Notes of Louis Sheehan
NEO. I, O thou child of a Trachinian
sire,
Henceforth will take good care, from
far away
To look on Troy and Atreus' children
twain.
Yea, where the trickster lords it o'er
the just,
And goodness languishes and rascals
rule,
-- Such courses I will nevermore
endure.
But rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall
suffice
To yield me full contentment in my
home.
Now, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas'
child,
May Heaven
Grant thy desire, and rid thee of thy
plague!
Let us be going, that when God shall
give
Fair voyage, that moment we may launch
away.
PHI. My son, are ye now setting forth?
NEO. Our time
Bids us go near and look to sail
erelong.
PHI. Now, by thy father, by thy
mother, -- nay,
By all thy love e'er cherished in thy
home,
Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not
thus lone,
Forlorn in all my misery which thou
seest,
In all thou hast heard of here
surrounding me!
Stow me with other freightage. Full of
care,
I know, and burdensome the charge may
prove.
Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind
All shame is hateful and all kindness
blest.
And shame would be thy meed, didst
thou fail here
But, doing this, thou shalt have
glorious fame,
When I return alive to Oeta's vale.
Come, 'tis the labour not of one whole
day.
So thou durst take me, fling me where
thou wilt
O' the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or
wheresoe'er
I least may trouble those on board
with me.
Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant's
friend, comply,
My son, be softened! See, where I am
fall'n
Thus on my knees before thee, though
so weak,
Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me
not
Thus far from human footstep. Take me,
take me!
If only to thy home, or to the town
Of old Chalcodon[5] in Euboea. -- From
thence
I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge
Of Trachis, and Spercheius' lordly
flood.
So thou shalt bless my father with my
sight.
And yet long since I fear he may be
gone.
For oft I sent him suppliant prayers
by men
Who touched this isle, entreating him
to fetch
And bear me safely home with his own
crew.
But either he is dead, or else,
methinks,
It well may be, my messengers made
light
Of my concerns, and hastened onward
home.
But now in thee I find both messenger
And convoy, thou wilt pity me and
save.
For, well thou knowest, danger never
sleeps,
And fear of dark reverse is always
nigh.
Mortals, when free, should look where
mischief lurks,
And in their happiest hour consider
well
Their life, lest ruin unsuspected
come.
CH. Pity him, O my king!
Many a crushing woe
He telleth, such as I pray
None of my friends may know.
And if, dear master, thou mislikest sore
Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,
Turning their plan of evil to his good,
On swift ship bear him to his native shore,
Meeting his heart's desire; and free thy path
From fear of heavenly wrath.
NEO. Thou mak'st small scruple here;
but be advised:
Lest, when this plague on board shall
weary thee,
Thy voice should alter from this liberal
tone.
CH. No, truly! Fear not thou shalt
ever have
Just cause to utter such reproach on
me.
NEO. Then sure 'twere shame, should I
more backward prove
Than thou, to labour for the
stranger's need.
Come, if thou wilt, let us make
voyage, and he,
Let him set forth with speed. Our ship
shall take him.
He shall not be refused. Only may
Heaven
Lead safely hence and to our destined
port!
PHI. O morning full of brightness!
Kindest friend,
Sweet mariners, how can I make you
feel,
In act, how dearly from my heart I
love you!
Ye have won my soul. Let us be gone,
my son, --
First having said farewell to this
poor cave,
My homeless dwelling-place, that thou may'st
know,
How barely I have lived, how firm my
heart!
Methinks another could not have
endured
The very sight of what I bore. But I
Through strong necessity have conquered
pain.
CH. Stay: let us understand. There
come two men
A stranger, with a shipmate of thy
crew.
When ye have heard them, ye may then
go in.
[Enter Messenger, disguised as a
merchantman].
MERCHANTMAN. Son of Achilles, my
companion here,
Who with two more remained to guard
thy ship,
Agreed to help me find thee where thou
wert,
Since unexpectedly, through fortune's
will,
I meet thee, mooring by the self-same
shore.
For like a merchantman, with no great
sail,
Making my course from Ilion to my
home,
Grape-clustered Peparethos, when I
heard
The mariners declare that one and all
Were of thy crew, I would not launch
again,
Without a word, till we had told our
news. --
Methinks thou knowest nought of thine
own case,
What new devices of the Argive chiefs
Surround thee; nor devices only now,
But active deeds, no longer
unperformed.
NEO. Well, stranger, for the kindness
thou hast shown, --
Else were I base, -- my heart must
thank thee still.
But tell me what thou meanest, that I
may learn
What new-laid plot thou bring'st me
from the camp.
MER. Old Phoenix, Acamas and Demophon
Are gone in thy pursuit with ships and
men.
NEO. To bring me back with reasons or
perforce?
MER. I know not. What I heard, I am
here to tell.
NEO. How? And is this in act? Are they
set forth
To please the Atridae, Phoenix and the
rest?
MER. The thing is not to do, but doing
now.
NEO. What kept Odysseus back, if this
be so,
From going himself? Had he some cause
for fear?
MER. He and the son of Tydeus, when
our ship
Hoist sail, were gone to fetch another
man.
NEO. For whom could he himself be
sailing forth?
MER. For some one, -- but first tell
me, whispering low
Whate'er thou speakest, -- who is this
I see?
NEO. (speaking aloud).
This, sir, is Philoctetes the
renowned.
MER. (aside to Neoptolemus).
Without more question, snatch thyself
away
And sail forth from this land.
PHI. What saith he, boy?
Through what dark traffic is the
mariner
Betraying me with whispering in thine
ear?
NEO. I have not caught it, but
whate'er he speaks
He must speak openly to us and thee.
MER. Seed of Achilles, let me not
offend
The army by my words! Full many a
boon,
Being poor, I reap from them for
service done.
NEO. The Atridae are my foes; the man
you see
Is my fast friend, because he hates
them sore.
Then, if you come in kindness, you
must hide
Nothing from him or me of all thou
hast heard.
MER. Look what thou doest, my son!
NEO. I mark it well.
MER. Thou shalt be answerable.
NEO. Content: but speak.
MER. Then hear me. These two men whom
I have named,
Diomedes and Odysseus, are set forth
Engaged on oath to bring this man by
force
If reasons fail. The Achaeans every
one
Have heard this plainly from Odysseus'
mouth.
He was the louder and more confident.
NEO. Say, for what cause, after so
long a time,
Can Atreus' sons have turned their
thoughts on him,
Whom long they had cast forth? What
passing touch
Of conscience moved them, or what
stroke from Heaven,
Whose wrath requites all wicked deeds
of men?
MER. Methinks thou hast not heard what
I will now
Unfold to thee. There was a princely seer,
A son of Priam, Helenus by name,
Whom he for whom no word is bad
enough,
Crafty Odysseus, sallying forth alone
One night, had taken, and in bonds
displayed
'Fore all the Achaeans, a right noble
prey.
He, 'mid his other prophecies,
foretold
No Grecian force should sack Troy's
citadel,
Till with fair reasons they had
brought this man
From Lemnos isle, his lonely
dwelling-place.
When thus the prophet spake, Laërtes' son
Straight undertook to fetch this man,
and show him
To all the camp: -- he hoped, with
fair consent:
But else, perforce. -- And, if he
failed in this,
Whoever would might smite him on the
head.
My tale is told, dear youth. I counsel speed
To thee and to the friend for whom
thou carest.
PHI. Ah me, unhappy! has that rascal
knave
Sworn to fetch me with reasons to
their camp?
As likely might his reasons bring me
back,
Like his begetter, from the house of
death.
MER. You talk of what I know not. I
will go
Shipward. May God be with you for all
good. [Exit]
PHI. Is not this terrible, Laërtes'
son
Should ever think to bring me with
soft words
And show me from his deck to all their
host?
No! Sooner will I listen to the tongue
Of the curs'd basilisk that thus hath
maim'd me.
Ay, but he'll venture anything in word
Come, O my son, let us be gone, while
seas
And winds divide us from Odysseus'
ship.
Let us depart. Sure timely haste
brings rest
And quiet slumber when the toil is
done.
NEO. Shall we not sail when this south-western
wind
Hath fallen, that now is adverse to
our course?
PHI. All winds are fair to him who
flies from woe.
NEO. Nay, but this head-wind hinders
them no less.
PHI. No head-wind hinders pirates on
their way,
When violence and rapine lead them on.
NEO. Well, then, let us be going, if
you will;
When you have taken from within the
cave
What most you need and value.
PHI. Though my all
Be little, there is that I may not
lose.
NEO. What can there be that we have
not on board?
PHI. A leaf I have found, wherewith I
still the rage
Of my sore plague, and lull it quite
to rest.
NEO. Well, bring it forth. -- What? Is
there something more?
PHI. If any of these arrows here are
fallen,
I would not leave them for a casual
prey.
NEO. How? Do I see thee with the
marvellous bow?
PHI. Here in my hand. The world hath
only one.
NEO. And may one touch and handle it,
and gaze
With reverence, as on a thing from
Heaven?
PHI. Thou mayest, my son. This and
whate'er of mine
May stead thee, 'tis thy privilege to
enjoy.
NEO. In very truth I long for it, but
so,
That longing waits on leave. Am I
permitted?
PHI. Thou art, my son, -- and well
thou speakest, -- thou art.
Thou, that hast given me light and
life, the joy
Of seeing Mount Oeta and my father's
home,
With all I love there, and his aged
head, --
Thou that hast raised me far above my
foes
Who triumphed! Thou may'st take it in
thine hand,
And, -- when thou hast given it back
to me, -- may'st vaunt
Alone of mortals for thine excellence
To have held this in thy touch. I,
too, at first,
Received it as a boon for kindness
done.
NEO. Well, go within.
PHI. Nay, I must take thee too.
My sickness craves thee for its
comforter.
[Philoctetes & Neoptolemus go into
the cave]
CHORUS.
In fable I have heard,
Though sight hath ne'er confirmed the word,
How he who attempted once the couch supreme,
To a whirling wheel by Zeus the all-ruler bound,
Tied head and heel, careering ever round,
Atones his impious unsubstantial dream.
Of no man else, through eye or ear,
Have I discerned a fate more full of fear
Than yonder sufferer's of the cureless wound:
Who did no violence, defrauded none: --
A just man, had he dwelt among the just
Unworthily behold him thrust
Alone to hear the billows roar
That break around a rugged shore!
How could he live, whose life was thus
consumed with moan?
Where neighbour there was none:
No arm to stay him wandering lone,
Unevenly, with stumbling steps and sore;
No friend in need, no kind inhabitant,
To minister to his importunate want,
No heart whereto his pangs he might deplore.
None who, whene'er the gory flow
Was rushing hot, might healing herbs bestow,
Or cull from teeming Earth some genial plant
To allay the anguish of malignant pain
And soothe the sharpness of his poignant woe.
Like infant whom the nurse lets go,
With tottering movement here and there,
He crawled for comfort, whensoe'er
His soul-devouring plague relaxed its
cruel strain.
Not fed with foison of all-teeming Earth
Whence we sustain us, ever-toiling men,
But only now and then
With wingèd things, by his wing'd
shafts brought low,
He stayed his hunger from his bow.
Poor soul, that never through ten years of dearth
Had pleasure from the fruitage of the vine,
But seeking to some standing pool,
Nor clear nor cool,
Foul water heaved to head for lack of
heartening wine.
But now, consorted with the hero's child,
He winneth greatness and a joyful change;
Over the water wild
Borne by a friendly bark beneath the
range
Of Oeta, where Spercheius fills
Wide channels winding among lovely hills
Haunted of Melian nymphs, till he espies
The roof-tree of his father's hall,
And high o'er all
Shines the bronze shield of him, whose
home is in the skies[6].
[Neoptolemus comes out of the cave, followed
by Philoctetes in pain]
NEO. Prithee, come on! Why dost thou
stand aghast,
Voiceless, and thus astonied in thine
air?
PHI. Oh! oh!
NEO. What?
PHI. Nothing. Come my son, fear
nought.
NEO. Is pain upon thee? Hath thy
trouble come?
PHI. No pain, no pain! 'Tis past; I am
easy now.
Ye heavenly powers!
NEO. Why dost thou groan aloud,
And cry to Heaven?
PHI. To come and save. Kind Heaven!
Oh, oh!
NEO. What is 't? Why silent? Wilt not
speak?
I see thy misery.
PHI. Oh! I am lost, my son!
I cannot hide it from you. Oh! it
shoots,
It pierces. Oh unhappy! Oh! my woe!
I am lost, my son, I am devoured. Oh
me!
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Pain! pain! Oh pain!
oh pain!
Child, if a sword be to thine hand,
smite hard,
Shear off my foot! heed not my life!
Quick, come!
NEO. What hath so suddenly arisen,
that thus
Thou mak'st ado and groanest o'er
thyself?
PHI. Thou knowest.
NEO. What know I?
PHI. O! thou knowest, my son!
NEO. I know not.
PHI. How? Not know? Ah me! Pain, pain!
NEO. Thy plague is a sore burden,
heavy and sore.
PHI. Sore? 'Tis unutterable. Have pity
on me!
NEO. What shall I do?
PHI. Do not in fear forsake me.
This wandering evil comes in force
again,
Hungry as ere it fed.
NEO. O hapless one!
Thrice hapless in thy manifold
distress!
What wilt thou? Shall I raise thee on
mine arm?
PHI. Nay, but receiving from my hand
the bow,
As late thou didst desire me, keep it
safe
And guard it, till the fury of my pain
Pass over me and cease. For when 'tis
spent,
Slumber will seize me, else it ne'er
would end.
I must sleep undisturbed. But if
meanwhile
They come, -- by Heaven I charge thee,
in no wise,
Willingly nor perforce, let them have
this!
Else thou wilt be the slayer of us
both;
Of me thy suppliant, and of thyself.
NEO. Fear not my care. No hand shall
hold these arms
But thine and mine. Give, and Heaven
bless the deed!
PHI. I give them; there, my son! But
look to Heaven
And pray no envy smite thee, nor such
bane
In having them, as fell on me and him
Who bore them formerly.
NEO. O grant it, Gods!
And grant us fair and happy voyage,
where'er
Our course is shaped and righteous
Heaven shall guide.
PHI. Ah! but I fear, my son, thy
prayer is vain:
For welling yet again from depths
within,
This gory ooze is dripping. It will
come!
I know it will. O, foot, torn helpless
thing,
What wilt thou do to me? Ah! ah! It
comes,
It is at hand. 'Tis here! Woe's me,
undone!
I have shown you all. Stay near me. Go
not far:
Ah! ah!
O island king, I would this agony
Might cleave thy bosom through and
through! Woe, woe!
Woe! Ah! ye two commanders of the
host,
Agamemnon, Menelaüs, O that ye,
Another ten years' durance in my room
Might nurse this malady! O Death,
Death, Death!
I call thee daily -- wilt thou never
come?
Will it not be? -- My son, thou noble
boy,
If thou art noble, take and burn me
there
Aloft in yon all-worshipped Lemnian
fire!
Yea, when the bow thou keep'st was my
reward,
I did like service for the child of
Heaven.
How now, my son?
What say'st? Art silent? Where --
where art thou, boy?
NEO. My heart is full, and groaning
o'er thy woes.
PHI. Nay, yet have comfort. This
affliction oft
Goes no less swiftly than it came. I
pray thee,
Stand fast and leave me not alone!
NEO. Fear nought.
We will not stir.
PHI. Wilt thou remain?
NEO. Be sure of it.
PHI. I'll not degrade thee with an
oath, my son.
NEO. Rest satisfied. I may not go
without thee.
PHI. Thy hand, to pledge me that!
NEO. There, I will stay.
PHI. Now, now, aloft!
NEO. Where mean'st thou?
PHI. Yonder aloft!
NEO. Whither? Thou rav'st. Why starest
thou at the sky?
PHI. Now, let me go.
NEO. Where?
PHI. Let me go, I say!
NEO. I will not.
PHI. You will kill me. Let me go!
NEO. Well, thou know'st best I hold
thee not.
PHI. O Earth,
I die. receive me to thy breast! This
pain
Subdues me utterly, I cannot stand.
NEO. Methinks he will be fast in
slumber soon
That head sinks backward, and a clammy
sweat
Bathes all his limbs, while from his
foot hath burst
A vein, dark bleeding. Let us leave
him, friends,
In quietness, till he hath fallen to
sleep.
CHORUS
Lord of the happiest life,
Sleep, thou that know'st not strife,
That know'st not grief,
Still wafting sure relief,
Come, saviour now!
Thy healing balm is spread
Over this pain worn head,
Quench not the beam that gives calm to
his brow.
Look, O my lord, to thy path,
Either to go or to stay
How is my thought to proceed?
What is our cause for delay?
Look! Opportunity's power,
Fitting the task to the hour,
Giveth the race to the swift.
NEO. He hears not. But I see that to
have ta'en
His bow without him were a bootless
gain
He must sail with us. So the god hath
said
Heaven hath decreed this garland for
his head:
And to have failed with falsehood were
a meed
Of shameful soilure for a shameless
deed.
CH. God shall determine the end --
But for thine answer, friend,
Waft soft words low!
All sick men's sleep, we know,
Hath open eye;
Their quickly ruffling mind
Quivers in lightest wind,
Sleepless in slumber new danger to
spy.
Think, O my lord, of thy path,
Secretly look forth afar,
What wilt thou do for thy need?
How with the wise wilt thou care?
If toward the nameless thy heart
Chooseth this merciful part,
Huge are the dangers that drift.
The wind is fair, my son, the wind is
fair,
The man is dark and helpless,
stretched in night.
(O kind, warm sleep that calmest human
care!)
Powerless of hand and foot and ear and
sight,
Blind, as one lying in the house of
death.
(Think well if here thou utterest
timely breath.)
This, O my son, is all my thought can
find,
Best are the toils that without
frightening bind.
NEO. Hush! One word more were madness.
He revives.
His eye hath motion. He uplifts his
head.
PHI. Fair daylight following sleep,
and ye, dear friends,
Faithful beyond all hope in tending
me!
I never could have dreamed that thou,
dear youth,
Couldst thus have borne my sufferings
and stood near
So full of pity to relieve my pain.
Not so the worthy generals of the
host; --
This princely patience was not theirs
to show.
Only thy noble nature, nobly sprung,
Made light of all the trouble, though
oppressed
With fetid odours and unceasing cries.
And now, since this my plague would
seem to yield
Some pause and brief forgetfulness of
pain,
With thine own hand, my son, upraise
me here,
And set me on my feet, that, when my
strength
After exhaustion shall return again,
We may move shoreward and launch forth
with speed.
NEO. I feel unhoped-for gladness when
I see
Thy painless gaze, and hear thy living
breath,
For thine appearance and surroundings
both
Were deathlike. But arise! Or, if thou
wilt,
These men shall raise thee. For they
will not shrink
From toil which thou and I at once
enjoin.
PHI. Right, right, my son! But lift me
thine own self,
As I am sure thou meanest. Let these
be,
Lest they be burdened with the noisome
smell
Before the time. Enough for them to
bear
The trouble on board.
NEO. I will; stand up, endure!
PHI. Fear not. Old habit will enable
me.
NEO. O me!
What shall I do? Now 'tis my turn to
exclaim!
PHI. What canst thou mean? What change
is here, my son?
NEO. I know not how to shift the
troublous word.
'Tis hopeless.
PHI. What is hopeless? Speak not so,
Dear child!
NEO. But so my wretched lot hath
fallen.
PHI. Ah! Can it be, the offence of my
disease
Hath moved thee not to take me now on
board?
NEO. All is offence to one who hath
forced himself
From the true bent to an unbecoming
deed.
PHI. Nought misbecoming to thyself or
sire
Doest thou or speak'st, befriending a
good man.
NEO. My baseness will appear. That
wrings my soul.
PHI. Not in thy deeds. But for thy
words, I fear me!
NEO. O Heaven! Must double vileness
then be mine
Both shameful silence and most
shameful speech?
PHI. Or my discernment is at fault, or
thou
Mean'st to betray me and make voyage
without me.
NEO. Nay, not without thee, there is
my distress!
Lest I convey thee to thy bitter
grief.
PHI. How? How, dear youth? I do not
understand.
NEO. Here I unveil it. Thou art to
sail to Troy,
To join the chieftains and the Achaean
host.
PHI. What do I hear? Ah!
NEO. Grieve not till you learn.
PHI. Learn what? What wilt thou make
of me? What mean'st thou?
NEO. First to release thee from this
plague, and then
With thee to go and take the realm of
Troy.
PHI. And is this thine intent?
NEO. 'Tis so ordained
Unchangeably. Be not dismayed! 'Tis
so.
PHI. Me miserable! I am betrayed,
undone!
What guile is here? My bow! give back
my bow!
NEO. I may not. Interest, and duty
too,
Force me to obey commandment.
PHI. O thou fire,
Thou terror of the world! Dark
instrument
Of ever-hateful guile! -- What hast
thou done?
How thou hast cheated me! Art not
ashamed
To look on him that sued to thee for
shelter?
O heart of stone, thou hast stolen my
life away
With yonder bow! -- Ah, yet I beg of
thee,
Give it me back, my son, I entreat
thee, give!
By all thy father worshipped, rob me
not
Of life! -- Ah me! Now he will speak
no more,
But turns away, obdúrate to retain it.
O ye, my comrades in this wilderness,
Rude creatures of the rocks, O
promontories,
Creeks, precipices of the hills, to
you
And your familiar presence I complain
Of this foul trespass of Achilles'
son.
Sworn to convey me home, to Troy he
bears me.
And under pledge of his right hand
hath ta'en
And holds from me perforce my wondrous
bow,
The sacred gift of Zeus-born Heracles,
Thinking to wave it midst the Achaean
host
Triumphantly for his. In conquering me
He vaunts as of some valorous feat,
and knows not
He is spoiling a mere corse, an empty
dream,
The shadow of a vapour. In my strength
He ne'er had vanquished me. Even as I
am,
He could not, but by guile. Now, all
forlorn,
I am abused, deceived. What must I do?
Nay, give it me. Nay, yet be thy true
self!
Thou art silent. I am lost. O misery!
Rude face of rock, back I return to
thee
And thy twin gateway, robbed of arms
and food,
To wither in thy cave companionless:
--
No more with these mine arrows to
destroy
Or flying bird or mountain-roving
beast.
But, all unhappy! I myself must be
The feast of those on whom I fed, the
chase
Of that I hunted, and shall dearly pay
In bloody quittance for their death,
through one
Who seemed all ignorant of sinful
guile.
Perish, -- not till I am certain if
thy heart
Will change once more, -- if not, my
curse on thee!
CH. What shall we do, my lord? We wait
thy word
Or to sail now, or yield to his
desire.
NEO. My heart is pressed with a
strange pity for him,
Not now beginning, but long since
begun.
PHI. Ay, pity me, my son! by all
above,
Make not thy name a scorn by wronging
me!
NEO. O! I am troubled sore. What must
I do?
Would I had never left mine island
home!
PHI. Thou art not base, but seemest to
have learnt
Some baseness from base men. Now, as
'tis meet,
Be better guided -- leave me mine
arms, and go.
NEO. (to Chorus).
What shall we do?
Enter Odysseus.
ODYSSEUS. What art thou doing, knave?
Give me that bow, and haste thee back
again.
PHI. Alas! What do I hear? Odysseus'
voice?
OD. Be sure of that, Odysseus, whom
thou seest.
PHI. Oh, I am bought and sold, undone!
'Twas he
That kidnapped me, and robbed me of my
bow.
OD. Yea. I deny it not. Be sure, 'twas
I.
PHI. Give back, my son, the bow;
release it!
OD. That,
Though he desire it, he shall never
do.
Thou too shalt march along, or these
shall force thee.
PHI. They force me! O thou boldest of
bad men!
They force me?
OD. If thou com'st not willingly.
PHI. O Lemnian earth and thou almighty
flame,
Hephaestos' workmanship, shall this be
borne,
That he by force must drag me from
your care?
OD. 'Tis Zeus, I tell thee, monarch of
this isle,
Who thus hath willed. I am his
minister.
PHI. Wretch, what vile words thy wit
hath power to say!
The gods are liars when invoked by
thee.
OD. Nay, 'tis their truth compels thee
to this voyage.
PHI. I will not have it so.
OD. I will. Thou shalt.
PHI. Woe for my wretchedness! My
father, then,
Begat no freeman, but a slave in me.
OD. Nay, but the peer of noblest men,
with whom
Thou art to take and ravage Troy with
might.
PHI. Never, -- though I must suffer
direst woe, --
While this steep Lemnian ground is
mine to tread!
OD. What now is thine intent?
PHI. Down from the crag
This head shall plunge and stain the
crag beneath.
OD. (to the Attendants.)
Ay, seize and bind him. Baffle him in
this.
PHI. Poor hands, for lack of your
beloved string,
Caught by this craven! O corrupted
soul!
How thou hast undermined me, having
taken
To screen thy quest this youth to me
unknown,
Far worthier of my friendship than of
thine,
Who knew no better than to obey
command.
Even now 'tis manifest he burns within
With pain for his own error and my
wrong.
But, though unwilling and mapt for
ill,
Thy crafty, mean, and cranny spying soul
Too well hath lessoned him in sinful
lore.
Now thou hast bound me, O thou wretch,
and thinkest
To take me from this coast, where thou
didst cast me
Outlawed and desolate, a corpse
'mongst men.
Oh!
I curse thee now, as ofttimes in the
past:
But since Heaven yields me nought but
bitterness,
Thou livest and art blithe, while 'tis
my pain
To live on in my misery, laughed to
scorn
By thee and Atreus' sons, those
generals twain
Whom thou art serving in this chase.
But thou
With strong compulsion and deceit was
driven
Troyward, whilst I, poor victim, of
free will
Took my seven ships and sailed there,
yet was thrown
Far from all honour, -- as thou
sayest, by them,
But, as they turn the tale, by thee.
-- And now
Why fetch me hence and take me? To
what end?
I am nothing, dead to you this many a
year.
How, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not
now
Lame and of evil smell? how shall ye
vaunt
Before the gods drink-offering or the
fat
Of victims, if I sail among your crew?
For this, as ye professed, was the
chief cause
Why ye disowned me. Perish! -- So ye
shall,
For the wrong done me, if the Heavens
be just.
And that they are, I know. Else had ye
ne'er
Sailed on this errand for an outcast
wretch,
Had they not pricked your heart with
thoughts of me.
Oh, if ye pity me, chastising powers,
And thou, the Genius of my land,
revenge,
Revenge this crime on all their heads
at once!
My life is pitiable; but if I saw
Their ruin, I would think me well and
strong.
CH. How full of bitterness is his
resolve,
Wrathfully spoken with unbending will!
OD. I might speak long in answer, did
the time
Give scope, but now one thing is mine
to say.
I am known to vary with the varying
need;
And when 'tis tried, who can be just
and good,
My peer will not be found for piety.
But though on all occasions covetous
Of victory, this once I yield to thee,
And willingly. Unhand him there. Let
go!
Leave him to stay. What further use of
thee,
When we have ta'en these arms? Have we
not Teucer,
Skilled in this mystery? Yea, I may
boast
Myself thine equal both in strength
and aim
To wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou
art free
To roam thy barren isle. We need thee
not.
Let us be going! And perchance thy
gift
May bring thy destined glory to my
brow.
PHI. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou
be seen
Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean
men?
OD. No more! I am going.
PHI. O Achilles' child!
Wilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose
thy voice?
OD. Come on, and look not, noble
though thou be,
Lest thou undo our fortune.
PHI. Mariners,
Must ye, too, leave me thus
disconsolate?
Will ye not pity me?
CH. Our captain's here.
Whate'er he saith to thee, that we too
speak.
NEO. My chief will call me weakling,
soft of heart;
But go not yet, since our friend bids
you stay.
Till we have prayed, and all be ready
on board.
Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive
some thought
That favours our design. We two will
start;
And ye, be swift to speed forth at our
call. [Exit]
MONODY.
PHI. O cavern of the hollow rock,
Frosty and stifling in the seasons'
change!
How I seem fated never more to range
From thy sad covert, that hath felt
the shock
Of pain on pain, steeped with my
wretchedness.
Now thou wilt be my comforter in
death!
Grief haunted harbour, choked with my
distress!
Tell me, what hope is mine of daily
food,
Who will be careful for my good?
I fail. Ye cowering creatures of the
sky,
Oh, as ye fly,
Snatch me, borne upward on the blast's
sharp breath!
CH. 1. Thou child of misery!
No mightier power hath this decreed,
But thine own will and deed
Hath bound thee thus in grief,
Since, when kind Heaven had sent
relief
And shown the path of wisdom firm and
sure,
Thou still hast chosen this evil to
endure.
PHI. O hapless life, sore bruised with
pain!
No more with living mortal may I
dwell,
But ever pining in this desert cell
With lonely grief, all famished must
remain
And perish; for what food is mine to
share,
When this strong arm no longer wields
my bow,
Whose fleet shafts flew to smite the
birds of air
I was o'erthrown by words, words dark
and blind,
Low-creeping from a traitorous mind!
O might I see him, whose unrighteous
thought
This ruin wrought,
Plagued for no less a period with like
woe!
No comments:
Post a Comment