 | The Maidens of Trachis |  |
APPENDIX OF RHYMED CHORAL ODES AND LYRICAL DIALOGUES.
465
94–140.
Stroph. I.
O thou, to whom the star-bespangled Night,
Slain and despoiled, gives birth,
And lulls again to rest, O Sun-God bright,
Thee, Helios, I implore,
Tell me on what far shore
Alcmena's son is dwelling on the earth,
(O Thou, whose glory gleaming
In blaze of light is streaming!)
Or by the ocean-valley's deep descent,
Or taking rest in either continent,
Tell Thou, with whom there dwells
A power to see which all our sight excels.
Antistroph. I.
Slain and despoiled, gives birth,
And lulls again to rest, O Sun-God bright,
Thee, Helios, I implore,
Tell me on what far shore
Alcmena's son is dwelling on the earth,
(O Thou, whose glory gleaming
In blaze of light is streaming!)
Or by the ocean-valley's deep descent,
Or taking rest in either continent,
Tell Thou, with whom there dwells
A power to see which all our sight excels.
For, lo! I hear that she with anxious thought,
Our Deianeira, sighs,
The bride of old in fierce, hot conflict sought;
And like some lonely bird,
Whose wailing cry is heard,
Can never close in slumber tearless eyes,
But still is forced to cherish
Dread fear lest he should perish;
And so in marriage couch, of spouse bereft,
Wears out her life, to lonely darkness left,
And ever fears a fate
Full fraught with evil, dreary, desolate.
Our Deianeira, sighs,
The bride of old in fierce, hot conflict sought;
And like some lonely bird,
Whose wailing cry is heard,
Can never close in slumber tearless eyes,
But still is forced to cherish
Dread fear lest he should perish;
And so in marriage couch, of spouse bereft,
Wears out her life, to lonely darkness left,
And ever fears a fate
Full fraught with evil, dreary, desolate.
466
For even as one sees
Or South or North wind sweep resistless on,
And toss the vexèd seas,
The wild waves rushing, surging one by one,
So him of Cadmos born,
By many a great grief worn,
A Cretan sea of troubles vexeth still;
And yet some great God's might
Keeps him from Death's dark night,
And ever guards from each extremest ill.
Antistroph. II.
Or South or North wind sweep resistless on,
And toss the vexèd seas,
The wild waves rushing, surging one by one,
So him of Cadmos born,
By many a great grief worn,
A Cretan sea of troubles vexeth still;
And yet some great God's might
Keeps him from Death's dark night,
And ever guards from each extremest ill.
I, therefore, blaming this,
Will come with words, though pleasant, thwarting thee:
I say thou dost amiss
To let thy better hope all wasted be.
The King who all doth hold,
Great son of Cronos old,
Hath given to no man fortune free from woe;
But still the wheeling sphere,
Where turns the northern Bear,
Brings joy and sorrow circling as they go.
Epode.
Will come with words, though pleasant, thwarting thee:
I say thou dost amiss
To let thy better hope all wasted be.
The King who all doth hold,
Great son of Cronos old,
Hath given to no man fortune free from woe;
But still the wheeling sphere,
Where turns the northern Bear,
Brings joy and sorrow circling as they go.
It stayeth not on earth,
Nor star-bespangled Night, nor gloomy Fate,
Nor riches, nor high birth;
But still it comes and goes,
Lighting on these or those,
Or joy abounding, or the low estate.
And this I say that thou,
My queen, should'st bear in mind:
For who hath seen in all the past till now
Zeus to his children known as careless or unkind?
Nor star-bespangled Night, nor gloomy Fate,
Nor riches, nor high birth;
But still it comes and goes,
Lighting on these or those,
Or joy abounding, or the low estate.
And this I say that thou,
My queen, should'st bear in mind:
467
Zeus to his children known as careless or unkind?
205–224.
Let the loud shout arise,With clear, re-echoing cries,
From maidens bright and fair with youth's fresh glow;
And let the cry of men,
Again and yet again,
Hail great Apollo, bearer of the bow:
Pæans on pæans raise,
Ye maidens, in his praise,
And on his sister call, Ortygian Artemis,
The huntress of the deer,
With torches flashing clear,
And all the Nymphs whose dwelling near us is.
I quiver through each vein,
And dare not slight thy strain,
O flute, thou sovereign master of my soul;
Lo! the twined ivy-wreath
Stirs me with passionate breath,
And bids me leap in Bacchic strife beneath its strong control.
498–532.
Strophe.
Great is the power the Kyprian Goddess wields:
I speak not of the things
That touch of Heaven's high kings,
I will not tell how e'en the son of Cronos yields
To wiles that mock and cheat;
Nor how the dark retreat
Of Hades she invades and captive makes
Poseidaôn, whose touch the great earth shakes.
But who were they who came,
As combatants of fame,
To woo the hand of that fair virgin bride?
Who strove with many a blow
And wrestlings, bending low,
And cloud of dust all round that did the conflict hide?
Antistrophe.
I speak not of the things
That touch of Heaven's high kings,
I will not tell how e'en the son of Cronos yields
To wiles that mock and cheat;
Nor how the dark retreat
468
Poseidaôn, whose touch the great earth shakes.
But who were they who came,
As combatants of fame,
To woo the hand of that fair virgin bride?
Who strove with many a blow
And wrestlings, bending low,
And cloud of dust all round that did the conflict hide?
One was a mighty river, dread to see,
A bull with four limbs long,
And lofty horns and strong,
The Acheloös stream from far Œniadæ;
And one from Thebes did go,
Shaking his well-strung bow,
With spear and club, the son of Zeus most high.
And they in hot and deadly rivalry,
Seeking for marriage bed,
Came to the combat dread;
And she, the Kyprian Goddess, fair to see,
There, in the midst, alone
Stood by, the Mighty One,
Wielding the umpire's rod in her supremacy.
Epode.
A bull with four limbs long,
And lofty horns and strong,
The Acheloös stream from far Œniadæ;
And one from Thebes did go,
Shaking his well-strung bow,
With spear and club, the son of Zeus most high.
And they in hot and deadly rivalry,
Seeking for marriage bed,
Came to the combat dread;
And she, the Kyprian Goddess, fair to see,
There, in the midst, alone
Stood by, the Mighty One,
Wielding the umpire's rod in her supremacy.
Clash of hands was there,
And din of clanging bow,
And horns that smote the air,
And wrestlings, limbs with limbs, and many a sturdy blow,
And many a cry of pain on either side;
And she, the fair-faced, tender, delicate,
Upon the bank that gave good prospect sate,
Waiting for one to claim her as his bride.
(So, as her mother told,
I tell that tale of old;)
And there the sad, pale face of sorrowing maid,
Thus wooed and won with strife,
Awaits her lot as wife,
Like lonely heifer wandering far in wildest glade.
And din of clanging bow,
And horns that smote the air,
And wrestlings, limbs with limbs, and many a sturdy blow,
And many a cry of pain on either side;
And she, the fair-faced, tender, delicate,
Upon the bank that gave good prospect sate,
Waiting for one to claim her as his bride.
469
I tell that tale of old;)
And there the sad, pale face of sorrowing maid,
Thus wooed and won with strife,
Awaits her lot as wife,
Like lonely heifer wandering far in wildest glade.
633–662.
Stroph. I.
O ye whose dwelling lies
By the warm springs that to the harbour flow,
Or where the tall rocks rise
And cliffs of Œta; ye who wont to go
Hard by the Melian lake,
And coasts where roams the golden-arrowed queen,
Where Hellenes counsel take,
And there at Pylæ famed their agora convene,
Antistroph. I.
By the warm springs that to the harbour flow,
Or where the tall rocks rise
And cliffs of Œta; ye who wont to go
Hard by the Melian lake,
And coasts where roams the golden-arrowed queen,
Where Hellenes counsel take,
And there at Pylæ famed their agora convene,
Quickly to you the flute
Shall raise in music sweet no tuneless strain,
But one that well may suit
The answering lyre from out the Muses' train:
For now Alcmena's son,
Who Zeus his father calls, returneth home;
With spoils that he hath won,
High prize of valour. now will he exulting come:
Stroph. II.
Shall raise in music sweet no tuneless strain,
But one that well may suit
The answering lyre from out the Muses' train:
For now Alcmena's son,
Who Zeus his father calls, returneth home;
With spoils that he hath won,
High prize of valour. now will he exulting come:
E'en he of whom we thought
Twelve long months, knowing nought,
As of an exile far upon the sea
While, weeping for her lord,
Her tears the poor wife poured,
And her sad heart grew faint with misery,
But now to fury wrought,
Great Ares hath the end of all her dark days brought.
Antistroph. II.
Twelve long months, knowing nought,
As of an exile far upon the sea
470
Her tears the poor wife poured,
And her sad heart grew faint with misery,
But now to fury wrought,
Great Ares hath the end of all her dark days brought.
Oh, may he come, yes, come!
Ne'er, till he reach his home,
May his swift ship know hazards nor delays!
Leaving the sea-washed shrine,
Where he, in rite divine,
Is said to offer sacrifice and praise,
So may he come, all calm,
Soothed at the Kentaur's hest by that anointing balm!
Ne'er, till he reach his home,
May his swift ship know hazards nor delays!
Leaving the sea-washed shrine,
Where he, in rite divine,
Is said to offer sacrifice and praise,
So may he come, all calm,
Soothed at the Kentaur's hest by that anointing balm!
821–861.
Stroph. I.
See, O ye maidens, how the sacred word
Of that far-seeing Providence of Heaven
Hath sped, through which we heard
That, when the twelfth full harvest-tide should come,
Its months completed, there should then be given
To the true son of Zeus full rest at home
From many a toil and woe;
And rightly all things go;
For how can one who seeth not the day
In bondage still to evils wear his life away?
Antistroph. I.
Of that far-seeing Providence of Heaven
Hath sped, through which we heard
That, when the twelfth full harvest-tide should come,
Its months completed, there should then be given
To the true son of Zeus full rest at home
From many a toil and woe;
And rightly all things go;
For how can one who seeth not the day
In bondage still to evils wear his life away?
For if with murderous cloud from Kentaur fierce
A subtle fate wrap all his stalwart frame,
And the hot venom pierce,
Which Death begat and spotted dragon reared,
How can he hope to see the sun's bright flame,
Beyond to-day, by form fell, dark, and feared,
Of Hydra done to death,
While words of crafty breath
And deadly throbs of pain that seize and burn,
Caused by the swarth-maned monster, all his might o'er-turn?
Stroph. II.
A subtle fate wrap all his stalwart frame,
And the hot venom pierce,
471
How can he hope to see the sun's bright flame,
Beyond to-day, by form fell, dark, and feared,
Of Hydra done to death,
While words of crafty breath
And deadly throbs of pain that seize and burn,
Caused by the swarth-maned monster, all his might o'er-turn?
And she, (ah misery!)
Seeing a great evil to her home draw nigh
Of marriage strange and new,
Hath failed to scan aright the things she knew,
And now has cause to mourn
The alien counsel of fell converse born;
She pours, I trow, in fears,
A pelting rain of fast down-dropping tears;
And coming Destiny
Unfolds a subtle, great calamity.
Antistroph. II.
Seeing a great evil to her home draw nigh
Of marriage strange and new,
Hath failed to scan aright the things she knew,
And now has cause to mourn
The alien counsel of fell converse born;
She pours, I trow, in fears,
A pelting rain of fast down-dropping tears;
And coming Destiny
Unfolds a subtle, great calamity.
The flood of tears flows fast;
Sore evil spreads, like which in all the past
Ne'er from most hostile foe
Came on the son of Zeus far-famed, a woe
That well might move to tears.
O thou dark point of war's victorious spears,
Thou broughtest then yon bride,
Won where Œchalia soareth in its pride;
And she of Kypros still.
In speechless might, is seen to work out Heaven's high will.
Sore evil spreads, like which in all the past
Ne'er from most hostile foe
Came on the son of Zeus far-famed, a woe
That well might move to tears.
O thou dark point of war's victorious spears,
Thou broughtest then yon bride,
Won where Œchalia soareth in its pride;
And she of Kypros still.
In speechless might, is seen to work out Heaven's high will.
472
947–1043.
Stroph. I.
Which calleth first for lament?
What grief takes widest extent?
Hard question this to decide for me in my measureless woe!
Antistroph. I.
What grief takes widest extent?
Hard question this to decide for me in my measureless woe!
Some sorrows dwell with us near,
And some we await in our fear,
And the present and future alike in one common dreariness flow.
Stroph. II.
And some we await in our fear,
And the present and future alike in one common dreariness flow.
Ah! would that some gale, blowing soft,
Would come on my hearth and my home,
And bear me away, far aloft,
Where never the terror might come,—
Terror that makes the life fail—
Of seeing the strong son of Zeus—
Yes, seeing him (so runs the tale)
In pain that none may unloose,
Come to his home, smitten low,
A marvel and portent of woe.
Antistroph. II.
Would come on my hearth and my home,
And bear me away, far aloft,
Where never the terror might come,—
Terror that makes the life fail—
Of seeing the strong son of Zeus—
Yes, seeing him (so runs the tale)
In pain that none may unloose,
Come to his home, smitten low,
A marvel and portent of woe.
Nearer—no longer from far,
I wail him as nightingale wails;
The tread of strange footsteps I hear. ...
But how is he brought? As one fails,
Wrapt in his care for a friend,
To break the hush with his tread;
So, voiceless, on him they attend:
Ah, shall I deem him as dead?
Or may I hope that he lies,
Deep sleep closing his eyes?
I wail him as nightingale wails;
The tread of strange footsteps I hear. ...
But how is he brought? As one fails,
Wrapt in his care for a friend,
To break the hush with his tread;
473
Ah, shall I deem him as dead?
Or may I hope that he lies,
Deep sleep closing his eyes?
Hyllos.
Ah, woe is me for thee, my father dear!
Woe, woe, for all my misery and fear!
What sorrow cometh next?
What counsel can I find for soul perplexed?
Elder.
Hush, boy, hush! lest thou stir
Thy sore vexed father's anguish dark and drear;
He lives, in sleep laid low;
Curb thou thy lips, no murmur let him hear.
Hyllos.
What say'st thou? Lives he still?
Elder.
Thou wilt not rouse him now he slumbers sound.
My child, nor stir his ill,
Nor bid it run its fierce, relentless round.
Hyllos.
And yet my mind is vexed,
Brooding o'er sorrow, shaken and perplexed.
Heracles.
O Zeus!
What spot of earth is this?
Among what men am I?
By pain that will not cease,
474
Ah, miserable me!
Again the accursèd venom gnaws through me.
Elder
[to Hyllos.]
Did'st thou not know what gain
It were to silence keep,
Nor banish from the eyes of one in pain
The dew of kindly sleep?
Hyllos.
And yet I know not how
To hold my peace, such pain beholding now.
Heracles.
O ye Kenæan heights
Whereon mine altars stood,
What meed for holiest rites
Have ye wrought, and for good
Such outrage brought on me!
Would God I ne'er had cast on you mine eye,
Nor lived to see
This crown of frenzied, unsoothed agony.
What minstrel apt to charm,
What leech with skilful arm,
Apart from Zeus, this pain could tranquil keep?
(Wonder far off were that to gaze upon!)
Ah me! but leave me, leave me yet to sleep,
Leave me to sleep, me, miserable one.
Where dost thou touch me? Say,
Where lay to rest?
Ah! thou wilt slay me, slay:
What slumbered thou hast roused to life again;
It seizes me, it creeps, this weary pain.
475
That Hellas hers doth call,
Are found most evil, reckless of the right?
For whom I wore my life,
In ceaseless, dreary strife,
Slaying by land and sea dread forms of might;
Yet now to him who lies
In these sharp agonies,
Not one will bring the fire
Or sword, wherewith to work his heart's desire;
And none will come and smite
His head to death's dark night,
And end his misery:
Ah me! fie on you, fie.
Elder.
Come, boy, thou son of him who lieth there,
Come thou and help, the work o'ertasketh me;
Thine eye is young and clear;
Thy vision more than mine to save and free.
Hyllos.
I lend my hand to lift;
But neither from within, nor yet without,
May I a life forgetting pain work out;
Zeus only gives that gift.
Heracles.
Boy, boy! where, where art thou?
Come, lift me up; yea, this way raise thou me.
Oh me! O cursed Fates!
It leaps again, it leaps upon me now,
That scourge that desolates,
Fierce, stern, inexorable agony.
476
That bitter throb of pain:
Come, boy, in mercy smite
The father that begat thee; draw thy sword,
Sword none will dare to blame:
Heal thou the evil plight
With which thy mother, sold to guilt abhorred,
Hath kindled all my wrath with this foul shame.
Ah, might I see her fallen even so,
As she hath brought me low!
O Hades, dear and sweet,
Brother of Zeus on high,
Smite me with quickest death-blow, I entreat,
And give me rest, give rest from this my misery!
| The Maidens of Trachis | |