunder ; 
 From out the flock two rams of silver hue 
 He chose, from one the head and tongue divided, 
 He cast them from him ; then the other chained 
 Fast to the pillar, with a double rein 
 Bore cruel stripes, and bitt'rest execrations, 
 Which not from mortal came, but were inspired 
 By that avenging god who thus torments him. 
 
AyAX. 17 
 
 Chor. Now then, ray friends (for so the time 
 demands), 
 Each o'er his head should cast the mournful veil, 
 And instant fly, or to our ships repair, 
 And sail with speed ; for dreadful are the threats 
 Of the Atridse ; death may be our lot, 
 And we shall meet an equal punishment 
 With him whom we lament, our frantic lord. 
 
 Tec. He raves not now ; but like the southern blast. 
 When lightnings cease and all the storm is o'er, 
 Grows calm again ; yet to his sense restored, 
 He feels new griefs ; for oh ! to be unhappy. 
 And know ourselves alone the guilty cause 
 Of all our sorrows, is the worst of woes, 
 
 Chor. Yet if his rage subside we should rejoice ; 
 The ill removed, we should remove our care. 
 
 Tec. Hadst thou then rather, if the choice were given, 
 Thyself at ease, behold thy friend in pain. 
 Than with thy friend be joined in mutual sorrow 1 
 
 Chor. The double grief is sure the most oppressive. 
 
 Tec. Therefore, though not distempered, I am 
 wretched. 
 
 Chor. I understand thee not. 
 
 Tec. The noble Ajax, 
 
 Whilst he was mad, was happy in his frenzy, 
 And yet the while affected me with grief 
 Who was not so ; but now his rage is o'er, 
 And he hath time to breathe from his misfortune, 
 Himself is almost dead with grief, and I 
 Not less unhappy than I was before ; 
 Is it not double then ? 
 
 Chor. It is indeed ; 
 
 And much I fear the wrath of angry heaven, 
 If from his madness ceased he yet receive 
 No kind rehef . 
 
 Tec. 'Tis so ; and 'twere most fit 
 
 You knew it well. 
 
 Chor. Say then how it began ; 
 
 For like thyself we feel for his misfortune.^. 
 
 Tec. Since you partake the sorrows of a friend, 
 I'll tell vou all. Know then, at dead of ni'^'ht, 
 
AJAX. 
 
 What time the evening taper were expired, 
 Snatching his sword, he seemed as if he meant 
 To roam abroad. I saw and chid him for it ; 
 What wouldst thou do, I cried, my dearest Ajax i 
 Unasked, uncalled for, whither wouldst thou go 1 
 No trunipt't sounds to battle, the whole host 
 Is wrapped in sleep. Then did he answer me 
 With brief but sharp rebuke, as he was wont : 
 '* Woman, thy sex's noblest ornament 
 
 jl; Is silence." Thus reproved, I said no more. 
 
 • Tlien forth he rushed alone, where, and for what, 
 I knew not ; but returning, he brought home 
 In chains tlie captive herd, in pieces some 
 He tore, whilst others bound like slaves he lashed 
 Indignant ; then out at the portal ran, 
 And with some shadow seemed to hold discourse 
 Against tli' Atrida?, and Ulysses oft 
 Would he inveigh ; or, laughing loud, rejoice 
 That he had ta'en revenge for all his wrongs ; 
 Then back he came. At length, by slow degrees, 
 His frenzy ceased ; when, soon as he beheld 
 The tents o'erwhelmed with slaughter, he cried out, 
 And beat his brain ; rolled o'er the bloody heaps 
 Of cattle slain, and tore his clotted hair. 
 Long fixed in silence : then, with horrid threats 
 He bade me tell him all that had befallen 
 And what he had been doing. I obeyed. 
 Trembling with fear, and told him all I knew. 
 Instant he poured forth bitt'rest lamentations, 
 Such as I ne'er had heard from him before. 
 For grief like that, he oft would say, betrayed 
 A weak and little mind, and therefore ever 
 When sorrow came refrained from loud complaint. 
 And, like the lowing heifer, inly mourned. 
 But sinking now beneath this sore distress. 
 He will not taste of food or nourishment ; 
 Silent he sits, amid the slaughtered cattle, 
 Or, if he speaks, utters such dreadful words 
 As shows a mind intent on something ill. 
 Now. then, my friends, for therefore came I hither. 
 Oh I if ye have the power, assist me now ; 
 
19 
 
 Perhaps ye may ; for oft th' afflicted man 
 Will listen to the counsels of a friend. 
 
 Chor. daughter of Teleutas ! horrible 
 Indeed thy tidings are of noble Ajax, 
 Thus raving, and thus miserable. 
 
 Ajax [within, groans\. Oh ! 
 
 Tec. Louder you'll hear him soon ; marked ye, my 
 friends, 
 How deep his groans ] 
 
 Ajax \within\. O me ! 
 
 Chor. He seems to rave, 
 
 Or mourns, reflecting on his madness past. 
 
 Ajax [within]. Boy, boy ! 
 
 Tec. Alas ! he calls Eurysaces. 
 
 Where art thou, child? What would he have with 
 thee? 
 
 Ajax [ivithin]. Teucer, 'tis thee I call; where art 
 thou, Teucer ? 
 Still must he chase his prey, whilst Ajax dies ? 
 
 Chor. He seems of perfect mind — open the doors, 
 Let him come forth. Who knows but sight of us 
 May keep him so. 
 
 Tec. I'll open them — now see 
 
 \The doors are thrown open and Ajax discovered. 
 Your master there, and judge of his condition. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Ajax, Tecmessa, Chorus. 
 
 Ajax. My dear companions, who alone deserve 
 The name of friends, ye see the dreadful storm 
 How it o'er whelms me. 
 
 Chor. \aside to Tecmessa]. What thou saidst, alas ! 
 Was but too true ; he seems indeed distracted. 
 
 Ajax. My fellow-sailors ! whose assisting hand 
 Plied the tough oar, and led me through the main, 
 From you alone can I expect to meet 
 Or love or friendship ; therefore show it now, 
 And kill me. 
 
AJAX. 
 
 Chor. Talk not thus, nor thus increase 
 
 By added woes tliy dreadful malady. 
 
 Ajax. Dost thou behold th\s once intrepid Ajax, 
 The brave, the mighty, long for strength renowned 
 And dauntless courage in the bloody iield ; j 
 
 Dost thou l)ehold him ? Oh ! what laughter now, 
 What vile reproach must he sustain ! 
 
 Tec. O Ajax ! 
 
 My lord, my master, do not talk thus sadly. 
 
 Ajax \to Tecmessa]. Wilt thou not home ? Wilt not 
 be gone ? 
 
 Tec. O me ! 
 
 CnoR. Be patient ; by the gods let me entreat you, 
 Be more composed. 
 
 Ajax. Wretch that I was, to let 
 
 The curst Atridse 'scape, and shed the blood 
 Of harmless cattle ! 
 
 Chor. But why sorrow thus 
 
 For what is past, and cannot be recalled ? 
 
 Ajax. How will that subtle instrument of ill, 
 Laertes' prying son, insult me now, 
 And smile at my misfortunes ! 
 
 Chor. That must be 
 
 As seems most fitting to the gods ; from them 
 Or grief or joy must flow. 
 
 Ajax. Oh ! would to heaven 
 
 That I could see him ! wretched as I am ! 
 
 Chor. This is no time for boasting : seest thou not 
 How very weak thou art ? 
 
 Ajax. Almighty Jove, 
 
 My great progenitor ! oh, grant me this ! 
 Grant me to slay that hateful, talking slave. 
 With the proud princes ; then well pleased myself 
 Should perish last. 
 
 Tec. Oh ! if thou prayst for death, 
 
 Pray too for mine ; for wherefoi-e should I live 
 When thou art gone 1 
 
 Ajax. O darkness ! my best light 
 
 And hope ! oh wrap me in your friendly shade, 
 A TTillIng gucct ! I daro net look for IiqI~), 
 Or from the gods above, or men below ; 
 
The powerful daughter of eternal Jove 
 To death devotes me. Whither can I fly, 
 Or where remain, my fame and glory lost 
 In this sad frenzy ? Left without a friend, 
 And the whole army bent on my destruction ! 
 
 Tec. Alas ! how dreadful 'tis to hear such words, 
 Which Ajax never would have spoke before ! 
 
 Ajax. Ye well-known floods that roll into the main. 
 Ye caves and forests by the rocky shore ! 
 Years heaped on years fast by the walls of Troy 
 Have ye detained me, but no longer now 
 Amongst the living shall ye ever see 
 The hapless Ajax ; this remember all : 
 Nor shall thy neighbouring waves, Scamander, still 
 To Greece beneficent, behold me more : 
 Troy never saw, forgive the boastful word, 
 A braver, nobler foe than Ajax was. 
 Though now dishonoured thus, and thus oppressed. 
 
 Chor. I would not have thee thus lament thy woes, 
 And yet I know not how to chide thee for it. 
 So hard thy lot. 
 
 Ajax. Who would have thought my name 
 
 Would e'er so well have suited my condition ! 
 Oh ! I have reason to lament indeed. 
 For sure there is not such a wretch as Ajax ! 
 Long since at Troy my valiant father fought. 
 And to his native land, with glory crowned, 
 Bore back the meed of his distinguished virtues : 
 Nor less renowned for gallant deeds was once 
 His hapless son, though now he perish thus 
 Inglorious : yet Achilles, well I know, 
 Were he alive, and to bestow his arms 
 On him who best deserved the prize, to me. 
 And me alone, would 'judge, the greo.t reward : 
 But little deemed the Atridse worth like mine. 
 And therefore gave them to that vile impostor. 
 Author of every evil work, Ulysses. 
 Had not my mind been wrought on by some power 
 Superior, and my eyes averted from them. 
 They had not lived to give another sentence ; 
 But Jove's great daughter, the invincible, 
 
The dreadful Pallas, turned my arm aside, 
 
 Just raised against them, and inspired me thus 
 
 With liorrid rage to dip my murd'rous hand 
 
 In blood of guiltless cattle : they meantime 
 
 Smile at tlie danger 'scaped, and triumph o'er me. 
 
 But, when the gods oppose us, valour bends 
 
 To cowai-dico, and strength to weakness yields ; 
 
 AVhat then can Ajax ? hateful to the gods. 
 
 By Troy detested, and by Greece forsaken ? 
 
 Shall I go leave the Atridae here alone 
 
 To fight their cause, and seek my native land ? 
 
 But how shall I appear before my father. 
 
 How will he bear to see his Ajax thus 
 
 Spoiled of his honours 1 he who ever crowned 
 
 ^Vith glory sits ; it must not, cannot be. 
 
 What if I rush amid the Trojan host, 
 
 And with my single arm oppose them all, 
 
 Do something noble, and as nobly perish ! 
 
 But that would please th' Atridje, therefore never 
 
 Shall it be done : no, 1 will do a deed 
 
 To show my father that I still deserve 
 
 The name of son, and emulate my sire : 
 
 When life but teems with unremitted woes, 
 
 'Tis poor in man to wish a longer date : 
 
 For what can day on day, and year on year, 
 
 But put off wished-for death, and lengthen pain ? 
 
 Of little worth is he who still depends 
 
 On fruitless hope ; for it becomes the brave 
 
 To live with honour, or to die with glory. 
 
 Ye have my thoughts. 
 
 Chor Thoughts not unworthy of thee, 
 
 Ajax ; but quit, oh ! quit, thy horrid purpose. 
 And yield thee to thy friends. 
 
 Tec. My lord, my master, 
 
 My dearest Ajax, dreadful are the ills 
 W^hich cruel fortune brings on human kind : 
 Of noblest race (a better, Phrygia boasts not) 
 Tecmessa was, and from a father sprung 
 Happy and free, though now a wretched slave ; 
 For so the gods and thy all-conqu'ring arm 
 Decreed : but since partaker of thy bed. 
 
AyAX. 
 
 Thou knovv'st I ever have with tend'rest care 
 
 Watched o'er thee : therefore, by domestic Jove, 
 
 Here I entreat thee, by the sacred tie 
 
 That binds us, let me not with foul reproach 
 
 And bitter scorn be taunted by thy foes, 
 
 When they surround me, as I know they will : 
 
 For oh ! when thou shalt die, that very day 
 
 The Greeks with violence will seize on me ; 
 
 Tecmessa then and thy loved son shall eat 
 
 The bread of slavery. Then some haughty lord, 
 
 Insulting loud, shall cry, behold the wife 
 
 Of Ajax, once the pride of all our host, 
 
 How is she fall'n ! from envied happiness 
 
 To servitude and woe ! Such vile upbraidings 
 
 Oft shall I hear, on thee and on thy race 
 
 Casting foul shame. Oh, then relent, my Ajax 1 
 
 Think on thy father in the vale of years, 
 
 Think on thy aged mother, who with vows 
 
 Incessant prays the gods to send thee back 
 
 Safe to thy native land ! Pity thy son, 
 
 Without a father in his tender youth 
 
 To form his mind, left to the unfriendly hands 
 
 Of those who love him not. Alas ! what woes 
 
 Wilt thou bequeath to me and to tliy child ! 
 
 I have no hope, no stay but thee alone. 
 
 Thy hand destroyed my country and my mother ; 
 
 Death snatched my father to the realms below. 
 
 Deprived of thee what country will receive me, 
 
 Or where shall I subsist ? Thou art my all, 
 
 My only safeguard : do not, do not leave me ! 
 
 Nought so becomes a man as gratitude 
 
 For good received, and noble deeds are still 
 
 The offspring of benevolence, whilst he 
 
 With whom remembrance dies of blessings past 
 
 Is vile and worthless. 
 
 Chor. Oh ! that thou couldst feel 
 
 Pity like mine for tliis unhappy woman ! 
 Then wouldst thou say her words deserve thy 
 praise. 
 
 Ajax. And praised she shall be, if she but perforin 
 What I require. 
 
AJAX. 
 
 In all will I obey thee, 
 
 I would see my child : 
 I hid him from thy sight 
 
 Tec. 
 My dearest Ajax 
 
 Ajax. 
 Let him be brought. 
 
 Tec. 
 Because of 
 
 Ajax. My distemper, was it not ? 
 
 Tec. It was : I feared indeed thou mightst destroy 
 him. 
 
 Ajax. And well thou mightst : a deed like that 
 became 
 My sad condition. 
 
 Tec. Therefore, to prevent it 
 
 I kept him from thee. 
 
 Ajax. I approve thy caution. 
 
 Tec. What wouldst thou have me do ? 
 
 Ajax. Let me behold 
 
 And speak to him. 
 
 Tec. He is not far from hence ; 
 
 The servants have him in theii' care. 
 
 Ajax. Then why 
 
 May I not see him ? 
 
 Tec. Boy ! thy father calls thee : 
 
 Let some one bring him hither. 
 
 Ajax. Is he coming ? 
 
 Doth he not hoar thee? 
 
 Tec. They have brought him to thee. 
 
 l^Enter Servants with Eurysaces. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Eurysaces, Tecmessa, Ajax, Chorus. 
 
 Ajax. Bring him this way : for if he be the son 
 Of Ajax, the fresh blood that hangs about me 
 Will not aflright him ; he must learn like me 
 In earliest years the savage laws of war, 
 And be inured to scenes of death and slaughter. 
 Mayst thou, my boy, be happier than thy fatlier ! 
 In all things elt^e it will be no disgrace 
 
AyAX. 
 
 To copy me : I envy thee, my child, 
 
 For that thou seest not thy own wretchedness ; 
 
 The happiness of Kfe is not to know. 
 
 Thy ignorance will keep thee free from pain, 
 
 Till time shall teach thee what it is to grieye 
 
 And to rejoice ; then must thou show thy foes 
 
 From whom thou art descended. May the breath 
 
 Of life meantime nourish thy tender frame, 
 
 That thou mayst prove a comfort to thy mother ! 
 
 I know there's not a Grecian that will dare 
 
 Insult thee when thy father is no more ; 
 
 For I shall leave thee to the best of guardians. 
 
 The faithful Teucer, who far from thee now, 
 
 Sent forth by Greece, repels the invading foe. 
 
 Of you, my friends, companions of the war, 
 
 The only boon I ask is, that ye urge 
 
 This last request to Teucer : say, I begged 
 
 That straight to Telamon and Eribcea, 
 
 My aged parents, he would bear my child, 
 
 To be the joy of their declining years, 
 
 Till death shall call them to the shades below. 
 
 Let not my arms by Greece, or by that plague 
 
 Ulysses, e'er be made the prize of glory 
 
 For rival chiefs ; but do thou take, my boy, 
 
 \tiLrning to EuRYSACES 
 The sevenfold, vast impenetrable shield 
 Whose name thou bear'st ; the rest be buried with me. 
 Take hence the child with speed ; nor in the tents 
 Let there be wailings. Women ever love 
 To brood o'er sorrows, and indulge their woe. 
 Shut to the door. The wound that must be cut 
 No wise physician will attempt to heal 
 With incantation, elegy, or song. 
 
 Chor. I tremble when I hear thee threat'ning thus 
 With sharp and piercing voice. 
 
 Tec. Alas ! my lord. 
 
 What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Ajax. Guess not ; inquire not of me ; 
 
 Be silent, and be wise ; it will become thee. 
 
 Tec. How am I tortured ! By the gods I beg thee. 
 By our dear child, do not destroy us both. 
 
26 AyAX. 
 
 Ajax. Thou dost perplex nie ; why revere the gods ? 
 I am not bound to 't, for I owe them nothing. 
 
 Tec. Be not so impious. 
 
 Ajax. Talk to those will hear thee, 
 
 Tec. Art thou resolved then ? 
 
 Ajax. 'Tis too much ; thy grief 
 
 Grows troublesome. 
 
 Tec. Alas ! njy lord, I fear 
 
 Ajax [to the Chorus]. Will ye not take her hence? 
 
 Tec. Oh ! by the gods 
 
 1 beg tliee, he persuaded. 
 
 Ajax. Thou art mad 
 
 To think thy words will ever change my purpose. 
 
 [Exfijf.nt. 
 
 ODE. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 Oh, happiest, best abode, my native isle, 
 Fair Salamis, encompassed by the sea, 
 
 On thee whilst gods and men indulgent smile, 
 My country, oh behold and pity me ! 
 A long, long time on Ida's plain 
 Thus doomed inglorious to remain, 
 
 While circling years roll o'er my wretched head ; 
 New terrors still aifright me here, 
 Still is my heart appalled with fear. 
 
 Lest I should visit soon the mansions of the dead. 
 
 A^itistroplie. 
 
 The woes of Ajax, too, embitter mine. 
 
 The bravest leader of the Grecian host, 
 Untimely visited by wrath divine. 
 
 And in the desp'rate cruel frenzy lost. 
 
 There was a time when sent by thee 
 
 He gained the wreath of victory. 
 Though now his weeping friends lament his fall : 
 
 The ungrateful chiefs revere no more 
 
 The virtues they admired before ; 
 His gallant deeds are now forgotten all. 
 
Stro2?he 2. 
 
 Weighed down with years, when thou in hoary age, 
 Unhappy mother, shalt these tidings hear 
 
 Of thy dear Ajax, and his cruel rage, 
 
 How wilt thou weep and wail with grief sincere ! 
 Not like the plaintive nightingale 
 That warbles sweet her tender tale, 
 
 But with loud shrieks of horrible despair : 
 With sharpest anguish sore opprest, 
 Then shalt thou beat thy aged breast, 
 
 And in deep sorrow rend thy wild dishevelled hair. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 'Tis better far to die than, hopeless still 
 
 Of cure, to languish under sore disease ; 
 When mortals suffer such distinguished ill 
 The silent tomb is liberty and ease. 
 
 Ajax, the pride of all our host. 
 
 His ancient fame and glory lost, 
 Sinks down at last o'erwhelmed with foul disgiace* 
 
 How will hapless father bear 
 
 His son's distressful fate to hear, 
 E'en such as never fell on ^acus his race ! 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Ajax, Tecmessa, Chorus. 
 
 Ajax. Still are the secret things of man revealed. 
 And what is known again in darkness hid 
 By endless and immeasurable time ; 
 And nothing is there but in length of days 
 May come to pass ; e'en sacred oaths are broken, 
 And the fixed mind, perverse and obstinate. 
 Subdued by time : I, who like hardened steel 
 
2>^ AJAX. 
 
 Wjis late inflexible, am softened now 
 
 To pity and remorse by this dear woman ; 
 
 I cannot bear to leave her here a widow 
 
 Amidst her foes, or to forsake my child, 
 
 A helpless orphan. No ; I will retire 
 
 Along the shore, and seek the running stream, 
 
 Avert the wimth of angry heaven, and wash 
 
 My crimes away : there haply shall I find 
 
 Some unfrequented spot where I may hide 
 
 This fatal weapon, this destructive sword : 
 
 Oh ! I will bury it deep in earth, that none 
 
 May see it more, but night and Erebus 
 
 Preserve it still from ev'ry mortal eye. 
 
 E'er since that hapless day, when from the hand 
 
 Of Hector 1 received this dreadful boon. 
 
 Nought have I had from Greece but pain and woe 
 
 True is the adage, " From the hands of foes 
 
 Gifts are not g ifts, but injurres most fatal." 
 
 Hereafter will 1 yield nie^ttrth^Gods 
 
 And the Atridiu ; since they are my masters, 
 
 'Tis meet that 1 obey them : all that's strong 
 
 And mighty must submit to poweis superior : 
 
 Doth not the snowy winter to the bloom 
 
 Of fruitful summer yield ? and night obscure, 
 
 When by white steeds Aurora drawn lights up 
 
 The rising day, submissively retire ? 
 
 The roaring sea, long vexed by angry winds, 
 
 Is lulled by milder zephyrs to repose, 
 
 And oft the fetters of all-conq'ring sleep 
 
 Are kindly loosed to free the captive mind. 
 
 From Nature then, who thus instructs mankind. 
 
 Why should not Ajax learn humility ? 
 
 Long since I knew to treat my foe like one 
 
 Whom I hereafter as a friend might love 
 
 If he deserved it, and to love my friend 
 
 As if he still might one day be my foe : 
 
 For little is the trust we can repose 
 
 In human friendships. But to my intent : 
 
 Go thou, Tecmessa, and beseech the gods 
 
 To grant what I request : do you perform 
 
 The same kind ofiice ; and when Teucer comes, 
 
AyAX. 29 
 
 Tell him, the care of me and all my friends 
 
 I leave to him : whither I must, I must. 
 
 Obey my orders : wretched as I am 
 
 Soon shall ye see me freed from all my woes. [£J'xei'ML 
 
 Scene II. 
 Chorus. 
 
 St7'ophe. 
 
 Now let sounds of mirth and joy 
 Every blissful hour employ : 
 Borne on pleasure's airy wing, 
 lo Pan ! to thee we sing : 
 Thee, whom on the rocky shore 
 Wreck- 'scaped mariners adore, 
 Skilled the mazy dance to lead. 
 Teach, oh teach, our feet to tread 
 The round which Cretan Cnossus knows, 
 At Nyssa which spontaneous rose ; 
 Pan, oh ! guide this tuneful throng, 
 Whjle to thee we raise the song, 
 From Cyllene's snowy brow ; 
 King of pleasures, hear us now ! 
 "From thy mountains, oh, appear ! 
 Joy and happiness are here : 
 And do thou, Delian king ! 
 Now thy aid propitious bring ! 
 Oh ! from the Icarian sea 
 Come, Apollo, smile on me. 
 
 Antist7'ophe. 
 
 All our sorrows now are o'er. 
 Grief and madness are no more : 
 See, the happy day appears, 
 Mighty Jove ! that ends our fears ; 
 Let us, free from every care, 
 Gladly to our ships repair : 
 Ajax now in sweet repose 
 Sinks, forgetful of his woes ; 
 
30 AyAX. 
 
 Humbly to the gods resigned, 
 He devotes his better mind : 
 Time that witliers can restore 
 Human plejisures. Now no more 
 Must we say our vows are vain ; 
 Nought unlioped for should remain, 
 Since, beyond our wishes, see 
 Ajax from his madness free ; 
 'Gainst th' Atridae all his rage 
 See how milder thoughts assuage. 
 Bitter strife and quarrels cease ; 
 All is harmony and peace. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Mes. My friends, I bear you news of highest import 
 From Mysia's rocky mountains hither comes 
 The noble Teucer ; know, e'en now I saw him 
 Amid the Grecian host, who, as he came, 
 Surrounded, and on ev'ry side poured forth 
 Reproaches on him. Not a man but cried 
 '' Behold the brother of that frantic foe 
 To Greece and to her council." Such their rage 
 That they had well-nigh stoned liim ; swords were 
 
 drawn, 
 And dire had been the conflict, but that some 
 Among the aged chiefs by calm advice 
 Appeased the strife. But where is Ajax gone 1 
 That I may tell him : from oui- mastei-s nought 
 Should be concealed. 
 
 Chor. He is not now within. 
 
 But just steps forth, as if on some new act 
 Intent, well suited to his better mind. 
 
 Mes, Alas ! too late did Teucer send me here, 
 Or I am come too slowly. 
 
 Chor. Why regret 
 
 His absence thus ? 
 
Mes. 'Twas Teucer's strict command 
 
 He should be kept within the tent, nor stir 
 Till he arrived. 
 
 Chor. But, to his sense restored, 
 
 He went to deprecate the wrath divine, 
 And expiate his oftence. 
 
 Mes. Thy words are vain 
 
 If Chalcas prophesy aright. 
 
 Chor. What then 
 
 Did Chalcas say ? Dost thou know aught of this 1 
 
 Mes. Thus far I know, for I was witness of it : 
 Chalcas, retiring from the assembled chiefs 
 Apart from the Atridte, gently pressed 
 The hand of Teucer, and in tenderest friendship 
 Besought him that by every human art 
 And means to be devised he would prevent 
 Ajax his wandering forth this fatal day, 
 If he did ever wish to see him more. 
 This day alone, he said, Minerva's wrath 
 Would last against him. Oft the mighty fall 
 In deep affliction, smit by angry heaven. 
 When, mortal-born, to human laws they yield nor 
 As mortals ought, submissively : thus spake 
 The prophet, and long since was Ajax deemed 
 To have a mind disturbed. When first he left 
 His native soil, " Be conqueror, O my child ! " 
 His father said, " but conquer under God." 
 Impious and proud his answer was : " The worst 
 Of men," he cried, " assisted by the gods 
 May conquer ; I shall do the work without them." 
 Such were his boastings ; and when Pallas once 
 With kind assistance urged him to the fight, 
 Dreadful and horrible was his reply : 
 *' Go, queen, to other Grecians lend thy aid, 
 'Tis needless here ; for know, where Ajax is 
 The foe will never come." By words like these, 
 And pride ill-suited to a mortal's pow'r. 
 Did he offend the vengeful deity ; 
 But if he lives, we may preserve him still, 
 The gods assisting. So the prophet spake ; 
 And Teucer bade me say, you all should try 
 
To keep him liere ; but if that cannot he, 
 And Chalcas judge aright, he is no more. 
 
 CiiOR. [to Tecmessa ivithm]. What ho ! Tecmessa, 
 most unhappy woman ! 
 Come forth and hear the tidings that he brings ; 
 They wound us deep, and all our joys are gone. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Tecmessa, Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 But why forbade him ] 
 
 Tec. Scarce do I bi-eathe from still repeated woes, 
 And now again thou call'st me : wherefore 1 Speak. 
 
 Chor. This messenger hath brought us dreadful news 
 Concerning Ajax : hear him. 
 
 Tec. Oh ! what is it ? 
 
 Am I undone ? 
 
 Mes. I know not what thou art ; 
 
 But if thy Ajax be gone forth, my fears 
 Arfi great for him. 
 
 Tec. Alas ! he is ; but why ? 
 
 How thou afflict'st me ! 
 
 Mes. Teucer hath forbade 
 
 His wandering thus alone. 
 
 Tec. 
 And where is Teucer ? 
 
 Mes. He will soon be here : 
 
 He fears this fatal day. 
 
 Tec. Undone Tecmessa ! 
 
 Whence are his fears ? who told him 'twould be fatal ? 
 
 Mes. Thestorian Chalcas did foretell this day 
 To life or death would fix the fate of Ajax. 
 
 Tec. [to the Chorus]. Assist me, friends, in this 
 distressful hour. 
 To Teucer haste, and bring him to my aid ; 
 Some to yon western mountain bend your way, 
 And some to th' east ; find out which path he went, 
 Unhappy wanderer ! Oh ' he has deceived me, 
 His former love forgotten all and gone ! 
 What must we do, my child ? I must not sit 
 
Inactive here ; no, wheresoe'er I can 
 I'll go to search him. Let us haste, my friends. 
 Quick ! fly this instant, if we mean to save 
 The wretched Ajax, rushing on destruction. 
 
 CiiOR. Behold us ready, not in v/ord alone, i 
 But bent with speed to follow thee. Away ! / [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Ajax. There stands my sword, and fixed as it may 
 best 
 Perform its office ; 'twas the gift of Hector, 
 My worst of foes, whom I detested ever : 
 The steel-devouring stone hath sharpened well 
 Its keenest edge. Buried in Trojan earth 
 It lies, and now in kindness seems prepared 
 To end my wretched life. Thus far is well. 
 And now, Jove ! — for first to thee 'tis fit 
 We pay due honours — I address my prayer. 
 I ask not much : I ask thee but to send 
 Some passing stranger here to bear the news 
 Of my unhappy fate to Teuoer's ear, 
 That he may first behold, and take me hence, 
 Lest, by my foes discovered, I be cast 
 A prey to dogs and birds. Forbid it, Jove ! 
 Thee too, great leader of departed souls, 
 Terrestrial Hermes, thee I call! oh, hear me! 
 With easy steps, and swift, conduct me safe 
 To my abode, soon as this fatal sword 
 Shall reach my breast. And you, ye virgin powers 
 From whom whate'er befalls of human ill 
 Cannot be hid, ye goddesses revered, 
 Swift to pursue the guilty, oh, behold, 
 The wretched Ajax by th' Atridse fall ! 
 "D seize the murd'rers ! By my own sad hand 
 As I shall perish, let my foes be slain 
 
By those wliom most they love ! Quick, fly, begone, 
 
 Ye vengeful furies ! Gorge yourselves in blood, 
 
 Nor spiire a man of all the Grecian host. 
 
 And thou, Sun ! who diiv'st the flaming car 
 
 Along the vaulted sky, when thou shalt see 
 
 My native soil, oh ! stop thy golden reins ; 
 
 Tell the sad story to my hapless sire 
 
 And my afllicted mother. AVhen she hears 
 
 The mournful tale, her grief will fill the land 
 
 With dreadful lamentations. But 'tis vain 
 
 To weep my fate : the business must be done. 
 
 O Death ! look on me. Death ; I come to thee — 
 
 Soon shall we meet ; but thee, glorious day ! 
 
 And yon bright charioteer the sun, no more 
 
 Shall I behold : e'en now thou hearst my last, 
 
 My dying words. O light ! sacred soil 
 
 Of Salamis, my country, and her gods ! 
 
 O noble Atliens ! O my loved companions ! 
 
 Ye rivers, fountains, and fair fields of Troy ! 
 
 ^ And yon, my honoured parents, oh, farewell ! 
 
 / 'Tis the last word Ajax shall speak on earth : 
 
 \ The rest be uttered to the shades below. 
 
 [Ajax _/«//.? on his sivord ami dies. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Semiciior. I . Labour on labour, toil go toil ! Oh, whither 
 Have we not wandered 1 Yet no place informs us 
 Where Ajax is. But soft, I hear a voice. 
 
 Semichor. 2. 'Twas ours, your friends. 
 
 Semichor. I. What news ? 
 
 Semichor. 2. We've searched along 
 
 The western shore. 
 
 Semichor. i. And is he found ? 
 
 Semichor. 2. Alas ! 
 
 We met with nought but toil ; no siglit of him. 
 
 Semichor. i. We from the east return with like suc- 
 cess ; 
 For none have seen or heard of him that way. 
 
Semichor. 2. Wlio will inform us ? who will say- 
 Where cruel Ajax bent his way 1 
 Will not the watchful hind, who, void of sleep, 
 
 Hangs laborious o'er the deep 1 
 From high Olympus will no pitying god, 
 
 Will no kind Naiad of the flood. 
 If chance they see the cruel Ajax stray^ 
 
 Tell us where he bent his way 1 
 For oh ! 'tis dreadful, wearied thus, to rove, 
 
 Whilst all our pains successless prove 
 To reach the destined goal, or And the man we love. 
 Tec. [from ivithin]. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Semichor. i . Hark ! from the neighbouring grove 
 1 heard a voice. 
 
 Semichor. 2. It is the wretched captive, 
 The wife of Ajax, the poor sad Tecmessa. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Tecmessa, Chorus. 
 
 Tec. Oh ! I am lost, my friends, undone, destroyed ! 
 Chor. Ha ! what hath happened 1 
 Tec. Ajax lies before me, 
 
 Slain by the sword which he had buried here. 
 
 Chor. Fatal sure was our return. 
 
 Thy untimely death to mourn. 
 Me, and all thy faithful train. 
 Cruel Ajax, hast thou slain. 
 Sad event, alas ! to me ! 
 Sadder, woman, still to thee. 
 
 Tec. Oh ! I have reason now to weep indeed. 
 Chor. What hand performed the horrid deed ? 
 Tec. His own 
 
 Doubtless it was ; the sword he fell upon. 
 Here, fixed in earth, declares it must be so. 
 Chor. \approachm(j toivards the body]. 
 
 Alone, without one pitying friend, 
 Cam'st thou to this dreadful end ; 
 
as 1 not myself to blame, 
 Who neglectful never came ? 
 13 ring him, Tecmessa, to my eyes, 
 Tell me where thy Ajax lies. 
 
 Tec. He is not to be seen. This folded garment 
 Shall hide the horrid sight — a sight no friend 
 "Would wish to see : whilst from his nostrils streams 
 The black blood, more still issuing from the wound 
 Made by his own destructive hand. me ! 
 What must I do 1 What friend will raise him up 1 
 Oh ! where is Teucer ? He should have been here 
 To pay his last sad duty to a brother. 
 
 wretched Ajax ! But to think, alas ! 
 
 What once thou hast been, and what now thou art. 
 Thy very foes must sure lament thy fate. 
 
 Chor. Ajax, long since in thy obdurate mind, 
 
 Thy sad purpose was designed ; 
 Long since wert thou resolved to seek repose 
 
 From thy never-ceasing woes : 
 This from the daily sigh, the nightly tear, 
 
 This from thy sorrows did I fear ; 
 This from thy hate which nought could e'er assuage ; 
 
 And 'gainst th' Atridse all thy rage : 
 For never did thy soul contentment know, 
 
 But still with fiercest indignation glow. 
 Since gi'eat Achilles' arms were given to thy foo. 
 
 Tec. O me ! 
 
 Chor. Alas ! I know the wound must pierce 
 
 Thy inmost soul. 
 
 Tec. Unhappy, lost Tecmessa ! 
 
 Chor. Oh ! I believe thou art indeed unhappy, 
 Bereaved of such a friend. 
 
 Tec. Thou but believ'st it ; 
 
 1 am too certain, for I feel it here. 
 
 Chor. 1 know thou dost. 
 
 Teo. What servitude, my child, 
 
 Must we endure ? Who will protect us now ? 
 
 Chor. Doubtless thy fear of future pain 
 Fi'om the Atridte all are vain, 
 
37 
 
 For never can they mean such ills to thee ; 
 Unfeeling they of human woe, 
 Nor love nor piety could know ; 
 
 May heaven avert the sad calamity ! 
 
 Tec. The gods ordained it, and it must be so. 
 Chor. But he hath suffered more than he deserved. 
 Tec. Jove's dreadful daughter Pallas so decreed 
 His fate, to gratify her loved Ulysses. 
 
 Chor. Ulysses, ever pleased to see 
 
 His madness, now will smile at thee, 
 
 Will laugh at Ajax's woes nor pity thine : 
 By him the curst Atrid?e led 
 Perhaps will triumph o'er the dead, 
 
 And in the cruel mirth with pleasure join. 
 
 Tec. Let them rejoice, let them insult him now 
 With savage joy ; but when the dreadful day 
 Of battle comes, whom living they despised 
 When dead they shall lament. Fools never ^now^ 
 The treasure's value till tjie k-easure 's lost^ '"^ 
 Buf^far moi'e bitter was lug''(Ieath to me 
 Than sweet to them : to Ajax it was most welcome ; 
 Death was his only wish, and he obtained it. 
 Then wherefore should they triumph ? By the hand 
 Of Heaven, and not by theirs, my Ajax fell. 
 Then let Ulysses smile : he is not theirs. 
 He lives not for the Grecians : he is gone, 
 And has bequeathed his sorrows all to me. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Teucer, Tecmessa, Chorus. 
 
 Teu. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Chor. Hark ! 'tis the voice of Teucer 
 
 In mournful sighs lamenting our sad fate. 
 
 Teu. Ajax ! is it so % My dearest brother, 
 Dear as these eyes to me, hath fame said true, 
 And art thou iforie] 
 
,y 
 
 AJAX, 
 
 Ohor. Teiicer ! he is dead. 
 
 Teu. Unhappy fate I 
 
 Chor 'Tis so indeed. 
 
 Teu. Alas ! 
 
 Wretch tlmt I am ! 
 
 CuoK. Oh ! thou hast cause to weep. 
 
 Teu. Dreadful calamity ! 
 
 Chor. It is indeed 
 
 Too much to bear. 
 
 Teu. wretched, wretched Teucer ! 
 
 Where is the child 1 Is he at Troy ] 
 
 Chor. Alone, 
 
 And in the tent. 
 
 Teu. Will ye not bring him to me H^"^ 
 
 Lest he shall fall a victim to the foe, 
 Even as the hunters seize the lion's whelp 
 Left to its helpless dam % Quick ! fly ! assist me ; 
 For all are glad to triumph o'er the dead. 
 
 Chor. To thee, Teucer ! he bequeathed the care 
 Of his loved child, and thou obeyst him well. 
 
 Teu. Ajax ! never did these eyes behold 
 A sight so dreadful. Came I then for this 
 With luckless speed ? O melancholy journey ! 
 To seek thee long in vain, and thus at last 
 To find thee dead before me, my brother ! 
 Quick through the Grecian host, as if some god 
 Had brought the tidings, spi-ead the dire report 
 Of thy untimely fate. Far from thee then 
 1 heard and wept, but now, alas ! I see 
 And am undone. My best, my dearest Ajax ! 
 Unveil the body ; let me view it well. 
 And count my miseries. Horrid spectacle ! 
 Oh ! rash advent' rous deed ! What weight of woe 
 Thy death has laid on me ! Alas ! to whom 
 Or whither shall I go ? Oh, wherefore, Teucer, 
 Wert thou not here to stop a brother's hand ? 
 What will our poor unhappy father say, 
 The wretched Telamon ? Will he receive me 
 With looks of love and pleasure, when 1 come 
 Without his Ajax % Oh I he never will. 
 Even in the best of times he was not wont 
 
To smile or joy in aught. What then will now 
 His anger vent ? Will he not speak of me 
 As of a faithless, base, unworthy son, 
 The spurious offspring of a captive mother, 
 Who hath betrayed and slain his best-loved Ajax 
 To gain his fair possessions after death ? 
 Thus will his wrath, sharpened by peevish a^e, 
 Upbraid me guiltless ; and to slavery doomed, 
 A wretched exile from his native land, 
 Shall Teucer wander forth. Such dreadful ills 
 Must I expect at home. At Troy my foes 
 Are numerous, and my friends, alas ! how few ! 
 Thou art the cause of all : for, O my Ajax ! 
 What shall I do 1 How can I save thee now 
 From this sad fate 1 Oh ! who could have foreseen 
 That Hector, long since dead, at last should prove 
 The murderer of Ajax 1 By the gods 
 I do beseech you, mark the fate of both : 
 The belt, which Ajax did to Hector give. 
 Dragged the brave Trojan o'er the blood}^ field 
 Till he expired ; and now, behold ! the sword, 
 Which Hector gave to Ajax is the cause 
 Of Ajax' death. Erynnis' self did forge 
 The fatal steel, and Pluto made the belt. 
 
 Dreadful artificer ! JBiLt thiSj_an<Loil '^'SlSL. *" 
 
 .Thatjiappens to us, is the woi^ of^ Heaven. ^mmmm^ 
 
 If there be those who doubt it, let them hold -ilS^^i^S" 
 
 Their diff'ring judgments — I shall keep my own. 
 
 CnoR. Teucer, no more ; but rather now prepare 
 To bury Ajax, and defend thyself 
 Against thy foe, whom yonder I behold 
 This way advancing, with malignant smile 
 And looks of ill intent. 
 
 Teu. Who can it be ? 
 
 From the army, thinkst thou 1 
 
 Chor. 'Tis the man whose cause 
 
 We came to fight, e'en Menelaus. 
 
 Teu. 'Tis so. 
 
 As he approaches nigh, I know him well. 
 
40 
 
 Scene V. 
 Menelaus, Teucer, Chorus. 
 
 Men. Stop there ! To thee I speak. Let go the body. 
 T will not hnvo it touched. 
 
 Teu. Why touch it not ? 
 
 Men. Because it is my will^ and his who leads 
 The Grecian host. 
 
 Teu. But wherefore is it so ? 
 
 Men. Greece fondly hoped that she had brought a 
 friend 
 And firm ally, but by experience found 
 That Troy herself was not so much our foe 
 As Ajax was, who nightly wandered forth 
 With deadliest rage to murder all our host, 
 And, but .some god did frustrate his intent, 
 The fate himself hath met had been our own. 
 Then had he triumphed ; but the gods ordained 
 It should not be, and 'gainst the flocks and herds 
 Turned all his fury ; wherefore know, there lives not 
 A man of courage or of power sufficient 
 To bury Ajax. On the yellow shore 
 He shall be cast, to be the food of birds 
 That wander there. Thou mayst resent it too, 
 B^it 'twill be vain. At least we will command 
 When dead, whom living we could ne'er subdue, 
 Nor ask thy leave. He never would submit, 
 But now he must. Yield therefore, or we force thee. 
 Tis the Plebeian's duty to obey 
 The voice of those who bear authority. 
 And he who doth not is the worst of men ; 
 For never can the state itself support 
 By wholesome laws, where there is no submission. 
 An army's best defence is modest fear 
 And reverence of its leaders ; without these 
 It cannot conquer. It becomes a man 
 How great soe'er his strength, still to remember 
 A little, very little, may destroy him. 
 He who is guarded by humility 
 
AyAX. 41 
 
 And conscious shame alone in safety lies ; 
 
 But where licentious freedom and reproach 
 
 Injurious reign, each as his will directs 
 
 Still acting, know that city soon must fall 
 
 From all its bliss, and sink in deepest woe. 
 
 Eemember, then, respect is due to me. 
 
 Let us not think when pleasure is enjoyed 
 
 We must not suffer too and taste of pain ; 
 
 For these to mortals still alternate rise. 
 
 There lived not one so proud and arrogant 
 
 As Ajax was. I will be haughty now; 
 
 It is my turn. Take heed, then. Touch him not, 
 
 Lest, while thou striv'st to bury him, thyself 
 
 Should drop into the tomb. 
 
 Chor. O Menelaus ! 
 
 Do not with maxims grave and wisdom's rules 
 Mix foul reproach and slander on the dead. 
 
 Teu. It should not move our wonder, my friend ! 
 To see the vulgar err, of meaner souls 
 And birth obscure, when men so nobh' born 
 Will talk thus basely. Tell me, Menelaus — 
 For 'twas thy first assertion — didst thou bring 
 Our Ajax here to help the Grecian host ? 
 Or came he hither by himself alone 
 Conducted? Whence is thy ccmimand o'er him. 
 O'er these his followers ? Who gave thee power ? 
 Who gave thee rights Thou mayst be Sparta's kii)g, I 
 But art not ours. Ajax was bound by law 
 No more to thee than thou wert bound to Ajax : 
 Thyself no general, but to others here 
 Subjected ; therefore, lord it Avhere thou mayst — 
 Command thy slaves ; go, threaten and chastise them. 
 But I will bury Ajax, spite of thee 
 And of thy brother, for I heed thee not. 
 He sailed not here to quarrel for the wife 
 Of Menelaus, like a hireling slave, 
 But to fulfil the strictly-binding oath 
 Which he had sworn ; he did not come for thee, 
 For he despised so poor a cause ; he came 
 With all his heralds and a numerous train, 
 And brought his captains too. llemember, therefore, 
 
A^AX 
 
 Thy clamours ne'er shall turn me from my purpose 
 Whilst thou art what thou art. 
 
 Men. a tongue like thine 
 
 But ill becomes thy state : 'tis most unseemly. 
 
 Teu. a keen reproach, with justice on its side, 
 Is always grating. 
 
 ]\Ien. This proud archer here 
 
 Talks loudly. 
 
 Teu. 'Tis no mean illiberal art. 
 
 ;Men. If thou couldst bear a shield, how insolent 
 And haughty wouldst thou be, when naked, thus, 
 Thou boast'st thy valour! 
 
 Teu. Naked as I am 
 
 1 should not fly from thee with all thy arms. 
 
 Men. Thy tongue but speaks thy pride. 
 
 Teu. I should be proud 
 
 When I am just. 
 
 Men. Doth justice bid me love 
 
 Him who destroyed me ? 
 
 Teu. Art thou then destroyed? 
 
 That's strange indeed, living and dead at once. 
 
 Men. For him I had been so : the gods preserved me. 
 
 Teu. Do not dishonour then the powers divine 
 That saved thee. 
 
 Men. Do I violate their laws ? 
 
 Teu. If thou forbidst the burial of the dead 
 Thou dost ofi'end the gods. 
 
 INIen. He was my foe, 
 
 And therefore I forbid it. 
 
 Teu. Art thou sure 
 
 That A jax ever was thy foe 1 
 
 Men. I am ; 
 
 Our hate was mutual, and thou knowst the cause, 
 
 Teu. Because thou wert corrupted, thy false voice 
 Condemned him. 
 
 Men. 'Twas the judges' fault, not mine. 
 
 Teu. Thus mayst thou screen a thousand injuries. 
 
 Men. Some one may suffer for this insolence. 
 
 Teu. Not more perhaps than others. 
 
 Men. This alone 
 
 Itemember, buried he sliall never be. 
 
Teu. Do thou remember too, I say he shall. 
 
 Men. So have I seen a bold imperious man 
 With froward tongue, before the storm began, 
 Urging the tardy mariner to sail, 
 But when the tempest rose no more was heard 
 The coward's voice, but wrapt beneath his cloak 
 Silent he laid, and suffered every foot 
 To trample on him. Thus it is with thee, 
 And thy foul tongue : forth from a little cloud 
 Soon as the storm shall burst, it will o'erwhelm thee, 
 And stop thy clamours. 
 
 Teu. I too have beheld 
 
 A man with folly swollen reproach his friends 
 Oppressed with sore calamity, when straight 
 One came like me, with indignation fired. 
 Saw, and addressed him thus : " Cease, shameless wretch ! 
 Nor thus oppress the dead ; for if thou dost, 
 Remember, thou shalt suffer for thy crime." 
 Thus spoke he to the weak insulting fool ; 
 Methinks I see him here — it must be he, 
 Even Menelaus. Have I guessed aright ? 
 
 Men. 'Tis well ; I'll leave thee. 'Tis a folly thus 
 To talk with those whom we have power to punish. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Teucer, Chorus. 
 
 Teu. Away ! This babbler is not to be borne. 
 
 Chor. The contest will grow warm. O Teucer ! haste, 
 Prepare some hollow fosse for the remains 
 Of Ajax. Raise him there a monument, 
 By after-ages ne'er to be forgotten. 
 
 Teu. And lo ! in happy hour this way advancing 
 The wife and son of our unhappy friend, 
 To pay due honours and adorn his tomb. 
 
44 
 
 /IJAX 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 '^K^MKSv^A. KrRYSACES, TeUCER, OhORUS. 
 
 Tev. Come hither, boy, bend down and touch thy 
 father ; 
 There sit, and, liolding in thy hands this hair 
 And liers and thine, the suppHant's humble treasure, 
 Offer thy pious prayers for thy dead father : 
 If from yon hostile camp the foe should come 
 'J'o drive thee hence, far from his native land, 
 Whoe'er he be, unburied may he lie. 
 From his whole lace uprooted, torn away, 
 E'en as this hair which here I cut before thee ; 
 Oh ! guard it well, my child ; and you my friends. 
 Behave like men — assist, protect him now, 
 Till I return, and, spite of all our foes, 
 Perform the rites, niid raise a tomb to Ajax. [Eocif. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Tecjiessa, Eurysaces, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Strophe I. 
 
 When will the happy hour appear, 
 That comes to calm our every fear, 
 From endless toil to bring us sweet repose. 
 To bid our weary wanderings cease. 
 To fold us in the arms of peace. 
 And put the wished-for period to our woes 1 
 For since the day when first to Troy we came 
 Nought have we known but grief, reproach, and 
 shame. 
 
 AntistropJm i. 
 
 Oh ! that the man, who erst inspired 
 With honud rage, our Grecians fired 
 
AJAX. 
 
 To slaught'rous deeds, and taught them first to fight, 
 Ere he had learned the dreadful trade, 
 Himself had mingled with the dead, 
 
 Or scattered wide in air, or sunk in endless night ! 
 
 For oh ! from war unnumbered e\'ils flow, 
 
 The unexhausted source of every human woe. 
 
 HtropliG 2. 
 
 By war disturbed, the genial board 
 No longer will its sweets aflbrd ; 
 Their fragrant odoui's round my head 
 The verdant wreaths no longer spread ; 
 Nor music's charms my soul delight, 
 Nor love with rapture crowns the night ; 
 No love, alas ! for me, but grief and care ; 
 For when I think of Troy I still despair, 
 And wet with many a tear my wild dishevelled hair. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 Nor nightly fear nor hostile dart; 
 Whilst Ajax lived, appalled my heart, 
 But all our pleasures now are o'er, 
 The vahant Ajax is no more : 
 Oh ! could I climb the woody steep 
 That hangs incumbent o'er the deep. 
 From Sunium's cliff by waves for ever beat. 
 Then should my eye the lovely prospect greet, 
 And smile on sacred Athens rising at my feet. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Teucer, Agamemnon, Chorus. 
 
 Teucer. This way I bent my hasty steps to meet 
 The Grecian chief, who hither comes prepared 
 To vent his keen reproaches. 
 
Aga. I am told ^ 
 
 That thou, e'en thou, the sou of a vile slave, * 
 
 Hast dared to utter foulest calumny 
 Against thy prince, and passed unpunished for it ; 
 Mean as thy birth is, what liad been thy pride 
 And high demeanour had thy mother sprung 
 From noble l)lood ? Barbarian as thou art, 
 How couldst thou praise a wretch, who, lilte thyself, 
 Was nothing ? We, it seems, for thou hast sworn it, 
 Are not the masters or of Greece or thee ; 
 Ajax alone, thou sayst, was leader here. 
 Shall we be thus insulted by our slaves? 
 Who is this boaster ? and what mighty deed 
 Hath he performed which I could not have done ? 
 Is there no hero in the Grecian host 
 But Ajax 1 Vain indeed were our resolves 
 In the warm contest for Achilles' arms, 
 If Teucer yet shall question the decree 
 Against the general voice — resisting still, 
 And still reproachful, with delusive arts. 
 Though conquered, yet opposing. ^V^holesome laws 
 Will nought avail if those whom justice deems 
 Superior, to the vanquished must resign. 
 And first in virtue be the last in fame. 
 It must not be. Not always the huge size 
 Of weighty limbs ensures the victory ; 
 They who excel in wisdom are alone 
 Invincible. Thou see'st the brawny ox, 
 How the small whip will drive him through the field : 
 What if the med'cine be applied to thee 
 For thy proud boasting and licentious tongue ? 
 'Twill be thy portion soon, unless thou learnst 
 More wisdom ; henceforth, mindful what thou art. 
 Bring with thee one of nobler blood to plead 
 Thy cause ; for know, the language which thou tallest 
 Is barbai'ous, and I understand thee not. 
 
 Chor. I can but wish that wisdom may attend 
 To guide you both. 
 
 Teu. Alas ! how very soon 
 
 Are all the merits of the dead forgotten ! 
 Ajax ! is the memory of thee 
 
AJAX. 47 
 
 Already lost, e'en by the man for whom 
 
 Thy life so oft was ventured in the field % 
 
 But now 'tis past, and buried in oblivion. 
 
 Thou wordy slanderer ! Canst thou not remember 
 
 When, biiffled and unequal to the foe, 
 
 Close pent within the walls our forces lay — 
 
 Canst thou not call to mind who came alone 
 
 To your deliverance, when devouring flames 
 
 Towered o'er our ships, when Hector leaped the fosse 
 
 And rushed amongst us? Then who fought for Greece? 
 
 Who drove him back, but Ajax, who, thou sayst, 
 
 Could never fight ? Did he not fight for you ] 
 
 He met the noble Hector hand to hand, 
 
 Unbidden dared the fortune of the field. 
 
 He scorned the coward's art to fix his lot 
 
 In the moist earth : fortli from the crested helmet 
 
 It sprang the first. Such were the deeds of Ajax, 
 
 And I was witness of them — I, the slave. 
 
 For so thou call'st me, sprung from a barbarian. 
 
 How dares a wretch like thee to talk of birth 1 
 
 Who was thy grandsire ? Canst thou not remember 
 
 That old barbarian, Phrygian Pelops, tell me % 
 
 Who was thy father — Atreus, was he not % 
 
 That worst of men, who at a brother's table 
 
 Served up his children — horrible repast ! 
 
 Thy mother, too, a Cretan and a slave — 
 
 A vile adultress, whom thy father caught 
 
 And headlong cast into the sea, Shalt thou 
 
 Talk then to me of birth — to me, the son 
 
 Of valiant Telamon, renowned in war. 
 
 And wedded to a queen, the royal race 
 
 Of great Laomedon, and fairest gift 
 
 Of famed Alcides 1 Thus of noble blood 
 
 From either parent sprung, shall I disgrace 
 
 The man whom thou, inhuman, wouldst still keep 
 
 Unburied here 1 Dost thou not blush to think on't ? 
 
 But, mark me well ! If thou dost cast him forth, 
 
 Not he alone inglorious on the plain 
 
 Shall lie — together we will perish all : 
 
 To die with glory in a brother's cause 
 
 la better far than fighting for the wife 
 
48 A-yAx. 
 
 Of AgJimemnou or of Menolaus : 
 
 For thy own snke, aiul not for mine, remember, 
 
 If thou provoke me, thou' It be sorry for it, 
 
 And wish thou'dst rather feared than angered Teu(;er. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Ulysses, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Teucer, Chorus. 
 
 CiiOR. IJlysses, if thou meanst not to inflame, 
 But to compose this dreadful strife, thou com'st 
 In happiest hour. 
 
 Uly. Far ofi" I heard the voice 
 
 Of the Atrida3 o'er this wretched course ; 
 Whence rose the clamour, friends 1 
 
 Men. With bitterest words 
 
 This Teucer here, Ulysses, has reviled me. 
 
 Uly. What words 1 For if he heard the same from 
 thee, 
 I blame him not. 
 
 Aga. He did provoke me to it. 
 
 Uly. What injury hath he done thee ? 
 
 Aga. He declares 
 
 The body shall have sepulture, himself 
 Perforce will bury Ajax, spite of me 
 And of my power. 
 
 Uly. Shall I be free, and speak 
 
 The truth to thee, without reproach or blame ? 
 
 Aga. Thou mayst ; for well thou knowst I hold 
 Ulysses 
 Of all the Greeks my best and dearest friend. 
 
 Uly. Then hear me. By the gods I must entreat 
 thee. 
 Do not, remorseless and inhuman, east 
 The body forth unburied, nor permit 
 Authority to trample thus on justice. 
 E'er since our contest for Achilles' arms 
 Hath Ajax been my foe, and yet I scorn 
 To use him basely. E'en Ulysses owns, 
 Of all the Grecian chiefs who came from Troy 
 
AJAX. 49 
 
 (Except Achilles), Ajax was the bravest. 
 
 Do not deny him, then, the honours due 
 
 To worth so great ; for know, it were a crime 
 
 Not against him alone, but 'gainst the gods — 
 
 A violation of the laws divine. 
 
 To hurt the brave and virtuous after death. 
 
 Even though he lived thy foe, is infamous. 
 
 Aga. Pleadst thou for Ajax ? 
 
 Uly. Yes ; I was his foe 
 
 Whilst justice would permit me ; but he's dead ; 
 Therefore thou shouldst not triumph nor rejoice 
 With mirth unseemly o'er a vanquished man. 
 
 Aga. 'Tis not so easy for a king to act 
 By honour's strictest rules. 
 
 Uly. 'Tis always so 
 
 To hearken to the counsels of a friend, 
 When he advises well. 
 
 Aga. But know, the good 
 
 And virtuous still submit to those who rule. 
 
 Uly. No more. When thou art vanquished by thy 
 friends, 
 Thou art thyself the conqueror. 
 
 Aga. Still remember 
 
 For whom thou pleadst, Ulysses. 
 
 Uly. For a foe, 
 
 But for a brave one. 
 
 Aga. Dost thou thus revere 
 
 E'en after death thine enemy ] 
 
 Uly. I do: 
 
 Virtue is dearer to me than revenge. 
 
 Aga. Such men are most unstable in their ways. 
 
 Uly. Our dearest friend may one day be our foe. 
 
 Aga. Dost thou desire such friends? 
 
 Uly. I cannot lo^'e 
 
 Or. praise th' unfeeling heart. 
 
 Aga. This day shall Greece 
 
 Mark us for cowards. 
 
 Uly. Greece will call us just. 
 
 Aga. Wouldst thou persuade me then to grant him 
 burial ? 
 
 Uly. I would, and for that purpose canio I hither. 
 
AtiA. How every man consults lii.s own advantage, 
 And acts but for himself ! 
 
 Uly. And who is he 
 
 Whom I should wish to serve before Ulysses 1 
 
 Aga. 'Tis thy own work, remember, and not mine. 
 
 Uly. The deed will win thee praise, and evcry^ tongU( 
 Shall call thee good. 
 
 Aga. Thou knowst I'd not refuse 
 
 Ulysses more, much more than this ; l^ut Ajax 
 Or buried or unburied is the same, 
 And must be hateful still to Agamemnon. 
 But do as it beseems thee best. 
 
 Chor. Ulysses, 
 
 The man who says thou art not wise and good 
 Is senseless and unjust. 
 
 Uly. I tell thee, Teucer, 
 
 Henceforth I am as much the friend of Ajax 
 As once I was his foe : e'en now I mean 
 To join with thee, a fellow-labourer 
 In all the pious offices of love, 
 Nor would omit, what every man should pay, 
 The honours due to sucli exalted virtue ! 
 
 Teu. best of men I thou hast my thanks and 
 praise, 
 And well deserv'st them, for thou hast transcended 
 My utmost hopes. 1 little thought the worst 
 Of all his foes among the Grecian host 
 Would thus alone defend, alone protect 
 The dead from insult, when these thundering leaders 
 United came to cast his body forth 
 With infamy ; but may the god who i-ules 
 O'er high Olympus, and the vengeful Furies, 
 Daughters ot J ove, the guilt-rewarding sisters, 
 With all-deciding justice soon repay 
 The hauglity tyrants. For thy ofiered aid, 
 Son of Laertes, in the funeral rites. 
 Perhaps it might offend the honoured shade 
 Of our dead friend — it cannot be accepted. 
 For all beside we thank thee. If thou will'st 
 To send assistance from the Grecian camp, 
 'Twill bo received ; the rest shall be my care. 
 
AJAX. 
 
 5t 
 
 Thou hast performed the duty of a friend, 
 And we acknowledge it. 
 
 Uly. I would have lent 
 
 My willing aid, but since it must not be, 
 I shall submit. Farewell ! [Exit Ui-ysses. 
 
 Scene JII. 
 
 Agamemnon, Menelaus, Teuoer, Efrysaces, Chorus. 
 
 Teu. Thus far is right. 
 
 The time already past doth chide our sloth : 
 My friends, be vigilant. Let some prepare 
 The hollow fosse, some o'er the sacred flame 
 Place the rich tripod for the funeral bath ; 
 Forth from the camp a chosen band must bear 
 His glittering arms and trophies of the war. 
 Do thou, my child, if thou hast strength, uplift 
 
 \To EURYSACESc 
 
 Thy father's body. See, the veins, yet warm, 
 Spout forth with blood. Haste ! Help, assist me, all 
 Who bear the name of friends, and pay with me 
 Your last sad duties to the noble Ajax ; 
 For never was on earth a better man. 
 
 Chor. Whate'er of good or ill weak mortals know 
 Must from their best of guides, experience, fl.ow. 
 Seek then no farther ; for to man is given 
 The present state, the future left to Heaven. 
 
E L E C T R A. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 El-ECTRA, Daughter of Agamem- 
 non and Glytemnestra. 
 
 Orestes, Brother of Electra. 
 
 1'VLA.BES, Frund of Orestes. 
 
 Governor of Orestes. 
 
 Clytemnestra, Wife to JJ'.gis- 
 thus. 
 
 Chrysothemts, Sister of Elec- 
 tra. 
 
 ^GiSTiius, King ofArgos and 
 MycencB. 
 
 Chorus, composed of the j>rin- 
 cipal Ladies of Mycena. 
 
 SCENE.— Mycex^, before the Palace o/^gisthus. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Orestes, Py lades, Governor of Orestes. 
 
 Governor. son of gi^eat Atrides ! he who led 
 Embattled Greece to Troy's devoted walls, 
 At length behold what thy desmng eyes 
 So long have sought. Behold thy native soil, 
 Thy much-loved Argos, and the hallowed grove 
 Of lo, frantic maid. On this side lies 
 The Lycian forum, on the left the fane 
 Of Juno, far renowned. Behold ! we come 
 To rich Mycense, and the slaughterous house 
 Of Pelops' hapless race, from whose sad walls 
 Long since I bore thee, at thy sister's hand 
 
54 ELECTRA. 
 
 Gladly rocoivod, niul with paternal oiire 
 To this blest clay have fostered up thy youth, 
 Till riper years should give thee to return, 
 And pay with dire revenge thy father's murder. 
 Now, my Orestes, and thou dear companior 
 Of all our suft'erings, much-loved Pylades, 
 Let deepest counsel sway our just resolves ; 
 /For lo ! resplendent Pha-bus wifh his light 
 / Calls up t lie cheerful birds to early song, 
 VAnd gloomy night hath lost her starry train : 
 ( V)me then, my friends, and ere th' awakened city 
 Pours forth her busy throngs, this instant here 
 JiOt us consult. Believe me, 'tis no time 
 For dull delay ; 'tis the decisive hour, 
 And this the very crisis of our fate. 
 
 Orestes. What proofs thou giv'st me of tlie noblest 
 nature 
 And true benevolence, thou good old man ! 
 Of servants sure the faithfullest and best 
 That ever bore the name : the generous steed, 
 Though worn with years, thus keeps his wonted courage. 
 And warns his master of approaching danger; 
 fjike him thou stir'st me up to noble deeds. 
 And follow'st me undaunted : but attend 
 To what I have resolved, and if I err, 
 
 ^Let thy superior judgment set mfiriglit. 
 When to the Delphic oracle I flew, 
 Eager to know how on my father's foes 
 J best might satiate my revenge, the god 
 Enjoined me not by force or open arms 
 To rus]i_^iipon them, but^w itk^uilef ul arts J 
 And silent well-conducted fraud betraythem. 
 Such was his wdll. Thou, therefore, soon as time 
 Shall lend thee opportunity, unknown 
 And unsuspected (as thy absence hence 
 For so long space and hoary age shall make thee) 
 Must steal upon them, learn their secret counsels, 
 As soon thou mayst, and quick inform us of them ; 
 Say thou'rt of Phocis, from Phanoteus sent 
 By one who is their friend and firm ally ; 
 Sav, and confirm it with a solemn oath. 
 
ELECTRA. 55 
 
 Orestes is no more — by a rude shock 
 
 Thrown from his chariot at the Pythian games. 
 
 Be this thy tale : meantime (for thus the god 
 
 His will divine expressed) my father's tomb 
 
 With due libations and devoted hair 
 
 Ourselves will crown ; and thence returning bring, 
 
 From the dark covert where thou knowst 'twas hid, 
 
 The brazen urn. Thei-e, we shall tell the tyrant — 
 
 Thrice welcome news ! — Orestes' ashes lie. 
 
 What should deter me from the pious fraud % 
 
 Since my feigned death but gains me real fame, 
 
 And I shall wake to better life : the deed 
 
 Which brings success and honour, must be good. 
 
 Oft times the wisest and the best of men 
 
 From death like this have rose with added greatness ; 
 
 E'en so thy friend to his deluded foes 
 
 Shall soon return unlooked-for, and before them 
 
 Shine like a star with more distinguished lustre. 
 
 O my loved country ! and its guardian gods, 
 
 Receive Ore.^tes, and with happy omen 
 
 Propitious smile ! And thou, paternal seat — 
 
 For lo ! by Heaven's command I come to purge thee 
 
 Of vile usurpers, and avenge thy wrongs — 
 
 Drive me not from thee an abandoned exile 
 
 With infamy, but grant me to possess 
 
 My father's throne, and fix his injured race. 
 
 Thus far 'tis well. My faithful minister, 
 
 Thou to thy office, we to ours with speed ; 
 
 So time and opportunity require 
 
 On whom the fate of mortals must depend. 
 
 Electra ^from ivitkin]. misery ! 
 
 Gov. Methought a mournful voice 
 
 Spake from within. 
 
 Ores. Perhaps the pooi- Electra : 
 
 Shall we not stay and hearken to it ? 
 
 Gov. No : 
 
 First be Apollo's great behests obeyed 
 Before thy father's tomb. That pious deed 
 Performed shall fire our souls with nobler wariuih, 
 And crown our bold attempt with fair success. [ExucuL 
 
56 
 
 ELECTRA. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Eleotra. 
 
 O hJicred light I and thou ambient aii' ! 
 Oft have ye heard Electra's loud laments, 
 Her sighs and groans, and witnessed to her woes, 
 Which ever as each hateful morn appeared 
 T poured befoi-e you : what at eve retired 
 I felt of anguish my sad couch alone 
 Can tell, which watered nightly with my tears 
 Received me sorrowing — tliat best can tell 
 What pangs I suffered for a hapless father, 
 Whom not tlie god of war with ruthless hand 
 Struck nobly fighting in a distant soil. 
 But my fell mother, and the cursed ^gisthus, 
 The partner of her bed, remorseless slew. 
 Untimely didst thou fall, lamented shade, 
 And none but poor Electra mourns thy fate ; 
 Nor shall she ce;ise to mourn thee, while these eyes 
 View the fair heavens or behold the sun ! 
 Never ! oh, never ! Like the nightingale. 
 Whose plaintive song bewails her ravished brood, 
 Here will I still lament my father's wrongs, 
 And teach the echo to repeat my moan. 
 ye infernal deities ! and thou 
 Terrestrial Hermes ! and thou, Nemesis, 
 Replete with curses ! and ye vengeful Furies, 
 Offspring of gods, the ministers of wrath 
 To vile adulterers, who with pity view 
 The slaughtered innocent— behold this deed ! 
 Oh ! come, assist, revenge my father's murder ; 
 Quickly, oh, quickly bring me my Orestes ; 
 For lo ! 1 sink beneath oppressive woe, 
 And can no longer bear the weight alone. 
 
ELECTRA. 57 
 
 Scene III. 
 Chorus, Electra. 
 
 Chor. wretched daughter of an impious mother ! 
 '^I'ilt thou for ever mourn, for ever thus, 
 With unavailing tears and endless sorrow, 
 Lament the royal Agamemnon's fate, 
 By a vile woman's wicked arts betrayed % 
 Perish the hand (forgive the pious curse. 
 Ye heavenly powers !) that gave the deadly blow I 
 
 Elec. My noble friends and partners in affliction, 
 Who thus, to soothe my sorrows, kindly try 
 Each art which love and friendship can inspire ; 
 Ye come to comfort me, I know ye do. 
 I know my tears are fruitless all and vain ; 
 But, oh ! permit me to indulge my griefs, 
 For I must weep. 
 
 Chor. Thy tears can ne'er recall him 
 
 From the dark mansions of the common grave — 
 No, nor thy prayers ; they can but make thee wretched, 
 And sink thee deeper in calamity. 
 Why art thou then so fond of misery % 
 
 Elec. Devoid of sense and feeling is the heart 
 That can forget an injured parent's wrongs. 
 I love the airy messenger of Jove, 
 The mournful bird that weeps her Ity's fate, 
 And every night repeats the tender tale ; 
 Thee, too, I reverence as a goddess — thee, 
 Unhappy Niobe ! for still thou weepst, 
 And from the marble tears eternal flow. 
 
 Chor. But oh ! reflect, that not to thee alone 
 Misfortune comes — that comes to all. ,• Behold 
 Iphianassa, and Chrysotliemis, 
 And him who hides his grief, illustrious youth,; 
 The loved Orestes — these' have suffered too. " 
 
 Elec. Orestes ! Yes, Mycense shall receive 
 In happy hour her great avenger ; Jove, 
 With smiles auspicious, shall conduct him, to me j 
 For him alone 1 wait — for him, a wretch 
 
ss 
 
 ifo is gone ! 
 
 Despised, of children and of nuptial rites 
 Hopeless I wander. lie remembers not 
 What I luvve done for him, what suffered ; stil 
 With airy promises he mocks my hopes, 
 And yet he comes not to me. 
 
 Chor. But he will. 
 
 Despair not, daughter ; Jo^ejsj^et^n heaven, 
 ITahe god who sees, and knows, and governs all 
 f \ Patient to him submit, nor let thy rage 
 Too far transport thee, nor oblivion drown 
 The just remembrance of thy matchless woes ; 
 Time is a kind indulgent deity, 
 And he shall givt* thee succour ; he shall send 
 The god of Acheron, from Chrysa's shores. 
 To bring Orestes and avenge thy wrongs. 
 
 Elfx'. Oh ! but the while how much of 
 And I a hapless wretched orphan still, 
 Without a friend to guard or to protect me — 
 Disgraced, dishonoured,' like a stranger clad 
 In base attire, and fed with homeliest fare. 
 
 Chor. Sad news indepd the hapless messenger 
 To Argos brought, that\spoke the wished return 
 Of thy loved father to his native soil ; 
 Fatal the night when Agamemnon fell 
 Or by a mortal or immortal hand ; 
 The w^ork of fraud and lust, a horrid deed ! 
 Whoe'er performed it. 
 
 Eleo. O detested feast ! 
 
 0,jCfe;y, the bitt'rest sure; that ever rose ! 
 With him I perished then. . But may the gods 
 Repay the murderers ; never may they hear 
 The voice of joy, or taste of comfort more ! 
 
 Chor. Cease thy complaints; already hast thou suffered 
 For thy loud discontents and threatened vengeance. 
 'Tis folly to contend with power superior. 
 
 Elec. Folly indeed, and madness ! But my griefs 
 Will force their way, and whilst Electra breathes 
 She must lament ; for who will bring me comfort, 
 Or soothe my sorrows ? Let me — let me go, 
 And weep for ever. ^ 
 
 Chor. / 'Tis my love entreats j 
 
ELECTRA. 59 
 
 Trust me, 1 feel a mother's fondness for thee, 
 And fain would save thee from redoubled woes. 
 
 Elec. And wouldst thou have me then neglect the 
 dead % 
 Forget my father ! Can there be such guilt % 
 When I do so, may infamy pursue me ! 
 And if I wed, may all the joys of love 
 Be far removed ! If vengeance doth not fall 
 On crimes like these, for ever farewell, justice — 
 Shame, honour, truth, and piety, farewell ! 
 
 Chor. Pardon me, daughter ; if my warmth oileud, 
 Glad I submit. We'll follow, and obey thee. 
 
 Elec. I am myself to blame, and blush to think 
 How much unfit I seem to liear the weight 
 Imposed upon me ; but indeed 'tis great. 
 Forgive me, friends, a woman born as I am, 
 Must she not grieve to see each added minute 
 Fraught with new mis'ries % Thus to be a slave 
 E'en in my father's house, and from those hands 
 Which shed his blood to ask the means of life ! 
 Think what my soul must sufter to behold 
 The cursed -<3l]gisthus seated on the throne 
 Of Agamemnon, in the very robes 
 Which once were his — to see the tyrant pour 
 Libations forth e'en on the fat;d spot 
 Where the sad deed was done. But, worst of all. 
 To see the murderer usurp his bed. 
 Embrace my mother (by that honoured name 
 If I may call a guilty wretch like her). 
 Who, pleased, returns his love, and, of her crimes i 
 I Unconscious, smiles, nor fears th' avenging Furies U 
 I But ever as the bloody day returns ' 1 
 
 Which gave the royal victim to her wiles, j ^ 
 
 Annual the dance and choral song proclaim 
 A solemn feast, nor impious sacrifice 
 Forgets she then to her protecting gods. 
 Shocked at the cruel banquet I letire, 
 And in some corner hide my griefs, denied 
 E'en the sad comfort to indulge my sorrows, 
 For Clytemnestra in opprobrious terms 
 lleviles me oft ; *' To thee alone," she cries, 
 
6o 
 
 ■LECTRA. 
 
 " Is Agamemnon lost, detested maid ! 
 Thinkst thou Electra only weeps his fate ? 
 Perdition on thee ! May th' infernal gods 
 J^efuse thee succour, and protract thy pains ! " 
 Thus rails she bitter, and if chance she hear 
 Orestes is approaching, stung with rage 
 Wild she exclaims, " Thou art th' accursed cause ; 
 This is thy deed, who stole Orestes from mo. 
 And hid him from my rage ; but be assured 
 Ere long my vengeance shall o'ertake thee for it 
 These threats her noble lord still urges on — 
 That vile adulterei", that abandoned coward, 
 Whose fearful soul called in a woman's aid 
 To execute his bloody purposes. 
 Meantime Electra sighs for her Orestes, 
 Her wished avenger ; his unkind delay 
 Destroys my hopes. Alas ! my gentle friends, 
 Who can bear this, and keep an equal mind % 
 To suffer ills like mine, and not to err 
 From wild distraction, would be strange indeed. 
 
 Chor. But say, Electra, is the tyrant near ? 
 Or may we speak our thoughts unblamed ? 
 
 Elec. Thou mayst ; 
 
 I had not else beyond the palace dai-ed 
 To wander hither. 
 
 CnoR. I would fain have asked thee 
 
 Elec. Ask what thou wilt, ^gisthus is far off. 
 ""Chor. Touching thy brother then, inform me quick 
 If aught thou knowst that merits firm belief. 
 
 Elec. He promises, but comes not. 
 
 Chor. Things of moment 
 
 Require deliberation and delay. 
 
 Elec. Oh ! but did I delay to save Orestes ? 
 
 Chor. He boasts a noble nature, and will ne'er 
 Forget his friends : be confident. 
 
 Elec. I am, 
 
 Were I not so I had not lived till now. 
 
 Chor. But soft^ behold the fair Chrysothemis 
 Advance this way, and in her hand she bears 
 Sepulchral offerings to the shades below. 
 
ELECTRA. 6 1 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Ohrysothemis, Electra, Chorus. 
 
 Chry. Still, my Electra, pouring forth thy giiefs % 
 Art thou not yet by sad experience taught 
 How little they avail ? I too must feel 
 And could resent, as, were thy sister's power 
 But equal to her will, our foes should know. 
 Meantime with lowered sail to bear the storm 
 Befits us best, nor, helpless as we are, 
 With idle hopes to meditate revenge ; 
 Yield then with me, and though impartial justice 
 Plead on thy side, remember, if we prize 
 Or hfe or liberty, we must obey. 
 
 Elec. It ill becomes great Agamemnon's daughter 
 Thus to forget her noble father's worth. 
 And take a base unworthy mother's part ; 
 For well I see from whom thy counsels flow ; 
 Nought from thyself thou sayst but all from her X 
 /^l^ther thy reason 's lost, or if thou hast it, 
 » Tliou hast forgot thy friends who should be dear 
 And precious to thee. Of thy boasted hate 
 Again^i our foes, and what thou vauntst to do 
 If thou i^adst power I reck not, whilst with me 
 Thou wilt\i0t join in great revenge, but still 
 Dissuadsfc nie from it ; is 't not cowardly 
 To leave me Mius % Tell me, I beg thee, tell me 
 "What mighty gain awaits my tame submission, 
 Should I suppress my griefs. I can but live ; 
 That I do now — aN:jvretched life indeed ! 
 But 'tis enough for\ie, and I am happy 
 Whilst I can torture ^em, and to the dead 
 Pay grateful honours — If^tp them such care 
 Aught grateful can bestov^ij Thy hate, I fear me, 
 Is but in word : thou dost ibefriend the murderers : 
 For me, not all the wealth they could bestow, 
 Not all the gifts which they have poured on thee. 
 Should bind me to 'em. Take thy costly banquets, 
 And let thy days with ease and pleasure flow ; 
 
62 
 
 Crive me but focxl, and I am satisfied. 
 
 1 wish not for thy houours, nor wouldst 
 
 If thou wert wise, receive them at their hands. 
 
 Thou mightst be daughter to the best of fathers, 
 
 And art thy mother's only. Take that name, 
 
 And henceforth all shall mark thee as a wretch 
 
 Who hath betrayed her father and her friends. 
 
 Choii. 1 do entreat you, let not anger come 
 Between you thus ; you both have reasoned well, 
 And much of mutual benefit may flow 
 If each to other lend a patient ear. 
 
 Chry. Custom, niy noble friends, hath made re- 
 proach 
 Familiar to me, and, so well I know 
 Her haughty mind, 1 had been silent still. 
 But that I saw the danger ^immiuent, 
 And came to warn her of the fatal stroke 
 Which soon must end her and her griefs together. 
 
 Elec. Tell me this mighty danger ; if aught more 
 It threaten than Electra long hath borne, 
 T yield me to thy counsels. 
 
 Chry. Hear me then : 
 
 Know, thou art doomed, unless thou dost refrain 
 Tiiy clamorous griefs, far from the light of day 
 And this thy native soil, within a cell 
 Dismal and dark, to spend the poor remains 
 Of thy sad life, and tliere lament thy fate. 
 
 Elec. Is it decreed ? Must it in truth be so ? 
 
 Chry. Soon as ^Egisthus shall return, it must. 
 
 Elec. Quick let him come : I long to see him here. 
 
 Chry. Alas ! what dreadful imprecations these ! 
 
 Elec. Would he were present, if foi' this he comes ! 
 
 Chry. What ! to destroy thee ! Is thy mind dis- 
 turbed i 
 
 Elec. That I might fly for ever from thy sight. 
 
 Chry. Wilt thou not think how to preserve thy life ; 
 
 Elec. Mine is a blessed hfe indeed to think of. 
 
 Chry. It might be blest, if thou wouldst have it so. 
 
 Elec. Teach me not basely to betray my friends. 
 
 Chry. I do not ; all I ask thee is to yield 
 To powers superior. 
 
ELECTRA. 63 
 
 Elec. Fawn on them thyself ; 
 
 Thou dost not know Electra. 
 
 Chry. Sure it better 
 
 Deserves the name of wisdom to avoid 
 Than hasten thy destruction. 
 
 Elec. N'o, to die 
 
 Were pleasure, could I but avenge my father. 
 
 Chry. Our father, doubt it not, will pardon thee. 
 
 Elec. 'Tis mean to think so. 
 
 Chry. Wilt thou not consent 1 
 
 Elec. Never, oh never, be my soul so weak ! 
 
 Chry, Then to my errand : fare thee well. 
 
 Elec. To whom, 
 
 Chrysothemis, and whither dost thou bear 
 Those sacred ofF'rings ? 
 
 Chry. To our father's tomb. 
 
 From Clytemnestra. 
 
 Elec. To the man she hated ? 
 The man, my sister 
 
 (^ Chry. Whom she killed, I know, 
 
 Thou would have said^,,,— 
 
 Elec. ^^.^■'why, what should move her to it ? 
 
 Chry. If I mistake not, horrors late impressed jl 
 From a sad vision. '^ 
 
 Elec. my country's gods ! 
 
 Succour me now ! 
 
 Chry. - What hopes dost thou conceive 
 
 From this ? 
 
 Elec. The dream : and I will tell thee all. 
 
 Chry. I know but little of it. 
 
 Elec Tell me that : 
 
 Oftimes to words, how few soe'er they be. 
 Is given the power to save or to destroy. 
 
 Chry. Once more to light returned (so fame reports) 
 Before her our loved father did appear. 
 The royal sceptre wielded in his hand 
 Which now -^gisthus bears, whence seemed to spring 
 A green and leafy branch, whose wide extent 
 O'er all Mycenae spread its verdant shade : 
 This did I learn, and this alone, from one 
 Who listened long: attentive while she told 
 
ELFXTRA, 
 
 Her vision to tlie sun ; hence all her fears, 
 And hence my destined journey, i 
 
 Elec. -^ By the gods 
 
 Let mo conjure thee, hear me. If thou dost not, 
 Too late shall thou repent, when for thy guilt 
 Evil o'ertako thee. O Chr}'sothemis ! 
 Never, I heg theo, to our father's tomb 
 Bear thou those offerings ; 'twere a horrid deed 
 From such a woman. Give 'em to the winds ; 
 
 (Ijet them he hid, deep buried in the sands, 
 And not the smallest grain escape to reach 
 That hallawcfd place ; let 'em remain for her, 
 Safe in the earth tiH she shall meet 'fittTthere^ 
 None but this shameless, tins abandoned woman, 
 Would e'er with impious oft'rings thus adorn 
 The tomb of him she murdered./^ By the dead 
 Thinkst thou such gifts can be with joy received ? 
 Gifts from that hand which from his mangled corse 
 Severed his lifeless limbs, and on the head 
 
 I |0f the poor victim wiped her bloody sword ? 
 
 I (Madness to think that offerings and ablutions 
 Could purge such crimes, or wash her stains away; 
 Never, oh never \J But of this no more. 
 Instant, my sister, thy devoted hair 
 With these dishevelled locks and this my zone, 
 Plain as it is and unadorned, shalt thou 
 Bear to our father. Wretched offerings these ! 
 But, Oh ! 'tis all Electra now can give. 
 Bear them, and suppliant on thy knees implore 
 
 him 
 To smile propitious and assist his children ; 
 Pray for Orestes, too, tlmt soon with power 
 He may return, and trample on our foes ; 
 So shall a fairer tribute one day grace 
 His honoured tomb, than now we can bestow. 
 Trust me, my sister, we are still his care — 
 I know we are. S^rom him the vision came, 
 The horrid dream that shook her guilty soul : 
 Now then, I beg thee^be a friend to me, 
 Be to thyself a friend^ a friend to him 
 Of all mankind the dearest, our dead father. 
 
ELECTRA, 65 
 
 Chor. Well doth the pious virgin speak, and thou 
 Must yield to her requests. 
 
 Chry. And so I will. 
 
 "Where reason dictates, strife should never come ; 
 But quick, despatch ! fulfil her just commands. 
 Yet, my friends I remember, our attempt 
 Is full of danger, and let nought escape 
 That may betray me to my cruel mother ; 
 For if it reach her ear, this daring act, 
 I fear me much, shall one day cost us dear. 
 
 \Exit Ohrysothemis. 
 
 Scene Y. 
 
 Chorus, Electra. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Or my prophetic mind is now no more 
 Attentive as of old to wisdom's lore, 
 
 Or justice comes, with speedy vengeance fraught ; 
 
 Behold ! the goddess armed with power appears- 
 It must be so, by Clytemnestra's fears. 
 
 And the dire dream that on her fancy wrought : 
 Thy father, not unmindful of his fate. 
 Shall hither come his wrongs to vindicate ; 
 
 And, in his gore imbrued. 
 The fatal axe with him shall rise, 
 Shall ask another sacrifice, 
 
 And drink with him the cruel tyrant's blood. 
 
 Antistro'phe. 
 
 Lo ! with unnumbered hands and countless feet, 
 
 The fury comes her destined prey to meet ; 
 Deep in the covert hid she glides unseen, 
 
 Hangs o'er the trembUng murderer's head, 
 
 Or steals to the adultrous bed, 
 An awful witness of the guilty scene ; 
 
ELKCTRA. 
 
 Doubtless the dream with all its terrors meant 
 
 For crimes like these Bome dreadful punishment, 
 I f mortals aught from nightly visions know, 
 
 If truth from great Apollo's shrine 
 
 Appears in oracles divine, 
 1 *resagiug bliss to come, or threat'ning future woe. 
 
 J""' 
 
 C) Pelops ; to thy countiy and to thco 
 
 The fatal course brought woe and misery ; 
 For since the time v/hen, from his chariot thi'own, 
 
 For thee the guilty wreath to gain, 
 
 The hapless Myrtihis was slain, 
 Nought has thy wretched race but grief and sorrow 
 known. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Clytemnestra, Electra, Chorus 
 
 Clytemnestra. ^gisthus absent, who alone could curb 
 Thy haughty spirit and licentious tongue. 
 At large, it seems, thou rov'st, and unrestrained, 
 No deference paid to my authority. 
 But on thy mother ever pouring forth 
 Bitter invectives, while the listening crowd 
 Are taught to hold me proud and fierce of soul, 
 A lawless tyrant slandering thee and thine 
 I am no slanderer — I abhor the name ; 
 But oft reviled, of force I must reply, 
 And send thy foul reproaches back upon thee. 
 
 I Thou sayst I slew thy father ; that alone 
 RIs left to plead for all thy insolence. 
 
 I I do confess the deed, and glory in it. , 
 T slew thy father ; yet not I alone, 
 I had the hand of justice to assist m( 
 
ELECTRA. 67 
 
 And should have had Electra's. Well thou knowst 
 
 That cruel father, for whom thus thy tears 
 
 Incessant flow, that father slew his child : 
 
 He, he alone of all the Grecian host 
 
 Gave up his daughter — horrid sacrifice — 
 
 To the offended gods : he never felt 
 
 A mother's pangs, and therefore thought not of them, 
 
 Or, if he did, why slay the innocent % 
 
 For Greece, thou tellst me ! Greece could never claim 
 
 A right to what was mine. Or did she fall 
 
 For Menelaus % He had children too : 
 
 Why might not they have died ? Their parent's guilt, 
 
 Source of the war, more justly had deserved it. 
 
 Or thinkst thou death with keener appetite 
 
 Could feast on mine, and Helen's not aflbrd 
 
 As sweet a banquet % Whv was all the lo_ve, 
 
 To me and to my child so justly dUe, 
 
 With lavish hand bestowed on Menelaus % 
 
 Was he not then a base inhuman father \ 
 
 He was ; and so, could Iphigenia speak, 
 
 Thy breathless sister, she too would declare. 
 
 Know then, I grieve not ; shame or penitence 
 
 I feel not for the deed ; and if to thee 
 
 It seems so heinous, weigh each circumstance, 
 
 Remember what he did, and lay the blame 
 
 On him who well deserved the fate he suffered. 
 
 Elec. Thou hast no plea for bitterness like this ; 
 Thou canst not say that I provoked thee to it. 
 I have been silent : had I leave to speak 
 I could defend an injured father's cause, 
 And tell thee wherefore Iphigenia fell. 
 
 Cly. I do permit thee ; and if modest thus 
 Thou hadst addressed me always thy free speech 
 Had ne'er offended. 
 
 Elec. Hast thou not confessed 
 
 That thou didst slay my father ? Whether justice 
 Approve or not, 'twas horrid to confess it : 
 But justice never could persuade thee — no ! 
 I'll tell thee who it was, it was ^gisthus. 
 The wretch wdth whom thou liv'st. Go ask the goddess. 
 The immortal huntress, why the winds were stayed 
 
 c 3 
 
68 ELECTKA, 
 
 So long at Aiilis. But thou must not ask 
 
 The chaste Diana ! Take it, then, from me. 
 
 My father once, as for the chase prepared, 
 
 Cai'eless he wandered through her wecret grove, 
 
 Forth from its covert roused a spotted hind 
 
 Of fairest form, with towering antlers graced, 
 
 Pursued and slew her. Of the deity 
 
 Something with pride elate he uttered then 
 
 Disdainful. Quick resenting the affront, 
 
 Latona's daughter stayed the Grecian fleet, 
 
 Nor would forgive, till for her slaughtered beast 
 
 Th' offending father sacrificed his child. 
 
 Thus Iphigenia fell ; and but for her 
 
 Greece ne'er had seen or Ilion's lofty towers, 
 
 Or her own native soil. The father strove 
 
 In vain to save, and not for Menelaus 
 
 He gave her up at last, but for his country. 
 
 Suppose a brother's fondness had prevailed, 
 
 And she was given for him, would that excuse 
 
 Thy horrid deed % What laAv required it of thee ? 
 
 That law alone by w^hich thyself must fall ; 
 
 If blood for blood be due, thy doom is fixed. 
 
 Plead not so poorly then, but tell me why 
 
 Thou liv'st adultrous thus with a vile ruflian, 
 
 Thy base assistant ? Why are those who sprung 
 
 From thy first nuptials cast unkindly forth 
 
 For his new race ? Was this thy piety ? 
 
 Was this, too, to revenge thy daughter's death ? 
 
 In pure revenge to wed her deadhest foe 
 
 Was noble, was it not ? But I forget : 
 
 You are my mother — so it seems you say — 
 
 And I must hold my peace. But I deny it ; 
 
 I say your are my mistress, not my mother — 
 
 A cruel mistress that afliicts my soul, 
 
 And makes this weary life a burthen to me. 
 
 Orestes too, the hapless fugitive. 
 
 Who once escaped thy fatal hand, now drags 
 
 A loathsome being. Him, thou sayst, I looked for 
 
 To join in my revenge, and so I did ; 
 
 T would have been revenged, I tell thee so. 
 
 Say, I am base, malicious, impudent, 
 
ELECTRA, ^ 
 
 Abusive, what thou wilt ; for if I am 
 It speaks my birth, and I resemble thee. 
 
 Chob. Kesentment deep hath fired the virgin's 
 breast ; 
 Whether with truth and justice on her side 
 She speak, I know not. 
 
 Cly. Can they plead for her ? 
 
 What care, what love, or tenderness is due 
 To an abandoned child, who shameless thus 
 Keviles a pai-ent ? I*-tttere, iifteF^isT^ 
 A criTQft in nature shajgould blush to act ? 
 
 Elec. I am not base, nor shameless, as thou callst 
 me, 
 For know, even now I blush for what is past — 
 Indecent warmth, and words that ill became 
 My tender years and virgin modesty ; 
 But 'twas thy guilt, thy malice urged me to it : 
 From bad examples bad alone we learn — 
 I only erred because I followed thee. 
 
 Cly. Impudent wretch ! And am I then the cause 
 Of all thy clamorous insolence % 
 
 Elec. Thou art : 
 
 Foul is thy speech, because thy deed was foul ; 
 For words from actions flow. 
 
 Cly. By chaste Diana, 
 
 Soon as j^gisthus comes thy boldness meets 
 Its just reward. 
 
 Elec. Is this thy promised leave, 
 
 So lately granted, freely to unfold 
 What, now incensed, thou dost refuse to hear ? 
 
 Cly. Have I not heard thee, and in base return 
 With luckless omen dost thou now retard 
 My pious sacrifice % 
 
 Elec. Oh ! far from me 
 
 Be guilt like that ; perform it, I beseech thee. 
 In holy silence shall these lips be closed, 
 And not a word escape to thwart thy purpose. 
 
 Cly. [speaking to one of her atteyidcints]. Hither do thou 
 the sacred offerings bring, 
 Of various fruits composed, that to the god 
 Whose altars we adorn my fervent prayer 
 
May rise ac«.'ei>leil, ain.! <lispel iny fears. 
 
 Hear theu, Apollo ! great protector, hear 
 
 My secret vows, for with no friendly ear 
 
 My voice is heard : her malice would hetray, 
 
 Should I unveil my heart, each word 1 uttered, 
 
 And sc«atter idle rumours through the crowd. 
 
 Thus then accept my prayers, Lycean Phoebus I [uloiaL 
 
 If in the doubtful visions of the night 
 
 Which broke my slumbers, aught presaging good 
 
 Thou seest, propitious, oh ! confirm it all ; 
 
 But if of dire portent, and fraught with ill 
 
 To me and mine they came, avert the omen, 
 
 And send the evil back upon my foes ! 
 
 Oh ! if there are whose fraudful arts conspire 
 
 To cast me foi'th from all my present bliss, 
 
 Let them not prosper, but protect me still ! 
 
 Grant me to live and i-eign in quiet here, 
 
 To spend each happy hour with those I love — 
 
 With those my children who have ne'er offended 
 
 By malice, pride, and bitterness of soul — 
 
 Grant this, indulgent Phoebus ! What remains 
 
 I^nasked thou seest ; for nought escapes the eye 
 
 Of gods, such knowledge have the sons of Jove. 
 
 SOEN^E II. 
 
 Governor of Orestes, Clytemnestra, Electra, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Gov. Is this the royal palace of ^gisthus ? 
 
 Chor. Stranger, it is. 
 
 Gov. And this — for such her form 
 
 And look majestic speak her — is his queen ; 
 Is it not so? 
 
 Chor. It is. 
 
 Gov. Great sovereign, hail ! 
 
 With joyful news I come, and from a friend, 
 To thee and to ^-Egisthus. 
 
 C^LY. Strangei', welcome ! 
 
 Say, first, from whom thy message 1 
 
Gov. Fron^nanoteus ^ 
 
 A Phocian sends thee things of utmost nioment. 
 
 Cly. Of moment gayst thou 1 What ? Impart them 
 quick ! 
 Of friendly import, if from thence they come, 
 I know they must be. 
 
 Gov. Briefly then, 'tis this : 
 
 Orestes is no more. 
 
 Elec. Undone Electra ! 
 
 Now am I lost indeed. 
 
 Cly. What sayst thou 1 Speak ! 
 
 Regard not her — go on ! 
 
 Gov. I say again, 
 
 Orestes is no more. 
 
 Elec. Then what am 1 1 
 
 I too am nothing. 
 
 Cly. [to Electra]. Get thee hence — away ! 
 Disturb us not — most welcome messenger ! 
 
 [to the Governor. 
 Go on, I beg thee, let me hear it all ! 
 Say how he died, tell every circumstance. 
 
 Gov. For that I came, and I will tell thee all. 
 Know then, Orestes at the Pythian games, 
 Eager for glory, met assembled Greece. 
 Soon as the herald's far-resounding voice 
 Proclaimed the course, the p^racpfnt ynnth appeared^ 
 And was by all admired. Successful soon 
 He reached the goal, and bore his prize away. 
 Ne'er did these eyes behold such feats performed 
 By mortal strength ; in every course superior, 
 He rose victorious. Theme of every tongue 
 Was the brave Argive, great Atrides' son, 
 Who led the Grecian host. But oh ! in vain 
 Doth human valour strive when power divine 
 Pursues vindictive ! The succeeding morn 
 Uprose the sun, and with him all the train 
 Of youthful rivals in the chariot race : 
 One from Achaia, one from Sparta came, 
 Of Afric's sons advanced a noble pair. 
 And joined the throng. With these Orestes drove 
 His swift Thessalian steeds ; ^tolia next, 
 
7« 
 
 ELECTl 
 
 For yellow coursers famed ; and next Magnesin ; 
 
 And Athens, built by hands divine, sent forth 
 
 Her skilful charioteer ; an .^nian next 
 
 Drove his white liorses through the field ; and last 
 
 A brave Bieotian closed the warrior train. 
 
 And now in order ran/^ed, as each by lot 
 
 Determined stood, forth at the trumpet's sound 
 
 They rushed together, shook their gUttering reins, 
 
 And lashed their foaming coursers o'er the plain. 
 
 Loud was the din of rattling cars involved 
 
 In dusty clouds ; close on each other pressed 
 
 Tlie rival youths, together stopped, and turned 
 
 Together all, the hapless ^nian first : 
 
 His fiery steeds impatient of subjection, 
 
 Entangled on the Lybian chariot hung. 
 
 Confusion soon and terror through the crowd 
 
 Disastrous spread ; the jarring axles rung ; 
 
 Wheel within wheel now cracked, till Chrysa's field 
 
 Was with the scattered ruins quite o'erspread. 
 
 Th' Athenian cautious viewed the distant danger, 
 
 Drew in the rein, and turned his car aside, 
 
 Then passed them all. Orestes, who, secure 
 
 Of conquest, lagged behind, with eager pace 
 
 Now urged his rapid course, and swift pursued. 
 
 Sharp was the contest : now th' Athenian first, 
 
 And now Orestes o'er his coursers hung. 
 
 Now side by tide they ran. When to the last 
 
 And fatal goal, they came, Atrides' son, 
 
 As chance with slackened rein he turned the car, 
 
 Full on the pillar struck, tore from the wheel 
 
 Its brittle spokes, and from his seat down dropped 
 
 Precipitate. Entangled in the reins 
 
 His fiery coursers dragged him o'er the field, 
 
 Whilst shrieking crowds with pity viewed the 
 
 youth. 
 Whose gallant deeds deserved a better fate. 
 Scarce could they stop the rapid car, or loose 
 His mangled corse, so drenched in blood, so changed, 
 That scarce a friend could say it was Orestes. 
 Straight on the pile they burnt his sad remains, 
 And, in an urn enclosed, a chosen few 
 
ELECTRA. 73 
 
 From Phocis sent have brought his ashes home, 
 To reap due honours in his native land. 
 
 Thus have I told thee all, a dreadful tale ! 
 But, oh ! how far more dreadful to behold it. 
 And be like me a witness of the scene ! 
 
 Chor. Ah me ! the royal race, the ancient house 
 Of my loved master is no more ! 
 
 Cly. Great Jove ! 
 
 Th' event was happy, but 'tis mixed with woe. 
 //For, oh ! 'tis bitter to reflect that life V \ 
 
 [/ And safety must be purchased by misfortunes. ^ 
 
 Gov. Why grieve you, madam ? 
 
 Cly. 'Tis a bitter task 
 
 To bring forth children ; though a mother 's wronged, 
 A mother ca nnot hate the babe she bore. 
 "TjI^ov. Then with ungrateful news in vain I came. 
 
 Cly. Oh no ! Most welcome is the man who brings 
 Such joyful tidings, that a thankless child 
 Is gone, who left a tender mother's arms 
 To live a voluntary exile from me \ 
 Ne'er to these eyes returned, but absent raged. 
 And threatened vengeance for his murdered father. 
 Day had no rest for me, nor did the night 
 Bring needful slumbers — thoughts of instant death 
 Appalled me ever. But my fears are gone ! 
 He cannot hurt me now, nor, worse than him, 
 This vile domestic plague, who haunts me still 
 To suck my vital blood \ but henceforth safe, 
 Spite of her threats, shall Clytemnestra live. 
 
 Elec. Now, my Orestes, I indeed must mourn 
 Thy cruel fate, embittered by reproach, 
 And from a mother's tongue. This is not v/ell. 
 
 Cly. With him it is, and would it were with thee ! 
 
 Elec. Attend, Nemesis ! and hear the dead ! 
 
 Cly. She heard that voice which best deserved her 
 ear. 
 And her decrees are just. 
 
 Elec. Go on, proud woman ; 
 
 Insult us now, whilst fortune smiles upon thee 
 
 Cly. Dost thou then hope that we shall fall hei-e- 
 after? 
 
ELECTRA. 
 
 Elec. No ; we are fallen ourselves, and cannot hurt 
 thee. 
 
 Cly. Thiice worthy is that messenger of joy 
 Whose gladsome news shall stop thy clamorous tongue. 
 
 Gov. My task performed, permit me to retire. 
 
 Cly. No, stranger, that were an aftront to thee, 
 And to our friend who sent thee here. Go in, 
 And leave that noisy wretch to bellow forth 
 Her sorrows, and bewail her lost Orestes. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Electra, Chorus. 
 
 Elec. Miu-ked ye, my friends, did ye observe her 
 
 tears ? 
 Did she lament him ? Did the mother weep 
 For her lost child ? Oh, no ; she smiled and left me. 
 Wretched Electra I O my dear Orestes ! 
 Thou hast undone me ; thou wert all my hope : 
 I thought thou wouldst have lived to aid my vengeance 
 For our loved father's death ; deprived of both 
 Whither shall I betake me 'i Left at last 
 A slave to those whom most on earth I hate, 
 The cruel murderers — must it then be so ? 
 Never, oh never ! Thus bereft of all. 
 Here will I lay me down, and on this spot 
 End my sad days. If it offend the t}Tants, 
 Let 'em destroy me — 'twill be kindly done. 
 Life is a pain ; I would not wish to keep it. 
 
 Chor. Where is thy thunder, Jove ? or where thy 
 
 power, 
 O Phcebus ! if thou dost behold this' deed 
 And not avenge it ? 
 
 Elec. 
 CnoR. 
 Elec. 
 Chor. 
 Elec. 
 Chor 
 
 Oh 
 
 Alas 
 
 Why mournst thou thus ? 
 
 Oh ! do not gi'oan thus. 
 
 How have I huit thee ? 
 
 Thou destroyst me. 
 
ELECTRA. 75 
 
 Elec. Why thus vainly try 
 
 To give me comfort, when I know he's dead ? 
 You but insult my woes. 
 
 Chor. Yet weep not thus. 
 Think on the golden bracelet that betrayed 
 Amphiaraus, who now 
 
 Elec. Oh me ! 
 
 Chor. In bliss 
 
 Immortal reigns among the shades below. 
 
 Elec. Alas ! 
 
 Chor. No more ; a woman was the cause, 
 
 Th' accursed cause. 
 
 Eleo. She suffered, did she not ? 
 
 Chor. She did ; she perished. 
 
 Elec. Yes, I know it v/ell ; 
 
 He found a kind avenger of his wrongs. 
 But I have none, for he is ravished from me. 
 
 Chor. Thou art indeed unhappy. 
 
 Elec. 'Tis too true. 
 
 I am most wretched, it beats hard upon me ; 
 My sorrows never cease. 
 
 Chor. We see thy woes. 
 
 Elec. Therefore no more attempt to bring me 
 comfort ; 
 There is no hope. 
 
 Chor. What sayst thou ? 
 
 Elec. There is none, 
 
 None left for me — my noble brother slain ! 
 
 Chor. Death is the lot of human race. 
 
 Elec. But, oh ! 
 
 Not death like his — entangled in the reins, 
 His mangled body dragged along the field. 
 
 Chor. A strange unthought-of chance. 
 
 Elec. And then to fall 
 
 A wretched stranger in a foreign land ! 
 
 Chor. Oh horrible ! 
 
 Elec. No sister there to close 
 
 His dying eyes, to grace him with a tomb, 
 Or pay the last sad tributary tear. 
 
76 ELECTRA, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene T. 
 OnRYSOTiiEMis, Electra, Chorus. 
 
 Chrysotitemis. Forgive me, sister, if my hasty steps 
 Press nnexpeotofl on thee ; but I come 
 With joyful tidings, to relieve thy toils, 
 And make thee happy. 
 
 Elec. What canst thou have found 
 
 To soften ills that will admit no cure? 
 
 Chry. Orestes is arrived ; as sure as here 
 I stand before thee, the dear youth is come. 
 
 Elec. Canst thou then make a mockery of my woes ; 
 Or dost thou rave ? 
 
 CiiRY. No, by our father's gods, 
 
 I do not mean to scoff; but he is come. 
 
 Elec. Alas ! who told thee so ? What tongue deceived 
 Thy credulous ear ? 
 
 Chry. Know, from myself alone 
 
 I learned the truth, and confirmations strong 
 Oblige me to believe it. 
 
 Elec. What firm proof 
 
 Canst thou produce % What hast thou seen or known 
 To raise such flattering hopes ? 
 
 Chry. Oh ! by the gods, 
 
 I beg thee but to hear me, then approve 
 Or blame, impartial. 
 
 Elec. If to tell thy tale 
 
 Can give thee pleasure, say it ; I attend. 
 
 Chry. Know, then, that soon as to our father's tomb 
 Eager I came, my wondering eyes beheld 
 Down from its side a milky fountain flow, 
 As lately poured by some benignant hand ; 
 With various flowers the sacred spot adorned 
 Increased my doubts : on every side I looked 
 And listened long impatient for the tread 
 
ELECTRA, 77 
 
 Of human footsteps there ; but all was peace. 
 Fearless approaching then the hallowed spot, 
 I saw it spread with fresh devoted hair ; 
 Instant my soul recalled its dearest hope, 
 Nor doubted whence the pious offerings came ; 
 I snatched them up and silent gazed, while joy 
 Sprang in my heart, and filled my eyes with tears — 
 They were, they must be his ; ourselves alone 
 Excepted, who could bring them % 'twas not I, 
 And 'tis not given to thee to leave these walls 
 E'en for the gods : our mother scarce would do 
 So good an office ; or e'en grant she might. 
 We must have known it soon. Be confident, 
 It was Orestes ^\en. Rejoice, Electra, 
 Sister, rejoice ! Whe same destructive power 
 Doth not for ever rule.^/ Behold at last 
 A milder god, and happier days appear ! 
 
 Elec. Madness and folly ! How I pity thee ! 
 Chry. Have I not brought most joyful tidings to 
 
 thee? 
 Elec. Alas ! Thou knowst not where nor what thou 
 
 art? 
 Chry. ISTot know it % Not believe what I have seen % 
 Elec. I tell thee, wretched as thou art, he 's dead ; 
 He and thy hoped-for bliss are gone together. 
 Thou must not think of it. 
 
 Chry. A wretch indeed 
 
 I am, if this be so ; but oh ! from whom. 
 Where didst thou learn the fatal news % 
 
 Elec. From one 
 
 Who was a witness of his death. 
 
 Chry. Where is he % 
 
 Amazement chills my soul. 
 
 Elec. He is within ; 
 
 And no unwelcome guest to Clytemnestra. 
 
 Chry. Alas ! who then could bring those pious gifts % 
 Elec. Some friend of lost Orestes placed them there. 
 Chry I flew with joy to tell thee better news, 
 And little thought to hear so sad a tale. 
 The griefs I came to cure are present still, 
 And a new weight of woes is come upon us. 
 
ELECTRA. 
 
 Elec. But know, my sister, all may yet be well. 
 If thou wilt hear me. 
 
 Chuv. Can J raise the dead ? 
 
 Elf.c. I am not mad that 1 should ask it of thee 
 
 Chry, What wouldst thou have me do ? 
 
 Elf/'. I'd have thee act 
 
 As 1 shall dictate to thee. 
 
 Chry. If aught good 
 
 It may produce, I do consent. 
 
 Elec. Remember 
 
 That if we hope to prosper, we must bear ; 
 Success in all that's human must depend 
 On patience and on toil. 
 
 Chry. I know it well, 
 
 And stand resolved to bear my part in all. 
 
 Elec. Hear then the solemn purpoi-t of my soul. 
 Tliou knowst too well how friendless and forlorn 
 We both are left, by death bereaved of all 
 Who could support us. Whilst Orestes lived, 
 I cherished flattering thoughts of sweet revenge ; 
 But he is gone, and thou ai-t now my hope. 
 Yes, thou must join (for I will tell thee all) 
 With thy Electra to destroy ^gisthus — 
 To kill the murderer. Why should we delay ? 
 Is aught of comfort left ? Thou canst but weep 
 Thy ravished foi-tunes torn unjustly from thee ; 
 Thou canst but mourn thy loss of nuptial rites, 
 And each domestic bliss. For, my sister ! 
 The tyrant cannot be so weak of soul 
 As e'er to suffer our detested race 
 To send new branches forth for his destruction. 
 Assist me then. So shalt thou best deserve 
 A father's praises and a brother's love ; 
 So shalt thou still, as thou wert born, be free, 
 And gain a partner worthy of thy bed. 
 Dost thou not hear th' applauding voice of fame, 
 And every tongue conspire to praise the deed ? 
 Will they not mark us as we pass along, 
 And cry aloud, *' Behold the noble pair ! 
 The pious sisters who preserved their race, 
 Whose daring souls, unawed by danger, sought 
 
ELECTRA, 79 
 
 The tyrant's life, regardless of their own. 
 What love to these, what reverence is due ! 
 These shall th' assembled nation throng to praise, 
 And every feast with public honours crown. 
 The fit reward of more than female virtue." 
 Thus will they talk, my sister, whilst we live, 
 And after death our names sliall be immortal. 
 Aid then a brother's, aid a sister's cause. 
 Think on thy father's wrongs, preserve Electra, 
 Preserve thyself ; and, oh ! remember well 
 That to the noble mind a life dishonoured 
 Is infamy and shame. 
 
 Chor. Be prudence now 
 
 The guide of both. 
 
 Chry. Her mind was sure disturbed. 
 
 My friends, or she would ne'er have talked so wildly. 
 Tell me, I beg thee tell me, my Electra, 
 How couldst thou think so rash an enterprise 
 Could e'er succeed, or how request my aid ? 
 Hast thou considered what thou art % )A woman, | 
 Weak and defenceless^ to thy foes unequal. 
 Fortune thou seest each hour flows in upon them, 
 Nor deigns to look on us. What hand shall deal 
 The fatal blow and pass unpunished for it ? 
 Take heed, my sistei", lest, thy counsel heard, 
 A heavier fate than what we now lament 
 Fall on us both. What will our boasted fame 
 Avail us then % It is not death alone 
 We have to fear — to die is not the worst 
 Of human ills ; it is to wish for death 
 And be refused the boon. Consider well, 
 Ere we destroy ourselves and all our race. 
 Be patient, dear Electra ; for thy words, 
 As they had ne'er been uttered, here they rest ; 
 Learn to be wise at last, and when thou knowst 
 I Resistance vain, submit to powers superior. 
 
 Chor. Submit, convinced that prudence is the 
 first 
 Of human blessings. 
 
 Elec. 'Tis as I expected ; 
 
 X knew full well thou wouldst reject my counsel. 
 
But I can act alone ; nor shall this arm 
 
 Shrink at the blow, or leave its work unfinished. 
 
 Chry. Would thou hadst siiown this so uiuch Vimnted 
 prowess 
 When our loved father died ! 
 
 Elec. I was the same 
 
 By nature then, but of a weaker mind. 
 
 Chry. Be sure thy courage fail thee not hereafter. 
 
 Elec. Thy aid will ne'er increase it. 
 
 Chry. 'Twill be wanted ; 
 
 For those who act thus rashly must expect 
 The fate they merit. 
 
 Elec. I admii-e thy prudence, 
 
 But I detest thy cowardice. 
 
 Chry. I hear thee 
 
 With patience ; for the time must one day come 
 When thou shalt praise me. 
 
 Elec. Never. 
 
 Chry. Be that left 
 
 For time to judge ; enough remains. 
 
 Elec. Away ! 
 
 There's no dependence on thee. 
 
 Chry. But there is, 
 
 Hadst thou a mind disposed for its acceptance. 
 
 Elec. Go, tell thy mother all. 
 
 Chry. I am not yet 
 
 So much thy enemy. 
 
 Elec. And yet would lead me 
 
 To infamy. 
 
 Chry To safety and to wisdom. 
 
 Elec. Must I then judge as thy superior reason 
 May dictate to me ? 
 
 Chry. When thy better mind 
 
 Shall come, I'll not refuse to follow thee. 
 
 Elec. Pity who talks so well should act so poorly ! 
 
 Chry. That censure falls on thee. 
 
 Elec. What I have said 
 
 Is truth. 
 
 Chry. Truth, sister, may be dangerous. 
 
 Elec. Bather than thus submit I will not live. 
 
 Chry. Hereafter thou wilt praise me. 
 
ELECTRA. 8r 
 
 Elec. shall act 
 
 As seems most fit, nor wait for thy direction. 
 
 Chry. Art thou resolved then ? Wilt thou not repent 
 And take my counsel ? 
 
 Elec. Counsel such as thine 
 
 Is of all ills the worst. 
 
 Chry. Because, Electra, 
 
 Thou dost not seem to understand it. 
 
 Elec. Know then, 
 
 That long ere this I had determined all. 
 
 Chry. Then fare thee well ! Thou canst not bear my 
 words, 
 Nor I thy actions. 
 
 Elec. Go thy ways. Henceforth 
 
 I will not commune with thee. Nor thy prayers — 
 No, nor thy tears — should ever bend me to it ; 
 Such idle commerce were the height of folly. 
 
 Chry. If thou dost think this wisdom, think so still ; 
 But when destruction comes, thou wilt approve 
 My better counsel, and be wise too late. \Exeunt.- 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe i. 
 
 Man's ungrateful wretched race 
 Shall the birds of heaven disgrace. 
 
 Whose ever-watchful, ever-pious young 
 
 Protect the feeble parent whence they sprung ? 
 But if the blast of angry Jove 
 Hath power to strike, or justice reigns above, 
 
 Not long unpunished shall such crimes remain ; 
 When thou, O Fame ! the messenger of woe, 
 Shalt bear these tidings to the realms below, 
 
 Tidings to Grecia's chiefs of sorrow and of pain. 
 
ELECTRA. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Bid the sad Atridnc mourn 
 
 Their house by cruel faction torn ; 
 Tell em, no longer, by afl'ection joined, 
 The tender sisters bear a friendly mind ; 
 
 The poor Electra now alone, 
 
 ]\laking her fruitless solitary moan, 
 Lil^e Philomela, weeps her father's fate ; 
 
 Fearless of death and every human ill, 
 
 Eesohed her steady vengeance to fultil — 
 Was ever cliild so good, or piety so great ! 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 Still are the virtuous and the good 
 
 By adverse fortune unsubdued. 
 Nor e'er will stoop to infamy and shame ; 
 
 Thus Electra dauntless rose 
 
 The war to wage with virtue's foes, 
 To gain the meed of never-ending fame, 
 
 Antistrojyhe 2. 
 
 Far, far above thine enemies. 
 
 In power and splendour mayst thou rise, 
 And future bliss compensate present woe ! 
 
 For thou hast shown thy pious love, 
 
 By all that's dear to heaven above, 
 Or sacred held by mortals here below. [^Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene J. 
 Orestes, Pi lades {with Attendant), Electra, Chorus. 
 
 Orestes. Say, virgins, if by right instruction led 
 
 This way, I tend to 
 
 Chor. Whither wouldst thou <?o ? 
 
ELECTRA. %2> 
 
 Ores. The palace of ^gisthus. 
 
 Chor. Sti'iinger, well 
 
 Wert thou directed ; thou art there already. 
 
 Ores, Who then amongst your train shall Idndly 
 speak 
 A friend's approach, who comes with joyful news 
 Of highest import % 
 
 Chor. {jpointing to Electra]. Be that office hers 
 Whom bound by Nature's ties it best befits. 
 
 Ores. Go then, and say from Phocis are arrived 
 Who beg admittance to the king. 
 
 Eleo. Alas ! 
 
 And com'st thou then to prove the dreadful tale 
 Already told ? 
 
 Ores. What you have heard I know not, 
 
 But of Orestes came I here to speak 
 By Strophius's command. 
 
 Elec. What is it, say ; 
 
 Oh, how I dread thy message ! 
 
 Ores, [showing the l^rn]. Here behold 
 His poor remains 
 
 Elec. lost, undone Electra ! 
 
 'Tis then too plain, and misery is complete. 
 
 Ores. If for Orestes thus thy sorrows flow, 
 Know that within this urn his ashes lie. 
 
 Elec. Do they indeed ? Then let me, by the gods 
 1 do entreat thee, let me snatch them from thee ! 
 Let me embrace them — let me weep my fate, 
 And mourn our hapless race. 
 
 Ores. Give her the urn, 
 
 Whoe'er she be ; for not with hostile mind 
 She craves the boon ; perhaps some friend, perhaps 
 By blood united. 
 
 Elec. [taking the Urn]. ye dear remains 
 Of my Orestes, the most loved of men ! 
 How do I see thee now ! How much unlike 
 What my fond hopes presaged, when List we parted l 
 I sent thee forth with all the bloom of youth 
 Fresh on thy cheek, and now, dismal change ! 
 I bear thee in these hands an empty shade. 
 Would I had died ere X had sent thee hence, 
 
84 
 
 ELECTRA. 
 
 Ere I had saved tliee from the tyrant's hand ! 
 
 Would thou liadst died thyself that dreadful day, 
 
 And joined thy murdered father in the tomb, 
 
 Rather than thus a wretched exile fallen, 
 
 Far from thy sister, in a foreign land I 
 
 I was not there with pious hands to wash 
 
 Thy breathless corpse, or from the greedy flame 
 
 To gather up thy ashes. What have all 
 
 My pleasing toils, my fruitless cares availed, 
 
 E'en from thy infant years, that as a mother 
 
 I watched thee still, and as a mother loved ? 
 
 I would not trust thee to a servant's hand. 
 
 But was myself the guardian of thy youth, 
 
 Thy dear companion. All is gone with thee ! 
 
 Alas ! thy death, like the devouring storm, 
 
 Hath borne down all. Thy father is no more, 
 
 And thou art gone, and I am going too. 
 
 Our foes rejoice. Our mother, mad with joy, 
 
 Smiles at our miseries — that unnatural mother, 
 
 She whom thou oft hast promised to destroy. 
 
 But cruel fate hath blasted all my hopes, 
 
 And for my dear Orestes left me naught 
 
 But this poor shadow. Oh ! th' accursed place 
 
 Where I had sent thee ! Oh ! my hapless brother, 
 
 Thou hast destroyed Electra. Take me then — 
 
 Oh ! take me to thee ! Let this urn enclose 
 
 My ashes too, and dust to dust be joined, 
 
 That we may dwell together once again : 
 
 In life united by one hapless fate, 
 
 I would not wish in death to be divided. 
 
 The dead are free from sorrows. 
 
 Chor. Fair Electra ! 
 
 Do not indulge thy griefs ; but, oh ! remember, 
 Sprung from a mortal like thyself, Orestes 
 Was mortal too — that we are mortal all. 
 
 Ores. \a8ide\. What shall 1 say ? I can refrain no 
 longer. 
 
 Elec. Why this emotion? 
 
 Ores. \looMng at Electra]. Can it be Electra, 
 That lovely form ? 
 
 Elec. It is indeed that wretch. 
 
ELECTRA, 85 
 
 Ores. Oh, dreadful ! 
 
 Elec. Stranger, dost thou weep for me % 
 
 Ores. By impious hands to perish thus ! 
 
 Elec. For me 
 
 Doubtless thou weepst, for I am changed indeed. 
 
 Ores. Of nuptial rites, and each domestic joy 
 To live deprived ! 
 
 Elec. Why dost thou gaze upon me % 
 
 Ores. Alas ! I did not know I was so wretched. 
 
 Elec. Why, what hath made thee so ? 
 
 Ores. I see thy woes. 
 
 Elec. Not half of them. 
 
 Ores. Can there be worse than these ? 
 
 Elec. To live with murderers ! 
 
 Ores. What murderers, whom % 
 
 Elec. The murderers of my father ; bound to serve 
 them. 
 
 Ores. Who binds thee ? 
 
 Elec. One who calls herself a mother; 
 
 A name she little merits. 
 
 Ores. But say, how ] 
 
 Doth she withhold the means of life, or act 
 With brutal violence to thee % 
 
 Elec. Both, alas ! 
 
 Are my hard lot ; she tries a thousand means 
 To make me wretched. 
 
 Ores. And will none assist, 
 
 Will none defend thee ? 
 
 Elec. None. My only hope 
 
 Lies buried there. 
 
 Ores. Oh ! how I pity thee ! 
 
 Elec. 'Tis kindly done ; for none will pity me — 
 None but thyself. Art thou indeed a stranger, 
 Or doth some nearer tie unite our sorrows % 
 
 Ores. I could unfold a tale. But — say, these 
 virgins. 
 May I depend on them % 
 
 Elec. They are our friends, 
 
 And faithful all. 
 
 Ores. Then lay the urn aside, 
 
 And I^vvill tell thee. 
 
sr, 
 
 Elec'. Do not take it from me 
 
 Do not, dear stranger. 
 
 Ores. But I must indeed. 
 
 Elec. Do not, T beg thee. 
 
 Ores. Come, you'll not repent it. 
 
 Elec. O my poor brother ! If thy dear remains 
 Are wrest-ed from me, I am most unhappy. 
 
 Ores. No more ; fh<m innst not griove for him. 
 
 Eleo. Not grieve 
 
 For my Orestes ? 
 
 Ores. No ; you should not weep. 
 
 Elec. Am I unwortliy of him then 1 
 
 Ores. Oh, no ! 
 
 But do not grieve. 
 
 Elec. Not when I bear the ashes 
 
 Of my dear brother 1 
 
 Ores. But they are not tliere 
 
 "Unless by fiction and a well-wrought tale, 
 That hath deceived thee. 
 
 Elec. Where then is his tomb? 
 
 Ores. The li\dng need none. 
 
 Elec. Ha ! what sayst thou 1 
 
 Ores. ' Truth. 
 
 Elec. Does he then live 1 
 
 Ores. If I have life, he lives. 
 
 Elec. And art thou he 1 
 
 Ores. Look here, and be convinced ; 
 
 'i his mark, 'tis from our father. 
 
 Elec. blest hour ! 
 
 Ores. Blessed indeed ! 
 
 Elec. Art thou then here 1 
 
 Ores. I am. 
 
 Elec. Do I embrace thee ? 
 
 Ores. Mayst thou do it long ! 
 
 Elec. my companions ! my dearest friends ! 
 Do ye not see Orestes, once by art 
 And cruel fiction torn from life and me, 
 But now by better art to life restored 1 
 
 Chor. Daughter, we do ; and see 'midst all our 
 woes 
 From every eye fa,st flow the tears of jo.y. 
 
ELECTRA. 87 
 
 Elec. Oh ! ye are come, my friends, in happiest hour, 
 E'en to behold, to find again the man 
 Whom your souls wished for, ye are come. 
 
 Chor. We are ; 
 
 But oh ! in silence hide thy joys, Electra. 
 
 Elec. Wherefore in silence ? 
 
 Chor. Lest our foes within 
 
 Should hear thee. 
 
 Elec. Never, by the virgin power 
 
 Of chaste Diana, will I hide my joys, 
 Nor meanly stoop to fear an idle throng 
 Of helpless women. 
 
 Ores, Women have their power, 
 
 And that thou knowest. 
 
 Elec. Alas ! and so I do ; 
 
 For oh ! thou hast called back the sad remembrance 
 Of that misfortune which admits no cure, 
 And ne'er can be forgot. 
 
 Ores. A fitter time 
 
 May come when we must think of that. 
 
 Elec. All times. 
 
 All hours are fit to talk of justice in, 
 And best the present, now when I am free. 
 
 Ores. Thou art so, be so still. 
 
 Elec. What's to be done % 
 
 Ores. Talk not, when prudence should restrain tliy 
 tongue. 
 
 Elec. Who shall restrain it % Who shall bind Electra 
 To fearful silence, when Orestes comes % 
 When thus I see thee here, beyond my thoughts, 
 Beyond my hopes ! 
 
 Ores. The gods have sent me to thee ; 
 
 Xliey bade me come. 
 
 Elec. Indeed ! More grateful still 
 
 Is thy return. If by the gods' command 
 Thou cam'st, the gods will sure protect thee here. 
 
 Ores, I would not damp thy joys, and yet I fear- 
 Lest they should carry thee too far. 
 
 Elec. Oh, no ! 
 But after so long absence^ thus returned 
 To thy afflicted sister, sure thou wouldst not 
 
,S8 ELECTRA, 
 
 Ores. Do what 1 
 
 Elec. Thou wouldst not grudge me the dear pleasure 
 Of looking on thee. 
 
 Ores. No ; nor suffer any 
 
 To rob thee of it. 
 
 Elec. Shall I then ! 
 
 Ores. No doubt. 
 
 Elec, I hear that voice, my friends, I never thought 
 To hear again. Ye know, when I received 
 The dreadful news, I kept my grief witliin, 
 Silent and sad ; but now I have thee here. 
 Now I behold thee, now I fix my eyes 
 On that dear form, which never was forgotten. 
 
 Ores. Spend not thy time in fruitless words, nor tell 
 me 
 How Clytemnestra lives, nor how ^gisthus 
 Hath lavished all our wealth. The present hour 
 Demands our strict attention. Tell me how, 
 Whether by fraud, or open force, our foes 
 May best be vanquished. Let no cheerful smile 
 Betray thee to thy mother. Seem to grieve 
 As thou wert wont. When we have done the deed, 
 J oy shall appear, and we will smile in safety. 
 
 Elec. Thy will is mine. Not to myself I owe 
 My present bliss ; I have it all from thee — 
 From thee, my brother ; nor should aught persuade me 
 To give Orestes e'en a moment's pain. 
 That were ungrateful to th' indulgent power 
 Who thus hath smiled propitious. Know, -^gisthus 
 Has left the palace ; Clytemnestra's there ; 
 And for thy needless fears that I should smile, 
 Or wear a cheerful face, I never shall — 
 Hatred so strong is rooted in my soul, 
 The sight of them will make me sad enough. 
 The tears of joy perhaps may flow for thee, 
 And add to the deceit ; for flow they must, 
 When I behold thee in one happy hour 
 Thus snatched from life, and thus to life restored. 
 I could not hope it. Oh I 'tis passing strange ! 
 If from the tomb our father should arise 
 And R.'iv he lived, I think I should believe liini : 
 
And oh ! when thou art come so far, 'tis fit 
 I yield to thee in all. Do thou direct 
 My every step ; but know, had I been left 
 Alone, e'en I would not have failed in all, 
 But conquered bravely, or as bravely fell. 
 
 Ores. No more. I hear the footsteps as of one 
 Coming this way. 
 
 Elec. Strangers, go in, and bear 
 
 That which with joy they cannot but receive. 
 But which with joy they will not long possess. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Governor of Orestes, Electra, Orestes, Chorus. 
 
 Gov. Madness and folly thus to linger here ! 
 Have ye no thought ? Is life not worth your care ? 
 Do ye not know the dangers that surround you ? 
 Had I not watched myself before the palace. 
 Ere ye had entered, all your secret plan 
 Had been discovered to our foes within. 
 Wherefore no more of this tumultuous joy. 
 And lengthened converse ; 'tis not fitting now. 
 Go in ; away, delays are dangerous 
 At such an hour ; cur fate depends upon it. 
 
 Ores. May I with safety ? Is all well within ? 
 
 Gov. None can suspect you. 
 
 Ores. Spake you of my death 
 
 As we determined ? 
 
 Gov. Living as thou art, 
 
 They do account thee one among the dead. 
 
 Ores. And are they glad ? What say they ? 
 
 Gov. By-and-by 
 
 We'll talk of that ; let it suffice that all 
 Is right within ; and that which most they think so, 
 May prove most fatal to them. 
 
 Elec. [pointing to the Governor]. Who is this ? 
 
 Ores. Do you not know ? 
 
 Elec. I cannot recollect him. 
 
 Ores. Not know the man to whom you trusted me ! 
 Under whose care 
 
ijO 
 
 ELF.CTRA. 
 
 Eleo. Wlion ? ho^v ? 
 
 Ores. To Phocis sent, 
 
 I 'scaped the tymnt. 
 
 Elec. Can it then be he, 
 
 Among the faithless only faithful found 
 When our dear father fell ? 
 
 Ores. It is the same. 
 
 Elec. \io the Governor]. Deax'est of men, great 
 guardian of our race, 
 Art thou then here 1 Thou, who hast saved us both 
 From countless woes ! Swift were thy feet to bring 
 Glad tidings to me, and thy hand stretched forth 
 Its welcome succour. But, oh ! why deceive me 1 
 Why wouldst thou kill me with thy dreadful tiilo, 
 E'en when thou hadst such happiness in store? 
 Hail ! father, hail ! — for I must caU thee so — 
 Know, thou hast been to me, in one short day, 
 Both the most hated and most loved of men. 
 
 Gov. ISTo more of that We shall have time enough 
 To talk of it hereafter. Let us go. 
 This is the hour ; the queen is now alone. 
 And not a man within. If ye delay, 
 Expect to meet more formidable foes, 
 In wisdom and in numbers far superior. 
 
 Ores. We will not talk, my Pylades, but act. 
 Let us go in. But to the gods who guard 
 This place be first due adoration paid. 
 
 Elec. Hear, then, Apollo, great Lycnean, hear 
 Their humble prayer ! Oh ! hear Electra too. 
 Who with unsparing hand her choicest gifts 
 Hath never failed to lay before thy altars ! 
 Accept the little all which now remains 
 For me to give, accept my humblest prayers, 
 My vows, my adorations ; smile propitious 
 On all our counsels ! Oh ! assist us now, 
 And show mankind what punishment remains 
 For guilty mortals from ofiended Heaven. [Exeunt. 
 
ELECTRA. 91 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 StroiJhe. 
 
 JJehokl, lie comes ! the slaugliter-beariiig god 
 Mars, ever thirsting for the murderer's blood ; 
 
 And see ! the dogs of war are close behind ; 
 Naught can escape their all-devouring rage. 
 This did my conscious heart long since pi'esage, 
 
 And the fair dream that struck my raptured mind. 
 
 Antistrojjhe. 
 
 Th' avenger steals along with silent feet, 
 And sharpened sword, to his paternal seat, 
 
 His injured father's wrongs to vindicate ; 
 Concealed from all by Maia's fraudful son, 
 Who safe conducts him till the deed be done, 
 
 Nor longer will delay the needful work of fate. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Electra, Chorus. 
 
 Plectra. my dear friends I they are about it now. 
 The deed is doing. But be still. 
 
 Chor. What deed ? 
 
 How % where ? 
 
 Elec. She doth prepare the funeral banquet ; 
 
 But they are not far from her. 
 
 Chor. Why then leave them 1 
 
 Elec. To watch JEgisthus, lest he steal upon iis 
 And blast our purpose. 
 
 Cly. \heMnd tlie scenes]. Oh ! I am betrayed ! 
 My palace full of murderei's ; not a friend 
 Left to protect me. 
 
92 ELECTRA. 
 
 Elec. Some one aies within ; 
 
 Did you not hear ? 
 
 Chor. It is too horrible 
 
 5'\)r mortal ear ; I tremble at the sound. 
 
 Cly. [wi</iw]. ^gisthus, oh! where art thou ? 
 
 Elec. Hark 1 again 
 
 The voice, and louder. 
 
 Cly. \\oithiix\. my child ! my child ! 
 
 Pity thy mother, pity her who bore thee ! 
 
 Elec. Be thine the pity which thou showedst to him, 
 And to his father. 
 
 Chor. O unhappy kingdom ! 
 
 O wretched race ! thy misery is full ; 
 This day will finish all. 
 
 Cly. \witUin\. Oh ! I am wounded ! | 
 
 Elec. Another stroke — another, if thou canst ! 
 
 Cly. Ah me ! again ! 
 
 Elec. Oh ! that ^gisthus too 
 
 Groaned with thee now ! 
 
 Chor. Then vengeance is complete. 
 
 The dead arise and shed their murderers' blood 
 In copious streams. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Orestes, Pylades, Governor of Orestes, Electra, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Elec. Behold them here ! their hands 
 Dropping with gore, a pious sacrifice 
 To the gi^eat god of war. How is 't, Orestes ? 
 
 Ores. 'Tis very well. All 's well, if there be truth 
 In great ApoUo's oracles. She 's dead. 
 Thou needst not fear a cruel mother now. 
 
 Chor. I^o more ! -ZEgisthus comes. 
 
 Elec. Instant go in ; 
 
 Do you not see him % Joyful he returns. 
 
 Chor. Ketire. Thus far is right — ^go on, and prosper. 
 
 Ores. Fear not ! We'll do it. 
 
 Chor. But immediately. 
 
 Ores. I'm gone. 
 
 \FjXPAmt Orestes, Pylades, and Governor. 
 
ELECTRA. 93 
 
 Elec. For what remains here to be done. 
 
 Be it my care. I'll whisper in his ear 
 
 A few soft flattering words, that he may rush 
 
 Unknowing down precipitate on ruin. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 ^GISTHUS, ElECTRA, ChORUS. 
 
 Mgi^. Which of you knows aught of these Phocian 
 guests, 
 Who come to tell us of Orestes' death ? 
 You first I ask, Electra, once so proud 
 And fierce of soul ; it doth concern you most ; 
 And therefore you, I think, can best inform me. 
 
 Elec. Yes, I can tell thee. Is it possible 
 I should not know it ? That were not to know 
 A circumstance of dearest import to me. 
 
 ^Gis. Where are they then % 
 
 Elec. Within. 
 
 ^Gis. And spake they truth ? 
 
 Elec. They did ; a truth not proved by words alone, 
 But faots undoubted. 
 
 ^Gis. Shall we see him then ? 
 
 Elec. Aye, and a dreadful sight it is to see. 
 
 ^Gis. Thou art not wont to give me so much joy ; 
 Now I am glad indeed. 
 
 Elec. Glad mayst thou be, 
 
 If aught there is in that can give thee joy. 
 
 -<3Egis. Silence within ! and let my palace gates 
 Be opened all — that Argos and Mycenae 
 May send her millions forth to view the sight ; 
 And if there are who nourish idle hopes 
 That still Orestes lives, behold him here, 
 And learn submission, nor inflame the crowd 
 Against their lawful sovereign, lest they feel 
 An angry monarch's heaviest vengeance on them. 
 
 Elec. Already I have learned the task, and yield 
 To power superior. 
 
04 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Opens and discovers tlie Body of Clytemxest BA extended 
 on a biei'f and covered 'with a veil. 
 
 Orestes, Pylades, Governor of Orestes, Mgistr-jb, 
 Electra, Chorus, and a Croivd of Spectators frani 
 the city. 
 
 Miiia. What a sight is here ' 
 
 O deity supreme ! this could not be 
 But by thy will ; and whether Nemesis 
 Shall still o'ertake me for my crime, I know not. 
 Take otF the veil, that I may view him well ; 
 He was by blood allied, and therefore claims 
 Our decent sorrows. 
 
 Ores. Take it off thyself ! 
 
 'Tis not my office ; thee it best behts 
 To see and to lament. 
 
 JEgis. And so it does ; 
 
 And I will do it. Send Clytemnestra hither. 
 
 [Taking of the ve^a 
 
 Ores. She is before thee. 
 
 ^Gis. Ha ! what do I see 1 
 
 Ores. Why, what 's the matter ? What affrights th@C 
 so? 
 Do you not see him ? 
 
 ^Gis. In what dreadful snare 
 
 Am I then fallen ] 
 
 Ores. Dost thou not now behold 
 
 That thou art talking with the dead ? 
 
 u:Egis. Alas I 
 
 Too well I see it, and thou art — Orestes. 
 
 Ores. So great a prophet thou, and guess so iil ! 
 
 ^Gis. I know that I am lost, undone for evor; 
 But let me speak to thee. 
 
 Elec. Do not, Orestes ; 
 
 No, not a woi'd. What can a moment's spaoo 
 Profit a wretch like him, to death devoted'^ 
 Qijck }et him die, and cast his carcase forth 
 
ELECTRA. 
 
 95 
 
 To dogs and vultures ; tliey will best perform 
 Fit obsequies for him. By this alone 
 We can be free and htappy. 
 
 Ores. Get thee in ! 
 
 This is no time for talk — thy life, thy life ! 
 
 ^'Egis. But why go in ? If what thou meanst to do 
 Be just, what need of darkness to conceal it ? 
 Why not destroy me here ? 
 
 Ores. It is not thine 
 
 Now to command. Hence to the fatal place 
 Where our dear father fell, and perish there. 
 
 ^Gis. This palace then is doomed to be the witness 
 Of all the present, all the future woes 
 Of Pelops' hapless race. 
 
 Ores. Of thine, at least 
 
 It shall be witness ; that 's my prophecy. 
 And a most true one. 
 
 ^Gis. 'Tig not from thy father. 
 
 Ores. Thou talkst, and time is lost. Away ! 
 
 ^Gis. I follow. 
 
 Ores. Thou shalt go first. 
 
 ^Gis. Thinkst thou I mean to fly ? 
 
 Ores. No ; but I'd make thy end most bitter to thee 
 In every circumstance, nor let thee choose 
 The softest means. Were all like thee to perish 
 Who violate th e laws, 'twould lessen m uch ^^^^^^'^ _c-«^ 
 The guilt of mort als, aiKl reform mankind. \ExPAint. 
 
 Chor. race or Atreus ! after all thy woes, 
 How art thou thus by one adventurous deed 
 To freedom and to happiness restored 1 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 PlIILOCTETES. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Ulysses, King of Ithaca. 
 Neoptolemus, Son of AcJiilles. 
 Philoctetes, Son of Pcean and 
 
 Companion of Hercules. 
 A Spy. 
 
 Hercules. 
 
 Chorus, composed of the Com- 
 panions of Ulysses and Neopto- 
 lemus, 
 
 SCENE. — Lemnos, near a Grotto in a rocJc by the Seaside, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Ulysses, Neoptolemus, Attendant. 
 
 Ulysses. At length, my noble friend, thou bravest son 
 Of a brave father — father of us all, 
 The great Achilles — we have reached the shore 
 Of sea-girt Lemnos, desert and forlorn, 
 Where never tread of human step is seen. 
 Or voice of mortal heard, save his alone, 
 Poor Philoctetes, Paean's wretched son. 
 Whom here I left ; for such were my commands 
 From Grecia's chiefs, when by his fatal wound 
 Oppressed, his groans and execrations dreadful 
 Alarmed our hosts, our sacred rites profaned, 
 And interrupted holy sacrifice. 
 
98 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 But why should I repeat the tale 1 The time 
 Admits not of delay. We must not linger. 
 Lest he discover our arrival here, 
 And all our purposed fraud to draw him hence 
 Be ineffectual. Lend me then thy aid. 
 Surv'eying round thee, canst thou see a rock 
 With double entrance — to the sun's warm rays 
 In winter open, and in summer's heat 
 Giving free pasj^age to the welcome breeze ? 
 A little to the left there is a fountain 
 Of li\-ing water, where, if yet he breathes. 
 He slakes his thirst. If aught thou seest of this 
 Inform me \ so shall each to each impart 
 Council mast fit, and serve our common cause. 
 Ned. ]}iaiing Ulysses a little behind /dm]. If I 
 mistake not, I behold a cave, 
 E'en such as thou describst. 
 
 Uly. Dost thou ? which way ? 
 
 Neo. Yonder it is ; but no path leading thither, 
 Or trace of human footstep. 
 
 Uly. In his cell 
 
 A chance but he hath lain him down to rest ; 
 Look if he hath not. 
 
 Neo. [advancing to the cave]. Not a creature there. 
 Uly. Nor food, nor mark of household preparation ? 
 Neo. A rustic bed of scattered leaves. 
 Uly. What more? 
 
 Neo. a wooden bowl, the work of some rude hand, 
 With a few sticks for fuel. 
 
 Uly. This is aU 
 
 His httle treasure here. 
 
 Neo. Unhappy man ! 
 
 Some linen for his wounds. 
 
 XJly. This must be then 
 
 His place of habitation ; far from hence 
 He cannot roam ; distempered as he is, 
 It were impossible. He is but gone 
 A Httle way for needful food, or herb 
 Of power to 'suage and mitigate his pain. 
 Wherefore despatch this servant to some place 
 Of observation, whence he may espy 
 
His every motion, lest he rush upon us. 
 There's not a Grecian whom his soul so much 
 Could wish to crush beneath him as Ulysses. 
 
 [Makes a signal to the Attendant j who retires. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Neoptolemus, Ulysses. 
 
 Neo. He's gone to guard each avenue ; and now, 
 If thou hast aught of moment to impart 
 Touching our purpose, say it ; I attend 
 
 Uly. Son of Achilles, mark me well ! Eemember, 
 What we are doing not on strength alone, 
 Or courage, but on conduct will depend ; 
 Therefore if aught uncommon be proposed, 
 Strange to thy ears and adverse to thy nature, 
 Keflect that 'tis thy duty to comply. 
 And act conjunctive with me. 
 
 Neo. Well, what is it ? 
 
 Uly. We must deceive this Philoctet^s ; that 
 Will be thy task. When he shall ask thee who 
 And what thou art, Achilles' son reply — 
 Thus far within the verge of truth, no more. 
 Add that resentment fired thee to forsake 
 The Grecian fleet, and seek thy native soil. 
 Unkindly used by those who long with vows 
 Had sought thy aid to humble haughty Troy, 
 And when thou cam'st, ungrateful as they were, 
 The arms of great Achilles, thy just right, 
 Gave to Ulysses. Here thy bitter taunts 
 And sharp invectives Uberally bestow 
 On me. Say what thou wilt, I shall forgive. 
 And Greece will not forgive thee if thou dost not ; 
 For against Troy thy efibrts are all vain 
 Without his arrows. Safely thou mayst hold 
 Friendship and converse wdth him, but I cannot. 
 Thou wert not with us when the war began, 
 Nor bound by solemn oath to join our host, 
 
 D 2 
 
lOO 
 
 As I was \ me he knows, and if he find 
 
 That I am with thee, we are both undone. 
 
 They must be ours then, these all-conquering arms ; 
 Remember that. I know thy noble nature 
 Abhors the thought of treachery or fraud. 
 But what a glorious prize is victory ! 
 Therefore be bold : we will be just hereafter. 
 Give to deceit and me a little portion 
 Of one short day, and for thy future life 
 Be called the holiest, worthiest, best of men. 
 
 Ned. What but to hear alarms my conscious soul. 
 Son of Laeites, I shall never practise. 
 I was not born to flatter or betray ; 
 Nor I, nor he — the voice of fame reports — 
 Who gave me birth. What open arms can do 
 Behold me prompt to act, but ne'er to fraud 
 Will I descend. Sure we can more than match 
 In strength a foe thus lame and impotent. 
 I came to be a helpmate to thee, not 
 A base betrayer ; and, O king ! believe me. 
 Rather, much rather would I fall by virtue 
 Than rise by guilt to certain victory. 
 
 TJly. O noble youth ! and worthy of thy sire ! 
 When I like thee was young, like thee of strength 
 And courage boastful, little did I deem 
 Of human policy ; but long experience 
 Hath taught me, son, 'tia not the powerful arm. 
 But soft enchanting tongue that governs all. 
 
 Neo. And thou wouldst have me tell an odious false- 
 hood ? 
 
 XJly. He must be gained by fraud. 
 
 Neo. By fraud ? And why 
 
 Not by persuasion % 
 
 Uly. He'll not listen to it ; 
 
 And force were vainer still. 
 
 Ned. What mighty power 
 
 Hath he to boast % 
 
 Uly. His arrows winged with death 
 
 Inevitable. 
 
 Neo. Then it were not safe 
 
 E'en to approach him. 
 
PHILOCTETES. loi 
 
 Uly. No j unless by fraud 
 
 He be secured. 
 
 Neo. And thinkst thou 'tis not base 
 
 To tell a lie then ? 
 
 Uly. Not if on that lie 
 
 Depends our safety. 
 
 Neo. Who shall dare to tell it 
 
 Without a blush % 
 
 Uly. We need not blush at aught 
 
 That may promote our interest and success. 
 
 Neo. But where 's the interest that should bias me % 
 Come he or not to Troy, imports it aught 
 To Neoptolemus ? 
 
 Uly. Troy cannot fall 
 
 Without his arrows. 
 
 Neo. Saidst thou not that I 
 
 Was destined to destroy her ? 
 
 Uly. Without them 
 
 Naught canst thou do, and they without thee nothing. 
 
 Neo. Then I must have them. 
 
 Uly. When thou hast, remember 
 
 A double prize awaits thee. 
 
 Neo. What, Ulysses? 
 
 Uly. The glorious names of vaUant and of wise. 
 
 Neo. Away ! I'll do it. Thoughts of guilt or shame 
 No more appal me. 
 
 Uly. Wilt thou do it then ? 
 
 Wilt thou remember what I told thee of ? 
 
 Neo. Depend on 't j I have promised — that 's sufficient. 
 
 Uly. Here then remain thou ; I must not be seen. 
 If thou stay long, I'll send a faithful spy. 
 Who in a sailor's habit well disguised 
 May pass unknown ; of him, from time to time, 
 What best may suit our purpose thou shalt know. 
 I'll to the ship. Farewell ! and may the god 
 Who brought us here, the fraudful Mercury, 
 And great Minerva, guardian of our countr}^, 
 And ever kind to me, protect us still ! \ExtvMt. 
 
102 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Scene 111. 
 
 Chorus, Neopiolemus. 
 
 Chok. Master, instruct us, strangers as we are, 
 "What we may utter, what we must conceal. 
 Doubtless the man we seek \vill entertain 
 Suspicion of us ; how are we to act ? 
 To those alone belongs the art to rule 
 W ho bear the sceptre from the hand of Jove ; 
 To thee of right devolves the power supreme. 
 From thy great ancestors delivered down \ 
 Speak then, our royal lord, and we obey. 
 
 Neo. If you would penetrate yon deep recess 
 To seek the cave where Philoctetes lies, 
 Go forward ; but remember to return 
 When the poor wanderer comes this way, prepared 
 To aid our purpose here if need require. 
 
 Chor. king ! we ever meant to fix our eyes 
 On thee, and wait attentive to thy will ; 
 But, tell us, in what part is he concealed % 
 'Tis fit we know the place, lest unobserved 
 He rush upon us. Which way doth it lie % 
 Seest thou his footsteps leading from the cave, 
 Or hither bent ? 
 
 Neo. \advanGing toicards the cave\. Behold the double 
 door 
 Of his poor dwelling, and the flinty bed. 
 
 Chor. And whither is its wretched master gone ? 
 
 Neo. Doubtless in search of food, and not far of!', 
 For such his manner is ; accustomed here. 
 So fame reports, to pierce with winged arrows 
 His savage prey for daily sustenance. 
 His wound still painful, and no hope of cure. 
 
 Chor. Alas ! 1 pity him. Without a friend. 
 Without a fellow-sufferer, left alone, 
 Deprived of all the mutual joys that flow 
 From sweet society — distempered too ! 
 How can he bear it ? unhappy race 
 Of mortal man ! doomed to an endless round 
 
PHILOCTETES, 103 
 
 Of sorrows, and immeasurable woe ! 
 
 Second to none in fair nobility 
 
 Was Philoctetes, of illustrious race ; 
 
 Yet here he lies, from every human aid 
 
 Far off removed, in dreadful solitude, 
 
 And mingles with the wild and savage herd ; 
 
 With them in famine and in misery 
 
 Consumes his days, and weeps their common fate. 
 
 Unheeded, save when babbling echo mourns 
 
 In bitterest notes responsive to his woe. 
 
 Neo. And yet I wonder not ; for if aright 
 I judge, from angry heaven the sentence came, 
 And Chrysa was the cruel source of all ; 
 Nor doth this sad disease inflict him still 
 Incurable, without assenting gods ] 
 For so they have decreed, lest Troy should fall 
 Beneath his arrows ere th' appointed time 
 Of its destruction come. 
 
 Chor. No more, my son ! 
 
 Neo. What sayst thou ? 
 
 Chor. Sure I heard a dismal groan 
 
 Of some afflicted wretch. 
 
 Neo. Which way ? 
 
 Chor. E'en now 
 
 I hear it, and the sound as of some step 
 Slow-moving this way. He is not far from us. 
 His plaints are louder now. Prepare, my son ! 
 
 Neo. For what % 
 
 Chor. New troubles ; for behold he comes ! 
 
 Not like the shepherd with his rural pipe 
 And cheerful song, but groaning heavily. 
 Either his wounded foot against some thorn 
 Hath struck, and pains him sorely, or perchance 
 He hath espied from far some ship attempting 
 To enter this inhospitable port. 
 And hence his cries to save it from destruction. 
 
 [JSxeunt. 
 
104 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Philoctetes. Say, welcome stmngers, what disastrous 
 fate 
 Led you to this inhospitable shore, 
 Nor haven safe, nor habitation fit 
 Affording ever ? Of what clime, what race ? 
 Who are ye 1 Speak ! If I may trust that garb, 
 Familiar once to me, ye are of Greece, 
 My much-loved country. Let me hear the sound 
 Of your long wished-for voices. Do not look 
 With horror on me, but in kind compassion 
 Pity a wretch deserted and forlorn 
 In this sad place. Oh ! if ye come as friends, 
 Speak then, and answer — hold some converse with me, 
 For this at least from man to man is due. 
 
 Neo. Know, stranger, first what most thou seemst to 
 wish; 
 We are of Greece. 
 
 Phil. Oh ! happiness to hear ! 
 
 After so many years of dreadful silence, 
 How welcome was that sound ! Oh ! tell me, son, 
 What chance, what purpose, who conducted thee ? 
 What brought thee thither, what propitious gale ? 
 Who art thou ? Tell me all — inform me quickly. 
 
 Neo. Native of Sc^ti-os, hither I return ; 
 My name is Neoptolemus, the son 
 Of brave Achilles. I have told thee all. 
 
 Phil. Dear is thy country, and thy father dear 
 To me, thou darling of old Lycomede ; 
 But tell me in what fleet, and whence thou cam'st. 
 
 Neo. From Troy. 
 
 Phil. From Troy ? I think thou wert not with us 
 When first our fleet sailed forth. 
 
PHILOCTETES. 105 
 
 Neo. Wei-t thou then there ? 
 
 Or knowst thou aught of that great enterprise ? 
 
 Phil. Know you not then the man whom you behold ] 
 Neo. How should I know whom I had never seen 1 
 Phil. Have you ne'er heard of me, nor of my name ? 
 Hath my sad story never reached your ear ? 
 
 Neo. Never. 
 
 Phil. Alas ! how hateful to the gods, 
 How very poor a wretch must 1 be then, 
 That Greece should never hear of woes like mine ! 
 But they who sent me hither, they concealed them, 
 And smile triumphant, whilst my cruel wounds 
 Grow deeper still. O, sprung from great Achilles ! 
 Behold before thee Psean's wretched son, 
 With whom, a chance but thou hast heard, remain 
 The dreadful arrows of renowned Alcides, 
 E'en the unhappy Philoctetes — him 
 Whom the Atridse and the vile Ulysses 
 Inhuman left, distempered as I was 
 By the envenomed serpent's deep-felt wound. 
 Soon as they saw that, with long toil oppressed. 
 Sleep had o'ertaken me on the hollow rock. 
 There did they leave me when from Chrysa's shore 
 They bent their fatal course ; a little food 
 And these few rags were all they would bestow. 
 Such one day be their fate ! Alas ! my son. 
 How dreadful, thinkst thou, was that waking to me, 
 When from my sleep I rose and saw them not ! 
 How did I weep ! and mourn my wretched state ! 
 When not a ship remained of all the fleet 
 That brought me here — no kind companion left 
 To minister or needful food or balm 
 To my sad wounds. On every side I looked, 
 And nothing saw but woe ; of that indeed 
 Measure too fuU. For day succeeded day. 
 And still no comfort came ; myself alone 
 Could to myself the means of life afford, 
 In this poor grotto. On my bow I lived : 
 The winged dove, which my sharp arrow slew, 
 With pain I brought into my little hut, 
 And feasted there ; then from the broken ico 
 
io6 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 1 slaked my thirst, or crept into the woocl 
 
 For useful fuel ; from the stricken flint 
 
 I drew the latent spark, that warms me still 
 
 And still revives. This with my humble roof 
 
 Preserve me, son. But, oh ! my wounds remain. 
 
 Thou seest an island desolate and waste ; 
 
 No friendly port nor hopes of gain to tenjpt, 
 
 Nor host to welcome in the traveller ; 
 
 Few seek the wild inhospitable shore. 
 
 By adverse winds, sometimes th' unwilling guests, 
 
 As well thou mayst suppose, were hither driven ; 
 
 But when they came, they only pitied me. 
 
 Gave me a little food, or better garb 
 
 To shield me from the cold ; in vain 1 prayed 
 
 That they would bear me to my native soil, 
 
 For none would listen. Here for ten long years 
 
 Have 1 remained, whilst misery and famine 
 
 Keep fresh my wounds, and double my misfortune. 
 
 This have th' Atridae and Ulysses done. 
 
 And may the gods with equal woes repay them ! 
 
 Chor. 0, son of Paean ! well might those, who came 
 And saw thee thus, in kind compassion weep ; 
 I too must pity thee — I can no more. 
 
 Neo. I can bear witness to thee, for I know 
 By sad experience what th' Atridae are, 
 And what Ulysses. 
 
 Phil. Hast thou suflfered then ? 
 
 And dost thou hate them too ? 
 
 Neo. Oh ! that these hands 
 
 Could vindicate my wrongs ! Mycenae then 
 And Sparta should confess that Scyros boasts 
 Of sons as brave and valiant as their own. 
 
 Phil. O noble youth ! But wherefore cam'st thou 
 hither? 
 Whence this resentment ? 
 
 Neo. I will tell thee all, 
 
 If I can bear to tell it. Know then, soon 
 As great Achilles died 
 
 Phil. Oh, stay, my son ! 
 
 Is then Achilles dead? 
 
 Neo. He is, and not 
 
PHILOCTETES, 107 
 
 By mortal hand, but by Apollo's shaft 
 Fell glorious. 
 
 Phil. Oh ! most worthy of each other, 
 
 The slayer and the slain ! Permit me, son, 
 To mourn his fate, ere I attend to thine. [lie weeps. 
 
 Neo. Alas ! thou needst not weep for others' woes, 
 Thou hast enough already of thy own. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis very true ; and therefore to thy tale. 
 Neo. Thus then it was. Soon as Achilles died. 
 Phoenix, the guardian of his tender years, 
 Instant sailed forth, and sought me out at Scyros ; 
 With him the wary chief Ulysses came. 
 They told me then (or true or false I know not), 
 My father dead, by me, and me alone 
 Proud Troy must fall. I yielded to their prayers ; 
 I hoped to see at least the dear remains 
 Of him whom living I had long in vain 
 Wished to behold. Safe at Sigeum's port 
 Soon we arrived. In crowds the numerous host 
 Thronged to embrace me, called the gods to witness 
 In me once more they saw their loved Achilles 
 To life restored ; but he, alas ! was gone. 
 I shed the duteous tear, then sought my friends 
 Th' Atridse — friends I thought 'em ! — claimed the arms 
 Of my dead father, and what else remained 
 His late possession : when — cruel words ! 
 And wretched I to hear them — thus they answered : 
 " Son of Achilles, thou in vain demandst 
 Those arms already to Ulysses given ; 
 The rest be thine." I wept. " And is it thus," 
 Indignant I replied, "ye dare to give 
 My right away?" " Know, boy," Ulysses cried, 
 " That right was mine, and therefore they bestowed 
 The boon on me : me who preserved the arms, 
 And him who bore them too." With anger fired 
 At this proud speech, I threatened all that rage 
 Could dictate to me if he not returned them. 
 Stung with my words, yet calm, he answered me : 
 *' Thou wert not with us ; thou wert in a place, 
 Where thou shouldst not have been ; and since thou 
 meanst 
 
io8 
 
 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 To brave ns tluis, Ivnow, lliou shalt never bear 
 Those arms \^^th thee to Scyros; 'tis resolved." 
 Thus injured, thus deprived of all I held 
 Most precious, by the worst of men, 1 left 
 The hateful place, and seek my native soil. 
 Nor do 1 blame so much the proud IHysses 
 As his base masters — army, city, all 
 Depend on those who rule. When men grow vile 
 The guilt is theirs who taught them to be wicked. 
 I've told thee all, and liim who hates the Atridre 
 I liold a friend to me and to the gods. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Strophe. 
 
 O Earth ! thou mother of great Jove, 
 
 Embracing all with universal love, 
 Author l^enign of every good. 
 
 Through whom Pactolus rolls his golden flood ! 
 To thee, whom in thy rapid car 
 Fierce lions draw, I rose and made my prayer- 
 To thee I made my sorrows known, 
 When from Achilles' injured son 
 
 Th' Atridse gave the prize, that fatal day 
 
 When proud Ulysses bore his arms away. 
 
 PniL. I wonder not, my friend, to see you here, 
 And I believe the tale ; for well 1 know 
 The man who wronged you, know the base Ulysses 
 Falsehood and fraud dwell on his lips, and nought 
 That's just or good can be expected from him. 
 But strange it is to me that, Ajax present, 
 He dare attempt it. 
 
 Ajax is no more ; 
 I had ne'er been spoiled 
 
 Neo. 
 Had he been living. 
 Thus of my right. 
 
 Phil. 
 
 Neo. 
 
 Is he then dead ? 
 
 He is. 
 
 Phil. Alas ! the son of Tydeus, .and that slave. 
 
PHTLOCTETES, 109 
 
 Sold by his father Sisyphus, they live, 
 Unworthy as they are. 
 
 JSTeo. Alas ! they do. 
 
 And flourish still. 
 
 Phil. My old and worthy friend 
 
 The Pylian sage, how is he ? He could see 
 Their arts, and would have given them better counsels. 
 
 Neo. Weighed down with grief he lives, but most 
 unliappy. 
 Weeps his lost son, his dear Antilochus. 
 
 Phil. O double woe ! whom I could most have wished 
 To live and to be happy, those to perish ! 
 Ulysses to survive ! It should not be. 
 
 Neo. Oh ! tis a subtle foe ; but deepest plans 
 May sometimes fail. 
 
 Phil. Where was Patroclus then, 
 
 Thy father's dearest friend ] 
 
 Neo. He too was dead. 
 
 In war, alas — so fate ordains it ever — 
 The coward 'scapes, the brave and virtuous fall. 
 
 Phil. It is too true ; and now thou talkst of cowards. 
 Where is that worthless wretch, of readiest tongue, 
 Subtle and voluble ? 
 
 Neo. Ulysses ? 
 
 Phil. No ; 
 
 Thersites ; ever talking, never heard. 
 
 Neo. I have not seen him, but I hear he lives. 
 
 Phil. I did not doubt it : evil never dies ; 
 The gods take care of that. If aught there be 
 Fraudful and vile, 'tis safe ; the good and just 
 Perish unpitied by them. Wherefore is it 1 
 When gods do ill, why should we worship them ? 
 
 Neo. Since thus it is, since virtue is oppressed, 
 And vice triumphant, who deserve to live 
 Are doomed to perish, and the guilty reign. 
 Henceforth, son of Psean ! far from Troy 
 And the Atridse will I live remote. 
 I would not see the man I cannot love. 
 My barren Scyros shall afford me refuge, 
 And home-felt joys delight my future days. 
 So, fare thee well, and may th' indulgent gods 
 
no 
 
 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 Heal thy sad wound, and grant thee every wish 
 Thy soul can form ! Once more, farewell ! I go, 
 The first propitious gale. 
 
 PjiiL. What ! now, my son ? 
 
 So soon % 
 
 Meg. Immediately; the time demands 
 Wo should be near, and ready to depart. 
 
 Phil. Now, by the memory of thy lionoured sire, 
 By thy loved mother, ])y whate'er remains 
 On earth most dear to thee, oh ! hear me now. 
 Thy suppliant ! Do not, do not thus forsake me, 
 Alone, oppressed, deserted, as thou seest. 
 In this sad place. I shall, I know it must, be 
 A burthen to thee. But, oh ! bear it kindly \ 
 For ever doth the noble mind abhor 
 Th' ungenerous deed, and loves humanity ; 
 Disgrace attends thee if thou dost forsake me. 
 If not, immortal fame rewards thy goodness. 
 Thou mayst convey me safe to CEta's shores 
 In one short day ; I'll trouble you no longer. 
 Hide mo in any part where I may least 
 Molest you. Hear me ! By the guardian god 
 Of the poor suppliant, all protecting Jove, 
 I beg. Behold me at thy feet, infirm, 
 And wretched as I am, I clasp thy knees. 
 Leave me not here then, where there is no mark 
 Of human footstep — take me to thy home ! 
 Or to Eubooa's port, to CEta, thence 
 Short is the way to Trachin, or the banks 
 Of Sperchius' gentle stream, to meet my father, 
 If yet he lives ; for, oh ! I begged him oft 
 By those who hither came, to fetch me hence — 
 Or is he dead, or they neglectful bent 
 Their hasty course to their own native soil. 
 Be thou my better guide ! Pity and save 
 The poor and wretched. Think, my son, how frail 
 And full of danger is the state of man — 
 Now prosperous, now adverse. Who feels no ills 
 Should therefore fear them ; and when fortune smiles 
 Be doubly cautious, lest destruction come 
 Remorseless on him, and he fall unpitied. 
 
PHILOCTETES. ii 
 
 Chor. Oh, pity him, my lord, for bitterest woes 
 And trials most severe he hath recounted ; 
 Far be such sad distress from those I love ! 
 Oh ! if thou hat'st the base Atridae, now 
 Revenge thee on them, serve their deadliest foe ; 
 Bear the poor suppliant to his native soil ; 
 So shalt thou bless thy friend, and 'scape the wrath 
 Of the just gods, who still protect the wretched. 
 
 Ned. Your proffered kindness, friends, may cost you 
 dear ; 
 When you shall feel his dreadful malady 
 Oppress you sore, you will repent it. 
 
 Chor. Never 
 
 Shall that reproach be ours. 
 
 Ned. In generous pity 
 
 Of the afflicted thus to be o'ercome 
 Were most disgraceful to me ; he shall go. 
 May the kind gods speed our departure hence, 
 And guide our vessels to the wished-for shore ! 
 
 Phil. O happy hour ! O kindest, best of men ! 
 And you my dearest friends ! how shall I thank you ? 
 What shall I do to show my grateful heart ? 
 Let us be gone ! But, oh ! permit me first 
 To take a last farewell of my poor hut, 
 Where 1 so long have lived. Perhaps you'll say 
 I must have had a noble mind to bear it. 
 The very sight to any eyes but mine 
 Were horrible, but sad necessity 
 At length prevailed, and made it pleasing to me 
 
 Chor. One from our ship, my lord, and with him 
 comes 
 A stranger. Stop a moment till we hear 
 Their business with us. 
 
 \EnteT a Spy in the habit of a Merchant, 
 with another Grecian, 
 
 (^ OF THE ^ 
 
Hi 
 
 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Neoptolemus, Philoctetes, Chorus, Spy. 
 
 Spy. Son of great Acliilles, 
 
 Know, chance alone hath brought me hither, driven 
 By adverse winds to where thy vessels lay, 
 As home I sailed from Troy. There did I meet 
 This my companion, who informed me where 
 Thou mightst be found. Hence to pursue my course 
 And not to tell thee what concerns thee near 
 Had been ungenerous, thou perhaps meantime 
 Of Greece and of her counsels naught suspecting. 
 Counsels against thee not by threats alone 
 Or words enforced, but now in execution. 
 
 Neo. Now by my virtue, stranger, for thy news 
 I am much bound to thee, and will repay 
 Thy service. Tell me what the Greeks have done. 
 
 Spy. a fleet already sails to fetch thee back, 
 Conducted by old Phoenix, and the sons 
 Of valiant Theseus. 
 
 Neo. Come they then to force me ? 
 
 Oi- am I to be won by their persuasion ? 
 
 Spy. I know not that ; you have what I could learn. 
 
 Neo. And did th' Atridse send them ? 
 
 Spy. Sent they are, 
 
 And will be with you soon. 
 
 Neo. But wherefore then 
 
 Came not Ulysses ? Did his courage fail ? 
 
 Spy. He, ere I left the camp, with Diomed^ 
 On some important embassy sailed forth 
 In search — 
 
 Neo. Of whom % 
 
 Spy. There was a man — but stay, 
 
 Who is thy friend here, tell me, but speak softly. 
 
 [Whispering him. 
 
 Neo. The famous Philoctetes. 
 
 SpY: Ha ! begone then ! 
 
 Ask me no more — away, immediately ! 
 
^HILOCTETES, 1T3 
 
 Phil. What do these dark mysterious whispers mean ? 
 Concern they me, my son ? 
 
 Neo. I know not what 
 
 He means to say, but I would have him speak 
 Boldly before us all, whate'er it be. 
 
 Spy. Do not betray me to the Grecian host, 
 Nor make me speak what I would fain conceal. 
 I am but poor — they have befriended me. 
 
 Neo. In me thou seest an enemy confest 
 To the Atridse. This is my best friend 
 Because he hates them too ; if thou art mine, 
 Hide nothing then. 
 
 Spy. Consider first. 
 
 Neo. I have. 
 
 Spy. The blame will be on you. 
 
 Neo. Why, let it be ; 
 
 But speak, I charge thee. 
 
 Spy, Since I must then, know, 
 
 In solemn league combined, the bold Ulysses 
 And gallant Diomede have sworn by force 
 Or by persuasion to bring back thy friend : 
 The Grecians heard Laertes' son declare 
 His purpose ; far more resolute he seemed 
 Than Diomede, and surer of success. 
 
 Neo. But why th' Atridae, after so long time. 
 Again should wish to see this wretched exile ? 
 Whence this desire % Came it from th' angry gods 
 To punish thus their inhumanity ] 
 
 Spy. I can inform you ; for perhaps from Greece 
 Of late you have not heard. There was a prophet, 
 Son of old Priam, Helenus by name, 
 Him, in his midnight walks, the wily chief 
 Ulysses, curse of every tongue, espied ; 
 Took him, and led him captive, to the Greeks 
 A welcome spoil. Much he foretold to all, 
 And added last that Troy should never fall 
 Till Philoctetes from this isle returned. 
 Ulysses heard, and instant promise gave 
 To fetch him hence ; he hoped by gentle means 
 To gain him ; those successless, force at last 
 Could but compel him. He would go, he cried, 
 
PHTLOCTETES. 
 
 And if lio failed his liead should pay the forfeit. 
 
 I've told thee all, and warn thee to be gone, 
 
 Thou and thy friend, if thou wouldst wish to save him. 
 
 Phil. And does the traitor think he can persuade me ? 
 As well might he persuade me to return 
 From death to life, as his base father did. 
 
 Spy. Of tliat I know not : I must to my ship. 
 Farewell, and may the gods protect you both ! \_ExiL 
 
 Phil. Lead me — expose me to the Grecian host ! 
 And could the insolent Ulysses hope 
 With his soft flatteries e'er to conquer me \ 
 No ! Sooner would 1 listen to the voice 
 Of that fell serpent, whose envenomed tongue 
 Hath lamed me thus. But what is there he dare not 
 Or say or do ? I know he will be here 
 E'en now, depend on't. Therefore, let's away ! 
 Quick let the sea divide us from Ulysses. 
 Let us be gone ; for well-timed expedition, 
 The task performed, brings safety and repose. 
 
 Ned. Soon {\s the wind permits us we embark, 
 But now 'tis adverse. 
 
 Phil. Every wind is fair 
 
 When we are flying from misfortune. 
 
 Ned. True ; 
 
 And 'tis against them too. 
 
 Phil, Alas ! no storms 
 
 Can drive back fraud and rapine from their prey. 
 
 Neo. I'm ready. Take what may be necessaiy, 
 And follow me. 
 
 Phil. I want not much. 
 
 Neo. Perhaps 
 
 My ship will furnish you. 
 
 Phil. There is a plant 
 
 Which to my wound gives some relief ; I must 
 Have that. 
 
 Neo. Is there aught else % 
 
 Phil. Alas ! my bow 
 
 I had forgot. I must not lose that treasure. 
 
 [Philoctetes steps towards his Grotto, and 
 hrhigs out his boiv and ay-rows. 
 
 Neo. Are these the famous arrows then ? 
 
PHILOCTETES. 
 
 "5 
 
 Phil. They are. 
 
 Neo. And may I be permitted to behold, 
 To touch, to pay my adoration to them ? 
 
 Phil. In these, my son, in everything that 's mine 
 Thou hast a right. 
 
 Neo. But if it be a crime. 
 I would not ; otherwise 
 
 Phil. Oh! thou art full 
 
 Of piety ; in thee it is no crime ; 
 In thee, my friend, by whom alone I look 
 Once more with pleasure on the radiant sun — 
 By whom I live— who giv'st me to return 
 To my dear father, to my friends, my country : 
 Sunk as I was beneath my foes, once more 
 I rise to triumph o'er them by thy aid : 
 Behold them, touch them, but return them to me, 
 And boast that virtue which on thee alone 
 Bestowed such honour. Virtue made them mine. 
 I can deny thee nothing : he, whose heart 
 Is grateful can alone deserve the name 
 Of friend, to every treasure far superior. 
 
 ISTeo. Go in. 
 
 Phil. Come with me ; for my painful wound 
 
 Requires thy friendly hand to help me onward. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Stro'plie, 
 
 Since proud Ixion, doomed to feel 
 The tortures of th' eternal wheel. 
 Bound by the hand of angry Jove, 
 Received the due rewards of impious love ; 
 Ne'er was distress so deep or woe so great 
 As on the wretched Philoctetes wait ; 
 Who ever with the just and good, 
 Guiltless of fraud and rapine, stood, 
 And the fair paths of virtue still pursued ; 
 Alone on this inhospitable shore, 
 Where waves for ever beat and tempests roar, 
 How could he e'er or hope or comfort know, 
 Or painful life support beneath such weight of woe ? 
 
ij6 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Exposed to the inclement skies, 
 
 Deserted and forlorn he lies, 
 
 No friend or fellow-mourner there 
 To soothe his sorrows and divide his care, 
 Or seek the healing plant of power to 'suage 
 His aching wound and mitigate its rage ; 
 
 But if perchance, awhile released 
 
 From torturing pain, he sinks to rest. 
 Awakened soon, and by sharp hunger prest, 
 Compelled to wander forth in search of food. 
 He crawls in anguish to the neighbouring wood ; 
 Even as the tottering infant in despair 
 Who mourns an absent mother's kind supporting care, 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 The teeming earth, who mortals still supplies 
 
 With every good, to him her seed denies ; 
 A stranger to the joy that flows 
 
 From the kind aid which man on man bestows ; 
 Nor food, alas ! to him was given, 
 
 Save when his arrows pierced the birds of heaven ; 
 Nor e'er did Bacchus' heart-expanding bowl 
 
 For ten long years relieve his cheerless soul ; 
 
 But glad was he his eager thirst to slake 
 In the unwholesome pool, or ever-stagnant lak^. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 But now, behold the joyful captive freed ; 
 A fairer fate, and brighter days succeed : 
 
 For he at last hath found a friend 
 Of noblest race, to save and to defend. 
 
 To guide him with protecting hand, 
 And safe restore him to his native land ; 
 On Sperchius' flowery banks to join the throng 
 Of Melian nymphs, and lead the choral song 
 On CEta's top, which saw Alcides rise, 
 And from the flaming pile ascend his native skies, 
 
PHILOCTETES. ,17 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Neoptolemus, Philoctetes, Chorus. 
 
 Neo. Come, Philoctetes; why thus silent? Wherefore 
 This sudden terror on thee ? 
 
 Phil. Oh ! 
 
 Neo. Whence is it ? 
 
 Phil. Nothing, my son ; go on ! 
 
 Neo. Is it thy wound 
 
 That pains thee thus ? 
 
 Phil. No ; I am better now. 
 
 gods ! 
 
 Neo. Why dost thou call thus on the gods ? 
 
 Phil. To smile propitious, and preserve us Oh ! 
 
 Neo. Thou art in misery. Tell me — wilt thou not ? 
 What is it % 
 
 Phil. O my son ! I can no longer 
 
 Conceal it from thee. Oh ! I die, I perish ; 
 By the great gods let me implore thee, now 
 This moment, if thou hast a sword, oh ! strike, 
 Cut off this painful limb, and end my being ! 
 
 Neo. What can this mean, that unexpected thus 
 It should torment thee 1 
 
 Phil. Know you not, my son ? 
 
 Neo. What is the cause ? 
 
 Phil. Can you not guess it % 
 
 Neo. No. 
 
 Phil. Nor I. 
 
 Neo. That's stranger still. 
 
 Phil. My son, my son ! 
 
 Neo. This new attack is terrible indeed ! 
 
 Phil. 'Tis inexpressible ! Have pity on me ! 
 
 Neo. What shall I do ? 
 
 Phil. Do not be terrified, 
 
 And leave me. Its returns are regular, 
 
it8 PN/LOCTETES, 
 
 And like tl>p traveller, when its appetite 
 Is satisfied, it will depart. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Neo. Thou art oppressed with ills on every side. 
 Give me thy hand. Come, wilt thou lean upon me? 
 
 Phil. No; but these arrows, take; preserve 'em {<>; 
 me. 
 A little while, till I grow better. Sleep 
 Is coming on me, and my pains will cease. 
 Tvet mo ])e quiet. If meantime our foes 
 Surprise thee, let nor force nor artifice 
 Deprive thee of the great, the precious trust 
 I have reposed in thee ; that were ruin 
 To thee, and to thy friend. 
 
 Neo. Be not afraid — 
 
 No hands but mine shall touch them ; give them to me. 
 
 Phil. Receive them, son ; and let it be thy prayer 
 They bring not woes on thee, as they have done 
 To me and to Alcides. 
 
 [Gives him the how and a/rroics. 
 
 Neo. May the gods 
 
 Forbid it ever ! May they guide our course 
 And speed our prosperous sails ! 
 
 Phil. Alas ! my son, 
 
 I fear thy vows are vain. Behold my blood 
 Flows from the w^ound ? Oh ! how it pains me ! Now 
 It comes, it hastens ! Do not, do not leave me ! 
 Oh ! that Ulysses felt this racking torture, 
 K'en to his inmost soul ! Again it comes ! 
 () Agamemnon ! Menelaus ! why 
 Should not you bear these pangs as I have done 1 
 O death ! where art thou, death % so often called, 
 Wilt thou not listen ? wilt thou never come ? 
 Take thou the Lemnian fire, my generous friend, 
 Do me the same kind office which I did 
 For my Alcides. These are thy reward ; 
 He gave them to me. Thou alone deservest 
 The great inheritance. What says my friend ? 
 What says my dear preserver ] Oh ! where art thou ? 
 
 Neo. I mourn thy hapless fate. 
 
 Phil. Be of good cheer, 
 
PHILOCTETES. 119 
 
 Quick my disorder comes, and goes as soon ; 
 I only beg thee not to leave me here. 
 
 Neo. Depend on 't, I will stay. 
 
 Phil. Wilt thou indeed ? 
 
 Neo. Trust me, I will. 
 
 Phil. I need not bind thee to it 
 
 By oath. 
 
 Ned. Oh, no ! 'twere impious to forsake thee. 
 
 Phil. Give me thy hand, and pledge thy faith. 
 
 Ned. I do. 
 
 Phil. Thither, oh, thither lead ! 
 
 \Pointing up to heaven. 
 
 Ned. What sayst thou ? where 1 
 
 Phil, Above. 
 
 Neo. What, lost again ? Why lookst thou thus 
 
 On that bright circle 1 
 
 Phil. Let me, let me go ! 
 
 Neo. [lays hold o/him]. Where wouldst thou go ? 
 
 Phil, Loose me. 
 
 Neo. I will not. 
 
 Phil. Oh ! 
 
 You'll kill me, if you do not. 
 
 Neo. [lets him go]. There, then ; now 
 
 Is thy mind better ? 
 
 Phil. Oh ! receive me, earth ! 
 
 Receive a dymg man. Here must I lie ; 
 For, oh ! my pain 's so great I cannot rise. 
 
 [Philoctetes sinks down on the earth near 
 the entra7ice of the cave. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Neo. Sleep hath o'ertaken him. See, his head is lain 
 On the cold earth ; the balmy sweat thick drops 
 From every limb, and from the broken vein 
 Flows the warm blood ; let us indulge his slumbers. 
 
120 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 INVOCATION TO SLEEP. 
 
 Sleep, thou patron of mankind, 
 Great physician of the mind, 
 Who dost nor pain nor sorrow know, 
 Sweetest balm of every woe, 
 Mildest sovereign, hear us now ; 
 Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow ; 
 His eyes in gentle slumbers close. 
 And continue his repose ; 
 Hear thy wretched suppliant's tow, 
 Great physician, hear us now. 
 
 And now, my son, what best may suit thy purpose 
 
 Consider well, and how we are to act. 
 
 What more can we expect % The time is come ; 
 
 For better far is opportunity 
 
 Seized at the lucky hour than all the counsels 
 
 Which wisdom dictates or which craft inspires. 
 
 Ned. He hears us not. But easy as it is 
 To gain the prize, it would avail us nothing 
 Were he not with us ? Phoebus hath reserved 
 For him alone the crown of victory ; 
 But thus to boast of what we could not do. 
 And break our word, were most disgraceful to us. 
 
 Chor. The gods will guide us, fear it not, my son ; 
 But what thou sayst speak soft, for well thou knowst 
 The sick man's sleep is short. He may awake 
 And hear us ; therefore let us hide our purpose. 
 If then thou thinkst as he does — thou knowst whom— 
 This is the hour. At such a time, my son. 
 The wisest err. But mark me, the wind's fair. 
 And Philoctctes sleeps, void of all help — 
 Lame, impotent, unable to resist, 
 He is as one among the dead. E'en now 
 We'll take him with us. 'Twere an easy task. 
 Leave it to me, my son. There is no danger. 
 
 Ned. No more ! His eyes are open. See, he moves. 
 
PHTLOCTETES. lai 
 
 Scene III. 
 Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Phil, [aioaking]. fair returning light ! beyond 
 my hope ; 
 You too, my kind preservers ! my son ! 
 I could not think thou wouldst have stayed so long 
 In kind compassion to thy friend. Alas ! 
 The Atridse never would have acted thus. 
 But noble is thy nature, and thy birth, 
 And therefore little did my wretchedness, 
 Nor from my wounds the noisome stench deter 
 Thy generous heart. I have a little respite ; 
 Help me, my son ! I'll try to rise ; this weakness 
 Will leave me soon, and then we'll go together. 
 
 Neo. I little thought to find thee thus restored. 
 Trust me, I joy to see thee free from pain. 
 And hear thee speak ; the marks of death were on thee. 
 Raise thyself up ; thy friends here, if thou wilt, 
 Shall carry thee, 'twill be no burthen to them 
 If we request it. 
 
 Phil. No ; thy hand alone ; 
 
 I will not trouble them ; 'twill be enough 
 If they can bear with me and my distemper 
 When we embark. 
 
 Neo, Well, be it so ; but rise. 
 
 Phil, [rising]. Oh ! never fear ; I'll rise as well as ever. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Neoptolemus, Philoctetes, Chorus. 
 
 Neoptolemus. How shall I act ? 
 
 Phil. What says my son ? 
 
PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Neo. Alas ! 
 
 I know not what to say ; my doubtful mind 
 
 Phil. Talked you of doubts? You did not surely. 
 
 Neo. Aye, 
 
 That's my misfortune. 
 
 Phil. Is then my distress 
 
 The cause at last you will not take me with you 1 
 
 Neo. All is distress and misery when we act 
 Against our nature and consent to ill. 
 
 Phil. But sure to help a good man in misfortunes 
 Is not against thy nature. 
 
 Neo. Men will call me 
 
 A villain ; that distracts me. 
 
 Phil. Not for this ; 
 
 For what thou meanst to do thou mayst deserve it. 
 
 Neo, What shall I do ? Direct me, Jove ! To hide 
 What I should speak, and tell a base untruth 
 Were double guilt. 
 
 Phil. He purposes at last, 
 
 I fear it much, to leave me. 
 
 Neo. Leave thee ! No ! 
 
 But how to make thee go with pleasure hence, 
 There I'm distressed. 
 
 Phil. I understand thee not ; 
 
 AVhat means my son? 
 
 Neo. I can no longer hide 
 
 The dreadful secret from thee ; thou art going 
 To Troy, e'en to the Greeks, to the Atridfe. 
 
 Phil. Alas ! what sayest thou % 
 
 Neo. Do not weep, but hear me. 
 
 Phil. What must I hear ? what wilt thou do with mo % 
 
 Neo. First set thee free ; then carry thee, my friend, 
 To conquer Troy. 
 
 Phil. Is this indeed thy purpose ? 
 
 Neo. This am I bound to do. 
 
 PniL. Then am I lost, 
 
 Undone, betrayed. Canst thou, my friend, do this? 
 Give me my arms again. 
 
 Neo. It cannot be. 
 
 I must obey the powers who sent me hither ; 
 Justice enjoins —the common cause demands it. 
 
PHILOCTETES, 
 
 123 
 
 Phil. Thou worst of men, thou vile artificer 
 Of fraud most infamous, what hast thou done ? 
 How have I been deceived % Dost thou not bhish 
 To look upon me, to behold me thus 
 Beneath thy feet imploring % Base betrayer ! 
 To rob me of my bow, the means of hfe, 
 The only means — give 'em, restore 'em to me ! 
 Do not take all ! Alas ! he hears me not, 
 Kor deigns to speak, but casts an angry look 
 That says I never shall be free again. 
 O mountains, rivers, rocks, and savage herds ! 
 To you I speak — to you alone I now 
 Must breathe my sorrows ; you are wont to hear. 
 My sad complaints, and I will tell you all 
 That I have suffered from Achilles' son, 
 Who, bound by solemn oath to bear me hence 
 To my dear native soil, now sails for Troy. 
 The perjured wretch lii-st gave his plighted hand, 
 Then stole the sacred arrows of my friend, 
 The son of Jove, the great Alcides ; those 
 He means to show the Greeks, to snatch me hence 
 And boast his prize, as if poor Philoctetes, 
 This empty shade, were worthy of his arm. 
 Had I been what I was, he ne'er had thus 
 Subdued me, and e'en now to fraud alone 
 He owes the conquest . I have been betiuyed ! 
 Give me my arms again, and be thyself 
 Once more. Oh, speak ! Thou wilt not % Then I'm lost. 
 
 my poor hut ! again I come to thee 
 Naked and destitute of food ; once more 
 Receive me, here to die ; for now, no longer 
 Shall my swift arrow reach the flying prey, 
 
 Or on the mountains pierce the wandering herd ; 
 
 1 shall myself afford a banquet now 
 
 To those I used to feed on — they the hunters. 
 And I their easy prey ; so shall the blood 
 Which I so oft have shed be paid by mine ; 
 And all this too fron him whom once I deemed 
 Stranger to fraud nor capable of ill ; 
 And yet I will not curse thee till I know 
 Whether thou still retainst thy horrid purpose, 
 
124 
 
 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 Or dost repent thee of it ; if thou dost not, 
 Destruction wait thee ! 
 
 Chor. We attend your pleasure, 
 
 iNIy royal lord, we must be gone ; determine 
 To leave, or take him with us. 
 
 Neo. His distress 
 
 Doth move me much. Trust me, I long have felt 
 Compassion for him. 
 
 Phil. Oh ! then by the gods 
 
 Pity me now, my son, nor let mankind 
 Reproach thee for a fraud so base. 
 
 Neo. Alas ! 
 
 What shall I do? Would I were still at Scyros ! 
 For I am most unhappy. 
 
 Phil. O my son ! 
 
 Thou art not base by nature, but misguided 
 By those who are, to deeds unworthy of thee. 
 Turn then thy fraud on them who best deserve it ; 
 Restore my arms, and leave me. 
 
 Neo. Speak, my friends, 
 
 What's to be done % 
 
 Scene II. 
 Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Chorus, Ulysses. 
 
 XJly. Ah ! dost thou hesitate % 
 
 Traitor, be gone ! Give me the arms. 
 
 Phil. Ah me ! 
 
 Ulysses here % 
 
 Uly. Aye ! 'tis Ulysses' self 
 
 That stands before thee. 
 
 Phil. Then I'm lost, betrayed J 
 
 This was the cruel spoiler. 
 
 Uly. Doubt it not. 
 
 'Twas I ; I do confess it. 
 
 Phil. \to Neoptolemus]. O my son ! 
 Give me them back. 
 
 Uly. It must not be ; with them 
 
 Thyself must go, or we shall drag thee hence. 
 
 Phil. And will they force mef O thou daring villain 
 
PHILOCTETES. 125 
 
 XJly. They will, unless thou dost consent to go. 
 
 Phil. Wilt thou, O Lemnos! wilt thou, mighty 
 Vulcan ! 
 With thy all-conquering fire, permit me thus 
 To be torn from thee ? 
 
 Uly. Know, gi-eat Jove himself 
 
 Doth here preside. He hath decreed thy fate ; 
 I but perform his will. 
 
 Phil. Detested wretch, 
 
 Mak'st thou the gods a cover for thy crime ? 
 Do they teach falsehood ? 
 
 Uly. No, they taught me truth, 
 
 And therefore, hence — that way thy journey lies. 
 
 [Pointiny to the sea. 
 
 Phil. It doth not. 
 
 Uly. But I say it must be so. 
 
 Phil. And Philoctetes then was born a slave ! 
 I did not know it. 
 
 Uly. No; I mean to place thee 
 
 E'en with the noblest, e'en with those by whom 
 Proud Troy must perish. 
 
 Phil. Never will I go. 
 
 Befall what may, whilst this deep cave is open 
 To bury all my sorrows. 
 
 Uly. What wouldst do? 
 
 Phil. Here throw me down, dash out my desperate 
 brains 
 Against this rock, and sprinkle it with my blood. 
 
 Uly. [to the Chorus]. Seize, and prevent him ! 
 
 {They seize him. 
 
 Phil. Manacled ! hands ! 
 
 How helpless are you now ! those arms, which once 
 Protected, thus torn from you ! [To Ulys«es. 
 
 Thou abandoned, 
 Thou shameless wretch ! from whom nor truth nor 
 
 justice, 
 Naught that becomes the generous mind, can flow, 
 How hast thou used me ! how betrayed ! Suborned 
 This stranger, this poor youth, who, worthier far 
 To be my friend than thine, was only here 
 Thy instrument ; he knew not what he did, 
 
26 
 
 PHILOCTETES, 
 
 And now, thou seest, repents him of the crime 
 
 Which brought such guilt on him, such woes on me. 
 
 But thy foul soul, which from its dai-k recess 
 
 Trembling looks forth, beheld him void of art, 
 
 Unwilling as he wms, instructed him. 
 
 And made him soon a master in deceit. 
 
 I am thy prisoner now ; e'en now thou meanst 
 
 To drag me hence, from this unhappy shore. 
 
 Where first thy malice left me, a poor exile, 
 
 Deserted, fiiendless, and though living, dead 
 
 To all mankind. Perish the vile betrayer ! 
 
 Oh ! I have cursed thee often, but the gods 
 
 Will never hear the prayers of Philoctetes. 
 
 Life and its joys are thine, whilst I, unhapjiy, 
 
 Am but the scorn of thee, and the Atiidie, 
 
 Thy haughty masters. Fraud and force compelled 
 
 thee. 
 Or thou hadst never sailed with them to Troy. 
 I lent my willing aid ; with seven brave ships 
 I ploughed the main to serve them. In return 
 They cast me forth, disgraced me, left me here. 
 Thou sayst they did it ; they impute the crime 
 To thee. And what will you do with me now ? 
 And whither must I go ? What end, what purpose 
 Could urge thee to it ? I am nothing, lost 
 And dead already. Wherefore — tell me, wherefore ?- 
 Am I not still the same detested burthen. 
 Loathsome and lame ? Again must Philoctetes 
 Disturb your holy rites ? If I am with you 
 How can you make libations ? That was once 
 Your vile j^retence for inhumanity. 
 Oh ! may you perish for the deed ! The gods 
 Will grant it sure, if justice be their care — 
 And that it is I know. You had not left 
 Your native soil to seek a wretch like me 
 Had not some impulse from the powers above. 
 Spite of yourselves, ordained it. O my country ! 
 And you, O gods ! who look upon this deed, 
 Punish, in pity to me, punish all 
 The guilty band ! Could I behold them perish, 
 My wounds were nothing ; that would heal them all. 
 
PHILOCTETES. 127 
 
 Chor. \to UlyssesJ. Observe, my lord, what bitterness 
 of soul 
 His words express ; he bends not to misfortune, 
 But seems to brave it. 
 
 Uly. I could answer him, 
 
 Were this a time for words ; but now, no more 
 Than this — I act as best befits our purpose. 
 Where virtue, truth, and justice are required 
 Ulysses yields to none \ I was not born 
 To be o'ercome, and yet submit to thee. 
 Let him remain. Thy arrows shall suffice ; 
 We want thee not ; Teucer can draw thy bow 
 As well as thou ; myself with equal strength 
 Can aim the deadly shaft, with equal skill. 
 What could thy presence do ? Let Lemnos keep thee. 
 Farewell ! perhaps the honours once designed 
 For thee may be reserved to grace Ulysses. 
 
 Phil. Alas ! shall Greece then see my deadlie>;i foe 
 Adorned with arms which I alone should bear ] 
 
 Uly. No more ! 1 must be gone. 
 
 Phil. \to Neoptolemus]. Son of Achilles, 
 
 Thou wilt not leave me too? I must not lose 
 Thy converse, thy assistance, 
 
 Uly. \to ISTeoptolemus. Look not on him ; 
 
 Away, I charge thee ! 'Twould be fatal to us. 
 
 Phil. \to the Chorus]. Will you forsake me, friends ? 
 Dwells no compassion 
 Within your breasts for mel 
 
 Chor. [pomting to Neoptolemus]. He is our master ; 
 We speak and act but as his will directs. 
 
 Neo. I know he will upbraid me for this weakness. 
 But 'tis my nature, and I must consent, 
 Since Philoctetes asks it. Stay you with him. 
 Till to the gods our pious prayers we offer. 
 And all things are prepared for our departure ; 
 Perhaps, meantime, to better thoughts his mind 
 May turn relenting. We must go. Remember, 
 When we shall call you, follow instantly. 
 
 [Exit icith Ulysses 
 
laS 
 
 rniLOCTETES, 
 
 Scene III. 
 PiiiLocTETES, Chorus. 
 
 Phil. my poor hut ! and is it then decreed 
 Again I come to theo to part no more, 
 To end my wretched days in this sad cave, 
 The scene of all my woes ? For whither now 
 Can I betake me 1 Who will feed, support, 
 Or cherish Philoctetes 1 Not a hope 
 Remains for me. Oh ! that th' impetuous storms 
 Would bear me with them to some distant clime ! 
 For I must perish here. 
 
 Chor. Unhappy man ! 
 
 Thou hast provoked thy fate ; thyself alone 
 Art to thyself a foe, to scorn the good, 
 Which wisdom bids thee take, and choose misfortune. 
 
 Phil. Wretch that I am, to perish here alone ! 
 Oh ! I shall see the face of man no more, 
 Nor shall my arrows pierce their winged prey, 
 And bring me sustenance 1 Such vile delusions 
 Used to betray me ! Oh I that pains like those 
 I feel might reach the author of my woes 1 
 
 Chor. The gods decreed it ; we are not to blame. 
 Heap not thy curses therefore on the guiltless, 
 But take our friendship. 
 
 Phil, \jpointi7hg to tlie sea-shore^ I behold him there j 
 E'en now I see him laughing me to scorn 
 On yonder shore, and in his hands the darts 
 Ho waves triumphant, which no arms but these 
 Had ever borne. my dear glorious trea.sure ! 
 Hadst thou a mind to feel th' indignity. 
 How wouldst thou grieve to change thy noble master, 
 The friend of great Alcides, for a wretch 
 So vile, so base, so impious as Ulysses ! 
 
 Chor. Justice will ever rule the good man's tongue, 
 Nor from his lips reproach and bitterness 
 Invidious flow. Ulysses, by the voice 
 Of Greece appointed, only sought a friend 
 To join the common cause, and serve his country. 
 
^HILOCTETES. 129 
 
 Phil. Hear me, ye winged inhabitants of air, 
 And you, who on these mountains love to feed, 
 My savage prey, whom once I could pursue ; 
 Fearful no more of Philoctetes, fly 
 This hollow rock — I cannot hurt you now ; 
 You need not dread to enter here. Alas ! 
 You now may come, and in your turn regale 
 On these poor limbs, when I shall be no more. 
 Where can I hope for food % or who can breathe 
 This vital air, when life-preserving earth 
 No longer will assist him ? 
 
 Chor. By the gods ! 
 
 Let me entreat thee, if thou dost regard 
 Our master, and thy friend, come to him now, 
 Whilst thou mayst 'scape this sad calamity ; 
 Who but thyself would choose to be unhappy 
 That could prevent it ? 
 
 Phil. Oh ! you have brought back 
 
 Once more the sad remembrance of my griefs ; 
 Why, why, my friends, would you afflict me thus ? 
 
 Chor. Afflict thee —how ? 
 
 Phil. Think you I'll e'er return 
 
 To hateful Troy ? 
 
 Chor. We would advise thee to it. 
 
 Phil. I'll hear no more. Go, leave me ! 
 
 Chor. That we shal.1 
 
 Most gladly. To the ships, my friends ; away ! \Goincj, 
 Obey your orders. 
 
 Phil. \sto'ps them]. By protecting Jove, 
 Who hears the suppliant's prayer, do not forsake me ! 
 
 Chor. [returning]. Be calm then. 
 
 Phil. my friends ! will you then stay ? 
 
 Do, by the gods I beg you. 
 
 Chor. Why that groan ? 
 
 Phil. Alas ! I die. My wound, my wound ! Hereafter 
 What can I do 1 You will not leave me ! Hear 
 
 Chor. What canst thou say we do not know already 1 
 
 Phil. O'erwhelmed by such a storm of griefs as I am, 
 You should not thus resent a madman's ifrenzy. 
 
 Chor. Comply then and be happy. 
 
 Phil. Never, never I 
 
I30 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Be sure of that. Tho' thunder- bearing Jove 
 Should with liis lightnings blast me, would I go ? 
 No ! Let Troy perish, perish all the host 
 Who sent me hero to die ; but, my friends ! 
 Grant me this last request. 
 
 Chor. What is it ? Speak. 
 
 Phil. A sword, a daH, some instrument of death. 
 
 Chor. What wouldst thou do % 
 
 Phil. I'd hack off every limb. 
 
 Deaths my soul longs for death. 
 
 Chor. But wherefore is it ? 
 
 Phil. I'll seek my father. 
 
 Chor. Whither ? 
 
 Phil. In the tomb ; 
 
 There he must be. Scyi-os' ! my country ! 
 How could I bear to see thee as I am — 
 I who had left thy sacred shores to aid 
 The hateful sons of Greece % misery ! 
 
 \Goes into the, cave,. Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Ulysses, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. Ere now we should have taken thee to our 
 ships, 
 But that advancing this way I behold 
 Ulysses, and with him Achilles' son. 
 
 Uly. Why this return ? Wherefore this haste ? 
 
 Neo. I come 
 
 To purge me of my crimes. 
 
 Uly. Indeed ! What crimes '# 
 
 Neo. My blind obedience to the Grecian host 
 And to thy counsels. 
 
PHILOCTETES. 131 
 
 Uly. Hast thou practised auglit 
 
 Base or unworthy of thee % 
 
 Neo. ' Yes ; by art 
 
 And vile deceit betrayed th' unhappy. 
 
 Uly. Whom ? 
 
 Alas ! what mean you % 
 
 I'J'eo. Nothing. But the son 
 
 Of Pfxian 
 
 Uly. Ha ! what wouldst thou do % My heart 
 
 Misgives me. \_Aside. 
 
 Neo. I have ta'en his arms, and now 
 
 Uly. Thou wouldst restore them ! Speak ! Is that 
 thy purpose % 
 Almighty Jove ! 
 
 Neo. Unjustly should I keep 
 
 Another's right ? 
 
 Uly. Now, by the gods, thou meanst 
 
 To mock me ! Dost thou not % 
 
 Neo. If to speak truth 
 
 Be mockery. 
 
 Uly. And does Achilles' son 
 
 Say this to me ? 
 
 Neo. Why force me to repeat 
 
 My words so often to thee ? 
 
 Uly. Once to hear them 
 
 Is once indeed too much. 
 
 Neo. Doubt then no more, 
 
 For I have told thee all. 
 
 Uly. There are, remember, 
 
 There are who may prevent thee. 
 
 Neo. Who shall dare 
 
 To thwart my purpose % 
 
 Uly. All the Grecian host, 
 
 And with them, I. 
 
 Neo. Wise as thou art, Ulysses, 
 
 Thou talkst most idly. 
 
 Uly. Wisdom is not thine 
 
 Either in word or deed. 
 
 Neo. Know, to be just 
 
 Is better far than to be wise. 
 
 Uly. But where, 
 
132 
 
 PHTLOCTETES, 
 
 Where is the justice, tlius unauthorized, 
 To give a treasure back thou ow'st to me, 
 And to my counsels ? 
 
 Neo. I have done a wrong, 
 
 And I will try to make atonement for it. 
 
 Uly. Dost thou not fear the power of Greece ? 
 
 Neo. I fear 
 
 Nor Greece nor thee, wlien I am doing right. 
 
 Uly. 'Tis not with Troy then we contend, but thee. 
 
 Neo. I know not that. 
 
 Uly. Seest thou this hand ? behold. 
 
 It gi'a.sps my sword. 
 
 Neo. Mine is alike prepared. 
 
 Nor seeks delay. 
 
 Uly. But I will let thee go ; 
 
 Greece shall know all thy guilt, and shall revenge it. 
 
 \Exit Ulysses. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Neo. 'Twas well determined ; always be as wise 
 As now thou art, and thou mayst Hve in safet3\ 
 
 \j\.p'proacliing towards the cave. 
 Ho ! son of Paean ! Philoctetes, leave 
 Thy rocky habitation, and come forth. 
 
 Phil, [from the cave^ What noLse was that? Who 
 calls on Philoctetes % [He coTties out. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Phil. Aks ! what would you, strangers ? Are you 
 come 
 To heap fresh miseries on me ? 
 
 Neo. Be of comfort, 
 
 And hear the tidings which I bring. 
 
PHILOCTETES. 
 
 133 
 
 Phil. I dare not ; 
 
 Thy flattering tongue already hath betrayed me. 
 
 Neo. And is there then no room for penitence ? 
 
 Phil. Such were thy words, when, seemingly sincere, 
 Yet meaning ill, thou stolst my arms away. 
 
 Neo. But now it is not so. I only came 
 To know if thou art resolute to stay. 
 Or sail with us. 
 
 Phil. No more of that ; 'tis vain 
 
 And useless all. 
 
 Neo. Art thou then fixed? 
 
 Phil. I am ; 
 
 It is impossible to say how firmly. 
 
 Neo. I thought I could have moved thee, but I've 
 done. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis well thou hast ; thy labour had been vain ; 
 For never could my soul esteem the man 
 Who robbed me of my dearest, best possession, 
 And now would have me listen to his counsels — 
 Unworthy offspring of the best of men ! 
 Perish th' Atridte ! perish first Ulysses ! 
 Perish thyself ! 
 
 Neo. Withhold thy imprecations, 
 
 And take thy arrows back. 
 
 Phil. A second time 
 
 Wouldst thou deceive me ? 
 
 Neo. By th' almighty power 
 
 Of sacred Jove I swear. 
 
 Phil. joyful sound I 
 
 If thou sayst truly. 
 
 Neo. Let my actions speak. 
 
 Stretch forth thy hand, and take thy arms again. 
 
 \Gives him the arrows. 
 
 Scene IY. 
 
 Ulysses, Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Uly. Witness ye gods ! Here, in the name of Greece 
 And the Atrid?e, I forbid it. 
 
^34 
 
 PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Phil 
 
 Ha! 
 
 What voice is that ? Ulysses' ? 
 
 Uly. Aye, 'tis I — 
 
 I who perforce will cany thee to Troy 
 Spite of Achilles' son. 
 
 PiiiL. \)'aising his arm as intending to throw an 
 arroio at Ulysses]. Not if I aim 
 This shaft aright. 
 
 Neo. Now, by the gods, I beg thee 
 Stop thy rash hand ! \_Layiny hold of h im . 
 
 Phil. Let go my arm. 
 
 Neo. I will not. 
 
 Phil. Shall I not slay my enemy ? 
 
 Neo. Oh, no ! 
 
 'Twould cast dishonour on us both. 
 
 Phil. Thou knowst, 
 
 These Grecian chiefs are loud pretending boasters, 
 Brave but in tongue, and cowards in the field. 
 
 Neo. I know it ; but remember, I restored 
 Thy arrows to thee, and thou hast no cause 
 For rage or for complaint against thy friend. 
 
 Phil. I own thy goodness. Thou hast shown thyself 
 Worthy thy birth ; no son of Sisyphus, 
 But of Achilles, who on earth preserved 
 A fame unspotted, and amongst the dead 
 Still shines superior, an illustrious shade. 
 
 Neo. Joyful I thank thee for a father's praise, 
 And for my own ; but listen to my words, 
 And mark me well. Misfortunes, which the gods 
 Inflict on mortals, they perforce must bear : 
 But when, oppressed by voluntary woes, 
 They make themselves unhappy, they deserve not 
 Our pity or our pardon. Such art thou. 
 Thy savage soul, impatient of advice. 
 Rejects the wholesome counsel of thy friend, 
 And treats him like a foe ; but I will speak, 
 Jove be my witness ! Therefore hear my words, 
 And grave them in thy heart. The dire disease 
 Thou long hast suffered is from angry heaven, 
 Which thus aflBicts thee for thy rash approach 
 To the fell serpent, which on Chrysa's shore 
 
PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Watched o'er the sacred treasures. Know baside, 
 
 That whilst the sun in yonder east shall rise, 
 
 Or in the west decline, distemj>ered still 
 
 Thou ever shalt remain, unless to Troy 
 
 Thy willing mind transport thee. There the sons 
 
 Of ^sculapius shall restore thee — there 
 
 By my assistance shalt thou conquer Troy. 
 
 I know it well ; for that prophetic sage. 
 
 The Trojan captive Helenus, foretold 
 
 It should be so. " Proud Troy (he added then) 
 
 This very year must fall ; if not, my life 
 
 Shall answer for the falsehood." Therefore yield. 
 
 Thus to be deemed the first of Grecians, thus 
 
 By Paean's favourite sons to be restored. 
 
 And thus marked out the conqueror of Troy, 
 
 Is sure distinguished happiness. 
 
 Phil. life ! 
 
 Detested, why wilt thou still keep me here % 
 Why not dismiss me to the tomb ! Alas ! 
 What can I do ? How can I disbelieve 
 My generous friend ? I must consent, and yet 
 Can I do this, and look upon the sun % 
 Can I behold my friends — will they forgive. 
 Will they associate with me after this % 
 And you, ye heavenly orbs that roll around me, 
 How will ye bear to see me linked with those 
 Who have destroyed me, e'en the sons of x\treus, 
 E'en with Ulysses, source of all my woes % 
 My sufferings past I could forget ; but oh ! 
 I dread the woes to come ; for well I know 
 When once the mind 's corrupted it brings forth 
 Unnumbered crimes, and ills to ills succeed. 
 It moves my wonder much that thou, my friend, 
 Shouldst thus advise me, whom it ill becomes 
 To think of Troy. I rather had believed 
 Thou wouldst have sent me far, far off fi-om those 
 Who have defrauded thee of thy just right, 
 x\nd gave thy arms away. Are these the men 
 Whom thou wouldst serve % whom thou wouldst thus 
 
 compel me 
 To save and to defend. ? It must not be. 
 
 35 
 
PHILOCTETES. 
 
 Kemember, my son ! the solemn oath 
 Thou gav'st to bear me to my native soil. 
 Do this, my friend, remain thyself at Scyros, 
 And leave these Avretches to be wretched still. 
 Thus shalt thou merit double thanks, from me 
 And from thy father ; nor by succour given 
 To vile betrayers j>rove thyself as vile. 
 
 Ned. Thou Siiyst most truly. Yet confide in heaven, 
 Trust to thy friend, and leave this hated place. 
 
 Phil. Leave it ! For whom ? Foi- Troy and the 
 Atridse ? 
 These wounds forbid it. 
 
 Neo. They shall all be healed, 
 
 Where I will carry thee. 
 
 Phil. An idle tale 
 
 Thou tellst me, surely ; dost thou not ? 
 
 Neo. 1 speak 
 
 What best may serve us both. 
 
 Phil. But, speaking thus, 
 
 Dost thou not fear th' oflfended gods ? 
 
 Neo. Why fear them % 
 
 Can I offend the gods by doing good ? 
 
 Phil. What good ? To whom % To me or to th' 
 Atrida3? 
 
 Neo. I am thy friend, and therefore would persuade 
 thee. 
 
 Phil. And therefore give me to my foes. 
 
 Neo. Alas ! 
 
 Let not misfortunes thus transport thy soul 
 To rage and bitterness. 
 
 Phil. Thou wouldst destroy me. 
 
 Neo. Thou knowst me not. 
 
 Phil. I know th' Atridee well. 
 Who left me here. 
 
 Neo. They did ; yet they perhaps, 
 
 E'en they, O Philoctetes ! may preserve thee. 
 
 Phil. I never will to Troy. 
 
 Neo. What 's to be done ? 
 
 Since I can ne'er persuade thee, I submit ; 
 Live on in misery. 
 
PHILUCTKTKS. 137 
 
 Phil. Then let me suffer ; 
 
 Suffer I must ; but, oh ! perform thy promise ; 
 Think on thy plighted faith, and guard me homo 
 Instant, my friend, nor ever call back Troy 
 To my remembrance ; I have felt enough 
 From Troy already. 
 
 Ned. Let us go ; prepare ! 
 
 Phil. O glorious sound ! 
 
 Neo. Bear thyself up. 
 
 Phil. I will, 
 
 If possible. 
 
 Ned. But how sliall I escape 
 
 The wrath of Greece % 
 
 Phil Oh ! think not of it. 
 
 NEC. What 
 
 If they should waste my kingdom ? 
 
 Phil. I'll be there. 
 
 Neo. Alas ! what canst thou do % 
 
 Phil. And with these arrows 
 
 Of my Alcides 
 
 Neo. Ha ! What sayst thou ? 
 
 Phil. Drive 
 
 Thy foes before me. Not a Greek shall dare 
 Approach thy borders. 
 
 Neo. If thou wilt do this. 
 
 Salute the earth, and instant hence. Away ! 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Hercules, Ulysses, Neoptolemus, Philoctetes, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Her. \desceiiuls and s:pe<ijh8\. Stay, son of Paean ! Lo 
 to thee 'tis given 
 Once more to see and hear thy loved Alcides, 
 Who for thy sake hath left yon heavenly mansions. 
 And comes to tell thee the decrees of Jove ; 
 To turn thee from the paths thou meanst to tread, 
 
13?^ 
 
 rffFLOCrETES. 
 
 Ami guide thy footsteps right. Therefore attend. 
 
 Thou knowst what toils, what labours I endured, 
 
 Ere I by virtue gained immortal fame ; 
 
 Thou too like me by toils must lise to glory — 
 
 Thou too must suffer, ere thou canst be happy; 
 
 Hence with thy friend to Troy, where honour calls, 
 
 Where health awaits thee — where, by virtue raised 
 
 To highest rank, and leader of the war, 
 
 Paris, its hateful author, shalt thou slay, 
 
 Lay waste proud Troy, and send thy trophies home, 
 
 Thy valour's due reward, to glad thy sire 
 
 On QCta's top. The gifts which Greece bestows 
 
 Must thou reserve to grace my funeral pile. 
 
 And be a monument to after-ages 
 
 Of these all-conquering arms. Son of Achilles 
 
 \turnin(j to Neoptolemus 
 (For now to thee I speak), remember this. 
 Without his aid thou canst not conquer Troy, 
 Nor Philoctetes without thee succeed ; 
 Go then, and, like two lions in the field 
 Roaming for prey, guard ye each other well ; 
 My ^sculapius will I send e'en now 
 To heal thy wounds. Then go, and conquer Troy ; 
 But when you lay the vanquished city waste, 
 Be careful that you venerate the gods ; 
 For far above all other gifts doth Jove, 
 Th' almighty father, hold true piety ; 
 Whether we live or die, that still survives 
 Beyond the reach of fate, and is immortal. 
 
 Neo, Once more to let me hear that wished-for voice, 
 To see thee after so long time, was bliss 
 I could not hope for. Oh ! I will obey 
 Thy great commands most willingly. 
 
 Phil. And I. 
 
 Her. Delay not then. For lo ! a prosperous wind 
 Swells in thy sail. The time invites. Adieu ! 
 
 [Hercules reascends. 
 
PHILOCTETES, 139 
 
 Scene V. 
 Philoctetes, Ulysses, Neoptolemus, Chorus. 
 
 Phil. I will but pay my salutations here, 
 And instantly depart. To thee, my cave, 
 Where I so long have dwelt, I bid farewell ! 
 And you, ye nymphs, who on the watery plains 
 Deign to reside, farewell ! Farewell the noise 
 Of beating waves, which I so oft have heard 
 From the rough sea, which by the black wiiids driven 
 O'erw helmed me, shivering. Oft th' Hermsean mount 
 Echoed my plaintive voice> by wintry stor^ns 
 Afflicted, and returned me groan for groan. 
 Now, ye fresh fountains, each Lycajan spring, 
 I leave you now. Alas ! I little thought 
 To leave you ever. And thou sea-girt isle, 
 Lemnos, farewell ! Permit me to depart 
 By thee unblamed, and with a prosperous gale 
 To go where fate demands, where kindest friends 
 By counsel urge me, where all-powerful Jove 
 In his unerring wisdom hath decreed. 
 
 Chor. Let us be gone, and to the ocean nymphs 
 Our humble prayers prefer, that they would all 
 Propitious smile, and grant us safe return. 
 
A 
 
 N T I G O N E. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Creon, King of Thehes. 
 EuRYDiCE, Wife of Creon. 
 H^MON, Son of Creon. 
 Antigone, Daughter of (Edij^us. 
 IsMENE, Siiter of Antigone. 
 
 TiRESiAS, a PropJiet. 
 
 A Messenger, Guard, Ser- 
 vant, and Attendants. 
 
 Chorus, composed of Ancient 
 Men of Thebes. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Antigone, Isjiene. 
 
 Antigone. my dear sister, my best-beloved Ismene .' 
 Is there an evil, by the tvrath of Jove 
 Reserved for Ql]dipus' unhappy race, 
 We have not felt already ? Sorrow and shame, 
 And bitterness and anguish, all that's sad. 
 All that's distressful, hath been ours, and now 
 This dreadful edict from the tyrant comes 
 To double our misfortunes. Hast thou heard 
 What harsh commands he hath imposed on all. 
 Or art thou still to know what future ills 
 Our foes have vet in store to make us wretched ? 
 
ANTIGONE. 
 
 Ism. 8ince that unhappy day, Antigone, 
 When by each otlier's hand our brothei's fell, 
 And Greece dismissed her armies^ I have heard 
 Naught that could give or joy or grief to me. 
 
 Ant. 1 thought thou wert a stranger to the tidings, 
 And therefore called thee forth, that here alone 
 I might impart them to thee. 
 
 Ism. Oh ! what are they ? 
 
 For something dreadful labours in thy breast. 
 
 Ant. Know then, from Creon, our indulgent lord, 
 Our hapless brothers met a different fate : 
 To honour one, and one to infamy 
 He hath consigned. With funeral rites he graced 
 The body of our dear Eteocles, 
 Whilst Polynices' wretched carcase lies 
 Unburied, unlamented, left exposed 
 A feast for hungry vultures on the plain. 
 No pitying friend will dare to violate 
 The tyrant's harsh command, for public death 
 Awaits th' offender. Creon comes himself 
 To tell us of it — such is our condition. 
 , This is the crisis, this the hour, Ismene, 
 , That must declare thee worthy of thy birth, 
 I Or show thee mean, base, and degenerate. 
 
 Ism. What wouldst thou have me do ? — defy his 
 power % 
 Contemn the laws ? 
 
 Ant. To act with me, or not : 
 
 Consider and resolve. 
 
 Ism. What daring deed 
 
 Wouldst thou attempt % What is it % Speak ! 
 
 Ant. To join 
 
 And take the body, my Ismene. 
 
 Ism. Ha ! 
 
 And wouldst thou dare to bury it, when thus 
 We are forbidden % 
 
 Ant. Aye, to bury Mm ! 
 
 He is my brother, and thine too, Ismene ; 
 Therefore, consent or not, I have determined 
 I'll not disgrace my birth. 
 
 Ism. Hath not the king 
 
 Pronounced it death to all % 
 
ANTIGONE. 
 
 Ant. He hath no right, 
 
 No power to keep me from my own. 
 
 Ism. Alas ! 
 
 Remember our unhappy father's fate : 
 His eyes torn out by his own fatal hand, 
 Oppressed with shame and infamy he died ; 
 Fruit of his crimes ! a mother, and a wife — 
 Dreadful alliance ! — self-devoted, fell ; 
 And last, in one sad day, Eteocles 
 And Polynices by each other slain. 
 Left as we are, deserted and forlorn. 
 What from our disobedience can we hope 
 But misery and ruin % Poor weak women, 
 Helpless, nor formed by nature to contend 
 With powerful man. We are his subjects too. 
 Therefore to this, and worse than this, my sister, 
 We must submit. For me, ii ^ humb lest prajgr 
 Will I address mf» to th' infernal po^^-g"^""'^ 
 For pardon of that crime which well they know 
 Sprang from nec^^ssity, and then obey ; 
 Since to attempt what we can never hope 
 To execute, is folly all and madness. 
 
 Ant. Wert thou to proffer what I do not ask— < 
 Thy poor assistance — I would scorn it now. 
 Act as thou wilt ; I'll bury him myself ; 
 Let me perform but that, and death is welcome : 
 I'll do the pious deed, and lay me down 
 By my dear brother. Loving and beloved 
 We'll rest together ; to the powers below 
 'Tis fit we pay obedience ; longer there 
 We must remain than we can breathe on earth. 
 There I shall dwell for ever; thou, meantime, 
 What the gods hold most precious mayst despise. 
 
 ISM. I reverence the gods ; but, in defiance 
 Of laws, and unassisted to do this, 
 Tt were most dangerous. 
 
 Ant. That be thy excuse, 
 
 Whilst I prepare the funeral pile. 
 
 Ism. Alas ! 
 
 I tremble for thee. 
 
 Ant. Tremble for thyself, 
 
 And not for me. 
 
 143 
 
ANTIGONE. 
 
 Isii. Oh ! do not tell thy purpose, 
 
 I beg thee, do not . T shall ne'er betray thee. 
 
 Ant. I'd have it known ; and 1 shall hat-e thee 
 more 
 ^or thy concealment, than, if loud to all, 
 Thou wouldst proclaim the deed. 
 
 Ism. Thou hast a heart 
 
 Too daring, and ill-suited to thy fate. 
 
 Ant. I know my duty, and I'll pay it there 
 Where 'twill be best accepted. 
 
 Ism. Couldst thou do it ! 
 
 But 'tis not in thy power. 
 
 Ant. When I know that 
 
 It will be time enough to quit my purpose. 
 
 IsM. It cannot be ; 'tis folly to attempt it. 
 
 Ant. Go on, and I shall hate thee ! Our dead brother, 
 He too shall hate thee as his bitterest foe ; 
 Go, leave me here to suffer for my rashness ; 
 Whate'er befalls, it cannot be so dreadful 
 As not to die with honour. 
 
 IsM. Then farewell, 
 
 Since thou wilt have it so ; and know, Ismene 
 Pities thy weakness, but admires thy virtue. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe i. 
 
 By Diice's sweetly-flowing stream, 
 
 Ne'er did the golden eye of day 
 On Thfcbes with fairer lustre beam, 
 
 Or shine with more auspicious ray. 
 See the proud Argive, with his silver shield 
 
 And glittering armour, quits the hostile plain; 
 No longer dares maintain the luckless field, 
 
 But vanquished flies, nor checks the loosened rein. 
 With dreadful clangour, like the bird of Jove, 
 On snowy wings descending from above, 
 
ANTIGONE. 145 
 
 His vaunted powers to this devoted land, 
 
 In bitterest wrath did Polynices lead, 
 With crested helmets, and a numerous band 
 
 He came, and fondly hoped that Thebes sl^puld 
 bleed. , 
 
 Antistro'phe, i. 
 
 High on the lofty tower he stood, 
 
 And viewed th' encircled gates below, 
 With spears that thirsted for our blood, 
 
 And seemed to scorn th' unequal foe ; 
 But, fraught with vengeance^ ere the rising flame 
 
 Could waste our bulwarks, or our walls surround, 
 Mars to assist the fiery serpent came, 
 
 And brought the towering eagle to the ground. 
 That god who hates the boastings of the proud 
 Saw the rude violence of th' exulting crowd ; 
 
 Already now the triumph was prepared. 
 The wreath of victory and the festal song, 
 
 When Jove the clash of golden armour heard. 
 And hurled his thunder on the guilty throng. 
 
 Stro2yhe 2. 
 
 Then Capaneus, elate with pride, 
 
 Fierce as the rapid whirlwind came, 
 Eager he seemed on every side 
 
 To spread the all- devouring flame ; 
 But soon he felt the winged lightning's blast, 
 
 By angry heaven with speedy vengeance sent — 
 Down from the lofty turrets headlong cast. 
 
 For his foul crimes he met the punishment. 
 Each at his gate, long time the leaders strove, 
 Then fled, and left their arms to conquering Jove ; 
 
 Save the unhappy death-devoted pair, 
 
 The wretched brethren, who unconquered stood. 
 
 With rancorous hate inspired, and fell despair. 
 They reeked their vengeance in each other's blood. 
 
14*^ 
 
 ANTIGONE, 
 
 AntistropJie 2. 
 
 And lo ! with smiles propitious see 
 
 To Thebes, for numerous cars renowned, 
 The goddess comes, fair Victory, 
 
 Witli fame and endless glory crowned ! 
 Henceforth, no longer vexed by war's alarms, 
 
 Let all our sorrows, all our labours cease ; 
 Come, let us quit the din of rattling arms, 
 
 And fill our temples with the songs of peace. 
 The god of Thebes shall guide our steps aright, 
 And crown with many a lay the festive night. 
 
 But see, still anxious for his native land, 
 Our king, Menfeceus' valiant son, appear ; 
 
 With some fair omen by the gods' command 
 
 He comes to met his aged council here. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Creon, Chorus 
 
 Creon. At length our empire, shook by civil broils. 
 The gods to peace and safety have restored ; 
 Wherefore, my friends, you had our late request 
 That you should meet us here ; for well I know 
 Your firm allegiance to great Laius, next 
 To (Edipus, and his unhappy sons ; 
 These by each other's hand untimely slain, 
 To me the sceptre doth of right descend, 
 As next in blood. Never can man be know, 
 His mind, his will, his passions ne'er appear 
 Till power and office call them forth ; for me, 
 'Tis my firm thought, and I have held it ever, 
 That he who rules and doth not follow that 
 
ANTIGONE. 147 
 
 Which wisdom counsels, but, restrained by fear, 
 Shuts up his lips, must be the worst of men ; 
 Nor do I deem him worthy who prefers 
 A friend, how dear soever, to his country. 
 Should I behold — witness all-seeing Jove ! — 
 This city wronged, I never would be silent, 
 Never would make the foe of Thebes my friend, 
 For on her safety must depend our own j 
 And if she flourish we can never want 
 Assistance or support. Thus would I act, 
 And therefore have I sent my edict forth 
 Touching the sons of OEdipus, commanding 
 That they should bury him who nobly fought 
 And died for Thebes, the good Eteocles, 
 Gracing his memory with each honour due 
 To the illustrious dead. For Polynices, 
 Abandoned exile, for a brother's blood 
 Thirsting insatiate — he who would in flames 
 Have wasted all, his country and his gods. 
 And made you slaves — I have decreed he lie 
 Unburied, his vile carcase to the birds 
 And hungry dogs a prey. There let him rot 
 Inglorious — 'tis my will ; for ne'er from me 
 Shall vice inherit virtue's due reward, 
 But him alone who is a friend to Thebes, 
 Living or dead shall Creon reverence still. 
 
 Choe. Son of Menseceus, 'twas thy great behest 
 Thus to reward them both ; thine is the power 
 O'er all supreme, the living and the dead. 
 
 Creon. Be careful then my orders are obeyed. 
 
 Chor. sir ! to younger hands commit the task. 
 
 Creon. I have appointed some to watch the body. 
 
 Chor. What then remains for us ? 
 
 Creon. To see that none 
 
 By your connivance violate the law. 
 
 Chor. Scarce will the man be found so fond of death 
 As to attempt it. 
 
 Creon. Death is the reward 
 
 Of him who dares it j but oftimes by hope 
 Of sordid gain are men betrayed to ruin. 
 
 '/ 
 
148 ANTIGONE. 
 
 SCBNS II. 
 Messenger, Creon, Chorus. 
 
 Mes. O king ! I cannot boast that hither sent 
 I came with speed, for oft my troubled thoughts 
 Have driven me back ; oft to myself I said, 
 Why dost thou seek destruction ? Yet again 
 If thou report it not, from other tongues 
 Creon must hear the tale, and thou wilt sutier. 
 With doubts like these oppressed, slowly I came, 
 And the short way seemed like a tedious journey ; 
 At length I come, resolved to tell thee all : 
 Whate'er the event, 1 must submit to fate. 
 
 Creon. Whence are thy fears, and why this hesita- 
 ^Eionl 
 
 Mes. First for myself ; I merit not thy wrath ; 
 It was not I, nor have I seen the man 
 Who did the guilty deed. 
 
 Creon. Something of weight 
 
 Thou hast t' impart, by this unusual care 
 To guard thee from our anger. 
 
 Mes. Fear will come 
 
 Where danger is. 
 
 Creon. Speak, and thou hast thy pardon. 
 
 Mes. The body of Polynices some rash hand 
 Hath buried, scattered o'er his corpse the dust, 
 And funeral rites performed. 
 
 Creon. Who dared do this ? 
 
 Mes. 'Tis yet unknown ; no mark of instrument 
 Is left behind : the earth still level all, 
 Nor worn by track of chariot wheel. The guard, 
 Who watched that day, call it a miracle ; 
 No tomb was raised ; light lay the scattered earth, 
 As only meant to avoid the imputed curse ; 
 Nor could we trace the steps of dog or bea.st 
 Passing that way. Instant a tumult rose ; 
 The guards accused each other ; nought was proved, 
 But each suspected each, and all denied, 
 Offering, in proof of innocence, to grasp 
 
*^iii££II^i^-^ ANTIGONE. 149 
 
 The burning steel, to walk through fire, and take 
 Their solemn oath they knew not of the deed ; 
 At length, one mightier than the rest, proposed — 
 Nor could we think of better means — that all 
 Should be to thee discovered ; 'twas my lot 
 To bring th' unwelcome tidings, and I come 
 To pour my news unwilling into ears 
 Unwilling to receive it, for 1 know 
 None ever loved the messenger of ill. 
 
 Chor. To me it seems as if the hand of heaven \ 
 Were in this deed. i 
 
 Creon. Be silent, ere my rage, 
 
 Thou rash old man, pronounce thee fool and dotard ; 
 Horrid suggestion ! Think'st thou, then, the gods \ 
 Take care of men like these % Would they preserve 
 Or honour him who came to burn their altars, 
 Profane their rites, and trample on their laws ? 
 Will they reward the bad % it cannot be. 
 But well I know the murmuring citizens 
 Brooked not our mandate, shook their heads in 
 
 secret. 
 And, ill-affected to me, would not stoop 
 Their haughty crests, or bend beneath my yoke. 
 By hire corrupted, some of these have dared 
 The venturous deed. ( Gold is the worst of ills ^ 
 That ever plagued mankind :^this wastes our cities, 
 Diives forth their natives to a foreign soil, 
 Taints the pure heart, and turns the virtuous mind 
 To basest deeds ) artificer of fraud 
 Supreme, and source of every wickedness. ^ 
 The wretch corrupted for this hateful purpose 
 Must one day suffer ; foi-, observe me well. 
 As I revere that power by whom I swear, 
 Almighty Jove, if you conceal him from me. 
 If to my eyes you do not bring the traitor. 
 Know, death alone shall not suffice to glut 
 My vengeance ; Uving shall you hang in torments 
 Till you confess, till you have learned from me 
 There is a profit not to be desired. 
 And own dishonest gains have ruined more 
 Than they have saved. 
 
I50 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Mes. 
 
 king ! may I depart, 
 
 Or wait thy further orders 
 
 Creon. Knowst thou not 
 
 Thy speech is hateful \ Hence ! 
 
 Mes. Wherefore, my lord % 
 
 CiiEON. Know you not why % 
 
 Mes. I but offend your ear, 
 
 They who have done the deed afllict your soul. 
 
 Creon. Away ! Thy talk but makes thy guilt appear. 
 
 Mes. My lord, I did not do it. 
 
 Creon. Thou hast sold 
 
 Thy life for gain. 
 
 Mes. 'Tis cruel to suspect me. 
 
 Creon. Thou talkst it bravely ; but remember all, 
 'Unless you do produce him, you shall find 
 The miseries which on ill-got wealth await. \Exit. 
 
 Mes. Would he were found. That we must leave to 
 fate ; 
 Be it as it may, I never will return : 
 Thus safe beyond my hopes, 'tis fit I pay 
 My thanks to the kind gods who have preserved me. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe i. 
 
 Since first this active world began. 
 Nature is busy all in every part ; 
 But passing all in wisdom and in art, 
 Superior shines inventive man : 
 Fearless oibvintry winds and circling waves, 
 le ocean and the tempest braves ; 
 'him unwearied earth with lavish hand, 
 Immortal goddess, all her'bounty pours. 
 Patient beneath the rigid plough's command, 
 Year after year she yields her plenteous stores. 
 
ANTIGONE. 151 
 
 AiitistrojyJie i. 
 
 To drive the natives of the wood 
 From their rude haunts, or in the cruel snare, 
 To catch the winged inhabitants of air, 
 Or trap the scaly brood ; 
 To tame the fiery courser yet unbroke 
 With the hard rein, or to the untried yoke 
 To bend the mountain bull, who wildly free 
 
 O'er the steep rocks had wandered unconfined — 
 These are the arts of mortal industry, 
 
 And such the subtle power of humankind. 
 
 Stroj)lie 2. 
 
 By learning, and fair science crowned. 
 Behold him now full-fraught with wisdom's lore, 
 The laws of nature anxious to explore. 
 With depth of thought profound. 
 But naught, alas ! can human wisdom see 
 In the dark bosom of futurity. 
 
 The power of wisdom may awhile prevail, 
 
 Awhile suspend a mortal's fleeting breath, 
 But never can her fruitless arts avail 
 
 To conquer fate, or stop the hand of death. 
 
 Antistroplie. 2. 
 
 Man's ever-active changeful will 
 Sometimes to good shall bend his virtuous mind, 
 Sometimes behold him to foul deeds inclined. 
 And prone to every ill. 
 Who guiltless keeps the laws is still approved 
 By every tongue, and by his country loved ; 
 But he who doth not, from his native land 
 A wretched exile, far, oh ! far from me 
 May he be driven, by angry Heaven's command,- 
 And live devote to shame and infamy ! 
 
 Chor. Amazement ! Can it be Antigone ? 
 Or do my eyes deceive me ? No, she comes. 
 O ! wretched daughter of a wretched father ! 
 Hast thou trangressed the laws, and art thou ta'en 
 In this adventurous deed, unhappy maid ? 
 
152 ANTIGONE, 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Antigone, Guard, Chorus. 
 
 Guard. Behold tho woman who hath done the deed ! 
 I' th' very act of burial we surprised her. 
 Where is the king ? 
 
 Chor. Returned, as we could wish ; 
 
 E'en now he comes this way. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Creon, Antigone, Guard, Chorus. 
 
 Creon. Whom have we here ? 
 
 Doth justice smile upon usi 
 
 Guard. my lord ! 
 
 Never should man too confident assert, 
 Much less by oath should bind himself to aught, 
 For soon our judgments change, and one opinion 
 Destroys another. By thy threats alarmed 
 But now, I vowed I never would return ; 
 Yet thus preserved beyond my hopes, I come, 
 Bound by that duty which I owe to thee 
 And to my country, to bring here this virgin. 
 Whom, as she sprinkled o'er her brother's dust 
 The varied wreath, we seized. The wilKng task 
 Was mine, nor as of late by lot determined. 
 Receive her then, king ! Judge and condemn 
 The guilty as it best becomes thy wisdom ; 
 Henceforth I stand acquitted. 
 
 Creon. But say how, 
 
 Where didst thou find her ? 
 
 Guard. To say all, 'twas she 
 
 Who buried Polynices. 
 
 Creon. Art thou sure ? 
 
 Guard. These eyes beheld her. 
 
 Creon. But say, how discovered ? 
 
 (5 uard. Thus then it waa, No sooner had J left thee 
 
ANTIGONE. £53 
 
 Than, mindful of thy wrath, with careful hands 
 
 From off the putrid carcase we removed 
 
 The scattered dust ; then, to avoid the stench, 
 
 ExhaHng noisome, to a hill retired ; 
 
 There watched at distance, till the mid-day sun 
 
 Scorched o'er our heads. Sudden a storm arose, 
 
 vShook every leaf, and rattled through the grove, 
 
 Filling the troubled element. We closed 
 
 Our eyes, and patient bore the wrath of heaven. 
 
 At length the tempest ceased, when we beheld 
 
 This virgin issuing forth, and heard her cries 
 
 Distressful, like the plaintive bird who views 
 
 The plundered nest, and mourns her ravished young. 
 
 E'en thus the maid, when on the naked corse 
 
 She cast her eyes, loud shrieked, and cursed the hand 
 
 That did the impious deed, then sprinkled o'er 
 
 The crumbled earth, and from a brazen urn, 
 
 Of lichest work, to the levied relics thrice 
 
 Her due libations poured. We saw, and straight 
 
 Pursued her. XJnappalled she seemed, and still 
 
 As we did question her, confessed it all. 
 
 It pleased, and yet methought it grieved me too. 
 
 To find ourselves released from woe is bliss 
 
 Supreme, but thus to see our friends unhappy 
 
 Embitters all. I must be thankful still 
 
 For my own safety, which I hold most dear. 
 
 Creon. Speak thou, who bendst to earth thy droopiiig 
 head; 
 Dost thou deny the fact 1 
 
 Ant. Deny it ? No ! 
 
 'Twas I. 
 
 Creon. \to the Guard]. Retire, for thou art free ; and 
 now \tur7iing to Antigone 
 
 Be brief, and tell me ; heardst thou our decree ? 
 
 Ant. I did ; 'twas public. How could I avoid it ] 
 
 Creon. And dar'st thou then to disobey the law ? 
 
 Ant. I had it not from Jove, nor the just gods 
 Who rule below ; nor could I ever think 
 A mortal's law of power or strength sufficient 
 To abrogate th* unwritten law divine, 
 Immutable, eternal, not like these 
 
1^4 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Of 
 
 yesterday, 
 ill man pei 
 
 but made ere time began. 
 
 Heaven's great commands, 
 
 violate 
 and make the gods my foes ? 
 Without thy mandate, death had one day come ; 
 For who shall 'scape it ? and if now I fall 
 A little sooner, 'tis the thing I wish. 
 To those who live in misery like me, 
 Believe me, king, 'tis happiness to die ; 
 Without remorse I shall embrace my fate; 
 But to my brother had I left the rites 
 Of sepulture unpaid, I then indeed 
 Had been most wretched. Tliis to thee may seem 
 Madness and folly. If it be, 'tis fit 
 I should act thus — it but resembles thee. 
 
 Creon. Sprung from a sire perverse and obstinate, 
 Like him she cannot bend beneath misfortune ; 
 But know, the proudest hearts may be subdued ; 
 Hast thou not marked the hardest steel by fire 
 Made soft and flexible ? Myself have seen 
 By a slight rein the fiery courser held. 
 "Ks not for slaves to be so haughty ; yet 
 This proud offender, not content, it seems, 
 To violate my laws, adds crime to crime, 
 Smiles at my threats, and glories in her guilt ; 
 If I should suffer her to 'scape my vengeance, 
 She were the man, not I ; but though she sprang 
 E'en from my sister, were I bound to her 
 By ties more dear than is Hercsean Jove, 
 She should not 'scape. Her sister too I find 
 Accomplice in the deed — go, call her forth ! 
 
 \to one, of the Attendants 
 She is within, I saw her ra\dng there, 
 Her senses lost, the common fate of those 
 Who practise dark and deadly wickedness. 
 
 \Turning to Antigone. 
 I cannot bear to see the guilty stand 
 Convicted of their crimes, and yet pretend 
 To gloss them o'er with specious names of virtue. 
 
 Ant. I am thy captive ; thou wouldst have my life ; 
 Will that content thee % 
 
 Creon. Yes ; tis all I wish. 
 
ANTIGONE. 155 
 
 Ant. Why this delay then, when thou knowst my 
 To thee as hateful are as thine to me % \ [words 
 
 Therefore dispatch ; I cannot live to do 
 A deed more glorious ; and so these would all 
 
 \jpointing to the, CflORUS 
 Confess, were not their tongues restrained by fear ; 
 It is the tyrant's privilege, we know. 
 To speak and act whate'er he please, uncensured. 
 
 Creon. Lives there another in the land of Thebes 
 Who thinks as thou dost % 
 
 Ant. Yes, a thousand ; these — 
 
 These think so too, but dare not utter it. 
 
 Creon. Dost thou not blush % 
 
 Ant. For what % Why blush to pay 
 
 A sister's duty 1 
 
 Creon. But, Eteocles ! 
 
 Say, was not he thy brother too % 
 
 Ant. He was. 
 
 Creon. Why then thus reverence him who least de- 
 served it % 
 
 Ant. Perhaps that brother thinks not so. 
 
 Creon. He must, 
 
 If thou payst equal honour to them both. 
 
 Ant. He was a brother, not a slave. 
 
 Creon. One fought 
 
 Against that country which the other saved. 
 
 Ant. But equal death the rites of sepulture 
 Decrees to both. 
 
 Creon. What ! Eeverence alike 
 
 The guilty and the innocent ! 
 
 Ant. Perhaps 
 
 The gods below esteem it just. 
 
 Creon. A foe. 
 
 Though dead, should as a foe be treated still. 
 
 Ant. My love shall go with thine, but not my hate. 
 
 Creon. Go then, and love them in the tomb ! But know, 
 No woman rules in Thebes whilst Creon lives. 
 
 Chor. Lo ! At the portal stands the fair Ismene, 
 Tears in her lovely eyes, a cloud of grief 
 Sits on her brow, wetting her beauteous cheek 
 With pious sorrow for a sister's fate. 
 
156 ANTIGONE, 
 
 Scene VI. 
 IsMENE, Antigone, Creon, Chorus. 
 
 Creon Come forth, thou serpent ! Little did I think 
 That I had nourished two such deadly foes 
 To suck my blood, and cast me from my throne. 
 "What sayst thou % Wert thou accomplice in the deed, 
 Or wilt thou swear that thou ait innocent ? 
 
 Ism. I do acknowledge it, if she permit me ; 
 I w^as accomplice, and the crime was mine. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis false ; thou didst refuse, nor would I hold 
 Communion with thee. 
 
 IsM. But in thy misfortunes 
 
 Let me partake, my sister ; let me be 
 A fellow-sufferer with thee. 
 
 Ant. Witness, death, 
 
 And ye infernal gods, to which belongs 
 The great, the glorious deed ! I do not love 
 These friends in word alone. 
 
 IsM. Antigone, 
 
 Do not despise me ; I but ask to die 
 With thee, and pay due honours to the dead. 
 
 Ant. Pretend not to a merit which thou hast not. 
 Live thou ; it is enough for me to perish. 
 
 IsM. But what is life without thee ? 
 
 Ant. Ask thy friend 
 
 And patron there. \Pointing to Creon. 
 
 Ism, Why that unkind reproach, 
 
 When tbou shouldst rather comfort me % 
 
 Ant. Alas 1 
 
 It gives me pain when I am forced to speak 
 80 bitterly against thee. 
 
 IsM. Is there aught 
 
 That I can do to save thee % 
 
 Ant. Save thyself, 
 
 I shall not envy thee. 
 
 Ism. And will you not 
 
 Pe>mit me then to share your fate ? 
 
ANTIGONE, 
 
 Ant. Thy choice 
 
 Was life. 'Tis mine to die. 
 
 Ism. T told thee oft 
 
 It would be so. 
 
 Ant. Thou didst, and was 't not well 
 
 Thus to fulfil thy prophecy ? 
 
 Ism. The crime 
 
 Was mutual ; mutual be the punishment. 
 
 Ant. Fear not. Thy Hfe is safe, but mine long 
 since 
 Devoted to the dead. 
 
 Creon. Both seem deprived 
 
 Of reason. One indeed was ever thus. 
 
 Ism. king ! (The mind doth seldom keep her 
 seat ^ 
 
 When sunk beneath misfortunes.) i-. 
 
 Creon. Sunk indeed 
 
 Thou wert in wretchedness to join with her. 
 
 Ism. But what is hfe without Antigone? 
 
 Creon. Then think not of it. For she is no more. 
 
 Ism. Wouldst thou destroy thy son's long-destined 
 wife % • 
 
 Creon. Oh ! we shall find a fitter bride. 
 
 Ism. Alas ! 
 
 He will not think so. 
 
 Creon. I'll not wed my son 
 
 To a base woman. 
 
 Ant. my dearest Hsemon ! 
 
 And is it thus thy father doth disgrace thee ? 
 
 Creon. Such an alliance were as hateful to me 
 As is thyself. . 
 
 Ism. Wilt thou then take her from him ? 
 
 Creon. Their nuptials shall be finished by death. 
 
 Ism. She then must perish ? 
 
 Creon. ^o must you and I ; 
 
 Therefore no more delay. Go, take them hence ; 
 Confine them both. Henceforth they shall not stir ; 
 When death is near at hand the bravest fly. 
 
 157 
 
158 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strojilie r. 
 
 Thrice bappy they, whose days in pleasure flow, 
 Wlio never taste the bitter cup of woe ; 
 
 For when the wrath of heaven descends 
 On some devoted house, there foul disgrace, 
 
 With grief and all her train attends, 
 And shame and sorrow o'erwhelm the wretched race. 
 
 E'en as the Thracian sea, when vexed with storms. 
 Whilst darkness hangs incumbent o'er the deep. 
 
 When the black north the troubled scene deforms, 
 And the black sands in rapid whirlwinds sweep. 
 
 The groaning waves beat on the trembling shore, 
 
 And echoing hills rebellow to the roar. 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 Labdacus ! thy house must perish all — 
 E'en now I see the stately ruin fall ; 
 Shame heaped on shame, and ill on ill, 
 
 Disgrace and never-ending woes ; 
 Some angry god pursues thee still. 
 
 Nor grants or safety or repose. 
 One fair and lovely branch unwithered stood 
 
 And braved th' inclement skies ; 
 But Pluto comes, inexorable god — 
 
 She sinks, she raves, she dies. 
 
 Strcyphe 2. 
 Shall man below control the gods above, 
 
 Whose eyes by all- subduing sleep 
 Are never closed as feeble mortals' are, 
 
 But still their watchful vigils keep 
 Through the large circle of th' eternal year ! 
 
 Great lord of all, whom neither time nor age 
 With envious stroke can weaken or decay ; 
 
 He who alone the future can presage. 
 Who knows alike to-morrow as to-day ; 
 
 Whilst wretched man is doomed, by Heaven's decree. 
 
 To toil and pain, to sin and misery. 
 
ANTIGONE. 159 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 Of times the flatterer Hope, that joy inspires, 
 Fills the proud heart of man with fond desires ; 
 He, careless traveller, wanders still 
 
 Through life, unmindful of deceit, 
 Nor dreads the danger, till he feel 
 The burning sands beneath his feet. 
 When heaven impels to guilt the maddening mind. 
 
 Then good like ill appears. 
 And vice, for universal hate designed, 
 
 The face of virtue wears. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Creon, HiEMON, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. Behold, king ! thy youngest hope appear 
 The noble Hsemon. Lost in grief he seems. 
 Weeping the fate of poor Antigone. 
 
 Creon. He comes, and better than a prophet, soon 
 Shall we divine his inmost thoughts. My son, 
 Com'st thou, well knowing our decree, to mourn 
 Thy promised bride, and angry to dispute 
 A father's will ; or, whatsoe'er we do 
 Still to hold best, and pay obedience to us ] 
 
 H^. My father, I am thine. Do thou command, 
 And I in all things shall obey. 'Tis fit 
 My promised nuptial rites give place to thee. 
 
 Creon. It will become thee with obedience thus 
 To bear thee ever, and in every act 
 To yield submissive to a father's will : 
 'Tis therefore, my son ! that men do pray 
 
i6o ANTIGONE, 
 
 For children who with kind officious duty 
 
 May guard their helpless age, resist their foes, 
 
 And like their parents love their parents' friend ; 
 
 But he who gets a disobedient child. 
 
 What doth he get but misery and woe ? 
 
 His enemies will laugh the wretch to scorn. 
 
 Take heed, my son, thou yield not up thy reason, 
 
 In hopes of pleasure from a worthless woman ; 
 
 For cold is the embrace of impious love, 
 
 And deep tlie wounds of false dissembled friendship. 
 
 Hate then thy bitterest foe, despise her arts, 
 
 And leave her to be wedded to the tomb. 
 
 Of all the city her alone I found 
 
 Rebellious ; but I have her, nor shall Thebes 
 
 Say I'm a liar : I pronounced her fate. 
 
 And she must perish. Let her call on Jove, 
 
 Who guards the rights of kindred and the ties 
 
 Of nature ; for if those b}; blood united 
 
 Transgress the laws, I hold myself more near 
 
 E'en to a stranger. Who in private Ufe 
 
 Is just and good, will to his country too 
 
 Be faithful ever ; but the man who, proud 
 
 And fierce of soul, contemns authority, 
 
 Despiseth justice, and o'er those who rule 
 
 Would have dominion, such shall never gain 
 
 Th' applauding voice of Creon. He alone, 
 
 Whom the consenting citizens approve 
 
 Th' acknowledged sovereign, should in all command. 
 
 Just or unjust his laws, in things of great 
 
 Or little import, whatsoe'er he bids : 
 
 A subject is not to dispute his will ; 
 
 He knows alike to rule and to obey ; 
 
 And in the day of battle will maintain 
 
 The foremost rank, his country's best defence. 
 
 Kebellion is the worst of human ills ; 
 
 This ruins kingdoms, this destroys the peace 
 
 Of noblest families, this wages war, 
 
 And puts the bmve to flight ; whilst fair obedience 
 
 Keeps all in safety. To preserve it ever 
 
 Should be a king's first care. We will not yield 
 
 To a weak woman ; if we must submit, 
 
ANTIGONE. 
 
 At least we will be conquered by a man, 
 Nor by a female arm thus fall inglorious.^J^ 
 
 H^. Wisdom, my father, is the noblest giffcl 
 The gods bestow on man, and better far 
 Than all his treasures. Why thy judgment deems* 
 Most fit, I cannot, would not repreheitd. 
 Others perhaps might call it Avrong. For me, 
 My duty only bids me to inform you 
 If aught be done or said that casts reproach 
 Or blame on you. Such terror would thy looks 
 Strike on the low plebeian, that he dare not 
 Say aught unpleasing to thee ; be it mine 
 To tell thee then what I of late have heard 
 In secret whispered. Your afflicted people 
 United mourn th' unhappy virgin's fate 
 Unmerited, most wretched of her sex, 
 To die for deeds of such distinguished virtue, 
 For that she would not let a brother lie 
 Unburied, to the dogs and birds a prey ; 
 Was it not rather, say the murmuring crowd. 
 Worthy of golden honours and fair praise ? 
 Such are their dark and secret discontents. 
 Thy welfare and thy happiness alone 
 Are all my wish ; what can a child desire 
 More than a father's honour, or a father 
 More than his child's ? Oh ! do not then retain 
 Thy will, and still believe no sense but thine _ 
 Can judge aright ! The man who proudly thinks 7 
 None but himself or eloquent, or wise, ^ 
 
 By time betrayed, is branded for an idiot ; \ 
 
 True wisdom will be ever glad to learn, 
 And not too fond of power. Observe the trees 
 That bend to wintry torrents, how their boughs 
 Unhurt remain, whilst those that brave the storm, 
 Uprooted torn, shall wither and decay ; 
 The pilot, whose unslackened sail defies 
 Contending winds, with shattered bark pursues 
 His dangerous course. Then mitigate thy wrath 
 My father, and give way to sweet repentance. 
 If to my youth be aught of judgment given, 
 He, who by knov/ledge and true wisdom's rules 
 
 F 
 
ANTIGO.VE. 
 
 Guides every action, is the first of men ; 
 But since to few that happiness is given, 
 The next is he, who, not too proud to learn, 
 Follows the counsels of the wise and good, 
 
 Chor. O king ! if right the youth advise, 'tis fit 
 Thtit thou shouldst listen to him ; so to thee 
 Should he attend, as best may profit both. 
 
 Creon. And have we lived so long then to be taught 
 At last our duty by a boy like thee ? 
 
 H.i<:. Young though I am, I still may judge aright ; 
 Wi sdom^in action lies, and not in ye ars, 
 
 Creon, Call you it wisdom then'^o honour those 
 Who disobey the laws % 
 
 HiE. I would not have thee 
 
 Protect the wicked. 
 
 Creon. Is she not most guilty 
 
 H^. Thebes doth not think her so. 
 
 Creon. Shall Thebes prescrioe 
 
 To Creon's will ? 
 
 H^. How weakly dost thou talk ! 
 
 Creon. Am I king here, or shall another reign ? 
 
 H^. 'Tis not a city where but one man rules. 
 
 Creon. The city is the king's. 
 
 HiE. Go by thyself then. 
 
 And rule henceforth o'er a deserted land. 
 
 Creon. [to the Chorus]. He pleads the woman's 
 cause. 
 
 H^. If thou art she, 
 
 I do ; for, oh ! I speak but for thy sake — 
 My care is all for thee. 
 
 Creon. Abandoned wretch ! 
 
 Dispute a father's will ! 
 
 H^. I see thee err, 
 
 And therefore do it. 
 
 Creon. Is it then a crime 
 
 To guard my throne and rights from violation ? 
 
 H^ He cannot guard them who contemns the gods 
 And violates their laws. 
 
 Creon. Oh ! thou are worse, 
 
 More impious e'en than her thou hast defended. 
 
 H^. Naught have I done to merit this reproof. 
 
ANTIGONE. 163 
 
 Oreon. Hast thou not pleaded for hei- ? 
 
 H^. No, for thee, 
 
 And for myself — for the infernal gods. 
 
 Creon. But know, she shall not live to be thy wife. 
 
 H^. Then she must die ; another too may fall. 
 
 Creon. Ha ! dost thou threaten me, audacious traitor % 
 
 H.E. What are my threats ? Alas ! thou heedst them 
 not. 
 
 Creon. That thou shalt see; thy insolent instruction 
 Shall cost thee dear. 
 
 H/E. But for thou art my father 
 
 Now would I say thy senses were impaired. 
 
 Creon. Think not to make me thus thy scorn and 
 laughter, 
 Thou woman's slave. 
 
 Hjb. Still wouldst thou speak thyself^ 
 
 And never listen to the voice of truth ; 
 Such is thy will. 
 
 Creon. Now, by Olympus here ! 
 
 I swear thy vile reproaches shall not pass 
 Unpunished. Call her forth ! 
 
 \To one of the Attendants. 
 Before her bridegroom 
 She shall be brought, and peiish in his sight. 
 
 Hje. These eyes shall never see it. Let the slaves 
 Who fear thy rage submit to it; but know, 
 'Tis the last time thou shalt behold thy son. 
 
 \^Exit H.E3I0N. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Creon, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Sudden in anger fled the youth. O king ! 
 A mind oppressed like his is desperate. 
 
 Creon. Why, let him go ! and henceforth better 
 learn 
 Than to oppose me. Be it as it may. 
 Death is their portion, and he shall not save them. 
 
 Chor. Must they both die then % 
 
 F 2 
 
ANTIGONE, 
 
 No ; 'tis well advised, 
 
 but for Antigoue- 
 
 164 
 
 Creon. 
 
 Ismene lives 
 
 Chor. O king 1 what death is she decreed to suffer 
 CiiEON. Far from the haunts of men I'll have her led, 
 
 And in a rocky cave, beneath the earth, 
 
 Buried alive ; with her a little food. 
 
 Enough to save the city from pollution. 
 
 There let her pray the only god she worships 
 
 To save her from this death : perhaps he will. 
 
 Or, if he doth not, let her learn how vain 
 
 It is to reverence the powers below. [^Exit Creon. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Strophe I. 
 
 Mighty power, all powers above, 
 Great unconquerable love ! 
 Thou, who liest in dimple sleek 
 On the tender virgin's cheek, 
 Thee the rich and great obey, 
 Every creature owns thy sway. 
 O'er the wide earth and o'er the main 
 Extends thy universal reign ; 
 All thy maddening influence know, 
 Gods above and men below ; 
 All thy powers resistless prove, 
 Great unconquerable love ! 
 
 Aniistrophe i. 
 
 Thou canst lead the just astray 
 From wisdom and from virtue's way ; 
 The ties of nature cea^e to bind. 
 When thou disturbst the captive mind 
 Behold, enslaved by fond desire, 
 The youth condemns his aged sire 
 Enamoured of his beauteous maid, 
 Nor laws nor parents are obeyed ; 
 
ANTIGONE, 165 
 
 Thus Venus wills it from above, 
 And great unconquerable love. 
 
 Chor. E'en I beyond the common bounds of grief 
 Indulge my sorrows, and from these sad eyes 
 Fountains of tears will flow, when I behold 
 Antigone, unhappy maid, approach 
 The bed of death, and hasten to the tomb* 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Antigone, Chords. 
 
 Ant. Farewell, my friends, my countrymen, farewell ! 
 Here on her last sad journey you behold 
 The poor Antigone ; for never more 
 Shall I return, or view the light of day : 
 The hand of death conducts me to the shore 
 Of dreary Acheron ; no nuptial song 
 Reserved for me — the wretched bride alone 
 Of Pluto now, and wedded to the tomb. 
 
 Chor. Be it thy glory still, that by the sword 
 Thou fallst not, nor the slow-consuming hand 
 Of foul distemperature, but far distinguished 
 Above thy sex, and to thyself a law, 
 Doomst thy own death : so shall thy honour Hve, 
 And future ages venerate thy name. 
 
 Ant. Thus Tantalus' unhappy daughter fell. 
 The Phrygian Niobe. High on the top 
 Of towering Sipylus the rock enfolds her, 
 E'en as the ivy twines her tendrils round 
 The lofty oak ; there still (as fame reports) 
 To melting showers and everlasting snow 
 Obvious she stands, her beauteous bosom wet 
 With tears, that from her ever-streaming eyes 
 Incessant flow. Her fate resembles mine. 
 
 Chor. A goddess she, and from a goddess sprung ; 
 We are but mortal, and of mortals born : 
 To meet the fate of gods thus in thy life, 
 A.nd in thy death, oh ! 'tis a glorious doom ! 
 
1 66 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 AnT. Ahis I thou mockst me ! Why, whilst yet 1 Hve, 
 Wouldht thou afflict me with reproach Uke this / 
 
 my dear country ! and my dearer friends 
 Its blest inhabitants, renowned Thebes! 
 And ye Dirca^an fountains ! you I call 
 
 To \ntness that I die by laws unjust, 
 To my deep prison unlamented go, 
 To my sad tomb — no fellow-sufferer there 
 To soothe my woes, the living, or the dead. 
 
 Chor. Rashness like thine must meet with such 
 reward ; 
 A father's crimes, I fear, lie heavy on thee. 
 
 Ant. Oh ! thou hast touched my worst of miseries. 
 My father's fate, the woes of all our house, 
 The wretched race of Labdacus, renowned 
 For its misfortunes ! Oh ! the guilty bed 
 Of those from whom I sprang — unhappy offspring 
 Of parents most unhappy ! Lo ! to them 
 
 1 go accursed — a virgin and a slave. 
 
 O my poor brother ! most unfortunate 
 
 Were thy sad nuptials — they have slain thy sister. 
 
 Chor. Thy piety demands our praise ; but know, 
 Authority is not to be despised ; 
 'Twas thy own rashness brought destruction on thee. 
 
 Ant. Thus friendless, unlamented, must I tread 
 The destined path, no longer to behold 
 Yon sacred light, and none shall mourn my fate. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Creon, Antigone, Chorus, 
 
 Creon. Know ye not, slaves like her, to death 
 devoted, 
 Would never cease their wailings ? Wherefore is it 
 You thus delay to execute my orders ? 
 Let her be carried instant to the cave. 
 And leave her there alone, to live, or die ; 
 Her blood rests not on us ; but she no longer 
 Shall breathe on earth. \^Exit Cii£0N. 
 
ANTIGONE. 167 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Antigone, Chorus. 
 
 Ant. O dreadful marriage bed ! 
 
 my deep dungeon ! My eternal liome, 
 Whither I go to join my kindred dead ! 
 For not a few hath fell Persephone 
 Already ta'en ; to her I go, the last 
 And most unhappy, ere my time was come ; 
 But still I have sweet hope I shall not go 
 Unwelcome to my father, nor to thee, • 
 My mother. Dear to thee, Eteocles^ 
 Still shall I ever be. These pious hands 
 Washed your pale bodies, and adorned you botli 
 With rites sepulchral, and libations due ! 
 And thus, my Polynices, for my care 
 
 Of thee am I rewarded, and the good \uaa,^c.,.^ ^ 
 
 Alone shall praise me. For a husband dead, j -^-"-^ 
 Nor, had 1 been a mother, for my children ' 
 
 Would I have dared to violate the laws : 
 Another husband and another child 
 Might soothe affliction. But, my parents dead, 
 A brother's loss could never be repaired. 
 And therefore did I dare the venturous deed, 
 And therefore die by Creon's dread command. 
 Ne'er shall i taste of Hymen's joys, or know 
 A mother's pleasures in her infant race ; 
 But, friendless and forlorn, alive descend 
 Into the dreary mansion;^ of the dead. 
 And how have I offended the just gods ! 
 But wherefore call on them % Will they protect me, 
 When thus I meet with the reward of ill 
 For doing good % If this be just, ye gods, 
 If I am guilty, let me suffer foi' it. 
 But if the crime be theirs, oh ! let them feel 
 That weight of misery they have laid on me ! 
 
 Chor. The storm continues, and her angry soul 
 Still pours its sorrows forth. 
 
1 68 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 HCENE VI 1 
 
 Creon, Antigone, Chorus. 
 
 Creon. The slaves shall suffer 
 
 For this delay. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! death cannot be 
 
 Far from that voice. 
 
 Creon. I would not have thee hope 
 
 A moment's respite. 
 
 Ant. O my country's gods ! 
 
 And thou, my native Thebes ! I leave you now. 
 Look on me, princes — see the last of all 
 My ro3'al race — see what I suffer, see 
 From whom I bear it, from the worst of men, 
 Only because I did delight in \artue. \^Exit Creon. 
 
 Scene Vlll. 
 Antigone, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Stro2)hG I. 
 
 Remember what fair Danae endured, 
 
 Condemned to change he^iven's cheerful light 
 For scenes of horror and of night, 
 Within a brazen tower long time immured ; 
 Yet was the maid of noblest race, 
 And honoured e'en with Jove's embrace ; 
 But, oh ! when fate decrees a mortal's woe 
 Naught can reverse the doom or stop the blow — 
 Nor heaven above, nor earth and seas below. 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 The Thracian monarch, Dryas' hapless son, 
 Chained to a rock in to rment lay. 
 And breathed his angry soul away, 
 
 By wrath misguided, and by pride undone ; 
 
ANTIGONE, 169 
 
 Taught by the offended god to know 
 
 From foul reproach what evils flow ; 
 For he the rites profaned with slanderous tongue, 
 The holy flame he quenched, disturbed the song, 
 A.nd waked to wrath the Muses' tuneful throng. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 His turbid waves where Salmydessus rolled, 
 And proud Oyaneji-'s rocks divide the flood, 
 There from thy temple. Mars, didst thou behold 
 The sons of Phineus weltering in their blood ; 
 A mother did the cruel deed, 
 A mother bade her children bleed ; 
 Both by her impious hand, deprived of light, 
 In vain lamented long their ravished sight, 
 And closed their eyes in never-ending night, 
 
 Aritistrophe 2. 
 
 Long time they wept a better mother's fate, 
 
 Unhappy offspring of a luckless bed ? 
 Yet nobly born, and eminently great 
 
 Was she, and midst sequestered caverns bred — 
 Her father's angry storms among, 
 Daughter of gods, from Boreas sprung — 
 Equal in swiftness to the bounding steed. 
 She skimmed the mountains with a courser's speed, 
 Yet was the nymph to death and misery decreed. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
fjo 
 
 ANTlGOiSlE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene 1. 
 
 TiRESiAS, Guide, Creon, Chorus. 
 
 TiR. Princes of Thebes, behold, conducted hither 
 By my kind guide — such is the blind man's fate— 
 Tiresias comes ! 
 
 Creon. venerable prophet ! 
 
 What hast thou to impart % 
 
 TiR. 1 will inform thee ; 
 
 Observe, and be obedient. 
 
 Creon. Have I not 
 
 been ever so % 
 
 TiR. Thou hast ; and therefore Thebes 
 Hath flourished still 
 
 Creon. By thy protecting hand. 
 
 TiR. Therefore be wise. For know, this very hour 
 Is the important crisis of thy fate. 
 
 Creon. Spe^ik then ! What is it ] How I dread tlr 
 words ! 
 
 TiR. When thou hast heard the portents which my 
 art 
 But now discovered, thou wilt see it all. 
 Know then that, sitting on my ancient throne 
 Augurial, whence each divination comes, 
 Sudden a strange unusual noise was heard 
 Of birds, whose loud and barbarous dissonance 
 I knew not how to interpret. By the sound 
 Of clashing wings I could discover well 
 That with their bloody claws they tore each other ; 
 Amazed and fearful, instantly I tried 
 On burning altars holy sacrifice — 
 When, from the victim, lo ! the sullen flame 
 Aspired not. Smothered in the ashes still 
 Laid the moist flesh, and, rolled in smoke, repelled 
 
 The rising fire, whil^ 
 
 Were separate. All these .signs of deadly omen, 
 
 from their fat the thighs 
 
ANTIGONE. 171 
 
 Boding dark vengeance, did I learn from hiru ; 
 
 [Pointing to the Guide. 
 He is my leader, king, and 1 am thine. 
 Then mark me well. From thee these evils flow, 
 From thy unjust decree. Our altars all 
 Have been polluted by th' unhallowed food 
 Of birds and dogs, that preyed upon the corse 
 Of wretched CEdipus' unhappy son ; 
 Nor will the gods accept our offered prayers, 
 Or from our hands receive the sacrifice ; 
 No longer will the birds send forth their sounds 
 Auspicious, fattened thus with human blood. 
 Consider this, my son. And, oh ! remember, 
 To err is human — 'tis the common lot 
 Of frail mortality ; and he alone 
 Is wise and happy, who, when ills are done, 
 Persists not, but would heal the wound he made ; 
 But self-sufficient obstinacy ever 
 Is folly's utmost height. Where is the glory 
 To slay the slain or persecute the dead ? 
 I wish thee well, and therefore have spoke thus ; 
 When those who love advise 'tis sweet to learn. 
 
 Creon. I know, old man, I am the general marlc, 
 The butt of all, and you all aim at me. 
 For me I know your prophecies were made. 
 And I am sold to this detested race — 
 Betrayed to them. But make your gains ! Go, purchase 
 Your Sardian amber, and your Indian gold ; 
 They shall not buy a tomb for Polynices. 
 No, should the eagle seoJc him for his food. 
 And towering bear him to the throne of Jove, 
 I would not bury him. For well I know 
 The gods by mortals cannot be polluted ; 
 But the best men, by sordid gain corrupt. 
 Say all that's ill, and fall beneath the lowest. 
 
 TiR. Who knows this, or who dare accuse us of it ? 
 
 Creon. What meanst thou by that question ? Askst 
 thou who 1 
 
 Tir. How far is wisdom beyond every good ! 
 
 Creon. As far as folly beyond every ill. 
 
 Tir. That's a distemper thou 'rt afflicted with. 
 
172 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Creon. I'll not revile a prophet. 
 
 TiR. But thou (.lost ; 
 
 Thou 'It not believe me. 
 
 Creon. Your prophetic race 
 
 Are lovers all of gold. 
 
 TiR. Tyrants are so, 
 
 Howe'er ilKgotten. 
 
 Creon. Knowst thou 'tis a kinjj 
 
 Thou 'rt talking thus to ? 
 
 TiR. Yes, T know it well ; 
 
 A king who owes to nie his country's safety. 
 
 Creon. Thou'rt a wise prophet, but thou art unjust. 
 
 TiR. Thou wilt oblige me then to utter that 
 Which 1 had purposed to conceal. 
 
 Creon. Speak out. 
 
 Say what thou wilt, but say it not for hire. 
 
 TiR. Thus may it seem to thee. 
 
 Creon. But know, old man, 
 
 I am not to be sold. 
 
 TiR. E«member this : 
 
 Not many days shall the bright sun perform 
 His stated course, ere, sprung from thy own loins, 
 Thyself shall yield a victim. In thy turn 
 Thou too shalt weep, for that thy cruel sentence 
 Decreed a guiltless virgin to the tomb, 
 And kept on earth, unmindful of the gods, 
 Ungraced, unburied, an unhallowed corse. 
 Which not to thee, nor to the gods above 
 Of right belonged. 'Twas arbitrary power : 
 But the avenging furies lie concealed. 
 The minister of death have spread the snare, 
 And with like woes await to punish thee. 
 Do I say this from hopes of promised gold ? 
 Pass but a little time, and thou shalt hear 
 The shrieks of men, the women's loud laments 
 O'er all thy palace ; see th' offended people 
 Together rage ; thy cities all by dogs 
 And beasts and birds polluted, and the stench 
 Of filth obscene on every altar laid. 
 Thus from my angry soul have I sent forth 
 Its keenest arrows — for thou hast provoked me— 
 
ANTIGONE. 173 
 
 Nor shall they fly in vain, or thou escape 
 
 The destined blow. Now, boy, conduct me home, 
 
 On younger heads the tempest of his rage 
 
 Shall fall ; but, henceforth let him learn to speak 
 
 In humbler terms, and bear a better mind. 
 
 [Exit TiRESIAS. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Oreon, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. He's gone, and dreadful were his prophecies ; 
 Since these grey hairs were o'er my temples spread 
 Nought from those lips hath flowed but sacred truth. 
 
 Creon. I know there hath not, and am troubled 
 much 
 For the event ; 'tis grating to submit. 
 And yet the mind spite of itself must yield 
 In such distress. 
 
 Chor. Son of Menaeceus, now 
 
 Thou needst most counsel. 
 
 Creon. What wouldst thou advise ? 
 
 I will obey thee. 
 
 Chor. Set the virgin free, 
 
 And let a tomb be raised for Polynices. 
 
 Creon. And dost thou counsel thus ? — and must I 
 yield? 
 
 Chor. Immediately, O king ! for vengeance falls 
 With hasty footsteps on the guilty head. 
 
 Creon. I cannot — yet I must reverse the sentence ; 
 There is no struggling with necessity. 
 
 Chor. Do it thyself, nor trust another hand. 
 
 Creon. I will ; and you my servants, be prepared ; 
 Each with his axe quick hasten to the place ; 
 Myself — for thus I have resolved — will go, 
 And the same hand that bound shall set her free ; 
 For, oh ! I fear 'tis wisest still through life 
 To keep our ancient laws, and follow virtue. 
 
174 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Strophe i. 
 
 Bacchus, by vaiious names to mortals known, 
 Fair Semele's illustrious son, 
 Offspring of thunder-bearing Jove, 
 Who honourst famed Italia with thy love I 
 Who dwellst where erst the dragon's teeth were 
 
 strewed, 
 Or where Ismenus pours his gentle flood ; 
 Who dost o'er Ceres' hallowed rites preside, 
 And at thy native Thebes propitious still reside. 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 Where famed Parnassus' forked hills uprise. 
 
 To thee ascends the sacritice ; 
 
 Corycia's nymphs attend below, 
 Whilst from Castalia's fount fresh waters flow : 
 O'er Nysa's mountains wreaths of ivy twine, 
 And mix their tendrils with the clustering vine : 
 Around their master crowd the virgin throng, 
 And praise the god of Thebes in never-dying song. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 Happiest of cities, Thebes ! above the rest 
 
 By Semele and Bacchus blest ! 
 Oh ! ^dsit now thy once beloved abode, 
 Oh ! heal our woes, thou kind protecting god ! 
 From steep Parnassus, or th' Euboean sea. 
 With smiles auspicious come, and bring with thee 
 Health, joy, and peace, and fair prosperity. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 Immortal leader of the maddening choir, 
 Whose torches blaze with unextinguished fire. 
 Great son of Jove, who guidst the tuneful throng, 
 Thou, who presidest o'er the nightly song. 
 
ANTIGONE. 175 
 
 Come with thy Naxian maids, a festive train, 
 
 Who, wild with joy, and raging o'er the plain, 
 
 For thee the dance prepare, to thee devote the strain. 
 
 \ExQiint. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Messenger. Ye race of Cadmus, sons of ancient 
 Thebes, 
 Henceforth no state of human life by me 
 Shall be or valued or despised : for all 
 Depends on fortune ; she exalts the low. 
 And casts the mighty down. The fate of men 
 Can never be foretold. There was a time 
 When Creon lived in envied happiness, 
 Ruled o'er renowned Thebes, which from her foes 
 He had delivered, with successful power; 
 Blest in his kingdom, in his children blest, 
 He stretched o'er all his universal sway. 
 Now all is gone : when pleasure is no more, 
 Man is but an animated corse, 
 Nor can be said to live ; he may be rich. 
 Or decked with regal honours, but if joy 
 Be absent from him, if he tastes them not, I 
 'Tis useless grandeur all, and empty shade. \ 
 
 Chor. Touching our royal master, bringst thou news 
 Of sorrow to us % 
 
 Mes. They are dead ; and those 
 
 Who live the dreadful cause. 
 
 Choe. Quick, tell us who — 
 
 The slayer and the slain ! 
 
 Mes. Hsemon is dead. 
 
 Cttor. Dead ! by what hand, his father's or his own ? 
 
17^ 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Mets. Enraged and grieving for liis murdered love, 
 He slew himself. 
 
 Chor. proijhet ! thy predictions 
 
 Were bnt too true ! 
 
 Mes. Since thus it be, 'tis fit 
 
 We should consult ; our present state demands it, 
 
 Chor. But see ! Eurydice, the wretched wife 
 Of Creon, comes this way ; or chance hath brought her. 
 Or Haemon's hapless fate hath reached her ear. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Eurydice, Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 EuB. citizens ! as to Minerva's fane 
 E'en now I went to pay my vows, the doors 
 I burst, and heard imperfectly the sound 
 Of most disastrous news which touched me near. 
 Breathless I fell amidst the virgin throng ; 
 And now I come to know the dreadful truth : 
 Whate'er it be, I'll hear it now ; for, oh ! 
 I am no stranger to calamity. 
 
 Mes. Then mark, my mistress, I will tell thee all, 
 Nor will I j)ass a circumstance unmentioned. 
 Should I deceive thee with an idle tale 
 'Twere soon discovered. T ruth is^lways b est. 
 Know then, I followed Creon to tiie 'iieldT*'"' 
 Where, torn by dogs, the wretched carcase lay 
 Of Polynices. First to Proserpine 
 And angry Pluto, to appease their wrath. 
 Our humble prayers addressing, there we laved 
 In the pure stream the body ; then, with leaves 
 Fresh gathered covering, burnt his poor remains, 
 And on the neighbouring turf a tomb upraised. 
 Then, towards the virgin's rocky cave advanced. 
 When from the dreadful chamber a sad cry 
 As from afar was heard, a servant ran 
 To tell the king, and still as we approached 
 The sound of sorrow from a voice unknown 
 And undistinguished issued forth. Alas! 
 
ANTIGONE. 177 
 
 Said Creon : " Am I then a faithful prophet % 
 
 And do I tread a more unhappy path 
 
 Than e'er I went before % It is my son — 
 
 I know his voice ! But get ye to the door, 
 
 My servants, close, look through the stony heap ; 
 
 Mark if it be so. Is it Haemon's voice ? " 
 
 Again he cried : "Or have the gods deceived me ?*" 
 
 Thus spoke the king. We, to our mournful lord 
 
 Obedient, looked, and saw Antigone 
 
 Down in the deepest hollow of the cave, 
 
 By her own vestments hung. Close by her side 
 
 The wretched youth, embracing in his arms 
 
 Her lifeless corse, weeping his father's crime. 
 
 His ravished bride, and horrid nuptial bed, 
 
 Creon beheld, and loud reproaching cried : 
 
 " What art thou doing] What's thy dreadful purpose? 
 
 What means my son ? Come forth, my Ilsemon, come ! 
 
 Thy father begs thee." With indignant eye 
 
 The youth looked up, nor scornful deigned an answer, 
 
 But silent drew his sword, and with fell rnge 
 
 Struck at his father, who by flight escaped 
 
 The blow ; then on himself bent all his wrath, 
 
 Full in his side the weapon fixed ; but still, 
 
 Whilst life remained, on the soft bosom hung 
 
 Of the dear maid, and his lost spirit breathed 
 
 O'er her pale cheek discoloured with his blood. 
 
 Thus lay the wretched pair in death united, 
 
 And celebrate their nuptials in the tomb — 
 
 To future times a terrible example 
 
 Of the sad woes which rashness ever brings. 
 
 \fixit EURYDICE. 
 
 Scene HI. 
 Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. What can this mean % She's gone, without a 
 word. 
 
 Mes. 'Tis strange, and yet I trust she will not loud 
 Proclaim her griefs to all, but — for I know 
 She's ever prudent — with her virgin train 
 In secret weep her murdered Hsemon's fate. 
 
ryS 
 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 Chor. Clamour indeed were vain ; but such deyp 
 silence 
 Doth ever threaten horrid consequence. 
 
 Mes. Within we soon shall know if aught she hide 
 Of deadly purport in her angry soul ; 
 For well thou sayst her silence is most dreadful. 
 
 \Exit Messengek. 
 
 Chor. But lo ! the king himself : and in his arms 
 See his dead son, the monument accursed 
 Of his sad fate, which, may we say unblamed, 
 Sprang not from others' guilt, but from his own. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Creon, Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Creun enters, hearing the body of HiEMON. 
 
 Creon. Ah me ! What deadly woes from the bad mind 
 Perpetual flow. Thus in one wretched house 
 Have you beheld the slayer and the slain ! 
 
 fatal counsels ! unhappy son ! 
 
 Thus with thy youthful bride to sink in death ; 
 Thou diest, my child, and I alone have killed thee ! 
 
 Chor. O king ! thy justice comes too late. 
 
 Creon. It doth, 
 
 1 know it well, unhappy as I am ; 
 
 For oh ! the god this heavy weight of woe 
 Hath cast upon me, and his fiercest wrath 
 Torments me now, changing my joyful state 
 To keenest anguish. Oh ! the fruitless toils 
 Of wretched mortals ! 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Messenger, Creon, Chorus. 
 
 Mes. Thus oppressed, my lord, 
 
 With bitterest misfortune, more aliliction 
 Awaits thee still, which thou Avilt find within. 
 
ANTIGONE, 179 
 
 Creon. And can there be more woes % Is aught to 
 come 
 More horrible than this ? 
 
 Mes. The queen is dead ; 
 
 Her wounds yet fresh. Eager, alas ! to show 
 A mother's love, she followed hfer lost child. 
 
 Creon. death insatiate ! how dost thou afflict me ! 
 What cruel news, thou messenger of ill, 
 Hast thou brought now ? 
 
 CnoR. A wretch, already dead 
 
 With grief, thy horrid tale once more hath slain. 
 
 Creon. Didst thou not say a fresh calamity 
 Had fallen upon mel Didst thou not say my wife 
 Was dead, alas ! for grief of Hsemon's fate % 
 
 \Scene opens and discovers the body of Eurydice, 
 
 Mes. Behold her there ! 
 
 Creon. me ! another blow ! 
 
 What now remains ? What can I suffer more. 
 Thus bearing in these arms my breathless son ? 
 My wife too dead ! most unhappy mother ! 
 And oh ! thou wretched child ! 
 
 Mes. Close by the altar 
 
 She drew the sword, and closed her eyes in death, 
 Lamenting first her lost Megareus' fate 
 And Hsemon's death, with imprecations dire 
 Still poured on thee, the murderer of thy son. 
 
 Creon. I shudder at it % Will no friendly hand 
 Destroy me quickly? For oh ! I am most wretched — 
 I>eset with miseries ! 
 
 Mes. She accused thee oft. 
 
 And said the guilt of both their deaths was thine, 
 
 Creon. Alas ! I only am to blame. 'Twas I 
 Who killed thee, Hsemon ; I confess my crime. 
 Bear me, my servants, bear me far from hence, 
 For I am — nothing. 
 
 Chor. If in ills like these 
 
 Aught can be well, thou hast determined right : 
 When least we see our woes, we feel them least. 
 
 Creon. Quick let my last, my happiest hour appear ! 
 Would it were come, the period of my woes ! 
 Oh ! that I might not see another day ! 
 
t8o 
 
 ANTIGONE, 
 
 CiioR. Time must determine that : the present hour 
 Demands our rare ; the rest 1:>e left to heaven. 
 
 Oreon. But I have wished and prayed for 't. 
 
 Chor. Pray for nothing ; 
 
 Tliere's no reversing the decrees of fate. 
 
 Creon. Take hence this useless load, this guilty 
 wretch 
 Who slew his child, who slew e'en thee, my wife ; 
 I know not whither to betake me, where 
 To turn my eyes, for all is dreadful round me, 
 And fate hath weighed me down on every side. 
 
 Chor. Wisdom alone is man's true happiness : 
 We are not to dispute the will of heaven ; 
 For ever are the boastings of the proud 
 By the just gods repaid, and man at last 
 Is taught to fear their anger, and be wise. 
 
T 
 
 R A C H I N I ^. 
 
 DRAiSrATIS PERSON^:. 
 
 Hercules. 
 
 Hyllus, Son of Ilercvles. 
 Oeianira, Wife of Hercules. 
 LiCHAS, a Herald. 
 Attenda>t on Deianira. 
 
 Nurse. 
 Old Man. 
 Messenger. 
 
 Chorus, composed of Virgins 
 of Trachis. 
 
 SCENE.— ^e/ore the Palace of Ceyx in Trachis. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Deianira, Attendant. 
 
 Deianira. Of ancient fame, and long for truth received, 
 Hath been the maxim, tliat nor good nor ill 
 Can mortal life be called before we die. 
 Alas ! it is not so ; for, oh ! my friends, 
 Ere to the shades of Orcus I descend, 
 Too well I know that Deianira's life 
 Hath ever been, and ever must be, wretched. 
 Whilst in my native Pleuron ^neus watched 
 My tender years with kind paternal care, 
 If ever woman suffered from the dread 
 Of hated nuptials, I endured the worst 
 
t82 
 
 TRACHJNI^. 
 
 And bitterest woes, when Achelous came, 
 
 The river-god, to ask a father's voice, 
 
 And snatched me to his arms. With triple form 
 
 He came affrighting — now to sight appeared 
 
 A bull, and i»w with motley scales adorned 
 
 A wreathed serpent, now with human shape 
 
 And bestial head united ; from his beard. 
 
 Shadowed with hair, as from a fountain, dripped 
 
 The ever-llo\nng water. Horrid form ! 
 
 This to escape my prayers incessant rose 
 
 That I might ratlier die than e'er approach 
 
 His hated bed. When lo ! the welcome hovir, 
 
 Though late, arrived, that brought the son of Jove 
 
 And fair Alcmena to my aid. He came, 
 
 He fought, he freed me. How the battle passed 
 
 Who unconcerned beheld it best can tell. 
 
 Alas ! I saw it not, oppressed with fear 
 
 Lest from my fatal beauty should arise 
 
 Some sad event. At length, deciding Jove 
 
 Gave to the doubtful fight a happy end, 
 
 If I may call it so ; for, since the hour 
 
 That gave me to Alcides' wished-for bed 
 
 Fears rise on fears ; still is my anxious heart 
 
 Solicitous for him ; oftiraes the night. 
 
 Which brings him to me, bears him from my arms 
 
 To other labours and a second toil. 
 
 Our children too, alas ! he sees them not, 
 
 But as the husbandman who ne'er beholds 
 
 His distant lands, save at the needful time 
 
 Of seed or harvest. Wandering thus, and thus 
 
 Returning ever, is he sent to serve 
 
 I know not whom. When crowned with victory, 
 
 Then most my feai-s prevail ; for since he slew 
 
 The valiant Iphitus, at Trachis here 
 
 We live in exile with our generous friend, 
 
 The hospitable Ceyx ; he meantime 
 
 Is gone, and none can tell me where. He went 
 
 And left me most unhappy. Oh ! some ill 
 
 Hath sure befallen him ! for no little time 
 
 Hath he been absent ; 'tis full fifteen moons 
 
 Since I beheld him, and no messenger 
 
TRACHINTAl. 183 
 
 Is come to Deianira. Some misfortune 
 Doubtless hath happened, for he left behind 
 A dreadful scroll. Oh ! I have prayed the gods 
 A thousand times it may contain no ill. 
 
 Atten. My royal mistress, long have I beheld 
 Thy tears and sorrows for thy lost Alcides ; 
 But if the counsels of a slave might claim 
 Attention, I would speak — would ask thee wherefore 
 Amongst thy sons, a numerous progeny, 
 None hath been sent in search of him, and chief 
 Thy Hyllus, if he holds a father's health 
 And safety dear : but, e'en as we could wish, 
 Behold him here ! If what I have advised 
 Seem fitting, he is come in happiest hour 
 To execute our purpose. 
 
 SCEISE 11. 
 
 Hyllus, Deianira, Attendant. 
 
 Dei. O my son I 
 
 Oft from the meanest tongue the words of truth 
 And safety flow. This woman, though a slave, 
 Hath spoke what would have well become the mouth 
 Of freedom's self to utter. 
 
 Hyl. May I know 
 
 What she hath said ? 
 
 Dei. She says it doth reflect 
 
 Disgrace on thee, thy father so long absent, 
 Not to have gained some knowledge of his fate. 
 
 Hyl. I have already, if I may rely 
 On what report hath said of him. 
 
 Dei. Oh, wliere — 
 
 Where is he then, my son ^ 
 
 Hyl. These twelve months past, 
 
 If fame say true, a Lydian woman held him 
 In shameful servitude. 
 
 Dei. If it be so, 
 
 May every tongue reproach him ! 
 
 Hyl. But 1 hear 
 
 He now is free. 
 
 
i84 
 
 TRACHINIjE. 
 
 Dei. And where doth rumour say 
 
 He is ? alive or dead. 
 
 Hyl. 'Tis said, he leads, 
 
 Or means to lead, his forces towards Euboea, 
 Tlie land of Eurytus. 
 
 Dei. Alas ! my son, 
 
 Dost thou not know the oracles he left 
 Touching that kingdom ? 
 
 Hyl. No, I know not of them ; 
 
 What were they ? 
 
 Dei. There, he said, or he should die. 
 
 Or if he should survive, his life to come 
 Would all be happy. Wilt thou not, my son, 
 In this important crisis strive to aid 
 Thy father % If he lives, we too shall live 
 In safety. If he dies, we perish with him. 
 
 Hyl. Mother, I go. Long since I had been there 
 But that the oracle did never reach 
 Mine ears before. Meantime that happy fate, 
 Which on my father ever wont to smile 
 Propitious, should not suffer us to fear ; 
 Thus far informed, I will not let the means 
 Of truth escape me, but will know it all. 
 
 Dei. Haste then away, my son; and know, good deeds, 
 Though late performed, are crowned with sure success. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Chorus, Deianira, Attendant. 
 
 Strophe i. 
 
 On thee we call, great god of day, 
 To whom the night, with all her staiTy train, 
 Yields her solitary reign, 
 To send us some propitious I'ay : 
 Say thou, whose all-beholding eye 
 Doth nature's every part descry. 
 What dangerous ocean, or what land unknown 
 From Deianira keeps Alcmena's valiant son. 
 
TRACHINT^. 185 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 For she nor joy nor comfort knows, 
 But weeps her absent lord, and vainly tries 
 To close her ever-streaming eyes. 
 
 Or soothe her sorrows to repose : 
 Like the sad bird of night, alone 
 She makes her solitary moan ; 
 Aiid still, as on her widowed bed reclined 
 She lies, unnumbered fears perplex her anxious mind. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 E'en as the troubled billows roar, 
 When angry Boreas rules th' inclement skies. 
 And waves on waves tumultuous rise 
 
 To lash the Cretan shore : 
 Thus sorrows still on sorrows prest 
 Fill the great Alcides' breast ; 
 Unfading yet shall his fair virtues bloom, 
 And some protecting god preserve him from the tomb. 
 
 Antistrojjhe 2. 
 
 "Wherefore, to better thoughts inclined, 
 Let us with hope's fair prospect fill thy breast, 
 Calm thy anxious thoughts to rest, 
 
 And ease thy troubled mind : 
 No bliss on man, unmixed with woe. 
 Doth Jove, great lord of all, bestow ; 
 But good with ill, and pleasure still with pain, 
 Like heaven's revolving signs, alternate reign. 
 
 Epode. 
 
 Not always do the shades of night remain, 
 
 Nor ever with hard fate is man oppressed ; 
 The wealth that leaves us may return again, 
 Sorrow and joy successive fill the breast ; 
 Fearless then of every ill. 
 Let cheerful hope support thee still : 
 Remember, queen, there is a power above ; 
 And when did the great father, careful Jove, 
 Forget his children dear, and kind paternal love 1 
 
1 86 
 
 TRACIIIMjE, 
 
 Dei. The fame, it seems, of Deianira's woes 
 Hatli reached thine ears, but oh ! thou little knowst 
 What 1 have suffered ! Thou hast never felt 
 Sorrows like mine. And long may be the time 
 Ere sad experience shall aftiict thy soul 
 With equal woes ! Alas ! the youthful maid 
 In flowery pastures still exulting feeds, 
 Nor feels the scorching sun, the wintry storm, 
 
 Or blast of angry 
 
 Secure she leads 
 
 A life of pleasure, void of every care, 
 
 Till to the virgin's happy state succeeds 
 
 The name of wife. Tlien shall her portion come 
 
 Of pain and anguish, then her terrors rise 
 
 For husband and for children. Then perchance 
 
 You too may know what 'tis to be unhappy, 
 
 And judge of my misfortunes by your own. 
 
 Long since oppressed by many a bitter woe 
 
 Oft have 1 wept, but this transcends them all ; 
 
 For I will tell thee, when Abides last 
 
 Forth on his journey went, he left behind 
 
 An ancient scroll. Alas ! before that time 
 
 In all his labours he did never use 
 
 To speak as one who thought of death — secure 
 
 Always he seemed of victory ; but now 
 
 This writing marks, as if he were to die, 
 
 The portion out reserved for me, and wills 
 
 Ilis children to divide th' inheritance ; 
 
 Fixes the time, in fifteen moons, it saj^s. 
 
 He should return. That past or he must perish, 
 
 Or, if he 'scape the fatal houi", thenceforth 
 
 Should lead a life of happiness and joy : 
 
 Thus had the gods, it said, decreed his life 
 
 And toils should end : so from their ancient beach 
 
 Dodona's doves foretold. Th' appointed hour 
 
 Approaehes that must bring th' event, e'en now, 
 
 My friends, and therefore nightly do I start 
 
 From my sweet slumbers, struck with deadly fear. 
 
 Lest I should lose the dearest, best of men. 
 
 Chor. Of better omen be thy words Behold 
 A messenger, who bears (for on his brow 
 1 see the laurel crown) some joyful news. 
 
TRACHINI^. iSy 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Messenger, Deianika, Attendant, Chorus. 
 
 Mes. I come, my royal mistress, to remove 
 Thy fears, and bring the first glad tidings to thee, 
 To tell thee that Alcmena's son returns 
 With life and victory ; e'en now he comes 
 To lay before his country's gods the spoils 
 Of glorious war. 
 
 Dei. What dost thou say, old man ? 
 
 What dost thou tell me 1 
 
 Mes. That thy dear Alcides, 
 
 Thy valiant lord, with his victorious bands, 
 Will soon attend thee. 
 
 Dei. From our citizens 
 
 Didst thou learn this, or from a stranger's tongue ? 
 
 Mes. The herald Lichas, in yon flowery vale, 
 But now reported, and I fled impatient 
 Soon as I heard it, that 1 first might tell thee 
 And be rewarded for the welcome tale. 
 
 Dei. But wherefore tarries Lichas if he bring 
 Glad tidings to me ? 
 
 Mes. 'Tis impossible 
 
 To reach thee, for the Melian people throng 
 Around him — not a man but longs to know 
 Some news of thy Alcides, stops his journey, 
 Nor will release him till he hear it all. 
 Spite of himself he waits to satisfy 
 Their eager doubts ; but thou wilt see him soon. 
 
 Dei. thou who dwellst on (Eta's sacred top. 
 Immortal Jove ! At length, though late, thou giv'.st 
 The wished-for boon. Let every female now — 
 You that within the palace do reside, 
 And you, my followers here — with shouts proclaim 
 The blest event ! For, lo ! a beam of joy, 
 I little hoped, breaks forth, and we are happy. 
 
1 88 
 
 TRACHINI^. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 Quick let sounds of mirth and joy 
 Every cheerful hour employ ; 
 Haste, and join the festive song, 
 You, who lead the youthful throng, 
 On whom the smiles of prosperous fate, 
 And Hymen's promised pleasures wait, 
 Now all your lo Paeans sing 
 To Phoebus, 3'our protector and your lung. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 And you, ye virgin train, attend, 
 Not unmindful of your friend, 
 His sister huntress of the gi'oves. 
 Who still her native Delos loves — 
 Prepare the dance, and choral lays, 
 To hymn the chaste Diana's praise ; 
 To her, and her attendant choir 
 Of mountain-nymphs, attune the votive lyre. 
 
 Ejyode, 
 
 Already hath the god possessed 
 My soul, and rules the sovereign of my breast ; 
 
 Evoe, Bacchus I lo ! I come to join 
 Thy throng. Around me doth the thyrsus twine 
 And I am filled with rage divine ; 
 See ! the glad messenger appean? 
 To calm thy doubts, and to remove thy fears 
 
 Let us our lo Pseans sing 
 To Phoebus, our protector and our king. 
 
TRACHINI^. 189 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Deianira. These eyes deceive me, friends, or I behold 
 A crowd approach this way, and with them comes 
 The herald Lichas. Let me welcome him, 
 If he bring joyful news. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Lichas, Idle, Slaves, Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Lie. My royal mistress, 
 
 We greet thee with fair tidings of success, 
 And therefore shall our words deserve thy praise. 
 
 Dei. thou dear messenger ! Inform me first 
 What first I wish to know, my loved Alcides, 
 Doth he yet live — shall I again behold him % 
 
 Lie. I left him well. In health and manly strength 
 Exulting. 
 
 Dei. Where? In his own native land, 
 Or 'midst barbarians ? 
 
 Lie. On Euboea's shore 
 
 He waits, with various fruits to crown the altar, 
 And pay due honours to Censean Jove. 
 
 Dei. Commanded by some oracle divine 
 Performs he this, or means but to fulfil 
 A vow of gratitude for conquest gained ? 
 
 Lie. For victory o'er the land, whence we have 
 brought 
 These captive women, whom thou seest before thee. 
 
 Dei. Whence come the wretched slaves ? for if I 
 judge 
 Their state aright, they must indeed be wretched. 
 
 Lie. Know, when Alcides had laid waste the city 
 
TRACHINtM. 
 
 Of Eurytus, to him and to the gods 
 Were these devoted. 
 
 Dei. Ill CEchalia then 
 
 Hath my Alcides been this long, long time % 
 
 Lie. Not so : in Lydia (as himself reports) 
 Was he detained a slave. So Jove ordained ; 
 And who shall blame the high decrees of Jove ? 
 Sold to barbarian Omphale, he served 
 Twelve tedious months ; ill brooked he the foul shame. 
 Then in his wrath he made a solemn vow 
 He would revenge the wrong on the base author, 
 And bind in chains his >vife and all his race : 
 Nor fruitless the resolve, for when the year 
 Of slavery past had expiated the crime 
 Imputed, soon with gathered force he mai'ched 
 'Gainst the devoted Eurytus, the cause 
 (For so he deemed him) of those hateful bonds. 
 Within his palace he had erst received 
 Alcides, but with bitterest taunts reviled him, 
 Boasting, in spite of his all-conquering arrows, 
 His son's superior skill, and Siiid a slave 
 Like him should bend beneath a freeman's power ; 
 Then, midst the banquet's mirth, inflamed with wine, 
 Cast forth his ancient guest. This to revenge 
 When Iphitus to search his pastured steeds 
 Came to Tyrinthia, Hercules surprised, 
 And, as he turned his wandering eyes aside. 
 Hurled headlong from the mountain's top. Great Jov 
 Father of men, from high Olympus saw 
 And disapproved the deed, unworthy him 
 Who ne'er before by fraud destroyed his foes ; 
 With open force had he revenged the wrong 
 Jove had forgiven, but violence concealed 
 The gods abhoi-, and therefore was he sold 
 To slavery. Eurytus' unhappy sons 
 Were punished too, and dwell in Erebus ; 
 Their city is destroyed, and they, whom here 
 Thou seest, from freedom and prosperity. 
 Reduced to wretchedness. To thee they come, 
 Such was Alcides' will ; which I, his slave. 
 Have faithfully performed. Himself ere long 
 
TRACE IN I^, 191 
 
 Thou shalt behold, whon to paternal Jove 
 
 He hath fultilled his vows. Thus my long tale 
 
 Ends with the welcomest news which thou couklst 
 
 hear : 
 Alcides comes ! 
 
 Chor. queen ! thy happiness 
 
 Is great indeed, to see these slav^es before thee, 
 And know thy lord approaches. 
 
 Dei. I am happy — 
 
 To see my Hercules with victory crowned 
 'Tis fit I should rejoice ; and yet, my friends, 
 If we consider well, we still should fear 
 For the successful, lest they fall from bliss. 
 It moves my pity much when I behold 
 These wretched captives in a foreign land, 
 Without 8, parent and without a home.. 
 Thus doomed to slavery here, who once perhaps 
 Enjoyed fair freedom's best inheritance : 
 Jove ! averter of each mortal ill, 
 Let not my children ever feel thy arm 
 Thus raised against them % or, if 'tis decreed, 
 Let it not be whilst Deianira Jives : 
 The sight of these alarms my fears. But tell me 
 Thou poor afflicted captive, who thou art. \To Idle. 
 Art thou a mother ? or, as by thy years 
 Thou seemst, a vii-gin, and of noble birth % 
 Canst not thou tell me, Lichas, whence she sprang ? 
 Inform me, for of all these slaves she most 
 Hath won my pity, and in her alone 
 Have I observed a firm and generous mind. 
 
 Lie. Why ask of me 1 I know not who she is; 
 Perhaps of no mean rank. 
 
 Dei. The royal race 
 
 Of Eurytus? 
 
 Lie. 1 know not, nor did e'er 
 
 Inquire. 
 
 Dei. And didst thou never hear her name 
 From her companions % 
 
 Lie. Kever. I performed 
 
 My v.'ork is silence. 
 
 De.t. Tell me then thyself, 
 
u)2 TRACHINL^. 
 
 Thou wretched maid, for I am most unhappy 
 Till I know who thou art. 
 
 Lie. She will not speak ; 
 
 I know she will not. Not a word hnth pas.sed 
 Her lips e'er since she left her native land, 
 But still in tears the liapless virgin mourns 
 The burthen of her sad calamity. 
 Her fate is hard : she merits your forgiveness. 
 
 Dei, Let her go in : I'll not disturb her peace, 
 Nor would I heap fresh sorrows on her head, 
 She hath enough already. We'll retire. 
 Go where thou wilt ; my cares within await me. \To Idle. 
 \Exmnt LicnAS, Tole, and Slaves. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Messenger, Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Mes. Stay thee awhile. I have a tale to tell 
 Touching these captives, which imports thee nearly, 
 And I alone am able to inform thee. 
 
 Dei. What dost thou know ? and why wouldst thou 
 detain me ? 
 
 Mes. Return, and hear me ; when I spake before 
 1 did not speak in vain, nor shall I now. 
 
 Dei. Wouldst thou I call them back, or meanst to 
 tell 
 Thy secret purpose here to me alone ? 
 
 Mes. To thee, and these thy friends — no more. 
 
 Dei. They're gone. 
 
 Now speak in safety. 
 
 Mes. Lichas is dishonest, 
 
 And either now, or when I saw him last, 
 Hath uttered falsehood. 
 
 Dei. Ha ! what dost thou say % 
 
 I understand thee not— explain it quickly ! 
 
 Mes. I heard him say, before attendant crowds, 
 It was 4.his virgin, this fair slave destroyed 
 (Echalia's lofty towers : 'twas love alone 
 That waged the war — no Lydian servitude, 
 Nor Omphale, nor the pretended fall 
 
TRACHINI^. 193 
 
 Of Iphytus — for so the tale he brings 
 
 Would fain persuade thee. Know, thy own Alcides, 
 
 For that he could not gain th' assenting voice 
 
 Of Eurytus to his unlawful love, 
 
 Laid waste the city where her father reigned, 
 
 And slew him. Now the daughter, as a slave, 
 
 Is sent to thee. The reason is too plain : 
 
 Nor think he meant her for a slave alone — 
 
 The maid he loves, that would be strange indeed ! 
 
 My royal mistress, most unwillingly 
 
 Do I report th' unwelcome news, but thought 
 
 It was my duty : I have told the truth. 
 
 And the Trachinians bear me witness of it. 
 
 Dei. Wretch that I am ! To what am I reserved % 
 What hidden pestilence within my roof 
 Have I received unknowing ! Hapless woman ! 
 She seemed of beauteous form and noble birth ; 
 Have you not heard her name % for Lichas said 
 He knew it not. 
 
 Mes. Daughter of Eurytus, 
 
 Her name lole ; he had not inquired 
 Touching her race. 
 
 Chor. Perdition on the man, 
 
 Of all most wicked, who hath thus deceived thee ! 
 
 Dei. What's to be done, my friend % This dreadful 
 news 
 Afflicts me sorely. 
 
 Chor. Go, and learn the whole 
 
 From his own lips ; compel him to declare 
 The truth. 
 
 Dei. I will ; thou counselst me aright. 
 
 Chor. Shall we attend you ? 
 
 Dei. No ; for see he comes, 
 
 Uncalled. 
 
 Scene IY. 
 
 Lichas, Deianira, Attendant, Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Lie. queen ! what are thy last commands 
 To thy Alcides % for e'en now I go 
 To meet him. 
 
 o 
 
Tr)| TRACHINIJE. 
 
 Dei. ITast thou ta'cn so long a journey 
 
 To Trachis, and wouldst now .so soon i*eturn, 
 Vi\% 1 can hold some further converse with thee ] 
 
 Lie. If thou wouldst question me of aught, behold 
 me 
 J'leady to tell thee. 
 
 Dei. Wilt thou tell me truth \ 
 
 Lie. In all I know ; so bear me witness, Jove ! 
 
 Dei. Who is that woman thou has brought ? 
 
 I.ic. I hear 
 
 She's of Euboea ; for her race and name 
 I know them not. 
 
 Dei. Look on me ; who am I ? 
 
 Lie. Why ask me this ? 
 
 Dei. Be bold, and answer mo. 
 
 Lie. Daughter of (Eneus, wife of Hercules, 
 If I am not deceived 'tis Deianira, 
 My queen, my mistress ? 
 
 Dei. Am I so indeed ? 
 
 Am I thy mistress ? 
 
 Lie. Doubtless. 
 
 Dei. Why, 'tis well 
 
 Thou dost confess it : then wdiat punishment 
 Wouldst thou deserve if thou wert faithless to her 1 
 
 Lie. How faithless ? meanst thou to betray me ? 
 
 Dei. '^o 
 
 The fraud is thine. 
 
 Lie. 'Twas folly thus to stay 
 
 And hear thee. I must hence. 
 
 Dei. Thou shalt not go 
 
 Till I have asked thee one short question. 
 
 Lie. Ask it, 
 
 For so it seems thou art resolved. 
 
 Dei. Inform me ; 
 
 This captive — dost thou know her? 
 
 Li<^'- I have told thee ; 
 
 What wouldst thou more % 
 
 Dei. Didst thou not say, this slave — 
 
 Though now, it seems, thou knov/st her not — was 
 
 daughter 
 Of Eurytus, her name lole ! 
 
TRACHINI^. 195 
 
 Lie. Where % 
 
 To whom did I say this ? What witness have you ? 
 
 Dei. Assembled multitudes. The citizens 
 Of Trachis heard thee. 
 
 Lie. They might say they heard 
 
 Reports like these. But must it therefore seem 
 A truth undoubted % 
 
 Dei. Seem "? Didst thou not swear 
 
 That thou hadst brought this woman to partake 
 The bed of my Alcides ? 
 
 Lie. Did I say so % 
 
 But tell me who this stranger is. 
 
 Dei. The man 
 
 Who heard thee say, Alcides' love for her, 
 And not the Lydian, laid the city waste. 
 
 Lie. Let him come forth and prove it. 'Tis no mark 
 Of wisdom thus to trifle with th' unhappy. 
 
 Dei. Oh ! do not, I beseech thee by that power 
 Whose thunders roll o'er CEta's lofty grove, 
 Do not conceal the truth. Thou speakst to one 
 Not unexperienced in the ways of men — 
 To one who knows we cannot always joy 
 In the same object. 'Tis an idle task 
 To take up arms against all-powerful love : 
 Love which commands the gods. Love conquered me, 
 And wherefore should it not subdue another, 
 Whose nature and whose passions are the same % 
 If my Alcides is indeed oppressed 
 With this sad malady, I blame him not ; 
 That were a folly. Nor this hapless maid, 
 Who meant no ill, no injury to me. 
 'Tis not for this I speak. But, mark me well ; 
 If thou wert taught by him to utter falsehood, 
 A vile and shameful lesson didst thou learn ; 
 And if thou art thy own instructor, know 
 Thou shalt seem wicked e'en when most sincere, 
 And never be believed. Speak then the truth ; 
 For to be branded with the name of liar 
 Is ignominy fit for slaves alone. 
 And not for thee. Nor think thou canst conceal it ; 
 Those who have heard the tale will tell it nie. 
 
TRACHTNIM. 
 
 If fear deters thee, thou hast little cause ; 
 
 For to susi>ect his falsehood is my grief — 
 
 To know it, none. Already have I seen 
 
 Alcides' heart estranged to other loves, 
 
 Yet did no rival ever hear from me 
 
 One bitter word, nor will 1 now reproach 
 
 This wretched slave, e'en though she pines for him 
 
 With strongest love. Alas ! I pity her. 
 
 Whose beauty thus hath been the fatal cause 
 
 Of all her misery, laid her country waste, 
 
 And brought her here, far from her native land, 
 
 A helpless captive. But no more of this; 
 
 Only remember, if thou must be false, 
 
 Be false to others, but be true to me. 
 
 Chor. She speaks most kindly to thee. Be persuaded. 
 Hereafter thou shalt find her not ungrateful ; 
 We too will thank thee. 
 
 Lie. my dearest mistress ! 
 
 Not vinexperienced thou in human life, 
 Nor ignorant. And therefore naught from thee 
 Will I conceal, but tell thee all the truth : 
 'Tis as he said, and Hercules indeed 
 Doth love lole. For her sake alone 
 QCchalia, her unhappy country, fell ; 
 This — for 'tis fit I tell thee — he confessed, 
 Nor willed me to conceal it. But I feared 
 'Twould pierce thy heart to hear th' unwelcome tale, 
 And therefore own I would have kept it from thee 3 
 That crime, if such it was, 1 have committed. 
 But since thou knowst it all, let me entreat thee, 
 For her sake and thy own, oh ! do not hate 
 This wretched captive, but remember well, 
 What thou hast promised faithfully perform. 
 He, whose victorious arm hath conquered all, 
 Now yields to her, and is a slave to love. 
 
 Dei. 'Tis my resolve to act as thou advisest. 
 I'll not resist the gods, nor add fresli weight 
 To my calamity. Let us go in. 
 That thou mayst bear my orders to Alcides, 
 And with them gifts in kind return for those 
 We have received from him. Thou must not hcn<e 
 
TRACHINLE. 197 
 
 With empty hand, who hither broughtst to me 
 
 Such noble presents and so fair a train. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 Thee, Venus, gods and men obey, 
 
 And universal is thy sway ; 
 Need I recount the powers subdued by love % 
 
 Neptune, who shakes the solid ground. 
 
 The king of Erebus profound, 
 Or, the great lord of all, Saturnian Jove ? 
 
 To mortals let the song descend, 
 
 To pity our afflicted friend. 
 And soothe the injurd Deianira's woes : 
 
 For her the angry rivals came. 
 
 For her they felt an equal flame, 
 For her, behold ! the doubtful battle glows. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 In dreadful majesty arrayed, 
 Affrighting sore the fearful maid. 
 
 Uprose the horned monarch of the flood ; 
 He who through fair ^tolia's plain 
 Pours his rich tribute to the main : 
 
 A bull's tremendous form belied the god ; 
 From his own Thebes, to win her love, 
 With him the happier son of Jove, 
 
 The great Alcides came, and in his hand 
 
 The club, the bow, and glittering spear ; 
 Whilst Venus, to her votaries near, 
 
 Waved o'er their heads her all-deciding wand. 
 
 Epode. 
 
 Warm and more warm the conflict grows. 
 Dire was the noise of rattling bows. 
 
TRACHINIJE, 
 
 Of front to front opposed, and hand to hand ; 
 Deep was the animated strife 
 For love, for conquest, and for life ; 
 
 Alternate groans re-echoed thro' the land : 
 Whilst pensive on the distant shore 
 She heard the doubtful battle roar, 
 
 Many a sad tear the hapless virgin shed ; 
 Far from her tender mother's arms. 
 She knows not yet for whom her charms 
 
 She keeps, or who shall share her bridal bed. 
 
 \Ex,cunL 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Deianira. My guest, in pity to the captive train, 
 Laments their woes, and takes his kind farewell ; 
 Meantime, my friends, in secret came I here 
 To pour forth all my miseries, and impart 
 To you my inmost thoughts — my last resolve. 
 Alas ! within these walls I have received, 
 Like the poor sailor, an unhappy freight 
 To sink me down : no virgin, but a wife — 
 The wife of my Alcides ; his loved arms 
 Now must embrace us both. My faithful lord — 
 Faithful and good I thought him — thus rewards 
 My tender cares, and all the tedious toils 
 I suffered for him ; but I will be calm, 
 For 'tis an evil I have felt before. 
 And yet to live with her ! with her to share 
 My husband's bed ! What woman can support it % 
 Her youth is stealing onward to its prime. 
 Whilst mine is withered ; and the eye which longs 
 To pluck the opening flower from the dry leaf 
 Will turn aside. Her younger charms, I fear, 
 Have conquered, and henceforth in name alone 
 
TRACHINIjE. 199 
 
 Shall Deianira be Alcides' wife. 
 
 But ill do rage and violence become 
 
 The prudent matron ; therefore, mark me well, 
 
 And hear what I have purposed to relieve 
 
 My troubled heart. Within a brazen urn, 
 
 Concealed from every eye, I long have kept 
 
 That ancient gift which Nessus did bequeath me — 
 
 The hoary centaur, who was wont for hire 
 
 To bear the traveller o'er the rapid flood 
 
 Of deep Evenus. Not with oars or sail 
 
 He stemmed the torrent, but with nervous arm 
 
 Opposed and passed it. Me, when first a bride 
 
 I left my father's hospitable roof 
 
 With my Alcides, in his arms he bore 
 
 Athwart the current ; half way o'er, he dared 
 
 To offer vi.olence. I shrieked aloud. 
 
 When lo ! the son of Jove, his bow swift bent, 
 
 Sent forth a shaft and pierced the monster's breast, 
 
 Who with his dying voice did thus address me : 
 
 " Daughter of CEneus, listen to my words. 
 
 So shalt thou profit by the last sad journey 
 
 Which I shall ever go. If in thy hand 
 
 Thou take the drops outflowing from the wound 
 
 This arrow made, dipped in the envenomed blood 
 
 Of the Lernaean hydra, with that charm 
 
 Mayst thou subdue the heart of thy Alcides, 
 
 Nor shall another ever gain his love." 
 
 Mindful of this, my friends — for from that hour 
 
 In secret have I kept the precious gift — 
 
 Behold a garment, dipped i' th' very blood. 
 
 He gave me ; nor did I forget to add 
 
 What he enjoined, but have prepared it all. 
 
 I know no evil arts, nor would I learn them. 
 
 For they who practise such are hateful to me. 
 
 I only wish the charm may be of power 
 
 To win Alcides from this virgin's love, 
 
 And bring him back to Deianira's arms, 
 
 If he shall deem it lawful, but if not 
 
 I'll go no farther. 
 
 CnoR. Could we be assurec^ 
 
 Such is indeed th' eflfect, 'tis well determined. 
 
200 
 
 TPACHINIjE, 
 
 Dei. I cannot but believe it, tliough as yet 
 Experience never hath confirmed it to me. 
 
 Ciioii. Thou shouldst be certain ; thou but seemst to 
 know 
 If thou hast never tried. 
 
 Dei. I'll try it soon. 
 
 For see e'en now he comes out at the portal : 
 Let him not know our purpose. If the deed 
 Be wrong, concealment may prevent reproach ; 
 Therefore be silent. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 LicHAS, Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Lie. Speak thy last commands, 
 
 Daughter of CEneus, for already long 
 Have we delayed our journey. 
 
 Dei. Know then, Lichas, 
 
 That whilst thou commun'dst with thy friends, myself 
 Have hither brought a garment which I wove 
 For my Alcides ; thou must bear it to him. 
 Tell him, no mortal must with touch profane 
 Pollute the sacred gift, nor sun behold it, 
 Nor holy temple, nor domestic hearth, 
 Ere at the altar of paternal Jove 
 Himself shall wear it. 'Twas my solemn vow 
 Whene'er he should return, that, clothed in this, 
 He to the gods should offer sacrifice. 
 Bear too this token : he will know it well. 
 Away ! Remember to perform thy office, 
 But go no farther, so shall double praise 
 And favour from us both reward thy duty. 
 
 Lie. If I have aught of skill, by Hermes right 
 Instructed in his art, I will not fail 
 To bear thy gift, and faithful to report 
 What thou hast said. 
 
 Dei. Begone ! What here hath passeO 
 
 Thou knowst. 
 
 Lie. I do, and shall bear back the news 
 
 That all is well. 
 
TRACHINIM. 20 1 
 
 Dei. Thou art thyself a witness 
 
 How kindly I received the guest he sent me. 
 
 Lie. It filled my heart with pleasure to behold it. 
 
 Dei. What canst thou tell him more ? Alas ! I fear 
 He'll know too well the love I bear to him. 
 Would I could be as certain he'd return it ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Stroplie I. 
 
 You who on (Eta's craggy summit dwell, 
 
 Or from the rock, whence gushing riv'lets flow, 
 
 Bathe in the warmer springs below. 
 
 You who near the Melian bay 
 
 To golden-shafted Diana hymn the lay. 
 
 Now haste to string the Ip^e, and tune the vocal shell, 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 No mournful theme demands your pensive strain, 
 But such as, kindled by the sacred fire. 
 The Muses might themselves admire — 
 A loud and cheerful song. For see. 
 The son of Jove returns with victory, 
 
 And richest spoils reward a life of toil and pain. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 Far from his native land he took his way : 
 
 For twelve long moons, uncertain of his fate. 
 Did we lament his exiled state. 
 What time his anxious wife deplored, 
 With never-ceasing tears her absent lord ; 
 
 But Mars at last hath closed his long laborious day. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 Let him from fair Euboea's isle appear. 
 
 Let winds and raging seas oppose no more. 
 But waft him to the wished-for shore. 
 Th' anointed vest's persuasive charms 
 Shall bring him soon to Deianira's arms. 
 
 Soon shall we see the great the loved Alcides here. 
 
202 
 
 TRACHINI^, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Deianika. Alas ! my friends, I fear I've gone too far. 
 
 Chor. Great queen, in what ? 
 
 Dei. I know not what, but dread 
 
 Something to come ; lest where I had most hope 
 Of happiness, I meet with bitterest woe. 
 
 Chor. Meanst thou thy gift to Hercules ? 
 
 Dei. I do. 
 
 Nor would I henceforth counsel those I loved 
 To do a dark and desperate deed like this, 
 Uncertain of th' event. 
 
 Chor. How was it ? Speak, 
 
 If thou canst teU us. 
 
 Dei. Oh ! 'twas wonderful ! 
 
 For you shall hear it. Know then, the white wool 
 Wherein 1 wrapped th' anointed vest, untouched 
 By any hand, dropped self -consumed away, 
 And down the stone, e'en like a liquid, flowed 
 Dissolving — but 'tis fit I tell you all — 
 Whate'er the wounded centaur did enjoin me 
 Mindful to practise, sacred as the laws 
 On brazen tablets graved, I have performed : 
 Far from the fire, and from the sun's warm beams 
 He bade me keep the charm ; from every eye 
 In secret hid, till time should call on me 
 To anoint and use it. This was done : and now, 
 The fleece m secret plucked, the charm prepared, 
 Long from the sun within a chest concealed ; 
 At length I brought it forth, and sent the gift 
 To my Alcides, when behold a wonder, 
 Most strange for tongue to tell, or heart of man 
 E'en to conceive ! Perchance the wool I cast 
 Into the sunshine ; soon as it grew warm 
 It fell to dust, consuming all away 
 In most strange manner, then from th' earth uprose 
 
TRACHINIM. 203 
 
 In frothy bubbles, e'en as from the grape 
 
 In yellow autumn jBlows the purple wine. 
 
 I know not what to thinly ; but much I fear 
 
 I've done a horrid deed. For, why, my friends, 
 
 Why should the dying savage wish to serve 
 
 His murderer ? That could never be. Oh no ! 
 
 He only meant by flattery to destroy 
 
 Me, his destroyer. Truth is come too late, 
 
 And I alone have slain my dear Alcides ; 
 
 I know that by his arrows Chiron fell, 
 
 I know whate'er they touched they still were fatal, 
 
 That very poison mingled with the blood 
 
 Of dying Nessus, will not that too kill 
 
 My Hercules % It must : but if he dies, 
 
 My resolution is to perish with him ; 
 
 Those, who their honour and their virtue prize, 
 
 Can never live with infamy and shame. 
 
 Chor. 'Tis fit we tremble at a deed of horror ; 
 But 'tis not fitting, ere we know th' event, 
 To give up hope, and yield us to despair. 
 
 Dei. There is no hope where evil counsel 's ta'en. 
 
 Chor. But when we err from ignorance alone, 
 Small is the crime and slight tjie punishment ; 
 Such is thy fault. 
 
 Dei. The guiltless may talk thus, 
 
 Who know no ill ; not those who are unhappy. 
 
 Chor. No more ; unless thou meanst thy son should 
 hear thee, 
 Who now returns in search of thy Alcides ; 
 Behold him here. 
 
 Scene IT. 
 Hyllus, Deianira, Chorus. 
 
 Hyl. Oh ! would that thou wert dead ! 
 
 Would I were not thy son ! or, being so, 
 Would I could change thy wicked heart ! 
 
 Dei. My son, 
 
 What means this passion % 
 
 Hyl. Thou hast slain thy husband ; 
 
 This very day my father hast thou slain. 
 
20.\ 
 
 TRACHINL^.. 
 
 Dei. Alas I luy eliild, wliat sayst tlioii 
 Hyl. 
 
 \V1lMt W 
 
 And therefore must be ; who can e'er undo 
 The deed tliat's done ? 
 
 Dei. But who could say I did it \ 
 
 Hyl. 1 saw it with these eyes ; 1 heaid it all 
 From his own lips. 
 
 Dei. Where didst thou see him tlien ? 
 
 Tell me, oh ! quickly tell me. 
 
 Hyl. ' If I must, 
 
 Observe me well : when Hercules, returned 
 From conquest, had laid waste the noble city 
 (_)f Kurytus, with fair triumphal spoils 
 i Ee to Euboea came, where o'er the sea, 
 Which beats on every side, Oenseum's top 
 Hangs dreadful, thither to paternal Jove 
 His new raised altars in the leafy wood 
 He came to visit : there did my glad eyes 
 Behold Alcides first. As he prepared 
 The frequent victim, from the palace came 
 Lichas thy messenger, and wath him brought 
 The fatal gift : wrapped in the deadly garment 
 (For such was thy command) twelve oxen then 
 Without a blemish, firstlings of the spoil, 
 He slew ; together next a hundred fell. 
 The mingled fiock. Pleased with his gaudy vest, 
 And happy in it, he awhile remained, 
 Offering with joy his grateful sacrifice ; 
 But, lo ! when from the holy victim rose 
 The bloody flame, and from the pitchy wood 
 Exhaled its moisture, sudden a cold sweat 
 Bedewed his limbs, and to his body stuck 
 As by the hand of some artificer 
 Close joined to every part, the fatal vest ; 
 Convulsion racked his bones, and through his veins, 
 Like the fell serpent's deadly venom, raged ; 
 Then questioned he the wretched guiltless Lichas 
 By what detested arts he had procured 
 The poisoned garb ; he, ignorant of all, 
 Could only say it was the gift he brought 
 From Deianira. When Alcides heard it. 
 
TRACHINI.E, 205 
 
 Tortured with pain, he took him by the foot, 
 
 And hurled him headlong on a pointed rock 
 
 That o'er the ocean hung; his brains dashed forth 
 
 With mingled blood flowed through his clotted hair 
 
 In horrid streams ; the multitude with shrieks 
 
 Lamented loud the fury of Alcides, 
 
 And Lichas' hapless fate ; none durst oppose 
 
 His raging frenzy ; prostrate on the earth 
 
 Kow would he lay and groan ; and now uprising 
 
 "Would bellow forth his griefs ; the mountain-tops 
 
 Of Locris, and Euboea's rocks returned 
 
 His dreadful cries ; then on the ground outstretched, 
 
 In bitterest wrath he cursed the nuptial bed 
 
 Of QEneus, and his execrations poured 
 
 On thee his worst of foes : at length his eyes, 
 
 Distorted forth from the surrounding smoke, 
 
 He cast on me, who midst attending crowds 
 
 Wept his sad fate ; " Approach," he cried, " my son, 
 
 Do not forsake thy father ; rather come 
 
 And share his fate than leave me here, oh ! haste. 
 
 And take me hence ; bear me where never eye 
 
 Of mortal shall behold me. my child, 
 
 Let me not perish here." Thus spake my father, 
 
 And I obeyed : distracted with his pains 
 
 A vessel brings him to this place, and soon 
 
 Living or dead you will behold him here. 
 
 This have thy horrid machinations done 
 
 For thy Alcides : Oh ! may justice doom thee 
 
 To righteous punishment, if it be lawful 
 
 For me to call down vengeance on a mother. 
 
 As sure it is on one who hath disclaimed 
 
 All piety like thee ; the earth sustains not 
 
 A better man than him whom thou has murdered, 
 
 Nor shalt thou e'er behold his like again. 
 
 \Exit Deianira. 
 
 Chor. Whence this abrupt departure % Knowst thou 
 not 
 To go in silence thus confirms thy guilt % 
 
 Hyl. Let her be gone ; and may some prosperous 
 gale 
 Waft her far off, that these abhorring eyes 
 
206 TRACHINI^K. 
 
 May never see her more ! What boots the name 
 Of raothei', when no longer she i:)erforms 
 A moihor's duty ? Let lier go in peace, 
 And for her kindness to my father soon 
 May she enjoy the blessing she bestowed ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe i. 
 
 True was the oracle divine, 
 
 Long since delivered from Dodona's shrine, 
 Which said, Alcides' woes should last 
 Till twelve revolving years were past; 
 
 Then should his labours end in sw^eet repose 
 Behold, my friends, 'tis come to pass, 
 'Tis all fultilled ; for who, alas ! 
 
 In peaceful death, or toil or slavery knows ? 
 
 Antistroplie i. 
 
 If deep within his tortured veins 
 The centaur's cruel poison reigns. 
 That from the Hydra's baleful breath 
 Destructive flowed, replete with death, 
 
 On him another sun shall never rise ; 
 
 The venom runs through every part. 
 And, lo ! to Nessus' direful art 
 
 Alcides falls a helpless sacrifice. 
 
 Strojyhe 2. 
 
 Poor Deianira long deplored 
 
 Her waning charms, and ever faithless lord ; 
 At length by evil counsel swayed 
 Her passion's dictates she obeyed, 
 
 Resolved Alcides' doubtful truth to prove ; 
 But now, alas ! laments his fate 
 In ceaseless woe, and finds too late 
 
 A dying husband, and a foreign love. 
 
Antistrophe 2. 
 
 . Another death must soon succeed, 
 
 Another victim soon shall bleed, 
 
 Fatal, Alcides, was the dart 
 
 That pierced the rival monarch's heart, 
 And brought lole from her native land ; 
 
 From Yenus did our sorrows flow. 
 
 The secret spring of all our woe, 
 For nought was done but by her dread command. 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 ACT v. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 \A noise within the Palace.^ 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Or I'm deceived, or I did hear loud shrieks 
 Within the palace ; 'twas the voice of one 
 In anguish ; doubtless some calamity 
 Hath fallen upon us now. What can it be 1 
 But see, yon matnon, with contracted brow 
 And unaccustomed sadness, comes to tell 
 The dreadful news. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Nurse, Chorus. 
 
 Nurse. What woes, my hapless daughter; 
 
 Alcides' fatal gift hath brought upon us ! 
 
 Chor. What dost thou tell us ? 
 
 Nurse. Deianira treads 
 
 The last sad path of mortals. 
 
 Chor. Is she gone ? 
 
2o8 
 
 TRACHINI 
 
 NuiisE. 'TIs so indeed. 
 
 Cnoii. What! dead? 
 
 NuiisE. Again I say 
 
 She is no more. 
 
 Cjigu. Alas ! how did she perish ? 
 
 NuKSE. Most fearfully : 'twas dreadful to behold. 
 
 Chor. How fell she then ? 
 
 Nurse. By her own hand. 
 
 Chor. But wherefore ? 
 
 What madness, what disorder, what could move her 
 To perpetrate so terrible a deed ? 
 Thus adding death to death. 
 
 Nurse. The fatal steel 
 
 Destroyed her. 
 
 Chor. Didst thou see it ? 
 
 Nurse. I was by, 
 
 Close by her side. 
 
 Chor. How was it ? 
 
 Nurse. Her own arm 
 
 Struck the sad blow. 
 
 Chor. Indeed ! 
 
 Nurse. Most veritably. 
 
 Chor. In evil hour this rival virgin came 
 To bring destruction here. 
 
 Nurse. And so she did ; 
 
 Hadst thou Hke me been witness to the deed, 
 Thou wouldst much more have pitied her. 
 
 Chor. Alas ! 
 
 How could a woman do it ? 
 
 Nurse. 'Twas most dreadful, 
 
 As thou shalt hear, for I will tell thee all : 
 Soon as she entered at the palace gate 
 And saw her son prepare the funeral bed. 
 To th' inmovst chamber silent she retired 
 From every eye, there, at the altar's feet 
 Falling, lamented loud her widowed state ; 
 And ever as she lit on aught her hands 
 Had used in happier days, the tears would flow ; 
 From room to room she wandered, and if chance 
 A loved domestic crossed her she would weep 
 And mourn her fate, for ever now deprived 
 
TRACHINI^. 209 
 
 Of converse sweet, and hymeneal joys ; 
 Then would she strew her garments on the bed 
 Of her Alcides (for, concealed, I watched 
 Her every motion), throw herself upon it, 
 And as the tears in a warm flood burst forth, 
 " Farewell ! " she cried, " for ever farewell now, 
 My nuptial couch ! for never shalt thou more 
 Keceive this wretched burthen." Thus she spake, 
 And with quick hand the golden button loosed, 
 Then cast her robe aside, her bosom bared 
 And seemed prepared to strike. I ran and told 
 The dreadful purpose to her son ; too late 
 We came, and saw her wounded to the heart. 
 The pious son beheld his bleeding mother, 
 And wept ; for well he knew, by anger fired, 
 And the fell centaur's cruel fraud betrayed, 
 Unweeting she had done the dreadful deed. 
 Close to her side he laid him down, and joined 
 His lips to hers, lamenting sore that thus 
 He had accused her guiltless ; then deplored 
 His own sad fate, thus suddenly bereaved 
 Of both his parents. You have heard my tale. 
 Who to himself shall promise length of life ? 
 None but the fool. For, oh ! to day alone 
 Is ours. We are not certain of to-morrow. 
 
 Chor. Which shall I weep ? which most our hefli'ts 
 should fill 
 With grief, the present or the future ill % 
 The dying or the dead % 'Tis equal woe 
 To feel the stroke, or fear th' impending blow. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 Oh ! for a breeze to waft us o'er 
 
 Propitious to some distant shore ! 
 
 To sliield our souls from sore affright, 
 
 And save us from the dreadful sight : 
 
 That sight the hardest heart would move 
 
 In his last pangs the son of Jove ; 
 To see the poison run through every vein, 
 And limbs convulsed with agonising pain. 
 
TRACHINI^. 
 
 Antiatrophe. 
 
 Behold th' attendant train is nigh, 
 
 I hear the voice of misery ; 
 
 E'en ;is the plaintive nightingale, 
 
 That warbles sweet her mournful tale ; 
 
 Silent and slow they lead him on ; 
 
 Hark ! 1 hear Alcides groan ! 
 Again 'tis silence all ! This way they tread ; 
 Or sleeps he now, or rests he with the dead ? 
 
 Scene III. 
 Hercules, Hyllus, Nurse, Chorus, Attendants. 
 
 Hyl. Alas ! my father; whither shall I go ? 
 Wretch that 1 am. Oh ! where shall I betake me ? 
 What will become of thy afflicted son ? 
 
 Atten. Speak softly, youth, do not awake his pains ; 
 Refrain thy grief, for yet Alcides lives, 
 Though verging to the tomb ; be calm. 
 
 Hyl. What sayst thou ? 
 
 Doth he yet live ? 
 
 Atten. He doth ; disturb not thus 
 
 His^slumbers, nor provoke the dire disease. 
 
 Hyl. Alas ! I cannot bear to see him thus. 
 
 Her. \aiDakes\. Jove ! where am I, and with 
 whom ? What land 
 Contains the wretched Hercules, oppressed 
 With never-ending woes ? Ah me ! again 
 The deadly poison racks me. 
 
 Atten. \to Hyllus], Seest thou not 
 
 'Twere better far to have remained in silence, 
 And not awaked him. 
 
 Hyl. 'Twas impossible 
 
 Unmoved to look on such calamity ; 
 I could not do it. 
 
 Her. Censean rocks ! 
 
 Where smoke the sacred altars, is it thus, 
 O Jove ! thou dost reward my piety? 
 
TRACHINTM. 
 
 What dreadful punishment is this thy hand 
 
 Hath laid on me, who never could deserve 
 
 Such bitter wrath ? What incantations now, 
 
 What power of medicine can assuage my pain^ 
 
 Unless great Jove assisted % Health to me 
 
 Without him were a miracle indeed. 
 
 Let me, oh ! let me rest ; refuse me not 
 
 A little slumber ; why will ye torment me ? 
 
 Why bend me forward ? Oh ! 'tis worse than death ; 
 
 Had you not waked me, I had been at peace. 
 
 Again it rages with redoubled force ; 
 
 Where are you now, ye thankless Grecians, where. 
 
 Whom I have toiled to serve on the rough main, 
 
 And through the pathless wood % Where are you now 
 
 To help a dying wretch ? Will no kind hand 
 
 Stretch forth the friendly sword, or in the flame 
 
 Consume me % None, alas ! will cut me off 
 
 From hated life. 
 
 Atten. youth ! assist thy father ; 
 
 It is beyond my strength ; thy quicker sight 
 May be more useful. 
 
 Hyl. My poor aid is ready ; 
 
 But wheresoe'er I am, 'tis not in me 
 To expel the subtle poison that destroys him ; 
 Such is the will of Jove. 
 
 Her. My son, my son ! 
 
 Where art thou? Bear me up, assist me. Oh ! 
 Again it comes, th' unconqnerable ill, 
 The dire disease. Pallas ! aid me now, 
 Draw forth thy sword, my son ; strike, strike thy father, 
 And heal the wound thy impious mother made. 
 Oh ! could I see her like myself destroyed, 
 I should be happy ! Brother of great Jove, 
 Sweet Pluto, hear me 1 Oh ! with speedy death 
 Lay me to rest, and bury all my woes. 
 
 Chor, The anguish of th' unhappy man, my friends, 
 Is terrible ; I tremble but to hear him. 
 
 Her. What hath this body suffered % Oh ! the toils, 
 The labours I endured, the pangs I felt, 
 Unutterable woes ! but never aught 
 So dreadful as this sore calamity. 
 
TRACHINTA^, 
 
 Oppressed Alcides ! Not the wife of Jove, 
 
 Nor vile Enrystliens, could torment me thus, 
 
 As, CEneus, thy deceitful daughter hath. 
 
 Oh ! 1 am tangled in a cruel net, 
 
 Woven by the Fui-ies : it devours my flesh. 
 
 Dries up my veins, and drinks the vital blood ; 
 
 My body 's withered, and I cannot Ijreak 
 
 Th' indissoluble chain. Nor hostile spear. 
 
 Nor earth-born giants, nor the savage herd, 
 
 The wild Barbarian, or the Grecian host, 
 
 Not all the nations I have journeyed o'er 
 
 Could do a deed like this. At last I fall, 
 
 Like a poor coward, by a woman's hand, 
 
 Unarmed and unassisted. my son ! 
 
 Now prove thyself the ofi'spring of Alcides ; 
 
 Nor let thy reverence of a mother's name 
 
 Surpass thy duty to an injured father. 
 
 Go, bring her hither, give her to my wrath, 
 
 That 1 may see whom thou wilt most lament 
 
 When thou beholdst my vengeance fall on her. 
 
 Fear not, my son, but go. Have pity on me, 
 
 Pity thy father : all must pity me. 
 
 Whilst they behold, e'en as the tender maid, 
 
 Alcides weep, who never wept before. 
 
 I bore my sorrows all without a groan. 
 
 But now thou seest I am a very woman. 
 
 Come near, my child. Oh ! think what I endure. 
 
 For I will show thee. Look on this poor body — 
 
 Let all behold it : what a sight is here ! 
 
 O me ! again the cruel poison tears 
 
 My entrails, nor affords a moment's ease. 
 
 Oh ! take me, Pluto, to thy gloomy reign ; 
 
 Father of lightning, mighty Jove, send down 
 
 Thy bolt, and strike me now ! Again it racks, 
 
 It tortures me ! O hands ! that once had strength, 
 
 And you, my sinewy arms, was it by you 
 
 The terrible Nemsean lion fell. 
 
 The dreadful hydra, and the lawless race 
 
 Of centaurs ? Did this withered hand subdue 
 
 The Erymanthian boar — wide-wasting plague ! 
 
 ^nd from the shades of Orcus drag to light 
 
TRACHINTJ^., 21,3 
 
 The triple-hen ded monster ? By this arm 
 
 Did the fierce guardian of the golden fruit 
 
 In Libya's deserts fall ? Unnumbered toils 
 
 Have I endured of old, and never yet 
 
 Did mortal bear a trophy from Alcides. 
 
 But nerveless now this arm— see, from the bone 
 
 Darts the loose flesh. I waste beneath the power 
 
 Of this dark pestilence. O Hercules ! 
 
 Why boast thy mother sprung of nobler race, 
 
 And vainly call thyself the son of Jove % 
 
 But, mark me well : this creeping shadow still, 
 
 Poor as it is, shall yet revenge itself 
 
 On her who did the execrable deed. 
 
 Would she were here to feel my wrath, to know 
 
 And teach mankind that Hercules, though dead, 
 
 As whilst he lived, can scourge the guilty still ! 
 
 Chor. Unhappy Greece ! How wilt thou mourn the 
 Of such a man % [loss 
 
 Hyl. Permit me but to speak. 
 
 Distempered as thou art, my father, hear me ; 
 Nought shall I ask unfit for thee to grant ; 
 Be calm and listen to me ; yet thou knowst not 
 How groundless thy complaints, and what new joy 
 Awaits thee still. 
 
 Her. Be brief then, and inform me ; 
 
 My pains afflict me so I cannot guess 
 Thy subtle purpose. 
 
 Hyl. 'Twas to speak of her. 
 
 My mother ; 'twas to tell thee of her state 
 And how unweeting she offended thee. 
 
 Her. Thou worst of children ! Wouldst thou then 
 defend 
 The murderer of thy father % Dar'st thou thus 
 Recall the sad remembrance of her crime? 
 
 Hyl. It must not be concealed ; I know too well 
 I can no longer hide it. 
 
 Her. What ! Her guilt ? 
 
 'Tis known already. 
 
 Hyl. Thou It not always think so. 
 
 Her. Speak then, but take good heed thou sho\y 
 thyself 
 
214 
 
 TRACHINIyE. 
 
 Worthy thy father. 
 
 Hyl. Know then, she is dead. 
 
 Her. Oh ! dreadful, murdered ? By what hand ? 
 
 Hyl. Her own. 
 
 Her. Would she had fallen by mine ! 
 
 Hyl. Alas ! my father, 
 
 Didst thou know all, thy anger would be changed 
 To pity for her. 
 
 Her. That were strange indeed ; 
 
 Why dost thou think so ? 
 
 Hyl. She did mean thee well, 
 
 But erred unknowing. 
 
 Her. Meant she well to slay 
 
 Thy father? 
 
 Hyl. Thy new marriage was the cause : 
 
 She had prepared a philtre for thy love, 
 And knew not 'twas a poison. 
 
 Her. But say, who 
 
 So skilled in magic arts at Trachis here 
 Could give her this % 
 
 Hyl The savage centaur Nessus, 
 
 Who did persuade her it would restore thy love 
 Given to another wife. 
 
 Her. Undone, Alcides ! 
 
 I die, my child ; there is no life for me. 
 vVlas ! I see it now ; I see my woes ; 
 Hyllus, away, thy father is no more ; 
 Begone, and call thy brothers, call Alcmena, 
 The wife, alas ! in vain, the wife of Jove ; 
 Go, bring them here, that wdth my latest breath 
 I may declare my fate long since foretold 
 By oracles divine. 
 
 Hyl. Alcmena 's gone 
 
 To Tyrinth. With her many of thy sons 
 Remain. Some dwell at Thebes, the rest are here, 
 And wait with me to hear and to obey thee. 
 
 Her. Then listen to me, for the time is come 
 When thou must prove thy.self indeed my son. 
 Know, Jove, my heavenly sire, long since foretold 
 I was not born to perish by the hand 
 Of living man, but from some habitant 
 
TRACHINIuE, 215 
 
 Of Pluto's dark abode should meet my fate. 
 
 The centaur Nessus — so was it fulfilled — 
 
 Though dead destroyed me. But I'll tell thee more, 
 
 New oracles confirmed the old, for know 
 
 When to the Selli's sacred grove I came — 
 
 The wandering priests who o'er the mountains roam, 
 
 And rest their wearied limbs on the cold ground — 
 
 An ancient oak prophetic did declare 
 
 That if I lived to this decisive hour, 
 
 Here all my labours, all my toils should end. 
 
 I thought it told me I should live in peace. 
 
 Alas ! it only meant that I must die. 
 
 For death will put an end to every care. 
 
 Since thus it is, my son, thou too must join 
 
 To ease Alcides. Let me not reproach thee, 
 
 But yield thy willing aid, nor e'er forget 
 
 The best of laws, obedience to a father. 
 
 Hyl. Thy words affright me ; but declare thy 
 purpose — 
 Behold me ready to perform thy orders 
 Whate'er they be. 
 
 Her. First give me then thy hand. 
 
 Hyl. But why this pledge, and wherefore ansious 
 thus 
 Dost thou require it % 
 
 Her. Wilt thou give it me 
 
 Or dost refuse % 
 
 Hyl. There, take it ; I obey. 
 
 Her. First swear then by the head of Jove my bire. 
 
 Hyl. I will ; but what ? 
 
 Her. Swear that thou wilt perform 
 
 All I enjoin thee. 
 
 Hyl. Bear me witness, Jove ! 
 
 I swear. 
 
 Her. And imprecate the wrath divine 
 If thou performst it not. 
 
 Hyl. I shall not fail ; 
 
 But if I do, may vengeance swift o'ertake me ! 
 
 Her. Tliou knowst the top of QEta's sacred hill. 
 
 Hyl. I know it well, and many a sacrifice 
 Have oftered there. 
 
2l6 
 
 TRACHINT^ 
 
 Heu. Tliat is the destined place, 
 
 Where thou, assisted by thy chosen friends, 
 My son, must bear the body of Alcides ; 
 There shalt thou cut thee many a leafy branch 
 From the wild olive and deep-rooted oak, 
 Then cast me on it, take thy torch, and light 
 My funeral pile ; without one tear or groan 
 Unmanly do it, if thou art my son ; 
 For if thou failst, remember, after death 
 A father's curses will sit heavy on thee. 
 
 Hyl. Alas ! my father, what hast thou commanded % 
 What hast thou bade me do % 
 
 Her. What must be done. 
 
 Or thou art not the son of Hercules. 
 
 Hyl. a dreadful deed ! And must I then become 
 A parricide, and murder thee ? 
 
 Her. Oh, no ! 
 
 My kind physician, balm of all my woes. 
 
 Hyl. Myself to cast thee in the flames ! Is that 
 An office fit for me ? 
 
 Her. If that alone 
 
 Seem dreadful to thee, yet perform the rest. 
 
 Hyl. I'll bear thee thither. 
 
 Her. Wilt thou raise the pile ? 
 
 Hyl. I will do anything but be myself 
 Thy executioner. 
 
 He;r. 'Tis well, my son ; 
 
 But one thing more, and I am satisfied ; 
 'Tis but a little. 
 
 Hyl. Be it e'er so gi'eat, 
 
 I shall obey. 
 
 Her. Thou knowst the virgin daughter 
 
 Of Eurytus. 
 
 Hyl. lole % 
 
 Her. Her, my son ; 
 
 Eemember, 'tis a father's last command, 
 And thou hast sworn obedience. That lole 
 I do bequeath thee ; take her to thy arms 
 When I am dead, and let her be thy wife : 
 It is not fitting she who lay by th' side 
 Of Hercules to any but the son 
 
TRACHINI/E. 2T7 
 
 Of Hercules should e'er descend ; to thee 
 Alone I yield her. Speak not, but obey me ; 
 After thy kind compliance, to refuse 
 So slight a favour were to cancel all. 
 
 Hyl. \ciside\. Alas ! distempered as he is, to chide 
 him 
 Were most unkind ; and yet, what madness this ! 
 
 Her. Thou wilt not do it then? 
 
 Hyl. What ! marry her 
 
 Who slew my mother ! her, who hath brought thee 
 To this sad state ! It were an act of frenzy : 
 Death be my portion rather than to live 
 With those I hate. 
 
 Her. \tuming to the Chorus]. He will not pay me 
 then 
 The duty which he owes a dying father ! 
 But if thou dost not, curses from the gods 
 Await thee. 
 
 Hyl. Oh ! thou rav'st ; it is the rage 
 
 Of thy distemper makes thee talk so wildly. 
 
 Her. Thou hast awakened all my woes ; again 
 They torture now. 
 
 Hyl. Alas ! what doubts arise, 
 
 What fears perplex me ! 
 
 Her. Meanst thou to dispute 
 
 A father's will ? 
 
 Hyl. Must I then learn of thee 
 
 To do a wicked deed ? 
 
 Her. It is not wicked 
 
 If I request it of thee. 
 
 Hyl. Is it just? 
 
 Her. It is ; the gods are witnesses 'tis just. 
 
 Hyl. Then by those gods I swear I will perform 
 What thou commandst : I never can be deemed 
 Or base, or impious, for obeying thee. 
 
 Her. 'Tis well, my son ; one added kindness more, 
 And I am satisfied : before the racks 
 Of dire convulsion, and the pangs of madness 
 Again attack me, throw me on the pile. 
 Haste then, and bear me to it, there at last 
 I shall have peace and rest from all my sorrows 
 
TRACHINIAl. 
 
 Hyl. Since 'tis thy will, my fatlier, we Rubmit. 
 
 Her. Now, ere the dreadful malady return, 
 Be firm, my soul, e'en as the hardened steel; 
 Suspend thy ciies, and meet the fatal blow 
 With joy and pleasure ; bear me hence, my fnends, 
 For you have shown yourselves my friends indeed, 
 And prove the base ingratitude of those 
 From whom I sprang, the cruel gods, who saw 
 Unmoved the woes of their unhappy son. 
 'Tis not in mortal to foresee his fate ; 
 Mine is to them disgraceful, and to me 
 Most terrible — to me of all mankind 
 The most distressed, the poor, the lost Alcides. 
 
 Chor. lole, come not forth, unhappy virgin, 
 Already hast thou seen enough of woe, 
 And yet fresh sorrows wait thee ; but remember, 
 All is decreed, and all the work of Jove. 
 
QE Dipus Tyrannus. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONtE. 
 
 CEdipus, King of Thebes. 
 JoCASTA, Wife of CEdipus. 
 Creon, Brother to Jocasta. 
 TiKESiAS, a Blind Prophet of 
 ^ Thebes. 
 
 A Shepherd, from Corinth. 
 A Messenger. 
 
 ■^ An Old Shepherd,/o» wcr^y 
 
 I belonging to Laius. 
 
 I i High Priest of Jupiter. 
 Chorus, composed of the Priests 
 and Ancient Men of Thebes, 
 Theban Youths, Childrai of 
 CEdipus, Attendants, d;c. 
 
 SCENE.— Thebes, before the Palace of CEdipus. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. 
 
 CEdipus, High Priest of Jupiter. 
 
 CEdipus. my loved sons ! the youthful progeny 
 Of ancient Cadmus, wherefore sit you here 
 And suppliant thus, with sacred boughs adorned, 
 Crowd to our altars 1 Frequent sacrifice 
 And prayers and sighs and sorrows fill the land. 
 I could have sent to learn the fatal cause ; 
 But see, your anxious sovereign comes himself 
 To know it all from you ; behold your king, 
 Kenowned CEdipus ; do thou, old man, 
 
 r 
 
 L 
 
(EDI PUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 For best that office suits thy years, inform me, 
 Why you are come ; is it the present ill 
 That calls you here, or dread of future woe ? 
 Hard were indeed the heart that did not feel 
 For giief like yours, and pity such distress : 
 If there be aught that (Edipus can do 
 To serve his people, know me for your friend. 
 
 PitiEST. king ! thou seest what numbers throng thy 
 altars ; 
 Here, bending sad beneath the weight of years, 
 The hoary priests, here crowd the chosen youth 
 Of Thebes, with these a weak and suppliant train 
 Of helpless infants, last in me behold 
 The minister of J ove : far oft" thou seest 
 Assembled multitudes, with laurel crowned, 
 To where Minerva's hallowed temples rise 
 Frequent repair, or wheie Ismenus laves 
 Apollo's sacred shrine : too well thou knowst 
 Thy wi-etched Thebes, with dreadful storms oppressed, 
 Scarce lifts her head above the whelming flood ; 
 The teeming earth her blasted harvest mourns, 
 And on the barren plain the flocks and herds 
 Unnumbered perish ; dire abortion thwarts 
 The mother's hopes, and painful she brings forth 
 The half-formed infant ; baleful pestilence 
 Hath laid our city waste, the fiery god 
 Stalks o'er deserted Thebes ; whilst with our groans 
 Enriched, the gloomy god of Erebus 
 Triumphant smiles. O (Edipus ! to thee 
 We bend ; behold these youths, with me they kneel, 
 And suppliant at thy altars sue for aid, 
 To thee the first of men, and only less 
 Than them whose favour thou alone canst gain, 
 The gods above ; thy wisdom yet may heal 
 The deep-felt wounds, and make the powers divine 
 Propitious to us. Thebes long since to thee 
 Her safety owed, when from the Sphynx delivered 
 Thy gi-ateful people saw thee, not by man 
 But by the gods instructed, save the land : 
 Now then, thou best of kings, assist us now. 
 Oh ! by some mortal or immortal aid 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 221 
 
 F 
 
 ■ Now succour the distress ! On wisdom oft, 
 P And prudent counsels in the hour of ill, 
 Success awaits. dearest prince ! support, 
 Relieve thy Thebes; on thee, its saviour once. 
 Again its ."•alls. Now, if thou wouldst not see 
 The mem'ry perish of thy former deeds, 
 Let it not call in vain, but rise, and save ! 
 With happiest omens once and fair succeso 
 We saw thee crowned : oh ! be thyself again, 
 And may thy will and fortune be the same ! 
 If thou art yet to reign, O king ! remember 
 A sovereign's riches is a peopled realm ; 
 For what will ships or lofty towers avail 
 Unarmed with men to guard and to defend them ? 
 
 CEdi. my unhappy sons ! too well I know 
 Your sad estate. I know the woes of Thebes ; 
 And yet amongst you lives not such a wretch 
 As (Edipus ; for oh ! on me, my children. 
 Your sorrows press. Alas ! I feel for you 
 My people, for myself, for Thebes, for all ! 
 Think not I slept regardless of your ills ; 
 Oh no ! with many a tear I wept your fate. 
 And oft in meditation deep revolved 
 How best your peace and safety to restore : 
 The only medicine that my thoughts could find 
 I have administered : Menteceus' son. 
 The noble Creon, went by my command 
 To Delphos from Apollo's shrine, to know 
 What must be done to save this wretched land t 
 'Tis time he were returned : I wonder much 
 At his delay. If, when he comes, your king 
 Perform not all the god enjoins, then say 
 He is the worst of men. 
 
 Priest. O king ! thy words 
 
 ; Are gracious, and if right these youths inform 
 me, 
 Creon is here. 
 
 CEdi. Phoebus ! grant he come 
 
 With tidings cheerful as the smile he wears ! 
 
 Priest. He is the messenger of good ; for see, 
 His brows are crowned with laurel. 
 
 I 
 
(EDTPUS TYRANNUS, 
 
 (Ei.i. 
 Be satisfied 
 
 We shall soon 
 
 he comes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Creon, (Edipus, Priest, Chorus. 
 
 QEdi. My dearest Creon, 
 
 Oh ! say, what answer bearst thou from the god : 
 Or good, or ill ? 
 
 Creon. Good, very good ; for know, 
 
 The worst of ills, if rightly used, may prove 
 The means of happiness. 
 
 CEdi. What says my friend ? 
 
 This answer gives me nought to hope oi' fear. 
 
 Creon. Shall we retire, or would you that I speak 
 In public here ? 
 
 (Edi. Before them all declare it ; 
 
 Theii' woes sit heavier on me than my own, 
 
 Creon. Then mark what I have heard : the god 
 commands 
 That instant we drive forth the fatal cause 
 Of this dire pestilence, nor nourish here 
 The accursed monster. 
 
 (Edi. Who? What monster? How 
 
 Kemove it ? 
 
 Creon. Or by banishment, or death. 
 Life must be given for life ; for yet his blood 
 Rests on the city. 
 
 CEdi. Whose ? What means the god ? 
 
 Creon. O king ! before thee Laius ruled o'er Thebes. 
 
 (Edi. I know he did, though I did ne'er behold him. 
 
 Creon. Laius was slain, and on his murderers, 
 So Phoebus says, we must have vengeance. 
 
 (Edi. Where, 
 
 Where are the murderers ? Who shall trace the guilt 
 ]5uried so long in silence ? 
 
 Creon. Here, he said. 
 
 E'en in this land, what's sought for may be found, 
 But truth unsearched for seldom comes to hght. 
 
(EDTPUS TYRANNUS. 223 
 
 CEdi. How did he fall, and where ? — at home, 
 abroad 1 
 Died he at Thebes, or in a foreign land ? 
 
 Creon. He left his palace, fame reports, to seek 
 Some oracle ; since that, we ne'er beheld him. 
 
 G]di. But did no messenger return ? Not one 
 Of all his train, of whom we might inquire 
 Touching this murder ? 
 
 Creon. One, and one alone, 
 
 Came back, who, flying, 'scaped th^ general slaughter. 
 But nothing save one little circumstance 
 Or knew, or e'er related. 
 
 CEdi. What was that ? 
 
 Much may be learned from that. A little dawn 
 Of light appearing may discover all. 
 
 Creon. Laius, attacked by robbers, and oppressed 
 By numbers, fell. Such is his tale. 
 
 CEdi. Would they— 
 
 Would robbers do so desperate a deed, 
 Unbribed and unassisted ? 
 
 Creon. So, indeed. 
 
 Suspicion whispered then. But — Laius dead — 
 No friend was found to vindicate the wrong. 
 
 Q^Di. But what strange cause could stop inquiry 
 thus 
 Into the murder of a king ? 
 
 Creon. The Sphynx. 
 
 Her dire enigma kept our thoughts intent 
 On present ills, nor gave us time to search 
 The past mysterious deed. 
 
 (Edi. ' Myself will try 
 
 Soon to unveil it. Thou, Apollo, well, 
 And well hast thou, my Creon, lent thy aid. 
 Your QEdipus shall now perform his part. 
 Yes, I will fight for Phoebus and my country. 
 And so I ought. For not to friends alone, 
 Or kindred, owe I this, but to myself. 
 Who murdered him, perchance would murder me I 
 His cause is mine. Wherefore, my children, rise; 
 Take hence your suppliant boughs, and summon here 
 The race of Cadmus — my assembled people. 
 
^^^^^H (EDIPUS TYRANNUS. ^H 
 
 Nought shall be left untried. Apollo leads, 9 
 
 ■7 And we shall rise to joy, or sink for ever. 
 
 Priest, llaste, then, my sons, for this we hither 
 came : 
 About it quick, and may the god who sent 
 This oracle, protect, defend, and save us ! \Excio^*, 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 ' Strophe i. 
 
 O thou great oracle divine ! 
 Who didst to happy Thebes remove 
 
 From Delphi's golden shrine. 
 And in sweet sounds declare the will of Jove. 
 
 Daughter of hope, oh ! soothe my soul to rest, 
 
 And calm the rising tumult in my breast. 
 Look down, Phoebus ! on thy loved abode. 
 
 Speak, for thou knowst the dark decrees of fate, 
 
 Our present and our future state. 
 Delian ! be thou still our healing god ? 
 
 Antistrojihe i. 
 
 Minerva, first on thee I call. 
 Daughter of Jove, immortal maid, 
 
 Low beneath thy feet we fall : 
 Oh ! bring thy sister Dian to our aid. 
 
 Goddess of Thebes, from thy imperial throne 
 
 Look with an eye of gentle pity down ; 
 And thou, far-shooting Phoebus, once the friend 
 
 Of this unhappy, this devoted land. 
 
 Oh ! now, if ever, let thy hand 
 Once more be stretched to save and to defend ! 
 
 StropJie 2. 
 
 Great Thel>es, my sons, is now no more ; 
 She falls and ne'er again shall rise, 
 
 Nought can her health or strength restore, 
 Tlie mighty nation sinks, she droops, she dies. 
 
CEDIPUS TYJ^ANNCJS. 
 
 Stripped of her fruits, behold the barren earth — 
 
 The half-formed infant struggles for a birth. 
 The mother sinks unequal to her pain : 
 
 Whilst quick as birds in airy circles fly, 
 
 Or lightnings from an angry sky, 
 Crowds press on crowds to Pluto's dark domain. 
 
 Antistroplie 2. 
 
 Behold what heaps of wretches slain, 
 
 Unburied, unlamented lie, 
 
 Nor parents now^ nor friends remain 
 
 To grace their deaths with pious obsequy. 
 The aged matron and the blooming wife, 
 Cling to the altars — sue for added life. 
 
 With sighs and groans united Pseans rise ; 
 Re-echoed, still doth great Apollo's name 
 Their sorrows and their wants proclaim. 
 
 Frequent to him ascends the sacrifice. 
 
 Stroiihe 3. 
 
 Haste then, Minerva, beauteous maid, 
 Descend in this afflictive hour. 
 
 Haste to thy dying people's aid. 
 Drive hence this baneful, this destructive power ! 
 
 Who comes not armed with hostile sword or shield. 
 
 Yet strews with many a corse th' ensanguined field; 
 To Amphitrite's wide extending bed 
 
 Oh ! drive him, goddess, from thy favourite land, 
 
 Or let him, by thy dread command, 
 Bury in Thracian waves his ignominious head, 
 
 Antistrophe 3. 
 
 Father of all, immortal Jove ! 
 Oh ! now thy fiery terrors send ; 
 
 From thy dreadful stores above 
 Let lightnings blast him and let thunder*? rend 
 
 And thou, Lydian king ! thy a'd impart ; 
 
 Send from thy golden bow, th' unerring dart ; 
 
 225 
 
(EDI PUS TYRA^XUS. 
 
 Bmile, chaste Diana, on this loved abode, 
 
 Whilst Theban Bacchus joins the maddening throng. 
 
 O god of wine and mirth and song ! 
 Now with thy torch destroy the base inglorious god. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 CEdipus, Chorus. The Peo2)le assembled, 
 
 CEdi. Your prayers are heard : and if you will obey 
 Your king, and hearken to his words, you soon 
 Shall find relief ; myself will heal your woes. 
 I was a stranger to the dreadful deed, 
 A stranger e'en to the report till now ; 
 And yet without some traces of the crime 
 I should not urge this matter ; therefore hear me. 
 I speak to all the citizens of Thebes, 
 Myself a citizen — observe me Avell : 
 If any know the murderer of Laius, 
 Let him reveal it ; I command you all. 
 But if restrained by dread of punishment 
 He hide the secret, let him fear no more ; 
 For nought but exile shall attend the crime 
 Whene'er confessed ; if by a foreign hand 
 The horrid deed was done, who points him out 
 Commands our thanks, and meets a sure reward ; 
 But if there be who knows the murderer, 
 And yet conceals him from us, mark his fate. 
 Which here I do pronounce : Let none receive 
 Throughout my kingdom, none hold converse with him, 
 Nor offer prayer, nor sprinkle o'er his head 
 The sacred cup ; let him be driven from all, 
 By all abandoned, and by all accursed, 
 For so the Delphic oracle declared ; 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS, 227 
 
 And therefore to the gods I pay this duty 
 
 And to the dead. Oh ! may the guilty wretch, 
 
 Whether alone, or by his impious friends 
 
 Assisted, he performed the horrid deed, 
 
 Denied the common benefits of nature, 
 
 Wear out a painful life ! And oh ! if here, 
 
 Within my palace, I conceal the traitoi-, 
 
 On me and mine alight the vengeful curse ! 
 
 To you, my people, I commit the care 
 
 Of this important business ; 'tis my cause. 
 
 The cause of Heaven, and your expii'ing country. 
 
 E'en if the god had nought declared, to leave 
 
 This crime unexpiated were most ungrateful. 
 
 He was the best of kings, the best of men ; 
 
 That sceptre now is mine which Laius boie ; 
 
 His wife is mine ; so would his children be 
 
 Did any live ; and therefore am I bound. 
 
 E'en as he were my father, to revenge him. 
 
 Yes, I will try to find this murderer, 
 
 I owe it to the son of Labdacus, 
 
 To Polydorus, Cadmus, and the race 
 
 If great Agenor. Oh ! if yet there are, 
 
 Who will not join me in the pious deed. 
 
 From such may earth withhold her annual store, 
 
 And barren be their bed, their life most wretched,. 
 
 And their death cruel as the pestilence 
 
 That wastes our city ! But on you, my Thebans, 
 
 Who wish us fair success, may justice smile 
 
 Propitious, and the gods for ever bless ! 
 
 Chor. king ! thy imprecations unappalled 
 I hear, and join thee, guiltless of the crime. 
 Nor knowing who committed it. The god 
 Alone, who gave the oracle, must clear 
 Its doubtful sense, and point out the offender. 
 
 (Edi. 'Tis true. But who shall force the powers 
 divine 
 To speak their hidden purpose % 
 
 Chor. One thing more, 
 
 If I might speak. 
 
 (Edi. Say on, whate'er thy mind 
 
 Shall dictate to thee. 
 
CEDIPUS TVRANNUS. 
 
 Chor. As amongst the gods 
 
 All-knowing Phabus, so to mortal men 
 Doth sage Tiresias in foreknowledge sure 
 Shine forth pre-eminent. Perchance his aid 
 Might much avail us. 
 
 CEdi. Creon did suggest 
 
 The same expedient, and by his advice 
 Twice have I sent for tliis Tiresias ; much 
 I wonder that he comes not. 
 
 Choii. 'Tis most fitting 
 
 We do consult him ; for the idle tales 
 Which rumour spreads are not to be regarded. 
 
 CEdi. What are those tales % for nought should we 
 despise. 
 
 Chor. 'Tis said some travellers did attack the king 
 
 QEdi. It is; but still no proof appears. 
 
 Chor. And yet, 
 
 If it be so, thy dreadful execration 
 Will force the guilty to confess. 
 
 (Edi. Oh no ! 
 
 Who fears not to commit the crime will ne'er 
 Be frightened at the curse that follows it. 
 
 Chor. Behold he comes, who will discover all. 
 The holy prophet. See ! they lead him hither ; 
 He knows the truth and will reveal it to us. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Tiresias, (Edipus, Chorus. 
 
 CKdi. sage Tiresias, thou who knowest all 
 That can be known, the things of heaven above 
 And earth below, whose mental eye beholds, 
 BUnd as thou art, the state of dying Thebes, 
 And weeps her fate, to thee we look for aid, 
 On thee alone for safety we depend. 
 This answer, which perchance thou hast not heard, 
 Apollo gave : the plague, he said, should cease 
 When those who murdered Laius w^ere discovered 
 And paid the forfeit of their crime by death 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNVS. 229 
 
 Or banishment. Oh ! do not then conceal 
 Aught that thy art prophetic from the flight 
 Of birds or other omens may disclose. 
 Oh ! save thyself, save this afflicted city, 
 Save CEdipus, avenge the guiltless dead 
 From this pollution ! Thou art all our hope ; 
 Remember, 'tis the privilege of man, 
 His noblest function, to assist the wretched. 
 
 TiR. Alas ! what misery it is to know 
 When knowledge is thus fatal ! O Tiresias ! 
 Thou art undone ! Would I had never come ! 
 
 CEdi. What sayst thou ? Whence this strange 
 dejection ? Speak. 
 
 Till. Let me be gone ; 'twere better for us both 
 That I retire in silence : be advised. 
 
 0]di. It is ingratitude to Tiiebes, who bore 
 And cherished thee — ^^it is unjust to all, 
 To hide the will of heaven. 
 
 TiR. 'Tis rash in thee 
 
 To ask, and rash I fear will prove my answer. 
 
 Chor. Oh ! do not, by the gods, conceal it from us, 
 Suppliant we all request, we all conjure thee. 
 
 TiR. You know not what you ask ; I'll not unveil 
 Your miseries to you. 
 
 CEdi. Knowst thou then our fate, 
 
 And wilt not tell it % Meanst thou to betray 
 Thy country and thy king ? 
 
 TiR. I would not make 
 
 Myself and thee unhappy ; why thus blame 
 My tender care, nor listen to my caution % 
 
 CEdi. Wretch as thou art, thou wouldst provoke a 
 stone — ■ 
 
 Inflexible and cruel — still implored 
 And still refusing. 
 
 TiR. Thou condemn'st my warmth, 
 
 Forgetful of thy own. 
 
 CEdi. Who would not rage 
 
 To see an injured people ti-eated thus 
 With vile contempt ? 
 
 TiR. What is decreed by heaven 
 
 Must come to pa,ss, though I reveal it not. 
 
aCDlPUS TVRANNUS. 
 
 i^m. Still, 'tis thy duty to inform us of it. ■ 
 
 Till. I'll speak no more, not though thine luigor ^ 
 swell 
 E'en to its utmost. 
 
 CEdi. Nor will I be silent. 
 
 1 tell thee once for all thou wert thyself 
 Accomplice in thi.s deed. Nay, more, 1 think, 
 But for thy blindness, wouldst with thy own hand 
 Have done it too. 
 
 TiR. 'Tis well. Now hear, Tiresius. 
 
 The sentence, which thou didst thyself proclaim, 
 Falls on thyself. Henceforth shall never man 
 Hold converse with thee, for thou art accursed — 
 The guilty cause of all this city's woes. 
 
 CEdi. Audacious traitor ! thinkst thou to escape 
 The hand of vengeance ? 
 
 TiR. Yes, I fear thee not ; 
 
 For truth is stronger than a tyi-ant's ai-m. 
 
 CEdi. Whence didst thou learn this ? Was it from 
 thy art? 
 
 TiR. I learned it from thyself. Thou didst compel 
 me 
 To speak, unwilHng as I was. 
 
 CEdi. Once more 
 
 Ilepeat it then, that I may know my fate 
 More plainly still. 
 
 TiR. Is it not plain already ? 
 
 Or meanst thou but to tempt me ? 
 
 CEdi. No, but say, 
 
 ©'peak it again. 
 
 TiR. Again then I declare 
 
 Thou art thyself the murderer whom thou seekst. 
 
 CEdi. A second time thou shalt not pass unpunished. 
 
 TiR. What wouldst thou say, if I should tell thee all % 
 
 (Edi. Say what thou wilt. For all is false. 
 
 TiR. Know then, 
 
 That CEdipus, in shameful bonds united 
 With those he loves, unconscious of his guilt, 
 Is yet most guilty. 
 
 CEdi. Dar'st thou utter mwe, 
 
 And hope for pardon % 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 231 
 
 Tie. Yes, if there be strength 
 
 In sacred truth. 
 
 CEdi. But truth dwells not in thee : 
 
 Thy body and thy mind are dark alike, 
 For both are blind. Thy ev'ry sense is lost. 
 
 TiR. Thou dost upbraid me with the loss of that 
 For which thyself ere long shall meet reproach 
 From every tongue. 
 
 CEdi. Thou blind and impious traitor ! 
 
 Thy darkness is thy safeguard, or this hour 
 Had been thy last. 
 
 Tie. It is not in my fate 
 
 To fall by thee. Apollo guards his priest. 
 
 (Edi. Was this the tale of Creon, or thy own % 
 
 Tie. Creon is guiltless, and the crime is thine. 
 
 (Edi. riches, power, dominion ! and thou far 
 Above them all, the best of human blessings, 
 Excelling wisdom, how doth envy love 
 To follow and oppress you ! This fair kingdom, 
 Which by the nation's choice, and not my own, 
 I here possess, Creon, my faithful friend. 
 For such I thought him once, would now wrest from me. 
 And hath suborned this vile impostor here. 
 This wandering hypocrite, of sharpest sight 
 When interest prompts, but ignorant and blind 
 When fools consult him. Tell me, prophet, where 
 Was all thy art when the abhorred Sphynx 
 Alarmed our city 1 Wherefore did not then 
 Thy wisdom save us? Then the man divine 
 Was wanting. But thy birds refused their omens, 
 Thy god was silent. Then came (Edipus, 
 This poor, unlearned, uninstructed sage ; 
 Who not from birds uncertain omens drew, 
 But by his own sagacious mind explored 
 The hidden mystery. And now thou com'st 
 To cast me from the throne my wisdom gained, 
 And share with Creon my divided empire. 
 But you should both lament your ill-got power, 
 You and your bold compeer. For thee, this moment. 
 But that I bear respect unto thy age, 
 I'd make thee rue thy execrable purpose. 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 CiiOR. You both are angry, tlierefore both to blame ; 
 Much rather should you join, witli friendly zeal 
 And mutual ardour, to explore the will 
 Of all-deciding Heaven. 
 
 Till. What though thou lul'st 
 
 O'er Thebes despotic, we are equal here : 
 I am Apollo's subj(>ct, and not thine, 
 I^or w'Awi J C^-eon to protect me. No ; 
 I tell thee, king, this blind Tiresias tells thee, 
 Seeing thou seest not, knowst not where thou art, 
 What, or with whom. Canst thou inform me who 
 Thy parents are, and what thy horrid crimes 
 'Gainst thy own race, the living and the dead ? 
 A father's and a mother's curse attend thee ; 
 Soon shall their furies drive thee from the land, 
 And leave thee dark like me. Whnt mountain then, 
 Or conscious shore, shall not return the groans 
 Of Ql^dipus, and echo to his woes ? 
 When thou shalt look on the detested bed, 
 And in that haven where thou hop'st to rest, 
 Shalt meet with storm and tempest, then what ills 
 Shall fall on thee and thine ! Now vent thy rage 
 On old Tiresias and the guiltless Creon ; 
 We shall be soon avenged, for ne'er did Heaven 
 Cut off a wTetch so base, so vile as thou art. 
 
 CEdi. Must I bear this from thee ? Away, begone ! 
 Home, villain, home ! 
 
 TiR. I did not come to thee 
 
 Unsent for. 
 
 CEdi. Had I thought thou wouldst have thus 
 Insulted me, I had not called thee hither. 
 
 TiR. Perhaps thou holdst I'iresias as a fool 
 And madman ; but th/ parents thought me wise. 
 
 (Edj. My parents, saidst thou ? Speak, who were my 
 parents ? 
 
 TiR. This day, that gives thee life, shall give thee 
 death. 
 
 CEdi. Still dark, and still perplexing are the words 
 Thou utter'st. 
 
 TiR. 'Tis thy business to unriddle, 
 And therefore thou canst best interpret them. 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 233 
 
 CEdi. Thou dost reproach me for my virtues. 
 
 TiR. They, 
 
 And thy good fortune, have undone thee. 
 
 (Edi. Since 
 
 I saved the city, I'm content. 
 
 TiR. Farewell. 
 
 Boy, lead me hence. 
 
 CEdi. Away with him, for here 
 His presence but disturbs us ; being gone, 
 We shall be happier. 
 
 TiR. (Edipus, I go. 
 
 But first inform me, for I fear thee not, 
 Wherefore I came. Know then, I came to tell thee, 
 The man thou seekst, the man on whom thou pouredst 
 Thy execrations, e'en the murderer 
 Of Laius, now is here — a seeming stranger 
 And yet a Theban. He shall suffer soon 
 For all his crimes ; from light and affluence driven 
 To penury and darkness, poor and blind. 
 Propped on his staff, and from his native land 
 Expelled, I see him in a foreign clime 
 A helpless wanderer ; to his sons at once 
 A father and a brother ; child and husband 
 Of her from whom he sprang. Adulterous, 
 Incestuous parricide, now fare thee well ! 
 Go, learn the truth, and if it be not so. 
 Say I have ne'er deserved the name of prophet. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe I. 
 
 When will the guilty wretch appear. 
 Whom Delphi's sacred oracle demands ; 
 
 Author of crimes too black for mortal ear, 
 Dipping in royal blood his sacrilegious hands'? 
 Swift as the storm by rapid whirlwinds driven ; 
 Quick let him fly th' impending wrath of Heaven ; 
 
 For lo ! the angry son of Jove, 
 
 Armed with red lightnings from above. 
 Pursues the murderer with immortal hate, 
 And round him spreads the snares of unrelenting fate. 
 
234 
 
 CEDIPUS TYR ANNUS. 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 From steep Parnassus' rocky cave, 
 Covered with snow, came forth tlie di-ead command ; 
 
 Apollo thence his sacred mandate gave, 
 To search the man of blood through every land : 
 Silent and sad, the weary wanderer roves 
 O'er pathless rocks and solitary groves, 
 
 Hoping to 'scape the wrath divine. 
 
 Denounced from great Apollo's shrine ; 
 Vain hopes to 'scape the fate by Heaven decreed. 
 For vengeance hovers still o'er his devoted head. 
 
 Strojyhe 2. 
 
 Tiresias, famed for wisdom's lore. 
 Hath dreadful ills to CEdipus divined ; 
 
 And as his words mysterious I explore. 
 Unnumbered doubts perplex my anxious mind. 
 Now raised by hope, and now with fears oppressed, 
 Sorrow and joy alternate till my breast : 
 
 How should these hapless kings be foes. 
 
 When never strife between them rose ? 
 Or why should Laius, slain by hands unknown. 
 Bring foul disgrace on Polybus' unhappy son ? 
 
 Antistro2)he 2. 
 
 From Phoebus and all-seeing Jove 
 Nought can be hid of actions here below ; 
 
 But earthly prophets may deceitful prove. 
 And little more than other mortals know : 
 'riiough much in wisdom man doth man excel. 
 In all that 's human error still must dwell : 
 
 Could he commit the bloody deed. 
 
 Who from the Sphinx our city freed? 
 Ob, no ! he never shed the guiltless blood ; 
 The Sphynx declares him wise, and innocent^ and good. 
 
CEDTPUS TYRANNUS. 235 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Ckeon, Otiorus 
 
 Creon. citizens ! with grief T hear your king 
 Hath blasted the fair fame of guiltless Creon ! 
 And most unjustly brands me with a crime 
 My soul abhors : whilst desolation spreads 
 On every side, and universal ruin 
 Hangs o'er the land, if I in word or deed 
 Could join to swell the woes of hapless Thebes, 
 T were unworthy — nay, I would not wish — 
 To live another day : alas ! my friends. 
 Thus to be deemed a traitor to my country, 
 To you my fellow- citizens, to all 
 That hear me, 'tis infamy and shame ; 
 I cannot, will not bear it. 
 
 Chor. 'Twas th' effect 
 
 Of sudden anger only — wliat lie said 
 But could not think. 
 
 Creon. Who told him I suborned 
 
 The prophet to speak falsely 1 What could raise 
 This vile suspicion ? 
 
 Chor. Such he had, but whence 
 
 I know not. 
 
 Creon, Talked he thus with firm composure 
 And confidence of mind ? 
 
 Chor. I cannot say ; 
 
 'Tis not for me to know the thoughts of kings, 
 Or judge their actions ! But behold ! he comes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 CEdipus, Creon, Chorus. 
 
 CEdi. Ha ! Creon here ? And dar'st thou thus 
 approach 
 My palace, thou who wouldst have murdered me, 
 
23^> 
 
 (TDTPUS TYRj 
 
 And tnVn my kin^'tlom ? 15y the gocls I ask theo ; 
 
 Answer me, traitor, didst thou think me fool, 
 
 Or coward, that I could not see thy arts, 
 
 Or had not strength to vanquish them ? What madness, 
 
 What strange infatuation led thee on, 
 
 Without or force or friends, to grasp at empire, 
 
 Which only their united force can give ? 
 
 What wei't thou doing % 
 
 Creon. Hear what I shall answer, 
 
 Then judge impartial. 
 
 (Edi. Thou canst talk it well, 
 
 But I shall ne'er attend to thee ; thy guilt 
 Js plain ; thou art my deadliest foe. 
 
 CiiEOX. But hear 
 
 What I shall urge. 
 
 GilDi. 8ay not thou art innocent. 
 
 C'REON. If self-opinion void of reason seem 
 Conviction to thee, know, thou errVt most gi'ossly 
 
 CEdi. And thou more grossly, if thou thinkst to pass 
 Unpunished for this injury to thy friend. 
 
 Creon. I should not, were I guilty ; but w^hat crime 
 Have I committed % Tell me. 
 
 (Edi. Wert not thou 
 
 The man who urged me to require the aid 
 Of your all-knowing prophet % 
 
 Creon. True, I was; 
 
 1 did persuade you ; so I would again. 
 
 CEdi. How long is it since Laius 
 
 Creon. Laius ! What ? 
 
 CEdi. Since Laius fell by hands unknown % 
 
 Creon. A long, 
 
 Long tract of years. 
 
 CEdi. Was this Tiresias then 
 
 A prophet % 
 
 Creon. Ay ; in wisdom and in fame 
 As now excelling. 
 
 CEdi. Did he then say aught 
 
 Concerning me 1 
 
 Creon. I never heard he did. 
 
 CEdi. Touching this murder, did you ne'er inquire 
 Who were the authors ? 
 
23: 
 
 Creon. Doubtless ; but in vain. 
 
 (Edi. Why did not this same prophet then inform you 
 Creon. I know not that, and when I'm ignorant 
 I'm always silent. 
 
 CEdi. What concerns thyself 
 
 At least thou knowst, and therefore shouklst declare it. 
 Creon. What is it 1 Speak ; and if 'tis in my power, 
 I'll answer thee. 
 
 (Edi. Thou knowst, if this Tiresias 
 
 Had not combined with thee, he would not thus 
 Accuse me as the murderer of Laius, 
 
 Creon. What he declares, thou best canst tell : of me, 
 What thou requirest, myself am yet to learn. 
 
 CEdi. Go, learn it then ; but ne'er shalt thou discover, 
 That CEdi pus is guilty. 
 
 Creon. Art not thou 
 
 My sister's husband ? 
 
 CEdi. Granted. 
 
 Creon. Joined with her, 
 
 Thou rul'st o'er Thebes. 
 
 CEdi. 'Tis true, and all she asks 
 
 Most fi^eely do I give her. 
 
 Creon. Is not Creon 
 
 In honour next to you ? 
 
 CEdi. Thou art ; and therefore 
 
 The more ungrateful. 
 
 Creon. Hear what I shall plead 
 
 And thou wilt never think so. Tell me, prince, 
 Is there a man who would prefer a throne. 
 With all its dangers, to an equal rank 
 In peace and safety 1 I am not of those 
 Who choose the name of king before the power ; 
 Fools only make such wishes : I have all 
 From thee, and fearless I enjoy it all : 
 Had I the sceptre, often must I act 
 Against my will. Know then, I am not yet 
 So void of sense and reason as to quit 
 A real Vantage for a seeming good. 
 Am I not happy, am I not revered. 
 Embraced, and loved by all ? To me they come 
 Who want thy favour, and by me acquire it ; 
 
23^? 
 
 (EDIPUS TVRANNUS. 
 
 What then should Ci*eon wisli for ; shall he lear© 
 All this for empire? Bad desires corrupt 
 The fairest mind. I never entertained 
 A thought 80 vile, nor would I lend my aid 
 To forwai'd such base purposes. But go 
 To Delphos, ask the sacred oracle 
 If I have spoke the truth ; if there you find 
 That with the prophet I conspired, destroy 
 The guilty Creon ; not thy voice alone 
 Shall then condemn me, for myself will join 
 In the just sentence. But accnse me not 
 On weak suspicion's most uncertain test. 
 Justice would never call the wicked good, 
 Or brand fair virtue with the name of vice, 
 Unmerited : to cast away a friend, 
 Faithful and just, is to deprive ourselves 
 Of life and being, which we hold most dear : 
 But time and time alone revealeth all ; 
 That only shows the good man's excellence : 
 I A day sufficeth to unmask the wicked. 
 
 Chor. O king ! his caution merits your regard ; 
 Who judge in haste do seldom judge aright. 
 
 CEdi. When they are quick who plot against my life, 
 'Tis fit I should be quick in my defence ; 
 If I am tame and silent, all they wish 
 Will soon be done, and CEdipus must fall. 
 
 Creon. What wouldst thou have ? my banishment ? 
 
 CEdi. Thy death, 
 
 Creon. But first inform me wherefore I should die. 
 
 CEdi. Dost thou rebel then ? Wilt thou not submit ? 
 
 Creon. Not when I see thee thus deceived. 
 
 CEdi. 'Tis fit 
 
 I should defend my own. 
 
 Creon. And so should I. 
 
 CEdi. Thou art a traitor. 
 
 Creon. AVhat if it should prove 
 
 I am not so. 
 
 CEdi. A king must be obeyed. 
 
 Creon. Not if his orders are unjust. 
 
 CEdi. Thebes ! 
 
 O citizens ! 
 
(EDTPUS TYRANNUS. 239 
 
 Creon. I too can call on Thebes \ 
 She is my country. 
 
 Chor. Oh ! no more, my lords ; 
 
 For see, Jocasta comes in happiest hour 
 To end your contest. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Jocasta, C'reon, OIdipus, Chorus. 
 
 Joe. Whence this sudden tumult ? 
 
 O princes ! Is this well, at such a time 
 With idle broils to multiply the woes 
 Of wretched Thebes % Home, home, for shame ! nor 
 
 thus 
 With private quarrels swell the public ruin. 
 
 Creon. Sister, thy husband hath most basely used 
 me; 
 He threatens me with banishment or death. 
 
 GEdi. I do confess it ; for he did conspire 
 With vile and Avicked arts against my life. 
 
 Creon. Oh ! may I never prosper, but accursed, 
 XJnpitied, perish if I ever did. 
 
 Joe. Believe him, CEdipus ; revere the gods 
 Whom he contests, if thou dost love Jocasta ; 
 Thy subjects beg it of thee. 
 
 Chor. Hear, king ! 
 
 Consider, we entreat thee. 
 
 (Em. What wouldst have ? 
 
 Think you I'll e'er submit to him % 
 
 Chor. Revere 
 
 His character, his oath, both pleading for him. 
 
 CEdi. But know you what you ask % 
 
 Chor. We do. 
 
 (Edi. What is it ? 
 
 Chor. We ask thee to believe a guiltless friend, 
 Nor cast him forth dishonoured thus, on slight 
 Suspicion's weak surmise. 
 
 CEdi. Bequesting this, 
 
 You do request my banishment, or death. 
 
 Chor. No ; by yon leader of the heavenly host, 
 
iao 
 
 Th' immortal sun, 1 liail not such a thought ; 
 I only felt for Thebes' distressful state, 
 And would not have it by domestic strife 
 Embittered thus. 
 
 CEdi. Why, let liim then depart : 
 
 If G^dipus must die, or leave his country 
 For shameful exile, be it so ; 1 yield 
 To thy request, not his ; for hateful still 
 Shall Cieon ever be. 
 
 Creon. Thy stubborn soul 
 
 Bends with reluctance, and when anger fiies it 
 Is terrible ; but natures formed like thine 
 Are their own punishment. 
 
 CEdi. Wilt thou not hence 1 
 
 Wilt not begone ? 
 
 Creon. I go ; thou knowst me not ; 
 
 But these will do me justice. [Exit Creon. 
 
 i 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 JOCASTA, (EdIPUS, ChORUS. 
 
 Chor. Princess, now 
 
 Persuade him to retire. 
 
 Joe. First, let me know 
 
 The cause of this dissension. 
 
 Chor. From reports 
 
 Uncertain, and suspicions most injurious. 
 The quarrel rose. 
 
 Joe. Was th' accusation mutual 1 
 
 Chor. It w\as. 
 
 Joe. AVhat followed then ? 
 
 Chor. Ask me no more ; 
 
 Enough 's already known ; we '11 not repeat 
 The woes of hapless Thebes. 
 . CEdi. You are all blind, 
 
 Insensible, unjust; you love me not, 
 Yet boast your piety. 
 
 Chor. I said before. 
 
 Again I say, that not to love my king 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 241 
 
 E'en as myself, would mark me for the worst 
 Of men. For thou didst save expiring Thebes. 
 Oh ! rise once more, protect, preserve thy country 1 
 
 Joe. king ! inform me, whence this strange dissen- 
 sion ? 
 
 CEdi, I'll tell thee, my Jocasta, for thou knowst 
 The love I bear thee, what this wicked Creon 
 Did artfully devise against me. 
 
 Joe. Speak it, 
 
 If he indeed be guilty. 
 
 (Edi. Creon says 
 
 That I did murder Laius. 
 
 Joe. Spake he this 
 
 As knowing it himself, or from another ? 
 
 (Edi. He had suborned that evil-working priest, 
 And sharpens every tongue against his king. 
 
 Joe. Let not a fear perplex thee, (Edipus ; 
 Mortals know nothing of futurity, 
 And these prophetic seers are all impostors ; 
 I'll prove it to thee. Know then, Laius once, 
 Not from Apollo, but his priests, received 
 An oracle, which said it was decreed 
 He should be slain by his own son, the offspring 
 Of Laius and Jocasta. Yet he fell 
 By strangers, murdered, for so fame reports, 
 By robbers, in the place where_three Avays meet. 
 A son was born, but ere three days had passed 
 The infant's feet were bored. A servant took 
 And left him on the pathless mountain's top. 
 To perish there. Thus Phoebus ne'er decreed 
 That he should kill his father, or that Laius, 
 Which much he feared, should by his son be slain. 
 Such is the truth of oracles. Henceforth 
 Regard them not. What heaven would have us know,}' 
 It can with ease unfold, and will reveal it. ^ 
 
 CEdi. What thou hast said, Jocasta, much disturbs 
 me; 
 I tremble at it. 
 
 Joe. Wherefore shouldst thou fear ? 
 
 CEdi. Methought I heard thee say, Laius was slain 
 Where three ways meet. 
 
242 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 Joe. 'Twas so reported then, 
 
 And is so still. 
 
 CEdi. Where happened the misfortune 1 
 
 Joe. In Phocis, where the roads unite that lead ^ 
 To Delphi and to Daulia. 
 
 (Edi. How long since ? 
 
 Joe. A little time ere you began to reign 
 O'er Thebes, we heard it. 
 
 CEdi. almighty Jove ! 
 
 What -vvilt thou do with me ? 
 
 Joe. Why talkst thou thus 'f 
 
 GEdi. Ask me no more ; but tell me of this Laius : 
 What was his age and stature 1 
 
 J oc. He was tall ; 
 
 His hairs just turning to the silver hue ; 
 His form not much unlike thy own. 
 
 (Em. me ! 
 
 Sure I have called down curses on myself 
 Unknowing. 
 
 Joe Ha ! what sayst thou, CEdipus ? 
 
 I tremble whilst I look on thee. 
 
 OEdi. Oh ! much 
 
 1 fear the prophet saw too well ; but say, 
 One thing will make it clear. 
 
 Joe. I dread to hear it ; 
 
 Yet speak, and I will tell thee'. 
 
 GEdi. Went he forth 
 
 With few attendants, or a numerous train. 
 In kingly pomp % 
 
 Joe. They were but tive in all. 
 
 The herald with them ; but one chariot there. 
 Which carried Laius. 
 
 CEdt, Oh ! 'tis but too plain. 
 
 Who 1 wrought the news 1 
 
 Joe. A servant, who alone 
 
 Escaped with Ufe. 
 
 CEdi. That servant, is he here 1 
 
 Joe. Oh no ! His master slain, when he returned 
 And saw thee on the throne of Thebes, with piayer 
 Most earnest he beseeched me to dismiss him, 
 That he might leave this city, where he wished 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 243 
 
 No longer to be seen, but to retire, 
 And feed my flocks ; I granted his request, 
 For that and more his honest services 
 Had merited. 
 
 OEdi. I beg he may be sent for 
 
 Immediately. 
 
 Joe. He shall ; but wherefore is it ? 
 
 CEdi. I fear thou 'st said too much, and therefore wish 
 To see him. 
 
 Joe. He shall come ; but, O my lord ! 
 
 Am I not worthy to be told the cause 
 Of this distress ? 
 
 CEdi. Thou art, and I will tell thee ; 
 
 Thou art my hope — to whom should I impart 
 My sorrows, but to thee % Know then, Jocasta, 
 I am the son of Polybus, who reigns 
 At Corinth, and the Dorian Merope 
 His queen ; there long I held the foremost rank, 
 Honoured and happy, when a strange event 
 (For strange it was, though little meriting 
 The deep concern I felt) alarmed me much : 
 A drunken reveller at a feast proclaimed 
 That I was only fixe ^'apposed son_ ^^...-. 
 Of Corinth's king. Scarce could I bear that day 
 The vile reproach. The next, I sought my parents 
 And asked of them the truth ; they too, enraged, 
 Resented much the base indignity. 
 I liked their tender warmth, but still I felt 
 A secret anguish, and, unknown to them, 
 Sought out the Pythian oracle. In vain. 
 Touching my parents nothing could I learn ; 
 But dreadful were the miseries it denounced 
 Against me. 'Twas my fate, Apollo said, 
 To wed my mother, to produce a race 
 Accursed and abhorred ; and last, to slay 
 My father who begat me. Sad decree ! 
 Lest I should e'er fulfil the dire prediction, 
 Instant I fled from Corinth, by the stars 
 Guiding my hapless journey to the place 
 Where thou report'st this wretched king was slain. 
 But I will tell thee the whole truth. At length 
 
came to where the three ways meet, when, lo! 
 I A herald, with another man hke him 
 ! Wliom thou describst, and in a cliariot, met me. 
 Both strove with violence to drive me back ; 
 Enraged, I struck the charioteer, when straight. 
 As I advanced, the old man saw, and twice 
 Smote me o' th' head, but dearly soon repaid 
 The insult on me ; from his chariot rolled 
 Prone on the earth, beneath my staff he fell, 
 And instantly expired ! Th' attendant train 
 All shared his fate. If this unhappy stranger 
 And Laius be the same, lives there a wretch 
 So cursed, so hateful to the gods as I am ? 
 Nor citizen nor alien must receive, 
 Or converse, or communion hold with me, 
 But drive me forth with infamy and shame. 
 The dreadful curse pronounced with my own lips 
 Shall soon o'ertake me. I have stained the bed 
 Of him whom I had murdered ; am I then 
 Aught but pollution ? If I fly from hence, 
 The bed of incest meets me, and I go 
 Tc sby m^ father Polybus, the best, 
 The tenderest parent. This must bo. the work 
 Of some malignant power. Ye righteous gods ! 
 ^Let me not seejbhatdaj'-, but rest in death, 
 Bather than su'ffer such calamity. 
 
 Chor. O king ! we pity thy distress: but w^ait 
 With patience his arrival, and despair not. 
 
 CEdi. That shepherd is my only hope : Jocasta, 
 Would he were here ! 
 
 Joe. Suppose he were ; what then ? 
 
 What wouldst thou do ? 
 
 CEdi. I'll tell thee : if he says 
 
 The same as thou dost, I am safe and guiltless. 
 
 Joe. What said I, th&n ? 
 
 CEdi. Thou saidst he did report 
 
 Laius was slain by robbers ; if 'tis true 
 He fell by numbers, I am innocent, 
 For I was unattended ; if but one 
 Attacked and slew him, doubtless I am he. 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS, 
 
 45 
 
 Joe. Be satisfied it must be as he first 
 Reported it ; he cannot cliange the tale : 
 Xot I alone, but the whole city heard it. 
 ( )r ^rant he should, the oracle was ne'er 
 Falfilled ; for Phoebus said, JocSsta's son 
 Should slay his father. That could never be ; 
 For, oh ! Jocasta's son long since is dead. 
 ITe could not murder Laius ; therefore never 
 Will I attend to prophecies again. 
 
 OEdi. Right, my Jocasta ; but, I beg thee, send 
 And fetch this shepherd ; do not fail. 
 
 Joe. I will 
 
 This moment ; come, my lord, let us go in •• 
 I will do nothing but what pleases thee, - [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Chorus. 
 
 StroijJie I. 
 
 Grant me henceforth, ye powers divine, 
 
 In virtue's purest paths to tread ! 
 
 In every word, in every deed. 
 May sanctity of manners ever shine ! 
 
 Obedient to the laws of Jove, 
 
 The laws descended from above. 
 Which, not like those by feeble mortals given, 
 
 Buried in dark oblivion lie, 
 
 Or worn by time decay, and die, 
 But bloom eternal like their native heaven ! 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 Pr ide first gave birth to tyrflnu fi^r"^ 
 
 That hate ful viceTinsul tJrg pvi^^^ 
 
 When, every human power defied, 
 She lifts to glory's height her votary ; 
 
 Soon stumbling, from her tottering throne 
 
 She throws the wretched victim down. 
 
24^^ 
 
 CEDTPVS TYRANNUS. 
 
 But may the pfod indulgent hear my prnyer, 
 That god wliom humbly I adore, 
 Oh ! may he smile on Thebes once more, 
 
 And take its wretched monarch to his care ! 
 
 Stro2)he 2. 
 
 Perish the impious and profane, 
 
 Who, void of reverential fear. 
 
 Nor justice nor the laws revere, 
 "Who leave their god for pleasure or for gain ! 
 
 Who swell by fraud their ill-got store, 
 
 Who rob the wretched and the poor ! 
 If vice unpunished virtue's meed obtain, 
 
 Who shall refrain the impetuous soul, 
 
 The rebel passions who control, 
 Or wherefore do I lead this choral train ? 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 No more to Delphi's sacred shrine 
 
 Need we with incense now repair, 
 
 No more shall Phocis hear our prayer ; 
 Nor fair Olympia see Jier rites divine ; 
 
 If oracles no longer prove 
 
 The power of Phoebus and of Jove. 
 Great lord of all, from thy eternal throne 
 
 Behold, how impious men defame 
 
 Thy loved Apollo's honoured name ; 
 Oh ! guard his rights, and vindicate thy own. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 'Scene I. 
 
 JocASTA, Chorus. 
 
 JocASTA. Sages and rulers of the land, I come 
 To seek the altars of the gods, and there 
 With incense and oblations to appease 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS, ^47 
 
 Offended Heaven. My (Edipus, alas ! 
 JN"o longer wise and prudent, as you all 
 Remember once he was, with present things 
 Compares the past, nor judges like himself ; 
 Unnumbered cares perplex his anxious mind, 
 And every tale awakes new terrors in him ; 
 Vain is my counsel, for he hears me not. 
 First, then, to thee, Phoebus ! for thou still 
 Art near to help the wretched, we appeal, 
 And suppliant beg thee now to grant thy aid 
 Propitious ; deep is our distress ; for, oh ! 
 "We see our pilot sinking at the helm, 
 And much already fear the vessel lost. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Shepherd from Corinth, Jocasta, Chorus. 
 
 Shep. Can you instruct me, strangers, which way 
 lies 
 The palace of king Oedipus ; himself 
 I would most gladly see. Can you inform me ? 
 
 Chor. This is the palace ; he is now within ; 
 Thou seest his queen before thee. 
 
 Shep. Ever blest 
 
 And happy with the happy mayst thou live ! 
 
 Joe. Stranger, the same good wish to thee, for well 
 Thy words deserve it ; but say, wherefore com'st thou, 
 And what 's thy news ? 
 
 Shep. To thee, and to thy husband. 
 
 Pleasure and joy. 
 
 Joe. What pleasure ? And whence art thou ? 
 
 Shep. From Corinth. To be brief, I bring thee 
 tidings 
 Of good and evil. 
 
 Joe. Ha ! what mean thy words 
 
 Ambiguous ? 
 
 Shep. Know then, if report say true, 
 
 The Isthmian people will choose CEdipus 
 Their sovereiirn. 
 
248 
 
 (EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 No; 
 
 Joe. 
 
 SnEP. 
 
 Joe. 
 
 SllEP. If 
 
 Joe. \to 
 
 Is not Polybus their king ? 
 Poly bus is dead. 
 
 What sayst thou ? Dead 1 
 I speak falsely, may death seize on me ! 
 one of her Atpendants]. Why fliest thou not 
 
 to tell thy master ? Hence ! 
 What aie you now, you oracles divine ? 
 Where is your truth % The fearful (Edipus 
 From Corinth Hed, lest he should slay the king, 
 This Polybus, who perished, not by him, 
 But by the hand of Heaven. 
 
 (Edi. 
 
 Scene III. 
 (Edipus, Jocasta, Shepherd, Chorus. 
 My dear Jocasta, 
 
 Why hast thou called me hither ? 
 
 Joe. Hear this man, 
 
 And when thou hearst him, mark what faith is due 
 To your revered oracles. 
 
 (Edi. Who is he ? 
 
 And what doth he report ? 
 
 Joe. He comes from Corinth, 
 
 And says thy father Polybus is dead. 
 
 (Edi. What sayst thou, stranger ? Speak to me — oh! 
 speak ! 
 
 Shep. If touching this thou fii'St desir'st my answer ; 
 Know, he is dead. 
 
 (Edi. How died he % Say, by treason. 
 
 Or some disease ? 
 
 Shep. Alas ! a little force 
 
 Will lay to rest the weary limbs of age. 
 
 (Edi. Distemper then did kill him ? 
 
 Shep. That in part, 
 
 And part a length of years that wore him down. 
 
 (Edi. Now, my Jocasta, who shall henceforth trust 
 To prophecies, and seers, and clanioious birds 
 With their vain omens — they who had decreed 
 That T should kill my father. He thou seest 
 
r 
 
 CEDTPUS TYRANNUS, 249 
 
 Beneath the earth lies buried, whilst I live 
 In safety here and guiltless of his blood : 
 Unless perhaps sorrow for loss of me 
 Shortened his days, thus only could I kill 
 My father. But ho's gone, and to the shades 
 Hath cariied with him those vain oracles 
 Of fancied ills, no longer worth my care. 
 
 Joe. Did I not say it would be thus % 
 
 OEdi. Thou didst ; 
 
 But I was full of fears. 
 
 Joe. Henceforth, no more 
 
 Indulge them. 
 
 (Edi. But my mother's bed — that still 
 
 Must be avoided. I must fly from that. 
 
 Joe. Why should man fear, whom chance, and chance 
 alone, 
 Doth ever rule 1 Foreknowledge, all is vain, 
 And can determine nothing. Therefore best 
 It is to live as fancy leads, at large, 
 Uncurbed, and only subject to our will. 
 Fear not thy mother's bed. Oftimes in dreams 
 Have men committed incest. But his life 
 Will ever be most happy who contemns 
 Such idle phantoms. 
 
 (Edi. Thou wert right, Jocasta, 
 
 Did not my mother live. But as it is, 
 Spite of thy words, I must be anxious still. 
 
 Joe. Think on thy father's death ; it is a light 
 To guide thee here. 
 
 CEdi. It is so. Yet I fear 
 
 Whilst she survives him. 
 
 Shep. Who is it you mean ? 
 
 What woman fear you ? 
 
 CEdi. Merope, the wife 
 
 Of Polybus. 
 
 Shep. And wherefore fear you her % 
 
 QHdi. Know, stranger, a most dreadful oracle 
 Concerning her affrights me. 
 
 Shep. May I know it. 
 
 Or must it be revealed to none but thee? 
 
 CEdi. Oh no ! I'll tell thee. Phoebus hath declared 
 
2^0 
 
 (ED! PUS TV R ANNUS, 
 
 Tliat (EcHpuR should stain his motlier's })e(l, 1 
 
 And dip his h.'inds in his own fatlier's blootl ; 
 Wherefore 1 iled from Corinth, and lived here, 
 In happiness indeed. But still thou knowst 
 It is a blessing to behold our parents, 
 And that I had not. 
 
 Shep. Was it for this cause 
 
 Thou wert an exile then % 
 
 (Edi. It was. I feared 
 
 That I might one day prove my father's murderer. 
 
 SiiEP. What if I come, O king ! to banish hence 
 Thy terrors, and restore thy peace % 
 
 CEdi. Oh stranger! 
 
 Couldst thou do this, I would reward thee nobly. 
 
 SiiEP. Know then, for this I came. I came to serve, 
 And make thee happy. 
 
 CEdi. But I will not go 
 
 Back to my parents. 
 
 Shep. Son, I see thou knowst not 
 
 What thou art doing. 
 
 (Edi. Wlierefore thinkst thou so ? 
 
 By heaven I beg thee then do thou instruct me. 
 
 Shep. If thou didst fly from Corinth for this cause 
 
 (Edi. Apollo's dire predictions still affright me. 
 
 Shep. Fearst thou pollution from thy parents ? 
 
 (Edi. That, 
 
 And that alone I dread. 
 
 Shep. Thy fears are vain. 
 
 (Edi. Not if they are my parents. 
 
 Shep. Polybus 
 
 Was not akin to thee. 
 
 (Edi. What sayst thou % Speak 
 
 Say, was not Polybus my father ? 
 
 Shep. No ; 
 
 No more than he is mine. 
 
 (Edi. Why call me then 
 
 His son % 
 
 Shep. Because long since I gave thee to him — 
 He did receive thee from these hands. 
 
 (Edi. Indeed ! 
 
 And could he love another's child so well ? 
 
(ED IP us TYRANNUS. 25 1 
 
 Shep. He had no children ; that persuaded him 
 To take and keep thee. 
 
 CEdi. Didst thou buy me, then, 
 
 Or am I thine, and must I call thee father 1 
 
 Shep. I found thee in Cithaeron's woody vale. 
 
 OEdi. What brought thee there ? 
 
 Shep. I came to feed my flocks 
 
 On the green mountain's side. 
 
 CEdi. It seems thou wert 
 
 A wandering shepherd. 
 
 Shep. Thy deliverer; 
 
 I saved thee from destruction. 
 
 (Edi. How ? What then 
 
 Had happened to me ? 
 
 Shep. Thy own feet will best 
 
 Inform thee of that circumstance. 
 
 CEdt. Alas ! 
 
 Why callst thou to remembrance a misfortune 
 Of so long date % 
 
 Shep. 'Twas I who loosed the tendons 
 
 Of thy bored feet. 
 
 (Edi. It seems in infancy 
 
 I suffered much, then. 
 
 Shep. Tc this incident 
 
 Thou ow'st thy name. 
 
 CEdi. My father, or my mother, 
 
 Who did it 1 Knowst thou ? 
 
 Shep. He who gave thee to mo 
 
 Must tell thee that. 
 
 CEdi. Then from another's hand 
 
 Thou didst receive me. 
 
 Shep, . Ay ; another shepherd. 
 
 CEdi. Whc was he % Canst thou recollect ? 
 
 Shep. 'Twas one, 
 
 At least so called, of Laius' family. 
 
 CEdi. Laius, who ruled at Thebes ? 
 
 Shep. The same ] this imai 
 
 Was shepherd to King Laius. 
 
 CEdi. Lives he still ? 
 
 And could I see him ? 
 
 Shep. [pointing to the Chorus]. Some of these perhaps, 
 His countrymen, may give you information. 
 
(EDI PUS TV RAN N US. 
 
 CEdi. \to Ihe Chorus]. Oh 
 you Know 
 
 speak, my friends, if any of 
 
 This shepherd ; whether still he lives at Thebes, 
 Or in some neighbouring country. Tell me quick, 
 For it concerns us near. 
 
 Chor. It must be he 
 
 Whom thou didst lately send for ; but the queen 
 Can best inform thee. 
 
 QEdi. Knowst thou, my Jocasta, 
 
 Whether the man whom thou didst order hither. 
 And whom the shepherd speaks of, be the same 1 
 
 Joe Whom meant he ? for I know not. CEdipus, 
 Think not so deeply of this thing. 
 
 (Edi. Good heaven ! 
 
 Forbid, Jocasta, I should now neglect 
 To clear my birth, when thus the path is marked 
 And open to me. 
 
 Joe. Do not, by the gods 
 
 I beg thee, do not, if thy life be dear. 
 Make further search, for I have felt enough 
 Already from it. 
 
 CEdi. Kest thou satisfied ; 
 
 Were I descended from a race of slaves, 
 'Twould not dishonour thee. 
 
 Joe. Yet hear me ; do not, 
 
 Once more I beg thee, do not search this matter. 
 
 (Edi. I will not be persuaded. I must search 
 And find it too. 
 
 Joe. I know it best, and best 
 
 Advise thee. 
 
 CEdi. That advice perplexes more. 
 
 Joe. Oh ! would to heaven that thou mayst never know 
 Or who, or whence thou art ! 
 
 CEdi. \to the Attendants]. Let some one fetch 
 That shepherd quick, and leave this woman here 
 To glory in her high descent. 
 
 Joe. Alas ! 
 
 Unhappy CEdipus ! that word alone 
 I now can soaak : remember 'tis my last. 
 
 [Exit JOOAS'J'A. 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNOS. 253 
 
 Scene IY. 
 Qi^DiPUS, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. "Why fled the queen in such disorder hence ? 
 Sorely distressed she seemed, and much I fear 
 Her silence bodes some sad event. 
 
 CEdi. Whate'er 
 
 May come of that, I am resolved to know 
 The secret of my birth, how mean soever 
 It chance to prove. Perhaps her sex's pride 
 May make her blush to find I was not born 
 Of noble parents ; but I call myself 
 The son of fortune, my indulgent mothei', 
 Whom I shall never be ashamed to own. 
 The kindred months that are like me, her children, 
 The years that roll obedient to her will, 
 Have raised me from the lowest state to power 
 And splendour. Wherefore, being what I am, 
 I need not fear the knowledge of my birth. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 If my prophetic soul doth well divine. 
 Ere on thy brow to-morrow's sun shall shine, 
 Cithreron, thou the mystery shalt unfold ; 
 The doubtful (Edipus, no longer blind, 
 Shall soon his country and his father find, 
 And all the story of his birth be told. 
 Then shall we in grateful lays 
 Celebrate our monarch's praise, 
 And in the sprightly dance our songs triumphant raise. 
 
254 
 
 (EDIPUS TYRtlNNUS, 
 
 Antistroplie. 
 
 What heavenly power gave birth to thee, O king ! 
 From Pan, the god of mountains, didst thou sprin^ 
 
 With some fail' daughter of Apollo joined ; 
 Art thou from him who o'er Cyllene reigns, 
 JSwift Hermes, sporting in Arcadia's plains? 
 Some nymph of Helicon did Bacchus find — 
 Bacchus, who delights to rove 
 Through the forest, hill and grove — 
 And art thou, prince, the offspring of their love ? 
 
 Scene VI. 
 CEdipus, Chorus, Shepherd fro3i Corinth. 
 
 (Edi. If I may judge of one whom yet I ne'er 
 Had converse with, yon old man, whom I see 
 This way advancing, must be that same shepherd 
 We lately sent for, by his age and mien, 
 E'en as this stranger did describe him to us ; 
 My servants too are with him. But you best 
 Can say, for you must know him well. 
 
 Chor. 'Tis he, 
 
 My lord ; the faithful shepherd of King Laius. 
 
 CEdi. \to the Shepherd /rowi Co^^inth]. What sayst 
 thou, stranger ? — is it he ? 
 
 Shep. It is. 
 
 Scene YII. 
 
 Old Shepherd, CEdipus, Shepherd from Corinth, 
 Chorus. 
 
 (Edi. Now answer me, old man ; look this way — 
 speak : 
 Didst thou belong to Laius 1 
 
 Old Shep. Sir, I did ; 
 
 No hireling slave, but in his palace bred, 
 I served him long. 
 
CEDIPUS TYR ANNUS, 255 
 
 CEdi. "What was thy business there ? 
 
 Old Siiep. For my Hfe's better part I tended sheep. 
 
 (Edi. And whither didst thou lead them ? 
 
 Old Siiep. To CithaBron, 
 
 And to the neighbouring plains. 
 
 (Edi. Behold this man : 
 
 [pointing to the Shepherd of Corinth 
 Dost thou remember to have seen him 1 
 
 Old Shep. Whom 1 
 
 What hath he done ? 
 
 CEdi. Him, who now stands before thee, 
 
 Callst thou to mind, or converse or connection 
 Between you in times past ? 
 
 Old Shep. I cannot say 
 
 I recollect it now. 
 
 Shep. of Corinth. I do not wonder 
 He should forget me, but I will recall 
 Some facts of ancient date. He must remember 
 When on Cithaeron we together fed 
 Our several flocks, in daily converse joined 
 From spring to autumn, and when winter bleaK. 
 Approached, retired. I to my little cot 
 Conveyed my sheep ; he to the palace led 
 His fleecy care. Canst thou remember this ? 
 
 Old Shep. I do ; but that is long, long since 
 
 Shep. of Corinth. It is ; 
 But say, good shepherd, canst thou call to mind 
 An infant whom thou didst deliver to me, 
 Requesting me to breed him as my own ? 
 
 Old Shep. Ha ! wherefore askst thou this ? 
 
 Shep. of Corinth [pointing to CEdipus]. Behold him 
 here, 
 That very child. 
 
 Old Shep. Oh ! say it not : away ! 
 Perdition on thee ! 
 
 CEdi. Why reprove him thus ? 
 
 Thou art thyself to blame, old man. 
 
 Old Shep. In what 
 
 Am I to blame, my lord ? 
 
 CEdi. Thou wilt not speak 
 
 Touching this boy. 
 
56 
 
 or PUS TVRANNV^:. 
 
 Old Shep. Wm^ ! poor man, he knows not 
 What he hath said. 
 
 Q^Di. If not by softer means 
 
 To be persuaded, force shall wring it from thee. 
 
 Old Siiep. Treat not an old man harshly. 
 
 CEdi. \to the AiTENDANTs]. Bind his hands. 
 
 Old Shep. Wherefore, my lord ? What wouldst thou 
 have mo do ? 
 
 CEdi. That child he talks of, didst thou give it to 
 him? 
 
 Old Shep. I did ; and would to heaven I then had 
 died! 
 
 CEdi. Die soon thou shalt, unless thou tellst it all. 
 
 Old Shep. Say, rather if I do. 
 
 OiJDi. This fellow means 
 
 To trifle with us, by his dull delay. 
 
 Old Shep. I do not ; said I not I gave the child ? 
 
 QEdi. Whence came the boy ? Was he thy own, or who 
 Did give him to thee ? 
 
 Old Shep. From another hand 
 
 I had received him. 
 
 CEdi. Say, what hand ? From whom ? 
 
 Whence came he % 
 
 Old Shep. Do not — by the gods I beg thee, 
 
 Do not inquire. 
 
 CEdi. Force me to ask again, 
 
 And thou shalt die. 
 
 Old Shep. In Laius' palace born 
 
 CEdi. Son of a slave, or of the king? 
 
 Old Shep. Alas ! 
 
 Tis death for me to speak. 
 
 CEdi. And me to hear ; 
 
 Yet say it. 
 
 Old Shep. He was called the son of Laius ; 
 But ask the queen, for she can best inform thee« 
 
 CEdi. Did she then give the child to thee ? 
 
 Old Shep. She did. 
 
 CEdi. For what ? 
 
 Old Shep. To kill him. 
 
 CEdi. Kill her child ! Inhuman 
 
 And barbarous mother ! 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS, 257 
 
 Old Shep. A dire oracle 
 
 Affrighted, and constrained her to it. 
 
 CEdi. Ha ! 
 
 What oracle ? 
 
 Old Shep. Which said, her son should slay 
 His parents. 
 
 CEdi. Wherefore gav'st thou then the infant 
 
 To this old shepherd 1 
 
 Old Shep. Pity moved me to it : 
 
 I hoped he would have soon conveyed his charge 
 To some far distant country ; he, alas ! 
 Preserved him but for misery and woe ; 
 For, my lord ! if thou indeed art he, 
 Thou art of all mankind the most unhappy. 
 
 CEdi. me ! at length the mystery 's unravelled j 
 'Tis plain, 'tis clear ; my fate is all determined. 
 Those are my parents who should not have been 
 Allied to me ; she is my wife, e'en she 
 Whom Nature had forbidden me to wed ; 
 I have slain him who gave me life ; and now 
 Of thee, O light ! I take my last farewell, 
 For (Edipus shall ne'er behold thee more. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe 1. 
 
 hapless state of human race ! 
 
 How quick the fleeting shadows pass 
 
 Of transitory bliss below, 
 
 Where all is vanity and woe ! 
 By thy example taught, prince ! we see 
 Man was not made for true f eUcity. "^ '''^^^ 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 Thou, CEdipus, beyond the rest 
 Of mortals wert supremely blest ; 
 Whom every hand conspired to raise. 
 Whom every tongue rejoiced to praise, 
 
25S (EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 Wlien from the Sphinx thy all preserving hand 
 Stretched forth its aid to save a sinking Innd. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 Thy virtues raised thee to a throne, 
 
 And grateful Thebes was all thy own ; 
 
 Alas ! how changed that glorious name ! 
 
 Lost are thy virtues and thy fame ; 
 How couldst thou thus pollute thy father's bed ? 
 How couldst thou thus thy hapless mother wed 1 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 How could that bed unconscious bear 
 So long the \dle incestuous pair 1 
 But time, of quick and piercing sight. 
 Hath brought the horrid deed to light ; 
 At length Jocasta owns her guilty flame, 
 And finds a husband and a child the same. 
 
 E'pode. 
 
 Wretched son of Laius, thee 
 
 Henceforth may I never see, 
 
 But absent shed the pious tear, 
 
 And weep thy fate with grief sincere ! 
 For thou didst raise our eyes to life and light, 
 To close them now in everlasting night. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Messenger. Sages of Thebes, most honoured and 
 revered, 
 If e'er the house of Labdacus was dear 
 And precious to you, what will be your grief 
 
CEDIPUS TVRANNUS. 259 
 
 When I shall tell the most disastrous tale 
 
 You ever heard, and to your eyes present 
 
 A spectacle more dreadful than they yet 
 
 Did e'er behold : not the wide Danube's waves 
 
 Nor Phasis' streams can wash away the stains 
 
 Of this polluted palace ; the dire crimes 
 
 Long time concealed at length are brought to light ; 
 
 But those which spring from voluntary guilt 
 
 Are still more dreadful. 
 
 Chor. Nothing can be worse 
 
 Than that we know already ; bringst thou more 
 Misfortunes to us 1 
 
 Mes. To be brief, the queeUj 
 
 Divine Jocasta's dead. 
 
 Chor. Jocasta dead ! Say, by what hand ? 
 
 Mes. Her own i 
 
 And what 's more dreadful, no one saw the deed. 
 What I myself beheld you all shall hear. 
 Inflamed with rage, soon as she reached the palace, 
 Instant retiring to the nuptial bed. 
 She shut the door, then raved and tore her hair, 
 Called out on Lai us dead, and bade him think 
 On that unhappy son who murdered him 
 And stained his bed ; then turning her sad eyes 
 Upon the guilty couch, she cursed the place 
 Where she had borne a husband from her husband, 
 And children from her child ; what followed then 
 I know not, by the cries of CEdipus 
 Prevented, for on him our eyes were fixed 
 Attentive ; forth he came, beseeching us 
 To lend him some sharp weapon, and inform him 
 Where he might find his mother and his wife, 
 His children's wretched mother and his own. 
 Some ill-designing power did then direct him 
 (For we were silent) to the queen's apartment ; 
 Forcing the bolt, he rushed into the bed, 
 And found Jocasta, where we all beheld her, 
 Entangled in the fatal noose, which soon 
 As he perceived, loosing the pendant rope, 
 Deeply he groaned, and casting on the ground 
 His wretched body, showed a piteous sight 
 
26o (EDIPUS TYRANNUS, 
 
 To tlie beholders; on a sudden, thence 
 
 Starting, he phicked from oft* the robe she wore 
 
 A golden buckle that adorned her side. 
 
 And buried in his eyes the sliai-pened point, 
 
 Crying, he ne'er again would look on her, 
 
 Never would see his crimes or miseries more, 
 
 Or those whom guiltless he could ne'er behold, 
 
 Or those to whom he now must sue for aid. 
 
 His hfted eyelids then, repeating still 
 
 These dreadful plaints, he tore ; whilst down his cheek 
 
 Fell showers of blood ! Such fate the wretched pair 
 
 Sustained, partakers in calamity. 
 
 Fallen from a state of happiness (for none 
 
 Were happier once than they) to groans and death, 
 
 Reproach and shame, and every human woe. 
 
 Chor. And where is now the poor unhappy man ? 
 
 Mes. Open the doors, he cries, and let all Thebes 
 Behold his parents' murderer, adding words 
 Not to be uttered ; banished now, he says, 
 He must be, nor, devoted as he is 
 By his own curse, remain in this sad place. 
 He wants a kind conductor and a friend 
 To help him now, for 'tis too much to bear. - 
 But you will see him soon, for lo ! the doors 
 Are opened, and you will behold a sight 
 That would to pity move his deadliest foe. 
 
 Scene II. 
 (Edipus, Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Oh ! horrid sight ! more dreadful spectacle 
 Than e'er these eyes beheld ! what madness urged thee 
 To this sad deed ? What power malignant heaped 
 On thy poor head such complicated woe ? 
 Unhappy man, alas ! I would have held 
 Some converse with thee, but thy looks afiiight me j 
 I cannot bear to speak to thee. 
 
 (Edi. O me ! 
 
 Where am I ? and whence comes the voice 1 heai* ? 
 Where art thou, fortup.e ? 
 
(EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 261 
 
 Chok. Changed to misery, 
 
 Dreadful to hear, and dreadful to behold. 
 
 CEdi. cruel darkness ! endless, hopeless night, 
 Shame, terrors, and unutterable woe ! 
 Mere painful is the memory of my crimes 
 Than all the wounds my wild distraction made. 
 
 Chor. Thus doubly cursed, O prince ! I wonder not 
 At thy affliction. 
 
 CEdi. Aii; thou here, my friend % 
 
 I know thy voice ; thou wouldst not leave the wretched ; 
 Thou art my faithful, kind assistant still. 
 
 Chor. How couldst thou thus deprive thyself of sight % 
 What madness drove thee to the desperate deed ? 
 What god inspired % 
 
 CEdi. Apollo was the cause ; 
 
 He was, my friends, the cause of all my woes ; 
 But for these eyes — myself did quench their light — 
 I want not them ; what use were they to me, 
 But to discover scenes of endless woe ; 
 
 Chor. 'Tis but too true. 
 
 CEdi. What pleasure now remains 
 
 For CEdipus? He cannot joy in aught 
 To sight or ear delightful. Curse on him, 
 Whoe'er he was, that loosened my bound feet. 
 And saved me, in Cithseron's vale, from death ! 
 I owe him nothing : had I perished then, 
 Much happier had it been for you, my friends, 
 And for myself. 
 
 Chor. I too could wish thou hadst. 
 
 CEdi. I should not then have murdered Laius ; then 
 I had not ta'en Jocasta to my bed ; 
 But now I am a guilty wretch, the son 
 Of a polluted mother, father now 
 To my own brothers, all that 's horrible 
 To nature is the lot of CEdipus. 
 
 Chor. Yet must I blame this cruel act, for sure 
 The loss of sight is worse than death itself. 
 
 CEdi. I care not for thy counsel or thy praise ; 
 For with what eyes could I have e'er beheld 
 My honoured father in the shades below, 
 Or my unhappy mother, both destroyed 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 me? This jmnisliinent is worse than death, 
 il so it should be. Sweet had been the sight 
 Of my dear children — them I could have wished 
 To gaze upon ; but I must never see 
 C)r them, or this fail* city, or the palace 
 Where I was born. Deprived of every bliss 
 By my own lips, which doomed to banishment 
 Tlie murderer of Laius, and expelled 
 The impious wretch, by gods and men accursed : 
 Could I behold them after this ? Oh no ! 
 Would I could now with equal ease remove 
 My hearing too, be deaf as well as blind, 
 And from another entrance shut out woe ! 
 To want our senses, in the hour of ill, 
 Is comfort to the wretched. O Cithasron ! 
 Why didst thou e'er receive me, or received. 
 Why not destroy, that men might never know 
 Who gave me birth ? O Polybus ! O Corinth ! 
 And thou, long time beheved my father's palace, 
 Oh! what a foul disgrace to human nature 
 Didst thou receive beneath a prince's form ! 
 Impious myself, and from an impious race. 
 Wliere is my splendour now % Daulian path ! 
 The shady forest, and the nari'ow pass 
 "Wliere three ways meet, who drank a father's blood 
 Shed by these hands, do you not still remember 
 The horrid deed, and what, when here I came. 
 Followed more dreadful ? Fatal nuptials, you 
 Produced me, you returned me to the womb 
 That bare me ; thence relations horrible 
 Of fathers, sons, and brothers came ; of "svives. 
 Sisters, and mothei's, sad alliance ! all 
 That man holds impious and detestable. 
 But what in act is \^le the modest tongue 
 Should never name. Bury me, hide me, friends. 
 From every eye; destroy me, cast me forth 
 To the wide .ocean — let me perish there : 
 Do anything to shake off hated life. 
 Seize me ; approach, my friends — you need not fear, 
 Polluted though I am, to touch me ; none 
 Shall suffer for my crimes but I alone. 
 
CEDTPUS TYRANNUS. 263 
 
 CiiOR. In most fit time, my lord, the noble Creon 
 This way advances ; he can best determine 
 A.nd best advise ; sole guardian now of Thebes, 
 To him thy power devolves. 
 
 CEdi. What shall I sayl 
 
 Can I apply to him for aid whom late 
 I deeply injured by unjust suspicion % 
 
 Scene III. 
 Creon, (Edipus, Chorus. 
 
 Creon, I come not, prince, to triumph o'er thy woes 
 With vile reproach ; I pity thy misfortunes. 
 But, O my Thebans ! if you do not fear 
 The censure of your fellow-citizens, 
 At least respect the all-creating eye 
 Of Phoebus, who beholds you thus exposing 
 To public view a wretch accursed, polluted, 
 Whom neither earth can bear, nor sun behold, 
 Nor holy shower besprinkle. Take hira hence 
 Within the palace ; those who are by blood 
 United should alone be witnesses 
 Of such calamity. 
 
 (Edi. O Creon ! thou, 
 
 The best of men, and I the worst, how kind 
 Thou art to visit me ! Oh ! by the gods 
 Let me entreat thee, since beyond my hopes 
 Thou art so good, now hear me ; what I ask, 
 Concerns thee most. 
 
 Creon. What is it thou desirest 
 
 Thus ardently % 
 
 CEdi. I beg thee, banish me 
 
 From Thebes this moment, to some land remote, 
 Wliere I may ne'er converse with man again. 
 
 Creon. Myself long since had done it, but the gods 
 Must be consulted first. 
 
 OEdi. Their \vill is known 
 
 Already, and their oracle declared 
 The guilty parricide should die. 
 
•64 
 
 (EDI PUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 Creon. It hatli ; 
 
 But, as it is, 'twere better to inquire 
 What must be done. 
 
 CEdi. For such a wretch as me 
 
 Wouldst tliou again explore the will of Heaven 1 
 
 Creon. Thy hapless fate should teach us to believe, 
 And reverence the gods. 
 
 (Edi. Now, Creon, list; 
 
 I l)Og thee, I conjure thee, let a tomb 
 Be raised, and all due honours paid to her 
 Who lies within : she was thy sister, Creon ; 
 It is a duty which thou ow'st : for me, 
 I cannot hope this city now will deign 
 To keep me here. Creon ! let me go, 
 And seek the solitary mountain's top, 
 My own Cith?eron, by my parents doomed 
 Long since to be the grave of CEdipus ; 
 Where would I die, as they decreed I should. 
 Alas ! I cannot, must not perish yet, 
 Till I have suffered evils worse than death, 
 For I was only saved to be unhappy ; 
 But I must meet my fate, whate'er it be. 
 My sons are men, and wheresoever fortune 
 May place them, cannot want the means of life ; 
 They shall not burthen thee ; but, O my friend ! 
 What will become of my unhappy daughters, 
 With tenderest love, beneath a father's hand, 
 Cherished so long ? Oh ! take them to thy care, 
 Thou best of men ! Oh ! might I but embrace them, 
 But shed a tear o'er their disastrous fate, 
 Might I be suffered but to touch them here, 
 I should rejoice, and think I saw them still. 
 But hark ! methinks e'en now I hear the voice 
 Of my dear daughters ; hath the gracious Creon, 
 In pity to my woes, already brought 
 My children to me 1 — is it so ? 
 
 Creon. It is : 
 
 Thy wishes are prevented ; they are here. 
 
CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. 265 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Daughters of (Edipus, (Edipus, Ceeon, Chorus. 
 
 OEdi. May Heaven reward thee for this goodness to 
 me, 
 And give thee much more bliss than I have known ! 
 Now, my dear children, come towards me, come 
 Towards your father and your — brother ; see 
 These sightless eyes, pierced by my own mad hands ; 
 Behold that wretched father who begat you 
 Unknowingly on her who gave me birth ; 
 I cannot see you now — I can but weep 
 Your fate, to think what hours of wretchedness 
 You have to know hereafter. Whither now 
 Must my poor children lly % From every feast 
 Joyless with grief and shame, shall you return ; 
 And when the time shall come when riper years 
 Should give you to the nuptial bed, who then, 
 Careless of fame, will let his child partake 
 The infamy of my abhorred race. 
 Sprung from a wretch accursed, who killed his father, 
 And from the womb that bare him did beget 
 You my unhappy daughters ? Such reproach 
 Must still be yours, to virgin solitude 
 Devoted ever, and a barren bed. 
 Son of Menaeceus, thou alone art left 
 Their father now, for, oh ! Jocasta 's dead, 
 And T am — nothing. Do not then forsake 
 Thy kindred ; nor, deserted and forlorn. 
 Suffer them still in penury and woe 
 To wander helpless, in their tender age : 
 Kemember they have no support but thee. 
 O generous prince ! have pity on them ; give me 
 Thy friendly hand in promise of thy aid. 
 To you, my daughters, had your early years 
 Permitted, I had given my last advice : 
 Too young for counsel, all I ask of you 
 Is but to pray the gods that my sad life 
 
266 
 
 (EDIPUS TYRANNUS. 
 
 May not be long ; but 
 
 'Ours, my children, crowned 
 vv iin many oays, ana happier far than mine. 
 
 Creon. It is enough; go in — thy grief transports thee 
 Beyond all bounds. 
 
 (Edi. 'Tis hard ; but I submit. 
 
 Creon. The time demands it ; therefore go. 
 
 (Edi. O Creon ! 
 
 Knowst thou what now I wish ? 
 
 Creon. What is it ? Speak, 
 
 (Edi. That I may quit this fatal place. 
 
 Creon. Thou ask'st 
 
 What Heaven alone can grant. 
 
 (Edi. Alas ! to Heaven 
 
 I am most hateful. 
 
 Creon. Yet shalt thou obtain 
 
 What thou desirest. 
 
 GEui. Shall I indeed ? 
 
 Creon. Thou shalt ; 
 
 I never say aught that I do not mean. 
 
 (Edi. Then let me go : may I depart ? 
 
 Creon. Thou mayst • 
 
 But leave thy children. 
 
 (Edi. Do not taks them from me. 
 
 Creon. Thou mu^t not always have thy will. Already 
 Thou 'st suffered for it. 
 
 Chor. Thebans, now behold 
 
 The great, the mighty (Edipus, who once 
 The Sphinx's dark enigma could unfold. 
 Who less to fortune than to wisdom owed, 
 In virtue as in rank to all superior, 
 Yet fallen at last to deepest misery. 
 Let mortals hence be taught to look beyond 
 The present time, nor dare to say, a man 
 Is happy till the last decisive hour 
 Shall close his life without the taste of woe. 
 
QEdipus Coloneus. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 (Edipcis, 
 
 Creon. 
 
 Antigone, \ Daughters of 
 
 ISMENE, j (Edipus. " 
 
 POLYNTCES, Son of (Edipus. 
 
 Theseus, King of Athens. 
 
 An Athenian. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Attendants on Oreon, Thesens, 
 
 and Ismcm. 
 Chorus, composed of Ancient 
 
 Men of Thebes. 
 
 SCENE.— ^ Gh-ove at the entrance to the Temple of the Furies. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 OEdipus, Antigone. 
 
 (Edipus. Where are we now, my dear Antigone ? 
 Knowst thou the place ? Will any here afford 
 Their scanty alms to a poor wanderer, 
 The banished (Edipus 1 I ask not much. 
 Yet less receive ; but I am satisfied : 
 Long time hath made my woes familiar to me, 
 And I have learned to bear calamity. 
 But tell me, daughter, if thou seest a place, 
 Or sacred, or profane, where I may rest, 
 There set me down, from some inhabitant 
 A chance but we may learn where now we are, 
 And act, so strangers ought, as he directs us, 
 
268 (EDIPUS COLONEUS, 
 
 Ant. O G^dipus ! my poor, unliappy fatlier, 
 Far as my eyes can reach I see a city, 
 With lofty turrets crowned, and, if I err not, 
 This place is sacred, by the laurel shade 
 Olive and vine thick-planted, and the songs 
 Of nightingales sweet warbling through the grove 
 Here sit thee down, and rest thy wearied limbs 
 On this rude stone ; 'tis a long way for age 
 Like thine to travel. 
 
 CEdi. Place me here, and guard 
 
 A sightless wretch. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! at such a time 
 
 Thou needst not tell Antigone her duty. 
 
 CEdi. Knowst thou not where we are ? 
 
 Ant. As I have learned 
 
 From passing travellers, not far from Athens ; 
 The place I know not ; would you that I go 
 And straight inquire ? But now I need not leave thee, 
 i^'or, lo ! a stranger comes this way, e'en now 
 He stands before you, he will soon inform us. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 An Athenian, QiIdipus, Antigone. 
 
 CEdi. Stranger, thou com'st in happy hour to tell us 
 What much we wish to know ; let me then ask thee- 
 
 Athe. Ask nothing ; speak not till thou art removed 
 From off that hallowed spot where now thou standst, 
 By human footsteps not to be profaned. 
 
 (Edi. To whom then is it sacred % 
 
 Athe. 'Tis a place 
 
 Where but to tread is impious, and to dwell 
 Forbidden ; where the dreadful goddesses, 
 Daughters of Earth and Night, alone inhabit. 
 
 (Edi. Ha ! let me hear their venerable names. 
 
 Athe. By other names in other climes adored, 
 The natives here call them Eumenides, 
 Th' all-seeing powers. 
 
 (Edi. Oh ! that they would but smile 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS, 269 
 
 Propitious, and receive a suppliant's prayer, 
 That I might never leave this blest abode ! 
 
 Athe. What dost thou mean % 
 
 CEdi. It suits my sorrows well. 
 
 Athe. I must inform the citizens ; till then 
 Remain, 
 
 CEdi. Oh ! do not scorn a wretched exile, 
 But tell me, stranger 
 
 Athe. Speak ; I scorn thee not. 
 
 CEdi. What place is this ? 
 
 Athe. I'll tell thee what I know. 
 
 This place is sacred all : great Neptune here 
 Presides, and he who bears the living fire, 
 Titan Prometheus ; where thou treadst is called 
 The Brazen Way, the bulwark of our State : 
 From this equestrian hill, their safest guard, 
 The neighbouring villagers their general name 
 Derive, thence called Colonians all. 
 
 CEdi. But say, 
 
 Are there who dwell here, then ? 
 
 Athe. There are, and called 
 
 From him they worship. 
 
 CEdi. . Is the power supreme 
 
 Lodged in the people's voice, or in the king % 
 
 Athe. 'Tis in the king. 
 
 CEdi. Who is he % 
 
 Athe. Theseus, son 
 
 Of uEgeus, their last sovereign. 
 
 CEdi. Who will go 
 
 And tell him 
 
 Athe. What ! to come and meet thee here 1 
 
 CEdi. To tell him that a little help bestowed 
 Would amply be repaid. 
 
 Athe. Why, what couldst thou do. 
 
 Dark as thou art ? 
 
 CEdi. My words will not be so. 
 
 Athe. Then mark me,, that thou err not ; for to me 
 Thy fortunes seem ill-suited to thy nature, 
 Which is most noble ; therefore stay thou here 
 Till I return ; I will not go to Athens, 
 But ask these villagers, who sojourn here, 
 J f thou mayst stay. \^Exit Athenian. 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 Scene III. 
 CEdipus, Antigone. 
 
 (Edi. My daughter, is he gone ? 
 
 Ant. He is, and thou mayst safely speak, for I 
 Alone am with thee. 
 
 (Edi. Goddesses revered ! 
 
 Since in your seats my wearied steps have found 
 Their first I'epose, not inauspicious smile 
 On Phoebus and on me ! For know, the god 
 Who 'gainst unhappy (Edipus denounced 
 Unnumbered woes, foretold that here at last 
 I should liave rest, within this hallowed grove 
 These hospitable shades, and finish here 
 A life of misery : happy those, he said. 
 Who should receive me, glorious their reward, 
 And woe to them who strove to drive me hence 
 Inhuman. This he promised to confirm 
 By signs undoubted ; thunder, or the sound 
 Of dreadful earthquake, or the lightning's blast 
 Launched from the arm of Jove. I doubt it not, 
 From you some happy omen hither led 
 My prosperous steps, that first to you I came 
 Pure to the pure ] and here on this rude seat 
 Reposed me, could not be the work of chance ; 
 Wherefore, ye powers ! as Phoebus hath decreed, 
 Here let me find a period of my woes, 
 Here end my wi^etched life ! unless the man, 
 Who long hath groaned beneath the bitterest ills 
 That mortals feel, still seem to merit more. 
 Daughters of Ancient Night ! oh, hear me now ! 
 And thou, from great Minerva called, the best 
 And noblest city, Athens ! pity me, 
 Pity the shadow of poor CEdipus ; 
 For, oh ! I am not what I was. 
 
 Ant. No more : 
 
 Behold a venerable band approach 
 Of ancient natives, come perchance to seek thee. 
 
 OEdi, I've done ; Antigone, remove me hence. 
 
CEDIPUS COLON E(JS. 271 
 
 And hide me in tlie grove till by their words, 
 Listening. 1 learn their purpose ; such foreknowledge 
 Will best direct us how to act hereafter. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Chor. Where is he % Look, examine, search around 
 For this abandoned exile, of mankind 
 The most profane ; doubtless some wretched stranger. 
 Who else had dared on this forbidden soil 
 To tread, where dwell the dreadful deities 
 We tremble e'en to name, and as we pass 
 Dare not behold, but silently revere, 
 Or soft with words of fairest omen greet % 
 Of these regardless, here we come to find 
 An impious wretch. I look around the grove, 
 But still he lurks unseen. 
 
 Scene V. 
 CEdipus, Antigone, Chorus. 
 
 OEdi. Behold me here ; 
 
 For by your words I find you look for me. 
 
 Chor. \looki71g steadfastly at him\ Dreadful his voice 
 and terrible his aspect ! 
 
 (Edi. I am no outlaw ; do not look thus on me. 
 
 Chor. Jove the defender ! who is this old man ? 
 
 CEdi. One on whom fortune little hath bestowed 
 To call for reverence from you ; that, alas ! 
 Is but too plain ; thus by another's eyes 
 Conducted here, and on her aid depending. 
 Old as I am. 
 
 Chor. Alas ! and wert thou born 
 
 Thus sightless % Full of sorrow and of years 
 Indeed thou seemst ; but do not let on us 
 Thy curse devolve. Thou hast transgressed the bounds 
 Prescribed to mortals ; shun this hallowed grove, 
 
^72 
 
 AVliere on the grassy surface to the powere 
 A welcome ottering flows with honc^y mixed 
 The limpid stream ; unhappy stranger, lienco, 
 Away, begone ! Thou seest 'tis a long space 
 Divides us : dost thou hear me, wretched exile ? 
 This instiint, if thou dost, depart, then speak, 
 But not before. 
 
 CEdi. Antigone, my daughter, 
 
 What's to be done 1 
 
 Ant. Obey the citizens ; 
 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 (Edi. I will ; and now, my friends. 
 
 Confiding thus in you, and thus removing 
 As you directed, let me not be injured. 
 
 Chor. Thou shalt not ; be assured that thou art safe ; 
 None shall offend or drive thee hence. 
 
 CEdi. Yet more 
 
 Must I approach ? 
 
 Chor. A little farther still. 
 
 (Edi. Will this suffice 1 
 
 Chor. Remove him this way, virgin ; 
 
 Thou hearst us. 
 
 Ant, Thou must follow me, my father, 
 
 Weak as thou art ; we are unhappy strangers, 
 And must submit ; whate'er the city hates 
 Content to hate, and what she loves to love. 
 
 CEdi. Lead me, my daughter, to some hallowed spot 
 For mutual converse fit, nor let us strive 
 With dire necessity. 
 
 Chor. Stop there, nor move 
 
 Beyond that stone. 
 ■ 7^ Di. Thus, then ? 
 
 Chor. 
 
 CEdi. Where should I sit? 
 
 Chor. A little forward lean. 
 
 And rest thee there. 
 
 Ant. [takioig hold of hwi]. Alas ! *tis my sad office — 
 Let me perform it — to direct thy steps ; 
 To this loved hand commit thy aged limbs ; 
 t will be careful [She seats him oil the 8t07ie. 
 
 CEdi. O unh^npy State ! 
 
 It is enough. 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 273 
 
 Chor. Now, wretched stranger, tell us who thou art, 
 Thy country, and thy name. 
 
 CEdi. Alas ! my lords, 
 A poor abandoned exile; but, oh ! do not 
 
 Chor. What sayst thou ? 
 
 CEdi. Do not ask me who I am ; 
 
 Inquire no farther. 
 
 Chor. Wherefore ? 
 
 CEdi. My sad race 
 
 Chor. Speak on. 
 
 (Edi. [turning to Antigone]. My daughter, how shall 
 I proceed ? 
 
 Chor. Thy race, thy father 
 
 GEdi. O Antigone ! 
 
 What do I suffer? 
 
 Ant. Speak ; thou canst not be 
 
 More wretched than thou art. 
 
 OEdi. I will ; for, oh ! 
 
 It cannot be concealed. 
 
 Chor. You do delay ; 
 
 Inform us straight. 
 
 CEdi. Know you the son of Laius ? 
 
 Chor. Alas ! 
 
 CEdi. The race of Labdacus. 
 
 Chor. O Jove ! 
 
 CEdi. Th' unhappy CEdipus. 
 
 Chor. And art thou he 1 
 
 CEdi. Be not affrighted at my words. 
 
 Chor. Heaven ! 
 
 CEdi. Wretch that I am ! what will become of me ? 
 
 Chor. Away, begone, fly from this place ! 
 
 CEdi. Then where 
 
 Are all your promises ? are they forgotten ? 
 
 Chor. Justice divine will never punish those 
 Who but repay the injury they receive ; 
 And fraud doth merit fraud for its reward. 
 Wherefore, begone, and leave us, lest once more 
 Our city be compelled to force thee hence. 
 
 Ant. O my kind friends ! as you revere the name 
 Of virtue, though you will not hear the prayers 
 Of my unhappy father, worn with age 
 
274 
 
 (ED2PUS COLONEUS. 
 
 And laden with involuntary crimes ; 
 
 Yet hear the daughter pleading for her sire, 
 
 And pity her who with no evil eye 
 
 Beholds you, but, as one of the same race, 
 
 Born of one common father, here entreats 
 
 Your mercy to th' unhappy, for on you, 
 
 As on some god alone, we must rely ; 
 
 Then grant this wished-for boon — oh ! gi'ant it now, 
 
 By all that's dear to thee, thy sacred word, 
 
 Thy interest, thy children, and thy god ; 
 
 'Tis not in mortals to avoid the crime 
 
 Which Heaven hath pre-ordained. 
 
 Chor. We pity thee, 
 
 Daughter of (Edipus ; we pity him, 
 And his misfortunes ; but of wrath divine 
 Still fearful, dare not alter our decree. 
 
 (Edi. Now who shall trust to glory and fair fame ? 
 What shall it profit that your pious city 
 Was once for hospitable rites renowned, 
 That she alone w ould pity and relieve 
 The afflicted stranger ? Is she so to me 
 Who drives me hence, and trembles at a name % 
 Me you can never fear, and for my crimes 
 I am the sufferer, not the offender. What 
 Touching my father I have spoke, alas ! 
 If 'tis for that you do abhor me thus, 
 Was I to blame % The injury received 
 I but repaid, and therefore had I known 
 The crime I acted, I wxre guiltless still. 
 Whither I came, I came unknowingly; 
 Not so they acted who have banished me. 
 By your commands already here removed. 
 Oh ! by the gods, preserve, assist me now ; 
 If you revere them, do not thus despise 
 What they decree ; their eyes behold tlie goo*^ 
 And view the evil man, nor shall the wicked 
 Escape their wrath ; use not theit* sacred names 
 To cover crimes and stain the fame of Athens. 
 As you received the suppliant, oh ! remember 
 Your plighted faith — preserve me, save me now ! 
 Look not contemptuous on this wretched form, 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 275 
 
 Or cast reproach unmerited ; I come 
 
 Nor impious, nor profane, and with me bring 
 
 To Athens much of profit and renown, 
 
 As when your king arrives, you all shall know : 
 
 Meantime despise me not. 
 
 Chor. Old man, thy words 
 
 Are full of weight, and merit our observance ; 
 If those who here preside but know thy purpose, 
 It doth suffice. 
 
 CEdi. But say, where is the king % 
 
 Chor. Within his palace, but a messenger 
 Is gone to fetch him hither. 
 
 CEdi. O my friends ! 
 
 Think you a sightless wretch like me wdll move 
 His pity or his care, that he will come ? 
 
 Chor. Most readily, when he shall hear the name 
 Of CEdipus. 
 
 O^Di. And who shall tell it him 1 
 
 Chor. The journey's long, but passing travellers 
 Will catch the tale, and he must hear it soon ; 
 Fear not, thy story is already known 
 On every side; 'twill quicken his slow steps. 
 And bring him instant hither. 
 
 CEdi. May he come 
 
 In happy hour to Athens and to me ! 
 He will ; what good man doth not love his country ? 
 
 Ant. Jove ! what shall I say or think ? My 
 father 
 
 CEdi. What says my daughter ? 
 
 Ant. This way bent, behold 
 
 On a Sicilian steed, a woman comes. 
 Her face concealed by a Thessalian veil, 
 To shield her from the sun : am I deceived, 
 Or is it she % I know not what to think. 
 It is my sister, now she smiles upon me ; 
 It must, it can be none but my Ismene. 
 
 CEdi. Who, my Antigone ? 
 
 Ant. It is thy daughter, 
 
 My sister, but her voice will soon convince you, 
 
27<5 
 
 (EDIPUS COLONEUS, 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 ISMENE AND ATTENDANT, (EdIPUS, AnTIGONE, ChORUS* 
 
 Ism. O the sweet sounds ! a father and a sister ! 
 What pains have I not suffered in the search ! 
 And now for grief can scarce behold you. 
 
 (Edi. Oh ! 
 
 My daughter, art thou here 1 
 
 Ism. Alas ! my father, 
 
 How terribly thou lookst! 
 
 (Edi. From the same blood 
 
 The father and the daughter. 
 
 IsM. Wretched race ! 
 
 (Edi. And art thou oome, my daughter 1 
 
 IsM. I have reached thee 
 
 With toil and labour. 
 
 (Edi. Touch me, my child ! 
 
 IsM. Let me embrace you both. 
 
 (Edi. Both miserable ! 
 
 Ism. Join then a third as wretched as yourselves. 
 
 \They all embrace. 
 
 (Edi. Ismene, wherefore art thou come ? 
 
 IsM. My care 
 
 For thee, my father, brought me here. 
 
 (Edi. For me ? 
 
 IsM. That I might speak to thee ; this faithful slave 
 Alone conducted me. [Pointing to her Attendant. 
 
 (Edi. Thy brothers, say. 
 
 What are they doing ? 
 
 IsM. They are — what they are ; 
 
 For, oh ! between them deadliest discord reigns. 
 
 (Edi. How like th' unmanly sons of Egypt's clime, 
 Where the men sit inglorious at the loom, 
 And to their wives leave each domestic care ! 
 E'en thus my sons, who should have laboured for me. 
 Like women idly sit at home, whilst you 
 Perform their office, and with fihal care 
 Attend a wretched father. This kind maid, 
 
 [pointing to Antigone 
 E'en from her infant days, hath wandered long 
 
QLDIPUS COLONEUS. 277 
 
 An exile with me, and supported still 
 
 My feeble age ; oft through the savage woods, 
 
 Naked and hungry, by the wintry storms 
 
 Or scorching heats afflicted, led me on. 
 
 And gave me food, unmindful of her own. 
 
 Thou too, Ismene, wert my faithful guard 
 
 When I was driven forth ; and now art come 
 
 To tell thy father what the gods declare ; 
 
 A stranger now to Thebes, I know not what 
 
 Hath passed between them ; thou hast some sad news, 
 
 I know thou hast, to tell thy wretched father. 
 
 Ism. What I have suffered in the search of thee 
 I pass in silence o'er, since to repeat 
 Were but, alas ! to double my misfortunes ; 
 I only came to tell thee the sad fate 
 Of thy unhappy sons. Awhile they seemed 
 As if they meant to yield the throne to Creon, 
 Nor stain their guilty hands with Theban blood, 
 Mindful of that pollution which remained 
 On thy devoted race ; but now some god 
 Or their own wicked minds have raised a flame 
 Of dire contention, which shall gain the power 
 Supreme, and reign in Thebes. Eteocles 
 Hath drove his elder Polynices forth, 
 Who, now an exile, seeks (as fame reports) 
 The Argians, and in solemn contract joined 
 With these his new allies would raise their fame 
 Above the stars, and sink our Thebes in ruin. 
 These are not words alone — 'tis now in act, 
 Alas ! e'en now I fear, nor know I when 
 The gods will take compassion on thy woes. 
 
 (Edi. Hast thou no hope they'll pity me ? 
 
 Ism. I have ; 
 
 Their oracles have said it. 
 
 (Edi. Ha ! said what % 
 
 My daughter, tell me, what have they declared ? 
 
 Ism. The time would come, they said, when Thebes 
 once more 
 Must seek thee, dead or living, for her safety. 
 
 CEdi. Why, what could such a wretch as I do for 
 them? 
 
27S 
 
 (ED IP US CO LONE US, 
 
 Ism. Their only hope, they say, is placed in thee. 
 
 (TiDi. I, that am nothing, grown so powerful ! Whenf < 
 Can it proceed 1 
 
 Ism. The gods, who once depressed thee, 
 
 Now raise thee up again. 
 
 (Edi. It cannot be ] 
 
 Who falls in youth will never rise in ago. 
 
 Ism. Ivnow, for this very purpose Creon comes ; 
 Ere long thou mayst expect him. 
 
 CEdi. What to do, 
 
 My daughter ? 
 
 ISM. To remove thee hence, and place thee 
 
 Nearer to Thebes, but not within her borders. 
 
 (Edi. If not within, what profit can it be 
 To them 1 
 
 Ism. Thy tomb, raised in a foreign land, 
 
 They fear would prove most fatal. 
 
 CEni. But how know they 
 
 [t must be so, unless some god declared it ? 
 
 Ism. For this alone they wish to have thee near 
 The borders, in their power, and not thy own, 
 
 (Edi. To bury me at Thebes ? 
 
 Ism. That cannot be ; 
 
 Thy crime forbids it. 
 
 (Edi. Then I'll never go. [ance. 
 
 Ism. a time will come when they shall feel thy venge- 
 
 (Edi. What strange vicissitude can e'er produce 
 This wished event ? 
 
 Ism. Thy wrath, when at thy tomb 
 
 They shall be forced to meet. 
 
 (Edi. Who told thee this ? 
 
 Ismene, say. 
 
 Ism. The sacred ministers 
 
 Of Delphos. 
 
 CEdi. Came it from Apollo's shrine ? 
 
 IsM. On their return to Thebes they did report it. 
 
 (Edi. My sons, did they hear aught of this ? 
 
 Ism. Both heard. 
 
 And know it well. 
 
 (Edi. Yet, impious as they are, 
 
 |*referred a kingdom to their father's love, 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 279 
 
 Ism. With grief I tell thee what with grief I heard. 
 
 CEdi. Oh ! may the gods doom them to endless strife ; 
 Ne'er may the battle cease till CEdipus 
 Himself shall end it ; then, nor he who bears 
 The sceptre now, should long maintain the throne, 
 Nor Polynices e'er to Thebes return ; 
 They should not live who drove a parent forth 
 To misery and exile, left by those 
 Who should have loved, supported, and revered him ; 
 I know they say the city but complied 
 With my request — I asked for banishment ; 
 Not then I asked it. In my desperate mind, 
 When first I raged, I wished indeed for death ; 
 It had been grateful then, but no kind friend 
 Would minister the boon. At length my grief 
 Gave way, and when they saw my troubled soul 
 Had taken ample vengeance on itself. 
 After long stay, the city drove me forth ; 
 And those who could have saved me, my base sons, 
 Deaf to a father's prayers, permit me still 
 To roam abroad in poverty and exile. 
 From these alone, far as their tender sex 
 Can help me, I receive the means of life. 
 All the sweet comfort, food, or needful rest 
 Earth can afford me now, whilst to my sons 
 A throne was dearer than a father's love ; 
 But they shall never gain me for their friend, 
 Ne'er reign in Thebes — these oracles declare 
 They never shall. I do remember too 
 Another prophecy which Phcebus erst 
 Delivered to me : let 'em send their Creon, 
 Or any other powerful citizen. 
 To drag me hence ; my hospitable friends, 
 If to those all-protecting deities 
 Who here preside you too will lend your aid, 
 Athens shall find in me its best defence, 
 And vengeance strike the foes of CEilipus. 
 
 Chor. Thou and thy daughters well deserve our pity 
 And, for thy words are full of promised good 
 To our loved city, I will tell thee all 
 'Tis meet thou shouldst perform. 
 
i8o 
 
 (EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 CEdi. My best of friends, 
 
 Instruct me ; I am ready to obey. 
 
 CiiOR. An expiation instant must thou make 
 To the offended powers whose sacred seat 
 Thou has profaned. 
 
 GCdi. But how must it be done? 
 
 Chor. First, with pure hands, from th' ever-flowing 
 spring, 
 Thy due libations pour. 
 
 CEdi. What follows then? 
 
 Chor. Take thou a cup wrought by some skilful hand, 
 Bind it \vith wreaths around. 
 
 CEdi. • Of leaves or threads 
 
 Composed ? 
 
 Chor. Of wool, fresh from the new-shorn lamb. 
 
 CEdi. Is there aught else ? 
 
 Chor. Then, turning to the sun, 
 
 Make thy libations. 
 
 CEdi. From the cup, thou sayst, 
 
 Chor. The water from three fountains drawn ; and 
 last 
 Remember, none be left. 
 
 CEdi. With that alone 
 
 Must it be filled ? 
 
 Chor. Water with honey mixed — 
 No wine ; this pour on th' earth 
 
 (Edi. What then remains? 
 
 Chor. Take in thy hand of olive-boughs thrice nine. 
 And offering these, begin thy humble prayer. 
 
 CEdi. But how address them ? That concerns me near. 
 
 Chor. Their name thou knowst implies benevolent : 
 Intreat them therefore kindly now to prove 
 Benevolent to thee ; but, remember, 
 Low be the voice and short the supplication. 
 That done, return — be careful to perform it ; 
 I may assist thee then with confidence, 
 But if thou dost it not, must tremble for thee. 
 
 (Edi, My daughters, heard you this ? 
 
 Ant. We did; command 
 
 What's to be done. 
 
 CEdi. What I can never do, 
 
(EDI PUS COLON RUS. 281 
 
 Powerless and blind as I am ; one of you, 
 My daughters, must perform it. 
 
 Ant. One alone 
 
 May do the task of many when the mind 
 Is active in it. 
 
 CEdi. Hence then, quick, away ! 
 
 But do not leave me here alone. These limbs 
 Without a guide will never find their way. 
 
 Ism. Father, I go ; but how to find the place 
 I know not. 
 
 Chor. Stranger, t' other side of the grove ; 
 
 There, some inhabitant will soon inform thee, 
 If thou shouldst want assistance or instruction. 
 
 Ism. Meantime, Antigone, remain thou here. 
 And guard our father well : cares are not cares 
 When we endure them for a parent's sake. 
 
 \Exit ISMENE. 
 
 Scene YII. 
 (Edipus, Antigone, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Stranger, albeit we know 'tis most ungrateful 
 To raise the sad remembrance of past woes. 
 Yet would we gladly hear 
 
 (Edi. What wouldst thou know ? 
 
 Chor. The cause of thy unhappy state, 
 
 GEdi. Alas ! 
 
 By all the sacred hospitable rites, 
 I beg thee do not ask me to reveal it ; 
 My crimes are horrible. 
 
 Chor. Already fame 
 
 Hath spread them wide, and still talks loudly of them \ 
 Tell us the truth. 
 
 Q5di. Alas ! 
 
 Chor. Let me beseech thee ! 
 
 OEdi. me 
 
 Chor. Comply : ask what thou wilt of me, 
 
 And thou shalt have it. 
 
 CEiy I have suifered muchj 
 
?82 (EDI r us COLONKUS. 
 
 The gods can witness 'twas against my will 
 t. 
 
 Knew not what ? 
 
 I knew not of it. 
 
 Chor. 
 
 (Edi. The city, 
 
 Unknowing too, bound me in lioiTid nuptials. 
 
 OnoR. And didst thou then pollute, as fame reports, 
 Thy mother's bed ? 
 
 (Edi. Oh ! death to hear : I did. 
 
 Here, here they are. 
 
 Chor. Who 's there ? 
 
 CEdi. INIy crimes ! my daughters ! 
 
 Chor. Daughters and sisters of their father ? Oh ! 
 'Tis horrible indeed ! 
 
 Qi^Di. 'Tis woe on woe. 
 
 Chor. Great Jove ! both daughters of one hapless 
 mother ! 
 What hast thou suffered ? 
 
 (Edi. Ills not io be borne. 
 
 Chor. Didst thou then perpetrate the horrid deed ? 
 
 (Edi. Oh no ! 
 
 Chor. Not do it ? 
 
 (Edi. I received from Thebes 
 
 A fatal gift ; would I had never ta'en it ! 
 
 Chor. And art thou not a murderer too ? 
 
 (Edi. What's that 
 
 Thou sayst ? 
 
 Chor. Thy father 
 
 (Edi. Thou add'st grief to grief. 
 
 Chor, Didst thou not murder him ? 
 
 (Edi. I did ; but hear 
 
 Chor. Hear what ? 
 
 (Edi. The cause. 
 
 Chor. What cause ? 
 
 (Edi. I'll tell thee. Know then, 
 
 I murdered others too, yet by the laws 
 I stand absolved ; 'twas done in ignorance. 
 
 Chor. {seeh^ Theseus, wJw enters]. But lo ! the king, 
 -(Egean Theseus, comes ; 
 The fame of thee bath brought him here already. 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS. 283 
 
 Scene YIII. 
 TheseuSj CEdipus, Antigone, Uiiokus. 
 
 The. son of Laius ! long ere- this the tal« 
 
 Of thy disastrous fate, by many a tongue 
 
 Related, I had heard : thy eyes torn forth 
 
 By thy own desperate hand : and now I see 
 
 It was too true. Thy garb and dreadful aspect 
 
 Speak who thou art. Unhappy Qildipus, 
 
 I come to ask, in pity to thy woes. 
 
 What 's thy request to Athens or to me — 
 
 Thine, or this hapless virgin on thy steps 
 
 Attendant. Speak ; for large must be the boon 
 
 1 would refuse thee. I have known too well, 
 
 Myself a wretched wanderer, the woes 
 
 Of cruel exile, not to pity thine : 
 
 Of toils and dangers in a foreign land 
 
 Much have I suffered ; therefore not to me 
 
 Shall the poor stranger ever sue in vain 
 
 For aid and safety. Mortals as we are, 
 
 Uncertain ever is to-morrow's fate, 
 
 Alike unknown to Theseus and to thee. 
 
 Q^Idi. Theseus, thy words declare thy noble nature, 
 
 And leave me little to reply. Thou knowst 
 
 My story — who and whence I am ; no more 
 
 Remains, but that I tell thee my request, 
 
 And we have done. 
 
 The. Proceed then, and inform me 
 
 G5di. I come to give this wretched body to thee, 
 
 To sight ungracious, but of worth more dear 
 
 To thee than fairest forms could boast. 
 
 The. What worhih i 
 
 CEdi. Hereafter thou slialt know — not now 
 
 The. But when 
 
 Shall we receive it '] 
 
 (Edi. When I am no more 
 
 When thou shalt bury me. 
 
284 
 
 (EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 my 
 
 The. Death is, it seems, 
 
 Thy chief concern, and life not worth thy cai-e. 
 
 (Edi. That will procure me all the means of life. 
 
 The. And is this all thou ask'st, this little boon % 
 
 OEdi. Not little is the strife which shall ensue. 
 
 The. What strife ? With whom — thy children, or 
 own? 
 
 (Edi. Mine, Theseus; they would have me back to 
 Thebes. 
 
 The. And wouldst thou rather be an exile here? 
 
 CEdi. Once they refused me. 
 
 The. Anger suits but ill 
 
 With low estate and miseries like thine. 
 
 QEdi. Hear first, and then condemn me. 
 
 The. Not unheard 
 
 All thou canst urge, would I reprove thee. Speak. 
 
 CEdi. O Theseus ! I have borne the worst of ills. 
 
 The. The curses on thy race ? 
 
 CEdi. Oh no ! all Greece 
 
 Hath heard of them. 
 
 The. What more than mortal woe 
 
 Afihcts thee then ? 
 
 CEdi. E'en this : my cruel sons 
 
 Have driven me from my country ; nevermore 
 Must Thebes receive a pariicide. 
 
 The. Why then 
 
 Recall thee now, if thou must ne'er return ? 
 
 CEdi. Commanded by an oracle divine. 
 
 The. Why, what doth it declare ? 
 
 CEdi. 
 To thee, and to thy arms. 
 
 The. But whence should spring 
 
 Such dire contention ? 
 
 CEdi. Dearest son of u3^Jgeus, 
 
 From age and death exempt, the gods alone 
 Immortal and unchangeable remain, 
 Whilst all things else fall by the hand of Time, 
 The universal conqueror. Earth laments 
 Her fertile powers exhausted. Human strength 
 Is withered soon. E'en faith and truth decay, 
 
 That Thebes shall yield 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS, 285 
 
 And from their ashes fraud and falsehood rise. 
 
 Nor friendship long from mjtn to man endures, 
 
 Or realm to realm. To each successive rise 
 
 Bitter and sweet, and happiness and woe. 
 
 Athens and Thebes thou seest united now, 
 
 And all is well; but passing time shall bring 
 
 The fatal day (and slight will be the cause) 
 
 That soon shall change the bonds of amity 
 
 And holy faith, for feuds and deadliest hate. 
 
 Then, buried long in earth, shall this cold corse 
 
 Drink their warm blood, which from the mutual wound 
 
 Frequent shall flow. It must be as I tell thee. 
 
 If Jove be Jove, and great Apollo true. 
 
 But why should I reveal the fixed decree 
 
 Of all-deciding Heaven ? Permit me now 
 
 To end where I began. Thy plighted faith 
 
 Once more confirm, and never shalt thou say 
 
 The wretched OEdipus to Theseus came 
 
 An useless and unprofitable guest, 
 
 If the immortal gods have not deceived me. 
 
 Chor. O king ! already hath this man declared 
 The same goodwill to thee and to our country. 
 
 Thes. Can I reject benevolence and love 
 Like this, my friends % Oh no ! the common rites 
 Of hospitality, this altar here, 
 The witness of our mutual vows, forbid it ; 
 He comes a suppliant to the goddesses, 
 And pays no little tribute both to me 
 And to my kingdom ; he shall find a seat 
 Within my realms, for I revere his virtues. 
 If here it pleaseth him to stay, remember \to the Chorus 
 'Tis my command you guard this stranger well ; 
 If thou wouldsb rather go with me, thou mayst ; 
 I leave it to thy choice. \To CEdipus. 
 
 (Edi. Reward them, Jove. 
 
 The. What sayst thou ? wilt thou follow me % 
 
 O^Idi. I would, 
 
 If it were lawful, but it must be here — 
 This is the place- 
 
 The. For what ? I'll not deny thee- 
 
286 
 
 EDIPUS COLONl 
 
 (Edi. Where I mast conquer those who banished me. 
 
 The. That would be glory and renown to this 
 Thy place of refuge. 
 
 O^Di. If I may depend 
 
 On thy fair piomise. 
 
 The. Fear not, I shall ne'er 
 
 15etray my friend. 
 
 CEdi. I will not bind thee to it 
 
 By oath, like those whom we suspect of ill. 
 
 The. Thou needst not, CEdipus ; my word 's my oath. 
 
 (Edi. How must I act then 1 
 
 The. Fear'st thou aught 1 
 
 (Edi. I do. 
 
 A force will come against me. 
 
 The. [pomting to the Chorus]. Here 's thy guard ; 
 These shall protect thee. 
 
 (Edi. If thou goest, remember 
 
 And save me, Theseus. 
 
 The. Teach not me my duty. 
 
 (Edi. Still am I fearful. 
 
 The. Theseus is not so. 
 
 (Edi. Knowest thou not what they threatened? 
 
 The. This I know, 
 
 No power on earth shall wrest thee from this place. 
 Oftimes the angry soul will vent its wrath 
 In idle threats, with high and empty words, 
 Which ever, as the mind is to itself 
 Restored, are — nothing. They may boast their strength, 
 And say they '11 tear thee from me ; but I tell thee 
 The journey would be long and tedious to them ; 
 They will not hazard it — they dare not : therefore 
 Be comforted, for if by Phcebus sent 
 Thou hither cam'st, thou'rt safe without my aid, 
 E'en if I leave thee safe ; for know, the name 
 Of Theseus here sufficeth to protect thee. 
 
 [Exit Theseus. 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 287 
 
 Scene IX. 
 (Edipus, Antigone, Chorus 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Thou art come in happy time, 
 Stranger, to this blissful clime, 
 Long for swiftest steeds renowned, 
 Fertilest of the regions round ; 
 Where, beneath the ivy shade. 
 In the dew-sprinkled glade. 
 Many a love-lorn nightingale 
 Warbles sweet her plaintive tale ; 
 Where the vine in clusters pours 
 Her sweets, secured from wintry showers 
 Nor scorching suns, nor raging storm 
 The beauties of the year deform. 
 
 Arttistrophe i. 
 
 Where the sweet narcissus growing. 
 Where the yellow crocus blowing, 
 Round the sacred altars twine. 
 Offering to the powers divine ; 
 Where the pure springs perpetual flow^ 
 Watering the verdant meads below. 
 Which with its earth-enriching waves 
 The fair Cephisus ever laves ; 
 Where, with his ever-sporting train, 
 Bacchus wantons on the plain, 
 Pleased with the Muses still to rove, 
 And golden Venus, queen of love. 
 
 Strophe 2. 
 
 Alone within this happy land, 
 Planted here by Nature's hand. 
 Which, nor Asia's fertile plains. 
 Nor Pelops' spacious isle contains, 
 
288 (EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 Pallas, thy sacred olive grows, 
 Striking terror on our foes ; 
 Ever free from hostile rage, 
 From wanton youth or greedy age ; 
 Happy in sage Minerva's love, 
 And guarded still by Morian Jove. 
 
 Antistrophe 2. 
 
 But nobler gifts and fairer fame, 
 
 Athens, yet adorn thy name ; 
 
 Such wondrous gifts hath poured on thee, 
 
 Thy great protecting deity. 
 
 Here first obedient to command, 
 
 Formed by Neptune's skilful hand, 
 
 The steed was taught to know the rein, 
 
 And bear the chariot o'er the plain ; 
 
 Here first along the rapid tide 
 
 The stately vessels learned to ride, 
 
 And swifter down the currents flow 
 
 Than Nereids cut the waves below. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Antigone, OEdipus, Chorcs. 
 
 Antigone. Great are thy praises, Attica, and now 
 The time is come to show thou dost deserve them. 
 
 CEdi. What means my daughter ? Speak ; what new 
 event 
 Alarms thee? 
 
 Ant. Creon, with a numerous band 
 
 Of followers, comes this way. 
 
 (Edi. Oh ! now, my friends. 
 
 If ever, help me. 
 
 Chor. Fear not ; we'll protect thee. 
 
 Though I am old, the strength of Attica 
 Is not decayed. 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS. 289 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Creon {li^ith Attendants), CEdipus, Antigone, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Creon. Most honoured citizens, 
 I see you look with eyes of fear upon me, 
 Without a cause ; for know, I came not here 
 Intending aught of violence or ill 
 Against a city so renowned in Greece 
 As yours hath ever been ; I only came, 
 Commissioned by the State of Thebes, to fetch 
 This old man back, if by persuasion mild 
 I could induce him to return \ not sent 
 By one alone, but the united voice 
 Of a whole people, who assigned the task 
 To me because, by blood united to him, 
 I felt for his misfortunes as my own. 
 Come therefore, Qlldipus, attend me home ; 
 Thebes calls thee back, thy kingdom now demands thee — 
 By me she calls thee ; listen to thy friend, 
 For surely Creon were the worst of men. 
 If he could look on woes like thine unmoved 
 When I behold thee, in a foreign land 
 A wretched wanderer, forced to beg thy bread 
 From place to place, with this unhappy maid, 
 Whom little did I think to see exposed 
 To misery and shame, of nuptial rites 
 Hopeless, and thus bereft of every aid, — 
 Oh ! 'tis reproach and infamy to us 
 And to our race ; but 'tis already known, 
 And cannot be concealed. CEdipus ! 
 I here beseech thee, by our country's gods, 
 Return to Thebes ; bid thou a kind farewell — 
 For she deserves it — to this noble city, 
 But still remember thy own dearer country. 
 
 (Edi, Thou daring hypocrite, whose specious wiles 
 Beneath fair semblance mean but to betray, 
 Why wouldst thou tempt me thus? Why thus once more 
 
 K 
 
fQO 
 
 (EDTPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 Ensnare me in thy toils, and make me still 
 
 More wi-etched than I am ? Long time oppressed 
 
 By heaviest woes, I pined within my palace, 
 
 And longed for exile ; but you then refused 
 
 To let nie go, till, satiated with grief, 
 
 My soul at length was calm, and much I wished 
 
 To spend my few remaining years at home : 
 
 Then thou — for little did the kindred blood 
 
 Thou talkst of then avail — didst banish me ; 
 
 And now again thou com'st to make me wretched. 
 
 Because thou seest this kind benignant city 
 
 Embrace and cherish, thou wouldst drag me hence, 
 
 With sweetest words covering thy bitter mind, 
 
 Professing love to those who choose it not. 
 
 He who denies his charitable aid 
 
 To the poor beggar in his utmost need, 
 
 And if abundance comes, should offer that 
 
 Which is not wanted, little merits thanks. 
 
 Such is thy bounty now — in word alone, 
 
 And not in deed, the friend of Q^^dipus. 
 
 But I will tell them what thou art. Thou cam'st not 
 
 To take me hence, but leave me in the borders 
 
 Of Thebes, that so thy kingdom may escape 
 
 The impending ills which this avenging city 
 
 Shall pour upon it ; but 'twill come to pass 
 
 As I foretold : my evil genius still 
 
 Slmll haunt yon, and my sons no more of Thebes 
 
 Inherit than shall serve them for a grave. 
 
 Thy country's fate is better known to me 
 
 Than to thyself, for my instruction comes 
 
 From surer guides — from Phoebus and from Jove. 
 
 Thy artful speech shall little serve thy purpose, 
 
 'Twill only hurt thy cause : therefore begone ! 
 
 I'm not to be persuaded. Let me live 
 
 In quiet here, for, wretched as I am, 
 
 'Twill be some comfort to be far from thee. 
 
 Cbeon. Thinkst thou I heed thy words ? Who'll 
 suffer most 
 For this perverseness — thou, or I ? 
 
 (Edi. Thy little arts will nought avail with me, 
 Or with my friends. 
 
(EDI PUS CO LONE US. 291 
 
 Crbon. Poor wretch ! no time can cure 
 
 Thy follies ; thy old age is grown delirious. 
 
 CEdi. Thou hast a hateful tongue ; but few, how just 
 Soe'er they be, can always speak aright. 
 
 Creon. But to say much, and to say well, are things 
 Which difier widely. 
 
 CEdi. What thou sayst no doubt 
 
 Is brief, and proper too. 
 
 Ceeon. 'Twill hardly seem so 
 
 To those who think like thee. 
 
 (Edi. Away ; nor dare 
 
 Direct my steps, as if thou hadst the power 
 To place me where thou wilt. 
 
 Oreon. Kemember all 
 
 To witness this, for he shall answer it 
 When he is mine. 
 
 (Edi. But who shall force me hence 
 
 Against the will of these my friends ? 
 
 Ore. Their aid 
 
 Is vain, already I have done what much 
 Will hurt thee. 
 
 (Edi. Ha ! what threats are these % 
 
 Creon. Thy daughters 
 
 Must go with me ; one is secured, and now 
 This moment will I wrest the other from thee. 
 
 (Edi. me ! 
 
 Creon. I'll give thee much more cause for grief. 
 
 (Edi. Hast thou my daughter? 
 
 Creon. Ay, and will have this. 
 
 (Edi. \to the Chorus]. What will you do, my friends? 
 Will you forsake me % 
 Will you not drive this vile, abandoned man 
 Forth from your city % 
 
 Chor. Stranger, hence, away ! 
 
 Thy actions are most shameful and unjust. 
 
 Creon. Slaves, do your office ; bear her off" by force, 
 If she consents not. 
 
 Ant. Whither shall I fly 
 
 For aid ? What god or man shall I implore 
 To succour me ? 
 
 Chor. Alas ! what wouldst thou do % 
 
Creon. 1 touch not him, but I must have my' 
 
 Ant. princes ! aid me now. 
 
 Chob. 'Tis most unjust. 
 
 Creon. I say 'tis just. 
 
 Chor. Then prove it. 
 
 Creon. They are mine. 
 
 Chor. citizens ! 
 
 Ant. Oh ! loose me : if you do not, 
 
 You shall repent this violence. 
 
 Creon. Go on, 
 
 I will defend you. 
 
 G^^Di. He, who injures me, 
 
 Oifends the city. 
 
 Chor. Said I not before 
 
 It would be thus 1 
 
 Creon. [to the Chorus]. Let go the maid this instant. 
 
 Chor. Command where thou hast power. 
 
 Creon. Let her go. 
 
 Chor. Begone thyself. What, ho ! my countrymen, 
 The city is in danger ; haste and save us. 
 
 [Creoh'b followers seize on Antigone. 
 
 Ant. I'm seized, my friends. Oh, help ! 
 
 OEdi. Where is my daughter 'i 
 
 Ant. Torn from thee. 
 
 OEdi Oh ! stretch forth thy hand. 
 
 Ant. I cannot. 
 
 Creon. Away with her 
 
 CEdi. wretched CEdipus ! 
 
 Creon. No longer shall these tender props support 
 Thy feeble age ; since thou art still resolved 
 Against thyself, thy countr3^, and thy friends, 
 By whose command. I come, remain perverse 
 And obstinate, old man ; but know, hereafter 
 Time will convince thee thou hast ever been 
 Thy own worst foe ; thy fiery temper still 
 Must make thee wretched. 
 
 Chor. Stranger, stir not hence. 
 
 Creon. I charge you, touch me not. 
 
 Chor. Thou shalt not go 
 
 Till thou restor'st the virgins. 
 
 Creon. I must have 
 
A nobler I'ansom from your city ; these 
 Shall not suffice. 
 
 Chor. What meanst thou ? 
 
 Creon, He shall go, 
 
 This (Edipus. 
 
 Chor. Thy threats are terrible. 
 
 Creon. I'll do 't ; and only he who governs here 
 Shall hinder me. 
 
 Q5di. insolence ! thou wilt not, 
 
 Thou dar'st not force me. 
 
 Creon. Hold thy peace. 
 
 (Edi. Not e'en 
 
 The dreadful goddesses, who here preside, 
 Should bind my tongue from heaviest curses on thee, 
 For thou hast robbed me of the only light 
 These eyes could boast ; but may th' all-seeing sun 
 Behold and punish thee and all thy race. 
 And load thy age with miseries like mine ! 
 
 Creon. Inhabitants of Athens, hear ye this ? 
 
 (Edi. They do, and see that but with fruitless words 
 I can repay the injuries I receive ; 
 For I am weak with age, and here alone. 
 
 Creon. No longer will I curb my just resentment, 
 But force thee hence. 
 
 (Edi. me ! 
 
 Chor. What boldness, stranger, 
 
 Could make thee hope to do a deed like this 
 Unpunished ? 
 
 Creon. 'Tis resolved. 
 
 Chor. Our Athens then 
 
 Is fallen indeed, and is no more a city. 
 
 Creon. In a just cause the weak may foil the mighty. 
 
 (Edi. Hear how he threatens 
 
 Chor. What he'll ne'er perform. 
 
 Creon. That Jove alone can tell. 
 
 Chor. Shall injuries 
 
 Like these be suftered 1 
 
 Creon. Call it injury 
 
 Thou mayst, 'tis such as thou perforce must bear. 
 
 Chor. This is too much ; ye rulers of the land 
 My fellow-citizens, come forth and save us. 
 
~ (EDIPVS COLONEUii, 
 
 ►Scene 111. 
 TiiE.sEi's, CiiEON, (Ei)ii'us, Antioone, Chorus. 
 
 Tjii:. Whence is this clamour? Wherefore ain I calie<l 
 From sacred rites at Neptune's altar paid, 
 Our guardian god ? Say, what's the cause that thus 
 In hiiste I'm summoned hither % 
 
 CEdi. O my friend ! — 
 
 Foi* well I know thy voice— most cruelly 
 Have I been treated by this man. 
 
 The. Who did it % 
 
 (Edi. This Creon, whom thou seest, hath ravished 
 from me 
 My only help, my daughters. 
 
 The. Ha ! wliat sayst thou ? 
 
 CEdi. 'Tis as I tell thee. 
 
 The. \to his Attendants], Quick, dispatch my servant^. 
 Fly to the altar, summon all my people, 
 Horsemen and foot ; give o'er the sacrifice, 
 And instant to the double gate repair, 
 Lest with the virgins the base ravishers 
 Escape unpunished, and my guest thus injui-ed 
 Laugh me to scorn for cowardice Away! 
 Were I to punish this oppressor here \tuming to Ceeox 
 As my resentment bids and he deserves. 
 He should this instant fall beneath my rage ; 
 But the same justice he to others deals. 
 Himself shall meet from us ; thou shalt not go 
 Till those whom thou didst basely ravish hence 
 Are brought before me. 'Twas unlike thyself, 
 Unworthy of thy country and thy race. 
 To enter thus a cultivated city. 
 Where law and justice reign, with violence 
 And rapine, snatching what thy fancy pleased. 
 Or didst thou think I ruled a desert land. 
 Or that my people were a race of slaves. 
 And Theseus but the shadow of a king ? 
 Thebes never taught thee such destnictive lessons, 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 295 
 
 For she abhors injustice : when she heai's 
 That Creon, thus despising sacred laws, 
 Hath ta'en with brutal violence my right, 
 And would have stolen a wretched suppliant from me, 
 She'll not approve thy conduct ; say I went 
 To Thebes, how just soever were the cause, 
 I should not seize on aught without the lea-ve 
 Of him who governed there ; but, as becomes 
 A stranger, bear myself unblamed by all. 
 Thou hast disgraced thy country and thy friends, 
 And weight of years hath ta'en thy senses from thee. 
 Again I say, restore the virgins to me. 
 Or stay with me thyself, for so thou shalt, 
 Howe'er unwilling \ what I've said, remember. 
 Is what I have resolved — therefore determine. 
 Chok. \to Creon]. Stranger, thy actions, noble as 
 thou art. 
 But ill become thy family and name. 
 Because unjust ; but thou beholdst thy fate. 
 
 Creon. Theseus, it was not that I thought this city 
 Without or guards to save, or laws to rule, 
 Which brought me here, nor unadvised I came ; 
 But that I hoped you never would receive 
 My kindred here against my will, nor e'er 
 Embrace a vile incestuous parricide, 
 Or cherish and protect him in a land 
 Whose court, renowned for justice, suffers not 
 Such poor abandoned exiles to reside 
 Within its borders ; therefore did 1 this, 
 Which yet I had not done but for the curses 
 Which he hath poured on me and all my race ; 
 Ileven,afe inspired me ; anger, well thou knowst, 
 Can never be extinguished but by death. 
 Which closeth every wound. At present, Theseus, 
 It must be as thou wilt ; my want of power, 
 How just soe'er my cause, demands submission ; 
 Yet, old and weak, I shall not tamely yield. 
 
 CEdi. Audacious man ! thinkst thou the vil«3 reproach 
 Thou utter'st falls on me, or on thyself % 
 Thou who upbraidst me thus for all my woes. 
 Murder and incest, which against my will 
 
-96 CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 I had committed, so it pleased the gods, 
 (JHended at my race for former crimes ; 
 But 1 am guiltless ; canst thou name a fault 
 Deserving this ? For, tell me, Avas it mine, 
 Wlien to my father Phujbus did declare 
 That he should one day perish by the hand 
 Of his own child? Was CEdipus to blame. 
 Who had no being then ? If, born at length 
 To wretchedness, he met his sire unknown, 
 And slew him, that involuntary deed 
 Canst thou condemn ? And for my fatal marriage, 
 Dost thou not blush to name it ? Was not she 
 Thy sister, she who bore me, ignorant 
 And guiltless woman, afterwards my wife, 
 And mother to my children % What she did, 
 fShe did unknowing ; not like thee, who thus 
 Dost purposely upbraid us both. Heaven knows 
 Unwillingly I w^edded her, and now 
 Unwillingly repeat the dreadful tale ; 
 But, nor for that, nor for my murdered father, 
 Have I deserved thy bitter taunts ; for tell me. 
 Thy life attacked, wouldst thou have stayed to ask 
 Th' assassin if he were t\\j father ? No ; 
 Self-love would urge thee to revenge the insult. 
 Thus was I drove to ill by th' angry gods ; 
 This, should my father's soul revisit earth. 
 Himself would own, and pity CEdipus. 
 Thy bold and impious tongue still utters all ; 
 Just or unjust, thou pourst thy foul reproach 
 On me, pretending to revere the name 
 Of Theseus and his countiy. But remember, 
 The city, whom thou hast praised, is famed 
 For piety and reverence to the gods ; 
 Yet wouldst thou drive a needy suppliant thence, 
 And lead him captive. Thou hast stolen my daughter ; 
 But I implore the dreadful goddesses 
 To grant me aid, that thou mayst feel the power 
 Which thou contemn'st, and know the force of Athens. 
 Chor. [to Theseus]. O king ! this stranger merits thy 
 regard ; 
 His woes are great, his cause should be defended. 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 297 
 
 The. No more the ravishers are fled with, speed, 
 Whilst we, who suffer, stand inactive here. 
 
 Creon. Speak thy commands, for I must yield to 
 thee. 
 
 The. Go thou before me, I shall follow close ; 
 If here thou hast concealed the virgins, now 
 Discover them ; if hence, to others' hands 
 Committed, they are fled, they shall not 'scape ; 
 My servants soon will fetch them back. Meantime, 
 Remember thy condition, for thy fate 
 Hath caught thee in the net which thou hadst spread 
 For others ; but what evil means acquire 
 Is seldom kept : thou cam'st not naked here, 
 Or unattended, thus to do an act 
 Of violence. Ere long 1 11 know on what 
 Thou didst rely, nor by a single arm 
 Shall Athens fall inglorious. Hearst thou this, 
 Or are my words unheeded ? 
 
 Creon. 'Tis not now 
 
 A time to answer ; we shall know at home 
 What must be done. 
 
 The. Thou threatenest ; but go on. 
 
 Stay thou in quiet here, for if I live, 
 
 \turninij to OEdipus 
 I will not rest till I restore thy daughters. 
 
 \Extimt Theseus and Creo.v. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 CEdipus, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 StropliQ I. 
 
 Now the combatants prepare, 
 And hasten to the field of war, 
 Theseus, their great and god-like friend, 
 The hapless virgins shall defend. 
 Oh ! could I hear the dreadful battle roar, 
 Or near Apollo's sacred shrine, 
 
298 (EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 Or on the torch -enlightened shore, 
 Or Ceres, where thy priests their rights divine 
 Perform, with lips in solemn silence sealed, 
 And mysteries ne'er by mortal tongue revealed. 
 
 Antistrophe i. 
 
 At yon snowy mountain's feet 
 
 Westward perchance the warriors meet ; 
 
 Chariot and horse with mutual rage 
 
 On CEta's ilowery plains engage ; 
 Around their Theseus now, a valiant band, 
 
 See Athens' martial sons unite 
 
 To save their native land ; 
 All shake their glittering spears, and urge the fight ; 
 All who thy power, Equestrian Pallas, own, 
 Or bow to Neptune, Rhea's honoured son, 
 
 Sti'ojyhe 2. 
 
 The bloody scene shall soon be o'er 
 
 Creon the virgin shall restoi-e ; 
 
 My soul prophetic sees the maid 
 
 For pious duty thus repaid ; 
 For ever active is the power of Jove, 
 
 From whom perpetual blessings flow : 
 
 Oh ! that I now could, like the dove, 
 Soar through the skies, and mai-k the field below. 
 The wished-for conquest joyful to behold. 
 And triumph in the victory I foretold ! 
 
 Antistrojihe 2. 
 
 Thou power supreme, all powers above, 
 
 All-seeing, all-performing Jove, 
 
 Grant that the rulers of this land 
 
 May soon subdue the hostile band ! 
 Tliee, too, O Pallas ! hunter Phoebus, thee 
 
 Do we invoke, with thee be joined 
 
 Thy virgin sister deity, 
 Who loves o'er lawns to chase the spotted hind ; 
 On you w^e call, your aid propitious bring, 
 Oh 1 haste, protect our country and our king. [ExeunL 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEL'S. 299 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene 1. 
 
 (Edipus, Theseus, Antigone, Ismene, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Chor. I'm no false prophet, stranger, for behold 
 Thy daughters. 
 
 CEdi. Ha ! what sayst thou ? Where, oh ! where ? 
 
 Ant. My father ! my father ! what kind god 
 Raised up this friend who hath restored us to thee ? 
 
 CEdi. Are then my daughters with me % 
 
 Ant. Theseus' arm 
 
 Hath brought us here : to him and to his friends 
 We owe our safety. 
 
 CEdi. Oh ! come nigh, my children ; 
 
 Let me embrace you. Never did I think 
 Again to fold you in these arms. 
 
 Ant. We come 
 
 With joy, my father. 
 
 CEdi. Oh ! where are you ? 
 
 Ant. Here. 
 
 CEdi. My dearest children ! 
 
 Ant. To our father still 
 
 May every pleasure come ! 
 
 CEdi. ^eaniyig on Antigone]. My best support ! 
 
 Ant. The wretched bear the wretched. 
 
 CEdi. \emhracing them]. I have all 
 
 That 's precious to me : were I now to die 
 Whilst you are here, I should not be unhappy. 
 Support me, daughters, to your father's side 
 Close pressed. Oh ! soothe to peace a wretched exile. 
 Long time deserted. Tell me what hath happened ; 
 But let the tale be short, as best becomes 
 Thy tender age. 
 
 Ant. [pointing to Theseus]. Here is our great pro- 
 tector. 
 
300 (EDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 He will inform you; so shall what I speak 
 Be brief, as thou wouldst have it. 
 
 (Edi. Noble Theseus, 
 
 My children thus beyond my hopes restored. 
 If I should talk too long on such a theme, 
 Thou wilt not wonder. 'Tis to thee alone 
 I owe my joys ; thou didst protect and save 
 My much-loved daughters : may the gods repay 
 Thee and thy kingdom for this goodness to me ! 
 Here only have I found or faith, or truth, 
 Or justice ; you alone possess them all. 
 I ^vill attest it, for 1 know it well. 
 I feel your virtues ; what I have is all 
 From you. king ! permit me but to touch 
 Thy hand. Oh ! stretch it forth ; or let me kiss 
 Thy honoured lips. But, oh ! what do I say ? 
 Can such a wretch as CEdipus e'er hope 
 With guilty hands to touch a man like thee, 
 So pure, so spotless ? Yet I must embrace thee ; 
 They only who have known misfortune feel 
 For others' griefs with sympathizing woe. 
 Hail, best of men ! and mayst thou ever be. 
 As thou hast been, my guardian and my friend ! 
 
 The. Thus happy as thou must be in thy children, 
 Hadst thou said more, much more, and talked to them 
 Rather than me, it had not moved my wonder ; 
 Nor think I should resent it. Not by w^ords 
 Would Theseus be distinguished, but by deeds 
 Illustrious. This thou knowst, for what I swore 
 I have performed — restored thy daughters to thee, 
 Safe from the tyrant's threats. How passed the conflict 
 Why should I boast ? They at their leisure best 
 May tell you all. Meantime to what I heard 
 As hither coming, CEdipus, attend. 
 Of little import seemed the circumstance. 
 And yet 'twas strange ; but nought should mortal man 
 Deem or beneath his notice or his care. 
 
 (Edi. What is it, son of ^geus ? Oh ! inform me, 
 For nothing have I heard. 
 
 The. a man, they say. 
 
 Who boasts himself by blood allied to thee. 
 
CEDIPUS COLON E US. 301 
 
 At Neptune's altar, whilst I sacrificed, 
 In humblest posture stood. 
 
 CEdi. What could it mean % 
 
 Whence came he % 
 
 The. That I know not \ this alone 
 
 They told me : suppliant he requested much 
 To talk a while with thee. 
 
 CEdi. With me % 'Tis strange, 
 
 And yet methinks important. 
 
 The. He desired 
 
 But to converse with thee, and then depart. 
 
 CEdi. Who can it be ? 
 
 The. Hast thou no friend at Argos, 
 
 None of thy kindred there who wished to see thee ? 
 
 CEdi. No more, my friend. 
 
 The. What sayst thou ? 
 
 CEdi. Do not ask me. 
 
 The. Ask what 
 
 CEdi. I know him now ; I know too well 
 
 Who 's at the altar. 
 
 The. Who is it ? 
 
 CEdi. My son — 
 
 That hateful son, whose voice I loathe to hear. 
 
 The. But why not hear him % Still thou mayst refuse 
 What he shall ask. 
 
 CEdi. I cannot, cannot bear it : 
 
 Do not oblige me. 
 
 The. But the sacred place 
 
 Where now he stands, and reverence to the gods, 
 Demand it of thee. 
 
 Ant. Let me, my father ! 
 
 Young as I am, admonish thee. Oh ! grant 
 Thy friend his just request; obey the gods, 
 And let our brother come : whate'er he says 
 It need not draw thee from thy first resolve. 
 What harm to hear him ? Words have oft produced 
 The noblest works. Remember, 'tis thy child — 
 Thou didst beget him ; though he were the worst 
 Of sons to thee, yet would it ill become 
 A father to return it. Let him come. 
 Others like thee have base, unwortliy children, 
 
303 (EDIPUS COLONEUS, 
 
 And yet their minds are softened to forgiveness 
 
 By friends' ad\ace, and all their wTath subdued. 
 
 Think on thy own unhappy parent's fate, 
 
 Thence mayst thou learn what dreadful ills have flowed 
 
 From anger's bitter fountain ; thou, alas ! 
 
 Art a sad proof ; those sightless eyes too well 
 
 Bear witness to it. Those who only ask 
 
 What justice warrants, should not ask in vain ; 
 
 Nor who receives a benefit, forget 
 
 The hand that gave, but study to repay it. 
 
 CEdi. You have o'ercome me : with reluctant pleasure 
 I }ield. My children, be it as you please ; 
 But if he comes, Theseus ! guard my life. 
 
 The. I've said enough ; no more. I will not boast, 
 But thou art safe if Heaven forsake not me. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Chorus. 
 Stro2ohe. 
 
 In sacred wisdom's path is seldom seen 
 
 The wretch, whom sordid love of wealth inspires ; 
 Neglectful of the happy golden mean, 
 
 His soul nor truth nor heavenly knowledge fires ; 
 No length of days to him can pleasure bring, 
 
 In death alone he finds repose, 
 
 End of his wishes and his woes; 
 
 In that uncomfortable night 
 
 Where never music's charms delight, 
 Nor virgin choirs their hymeneals sing. 
 
 Antistroplie. 
 
 The happiest fate of man is not to be ; 
 
 And next in bliss is he who soon as bom, 
 From the vain world and all its sorrows free, 
 
 Shall whence he came with speediest foot return ; 
 
(ED I PUS COLONEUS. 303 
 
 For youth is full of folly, toils, and woes, 
 
 Of war, sedition, pain, and strife. 
 
 With all the busy ills of life. 
 
 Till helpless age come creeping on, 
 
 Deserted, friendless, and alone. 
 Which neither power nor joy nor pleasure knows. 
 
 E'pode. 
 
 The hapless CEdipus, like me, 
 
 Is doomed to age and misery ; 
 
 E'en as around the northern shore 
 
 The bleak winds howl and tempests roar, 
 
 Contending storms in terror meet, 
 
 And dashing waves for ever beat; 
 Thus is the wretched king with grief oppressed, 
 And woes on woes afflict his long-distempered breast. 
 
 \Exe,ihnt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 CEdipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus. 
 
 Ant. This way, my father. Lo ! the wretched man 
 Approaches, unattended, and in tears. 
 
 (Edi. Who comes, my child % 
 
 Ant. E'en he I told thee of- 
 
 Poor Polj^nices. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Polynices, CEdipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus. 
 
 Pol. O my sisters ! see 
 
 Of all mankind the most unhappy. Where 
 Shall I begin % shall I lament my own, 
 Or shall I weep an aged parent's fate % 
 For, oh ! 'tis horrible to find him thus 
 
304 
 
 A wandering exile in a foreign land ; 
 
 In this moan garb, with wild dishevelled hair, 
 
 Bereft of sight, and destitute, perhaps, 
 
 Of needful food and nourishment. Alas ! 
 
 Too late I know it ; worthless jus I am, 
 
 I flew to succour him, to plead my cause. 
 
 That not from others he might hear the talo 
 
 Of my misfortunes. Sacred pity sits 
 
 Fast by the throne of Jove, o'er all his works 
 
 Presiding gracious. Oh ! let her inspire 
 
 Thy breast, my father. Ciimes already done. 
 
 Which cannot be recalled, may still be healed 
 
 By kind forgiveness : why, then, art thou silent 1 
 
 Oh ! speak, my father ; do not turn aside. 
 
 Wilt thou not answer ? Wilt thou let me go 
 
 Without one word ; nor tell me whence thy wrath 
 
 Contemptuous springs 1 My sisters, you at least 
 
 Will try to move his unrelenting heart. 
 
 And loosen his closed lips, that not thus spurned 
 
 And thus unanswered, though a suppliant here 
 
 At Neptune's altar, I return with shame 
 
 And foul disgrace. 
 
 Ant. Say, wherefore didst thou come, 
 
 My hapless brother 1 Tell thy mournful tale ; 
 Such is the power of words, that whether sweet 
 They move soft pity, or when bitter urge 
 To violence and wrath, at least they ope 
 Th' unwilling lips, and make the silent speak. 
 
 Poly. 'Tis well advised, and I will tell thee all. 
 Oh ! may that deity propitious smile 
 Whose altar late I left, whence Theseus raised 
 This w^retched suppliant, and in converse free 
 Mixed gracious with me ! May I hope from you 
 The like benevolence ? And now, my father, 
 I'll tell thee wherefore Polynices came. 
 Thou seest me banished from my native land — 
 Unjustly banished, for no other crime 
 But that I strove to keep the throne of Thebes, 
 By birthright mine, from him who drove me thence. 
 The young Eteocles : not his the claim 
 By justice, nor to me his fame in arms 
 
CEDJPUS COLONEUS. 305 
 
 Superior ; but by soft persuasive arts 
 
 He won the rebel city to his love. 
 
 Thy curse, my father, was the cause of all — 
 
 I know it was ; for so the priests declared 
 
 In oracles divine. To Argos then 
 
 I came, and, to Adrastus' daughter joined 
 
 In marriage, gained the Argive chiefs, renowned 
 
 For martial deeds ; seven valiant leaders march 
 
 To Thebes, resolved to conquer or to die. 
 
 Therefore to thee, my father, came I here, 
 
 To beg thy aid for me and these my friends, 
 
 Companions of the war, who threaten Thebes 
 
 With their united powers, in order thus : 
 
 The wise and brave Amphiaraus, or skilled 
 
 To cast the spear, or with prophetic tongue 
 
 Disclose the will of Heaven ; with CEneus' son 
 
 -^tolian Tydeus, and Eteocles, 
 
 At Argos born ; to these Hippomedon, 
 
 Sent by Talaus, his renowned sire ; 
 
 Bold Capaneus, who threatens soon to raze 
 
 The walls of mighty Thebes ; to close the train, 
 
 Parthenopsean Areas comes, the son 
 
 Of Atalantis, from her virgin name 
 
 So called. With these thy hapless son (the child 
 
 Of dire misfortune rather) leads his force 
 
 From Argos to rebellious Thebes. For these, 
 
 And for their children, for the lives of all, 
 
 Suppliant to thee we come — in humble prayer 
 
 To deprecate thy wrath against a wretch 
 
 Who, injured much, but seeks the vengeance due 
 
 To a base brother, whose oppressive hand 
 
 Hath drove me from my country and my throne. 
 
 If there be truth in what the gods declare, 
 
 On him shall victory smile for whom thy vows 
 
 Shall rise propitious ; therefore, by our gods 
 
 And native fountains, oh ! remit thy anger, 
 
 And smile upon me, on a banished man, 
 
 A beggar like thyself, who lives, like thee, 
 
 By others' bounty — in one common fate 
 
 We are united, whilst the tyrant sits 
 
 In ease at home, and laughs our woes to :<corn. 
 
3o6 
 
 (EDIPUS COLObiEUS, 
 
 Yet if thou wouldst but listen to my vows, 
 Soon might I cast him forth, restore thee soon 
 To thy dear native hind, and seat myself 
 In my own kingdom. Thy assent, my father, 
 Is all I ask ; but, oh ! without thy aid 
 I have no hope of safety or revenge. 
 
 Chor. For Theseus' sake, oh ! give him answer now, 
 And let him go. 
 
 (Edi. But that the noble Theseus, 
 
 Who hither brought him did request it of me, 
 He ne'er had heard the voice ef Qildipus ; 
 And little pleasure will it now bestow. 
 Ungrateful wretch ! who, when the throne of Thebes, 
 
 \tuming to Polynices 
 Where now thy brother sits, was thine, didst drive 
 Thy father hence, to penury and woe. 
 Now, when thou seest me in this mean attire. 
 Thou weepst my fate because 'tis Uke thy own ; 
 But I'll not weep, for I can bear it all, 
 Still, wicked parricide, remembering thee. 
 The cruel cause of all ; thou mad'st me thus 
 On others' bounty to rely for food 
 And nourishment ; for thee, I might have perished. 
 But these my pious daughters, these alone, 
 Beyond their sex's power, with manly aid 
 Have cherished and protected me. For you, 
 Who call yourselves my sons, ye are not mine — 
 I know you not ; though Heaven hath spared you long, 
 Death will o'ertake you. When thy forces come 
 To Thebes, which shall not fall before thy arms. 
 There soon shalt thou, and thy vile bi'other, die. 
 Long since my curses did declare thy fate. 
 Which here I do repeat, that you may learn 
 The reveience due to parents, and no more 
 Reproach a sightless father. Look on these. 
 My duteous daughters : did they act like you 1 
 They never did ; and therefore to the throne 
 Which you have forfeited shall they succeed, 
 If justice still, as she is ever wont. 
 Sits at the hand of Jove. Meantime thou worst, 
 Thou most abandoned of the race of men, 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 307 
 
 Begone — away ! and with thee bear this curse 
 Which here I do pronounce : To Argos ne'er 
 Mayst thou return ! never may Thebes be thine ! 
 Soon mayst thou perish by a brother's hand, 
 Slaying the slayer ! may dark Erebus 
 Receive them both ! And now on you I call, 
 Ye goddesses revered, and thou, Mars ! 
 Thou who hast raised the bitter strife between 
 My impious sons, bear witness to my words ! 
 Farewell ! Now go, and tell the Thebans, tell 
 Thy faithful friends, how fair an heritage 
 Your CEdipus hath here bequeathed his children. 
 
 Chor. Polynices ! little is the joy 
 Which we can give thee of this fatal journey ; 
 Therefore away and leave us. 
 
 Poly. A sad path 
 
 These steps have trod indeed, of woe to me 
 And to my friends. Was it for this, alas ! 
 I came from Argos % I can never tell 
 My mournful story there, never return ; 
 Oh ! I must bury it in silence all. 
 My sisters, ye have heard the dreadful curse 
 Which he pronounced. Oh ! if it be fulfilled. 
 And some kind hand restore you back to Thebes, 
 At least remember me ; at least perform 
 The funeral rights, and hide me in the tomb ; 
 So shall your names, for pious tenderness 
 To an unhappy father long revered, 
 With added praises crowned, exalted shine. 
 For this kind office to a brother's shade. 
 
 Ant. Polynices ! let me beg thee, hear 
 Thy sister now. 
 
 Poly. My dear Antigone, 
 
 What sayst thou % 
 
 Ant, Lead thy armies back to Argos, 
 
 Nor thus destroy thy country and thyself. 
 
 Poly. It cannot be ; my forces once dismissed 
 Through fear, what power shall e'er reunite them ? 
 
 Ant. But wherefore all this rage? What canst thou 
 hope 
 Of fame or profit by the fall of Thebes ? 
 
(EDirUS COLONEUS. 
 
 Poly. 'Tis base to fly, and, eldest born ns I am, 
 To be tlie laughter of a younger brother. 
 
 Ant. Dost thou not dread the oracles pronounced 
 Against you both — death by each other's hand % 
 
 Poly. I know the sentence ; but we must go on. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! and who shall dare to follow thee 
 After this dire prediction ? 
 
 Poly. None shall know It. 
 
 The prudent general tells the good alone. 
 And keeps the threatened ill unknown to all. 
 
 Ant. Art thou determined then, and wilt thou go ? 
 
 Poly. Do not dissuade me, for the task is mine ; 
 And though a father's fatal curse attend me. 
 Though vengeful furies shall await my steps, 
 Yet I must go. May Jove indulgent smile 
 On you, my sisters, if when I am dead. 
 As soon I shall be, to my breathless corpse 
 You pay due honours ! Now, farewell for ever, 
 For living ye shall ne'er again behold me. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! my brother ! 
 
 Poly. Do not weep for me. 
 
 Ant. Who would not weep to see thee rushing thus 
 On certain death % 
 
 Poly. If I must die, I must. 
 
 Ant. Yet bo persuaded. 
 
 Poly. Ask me not to do 
 
 A deed unworthy of me. 
 
 Ant. Losing thee, 
 
 I shall be most unhappy. 
 
 Poly. To the gods 
 
 Alone belong the fate of mortals ; some 
 Are born to happiness and some to woe : 
 You may they guard from every ill, for sure 
 Ye merit all the good they can bestow. 
 
 \Exit Polynices 
 
(EDTPUS COLONEUS, 309 
 
 Scene III. 
 CEdipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Fresli sorrows hath this hapless stranger 
 brought 
 On me and all ; but so hath Heaven decreed, 
 Which nothing doth in vain ; whilst time beholds 
 And orders all, inflicting woe on woe. 
 But, hark ! the thunder roars : almighty Jove ! 
 
 CEdi. My daughters ! my daughters I who will 
 bring 
 The noble Theseus here, that best of men % 
 
 Ant. Wherefore, my father, should we call liim 
 hither ? 
 
 (Edi. This winged lightning from the arm of Jove 
 Must bear me to the shades below. Where 's Theseus % 
 Let him be sent for instantly. 
 
 Chor. Again, 
 
 Another dreadful clap ! It strikes my soul 
 With horror, and my hairs do stand on end 
 With fear. Behold, again the lightnings flash ! 
 I dread the consequence, for not in vain 
 These signs appear of some calamity 
 Portentous ever, ethereal Jove ! 
 
 CEdi. Alas ! my children, nought can save me now ; 
 The fatal hour of my departure hence 
 Draws nigh. 
 
 Ant. Why thinkst thou so % 
 
 CEdi. I know it well. 
 
 Send for the king immediately. 
 
 Chor. Alas ! 
 
 The thunder rolls on every side. Good Heaven, 
 Protect us ! If to this devoted land 
 It bodes destruction, let not ruin fall 
 On me. Oh ! let not that be our reward 
 For pitying thus a poor deserted stranger. 
 O Jove ! on thee we call : protect and save us ! 
 
 (Edi. Is Theseus come % shall he once more behold me, 
 Whilst yet I live, and keep my perfect mind \ 
 
3IO 
 
 azDipus COLO XE us. 
 
 Chor. What secret hast thou to reveal to him % 
 CEdi. I owe him much, and would repay his good)io^ 
 E'en n.s I promised him. 
 
 Chor. Oh ! haste, my son ; 
 
 At Neptune's altar leave the sacrifice 
 And hither fly, for Ql^ dipus, to thee 
 And to tliy country grateful, waits to pay 
 Thy bounties. Haste, O Theseus ! to receive them. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Theseus, Oedipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus. 
 
 The. Again this noise, this wild astonishment, 
 Amongst you all ! Was QEdipus the cause ? 
 Or did the bolt of Jove and rushing hail 
 Affright you 1 When the god in raging storms 
 Descends thus dreadful, we have cause to fear. 
 
 (Edi. king ! thou com'st in happy hour ; some god 
 Propitious led thee hither. 
 
 The. Son of Laius, 
 
 What new event hath happened ? 
 
 CEdi. Know, my life 
 
 At length is verging to its latest hour ; 
 I wish to die, but first my vows to thee, 
 And to this city, faithful must perform. 
 
 The. But who hath told thee thou so soon shalt die ? 
 
 CEdi. The gods themselves, who never utter falsehood. 
 By signs infallible have warned me of it. 
 
 The. How spake they to thee % 
 
 QSdi. In repeated thunder 
 
 And lightning from th' all- powerful hand of Jove. 
 
 The. I do believe thee, for thy prophecies 
 Were never false ; but say, what must be done ? 
 
 (Edi. O son of ^geus ! I will tell thee all 
 The bliss reserved for thee in thy age — 
 For thee, and for thy country. I must go 
 To my appointed place, and there shall die : 
 I go without a guide, nor must thou tell 
 
CEDIPUS COLONEUS, 
 
 311 
 
 To mortal ear where CEdipus doth He, 
 
 For ever hid. king ! that sacred place 
 
 Shall be thy sure defence, and better far 
 
 Than many a shield, or all the social aid 
 
 Of firm alliance in the field of war. 
 
 What more remains, unutterable now, 
 
 Of higher import, thither when thou com'st 
 
 To thee alone shall be delivered ; nought 
 
 Shall I reveal, or to the citizens, 
 
 Or e'en to those, beloved as they are. 
 
 My pious daughters. Thou must ever keep 
 
 The solemn secret ; only, when thy life 
 
 Draws near its end, disclose it to thy son, 
 
 Heir of thy kingdom, and to him alone. 
 
 Erom king to king thus shall the tale devolve, 
 
 And thus thy Athens be for ever safe 
 
 From Theban force \ even the best of cities, 
 
 Where justice rules, may swerve from virtue's laws 
 
 And be oppressive ; but the gods, though late, 
 
 Will one day punish all who disobey 
 
 Their sacred mandates; therefore, son of ^geus, 
 Be careful and be just : but this to thee 
 I need not say. Quick, let us to the place, 
 
 For so the gods decree ; there must I go, 
 
 Thence never to return. Come then, my daughteis : 
 
 Long have you been my pious guides ; hencefortli 
 
 I must be yours. Follow, but touch me not ; 
 
 Let me find out the tomb where I must hide 
 
 My poor remains : that way my journey lies. 
 
 \Pointing with his hand. 
 Away : thou god of shades, gi^eat Mercury, 
 And Proserpine, infernal powers, conduct me ! 
 sightless eyes ! where are ye ? Never more 
 Shall these hands touch your unavailing orbs. 
 light and life ! farewell : at length I go 
 To hide me in the tomb ; but oh ! for tliee. 
 My best beloved friend, and this fair land. 
 And these thy subjects, may prosperity 
 Attend you still, and may you sometimes dei-u 
 Amidst your bliss to think on (Edipus ! [Exeunt, 
 
 Ciioii. Goddess invisible, on thee we call, 
 
312 
 
 CEDIPUS COLONEUS. 
 
 If thee we may invoke, Proserpina, and thee 
 
 Great Pluto, king of shades, oh ! gmnt 
 
 That not, oppressed by torturing pain, 
 
 Beneath the stroke of death he Unger long, 
 
 But swift with easy steps descend. 
 
 To Styx's drear abode ; 
 
 For he hath led a life of toil and pain; 
 
 May the just gods repay his undeserved woe ! 
 
 Ye goddesses revered, who dwell 
 
 Beneath the earth deep hid, and thou. 
 
 Who, barking from thy gloomy cave, 
 
 Unconquered Cerberus, guardst the ghosts below, 
 
 On thee, O son of Tartarus ! we call, 
 
 For thou art ever wakeful — lead, oh ! lead 
 
 To thy dark mansions this unhappy stranger. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Messenger, Chorus. 
 
 Messenger. citizens ! I come to tell a tale 
 
 But to be brief, know, OEdipus is dead. 
 To speak the manner and strange circumstance 
 Of his departure will require more words, 
 And calls for your attention. 
 
 Chor. Is he gone ? 
 
 Unhappy man ! 
 
 Mes. For ever hath he left 
 
 The path of life. 
 
 Chor, How died he? — by the hand 
 
 Of Heaven dismissed, without disease or pain? 
 
 Mes. Oh ! 'twas a scene of wonder. How he left 
 This place, and, self-conducted, led us on, 
 Blind as he was, ye all remember well. 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS, 313 
 
 Soon as he came to where the craggy steep 
 
 With brazen steps leads to the hollow gulf, 
 
 Where various paths unite, a place renowned 
 
 For the famed league of Theseus and his friend, 
 
 Between Acherdus and the Thracian rock, 
 
 On a sepulchral stone he sat him down ; 
 
 Pulled off the lilthy weeds he long had worn, 
 
 And bade his daughters instantly prepare 
 
 The bath and splendid garb ; with hasty steps 
 
 To Ceres' neighbouring altar they repair 
 
 Obedient, bring the vessel, and the robe 
 
 Funereal. All things done as custom bids 
 
 For dying men, sudden a dreadful clap 
 
 Of thunder shook the ground ; the virgins trembled, 
 
 And clinging fearful round their father's knees 
 
 Beat their sad breasts, and wept. Soon as he heard 
 
 The sound portentous, he embraced his daughters : 
 
 " Children," he cried, " your father is no more; 
 
 No longer shall you lead a life of pain. 
 
 No longer toil for QEdipus, Alas ! 
 
 'Twas dreadful to you, but this day, my children, 
 
 Shall end your sorrows and my life together. 
 
 Never did father love his daughters more 
 
 Than I have loved ; but henceforth you must live 
 
 Without your Qlldipus. Farewell for ever ! " 
 
 He spake, and long, in sad embraces joined, 
 
 They wept aloud ; at length did clamorous grief 
 
 To silent sorrow yield, and all was still ; 
 
 When suddenly we heard a voice that oft 
 
 Repeated, " CEdipus, why this delay? 
 
 Where art thou, (Edipus % " The wretched king, 
 
 Attentive to the call of Heaven, desired 
 
 That Theseus might be sent for ; Theseus came. 
 
 When thus the dying exile : "0 my friend ! 
 
 Give me thy hand, my daughters give him yours; 
 
 Let this, my dearest Theseus, be the pledge 
 
 Of amity between you ; promise here 
 
 That you will ne'er forsake my hapless children, 
 
 But henceforth cherish, comfort, and protect them." 
 
 The generous king, in pity to their woes, 
 
 Vowed to perform what (Edipus desired. 
 
(E DTP US CO LONE US, 
 
 The father threw his feeble arms around 
 
 Tlis weeping children. "You," he cried, "must learn 
 
 To bear your sutterings with an equal mind, 
 
 And leave this place ; for not to mortal eye 
 
 Is given to see my future fate. Away ! 
 
 Theseus alone must stay, and know it all." 
 
 This did we hear him utter as we stood 
 
 Attentive ; when his duteous daughters left him, 
 
 And went their way, we wept, and followed them. 
 
 Soon we returned, but CEdipus was gone ; 
 
 The king alone remaining, as if struck 
 
 With terror at some dreadful spectacle, 
 
 Had with his hand o'er- veiled his downcast eye ; 
 
 A little after, we beheld him bend 
 
 In humble adoration to the earth, 
 
 And then to heaven prefer his ardent prayer. 
 
 How the poor exile perished none can tell 
 
 But Theseus ; nor the fiery blast of Jove 
 
 Destroyed, nor sea o'erwhelmed him, but from heaven 
 
 Some messenger divine did snatch him hence, 
 
 Or power infernal bade the pitying earth 
 
 Open her peaceful bosom to receive him ; 
 
 Without a groan, disease, or pain he fell. 
 
 'Twas wondrous all ; to those who credit not 
 
 This strange report, I answer, 'Tis most true. 
 
 Chor. Where are his daughters, with their weeping 
 friends 
 Who followed them? 
 
 Mes. They cannot be far off; 
 
 The voice of grief I hear proclaims them nigh. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Antigone, Ismene (loith Attendants), Messenger, 
 Chorus. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! the time is come when we must weep 
 Our father's fate, the fate of all his race 
 Long since unhappy. Various were the toils, 
 
(EDI PUS COLONEL'S. 
 
 The labours we endured, but this is far, 
 Far above all, unutterable woe. 
 
 Chor. What is it? 
 
 Ant. Oh ! it cannot be conceived. 
 
 Chor. Is he then dead ? 
 
 Ant. He is ; his death was straii-ge 
 
 And wonderful, for not in war he fell, 
 Nor did the sea o'erwhelm him, but the earth 
 Hath hid him from us ; deadly night hath closed 
 Our eyes in sadness ; whether o'er the seas 
 We roam, or exiles in a foreign land 
 Lead our sad days, we must be still unhappy. 
 Alas ! I only wish I might have died 
 With my poor father ; wherefore should I ask 
 For longer life ? 
 
 Chor. Ye good and pious daughters, 
 
 Remember, what the will of Heaven decrees 
 With patience we must bear ; indulge not then 
 Excess of grief — your faith hath not deserved it. 
 
 Ant. Oh ! I was fond of misery with him ; 
 E'en what was most unlovely grew beloved 
 When he was with me, my dearest father ! 
 Beneath the earth now in deep darkness hid, 
 Worn as thou wert with age, to me thou still 
 Wert dear, and shalt be ever. 
 
 Chor. Now his course 
 
 Is finished. 
 
 Ant. Even as he wished, he died 
 
 In a strange land — for such was his desire ; 
 A shady turf covered his lifeless limbs ; 
 Nor unlamented fell ; for oh ! these eyes. 
 My father, still shall weep for thee, nor time 
 Ere blot thee from my memory. 
 
 IsM. Alas ! 
 
 Alas ! my sister, what must be our fate, 
 Forlorn and helpless, of our father thus 
 Bereft ? 
 
 Chor. His end was happy, therefore cease 
 Your fruitless tears : from sorrow none is free. 
 
 Ant. Let us be gone. 
 
 IsM. But where ? 
 
3i6 
 
 (ED IP US CO LONE US. 
 
 J. wish- 
 
 Ism.* Oh! what? 
 
 Ant. To see the tomb. 
 
 Ism. Whose tomb ? 
 
 Ant. Ouv father's. Oh ! 
 
 IsM. But is it lawful ? Knowst thou that ? 
 
 Ant. Why thus 
 
 Reprove me, my Ismene 1 
 
 Ism. He is yet 
 Un buried, and without 
 
 Ant. Oh ! lead me there, 
 
 Then kill me if thou wilt ; for where, alas ! 
 Can I betake me ? 
 
 Chor. Friends, be comforted. 
 
 Ant. Where shall lily? 
 
 Chor, Thou hast already 'scaped 
 
 Unnumbered ills. 
 
 Ant. I'm thinking, my Ismene 
 
 IsM. What thinkst thou % 
 
 Ant. How we shall get home. 
 
 Chor. No more ; 
 
 Thou hast been long familiar with affliction. 
 
 Ant. My life hath ever been a life of pain 
 And sorrow, but this far exceeds them all. 
 
 Chor. The storm beats hard upon you. 
 
 Ant. Oh ! it doth. 
 
 Chor. I know it must. 
 
 Ant. Oh ! whither shall we fly ? 
 
 Great Jove ! what hope remains ? 
 
 Chor. Suppress your griefs ; 
 
 We should not weep for those who wished to die, 
 And meet their fate with pleasure ; 'tis not just 
 Nor lawful to lament them. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Theseus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus. 
 
 Ant. Son of ^geus, 
 
 Suppliant to thee we come. 
 
(EDIPUS COLONEUS. 317 
 
 The. What would ye of me % 
 
 Ant. Permit us but to see our father's tomb. 
 
 The. It is not lawful. 
 
 Ant. Oh ! what sayst thou, king '{ 
 
 The. Know, pious virgins, CEdipus himself 
 Forbade that any should approach his tomb \ 
 That sacred spot, which he possesses there, 
 ITo mortal must profane ; to me, he said, 
 If careful I performed his last command, 
 Should joy and safety come, with victory 
 And peace to Athens ; this your gods did hear 
 Confirmed by the sacred oath of Jove. 
 
 Ant. If such our father's will, we must submit ; 
 But, oh ! permit us to revisit Thebes, 
 That so we may prevent th' impending fate 
 Of pur dear brothers. 
 
 The. All that you request, 
 
 Or may be grateful to that honoured shade 
 Whose memory we revere, I freely grant ; 
 For I must not be weary of my task. 
 
 Choe. Remember, virgins, to repress your sorrows, 
 And cease your fruitless grief ; for know, 'tis all 
 Decreed by fate, and all the work of Heaven. 
 
 BRADBURY, AQNKW, & CO. LD., PBIWXKRS, LOMbON AiND TONBHlOaE. 
 
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UNIVERSITY OFCAIvIFORNIA IvIBRARY 
 
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