The Trachinian Maidens

THE PERSONS      DANIRA, wife of Heracles.      An Attendant.      HYLLUS, son of Heracles and Danira.      CHORUS of Trachinian Maidens.      A Messenger.      LICHAS, the Herald.      A Nurse.      An Old Man.      HERACLES.      IOLE, who does not speak.      SCENE. Before the temporary abode of Heracles in Trachis.      This tragedy is named from the Chorus. From the subject it might have been called 'Deanira or the Death of Heracles'.      The Centaur Nessus, in dying by the arrow of Heracles, which had been dipped in the venom of the Hydra, persuaded the bride Deanira, whose beauty was the cause of his death, to keep some of the blood from the wound as a love-charm for her husband. Many years afterwards, when Heracles was returning from his last exploit of sacking Oechalia, in Euboea, he sent before him, by his herald Lichas, Iole, the king's daughter, whom he had espoused. Deanira, when she had discovered this, commissioned Lichas when he returned to present his master with a robe, which she had anointed with the charm,--hoping by this means to regain her lord's affection. But the poison of the Hydra did its work, and Heracles died in agony, Deanira having already killed herself on ascertaining what she had done. The action takes place in Trachis, near the Mahae Gulf, where Heracles and Deanira, by permission of Ceyx, the king of the country, have been living in exile. At the close of the drama, Heracles, while yet alive, is carried towards his pyre on Mount Oeta.          THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS      DANIRA. Men say,--'twas old experience gave the word,      --'No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once      Be known for good or evil.' But I know,      Before I come to the dark dwelling-place,      Mine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore.      Who yet at Pleuron, in my father's home,      Of all Aetolian women had most cause      To fear my bridal. For a river-god,      Swift Achels, was my suitor there      And sought me from my father in three forms;      Now in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent      Of coiling sheen, and now with manlike build      But bovine front, while from the shadowy beard      Sprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray.      Looking for such a husband, I, poor girl!      Still prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew      That nuptial.--Later, to my glad relief,      Zeus' and Alcmena's glorious offspring came,      And closed with him in conflict, and released      My heart from torment. How the fight was won      I could not tell. If any were who saw      Unshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak.      But I sate quailing with an anguished fear,      Lest beauty might procure me nought but pain,      Till He that rules the issue of all strife,      Gave fortunate end--if fortunate! For since,      Assigned by that day's conquest, I have known      The couch of Heracles, my life is spent      In one continual terror for his fate.      Night brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil      Drives him afar. And I have borne him seed;      Which he, like some strange husbandman that farms      A distant field, finds but at sowing time      And once in harvest. Such a weary life      Still tossed him to and fro,--no sooner home      But forth again, serving I know not whom.          And when his glorious head had risen beyond      These labours, came the strongest of my fear.      For since he quelled the might of Iphitus,      We here in Trachis dwell, far from our home,      Dependent on a stranger, but where he      Is gone, none knoweth. Only this I know,      His going pierced my heart with pangs for him,      And now I am all but sure he bears some woe.      These fifteen months he hath sent me not one word.      And I have cause for fear. Ere he set forth      He left a scroll with me, whose dark intent      I oft pray Heaven may bring no sorrow down.      ATTENDANT. Queen Danira, many a time ere now      Have I beheld thee with all tearful moan      Bewailing the departure of thy lord.      But, if it be permitted that a slave      Should tender counsel to the free, my voice      May venture this:--Of thy strong band of sons      Why is not one commissioned to explore      For Heracles? and why not Hyllus first,      Whom most it would beseem to show regard      For tidings of his father's happiness?      Ah! here I see him bounding home, with feet      Apt for employment! If you count me wise,      He and my words attend upon your will.      Enter HYLLUS.      D. Dear child, dear boy! even from the lowliest head      Wise counsel may come forth. This woman here,      Though a bond-maiden, hath a free-born tongue.      HYL. What word is spoken, mother? May I know?      D. That, with thy father lost to us so long,      'Tis shame thou dost not learn his dwelling-place.      HYL. Yea, I have learnt, if one may trust report.      D. Where art thou told his seat is fixed, my son?      HYL. 'Tis said that through the length of this past year      He wrought as bondman to a Lydian girl.      D. Hath he borne that? Then nothing can be strange!      HYL. Well, that is over, I am told. He is free.      D. Where is he rumoured, then, alive or dead?      HYL. In rich Euboea, besieging, as they tell,      The town of Eurytus, or offering siege.      D. Child, hast thou heard what holy oracles      He left with me, touching that very land?      HYL. What were they, mother, for I never knew?      D. That either he must end his being there,      Or, this one feat performed, his following time      Should grace his life with fair prosperity.      Wilt thou not then, my child, when he is held      In such a crisis of uncertain peril,      Run to his aid?--since we must perish with him,      Or owe our lasting safety to his life.      HYL. I will go, mother. Had I heard this voice      Of prophecy, long since I had been there.      Fear is unwonted for our father's lot.      But now I know, my strength shall all be spent      To learn the course of these affairs in full.      D. Go then, my son. Though late, to learn and do      What wisdom bids, hath certainty of gain.             [Exit HYLLUS. DANIRA withdraws      CHORUS (entering and turning towards the East).          Born of the starry night in her undoing,     I 1          Lulled in her bosom at thy parting glow,          O Sun! I bid thee show,          What journey is Alcmena's child pursuing?          What region holds him now,          'Mong winding channels of the deep,          Or Asian plains, or rugged Western steep?          Declare it, thou          Peerless in vision of thy flashing ray          That lightens on the world with each new day.          Sad Danira, bride of battle-wooing[1],    I 2          Ne'er lets her tearful eyelids close in rest,          But in love-longing breast,          Like some lorn bird its desolation rueing,          Of her great husband's way          Still mindful, worn with harrowing fear          Lest some new danger for him should be near,          By night and day          Pines on her widowed couch of ceaseless thought,          With dread of evil destiny distraught:     [Enter DANIRA.          For many as are billows of the South    II 1          Blowing unweariedly, or Northern gale,          One going and another coming on          Incessantly, baffling the gazer's eye,          Such Cretan ocean of unending toil          Cradles our Cadmus-born, and swells his fame.          But still some power doth his foot recall          From stumbling down to Hades' darkling hall.          Wherefore, in censure of thy mood, I bring    II 2          Glad, though opposing, counsel. Let not hope          Grow weary. Never hath a painless life          Been cast on mortals by the power supreme          Of the All-disposer, Cronos' son. But joy          And sorrow visit in perpetual round          All mortals, even as circleth still on high          The constellation of the Northern sky.          What lasteth in the world? Not starry night,     III          Nor wealth, nor tribulation; but is gone          All suddenly, while to another soul          The joy or the privation passeth on.          These hopes I bid thee also, O my Queen!          Hold fast continually, for who hath seen          Zeus so forgetful of his own?          How can his providence forsake his son?      D. I see you have been told of my distress,      And that hath brought you. But my inward woe,      Be it evermore unknown to you, as now!      Such the fair garden of untrammeled ease      Where the young life grows safely. No fierce heat,      No rain, no wind disturbs it, but unharmed      It rises amid airs of peace and joy,      Till maiden turn to matron, and the night      Inherit her dark share of anxious thought,      Haunted with fears for husband or for child.      Then, imaged through her own calamity,      Some one may guess the burden of my life.          Full many have been the sorrows I have wept,      But one above the rest I tell to-day.      When my great husband parted last from home,      He left within the house an ancient scroll      Inscribed with characters of mystic note,      Which Heracles had never heretofore,      In former labours, cared to let me see,--      As bound for bright achievement, not for death.      But now, as though his life had end, he told      What marriage-portion I must keep, what shares      He left his sons out of their father's ground:      And set a time, when fifteen moons were spent,      Counted from his departure, that even then      Or he must die, or if that date were out      And he had run beyond it, he should live      Thenceforth a painless and untroubled life.      Such by Heaven's fiat was the promised end      Of Heracles' long labours, as he said;      So once the ancient oak-tree had proclaimed      In high Dodona through the sacred Doves.      Of which prediction on this present hour      In destined order of accomplishment      The veritable issue doth depend.      And I, dear friends, while taking rest, will oft      Start from sweet slumbers with a sudden fear,      Scared by the thought, my life may be bereft      Of the best husband in the world of men.      CH. Hush! For I see approaching one in haste,      Garlanded, as if laden with good news.      Enter Messenger.      MESSENGER. Queen Danira, mine shall be the tongue      To free thee first from fear. Alcmena's child      Is living, be assured, and triumphing,      And bringing to our Gods the fruits of war.      D. What mean'st thou, aged sir, by what thou sayest?      MESS. That soon thy husband, envied all around,      Will come, distinguished with victorious might.      D. What citizen or stranger told thee this?      MESS. Your herald Lichas, where the oxen graze      The summer meadow, cries this to a crowd.      I, hearing, flew off hither, that being first      To bring thee word thereof, I might be sure      To win reward and gratitude from thee.      D. And how is he not here, if all be well?      MESS. Crossed by no light impediment, my Queen.      For all the Maliac people, gathering round,      Throng him with question, that he cannot move.      But he must still the travail of each soul,      And none will be dismissed unsatisfied.      Such willing audience he unwillingly      Harangues, but soon himself will come in sight.      D. O Zeus! who rulest Oeta's virgin wold,      At last, though late, thou hast vouchsafed us joy.      Lift up your voices, O my women! ye      Within the halls, and ye beyond the gate!      For now we reap the gladness of a ray,      That dawns unhoped for in this rumour's sound.      CHORUS      With a shout by the hearth let the palace roof ring          From those that are dreaming of bridal, and ye,      Young men, let your voices in harmony sing          To the God of the quiver, the Lord of the free!      And the Paean withal from the maiden band      To Artemis, huntress of many a land,          Let it rise o'er the glad roof tree,      To Phoebus' own sister, with fire in each hand,          And the Nymphs that her co-mates be!      My spirit soars. O sovereign of my soul!      I will accept the thrilling flute's control.     [They dance          The ivy-crownd thyrsus, see!          With Bacchic fire is kindling me,          And turns my emulous tread          Where'er the mazy dance may lead.      Euo! Euo!      O Paean! send us joy.      See, dearest Queen, behold!      Before thy gaze the event will now unfold.      D. Think not mine eye hath kept such careless guard,      Dear maids, that I could miss this moving train.      Herald, I bid thee hail, although so late      Appearing, if thou bringest health with thee!      Enter LICHAS, with Captive Women.      LICHAS. A happy welcome on a happy way,      As prosperous our achievement. Meet it is      Good words should greet bright actions, mistress mine!      D. Kind friend, first tell me what I first would know--      Shall I receive my Heracles alive?      LICH. I left him certainly alive and strong:      Blooming in health, not with disease oppressed.      D. In Greece, or in some barbarous country? Tell!      LICH. Euboea's island hath a promontory,      Where to Cenaean Zeus he consecrates      Rich altars and the tribute of the ground.      D. Moved by an oracle, or from some vow?      LICH. So vowed he when he conquered with the spear      The country of these women whom you see.      D. And who, by Heaven, are they? Who was their sire?      Their case is piteous, or eludes my thought.      LICH. He took them for the service of the Gods      And his own house, when high Oechalia fell.      D. Was't then before that city he was kept      Those endless ages of uncounted time?      LICH. Not so. The greater while he was detained      Among the Lydians, sold, as he declares,      To bondage. Nor be jealous of the word,      Since Heaven, my Queen, was author of the deed.      Enthralld so to Asian Omphal,      He, as himself avers, fulfilled his year.      The felt reproach whereof so chafed his soul,      He bound fierce curses on himself and sware      That,--children, wife and all,--he yet would bring      In captive chains the mover of this harm.      Nor did this perish like an idle word,      But, when the stain was off him, straight he drew      Allied battalions to assault the town      Of Eurytus, whom, sole of earthly powers,      He had noted as the source of his annoy,      Because, having received him in his hall      A guest of ancient days, he burst on him      With outrage of loud voice and villanous mind,      Saying, 'with his hand upon the unerring bow,      Oechalia's princes could o'ershoot his skill;      And born to bondage, he must quail beneath      His overlord'; lastly, to crown this cry,      When at a banquet he was filled with wine,      He flung him out of door. Whereat being wroth,      When Iphitus to the Tirynthian height      Followed the track where his brood-mares had strayed,      He, while the thought and eye of the man by chance      Were sundered, threw him from the tower-crowned cliff.      In anger for which deed the Olympian King,      Father of Gods and men, delivered him      To be a bond-slave, nor could brook the offence,      That of all lives he vanquished, this alone      Should have been ta'en by guile. For had he wrought      In open quittance of outrageous wrong,      Even Zeus had granted that his cause was just.      The braggart hath no favour even in Heaven.      Whence they, o'erweening with their evil tongue,      Are now all dwellers in the house of death,      Their ancient city a captive;--but these women      Whom thou beholdest, from their blest estate      Brought suddenly to taste of piteous woe,      Come to thy care. This task thy wedded lord      Ordained, and I, his faithful minister,      Seek to perform. But, for his noble self,      When with pure hands he hath done sacrifice      To his Great Father for the victory given,      Look for his coming, lady. This last word      Of all my happy speech is far most sweet.      CH. Now surety of delight is thine, my Queen,      Part by report and part before thine eye.      D. Yea, now I learn this triumph of my lord,      Joy reigns without a rival in my breast.      This needs must run with that in fellowship.      Yet wise consideration even of good      Is flecked with fear of what reverse may come.      And I, dear friends, when I behold these maids,      Am visited with sadness deep and strange.      Poor friendless beings, in a foreign land      Wandering forlorn in homeless orphanhood!      Erewhile, free daughters of a freeborn race,      Now, snared in strong captivity for life.      O Zeus of battles, breaker of the war,      Ne'er may I see thee[2] turn against my seed      So cruelly; or, if thou meanest so,      Let me be spared that sorrow by my death!      Such fear in me the sight of these hath wrought.      Who art thou, of all damsels most distressed?      Single or child-bearing? Thy looks would say,      A maid, of no mean lineage. Lichas, tell,      Who is the stranger-nymph? Who gave her birth?      Who was her sire? Mine eye hath pitied her      O'er all, as she o'er all hath sense of woe.      LICH. What know I? Why should'st thou demand? Perchance      Not lowest in the list of souls there born.      D. How if a princess, offspring of their King?      LICH. I cannot tell. I did not question far.      D. Have none of her companions breathed her name?      LICH. I brought them silently. I did not hear.      D. Yet speak it to us of thyself, poor maid!      'Tis sorrow not to know thee who thou art.      LICH. She'll ne'er untie her tongue, if she maintain      An even tenor, since nor more nor less      Would she disclose; but, poor unfortunate!      With agonizing sobs and tears she mourns      This crushing sorrow, from the day she left      Her wind-swept home. Her case is cruel, sure,--      And claims a privilege from all who feel.      D. Well, let her go, and pass beneath the roof      In peace, as she desires; nor let fresh pain      From me be added to her previous woe.      She hath enough already. Come, away!      Let's all within at once, that thou mayest speed      Thy journey, and I may order all things here.          [Exit LICHAS, with Captives, into the house.             DANIRA is about to follow them      Re-enter Messenger.      MESS. Pause first there on the threshold, till you learn      (Apart from those) who 'tis you take within,      And more besides that you yet know not of,      Which deeply imports your knowing. Of all this      I throughly am informed.      D.    What cause hast thou      Thus to arrest my going?      MESS.    Stand, and hear.      Not idle was my former speech, nor this.      D. Say, must we call them back in presence here,      Or would'st thou tell thy news to these and me?      MESS. To thee and these I may, but let those be.      D. Well, they are gone. Let words declare thy drift.      MESS. That man, in all that he hath lately said,      Hath sinned against the truth: or now he's false,      Or else unfaithful in his first report.      D. What? Tell me thy full meaning clearly forth.      That thou hast uttered is all mystery.      MESS. I heard this herald say, while many thronged      To hearken, that this maiden was the cause,      Why lofty-towered Oechalia and her lord      Fell before Heracles, whom Love alone      Of heavenly powers had warmed to this emprise,      And not the Lydian thraldom or the tasks      Of rigorous Omphal, nor that wild fate      Of rock-thrown Iphitus. Now he thrusts aside      The Love-god, contradicting his first tale.          When he that was her sire could not be brought      To yield the maid for Heracles to hold      In love unrecognized, he framed erelong      A feud about some trifle, and set forth      In arms against this damsel's fatherland      (Where Eurytus, the herald said, was king)      And slew the chief her father; yea, and sacked      Their city. Now returning, as you see,      He sends her hither to his halls, no slave,      Nor unregarded, lady,--dream not so!      Since all his heart is kindled with desire.      I, O my Queen! thought meet to show thee all      The tale I chanced to gather from his mouth,      Which many heard as well as I, i' the midst      Of Trachis' market-place, and can confirm      My witness. I am pained if my plain speech      Sound harshly, but the honest truth I tell.      D. Ah me! Where am I? Whither am I fallen?      What hidden woe have I unwarily      Taken beneath my roof? O misery!      Was she unknown, as he that brought her sware?      MESS. Nay, most distinguished both in birth and mien;      Called in her day of freedom Iol,      Eurytus' daughter,--of whose parentage,      Forsooth as ignorant, he ne'er would speak.      CH. I curse not all the wicked, but the man      Whose secret practices deform his life.      D. Say, maidens, how must I proceed? The words      Now spoken have bewildered all my mind.      CH. Go in and question Lichas, who perchance      Will tell the truth if you but tax him home.      D. I will; you counsel reasonably.      MESS.     And I,      Shall I bide here till thou com'st forth? Or how?      D. Remain. For see, without my sending for him,      He issueth from the palace of himself.      Enter LICHAS.      LICH. What message must I carry to my lord?      Tell me, my Queen. I am going, as thou seest.      D. So slow in coming, and so quickly flown,      Ere one have time to talk with thee anew!      LICH. What wouldst thou ask me? I am bent to hear.      D. And art thou bent on truth in the reply?      LICH. By Heaven! in all that I have knowledge of.      D. Then tell me, who is she thou brought'st with thee?      LICH. An islander. I cannot trace her stock.      MESS. Look hither, man. Who is't to whom thou speakest?      LICH. Why such a question? What is thine intent?      MESS. Nay, start not, but make answer if thou knowest.      LICH. To Danira, Oeneus' queenly child,      Heracles' wife,--if these mine eyes be true,--      My mistress.      MESS.    Ay, that is the very word      I longed to hear thee speak. Thy mistress, sayest?      LICH. To whom I am bound.      MESS.     Hold there! What punishment      Wilt thou accept, if thou art found to be      Faithless to her?      LICH.     I faithless! What dark speech      Hast thou contrived?      MESS.    Not I at all. 'Tis thou      Dost wrap thy thoughts i' the dark.      LICH.     Well, I will go.      'Tis folly to have heard thee for so long.      MESS. You go not till you answer one word more.      LICH. One, or a thousand! You'll not stint, I see.      MESS. Thou knowest the captive maid thou leddest home?      LICH. I do. But wherefore ask?      MESS.    Did you not say      That she, on whom you look with ignorant eye,      Was Iol, the daughter of the King,      Committed to your charge?      LICH.     Where? Among whom?      What witness of such words will bear thee out?      MESS. Many and sound. A goodly company      In Trachis' market-place heard thee speak this.      LICH. Ay.      I said 'twas rumoured. But I could not give      My vague impression for advised report.      MESS. Impression, quotha! Did you not on oath      Proclaim your captive for your master's bride?      LICH. My master's bride! Dear lady, by the Gods,      Who is the stranger? for I know him not.      MESS. One who was present where he heard thee tell,      How that whole city was subdued and taken,      Not for the bondage to the Lydian girl,      But through the longing passion for this maid.      LICH. Dear lady, let the fellow be removed.      To prate with madmen is mere foolishness.      D. Nay, I entreat thee by His name, whose fire      Lightens down Oeta's topmost glen, be not      A niggard of the truth. Thou tell'st thy tale      To no weak woman, but to one who knows      Mankind are never constant to one joy.      Whoso would buffet Love, aspires in vain.      For Love leads even Immortals at his will,      And me. Then how not others, like to me?      'Twere madness, sure, in me to blame my lord      When this hath caught him, or the woman there,      His innocent accomplice in a thing,      No shame to either, and no harm to me.      It is not so. But if from him thou learnest      The lore of falsehood, it were best unlearnt;      Or if the instruction comes of thine own thought,      Such would-be kindness doth not prove thee kind.      Then tell me all the truth. To one free-born      The name of liar is a hateful lot.      And thou canst not be hid. Thy news was heard      By many, who will tell me. If thou fearest,      Thou hast no cause--for doubtfulness is pain,      But to know all, what harm? His loves ere now      Were they not manifold? And none hath borne      Reproach or evil word from me. She shall not,      Though his new passion were as strong as death;      Since most mine eye hath pitied her, because      Her beauty was the ruin of her life,      And all unweeting, she her own bright land,      Poor hapless one! hath ravaged and enslaved.--      Let that be as it must. But for thy part,      Though false to others, be still true to me.      CH. 'Tis fairly said. Comply. Thou ne'er wilt blame      Her faithfulness, and thou wilt earn our loves.      LICH. Yea, dear my Queen, now I have seen thee hold      Thy mortal wishes within mortal bound      So meekly, I will freely tell thee all.      It is as he avers. This maiden's love,      Piercing through Heracles, was the sole cause,      Why her Oechalia, land of plenteous woe,      Was made the conquest of his spear. And he--      For I dare so far clear him--never bade      Concealment or denial. But myself,      Fearing the word might wound thy queenly heart,      Sinned, if thou count such tenderness a sin.      But now that all is known, for both your sakes,      His, and thine own no less, look favouringly      Upon the woman, and confirm the word      Thou here hast spoken in regard to her:--      For he, whose might is in all else supreme,      Is wholly overmastered by her love.      D. Yea, so my mind is bent. I will do so.      I will not, in a bootless strife 'gainst Heaven,      Augment my misery with self-sought ill.      Come, go we in, that thou may'st bear from me      Such message as is meet, and also carry      Gifts, such as are befitting to return      For gifts new-given. Thou ought'st not to depart      Unladen, having brought so much with thee.     [Exeunt      CHORUS.          Victorious in her might,     I 1          The Queen of soft delight          Still ranges onward with triumphant sway.          What she from Kronos' son          And strong Poseidon won,          And Pluto, King of Night, I durst not say.          But who, to earn this bride,          Came forth in sinewy pride          To strive, or e'er the nuptial might be known          With fearless heart I tell          What heroes wrestled well,          With showering blows, and dust in clouds upthrown.          One was a river bold,    I 2          Horn-crowned, with tramp fourfold,          Bull Achels, Acarnania's Fear;          And one from Bacchus' town,          Own son of Zeus, came down,          With brandished mace, bent bow, and barbd spear.          Who then in battle brunt,          Together, front to front,          Hurled, eager both to win the beauteous prize;          And Cypris 'mid the fray          Alone, that dreadful day,          Sate umpire, holding promise in her eyes.          Then clashed the fist, then clanged the bow;    II          Then horns gave crashing blow for blow,          Whilst, as they clung,          The twining hip throw both essay          And hurtling foreheads' fearful play,          And groans from each were wrung.          But the tender fair one far away          Sate watching with an eye of piteous cheer          (A mother's heart will heed the thing I say,)          Till won by him who freed her from her fear.          Sudden she leaves her mother's gentle side,          Borne through the waste, our hero's tender bride.      Enter DANIRA.      D. Dear friends, while yonder herald in the house      Holds converse with the captives ere he go,      I have stol'n forth to you, partly to tell      The craft my hand hath compassed, and in part,      To crave your pity for my wretchedness.      For I have taken to my hearth a maid,--      And yet, methinks, no maiden any more,      Like some fond shipmaster, taking on board      A cargo fraught with treason to my heart.      And now we two are closed in one embrace      Beneath one coverlet. Such generous meed      For faith in guarding home this dreary while      Hath the kind Heracles our trusty spouse,      Sent in return! Yet, oft as he hath caught      This same distemperature, I know not how      To harbour indignation against him.      But who that is a woman could endure      To dwell with her, both married to one man?      One bloom is still advancing, one doth fade.      The budding flower is cropped, the full-blown head      Is left to wither, while love passeth by      Unheeding. Wherefore I am sore afraid      He will be called my husband, but her mate,      For she is younger. Yet no prudent wife      Would take this angerly, as I have said.      But, dear ones, I will tell you of a way,      Whereof I have bethought me, to prevent      This heart-break. I had hidden of long time      In a bronze urn the ancient Centaur's gift,      Which I, when a mere girl, culled from the wound      Of hairy-breasted Nessus in his death.      He o'er Evenus' rolling depths, for hire,      Ferried wayfarers on his arm, not plying      Or rowing-boat, or canvas-wingd bark.      Who, when with Heracles, a new-made bride,      I followed by my father's sending forth,      Shouldering me too, in the mid-stream, annoyed      With wanton touch. And I cried out; and he,      Zeus' son, turned suddenly, and from his bow      Sent a wing'd shaft, that whizzed into his chest      To the lungs. Then the weird Thing, with dying voice      Spake to me:--'Child of aged Oenes,      Since thou wert my last burden, thou shalt win      Some profit from mine act, if thou wilt do      What now I bid thee. With a careful hand      Collect and bear away the clotted gore      That clogs my wound, e'en where the monster snake      Had dyed the arrow with dark tinct of gall;      And thou shalt have this as a charm of soul      For Heracles, that never through the eye      Shall he receive another love than thine.'      Whereof bethinking me, for since his death      I kept it in a closet locked with care,      I have applied it to this robe, with such      Addition as his living voice ordained.--      The thing is done. No criminal attempts      Could e'er be mine. Far be they from my thought,      As I abhor the woman who conceives them!      But if by any means through gentle spells      And bonds on Heracles' affection, we      May triumph o'er this maiden in his heart,      My scheme is perfected. Unless you deem      Mine action wild. If so, I will desist.      CH. If any ground of confidence approve      Thine act, we cannot check thy counsel here.      D. My confidence is grounded on belief,      Though unconfirmed as yet by actual proof.      CH. Well, do it and try. Assurance cannot come      Till action bring experience after it.      D. The truth will soon be known. The man e'en now      Is coming forth, and quickly will be there.      Screen ye but well my counsel. Doubtful deeds,      Wrapt close, will not deliver us to shame.      Enter LICHAS.      LICH. Daughter of Oeneus, tell me thy commands.      Already time rebukes our tardiness.      D. Even that hath been my care, Lichas, while thou      Wert talking to the stranger-maids within,      That thou shouldst take for me this finewoven web,      A present from these fingers to my lord.      And when thou giv'st it, say that none of men      Must wear it on his shoulders before him;      And neither light of sun may look upon it,      Nor holy temple-court, nor household flame,      Till he in open station 'fore the Gods      Display it on a day when bulls are slaughtered.      So once I vowed, that should I ever see      Or hear his safe return, I would enfold      His glorious person in this robe, and show      To all the Gods in doing sacrifice      Him a fresh worshipper in fresh array.--      The truth hereof he will with ease descry      Betokened on this treasure-guarding seal.--      Now go, and be advised, of this in chief,      To act within thine office; then of this,      To bear thee so, that from his thanks and mine      Meeting in one, a twofold grace may spring.      LICH. If this my Hermes-craft be firm and sure,      Then never will I fail thee, O my Queen!      But I will show the casket as it is      To whom I bear it, and in faithfulness      Add all the words thou sendest in fit place.      D. Go, then, at once. Thou hast full cognizance      How things within the palace are preserved?      LICH. I know, and will declare. There is no flaw.      D. Methinks thou knowest too, for thou hast seen,      My kind reception of the stranger-maid?      LICH. I saw, and was amazed with heart-struck joy.      D. What more is there to tell?--Too rash, I fear,      Were thy report of longing on my part,      Till we can learn if we be longed for there.     [Exeunt severally      CHORUS.          O ye that haunt the strand     I 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[3] 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.      Enter DANIRA.      D. O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far      I have ventured in my action of to-day!      CH. What ails thee, Danira, Oeneus' child?      D. 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?      D. 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.      D. 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,      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.      D. 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.      D. 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.      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!      D. 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.      D. 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?      D. 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.      D. 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,      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 consumd 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,      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 DANIRA.      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 old     I 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,          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 saw     II 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[4], 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!      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,      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      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 wind    II 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          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.          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!          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!      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 Nmean 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 tuskd 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      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      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 Theb'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.      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 Iol thou speak'st, or I mistake.      HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son.      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.      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 forcd 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.