University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Acropolis of Corinth.
Creon reclining on a bench, beneath open columns.— Iphitus a little behind him, in the dress of Augury, watching the flight of birds. The Sea seen far below, in the distance.
IPHITUS.
Wheel through the ambient air, ye sacred birds,
In circles still contracting, that aspire
To share the radiance of yon dazzling beams,
And 'midst them float from mortal gaze; ye speak
In no uncertain language to the sons
Of Corinth, that the shames they bear from Athens
Shall speedily be lost in glories won
From insolent battalions, that have borne
Their triumphs to our gates. Rejoice, my king!
Leave mournful contemplation of the dust,
To hail the omen!

CREON.
I am so perplex'd
With the faint tracings age's weakness shapes,
That I distinguish not the winged forms
Thou speakest of, from the mists that flicker quick
On eyes which soon must be all dark. To me
No omen can be otherwise than sad!

IPHITUS.
Surely, my king—for I will answer thee
Untrembling, as Jove's minister—these signs
Should make thy heart beat proudly; hast not felt
Upon our loftiest eminence, the blight
Of that dishonour which alone can slay
The spirit of a people;—seen our fanes
Crowded with suppliants from our wasted fields,
Shrieking for help in vain, and mourn'd the power
Of Athens to convert our cloudless sky,
And the bright sea which circles us, to bounds
Of a great prison? If thy kingly soul
Hath shrunk—as well I know it hath—from shame
Without example in our story, now
Bid it expand, as our beleaguer'd gates
Shall open wide to let our heroes pass,
With brows which glisten to receive the laurel
From their king's hand.

CREON.
Perchance to see him die.
O, Iphitus! thy king hath well nigh spent
His store of wealth, of glory, and of power,
Which made him master of the hopes and strengths
Of others! While the haggard Fury waits
To cut the knot which binds his thousand threads
Of lustrous life, and the sad ghost forsakes
The palace of its regal clay, to shrink,
Thin as a beggar's, sceptreless, uncrown'd,
Unheeded, to the throng'd and silent shore
Where flattery soothes not, think'st thou it can draw
A parting comfort from surrounding looks
Of lusty youth, prepar'd, with beaming joy,
To hail a young successor?

IPHITUS.
Still thine age
Is green and hopeful; there is nought about thee
To speak of mortal sickness, and unnerve
A soul that once was noble.

CREON.
Priest, forbear!
The life that lingers in me is the witness
With which I may not palter. I may seem
To-day to wear the look of yesterday,—
A shrivell'd, doting, peevish, weak old man,
Who may endure some winters more to strip
A leaflet daily from him, till he stands
So bare of happiness, that Death hath scarce
An art to make him nakeder. My soul
Begins its solemn whispers of adieu
To earth's too sweet companionship. Yet, hark!
It is Creusa's footstep; is't not, priest?
Is not my child approaching us?

IPHITUS.
Afar
I see the snowy foldings of a robe
Wave through the column'd avenue; thy sense
Is finer than the impatient ear of youth,
That it should catch the music of a step
So distant and so gentle.

CREON.
If thou wert
A father, thou wouldst know a father's love
'Mid nature's weakness, for one failing sense
Still finds another sharpen'd to attend
Its finest ministries. Unlike the pomps
That make the dregs of life more bitter, this
Can sweeten even a king's.
[Creusa passes across the stage behind Creon, bearing offerings.]
She passes on;
So! So! all leave me. Call her, Iphitus,
Though that her duty own no touch of fondness,
I will command her. Am I not her king?
Why dost not call?
Re-enter Creusa, who kneels in front to Creon.
Ah! thou art there, my child;
Methinks my waning sight grows clear, to drink
The perfect picture of thy beauty in;
And I grow gentle—Ah! too gentle, girl—
Wherefore didst pass me by without regard,
Who have scant blessing left save thus to gaze
And listen to thee?

CREUSA.
Pardon me, my father,
If, bearing offerings to the shrine of Jove
For my sweet brother's safety, anxious thoughts
Clove to him in the battle with a force
Which made its strangest shapes of horror live
As present things; and, lost in their pursuit,
I heeded not my father.

CREON.
In the battle?
Is Hyllus in the combat 'mid those ranks
Of iron? He who hath not rounded yet
His course of generous exercise? I'm weak;
Is that the cause? Is he impatient grown
To put the royal armour on, his sire
Must never wear again? Oh, no! his youth,
In its obedient gentleness, hath been
An infancy prolong'd! It is the Power
Which strikes me with the portents of the grave,
That by the sight of his ensanguined corpse
Would hasten their fulfilment; 'tis well aim'd,
I shall fall cold before it.

CREUSA.
'Twas a word,
Dropp'd by the queen in answer to some speech
In which she fancied slight to Athens, rous'd
His spirit to an ecstasy; he spurn'd
The light accoutrements of mimic war;
Borrow'd a soldier's sword, and, with the troops
Who sallied forth at day-break, sought the field—
Where Jupiter protect him!

CREON.
Bid the queen
Here answer to us.
[Exit Iphitus.
Rarely will she speak,
And calmly, yet her sad and solemn words
Have power to thrill and madden. O my girl,
Had not my wayward fancy been enthrall'd
By that Athenian loveliness which shone
From basest vestments, in a form whose grace
Made the cold beauty of Olympus earth's,
And drew me to be traitor to the urn
Which holds thy mother's ashes, I had spent
My age in sweet renewal of my youth
With thought of her who gladden'd it, nor known
The vain endeavour to enforce regard
From one whose heart is dead amidst the living.

Re-enter Iphitus.
CREON.
Comes the queen hither? Does she mock our bidding?

IPHITUS.
At stern Minerva's inmost shrine she kneels,
And with an arm as rigid and as pale
As is the giant statue, clasps the foot
That seems as it would spurn her, yet were stay'd
By the firm suppliant's will. She looks attent
As one who caught some hint of distant sounds,
Yet none from living intercourse of man
Can pierce that marble solitude. Her face
Uprais'd, is motionless,—yet while I mark'd it—
As from its fathomless abode a spring
Breaks on the bosom of a sullen lake
And in an instant grows as still,—a hue
Of blackness trembled o'er it; her large eye
Kindled with frightful lustre;—but the shade
Pass'd instant thence; her face resum'd its look
Of stone, as death-like as the aspect pure
Of the great face divine to which it answered.
I durst not speak to her.

CREON.
I see it plain;
Her thoughts are with our foes, the blood of Athens
Mantles or freezes in her alien veins;
Let her alone.

[Shouts without.
CREUSA.
Hark!—They would never shout
If Hyllus were in peril.

CREON.
Were he slain
In dashing back the dusky wall of shields,
Beneath which Athens masks her pride of war,
They would exult and mock the slaughter'd boy
With Pæans.

CREUSA.
So my brother would have chosen!

[Shouts renewed.
Enter Corinthian Soldier.
SOLDIER.
Our foes are driven to their tents, the field
Is ours—

CREON.
[Hastily interrupting him.
What of the prince—my son?
Thou dost avoid his name;—have ye achiev'd
This noisy triumph with his blood?

SOLDIER.
A wound,
Slight, as we hope, hath grac'd his early valour,
And though it draws some colour from his cheek
Leaves the heart fearless.

CREON.
I will well avenge
The faintest breath of sorrow which hath dimm'd
The mirror of his youth. Will he not come?
Why does he linger, if his wound is slight,
From the fond arms of him who will avenge it?

SOLDIER.
He comes, my lord.

CREON.
Make way, there! Let me clasp him!
Enter Hyllus, pale, as slightly wounded.
Why does he not embrace me?

[Creusa runs to Hyllus, and supports him as he moves towards Creon.
CREUSA.
He is faint,
Exhausted, breathless,—bleeding. Lean on me,
[To Hyllus.
And let me lead thee to the king, who pants
To bid his youngest soldier welcome.

HYLLUS.
Nay
'Tis nothing. Silly trembler!—See, my limbs
Are pliant and my sinews docile still.
[Kneels to Creon.
Kneel with me; pray our father to forgive
The disobedience of his truant son,
His first—oh, may it prove the last!

[Creusa kneels with Hyllus to Creon.
CREON.
My son!
Who fancied I was angry?
Enter Ismene.
(To Ismene.)
Art thou come,
To gaze upon the perill'd youth who owes
His wound to thee?

ISMENE.
He utter'd shallow scorn
Of Athens;—which he ne'er will speak again.

CREON.
Wouldst dare to curb his speech?

HYLLUS.
Forbear, my father;
The queen says rightly. In that idle mood,
Which youth's excess of happiness makes wanton,
I slighted our illustrious foes, whose arms
Have, with this mild correction, taught my tongue
An apter phrase of modesty, and shewn
What generous courage is, which till this day
I dimly guess'd at.

CREON.
Canst thou tell his name,
Who impious drew the blood of him who soon—
Too soon, alas!—shall reign in Corinth?

HYLLUS.
One
I'm proud to claim my master in great war;
With whom contesting, I have tasted first
The joy which animates the glorious game
Where fiercest opposition of brave hearts
Makes them to feel their kindred;—one who spar'd me
To grace another fight,—the sudden smart
His sword inflicted, made me vainly rush
To grapple with him; from his fearful grasp
I sank to earth; as I lay prone in dust,
The broad steel shiv'ring in my eyes, that strove
To keep their steady gaze, I met his glance,
Where pity triumph'd; quickly he return'd
His falchion to its sheath, and with a hand
Frank and sustaining as a brother's palm,
Uprais'd me;—while he whisper'd in mine ear,
“Thou hast dar'd well, young soldier,” our hot troops
Environ'd him, and bore him from the plain
Our army's noblest captive.

CREON.
He shall die;
The gen'rous falsehood of thy speech is vain.

CREUSA.
O no! my brother's words were never false;
The heroic picture proves his truth;—they bring
A gallant prisoner towards us. Sure, 'tis he.

Enter Thoas, in armour, guarded by Corinthian Soldiers, and Lycus, Master of the Slaves.
SOLDIER.
My lord, we bring the captive, whom we found
In combat with the prince.

HYLLUS.
Say rather, found
Raising that prince whose rashness he chastis'd,
And taught how he should treat a noble foe.

CREON.
[To the Soldiers.
Answer to me! Why have ye brought this man,
Whom the just gods have yielded to atone
For princely blood he shed, in pride of arms?
Remove that helmet.

THOAS.
He who stirs to touch
My arms, shall feel a dying warrior's grasp.
I will not doff my helmet till I yield
My neck to your slave's butchery; how soon
That stroke may fall, I care not.

CREUSA.
[To Hyllus.
Hyllus, speak!
Why thus transfix'd? Wilt thou not speak for him
Who spar'd a life, which, light perchance to thee,
Is the most precious thing to me on earth?

THOAS.
[To Creusa.
Ere I descend to that eternal gloom
Which opens to enfold me, let me bless
The vision that hath cross'd it!

HYLLUS.
[To Creon.
If thou slay him,
I will implore the mercy of the sword
To end me too; and, that sad grace withheld,
Will kneel beside his corpse till nature give
Her own dismissal to me.

ISMENE.
[Speaking slowly to Creon.
Let him breathe
A slave's ignoble life out here; 'twill prove
The sterner fortune.

CREON.
Hearken to me, prisoner!
My boy hath won this choice—immediate death,
Or life-long portion with my slaves.

THOAS.
Dost dare
Insult a son of Athens by the doubt
Thy words imply? Wert thou in manhood's prime,
Amidst thy trembling slaves would I avenge
The foul suggestion, with the desperate strength
Of fated valour; but thou art in years,
And I should blush to harm thee;—let me die.

CREUSA.
O do not fling away thy noble life,
For it is rich in treasures of its own,
Which Fortune cannot touch, and vision'd glories
Shall stream around its bondage.

THOAS.
I have dream'd
Indeed of greatness, lovely one, and felt
The very dream worth living for, while hope,
To make it real, surviv'd; and I have lov'd
To image thought, the mirror of great deeds,
Fed by the past to might which should impel
And vivify the future;—blending thus
The aims and triumphs of a hero's life.
But to cheat hopeless infamy with shows
Of nobleness, and filch a feeble joy
In the vain spasms of the slavish soul,
Were foulest treachery to the god within me.
No, lady; from the fissure of a rock,
Scath'd and alone, my brief existence gush'd,
A passion'd torrent;—let it not be lost
In miry sands, but having caught one gleam
Of loveliness to grace it, dash from earth
To darkness and to silence. Lead me forth—
(To Creusa.)
The Gods requite thee!

CREON.
Hath the captive chosen?
I will not grant another moment;—speak!
Wilt serve or perish?

HYLLUS.
[Throwing himself before Thoas.
Do not answer yet!
Grant him a few short minutes to decide,
And let me spend them with him.

CREON.
[Rising.
Be it so, then!
Kneel, prisoner, to the prince who won thee grace
No other mortal could have gain'd:—remember
The master of my slaves attends the word
Thou presently shalt utter; tame thy pride
To own his government, or he must bind,
And slay thee. Daughter, come! The queen attends us.

[Exeunt Creon and Soldiers.
CREUSA.
[To Hyllus, as she passes him.
Thou wilt not leave him till he softens.

[Ismene follows; as she passes Thoas, she speaks in a low and solemn tone.
ISMENE.
Live!

THOAS.
Who gave that shameful counsel?

ISMENE.
[Passing on.
One of Athens.

[Exit.
[Exeunt all but Lycus, the Master of the Slaves,—
Thoas and Hyllus.
THOAS.
[Abstractedly.
What words are these, which bid my wayward blood,
That centred at my heart with icy firmness,
Come tingling back through all my veins? I seem
Once more to drink Athenian ether in,
And the fair city's column'd glories flash
Upon my soul!

LYCUS.
My lord, I dare not wait.

HYLLUS.
[Eagerly to Lycus.
He yields;—I read it in his softening gaze;
It speaks of life.

THOAS.
Yes; I will owe life to thee.

HYLLUS.
Thou hear'st him, Lycus. Let me know the name
Of him whom I could deem my friend.

THOAS.
My name!
I have none worthy of thy ear; I thought
To arm a common sound with deathless power;
'Tis past; thou only mark'st me from the crowd
Of crawling earth-worms;—thou may'st call me, Thoas.

LYCUS.
[Coming forward.
My prince, forgive me; I must take his armour,
And lead him hence.

THOAS.
Great Jupiter, look down!

HYLLUS.
Thoas, thy faith is pledged. [to Lycus.]
Stand back awhile,
If thou hast nature. Thoas will to me
Resign his arms.

THOAS.
[Taking off his helmet.
To a most noble hand
I yield the glories of existence up,
And bid them long adieu! This plume, which now
Hangs motionless, as if it felt the shame
Its owner bears, wav'd in my boyish thoughts
Ere I was free to wear it, as the sign,
The dancing image of my bounding hopes,
That imag'd it above a throng of battles,
Waving where blows were fiercest. Take it hence—
Companion of brave fancies, vanish'd now
For ever, follow them!

[Hyllus takes the helmet from Thoas, and passes it to Lycus.
HYLLUS.
'Tis nobly done;
No doubt that it again shall clasp thy brow,
And the plume wave in victory. Thy sword?
Forgive me; I must filch it for awhile:
Hide it—O deem it so—in idle sport,
And keep thy chidings, till I give it back
Again to smite and spare.

THOAS.
Too generous youth,
Permit my depth of sorrow to be calm,
Unruffled by vain hope.
[Takes off his sword.
Farewell, old sword,
Thou wert the bright inheritance which grac'd
My finish'd years of boyhood—all that time
And fortune spar'd of those from whom I drew
The thirst of greatness. In how proud an hour
Did I first clasp thee with untrembling hand,
Fit thee, with fond exactness, to my side,
And in the quaint adornments of thy sheath
Guess deeds of valour, acted in old time
By some forgotten chief, whose generous blood
I felt within my swelling veins! Farewell!

[Thoas gives his sword to Hyllus, who delivers it to Lycus.
HYLLUS.
[Diffidently.
Thy buckler?

THOAS.
[Takes off his buckler eagerly, and delivers it to Hyllus.
I rejoice to part with that;
My bosom needs no bulwark save its own,
For I am only man now. If my heart
Should in its throbbing burst, 'twill beat against
An unapparell'd casing, and be still.

[Going.
HYLLUS.
[Hesitatingly.
Hold!—one thing more—thy girdle holds a knife;
I grieve that I must ask it.

THOAS.
By the sense
Which 'mid delights I feel thou hast not lost,
Of what, in dread extremity, the brave,
Stripp'd of all other refuge, would embrace,—
I do adjure thee,—rob me not of this!

HYLLUS.
Conceal it in thy vest.

[Thoas hastily places his dagger in his bosom, and takes the hand of Hyllus.
THOAS.
We understand
Each other's spirit;—thou hast call'd me friend,
And though in bonds, I answer to the name,
And give it thee again.

LYCUS
(advancing).
The time is spent
Beyond the king's allowance: I must lead
The captive to the court, where he may meet
His fellows, find his station, and put on
The habit he must wear.

THOAS.
Do I hear rightly?
Must an Athenian warrior's free-born limbs
Be clad in withering symbols of the power
By which man marks his property in flesh,
Bones, sinews, feelings, lying Nature framed
For human? They shall rend me piecemeal first!

HYLLUS.
Thoas—friend—comrade,—recollect thy word,
Which now to break were worse disgrace than power
Can fix upon thee, bids thee bear awhile
This idle shame. I shall be proud to walk
A listener at thy side, while generous thoughts
And arts of valour, which may make them deeds,
Enrich my youth. Soon shall we 'scape the court,
Ply the small bark upon the summer sea,
Gay careless voyagers, who leave the shore
With all its vain distinctions, for a world
Of dancing foam and light; till eve invites
To some tall cavern, where the sea-nymphs raise
Sweet melodies; there shalt thou play the prince,
And I will put thy slavish vestments on,
And yield thee duteous service;—in our sport
Almost as potent as light Fortune is,
Who in her wildest freaks but shifts the robe
Of circumstance, and leaves the hearts it cloath'd
Unchanged and free as ours.

THOAS.
I cannot speak.
Come—or mine eyes will witness me a slave
To my own frailty's masterdom.—Come on!
[To Lycus.
Thou hast done thy office gently. Lead the way.

[Exeunt.