The Seven Plays in English Verse Part 49

How could her single thought Contrive the accomplishment of death on death?

NUR. Chill iron stopped the sources of her breath.

CH. And thou, poor helpless crone, didst see this done?

NUR. Yea, I stood near and saw.

CH. How was it? Tell!

NUR. With her own hand this violence was given.

CH. What do I hear?

NUR. The certainty of truth.

CH. A child is come, From this new bridal that hath rushed within, A fresh-born Fury of woe!

NUR. Too true. But hadst thou been at hand to see Her action, pity would have wrung thy soul.

CH. Could this be ventured by a woman's hand?

NUR. Ay, and in dreadful wise, as thou shalt hear.

When all alone she had gone within the gate, And pa.s.sing through the court beheld her boy Spreading the couch that should receive his sire, Ere he returned to meet him,--out of sight She hid herself, and fell at the altar's foot, And loudly cried that she was left forlorn; And, taking in her touch each household thing That formerly she used, poor lady, wept O'er all; and then went ranging through the rooms, Where, if there caught her eye the well-loved form Of any of her household, she would gaze And weep aloud, accusing her own fate And her abandoned lot, childless henceforth!

When this was ended, suddenly I see her Fly to the hero's room of genial rest.

With unsuspected gaze o'ershadowed near, I watched, and saw her casting on the bed The finest sheets of all. When that was done, She leapt upon the couch where they had lain And sat there in the midst. And the hot flood Burst from her eyes before she spake:--'Farewell, My bridal bed, for never more shalt thou Give me the comfort I have known thee give.'

Then with tight fingers she undid her robe, Where the brooch lay before the breast, and bared All her left arm and side. I, with what speed Strength ministered, ran forth to tell her son The act she was preparing. But meanwhile, Ere we could come again, the fatal blow Fell, and we saw the wound. And he, her boy, Seeing, wept aloud. For now the hapless youth Knew that himself had done this in his wrath, Told all too late i' the house, how she had wrought Most innocently, from the Centaur's wit.

So now the unhappy one, with pa.s.sionate words And cries and wild embracings of the dead, Groaned forth that he had slain her with false breath Of evil accusation, and was left Orphaned of both, his mother and his sire.

Such is the state within. What fool is he That counts one day, or two, or more to come?

To-morrow is not, till the present day In fair prosperity have pa.s.sed away. [_Exit_

CHORUS.

Which shall come first in my wail, I 1 Which shall be last to prevail, Is a doubt that will never be done.

Trouble at home may be seen, I 2 Trouble is looked for with teen; And to have and to look for are one.

Would some fair wind II 1 But waft me forth to roam Far from the native region of my home, Ere death me find, oppressed with wild affright Even at the sudden sight Of him, the valiant son of Zeus most High!

Before the house, they tell, he fareth nigh, A wonder beyond thought, With torment unapproachable distraught.

Hark! ... II 2 The cause then of my cry Was coming all too nigh: (Doth the clear nightingale lament for nought?) Some step of stranger folk is this way brought.

As for a friend they love Heavy and slow with noiseless feet they move.

Which way? which way? Ah me! behold him come.

His pallid lips are dumb.

Dead, or at rest in sleep? What shall I say?

[HERACLES _is brought in on a litter, accompanied by_ HYLLUS _and an_ Old Man

HYL. Oh, woe is me!

My father, piteous woe for thee!

Oh, whither shall I turn my thought! Ah me!

OLD M. Hus.h.!.+ speak not, O my child, Lest torment fierce and wild Rekindle in thy father's rugged breast, And break this rest Where now his life is held at point to fall.

With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all.

HYL. Yet tell me, doth he live, Old sir?

OLD M. Wake not the slumberer, Nor kindle and revive The terrible recurrent power of pain, My son!

HYL. My foolish words are done, But my full heart sinks 'neath the heavy strain.

HERACLES. O Father, who are these?

What countrymen? Where am I? What far land Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me!

Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain!

OLD M. Now thou may'st know 'Twas better to have lurked in silent shade And not thus widely throw The slumber from his eyelids and his head.

HYL. I could not brook All speechless on his misery to look.

MONODY.

HER. O altar on the Euboean strand, High-heaped with offerings from my hand, What meed for lavish gifts bestowed From thy new sanctuary hath flowed!

Father of G.o.ds! thy cruel power Hath foiled me with an evil blight.

Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night Ere madness in a fatal hour Had burst upon them with a blaze, No help or soothing once allays!

What hand to heal, what voice to charm, Can e'er dispel this hideous harm?

Whose skill save thine, Monarch Divine?

Mine eyes, if such I saw, Would hail him from afar with trembling awe.

Ah! ah!

O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest, To sleep my last sleep on Earth's gentle breast.

You touch me, you press me, you turn me again, You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain!

You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still.

It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will!

Where are ye, men, whom over h.e.l.las wide This arm hath freed, and o'er the ocean-tide, And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing?

Yet now in mine affliction none will bring A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire, O most unrighteous! nor to my desire Will come and quench the hateful life I hold With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold?

OLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou!

Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast Than mine to save him.

HYL. I support him now Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest From torture. None may dream To wield this power, save he, the King supreme.

HER. Son!

Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright?

It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might, This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again!

O Fate! O Athena!--O son, at my word Have pity and slay me with merciful sword!

Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief Wherewith thy mother, G.o.d-abandoned wife, Hath wrought this ruin on her husband's life.

O may I see her falling, even so As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe!

Sweet Hades, with swift death, Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath!

CH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe, Racking our mighty one with mightier pain.