Chapter I

Youth is light, and free from care
But now a burden on my head
Heavier than Ætna’s rock, old age, I bear.
Before these eyes its sable veil is spread.
Not for the wealth of Asiatic kings,
Or heaps of gold that touched yon roof sublime,
Ere would I barter life’s enchanting prime;
Hence wealth a brighter radiance flings,
And poverty itself can charm:
But thou, curst dotage, art the sum
Of every fancied, every real harm;
May’st thou be plunged beneath the deep, nor come
To peopled town, or civilized abode,
Go wing thy distant flight along th’ aërial road.

I. 2.

Did the gods with sapient care
Mete out their bounty to mankind,
The good, the gift of twofold youth should share
Unquestioned token of a virtuous mind,
Behold life’s son its blest career renew,
While the degenerate sleep to wake no more.
We by these means distinctly might explore
Their merits with as clear a view,
As sailors, who each starry spark
Enumerate that adorns the skies.
But now the gods have by no certain mark
Directed whom we for their worth should prize,
Whom shun as wicked: uninformed we live,
Revolving time hath nought but plenteous wealth to give.

II. 1.

Mindful of its ancient themes,
This faltering tongue shall ne’er refuse,
Oft as I wander by their haunted streams,
To blend each gentle grace and tuneful muse:
O may I dwell among the harmonious choirs,
My brows still circled with a laureate wreath!
Still shall the bard, a hoary veteran, breathe
The strains Mnemosuné inspires:
While memory wakes, I ne’er will cease
Th’ exploits of Hercules to sing;
Where Bromius yields the purple vine’s increase,
Where Libyan pipes and the lute’s sevenfold string
Are heard in dulcet unison; to praise
The Nine who aid the dance, I’ll wake my choral lays.

II. 2.

Delian virgins at the gate
Assembled, festive pæans sing,
The triumphs of Latona’s son relate,
And nimbly vaulting form their beauteous ring.
Into thy temple, by devotion led,
O Phœbus, will I raise my parting breath;
The swan thus warbles at the hour of death:
Though hoary hairs my cheeks o’erspread.
How great the hero’s generous love,
Whose merits aid our votive song,
Alcides the resistless son of Jove;
Those trophies, which to noble birth belong
By him are all surpassed, his forceful hand
Restoring peace, hath cleansed this monster-teeming land.

LYCUS, AMPHITRYON, CHORUS.

LYC. Forth from the portals at due season comes
Amphitryon; for ’tis long since ye were decked
In robes and trappings such as suit the dead.
But go, command the children and the wife
Of Hercules without these gates t’ appear,
Because ye have engaged that ye will die
By your own hands.

AMP. You persecute, O king,
Me whom already fortune hath made wretched,
And with sharp taunts insult my dying race:
Although in power supreme, you ought to act
With moderation; but since you impose
This harsh necessity, we must submit,
And execute your will.

LYC. Where’s Megara?
Where are the children of Alcmena’s son?

AMP. To me she seems, as far as I can guess,
From looking through the door——

LYC. What grounds hast thou
For this opinion?

AMP. In a suppliant posture
To sit before the Lares.

LYC. And implore them
With unavailing plaints to save her life.

AMP. In vain too calls she on her lord deceased.

LYC. But he is absent, he can ne’er return.

AMP. Unless some god should raise him up again.

LYC. Go thou, and from the palace lead her hither.

AMP. ’Twould make me an accomplice in the murder,
If this I acted.

LYC. Since thy soul recoils,
I, whom such idle scruples cannot move,
Will with their mother bring the children forth.
Follow my steps, my servants, that at length
We may behold sweet peace succeed our toils.

[_Exit_ LYCUS.

AMP. Depart: for to that place the Fates ordain
You now are on the road; perhaps the sequel
Will be another’s province: but expect,
Since you have done amiss, to suffer vengeance.
He, O ye veterans, at a lucky hour
Enters the palace, for on ambushed swords
His feet will stumble, while the villain hopes
Those he would murder are too near at hand
To ’scape: but I will go to see him fall
A breathless corse: for when our foe endures
The just requital of his impious deeds,
There is a joy resulting from his death.

[_Exit_ AMPHITRYON.

CHOR. Changed are our evil fortunes. To the shades
He who was erst a mighty king descends.
O justice, and ye dread vicissitudes
Of fate, ordained by Heaven!

1st SEMICHOR. Thou art at length
Gone thither, where by death thou for those taunts,
With which thou o’er the virtuous didst exult,
Shalt make atonement.

2nd SEMICHOR. My delight bursts forth
In floods of tears: for now is come that day
The tyrant deemed would never visit him.

1st SEMICHOR. But let us also look into the palace,
My aged friend, and mark if yonder miscreant
Be punished as I wish.

LYC. [_within._] Ah me! ah me!

CHOR. That melody most grateful to mine ear
Beneath yon roofs commences; nor is death
Far distant; for these cries the monarch utters
Are but a prelude to the fatal stroke.

LYC. [_within._] Ye realms of Cadmus, I through treachery perish!

2nd SEMICHOR. Others have perished by that bloody hand.
Since then the retribution thou endur’st
Is just, endure it bravely.

1st SEMICHOR. Where is he
Who uttered ’gainst the blest immortal powers
His foolish blasphemies, and called the gods
Too weak to punish him?

2nd SEMICHOR. That impious man
Is now no more. Yon vaulted roofs are silent,
Let us begin the harmonious choral lay;
For, as I wished, our comrades prove victorious.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

The sumptuous banquet, with th’ enlivening dance
Now every Theban shall employ;
Dried are our tears, and past mischance
Yields to the lyre abundant themes of joy:
Stretched low in dust the tyrant lies;
But he, who by an ancient right
Obtains the sceptre, is our king;
From Acheron’s loathed stream behold him rise,
Revisiting the cheerful realms of light,
And hope, unlooked for, doth fresh transports bring.

I. 2.

The gods take cognizance of broken trust,
Nor are they deaf to holy prayer.
On gold and fortune, power unjust
Attends; man’s reason is too weak to bear
The joint temptations. Heaven at length,
Whose kind protection we invoke,
Deigning with pity to behold
Our woes, to the neglected laws their strength
Restoring, with vindictive fury broke
The sable car which bore the god of gold.

II. 1.

Now let the flowery wreath, the victor’s pride,
Adorn Ismenos; let each street employ
The hours in dance and social joy;
Let Dirce from the silver wave arise,
And old Asopus’ daughters by her side,
Forsaking their paternal stream,
Conspire to aid our rapturous theme,
And for Alcides claim the victor’s prize.
Ye Pythian rocks, with waving forests crowned,
And seats of Helicon’s melodious choir,
Come every nymph, with cheerful sound,
Visit these walls which to the clouds aspire;
In helmed crop here warriors filled the plains.
Whose lineage undecayed from age to age remains.

II. 2.

O ye, the partners of one nuptial bed,
Happy Amphitryon, sprung from mortal race,
And Jove, who rushed to the embrace
Of bright Alcmena; for of thee aright,
Though erst, O Jove, I doubted, was it said
Thou didst enjoy that beauteous dame;
With the renown his triumphs claim,
Time through the world displays Alcides’ might,
Emerged from grisly Pluto’s realms abhorred,
Who quits the darksome caverns of the earth,
To me a far more welcome lord,
Than yon vile tyrant of ignoble birth.
Now to the bloody strife we lift our eyes;
The vengeful sword is bared, if Justice haunt the skies.

SEMICHOR. Ha! are we all by the same panic seized?
My aged friends, what spectre, hovering o’er
The palace, do I see? Those tardy feet
Raise from the ground, precipitate thy flight,
Be gone.—From me, O Pæan, mighty king,
Avert these evils.

IRIS, A FIEND, CHORUS.

IRIS. O, ye aged men,
Be not dismayed: the fiend whom ye behold
Is daughter of old Night, and I am Iris,
The gods’ ambassadress. We are not come
To harm your city; for we only war
Against one man, who, sprung ’tis said from Jove
And from Alcmena: till he had performed
Severest labours, fate preserved his life;
Nor did his father Jove permit, or me,
Or Juno, e’er to hurt him: but, each toil
Eurystheus’ hate enjoined, now he hath finished,
Those oft-polluted hands with recent gore
Will Juno stain, by urging him to slay
His children: in this scheme I too conspire.
Come on then, armed with a relentless heart,
Unwedded daughter of the pitchy Night;
Instil into that hero’s breast such frenzy
As shall o’erturn his reason, and constrain him
To perpetrate this murder; his wild steps
Goad onward, throw the bloody cable forth,
That having sent this band of graceful sons,
Slain by their father’s arm, adown the gulf
Of Acheron, th’ effects of Juno’s wrath
And mine, he may experience; for the gods
Would be mere things of no account, but great
Would be the power of man, if he escaped
Unpunished.

FIEND. I from noble parents spring,
Night is my mother; and that blood which streamed
From the foul wound of Ouranus, my sire:
To me belongs this praise, I ’gainst my friend
No envious rancour feel, nor with delight
Invade them; but this counsel would suggest
To you and Juno, ere I see you rush
Into a fatal error, if my words
Can move you: he into whose house you send me
Is not obscure, or in the realms beneath,
Or yet among the gods: for when o’er lands,
Impervious erst, and o’er the stormy waves,
He had established peace, he to the gods
Their ancient honours, which by impious men
Had been abolished, singly did restore.
I therefore would dissuade you from contriving
’Gainst him these mischiefs.

IRIS. Blame not thou the schemes
Devised by Juno and by me.

FIEND. Your steps
Into a better path, from that which leads
To evil, would I turn.

IRIS. The wife of Jove
Sent thee not hither to act thus discreetly.

FIEND. Witness, thou sun, reluctant I obey.
But if constrained to be the instrument
Of Juno’s wrath and yours, I with such speed
As when the hounds obey the huntsman’s voice,
Your signal will attend; nor shall the deep
Upheaving with a groan its troubled waves,
The earthquake, or the thunderbolt, whose blast
Is winged with fate, outstrip me, when I rush
Into the breast of Hercules: the gates
Will I burst open, and assail the house,
First causing his devoted sons to bleed;
Nor shall their murderer know that his own hand
Slew those whom he begot, till he is rescued
From the distraction I inspire. Behold
He at the barrier stands, and shakes his head,
And rolls in silence his distorted eyes,
Flaming with anger. To contain his breath
No longer able, like a bull, prepared
To make the terrible assault, he bellows,
And calls the Furies from the dire abyss
Of Tartarus. Thee I to a greater height
Of frenzy soon will rouse, and through thy soul
Cause my terrific clarion to resound.
O noble Iris, to Olympus’ height
Now wing your swift career, while I, unseen,
Will enter the abodes of Hercules.

[_Exeunt_ IRIS _and the_ FIEND.

CHOR. Thou city, groan; thy choicest flower,
The son of Jove, is cropped: O Greece,
Thy benefactor’s fatal hour
Impends. To thee for ever lost,
Assailed by that infernal pest,
The dauntless chief, deprived of peace,
Shall feel his agonizing breast
With horrible distraction tossed.
Hence in her brazen chariot went
The raging fiend, on mischief bent;
She urges with a scorpion goad
Her steeds along th’ ethereal road.
That hundred-headed child of Night.
With all those hissing snakes around,
From her envenomed eyeballs bright
The Gorgon thus directs the wound.
Soon changed by Heaven’s supreme decree,
Is man’s short-lived felicity.
Ye infants, soon shall ye expire,
Slain by your own distracted sire.
Ah me! thy son, without delay,
Shall be left childless, mighty Jove;
For on his tortured soul shall prey
Yon fiend, and by the powers above
Vengeance commissioned to destroy.
O mansion erst the scene of joy!
To form a prelude to this dance,
Neither the cheering timbrel’s sound,
Nor sportive Menades advance;
Here human gore shall stream around,
Instead of that refreshing juice,
Which Bacchus’ purple grapes produce.
Away, ye children, danger’s nigh,
For he who wakes this hostile strain,
Traces your footsteps as ye fly;
Nor will the fiend with fruitless rage,
A war beneath those mansions wage.
Alas! we sink o’erwhelmed with woe,
My tears shall never cease to flow.
I wail the grandsire hoar with age,
The mother too who bore that train
Of lovely children, but in vain.
Lo, what a tempest shakes the wall,
And makes th’ uprooted mansion fall!
What mean’st thou, frantic son of Jove?
The hellish uproar thou dost raise,
Filling the palace with amaze,
Is such as vexed the realms above,
Till issuing with victorious might,
Pallas invincible in fight
The huge Enceladus oppressed,
And piled all Ætna on his breast.

MESSENGER, CHORUS.

MES. O ye whose heads are whitened o’er with age!

CHOR. Why dost thou call me with so loud a voice?

MES. Atrocious are the mischiefs which have happened
Within the palace.

CHOR. I need now call in
No other seer. The boys are slain. Ah me!

MES. Indulge your groans, for such events as these
Demand them.

CHOR. By a foe, e’en by the hand
Of their own sire, in whom that foe they found.

MES. No tongue can utter woes beyond what we
Have suffered.

CHOR. What account hast thou to give
Of the dire fate the father on his sons
Inflicted? Sent by the avenging gods,
Say why such mischiefs visited this house,
And how the children miserably fell.

MES. To purify the house were victims brought
Before Jove’s altar, after Hercules
Had slain and cast the monarch of this land
Forth from these doors. Beside the victor stood
His band of graceful children, with his sire
And Megara. The sacred vase was borne
Around the altar: from ill-omened words
We all abstained. But while Alcmena’s son
In his right hand a kindled torch sustained,
Ready to dip it in the lustral water,
He made a silent stand; on this delay
The children steadfastly observed their sire,
But he no longer was the same; his eyes
Were seized with strong convulsions, from their fibres
Blood started forth, his bearded cheeks with foam
Were covered: he midst bursts of laughter wild
Cried: “Wherefore need I kindle, O my father,
The fire for sacrifice, ere I have slain
Eurystheus, in a double toil engaged,
When I at once might better finish all?
Soon as I hither bring Eurystheus’ head,
These hands which reek already with the gore
Of Lycus, will I cleanse. Pour forth those waters
Upon the ground, and cast your urns away.
Who brings my bow, my club? I to Mycene
Will go: let spades and levers be prepared,
That I from their foundations may o’erturn
Those walls which with the plummet and the line
The Cyclops reared.” Then eager to depart,
Although he had no chariot, yet he talked
As if he had one, fancying that he mounted
The seat, and with his hand as with a thong
Drove the ideal steeds. His servants laughed,
And at the same time trembled; till one cried
(As on each other they with eager eyes
Were gazing), “Doth my master sport with us,
Or is he frantic?” Meanwhile through the palace
Backward and forward he with hasty step
Was walking: but no sooner did he reach
That spacious hall, where at the genial board
The men are wont t’ assemble, than he said
That he was come to Nisus’ ancient city,
And to th’ imperial dome: and on the floor,
As if reclining at the genial board,
Bade us set forth the banquet. But the pause
Which intervened was short, ere he exclaimed,
That he was traversing the Isthmian rocks
O’ergrown with woods; then casting off his mantle
He strove though there was no antagonist
With whom to strive, proclaimed himself the victor,
The name of that imaginary foe
Announcing, over whom he had prevailed:
But ’gainst Eurystheus he anon did utter
Menaces the most horrible, and talk
As if he at Mycene had been present.
His father strove to hold his vigorous arm,
And said to him; “What mean you, O my son?
What wanderings into distant realms are these?
Hath not the blood of him you have just slain
Distracted you?” Then for Eurystheus’ sire
Mistaking his own father, as he strove
To touch his hand, repelled the trembling suppliant:
Against his sons, the quiver and the bow,
Thinking to slay the children of Eurystheus,
He next made ready; they with terror smitten
Ran different ways; the first beneath the robes
Of his unhappy mother skulked; a second
Flew to the shade the lofty column formed:
Under the altar quivering like a bird,
The last concealed himself: their mother cried,
“What mean’st thou, O thou father, would’st thou slay
Thy sons?” Amphitryon too, that aged man,
And all the servants shrieked. But round the pillar
The boy pursuing, he at length turned short,
And meeting him, as foot to foot they stood,
Transfixed his liver with a deadly shaft;
Supine he fell, and with his streaming gore
Distained the sculptured pillars, at whose base
He breathed his last. But, with a shout, Alcides
Uttered these boasts: “One of Eurystheus’ brood
Slain by this arm, for the inveterate hate
His father bore me, to atone, here lies
A breathless corse.” Against another then,
Who to the basis of the altar fled,
And hoped to ’scape unseen, he bent his bow;
But ere he gave the wound, the wretched youth
Fell at his father’s knees, stretched forth his hands
To touch his chin, or twine around his neck,
And cried: “O spare my life, my dearest sire,
Yours, I am yours indeed; nor will you slay
Eurystheus’ son.” But he with glaring eyes
Looked like a Gorgon, while the boy pressed on
So close, he had no scope to aim the shaft,
But as the smith the glowing anvil smites,
Full on his auburn tresses he discharged
The ponderous mace, the crashing bones gave way.
Scarce had he slain the second, when he ran
To butcher his third son o’er both their corses:
But the unhappy mother in her arms
Caught up, into an inner chamber bore
The child, and closed the doors: but he, as if
He had indeed been at the Cyclops’ city,
With levers from their hinges forced them, pierced
His wife and offspring with a single shaft,
And then to slay his aged father rushed
With speed impetuous: but a spectre came,
Which to our eyes the awful semblance bore
Of Pallas brandishing her pointed spear,
And threw a rocky fragment at the breast
Of Hercules, which checked his murderous frenzy,
And plunged him into sleep. Upon the ground
Headlong he fell, where ’midst the ruins lay,
Rent from its pedestal a broken column:
But rallying from our flight, we, by his sire
Assisted, to the pillar bound him fast
With thongs, that on his wakening from this trance
He might commit no more atrocious deeds.
There doth he taste an inauspicious sleep,
First having slain his children and his consort.
I know no mortal more completely wretched.

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. There was a murder in the Argive land
Most wondrous and unparalleled through Greece
In days of yore, which the confederate daughters
Of Danaus perpetrated; but their crimes
By the dire fate of Progne’s only son
Were far surpassed. I of a bloody deed
Now speak which they committed, they whose voice
Equals the Muses’ choir; but thou who spring’st
From Jove himself, hast in thy frenzy slain
All thy three sons; for them what groans, what tears,
What invocations to the shades beneath,
Or songs shall I prepare to soothe the rage
Of grisly Pluto? Shivered on the ground
The portals of that lofty mansion view,
Behold the corses of the children stretcht
Before their miserable sire, whose senses,
Since he hath slain them, in profoundest sleep
Are buried. Mark those knotty cords around
The brawny limbs of Hercules, entwined
And to the columns in the palace fixed.
But old Amphitryon, like a bird who wails
Over its callow brood, with tardy step
Comes hither in the bitterness of grief.

AMPHITRYON, CHORUS.

_The Palace gates thrown open, discover_ HERCULES
_stretched on the ground and sleeping_.

AMP. Ye aged Thebans, will ye not be silent,
Will ye not suffer him dissolved in sleep
His miseries to forget?

CHOR. These tears, these groans,
To you, O venerable man, I pay,
To those slain children, and the chief renowned
For his victorious conflicts.

AMP. Farther still
Retire; forbear, forbear those clamorous sounds,
Lest his repose ye break, and from a trance
The sleeper rouse.

CHOR. How dreadful was this slaughter!

AMP. Ha! ha! begone, for he in wild confusion
Is starting up. Why will ye not lament,
Ye aged men, in a more gentle tone?
Lest roused from sleep he burst his chains, destroy
The city, smite his sire, and with the ground
Lay these proud mansions level.

CHOR. This I hold
Impossible.

AMP. Be silent, I will mark
Whether he breathe: O let me place my ear
Still closer.

CHOR. Sleeps he?

AMP. An accursed repose,
Alas! he tastes, who hath his consort slain,
And slain his sons with that resounding bow.

CHOR. Now wail.

AMP. I wail those children’s fate.

CHOR. Your son,
Alas! old man, our equal pity claims.

AMP. Observe strict silence, for again he rises
And turns around: I will conceal myself
Beneath that roof.

CHOR. Be of good cheer: night seals
The eyelids of your son.

AMP. Mark, mark me well,
I am so wretched that without reluctance
I can bid life adieu: but if he kill
Me too who am his father, guilt on guilt
Shall he accumulate, and join the stings
Of parricide to those which from the Furies
Who haunt him, he already doth endure.

CHOR. Better you then had died, when you prepared
T’ avenge the slaughtered brothers of Alcmena,
And stormed the fortress of the Taphian isle.

AMP. Fly, leave the palace instantly; avoid
That frantic man, who from his sleep is roused,
For adding soon fresh slaughter to the past,
With Bacchanalian transport shall he range
Through Cadmus’ city.

CHOR. Why hast thou, O Jove,
Hated thy son so bitterly, and plunged him
Into this sea of troubles?

HER. [_waking._] Ha! I breathe,
And view each wonted object, air, and earth,
And these bright solar beams. Into what storm,
What dreadful perturbation of the soul
Have I been plunged! all heated I transpire,
Not from my lungs, but from my feverish heart.
Behold me! wherefore am I bound with chains,
Like a disabled ship towed into haven,
And by this youthful chest and nervous arm
Joined to a broken pillar? Here I sit
Contiguous to the corses of the slain;
My winged shafts lie scattered on the ground,
With that unerring bow which erst I bore
In war to guard me, and with care preserved.
Sent by Eurystheus, am I then arrived
A second time at the drear shades beneath?
Neither the rock of Sisyphus, nor Pluto,
Nor Ceres’ sceptred daughter, do I see.
I sure am stricken senseless with amazement,
And know not where I am. But ho! what friend
Is near, or at a distance, who will come
To give me information? For each object
Which I was erst acquainted with seems strange.

AMP. Shall I approach this scene of my afflictions
Ye aged men?

CHOR. I will attend your steps,
Nor meanly in calamity betray you.

HER. Why dost thou weep, my sire, and veil those eyes,
Retiring far from thy beloved son?

AMP. My son—for though unhappy, you are mine.

HER. But what calamity do I endure
That causes thee to shed these tears?

AMP. Your woes
Are such, that any god, if he endured
The same, would groan.

HER. This hath a dreadful sound:
But you, my fortunes have not yet explained.

AMP. Because if you your senses have recovered,
Yourself behold them.

HER. Tell me what thou mean’st—
If to my charge thou lay’st some recent crime.

AMP. If you no longer to the powers of hell
Are subjected, the truth will I unfold.

HER. Alas! how darkly thou again allud’st
To what my soul suspects.

AMP. Your looks I watch
To see if reason wholly be restored.

HER. I recollect not that I e’er was frantic.

AMP. [_to the_ CHORUS.]
Shall I unbind the shackles of my son,
Or how must we proceed?

HER. Say who was he
That bound me? for with scorn have I been treated.

AMP. Thus much of your afflictions may you know:
Forbear all farther questions.

HER. Is thy silence
Sufficient then to teach me what I wish
To learn?

AMP. O Jove, dost thou behold the curses
Hurled on thy son from envious Juno’s throne?

HER. What dire effects of her inveterate rage
Have I endured?

AMP. Of that vindictive goddess
No longer think: but to your own afflictions
Attend.

HER. Alas! I utterly am ruined!
What farther ill wouldst thou disclose?

AMP. See there
The corses of your murdered children lie.

HER. Alas! what dreadful objects strike these eyes!

AMP. My son, against your progeny you waged
An inauspicious war.

HER. Why talk of war?
Who slew them?

AMP. You, your arrows, and the cause
Of all these mischiefs, that remorseless goddess.

HER. What mean’st thou, or what crime have I committed,
My father, O thou messenger of ill?

AMP. By frenzy urged. But you such questions ask,
As I with grief must answer.

HER. Have I murdered
My consort also?

AMP. All these deeds of horror
That single arm did perpetrate.

HER. Alas!
A cloud of griefs surrounds me.

AMP. For this cause
Your fortunes I lament.

HER. Have I demolished
My own house too, with Bacchanalian rage
Inspired?

AMP. The whole of what I know amounts
To this, that you are most completely wretched.

HER. Where did this fatal madness seize me first?

AMP. As round the altar, you, a flaming brand,
To expiate the foul murder which distains
Your hands, were bearing.

HER. Ah! why lengthen out
A guilty life, when of my dearest children
I am become the murderer? Why delay
To leap from the high rock, or with a sword
Transpierce this bosom, on myself their blood
Avenging? or t’ avert that infamy
Which waits me, shall I rush into the flames?
But Theseus comes to bar these desperate counsels,
My kinsman and my friend; in a true light
To him shall I appear, and the pollution
I have incurred by slaying my own sons
Will be conspicuous to my dearest comrade.
What shall I do? or where can I find out
A solitude impervious to my woes?
On rapid wings, O could I mount, or plunge
Into the nether regions of the earth?
Give me a veil to darken o’er my head.
For ’tis with shame I think on the offence
Caused by this deed: but to myself alone
Ascribing the defilement of their blood,
I wish not to contaminate the guiltless.

THESEUS, AMPHITRYON, HERCULES, CHORUS.

THE. An armed squadron of Athenian youths
I hither bring, who near Asopus’ stream
Are stationed to assist your son in battle.
For to the city of Erectheus’ race
A rumour came, that Lycus, having seized
The sceptre of this land, is waging war
’Gainst you. O aged man, I to repay
The benefits which Hercules conferred
On me, whom from the deary shades beneath
In safety he redeemed, on your behalf
Attend, if of this arm, or of my troops,
Ye need the help. But, ha, what means the floor
With weltering corses heaped? hath my design
Proved ineffectual? am I then arrived
Too late to remedy the dreadful mischiefs
Which have already ta’en effect? who slew
Those children, or whose consort was the dame
Whom I behold? for where the boys are laid,
No signs appear of any battle fought:
But sure I of some other recent ill
Now make discovery.

AMP. O thou goddess, throned
Upon that hill where verdant olives spring.

THE. Why speak you to me in this piteous tone,
And with such prelude?

AMP. Grievous are the ills
Which we endure through Heaven’s severe behest.

THE. What boys are they o’er whose remains you weep?

AMP. Them did my miserable son beget,
And when begotten slay, this impious murder
He dared to perpetrate.

THE. Express yourself
In more auspicious terms.

AMP. I wish t’ obey
Th’ injunctions thou hast given.

THE. What dreadful words
Are these which you have uttered?

AMP. In a moment
Were we undone.

THE. What mean you, what hath happened?

AMP. This frenzy seized him sprinkled with the venom,
Which from the hundred-headed hydra flowed.

THE. Such Juno’s wrath. But who, O aged man,
Stands ’mong the dead?

AMP. My son, my valiant son,
Inured to many toils, who in that war
Where earth’s gigantic brood were slain, advanced
Among the gods to the Phlegræan field
Armed with his buckler.

THE. Ah, what mighty chief
Was e’er so wretched?

AMP. Scarcely shalt thou know
A man with greater labours vexed, and doomed
To wander through more regions.

THE. But why veils he
Beneath that robe his miserable head?

AMP. Because thy presence, friendship’s sacred ties
Added to those of kindred, and the gore
Of his slain children, fill his soul with shame.

THE. I with his griefs am come to sympathize;
Uncover him.

AMP. That garment from your eyes
Remove, display your visage to the sun.
It ill becomes my dignity to weep:
Yet I a suppliant strive to touch your beard,
Your knees, your hand, and shed these hoary tears.
O curb your soul, my son, whose fierceness equals
That of the lion, else ’twill hurry you
To bloody impious rage, and make you add
Mischiefs to mischiefs.

THE. Ho! on thee I call,
On thee, who to that seat of misery seem’st
Fast riveted; permit thy friends to see
Thy face: for darkness hath no cloud so black
As to conceal thy woes. Why dost thou wave
Thy hand and point to those whom thou hast slain,
Lest by this converse I pollute myself?
I am not loth to share thy woes; I erst
Was happy (which my soul is ever bound
To recollect with gratitude) when thou
From hell’s loathed gloom, the mansion of the dead,
Didst safely bear me to the realms of light.
For I abhor th’ attachment of those friends
Which time impairs, him too who would enjoy
Their better fortunes, but refuse to sail
In the same bark with those who prove unblest.
Rise up, unveil thy miserable head
And look on me. A noble mind sustains
Without reluctance what the gods inflict.

HER. Did you, O Theseus, see me slay my children?

THE. I heard, and now behold the ills thou speak’st of.

HER. Then why didst thou uncover to the sun
My guilty head?

THE. Why not? canst thou, a man,
Pollute the gods?

HER. Avaunt, O wretch, avaunt,
For I am all contagion.

THE. To a friend
No mischief from his friend can be transmitted.

HER. Your conduct I applaud, nor will deny
That I have served you.

THE. I who erst received
Those favours at thy hands, now pity thee.

HER. I am indeed an object of your pity,
From having slain my sons.

THE. For thee I weep,
Because to me thou heretofore wert kind
When vexed by other ills.

HER. Did you e’er meet
With those who were more wretched?

THE. Thy afflictions
Are of such giant bulk, that they to heaven
Reach from this nether world.

HER. Hence am I ready
For instant death.

THE. Canst thou suppose the gods
Regard thy threats?

HER. Self-willed are they and cruel,
And I defy the gods.

THE. Restrain thy tongue,
Lest thou by uttering such presumptuous words
Increase thy sufferings.

HER. I with woes am fraught
Already, nor remains there space for more.

THE. But what design’st thou? whither art thou borne
With frantic rage?

HER. In death will I return
To those abodes beneath, whence late I came.

THE. Thou speak’st the language of a vulgar man.

HER. Exempt from all calamity yourself,
On me these admonitions you bestow.

THE. Are these fit words for Hercules to use,
Who many toils endured?

HER. I had not suffered
Thus much, if any bounds had circumscribed
My labours.

THE. Benefactor of mankind,
And their great friend?

HER. From them no aid I find;
But Juno triumphs.

THE. Greece will not permit thee
To perish unregarded.

HER. Hear me now,
That I with reason your advice may combat;
To you will I explain both why it is
And long hath been impossible for me
To live; and first, because from him, I spring,
Who, having slain the father of Alcmena,
Defiled with murder, wedded her who bore me.
When thus the basis of a family
Is laid in guilt, the children must be wretched.
But Jove (or some one who assumed the name
Of Jove) begot me; hence to Juno’s hate
Was I obnoxious. Yet, O let not this
Offend thine ear, old man, for thee, not Jove,
I deem my real sire. While yet I hung
An infant at the breast, Jove’s wife by stealth
Sent snakes into my cradle to destroy me.
But after I attained the bloom of manhood,
Of what avail were it, should I recount
The various labours I endured, what lions,
What typhons with a triple form, what giants,
Or what four-footed centaurs, who in crowds
Rushed to the battle, by this arm were slain?
How I despatched the hydra too, that monster
With heads surrounded, branching out anew,
And having suffered many toils beside,
Went to the mansions of the dead, to bring
Hell’s triple-headed dog into the realms
Of light, for thus Eurystheus had enjoined?
But I at last, wretch that I am, this murder
Did perpetrate, and my own children slay,
That to their utmost summit I might raise
The miseries of this house. My fate is such
That in my native Thebes I must not dwell:
But if I here continue, to what temple
Or friends can I repair? for by such curses
I now am visited, that none will dare
To speak to me. To Argos shall I go?
How can I, when my country drives me forth?
To any other city should I fly,
The consequence were this: with looks askance
I should be viewed as one well known, and harassed
With these reproaches by malignant tongues:
“Is not this he, the son of Jove, who murdered
His children and his consort? from this land
Shall not th’ accursed miscreant be expelled?”
To him who was called happy once, such change
Is bitterness indeed: as for the man
Whose sufferings are perpetual, him, when wretched,
No kinsman pities. I to such a pitch
Of woe shall come, I deem, at length, that earth,
Uttering a voice indignant, will forbid me
To touch its surface, ocean, o’er its waves,
And every river, o’er its streams, to pass.
I shall be like Ixion then, with chains
Fixed to the wheel. ’Twere better that no Greek
With whom I in my happier days conversed
Should see me more. What motive can I have
For living? or to me of what avail
Were it to keep possession of this useless
And this unholy being? flushed with joy,
Let Jove’s illustrious consort, in the dance,
Strike with her sandals the resplendent floor
Of high Olympus: for she now hath gained
Her utmost wish, and from his basis torn
The first of Grecian warriors. Who can pray
To such a goddess, who, with envy stung,
Because Jove loved a woman, hath destroyed
The benefactors of the Grecian realm,
Those blameless objects of her hate?

THE. This mischief
Springs from no god except the wife of Jove.
Well dost thou judge, in saying that ’tis easier
To give thee wholesome counsel, than endure
Such agonies. But no man ’scapes unwounded
By fortune, and no god; unless the songs
Of ancient bards mislead. Have not the gods
Among themselves formed lawless marriages?
Have they not bound in ignominious chains
Their fathers, to obtain a throne? In heaven
Yet dwell they, and bear up beneath the load
Of all their crimes. But what canst thou allege,
If thou, frail mortal as thou art, those ills
Immoderately bewail’st to which the gods
Without reluctance yield? from Thebes retire,
Since thus the laws ordain; and follow me
To Pallas’ city: when thy hands are there
Cleansed from pollution, I to thee will give
A palace, and with thee divide my wealth.
The presents which the citizens to me
Appropriated, when twice seven blooming victims
I by the slaughter of the Cretan bull
Redeemed, on thee will I bestow. For portions
Of land are through the realm to me assigned:
These, while thou liv’st henceforth shall by thy name
Be called: but after death, when to the shades
Of Pluto thou descend’st, with sacrifice
And with the sculptured tomb, shall Athens grace
Thy memory. For her citizens have gained
This fairest wreath from every Grecian state,
By yielding succour to the virtuous man
Their glories are augmented: and to thee
Will I repay with gratitude the kindness
Which thou deserv’st for saving me; for thou
Hast need of friends at present: but no friend
Is wanted when the gods confer renown;
For, if he wills, Jove’s aid is all-sufficient.

HER. You hold a language foreign to my griefs.
But I suppose not that the gods delight
In lawless nuptials, that their hands are bound
With galling chains, nor did I e’er believe,
Nor can I be convinced, that one bears rule
Over another. For a deity
If he be truly such, can stand in need
Of no support. But by some lying bard
Those miserable fables were devised.
Although I am most wretched, yet I thought
I might be charged with cowardice for leaving
These realms of light. For he who bears not up
’Gainst adverse fortune, never can withstand
The weapon of his foe. I am resolved
To wait for death with firmness: to your city
Meantime will I retreat, and am most grateful
For your unnumbered gifts. Unnumbered labours
Have I been erst acquainted with; from none
Did I e’er shrink, these eyes did never stream
With tears, nor thought I that I e’er should come
To such a pitch of meanness as to weep:
But now, it seems, must Fortune be obeyed.
I am content. Thou, O my aged sire,
Behold’st my exile, thou in me behold’st
The murderer of my children: to the tomb
Consign their corses with funereal pomp,
And o’er them shed the tributary tear:
For me the laws allow not to perform
This office. Let their mother, e’en in death,
Clasp to her breast, and in her arms sustain,
Our wretched offspring, whom in evil hour
I slew reluctant. But when thou with earth
Hast covered them, thy residence still keep
Here in this city, miserably indeed,
Yet on thy soul lay this constraint, to bear
With me the woes which I most deeply feel.
The very sire, ye children, who begot,
Murdered you; no advantage ye derive
From what this arm by all my labours gained,
And from your father’s triumphs no renown.
Have not I slain thee too who didst preserve
My bed inviolate, and o’er my house
Long watch with patient care? Ah me! my wife,
My sons: but how much more to be lamented
Am I myself, from them for ever torn?
Ye melancholy joys of kisses lavished
On their remains, and ye my loathed companions,
The weapons which I still retain, but doubt
Whether to keep or dash them to the ground;
For they, while at my side they hang, will seem
To utter these reproachful words: “With us
Thy consort and thy children hast thou slain,
Yet thou the very instruments preserv’st
Which were their murderers.” After such a charge
Can I still bear them? what can I allege?
But stripping off those arms with which through Greece
I have achieved full many glorious deeds,
Shall I expose myself to those who hate me,
And die ignobly? I must not abandon
But keep them still, though sorrowing. Aid me, Theseus,
In this one enterprise; to Argos go
And for your friend obtain the great reward
Promised for dragging from the shades of hell
That execrable hound: lest if by you
Deserted, I through grief for my slain children
Should come to some calamitous end. Thou realm
Of Cadmus, and ye citizens of Thebes,
With tresses shorn, in concert weep; the tomb
Of my slain children visit, there bewail,
In one funereal dirge, the dead, and me;
For smitten with the same dire scourge of fate
By Juno, we all perish.

THE. Hapless man,
Arise; enough of tears.

HER. I cannot rise,
These limbs are now grown stiff.

THE. Calamity
Subdues the valiant.

HER. Would I were a stone,
Insensible to sufferings!

THE. Cease these plaints;
And to the friend who comes to serve thee, give
Thy hand.

HER. But let me not wipe off the blood
Upon your garments.

THE. Wipe it off, nor scruple,
For I object not.

HER. Of my sons bereft,
In you the likeness of a son I find.

THE. Fling round my neck thine arm: I’ll lead the way.

HER. A pair of friends: though one of us be wretched.
Such, O my aged father, is the man
We ought to make a friend.

THE. His native realm
Produces an illustrious progeny.

HER. Turn me around, that I may see my sons.

THE. Hoping such philtre may thy griefs appease.

HER. This earnestly I wish for, and would clasp
My father to this bosom.

AMP. Here, lo, here!
For what my son desires, to me is grateful.

THE. Of all the labours thou didst erst achieve,
Hast thou thus lost the memory?

HER. All those ills
Were less severe than what I now experience.

THE. Should any one behold thee grown unmanly,
He could not praise thee.

HER. Though to you I seem
Degraded to an abject life, I trust
That I my former courage shall resume.

THE. Where now is the illustrious Hercules?

HER. What had you been, if still you in the shades
Had miserably dwelt?

THE. Then sunk my courage
Beneath the meanest of the human race.

HER. Why then persist in saying that my woes
Have quite subdued me?

THE. Onward!

HER. Good old man,
Farewell.

AMP. Farewell too, O my son.

HER. My children
Inter as I directed.

AMP. O, my son,
But who will bury me?

HER. I.

AMP. When will you
Come hither?

HER. After thou hast for my children
Performed that pious office.

AMP. How?

HER. I’ll fetch thee
From Thebes to Athens.—Bear into the palace
My children’s corses which pollute the ground.
But as for me, who have disgraced and plunged
My house in ruin, I will follow Theseus,
Towed like a battered skiff. Whoe’er prefers
Wealth or dominion to a steadfast friend,
Judges amiss.

CHOR. Most wretched, drowned in tears,
Reft of our great protector, we depart.

THE CHILDREN OF HERCULES.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

IOLAUS.
COPREUS.
CHORUS OF ATHENIAN OLD MEN.
DEMOPHOON.
MACARIA.
ALCMENA.
MESSENGER.
EURYSTHEUS.

SCENE.—BEFORE THE ALTAR OF JUPITER, IN THE FORUM AT MARATHON, A CITY IN THE ATHENIAN DOMINIONS.

IOLAUS.

Long have I held this sentiment: the just
Are born the streams of bounty to diffuse
On all around them; while the man whose soul
Is warped by interest, useless in the State,
Untractable and harsh to every friend,
Lives only for himself; in words alone
This doctrine I imbibed not. Through a sense
Of virtuous shame and reverence for my kindred
When I in peace at Argos might have dwelt,
I singly shared the toils of Hercules,
While he on earth remained; but now he dwells
In heaven, I guard his children, though protection
Be what I need myself. For when their sire
Forsook this nether world, Eurystheus strove
Immediately to slay us; but I ’scaped
From that oppressor’s fangs, and though to me
Lost is my country, I have saved my life.
But we poor vagabonds, from city fly
To some fresh city, ever forced to change
Our dwelling; for Eurystheus deems it meet
To add this wrong to former wrongs, he sends
His heralds wheresoe’er he hears we settle,
And claims and drives us forth from every land;
No slight resentment from the Argive realm
Against our friends denouncing, he reminds them
Of his own prosperous fortunes; when they see
My weakness, and these little ones bereft
Of their great father, to superior might
They crouch, and force the suppliant to depart.
But with the exiled race of Hercules
A voluntary exile, I partake
Their evil fortunes, steadfastly resolved
Not to betray them; by malignant tongues
It never shall be said, “Oh, mark these orphans!
Since their sire’s death their kinsman Iolaus
Protects them not.” But, exiled from all Greece,
On reaching Marathon and the domain
Subject to the same rulers, here we sit
Before the altars of the gods, and sue
For their assistance. In this region dwell
Two sons of Theseus, I am told, by lot
Who portion out this realm, they from Pandion
Descend, and to these children are allied.
We therefore undertook our present journey
To the Athenian realm; two aged guides
Conduct the hapless wanderers; my attention
Is to the boys devoted; but Alcmena,
Entering the adjacent temple, in her arms
Tenderly clasps the female progeny
Of her departed son. Amid the crowd
We fear to introduce these tender virgins,
Or place them at the altars of the gods.
But Hyllus and his brothers, more mature
In years, inquire in what far distant land
A fortress for our future residence
We yet can find, if we from these domains
By force should be expelled. My sons, come hither,
Cling to this garment; for to us I see
Eurystheus’ herald coming, by whose hate,
We wanderers, banished from each friendly realm,
Are still pursued. Thou, execrable miscreant,
Perish thyself, and perish he who sent thee:
For to the noble father of these children
Oft hath that tongue enjoined severest toils.

COPREUS, IOLAUS.

COP. What, think’st thou unmolested to enjoy
This pleasant seat, and have thy vagrant steps
Entered at length a city prompt to fight
Thy battles? for the man who will prefer
Thy feeble arm to that of great Eurystheus,
Exists not. Hence! why in these useless toils
Dost thou persist? thou must return to Argos
Where they have doomed thee to be stoned.

IOL. Not thus:
For in this altar shall I find protection,
And this free country on whose soil we tread.

COP. Wilt thou constrain me then to have recourse
To violence?

IOL. With forceful hand, nor me
Nor these poor children shalt thou hence expel.

COP. Ere long shalt thou perceive that thou hast uttered
Erroneous prophesies.

IOL. This ne’er shall be
Long as I live.

COP. Depart, for I will seize them
’Gainst thy consent, and to Eurystheus’ power
Surrender up, for they to him belong.

IOL. Aid me, ye ancient citizens of Athens,
For we, though suppliants, forcibly are torn
E’en from Jove’s public altar, and the wreaths
Twined round our sacred branches are polluted;
Shame to your city, insult to the gods.

CHORUS, IOLAUS, COPREUS.

CHOR. What clamorous voices from yon altars rise?
What mischiefs are impending?

IOL. See a man
Burdened with age, wretch that I am! lie prostrate.

CHOR. Who threw thee down? what execrable hand——

IOL. ’Tis he, O stranger, he who to your gods
Yielding no reverence, strives with impious force
E’en now, to drag me from this hallowed seat
Before Jove’s altar.

CHOR. He! But from what land
Cam’st thou, old man, to this confederate state
Formed of four cities? From the distant coast
Of steep Eubœa did ye ply your oars?

IOL. The life I lead, O stranger, is not that
Of vagrant islanders; but in your realm
From famed Mycene’s bulwarks I arrive.

CHOR. Among thy countrymen, old man, what name
Thou bear’st, inform me.

IOL. Ye perchance knew somewhat
Of Iolaus, great Alcides’ comrade,
A name not quite unnoticed by renown.

CHOR. I formerly have heard of him: but say
Who is the father of that infant race,
Whom with thy arm thou guid’st?

IOL. These are the sons
Of Hercules, O strangers, they, to you,
And to your city, humble suppliants come.

CHOR. On what account, inform me; to demand
An audience of the state?

IOL. That to their foes
They may not be surrendered up, nor torn
Forcibly from the altars of your gods,
And carried back to Argos.

COP. But thy lords
Who bear rule over thee, and hither trace
Thy steps, will ne’er be satisfied with this.

CHOR. O stranger, ’tis our duty to revere
The suppliants of the gods: with forceful hand
Shall no man drag thee from this holy spot,
This seat of the immortal powers; dread justice
Shall guard thee from the wrong.

COP. Out of your land
The vagrant subjects of Eurystheus drive,
As I admonish; and this hand shall use
No violence.

CHOR. How impious is that city
Which disregards the helpless stranger’s prayer!

COP. ’Twere best to interfere not in these broils,
And to adopt some more expedient counsels.

CHOR. You, therefore, to the monarch of this realm
Should have declared your errand, ere thus far
You had proceeded: but with brutal force
These strangers from the altars of the gods
Presume not to convey, and to this land
Of freedom yield due reverence.

COP. But what king
Rules this domain and city?

CHOR. Theseus’ son,
Renowned Demophoon.

COP. Better I with him
This contest could decide: for all I yet
Have spoken, is but a mere waste of words.

CHOR. Behold, he hither comes in haste, and with him,
To hear this cause, his brother Acamas.

DEMOPHOON, IOLAUS, COPREUS, CHORUS.

DEM. Since by thy speed, old man, thou hast outstripped
Thy juniors, and already reached the shrine
Of Jove, inform me what event hath caused
This multitude t’ assemble.

CHOR. There the sons
Of Hercules in suppliant posture sit,
And with their wreaths, as you behold, O king,
Adorn the altar; that is Iolaus,
The faithful comrade of their valiant sire.

DEM. How needed their distress these clamorous shrieks?

CHOR. [_turning towards_ COPREUS.]
He raised the uproar, when by force he strove
To bear them hence, and on his knees, to earth
Threw the old man, till I for pity wept.

DEM. Although he in the habit which he wears
Adopts the mode of Greece, such deeds as these
Speak the barbarian. But without delay
On thee it is incumbent now to tell me
The country whence thou cam’st.

COP. I am an Argive;
Thus far to solve your question: but from whence
I come, and on what errand, will I add;
Mycene’s king, Eurystheus, sends me hither
To fetch these vagrants home: yet I, O stranger,
Will with abundant justice, in my actions,
As well as words, proceed; myself an Argive,
I bear away these Argives, I but seize
The fugitives who from my native land
Escaped, when by the laws which there prevail
They were ordained to bleed. We have a right,
Because we are the rulers of the city,
To execute the sentence we enact
’Gainst our own subjects. To the sacred hearths
Of many other states when they repaired,
We urged the self-same reasons, and none ventured
To be the authors of their own destruction.
But haply they in you may have perceived
A foolish tenderness, and hither come,
Desperate themselves, you also to involve
In the same perils, whether they succeed
Or fail in the emprise: for they no hope
Can cherish, while you yet retain your reason,
That you alone, in all the wide extent
Of Greece, whose various regions they have traversed,
Should pity those calamities which rise
But from their own imprudence. Now compare
Th’ alternative proposed; by sheltering them
In these dominions, or allowing us
To bear them hence, what gain may you expect?
Side but with us, these benefits are yours:
Eurystheus’ self, and Argos’ numerous troops,
Will aid this city with their utmost might;
But if, by their seducing language moved,
Ye harbour groundless pity for their woes,
Arms must decide the strife. Nor vainly think
We will desist till we have fully tried
The temper of our swords. But what excuse
Have ye to plead? Of what domains bereft
Are ye provoked to wage a desperate war
With the Tirynthian Argives? What allies
Will aid you? What pretext can ye allege
To claim funereal honours for the slain?
The curses of your city will await
Such conduct; for the sake of that old man,
Whom I may justly call a tomb, a shadow,
And those unfriended children, should you step
Into the yawning gulf. Suppose the best
Which possibly can happen, that a prospect
Of future good hence rises; distant hopes
Fall short of present gain. In riper years
Ill can these youths be qualified to fight
Against the Argive host (if this elate
Your soul with hope), and ere that wished event
There is a length of intermediate time
In which ye may be ruined; but comply
With my advice; on me no gift bestow,
Let me but take what to ourselves belongs,
Mycene shall be yours. But oh, forbear
To act as ye are wont, nor form a league
With those of no account, when mightier friends
May be procured.

DEM. Who can decide a cause
Or ascertain its merits till he hear
Both sides distinctly?

IOL. In your land, O king,
This great advantage, freedom of reply
To the malignant charge against me urged,
I find, and no man, as from other cities,
Shall drive me hence. But we have nothing left
For which it now behoves us to contend
With him, nor aught, since that decree hath passed,
To do with Argos; from our native land
We are cast forth. In this distressful state,
How can he drag us back again with justice
As subjects of Mycene, to that realm
Which hath already banished us? We there
Are only foreigners. But why should he
Whom Argos dooms to exile, by all Greece
Be also exiled? Not by Athens sure;
For ne’er will Athens from its blest domains
Expel the race of Hercules, appalled
By Argos’ menaced wrath. For neither Trachis,
Nor is that city of Achaia here,
Whence thou by boasting of the might of Argos
In words like those which thou hast uttered now,
These suppliants didst unjustly drive away
Though seated at the altars. If thy threats
Here too prevail, no longer shall we find
Freedom, not e’en in Athens; but I know
Full well the generous temper of its sons,
And rather would they die. For to the brave
Shame is a load which renders life most hateful.
Enough of Athens—for immoderate praise
Becomes invidious; I remember too
How oft I have been heretofore distressed
By overstrained encomiums. But on you
How greatly ’tis incumbent to protect
These children will I show, since o’er this land
You rule; for Pittheus was the son of Pelops,
From Pittheus Æthra sprung, from Æthra Theseus
Your father; from your ancestors to those
Of your unhappy suppliants I proceed;
Alcides was the son of thundering Jove
And of Alcmena; from Lysidice,
Daughter of Pelops, did Alcmena spring,
One common grandsire gave your grandame birth,
And theirs; so near in blood are you to them;
But, O Demophoon, what beyond the ties
Of family you to these children owe
Will I inform you, and relate how erst
With Theseus in one bark I sailed, and bore
Their father’s shield, when we that belt, the cause
Of dreadful slaughter, sought; and from the caves
Of Pluto, Hercules led back your sire.
This truth all Greece attests. They in return
From you implore this boon, that to their foes
They may not be surrendered up, nor torn
By force from these your tutelary gods,
And banished from this realm. For to yourself
’Twere infamous and baneful to your city
Should suppliants, exiles, sprung from ancestors
The same with yours (ah, miserable me!
Behold, behold them!) with a forceful arm
Be dragged away. But to your hands, and beard,
Lifting these hallowed branches, I entreat you
Slight not Alcides’ children, undertake
Their cause; and, oh, to them become a kinsman,
Become a friend, a father, brother, lord,
For better were it to admit these claims,
Than suffer them to fall beneath the rage
Of Argive tyrants.

CHOR. I with pity heard
Their woes, O king, but now I clearly see
How noble birth to adverse fortune yields;
For though they spring from an illustrious sire,
Yet meet they with afflictions they deserve not.

DEM. Three powerful motives urge me, while I view
The misery which attends you, not to spurn
These strangers; first dread Jove, before whose altars
You with these children sit; next kindred ties,
And services performed in ancient days,
Give them a claim to such relief from me
As from their godlike father mine obtained;
And last of all that infamy which most
I ought to loathe; for if I should permit
A foreigner this altar to despoil,
I in a land of freedom shall no longer
Appear to dwell, but to surrender up,
Through fear, the suppliants to their Argive lords,
In this extreme of danger. Would to heaven
You had arrived with happier auspices;
But tremble not lest any brutal hand
Should from this hallowed altar force away
You and the children. Therefore go thou back
To Argos, and this message to Eurystheus
Deliver; tell him too if there be aught
Which ’gainst our guests he can allege, the laws
Are open; but thou shalt not drag them hence.

COP. Not if I prove that it is just, and bring
Prevailing reasons?

DEM. How can it be just
To drive away the suppliant?

COP. Hence no shame
Shall light on me, but ruin on your head.

DEM. Should I permit thee to convey them hence
In me ’twere base indeed.

COP. Let them be banished
From your domains, and I elsewhere will seize them.

DEM. Thou fool, who deem’st thyself more wise than
Jove!

COP. All villains may, it seems, take refuge here.

DEM. This altar of the gods, to all affords
A sure asylum.

COP. In a different light,
This to Mycene’s rulers will appear.

DEM. Am not I then the monarch of this realm?

COP. Offer no wrong to them, if you are wise.

DEM. Do ye then suffer wrong when I refuse
To violate the temples of the gods?

COP. I would not have you enter on a war
Against the Argives.

DEM. Equally inclined
Am I to peace, yet will not I yield up
These suppliants.

COP. Hence am I resolved to drag
Those who belong to me.

DEM. Thou then to Argos
Shalt not with ease return.

COP. Soon will I make
Th’ experiment and know.

DEM. If thou presume
To touch them, thou immediately shalt rue it.

COP. I by the gods conjure you not to strike
A herald.

DEM. Strike I will, unless that herald
Learn to behave discreetly.

CHOR. Go. And you,
O king, forbear to touch him.

COP. I retire:
For weak in combat is a single arm.
But I again shall hither come, and bring
A host of Argives armed with brazen spears:
Unnumbered warriors wait for my return.
The king himself, Eurystheus, is their chief;
He on the borders of Alcathous’ realm
Waits for an answer. He in glittering mail,
Soon as he hears your arrogant reply,
To you, your subjects, this devoted realm,
And all its wasted forests will appear,
For we in vain at Argos should possess
A band so numerous of heroic youths,
If we chastised not your assuming pride.

[_Exit_ COPREUS.

DEM. Away, detested miscreant; for I fear not
Thy Argos: and thou ne’er, by dragging hence
These suppliants, shalt disgrace me: for this city
As an appendage to the Argive realm
I hold not, but its freedom will maintain.

CHOR. ’Tis time each sage precaution to exert,
Ere to the confines of this land advance
The troops of Argos: for Mycene’s wrath
Is terrible in combat, and more fierce
Than heretofore will they invade us now.
For to exaggerate facts beyond the truth
Is every herald’s custom. To his king,
How many specious tales do you suppose
Of the atrocious insults he endured,
He will relate, and add how he the loss
Of life endangered?

IOL. To the sons devolve
No honours which exceed the being born
Of an illustrious and heroic sire,
And wedding into virtuous families.
But on that man no praise will I bestow,
Who by his lusts impelled, among the wicked
A nuptial union forms; hence to his sons
Disgrace, instead of pleasure, he bequeaths.
For noble birth repels adversity
Better than abject parentage. When sinking
Under the utmost pressure of our woes,
We find these friends and kinsmen, who alone
Amid the populous extent of Greece
Stand forth in our behalf. Ye generous youths,
Now give them your right hands, and in return
Take those of your protectors: O my sons,
Draw near: we have made trial of our friends.
If ye again behold your native walls,
Possess the self-same mansions, and the honours
Which your illustrious father erst enjoyed;
These deem your saviours and your friends, nor wield
Against their fostering land the hostile spear.
On your remembrance let these benefits
Be ever stamped, and hold this city dear;
For they deserve your reverence, who from us
Repel so great a nation, such a swarm
Of fierce Pelasgian troops: and, though they see
Our poverty and exile, have refused
To yield us up, or banish from their realm.
Both while I live, and after the cold grave
Receives me at the destined hour, my friend,
I with loud voice your merits will applaud,
Approaching mighty Theseus, and my words
Shall soothe your father’s ear when I recount
With what humanity you have received us,
And how protected the defenceless sons
Of Hercules: by your illustrious birth
Distinguished, you the glories of your sire
Through Greece maintain: sprung from a noble lineage
Yet are you one among that chosen few
Who in no instance deviate from the virtues
Of your great ancestry: although ’mid thousands
Scarce is a single instance to be found
Of those who emulate their father’s worth.

CHOR. This country, in a just and honest cause,
Is ever prompt to succour the distressed.
Hence in its friends’ behalf hath it sustained
Unnumbered toils, and now another conflict
I see impending.

DEM. Rightly hast thou spoken,
And in such toils I feel a conscious pride.
These benefits shall never be forgotten;
But an assembly of the citizens
I instantly will summon, and arrange
A numerous squadron, to receive the onset
Of fierce Mycene’s host, first sending spies
To meet them, lest they unawares assail us.
For the bold warrior, who without delay
Goes forth to battle, keeps the foe aloof.
I also will collect the seers, and slay
The victims; but do you, old man, meanwhile
Enter the palace with these children, leaving
Jove’s altar: for my menial train are there,
Who will with fond solicitude attend you,
Although I am not present: but go in.

IOL. I will not leave the altar; on this seat
We supplicants will remain, and pray to Jove,
That prosperous fortunes may attend your city.
But when you from this conflict are with glory
Released, we to your palace will repair;
Nor are the gods, who war on our behalf,
O king, inferior to the gods of Argos.
For o’er that city, Jove’s majestic consort,
Juno, but here Minerva doth preside.
This I maintain, that nought ensures success
Beyond the aid of mightier deities,
Nor will imperial Pallas be subdued.

[_Exit_ DEMOPHOON.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I.

Boast as thou wilt, and urge thy proud demand,
This nation disregards thy ire,
Thou stranger from the Argive land.
Nor can thy sounding words control
The steadfast purpose of my soul:
Great Athens, by her lovely choir
Distinguished, shall unstained preserve
Her ancient glory, nor from virtue swerve;
But thou, devoid of wisdom, dost obey
The son of Sthenelus, the tyrant’s impious sway,

II.

Who com’st amidst an independent state,
In nought inferior to the strength
Of Argos, and with brutal hate
Dar’st, though a foreigner, to seize
The exiles, who our deities
Implore, and in these realms at length
From their distress obtain a shield:
Thou e’en to sceptred monarchs will not yield,
Yet no just plea thy subtle tongue hath found.
How can such conduct warp the man whose judgment’s sound?