Hercules Distracted.
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
Amphitryon.
Megara.
Chorus of Theban Old Men.
Hercules.
Lycus.
Iris.
A Fiend.
Messenger.
Theseus.
SCENE.—Before the Altar of Jupiter, at the Entrance of the House of Hercules in Thebes.
Amphitryon, Megara. Amp. Is there on earth, a stranger to the man Who shared the same auspicious nuptial bed With Jove, Amphitryon born at Argos, sprung From Perseus’ son Alcæus, me the sire Of Hercules? He in these regions dwelt, Where from the soil a helmed crop arose; Mars, a small number of that race, preserved, Whose children’s children people Cadmus’ city. Hence Creon king of Thebes, Menæceus’ son, Derives his birth, and Creon is the sire Of this unhappy Megara, to grace Whose hymeneal pomp, each Theban erst Attuned the jocund lute, into my house When Hercules conducted her. But leaving This realm where I resided, and his consort And kindred, my son chose to fix his seat Within the walls of Argos, of that city Erected by the Cyclops, whence I fled Stained with Electryon’s gore: but to alleviate My woes, and in his native land obtain A quiet residence, this great reward He on Eurystheus promised to bestow, That he would rid the world of every pest: Harassed by Juno’s stings, or envious fate, With her conspiring: but, his other labours Accomplished, he through Tænarus’ jaws at length Went to the house of Pluto, to drag forth Into the realms of day hell’s triple hound: He thence returns not. But an old tradition Among the race of Cadmus hath prevailed, That Lycus, Dirce’s husband, erst bore rule Over this city, till Jove’s sons, Amphion And Zethus, who on milk-white coursers rode, Became its sovereigns. Lycus’ son who bears His father’s name, no Theban, but arriving From the Eubœan state, slew royal Creon, And having slain him, seized the throne, invading The city with tumultuous broils convulsed. But the affinity which we have formed With Creon, seems to be my greatest curse: For while my son stays in the realms beneath, Lycus th’ egregious monarch of this land Would with the children of Alcides kill His consort, by fresh murders to extinguish The past, and kill me too (if one through age So useless may be numbered among men), Lest when the boys attain maturer age, They should avenge their grandsire Creon’s death. But I (for my son left me here to tend His children, and direct the house, since he Entered the subterraneous realms of night), With their afflicted mother, lest the race Of Hercules should bleed, for an asylum Have chosen this altar of protecting Jove, Which my illustrious son for a memorial Of his victorious arms did here erect, When he in battle had subdued the Minyans. But we, though destitute of every comfort, Of food, drink, clothing, though constrained to lie On the bare pavement, here maintain our seat, For every hospitable door is barred Against us, and we have no other hope Of being saved. Some of our friends I see Are faithless, and the few who prove sincere, Too weak to aid us. Such is the effect Of adverse fortune o’er the race of men; May he to whom I bear the least attachment, Never experience that unerring test Of friendship. Meg. Thou old man, who erst didst storm The Taphian ramparts, when thou with renown Didst lead the host of Thebes; the secret will Of Heaven, how little can frail mortals know! For to me too of no avail have proved The fortunes of my father, who elate With wealth and regal power (whence at the breasts Of its possessors spears are hurled by those Whose souls the lust of mad ambition fires), And having children, gave me to thy son, Joining a noble consort in the bonds Of wedlock with Alcides, through whose death These blessings are all fled. Now I, and thou, Old man, are doomed to perish with the sons Of Hercules, whom, as the bird extends Her sheltering wings over her callow brood, I guard. By turns they come and question me: “O mother, whither is my father gone? What is he doing? when will he return?” Though now too young sufficiently to feel How great their loss, thus ask they for their sire. I change the theme, and forge a soothing tale, But am with wonder smitten when the doors Creak on their massive hinges, and at once They all start up, that at their father’s knees They may fall prostrate. But what hope hast thou Of saving us, or what support, old man? For I to thee look up. We from the bounds Of these domains unnoticed cannot ’scape; Mightier than us, a watchful guard is placed At every avenue, and in our friends No longer for protection can we trust. Explain thyself, if thou hast any scheme, By which thou from impending death canst save us; But let us strive to lengthen out the time, Since we are feeble. Amp. ’Tis no easy task In such a situation, O my daughter, To form a sure and instantaneous judgment. Meg. What is there wanting to complete thy woes, Or why art thou so fond of life? Amp. That blessing I still enjoy, still cherish pleasing hopes. Meg. I also hope, old man: but it is folly To look for what we never can attain. Amp. We by delaying might avert our fate. Meg. But I in this sad interval of time Feel piercing anguish. Amp. The auspicious gales Of fortune, O my daughter, yet may waft Both you and me out of our present troubles, If e’er my son your valiant lord return. But O be pacified yourself, and cause Your children to dry up their streaming tears; With gentle language and delusive tales Beguile them, though all fraudful arts are wretched. For the disasters which afflict mankind Are wearied out; the stormy winds retain not Their undiminished force; nor are the blest Perpetually blest: for all things change, And widely differ from their former state. The valiant man is he who still holds fast His hopes; but to despair bespeaks the coward. Chorus, Amphitryon, Megara. Chor. Propped on my faithful staff, from home, And from the couch of palsied age, In melancholy guise I roam, Constrained to chaunt funereal strains, As the expiring swan complains, A war of words alone I wage, In semblance, but a flitting sprite, An airy vision of the night. I totter; yet doth active zeal This faithful bosom still inspire. Ye children who have lost your sire, Thou veteran, and thou aged dame, Doomed for thy lord these griefs to feel, Whose Pluto’s dreary mansions claim; O weary not your tender feet. Like steeds by galling harness bound, To turn the ponderous mill around, I would advance my friends to meet, Yet are my utmost efforts vain, This shattered frame I scarce sustain: Draw near, O take this trembling hand, And holding fast my robe, support My steps, thy needful aid I court, Because I am too weak to stand. Lead on the chief, though now by years Bowed down, who marshalled on the strand, His comrades erst a hardy band; With him in youth we launched our spears, Nor then belied our native land. See how their eyes dart liquid fire, Those children emulate their sire; But still hereditary fate, Pursues with unrelenting hate Their tender years, nor can their charms Redeem them from impending harms. What valiant champions of thy cause, O Greece, thy violated laws, When these thy great supports shall fail, Torn from thy fostering land wilt thou bewail. But I behold the monarch of the realm, Tyrannic Lycus, who these doors approaches. Lycus, Amphitryon, Megara, Chorus. Lyc. This question (if I may) I to the sire And consort of Alcides would propose (But, as your king, I have a right to make Any inquiries I think fit): How long Seek ye to spin out life? What farther hope Have ye in view, what succour to ward off The stroke of death? Expect ye that the father Of these deserted children, who lies stretched Amid the realms beneath will thence return, That ye bely your rank, and meanly utter These clamorous plaints on being doomed to die? Through Greece hast thou diffused an idle boast, That Jove enjoyed thy consort, and begot An offspring like himself; while you exulted In being called wife to the first of heroes. But what great action hath your lord performed, In having slain that hydra at the lake, Or the Nemæan lion whom with snares He caught, and then did arrogantly boast That he had strangled in his nervous arms? Will these exploits enable you to vie With me? and for such merit am I bound To spare the sons of Hercules, who gained A name which he deserved not? He was brave In waging war with beasts, in nought beside, With his left hand he never did sustain The shield, nor faced he the protended spear, But with his bow, that weapon of a dastard, Was still prepared for flight: such arms afford No proof of courage; but the truly brave Is he who in the ranks where he is stationed Maintains his ground, and sees with steadfast eye Those ghastly wounds the missile javelin gives. Old man, I act not thus through cruelty, But caution; for I know that I have slain Creon her father, and possess his throne. These children therefore will not I allow To live till they attain maturer years, Lest they should punish me for such a deed. Amp. Jove will assert the cause of his own son. But as for me, O Hercules, my care Shall be to prove the folly of this tyrant: For thy illustrious name I will not suffer To be reproached. First from a hateful charge (And that of cowardice I deem most hateful), Calling the gods to witness, am I bound To vindicate thy honour. I appeal To Jove’s own thunder, and th’ impetuous steeds, Which drew Alcides’ chariot when he sped Those winged arrows to transpierce the flanks Of earth-born giants, and among the gods Triumphant revelled at the genial board. Go next to Pholoe’s realm, thou worst of kings, And ask the Centaurs’ monstrous brood, what man They judge to be most brave, whether that title Belongs not to my son, who only bears, As you assert, the semblance of a hero? But should you question the Eubœan mount Of Dirphys, where your infancy was nurtured, It cannot sound your praise: you have performed No glorious action for your native land To testify, yet scorn that wise invention The quiver fraught with shafts: attend to me And I will teach you wisdom. By his arms Encumbered, stands the warrior who is sheathed In ponderous mail, and through the fears of those Who fight in the same rank, if they want courage, Loses his life; nor, if his spear be broken, Furnished with nought but courage, from his breast Can he repel the wound; but he who bends With skilful hand the bow, hath this advantage, Which never fails him: with a thousand shafts He smites the foe, no danger to himself Incurring, but securely stands aloof, And wreaks his vengeance while they gaze around, Without perceiving whence the weapon comes: His person he exposes not, but takes A guarded post: for what in war displays The greatest prudence, is to vex the foe, Nor rush at random on their pointed spears. Such reasoning on the subject in debate With yours indeed agrees not: but what cause Have you for wishing to destroy these children? How have they injured you? In one respect I deem you wise, because you dread the race Of valiant men, and feel yourself a coward: Yet is it hard on us, if we must bleed Your apprehensions to remove; you ought To suffer all we would inflict, from us Whose merit is superior far to yours, Were Jove impartial. Would you therefore wield The sceptre of this land, let us depart As exiles from the realm, or you shall meet With strict retaliation, when the gales Of wavering fortune alter. O thou land Of Cadmus (for to thee I now will speak, But in reproachful accents), such protection Afford’st thou to the sons of Hercules, Who singly warring with the numerous host Of Minyæ, caused the Thebans to lift up Their free-born eyes undaunted? I on Greece No praises can bestow, nor will pass over In silence its base treatment of my son, For ’twas its duty in these children’s cause, Bearing flames, pointed spears, and glittering mail, To have marched forth, and recompensed the toils Of their great father, who hath purged the sea And land from all its monsters. Such protection Nor doth the Theban city, O my children, Nor Greece afford you; but ye now look up To me a feeble friend who can do nought, But plead for you with unavailing words. For all the vigour which I once possessed Hath now deserted me; old age assails My trembling limbs and this decrepit frame. Were I again endued with youthful strength, I would snatch up my javelin, and defile With gore the yellow ringlets on the head Of that oppressor, whom his fear should drive Beyond the most remote Atlantic bounds. Chor. Are there not causes such as may provoke Those who are virtuous to express their thoughts, Though destitute of eloquence? Lyc. ’Gainst me Speak what thou wilt, for thou art armed with words, But for injurious language by my deeds Will I requite thee. Go, send woodmen, some To Helicon, some to Parnassus’ vale, Bid them fell knotted oaks, and having borne them Into the city, heap their ponderous trunks Around the altar, and with kindled flames Consume the bodies of this hated race; So shall they learn that Creon the deceased No longer is the ruler of this land, But that I wield the sceptre. As for you Who thwart my counsels, O ye aged men, Not for the sons of Hercules alone Shall ye lament, but for those evil fortunes Which ye and your own house are doomed to suffer: But this shall ye remember, that to me, Your monarch, ye are slaves. Chor. O ye the race Of earth, whom Mars erst sowed, when he had torn From the huge dragon’s jaws th’ envenomed teeth, With those right hands why will ye not uplift The staves on which ye lean, and with his gore Defile the head of this unrighteous man, Not born at Thebes, but in a foreign realm, From inconsiderate youths who gains that homage Which he deserves not? but in evil hour O’er me shalt thou bear rule, nor shall my wealth Acquired by many toils be ever thine: Go, act the tyrant in Eubœa’s land, From whence thou hither cam’st: for while I live, The sons of Hercules thou ne’er shalt slay, Nor is their mighty father plunged so deep Beneath earth’s surface, that he cannot hear His children’s outcries. Thou to whom this land Owes its destruction dost possess the throne: But he its benefactor is deprived Of the rewards he merits. Me thou deem’st Officious, for protecting those I love E’en in the grave, where friends are needed most. O my right arm, how dost thou wish to wield The spear, but through enfeebling age hast lost Thy vigour: else would I have quelled thy pride Who dar’st to call me slave, and in this Thebes, Where thou exult’st, with glory dwelt. A city Diseased through mutiny and evil counsels Is void of wisdom, or would ne’er have chosen Thee for its lord. Meg. Ye veterans, I applaud Your zeal; for indignation at the wrongs His friends endure becomes the virtuous friend. But let not anger ’gainst your lord expose you To suffer in our cause. My judgment hear, Amphitryon, if to thee in aught I seem To speak discreetly. I these children love (And how can I help loving those I bore?) For whom I have endured the painful throes Of childbirth. And to die is what I think of As of a thing most dreadful; but the man Who with necessity contends I hold An idiot. But let us, since die we must, Not perish in the flames to furnish scope Of laughter to our foes, which I esteem An ill beyond e’en death: for much is due To the unsullied honour of our house, For thee who erst in arms hast gained renown, To die with cowardice, were a reproach Not to be borne. My lord, though I forbear To dwell on his just praises, is so noble, He would not wish these children saved, to bear The imputation of an evil name: For through the conduct of degenerate sons Reproach oft falls on their illustrious sires; And the examples which my husband gave me, I ought not to reject. But view what grounds Thou hast for hope, that I of these may form A proper estimate. Dost thou expect Thy son to issue from the realms beneath? What chief deceased from Pluto’s loathed abode Did e’er return? Can we by gentle words Appease this tyrant? No: we ought to fly From fools who are our foes: but to the wise And generous yield; for we with greater ease May make a friend of him in whom we find A sense of virtuous shame. But to my soul This thought occurs, that we, the children’s sentence, By our entreaties, haply might obtain Converted into exile: yet this too Is wretched, at th’ expense of piteous need To compass our deliverance. For their friends Avoid the face of guests like these, and look No longer kindly on the banished man After one day is over. Rouse thy courage, And bleed with us, thee too, since death awaits. By thy great soul, O veteran, I conjure thee. Although the man who labours to repel Evils inflicted by Heaven’s wrath, is brave, Yet doth such courage border upon frenzy: For what the fates ordain, no god can frustrate. Chor. While yet these arms retained their youthful strength, Had any one insulted thee, with ease Could I have quelled him; but I now am nothing: On thee, Amphytrion, therefore ’tis incumbent To think how best thou may’st henceforth ward off Th’ assaults of fortune. Amp. No unmanly fear, No wish to lengthen out this life, prevents My voluntary death: but I would save The children of my son, though I appear To grasp at things impossible. Behold I bare my bosom to the sword; pierce, slay, Or cast me from the rock. But I, O king, For this one favour sue to you; despatch Me and this hapless dame before the children, Lest them we view, most execrable sight, In death’s convulsive pangs, to her who bore them, And me their grandsire, shrieking out for aid. But as for all beside, do what you list, For we have now no bulwark which from death Can save us. Meg. I entreat one favour more, Which to us both will equally be grateful. Permit me in funereal robes to dress My children; for that purpose be the gates Thrown open (for the palace now is closed Against us) that they from their father’s house This small advantage may obtain. Lyc. Your wishes Shall be complied with. I my servants bid Unbar the gates. Go in, bedeck yourselves; The costly robes I grudge not: but no sooner Shall ye have put them on, than I to you Will come, and plunge you in the shades beneath. [Exit Lycus. Meg. Follow your hapless mother, O my children, To your paternal house, where, though our wealth Be in the hands of others, our great name We still preserve. Amp. O Jove, ’twas then in vain That thou didst deign to share my nuptial couch, In vain too, of thy son have I been styled The father, for thou hast not proved the friend Thou didst appear to be. I, though a man, Exceed in virtue thee a mighty god; Because I to their foes have not betrayed The sons of Hercules: but thou, by stealth, Entering my chamber, to another’s wife Without permission cam’st; yet know’st not how To save thy friends; thou surely art a god Either devoid of wisdom, or unjust. [Exeunt Amphitryon and Megara. Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. For Linus’ death, by all the tuneful Nine Bewailed, doth Phœbus’ self complain, And loudly uttering his auspicious strain, Smite with a golden quill the lyre; but mine Shall be the task, while songs of praise I chaunt and twine the laureate wreath, His matchless fortitude t’ emblaze, Who sought hell’s inmost gloom, the dreary shades beneath; Whether I call the hero son of Jove, Or of Amphitryon; for the fame To which his labours have so just a claim, Must e’en in death attract the public love: In the Nemæan forest first he slew That lion huge, whose tawny hide And grinning jaws extended wide, He o’er his shoulders threw. I. 2. The winged arrows whizzing from his bow, Did on their native hills confound The Centaurs’ race with many a deadly wound: Alcides’ matchless strength doth Peneus know, Distinguished by his limpid waves, The fields laid waste of wide extent, With Pelion, and the neighbouring caves Of Homoles, uprooting from whose steep ascent, Tall pines that cast a venerable shade, The monsters armed their forceful hands, And strode terrific o’er Thessalia’s lands: Then breathless on th’ ensanguined plain he laid That hind distinguished by her golden horns, And still in Dian’s temple seen His prize, to glad the huntress queen, Oenöe’s walls adorns. II. 1. The chariot with triumphal ensigns graced Ascending, to his stronger yoke He Diomedes’ furious coursers broke, Scorning the bit, in hateful stalls who placed By their fell lord, the flesh of man Raging devoured, accursed food; A stream from their foul mangers ran, Filled with unholy gore, and many a gobbet crude. O’er Hebrus’ silver tide at the command Of Argos’ unrelenting king Eurystheus, he these captive steeds did bring, Close to Anauros’ mouth on Pelion’s strand. Inhuman Cycnus, son of Mars, next felt The force of his resounding bow, Unsocial wretch, the stranger’s foe, Who in Amphanea dwelt. II. 2. Then came he to th’ harmonious nymphs, that band Who in Hesperian gardens hold Their station, where the vegetative gold Glows in the fruitage; with resistless hand To snatch the apple from its height; The dragon wreathed his folds around The tree’s huge trunk, portentous sight, In vain; that monster fell transfixed with many a wound. Into those straits of the unfathomed main He entered, with auspicious gales, Where feared the mariner t’ unfurl his sails, And fixing limits to the watery plain His columns reared: then from the heavens’ huge load The wearied Atlas he relieved, His arm the starry realms upheaved, And propped the gods’ abode. III. 1. Foe to the Amazons’ equestrian race He crossed the boisterous Euxine tide, And gave them battle by Mæotis’ side. What friends through Greece collected he to face Hippolita, th’ intrepid maid, That he the belt of Mars might gain, And tissued robe with golden braid. Still doth exulting Greece the virgin’s spoils retain, Lodged in Mycene’s shrine, with gore imbrued, The dog of Lerna’s marshy plain, Who unresisting multitudes had slain, The hundred-headed hydra, he subdued, Aided by fire, and winged shafts combined, These from his well-stored quiver flew, And triple-formed Geryon slew, Fierce Erythræa’s hind. III. 2. But having finished each adventurous strife, At length in evil hour he steers To Pluto’s mansion, to the house of tears, The goal of labour, there to end his life, Thence never, never to return; His friends dismayed forsake these gates, In hopeless solitude we mourn. Hell’s stern award is passed, the boat of Charon waits To their eternal home his sons to bear, Most impious lawless homicide! For thee, O Hercules, thee erst his pride, Thy sire now looks with impotent despair. Had I the strength which I possessed of yore, I with my Theban friends, arrayed In brazen arms, thy sons would aid: But youth’s blest days are o’er. Clad in funereal vestments I behold The children of Alcides erst the great, With his loved wife and his decrepit sire Conducting them. O wretched me! no longer Can I restrain the fountain of these tears Which gush incessant from my aged eyes. Megara, Amphitryon, Chorus. Meg. Come on. What priest, what butcher is at hand To slay these wretched children, or transpierce My bosom? Now the victims stand prepared For their descent to Pluto’s loathed abode. By force, my children, are we borne along United in th’ unseemly bands of death; Decrepit age with helpless infancy And intermingled matrons. O dire fate Of me and of my sons, whom these sad eyes Shall never more behold! Alas! I bore, I nurtured you, to be the scorn, the sport, Of our inveterate foes, and by their hands To perish. Each fond hope, which from the words Of your departed father erst I formed, Hath proved fallacious. The deceased to thee Allotted Argos, in Eurystheus’ palace Wert thou to dwell a mighty king, and wield The sceptre of Pelasgia’s fruitful land, Then with the lion’s hide himself had worn Thy front he covered: you were to ascend The throne of Thebes for brazen chariots famed, Possessing my hereditary fields, Such were the hopes of your exulting sire, Who to your hand consigned that ponderous mace Deceitful gift of Dædalus: on thee, Thou little one, he promised to bestow Oecalia, which his shafts had erst laid waste: To you all three, these realms in threefold portions Did he distribute; for your father’s views Were all magnanimous: but I marked out Selected consorts for you, and formed schemes Of new affinities, from the domains Of Athens, Sparta, and the Theban city; That binding up your cables, and secure From the tempestuous deep, ye might enjoy A happy life: these prospects now are vanished: For to your arms hath changeful Fortune given The Destinies to be your brides, while tears Are your unhappy mother’s lustral drops. Your grandsire celebrates the nuptial feast, O’er which he summons Pluto to preside, The father of your consorts. But, alas! Whom first of you my children, or whom last To this fond bosom shall I clasp, on whom Bestow a kiss, whom in my arms sustain? How like the bee with variegated wings Shall I collect the sorrows of you all, And blend the whole together in a flood Of tears exhaustless? O my dearest lord, If any of those spirits who reside In Pluto’s realms beneath, can hear the voice Of mortals, in these words to thee I speak: O Hercules, thy father and thy sons Are doomed to bleed; I perish too who erst On thy account was by the world called happy. Protect us, come, and to these eyes appear, Though but a ghost; thy presence will suffice: For these thy children’s murderers, when with thee Compared, are dastards.
Amp. To appease the powers Of hell beneath, O woman, be thy care. But lifting to the skies my suppliant hands, I call on thee, O Jove, that, if thou mean To be a friend to these deserted children, Thou interpose without delay and save them, For soon ’twill be no longer in thy power: Thou oft hast been invoked; but all my prayers Are ineffectual; die, it seems, we must. But, O ye aged men, the bliss which life Can yield is small, contrive then how to pass As sweetly as is possible the hours Which fate allots you, e’en from morn till night Shaking off every grief: for Time preserves not Our hopes entire, but on his own pursuits Intent, deserts us, borne on rapid wings. Look but on me, amid the sons of men Conspicuous erst performing glorious deeds; And yet hath Fortune in one single day Taken all from me, like a feather wafted Into the trackless air. I know not him To whom collected stores of wealth or fame Are durable. Farewell, for this, my comrades, Is the last time ye shall behold your friend. Hercules, Megara, Amphitryon, Chorus. Meg. Ha! O thou aged man, do I behold My dearest husband? How shall I find utterance? Amp. I know not, O my daughter; for I too Am with amazement seized. Meg. This sure is he Who as we heard was in the realms beneath; Else doth some vision in the noontide glare Delude our senses. But what frantic words Were those I spoke as if ’twas all a dream? This is no other than thy real son, Thou aged man. Come hither, O my children, Cling to your father’s robe, with speed advance, Quit not your hold, for ye in him shall find An equal to our great protector Jove. Her. All hail, thou mansion, and thou vestibule Of my abode; thee with what joy once more Do I behold, revisiting the light. Ha! what hath happened? I my children see With garlands on their temples, and my wife Amidst a throng of men, my father too Weeping for some mischance. I’ll go to them, And ask the cause. What recent ill, O woman, Hath happened to this house? Meg. My dearest lord, O thou who to thy aged father com’st A radiant light, in safety hast thou reached, At this important crisis, the abodes Of those thou lov’st. Her. What mean you by these words? What tumults, O my sire, are we involved in? Meg. We are undone; but, O thou aged man, Forgive, if I’ve anticipated that Thou would’st have said to him: for in some points Our sex are greater objects of compassion Than males. I deem my children dead; I too Am perishing. Her. O Phœbus! with what preludes Do you begin your speech? Meg. My valiant brothers, And aged sire, alas! are now no more. Her. Who slew them, how, or with what weapon? Meg. Lycus, The monarch of this city, was their murderer. Her. With arms did he oppose them, or prevail, When foul sedition through the land diffused Its pestilent contagion? Meg. By revolt He holds the sceptre of the Theban realm. Her. But wherefore hath this sudden panic reached You and my aged sire? Meg. He would have slain Thy father, me, and these defenceless children. Her. What mean you? could he fear my orphan race? Meg. Lest they hereafter might avenge the death Of Creon. Her. But what garb is this they wear, Which suits some corse? Meg. Already in these vestments For our funereal rites are we arrayed. Her. And were ye on the point of perishing By violence? Ah me! Meg. Our friends desert us; For we have heard that thou wert dead. Her. Whence rose This comfortless depression of the soul? Meg. Eurystheus’ heralds the sad tidings bore. Her. But for what cause did ye forsake my house, My sacred Lares? Meg. From his bed thy sire Was forcibly dragged forth. Her. So void of shame Was Lycus as to treat his age with scorn? Meg. Shame dwells not near the shrine of brutal force. Her. Were we thus destitute of friends when absent? Meg. What friends abide with him who is unhappy? Her. But did they scorn the battles which I fought Against the Minyans? Meg. I to thee repeat it, Calamity is friendless and forlorn. Her. Will ye not cast from your dishevelled hair These wreaths of Pluto? will ye not look up To yon bright sun, and ope your eyes to view Scenes far more pleasing than the loathsome shades Of hell beneath? But I, for wrongs like these Demand my vengeful arm, with speed will go And overturn the house of that new king, His impious head I to the ravenous hounds Lopped from his trunk will cast, and each base Theban Who with ingratitude repays my kindness With this victorious weapon smite: my shafts The rest shall scatter, till Ismenos’ channel Be choked up with the corses of the slain, And Dirce’s limpid fountain stream with gore. For whom, in preference to my wife, my children, And aged father, shall I aid? Farewell, Ye labours which unwittingly I strove T’ accomplish, mindless of these dearest pledges; In their defence I equally am bound To yield up life, if for their father they Were doomed to bleed. What! shall we call it noble To war against the hydra or the lion, And execute the mandates of Eurystheus, If I avert not my own children’s death? No longer else shall I, as erst, be styled Alcides the victorious. Chor. It is just Parents should aid their sons, their aged sire, And the dear partner of the nuptial bed. Amp. My son, this mighty privilege is yours, To be the best of friends to those you love, And a determined foe to those you hate. But be not too impetuous. Her. In what instance Have I been hastier, O my honoured sire, Than it becomes me? Amp. To support his cause, The king hath many, who in fact are poor, Though fame accounts them rich; they raised a tumult, And caused the ruin of the state, to plunder Their neighbours; for the fortunes they possessed Are through their own extravagance and sloth Reduced to nothing. As the gates you entered, These could not fail to see you: O beware Lest since you by your foes have been perceived, You perish when you least foresee your danger, Oppressed by numbers. Her. Though all Thebes beheld me, I care not. But when I descried a bird Of evil omen perched aloof, I knew That there had some calamity befallen My house, and therefore with presaging soul In secrecy I entered these domains. Amp. Draw near with pious awe, my son, salute The Lares, and display that welcome face In your paternal mansions. For to drag Your wife and children forth, with me your sire To murder us, the king himself will come. But all will prosper, if you here remain, And a secure asylum will you find, Nor through the city spread a loud alarm Ere your designs succeed. Her. Thus will I act, For thou hast rightly spoken; I am entering The palace. From the sunless caves beneath Of Proserpine, after a long delay Returning, first to our domestic gods Will I be mindful to address my vows. Amp. Have you indeed then visited the house Of Pluto, O my son? Her. And thence the dog With triple-head brought to these realms of light. Amp. Conquered in battle, or on you bestowed By hell’s indulgent goddess? Her. I prevailed O’er him in combat, and have been so happy As to behold the far-famed mystic orgies. Amp. But is the beast lodged in Eurystheus’ palace? Her. Him Cthonia’s groves and Hermion’s walls confine. Amp. Knows not Eurystheus that you are returned Into this upper world? Her. He doth not know: For I came first to learn what passes here. Amp. But wherefore in the realms beneath, so long Did you remain? Her. I there prolonged may stay, My sire, to bring back Theseus from the shades. Amp. And where is he, gone to his native land? Her. He went to Athens, pleased with his escape From the infernal regions. But attend Your father to the palace, O my sons, Which now ye enter in a happier state Than when ye left it: but take courage, cease To pour forth floods of tears; and, O my wife, Collect thyself, let all thy terrors cease, And loose my garments; for I have not wings, Nor would I vanish from my friends. Alas! Their hold they quit not, but cling faster still, And faster to my vest. Because ye stand Upon the verge of ruin, I will take And bear you hence, as by the ship light boats Are guided o’er the deep: for I refuse not The care my children claim. Here all mankind Are on a level, they of nobler rank And mean condition, to their progeny Bear equal love. The gifts of fortune vary, Some have abundant wealth, and some are poor; But the whole human race feels this attachment. [Exeunt Hercules and Megara, with the children. Chorus.
ODE.
I. Youth is light, and free from care But now a burden on my head Heavier than Ætna’s rock, old age, I bear. Before these eyes its sable veil is spread. Not for the wealth of Asiatic kings, Or heaps of gold that touched yon roof sublime, Ere would I barter life’s enchanting prime; Hence wealth a brighter radiance flings, And poverty itself can charm: But thou, curst dotage, art the sum Of every fancied, every real harm; May’st thou be plunged beneath the deep, nor come To peopled town, or civilized abode, Go wing thy distant flight along th’ aërial road. I. 2. Did the gods with sapient care Mete out their bounty to mankind, The good, the gift of twofold youth should share Unquestioned token of a virtuous mind, Behold life’s son its blest career renew, While the degenerate sleep to wake no more. We by these means distinctly might explore Their merits with as clear a view, As sailors, who each starry spark Enumerate that adorns the skies. But now the gods have by no certain mark Directed whom we for their worth should prize, Whom shun as wicked: uninformed we live, Revolving time hath nought but plenteous wealth to give. II. 1. Mindful of its ancient themes, This faltering tongue shall ne’er refuse, Oft as I wander by their haunted streams, To blend each gentle grace and tuneful muse: O may I dwell among the harmonious choirs, My brows still circled with a laureate wreath! Still shall the bard, a hoary veteran, breathe The strains Mnemosuné inspires: While memory wakes, I ne’er will cease Th’ exploits of Hercules to sing; Where Bromius yields the purple vine’s increase, Where Libyan pipes and the lute’s sevenfold string Are heard in dulcet unison; to praise The Nine who aid the dance, I’ll wake my choral lays. II. 2. Delian virgins at the gate Assembled, festive pæans sing, The triumphs of Latona’s son relate, And nimbly vaulting form their beauteous ring. Into thy temple, by devotion led, O Phœbus, will I raise my parting breath; The swan thus warbles at the hour of death: Though hoary hairs my cheeks o’erspread. How great the hero’s generous love, Whose merits aid our votive song, Alcides the resistless son of Jove; Those trophies, which to noble birth belong By him are all surpassed, his forceful hand Restoring peace, hath cleansed this monster-teeming land. Lycus, Amphitryon, Chorus. Lyc. Forth from the portals at due season comes Amphitryon; for ’tis long since ye were decked In robes and trappings such as suit the dead. But go, command the children and the wife Of Hercules without these gates t’ appear, Because ye have engaged that ye will die By your own hands. Amp. You persecute, O king, Me whom already fortune hath made wretched, And with sharp taunts insult my dying race: Although in power supreme, you ought to act With moderation; but since you impose This harsh necessity, we must submit, And execute your will. Lyc. Where’s Megara? Where are the children of Alcmena’s son? Amp. To me she seems, as far as I can guess, From looking through the door—— Lyc. What grounds hast thou For this opinion? Amp. In a suppliant posture To sit before the Lares. Lyc. And implore them With unavailing plaints to save her life. Amp. In vain too calls she on her lord deceased. Lyc. But he is absent, he can ne’er return. Amp. Unless some god should raise him up again. Lyc. Go thou, and from the palace lead her hither. Amp. ’Twould make me an accomplice in the murder, If this I acted. Lyc. Since thy soul recoils, I, whom such idle scruples cannot move, Will with their mother bring the children forth. Follow my steps, my servants, that at length We may behold sweet peace succeed our toils. [Exit Lycus. Amp. Depart: for to that place the Fates ordain You now are on the road; perhaps the sequel Will be another’s province: but expect, Since you have done amiss, to suffer vengeance. He, O ye veterans, at a lucky hour Enters the palace, for on ambushed swords His feet will stumble, while the villain hopes Those he would murder are too near at hand To ’scape: but I will go to see him fall A breathless corse: for when our foe endures The just requital of his impious deeds, There is a joy resulting from his death. [Exit Amphitryon. Chor. Changed are our evil fortunes. To the shades He who was erst a mighty king descends. O justice, and ye dread vicissitudes Of fate, ordained by Heaven! 1st Semichor. Thou art at length Gone thither, where by death thou for those taunts, With which thou o’er the virtuous didst exult, Shalt make atonement. 2nd Semichor. My delight bursts forth In floods of tears: for now is come that day The tyrant deemed would never visit him. 1st Semichor. But let us also look into the palace, My aged friend, and mark if yonder miscreant Be punished as I wish. Lyc. [within.] Ah me! ah me! Chor. That melody most grateful to mine ear Beneath yon roofs commences; nor is death Far distant; for these cries the monarch utters Are but a prelude to the fatal stroke. Lyc. [within.] Ye realms of Cadmus, I through treachery perish! 2nd Semichor. Others have perished by that bloody hand. Since then the retribution thou endur’st Is just, endure it bravely. 1st Semichor. Where is he Who uttered ’gainst the blest immortal powers His foolish blasphemies, and called the gods Too weak to punish him? 2nd Semichor. That impious man Is now no more. Yon vaulted roofs are silent, Let us begin the harmonious choral lay; For, as I wished, our comrades prove victorious. Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. The sumptuous banquet, with th’ enlivening dance Now every Theban shall employ; Dried are our tears, and past mischance Yields to the lyre abundant themes of joy: Stretched low in dust the tyrant lies; But he, who by an ancient right Obtains the sceptre, is our king; From Acheron’s loathed stream behold him rise, Revisiting the cheerful realms of light, And hope, unlooked for, doth fresh transports bring. I. 2. The gods take cognizance of broken trust, Nor are they deaf to holy prayer. On gold and fortune, power unjust Attends; man’s reason is too weak to bear The joint temptations. Heaven at length, Whose kind protection we invoke, Deigning with pity to behold Our woes, to the neglected laws their strength Restoring, with vindictive fury broke The sable car which bore the god of gold. II. 1. Now let the flowery wreath, the victor’s pride, Adorn Ismenos; let each street employ The hours in dance and social joy; Let Dirce from the silver wave arise, And old Asopus’ daughters by her side, Forsaking their paternal stream, Conspire to aid our rapturous theme, And for Alcides claim the victor’s prize. Ye Pythian rocks, with waving forests crowned, And seats of Helicon’s melodious choir, Come every nymph, with cheerful sound, Visit these walls which to the clouds aspire; In helmed crop here warriors filled the plains. Whose lineage undecayed from age to age remains. II. 2. O ye, the partners of one nuptial bed, Happy Amphitryon, sprung from mortal race, And Jove, who rushed to the embrace Of bright Alcmena; for of thee aright, Though erst, O Jove, I doubted, was it said Thou didst enjoy that beauteous dame; With the renown his triumphs claim, Time through the world displays Alcides’ might, Emerged from grisly Pluto’s realms abhorred, Who quits the darksome caverns of the earth, To me a far more welcome lord, Than yon vile tyrant of ignoble birth. Now to the bloody strife we lift our eyes; The vengeful sword is bared, if Justice haunt the skies. Semichor. Ha! are we all by the same panic seized? My aged friends, what spectre, hovering o’er The palace, do I see? Those tardy feet Raise from the ground, precipitate thy flight, Be gone.—From me, O Pæan, mighty king, Avert these evils. Iris, a Fiend, Chorus. Iris. O, ye aged men, Be not dismayed: the fiend whom ye behold Is daughter of old Night, and I am Iris, The gods’ ambassadress. We are not come To harm your city; for we only war Against one man, who, sprung ’tis said from Jove And from Alcmena: till he had performed Severest labours, fate preserved his life; Nor did his father Jove permit, or me, Or Juno, e’er to hurt him: but, each toil Eurystheus’ hate enjoined, now he hath finished, Those oft-polluted hands with recent gore Will Juno stain, by urging him to slay His children: in this scheme I too conspire. Come on then, armed with a relentless heart, Unwedded daughter of the pitchy Night; Instil into that hero’s breast such frenzy As shall o’erturn his reason, and constrain him To perpetrate this murder; his wild steps Goad onward, throw the bloody cable forth, That having sent this band of graceful sons, Slain by their father’s arm, adown the gulf Of Acheron, th’ effects of Juno’s wrath And mine, he may experience; for the gods Would be mere things of no account, but great Would be the power of man, if he escaped Unpunished. Fiend. I from noble parents spring, Night is my mother; and that blood which streamed From the foul wound of Ouranus, my sire: To me belongs this praise, I ’gainst my friend No envious rancour feel, nor with delight Invade them; but this counsel would suggest To you and Juno, ere I see you rush Into a fatal error, if my words Can move you: he into whose house you send me Is not obscure, or in the realms beneath, Or yet among the gods: for when o’er lands, Impervious erst, and o’er the stormy waves, He had established peace, he to the gods Their ancient honours, which by impious men Had been abolished, singly did restore. I therefore would dissuade you from contriving ’Gainst him these mischiefs. Iris. Blame not thou the schemes Devised by Juno and by me. Fiend. Your steps Into a better path, from that which leads To evil, would I turn. Iris. The wife of Jove Sent thee not hither to act thus discreetly. Fiend. Witness, thou sun, reluctant I obey. But if constrained to be the instrument Of Juno’s wrath and yours, I with such speed As when the hounds obey the huntsman’s voice, Your signal will attend; nor shall the deep Upheaving with a groan its troubled waves, The earthquake, or the thunderbolt, whose blast Is winged with fate, outstrip me, when I rush Into the breast of Hercules: the gates Will I burst open, and assail the house, First causing his devoted sons to bleed; Nor shall their murderer know that his own hand Slew those whom he begot, till he is rescued From the distraction I inspire. Behold He at the barrier stands, and shakes his head, And rolls in silence his distorted eyes, Flaming with anger. To contain his breath No longer able, like a bull, prepared To make the terrible assault, he bellows, And calls the Furies from the dire abyss Of Tartarus. Thee I to a greater height Of frenzy soon will rouse, and through thy soul Cause my terrific clarion to resound. O noble Iris, to Olympus’ height Now wing your swift career, while I, unseen, Will enter the abodes of Hercules. [Exeunt Iris and the Fiend. Chor. Thou city, groan; thy choicest flower, The son of Jove, is cropped: O Greece, Thy benefactor’s fatal hour Impends. To thee for ever lost, Assailed by that infernal pest, The dauntless chief, deprived of peace, Shall feel his agonizing breast With horrible distraction tossed. Hence in her brazen chariot went The raging fiend, on mischief bent; She urges with a scorpion goad Her steeds along th’ ethereal road. That hundred-headed child of Night. With all those hissing snakes around, From her envenomed eyeballs bright The Gorgon thus directs the wound. Soon changed by Heaven’s supreme decree, Is man’s short-lived felicity. Ye infants, soon shall ye expire, Slain by your own distracted sire. Ah me! thy son, without delay, Shall be left childless, mighty Jove; For on his tortured soul shall prey Yon fiend, and by the powers above Vengeance commissioned to destroy. O mansion erst the scene of joy! To form a prelude to this dance, Neither the cheering timbrel’s sound, Nor sportive Menades advance; Here human gore shall stream around, Instead of that refreshing juice, Which Bacchus’ purple grapes produce. Away, ye children, danger’s nigh, For he who wakes this hostile strain, Traces your footsteps as ye fly; Nor will the fiend with fruitless rage, A war beneath those mansions wage. Alas! we sink o’erwhelmed with woe, My tears shall never cease to flow. I wail the grandsire hoar with age, The mother too who bore that train Of lovely children, but in vain. Lo, what a tempest shakes the wall, And makes th’ uprooted mansion fall! What mean’st thou, frantic son of Jove? The hellish uproar thou dost raise, Filling the palace with amaze, Is such as vexed the realms above, Till issuing with victorious might, Pallas invincible in fight The huge Enceladus oppressed, And piled all Ætna on his breast.
Messenger, Chorus. Mes. O ye whose heads are whitened o’er with age! Chor. Why dost thou call me with so loud a voice? Mes. Atrocious are the mischiefs which have happened Within the palace. Chor. I need now call in No other seer. The boys are slain. Ah me! Mes. Indulge your groans, for such events as these Demand them. Chor. By a foe, e’en by the hand Of their own sire, in whom that foe they found. Mes. No tongue can utter woes beyond what we Have suffered. Chor. What account hast thou to give Of the dire fate the father on his sons Inflicted? Sent by the avenging gods, Say why such mischiefs visited this house, And how the children miserably fell. Mes. To purify the house were victims brought Before Jove’s altar, after Hercules Had slain and cast the monarch of this land Forth from these doors. Beside the victor stood His band of graceful children, with his sire And Megara. The sacred vase was borne Around the altar: from ill-omened words We all abstained. But while Alcmena’s son In his right hand a kindled torch sustained, Ready to dip it in the lustral water, He made a silent stand; on this delay The children steadfastly observed their sire, But he no longer was the same; his eyes Were seized with strong convulsions, from their fibres Blood started forth, his bearded cheeks with foam Were covered: he midst bursts of laughter wild Cried: “Wherefore need I kindle, O my father, The fire for sacrifice, ere I have slain Eurystheus, in a double toil engaged, When I at once might better finish all? Soon as I hither bring Eurystheus’ head, These hands which reek already with the gore Of Lycus, will I cleanse. Pour forth those waters Upon the ground, and cast your urns away. Who brings my bow, my club? I to Mycene Will go: let spades and levers be prepared, That I from their foundations may o’erturn Those walls which with the plummet and the line The Cyclops reared.” Then eager to depart, Although he had no chariot, yet he talked As if he had one, fancying that he mounted The seat, and with his hand as with a thong Drove the ideal steeds. His servants laughed, And at the same time trembled; till one cried (As on each other they with eager eyes Were gazing), “Doth my master sport with us, Or is he frantic?” Meanwhile through the palace Backward and forward he with hasty step Was walking: but no sooner did he reach That spacious hall, where at the genial board The men are wont t’ assemble, than he said That he was come to Nisus’ ancient city, And to th’ imperial dome: and on the floor, As if reclining at the genial board, Bade us set forth the banquet. But the pause Which intervened was short, ere he exclaimed, That he was traversing the Isthmian rocks O’ergrown with woods; then casting off his mantle He strove though there was no antagonist With whom to strive, proclaimed himself the victor, The name of that imaginary foe Announcing, over whom he had prevailed: But ’gainst Eurystheus he anon did utter Menaces the most horrible, and talk As if he at Mycene had been present. His father strove to hold his vigorous arm, And said to him; “What mean you, O my son? What wanderings into distant realms are these? Hath not the blood of him you have just slain Distracted you?” Then for Eurystheus’ sire Mistaking his own father, as he strove To touch his hand, repelled the trembling suppliant: Against his sons, the quiver and the bow, Thinking to slay the children of Eurystheus, He next made ready; they with terror smitten Ran different ways; the first beneath the robes Of his unhappy mother skulked; a second Flew to the shade the lofty column formed: Under the altar quivering like a bird, The last concealed himself: their mother cried, “What mean’st thou, O thou father, would’st thou slay Thy sons?” Amphitryon too, that aged man, And all the servants shrieked. But round the pillar The boy pursuing, he at length turned short, And meeting him, as foot to foot they stood, Transfixed his liver with a deadly shaft; Supine he fell, and with his streaming gore Distained the sculptured pillars, at whose base He breathed his last. But, with a shout, Alcides Uttered these boasts: “One of Eurystheus’ brood Slain by this arm, for the inveterate hate His father bore me, to atone, here lies A breathless corse.” Against another then, Who to the basis of the altar fled, And hoped to ’scape unseen, he bent his bow; But ere he gave the wound, the wretched youth Fell at his father’s knees, stretched forth his hands To touch his chin, or twine around his neck, And cried: “O spare my life, my dearest sire, Yours, I am yours indeed; nor will you slay Eurystheus’ son.” But he with glaring eyes Looked like a Gorgon, while the boy pressed on So close, he had no scope to aim the shaft, But as the smith the glowing anvil smites, Full on his auburn tresses he discharged The ponderous mace, the crashing bones gave way. Scarce had he slain the second, when he ran To butcher his third son o’er both their corses: But the unhappy mother in her arms Caught up, into an inner chamber bore The child, and closed the doors: but he, as if He had indeed been at the Cyclops’ city, With levers from their hinges forced them, pierced His wife and offspring with a single shaft, And then to slay his aged father rushed With speed impetuous: but a spectre came, Which to our eyes the awful semblance bore Of Pallas brandishing her pointed spear, And threw a rocky fragment at the breast Of Hercules, which checked his murderous frenzy, And plunged him into sleep. Upon the ground Headlong he fell, where ’midst the ruins lay, Rent from its pedestal a broken column: But rallying from our flight, we, by his sire Assisted, to the pillar bound him fast With thongs, that on his wakening from this trance He might commit no more atrocious deeds. There doth he taste an inauspicious sleep, First having slain his children and his consort. I know no mortal more completely wretched. [Exit Messenger. Chor. There was a murder in the Argive land Most wondrous and unparalleled through Greece In days of yore, which the confederate daughters Of Danaus perpetrated; but their crimes By the dire fate of Progne’s only son Were far surpassed. I of a bloody deed Now speak which they committed, they whose voice Equals the Muses’ choir; but thou who spring’st From Jove himself, hast in thy frenzy slain All thy three sons; for them what groans, what tears, What invocations to the shades beneath, Or songs shall I prepare to soothe the rage Of grisly Pluto? Shivered on the ground The portals of that lofty mansion view, Behold the corses of the children stretcht Before their miserable sire, whose senses, Since he hath slain them, in profoundest sleep Are buried. Mark those knotty cords around The brawny limbs of Hercules, entwined And to the columns in the palace fixed. But old Amphitryon, like a bird who wails Over its callow brood, with tardy step Comes hither in the bitterness of grief. Amphitryon, Chorus.
The Palace gates thrown open, discover Hercules stretched on the ground and sleeping. Amp. Ye aged Thebans, will ye not be silent, Will ye not suffer him dissolved in sleep His miseries to forget? Chor. These tears, these groans, To you, O venerable man, I pay, To those slain children, and the chief renowned For his victorious conflicts. Amp. Farther still Retire; forbear, forbear those clamorous sounds, Lest his repose ye break, and from a trance The sleeper rouse. Chor. How dreadful was this slaughter! Amp. Ha! ha! begone, for he in wild confusion Is starting up. Why will ye not lament, Ye aged men, in a more gentle tone? Lest roused from sleep he burst his chains, destroy The city, smite his sire, and with the ground Lay these proud mansions level. Chor. This I hold Impossible. Amp. Be silent, I will mark Whether he breathe: O let me place my ear Still closer. Chor. Sleeps he? Amp. An accursed repose, Alas! he tastes, who hath his consort slain, And slain his sons with that resounding bow. Chor. Now wail. Amp. I wail those children’s fate. Chor. Your son, Alas! old man, our equal pity claims. Amp. Observe strict silence, for again he rises And turns around: I will conceal myself Beneath that roof. Chor. Be of good cheer: night seals The eyelids of your son. Amp. Mark, mark me well, I am so wretched that without reluctance I can bid life adieu: but if he kill Me too who am his father, guilt on guilt Shall he accumulate, and join the stings Of parricide to those which from the Furies Who haunt him, he already doth endure. Chor. Better you then had died, when you prepared T’ avenge the slaughtered brothers of Alcmena, And stormed the fortress of the Taphian isle. Amp. Fly, leave the palace instantly; avoid That frantic man, who from his sleep is roused, For adding soon fresh slaughter to the past, With Bacchanalian transport shall he range Through Cadmus’ city. Chor. Why hast thou, O Jove, Hated thy son so bitterly, and plunged him Into this sea of troubles? Her. [waking.] Ha! I breathe, And view each wonted object, air, and earth, And these bright solar beams. Into what storm, What dreadful perturbation of the soul Have I been plunged! all heated I transpire, Not from my lungs, but from my feverish heart. Behold me! wherefore am I bound with chains, Like a disabled ship towed into haven, And by this youthful chest and nervous arm Joined to a broken pillar? Here I sit Contiguous to the corses of the slain; My winged shafts lie scattered on the ground, With that unerring bow which erst I bore In war to guard me, and with care preserved. Sent by Eurystheus, am I then arrived A second time at the drear shades beneath? Neither the rock of Sisyphus, nor Pluto, Nor Ceres’ sceptred daughter, do I see. I sure am stricken senseless with amazement, And know not where I am. But ho! what friend Is near, or at a distance, who will come To give me information? For each object Which I was erst acquainted with seems strange. Amp. Shall I approach this scene of my afflictions Ye aged men? Chor. I will attend your steps, Nor meanly in calamity betray you. Her. Why dost thou weep, my sire, and veil those eyes, Retiring far from thy beloved son? Amp. My son—for though unhappy, you are mine. Her. But what calamity do I endure That causes thee to shed these tears? Amp. Your woes Are such, that any god, if he endured The same, would groan. Her. This hath a dreadful sound: But you, my fortunes have not yet explained. Amp. Because if you your senses have recovered, Yourself behold them. Her. Tell me what thou mean’st— If to my charge thou lay’st some recent crime. Amp. If you no longer to the powers of hell Are subjected, the truth will I unfold. Her. Alas! how darkly thou again allud’st To what my soul suspects. Amp. Your looks I watch To see if reason wholly be restored. Her. I recollect not that I e’er was frantic. Amp. [to the Chorus.] Shall I unbind the shackles of my son, Or how must we proceed? Her. Say who was he That bound me? for with scorn have I been treated. Amp. Thus much of your afflictions may you know: Forbear all farther questions. Her. Is thy silence Sufficient then to teach me what I wish To learn? Amp. O Jove, dost thou behold the curses Hurled on thy son from envious Juno’s throne? Her. What dire effects of her inveterate rage Have I endured? Amp. Of that vindictive goddess No longer think: but to your own afflictions Attend. Her. Alas! I utterly am ruined! What farther ill wouldst thou disclose? Amp. See there The corses of your murdered children lie. Her. Alas! what dreadful objects strike these eyes! Amp. My son, against your progeny you waged An inauspicious war. Her. Why talk of war? Who slew them? Amp. You, your arrows, and the cause Of all these mischiefs, that remorseless goddess. Her. What mean’st thou, or what crime have I committed, My father, O thou messenger of ill? Amp. By frenzy urged. But you such questions ask, As I with grief must answer. Her. Have I murdered My consort also? Amp. All these deeds of horror That single arm did perpetrate. Her. Alas! A cloud of griefs surrounds me. Amp. For this cause Your fortunes I lament. Her. Have I demolished My own house too, with Bacchanalian rage Inspired? Amp. The whole of what I know amounts To this, that you are most completely wretched. Her. Where did this fatal madness seize me first? Amp. As round the altar, you, a flaming brand, To expiate the foul murder which distains Your hands, were bearing. Her. Ah! why lengthen out A guilty life, when of my dearest children I am become the murderer? Why delay To leap from the high rock, or with a sword Transpierce this bosom, on myself their blood Avenging? or t’ avert that infamy Which waits me, shall I rush into the flames? But Theseus comes to bar these desperate counsels, My kinsman and my friend; in a true light To him shall I appear, and the pollution I have incurred by slaying my own sons Will be conspicuous to my dearest comrade. What shall I do? or where can I find out A solitude impervious to my woes? On rapid wings, O could I mount, or plunge Into the nether regions of the earth? Give me a veil to darken o’er my head. For ’tis with shame I think on the offence Caused by this deed: but to myself alone Ascribing the defilement of their blood, I wish not to contaminate the guiltless. Theseus, Amphitryon, Hercules, Chorus. The. An armed squadron of Athenian youths I hither bring, who near Asopus’ stream Are stationed to assist your son in battle. For to the city of Erectheus’ race A rumour came, that Lycus, having seized The sceptre of this land, is waging war ’Gainst you. O aged man, I to repay The benefits which Hercules conferred On me, whom from the deary shades beneath In safety he redeemed, on your behalf Attend, if of this arm, or of my troops, Ye need the help. But, ha, what means the floor With weltering corses heaped? hath my design Proved ineffectual? am I then arrived Too late to remedy the dreadful mischiefs Which have already ta’en effect? who slew Those children, or whose consort was the dame Whom I behold? for where the boys are laid, No signs appear of any battle fought: But sure I of some other recent ill Now make discovery. Amp. O thou goddess, throned Upon that hill where verdant olives spring. The. Why speak you to me in this piteous tone, And with such prelude? Amp. Grievous are the ills Which we endure through Heaven’s severe behest. The. What boys are they o’er whose remains you weep? Amp. Them did my miserable son beget, And when begotten slay, this impious murder He dared to perpetrate. The. Express yourself In more auspicious terms. Amp. I wish t’ obey Th’ injunctions thou hast given. The. What dreadful words Are these which you have uttered? Amp. In a moment Were we undone. The. What mean you, what hath happened? Amp. This frenzy seized him sprinkled with the venom, Which from the hundred-headed hydra flowed. The. Such Juno’s wrath. But who, O aged man, Stands ’mong the dead? Amp. My son, my valiant son, Inured to many toils, who in that war Where earth’s gigantic brood were slain, advanced Among the gods to the Phlegræan field Armed with his buckler. The. Ah, what mighty chief Was e’er so wretched? Amp. Scarcely shalt thou know A man with greater labours vexed, and doomed To wander through more regions. The. But why veils he Beneath that robe his miserable head? Amp. Because thy presence, friendship’s sacred ties Added to those of kindred, and the gore Of his slain children, fill his soul with shame. The. I with his griefs am come to sympathize; Uncover him. Amp. That garment from your eyes Remove, display your visage to the sun. It ill becomes my dignity to weep: Yet I a suppliant strive to touch your beard, Your knees, your hand, and shed these hoary tears. O curb your soul, my son, whose fierceness equals That of the lion, else ’twill hurry you To bloody impious rage, and make you add Mischiefs to mischiefs. The. Ho! on thee I call, On thee, who to that seat of misery seem’st Fast riveted; permit thy friends to see Thy face: for darkness hath no cloud so black As to conceal thy woes. Why dost thou wave Thy hand and point to those whom thou hast slain, Lest by this converse I pollute myself? I am not loth to share thy woes; I erst Was happy (which my soul is ever bound To recollect with gratitude) when thou From hell’s loathed gloom, the mansion of the dead, Didst safely bear me to the realms of light. For I abhor th’ attachment of those friends Which time impairs, him too who would enjoy Their better fortunes, but refuse to sail In the same bark with those who prove unblest. Rise up, unveil thy miserable head And look on me. A noble mind sustains Without reluctance what the gods inflict. Her. Did you, O Theseus, see me slay my children? The. I heard, and now behold the ills thou speak’st of. Her. Then why didst thou uncover to the sun My guilty head? The. Why not? canst thou, a man, Pollute the gods? Her. Avaunt, O wretch, avaunt, For I am all contagion. The. To a friend No mischief from his friend can be transmitted. Her. Your conduct I applaud, nor will deny That I have served you. The. I who erst received Those favours at thy hands, now pity thee. Her. I am indeed an object of your pity, From having slain my sons. The. For thee I weep, Because to me thou heretofore wert kind When vexed by other ills. Her. Did you e’er meet With those who were more wretched? The. Thy afflictions Are of such giant bulk, that they to heaven Reach from this nether world. Her. Hence am I ready For instant death. The. Canst thou suppose the gods Regard thy threats? Her. Self-willed are they and cruel, And I defy the gods. The. Restrain thy tongue, Lest thou by uttering such presumptuous words Increase thy sufferings. Her. I with woes am fraught Already, nor remains there space for more. The. But what design’st thou? whither art thou borne With frantic rage? Her. In death will I return To those abodes beneath, whence late I came. The. Thou speak’st the language of a vulgar man. Her. Exempt from all calamity yourself, On me these admonitions you bestow. The. Are these fit words for Hercules to use, Who many toils endured? Her. I had not suffered Thus much, if any bounds had circumscribed My labours. The. Benefactor of mankind, And their great friend?
Her. From them no aid I find; But Juno triumphs. The. Greece will not permit thee To perish unregarded. Her. Hear me now, That I with reason your advice may combat; To you will I explain both why it is And long hath been impossible for me To live; and first, because from him, I spring, Who, having slain the father of Alcmena, Defiled with murder, wedded her who bore me. When thus the basis of a family Is laid in guilt, the children must be wretched. But Jove (or some one who assumed the name Of Jove) begot me; hence to Juno’s hate Was I obnoxious. Yet, O let not this Offend thine ear, old man, for thee, not Jove, I deem my real sire. While yet I hung An infant at the breast, Jove’s wife by stealth Sent snakes into my cradle to destroy me. But after I attained the bloom of manhood, Of what avail were it, should I recount The various labours I endured, what lions, What typhons with a triple form, what giants, Or what four-footed centaurs, who in crowds Rushed to the battle, by this arm were slain? How I despatched the hydra too, that monster With heads surrounded, branching out anew, And having suffered many toils beside, Went to the mansions of the dead, to bring Hell’s triple-headed dog into the realms Of light, for thus Eurystheus had enjoined? But I at last, wretch that I am, this murder Did perpetrate, and my own children slay, That to their utmost summit I might raise The miseries of this house. My fate is such That in my native Thebes I must not dwell: But if I here continue, to what temple Or friends can I repair? for by such curses I now am visited, that none will dare To speak to me. To Argos shall I go? How can I, when my country drives me forth? To any other city should I fly, The consequence were this: with looks askance I should be viewed as one well known, and harassed With these reproaches by malignant tongues: “Is not this he, the son of Jove, who murdered His children and his consort? from this land Shall not th’ accursed miscreant be expelled?” To him who was called happy once, such change Is bitterness indeed: as for the man Whose sufferings are perpetual, him, when wretched, No kinsman pities. I to such a pitch Of woe shall come, I deem, at length, that earth, Uttering a voice indignant, will forbid me To touch its surface, ocean, o’er its waves, And every river, o’er its streams, to pass. I shall be like Ixion then, with chains Fixed to the wheel. ’Twere better that no Greek With whom I in my happier days conversed Should see me more. What motive can I have For living? or to me of what avail Were it to keep possession of this useless And this unholy being? flushed with joy, Let Jove’s illustrious consort, in the dance, Strike with her sandals the resplendent floor Of high Olympus: for she now hath gained Her utmost wish, and from his basis torn The first of Grecian warriors. Who can pray To such a goddess, who, with envy stung, Because Jove loved a woman, hath destroyed The benefactors of the Grecian realm, Those blameless objects of her hate? The. This mischief Springs from no god except the wife of Jove. Well dost thou judge, in saying that ’tis easier To give thee wholesome counsel, than endure Such agonies. But no man ’scapes unwounded By fortune, and no god; unless the songs Of ancient bards mislead. Have not the gods Among themselves formed lawless marriages? Have they not bound in ignominious chains Their fathers, to obtain a throne? In heaven Yet dwell they, and bear up beneath the load Of all their crimes. But what canst thou allege, If thou, frail mortal as thou art, those ills Immoderately bewail’st to which the gods Without reluctance yield? from Thebes retire, Since thus the laws ordain; and follow me To Pallas’ city: when thy hands are there Cleansed from pollution, I to thee will give A palace, and with thee divide my wealth. The presents which the citizens to me Appropriated, when twice seven blooming victims I by the slaughter of the Cretan bull Redeemed, on thee will I bestow. For portions Of land are through the realm to me assigned: These, while thou liv’st henceforth shall by thy name Be called: but after death, when to the shades Of Pluto thou descend’st, with sacrifice And with the sculptured tomb, shall Athens grace Thy memory. For her citizens have gained This fairest wreath from every Grecian state, By yielding succour to the virtuous man Their glories are augmented: and to thee Will I repay with gratitude the kindness Which thou deserv’st for saving me; for thou Hast need of friends at present: but no friend Is wanted when the gods confer renown; For, if he wills, Jove’s aid is all-sufficient. Her. You hold a language foreign to my griefs. But I suppose not that the gods delight In lawless nuptials, that their hands are bound With galling chains, nor did I e’er believe, Nor can I be convinced, that one bears rule Over another. For a deity If he be truly such, can stand in need Of no support. But by some lying bard Those miserable fables were devised. Although I am most wretched, yet I thought I might be charged with cowardice for leaving These realms of light. For he who bears not up ’Gainst adverse fortune, never can withstand The weapon of his foe. I am resolved To wait for death with firmness: to your city Meantime will I retreat, and am most grateful For your unnumbered gifts. Unnumbered labours Have I been erst acquainted with; from none Did I e’er shrink, these eyes did never stream With tears, nor thought I that I e’er should come To such a pitch of meanness as to weep: But now, it seems, must Fortune be obeyed. I am content. Thou, O my aged sire, Behold’st my exile, thou in me behold’st The murderer of my children: to the tomb Consign their corses with funereal pomp, And o’er them shed the tributary tear: For me the laws allow not to perform This office. Let their mother, e’en in death, Clasp to her breast, and in her arms sustain, Our wretched offspring, whom in evil hour I slew reluctant. But when thou with earth Hast covered them, thy residence still keep Here in this city, miserably indeed, Yet on thy soul lay this constraint, to bear With me the woes which I most deeply feel. The very sire, ye children, who begot, Murdered you; no advantage ye derive From what this arm by all my labours gained, And from your father’s triumphs no renown. Have not I slain thee too who didst preserve My bed inviolate, and o’er my house Long watch with patient care? Ah me! my wife, My sons: but how much more to be lamented Am I myself, from them for ever torn? Ye melancholy joys of kisses lavished On their remains, and ye my loathed companions, The weapons which I still retain, but doubt Whether to keep or dash them to the ground; For they, while at my side they hang, will seem To utter these reproachful words: “With us Thy consort and thy children hast thou slain, Yet thou the very instruments preserv’st Which were their murderers.” After such a charge Can I still bear them? what can I allege? But stripping off those arms with which through Greece I have achieved full many glorious deeds, Shall I expose myself to those who hate me, And die ignobly? I must not abandon But keep them still, though sorrowing. Aid me, Theseus, In this one enterprise; to Argos go And for your friend obtain the great reward Promised for dragging from the shades of hell That execrable hound: lest if by you Deserted, I through grief for my slain children Should come to some calamitous end. Thou realm Of Cadmus, and ye citizens of Thebes, With tresses shorn, in concert weep; the tomb Of my slain children visit, there bewail, In one funereal dirge, the dead, and me; For smitten with the same dire scourge of fate By Juno, we all perish. The. Hapless man, Arise; enough of tears. Her. I cannot rise, These limbs are now grown stiff. The. Calamity Subdues the valiant. Her. Would I were a stone, Insensible to sufferings! The. Cease these plaints; And to the friend who comes to serve thee, give Thy hand. Her. But let me not wipe off the blood Upon your garments. The. Wipe it off, nor scruple, For I object not. Her. Of my sons bereft, In you the likeness of a son I find. The. Fling round my neck thine arm: I’ll lead the way. Her. A pair of friends: though one of us be wretched. Such, O my aged father, is the man We ought to make a friend. The. His native realm Produces an illustrious progeny. Her. Turn me around, that I may see my sons. The. Hoping such philtre may thy griefs appease. Her. This earnestly I wish for, and would clasp My father to this bosom. Amp. Here, lo, here! For what my son desires, to me is grateful. The. Of all the labours thou didst erst achieve, Hast thou thus lost the memory? Her. All those ills Were less severe than what I now experience. The. Should any one behold thee grown unmanly, He could not praise thee. Her. Though to you I seem Degraded to an abject life, I trust That I my former courage shall resume. The. Where now is the illustrious Hercules? Her. What had you been, if still you in the shades Had miserably dwelt? The. Then sunk my courage Beneath the meanest of the human race. Her. Why then persist in saying that my woes Have quite subdued me? The. Onward! Her. Good old man, Farewell. Amp. Farewell too, O my son. Her. My children Inter as I directed. Amp. O, my son, But who will bury me? Her. I. Amp. When will you Come hither? Her. After thou hast for my children Performed that pious office. Amp. How? Her. I’ll fetch thee From Thebes to Athens.—Bear into the palace My children’s corses which pollute the ground. But as for me, who have disgraced and plunged My house in ruin, I will follow Theseus, Towed like a battered skiff. Whoe’er prefers Wealth or dominion to a steadfast friend, Judges amiss. Chor. Most wretched, drowned in tears, Reft of our great protector, we depart.