 | Philoctetes |  |
491
135–218.
Chorus.Stroph. I.
What must I say or hide, O master dear,
In a strange land, myself a stranger here,
To one who looks askance
With shy, suspecting glance?
Ever his skill excels
The counsel and the skill of other men,
With whom the sceptre dwells
That Zeus bestows from Heaven on those that reign.
And now on thee, O boy,
Comes all this might of venerable days;
Tell me then what employ
Thou bid'st me serve in, tending all thy ways.
Neoptolemos.
Perchance thou fain would'st know
Where he in that remotest corner lies:
Take courage then, and hither turn thine eyes;
But when he comes, that traveller, with his bow
Waking our fear,
Then, from this cavern drawing back,
As helper still be near,
And strive to serve me so that nothing lack.
492
Antistroph. I.
Long since I cared for what thou bid'st me care,
To work out all that on thy need may bear;
And now I pray thee tell
Where he may chance to dwell—
What region is his home?
Not out of season is it this to hear,
Lest he should subtly come,
And unawares fall on me here or there.
Say where does he abide,
What pathway does he travel to and fro?
Do his steps homeward glide,
Or does he tread the paths that outward go?
Neoptolemos.
Thou see'st this cavern open at each end,
With chambers in the rock.
Chorus.
And where is he, that sufferer, absent now?
Neoptolemos.
To me it is full clear
That he in search for food his slow way wends,
Not far off now, but near;
For so, the rumour runs, his life he spends,
With swift-winged arrows smiting down his prey,
Wretched and wretchedly;
And none to him draws nigh,
With power to heal, and charm his grief away.
493
Stroph. II.
I pity him in truth,
How he with none to care of all that live,
With no face near that he has known in youth,
Still dwells alone where none may succour give,
Plagued with a plague full sore:
And as each chance comes on him, evermore
Wanders forth wretchedly,
Ah me, how is't he still endures to live
In this his misery?
O struggles that the Gods to mortals give!
O miserable race,
Of those whose lives have failed to find the middle place!
Antistroph. II.
How he with none to care of all that live,
With no face near that he has known in youth,
Still dwells alone where none may succour give,
Plagued with a plague full sore:
And as each chance comes on him, evermore
Wanders forth wretchedly,
Ah me, how is't he still endures to live
In this his misery?
O struggles that the Gods to mortals give!
O miserable race,
Of those whose lives have failed to find the middle place!
He, born of ancient sires,
And falling short of none that went before,
Now lies bereaved of all that life requires,
In lonely grief, none near him evermore,
Dwelling with dappled deer,
Or rough and grisly beasts, and called to bear
Both pain and hunger still;
Bearing sore weight of overwhelming ill,
Evil that none may heal,
And bitter wailing cry that doth its woe reveal.
And falling short of none that went before,
Now lies bereaved of all that life requires,
In lonely grief, none near him evermore,
Dwelling with dappled deer,
Or rough and grisly beasts, and called to bear
Both pain and hunger still;
Bearing sore weight of overwhelming ill,
Evil that none may heal,
And bitter wailing cry that doth its woe reveal.
Neoptolemos.
Nought of all this is marvellous to me,
For, if my soul has any power to see,
These sufferings from the ruthless Chryse sent
Come with divine intent;
And all that now he bears
494
It needs must be that still
It worketh a God's will,
That he the darts of Gods invincible
Should yet refrain from hurling against Troy
Till the full time is come,
When, as by fated doom,
(For thus it is they tell,)
It shall be his that city to destroy.
Chor.
Hush, hush, boy.
Neop.
What means this?
Chor.
The heavy tread I hear,
As of a man who doth his sad life wear,
Somewhere, or here or there,
It falls, I say, it falls
Upon the listening sense,
That moan of one who, worn with anguish, crawls:
Those gasps of pain intense,
Heard from afar, to hide his anguish fail,
The groans he utters tell their own sad tale.
But now, boy ...
Neop.
What comes next?
Chor.
New counsels form and try;
For now the man is not far off but nigh,
With no soft whispered sigh,
As shepherd with his reed,
Who through the meadow strays;
But he or falling in sore stress of need,
Sharp cry of pain doth raise;
Or he has seen our ship in harbour sail,
Strange sight! and comes in fear our presence here to wail.
| Philoctetes | |