Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Admetus, son of Pherés and Clymené, and King of Pherae in Thessaly, has married Alcestis, daughter to Pelias and Anaxibia of Iolkos, a city on the stream Anauros under Mount Pelion, at the head of the gulf of Pagasa. Admetus is claimed by the Fates for early death, unless one of his family will die for him, according to the terms obtained at his marriage by Apollo. His parents refuse; whereupon Alcestis dies for him. But Persephoné-Kora, Queen of the world below, moved by the self-sacrifice of Alcestis, restores her to life.

Another version describes her as recovered from Death by Herakles. The intervention of Persephoné appearing to be the older and nobler form of the myth (although against the authority of Euripides), has been here preferred. It is not known how this point was dealt with in the Admetus of Sophocles.

1

‘Twelve years have gone, twelve happy, happy years,
Since I, the Queen, on lion-harness'd car,
From Pelias' house was by Admetus brought;
Who with his wife so graciously has wrought
That my own girlhood seems already far:

2

‘But comes again in this my maiden child,
And this bright son, high Pherae's future king.

Why then, when all things are of gladsomeness,
Crouch ye with ashes crown'd and ashy dress?
What weight of silent sadness do ye bring?

3

‘We have been happy: but the gods, I know,
Love in their might to stain man's happiness,
Clouding with wormwood drops the wine of life.
With what dumb message then your lips are rife
Speak; Joy, not pain, is by delay made less.’

4

To whom the spokesman of the household throng:—
‘O Queen, O worship of Thessalian eyes
Since, clothed in morning's gifts,

Ηους εχουσα δωρα.—Euripides; Alcestis, 1. 289.

divinely fair,
Thou cam'st; we know how thou wilt greatly bear
What thou wilt greatly hear without disguise.

5

‘Men bid some drape themselves before they fall;
But thou art ever equal to thy fate,
Robed in all seemliness, lady complete.
So thus our woe we lay before thy feet,
And how thou may'st redeem the ruin'd state.

6

‘Against thy lord the blue-eyed lord of Death
His glance has set: nor is there any aid
By which the head of Thessaly should live
Save this; that of the household one should give
A life for his, unbought and unafraid.

7

‘For when Admetus from Iolkos fair
In that strange car, across the meadows green,
First brought thee, in thy wedding-rites the name
Of Artemis, forgotten, wrought her shame;
And by the genial couch the indignant Queen

8

‘Coil'd a foul ring of snakes, and on his head
Sign'd a prophetic sign of early death.
But, for the love he bore Admetus young,
Apollo from the Fates this promise wrung,
That they would take such ransom for his breath.

9

‘Now, therefore, think what may be done.’
Thus they:
But she bow'd down her head, and spoke no word,

Drawing her children closer to the knee;
Nor check'd the silver current of their glee,
Nor by their hands' petitioning was stirr'd.

10

And as the waters o'er some drowning head
Close, in green mist, and press upon the life,
And in one flash all that the man has been
Starts out, as mountain-tracts by lightning seen,
And he sinks flat, and quits an idle strife:—

11

So her young days upon her soul came back:—
Iolkos: the white walls: the purple crest
Of Pelion hung above them, whence a cry
Of clanging eagles vex'd the summer sky,
And loosen'd crags scarr'd the dark mountain breast:—

12

And how Apollo o'er the purple crest
Came with the morn, and sent his golden beam
Slant on the dancing waves: and how she fear'd,
That day, when by the eclipse his locks were shear'd,
Until the God shot forth a sword-like gleam:—

13

She heard the crystal ripplings of the brook
That first allured her baby feet to try
Its mountain coolness, till she reach'd the sea,
And the warm waves came laughing o'er her knee,
Kissing the fair child oft and amorously:—

14

And how o'er all that inland ocean,

The Gulf of Pagasa, nearly closed towards the south by the singular isthmus which stretches between the old towns Olizon and Aphetae.

barr'd
From Aphetae to Olízon, the great hill
Flung his green shadow, and the sea-nymphs play'd,
And call'd her to their revel, undismay'd:—
Then, with what subterfuge of maiden skill

15

When first Admetus to Iolkos came,
She veil'd the traitor trembling, that proclaim'd
Love and Love's lord; and how she look'd her heart,
And Anaxibia took her daughter's part,
And the strange chariot bore her, unashamed,

16

Over the meadows green, by Pagasae,
And the corn reddening on the Dotian plain,

And the blue cornflowers loose amid the corn,
And the lark scattering in the crystal morn
His unremittent gush of silver rain:

17

And how the watchful eyes of her young lord
Flash'd, when at hand the tall white towers they know
Of Pherae: and the sweetness of the way:
And how great Ossa north in shadow lay
Like the foreboding of a coming woe,

18

But distant: and, ‘O Gods, avert it now
From him and these,’ she cried, ‘if not from me;
Through love of whom, forgetful, on his head
He brought this summons to the youthful dead.’
—Then a touch woke her from that reverie,

19

And the King stood at height and fronted her:
And the sad secret of each other's eyes
Each read, and in the breathing of a breath
Each heart devour'd the bitterness of death,
And knew itself and saw without disguise.

20

Then she, the last faint hope to end at once,—
For life is sweet, and little faces plead
For mother's love, and anchor her to life,—
‘Pherés or Clymené,’ whisper'd, ‘or thy wife’?
But he, her latter accents without heed

21

Hearing, and hearing not, in deaf despair,
Cried ‘O my father and my mother! old
In years, but not in honour, who could choose
Their dregs of life, the days that none can use
Nor glory in, nor aught of joy behold,

22

‘Before the younger life, that they had borne:
And hand their son to death before his due,
And lay the head of Thessaly in dust,
And leave these, orphans, with a dull we must;
Life is so sweet; the grave so near in view!

23

‘Parents! Not parents! I abjure the name:
Those ne'er begot, or they had loved me more,

Me, and the land, and gods of Thessaly,
And Hellen our first ancestor, and thee,
And those whom in the couch thy peril bore.

24

‘They should have ta'en the tatter of their days
And with it pieced my purple robe of youth;
Keeping for me the word Apollo gave,
When in my house he earn'd his bread, a slave,
Won from the stern Fates by celestial ruth.

25

‘As the young larch-plant upon Pelion's side
Lifts his green spire and goes on high with joy,
They should have let me live the life of man:
But now to the dark house and shadows wan,
Where wit is vain and strength has no employ,

26

‘(Save through one sacrifice that may not be) I go.’
Then she, with prayerful earnest eyes,
Her incense offering on the altar threw;
Which hiss'd into white wreaths, and pass'd from view.
‘And such,’ she said, ‘the law of sacrifice.

27

‘We do not what we see, but what we know:
Whither ascend our prayer and gift, is hid:
And who his life lays down at their command,
Following the motion of a hidden hand,
Him the just gods to their high banquet bid.

28

‘Yet life is sweet, and sweet to see the sun,
And love is sweet, and sight of these, and thee:
To clasp the little limbs, the pure, the fine,
To kiss them o'er and o'er and call them mine,
And dress and dance the darlings on the knee:

29

‘To scan the blue depth of the stainless eyes;
The wonder of the waxing frame to see;
To watch the unconscious words take form and life;
The wayward fancies of the future wife,
The young assertion of the man to be.

30

‘Ah, yet it must be! Love! and I submit.
Which is more precious, few or many years?

For what is most so, to the gods we give.
And few the hours thy parents have to live:
Their thread already straight between the shears.

31

So let them move the last faint steps in peace
Down the long avenue of well-spent days.
But thou—it must not be that thou should'st die!
Thessalia's shining head; the people's eye;
'Twixt gods and men throned in a middle place.

32

‘He too will need the pillar of the house,
This gallant boy, high Pherae's future king;
And this fair girl, whom one I ne'er shall see
Will come with gifts and prayers to claim of thee,
And in her eyes a daughter's tears will spring:

33

‘And she will think of one who is no more,
Nor thinks of her nor thee nor anything,
Going with downcast eyes and captive tread
Through the dim garden of the happy dead,
Where summer never comes, nor voice of spring,

34

‘Nor frost nor sun; but the dim rose-red glow
Of autumn dyes the insuperable hill:
Nor past nor future are, nor wish nor vow;
But the white silence of the eternal Now
Wipes out the thought of joy, and fear of ill:

35

‘The realm of the dread Maid, Deméter's child,
Who gathers all, and gives none back again:
—And she is here! and I am not!—farewell’:—
Then on the altar steps gently she fell;
And, as a snow-wreath touch'd by April's rain,

36

The pure into the unseen, death-dissolved,
Melted inaudibly.
Then Admetus knelt,
And kiss'd the hands, first chill'd in ebbing life,
And veil'd his eyes before the vanish'd wife:—
And through the land the shock of sorrow felt

37

Trembled in one long groan and Titan cry:
And the Sun cloak'd himself in wan eclipse

And through the streets they ran with flying hair,
Disfeatured in their grief: but she lay there,
Nor changed the beauty of the perfect lips.

38

Then her son came, and look'd upon her face
Crying ‘O Queen, thrice-honour'd in thy fate!
Thou hast done well, mother, in dying thus;
Thou hast done well: but who will comfort us?
O mother, thou hast left us desolate!

39

‘Ay me, for golden hours with thee have fled:
What summer converse by the fragrant pine;
What evening silences of mere delight,
While zenith moonbeams bathed the terrace white;
What ruby sunsets 'neath the jocund vine!’

40

Also her daughter, from the altar-top
Strewing her golden hair with ashes hoar,
‘Fair in thy life, and fairer in thy death!
But who will stay me when Love takes my breath,
Or give me courage in my child-bed sore?

Ου γαρ σε μητηρ ουτε νυμφευσει ποτε Ουτ' εν τοκοισι σοισι θαρσυνει, τεκνον.—Alcestis, 1. 317-8.

41

‘And how, my father, will it be with thee,
When on the throne thou art in golden state,
And hast not her who at thy side did stand,
Missing the accustom'd voice and smile and hand:—
O mother, thou hast left us desolate!’

42

But the King veil'd his face, and knelt apart,
Being weigh'd down with thought of what had been;
The wedding chamber and the serpents' hiss;
The genial hour that made Alcestis his;
The gleaming ocean and the meadows green:

43

And the first smile, the oft rememberéd,
When to Iolkos in bright youth he came,
And she behind a column of the hall
Blush'd like the full-ripe apple ere it fall,
And bow'd her face ashamed for that sweet shame.

44

—O Life, ill-balanced in its restlèssness!
That from the days of youth looks on to age,

And from the hoary years thinks boyhood bliss,
Nor learns that only when it is, it is,
Nor in the present finds its heritage!

45

O prized so little when with us thou wast,
What golden haze breathes out from thee afar,
What spell transfiguring the lost hours of youth?
What gracious glamour hides the better truth,
As the heart wills, not as the blood, we are?

46

—As he who whilst the side-long vase ran clear,
Dream'd down whole years in fancy: so the King
From manhood to old age went in one day
Immeasurably long, as there he lay,
And knew each several moment by its sting.

47

But when the people round him murmur'd, Time!
‘Time is enough,’ he cried, ‘if Time mean Death.’
Then a far voice came on his inward ear,
‘Thou hast thy wish, Admetus: I am here’:—
And he look'd up, and drew a passionate breath:

48

And at his side, lo! the dread Maid, divine
Persephoné, crown'd with harvest's golden ear,
And eyes too dreadful to be look'd upon.
And by her stands the gracious form of one
Only the less divine, as less austere,

49

Clad in bright bridal robe, and bridal veil:
And, as the presence of the Gods divine
Opens the eye of man and sharpens, he
Knew her at once, though veil'd, crying ‘'Tis she!’
And clasp'd her hand, and once again said ‘Mine,

50

‘My one of all the world! my all in one!
Whence art thou come and how deliver'd, say,
Alcestis . . . if my own Alcestis . . . tell!’
—But she stood silent:—and a terror fell,
As when a sudden spectre at mid-day

51

Meets us, and we at first have thought it man.
—Then, last, the maiden Queen, Persephoné:

‘I, it was, I, quelling the lord of death,
Restored Alcestis to warm human breath:
I only: doubt not: touch her: it is she.

52

‘She, the young worship of thy youthful days,
The changeless pole-star of thy shifting life;
She, who was all, and gave up all to thee;
Honour'd above all women that shall be;
'Mongst all perfections the most perfect wife.

53

A wealth of gifts God grants the race of man,
And each gift has its own peculiar price;
Strength, courage, wisdom, love, and loveliness:
Yet one the smiles of God supremely bless;—
The heroic beauty of self-sacrifice.

54

‘O weak who stand in fancied strength alone!
Strong but when brothers' hands are held in brothers'!
The Fates at Fame's far-shining trophies laugh:—
What glories equal that plain epitaph
Not for himself was his first thought, but others?

55

‘To lose oneself for one more dear than self!
For others' love one's own love to lay down!
O privilege that the Gods might envy men,
As o'er the flawless walls of heaven they lean,
And watch a mortal win a nobler crown!

56

‘Look on her! touch her! hold thy very own!
As the new life its red rose o'er her flings;
Yet life not wholly what she knew before:
These tender feet have tried the further shore,
These lips the savour of celestial things.

57

‘Henceforth, live worthy of one such as this!
But now, three mornings' sacrifice prepare,
Ere she resumes her gracious human ways:—
To walk together many perfect days,
Until together my repose ye share.’