Chapter III (2)

On thee who build’st thy tuneful seat
Protected by the leafy groves, I call,
O nightingale, thy accents ever sweet
Their murmuring melancholy fall
Prolong! O come, and with thy plaintive strain
Aid me to utter my distress,
Thy woes, O Helen, let the song express,
And those of Troy now levelled with the plain
By Grecian might. From hospitable shores,
Relying on barbaric oars,
The spoiler Paris fled,
And o’er the deep to Priam’s realm with pride
Bore his imaginary bride,
Fancying that thou hadst graced his bed,
To nuptials fraught with shame by wanton Venus led.

I. 2.

Unnumbered Greeks, transpierced with spears,
Or crushed beneath the falling ramparts, bled:
Hence with her tresses shorn, immersed in tears
The matron wails her lonely bed,
But Nauplius, kindling near th’ Eubœan deep
Those torches, o’er our host prevailed;
Though with a single bark the traitor sailed,
He wrecked whole fleets against Caphareus’ steep,
And the Ægean coasts, the beacon seemed
A star, and through Heaven’s conclave gleamed,
Placed on the craggy height.
While flushed with conquest, from the Phrygian strand
They hastened to their native land,
Portentous source of bloody fight,
The cloud by Juno formed, beguiled their dazzled sight.

II. 1.

Whether the image was divine,
Drew from terrestrial particles its birth,
Or from the middle region, how define
By curious search, ye sons of earth?
Far from unravelling Heaven’s abstruse intents,
We view the world tost to and fro,
Mark strange vicissitudes of joy and woe,
Discordant and miraculous events.
Thou, Helen, art indeed the child of Jove.
The swan, thy sire, inflamed by love,
To Leda’s bosom flew:
Yet with imputed crimes malignant fame
Through Greece arraigns thy slandered name.
Of men I know not whom to trust,
But what the gods pronounce have I found ever just.

II. 2.

Frantic are ye who seek renown
Amid the horrors of th’ embattled field,
Who masking guilt beneath a laurel crown
With nervous arm the falchion wield,
Not slaughtered thousands can your fury sate.
If still success the judgment guide,
If bloody battle right and wrong decide,
Incessant strife must vex each rival state:
Hence from her home departs each Phrygian wife,
O Helen, when the cruel strife
Which from thy charms arose,
One conference might have closed: now myriads dwell
With Pluto in the shades of Hell,
And flames, as when Jove’s vengeance throws
The bolt, have caught her towers and finished Ilion’s woes.

THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS (HELEN _and_ MENELAUS _behind the tomb_).

THEOC. Hail, O thou tomb of my illustrious sire!
For thee have I interred before my gate,
That with thy shade I might hold frequent conference,
O Proteus; Theoclymenus thy son
Thee, O my father, oft as he goes forth,
Oft as he enters these abodes, accosts.
But to the palace now convey those hounds
And nets, my servants. I full many a time
Have blamed myself, because I never punished
With death such miscreants; now I am informed
That publicly some Greek to these domains
Is come unnoticed by my guards, a spy,
Or one who means to carry Helen off
By stealth: but if I seize him, he shall die.
Methinks I find all over: for the daughter
Of Tyndarus sits no longer at the tomb,
But from these shores hath fled, and now is crossing
The billowy deep. Unbar the gates, bring forth
My coursers from the stalls, and brazen cars;
Lest through my want of vigilance the dame
Whom I would make my consort, should escape me,
Borne from this land. Yet stay; for I behold
Those we pursue still here beneath this roof,
Nor are they fled. Ho! why in sable vest
Hast thou arrayed thyself, why cast aside
Thy robes of white, and from thy graceful head
With ruthless steel thy glowing ringlets shorn,
And wherefore bathed thy cheek with recent tears?
Groan’st thou, by visions of the night apprized
Of some calamity, or hast thou heard
Within, a rumour that afflicts thy soul?

HEL. My lord (for I already by that name
Accost you), I am utterly undone,
My former bliss is vanished, and I now
Am nothing.

THEOC. Art thou plunged into distress
So irretrievable? what cruel fate
Hath overtaken thee?

HEL. My Menelaus,
(Ah, how shall I express myself?) is dead.

THEOC. Although I must not triumph in th’ event
Thou speak’st of, yet to me ’tis most auspicious.
How know’st thou? Did Theonoe tell thee this?

HEL. She and this mariner, who when he perished
Was present, both concur in the same tale.

THEOC. Is there a man arrived, who for the truth
Of that account can vouch?

HEL. He is arrived:
And would to Heaven that such auspicious fortune
As I could wish attended him.

THEOC. Who is he?
Where is he? I would know the real fact.

HEL. ’Tis he who stupefied with sorrow sits
Upon the tomb.

THEOC. In what unseemly garb
Is he arrayed, O Phœbus!

HEL. In that dress,
Ah me! methinks my husband I behold.

THEOC. But in what country was the stranger born,
And whence did he come hither?

HEL. He’s a Greek,
One of those Greeks who with my husband sailed.

THEOC. How doth he say that Menelaus died?

HEL. Most wretchedly, engulfed amid the waves.

THEOC. Where? as he passed o’er the barbarian seas?

HEL. Dashed on the rocks of Libya, which affords
No haven.

THEOC. But whence happened it, that he
This partner of his voyage did not perish?

HEL. The worthless are more prosperous than the brave.

THEOC. Where left he the wrecked fragments of his ship
When he came hither?

HEL. There, where would to Heaven
Perdition had o’ertaken him, and spared
The life of Menelaus.

THEOC. He, it seems,
Is then no more: but in what bark arrived
This messenger?

HEL. Some sailors, as he says,
By chance passed by, and snatched him from the waves.

THEOC. But where’s that hateful pest which in thy stead
Was sent to Ilion?

HEL. Speak you of a cloud,
Resembling me? it mounted to the skies.

THEOC. O Priam, for how frivolous a cause
Thou with thy Troy didst perish!

HEL. In their woes
I too have been involved.

THEOC. But did he leave
Thy husband’s corse unburied, or strew dust
O’er his remains?

HEL. He left them uninterred,
Ah, wretched me!

THEOC. And didst thou for this cause
Sever the ringlets of thy auburn hair?

HEL. Still is he dear, lodged in this faithful breast

THEOC. Hast thou sufficient reason then to weep
For this calamity?

HEL. Could you bear lightly
Your sister’s death?

THEOC. No surely. But what means
Thy still residing at this marble tomb?

HEL. Why do you harass me with taunting words,
And why disturb the dead?

THEOC. Because, still constant
To thy first husband, from my love thou fliest.

HEL. But I will fly no longer: haste, begin
The nuptial rite.

THEOC. ’Twas long ere thou didst come
To this: but I such conduct must applaud.

HEL. Know you then how to act? let us forget
All that has passed.

THEOC. Upon what terms? with kindness
Should kindness be repaid.

HEL. Let us conclude
The peace, and O be reconciled.

THEOC. All strife
With thee I to the winds of heaven consign.

HEL. Now, since you are my friend, I by those knees
Conjure you.

THEOC. With what object in thy view,
To me an earnest suppliant dost thou bend?

HEL. I my departed husband would inter.

THEOC. What tomb can be bestowed upon the absent
Wouldst thou inter his shade?

HEL. There is a custom
Among the Greeks established, that the man
Who in the ocean perishes——

THEOC. What is it?
For in such matters Pelops’ race are wise.

HEL. To bury in their stead an empty vest.

THEOC. Perform funereal rites, and heap the tomb
On any ground thou wilt.

HEL. We in this fashion
Bury not the drowned mariner.

THEOC. How then?
I am a stranger to the Grecian customs.

HEL. Each pious gift due to our breathless friends
We cast into the sea.

THEOC. On the deceased
What presents for thy sake can I bestow?

HEL. I know not: for in offices like these
Am I unpractised, having erst been happy.

THEOC. An acceptable message have you brought,
O stranger.

MEN. Most ungrateful to myself
And the deceased.

THEOC. What funereal rites on those
Ocean hath swallowed up, do ye bestow?

MEN. Such honours as each individual’s wealth
Enables us to pay him.

THEOC. Name the cost,
And for her sake receive whate’er you will.

MEN. Blood is our first libation to the dead.

THEOC. What blood? inform me, for with your instructions
I will comply.

MEN. Determine that thyself,
For whatsoe’er thou giv’st will be sufficient.

THEOC. The customary victims ’mong barbarians
Are either horse or bull.

MEN. Whate’er thou giv’st,
Let it be somewhat princely.

THEOC. My rich herds
With these are amply furnished.

MEN. And the bier
Without the corse is borne in solemn state.

THEOC. It shall: but what is there beside which custom
Requires to grace the funeral.

MEN. Brazen arms:
For war was what he loved.

THEOC. We will bestow
Such presents as are worthy of the race
Of mighty Pelops.

MEN. And those budding flowers
Th’ exuberant soil produces.

THEOC. But say, how
And in what manner ye these offerings plunge
Into the ocean.

MEN. We must have a bark
And mariners to ply the oars.

THEOC. How far
Will they launch forth the vessel from the strand?

MEN. So far as from the shore thou scarce wilt see
The keel divide the waves.

THEOC. But why doth Greece
Observe this usage?

MEN. ’Lest the rising billows
Cast back to land th’ ablutions.

THEOC. Ye shall have
A swift Phœnician vessel.

MEN. This were kind,
And no small favour shown to Menelaus.

THEOC. Without her presence, cannot you perform
These rites alone?

MEN. Such task or to a mother,
Or wife, or child, belongs.

THEOC. ’Tis then her duty,
You say, to bury her departed lord?

MEN. Sure, piety instructs us not to rob
The dead of their accustomed dues.

THEOC. Enough:
On me it is incumbent to promote
Such virtue in my consort. I will enter
The palace, and from thence for the deceased
Bring forth rich ornaments; with empty hands
You from this region will not I send forth,
That you may execute what she desires.
But having brought me acceptable tidings,
Instead of these vile weeds shall you receive
A decent garb and food, that to your country
You may return: for clearly I perceive
That you are wretched now. But torture not
Thy bosom with unprofitable cares,
O hapless woman, for thy Menelaus
Is now no more, nor can the dead revive.

MEN. Thee it behoves, O blooming dame, to love
Thy present husband, and to lay aside
The fond remembrance of thy breathless lord;
For such behaviour suits thy fortunes best.
But if to Greece with safety I return,
That infamy which erst pursued thy name
I’ll cause to cease, if thou acquit thyself
Of these great duties like a virtuous consort.

HEL. I will; nor shall my husband e’er have cause
To blame me: you too, who are here, shall witness
The truth of my assertions. But within
Go lave your wearied limbs, O wretched man,
And change your habit; for without delay
To you will I become a benefactress.
Hence too with greater zeal will you perform
The rites my dearest Menelaus claims,
If all due honours you from me receive.

[_Exeunt_ THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, _and_ MENELAUS.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

O’er mountains erst with hasty tread
Did the celestial mother stray,
Nor stop where branching thickets spread,
Where rapid torrents crossed her way,
Or on the margin of the billowy deep;
Her daughter whom we dread to name
She wept, while hailing that majestic dame,
Cymbals of Bacchus from the craggy steep
Sent forth their clear and piercing sound,
Her car the harnessed dragons drew;
Following the nymph torn from her virgin crew.
Amidst her maidens swift of foot were found
Diana skilled the bow to wield,
Minerva, who in glittering state
Brandished the spear and raised her Gorgon shield;
But Jove looked down from Heaven t’ award another fate.

I. 2.

Soon as the mother’s toils were o’er,
When she had finished her career,
And sought the ravished maid no more,
To caves where drifted snows appear,
By Ida’s nymphs frequented, did she pass,
And threw herself in sorrow lost,
On rocks and herbage crusted o’er with frost,
Despoiled the wasted champaign of its grass,
Rendered the peasant’s tillage vain,
Consuming a dispeopled land
With meagre famine; Spring at her command
Denied the flocks that sickened on the plain
The leafy tendrils of the vine;
Whole cities died, no victims bled,
No frankincense perfumed Heaven’s vacant shrine;
Nor burst the current from the Spring’s obstructed head.

II. 1.

Then ceased the banquet, wont to charm
Both gods above and men below:
The mother’s anger to disarm,
And mitigate the stings of woe,
Till in these words Jove uttered his behests:
“Let each benignant grace attend
Sweet music’s sympathizing aid to lend,
And drive corrosive grief from Ceres’ breast
Indignant for her ravished child:
Now, O ye Muses, with the lyre
Join the shrill hymns of your assembled choir,
The brazen trumpet fill with accents wild,
And beat the rattling drums amain.”
Then first of the immortal band,
Venus with lovely smile approved the strain,
And raised the deep-toned flute in her enchanting hand.

II. 2.

The laws reproved such foul desire,
Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed;
Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire,
And rushed to thy incestuous bed.
Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound,
Because, through thee, before her shrine
No victims slain appease the powers divine.
Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound
Upon a consecrated rod;
And youths, with virgins in a ring,
When high from earth with matchless force they spring,
Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god
The Bacchanalian votaries own,
And waste in dance the sleepless night.
But thou, confiding in thy charms alone,
Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.

HELEN, CHORUS.

HEL. Within the palace, O my friends, we prosper
For Proteus’ royal daughter, in our schemes
Conspiring when her brother questioned her
About my lord, no information gave
Of his arrival: to my interests true
She said, that cold in death he views no longer
The radiant sun. But now my lord hath seized
A vengeful falchion, in that mail designed
To have been plunged beneath the deep arrayed,
With nervous arm he lifts an orbed shield,
In his right hand protended gleams the spear,
As if with me he was prepared to pay
To the deceased due homage. Furnished thus
With brazen arms, he’s ready for the battle,
And numberless barbarians will subdue
Unaided, soon as we the ship ascend.
Exchanging those unseemly weeds which clothe
The shipwrecked mariner, in splendid robes
Have I arrayed him, from transparent springs
The laver filled, and bathed his wearied limbs
But I must now be silent, for the man
Who fancies I am ready to become
His consort, leaves the palace. O my friends,
In your attachment too I place my trust,
Restrain your tongues, for we, when saved ourselves,
If possible will save you from this thraldom.

THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, MENELAUS, CHORUS.

THEOC. Go forth, in such procession as the stranger
Directs you, O my servants, and convey
These gifts funereal to the briny deep.
But if thou disapprove not what I say,
Do thou, O Helen, yield to my persuasions,
And here remain. For whether thou attend,
Or art not present at the obsequies
Of thy departed husband, thou to him
Wilt show an equal reverence. Much I dread
Lest hurried on by wild desire thou plunge
Into the foaming billows, for the sake
Of him on whom thou doat’st, thy former lord,
Since thou his doom immoderately bewail’st
Though he be lost, and never can return.

HEL. O my illustrious husband, I am bound
To pay due honours to the man whom first
I wedded, of our ancient nuptial joys
A memory still retaining, for so well
I loved my lord that I could even die
With him. But what advantage would result
To the deceased, should I lay down my life?
Yet let me go myself, and to his shade
Perform each solemn rite. But may the gods,
On you, and on the stranger who assists me
In this my pious task, with liberal hand
Confer the gifts I wish. But you in me
Shall such a consort to your palace bear
As you deserve, to recompense your kindness
To me and Menelaus. Such events
In some degree are measured by the will
Of Fortune: but give orders for a ship
To be prepared, these trappings to convey,
So shall your purposed bounty be complete.

THEOC. [_to one of his Attendants._]
Go thou, and furnish them a Tyrian bark
Of fifty oars, with skilful sailors manned.

HEL. But may not he who decorates the tomb
Govern the ship?

THEOC. My sailors must to him
Yield an implicit deference.

HEL. This injunction
Repeat, that they may clearly understand it.

THEOC. A second time, will I, and yet a third,
Issue this self-same mandate, if to thee
This can give pleasure.

HEL. May the gods confer
Blessings on you, and prosper my designs!

THEO. Waste not thy bloom with unavailing tears.

HEL. To you this day my gratitude will prove.

THEOC. All these attentions to the dead are nought
But unavailing toil.

HEL. My pious care
Not to those only whom the silent grave
Contains, but to the living too extends.

THEOC. In me thou mayst expect to find a husband
Who yields not to the Spartan Menelaus.

HEL. I censure not your conduct, but bewail
My own harsh destiny.

THEOC. Bestow thy love
On me, and prosperous fortunes shall return.

HEL. It is a lesson I have practised long,
To love my friends.

THEOC. Shall I my navy launch,
To join in these funereal rites?

HEL. Dread lord,
Pay not unseemly homage to your vassals.

THEOC. Well! I each sacred usage will allow
Practised by Pelops’ race, for my abodes
Are undefiled with blood: thy Menelaus
In Ægypt died not. But let some one haste
And bid the nobles bear into my house
The bridal gifts: for the whole earth is bound
To celebrate in one consenting hymn
My blest espousals with the lovely Helen.
But go, embark upon the briny main,
O stranger, and as soon as ye have paid
All decent homage to her former lord
Bring back my consort hither: that with me
When you have feasted at our nuptial rite
You to your native mansion may return,
Or here continue in a happy state.

[_Exit_ THEOCLYMENUS.

MEN. O Jove, thou mighty father, who art called
A god supreme in wisdom, from thy heaven
Look down, and save us from our woes: delay not
To aid us: for we drag the galling yoke
Of sorrow and mischance: if with thy finger
Thou do but touch us, we shall soon attain
The fortune which we wish for, since the toils
We have endured already are sufficient.
Ye gods, I now invoke you, from my mouth
So shall ye hear full many joyful accents
Mixed with these bitter plaints: for I deserve not
To be for ever wretched; but to tread
At length secure. O grant me this one favour,
And make my future life completely blest.

[_Exeunt_ MENELAUS _and_ HELEN.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Swift bark of Sidon, by whose dashing oars
Divided oft, the frothy billows rise,
Propitious be thy voyage from these shores:
In thy train the dolphins play,
O’er the deep thou lead’st the way,
While motionless its placid surface lies.
Soon as Serenity the fair,
That azure daughter of the main,
Shall in this animating strain
Have spoken: “To the gentle breeze of air
Expand each undulating sail,
Row briskly on before the gale,
Ye mariners, in Perseus’ ancient seat
Till Helen rest her wearied feet.”

I. 2.

Those sacred nymphs shall welcome thy return
Who guard the portals of Minerva’s fane
Or speed the current from its murmuring urn:
Choral dances of delight
That prolong the jocund night,
At Hyacinthus’ banquet shalt thou join,
Fair stripling, whom with luckless hand
Unwitting did Apollo slay
At games that crowned the festive day,
Hurling his quoit on the Laconian strand;
To him Jove’s son due honours paid:
At Sparta too, that lovely maid
Shalt thou behold, whom there thou left’st behind,
Still to celibacy consigned.

II. 1.

O might we cleave the air, like Libyan cranes,
Who fly in ranks th’ impending wintry storm;
When their shrill leader bids them quit the plains,
They the veteran’s voice obey,
O’er rich harvests wing their way,
Or where parched wastes th’ unfruitful scene deform.
With lengthened neck, ye feathered race
Who skim the clouds in social band,
Where the seven Pleiades expand
Their radiance, and Orion heaves his mace,
This joyous embassy convey
As near Eurotas’ banks ye stray;
That Menelaus to his subject land
Victorious comes from Phrygia’s strand.

II. 2.

Borne in your chariot down th’ ethereal height,
At length, ye sons of Tyndarus, appear,
While vibrates o’er your heads the starry light:
Habitants of heaven above,
Now exert fraternal love,
If ever Helen to your souls was dear,
A calm o’er th’ azure ocean spread,
Bridle the tempests of the main,
Propitious gales from Jove obtain,
Your sister snatch from the barbarian’s bed:
Commenced on Ida’s hill, that strife,
Embittered with reproach her life,
Although she never viewed proud Ilion’s tower
Reared by Apollo’s matchless power.

THEOCLYMENUS, MESSENGER, CHORUS.

MES. O king, I have discovered in the palace,
Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes
Is it my doleful office to relate!

THEOC. Say what hath happened?

MES. Seek another wife,
For Helen hath departed from this realm.

THEOC. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot
Treading the ground?

MES. Her o’er the briny main
From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted,
Who came in person with a feigned account
Of his own death.

THEOC. O dreadful tale! what ship
From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st
Tidings the most incredible.

MES. The same
You to that stranger gave, and in one word
To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.

THEOC. How is that possible? I wish to know:
For such an apprehension never entered
My soul, as that one man could have subdued
The numerous band of mariners, with whom
Thou wert sent forth.

MES. When from the royal mansion
Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod
With delicate and artful step, pretending
To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present,
And yet alive. But when we reached the haven,
Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth,
Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars;
But a fresh series of incessant toil
Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast,
Another ranged the oars, and with his hand
The signal gave, the sails were bound together,
Then was the rudder fastened to the stern
With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied
In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades
Of Menelaus to the shore advanced,
Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form
Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid:
But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach,
Under the semblance of a grief that masked
His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them:
“How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark
Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast
Are ye come hither? will ye join with us
In the funereal rites of Menelaus,
Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb
Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears
They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying
The presents to be cast into the sea
For Menelaus. But to us these things
Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks
Among ourselves upon the numerous band
Of our intruding passengers; but checked
Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference
To your commands. For when you to that stranger
Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused
This dire confusion. All beside, with ease
Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force
The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled
His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring
Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach
And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried:
“O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget
To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize
And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast
Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim
To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke,
The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed,
Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard:
But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck
And face, and with this gentle usage led him
Into the bark. At length when all its freight
The vessel had received, with graceful foot
Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat
On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her,
E’en he who they pretended was no more.
But some on the right side, and on the left
Others in equal numbers, man to man
Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing
Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard
The clamorous sailors animate each other
To undertake the voyage. But from land
When a convenient distance we had steered,
The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail,
O stranger, any farther from the coast,
Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide
The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.”
Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped
Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull
The victim (without mentioning the name
Of any chief deceased; but as he drove
The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune,
Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters
Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey
Me and my consort, from this hostile land,
In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood,
Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves;
And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage,
Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands,
And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus,
Who had just slain the bull, to his companions
Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower
Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians,
And cast them from the ship into the waves?”
But to your sailors our commander spoke
A different language: “Will not some of you
Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench,
Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads
Of those audacious foreigners our foes,
Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet
All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles
Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter
Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop
The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown
Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians
The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste
Full many fell, some rose again, the rest
Might you have seen stretched motionless in death.
But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail,
Wherever his confederates he descried
Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword,
Driving us headlong from the lofty deck
Into the waves, and forced your mariners
To quit their oars. But the victorious king
Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared
He would convey the ship: they hoisted up
The stately mast: propitious breezes came;
They left the land: but I from death escaping,
Let myself gently down into the waves
Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor;
My strength began to fail, when some kind hand
Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore,
That I to you these tidings might convey.
There’s nought more beneficial to mankind
Than wise distrust.

CHOR. I never could have thought
That Menelaus who was here, O king,
Could have imposed so grossly or on you
Or upon us.

THEOC. Wretch that I am, ensnared
By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride
I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship
Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit,
My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand
To seize the strangers. But I now will punish
That sister who betrayed me; in my house
Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus,
Informed me not: she never shall deceive
Another man by her prophetic voice.

CHOR. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go,
And for what bloody purpose?

THEOC. Where the voice
Of rigid justice summons me. Retire,
And stand aloof.

CHOR. Yet will not I let loose
Your garment; for you hasten to commit
A deed most mischievous.

THEOC. Wouldst thou, a slave,
Govern thy lord?

CHOR. Here reason’s on my side.

THEOC. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse
To quit thy hold.

CHOR. I will not then release you.

THEOC. To slay that worst of sisters.

CHOR. That most pious.

THEOC. Her who betrayed me.

CHOR. Glorious was the fraud
That caused so just a deed.

THEOC. When she bestowed
My consort on another.

CHOR. On the man
Who had a better claim——

THEOC. But who is lord
Of what belongs to me?

CHOR. Who from her sire
Received her.

THEOC. She by Fortune was bestowed
On me.

CHOR. But ta’en away again by Fate.

THEOC. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.

CHOR. If I but speak to give you better counsels.

THEOC. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.

CHOR. For having acted piously, your sister
I vindicate.

THEOC. Thou seem’st to wish for death.

CHOR. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent
Shall never slay; I rather would yield up
My life on her behalf. It is most glorious
To generous servants for their lords to die.

CASTOR _and_ POLLUX, THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS.

CAS. _and_ POL. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away
Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king
Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice
Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore
Together with that Helen who is fled
From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged
Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate
Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister
Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung,
To thee done any injury; she reveres
The gods, and her great father’s just behests.
For till the present hour, was it ordained
That Helen in thy palace should reside:
But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn,
And she had to the rival goddesses
Furnished her name, no longer was it fit
That she should for thy nuptials be detained,
But to her ancient home return, and dwell
With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast
Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced
That she in this affair hath acted wisely.
We long ere this our sister had preserved,
Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak
At once to combat the behests of Fate,
And the immortal powers, who had ordained
That these events should happen. This to thee,
O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words
Next to my lovely sister, I address;
Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze
Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors
And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne
Over the waves, will guide you to your country,
But after you have finished life’s career,
You shall be called a goddess, shall partake
With us the rich oblations, and receive
The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed.
But where the son of Maia placed you first,
When he had borne you from the Spartan realm,
And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions
An image of your person, to prevent
Paris from wedding you, there is an isle
Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call
Helen in future times, because that spot
Received you, when in secrecy conveyed
From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained
The wanderer Menelaus shall reside
Among the happy islands. For the gods
To those of nobler minds no hatred bear;
At their command though grievous toil await
The countless multitude.

THEOC. Ye sons of Jove
And Leda, I the contest will decline
Which I at first so violently urged,
Hoping your lovely sister to obtain,
And my own sister’s life resolve to spare:
Let Helen to her native shores return,
If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured,
The same high blood ye spring from with the best
And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake
Of Helen with a lofty soul endued,
Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.

CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume
The gods perform what least we could expect,
And oft the things for which we fondly hoped
Come not to pass; but Heaven still finds a clue
To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze,
And thus doth this important business end.

ANDROMACHE.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

ANDROMACHE.
ATTENDANT.
CHORUS OF PHTHIAN WOMEN.
HERMIONE.
MENELAUS.
MOLOSSUS.
PELEUS.
NURSE OF HERMIONE.
ORESTES.
MESSENGER.
THETIS.

SCENE.—THE VESTIBULE OF THETIS’ TEMPLE BETWEEN PHTHIA AND PHARSALIA IN THESSALY.

ANDROMACHE.

O Thebes, thou pride of Asia, from whose gate
I came resplendent with a plenteous dower,
To Priam’s regal house, the fruitful wife
Of Hector: his Andromache was erst
An envied name: but now am I more wretched
Than any woman, or already born,
Or to be born hereafter; for I saw
My husband Hector by Achilles slain,
And that unhappy son whom to my lord
I bore, Astyanax, from Troy’s high towers
Thrown headlong; when our foes had sacked the city,
Myself descended from a noble line
Of freeborn warriors, reached the Grecian coast,
On Neoptolemus that island prince
For the reward of his victorious arms
Bestowed: selected from the Phrygian spoils.
’Twixt Phthia and Pharsalia, in these fields,
I dwell, where Thetis from the haunts of men
Retreating, with her Peleus erst abode.
By Thessaly’s inhabitants, this spot
Is from th’ auspicious nuptials of that goddess
Called Thetidæum: here Achilles’ son
Residing, suffers Peleus still to rule
Pharsalia’s land, nor will assume the sceptre
While lives his aged grandsire. In these walls
A son, who to th’ embraces of my lord
Achilles’ offspring, owes his birth, I bore,
And though I had been wretched, a fond hope
Still cherished, that while yet the boy was safe
I some protection and relief might find
In my calamities; but since my lord
(Spurning my servile couch) that Spartan dame
Hermione espoused, with ruthless hate
By her am I pursued; for she pretends
That I, by drugs endued with magic power,
Administered in secret, make her barren
And odious to her lord, because I wish
To occupy this mansion in her stead,
And forcibly to drive her from his couch,
To which, at first I with reluctance came,
But now have left it: mighty Jove can witness
That I became the partner of his bed
Against my own consent. But she remains
Deaf to conviction, and attempts to slay me:
In this design her father Menelaus
Assists his daughter, he is now within,
And on such errand left the Spartan realm:
Fearing his rage, I near the palace take
My seat, in Thetis’ temple, that the goddess
From death may save me; for both Peleus’ self,
And the descendants of that monarch, hold
This structure reared in memory of his wedlock
With the fair Nereid, in religious awe.
But hence, in secret, trembling for his life,
My only child have I conveyed away,
Because his noble father is not present
To aid me, and avails not now to guard
His son, while absent in the Delphic land,
To expiate there the rage with which he sought
The Pythian tripod, and from Phœbus claimed
A reparation for his father’s death.
If haply he can deprecate the curses
Attendant on his past misdeeds, and make
The god propitious to his future days.

FEMALE ATTENDANT, ANDROMACHE.

ATT. My queen, for still I scruple not to use
The same respectful title which I gave you
When we in Ilion dwelt; you and your lord
While he was living, shared my duteous love,
And now I with important tidings fraught
To you am come, trembling indeed lest one
Of our new rulers overhear the tale,
Yet greatly pitying your disastrous fate:
For Menelaus and his daughter form
Dire plots against you; of these foes beware.

AND. O my dear fellow-servant (for thou shar’st
Her bondage who was erst thy queen, but now
Is wretched), ah! what mean they? what fresh schemes
Have they devised to take away my life,
Who am by woes encompassed?

ATT. They intend,
O miserable dame, to kill your son,
Whom privately you from this house conveyed.

AND. Are they informed I sent the child away?
Ah me! who told them? in what utter ruin
Am I involved!

ATT. I know not; but thus much
Of their designs I heard; in quest of him
Is Menelaus from these doors gone forth.

AND. Then am I lost indeed: for, O my child,
These two relentless vultures mean to seize thee,
And take away thy life, while he who bears
A father’s name, at Delphi still remains.

ATT. You had not fared so ill, I am convinced,
If he were present, but now every friend
Deserts you.

AND. Is there not a rumour spread
Of Peleus’ coming?

ATT. He, though he were here,
Is grown too old to aid you.

AND. More than once
I sent to him.

ATT. Suppose you that he heeds
None of your messengers?

AND. What means this question?
Wilt thou accept such office?

ATT. What pretext
To colour my long absence from this house
Shall I allege?

AND. Full many are the schemes
Which thou, who art a woman, can devise.

ATT. ’Twere dangerous; for Hermione is watchful.

AND. Dost thou perceive the danger, and renounce
Thy friends in their distress?

ATT. Not thus: forbear
To brand me with so infamous a charge:
I go; for of small value is the life
(Whate’er befall me) of a female slave.

[_Exit_ ATTENDANT.

AND. Proceed: meanwhile I to the conscious air
Those plaints and bitter wailings will repeat,
On which I ever dwell. Unhappy women
Find comfort in perpetually talking
Of what they suffer. But my groans arise
Not from one ill, but many ills: the walls
Of my loved country razed, my Hector slain,
And that hard fortune, in whose yoke bound fast,
Thus am I fallen into th’ unseemly state
Of servitude. We never ought to call
Frail mortals happy, at their latest hour
Till we behold them to the shades descend.

ELEGY.

In Helen sure, to Troy’s imperial towers
Young Paris wafted no engaging bride,
But when he led her to those nuptial bowers,
Some fiend infernal crossed the billowy tide.

With brandished javelin and devouring flame,
For her the Grecian warriors to thy shore,
O Ilion, in a thousand vessels came,
And drenched thy smould’ring battlements with gore.

Around the walls, my Hector, once thy boast,
Fixed to his car, was by Achilles borne,
And from my chamber hurried to the coast
I veiled my head in servitude forlorn.

Much wept these streaming eyes, when in the dust
My city, palace, husband, prostrate lay.
Subject to fierce Hermione’s disgust,
Why should I still behold the hated day?

Harassed with insults from that haughty dame,
Round Thetis’ bust my suppliant arms I fling,
And here with gushing tears bewail my shame,
As from the rock bursts forth the living spring.

CHORUS, ANDROMACHE.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

O thou, who seated in this holy space,
Hast Thetis’ temple thy asylum made,
Though Phthia gave me birth, to aid
Thee, hapless dame of Asiatic race,
I hither come; would I from direful harms
Could guard, could heal the strife
’Twixt thee and that indignant wife
Hermione, whom ruthless discord arms
To punish thee the rival of her charms,
A captive, to the genial bed,
Who by Achilles’ son wert led.

I. 2.

Aware of fate, th’ impending evil weigh,
A helpless Phrygian nymph, thou striv’st in vain
’Gainst her of Sparta’s proud domain:
Cease, to this sea-born goddess, cease to pray,
And at her blazing shrine no longer stay:
For how can it avail
To thee with hopeless sorrow pale
To suffer all thy beauties to decay,
Because thy rulers with oppression sway?
Thou to superior might must bend.
Why, feeble as thou art, contend?

II. 1.

Yet hasten from the Nereid’s lofty seat,
Consider that thou tread’st a foreign plain,
And that these hostile walls detain
In strictest bondage thy reluctant feet,
Here none of all those friends, that numerous band,
Who shared thy greatness, is at hand,
To cheer thee in these days of shame,
O wretched, wretched dame.

II. 2.

A miserable matron thou art come
From Troy to our abodes, unwilling guest;
Though mine the sympathizing breast,
Yet I through reverence to our lords am dumb,
Lest she, who springs from Helen, child of Jove,
Should be a witness of that love
Which I to thee whose griefs I share,
Impelled by pity bear.

HERMIONE, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.

HER. The gorgeous ornaments of gold, these brows
Encircling, and the tissued robes I wear,
I from Achilles’, or from Peleus’ stores,
As chosen presents when I hither came,
Received not, but from Sparta’s realm, these gifts
My father Menelaus hath bestowed
With a large dower, that I might freely speak
Such is the answer which to you I make,
O Phthian dames. But thou, who art a slave
And captive, wouldst in these abodes usurp
Dominion, and expel me; to my lord
Thy drugs have made me odious, hence ensues
My barrenness: the Asiatic dames,
For these abhorred devices are renowned;
But thee will I subdue, nor shall this dome
Of the immortal Nereid, nor her altar
Or temple save thee from impending death;
If either man or god should be disposed
To rescue thee, ’twere fit, that to atone
For the proud thoughts thou in thy happier days
Didst nourish, thou shouldst tremble, at my knees
Fall low, and sweep the pavement of my house,
Sprinkling the waters from a golden urn.
Know where thou art: no Hector governs here,
No Phrygian Priam doth this sceptre wield;
This is no Chrysa, but a Grecian city.
Yet thou, O wretched woman, art arrived
At such a pitch of madness, that thou dar’st
To sleep e’en with the son of him who slew
Thy husband, and a brood of children bear
To him whose hands yet reek with Phrygian gore,
Such is the whole abhorred barbarian race;
The father with his daughter, the vile son
With his own mother, with her brother too
The sister, sins, friends by their dearest friends
Are murdered; deeds like these no wholesome law
Prohibits: introduce not among us
Such crimes, for ’tis unseemly that one man
Possess two women; the fond youth who seeks
Domestic harmony, confines his love
To one fair partner of the genial bed.

CHOR. The female sex are envious, and pursue
With an incessant hatred those who share
Their nuptial joys.

AND. Alas! impetuous youth
Proves baleful to mankind, and there are none
Who act with justice in their blooming years.
But what I dread is this, lest slavery curb
My tongue, though I have many truths to utter:
In this dispute with you, if I prevail,
That very triumph may become my bane:
For those of haughty spirits ill endure
The most prevailing arguments when urged
By their inferiors. Yet my better cause
I will not thus betray. Say, youthful princess,
What reasons of irrefragable force
Enable me to drive you from the couch
Of your own lawful husband? to the Phrygians
Is Sparta grown inferior, and hath fortune
On us conferred the palm? Do you behold me
Still free? elate with youth, a vigorous frame,
The wide extent of empire I possess,
And number of my friends, am I desirous
To occupy these mansions in your stead,
That in your stead I might bring forth a race
Of slaves, th’ appendages of my distress?
Will any one endure (if you produce
No children) that my sons should be the kings
Of Phthia?—the Greeks love me for the sake
Of Hector, I too was forsooth obscure,
And not a queen, in Troy. Your husband’s hate,
Not from my drugs, but from your soul, unsuited
For social converse, springs: there is a philtre
To gain his love. Not beauty, but the virtues,
O woman, to the partners of our bed
Afford delight. But if it sting your pride
That Sparta’s a vast city, while you treat
Scyros with scorn, amidst the poor, display
Your riches, and of Menelaus speak
As greater than Achilles; hence your lord
Abhors you. For a woman, though bestowed
On a vile mate, should learn to yield, nor strive
For the pre-eminence. In Thrace o’erspread
With snow, if you were wedded to a king,
Who to his bed takes many various dames,
Would you have slain them? you would cast disgrace
On your whole sex by such unsated lust;
Base were the deed: for though our souls are warmed
With more intense desires than those of men
We modestly conceal them. For thy sake
I, O my dearest Hector, loved the objects
Of thy affections, whene’er Venus’ wiles
Caused thee to err, and at my breast full oft
Nourished thy spurious children, that in nought
Thy joys I might embitter: acting thus
I won him by my virtues. But you tremble
E’en if the drops of Heaven’s transparent dew
Rest on your husband. Strive not to transcend
Your mother in a wild excess of love,
O woman. For the children, if endued
With reason, such examples should avoid
Of those who bore them, as corrupt the soul.

CHOR. As far as possible, O queen, comply
With my advice, and in mild terms accost her.

HER. What mean’st thou by this arrogance of speech,
This vain debate, as if thou still wert chaste,
And I had strayed from virtue’s path?

AND. The words
You have been using, now at least are void
Of modesty.

HER. O woman, may this breast
Harbour no soul like thine.

AND. Though bashful youth
Glow on your cheek, indecent is your language.

HER. Thou by thy actions more than by thy words
Hast proved the malice which to me thou bear’st.

AND. Why will you not conceal th’ inglorious pangs
Of jealous love?

HER. What woman but resents
Such wrongs, and deems them great?

AND. The use some make
Of these misfortunes adds to their renown:
But shame waits those who are devoid of wisdom.

HER. We dwell not in a city where prevail
Barbarian laws.

AND. In Phrygia or in Greece
Base actions are with infamy attended.

HER. Though most expert in every subtle art,
Yet die thou must.

AND. Behold you Thetis’ image
Turning its eyes on you?

HER. She loathes thy country
Where her Achilles treacherously was slain.

AND. Your mother Helen caused his death, not I.

HER. Wouldst thou retrace still farther the sad tale
Of our misfortunes?

AND. I restrain my tongue.

HER. Speak to me now on that affair which caused
My coming hither.

AND. All I say is this:
You have not so much wisdom as you need.

HER. From this pure temple of the sea-born goddess
Wilt thou depart?

AND. Not while I live: you first
Must slay, then drag me hence.

HER. I am resolved
How to proceed, and wait my lord’s return
No longer.

AND. Nor will I before he come
Surrender up myself.

HER. With flaming brands
Hence will I drive thee, and no deference pay
To thy entreaties.

AND. Kindle them; the gods
Will view the deed.

HER. The scourge too is prepared.

AND. Transpierce this bosom, deluge with my gore
The altar of the goddess, you by her
Shall be at length o’ertaken.

HER. From thy cradle,
Trained up and hardened in barbarian pride,
Canst thou endure to die? from this asylum
Soon will I rouse thee by thy own consent,
I with such baits am furnished, but conceal
My purpose, which th’ event itself ere long
Will make conspicuous. Keep a steady seat,
For though by molten lead thou wert enclosed
Hence would I rouse thee, ere Achilles’ son,
Whom thou confid’st in, to this land return.

[_Exit_ HERMIONE.

AND. In him I place my still unshaken trust.
Yet is it strange that the celestial powers,
To heal the serpent’s venom, have assigned
Expedients, but no remedy devised
Against an evil woman who surpasses
Or vipers’ stings or the consuming flame:
Thus baleful is our influence on mankind.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

The winged son of Maia and of Jove
To many sorrowful events gave birth,
And scattered discord o’er the bleeding earth,
When he through sacred Ida’s piny grove
Guided the car of three immortal dames,
(The golden prize of beauty to obtain,
In hateful strife engaged, who urged their claims);
To where in his mean hut abode a lonely swain.

I. 2.

No sooner had they reached the destined bower,
Than in the limpid spring her snowy frame
Each goddess laved; to Priam’s son then came
With artful speeches of such winning power
As might beguile the rash and amorous boy:
Venus prevailed; her words, though sweet their sound,
Proved of destructive consequence to Troy,
Whose stately bulwarks hence lie levelled with the ground.

II. 1.

When new-born Paris first beheld the light,
Would that his mother, o’er her head, this brand
Ordained by Heaven to fire his native land,
Had cast, before he dwelt on Ida’s height.
Unheeded from the bay’s prophetic shade
Exclaimed Cassandra: “Let the child be slain;
Kill him, or Priam’s empire is betrayed.”
Frantic she raved and sued to every prince in vain.

II. 2.

Deaf was each prince, or Ilion ne’er had felt
The servile yoke, nor hadst thou, hapless fair,
Beneath these roofs, encompassed by despair,
And subject to a rigid master, dwelt.
O had he died, the fated toil of Greece,
That stubborn war through ten revolving years,
Had roused no heroes from the lap of peace,
Nor caused the widow’s shrieks, the hoary father’s tears.

MENELAUS, MOLOSSUS, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.

MEN. Your son I hither bring, whom from this fane
With secrecy, you to another house,
Without my daughter’s knowledge, had removed.
You boasted that this image of the goddess
To you, and those who hid him, would afford
A sure asylum: but your deep-laid craft,
O woman, cannot baffle Menelaus.
If you depart not hence, he in your stead
Shall be the victim; therefore well revolve
Th’ important question; had you rather die,
Or, with his streaming gore, let him atone
The foul offence ’gainst me and ’gainst my daughter
By you committed?

AND. Thou, O vain opinion,
Hast with renown puffed up full many men
Who were of no account. I deem those blest
On whom with truth such honour is bestowed:
But them who by fallacious means obtain it
I hold unworthy of possessing fame.
When all their seeming wisdom but arises
From Fortune’s gifts. Thou with the bravest chiefs
Of Greece, from Priam erst didst wrest his Troy;
E’en thou who art so mean as to inspire
Thy daughter with resentment ’gainst a child,
And strive with me a miserable captive:
Unworthy of thy conquest over Troy
Thee do I hold, and Troy yet more disgraced
By such a victor. Some indeed there are
To all appearance upright, who awhile
Outwardly glitter, though they in their hearts
Are on a level with the worthless bulk
Of mortals, and superior but in wealth
Whose power is great. This conference let us end,
O Menelaus, be it now supposed
I by thy daughter am already slain:
’Twill be impossible for her to ’scape
From the pollution ruthless murder brings;
Thou too by many tongues wilt be accused
Of this vile deed, with her will they confound
Thee the abettor. But if I preserve
My life, are ye resolved to slay my son?
How will the father tamely bear the death
Of his loved offspring? he was not esteemed
At Troy so void of courage. He is gone
Whither his duty calls. Soon will the chief
Act worthy of the race from which he springs,
The hoary Peleus, and his dauntless sire
Achilles, he from these abodes will cast
Thy daughter forth, and when thou to another
In marriage giv’st her, what hast thou to say
On her behalf? “That from a worthless lord
Her wisdom drove her?” This would be a falsehood
Too gross. But who would wed her? till grown grey
In widowhood, shall she beneath thy roofs
Fix her loathed residence? O wretched man,
The rising conflux of unnumbered woes
Behold’st thou not? hadst thou not rather find
Thy daughter wronged by concubines, than suffering
Th’ indignities I speak of? we from trifles
Such grievous mischiefs ought not to create;
Nor if we women are a deadly bane,
To the degenerate nature of our sex
Should men conform. If I pernicious drugs
Have to thy daughter ministered, and been,
As she pretends, the cause of her abortion,
Immediately will I without reluctance,
And without grovelling at this altar’s base,
To any rigid punishment submit
Inflicted by thy son-in-law, from whom
I surely merit as severe revenge
For having made him childless. Such am I:
But in thy temper I perceive one cause
Of just alarm, since in that luckless strife
About a woman, and a vile one too,
Thou the famed Phrygian city didst destroy.

CHOR. Too freely hast thou spoken, in a tone
Which ill becomes thy sex, and that high soul
The bounds of wisdom hath o’erleaped.