 | Timoleon |  |
118
Scene III.
The Market-place of Syracuse.Several months have elapsed since the events of the last scene.
1st Citizen.
'Tis twelve hours since these runagates arrived
With their ill news, and no fresh tidings yet.
2nd Citizen.
Silence proves nothing; but I fear the worst.
3rd Citizen.
And I, till worst be proved, will hope for best.
What! after all these months of prosperous toil
Since Hiketas was ousted—all things changed,
Old ills abolished, and old laws revived,
Exiles returned, and thousands come from far
To colonise and traffic, thrive and till,
When, for the poor foul trampled worm that was,
Stands up transformed, the queen of commonwealths,
This fair and virgin city—then, what then
Bid me believe these half-fed hireling knaves!
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Their swords unbloodied, and with fear-forged tales,
‘Timoleon conquered, Carthage at the gates!’—
The gods in heaven had laughed for scorn to hear.
1st Citizen.
Why, bravely said; thou putt'st new heart in me:
I could believe these rascals mutinied,
And ran before the battle.
2nd Citizen.
Just as like:
So had their looks spoke truer than their tongues.
3rd Citizen.
The clamouring for arrears too jumps with that.
2nd Citizen.
I'll not despair till sundown: afterward—
A Thurian Merchant.
Would God we had ne'er set sail from Italy!
The harrying of those cursed Lucanians
Were as a happy windfall weighed with this.
Where was the conflict rumoured?
1st Citizen.
Some few miles
Westward of Agrigentum, if 'tis true,
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Foamed round and overwhelmed them: these escaped
As broken spars or driftwood.
2nd Citizen.
While you speak,
Here are more remnants of the wreck washed in.
What news, good fellows?
[Enter Mercenaries.
1st Mercenary.
No news, till we be paid:
We list not such good fellowship, nor fight
For smooth-coined phrases, but the current gold.
What! we have served ye long enough for naught,
Poured out our sweat for your fine promises,
Who still have kept us fasting. By the gods!
We'll have our rightful wages, and till then
Ye may go starve for tidings.
The other Mercenaries.
Fairly spoke.
3rd Citizen.
Hark hither, friend: if ye must sell the news
Your lives should pay for bearing, and we must buy
The knowledge of our losses, take this gold
As earnest of the gage I offer here
That ye shall have your asking.
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'Tis a bite
To stop the mouth of one man, but eked out
Among us all—no, no, we claim our own.
3rd Citizen.
To-morrow, sirs, shall ye be satisfied.
1st Mercenary.
Why then to-morrow shall ye learn the worst.
1st Citizen.
Friends, be not obdurate: but yestermorn
To 'quit your claim a levy was decreed;
And by to-night 'twill be contributed.
Ye shall be paid to-morrow.
1st Mercenary.
Do ye swear it?
1st Citizen.
Though every statue from his pedestal
Be plucked, and sold for the mere marble's worth.
Now what thing know ye of Timoleon?
1st Mercenary.
The last, I trow, that ever shall be known.
1st Citizen.
How! is he dead?
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Ye may not doubt of it.
3rd Citizen.
Marked any that he fell?
1st Mercenary.
No need of that,
Where one man meets a thousand.
2nd Citizen.
O brave heart!
How sped the rest?
1st Mercenary.
We tarried not to see.
3rd Citizen.
Why fared ye then so long upon your road,
That a whole day ye lag behind the van?
1st Mercenary.
Caught in the meshes of the mountain-ways,
When midnight was one blot, we lost the track.
Orthagoras.
Wot ye of one who marched afield with ye,
A brave Corinthian leader, Æschylus?
1st Mercenary.
Hope not for his or any man's return.
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Return he would not, save with victory.
1st Mercenary.
Plague on this droughty talking! Come, my mates,
Here's pelf enough to make a merry night,
And many's the goodly cask, ere morning come,
Shall leak itself the lighter.
[Exeunt.
1st Citizen.
I pray heaven
Your sour lips turn the sweet wine vinegar,
To rot ye and corrode those coward bones.
3rd Citizen.
Had we but fifty hoplites left behind,
There's baser vintage should have flowed to-night.
2nd Citizen.
Alack! these heavy tidings! trust ye them?
Chorus.
From far, from across the sea,
From the land of my sojourning,
I flew with a swallow's speed
On the winds of spring;
Weary of waiting as she,
When gales impede,
Beating up in the teeth of the storm on wounded wing.
From the land of my sojourning,
I flew with a swallow's speed
On the winds of spring;
Weary of waiting as she,
When gales impede,
Beating up in the teeth of the storm on wounded wing.
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Ah, friends! though gentle seemed the breath of June,
Short was your summer; the north wind found ye soon.
Short was your summer; the north wind found ye soon.
Chorus.
O sweet was the sight of home
From the prow of the plunging ship!
The beat of our hearts made rhyme
With the oar-blades' dip:
Scaling the pendulous foam,
Or poised sublime,
Yet we shuddered no more at the curl of ocean's lip.
From the prow of the plunging ship!
The beat of our hearts made rhyme
With the oar-blades' dip:
Scaling the pendulous foam,
Or poised sublime,
Yet we shuddered no more at the curl of ocean's lip.
Corinthian Women.
O me, my heart! and better had it been
To have sunk under and be no more seen!
To have sunk under and be no more seen!
Chorus.
Forgot was the house of shame,
With the tale of the tears we shed,
Forgotten the long sad flight,
And the foreign bed:
Nothing of misery came
To mar delight,
And the rapture hereof was alone rememberèd.
With the tale of the tears we shed,
Forgotten the long sad flight,
And the foreign bed:
Nothing of misery came
To mar delight,
And the rapture hereof was alone rememberèd.
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But now thine outstretched arms appeal the skies,
And tears are gathering in those altered eyes.
And tears are gathering in those altered eyes.
Chorus.
I said, ‘Lo! the hour is come,
We have sighed for and sorrowed long:’
I filled the triumphant street
With a sound of song:
High rose the jubilant hum,
Where youthful feet
Wove a welcome of youth to that old and exiled throng.
We have sighed for and sorrowed long:’
I filled the triumphant street
With a sound of song:
High rose the jubilant hum,
Where youthful feet
Wove a welcome of youth to that old and exiled throng.
Corinthian Women.
The mirth is hushed, the voice of pleasure mute;
I hear a dolorous strain, without the lute.
I hear a dolorous strain, without the lute.
Chorus.
As one that hath late put by
The reproach of a barren bed,
Who travailing brought forth fate,
And a babe born dead,
Even so bitterly I
With hope waxed great
Weep the loss of my longing, and am not comforted.
The reproach of a barren bed,
Who travailing brought forth fate,
And a babe born dead,
Even so bitterly I
With hope waxed great
Weep the loss of my longing, and am not comforted.
Corinthian Women.
She cries on comfort, but 'tis hard to teach,
Though one gat wisdom and the gift of speech.
Though one gat wisdom and the gift of speech.
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O ye faint-hearted and wantons of your woe!
Why set ye forward to espouse Despair,
Who hath not plighted troth with ye, nor sent
To bear you to his bridal: get ye in,
Prevent not his approaching, lest ye hear
Most shameless among women.
Chorus.
Man, thou liest:
To that grim bridegroom I am bound this day,
And no man shall divorce us.
Corinthian Women.
'Tis the sign
Of a sick cause that totters to its end,
When wrath arises betwixt friend and friend.
Orthagoras.
Put ye no trust in the diviner's dream?
Chorus.
Dreams may dissemble, but the event is sure.
Orthagoras.
No knot so firm but time untangles it.
Chorus.
But swifter ply the shears of Destiny.
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Think ye to teach, who lack the skill to learn?
Chorus.
Thy wit was clear, but God hath darkened it.
Orthagoras.
There is, that shall approve thy wisdom vain.
Chorus.
Why, call aloud then! let him hear and help.
Orthagoras.
It shall repent thee when thine eyes behold.
Chorus.
This were a marvel, if slain men should live.
Orthagoras.
More marvellous, I wot, that God should lie.
Chorus.
I know no counsel but to wait the end.
Orthagoras.
Mine eyes are full of seeing! mine ears of sound!
Chorus.
His fate were happiest being blind and deaf.
Orthagoras.
The soughing of wind i' the pines!
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Alack! fond heart,
Here is no forest, and the streets are still.
Orthagoras.
They bow themselves! they are broke! the storm! the storm!
Chorus.
Some whirlwind of distress hath caught his soul.
Orthagoras.
The roof of heaven is rent with jags of fire!
Chorus.
Ye hear him how he raves and heeds us not.
Orthagoras.
And from the green earth steams a sanguine sweat!
Chorus.
I tremble; 'tis the likeness of my dream!
Orthagoras.
Their wheels stick fast; the war-steeds plunge in vain!
Chorus.
Oh, for a man's strength! with male hands to fight!
Orthagoras.
On foot they fly, their shields behind them flung!
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The white-orbed shields! the splendour of the spoil!
Orthagoras.
But the rude spear-point pricks them shamefully.
Chorus.
My heart mistrusts him, yet the tale is sweet.
Orthagoras.
The dead lie heaped; but who shall bury them?
Chorus.
Remains there none to deck the funeral-pyre?
Orthagoras.
Dark forms I see like phantoms come and go,
No pious hands that pay the dues of woe.
Chorus.
What seeking else? or who the seekers? say:
Do men ply traffic with cold breathless clay?
Orthagoras.
For trophied arms they quest and captive gold:—
Pale grows the vision—lo! my tale is told!
Corinthian Women.
Thine art prevails not with her sore distress:
Behold her still cast down and comfortless.
Chorus.
That comfortable word, which lacks belief,
But fans to headier height the fires of grief.
130
Lift up thine eyes!
Chorus.
On what new woes to look?
Corinthian Women.
Of joy I spake.
Chorus.
All joys have I forsook.
Corinthian Women.
Oh, lift thine eyes!
Chorus.
Behold! they are earth's to keep.
Corinthian Women.
Yet lift them.
Chorus.
Nay, they have no more tears to weep.
Corinthian Women.
Weep thou thy fill; for joy shall find thee tears.
Chorus.
Dost thou too mock?
Corinthian Women.
I mock but idle fears.
131
Oh, lady, look! where one comes footing fast!
Chorus.
Worst news weighs heaviest; therefore lags he last.
3rd Citizen.
His brows are bound with wreaths of victory!
Corinthian Women.
They shout, they sob, they clasp their hands on high.
[Enter a Herald.
Chorus.
Life is too solemn for such shows as this.
Three tragic pieces I protagonist
In mine own person, without mask, have played,
Sad flight, sad exile, and most sad return:
Now when for laughter at the close they call,
I have no heart to end with jollity.
Sirrah! doth wine or madness make thee bold
To flaunt thy follies in the eye of grief?
Herald.
Wet cheeks! rent raiment! and disordered hair!
Strange greeting for so glad a messenger!
If good news set thee weeping, I am gone;
And God send one shall help thee to thy wits.
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Stay, friend: ill tidings have out-travelled thine,
And such foul breath of evils falsely blown
As with their sorrow she is half-distraught.
Speak comfort, if thou canst: thou knowest her need.
Herald.
Timoleon lives, and rides in triumph nigh.
Chorus.
O wise physician! all my hurt is healed,
And with no mightier medicine than a word.
Herald.
He hath cut the flower of Carthage to the root.
Chorus.
O heart! in grief thou wert all too garrulous;
Be hushed awhile, and hearken to thy joy.
3rd Citizen.
When, where, and how was this great marvel wrought?
If strength suffice thee to tell out the tale.
Herald.
'Tis nine days since upon a misty dawn
We trod the silent summits of the height
That over-frowns Krimesus: a thick cloud
Clung to the valley-side, but from beneath
No doubtful din ascended—a dull roar
Monotonous, as of moving multitudes,
And frequent clamour, and the clash of arms,
And war-steeds fiercely neighing. Long time we lay
Aware yet unbeholding, till at length
The vapour-veil up-torn showed brokenly
Armed spaces quick with tongues of angry light,
And a wide region populous with war.
O then the life of our great enterprise
Stood on the peril of a razor's edge;
For Thrasius and his thousand mercenaries
Even by the fear of that appalling front,
Without a stroke, confounded, hied them home;
Whom doubtless more were following, had not he,
Timoleon, with a shout so loud, it seemed
As if a god spake in him, seized his spear
And charged impetuous, as the mighty mass,
Surprised amidst their crossing, stood half this
Half that side of the river: fierce the shock,
At spear-length first, but after, when no thrust
Could rive those monstrous shields and plates of mail,
Foiling their fence, we pressed betwixt the files
In sword to sword encounter. There fell down,
With huge arms cumbered, and no space to play,
The pride and flower of Carthage; yet the weight
Of sevenfold odds rolled forward from their rear
Had haply still o'erborne us, when there pealed
A crash through heaven that split the firmament,
And from the east drove up a furious wind,
With spouting clouds and hurricanes of hail,
That scourged the foemen's faces. Back they reeled
Blinded, and sinking in the miry slough,
Whence none arose who fell; and checked by these
Precipitately flying, the ranks behind,
Mixed in disastrous onset friend with friend,
Broke, and were hurled into one common heap
Trampling and trampled; while to bar their flight
The wrath-fed river reared his tawny mane
With wide jaws oped upon them: in they rushed
Pricked on by frenzy and the following spear,
Till o'er the torrent dammed and bridged with dead
We swept to spoil and slaughter.
We trod the silent summits of the height
That over-frowns Krimesus: a thick cloud
Clung to the valley-side, but from beneath
No doubtful din ascended—a dull roar
Monotonous, as of moving multitudes,
133
And war-steeds fiercely neighing. Long time we lay
Aware yet unbeholding, till at length
The vapour-veil up-torn showed brokenly
Armed spaces quick with tongues of angry light,
And a wide region populous with war.
O then the life of our great enterprise
Stood on the peril of a razor's edge;
For Thrasius and his thousand mercenaries
Even by the fear of that appalling front,
Without a stroke, confounded, hied them home;
Whom doubtless more were following, had not he,
Timoleon, with a shout so loud, it seemed
As if a god spake in him, seized his spear
And charged impetuous, as the mighty mass,
Surprised amidst their crossing, stood half this
Half that side of the river: fierce the shock,
At spear-length first, but after, when no thrust
Could rive those monstrous shields and plates of mail,
Foiling their fence, we pressed betwixt the files
In sword to sword encounter. There fell down,
With huge arms cumbered, and no space to play,
The pride and flower of Carthage; yet the weight
Of sevenfold odds rolled forward from their rear
Had haply still o'erborne us, when there pealed
A crash through heaven that split the firmament,
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With spouting clouds and hurricanes of hail,
That scourged the foemen's faces. Back they reeled
Blinded, and sinking in the miry slough,
Whence none arose who fell; and checked by these
Precipitately flying, the ranks behind,
Mixed in disastrous onset friend with friend,
Broke, and were hurled into one common heap
Trampling and trampled; while to bar their flight
The wrath-fed river reared his tawny mane
With wide jaws oped upon them: in they rushed
Pricked on by frenzy and the following spear,
Till o'er the torrent dammed and bridged with dead
We swept to spoil and slaughter.
Hark! I hear
A trumpet! 'tis the vanguard at the gates:
Who with the general, make what speed I might,
Have pressed me close at heel. Full soon ye'll hear
From worthier lips no worser tale than mine.
A trumpet! 'tis the vanguard at the gates:
Who with the general, make what speed I might,
Have pressed me close at heel. Full soon ye'll hear
From worthier lips no worser tale than mine.
Chorus.
In all thine utterance there is naught to mend,
Save that it comes too quickly to an end.
Orthagoras.
Hail! mouthpiece of a land deliverèd!
Wert thou struck dumb for ever, thou hast said.
135
O fount of sacred Hope!
That in the careful breast
Dost with sweet solace spring,
To thee I sing.
Not from the cloven crest
And haunted slope
Of old Parnassus more divinely gush
Castalia's waters, when the moonlit wave
Winds on through midnight's virgin hush
Down to the Delphian cave.
More deep thou art and inexhaustible
Than sorrow's salty well
Up-bubbling ever at thy side
Brackish and hot,
Whose source like hers is not
From tortured solitudes supplied
Rent by volcanic fires
Through bitter ashes of burnt-out desires,
But from fair fertile regions brought
Of vital impulse and heroic thought.
O thou sweet saving gift!
To every child of death
An inborn dower,
Whose taste is immortality,
Yet native as his breath!
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The fatal firm-set barriers fade and shift
Before his closing eyes;
Yet none the less
Into the heavy air of rank excess
Thou canst not rise,
Nor send thy healing shower;
There are who foul thee at the fountain-head
With poison-weeds of sloth;
And rootless pride and envy's rotten growth
Choke up thy bed:—
Let this at last be said,
Where truth and constant courage bend
Their yoked necks to the steep of fate,
Thou dost the failing limbs invigorate,
And guid'st brave effort to a glorious end.
Orthagoras.
Peace! ye: the glad procession draws anigh,
And lo! the Archons come to welcome him.
[Enter Timoleon, Æschylus, and other officers, with soldiers bearing trophies of victory.
Timoleon.
Men of this city, ye behold us here
Returned with triumph and fulfilled of spoil,
The kind gods favouring, and our task achieved.
Therefore to Fortune first a shrine I vow,
On whose high wall these trophies shall be hung,
And round about them be the record writ
With what great wonders she amazed and quelled
The vaunting host that dreamed our overthrow.
For never yet were myriads like to them
By mortal thousands vanquished; but the earth
Brake up beneath them, and heaven was bowed above—
Rain, fire, and wind, and darkness! and we heard
The sound of unseen armies, and behold!
A light of swords in the air which no man drew,
That leapt, and swept, and smote them that they fell!
And some were trampled where no war-hooves trod,
Like grass bent back beneath the blustering south!
Returned with triumph and fulfilled of spoil,
The kind gods favouring, and our task achieved.
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On whose high wall these trophies shall be hung,
And round about them be the record writ
With what great wonders she amazed and quelled
The vaunting host that dreamed our overthrow.
For never yet were myriads like to them
By mortal thousands vanquished; but the earth
Brake up beneath them, and heaven was bowed above—
Rain, fire, and wind, and darkness! and we heard
The sound of unseen armies, and behold!
A light of swords in the air which no man drew,
That leapt, and swept, and smote them that they fell!
And some were trampled where no war-hooves trod,
Like grass bent back beneath the blustering south!
Wherefore be glad and give ye praise to heaven,
Seeing that for these things may no man be praised;
For God was wroth and slew them. But henceforth
Be shamed who fear for Syracuse: we bring
The helms and bucklers of ten thousand slain—
Phœnician marvels delicately done,
Wrought in with gold and silver; for there lay
Their mightiest and most honourable, nor shall
The viler remnant haste them to return,
Who fled from that day's fighting.
Seeing that for these things may no man be praised;
For God was wroth and slew them. But henceforth
Be shamed who fear for Syracuse: we bring
The helms and bucklers of ten thousand slain—
Phœnician marvels delicately done,
Wrought in with gold and silver; for there lay
Their mightiest and most honourable, nor shall
The viler remnant haste them to return,
Who fled from that day's fighting.
Lo! ye now,
The righteous consummation and full end
Of that which heaven appointed! that whereto
My days of life were lengthened, when to live
Was but a burden, that of all men born
I might be richest, who was wretchedest,
And, who was banned, a blessing: for I see
Beyond my hope my noblest hope fulfilled—
A city free that wept in servitude,
And peopled that was empty, prosperous folk
Where misery sat moping, and just laws,
And patience to abide them; and therewith
From ruinous heaps arising I behold
Her desecrated temples, and in haunts
Of old dilapidation and decay
New homes of fair contentment. Nay, nor here
Only, but elsewhere through this altered isle
Our help hath wrought a healing, that wherein
Of all her cities raged the tyrant-brood,
That purple plague is ended, and behold!
For brute oppression and barbaric lust
The reign of laws Hellenic!
The righteous consummation and full end
138
My days of life were lengthened, when to live
Was but a burden, that of all men born
I might be richest, who was wretchedest,
And, who was banned, a blessing: for I see
Beyond my hope my noblest hope fulfilled—
A city free that wept in servitude,
And peopled that was empty, prosperous folk
Where misery sat moping, and just laws,
And patience to abide them; and therewith
From ruinous heaps arising I behold
Her desecrated temples, and in haunts
Of old dilapidation and decay
New homes of fair contentment. Nay, nor here
Only, but elsewhere through this altered isle
Our help hath wrought a healing, that wherein
Of all her cities raged the tyrant-brood,
That purple plague is ended, and behold!
For brute oppression and barbaric lust
The reign of laws Hellenic!
Yet there lives,
That till this hour hath baffled fate and doom,
Even Hiketas, who with the invader leagued,
Untaught of old disasters, burned at length
To woo belated victory; but him
His Leontines, made bold by Carthage crushed,
Gat heart to seize, and bound, and hither hale
To Syracuse—that man must die the death.
That till this hour hath baffled fate and doom,
Even Hiketas, who with the invader leagued,
Untaught of old disasters, burned at length
To woo belated victory; but him
His Leontines, made bold by Carthage crushed,
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To Syracuse—that man must die the death.
Next, for the recreant pack, those fangless curs,
Swift-footed, clamorous-tongued, which yelped and fled
At scenting of the quarry, these shall whine
Henceforth in stranger-kennels, where the land
Brings forth but vermin; for not such the breed,
Men hunt the boar with here in Sicily.
Swift-footed, clamorous-tongued, which yelped and fled
At scenting of the quarry, these shall whine
Henceforth in stranger-kennels, where the land
Brings forth but vermin; for not such the breed,
Men hunt the boar with here in Sicily.
What more remains? I am an old man now,
And have been lustier than ye see to-day,
Though for my years full lusty; and I would fain
Reap, ere death come, the harvest of my hand,
And taste my life's fulfilment; for I know,
Without vainglory or swelling thoughts of pride,
That me the gods did fashion to this end
Not all as others, but on an anvil forged,
And, fanned with sevenfold blasts of love and hate,
Tried me and tempered for a sword of proof
To work their will to youward. I do think
I have performed their bidding, and have walked
Before you all uprightly, and that herein
Ye will acquit me, as my heart acquits,
Of wrongful dealing or injurious aim,
For private ends toward any. If this be so,—
Nay, friends, what need of weeping?—then would I,
Who ne'er till now played beggar, crave of you,
Yet not in guerdon, but of your good will,
One boon at my beseeching.
And have been lustier than ye see to-day,
Though for my years full lusty; and I would fain
Reap, ere death come, the harvest of my hand,
And taste my life's fulfilment; for I know,
Without vainglory or swelling thoughts of pride,
That me the gods did fashion to this end
Not all as others, but on an anvil forged,
And, fanned with sevenfold blasts of love and hate,
Tried me and tempered for a sword of proof
To work their will to youward. I do think
I have performed their bidding, and have walked
Before you all uprightly, and that herein
Ye will acquit me, as my heart acquits,
Of wrongful dealing or injurious aim,
For private ends toward any. If this be so,—
Nay, friends, what need of weeping?—then would I,
Who ne'er till now played beggar, crave of you,
140
One boon at my beseeching.
Archon.
Sir, 'tis thine:
Ask what thou wilt; do with us as thou wilt,
Be that thou wilt; none here shall say thee nay.
Timoleon.
Do ye confirm the privilege?
People.
All, all!
Timoleon.
Then thus with thanks I claim it: from this hour
I cast away the burden of command,
With all its envious honours, and here stand,
Of my free choice and with the people's will,
Plain citizen of Syracuse—How, sirs!
So soon ye grudge me of your gift? so soon
Shrink from your plighted promise? Nay, 'tis best:
What need we spears at home, no broils abroad?
Were more foes yet to cope with, well ye wot
I had not stuck to serve you; but let be;
My wars are waged; and not from gathering years,
But through derivèd weakness of the blood,
My sight fast fails me, and darkness draws apace:
Shall one lack eyes and lead ye? surely no.
But I will live my residue of days
141
A valiant soldier and a prophet sage,
Orthagoras here and Æschylus my friends,
Without whose friendship ye had scarce been free.
And if hereafter, as might well befall
Through stress of doubt or danger, ye should need
The sober insight of deliberate age
To clear false issues, or appraise the claims
Of high-contending faction, then perchance
These eyeless footsteps some good hand will guide
To the great chamber where your burghers sit
For parley; and I will hearken their debate;
And in the assembly shall my voice be raised,
To cheer or chide you, as an old man may.
And so—come darkness! I'll make shift to see
The dawn of freedom upon Sicily.
Corinthian Women.
What mean ye, sisters, thus to laugh and weep?
1st Semichorus.
Sing out for an end of woe!
The days of sorrow are done.
2nd Semichorus.
But the light of the sun is low;
And darkness covers the sun.
| Timoleon | |