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Trachiniai (Campbell Translation)

O ye that haunt the strandI 1 Where ships in quiet land Near Oeta’s height and the warm rock-drawn well, And ye round Melis’ inland gulf who dwell, Worshipping her who wields the golden wand,— (There Hellas’ wisest meet in council strong): Soon shall the flute arise With sound of glad surprise, Thrilling your sense with no unwelcome song, But tones that to the harp of Heavenly Muse belong. Zeus’ and Alcmena’s son,—I 2 All deeds of glory done,— Speeds now triumphant to his home, whom we Twelve weary months of blind expectancy Lost in vast distance, from our country gone. While, sadly languishing, his loving wife, Still flowing down with tears, Pined with unnumbered fears. But Ares, lately stung to furious strife, Frees him for ever from the toilsome life. O let him come to-day!II Ne’er may his vessel stay, But glide with feathery sweep of many an oar, Till from his altar by yon island shore Even to our town he wind his prosperous way, In mien returning mild, And inly reconciled, With that anointing in his heart ingrained, Which the dark Centaur’s wizard lips ordained. [663-695] Enter DÊANIRA. DÊ. O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far I have ventured in my action of to-day! CH. What ails thee, Dêanira, Oeneus’ child? DÊ. I know not, but am haunted by a dread, Lest quickly I be found to have performed A mighty mischief, through bright hopes betrayed. CH. Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles? DÊ. Indeed I do. Now I perceive how fond Is eagerness, where actions are obscure. CH. Tell, if it may be told, thy cause of fear. DÊ. A thing is come to pass, which should I tell, Will strike you with strange wonder when you learn. For, O my friends, the stuff wherewith I dressed That robe, a flock of soft and milkwhite wool, Is shrivelled out of sight, not gnawn by tooth Of any creature here, but, self-consumed, Frittered and wasting on the courtyard-stones. To let you know the circumstance at full, I will speak on. Of all the Centaur-Thing, When labouring in his side with the fell point O’ the shaft, enjoined me, I had nothing lost, But his vaticination in my heart Remained indelible, as though engraved With pen of iron upon brass. ’Twas thus:— I was to keep this unguent closely hid In dark recesses, where no heat of fire Or warming ray might reach it, till with fresh Anointing I addressed it to an end. So I had done. And now this was to do, Within my chamber covertly I spread The ointment with piece of wool, a tuft Pulled from a home-bred sheep; and, as ye saw, I folded up my gift and packed it close In hollow casket from the glaring sun. But, entering in, a fact encounters me Past human wit to fathom with surmise. For, as it happened, I had tossed aside The bit of wool I worked with, carelessly, [696-733] Into the open daylight, ’mid the blaze Of Helios’ beam. And, as it kindled warm, It fell away to nothing, crumbled small, Like dust in severing wood by sawyers strewn. So, on the point of vanishing, it lay. But, from the place where it had lain, brake forth A frothy scum in clots of seething foam, Like the rich draught in purple vintage poured From Bacchus’ vine upon the thirsty ground. And I, unhappy, know not toward what thought To turn me, but I see mine act is dire. For wherefore should the Centaur, for what end, Show kindness to the cause for whom he died? That cannot be. But seeking to destroy His slayer, he cajoled me. This I learn Too late, by sad experience, for no good. And, if I err not now, my hapless fate Is all alone to be his murderess. For, well I know, the shaft that made the wound Gave pain to Cheiron, who was more than man; And wheresoe’er it falls, it ravageth All the wild creatures of the world. And now This gory venom blackly spreading bane From Nessus’ angry wound, must it not cause The death of Heracles? I think it must. Yet my resolve is firm, if aught harm him, My death shall follow in the self-same hour. She cannot bear to live in evil fame, Who cares to have a nature pure from ill. CH. Horrid mischance must needs occasion fear. But Hope is not condemned before the event. DÊ. In ill-advised proceeding not even Hope Remains to minister a cheerful mind. CH. Yet to have erred unwittingly abates The fire of wrath; and thou art in this case. DÊ. So speaks not he who hath a share of sin, But who is clear of all offence at home. CH. ’Twere well to say no more, unless thou hast aught To impart to thine own son: for he is here, Who went erewhile to find his father forth. [734-766] HYLLUS (re-entering). O mother, mother! I would to heaven one of three things were true: Either that thou wert dead, or, living, wert No mother to me, or hadst gained a mind Furnished with better thoughts than thou hast now! DÊ. My son! what canst thou so mislike in me? HYL. I tell thee thou this day hast been the death Of him that was thy husband and my sire. DÊ. What word hath passed thy lips? my child, my child! HYL. A word that must be verified. For who Can make the accomplished fact as things undone? DÊ. Alas, my son! what saidst thou? Who hath told That I have wrought a deed so full of woe? HYL. ’Twas I myself that saw with these mine eyes My father’s heavy state:—no hearsay word. DÊ. And where didst thou come near him and stand by? HYL. Art thou to hear it? On, then, with my tale! When after sacking Eurytus’ great city He marched in triumph with first-fruits of war,— There is a headland, last of long Euboea, Surf-beat Cenaeum,—where to his father Zeus He dedicates high altars and a grove. There first I saw him, gladdened from desire. And when he now addressed him to the work Of various sacrifice, the herald Lichas Arrived from home, bearing thy fatal gift, The deadly robe: wherewith invested straight, As thou hadst given charge, he sacrificed The firstlings of the spoil, twelve bulls entire, Each after each. But the full count he brought Was a clear hundred of all kinds of head. Then the all-hapless one commenced his prayer In solemn gladness for the bright array. But presently, when from the holy things, And from the richness of the oak-tree core, [766-802] There issued flame mingled with blood, a sweat Rose on his flesh, and close to every limb Clung, like stone-drapery from the craftsman’s hand, The garment, glued unto his side. Then came The tearing pangs within his bones, and then The poison feasted like the venomed tooth Of murderous basilisk.—When this began, He shouted on poor Lichas, none to blame For thy sole crime, ‘What guile is here, thou knave? What was thy fraud in fetching me this robe?’ He, all-unknowing, in an evil hour Declared his message, that the gift was thine. Whereat the hero, while the shooting spasm Had fastened on the lungs, seized him by the foot Where the ankle turns i’ the socket, and, with a thought, Hurl’d on a surf-vex’d reef that showed i’ the sea: And rained the grey pulp from the hair, the brain Being scattered with the blood. Then the great throng Saddened their festival with piteous wail For one in death and one in agony. And none had courage to approach my sire,— Convulsed upon the ground, then tossed i’ the air With horrid yells and crying, till the cliffs Echoed round, the mountain-promontories Of Locris, and Euboea’s rugged shore. Wearied at length with flinging on the earth, And shrieking oft with lamentable cry, Cursing the fatal marriage with thyself The all-wretched, and the bond to Oeneus’ house, That prize that was the poisoner of his peace, He lifted a wild glance above the smoke That hung around, and ’midst the crowd of men Saw me in tears, and looked on me and said, ‘O son, come near; fly not from my distress, Though thou shouldst be consumèd in my death, But lift and bear me forth; and, if thou mayest, Set me where no one of mankind shall see me. But if thy heart withhold thee, yet convey me Out of this land as quickly as ye may. Let me not die where I am now.’ We then, [803-833] Thus urgently commanded, laid him down Within our bark, and hardly to this shore Rowed him convulsed and roaring.—Presently, He will appear, alive or lately dead. Such, mother, is the crime thou hast devised And done against our sire, wherefore let Right And Vengeance punish thee!—May I pray so? I may: for thou absolv’st me by thy deed, Thou that hast slain the noblest of the Earth, Thy spouse, whose like thou ne’er wilt see again. [Exit DÊANIRA. CH. Why steal’st thou forth in silence? Know’st thou not Thy silence argues thine accuser’s plea? HYL. Let her go off. Would that a sudden flood Might sweep her far and swiftly from mine eye! Why fondle vainly the fair-sounding name Of mother, when her acts are all unmotherly? Let her begone for me: and may she find Such joy as she hath rendered to my sire![Exit HYLLUS CHORUS. See where falls the doom, of oldI 1 By the unerring Voice foretold,— ‘When twelve troublous years have rolled, Then shall end your long desire: Toil on toil no more shall tire The offspring of the Eternal Sire.’ Lo! the destined Hour is come! Lo! it hath brought its burden home. For when the eyes have looked their last How should sore labour vex again? How, when the powers of will and thought are past, Should life be any more enthralled to pain? And if Nessus’ withering shroud,I 2 Wrought by destiny and craft, Steep him in a poisonous cloud. Steaming from the venomed shaft, [834-870] Which to Death in hideous lair The many-wreathed Hydra bare, How shall he another day Feel the glad warmth of Helios’ ray?— Enfolded by the Monster-Thing Of Lerna, while the cruel sting Of the shagg’d Centaur’s murderous-guileful tongue Breaks forth withal to do him painful wrong. And she, poor innocent, who sawII 1 Checkless advancing to the gate A mighty harm unto her state,— This rash young bridal without fear of law,— Gave not her will to aught that caused this woe, But since it came through that strange mind’s conceiving,— That ruined her in meeting,—deeply grieving, She mourns with dewy tears in tenderest flow. The approaching hour appeareth great with woe: Some guile-born misery doth Fate foreshow. The springs of sorrow are unbound,II 2 And such an agony disclose, As never from the hands of foes To afflict the life of Heracles was found. O dark with battle-stains, world-champion spear, That from Oechalia’s highland leddest then This bride that followed swiftly in thy train, How fatally overshadowing was thy fear! But these wild sorrows all too clearly come From Love’s dread minister, disguised and dumb. CH. 1. Am I a fool, or do I truly hear Lament new-rising from our master’s home? Tell! CH. 2. Clearly from within a wailing voice Peals piteously. The house hath some fresh woe. CH. 3. Mark! How strangely, with what cloud upon her brow, Yon aged matron with her tidings moves! [871-902] Enter Nurse. NURSE. Ah! mighty, O my daughters! was the grief Sprung from the gift to Heracles conveyed! LEADER OF CH. What new thing is befallen? Why speak’st thou so? NUR. Our Queen hath found her latest journey’s end. Even now she is gone, without the help of feet. CH. Not dead? NUR. You know the whole. CH. Dead! hapless Queen! NUR. The truth hath twice been told. CH. O tell us how! What was her death, poor victim of dire woe? NUR. Most ruthless was the deed. CH. Say, woman, say! What was the sudden end? NUR. Herself she slew. CH. What rage, what madness, clutched The mischief-working brand? How could her single thought Contrive the accomplishment of death on death? NUR. Chill iron stopped the sources of her breath. CH. And thou, poor helpless crone, didst see this done? NUR. Yea, I stood near and saw. CH. How was it? Tell! NUR. With her own hand this violence was given. CH. What do I hear? NUR. The certainty of truth. CH. A child is come, From this new bridal that hath rushed within, A fresh-born Fury of woe! NUR. Too true. But hadst thou been at hand to see Her action, pity would have wrung thy soul. CH. Could this be ventured by a woman’s hand? NUR. Ay, and in dreadful wise, as thou shalt hear. When all alone she had gone within the gate, And passing through the court beheld her boy Spreading the couch that should receive his sire, [902-946] Ere he returned to meet him,—out of sight She hid herself, and fell at the altar’s foot, And loudly cried that she was left forlorn; And, taking in her touch each household thing That formerly she used, poor lady, wept O’er all; and then went ranging through the rooms, Where, if there caught her eye the well-loved form Of any of her household, she would gaze And weep aloud, accusing her own fate And her abandoned lot, childless henceforth! When this was ended, suddenly I see her Fly to the hero’s room of genial rest. With unsuspected gaze o’ershadowed near, I watched, and saw her casting on the bed The finest sheets of all. When that was done, She leapt upon the couch where they had lain And sat there in the midst. And the hot flood Burst from her eyes before she spake:—‘Farewell, My bridal bed, for never more shalt thou Give me the comfort I have known thee give.’ Then with tight fingers she undid her robe, Where the brooch lay before the breast, and bared All her left arm and side. I, with what speed Strength ministered, ran forth to tell her son The act she was preparing. But meanwhile, Ere we could come again, the fatal blow Fell, and we saw the wound. And he, her boy, Seeing, wept aloud. For now the hapless youth Knew that himself had done this in his wrath, Told all too late i’ the house, how she had wrought Most innocently, from the Centaur’s wit. So now the unhappy one, with passionate words And cries and wild embracings of the dead, Groaned forth that he had slain her with false breath Of evil accusation, and was left Orphaned of both, his mother and his sire. Such is the state within. What fool is he That counts one day, or two, or more to come? To-morrow is not, till the present day In fair prosperity have passed away.[Exit [947-975] CHORUS. Which shall come first in my wail,I 1 Which shall be last to prevail, Is a doubt that will never be done. Trouble at home may be seen,I 2 Trouble is looked for with teen; And to have and to look for are one. Would some fair windII 1 But waft me forth to roam Far from the native region of my home, Ere death me find, oppressed with wild affright Even at the sudden sight Of him, the valiant son of Zeus most High! Before the house, they tell, he fareth nigh, A wonder beyond thought, With torment unapproachable distraught. Hark! ...II 2 The cause then of my cry Was coming all too nigh: (Doth the clear nightingale lament for nought?) Some step of stranger folk is this way brought. As for a friend they love Heavy and slow with noiseless feet they move. Which way? which way? Ah me! behold him come. His pallid lips are dumb. Dead, or at rest in sleep? What shall I say? [HERACLES is brought in on a litter, accompanied by HYLLUS and an Old Man HYL. Oh, woe is me! My father, piteous woe for thee! Oh, whither shall I turn my thought! Ah me! OLD M. Hush! speak not, O my child, Lest torment fierce and wild Rekindle in thy father’s rugged breast, And break this rest [976-1003] Where now his life is held at point to fall. With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all. HYL. Yet tell me, doth he live, Old sir? OLD M. Wake not the slumberer, Nor kindle and revive The terrible recurrent power of pain, My son! HYL. My foolish words are done, But my full heart sinks ’neath the heavy strain. HERACLES. O Father, who are these? What countrymen? Where am I? What far land Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me! Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain! OLD M. Now thou may’st know ’Twas better to have lurked in silent shade And not thus widely throw The slumber from his eyelids and his head. HYL. I could not brook All speechless on his misery to look. MONODY. HER. O altar on the Euboean strand, High-heaped with offerings from my hand, What meed for lavish gifts bestowed From thy new sanctuary hath flowed! Father of Gods! thy cruel power Hath foiled me with an evil blight. Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night Ere madness in a fatal hour Had burst upon them with a blaze, No help or soothing once allays! What hand to heal, what voice to charm, Can e’er dispel this hideous harm? Whose skill save thine, Monarch Divine? Mine eyes, if such I saw, Would hail him from afar with trembling awe. [1004-1040] Ah! ah! O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest, To sleep my last sleep on Earth’s gentle breast. You touch me, you press me, you turn me again, You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain! You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still. It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will! Where are ye, men, whom over Hellas wide This arm hath freed, and o’er the ocean-tide, And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing? Yet now in mine affliction none will bring A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire, O most unrighteous! nor to my desire Will come and quench the hateful life I hold With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold? OLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou! Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast Than mine to save him. HYL. I support him now Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest From torture. None may dream To wield this power, save he, the King supreme. HER. Son! Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright? It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might, This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again! O Fate! O Athena!—O son, at my word Have pity and slay me with merciful sword! Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief Wherewith thy mother, God-abandoned wife, Hath wrought this ruin on her husband’s life. O may I see her falling, even so As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe! [1041-1080] Sweet Hades, with swift death, Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath! CH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe, Racking our mighty one with mightier pain. HER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report, With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne, But no such labour hath the Thunderer’s wife Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this, Which Oeneus’ daughter of the treacherous eye Hath fastened on my back, this amply-woven Net of the Furies, that is breaking me. For, glued unto my side, it hath devoured My flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs It drains the vital channels, and hath drunk The fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame, Foiled in the tangle of a viewless bond. Yet me nor War-host, nor Earth’s giant brood, Nor Centaur’s monstrous violence could subdue, Nor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms. But a soft woman without manhood’s strain Alone and weaponless hath conquered me. Son, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate Thy mother’s claim beyond thy sire’s, but bring Thyself from out the chambers to my hand Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart May be assured, if lesser than my pain It will distress thee to behold her limbs With righteous torment agonized and torn. Nay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all May pity—me, who, like a tender girl, Am heard to weep aloud! This none could say He knew in me of old; for, murmuring not, I went with evil fortune, silent still. Now, such a foe hath found the woman in me! Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold What cause I have for crying. Look but here! Here is the mystery unveiled. O see! Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh, Look with compassion on my misery! [1081-1117] Ah me! Ah! ah! Again! Even now the hot convulsion of disease Shoots through my side, and will not let me rest From this fierce exercise of wearing woe. Take me, O King of Night! O sudden thunderstroke. Smite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart Of thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang Is tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew, It soars up to the height! O breast and back, O shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same That crushed the dweller of the Némean wild, The lion unapproachable and rude, The oxherd’s plague, and Hydra of the lake Of Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng Of Centaurs,—insolent, unsociable, Lawless, ungovernable:—the tuskèd pest Of Erymanthine glades; then underground Pluto’s three-headed cur—a perilous fear, Born from the monster-worm; and, on the verge Of Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold. These toils and others countless I have tried, And none hath triumphed o’er me. But to-day, Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked Thus utterly by imperceptible woe; I, proudly named Alcmena’s child, and His Who reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme! Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here, Where I am nothingness and cannot move, She who hath done this deed shall feel my power. Let her come near, that, mastered by my might, She may have this to tell the world, that, dying, As living, I gave punishment to wrong. CH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress! How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see! HYL. My father, since thy silence gives me leave, Still hear me patiently, though in thy pain! For my request is just. Lend me thy mind [1117-1149] Less wrathfully distempered than ’tis now; Else thou canst never know, where thou art keen With vain resentment and with vain desire HER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain Catch not the sense of thy mysterious talk HYL. I come to tell thee of my mother’s case, And her involuntary unconscious fault. HER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother’s name, Thy father’s murderess, in my hearing too! HYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech. HER. Her faults in former time might well be told. HYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know. HER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not. HYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound. HER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe. HYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke. HER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands. HYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew. HER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought! HYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said. HER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire! HYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home, She erred, supposing to enchain thy love. HER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might? HYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind To work this charm for heightening thy desire. HER. O horror, thou art here! I am no more. My day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone! I see our plight too plainly. woe is me! Come, O my son! —thou hast no more a father,— Call to me all the brethren of thy blood, And poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain [1149-1185] Unto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell With my last breath what prophecies I know. HYL. Thy mother is not here, but by the shore Of Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place; And of thy sons, some she hath with her there, And some inhabit Thebè’s citadel. But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught That may by us be done, will hear, and do. HER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show If worthily thou art reputed mine. Now is time to prove thee. My great father Forewarned me long ago that I should die By none who lived and breathed, but from the will Of one now dwelling in the house of death. And so this Centaur, as the voice Divine Then prophesied, in death hath slain me living. And in agreement with that ancient word I now interpret newer oracles Which I wrote down on going within the grove Of the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli,— Dictated to me by the mystic tongue Innumerous, of my Father’s sacred tree; Declaring that my ever instant toils Should in the time that new hath being and life End and release me. And I look’d for joy. But the true meaning plainly was my death.— No labour is appointed for the dead.— Then, since all argues one event, my son, Once more thou must befriend me, and not wait For my voice goading thee, but of thyself Submit and second my resolve, and know Filial obedience for thy noblest rule. HYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart Sinks heavily in approaching such a theme. HER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine. HYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire? HER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy. HYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought. HER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life. [1186-1221] HYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it. HER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do. HYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth. HER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come. HYL. It will not come for swerving:—but I pray. HER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta’s topmost height The crag of Zeus? HYL. I know it, and full oft Have stood there sacrificing. HER. Then even there, With thine own hand uplifting this my body, Taking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped Much wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough Wild olive, lay me on the gathered pile, And burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame. Let not a tear of mourning dim thine eye; But silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine, Perform it. Else my curse awaits thee still To weigh thee down when I am lost in night. HYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue! HER. ’Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse, Be called another’s and be no more mine. HYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this, To be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood! HER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain, And sole preserver from a life of woe. HYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre? HER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest. HYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee. HER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood? HYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this, Not scanting labour, I will do my part. HER. Enough. ’Tis well. And having thus much given Add one small kindness to a list so full. HYL. How great soe’er it were, it should be done. HER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween. HYL. Of Iolè thou speak’st, or I mistake. HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son. [1222-1258] When I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty, Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word, Make her thy wife: nor let another man Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy! And be thyself the maker of this bond. To spurn at trifles after great things given, Were to confound the meed already won. HYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill! But who could bear to see thee in this mind? HER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey. HYL. How can I do it, when my mother’s death And thy sad state sprang solely from this girl? Who, not possessed with furies, could choose this? Far better, father, for me too to die, Than to live still with my worst enemy. HER. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death. But, if thou yield’st not to thy father’s best, The curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still. HYL. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come. HER. Yea, for thou wak’st the torment that had slept. HYL. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way! HER. Because you will reject your father’s word. HYL. Must I be taught impiety from thee? HER. It is not impious to content my heart. HYL. Then you require this with an absolute will? HER. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command. HYL. Then I will do it, for the act is thine. I will not cast it off. Obeying thee, My sire, the Gods will ne’er reprove my deed. HER. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son, Add the performance swiftly, that, before Some spasm or furious onset of my pain Have seized me, ye may place me on the pyre. Come, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end Is near, the last cessation of my woe. HYL. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire! We tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre. [1259-1278] HER. Stubborn heart, ere yet again Wakes the fierce rebound of pain, While the evil holds aloof, Thou, with bit of diamond proof, Curb thy cry, with forcèd will Seeming to do gladly still! HYL. Lift him, men, and hate not me For the evil deeds ye see, Since the Heavens’ relentless sway Recks not of the righteous way. He who gave life and doth claim From his seed a Father’s name Can behold this hour of blame. Though the future none can tell, Yet the present is not well: Sore for him who bears the blow, Sad for us who feel his woe, Shameful to the Gods, we trow. CH. Maidens from the palace-hall, Come ye forth, too, at our call! Mighty deaths beyond belief, Many an unknown form of grief, Ye have seen to-day; and nought But the power of Zeus hath wrought. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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